Muzică / Music
Rubrica / Box: nr. 1 Articole - Studii /
Articles – Studies
2015.01.30. Vineri / Friday
Autor / Author:
Stefan Münch
Dr. Maria Curie-Skłodowska University /
Faculty of Arts
Translator / Traducător:
Katarzyna Bugaj
Dr. State University of Florida
THE ABANDONED SORCERESS MOTIVE
IN EUROPEAN OPERA
Keywords:
Abstract:
200-300 words
*
Armida
is the beautiful sorceress who, with her magical trickery tries to prevent the
Crusaders from conquering Jerusalem. With the help of magic she conquers the
heart of Rinaldo, but falls hopelessly in love with him at the same time. She
leads him off into her enchanted gardens, filled with sensual pleasures, but in
the end the knight liberates himself from her spell and returns to the
Christian camp. The story of Armida has inspired composers for 200 years, from
Lully to Dvořák, and even Richard Wagner, who gave into her fatal charm while working
on the libretto of Tannhäuser.
Sorceresses
and witches are figures that have always inspired the collective imagination in
a particular way—from ancient mythology, through legends and fairly tales, to
high literature. Their defining characteristic is “altering reality in an
irrational manner with the use of magic.[1]” They were always depicted
as enigmatic creatures, existing in various relationships with the supernatural
world. They could be harmful to people, or even threaten their lives, punish
them for disturbing the moral order (as often happens in works of the
romantics), but they could also fulfill human dreams, desires, and petitions. They
belonged to a mysterious and dangerous universum
of nature, seemingly near human on the surface, yet unrecognizable and
ambiguous in their being. Often these were wicked demonic beings, casting
spells, taking part in satanic Sabbaths, but equally often they appeared at
just the right moment to help out a protagonist—such as in the tale of
Cinderella. The motif of her story is well-known to opera composers, however
the librettists chose to modify the original text of Charles Perrault and the
Grimm brothers: a sorceress (here called a fairy godmother) appears in Jules
Massenet’s opera; Niccolò Isouard replaces her with a more “rational” Alidor;
and in the most popular version by Gioachino Rossini all elements of the
fantastic disappear in the name of reason of the Enlightenment.
Drawing
a clear distinction in meaning between a sorceress and a witch appears to be
very difficult. For the purpose of the present discussion we can make do with
the assertion that sorceresses as a rule tended to be beautiful, young and
alluring, while witches - old, ugly, and sinister. The nomenclature is then an
element of emotional valorization.
The
appearance of these characters in the literary tradition can be observed in
mythology and related works. Already in the Odyssey the hero returning from the
Trojan war to his home in Ithaca experienced the effects of the magical herbal
potion that the sorceress Circe mixed into the food of his Greek warriors. They
forgot about their homeland and she—with the use of a magic wand—turned them
into swine. In addition to the supernatural elements, here we have the motif of
the sorceress who, using temptations of the senses draws the hero away from the
responsibilities and duties with which he is charged. This will be remembered
by creators of subsequent versions of Armida,
eventually Richard Wagner, who created the figure of Venus in Tannhäuser. Another example of a woman
wielding magic and capable of controlling fate, while completely surrendering
to human emotions of love, hate, and vengeance, was Medea. First she helped
Jason in a favorable conclusion to his quest for the golden fleece and then,
after being betrayed by her husband, carried out a ruthless revenge against him
and his newly chosen woman. It is not surprising that her character interested
composers such as Marc-Antoine Charpentier and Luigi Cherubini. According to Sébastien
de Brossard, Charpentier’s Medea
(1693) was “the most masterful of all [operas] that have been printed since the
death of Mr. Lully.[2]”
For the composer and his librettist, Thomas Corneille, it was of great
importance to depict the psychological complexity of Medea, since an
unequivocally evil figure would make it difficult for the listeners to identify
with her experiences, which was necessary. To this end, they delayed revealing
Jason’s unfaithfulness and betrayal (we find out about it only in act III),
furthermore displaying with particular intensity the negative characteristics
of Medea’s antagonists. Charpentier dressed this opera in a fascinating
soundscape, which virtually makes it into a textbook on the art of 17th
century instrumentation. On the other hand Cherubini’s Medea - performed 104 years later - forms a bridge of sorts between
Lully’s and Charpentier’s tragédie
lyrique, the two Armida’s by
Gluck and Haydn (more about those in a moment), and grand opéra, which will become the calling card of the French
opera style in the XIX century. This is Cherubini’s most important work in the
theatrical tradition and on recordings it appears in two versions: the
authentic French, set to the libretto of François-Benoît Hoffmann, and a
later, highly “Italianized” version (and not only because of the translation
but also because of alterations to the score). Despite its merits, Medea had a poor reception in Paris in
1797, and a much better one a few years later in Berlin and Vienna, where it was
sung in German. Then, endowed with recitatives from under the pen of Franz Paul
Lachner, it progressively ventured farther away from the original, as it
remains to this day since in the XXth century recitatives were translated into
Italian and in this form Medea
crystallized itself in history as one of the most famous roles of Maria Callas.[3]
In
medieval culture the figure of the sorceress was associated with chansons de geste, which were then
called estoires (stories or tales),
epic poetry of the Arthurian literary cycle. This [poetry] is permeated with le merveilleux breton, or Breton
splendor. Morgana Le Fay, the stepsister of Arthur, is a sorceress brought up
on the mysterious island Avalon; she is the female equivalent of Merlin and his
power.[4] In some accounts Morgana
is identified as The Lady of the Lake, who, in turn, is often called Viviana,
Nimue, or Niniana. Merlin falls in love with her and teaches her magic, but
instead of returning his love, Vivian deceives him and using her feminine charms
to trick him, traps him in a crystal grotto (according to a different version,
he was imprisoned up in the air) in the Brocéliande forest.[5] Vivian was also said to
have brought up Lancelot on her island until he reached the age of 18. The
sorceress Brisen, with her charms and magical herbal potion causes Lancelot to
mistake Elaine of Corbenic for the one woman he loves, Guinevere, resulting in
the conception of a son who would become Sir Galahad[6]. Another medieval
sorceress, Hellawes, lady of the castle Nigramous, lures Lancelot to her Chapel
Perilous. Her efforts go unrewarded as Lancelot loves only Guinevere and he
comes to the chapel only for healing talismans for an ailing knight. Her heart
broken, Hellawes dies from sorrow.
The
central figures of the Arthurian world continually fluctuate between reality
and the world of magic, experiencing its various effects. Ragnelle, turned into
an old hag, was able to help Gawain solve the riddle, under the condition that
he marries her. When he kisses her on their wedding night, she turns back into
a beautiful woman. These and similar stories became universally known not so much
because of their actual authors—since it is not possible to establish who they
were—but rather as a result of the efforts of various copyists and compilers,
such as Geoffrey of Monmouth, Laymon, Chrétien de Troyes, and Wolfram von
Eschenbach[7]. In later periods they
attracted the attention of Goethe (Faust as a successor to Merlin), Alfred
Tennyson (the poem The Lady of Shalott), Mark Twain (the
satirical novel A Yankee at the Court of
King Arthur), Jean Cocteau (the play The
Knights of the Round Table), Frederick Loewe and Alan Jay Lerner (the
musical Camelot), and John Boorman
(the film Excalibur), among others. Arthurian
plot threads never lost their popularity, and the themes, character constructions
and situations that appear in them also appeared in other works. The
intertextuality and intersemiosis of these diverse mediums—literary, musical,
theatrical, and film—is striking. The common source of these morphological
elements, which can be found in poetry, prose, drama, opera, and film
screenplays, is a magical fairy tale. Themes and fairy tale motifs reappear in
works that are far apart from each other in terms of time and space. This has
been emphasized by researchers from as different backgrounds as Vladimir Propp
and Bruno Bettelheim[8].
It
is hardly surprising that the figure of the sorceress crossed into the
renaissance narrative. In Lodovico Ariosto’s poem The Frenzy of Orlando (Orlando
furioso - first edition in 1516) the main character becomes a victim of the
sorceress Alcina who, much like Circe, rules over a mysterious island of
forgetting. Her irresistible beauty turns out to be the effect of magic, which
falls away the moment that Ruggiero puts on a magical ring, destroying the spell.
Soon after the birth of opera, this story became the inspiration for many
composers. Francesca Caccini wrote La liberazione di Ruggiero dall'isola
d'Alcina to the libretto of Fernando Saracinelli in 1625; Luigi Rossi
wrote Il palazzo incantato (The Enchanted
Palace, libretto by Giulio Rospigliosi) in 1642[9]. To the producers at the
time the tale of Alcina gave enough pretext for the impressive show of stage design,
as described by Jagodyński in the introduction to his translation of
Saracinelli’s libretto:
“…the
great sea opened up full of towns, castles, and ships sailing from afar, and
Neptunus arrived from this sea, carried on seals and surrounded by sea Nymphs,
and that was the first scene. In the second, trees appeared on this sea,
bending in time with the music and lamenting, pitying Ruggiero, and virtuous
knighthood and young maidens, enchanted under those very trees. The third scene
of the Theatrum was when the incensed Alcina turned the sea into fire and
flame, and that water blazed, and standing in it she turned into a monster and
flew away. The fourth part, after the watery and fiery sea vanished from
beneath those lamenting trees, young men and maidens danced strange and beautiful
dances, alone and in pairs, and when they ceased, only bare mountains and rocks
remained. In the fifth and last variation even the mountains disappeared, and
in their place was a field and delightful meadows. And there, on sumptuous and
ornamented horses were twenty-four lads, who preferred the dance of horses and
rode out to a larger field. There the others gazed upon them, until Melissa
made her entrance, arriving at the field on centaurs, and there she delivered
the Epilogue”[10].
In
addition to delighting the audience, the operatic tale of Alcina and Ruggiero
also had the goal of Moralitas (a
moral teaching), which Jagodyński described in the following way:
“Ruggiero
represents every young person, especially the well-born and brought up to high
standards. Alcina and Fraucimer and the Mermaids, imply natural inclinations,
incentives, opportunities for sensual mistakes and sheer bliss. Opposite of
that, Melissa—who at first shows herself as the stern Atlas—represents virtue,
Godly inspiration, good advice, and a is leader of the good. Lads and ladies, enchanted and enslaved,
under the trees and mountains know affections which tangle fantasies and moods
from which youth is not yet freed; only time and years, the mind and advice of
the elders will help them to freedom”[11].
Rossi’s
Enchanted Palace, despite stunning
music, did not achieve the expected success in Rome. The opera, presented under
the auspices of cardinal Antonio Barberini, was considered too long and
tearful, the theatrical machinery by Andrea Sacchi kept breaking, and the
soprano-castrato Marc’Antonio Pasqualini, performing the part of Bradamant,
overpowered the other, equally well-known, singers. The libretto, written by
Giulio Rospigliosi (the future Pope Clement IX), does not take into account the
character of Alcina. Her function in the love triangle of
Bradamante-Ruggiero-Angelica is taken over by the wizard Atlante, and the
entire affair ends according to the principle of lieto fine or happy ending—the joining of separated pairs and
destruction of the magical palace.
Jean-Baptiste
Lully’s Roland (libretto by Philippe
Quinault, 1685) came into being during high baroque. If one is to believe the
dedication in the score, the choice of the subject from Orlando Furioso was prescribed by Ludwig XIV himself, who admired
Ariosto’s poem. He had already seen it staged twenty years earlier, in the form
of the ballet Alcina’s Palace. This
was during the famous Versailles “festival” - as we would call it today - Pleasures of the Enchanted Island (Plaisirs
de l’ile enchantée, 1664), a three day event, combining theater, music,
singing, and ballet. Quinault, the author of the libretto, apparently assumed
that the audience knew in great detail the literary prototype, and accelerated
the action, omitting some of its links. In the name of a rational view of the
world he also limited some of the magical aspects of the story: while Angelica
has a magical ring, Démogorgon, the King
of the Fairies, appears only in the prologue and, even then, exclusively for
the purpose of singing the praises of Louis XIV. The opera was well received
and was revived until 1755; the bass, Gabriel-Vincent Thévenard, performed as
Roland for 30 years[12].
Two
of Antonio Vivaldi’s operas made use of Ariosto’s themes: Orlando finto pazzo (libretto by Grazio Braccioli, 1714), and Orlando furioso (libretto by Braccioli,
1727)[13], as well as three operas
by Georg Friedrich Haendel: Orlando (libretto
by Carlo Sigismondo Capece, 1733), Ariodante
(libretto by Antonio Salvi, 1735), and Alcina
(libretto by Antonio Fanzaglia, 1735). Haendel’s Orlando marked a return of sorts for the composer to the so-called
“magical opera,” which brought him initial success in London more than ten
years earlier (Rinaldo, Teseo, Amadigi).
At the same time, it was the last role written by Haendel for the famous
castrato Francesco Bernardi - known as Senesino - with whom the composer had
quarreled irreversibly. Besides the main character’s fascinating mad scene (recitativo accompagnato, and arioso Ah, stigie larve - Vaghi pupille), we also have the sorcerer Zoroastro,
who intervenes only in key moments and ensures the indispensable lieto fine. In the premiere performance
Zoroastro was played by Antonio Montagnana; it was for him that the composer
wrote the magnificent bass role with the arias Lascia Amore, e segui Marte and Sorge,
infausta, which accompanied the magical incantations.
Two
years later Haendel once again drew upon Ariosto, bringing out an episode from
his poem that became the source of the libretto of Salvi’s Ginevra, principessa di Scozia (Ginevra, the Princess of Scotland). It
was not met with much success, despite a well-written and clear libretto, a
beautiful lament Scherzo infida,
which is sung by the main character, and a very good cast in the roles of the
lovers (Anna Strada del Pò and castrato Giovanni Carestini). A similar plot
device was used by Shakespeare in Much
Ado About Nothing - in Haendel’s opera, the betrayed betrothed returns from
the spirit world and stands in battle to defend Ginevra’s honor. Ariodante was the first opera that
Haendel composed for Covent Garden after leaving the theater on Haymarket. Three
months after its premiere, Alcina
appeared on stage, taking advantage of the asset that was the uncommon
virtuosity of Strada and Carestini. The libretto was an adaptation of text that
Fanzaglia wrote several years earlier for Riccardo Broschi (the brother of
Farinelli). It is important to note that in this story we can find an entire
catalog of ariostic devices: disguises and the confusion caused by mistaken
identity, poor choices made in various areas, and finally—a wealthy arsenal of
magic operations. Here we meet two sorceresses—the title-character Alcina and
her sister Morgana, as well as the sorcerer Melisso who as the caretaker of Bradamante,
(who is disguised as a man) ends up on the enchanted island. Alcina appears
already in the ballet scene of the first act, with a lovesick and unconscious
Ruggiero at her feet. Despite Brademante’s efforts, the knight is unable to
recognize her and only Melisso - disguised as Atlante, Ruggiero’s old tutor - reminds
him of his knightly virtue and duty. However, when Ruggiero rejects Alcina’s
love, she promises revenge; the forces of good besiege the island, and the
knight prepares for battle. Held back by Alcina and Morgana, Ruggiero smashes
the urn holding Alcina’s power and thus frees all of those who had been
unfortunate enough to fall under her spell and been turned into statues or
animals. In this opera, the performer of the title role has plenty of
opportunity to display her skill: two laments of the spurned Alcina (Ah! Mio cor and Mi restano le lagrime), a great scene of spells completing the
second act (Ah! Ruggiero crudel!... Ombre
pallide), and before that, a sensuous Di,
cor mio. Carestini was able to showcase all of the assets of his voice,
including virtuosic technique, in the aria Sta
nell’Ircana, while the final trio Non
è amor, nè gelosia was an encounter of partners worthy of each other.
It
could be said that all operas referring to Ariosto’s themes found significant
success, even Orlando Furioso of the
now forgotten Giovanni Alberto Ristori had nearly 50 performances in Venice in
the San Angelo theater in the fall of 1713. The following season Vivaldi found
himself facing the problem of how to achieve a similar success, undertaking the
same subject matter[14].
The literary tradition established by Ariosto’s poem also influenced
the character framework of another famous sorceress - Armida, and Rinaldo who
loved her. The twists and turns of their relationship are set against the
background of the first crusade (1096-1099) under the command of Godefroy de
Bouillon (Goffredo), who became the subject of one of the most famous narrative
poems in the world - Torquato Tasso’s Gerusalemme
liberata. Tasso worked on his monumental epic poem for about ten years and
finished it in 1575 (a metered Polish-language translation titled Gofred abo Jeruzalem wyzwolona came out
in 1618, penned by Piotr Kochanowski, the nephew of Jan from Czarnolas). Armida
turns out to be a particularly dangerous adversary for the Christian knights:
she has magical abilities like Circe, Medea, and Alcina, has a “magical
girdle,” like Aphrodite, arouses erotic longings in the crusaders, and finally,
feigns being orphaned to Goffredo (and helping such persons was one of the
elements of the knightly ethos). Her fascinating beauty cannot be forgotten:
The playful wind affords her locks new curls
which vie with nature’s crispy ringlets sweet.
Her avid eyes are modestly bent down,
hiding Love’s treasures and her own as well (…)
Her lovely breast reveals its whitest snows
where fire of Love is fed and kept alive.
Part of her breasts, unripe and hard, is seen,
and part an envious dress hides from men’s eyes -
an envious dress that, yes, obstructs men’s glance
but cannot halt the flame of their desire,
which, not yet sated with external sheen,
craves for more beauty, hidden deep within.[15]
It is not surprising then that thanks to her beauty and magic Armida
was able to deceitfully lure knights to her enchanted garden, the description
of which sounds much like biblical paradise:
They found a warm and lovely summer sky,
and a wide-winding meadow on the peak.
Cool breezes, ever fragrant, ever sweet,
were blowing in a steady, soothing way;
and there the sun, as in no other place,
fell on that coolness with its circling rays […]
Forever luminous, forever white
the sky was there, and knew no summer flame
nor wintry frost, and to the mead gave grass,
to the grass buds, to the buds scent, and shade
to the trees. In a lake, a rich, fair palace
towered on neighboring mountains, seas, and valleys[16].
These and similar splendors turned out to be a trap and the garden, a
place of imprisonment. Only those who bent to Armida’s will and took part in
her pagan rites were able use them. In case of apparent disobedience, Armida
threatened them with inevitable punishment:
Not one of you shall see the sun
You will be a tree and you a stone,
That one gets wings…a horse, a dog,
These others shall turn into mute cattle and hogs[17].
Tasso wrote his poem after the Council of Trent, when the church prescribed
that poets abandon themes of antiquity and take up religious subject matters. It
was necessary then to show not only the actions of historical characters, but
also metaphysical forces deciding about the transformation of history. This
juxtaposition must have resulted in many complications, which Tasso was able to
surmount in an innovative way by introducing elements of the fantastic. They
helped to reconcile the rational knowledge and the irrational, while at the
same time deciding about the attractiveness of Tasso’s plots in the first two
centuries of the history of opera. The first composer who drew upon the text of
Gerusalemme liberata was Claudio
Monteverdi. His famous Combattimento di
Tancredi e Clorinda served as a manifesto of a new style of music. The text
of his Combattimento was not a
libretto though, but literally a cited fragment of the epic (the particular
role of Testo, the narrator, was a result of this). In the near future the
authors of opera librettos would adopt a very liberal approach to plot strands
plentifully drawn from poems of Ariosto and Tasso, as well as other literary
masterpieces.
The stage career of Armida began in the year 1686, when the subject,
personally chosen by Ludwig XIV, was given a poetic and musical setting by the
reliable duo, who for many years created many operas for Versailles. This was
the final collaboration between Jean-Baptiste Lully and his librettist Philippe
Quinault. Despite a chilly reception of the premiere, Armida was recreated many times, also in the XX century, riding the
wave of informed, historically-correct performance, and the interest in early
opera theater. Naturally, Armida of
the French master presents a completely different type of musical spectacle
than its contemporary Italian operas, and for admirers of belcanto it might seem to be a work from a different planet. Nikolaus
Harnoncourt, in his book The Musical
Dialogue, emphasizes that the fundamental opposition of the baroque
esthetic was the juxtaposition of French and Italian music. It was all a result
of a different mentality: the extraverted Italians, spontaneous and prone to
exaggeration in everything, expressed themselves through a freedom of form,
fantasy, and theatricality, while the controlled French above all valued self-restraint
of emotions, maintaining in everything a cult of the regular form[18]. It is amusing that the
Italian opera aesthetic and the ornaments characteristic of castrato singing
were battled with the eagerness of a neophyte by Jean-Baptiste Lully, a Florentine
naturalized in France: “[these ornaments] were not in Mr. de Lully’s taste, as
he was a devotee of truth and beauty […] Surely he would fire from the
orchestra any violinist who, by adding various inappropriate notes and
ornaments that ignored the harmony of the piece, ruined one of his concerts. Why
are we not demanding that all written music be performed as written?”[19]
It is important to remember that initially the most important figure in
opera was not the composer or even the librettist, but the so-called “stage
architect,” whose job it was to conjure on stage Alcina’s magical gardens, the
open abyss of hell, or the choirs of angels cascading from the clouds. Over
time singers came to the forefront; music receded into the shadow the demands of
the drama and became a display of vocal virtuosity. Lully’s compositional
ingenuity allowed him to create a fascinating score, rich with diverse
emotions, which enabled the singers to display their skills but also allowed
the audience to feast their eyes on the images of Armida on a winged chariot,
or a scene of destruction of her enchanted palace. Thanks to the imagination of
the architect Carlo Vigarani and the stage designer Jean Berain, the
performance received an impressive setting. The actual play is preceded by a
prologue in which—in keeping with the custom of the king’s court - Glory and
Wisdom sing about the virtues of King Ludwig. In act I we find out that Rinaldo
(known in French as Renaud) has just freed all of Armida’s prisoners, mocking her
magical powers. Furious, the sorceress vows revenge (Poursuivons jusqu’au trépas). Meanwhile Rinaldo falls into
disfavor with Goffredo and has to leave the Christian camp; from this point on
he will have to bear witness to his knightly virtues alone. One of the freed
knights, Artemidor, warns Rinaldo about Armida but Rinaldo is sure that he will
be able to resist the charms of her gaze. Armida and her uncle Hidraot call
forth the evil spirits (Esprit de haine
et de rage) as Rinaldo appears on the bank of the river. He admires the
beautiful landscape and falls asleep. Immediately he is surrounded by magical
creatures, naiads, nymphs, shepherds and shepherdesses called forth by Armida. She
herself comes closer in order to kill him (Enfin,
il est en ma puissance), but his beauty completely disarms her. In act III
Armida makes desperate efforts to conquer Rinaldo’s heart but he remains
somewhat indifferent. The sorceress then calls on Hatred and her entourage to
come to her aid but when Hatred sees Armida so entirely helpless in the face of
love, she abandons her with disdain (Suis
l’Amour, puisque tu le veux). In Act IV Ubaldo and the Danish knight, armed
with a wand and a magic shield, set out to find Rinaldo. Thanks to these
effecting “artifacts” they easily fight off various monsters and reach the
magical grove where Rinaldo has been staying. Here they are tested: each one
imagines that he sees his beloved (or course, this is Armida’s magic) and only
the use of the magic wand can dispel the hallucinations. In the final act,
Rinaldo surrenders to Armida’s seductive power and the two declare their love
for each other, although her heart holds a twinge of doubt. She knows that she
has a rival whose name is Glory (and thus no woman can really occupy the heart
of the hero). Taking advantage of a momentary absence of the sorceress, Ubaldo
and the Danish knight show Rinaldo the diamond shield so that he can understand
the depth of his downfall. At that moment his knightly virtue reawakens, he
grabs a sword and walks away, impervious to the entreaties and pleas of Armida,
who faints in despair. When she regains her consciousness, she curses her
unfaithful lover, destroys her palace, and flies away on a winged chariot (Le perfide Renaud me fruit).
In the finale Rinaldo casts aside Armida’s love without hesitation. He
must do so because he is a Christian and therefore cannot have feelings for a
woman who represents the pagan world and its cult of sensual pleasures and
magic. He is also a crusader and he must put chivalrous duty above earthly
pleasures. The thoughts of Ubaldo and the Danish knight led towards Lucinda and
Melissa, even without the assistance of Armida’s magic, while no woman can
preoccupy Rinaldo’s thoughts. The expression of emotions in Lully’s Armida was
subject to a strictly observed stylization of affect. His operas had a five-act
form (like the classical French tragedy) and distinguished themselves by the
force of their staging. Monumental choirs took part in the drama or commented
on the action (this was also a characteristic of the XIX century grand opera). Elaborate ballet scenes (divertissements) concluded particular
acts. Solo parts were dominated by the recitative, but a different one than in
Italian opera. There it was performed with significant rhythmic freedom,
modeled on the natural flow of speech. In Lully’s opera it flowed rhythmically
with the meter of the poem (the exalted declamation of the actors of the
Comédie Franc̹aise was a model). The music developed continuously, without
interruptions and it did not have successive “numbers.” Arias appeared
extremely sporadically and were deprived of coloratura; the accompaniment of
harpsichord and cello made them much like recitatives. The biggest impression
was made by the choral and ballet scenes, as well as the illustrative music
accompanying the staging effects.
Before she sings her charming aria Lascia
ch’io pianga mia cruda sorte, Almirena - who is in love with Rinaldo - complains
about the “Pitiless Armida,” the first in a line of Haendel’s enamored
sorceresses. Independently of Haendel’s compositional genius, his Rinaldo (1711, second version 1731) was
also a showcase opportunity for Aaron Hill, the manager of the Queen’s Theater,
who decided to treat the London public to a great spectacle of machines and
decorations. Jointly with Giacomo Rossi he wrote the libretto while Haendel
finished the score in two weeks. This is entirely possible since there are in
this piece many alterations of music derived from his earlier
compositions—Italian cantatas, oratorios (La
Resurrezione , Il
trionfo del tempo e del disinganno), and even operas (Agrippina). We can see this looking at Almirena as an example: her
syncopated Bel piacere è godere il fido
amor is borrowed from Poppea from the second act of Agrippina, while the famous Lascia
ch’io pianga comes from Piacere’s aria Lascia
la spina from Il trionfo del Tempo e
del Disinganno[20].
In comparison to the libretto which Quinault wrote for Lully, here we
actually have a change in the motivations of the main character. In the French
version, Armida’s rival was the virtue of chivalry; here, it is another woman -
Almirena, the daughter of Goffredo, in reciprocated love with Rinaldo. Already
in the beginning the commander of the crusading army promises him the hand of
his daughter in marriage as a reward for help in conquering Jerusalem. Argante,
the Saracen king, asks for a three-day truce and, after Goffredo agrees, he
calls for his lover Armida. Her role is a spectacular one, with an entry on a
chariot drawn by dragons (Furie
terribili), a great revenge aria Vo
far guerrra ornamented with a virtuosic harpsichord part, and the
recitative and aria Ah, crudel, no
less effective.
Unlike in Lully’s opera, it is not Rinaldo who becomes a prisoner of
the sorceress but Almirena, whom the insidious Armida lures to her enchanted
garden with trickery. Rinaldo’s despair has no bounds, which comes across in
the monumental aria Cara sposa, amante
cara, dove sei? (act I, scene 7). Goffredo, notified of the misfortune,
promises the knight the help of Magio
Cristiano, or a Christian Wizard, and then both immediately set out towards
his dwelling. Along the way the hear the song of mermaids; lured by their song,
Rinaldo gets into the boat which—according to the mermaids’ promises—will take
him directly to his beloved. Meanwhile in Armida’s gardens, the bored Argante
makes advances to Almirena (act II, scene 4). The sorceress plans to kill
Rinaldo, but a single gaze from him makes her fall in love. While her magic
allows her to take the shape of Almirena, she is unable to trick him (Rinaldo’s
aria Abbruccio, avvampo e fremo). Initially
Armida despairs (Ah, crudel!), but
then she again takes on the shape of Almirena and involuntarily becomes the
object of Argante’s affections. Naturally, he has no idea who she really is. Her
rage explodes in full force:
Vo’ far guerra e vincir voglio I want war and I want
victory,
Collo sdegno chi m’offende Through fury at that
which insults me,
Vendicar i torti miei. I want to avenge my injuries.
Per abbatter quell’orgoglio, To assuage this pride
within,
Ch’il gran foco in sen
m’accende Which alights
the fire in my bosom,
Saran
meco gli stessi dei. Only gods will
stand beside me.[21]
To
conquer the evil spirits and to lead to the vital lieto fine, the commander of the crusaders turns to the Mago Cristiano for advice and receives a
magic wand. With its assistance Goffredo and his knights conquer the monsters
that guard the access to Armida’s castello
incantate (enchanted castle). With a touch of the wand the castle
disappears (it is, after all, only a satanic illusion). The sorceress attempts
to stab her rival with a dagger but she is freed by Rinaldo. The wand of the
Mago Cristiano is used once again, this time making the enchanted garden
vanish, revealing Jerusalem in the distance. During the deciding battle between
the Saracen army and the crusader forces, the pagans flee in panic while
Argante and Armida are taken captive. Armida destroys her wand, renouncing the
pagan beliefs: “il vostro rito io piglio”.
The happy reunion of the two lovers and the unexpected act of humility on the
part of the antagonists result in the final sextet of a moralistic flavor:
Vinto è sol della virtù Only
the virtue of love
Degli affetti il reo livor. Can conquer ignoble envy.
E felice è sol qua giù Here, only he is happy
The
conversion of Armida and Argante in the finale of the opera was true to the
tastes and preferences of the period. Metastasio’s well-known libretto Betulia liberata (Liberation of Bethula),
established in the history of music because of an opera by the young Mozart,
was based on the story of Judith and Holofernes. Yet neither Hasse—the composer
most devoted to Metastasio - nor Haendel - who knew the libretto and must have
been drawn to the story of Judith—wrote music for this work. In Metastasio’s
libretto Judith did not play a main role and neither did Holofernes, who does
not even make an appearance on stage. What is most important here is the
conversion of Achior, the prince of Ammonites[23].
Nearly
100 years after Lully, Quinault’s libretto - the last and best from under his
pen -was used again by Christopher Willibald Gluck (1777). This was a daring
move since somewhat earlier efforts of setting Quinault’s texts by Mondonville
(Thésée - Theseus) and La Borde (Amadis de Gaule) were met with failure. Gluck’s Armida held its place in the repertoire
of the Royal Academy of Music (the official name of the Paris opera at the
time) until 1837. Later this work was brought back to the stage by some of the
great masters of the baton: Tullio Serafin (La Scala ), Arturo Toscanini (Metropolitan Opera),
and recently Marc Minkowski (Versailles). Leaving behind all of the virtuosic
splendor characteristic of Neapolitan opera, Gluck put much emphasis on the
closest possible relationship between the word and its most appropriate musical
expression. He created a more “realistic” Armida,
with a well-outlined depiction of the title character, with lively and
compact action, giving the orchestra the role of commentator of events. The
perfection of Gluck’s music and its emotional saturation prompted reactions of
delight, which were directed towards this score in abundance in the XIX
century.
Armida is the last opera of Joseph Haydn that was performed during his life
at the Esterhazy palace theater, in 1784. It was also his only opera seria known by his contemporaries. The
author of the text (unknown to us but likely to have been Nunziato Porta who
worked on Haydn’s Orlando Paladino)
compiled several older librettos devoted to the sorceress from Damascus and her
unrequited love - and he had at his disposition significantly more examples
than the previously mentioned works of Lully, Haendel, and Gluck. The storyline
of Armida appealed to many other composers over the course of 100 years, such
as Antonio Tozzi, Vincenzo Manfredini, Pasquale Anfossi, Niccolo Jommelli,
Johann Gottlieb Naumann, Giovanni Gazzaniga, Antonio Salieri, and Luigi
Cherubini.
Haydn’s
librettist limited the number of characters to six. There is no Almirena and
Rinaldo - in love with the sorceress - must choose between the love for a woman
who fascinates him, and the duties of a Christian knight. Armida’s magic is
powerful enough for Rinaldo to abandon the ranks of the crusaders in order to
command the Saracen army. The plot of the opera begins with Rinaldo already in
“sweet captivity,” promising to fight for the Saracen side (aria Vado a pugnar contento). The Christian
army, led by Ubaldo, marches out to battle but is deterred by a storm, clearly
of supernatural origins. Ubaldo finds Rinaldo and, after bitterly reproaching
him, shows him a diamond shield (like in Quinault’s version) that he received from
Peter the Hermit, which restores Rinaldo’s memory[24] . The knight must choose between
his love for a beautiful sorceress and fame (accompagnato Armida... Oh affanno! and the aria Cara, è vero, io son tiranno). Knightly
duty wins out - “ma il dover, la gloria,
il fato, la mia fede” (but the duty,
fame, fate, my faith) - and Rinaldo and Ubaldo return to the Christian
camp. Armida regains consciousness and upon seeing what has happened, despairs
having lost her lover (accompagnato
Barbaro! E ardisci ancor and the virtuosic aria Odio, furor, dispetto). In a moment she will disturb Rinaldo’s
jubilant welcome in the camp by throwing herself at his feet (trio Partirò, mia pensa, ingrato).
Without
a doubt, act III is the most interesting. Rinaldo makes his way through
Armida’s enchanted forest, singing the impressive accompagnato Questo dunque è la selva. He wants to conquer the
pagan kingdom and in order to do this, needs a branch of the magical myrtle (il mirto fatal). Before he is able to
fulfill his intentions, he is surrounded by nymphs and falls under the spell of
the enchanted forest. Among the nymphs is Zelmira, the daughter of the Egyptian
sultan (aria Torna pure il caro bene).
Resistant to witchcraft, Rinaldo raises his sword to cut off the branch and at
that point Armida appears. Once again she begs for mercy (aria Ah, non ferir); she asks Rinaldo to
destroy the entire forest but to spare the myrtle. A moment of hesitation on
the part of the hero is taken advantage of by Furies, who fly out of the myrtle
bush and block his path. After the next accompagnato
for two voices, Rinaldo sings the aria Dei
pietosi. He regains his strength, shakes of all doubt, and tears out the myrtle
bush along with its roots. The enchanted kingdom vanishes and Armida, Zelmira,
and the Saracen king Idreno beg Rinaldo for mercy. The final words of the
knight: Armida, addio, vita mia, addio (Armida, farewell, my life, farewell) and
her response: Mostro, di crudeltà̀! (Cruel monster!) do not leave any
illusions as to the future. Armida escapes on the indispensable carro infernale, an infernal chariot.
Haydn
endowed his opera with numerous accompagnato
recitatives, which form the framework of the whole; they precede the carefully
arranged arias which are full of emotional expression. His Armida is relatively short and compact when it comes thematic
matter, showy and full of invention for the singers.
The
year 1817 was one of the most successful for Gioachino Rossini, the musical
pride of Italy and the great master of the operatic stage. That year he wrote
his last opera buffa - La Cenerentola (Cinderella) for the Roman Teatro Valle -
and soon after, La gazza ladra (The Thieving Magpie), for the Milanese La Scala , an opera which was
seen by the librettist as a dramatic tale with a cheerful ending (in those days
it was described as an opera semiseria).
After its premiere, on May 31,
a new task awaited Rossini. The famous impresario Domenico
Barbaja commissioned Armida from him,
selecting the date of the premiere in the Fall of the same year. Thanks to the
collaboration with Barbaja, who promoted great singers such as Rubini and
Nourrit, the doors to the prestigious Neapolitan Teatro di San Carlo were
opened wide for Rossini. An innate talent, a rare ability to compose very
quickly, and skillful transfer of music from one opera to another made it
possible for Barbaja to always be able to count on Rossini to deliver. The
libretto was ready. It was drawn up by Giovanni Federico Schmidt—a mediocre
writer who was completely unable to utilize any of the theatrical elements of
the storyline and did not think to borrow this or that from his predecessors.
The
opera prepared by Rossini was designated for the opening of the San Carlo
theater - which was rebuilt after a fire - it was supposed to impress with its
music as well as its staging. Indeed, Armida’s
premiere marked its place in history as a particular achievement of theatrical
machinery and contemporary stage design of the time. The heroine’s palace and
enchanted garden, her dragon-drawn chariot which, cast under a spell, turns
into a huge bed of flowers, demons, nymphs, fireworks—everything came together
as a rich setting for the spectacle. Its only competition could have been the
future ideas of the Paris opera designers and decorators. To this entire
endeavor it is necessary to add Isabella Colbran - the Spanish coloratura
soprano and one of the most admired singers in this era of big voices (she was
soon to marry Rossini) - and her four accompanying tenors, whose parts required
uncommon vocal skills. Despite all of these splendors, the Neapolitan audience
gave Armida a chilly reception,
accusing it of German influence.
The
poet Giovanni Schmidt, in creating a static libretto without much dramaturgy
and with a slow development of plot and action, did not make Rossini’s job any
easier. Armida’s deceit - along with her uncle Hidraot she appeared in the
Crusaders’ camp, disguised as allegedly the legitimate ruler of Damascus - is
not particularly ingenious since the leader of knights, Goffredo, had no
intentions of getting involved in conflicts between the Saracens. A side
tangent of envy between the Christian commanders (Gernando - Rinaldo) was
needed by the librettist probably only to justify Rinaldo’s escape with Armida.
Already earlier they were joined by some kind of emotions when the sorceress
saved the knight during battle; now these feelings were expressed in a duet Amor, possente nome. The entire act II
is used to present Armida’s kingdom. The wizard Astarotte calls on all of the
powers that serve Armida; then she arrives in her chariot and opens her
enchanted garden to Rinaldo - Kingdom of Love (D’amore al dolce impero). In act III, two Frankish knights (Ubaldo,
and Carlo) appear, equipped with the indispensable—since the days of Haendel - magic
wand, to free Rinaldo from Armida’s magic. The wand allows them to maintain
unshakable constancy in light of the procession of lustful nymphs and
indifference to the promises being exchanged by the lovers (duet Soavi catene). When Armida leaves, the
two companions pass Rinaldo the diamond shield in which he can see his pitiful
reflection, unworthy of a true knight. Thanks to God’s grace he regains his
strength and his lost knightly virtue. In despair, Armida tries to stop him
from leaving but her words fall on deaf ears; finally she begs for him to take
her life. This - of course - is just another opportunity for a vocal showcase -
the final Se al mio crudel tormento,
after which the sorceress destroys her magical palace and flies away on her
chariot, promising revenge. However, the public did not like this ending,
expecting a great aria di bravura
from the heroine, but instead having to listen to a chorus of evil spirits,
provoked into pursuit of Rinaldo.
The
only lively figure in this not particularly complicated puzzle is Armida. It is
not surprising, since Rossini was able to give this part to the great Isabella
Colbran. The entire title role of the heroine is an unending showcase of the
soprano voice. Central to this showcase is the rondo with variations D’amore al dolce impero, full of
unimaginable technical difficulties and expressive details that Rossini wrote
with a clear conviction that his
beloved lady would be able to sing. Such an extraordinary part requires a
worthy partner, with whom Armida performs three great love duets. Also, the
supporting tenor roles belong to the responsible—it is enough to listen to the
trio sung by Rinaldo, Ubaldo and Carlo in act III - In quale aspetto. The accusations expressed by the public at the
premiere, suspicious of “porcheria
tedesca” (German crap) stemmed from the orchestra score, which was
considered as too pompous and blamed for “overpowering” the voices. Yet, it
should be said fairly that the orchestral material (as well as some of the
choral fragments) only validates Rossini’s skill and imagination with tone
colors and harmony. Aside from that, however, in the output of the “Swan of
Pesaro,” Armida remains that which it
is in essence—a tribute to the greatness of the human voice.
Antonin
Dvořák was the last eminent composer who was interested in this subject that
had been exploited for two centuries. The absence of good librettos hindered
him from a more systematic output of operatic compositions. The other factor
complicating his work in this area was the desire to liberate himself from
nationalistic themes and subject matter and the quest for more universal
themes. The Armida libretto found
itself in Dvořák’s hands in 1902 - the work of Jaroslav Vrchlický who had
translated Gerusalemme liberata into
Czech, and eventually delivered the text of the Saint Ludmila oratorio to Rusalka’s
composer. Before Dvořák , Vrchlický tried to interest several other
composers in his Armida: Karel
Kovarovic, Zdenek Fibich, and Karel Bendl. The opera was completed in August of
1903 but suffered a painful defeat in Prague’s National Theater and since that
time the Czech stage has not granted it much attention.
The
plot unfolds in Damascus, where King Hidraot is given the news about the
approaching Christian army. Prince Ismen, who makes use of magic on an everyday
basis, advises the king to allow his opponent near the city gates and then to
send to him Armida, famous for her beauty and magic. Lost in dreams of love,
the princess at first refuses, but Ismen, who is secretly in love with her and
jealous, paints for her an image of the enemy army, where Armida notices the
object of her love - Rinaldo. The brave warrior, on the other hand, is haunted
by the vision of a beautiful woman. Armida appears in the crusader camp and
requests an audience with Goffredo (act II). Peter the hermit warns him about
this particular woman but Rinaldo recognizes in her the mysterious beauty from
his visions. During her audience, Armida promises to help in the battle with Hidraot
because - she claims - he overthrew her father, snatching away his throne
(Rossini’s librettist had the same idea). Goffredo’s hesitation distracts
Rinaldo, who is ready and willing to come to the aid of the princess. Their
feelings for each other develop rapidly, despite the efforts of Peter the
Hermit to interfere. However, it is then that Ismen appears on a magical
chariot and kidnaps the lovers. In act III we have Armida’s requisite gardens,
where the lovers surrender to sensual pleasures under the watchful eye of the
jealous Ismen, disguised as a hunchbacked old man. The prince demands the death
of his rival, however the princess refuses in the name of love. Ismen destroys
Armida’s palace which, with the help of her magic, she immediately rebuilds. Then
she turns over the shield of St. Michael—which is hidden in the castle—to the
Frankish knights, Sven and Ubaldo. We are already familiar with the shield’s
properties from earlier works dealing with the story of Armida—the shield makes
it possible to free Rinaldo from the supernatural powers and tear him from the
grasp of the sorceress. Yet another demolition of the castle by Ismen is
supposed to indicate the end of their love. In act IV the hero regains his
awareness and his sense of the chivalrous mission; he also becomes aware of his
recent downfall, while Peter the Hermit promises him absolution. With St.
Michael’s shield in hand, Rinaldo sets off into battle and fights a duel with a
mysterious knight in black armor. This is Armida in disguise but the young man
does not know it and kills his beloved. Yet, before the beautiful Saracen woman
dies, Rinaldo will manage to baptize her. The idea of the final conversion was
thought of by Aaron Hill and Giacomo Rossi, the authors of the libretto, which
was used by Haendel. Vrchlický borrowed this ending not from them, but rather
took it from a different fragment of Gerusalemme liberata. It is an episode of Canto XII, preserved in the history
of music as a dramatic madrigal of Monteverdi—Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda.
Dvořák’s
music is inconsistent: many fragments of the score give evidence to his
outstanding talent, but there are also borrowings from other composers, marking
the line of development of opera in the XIX century—especially Meyerbeer and
Wagner. Dvořák himself admitted to the relationship and similarity between his
magic scene (act III) and Venus’s cave in Tannhäuser.
The weakness of the libretto does not make the composer’s task any easier. At
the beginning Rinaldo is a bleak figure, lacking an inner energy; he takes on
heroic characteristics only in the final act. The title heroine’s character was
constructed much more skillfully, equipped with a rich and diverse range of
emotions. For her, Dvořák wrote a very brilliant and impressive part, however
difficult and requiring a very big voice.
Armida
enticed composers for about two centuries. This happened independently of the
evolution that opera went through from the time of Monteverdi to the end of the
XIX century, or any significant stylistic differences that separated Lully’s tragédie lyrique from Italian operas
written at the same time. The origin of the sorceress figure—with its extensive
tradition in mythology, folklore, and Italian and popular literature—extends
back to one of the most important works of the modern epic. Already at the
turning point between the Age Enlightenment and the Romantic Era, Tasso’s poem
was an element of lively and invariably inspiring literary tradition[25]. There is no doubt that
the audiences in private and public theaters, from London to Vienna, were
familiar with the tale of the knight and the beautiful sorceress, including
ending. The romantic thread, characteristic of opera librettos, had not only
the lieto fine that was required
until the end of the XVIII century, but also a moralizing solution. Rinaldo is
faced with making a necessary choice between amore profano (specifically—sensual pleasures) and virtue and
responsibility towards God and an earthly sovereign. Naturally, he chooses
knightly duty (in Haendel’s version, this includes an addition of a true—not
manipulated by magic—love for Almirena), and making the right decision is
helped by his own conscience, as well as objects meant to fend off magic (the
wand, the diamond shield). Independent of the frequent inclination of
librettists to complicate events, the plot of subsequent versions of Armida is usually simple and engages a
small number of characters (for example, Haydn only has six). The focus is on
Armida and Rinaldo, while the other characters play secondary roles, like
knights (usually there are two), who must find the imprisoned Rinaldo, restore
the clarity of his thinking, and free him from the sorceress’s influence. The
introduction of Almirena (Haendel) serves to complicate the plot, as she
appears in a dual role—the true love of Rinaldo, as well as the object of
Argante’s advances. In the end, chivalrous virtue triumphs, the Christian army
defeats the Saracens, Rinaldo regains his senses, and the defeated and
abandoned Armida flies away in a winged chariot (in two previously discussed
instances, she repents and accepts true faith).
Regardless
of this, there are two main reasons why Armida has remained on the opera stage
so long. The first is the fantasy, along with battle scenes and the spirit of
romance, that permeates the plot and the action; second—the irresistible
singing and music. From its beginnings, opera was first and foremost a showcase
for “stage architects,” then marvelously trained castrati and great prima donnas, and eventually a combination of
staging, production design, directing, special effects, vocal virtuosity, and
orchestration[26].
Even in the XIX century opera made use of theatrical machinery inherited from
the baroque era and enriched by the Parisian designers during the times of
Napoleon and the Restoration. Quite a lot is known about this, as opera
performances in the French capital were diligently reviewed in much detail,
newspapers and journals printed pictures showing the decorations and
“machines,” and many writers mention it[27]. These performances were
also diligently watched by the Polish romantics, leaving behind many detailed
and competent accounts and descriptions.
The
second reason is the high level of standards and expectations that the
composers mentioned here demanded from the performers of their operas,
especially the women taking on the title role. The great voices that Haendel or
Rossini had at their disposal are a rarity today.
It
is not without reason that after the rejection of the belcanto and grand opéra aesthetics,
the interest in the Armida theme declined. Although the unrestricted flight of
imagination of today’s directors allows us to suppose that one day we will see
this story on a stage absent of any decoration, or presented within the context
of a large corporation, nevertheless the story of the “love spells” of the
captivating Saracen beauty has inseparably fused with the historical forms of
opera theater.
[1] Praktyczny słownik
współczesnej polszczyzny (A Practical Dictionary of
Contemporary Polish), ed. H. Zgółkowa, Poznań 1996, v. 7, p. 392.
[2] See P. Kamiński, Tysiąc i jedna opera (One
Thousand and One Operas), Kraków
2008, vol. 1, p. 239.
[3] Lachner’s recitatives were also translated into French when in the
80’s the part of Medea was sung at the Paris Opera by Shirley Verrett.
[4] Marion Zimmer Bradley’s contemporary novel The Mists of Avalon (Mgły
Avalonu, Polish ed., Poznań ,
2001) focuses on the character of Morgana La Fay and references Arthurian themes.
[5] The forest
of Broceliande actually
existed, as found by the XII-century historian Wace. See
Opowieści Okrągłego Stołu (Tales of the Round Table), transl. K. Dolatowska and T. Komendant, Warszawa
1987, p. 17.
[6] The product of this “unwanted” union was Galahad, who ultimately finds
the Holy Grail.
[7] Geoffrey of Monmouth, XII-century bishop of St. Asaph, was the author
of Historia Regum Britanniae, a work in which he devoted much space to
Arthurian themes. Laghamon, a poet living in the XII/XIII century, wrote the
first English language poem about Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Chrétien
de Troyes, a XII-century trouvére, is credited with the most well-known
versions of the Arthurian legends. Wolfram von Eschenbach was the creator of
the epic about Parsifal.
[8] See V. Propp, Morfologia bajki (Morphology of the folktale), transl. Wiesława Wojtyga-Zagórska, Warsaw, 1976; V. Propp, Historyczne
korzenie bajki magicznej (Historical
Roots of Fairy Tales), transl. Jacek
Chmielewski, Warsaw, 2003; B. Bettelheim, Cudowne
i pożyteczne. O znaczeniach i wartościach baśni (The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales), transl. D. Danek, Warsaw, 1997.
[9] La liberazione di Ruggiero was
performed in 1625 at the Medici court in Florence ,
in honor of the visiting prince Władysława Waza (later the Polish king
Władysława IV), to whom it was dedicated. The Polish-language translation of
the text, done by Stanisław Serafin Jagodyński, titled Wybawienie Ruggiera z wyspy Alcyny, was published in Kraków w 1628
r. See J. Żurawska, Pod maską Alcyny,
Napoli, 1996.
[10] S. Jagodyński, Wybawienie
Ruggiera z wyspy Alcyny (The Liberation
of Ruggiero from the island
of Alcina ), cited in
J. Żurawska, op. cit., pp. 78-79.
[11] S. Jagodyński, Wybawienie
Ruggiera z wyspy Alcyny (The
Liberation of Ruggiero from the island
of Alcina ), cited in
J. Żurawska, op. cit., p. 79.
[12] See P. Kamiński, op. cit,. vol. 1, p. 828.
[13] See P. Ryom, Verzeichnis der
Werke Antonio Vivaldis, Leipzig 1974, p. 128; M. Talbot, Vivaldi, transl. H. Dunicz-Niwińska, Kraków 1988, passim.
[14] M. Talbot, op. cit, p. 30.
[15] T. Tasso, Gofred abo Jeruzalem wyzwolona (Gerusalemme
Liberata), transl. P. Kochanowski, ed. R. Pollak,
Wrocław, 1951, BN II 4, pp. 112-113. English translation by J. Tusiani,
Cranbury, 1970, p. 100.
[16] T. Tasso, op. cit., p. 341. English translation by J. Tusiani,
Cranbury, 1970, p. 334.
[17] T. Tasso, op. cit., p. 343.
[18] See N.
Harnoncourt , Muzyka mową
dźwięków (Baroque Music Today: Music
As Speech: Ways to a New Understanding of Music), transl. M. Czajka, Warszawa 1995, chapter: Styl włoski i styl francuski.
[19] N. Harnoncourt, op. cit., pp. 183-184.
[20] See Bernd Baselt, Händel-Handbuch.
Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis, Bd. 2: Oratorische Werke, Vokale Kammermusik, Leipzig 1984, p. 33, 36.
[21] G.F. Haendel, op. cit., act II, scene 8, no. 27.
[22] G.F. Haendel, op. cit., act
III, scene 13, no. 40.
[23] See A. Einstein, Mozart –
człowiek i dzieło (Mozart—His
Character, His Work), transl. A. Rieger, Kraków 1983, pp. 389-391.
[24] Peter from Amiens ,
known as Peter the Hermit, wandering monk and priest, leader of the so-called
People’s Crusade in 1096 r. See S. Runciman, Dzieje wypraw krzyżowych (A
History of the Crusades), transl. J. Schwakopf, Warszawa 1987, vol. 1, pp. 119-130.
[25] See A. Aleksandrowicz, Izabela Czartoryska – polskość i
europejskość (Izabela Czartoryska: Polishness and Europeaness), Lublin 1998.
[26] I wrote about this more extensively in: S. Münch, Co to jest grand opera (What
is Grand Opera), „Pamiętnik Teatralny” 1983, z. 3, pp. 167-187.
[27] J. Moynet, L’Envers du theatre,
machines et decorations, Paris, 1875; M.A. Allevy-Viala, Inscenizacja romantyczna we Francji, Warszawa
1958.