Music and Politics: Va Pensiero

On March 9, 1842, Giuseppe Verdi's Nabucco premiered in Milan, Italy. One of the highlights of the opera is the Hebrew Slaves' chorus, "Va pensiero". It is traditionally encored, as in this performance. This BBC website provides some background to explain its political significance:

When Nabucco had its premiere at La Scala in 1842, ‘Italy’ was simply a cluster of geographically contiguous kingdoms and principalities with little more to unite them than a common language.

So when Italians sang the Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves at Verdi’s funeral procession, it wasn’t just because it was a catchy tune they knew the words to. Its subject – the Israelites giving poignant voice to their longing for the promised land – had become a powerful analogue for the long-frustrated desires of the Italian people. When they cried “Viva Verdi!” during the funeral procession, they were still acutely conscious of the slogan’s double meaning and its clandestine resonance for the agitators of ‘the Risorgimento’, as the cause of Italian nationalism was known. The letters VERDI also spelled out the name of the King of Sardinia who, in 1861, finally took the throne of a unified nation for the first time since the 6th Century – Victor Emmanuele Re D’Italia.

But this article from The Guardian argues that the political impact of the chorus is more complicated than that:

In spite of all this latter-day boosting, there is, alas, no evidence that the chorus excited patriotic fervour in its early years (a often-repeated tale about it being encored on opening night by enflamed patriots is a blatant invention), True, it was popular with choral societies from the very start, both in Italy and abroad; and it also featured in the repertoire of the barrel organs whose proliferation so annoyed the emerging middle-classes in so many European cities. Indeed, there very few signs that Verdi's music in general was particularly inflammatory.

The most remarkable negative evidence comes from revolutionary Milan, in which so much of Verdi's early activity was centred. In March 1848, for a few brief months, the Milanese drove the Austrians out of their city. Artistic events in the wake of this insurrection were surprisingly plentiful: several theatres started up with patriotic plays; operas appeared soon after; Verdi's publisher Ricordi advertised a long series of patriotic hymns, including one by Rossini. Milan experienced a period of heady freedom; artistic endeavours were for the most part geared unequivocally to the political situation. But during the entire time, there was virtually no mention of Verdi. The composer supposed to have inspired the masses to the barricades, the very artistic symbol of the Risorgimento, was somehow ignored in the press of events.

By August, the Austrians were back in Milan. La Scala re-opened at the end of the year. In the midst of an extreme clampdown on any behaviour that could lead to further civil unrest, the authorities staged revivals of three of Verdi's most popular operas; two others (one of them Nabucco!) followed soon after. It seems impossible that any of these works had been actively associated with the failed revolution or its build-up.

Alas, the choice comes again: the truth or the legend? "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." John Ford's movies (The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance and Fort Apache) chose the latter, but let us entertain the former. Should opera companies stop encoring the chorus because the opening night encore is a deceptive legend?

The lyrics of "Va pensiero" are based on Psalm 136, which Phillipe De Monte and William Byrd set to music during the Recusant/Penal era in England, as this CD, The Word Unspoken explores:

Byrd was by no means the only major Catholic composer working in England during these years. Furthermore, there were English composers whose faith drove them to work abroad, as well as foreign composers who offered sympathy and encouragement to English catholics. Included in this latter category was the Flemish composer Phillipe De Monte who entered into a fascinating compositional correspondence with Byrd. Verses of Psalm 136 Super Flumina Babylonis (containing many allegorical references to the plight of catholics (sic) unable to practice their faith openly) were set to music and exchanged, in what is now seen as an encoded message of mutual support and friendship between brothers in faith.

The texts reveal the Catholic community’s sense of isolation (How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?—Quomodo Cantabimus) and bereavement (Jerusalem is wasted—Ne Irascaris), and the elaborate, poetic nature of the encoded messages distributed within it through music.

Elizabeth of Valois and the Black Legend

Philip II of Spain married four times: his third wife, Elizabeth of Valois, one of Henri II of France's daughters, was to marry his son Don Carlos. Instead, since Philip's second wife, Mary I of England, had died, Philip married Elizabeth of Valois, who died on October 3, 1568. Elizabeth died in childbirth after delivering a baby girl, who also died. Two of her children survived, the Infanta Isabella who would rule the Spanish Netherlands and Catherine Michelle who would marry the Duke of Savoy.

Philip II then married one more time, to Anna of Austria, who was to have married Don Carlos, who had died just a few months before Elizabeth of Valois after being imprisoned by his father.

The imprisonment and death of Don Carlos is part of the Black Legend of Spain, depicted romantically in Verdi's opera, Don Carlo(s)--Italian or French--based on Schiller's play. The Spanish Inquisition influences Philip II, ordering the murder of Don Carlos' friend Rodrigo and countenancing the murder of Don Carlos himself if Philip II deems necessary. This plot summary from the Metropolitan Opera (of the five act French version) describes the power of the Inquisition:

In his study at night, the king reflects on his life with a wife who doesn’t love him. He consults with the old and blind Grand Inquisitor, who consents to the death sentence for Carlo: as God sacrificed his son to save mankind so Philip must stifle his love for his son for the sake of the faith. The Inquisitor also demands that Posa be handed over to him. As he leaves, Philip wonders if the throne must always yield to the altar. Elisabeth enters, having discovered that her jewel case has been stolen. Eboli, who knows that Elisabeth keeps a portrait of Carlo in it, had taken the box and given it to the king. Philip now shows the box to Elisabeth, takes out the portrait, and accuses her of adultery. Elisabeth collapses and the king calls for help. Eboli and Posa rush in, he to express amazement that a king who rules half the world cannot govern his own emotions, she to feel remorse at what her jealousy has brought about. Alone with Elisabeth, Eboli confesses that she not only falsely accused her but that she has been the king’s mistress. Elisabeth orders her from the court. Eboli laments her fatal beauty and swears to spend her final day in Spain trying to save Carlo.

Posa visits Carlo in prison to tell him that he has used the secret papers to take upon himself the blame for the Flemish rebellion. He is now a marked man, so Carlo must take up the cause of liberty for Flanders. Posa is shot by agents of the Inquisition. As he dies he tells Carlo that Elisabeth will meet him at the monastery of St. Just and declares he is happy to have sacrificed his life for a man who will become Spain’s savior.

In reality, Philip II and Elizabeth of Valois were a loving husband and wife, Don Carlos was mentally unbalanced and dangerous because of the usual Spanish inbreeding and a blow to the head, and the Inquisition was never that powerful an influence on the king. But without Schiller's fiction and Verdi's opera, we would not have the great aria of Filippo II, "Ella giammai m'amo!"(Italian version, of course.)

Not Shakespeare's "Othello", nor Verdi's "Otello" . . .

. . . but Rossini's Otello was in our CD player this weekend, the digitally remastered version of Philips 1979 premiere recording with Jose Carreras, Frederica von Stade, and Samuel Ramey:

You do have to forget about Shakespeare's Othello, because as the liner notes in the CD state, Rossini's librettist turned the story into the usual tale of a secret marriage and animosity between rivals. Iago is not the great tempter of Otello, and Rodrigo has a much bigger role. Desdemona and Otello don't have any romantic duets at all--in fact, they sing only one duet and that is when Otello is preparing to kill Desdemona! This is not a tragedy, but an opera seria, and Rossini even wrote a comic--that is, happy--ending in which Otello and Desdemona are reconciled! (This recording ends with Otello killing Desdemona and then himself: no bacio, however.)

Here is the cover from the original LP release, which we also own:

 

Carreras appears in makeup as the Moor on the cover and in the booklet, and von Stade is also pictured in makeup and costume in the booklet, while the other singers are photographed in the recording studio. There was no stage production before the recording, however, as there had been of Massenet's Werther before von Stade and Carreras recorded it (at Covent Garden in 1980). In both recordings, however, Frederica von Stade was singing in her prime and with great dramatic fervour and affect. Years later, von Stade sang the aria "Assisa a' piè d'un salice" (The Willow Song) at a gala, and the harpist who accompanied her posted this on her blog about the experience!