#opera summary

The Prologue starts off with a orchestral prelude (technically in C major, but it’s pretty tonally adventurous, at least in my opinion) that features at least one musical motif that we will definitely hear later on, and at some point during it, Tonio, a baritone with really bad kyphosis (we’re in 2023, and we should normalize the fact that the term “hunchback” is considered derogatory. Thank you, @madmozarteanfelinefantasy, for making me realize that long ago) dressed in his Commedia dell’arte costume, comes in from behind the still-closed curtain and directly addresses the audience, introducing himself as the Prologue (Prologue: Si può? Si può?; “Could you? Could you?” or something like that. It’s not every day that you see an opera character breaking the 4th wall!).

He claims that the author himself is using the ways of old-fashioned performing arts in his work, which is why he sent him (the Prologue) to speak to the audience. But NOT to give out that typical speech about how they should not be alarmed because the tears and agonies that will be shown onstage are not real and blah blah blah blah blah (man, this gives me severe flashbacks to reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream back in Grade 10 English class), but rather to tell them quite passionately that the author chose to depict a real story that he was reminded of one day, that he penned it with genuine tears and sobs (are you sure it was not ambition to match/surpass Mascagni at this verismo thing?? 😏), and that all the love, hate, screams of rage and cynical laughter that will be shown onstage will be depicted as in real life, and that the performers are real people of flesh and blood who breathe the same air as the audience (man, for a debut in verismo, Leoncavallo really be fucking hammering the meaning of verismo into our brains). That being said, he calls for the show to continue, and disappears behind the curtain.

The orchestra briefly reprises the main theme of the prelude before the curtain actually opens on Act 1. We are at a village located in the Italian province of Calabria, somewhere near the town of Montalto (Leoncavallo’s childhood homeplace), on the Feast of the Assumption (well, it literally says “on the day of the feast of mid-August”, but I guess that’s what it means), sometime between 1865 and1870 (yes, all these details are indicated in the libretto and the score). We hear an out-of-tune trumpet and a bass drum in the distance, and the peasants from the village, all men, women and children, rush to see where that sound is coming from (we also hear the offstage voices of two principals, but I’m too lazy to elaborate because it’s not very important). They joyfully announce the return of “Pagliaccio” (the Italian word for “clown”, but also a relatively close equivalent of the Commedia dell’arte stock character Pierrot) and his troupe of traveling performers (Chorus: Son qua! Son qua!; “They’re here! They’re here!” It slaps so fucking hard).

Indeed, a group of people enters the stage in a cart drawn by a donkey (obviously replaced with a truck or something in most modern-ish productions) (in the libretto, the men are dressed in their respective character costumes, which they will change out of later in that scene, but nearly every production I have watched has them dressed in everyday outfits throughout the whole scene, probably for practical reasons).

You’ve got Canio, the leader of the troupe, who is the one beating the drum; Nedda, his wife, who is literally just sitting there; Beppe (actually, there is a lot of debate as to whether his name is actually Beppe or Peppe, because Peppe is what is written in the older scores and libretti, but Beppe is the spelling we usually see nowadays, so that’s the one I will be going with) who is the one leading the donkey, and Tonio, the most-likely Tired Of Life™ Ugly Designated Fool we have met earlier. Everyone cheers for Pagliaccio (Canio, that is), the prince of clowns who supposedly drives troubles away with his cheerfulness (I mean, this is rural Italy in the 19th century, obviously he is going to get a massive fan-club).

After thanking the crowd (and loudly beating his drum to stop them from interrupting him), Canio, a tenor with a significant amount of vocal maturity required (and THIS time, it does actually make more sense for this age to reflect that!!!!), announces that he and his troupe are putting up a show this evening at the twenty-third hour*, where they will see antics involving, among other things, the good Pagliaccio setting a trap and getting revenge. It’s at the twenty-third hour, do not forget!

(*Note: the actual term here is “ventitre ore”, which does translate to “the twenty-third hour”, but according to what I read, this is NOT supposed to mean “11 PM”, but is actually a timekeeping method from rural Italy way back in the days, that calculated the time based on the parts of day during which the Angelus (or “avemaria” in Italian) was recited, meaning that in this case, the show will be presented between vespers and the evening Angelus/avemaria, i.e., sometime before/at sunset. That makes much more sense than 11 PM tbh.)

Anyway, the villagers confirm that they will indeed be there at the twenty-third hour, and a bit of confirmation-repetition ensues between them and Canio. After that, Tonio goes to help Nedda off the cart, but Canio beats him to it and slaps him, telling him to fuck off (not literally, but you get what I mean). Everyone laughs at him, and Tonio internally swears revenge. A villager (who is either a baritone or a bass because his music is written in bass clef, but there is literally zero info besides that, and I have the vocal cords of a little girl so I can’t give a more precise decision) asks Canio if he wants to join them for drinks, which he accepts, and Beppe (who happens to be a tenor with much less required vocal maturity than Canio) asks to join in as well.

When Canio asks Tonio if he wants to come as well, Tonio tells them to go ahead, saying that he wants to clean the donkey. Another villager (a tenor, given his music in treble clef) jokes that Tonio wants to stay alone in order to make a pass at Nedda, but Canio does not take it very well. He warns the villagers not to play such games with him, and explains that while onstage as Pagliaccio, if he finds his wife with another man, he would simply give her a silly lecture and then calm down and probably get the crap beaten out of him or something (I’m not sure if that’s exactly what he means) and the audience laughs and cheers and all’s well that ends well, in typical Commedia dell’arte fashion. But if he were to actually find Nedda cheating on him in real life... well, the story would have a very different ending (Un tal gioco, credetemi; “Such a game, believe me”. I’m not sure if this really qualifies as an aria. Foreshadowing much??). Nedda, a soprano with a voice much more youthful and lyrical than her husband (which is kinda telling), very briefly internally expresses uneasiness of some sort. The male chorus of villagers asks him if he is really serious about this. Canio replies: “excuse me, I love my wife!” (it’s not clear to me whether he is actually answering yes or no to the question, and the different translations I have seen seem to conflict with each other.) As he says that, he kisses her on the forehead.

At this moment, we hear what is supposed to be the sound of bagpipes (tho in the score, it’s apparently meant to be represented by oboes??). According to the chorus, it’s pipers who are accompanying a gaggle of happy couples on their way to church. Sure enough, church bells start ringing vespers. After Canio reminds them yet again that the show is at the twenty-third hour, the chorus happily leaves to go to church, all while imitating the “din don” sound of the bells (Chorus: I zampognari!; “The pipers!”. In the libretto, the aforementioned pipers and couples appear onstage at one point, but I don’t think that’s necessary), while Canio and Beppe go offstage with some of the men from the village.

Nedda, left all alone onstage, expresses worry over the apparent violence in Canio’s manner, fearing that he might uncover her secret thoughts. But she brushes that off as silly, fearful dreams, and decides to focus instead on the beautiful mid-August sunshine, which fills her with life and a desire she can’t identify. She looks up at the sky, and sees a bunch of birds flying above (represented in the orchestra by high woodwinds and violins playing tremolo (meaning “trembling” in Italian; in this specific case, it’s quickly alternating two notes that are not too close to each other); she mentions their screeching). She asks herself what they are seeking, where they are going, all that. She mentions that her mother, who was a fortune-teller, understood their birdsong, and used to sing it to her when she was a child; she imitates it by trilling (i.e., alternating two notes close to each other very quickly. I myself have yet to learn this technique in singing, tho my teacher did say long ago that I would someday).

Nedda goes on to talk all about how birds fly in the sky, free like arrows, defying clouds and the sun, following a dream. Nothing can stop them, not even the wind, storms, rain, or lighting, as they fly above chasms and seas (insert that one John Cena “Are you sure about that?” meme that probably no one else rememebers bc it dates back from when Vine was still alive). Perhaps they are vainly seeking a strange land they have been dreaming of, but they are driven by a mysterious power that pushes them to fly on and on (Recitative and ballatella (probably meaning “ballad” or something like that): Stridono lassù; “They screech up there”).

At some point during Nedda’s aria, Tonio has come onstage. When Nedda finishes, she notices him. He explains that he was enraptured by her singing. She dismisses him in an amused manner and tells him to join the others at the tavern. He tells her that while he may be a deformed guy who arouses nothing but mockery and disgust, he harbors sincere dreams of love, and experiences genuine anguish whenever she passes by him disdainfully, she literally has him under her spell!

Nedda obviously does not take him seriously, and tells him that he will have time to give her this declaration of love again when they perform onstage this evening, but that he should spare himself the trouble right now. As he angrily insists that he truly wants her right now and that he will make her his, she continues to mock him and then threatens to call Canio (damn, on one hand, Tonio is definitely a massive dick who doesn’t take no for an answer, but on the other, Nedda is most likely mocking him for his physical difference, at least in great part, which is definitely quite assholish; but that also applies to everyone else in this opera). At which point Tonio attempts to force himself onto her, but she grabs Beppe’s whip (the one used for the donkey) and whacks him across his face with it. As he leaves offstage, Tonio swears on the Virgin of the Assumption that she will pay for this. Nedda calls him a snake, saying that his soul is as deformed as his body (yes, actual line in the libretto. Tonio’s characterization did NOT age well at all).

Immediately after that, someone else joins Nedda onstage. It’s Silvio, another baritone who is definitely much hunkier than the previously-seen one, and a young local from the village who happens to be Nedda’s lover. So she is indeed cheating on Canio as was feared!! Man, it’s not every day that you see the soprano cheat on a tenor with a baritone; usually it’s the other way round. Anyway, Nedda chides Silvio’s rashness in showing up at this hour of day, but he assures her that they risk nothing because Canio and Beppe are still drinking at the tavern, but even so, he was careful to sneak through a scrub he was familiar with to join her. Nedda tells him that he narrowly avoided bumping into Tonio, who just told her he loves her and attempted to force himself onto her, but that she managed to push him away with the whip.

Silvio takes pity on what happened to Nedda, and then begs her to stay with him, because once she leaves the village with the troupe at the end of the holiday, what will become of him, of his life? He tells her that if it’s true that she never loved Canio, that she hates her job and all that touring around, and if her love for him (Silvio) is not some made-up bullshit, she should run away with him tonight (Duet: Nedda! Silvio!... Decidi il mio destin; “Nedda! Silvio!... Decide my destiny”. It’s over 10 minutes long, I swear). Nedda desperately begs him not to tempt her with such a crazy idea, and says it’s best for them to part, but assures him that she cannot tear him from her heart, and that she will only live off her love for him. After they both repeat some of their respective lines at the same time in a musical fashion, Silvio accuses Nedda of not loving him anymore.

At this point, Tonio, who has appeared somewhere onstage, unseen by the lovebirds, makes his presence known to the audience by internally going “ha!! I’ve caught you, slut!” (yup, because “sgualdrina” = “slut”), before quickly leaving. Meanwhile, Nedda desperately tells Silvio that she does love him. Silvio asks her why did she bewitch him, why did she kiss him with such ardent passion if she is just going to leave him the next day? (Okay so in the libretto, the stage direction says “lovingly, trying to charm her”, but the words alone sound pretty whiny.) Nedda replies that she has forgotten nothing, that she wants to live a life of calm, peaceful love with him, and that she is completely giving herself over to him. They both decide to forget everything (presumably agreeing to run away together, I guess), and they intensely re-profess their love for each other, with Nedda asking Silvio to kiss her.

They obviously start making out after finishing the duet (well, it doesn’t actually say so in the stage directions, but it wouldn’t make much sense for them not to make out after all those repeated “kiss me!” lyrics). As they do, Tonio and Canio sneak onstage. Tonio advises Canio to walk up to them slowly to surprise them. Meanwhile, Silvio starts to take leave of Nedda, telling her to meet him here in the middle of the night. Nedda assures him that she will, and adds: “Until tonight, and I will be yours forever”. It’s when these exact words are uttered that Canio cries out, alerting Nedda of his presence, who desperately urges Silvio to flee, which he does. Nedda tries to stop Canio from chasing Silvio, but he pushes her aside and runs offstage in his pursuit. As he does, Tonio laughs cynically, and Nedda sarcastically congratulates him in a disdainful way. Tonio says just as cynically that he has done what he could, but that he hasn’t lost hope of doing better. Nedda expresses her disgust, and he responds that she doesn’t know how happy he is.

Canio returns onstage, very pissed; Silvio has managed to outrun him. He furiously asks Nedda the name of her paramour, which she absolutely refuses to give him. Canio goes as far as to threaten her with a dagger (dude, what the fuck?!!!), but Beppe comes onstage on time to stop him from doing anything, telling him that the people are leaving the church and coming to the show. Canio struggles against him, still demanding the name of Nedda’s lover. Beppe asks Tonio to restrain him, and urges everyone to get dressed for the show (dude sure has his priorities straight, even within the risk of homicide). He reassures Nedda that Canio is violent but a good person (once again, “are you sure about that?”). Most likely after Beppe and Nedda leave, Canio is still in the midst of a violent hissyfit, and Tonio tells him to keep it together for the time being, since it’s very likely that the guilty lover will attend the show and give himself away. Beppe briefly reenters to remind the two to start getting ready, and he and Tonio go offstage.

Left alone onstage, Canio absolutely despairs at the idea of having to perform while he is in such a state that he is barely able to check himself (THAT’S IT, THAT’S THE ARIA (or Arioso (i.e., a sort of bastard child between recitative and aria) in this case) THAT IS SO INCREDIBLY FAMOUS IT’S A STAPLE OF OPERA REPERTOIRE AND HAS BASICALLY BECOME A MEME IN AND OF ITSELF!!!!! Recitar!... Vesti la giubba; “Perform!... Put on the costume”. Well, “giubba” literally means “jacket”, but I’m going with the common translation for this specific context). But as he dresses up in his iconic white costume and applies the iconic white makeup onto his face, he also tells himself he must make an effort to become Pagliaccio for the time being, because the audience is paying to have a laugh, and so he must turn his tears into laughter, and laugh at his own grief (as indicated in the iconic line “Ridi, Pagliaccio” (“Laugh, clown/Pagliaccio”)) so that the audience will applaud. Man, it’s such an intensely emotional aria that it’s kinda difficult not to feel some sympathy for Canio in that moment (well, depending on who is singing), even though he has been jealous and murder-y for the most part so far. That’s verismo for you. Also, it’s not written in the libretto but most tenors finish singing this aria by sobbing loudly.

(I would like to (not so) briefly interrupt our scheduled program to talk a bit more about this aria, because it’s so fucking iconic that it has been referenced in countless movies, TV shows and commercials. For example, check out this hilarious Rice Krispies commercial (featuring a singing mother-in-law who looks at hell lot like Montserrat Caballé...). Or this absolutely wholesome Coca-Cola commercial that probably would have given this opera a happier ending. Also, for those who don’t remember, on Halloween 2021, my costume was actually Canio/Pagliaccio. Here are a couple pictures, as well as a vid I posted on TikTok. And yes, I am entirely of the opinion that “Vesti la giubba” and “The Show Must Go On” are basically the same song. And speaking of Queen and Freddie Mercury, the opening of the song “It’s A Hard Life” is directly lifted from the melody of “Ridi, Pagliaccio”. Here is a video that directly compares the two.)

Anyway, the act ends on a very sad Canio who has just single-handedly codified the Sad Clown™ trope while faced with the task of acting out something onstage that reflects his own real life. And that’s fucking painful!!!!!!

After an Intermezzo in E minor (switching to E major around midway through) that is definitely less famous than Mascagni’s (but still quite nice, and also includes at least one musical motif we have heard; the first theme also kinda reminds me of the beginning of Ravel’s Tz*gane), Act 2 opens on the exact same location as Act 1, but obviously at a later time of day. We hear the same out-of-tune trumpet and bass drum that opened Act 1. There is a little stage occupying the area (if it hasn’t already been shown in Act 1, as indicated by the libretto), and Tonio, dressed in his costume, is ushering the excited villagers to their seats. According to the chorus basses, there are kids running around (at least I think), which. Yeah, I have definitely seen that. The crowd is getting excited/impatient for the show to start, and there seems to be some squabbling over seats somewhere at one point, it’s just basic pre-show audience chaos. At least until Beppe, who is also dressed in his Commedia dell’arte costume, calls for everyone to get seated with no shouting.

Meanwhile, Silvio, who has blended into the crowd, meets Nedda, who is ALSO dressed in her Commedia dell’arte costume, as well as collecting the audience’s money. She tells him to be cautious, as Canio hasn’t seen him. Silvio reminds her (as he pays for his seat, obviously) that he will be waiting for her (so that they can elope, remember). After their exchange, the chorus repeats their pre-show audience chaos lines, with Beppe calling once for everyone to pay before getting seated, before he retreats backstage with Nedda. The audience continues to call for the show to start, until a bell rings loudly, indicating the beginning of the show, and the curtain of the stage-on-the-stage rises.

The Commedia (Play) (even indicated so in the score) has started. As the (real) orchestra plays lighthearted incidental music that heavily contrasts with the rest of the opera (believe me, it’s important), we see a little room with a table and two chairs. Colombina (played by Nedda) informs the audience that her husband, Pagliaccio, will be home late at night, and wonders where the fuck is that idiot Taddeo? Suddenly, we hear a solo violin plucking some open strings. As the orchestral strings play a soft accompaniment, we see/hear (because in the libretto he’s offstage, but in most productions he’s not, and he is strumming a lute/mandolin/something) Arlecchino (played by Beppe) serenading Colombina, singing typical serenade stuff about desperately pining for her and wanting to kiss her little mouth and asking her to open her window (Serenata (Italian word for “serenade”, obviously): O Colombina. No translation needed).

(Another pointless fun fact! Back when I was in Grade 10, way before I got into opera, my Drama class did a unit on Commedia dell’arte, and we were all asked to pick one stock character to portray and study throughout the whole unit (we were seven students). I picked Colombina, and it was so much fun.)

At this point, Taddeo (played by Tonio; basically a stock foolish servant character) comes in while carrying a basket, unseen by Colombina. He takes the opportunity to ogle her, and his comically exaggerated reaction at her beauty (at least as indicated in the score) makes the audience (of the play-within-the-play) laugh. He contemplates confessing his love for her now that her husband is away. Colombina then turns towards him, and he confirms to her that Pagliaccio is indeed away, and that he has bought the chicken that he was asked to buy (the one inside the basket he is carrying), which he presents to her by dropping on his knees. He tries to confess his love for her, but she interrupts him twice. The third time, during which he calls her pure and chaste as snow and says that he cannot forget her no matter how harsh she is with him, Arlecchino enters through the window while carrying a bottle, and then grabs him (Taddeo) by the ear and kicks his ass, earning laughter from the onstage audience. When Taddeo realizes that Arlecchino and Colombina are in love with each other, he gives them his blessing and decides to keep watch for them (man, that is literally the one thing that the “real life” situation and the show-within-a-show don’t have in common). He exits the room as the onstage audience laughs and applauds.

Arlecchino and Colombina embrace (comically, according to the score. Also, in quite a few productions, all the movements are done in a dance-like sort of way), and then they sit down to eat a dinner fixed by Colombina, complete with the bottle of wine that Arlecchino brought. After they have gobbled down some yummy food and chugged down some yummy wine, Arlecchino gives Colombina a vial of sleeping drug to slip to Pagliaccio when he comes back so that they (Arlecchino and Colombina) can run away together. But then, Taddeo bursts in (still comically), warning the two that Pagliaccio is here, and that he is very upset and knows everything. He goes off to hide away (probably inside a closet or something, like in some productions; in the 2015 Met production, he hides inside a freezer, and it’s hilarious).

As Arlecchino escapes through the window, he reminds Colombina to pour the sleeping drug into Pagliaccio’s cup. Just as Pagliaccio (played by Canio) comes onto the stage-on-the-stage, she replies: “Until tonight, and I will be yours forever”. Canio internally realizes that these were the EXACT SAME WORDS that Nedda said to the guy she was cheating on him with, and he starts to become really upset, but tries to pull himself together to continue with the play. Pagliaccio tells Colombina that he knows there was a man here, and when Colombina denies it, Pagliaccio points out that the table is set for two. Colombina claims that Taddeo was seated with her and hid himself out of fear. She reveals Taddeo, who begs Pagliaccio to believe her, claiming that Colombina is pure and that those pious lips of hers abhor lying! The onstage audience (at least, the score says it’s just the chorus tenors and basses) laughs.

Well, this is enough to push Canio over the edge; completely breaking character, he rails at the onstage audience, and violently demands once again that Nedda give him the name of her lover. Nedda tries her best to keep the performance going by calling Canio “Pagliaccio” twice, but Canio replies passionately that no, he is not Pagliaccio; he has the right to be honest, and the whiteness of his face is because of shame and his bleeding heart’s desire for revenge with blood. No, he is only the guy who foolishly took her in back when she a starving orphan in the street, and gave her a name and loved her to madness (ewww, the implications) (Arietta (or at least, Wikipedia refers to it as an arietta, i.e., a short aria): No, Pagliaccio non son; “No, I am not Pagliaccio”).

Half of the chorus women comment on how this performance seems so real that it’s making them cry, and a few chorus men tell them to shut up. Meanwhile, Silvio in the audience comments internally about how he can barely hold himself back. Canio continues with his rant, going on about how he was so blinded by this delirious passion that he had hoped that if she didn’t love him, she at least felt compassion towards him, and that with every sacrifice he made on his heart, he believed in her more than God himself. But no, he sees nothing but vice in her soul, and the only law she follows is that of her senses (wow, that was difficult to translate!). He tells her that she doesn’t deserve his pain and that he wants to crush her under his feet in his disgust. The onstage audience can’t help but applaud and shout out “Bravo!”; it’s clear that they still think it’s all just a performance (ugh, show, don’t tell, Raya!!).

Nedda (as herself) challenges him to drive her out of here this instant if he judges her unworthy of him. Canio derisively tells her that she is clever, that she would definitely take the opportunity to run off with her darling lover. But no, he will make her stay and tell him the name of her paramour. Trying to get back into character, as the orchestra reprises the lighthearted theme of the Comedy, Nedda tells him that the man who was sitting with her just now is no one but the harmless Arlecchino (it’s not actually indicated anywhere, but usually productions would have him reveal himself, which definitely makes sense).

The onstage audience starts laughing, but it quickly dispels due to Canio’s furious attitude; as the people start doubting that there is any acting going on (with some commenting on how this is some serious and dark business, and others telling them to shut up) and Silvio can barely restrain himself, Canio becomes completely enraged by Nedda’s defiance, and demands that she tell him her lover’s name, actually threatening her life. She swears in the name of her mother that she will never tell him; she may be unworthy, whatever he thinks, but she swears to God that she is NOT a coward (sorry). Beppe tells Tonio that they must leave, he’s scared (sorry again, this was the first thing I thought of), but Tonio tells him to shut up. Nedda says that her love is stronger than his disdain; she will not speak, even at the risk of death.

As the fight escalates, there is general confusion going on among the onstage audience; some villagers are restraining Silvio (to be fair, they know less than him what is going on), and Tonio is restraining Beppe the whole time. It all culminates when the basically out-of-his-mind Canio grabs a knife from the table (in some productions, Tonio even slips it in his hand!!) and stabs Nedda in front of the terrified crowd. In her dying breath, Nedda calls for Silvio, who rushes towards her, but Canio immediately figures out who he is and also stabs him to death. We hear the famous final line: “La commedia è finita!” (“The comedy is finished!”, usually shouted out rather than sung), and after a thrilling solo timpani roll buildup, the orchestra plays a bombastic reprise of the “Ridi, Pagliaccio” motif.

(Quick note on the “La commedia è finita!” line: in the libretto and the score, it is assigned to Tonio, but many performances nowadays give this line to Canio instead, sometimes while sobbing over Nedda’s dead body (like the first production I ever watched; from Ascunción in 2015). Many, many justifications have been given for the assignment of the line to either Tonio or Canio, and some productions have tried being more creative with it, from what I heard. As have some memers.)

But all this debating aside, the (REAL real-life) curtain falls on these harrowing happenings.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: this opera’s title is often mistakenly given as I pagliacci (“The clowns”). But speaking of titles, fun fact, it was initially going to be titled Il pagliaccio (“The clown”), but the guy who initially premiered Tonio asked Leoncavallo to change it to the plural Pagliacci, in order to highlight other characters in addition Canio, particularly his own so he could steal the spotlight. I personally do find the title “Pagliacci” to be better.)

(PPS: sorry for the long post; have this bit from the Simpsons that uses “Vesti la guibba” (transposed down from E minor to B minor, however) and adds another layer of meta to the opera (couldn’t find a clip with a better quality, sorry), this tvtropes theory about Nedda’s origins (which honestly makes so much sense and adds a whole extra layer to her characterization), and a personal reflection about how real-life couples singing the parts of Canio and Nedda (such as Roberto Alagna and Aleksandra Kurzak, who have sung a handful of Pagliacci’s together these recent few years) give the opera a whole extra level of meta so that you get a husband and wife playing a husband and wife playing a husband and wife... Y’know what, there should be a movie about a husband and wife slated to sing Pagliacci together, when an affair with a stagehand or something results in disastrous consequences... AND WHAT IF THEY WERE PLAYED BY A REAL-LIFE HUSBAND AND WIFE??? - okay calm down, Raya.)

Because this is a historical opera, let me clarify the historical context before I start; this is set in England during the English Civil War, which was a conflict between “Cavaliers/Royalists”, i.e., supporters of King Charles I, and supporters of the Parliament of England (or “Roundheads”, named such because of the cropped hairstyles that many Puritans, who formed a important number of members of that group, tended to sport, in contrast to the long ringlets that were fashionable at the royal court at the time). As you may have guessed, the conflict was about whether or not England should continue to be a monarchy and ruled by the so-called “divine right of kings”, and the whole shtick was followed by the monarchy being overthrown in favor of the Parliament, Oliver Cromwell ruling as Lord Protector for nearly 5 years, and the monarchy being restored years later with Charles II, son of Charles I.

You may have noticed that I am very much anti-monarchy (this is Tumblr, this is hardly going to get me cancelled), but please know that Puritans in this time and place remain known today for being humongous killjoys, who outlawed things such as theatre and Christmas on the grounds of these practices being supposedly sinful and whatnot. No wonder the term “puritanical” nowadays represents unreasonably rigid strictness. So historically, I'm not sure I would want to stand on either side.

I have to admit that I got most of that historical knowledge from the show “Horrible Histories”, though I did use more than this as a source in my research!

Anyway, back to our opera!

After a prelude in D major (which I noticed is a key very frequently used throughout the opera), Act 1, Scene 1 opens on a fortress in England, sometime in the 1640s or so, at dawn. According to the libretto, there are sentinels marching. We hear an offstage chorus setting the scene (Chorus: All’erta! All’erta! L’alba appari; “On your guard! On your guard! The dawn is appearing” or something like that). Then, the reveille sounds, represented in the orchestra by French horns; it is followed by a lengthy drumroll, after which a chorus of soldiers, led by Bruno, a tenor who somehow never gets a description in other summaries of this opera beside his name (I’ll assume he is a leader of the soldiers), enter while carrying weapons and anticipating a victory over the Stuart clan (i.e., the Royalist side). We now know that these people are Puritans.

Church bells and some organ music are heard. As the soldiers kneel down in prayer, singers offstage (who are somehow listed in the score as the principals) praise God and all his glory and stuff (O, di Cromvèl guerrieri; “O, warriors of Cromwell”. Yeah, we’ll get a bunch more of English names Italianized to a pretty ridiculous degree throughout this opera).

After that, a chorus of people from the castle come onstage, mingling with the soldiers and calling for celebrations; everyone present then sings the praises of one Elvira, a young maiden who has found true love and is to be married today (A festa!; “Let us celebrate!” or something like that).

Everyone leaves except Bruno. Riccardo, a baritone and a leader of the castle’s army, comes onstage and starts lamenting the loss of his beloved Elvira. Bruno encourages him to tell him about his troubles. Riccardo explains that before he went off to fight, Elvira’s father promised him her hand in marriage, but when he returned the evening before, he was told that Elvira is in love with a Cavalier named Talbo (an Italianized form of “Talbot”), and that nothing can change her heart, meaning that he had to be released from his engagement (Recitative: Or dove fuggo io mai?; “Now where shall I flee to?”).

Bruno tries to get Riccardo to chill, but Riccardo insists on wallowing in his heartbreak (Aria: Ah! per sempre io ti perdei; “Ah! I have lost you forever”. Unusually for a baritone, he doesn’t seem to have any thoughts of vengeance and murder, at least so far, which is quite a massive relief).

After some vocal acrobatics woven rather well in a mournful tune, some horns and trumpets sound. Bruno tells Riccardo that it’s the army calling him (Riccardo), and tries, to not much avail, to get him to forget about his love issues for now and instead focus on the fire of glory and patriotism. They both leave.

Scene 2 switches the scene to Elvira’s bedroom (I forgot to mention that she is the daughter of whoever owns the castle, but it’s rather easy to figure it out). Present there are Elvira, a coloratura soprano (i.e., a soprano who specializes in crazy vocal acrobatics) who is moping around sorrowfully, and Giorgio, a bass and her uncle, whom she very close to. So close, in fact, that she literally calls him her second father in her first line. As he embraces her, Giorgio asks Elvira the reason for her mopey-ness, and when he brings up her upcoming wedding, she immediately recoils and goes on about how she will go insane and die of grief if she has to be dragged to the altar against her will (hmmmmm, foreshadowing of some kind???) (Aria: Sai com’arde; “You know how it blazes”).

Okay, so we now know that Elvira hasn’t been told yet of the last-minute bridegroom switch, but when Giorgio tells her that she will get to be with her beloved Arturo (said Talbo guy mentioned earlier), she absolutely rejoices and embraces him. She asks him how this came to be, and he explains that the night before, her tears and prayers touched his soul to the point that he managed to tearfully convince his brother, i.e., her father, that she would die if she were to marry someone other than Arturo (Aria (at least listed as an aria for Giorgio in the libretto, though Elvira has a few lines): Piangi, o figlia; “Cry, o daughter”).

Horns are heard; it’s a signal of the guards. Elvira and Giorgio listen carefully as an offstage male chorus announces the arrival of Arturo Talbo. Elvira is so absolutely overjoyed that she claims not to be able to believe it (Duet: A quel nome; “At this name”).

Scene 3 takes us to a weapons room, where Elvira, Giorgio, Valton (Italianized form of “Walton”), Elvira’s father and a bass just like his brother, as well as a chorus of the people from the castle all gather to welcome Arturo. The chorus sings in praise of Elvira’s beauty and Arturo’s valor and the love match between them (Chorus: Ad Arturo onore; “Honor to Arturo”).

Then in comes the long-expected Arturo, a noble tenor, accompanied by squires and pages carrying wedding presents, including a veil. Arturo starts singing to Elvira all about his happiness stemming from his love for her, which used to make him sad back when they were not an approved match (Aria (tho with quite a few lines from the principals and the chorus, which makes it often labeled as a quartet in some sources): A te, o cara; “To you, o darling”, one of the most famous bits in the whole opera. It actually contains a written high C-sharp (C#5) for Arturo!!! Tenors gotta have some flexible highs to sing this role, and that will only become more prominent the farther we go). Elvira and Arturo express their joy, Giorgio and Valton ask for not a single shadow of sadness to cloud this happy moment, and everyone, including the chorus, calls on Heaven to smile upon this union.

After that, Valton says that he won’t be able to attend the ceremony, and gives Arturo a pass that will grant him safe conduct up till the church (the libretto calls it “tempio” (“temple”), which I know is a name for a Protestant church in some contexts, but I’m not really sure when it comes to the Church of England specifically), asking Giorgio to accompany them. He then addresses some unknown lady, telling her that the Parliament is asking for her, and that he is to escort her there. Said woman, a mezzo, despairs internally, then asks what the Parliament wants from her. Valton replies that he must obey this order without question.

Arturo asks Giorgio about her, and Giorgio explains that she is a prisoner who is believed to be a spy for the Stuarts. Arturo is struck with pity for the mysterious lady, and she internally notices his pitiful expression. Valton calls for the wedding preparations, as well as his departure, to proceed, and everyone leaves except for Arturo (after making sure he is not seen) and the unknown lady.

After briefly assessing him internally, the lady addresses Arturo, who tells her that if she needs anything, she can trust him. She confesses that she is in danger of dying soon, and he mentions that his father died supporting the Stuarts, and affirms his intention of saving her. She says her fate is already sealed, as she is none other than Enrichetta (Henrietta Maria), daughter of Henry IV of France and the widow of Charles I of England, which makes her the (former) Queen of England!!

Arturo, ever faithful to his Royalist duties, immediately insists on escorting Enrichetta to safety (man, it’s rare to see a tenor who puts duty above love), but she firmly believes that there is no hope left for her, and begs him to think of the danger, and especially of Elvira, whom he is literally meant to marry in mere minutes. Arturo begs her not to weaken his courage by mentioning the one he loves, and both go on and on about all this, until they are interrupted by an incredibly cheerful Elvira, who comes in all dressed in her wedding clothes and carrying her veil.

Elvira compares herself to an April lily and basically just describes her appearance, which includes roses in her hair and a pearl necklace (Polonaise (in this case, an aria in the style of a polonaise, which is a type of Polish folk dance with a 3/4 time signature (i.e., like a waltz)): Son vergin vezzosa; “I am a charming virgin”. Vocal acrobatics galore). As she sings, Arturo, Enrichetta and Giorgio (who has also come by this time, I guess) compare her disposition to a nightingale and the moon appearing through clouds at night.

Elvira asks Enrichetta to help her with the ringlets of her hair, and places her veil on Enrichetta’s head as Arturo and Giorgio ask her (Enrichetta) to excuse Elvira’s playful behavior. As Elvira continues to fool around, Enrichetta and Arturo continue praying for safety while Giorgio internally compares Elvira to a zephyr, a rainbow and a sylph. Then, Valton and the chorus come in calling for Elvira to get ready. She entrusts Arturo to give her back the veil later, before she leaves with Giorgio and nearly everyone else.

As Arturo and Enrichetta are left alone, Arturo notices that the veil hiding Enrichetta’s face might just be the thing that will help her escape safely, but before they can make a move, in comes Riccardo to stop Arturo from stealing his beloved (he thinks the woman under the veil is Elvira; ah, the operatic classic of not recognizing someone with a concealed face!), and he challenges Arturo to a duel to the death by swords, which he smugly accepts (Trio: Fermi! Invan, invan rapir pretendi; “Stop! In vain, in vain you try to kidnap” or something like that. This one was difficult to translate so I copied it from the aria-database). But Enrichetta steps in between them to stop them from fighting, at which point her disguise gets shed and Riccardo recognizes her as the prisoner.

Riccardo suddenly decides to let the two of them escape, and as Arturo bids an internal farewell to Elvira, we hear Elvira, Bruno, Giorgio, Valton and the chorus approaching. Of course, given the situation (opposing clans, rivals in love, etc.), Arturo asks Riccardo if he’s gonna snitch on them before they go beyond the walls of the fortress, and Riccardo swears that he won’t. Well, as the three characters briefly speak to themselves internally, we learn that Riccardo does not intend on keeping this promise and looks forward to Arturo’s downfall, while Arturo himself internally proclaims his everlasting love for Elvira, and Enrichetta looks forward to seeing her son (Charles II, I guess??). Arturo and Enrichetta finally leave, and Riccardo watches them escape (this is a fortress, after all).

Then in come Elvira, Bruno, Giorgio, Valton and the Chorus. Everyone asks Riccardo where Arturo is, and OF COURSE, the jealous snitch tells everyone that he is long gone, and everyone else sees that he has escaped with the prisoner. As Elvira cries out in despair, Riccardo and Giorgio call for soldiers to catch the two traitors, and everyone else joins in the call to arms.

But then, Elvira notices that the woman with Arturo in the distance is wearing a white veil, and that he is treating her as his bride and calling her Elvira, and this messes with her mind and makes her really, REALLY upset. Everyone around becomes incredibly worried about her. Then, she hallucinates Arturo coming back and she repeatedly tells him to come with her to the church. It becomes clear to everyone that Elvira has officially lost her mind in true operatic fashion, and they all pity her. Of course, they blame that traitor Arturo for this whole fiasco, and remark on how pure Elvira’s heart is for her to still love him as much as she does.

Then, Elvira’s mood suddenly switches again, and she sees (here, I’m not sure of she actually sees or “sees”) Arturo fleeing, and starts cursing him for abandoning her. As she expresses a delirious sort of rage growing inside her, everyone else continues cursing Arturo, and the curtain falls as they swear revenge.

And then Elvira dies of her insanity because it is a known fact that sopranos who have a mad scene in an opera ALWAYS die. :)

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you-

Raya, stop messing around and misleading your readers, this is only the first act, no one has died, the opera is far from finished.

Sorry, sorry. Anyway, here it goes:

Act 2 (only one scene this time) opens in some random room in that same fortress. A chorus of people of the castle sing (to a tune that’s a slight tad joyful imo) in sadness about poor Elvira’s (who hasn’t died, by the way) insanity; she is crying all the time, and at one point she was seen wandering in nature, screaming “Have mercy! Have mercy!” (Chorus: Ah dolor! Ah terror!; “Ah, what pain! Ah, what terror!”).

Giorgio then comes in, and the chorus people ask him for updates on Elvira’s condition; she is currently resting, her mood keeps switching between sadness and happiness, and she sometimes has temporary moments of clarity. The chorus asks for more details, and Giorgio initially refuses out of sadness, but at the chorus’ insistence, he describes Elvira’s behavior, including wandering around with flowers around her hair while crying out “Where has Elvira gone? Where has Elvira gone?”, hallucinating herself getting married and then crying for Arturo to come back, as well as mistaking other people for Arturo, then realizing her error and crying and wishing for death, ye typical operatic mad scene stuff (Aria: Cinta di fiori; “Garlanded with flowers”). *Sighs in psychology ho*. Of course, everyone continues cursing Arturo.

Then Riccardo comes in with news that Arturo has been sentenced to death by the Parliament. Everyone considers this a rightful punishment for his betrayal, and Riccardo adds that Valton has been declared innocent of the whole thing. Riccardo asks Giorgio about Elvira, and Giorgio explains that according to doctors, only a sudden emotional shock, joyful or tragic, will restore Elvira’s state of mind (wait, isn’t that how amnesia is represented in media??). Riccardo gives orders that should Arturo (who is still on the run) ever be seen around here, he must be treated with no mercy.

The chorus leaves, and we hear Elvira offstage, asking to either be given back hope or to die. Riccardo and Giorgio pity her, of course. Then Elvira comes onstage, looking disheveled and clearly disturbed. She angsts about Arturo’s betrayal as Giorgio and Riccardo continue pitying her (damn, half of this opera is basically people crying for Elvira!!) (Aria: Qui la voce; “Here, the voice”). Then, Elvira notices Giorgio, whom she doesn’t recognize at first but then mistakes for her father, and joyfully assumes that he’s here to take her to get married. Then, she notices Riccardo (whom she seemingly mistakes for Arturo? I’m not sure) weeping. Their brief conversation leads her to acutely remember her heartbreak.

Then, Elvira smiles suddenly, and she hallucinates Arturo being here and calls for him to come back to her, seemingly in a mix of joy and pain, as Riccardo and Giorgio continue pitying her (Cabaletta (as we said 2 episodes ago, the more animated section of an aria, complete with vocal acrobatics): Vien, diletto; “Come, beloved”). The men tell her she should go rest, and she eventually leaves.

Giorgio tells Riccardo that he must save Arturo (Duet: Il rival salvar tu dèi; “You must save your rival”, still not 100% sure if this is how to spell the Italian “dèi”). Riccardo replies that he cannot, that it’s in the Parliament’s will for Arturo to die, and that he does not abhor him in any way. But Giorgio correctly guesses that Riccardo doesn’t actually want to save Arturo, because he is still jealous. Giorgio continues to insist on his point, saying that if Arturo were to go down, Elvira would go down with him, and that their ghosts would haunt him (Riccardo), but this does not move Riccardo.

Eventually, Giorgio manages to win Riccardo over, because of the fact that patriotism comes hand in hand with mercy. But they also agree that should Arturo ever come armed among the enemy ranks (there is a battle scheduled at dawn on the next day), he will perish at Riccardo’s hand. Both end the act singing a duet all about patriotism and the glory of dying in the name of freedom for the nation (Duet: Suoni la tromba; “Sound the trumpet”, another of the more famous bits of the opera).

(Fun fact: the melody of Suoni la tromba was used in my first school’s anthem, tho taken one half-step down. For privacy reasons, I obviously won’t make you listen to the school anthem, so have instead the whole actual Act 2 finale from Il rival salvar tu dèi to Suoni la tromba, sung by Samuel Ramey and Sherril Milnes. I used this specific recording in my 5th “Opera(s) as Vines” video. But just so you know, they take a few cuts.)

(Also, I think I read somewhere that this opera was meant to be only 2 acts, but the second act was split into two after Suoni la tromba. But I’m not sure, tho this might explain why Act 1 is longer than Acts 2 and 3.)

After a brief prelude in D minor that alludes to a hurricane (at least according to the score), Act 3 (also only one scene) opens in a wooded area near the fortress. We may or may not see some armed people walking around at some point, looking for someone, but they leave soon enough. Finally, a very exhausted Arturo runs in onstage. Seeing that he is all alone, he allows himself to take a break (Recitative: Son salvo, alfin son salvo; “I am safe, finally I am safe”). We learn that he is still on the run, and so far he has managed to outrun his pursuers. He expresses deep love for his homeland, which he remarks is especially prominent for him as an exile.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of a harp, followed by Elvira’s offstage voice, singing a song about a sad troubadour sitting at a fountain and singing a love song (Aria: A una fonte afflitto e solo; “At a fountain, afflicted and along”). Arturo immediately recognizes this tune as a song they used to sing in these woods back in the days of their still-not-really-approved courtship. He calls for her, but no one responds, so he resorts to singing that same song about that same, constantly-depressed troubadour sitting at a fountain, striking a harp and singing a sad song.

Suddenly, Arturo hears drumrolls and a military march, as well as an offstage male chorus, and he realizes that he is still being pursued, so he hides away as a bunch of men-at-arms come onstage, looking around for him, and he manages to remain unseen until they leave.

As soon as the men are gone, Arturo comes out of hiding, and he considers entering Elvira’s place and telling her everything, but then he realizes that doing that would be too dangerous for both himself and Elvira, so he decides instead to continue singing their song, hoping that it will reach her somehow. He now sings about an exiled pilgrim who is also constantly depressed, and whose story seems to mirror Arturo’s own situation, at least in my opinion.

At some point either during or after the song, depending on the director’s choices, Elvira shows up. She gets sad when the singing stops, and goes back to longing for Arturo, at which point he shows up in front of her, asking for her forgiveness. A joyful reunion between the lovebirds ensues.

Arturo goes on about how happy he is to behold her once more after such a long time (three months, to be exact). Elvira describes all the pain she experienced during his absence, which felt like not three months but three centuries for her. He then explains to her the whole shtick with the prisoner woman from Act 1, who was none other than the Queen herself, and about how he ran away with her in order to save her from a death sentence. Elvira is so struck by this piece of info that she feels a sudden clarity in her mind. He assures her that he loves her with all his heart and they sing a passionate love duet together, reaffirming their love for each other over and over, and promising to stay together forever (Duet: Vieni, vieni fra queste braccia; “Come, come into these arms”. It contains 2 written high D’s (D5) for Arturo!!! the latter of which can be shared with Elvira, depending on the singer). They may or may not kiss at the end, depending on the production, because, I mean. The music.

But this moment of ecstasy is short-lived for our lovers, as we hear a horn followed by some more drumrolls and that same military march from earlier. Arturo immediately knows it’s his pursuers, and Elvira starts speaking incoherently, which makes him realize her state of Operatic Insanity™. We hear a male chorus from offstage singing in praise of Cromwell’s England, and Arturo tries to get Elvira to go hide with him, but she believes that he’s trying to leave her again for that woman he ran away with, and so she physically blocks him and calls for reinforcements while he tells her to be quiet.

The entire chorus of soldiers and castle-people, as well as Riccardo and Giorgio, show up onstage, and when Riccardo and the soldiers announce that Arturo has been sentenced to death, Elvira’s shock is so intense that literally everyone notices; this seems to be the emotional shock required to cure her insanity.

One of those large ensembles typical of bel canto operas, where everyone is singing something different, starts: Arturo announces that he’d be happy to die alongside Elvira, Elvira basically says the same thing, and Giorgio, the female chorus and even fucking Riccardo himself all feel pity towards the lovers (Quartet with chorus: Credeasi, misera; “She believed, the wretched one”). But the soldiers demand to proceed with the execution, much to everyone else’s despair. After embracing Elvira and bidding her farewell, Arturo chides the soldiers for upsetting Elvira and begs them to keep it together for just one moment, to not much avail.

(Fun fact: this piece is known to contain a high F (F5) for Arturo. Yeah, you read it right, a fucking high F!!!!! It’s so borderline impossible to hit that most tenors resort to singing a D-flat (Db 5) instead, which is already pretty high. Even so, those who can reach the high F usually sing it falsetto. Listen for example to the ever-legendary Luciano Pavarotti sing it (high F at 4:51).)

But then, we hear the sound of horns, announcing the arrival of a herald, and therefore a message (Finale: Suon d’araldi?; “The sound of heralds?”). Letters are brought in, and after reading them, Giorgio and Riccardo announce to everybody that the Stuarts have been defeated, and the Royal(ist) prisoners have all been pardoned; England has been liberated! (well, I mean... given, well. Everything that Puritans at this time and place stood for, I’m kinda calling this into question. But for the sake of the opera, I’m gonna allow myself some suspension of disbelief.)

Wait, what?? A happy ending??? In my non-comic bel canto opera????? More likely than you think!!!!! Anyway, everyone celebrates and sings the praises of Cromwell, before wishing long days of happiness to the extremely joyful and more-in-love-than-ever Elvira and Arturo (who has therefore now been freed of his death sentence), the curtain drops of these joyous festivities and everyone lives happily ever after as far as we know, given that I’m not super-familiar with more of the deeper details of the historical context.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: I wanna give a quick shoutout to the production of this opera by the Opéra Royal de Wallonie-Liège from 2004, which was the first (and so far only) production of this opera that I watched, and which really helped me with the making of this post. Having only watched one production while writing this made it more difficult than the previous installments, and I had my doubt at times, but I’m really glad I pulled through.)

(PPS: fun fact: okay, I hate the British royalty just as much as the next Tumblr user, but this was apparently Queen Victoria’s favorite opera, and she would refer to it as “dear Puritani”. It also apparently the first opera that she and her beloved Prince Albert attended together before marrying.)

We first get a super-energetic overture in F major which, much like the overture for Episode 3′s selection, I would like to classify as being in sonata form, and is well-known enough to be often performed on its own in concert settings (and Mahler very briefly quotes it in the last movement of his Symphony No. 1).

The curtain then opens on Act 1, at a village square somewhere in Bohemia (a region in modern-day Czechia), probably around the time the opera was written (so the 19th century at the very least). There is a fair going on, and the villagers are singing all about enjoying life while it lasts because marriage supposedly leads to strife and unhappiness (Chorus: Proč bychom se netěšili; usually translated to “Let’s rejoice [and/let’s] be merry”, but it seems to more directly translate to “Why wouldn’t we enjoy” or something like that).

As the theme of the chorus takes a minor key, we zoom in on one young couple among the villagers; the guy, Jeník, a tenor, asks Mařenka, his soprano girlfriend, why she looks so gloomy. She explains that her mother told her that the guy she is betrothed to is coming to the village to visit her. Jeník tells her not to worry, to trust him (Jeník) and to keep her will strong. The chorus of villagers tells her to stop lamenting because her faithful love for Jeník will definitely end up earning a blessing, then sings a reprise of the opening chorus before going off to party a little more.

Once they are left alone, Mařenka remains pessimistic, and Jeník asks what happened exactly. Mařenka tells him that the farmer (as in, landowner) Mícha and his son are coming to the village to ask for her hand in marriage. Jeník asks what her answer will be, but Mařenka despairs because it would be difficult for her to say that she is already in love with another, since this is a promise that her father is bound to fulfill.

She then remarks on his reserved attitude, and tells him to assure her that he doesn’t have another lover somewhere or something like that, and he affirms that he absolutely doesn’t. Mařenka tells him that should she ever find out something like that about him, she would get really angry (Aria: Kdybych se co takového; “If I ever learn”). She asks him why he left his home and his entire former life behind, and remarks on how his whole past is shrouded in mystery, which her father has mentioned to her several times.

Jeník tells her about his Tragic Past™: he is the son of a pretty well-to-do father, but after his mother died, his father married a woman who ended up kicking him (Jeník) out. So he basically set out into the world and supported himself by entering the service of other people. He and Mařenka go on about how a stepmother’s hate can really be hurtful, but that committed love like theirs cannot be hurt by pains from the past, and they promise to love each other forever, and they are usually just being the most cutie-patootie thing ever, depending on the production (Duet: Jako matka požehnáním... Věrné milování; “As a mother’s blessing... Faithful love”).

After that, Mařenka hears her parents coming, looking for her. Jeník, not wanting them to see him, bids her a heartfelt goodbye, before they each exit the stage separately. Now enter Krušina, a baritone peasant, and Ludmila, a soprano, both Mařenka’s parents, along with Kecal, a bass and a marriage broker who is very much a businessman in terms of attitude. Kecal is in the midst of discussing the whole arranged marriage business; he assures Krušina that it’s all gonna go smoothly thanks to his sharp skills, and that should Mařenka object and stuff, he will make sure that she does what she is told (Trio: Jak vám pravím, pane kmotře; usually translated to “As I’m saying, dear fellow”, but it contains the word “kmotr”, meaning “godfather”).

While Krušina expresses satisfaction with this arrangement, Ludmila says it’d be better to take the time to discuss this with the bride-to-be. But Kecal remains very confident that their firmness and his wit alone will win over any objections the bride-to-be has over this marriage. Ludmila says that it depends on what the bridegroom himself is like, but Kecal continues to dismiss this.

We then learn through Krušina that Tobiáš Mícha is a childhood friend of his, and that he has two sons: one Jeník by his first wife (wait, that same Jeník we met minutes ago??? We’ll just have to wait and see...), and one Vašek by his second wife, but he (Krušina) doesn’t know either son. Despite that, he promised years ago that he would give his daughter’s hand in marriage to Mícha’s son. Ludmila asks which son Kecal is talking about, he replies that Mícha technically only has one son: Vašek. He dismisses the other one as a vagrant and a rascal, and says that no one knows about him (rude).

Krušina inquires about what kind of boy Vašek is like, and asks why Kecal didn’t bring him with him right now. Kecal starts rattling off all of Vašek’s virtues (Trio: Mladík slušný; “A decent young man”): he is a young man quiet as a lamb, he supposedly has no faults or flaws, he has a lovable soul, he is neither too much this nor too much that either physically or mentally, is in good health, and especially, he is set to inherit a farm worth thirty thousand (the currency is not stated here, but later in the libretto, it’s shown to be guilders). What can anyone want more from a perfect bridegroom like him??? Krušina and Ludmila believe his words to be true, and all three repeat their lines for a few more measures.

Then Mařenka comes back in, and asks her parents why they were looking for her (Quartet: Tu ji máme; “Here we have her” or something like that). Kecal says that he was asking her parents if she has someone she is in love with, and tells her that if she doesn’t, he has a young man to introduce her to. Krušina and Ludmila assure her that she will meet him first, and if she doesn’t like him, she can turn him down. Kecal announces that a deal has been reached, and that everything will be settled once Mařenka says yes. Mařenka objects that this can’t be settled as quickly as he says, and that he doesn’t even suspect that there is a hitch in this whole thing. But Kecal doesn’t care, claiming that he never quits whatever he puts his mind to.

Mařenka finally admits that she is already in love with another. Kecal tells her to dump him and let him seek his fortune elsewhere. Mařenka retorts that she has already given him her word, that she has already signed a contract for this. Kecal replies that he gives zero fucks, that they can tear up the contract, and then it’s just a whole back-and-forth argument between them. Kecal says to trust the absolute wonders of his wit, and everything will work out no matter what, because his mind is apparently just so amazing that it can succeed where no one else can (damn, that bloated ego gives me a lot of miscellaneous déjà-vu).

Mařenka claims she knows that Jeník won’t give her up, and is ready to stake her life on this (Recitative: Jeník neupustí; “Jeník won’t let go”). Krušina says that whether or not Jeník would give her up doesn’t really matter, because he has made a promise to Tobiáš Mícha in front of witnesses. At Ludmila’s inquiry, Kecal pulls out a contract, which he shows to have been signed by Mícha, Krušina and witnesses. Mařenka says it doesn’t matter, since she and Jeník didn’t know anything about that contract and that they still won’t give each other up, then she leaves.

Kecal gets briefly frustrated at how twisted the world is (uhm, because a girl actually knows her rights as an individual person??), and Krušina asks him where Mícha and his son the Perfect Bridegroom™ actually are right now, as it would be nice for him to actually talk to Mařenka. Kecal agrees, but explains that the boy is not used to talking to women, he is incredibly shy. Krušina briefly remarks on how hard this will make the wooing process. Kecal suggests that Krušina try to meet Mícha elsewhere “by chance”, as the square is about to get noisy now that the villagers are getting ready to dance (man, the people in this village love to dance and party!). This is indicated by the beginning of a polka (a type of Bohemian (as in, from the region of Bohemia) folk dance with a 2/4 time signature) in the orchestra. Meanwhile, he (Kecal) resolves to find Jeník and try to talk to him. Both leave.

The villagers come back onstage as the polka starts picking up. This is the first orchestral dance interlude; many productions will bring in actual dancers to show off what they’ve got, and also sometimes to excuse choristers who can’t dance very well... Anyway, the chorus sings all about the bounciness of the polka, and the curtain falls as everyone present is having a great time (Finale: Polka... Pojď sem, holka, toč se, holka; “Come here, girl, spin, girl”. You might recognize it if you’re familiar with Baby Einstein. The orchestral version linked is without chorus, tho).

Act 2 opens inside an inn in the village. Jeník and a male chorus of peasants are seated at a table drinking beer. The chorus sings the obligatory opera drinking song all about the wonders of beer, all the typical stuff about how it’s a gift from heaven, it reduces troubles to nothing and it gives strength and courage (Chorus: To pivečko; “That [little] beer”).

Jeník, ever the tenor, claims that love is better than either wine or beer, as it’s the only lasting source of happiness. The chorus tenors acknowledge that he’s currently head over heels in love, and the basses point out Kecal, who is sitting somewhere in the background, and they warn him (Jeník) not to let that old dude spoil his happiness in love. Kecal finally speaks up, claiming that good advice and money are the only two important things in life, and that whoever uses them sensibly will be well-anchored. As the other men sing a reprise of the beer chorus, Kecal and Jeník continue arguing the merits of either money or love over beer and honestly everything else respectively.

Then the orchestra starts playing a furiant (another Bohemian folk dance, of a particular fast and fiery character, with the time signature either alternating between 2/4 and 3/4 or, as in this case, in 3/4 with lots of accents) (Dance: Furiant. It’s less well-known than the other orchestral dances in this opera, but do listen to it here). A lot of productions will showcase male dancers jumping and spinning energetically, and I’m so here for it. After that, everyone probably either shrinks to the background or leaves altogether, for the sake of the next scenes.

A new arrival shows up slowly onstage; it’s none other than Vašek himself! A stuttery, big baby tenor, he is indeed as shy as we have been told he was, if not so much more. In a stuttering song well emphasized by accents in the orchestra, he muses about how his mother told him that he should be getting married, and he adds that if he doesn’t, he will become the laughingstock of the village (Aria: Ma-ma-ma-matička; “Mo-mo-mo-mother”). (Yes, I know making fun of stuttering hasn’t aged well. But.)

Then, Mařenka shows up (interesting note: in the score, it says that they bump into each other and burst into laughter, but I don’t think I ever saw this in a production). She recognizes Vašek but pretends to be someone else (Recitative: Vy jste zajisté ženich Krušinovy Mařenky?; “Surely you are the groom of Mařenka Krušinova?”). When he asks how she knew who he is, she points out his outfit, which should logically be ridiculously tacky clothes typical of a sheltered rich kid about to get married. She also adds that the entire village is talking about him and pitying him.

He asks why, and she says that “Mařenka” already has someone else in her life, and that she is planning on deceiving him (Vašek) and making his life hell in order to make him die soon. The simple-minded Vašek is confused at first and then terrified, as his mother told him that he has to get married. Mařenka points out that he can still get married, since there are plenty of girls around here for him to choose from.

When he expresses enthusiastic interest, she tells him about a girl she knows who supposedly has been madly love for him for a long time now (Duet: Známť já jednu dívčinu; “I know a girl”). Reassuring all his worries about “Mařenka” and his mother, she describes that girl as pretty and young just like “Mařenka”, and also adds that should he refuse her (that girl), she would get so upset that she would probably try to kill herself. She adds in some (probably fake) crying, and the ensuing conversation between her and Vašek leads to her easily tricking him into falling for her charms, seemingly framing the whole thing as that girl being none other than herself (not smart, Mařenka, not smart).

She continues wooing him, telling him she would love him like a baby in diapers or something (I mean, he IS a big baby after all), and makes him swear to never marry “Mařenka”. While Vašek refuses at first, she manages to make him tearfully agree by threatening bad things happening to whoever courts “Mařenka”, and she makes him swear to never want anything to do with her, to never want to see her or hear of her. And after a recapitulation of the initial theme of the duet (the bit with Mařenka telling Vašek about a girl who is in love with him), they both leave.

Then, Jeník and Kecal return to the foreground, the latter in the midst of trying to negotiate a deal with Jeník, to get him to give up Mařenka in exchange for a rich wife, with very little regard for literally anything else (Recitative: Jak pravím, hezká je; “As I’m saying, she is pretty”). Of course, Jeník remains absolutely firm on his refusing to give up Mařenka, but Kecal chides his sentimentality, telling him that money is more important. They have a whole back-and-forth about this whole business, with Kecal especially stressing that marrying a girl only brings benefits if she has money, because apparently wives always cheat on their husbands at some point, and them having money at least leaves them with something (se-xist, se-xist) (Duet: Nuže, milý chasníku; “Now, my dear gentleman” or something like that). (We also learn that Jeník comes from far away, someplace at the Moravian borders, but that detail is not important for now.) Kecal continues to try and persuade Jeník to give up Mařenka, in exchange for a rich girl who owns/is set to inherit a cottage, some animals, a piece of field and a new cupboard (because yes, Kecal, as @notyouraveragejulie so kindly pointed out long ago, a new cupboard will totally seal the deal), and most importantly, MONEY!

And if Jeník accepts to give up Mařenka, he will receive a hundred guilders (Recitative: Odřeknešli se Mařenky; “If you give up Mařenka”). Jeník refuses, claiming that it’s too little money for such love. Kecal increases the amount to two hundred, but Jeník still claims it to be too little. When Kecal increases the amount to three hundred, he says that should Jeník continue to refuse, he will use all his ressources to drive him out of here. Jeník initially refuses when he hears that Kecal will be the one giving him the money, since he wouldn’t sell Mařenka to him for anything, but Kecal clarifies that he’s not the one who wants her, since he already has a wife (wait, what?!! How did I not know that??? Anyway, I pity her, whoever that woman is), and he’s actually negotiating on behalf of the son of Tobiáš Mícha.

This time, Jeník (HMMMMMMMM????? Has Jeník realized something????????) seems to accept the deal, but adds in a condition that no one but the son of Tobiáš Mícha can get Mařenka, and insists on making it an actual clause in the contract. Kecal accepts the deal, and starts going to call in witnesses, but Jeník also asks to add in a condition that as soon as Mařenka and Mícha’s son have consented to the marriage, Krušina’s debt to Mícha shall be entirely cancelled. Kecal agrees, and leaves.

Jeník is left alone, and to make sure that the audience fully understands what is happening in case the production and/or the singer didn’t make the earlier realization very clear the moment the name “Tobiáš Mícha” was uttered, he gloats over his successful manipulation of Kecal’s deal. Then he sings sentimentally about how could anyone ever believe that he would actually sell his darling Mařenka, his angel, for literally any amount of money; there is no one else in the world like her and he would do anything for her, he just loves her so much (Aria: Až uzříš... Jak možná věřit; “When you see... How could you believe”).

Then, as the orchestra plays the first theme of the overture, Kecal comes back in, calling a chorus of villagers, including Krušina, to come in and witness the signing of the contract (Finale: Pojďte, lidičky; “Come, people”). Jeník publicly reads out the terms of the contract, in which he officially agrees to give up his girlfriend to no one but the son of Tobiáš Mícha, IF he (the son) truly loves her and agrees, in front of witnesses, by his own free will, to marry her. The chorus and Krušina are in awe at Jeník’s willingness to make such a selfless sacrifice.

BUT THEN, Kecal clarifies that Jeník is receiving three hundred guilders from this deal, meaning that he basically sold Mařenka in exchange for this money. This time, the mood completely changes, with the villagers and Krušina calling Jeník a scoundrel for doing something as shameful as selling his girlfriend like this. When Kecal tells Jeník and then the witnesses to sign the contract, Jeník signs it as “Jeník Horák” (often translated as “Jeník of the mountain[s]”). As Krušina signs, he (Krušina) declares being glad to have finally known his true nature, and the curtain falls as the chorus continues to shame Jeník for selling his sweetheart. (In the 2019 Garsington production, which happens to be the first one I ever watched (I needed subs) and which updates the setting to the 1950s, someone even splashes Jeník in the face with beer!! Just mentioning it because I love this detail.)

Act 3 takes us back to the village square as in Act 1. Vašek is all alone onstage, pondering out loud in an equally stuttering second aria, absolutely terrified of the possibility of “Mařenka“ poisoning him and stripping him of everything (Aria: To-to mi v hlavě le-leží; “It-it’s in my head” or something like that).

But his musings are interrupted by the approaching sounds of a trumpet, a piccolo and some percussions playing a march. Other villagers probably also come to see what’s going on. It’s a traveling troupe of performers! (The original Czech refers to the performers as “comedians”, but it does have many characteristics of a traveling circus.)

The leader of the troupe (the original Czech refers to him as the “principal comedian” and Wikipedia calls him the “Ringmaster”, but I’ll just call him “the leader”), a character tenor who doesn’t need a lot of singing skills because his part, at least in this recitative, mostly consists of repeated notes, announces that they will be putting on a supposedly never-seen-before show later today, consisting of one Esmeralda Salamanca performing various acrobatic feats, a Native American from the faraway Tahiti islands swallowing forks and knives (yes, this did NOT age well), and most importantly, a real tamed American bear who will be dancing a French Cancan with Esmeralda (Recitative: Ohlašujeme slavnému publikum; “We announce to the [famous] audience” or something).

The leader gives everyone who is watching a quick preview of the upcoming show, during which the performers, who in many productions are played by actual circus performers, get a chance to show off their skills (or lack thereof, probably for the sake of foreshadowing some later revelations about the shadiness of the troupe, as in the 1982 Vienna production) as the orchestra plays a skočná (yet another Slavic folk dance, this one being of a particularly rapid characteristic and usually with a 2/4 time signature. I noticed the name “skočná” resembles the Czech “skočit”, which means “jump”, but I’m not sure if they are connected) (Dance: Skočná, often better-known as the “Dance of the Comedians”. Listen to it here, conducted by the famous Herbert von Karajan. It’s mostly well-known for being used extensively in the Road Runner cartoons).

After the dance is finished, Vašek expresses excitement about the upcoming show (and also ogles Esmeralda’s legs) (Recitative: Je-je-je-je! To bude hezké!; “Oh-oh-oh-oh! It’s going to be lovely” or something like that). Esmeralda, a soprano, approaches him and asks if he will be attending the show. He answers that he will, and that he is looking forward to seeing her tightrope walking.

But then the “Native American”, a bass (who by the way speaks fully fluent Czech with zero written-in accent, making me strongly believe that he’s an in-universe redface character or something like that), comes in running, telling the leader that the guy who was supposed to do the dancing bear number got so drunk that he can hardly stand on his feet. The desperate leader considers using some boy from the village as a replacement, but the Native American points out that word might get out and the troupe will be laughed at, and besides, they have to find someone who can fit properly inside the bear suit, and there is barely any time left before the show anyway. Meanwhile, Vašek is becoming more attracted to Esmeralda. The men notice that the bear suit might fit Vašek quite well. The leader sends the Native American and the other performers (except Esmeralda) away while he talks to Vašek, and the rest of the troupe exists as a reprise of the march plays.

Now that the three are left alone, the leader and Esmeralda use Vašek’s very obvious infatuation to persuade him to join the troupe, with Esmeralda’s love as a reward. The leader in particular tells him all about the life of a performer, including plenty of debts money, freedom and a highly regarded status. Of course, they do the thing of not pressuring him, telling him to only try it once today, and Esmeralda demonstrates the Cancan part that he is supposed to perform. At first, Vašek fears what his mother will think, but the leader and Esmeralda assure him that she won’t recognize him because he will be fully dressed in an animal suit (Duettino (Italian diminutive for duet, i.e., “little duet”): Milostné zvířátko uděláme z vás; “We will make a lovely little animal out of you”). Then the two leave.

Vašek is left alone for a short while, trying to process all that has been going on, between the marriage and the performers’ troupe (Recitative: Oh, já ne-nešťastný!; “Oh, unhappy me!”). In come Vašek’s father, Mícha himself, a bass, and mother, Háta, a mezzo, accompanied by Kecal. Háta asks Vašek why he looks so sad. He says he is afraid. She asks why, and tells him to get married because apparently everything will be alright once he gets a wife. Kecal and Mícha try to get him to sign the contract to marry Mařenka, but Vašek says he doesn’t want to, to the great confusion of the other three (Quartet: Aj! Jakže, jakže?; “Ay! How, how?”). Vašek claims that Mařenka would poison him, and the others ask him where he got that silly idea. He says that some pretty girl who likes him told him that today. When they ask him if he knows her, he admits that he doesn’t, before leaving. Kecal, Háta and Mícha suspect that there’s something fishy in there, and Kecal decides to get to the bottom of this whole thing.

At this moment, Mařenka comes in with Krušina and Ludmila. Mařenka has been told about how Jeník basically sold her, and she is in complete, desperate denial about this whole thing (Ensemble: Ne! Ne, tomu nevěřím; “No! No, I don’t believe it”, with a few more no’s that I was too lazy to add). Kecal proves it by showing her the contract that Jeník signed to give her up in exchange for three hundred guilders. Mařenka is completely upset at this supposed betrayal, especially since Jeník swore that he would basically sacrifice the world for her. Krušina tries to reassure her that at least she know knows his true character. Kecal tries to get her to sign the contract to marry Vašek, but she refuses, claiming to prefer living alone forever without breaking her promise. Kecal and the two pairs of parents tell her that there is no way around that.

Kecal calls Vašek over, and he (Vašek) immediately recognizes Mařenka as the girl who told him all these scary things, and who also told him that she would love him (uh oh, uh oh. Mařenka, this is why I told you your scheme was not very smart!!!!). All the adults introduce her as his future wife. Vašek (who seriously has, as the French say, un cœur d’artichaut (“an artichoke heart”), meaning he falls in love wayyyyyy too easily) still claims to like her. Kecal tries to get them to sign the contract, but a weepy Mařenka claims to need a moment to think it over. Kecal and the two pairs of parents urge Mařenka to think very carefully about the choice she is about to make, and not to let her stubbornness get in the way because her happiness literally depends on this choice (Sextet: Rozmysli si, Mařenko; “Think about it, Mařenka”). Mařenka says she will think about it, and everyone but her leaves.

All alone, Mařenka expresses her extreme sorrow at Jeník’s betrayal and her crushed dream of love in one of ye long typical soprano aria of despair, even though it seems at some point that she still doesn’t entirely believe the whole betrayal thing, considering that maybe Jeník himself doesn’t even know about it (Aria: Oh, jaký žal!... Ten lásky sen; “Oh, what grief!... That dream of love”. Ngl, this moment really made me think of the stages of grief. We already have denial, bargaining and depression in there).

Jeník comes in running, calling Mařenka the star of his life and asking her how is their cause currently standing. Mařenka angrily rebuffs him (ah, there’s the anger!), asking how he could stoop so low as to literally sell her heart, and she asks whether he did actually do it, telling him to only answer either yes or no, nothing else. Jeník begs her to let him explain, but Mařenka refuses to hear his excuses and asks if he did sign that contract to sell her.

When he confirms it, she warns him to never come near her ever again, and declares that she will marry Vašek. Jeník bursts out laughing upon hearing this, which further angers Mařenka. Jeník again begs her to just let him explain his side of the situation, but she still refuses to listen. Jeník remarks on her stubbornness and asks if he could really look into her face if he really were guilty, to no avail. Ye typical operatic back-and-forth ensues (Duet: Mařenko má!... Tak tvrdošíjná; “Mařenka mine!... Are you so stubborn”. It’s actually my favorite musical bit in this entire opera. Listen to it here, sung by Peter Dvorský and Gabriela Beňačková; I used this specific recording in my 5th Opera(s) as Vines video. Mařenka sings two high C’s).

Kecal returns and tells Jeník that he will soon be getting his money, much to Mařenka’s disgust, and he asks Mařenka if she will marry Mícha’s son. Jeník replies that she will and that he swears that no one else is to have her. Kecal praises his sensibility and Mařenka calls him (Jeník) a scoundrel and a liar, and absolutely refuses to marry. Jeník asks Kecal what he would give him if he managed to persuade her, to Mařenka’s absolute anger and despair. Jeník gently tells her to trust him because Mícha’s son loves her so fucking much and there’s luck and happiness in store for her within this marriage, Mařenka continues despairing, and Kecal praises the wisdom of Jeník’s words and is seemingly just amused by the whole thing, and then they all agree that it is now time to bring in the parents and witnesses to put an end to this whole fuckery (Trio: Utiš se, dívko; “Calm down, my dear”).

Kecal leaves, and Jeník and Mařenka are very briefly left alone; he asks her if she still doesn’t understand what is really going on. She rebuffs him again and he steps aside. Then Krušina, Ludmila, Mícha, Háta and the chorus of villagers all come in. The chorus urges Mařenka to tell them her final decision (Ensemble: Jak jsi se, Mařenko, rozmyslila?; “How have you changed your mind, Mařenka?” or something like that). Aside, Mařenka looks forward to trick Jeník and get revenge on him by doing what he probably is not expecting. Then, she announces that she will do as she is asked (i.e., marry Mícha’s son). The chorus praises her decision and proclaims that the fuckery is now ended, and the wedding shall now take place.

Jeník steps forward, proclaiming that yes, the wedding shall now take place and that everyone will rejoice. The surprised Mícha and Háta immediately recognize him and ask where did he come from. Jeník addresses Mícha as “father” and muses that he has lived in a foreign place for a long time and that he suspects it is high time for him to come back home. Kecal is absolutely speechless upon hearing that this simple, poor boy is in fact Mícha’s eldest son, as he thought he was a soldier (I have no idea where that point came from). Jeník confirms again that he is indeed Mícha’s son, and clarifies that while he is no soldier, he did have to fight many personal battles with fate during his wandering days.

Háta retorts that he certainly had plenty of time for all the wandering around he did, and Jeník replies that he is all too aware that she had kicked him out, as he previously mentioned in Act 1. But he brushes it aside as no big deal, preferring to focus on his claim for Mařenka’s hand in marriage, which he says he is entitled to as a son of Mícha. He makes it clear that he actually tweaked the deal in his favor, and that there are technically two eligible sons for Mařenka to choose from. Mařenka finally understands where he is coming from, proclaims herself as belonging to him and joyfully throws herself in his arms.

Kecal completely despairs at his defeat by Jeník’s cunning trick, which apparently destroyed his reputation and honor. Everyone starts laughing at him, going on about how that wisdom of his which he has boasted so much about throughout the opera seems to have left him, and that what happened to him was pretty stupid (yes, Kecal, serves you right for being a pompous asshole who only cares about money) (note: it’s never indicated exactly, but because he is never mentioned after this scene either in the libretto or the score, one could assume that he leaves).

But these jolly happenings are interrupted by shouting noises backstage, followed by two boys running onstage, screaming in lines spoken rather than sung, about how the performing troupe’s bear has escaped and is running in this direction. Said bear comes onstage, and reveals itself to be Vašek in costume, telling everyone not to worry, as it’s only him. Everyone laughs. Háta scolds Vašek, calling him a fool, and then drags him offstage. Krušina tells Mícha that hopefully he will recognize that Vašek is still a bit young of mind, not ready for marriage yet. He and Ludmila encourage Mícha to make peace with his son Jeník, with whom he is finally reunited after such a long time.

Mícha blesses the couple (in the 1998 London production, he blesses them but also Vašek and Esmeralda, which I find kinda weird), and everyone present sings a happy chorus about faithful love saving the day, just as predicted in Act 1, and looking forward to the upcoming wedding (Finale: Pomněte, kmotře... Dobrá věc se podařila; “Remember, [neighbor]... A good cause has succeeded” or something like that). There is probably a lot of dancing going on, given the overall nature of this opera. The curtain falls on this celebration of love, and everyone lives happily ever after as far as we know.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: I wanna give a quick shoutout to @notyouraveragejulie‘s liveblog of this opera, in particular that famous Czech TV movie from 1982 (no subs, unfortunately, which is a shame because it’s one of the absolute best productions available online), which influenced quite a bit of the commentary in this post. Yes, I know I’m the one who suggested it to you, but I didn’t have anyone to scream about this opera with!! This reminds me, I should rewatch this production sometime.)

(PPS: the score that I have, which is downloaded from IMSLP, actually contains an annex with a short duet between the leader of the performers’ troupe and Esmeralda, which is only one among the handful of numbers that were in early version(s) of the opera and that were discarded during revisions. This one is set at the exact moment where the leader is telling Vašek all about the abilities of a performer. I ran the lyrics through Google Translate, but I barely understood what they were all about, but they did have something to do with performing.)

Before I start, let me talk briefly about the historical context surrounding this opera; it is set during a civil war in Aragon, Spain, during which several candidates attempted to claim the crown following the death of King Martin the Elder, one of them being Fadrique, Count of Luna, an illegitimate but recognized son of King Martin I of Sicily, son of the aforementioned King Martin the Elder.

(Also, no, I will NOT use the g-word, I do not want to perpetuate stigma.)

After a prelude in E major, Act 1 (titled “Il duello”; “The Duel”), Scene 1 opens in a hall in the Aljafería Palace in Zaragosa, Spain, during the night, sometime during the 15th century.

Ferrando, a booming bass and the captain of the guards of the Count di Luna and a chorus of di Luna’s men (note: in the original Italian libretto, they are called “famigliari”, but that word doesn’t seem to exist in modern-day Italian; and an English translation describes them as “retainers” and “servants”. I’ll just keep calling them “men”) are gathered outside the door to the Count’s chambers, guarding it while the latter is out to desperately try and woo the lady he fancies, very jealous because of a certain troubadour who’s also been hanging around said lady. The men ask Ferrando to keep them from dozing off by telling them the story of the Count’s younger brother, Garzia (Racconto (“Tale”, essentially an aria about telling a story, often intercut with lines by other characters, I guess): Di due figli vivea padre beato; “The father of two sons lived blissfully”).

Here’s how it goes:

Once upon a time, there was a man, the older Count di Luna, who had two sons; the elder one being the current Count di Luna who’s out on his heart-conquering mission, and the other one being... you’ll see. One morning, the youngest boy’s nurse woke up to find an old Romani woman leaning over his cradle (how the hell did she even get there?????). The nurse screamed and servants immediately came to throw the intruder out. The woman claimed that she was trying to read the kiddo’s fortune, but being the racist fucks these other people (and the people who wrote this opera, tbh 😓) were, they did not believe her a single iota, and they threw her out.

Shortly after, the boy developed a fever, and OF COURSE, the racist white people accused that old woman of having placed a curse on him. She was caught and sentenced to be burned at the stake. But before dying, she is said to have told her daughter avenge her. The sick child disappeared, and in the very same area where the mother had been burned, a very-recently half-burned tiny skeleton was found; the most likely conclusion here is that the daughter had kidnapped the baby and had thrown him into the fire.

Di Luna Sr. became super-depressed and died prematurely; however, he had a hunch telling him that his little boy was still alive somewhere, and made his Junior promise on his deathbed to continue searching for him (and said daughter).

Some productions will try to stage the flashback, or at least try to include some of the “ghost” characters throughout the show, as did the very first production I ever watched (which is unfortunately no longer on YouTube 😭😭😭; it was a production by the Teatro Real of Madrid, and it had Ludovic Tézier in it!!!!!).

The men (being all just as racist) curse the daughter, and Ferrando claims that he could still recognize her if he saw her even after all these years. He also adds that the old would-be witch’s spirit apparently still roams around the castle, usually under the form of an owl; apparently, she caused one of the Count’s men to die of fright.

At that moment, midnight strikes, followed by the beating of a drum, and everyone leaves, still cursing that same Romani woman.

Scene 2 opens in a palace garden, where we see Leonora, a soprano who is a lady-in-waiting to the Queen and that very woman that the Count is desperately trying to court, and her confidante, Ines, a soprano (she is usually listed as a soprano but I think I have seen sources that label her as a mezzo??? idk) and one of the few characters in the entire opera with any braincells (which might explain the mezzo-ness...).

Ines is concerned about Leonora’s love for this mysterious troubadour that we’ve mentioned earlier, and we learn that she initially met him at some knights’ tournament, when she had the honor of crowning him victor, and lost all contact with him when the civil war broke out. Until one night, she heard none other than her dear troubadour, playing the lute and serenading her under her balcony. And the rest is history (Cavatina (some fancy name for a short type of aria): Tacea la notte placida; “The placid night was silent”).

Ines has a very bad feeling about this relationship and tries to persuade Leonora to forget the guy, but Leonora, being the usually-not-so-smart soprano that she is, won’t hear any of it, because she is so passionately in love with that young man of hers that she will die if she were to never see him again. They both leave the stage.

At that moment, the previously-mentioned Count di Luna, an often-dashing (performer-wise), preferably awkward and probably autistic baritone, comes in, seeking to court Leonora. But then he gets super-angry and jealous upon hearing the sound of a lute, and a voice singing offstage (at least, the libretto states it to be offstage) (Romanza (romance): Deserto sulla terra; “Abandoned on the Earth”); it is the titular troubadour! Leonora comes down to the garden and mistakes the Count for her troubadour (it’s dark outside, so.) and throws herself in his arms (and probably starts making out with him, depending on the production). But when she hears the troubadour’s actual voice, she realizes her mistake. Said dude comes onstage with his face concealed, and the two begin canoodling on-the-spot.

Di Luna angrily demands that his rival reveal his identity, which he does; Manrico, a himbo tenor who should technically be in his late teens (although the vocal maturity required to sing this role does not reflect that...), and who was originally sentenced to death for being a supporter of Urgel, another contender for the crown, and therefore an enemy of di Luna. Manrico challenges him to call for his guards, but di Luna decides instead to challenge him to a duel over Leonora. Leonora herself tries to intervene and begs for di Luna to at least strike her instead of her lover (Trio: Di geloso amor sprezzato; “Of jealous and scorned love”), but the Count won’t hear any of it, and he and Manrico go off to duel, and the curtain falls. Oh, and the libretto calls for Leonora to faint at the very end, but eh, whatever, we’ve kind of had enough of fainting women in fiction.

Act 2 (titled “La g*tana”; “The [Romani] Woman”), Scene 1 opens on a Romani camp, situated somewhere on a mountain in Biscay, at dawn. Manrico is seated next to a burning fire (because this is a camp, of course there would be a fire), recovering from injuries, and next to him is Azucena, a mezzo-soprano (this time, 100% listed as a mezzo!!), and Manrico’s mother.

(Quick note: for some reason, Azucena is frequently portrayed as an old woman, even though she was a young woman when Manrico was an infant, and he’s now in his late teens; I like to call this type of thing the Obi-Wan effect. Also, I noticed that her name is never uttered by any character ever throughout the entire opera.)

There is also a chorus of Romani people (Chorus: Vedi! le fosche notturne spoglie; “See! the dark nocturnal remains”, aka the “Anvil Chorus”, named so because it uses actual anvils in the score, and by far the most famous tune in the entire opera; seriously, you HAVE heard it before, it’s a fucking headbanger!!!!!), singing about how the dawn illuminating the night sky can be comparable to a widow shedding her dark clothes, and then the men get to work, hammering shit while singing about a hot Romani woman being the perfect motivator for a Romani man.

Azucena starts singing about a woman being burned at the stake (Aria: Stride la vampa!; “The blazing fire screeches!” sorry, couldn’t find a better translation. Have a Groucho Marx lampooning this bit, as an apology oh my behalf), with very graphic fire-related descriptions (hmmm??? Is that the same story of the old Romani woman being burned for witchcraft??????? Hmmmmmm?????????), and the chorus briefly chides her for killing the mood, before going off to work (prompted by some random (old?) Romani guy, a bass, but we don’t care about him because he’s only got one line), singing a reprise of the Anvil Chorus.

Manrico and Azucena are left alone onstage, and Manrico asks her to tell him that dark story that she was singing about earlier. Azucena tells the story of that same woman accused of placing a curse on the (older) Count’s son, who was in fact her own mother (Racconto: Condotta ell'era in ceppi; “She was taken in shackles”); essentially the same as the earlier “racconto”, but a different POV:

As Azucena's mom was taken to the stake, Azucena followed her while holding her own infant son in her arms. They tried to get in contact with each other one last time, but the mean racist white men wouldn’t let them. And then, as she met her fate, the old woman cried out “Avenge me!”, and these words still resonate deeply in Azucena’s heart.

Then, Azucena kidnapped the Count’s sick baby, and took him to the campfire, ready to throw him in it and avenge her mother. But she got so distraught by the infant’s crying and visions of her mother’s last cry of “Avenge me!”, that she accidentally threw her own son into the fire instead of the one that she intended!!!!! Seriously, what kind of insane baby mix-up is that????????

That’s when Manrico realizes that he is not Azucena’s son, but somehow, everything else about his actual parentage, such as the fact that di Luna is therefore his brother, seems to fly over his head, I guess????? *sighs* Tenors. It doesn’t help that Azucena insists that he is still her son, if not biologically, in that she has still raised him with a ton of love. Manrico agrees.

Azucena continues to support her point by recalling that time in-between acts when she herself came to retrieve Manrico after he was defeated and left for dead on a battlefield in Pelilla (I googled, and I think it’s somewhere in Salamanca, but I’m not sure), and did all her maternal best to tend to his wounds.

When Manrico mentions that it was di Luna (the current one) and his forces that beat his ass in that battlefield after he had Leeroy Jenkins-ed his way into an ambush, Azucena gets pissed at him for having spared the Count’s life earlier in that duel that we saw Act 1 close on. He explains that when he defeated the Count in that duel, some inexplicable force prevented him from delivering the mortal blow (HMMMMMMMMM?????) (Duet: Mal reggendo all'aspro assalto; “Badly withstanding the harsh attack”). Of course, Azucena is none too happy about that, and makes Manrico promise to kill the Count once and for all.

At that moment, the sound of a horn is heard. This is a signal for the arrival of a messenger, coming on behalf of Ruiz, a fellow soldier. Manrico replies with his own horn. The messenger (a tenor, but who cares) comes onstage and gives him a letter informing him that their allies have taken Castellor (I literally could not find anything about it, but I assume based on later in the libretto that it’s a fortress), and that Manrico is required by the Prince (Urgel) to supervise its defense. It also says that Leonora, having heard false reports about his (Manrico’s) death in that battle, has decided to enter some nearby convent this coming evening.

Of course, Manrico, being the tenor that he is, immediately jumps up to get on his way to stop Leonora from taking the veil, completely disregarding Azucena’s protests regarding his wounds that have not fully healed yet.

We now enter Scene 2, at the cloister of the aforementioned convent, which happens to be not too far from Castellor, at night. Di Luna, Ferrando and a few of di Luna’s men appear. We learn that di Luna (also still believing Manrico to be dead) intends to seize Leonora before she gets to take her vows, and he proceeds to sing about his love for her (Aria: Il balen del suo sorriso; “The light of her smile”, a beautiful, lyrical piece that seriously contrasts with the rest of di Luna’s designated characterization (how could a “bad guy” sing such a sincere thing?????), and certainly contributed to the development of the “Verdi baritone” vocal fach).

At that moment, we hear a bell tolling, which announces Leonora’s upcoming rite of taking vows. Di Luna, super-confident in his plans, hides with the others. Leonora comes onstage along with a procession of singing nuns. Ines is also with her, obviously crying because her dear friend is going to live in seclusion for good, and she’s gonna miss her so much. Leonora expresses her inability to live in the outside world after losing her beloved troubadour and remains firm on her decision to take the veil, but then di Luna bursts in, re-emphasizing his intention to make her his wife.

But his plans are interrupted when Manrico bursts in. Everyone present is shocked upon seeing the mysterious troubadour that everyone believed to be dead, in fact alive and kicking!!!! One of those large ensemble where everyone is singing something different ensues, until Ruiz (who’s a tenor, by the way) enters along with some soldiers to get Manrico. An irrationally angry di Luna tries to attack him and prevent him from taking Leonora with him, but his own men hold him back, telling him to be reasonable for once. The curtain falls on Act 2 as Manrico and Leonora get the hell outta here (Finale: E degg’io e posso crederlo? “Must I and can I believe it?” Well, that’s the translation from the English libretto I’m using, I can’t seem to find a definition for degg’io).

Act 3 (titled “Il figlio della z*ngara”; “The Son of the [Romani] Woman”), Scene 1 begins at some military camp. There are a bunch of soldiers hanging around outside di Luna’s tent, some of whom are gambling (Chorus: Or co' dadi; “Right now we’re playing dice”). We learn through Ferrando and then di Luna that there are plans to attack the Castellor fortress, where Manrico and Leonora currently are, on the next day. There is much military rejoicing, but then Ferrando comes in and says that some Romani woman was seen hanging around the camp and, SUPPOSEDLY fearing that she was a spy, the men have pursued and caught her.

Said Romani woman, who turns out to be Azucena searching for Manrico, is forcibly brought before the Count. He begins questioning her, and bit by bit, he starts having some sort of suspicion regarding some tragic event the audience might have heard about, that happened three lustrums (aka fifteen years) ago... It helps that Ferrando, just as he had stated earlier in Act 1, recognizes her as the woman who supposedly killed di Luna’s brother. The men start torturing Azucena by tightening her bonds, and she cries for Manrico to come and aid her. When he hears that Azucena is Manrico’s mother, di Luna realizes that he can use her to manipulate his rival, and he, Ferrando and the other men rejoice at finally getting revenge for the lost brother, as they sentence her to be burned at the stake.

We cut to Scene 2, in a room in the Castellor fortress. Manrico entrusts Ruiz with the care of the effort against the imminent attack, while he and Leonora plan to get married. Leonora is stressed out about the upcoming battle, but Manrico remains confident, and reminds her of his love for her (Aria: Ah sì, ben mio; “Ah yes, my dear/love”, which just happens to be somewhat less lyrical than Il balen, just saying). Right after that, we hear an organ playing, and Manrico and Leonora start getting ready to tie the knot.

But then Ruiz comes running in, with news of Azucena’s capture and upcoming execution. Manrico immediately tells Ruiz to bring reinforcements, which he does. The act ends with Manrico vowing to rescue his mother or die with her (Cabaletta (the second, more animated section of a bel canto aria, often with insane vocal acrobatics): Di quella pira; “Of that pyre”), as well as a call for arms along with Ruiz and a chorus of soldiers. Oh, and Leonora has been watching the whole thing with great unease. (on Wikipedia, it says that she faints at the end, but I don’t see that detail in the libretto or the score. Huh.)

(Quick note on Di quella pira: this aria is known for being pretty notorious to sing (see what I meant earlier by vocal acrobatics), and it doesn’t help that it is often traditional for the tenor to interpolate three high Cs (C5) that don’t exist in the original score, so most tenors will sing it transposed one half- or whole step down. Here’s a performance by the legendary Franco Corelli, singing it in the original key and adding in all three optional high Cs. Oh, and enjoy his Ah sì, ben mio in the same video while you’re at it.)

Act 4 (titled “Il supplizio”; “The Torture”), Scene 1 brings us to a wing in the Aljafería Palace deep in the middle of the night. Ruiz guides Leonora to the prison tower, where we learn that Manrico has been imprisoned after failing to carry out his rescue mission. Leonora, planning to rescue him, tells the wind to bring her sighs and her love to her boyfriend. (Aria: D'amor sull'ali rosee; “On the rosy wings of love”). We hear an offstage chorus of monks singing something having to do with with asking God to have mercy on a soul approaching death (quite fitting), and we also hear Manrico’s voice offstage, awaiting his death and crying out farewell to Leonora for some reason even though he doesn’t know that she’s right here. Of course, Leonora pretty much angsts over all these details, but promises to rescue him (Duet with chorus: Miserere; “Lord, thy mercy”, which I guess could count as a setting of Psalm 51).

Di Luna then comes, intending to have both Manrico and Azucena executed at dawn. Leonora reveals herself, and asks him to let Manrico go. Of course, di Luna absolutely refuses, no matter how much she begs (Duet: Mira, d'acerbe lagrime; “Look, with bitter tears”). That is, until she offers herself to the Count as his wife in exchange for sparing Manrico’s life. Of course, he immediately accepts the proposition. However, Leonora has something else in mind; seen only by the audience, she chugs some poison (in the libretto, she drinks it from a ring that she’s wearing, but in some productions, she drinks it out of a small bottle).

Di Luna talks to a guard, and it is confirmed: Manrico shall live! While the Count rejoices over now having Leonora all for himself, Leonora internally rejoices over being able to die right after having saved her boyfriend (Duet: Colui vivrà; “He shall live”).

Scene 2 is set in the dungeon where Manrico and Azucena are being held prisoner (which should apparently be a really shitty dungeon, according to the libretto) (Duet: Madre, non dormi?; “Mother, you’re not sleeping?”). Azucena is kind of losing her mind, between feeling like she is dying, flashing back to her mother’s death and fantasizing about her and Manrico going back to their former lives in the mountains, but Manrico tells her to get some sleep, which she eventually does.

Then, Leonora comes in. The reunion between the lovebirds is initially joyous (Trio: Che! Non m'inganna quel fioco lume?; “What! Does that dim light not deceive me?”), but then the mood shifts when Leonora reveals to Manrico that she cannot follow him, begging him to flee at once without her. He realizes that she offered herself to the Count as a price for his freedom, and our sympathy for him tips a bit as he starts angrily slut-shaming her (also, Azucena starts repeating some of her lines, the ones having to do with her and Manrico’s former life in the mountains and stuff, in the background at some point, but we’re not focused on that).

That is, until the poison Leonora took earlier starts kicking in sooner than she intended (even though, in true operatic fashion, it’s very slow). She collapses, and when she explains her initial plan of her dying in order save him, Manrico immediately regrets his slut-shaming words. Di Luna enters the dungeon and overhears her telling Manrico that she would rather die than belong to someone other than him (Manrico, that is) (Finale: Prima che d’altri vivere; “Rather than to live while belonging to another”). Di Luna quickly realizes how she deceived him, and is obviously outraged.

Leonora dies in Manrico’s arms, and di Luna immediately orders Manrico’s execution, (in the libretto, and in most traditional productions, Manrico is simply taken offstage by di Luna’s soldiers, but there are some productions where di Luna himself kills Manrico on-the-spot onstage, such as that aforementioned first production that I ever watched). Upon learning about Manrico’s death, Azucena tells di Luna that he was his brother, and di Luna is horrified. Azucena cries out: “You are avenged, o mother!”, which makes us really question the way she was meant to be portrayed by the writers, very likely the stereotype of the Evil Old Romani Woman or something.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: we believe here that the true villain of this opera is di Luna Sr., as it is he and his stupid bigotry that resulted in no less than four deaths.)

(PPS: interestingly, the one sibling that the historical Count of Luna had on his father’s side was not a brother, but a sister, Violante. You know what that means????? ***trans Manrico headcanon intensifies***)

First off, we get to listen to a boptastic, fast-paced overture in D major that I’d like to classify as being in sonata form, so famous that it’s frequently performed on its own in concert settings.

After that the curtain opens (that is, if the production didn’t decide to stage the overture; examples of those that did include the productions by the Met (the current one) and the Royal Opera House) on Act 1, in a half-furnished room in the Almaviva castle (“alma viva” more or less meaning “living soul” in Spanish), not far from Seville, sometime during the late-ish 18th century.

We see Figaro (a name invented by Beaumarchais, probably derived from “fils Caron”, meaning something like “son of Caron” in French, “Caron” being Beaumarchais’ actual last name), a bass (although he is nowadays considered going more into bass-baritone territory) and a servant to Count Almaviva, measuring the floor, while Susanna, a soprano who is Figaro’s fiancée and Countess Almaviva’s maid, is happily trying on a little bonnet or something (usually replaced with a more-recognizable wedding veil or flower crown or something like that), and the two are just being the most cutie-patootie thing and Couple Goals™ together. (Duettino (meaning “little duet”): Cinque... dieci... venti...; “Five... ten... twenty...”).

Susanna asks Figaro what he is so busy measuring. He replies that he is checking the space in which their bridal bed should be able to fit (they are to be married on this very day). Susanna is rather upset upon learning that this is the very room that they were given by the Count, as it is very close to their masters’ chambers, but she won’t tell Figaro why. He goes on about how practical it is that this room is close to the masters, as they can be at their service in no time whenever they get summoned (Duettino: Se a caso Madama la notte ti chiama; “If per chance Madam calls you at night”). Susanna retorts supposing that the Count should summon him one morning to some other end of the castle, and then immediately come to the room while she’s alone... Figaro is shocked but lets Susanna elaborate on her point.

She explains that the Count, a compulsive adulterer, has been trying to make advances on her recently, which is why he has been so generous towards her and Figaro; she learned about all that via Basilio, her singing teacher. In particular, the Count wants to exercise his feudal right (a feudal lord’s right to sleep with a servant girl on her wedding night) on her, even though he had previously abolished it.

At that moment, a bell rings; it’s the Countess calling Susanna. She and Figaro part lovingly, and Figaro remains alone, briefly ranting at the Count and vowing to outwit all of his petty schemes (Cavatina (aka a shorter type of aria): Se vuol ballare; “If you want to dance”), before leaving the stage.

At that moment, enter Bartolo, a bass and a doctor/lawyer, and Marcellina, an older woman who is listed as a soprano but is almost always sung by a mezzo-soprano nowadays, and a former servant of Bartolo’s. We learn that they are another threat to our main couple’s union, as Marcellina has plans to use some help from the Count in order to essentially force Figaro to marry her. Bartolo takes pleasure in partaking in this plan as a revenge towards Figaro for some event in the previous installment... (Aria: La vendetta; “Revenge”). (In the Royal Opera House’s 2006 production, they make out after this aria, and I’m just mentioning that because I find it funny.) Anyway, Bartolo leaves after he’s done, leaving a hopeful Marcellina alone in the room.

At that moment, Susanna comes back, and Marcellina, pretending not to see her, starts pretty much talking shit about her out loud. Once they both notice each other, they start volleying very subtle insults back and forth at each other in a sarcastically polite tone (Duettino: Via resti servita; “Go on, I’m your servant”. I took this from an English translation of the libretto, and I’m still not really sure about it), complete with a bunch of curtsies. This goes on until Susanna “compliments” Marcellina about her age. The first time, Marcellina starts getting irritated, but we get a reprise of the music and text, and when Susanna repeats her “compliment” about Marcellina’s age, this time, she emphasizes it more than once, causing Marcellina to leave in a huff.

Then, Cherubino (literally meaning “cherub” in Italian), yet another character-listed-as-a-soprano-and-almost-always-played-by-a-mezzo-nowadays and the Count’s page boy (because yes, he’s a trouser/pants/breeches role, a male character played by a woman singer, usually to emphasize youth, as in this case. It’s a pretty big part of what attracts lesbians to opera. I mean no offense in saying that!!), comes in running, asking Susanna for help. Turns out the Count is dismissing him after finding him alone with a girl the day before. He is especially desperate because this means he will no longer see his godmother the Countess, whom he has a pretty big crush on, and he wants Susanna to ask her to intercede on his behalf.

Cherubino then notices Susanna holding a ribbon and a nightcap. When he learns that they belong to the Countess, he snatches the ribbon to keep it for himself. Susanna starts chasing after him, to no avail. He decides to even it out by giving her the sheet music for a song that he wrote, telling her to read it to every woman in the castle. He then goes on to talk about the strange feelings he’s been experiencing recently (Aria: Non so più; “I don’t know anymore”. Check out this Belgian technopop version of the aria, it’s quite something); he is a straight teenage boy (although some people nowadays might insist on referring to him as nonbinary or a lesbian) of about 13 or so, and he’s got hormones that go all gaga when it comes to women (and love in general), and that’s quite new for him.

Upon noticing the Count arriving, Cherubino hides behind an armchair. The Count (who’s a baritone, by the way), starts making some more advances towards Susanna. She tries to repel them as politely as she can, but it doesn’t really work. He is interrupted upon hearing someone outside the room. Not wanting to be caught alone with Susanna, he tries to hide behind the armchair (where Cherubino is!!!!!). As he does, Cherubino rushes to the front of the armchair and curls up on it, as Susanna quickly covers him with a dress (that’s what’s written in the libretto; in some productions she does that with some random sheet).

Basilio (a tenor) comes in looking for the Count. He starts spewing shitty gossip to Susanna, insinuating something about how Cherubino came to see her (Susanna) alone and gave her that song he wrote, but especially going on about Cherubino’s blatant crush on the Countess. Enraged, the Count bursts out of his hiding place. There is much chaotic emotion (Trio: Cosa sento!; “What do I hear!”); the Count demands that Cherubino be thrown out of the castle, Basilio takes delight in this turn of events, and Susanna is quite upset. She nearly passes out (to this day, I’m still not sure whether it’s supposed to be pretend or not), and the Count and Basilio catch hold of her try to place her on the armchair (and often in most productions, the Count will try to touch her in a somewhat suggestive way). When she realizes where she is about to be placed, Susanna immediately jumps to her feet.

She continues to plead for Cherubino, but the Count won’t hear any of it; he tells her and Basilio about how he found him yesterday with Susanna’s cousin Barbarina (you know, that incident that Cherubino mentioned earlier). To demonstrate how he pulled a tablecloth off a table to reveal the hiding page boy, he pulls the dress/sheet off the armchair... thereby ALSO revealing the same hiding page boy!!!! (It’s even funnier when some productions make him do a double take.) Susanna is distraught, Basilio is even more amused, and the Count is even more enraged. He accuses her of some shit, but she and Cherubino manage to explain to him the whole truth about how this came to happen. The Count thus realizes that Cherubino has overheard all the advances he has made on Susanna.

Immediately, Figaro comes in accompanied with a chorus of peasants scattering flowers and singing in praise of the Count contributing to the purity and happiness of the upcoming marriage thanks to having abolished this previously-mentioned bullshit feudal right (Chorus: Giovani liete; “Happy young people”). The Count is not happy about this, but he buys himself some time by asking to delay the wedding, claiming to want to provide it a bunch of pomp and circumstance. Everyone cheers, and after the chorus leaves, Figaro notices that Cherubino looks unhappy. After he learns about his sacking, he and Susanna plead yet again on his behalf to the Count.

He eventually forgives him (verbally, at least), BUT also decides to dispatch him to a vacant post in his regiment, which he is to fill on this very day. Figaro and Susanna urge the Count to let him wait at least until the next day, but he is relentless. After the Count leaves, Figaro starts telling Cherubino in a somewhat exaggerated way all about the shitty-but-grand military life he is to expect from this day on (Aria: Non più andrai; “You shall no longer go”). Goodbye, young Cupid boy, and hello, manly soldier man! (A number of productions have Figaro essentially bully Cherubino during this number, but this is just Not Nice imo. Stop that.)

Act 2 opens on the Countess’ bedroom. The Countess (who happens to be a soprano, but one of a less light/more mature quality than Susanna) is sadly moping about the unhappy state of her love, quite obviously because her husband is constantly cheating on her (Cavatina: Porgi, amor; “Grant, love”). Susanna comes in, trying to dissuade the idea that the Count is trying to seduce her, saying that it’s actually money-based. Figaro comes in and explains all the Count’s plans concerning Susanna as well as his own side of the whole deal (the Marcellina thing).

Figaro has hatched a plan: he is arranging for the Count (a compulsively unfaithful but also compulsively jealous husband; 🎶 hypocrite 🎶) to intercept a note via Basilio, informing him of the Countess supposedly planning to meet a lover on this very evening, as a way to distract him from his own plans. He tells Susanna to arrange to meet the Count in the garden that evening, and to send a disguised Cherubino in her place, in which way he can be caught in the act by the Countess. Right before Figaro leaves to send Cherubino over, he does a little reprise of Se vuol ballare.

After a short while, Cherubino arrives (in some productions, dressed in military wear). He is still sad about leaving the castle, and especially the beautiful Countess. Susanna teases him, and urges him to sing them that little song that he wrote. She fetches a guitar and accompanies him as he singing something about asking the women advice on what love is (Canzone (“song”): Voi che sapete; “You who know”).

Afterwards, they start preparing the woman-costume bits for Cherubino, with Susanna locking the bedroom door to avoid anyone bursting in. The Countess sees Cherubino’s commission paper for the army, and notices that the Count forgot to seal it in his hurry, essentially making it unofficial. Susanna starts dressing Cherubino as a woman (yup, a woman dressed as a boy/man dressed as a woman... you’ll see a bit of those in comic operas) (Aria: Venite, inginocchiatevi; “Come, get on your knees”). She keeps teasing him throughout, but the Countess asks her more than once to stop fooling around.

When Susanna raises the sleeves on Cherubino’s dress, there is a ribbon tied around his arm; it’s that same one that he took from Susanna. Turns out he has been using it to bandage a bleeding cut on his arm. As Susanna goes to fetch something else to bandage the cut, the Countess and Cherubino are left alone and have an exchange that quite a few productions insist on using to make things weird between them. (I hate when this happens. Ma’am, that’s literally a newly-hormonal teenage boy!!!!!)

It’s all interrupted when the Count unexpectedly comes a-knockin’ on the door, VERY suspicious (he has received Figaro’s note, and he knows that the Countess usually never locks herself in her room). Cherubino shuts himself in a closet as the Countess lets the Count into the room. As he confronts her, a thud is heard from inside the closet; it’s Cherubino who fell over somehow. Of course, the Count becomes even more suspicious. The Countess claims it’s Susanna who is in there. As the Count urges Susanna to come out (Trio: Susanna, or via sortite; “Susanna, come out now”), Susanna happens to come in unnoticed, but when she realizes the situation, she hides away. There is a whole back-and-forth going on, between the Countess insisting that Susanna is in there trying her wedding gown, and the Count suspecting that his wife is hiding a lover in there.

As the Count leaves the room to get something to force the closet door open, taking the Countess with him and locking all doors in the process, Susanna comes out of her hiding spot. She beckons Cherubino to come out (Duettino: Aprite, presto, aprite; “Open, quick, open”), which he does (it’s not noted in the libretto, but usually he is seen wearing in his own clothes again). They get desperate as they realize all the doors are locked, but Cherubino gets the idea of jumping out of the window. Susanna begs him not to do it, as it is too high and he’ll probably kill himself, but Cherubino does it anyway... And makes it unharmed!!!!!! Susanna gleefully watches him run away at light speed, and quickly shuts herself in the closet.

At that moment come the Count and Countess, he with a bunch of tools to open the door. The Countess finally admits that she was hiding Cherubino in there, as they wanted to pull an innocent joke on him (the Count). Of course, the Count is very much set on killing him, despite the Countess’ desperation (Finale: Esci ormai; “Get out now”). The Countess, still insisting on her innocence, gives the Count the key to the closet as he draws his sword, ready to kill the page (that detail doesn’t appear in all productions, though). But when the door opens, out comes Susanna! When the ladies claim the whole thing, from the anonymous note to the page in the closet, as being a trick to test his jealousy, the Count begs his wife for forgiveness. After some roasting, the soft-hearted Countess accepts.

Figaro then comes in with news about the musicians for the wedding being here. The Count starts asking him very suspiciously about the anonymous note. Figaro, unaware of all the explanations that have occurred previously, confidently denies having anything to do with it. Of course, the Count doesn’t buy it. But everything is interrupted as Antonio, the castle gardener and a bass, comes in angrily. He claims to have seen a man jump out of the window and land in his garden, crushing his carnations in the process (in the libretto, he’s carrying a pot of them, but some productions omit that detail). Antonio has a reputation for being a drunk, so Figaro, Susanna and the Countess use that to try and cover themselves. Antonio strongly believes the culprit to be Cherubino, but Figaro (who witnessed the window jump) finally claims that he himself was the one who jumped out of the window, and also injured his foot as he landed.

Antonio gives Figaro a paper dropped by whoever jumped out of the window. Figaro, the Countess and Susanna manage to buy a little bit of time by asking Antonio to leave, which he does. As the Count pointedly questions him, Figaro understands that he’s into some deep shit, but Susanna and the Countess discreetly help save his ass, and he correctly identifies the paper as Cherubino’s military commission, which is lacking a seal.

Then come Marcellina, Bartolo and Basilio. Figaro, Susanna and the Countess despair, and the Count rejoices. We learn in better detail that Figaro had signed a contract that legally requires him to marry Marcellina in exchange for some loan money, and that she intends on having this contract be fulfilled. The curtain falls on this chaotic septet of contrasting emotions.

Act 3 is set in a hall in the Almaviva castle, prepared for the upcoming wedding. The Count is on his own, pondering the confusing craziness of the events of the previous act. The Countess and Susanna come in, unseen by him. The Countess encourages Susanna to get the Count to meet her in the garden later that evening, before leaving. Susanna and the Count remain alone onstage, and she ever-so-lovingly promises to meet him in the garden (Duet: Crudel! Perché finora farmi languir così?; “Cruel one! Why make me languish thus till now?”), and there’s quite a bit of back-and-forth going on.

As she leaves, Susanna meets Figaro and tells him that he has won his case (gaining the Count’s sympathy in terms of the whole Marcellina deal, I guess). However, the Count overhears this, and he gets really, REALLY pissed. He resolves to force Figaro to marry Marcellina, and rejoices in the prospect of revenge (Recitative and Aria: Hai già vinto la causa!... Vedrò, mentr'io sospiro; “You have already won the case!... Shall I see, while I sigh”).

Figaro, Marcellina and Bartolo come onstage, as well as Don Curzio, a tenor and a judge; this is Figaro’s hearing for the Marcellina case. Don Curzio leaves Figaro with the choice to either pay or marry Marcellina. The Count, Marcellina and Bartolo rejoice. Figaro claims that he cannot marry without his parents’ consent, and asks to be granted some more time to look for them, as he was stolen as a baby. When the spatula-shaped mark on his right arm gets brought up (summaries and translations usually refer to it as being a birthmark, but from reading the libretto, it seems more like it was artificially printed on), Marcellina immediately recognizes Figaro as a certain “Raffaello”. Bartolo explains that Marcellina is Figaro’s biological mother!!!!! How’s THAT for a twist??? And as if that wasn’t enough, Marcellina reveals that Bartolo is Figaro’s biological father!!!!!!!!!! Therefore, the marriage between Figaro and Marcellina cannot take place.

This very weirdly random reveal leads to an unironically heartwarming family reunion (Sextet: Riconosci in quest'amplesso; “Recognize in this embrace”). Don Curzio and the Count are absolutely dumbfounded. The Count in particular is fucking pissed. Susanna enters with money to help pay Figaro’s debts. When she sees Figaro embracing Marcellina, she becomes furious. She even slaps him at one point. But when the others explain the surprising family connection between Figaro and Marcellina (and Bartolo), she joins in the embrace. After the Count and Don Curzio leave, Bartolo and Marcellina agree to get married on this very evening (Figaro is their illegitimate child); a double wedding shall take place!

After they all leave, Cherubino briefly enters with Barbarina (a soprano with a voice so youthful that she’s pretty much the epitome of “girl soprano” in the opera circles), who plans to hide him from the Count by disguising him as a girl (he is supposed to be in Seville for his military service at this hour). They leave, and the Countess comes in alone, wondering about how the scheme is going, and then starts lamenting the loss of her happy days (Recitative and aria: E Susanna non vien!... Dove sono i bei momenti; “And Susanna does not come!... Where are the good times”. Man, she’s got a lot of sad music for a comic opera). After she leaves, Antonio and the Count briefly come in. Antonio tells the Count that Cherubino is not in Seville but at his house.

As they leave, Susanna and the Countess enter. Susanna has been briefing the Countess on everything that has been going on so far with the Count. The Countess tells her to write him a note to meet her at a precise location (Duettino: Sull’aria... Che soave zeffiretto; “On the breeze... What a sweet little zephyr wind”. This duet was featured in an iconic scene in the movie The Shawshank Redemption; the recording here features sopranos Gundula Janowitz and Edith Mathis. The sound is one half-step higher than it should be, though). As the Countess dictates, Susanna writes: “What a sweet little zephyr wind shall sigh under the pines of the grove”. That’s it, she doesn’t need to write more, the Count will understand everything. After folding the letter, the Countess gives Susanna a pin to seal it with, and tells her to add a note on the back of the letter, instructing the receiver to return the pin.

Barbarina comes in, accompanied by a chorus of peasant girls, with a yet-again-disguised Cherubino among them, bringing posies of flowers for the Countess (Chorus: Ricevete, o padroncina; “Receive, o mistress”). The Countess asks about one particularly modest-looking girl, who is none other than Cherubino (quite a few productions play up Cherubino’s nervousness in an endearingly hilarious way, for example by having him completely hide his face behind his flowers).

Barbarina claims that said girl is a cousin of hers, coming for the wedding. The Countess takes “her” flowers and kisses “her” on the forehead (though that’s not necessary), to which “she” blushes. The Countess remarks that “she” really reminds her of someone she knows. At which point Antonio and the Count come in. Antonio brutally reveals Cherubino. The Count is angry at Cherubino for not having left for Seville, but Barbarina (who is Antonio’s daughter, by the way, forgot to mention) saves his ass by reminding the Count that he often said he would give her anything she wants if she “loves” him (apparently the context is supposed to be... inappropriate), and she asks for Cherubino’s hand in marriage in exchange of her “loving him (the Count) like she loves her kitten”.

Figaro comes in and tries to have the wedding start, but the Count briefly confronts him with his lies. A wedding march starts playing (Finale: Ecco la marcia; “Here’s the march”), and everyone takes their places for the ceremony, despite the tension between the Count and Countess (who are supposed to preside over the wedding), and then Figaro and Susanna as well as Marcellina and Bartolo all finally get married. There’s a bit during which two female voices sing in praise of the Count having abolished that stupid feudal right (Amanti costanti; “Faithful lovers”). (Normally this bit it is given to two random chorus girls, but in the Met 2014 production, it is sung by Cherubino and Barbarina, which is quite a smart choice as it does fit the appropriate voice types.) Sometime in the midst of the procession, Susanna slips the letter to the Count.

As the dance party following the ceremony starts, the Count takes out the letter and pricks his finger on the pin. Figaro, unaware of the origins of this letter, discreetly laughs at this (in the libretto he is talking to Susanna (which I prefer), but quite a few productions have him deliver his line as an aside). After the Count promises grandiose festivities for this occasion, the chorus does a reprise of the Amanti costanti verses, and everyone dances the evening away as the curtain falls on the act.

The curtain opens on Act 4 in the castle garden at night. Barbarina is alone, completely desperate because she has lost something (what that something is is not yet elaborated on), and what will her cousin (Susanna) and the master (the Count) say??? (Cavatina: L’ho perduta; “I have lost it”. Strangely enough, this number is in a minor key, which is notable as being quite rare in Mozart’s works; I believe it’s the only number in this whole opera that’s in a minor key.)

Figaro and Marcellina come in, and after they inquire about her situation, Barbarina reveals that she has lost a pin that the Count gave to her to return to Susanna. Figaro figures out that the pin was the one sealing that letter that he saw the Count with during the wedding, and he becomes very jealous, but does not say anything until after Barbarina leaves. Marcellina advises him to keep it together, as the situation is not 100% clear as of yet, but he won’t listen.

After Figaro goes off “to avenge all husbands”, Marcellina is bent on warning her new daughter-in-law, whom she believes to be innocent, of Figaro’s intentions. She complains about how the males and females of literally every other species get along with each other while human men and women don’t (Aria: Il capro e la capretta; “The billy-goat and the she-goat”. It is almost always cut out, which. rude).

Barbarina enters carrying some fruits and cake, planning to meet Cherubino somewhere around this area. When she hears someone come in, she hides in a nearby pavilion. It’s Figaro, who has asked Bartolo and Basilio to help him in his plans. After he leaves, Bartolo and Basilio discuss the situation, and Basilio says that he himself knows better than to interfere with powerful people. He talks in a very metaphorical way about how he used to be a clueless shit back in the days, but then one day “Donna Flemma” (“Dame Phlegm” or something like that in Italian) came to him. (Aria: In quegli anni; “In those years”. Also almost always cut out. Quite rare for a tenor aria).

After they leave, Figaro re-enters, and in his desperate jealousy, he starts spewing a ton of shit about women (Recitative and aria: Tutto è disposto... Aprite un po’ quegl’occhi; “Everything is prepared... Open those eyes for a bit”).

Note: you find this aria ugh or even out of place? Your feelings are totally justified! In the original play, at this exact moment, Figaro actually has a long soliloquy that directly challenges the Count and his high status. This is the part that caused the most scandal back when the play came out, and when Mozart and da Ponte adapted it, they had to edit the whole thing out to get past the super-aristocratic Viennese censors.

He hides as the Countess and Susanna enter, accompanied by Marcellina, who has secretly warned them that Figaro is eavesdropping. Marcellina hides into the save pavilion that Barbarina hid in, and the Countess leaves the stage. Susanna remains alone, fully aware of Figaro hiding within hearing but pretending not to know that, and she teases him by loudly looking forward to the upcoming rendezvous with her “beloved” (who she does not mention by name, but whom Figaro would obviously assume to be the Count) (Recitative and aria: Giunse alfin il momento... Deh, vieni, non tardar; “The time has finally come... O, come, don’t delay”).

Note: so there are many ways one can analyze any aria, and this one is no different. I am particularly aware of two different ways to look at it: this video goes with the idea of Susanna is singing it as a way to punish Figaro for his jealousy, as the slow-paced music style is very different from the earlier, much more energetic Venite, inginocchiatevi, thus representing her dishonesty in that moment. Which is very logical. But also, back in June 2021, I was invited to attend a Zoom masterclass given by soprano Joyce el-Khoury, and she talked about how this aria is essentially Susanna singing all these loving things to Figaro without him knowing. And I’m quite willing to accept that because Figaro and Susanna as a couple are the most valid thing ever. I wouldn’t say I’m really leaning towards one or the other in particular, but just decided to mention these analyses because I find them interesting (and I agree with both).

ANYWAY, Susanna goes out of sight and Figaro becomes super-jealous, but he doesn’t have the time to act on any of that because then comes a cheerful Cherubino on his way to meet Barbarina. Then he sees the Countess, who is disguised as Susanna. Of course, mistaking her for Susanna, he comes up to her and starts teasing her (Finale: Pian pianin le andrò più presso; “Softly, softly I’ll get closer to her”). “Susanna" tries to get him to go away but he won’t budge. The Count comes in discreetly and sees this; he, Figaro, Susanna disguised as the Countess (all hidden) and the Countess herself get worried because Cherubino is unknowingly about tor ruin the whole thing. Eventually, Cherubino tries to kiss “Susanna" (actually the Countess), but the Count places himself between them. He swings a punch at Cherubino but strikes Figaro instead (he somehow decided to come out of hiding at that moment, and no one noticed because of the darkness).

Cherubino goes off to hide in that same pavilion where Barbarina and Marcellina are hidden, and Susanna and Figaro go back into hiding. The Count starts enthusiastically flirting with a very eager “Susanna" (with a hidden Figaro angrily snarking at the whole thing throughout), and gives her a ring. At one point, they decide to go into hiding among the trees, where “Susanna” (the Countess) hides away from the Count into another pavilion (or it can be anywhere else, really).

Then, Figaro sees the “Countess” and tries to warn her about their respective spouses’ adultery. But a few sentences into the conversation, he inwardly realizes that it’s actually Susanna disguised as the Countess. He immediately starts passionately flirting with “madama”. Susanna gets super pissed and starts beating the shit out of him (which he seems to enjoy). But then Figaro lovingly clarifies that he actually recognized her voice (it’s technically because she forgot to disguise her voice at one point, but it’s difficult to make this come across in terms of singing) (Pace, pace, mio dolce tesoro; “Peace, peace, my sweet treasure”). The two have a very sweet moment together, but the whole thing is short-lived as the Count comes back from among the trees, looking for “Susanna”.

It’s clear that the Count hasn’t uncovered the Countess’ disguise, so Figaro and the real Susanna, still disguised as the Countess, decide to play one last trick on him. They flirt together loudly enough for the Count to hear. As the Count closes in on them, the-Countess-but-actually-Susanna hides into the pavilion where Barbarina, Marcellina and Cherubino are already hidden.

The Count catches Figaro and calls for aid (Scena ultima (ultimate/final scene): Gente! gente! all’armi! all’armi!; “Gentlemen! gentlemen! to arms! to arms!”). In come Antonio, Bartolo, Basilio and Don Curzio (we do have to have the whole cast on stage for a final scene, huh!). The Count claims to have caught his servant betraying him with his wife, and he reaches into the pavilion where the-Countess-but-actually-Susanna is hidden, pulling out Cherubino, Barbarina, Marcellina and then the still-disguised Susanna one by one from the pavilion. Everyone begs the Count to forgive Figaro and the Countess, but he won’t hear any of it. Then, the Countess, having shed her “Susanna” disguise, comes out of hiding, to almost everyone’s surprise.

As the orchestra slows down significantly and plays an incredibly beautiful and lyrical tune, the humiliated Count finds himself having to beg the Countess for forgiveness in front of everyone (Contessa, perdono!; “Countess, forgive me!”). Given how much of an asshole he has been throughout the whole show, there is much debating as to whether he really means it. Given the absolute beauty of the music at this moment (check out a scene from Amadeus involving it), I should probably be inclined to believe that he does mean it, or at least that he genuinely thinks he means it.

The more docile Countess kindly accepts his apology (NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!), and everyone pretty much turns to the audience and joins in that same incredibly beautiful melody (Ah! Tutti contenti saremo così; “Ah! We shall all be happy thus”), with the four couples holding hands/cuddling and everyone being happy. Then, the music switches to a much livelier bop, very much similar to the overture, and all the characters conclude that only love can end this absolutely crazy day (Questo giorno di tormenti; “This day of torments”), and they call for the wedding celebrations to continue. The curtain falls, and we are meant to believe that everyone lives happily ever after.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: fun fact, when the opera had its first revival in Vienna in 1789, Mozart wrote two new replacement arias for the soprano who sang Susanna: Un moto di gioia (“A surge of joy”) in the place of Venite, inginocchiatevi, and Al desio, di chi t’adora (“To the desire of the one who loves you”), both in the same keys as the respective arias that they’re each replacing. Both arias were famously performed by Cecilia Bartoli when she sang Susanna in the Met’s 1998 production of this opera.)

(PPS: anyone from the opera fandom side of AO3? Check out this really cute fanfic of Figaro and Susanna fluff set right after the the opera ends! I absolutely love it. It’s better than most of the other, very hmmmm pairings found under the Nozze category...)

(PPPS: sorry for this incredibly ENORMOUS post; have this much shorter summary of the opera by William Elliott, the same guy who illustrated that summary of Il trovatore that I showed y’all last time.)

After a slaptastic prelude in D major, Act 1 opens on a village in the Basque country (but it’s a common misconception that it’s set in Italy, which. logical tbh.) on a hot summer day (L’elisir is probably one of THE summer operas!!), with a chorus of peasants lounging around under the shade of a tree next to a river. According to the libretto, there are also some washerwomen washing some laundry on the riverbank.

Adina, a wealthy landowner (Wikipedia’s words), a soprano, is sitting down and reading a book. Nemorino (name meaning “little nobody”, presumably an Italian diminutive of the Latin term “nemo”, meaning “nobody”. Yup, just like the cartoon clownfish), a poor peasant and an obviously autistic tenor with little to no braincells who is hopelessly in love with Adina, stares at her longingly. The chorus sings about how great it feels to lounge under the shadow of a tree on a hot summer day, and also about how unlike the heat of the sun, the heat of love cannot be extinguished.

After that, Nemorino sings about his hopeless love for Adina, describing her as beautiful, intelligent and studious, and him having no chance at having her love him back because he describes himself as an idiot and as only capable of sighing (Aria: Quanto è bella, quanto è cara; “How beautiful she is, how dear she is”).

Adina suddenly laughs at something she just read in her book, and the peasants gather around her to listen to what she has to say. She tells them of the story of the love potion of Queen Isolde (Aria: Della crudele Isotta; “Of the cruel Isolde”).

The story here goes that Tristan was madly in love with Isolde, but she was a beautiful bitch who wouldn’t love him back, so Tristan went to see a wizard, who brewed him a love potion. Tristan drank the love potion (yeah, weird) and Isolde fell in love with him, and the two lived happily ever after (yes, I know this is absolutely not how it actually goes in the original myth, but I didn’t write the libretto, so don’t ask me). Everyone is like: “oh man, life would be so much better if such a potion did exist”. Nemorino in particular is mesmerized by the idea of getting a love potion to win Adina’s love.

A drumroll announces the arrival of a regiment of soldiers, guided by Belcore (name meaning “lovely heart” or something like that in Italian), an incredibly pompous baritone sergeant who thinks he’s Casanova incarnate and God’s gift to women. He immediately starts courting Adina (Aria: Come Paride vezzoso; “Like charming Paris”, Paris being the dude in Greek mythology who gave the golden apple to the fairest goddess, not the French capital; besides the golden apple reference (which he uses to compare it to himself giving Adina... some flowers), Belcore even goes further with the mythology metaphors with the line: “even the mother of love yields to Mars, the god of war”). Some other soldiers probably hook up with some village ladies.

Adina plays hard-to-get (including the line “they shout victory before even fighting”); she is internally not interested by Belcore’s advances, but Nemorino, who can’t really read in-between the lines because he’s autistic (why is he autistic? Because I said so and I’m right), becomes super-anxious at the idea of Belcore stealing Adina, and after everyone but her leaves the stage, decides to confess his love to her (Duet: Una parola, o Adina... Chiedi all’aura lusinghiera; “One word, o Adina... Ask the pleasant breeze” or something like that).

She already knows that he has been pining for her for a long time now, due to body language (so much sighing!). While she acknowledges Nemorino’s goodness and modesty, which she finds is very unlike the overconfident Belcore, she gently but firmly turns him down by claiming that faithful love is not her thing and that she manages to live contentedly and avoid heartbreak by taking a new lover each day, using the metaphor of the wind blowing here and there due to this simply being its nature, and she suggests that Nemorino follow suit and give up on his love for her and maybe go to town to visit his very sick uncle. But Nemorino won’t hear any of this, claiming that he can’t stop loving her, using the metaphor of a river flowing towards the sea due to being drawn there by an unknown force.

A trumpet sounding the arrival of the travelling “doctor” Dulcamara (which is apparently another name of the plant commonly known as the bittersweet), a grandiose bass, alerts the villagers. (In the libretto, he is accompanied by a servant who plays the trumpet to announce his arrival, but it’s not a really important detail, so some productions don’t add it in.) Dulcamara starts singing about his job of selling his supposedly miraculous concoctions for various ailments, ranging from wrinkles to liver pain as well as bedbugs and more, all for a very good price (Aria: Udite, udite, o rustici; “Hear ye, hear ye, o peasants” or something like that). The chorus is quite impressed.

Nemorino in particular is amazed by this supposedly amazing man and, after everyone leaves, asks him about the possibility that he may have the love potion of Queen Isolde. At first, Dulcamara doesn’t understand, but once he does and senses the opportunity to make himself some quick dough, he provides him with a bottle of what he claims to be a love potion for him to drink, telling him that it will take about 24 hours to work. Nemorino spends his entire live savings (one coin) on this one bottle. Dulcamara tells the audience that he actually sold Nemorino a bottle of cheap Bordeaux wine, and that by the time the 24-hour time span will have passed, he will be long gone with the money; that’s his usual charlatan tactic, but the overjoyed Nemorino does not suspect a thing.

He immediately drinks the “love potion” and quickly becomes drunk. Adina comes by and notices Nemorino, who’s just sitting there and ignoring her (he’s actually so confident of the potion’s success that he’s pretending to be indifferent to her). She is so used of having Nemorino hopelessly pining after her that she becomes unusually annoyed. (early sign of something??? ;) ) (Duet: Caro elisir! sei mio!... Esulti pur la barbara; “Dear elixir! you’re mine!... Let the barbarian rejoice”, you know, that duet performed at the Met at-home Gala from which I (well, technically @notyouraveragejulie) got that one meme format I use all the time.)

Nemorino claims to have started following her advice on him getting over his massive crush, and needing only one day to fully get over it, and Adina sarcastically congratulates him. Both Nemorino and Adina sneer internally about getting their own back on the other in a “rira bien qui rira le dernier” (“he who laughs last shall laugh the longest”, French idiom) type of way, he in a “laugh while you can, bitch, tomorrow you’ll be hopelessly in love with me >:)” way, and she in a “pretend while you can, bastard, eventually you’ll get crushed under the weight of your hopeless pining >:)” way.

They’re interrupted by the arrival of Belcore, who’s boastfully comparing the difficulty of courting Adina to a war siege (Trio: Tran, tran). Adina starts flirting with him to make Nemorino jealous.

Belcore proposes again to Adina, and she accepts solely in order to get revenge on Nemorino for... briefly pretending not to love her anymore? (EARLY SIGNS EARLY SIGNS EARLY SIGNS AMIRITE) (tho she doesn’t say it out loud). They schedule the wedding to be in six days’ time, and Nemorino absolutely rejoices, to the great confusion of the other two.

But then, Giannetta (a soprano peasant who is literally only promoted from being a simple chorister in order to help advance the plot throughout), accompanied by the peasants and Belcore’s soldiers, comes onstage with a note from Belcore’s captain, who is asking the entire regiment to leave the village on the next day. Belcore and Adina decide to get married later today, and Nemorino becomes REALLY upset, begging Adina to at least wait until tomorrow, but Adina won’t hear any of it. She rejoices at Nemorino’s despair, invites everyone to the wedding, and the act ends with pretty much everyone laughing at the poor crying Nemorino.

 Act 2 opens with an absolutely boptastic prelude in C major that includes an onstage brass band. Adina, Belcore, Dulcamara, Giannetta and the chorus are all sitting at the wedding banquet later that day, having a great time, except Adina is a bit desperate because Nemorino is not here, and she needs him to be there in order for her revenge to be complete.

Dulcamara gets Adina to sing with him a barcarole for two voices that he himself wrote, which tells the story of the old senator Tredenti (sung here by Dulcamara) who proposes marriage to the young gondolier Nina (sung here by Adina), promising her riches and stuff, and she is flattered but refuses his advances out of modesty, and also besides, she already has this other young gondolier, Zanetto, whom she likes (Duet: Io son ricco e tu sei bella; “I am rich and you are beautiful”, absolutely slaps). The whole chorus loves it and congratulates Dulcamara on his genius, which. I 100% get the former.

The notary arrives, and everyone goes offstage for the signing of the wedding contract. As Dulcamara lingers to help himself to some more food at the table, Nemorino comes onstage, completely distressed because he has seen the notary and now believes all his hopes are over. He asks Dulcamara for a way to quicken the effects of the potion. Dulcamara claims that more love potion will do the trick, and will also make him be loved by everyone. But when he hears that Nemorino doesn’t have any more money left, he’s like, “welp, too bad for you, man” and walks off.

Belcore comes by, confused because Adina keeps putting off signing the wedding contract for some unclear reason. He sees Nemorino and asks what’s wrong. Nemorino says he’s sad because he doesn’t have money. Belcore encourages him to enlist in the army, in exchange for a nice salary on the spot. Nemorino signs the military contract (logically, given his status, he should be illiterate, so he would sign an X on it, but I don’t think it’s usually made very clear), and gets his money. As Belcore talks about the Grand Military Life™ (and internally rejoices at sending his rival in love to his death), Nemorino is thinking about nothing but the money, the potion and getting Adina (Duet: Venti scudi; “Twenty coins” or something like that).

After both have left, Giannetta and the entire female chorus come onstage. Giannetta reveals that Nemorino’s uncle (remember? The one that Adina mentioned earlier) just died and left Nemorino an immense fortune. There is a lot of fangirling from all the ladies there. No one else knows about that, not even Nemorino or Adina, and they decide not to tell anyone.

Nemorino comes onstage, drunk out of his mind with even more “love potion” (sidenote, I don’t think I have ever seen anyone other than Roberto Alagna play Nemorino as so incredibly wasted as he usually plays him in that scene, and that’s kind of a real shame, tbh; that I haven’t seen anyone else play him this way, I mean), and the all women immediately start swarming him, he who has up till now always been pretty much known as the village idiot. Nemorino immediately assumes that it’s the “love potion” taking effect, and internally deduces that if the potion worked on all the women in the village, then it must also work on Adina.

When Adina comes and sees this, she has what is probably the biggest mindfuck of her entire life; she had planned to see her little longtime simp reduced to tears, and instead she sees him happily flirting with all these other women and barely even noticing her! And that fucking hurts!!! (another sign???) Dulcamara is also surprised to see that the potion-that-is-not-actually-a-potion seems to have actually worked (which is kinda stupid of him tbh, but whatever).

Adina says that she just learned from Belcore that Nemorino has enlisted in the army, and all the ladies despair. Nemorino tries to talk to Adina, but the other women beg him for a dance, and start fighting over who gets him first. Eventually Nemorino goes offstage, pursued by Giannetta and the chorus ladies.

Once they’re gone, Adina asks Dulcamara about the “love potion”. He tells her all about how Nemorino bought it because he was so desperate to gain the love of some beautiful heartless bitch. Adina realizes the sincerity and intensity of Nemorino’s love for her, and also comes to realize that she has truly loved him all along as well.

Dulcamara tries to sell her some “love potion” to win Nemorino back, but Adina turns it down, claiming that she already has her own metaphorical love potion, which she holds in her good looks and her smile and stuff like that (Duet: Una tenera occhiatina; “A tender glance”); if she had Nemorino’s heart by her own means before, then she will be able to win it back the same way! Dulcamara fully agrees and they both go offstage.

Nemorino comes onstage, pensive (THAT’S IT, THAT’S THE BIG ARIA THAT EVERY SINGLE LYRIC TENOR EVER HAS EVER SUNG IN A CONCERT HALL!!!! Una furtiva lagrima; “A furtive tear”); he has seen a tear (no shit!) in Adina’s eye when she witnessed him with the other women, which he attributes to envy. He immediately deduces that she also loves him. He now loves her more than ever, and fantasizes about feeling the palpitations of her heart, and hearing her sighs mixing with his own sighs, if only for a short while (the lyrics of this verse, particularly the bit about the heart palpitations, feel strangely intimate to me in some way, and I love it). He is so incredibly happy and ecstatic that he says he might as well die on the spot, for he has nothing more to ask for in his life. He probably sheds tears of joy.

(Fun fact for those who don’t know: there is a famous cadenza at the end of the aria that is not actually written down in the score (including the line “si può morir d'amor”; “one can die of love”), but is nowadays the most popular way of concluding the aria (listen for example to Luciano Pavarotti perform it this way; cadenza starts at 3:57). But because almost every tenor does it, it’s getting a bit redundant imo, especially since bel canto as a genre is meant to specialize in showcasing performers’ vocal virtuosity, and therefore relies quite a bit on improv in some places.)

Adina comes onstage, and says she has bought Nemorino’s military contract back from Belcore. She asks him why he decided to join the army.

(Another fun fact interruption! The composer Donizetti himself apparently managed not to have to serve in the Austrian army, thanks to a rich woman (whose name I sadly could not find) who bought his military contract in order to keep him from serving.)

Nemorino claims to want a better life, but Adina begs him to reconsider. Nemorino internally senses that it’s love and the fear of losing him that make her speak so. Adina begs him to stay, since everyone in the village seems to love him now (Aria: Prendi, per me sei libero; “Here, take it, it’s thanks to me that you’re free”).

After the aria concludes, she starts to take leave of him. The surprised Nemorino asks her if she has anything else to say. She says she doesn’t. He’s like, “well, since I’m not loved, I want to die a soldier!” This causes Adina to actually confess her genuine love for him, and she expresses the desire to make him happy after having tried to make him miserable all this time, and swears him eternal love. Nemorino is practically over the moon. The contract gets ripped, and the two of them kiss. (Well, in the libretto, it’s only written that Nemorino throws himself at Adina’s feet, but honestly it works better to have them actually smooch instead.)

When Belcore comes and sees them making out, he starts getting angry, but Adina reveals that she actually only went with the whole wedding thing in order to make Nemorino jealous. Belcore decides that there’s plenty of fish in the sea. (Many productions, including the 2018 Met production, have him and Giannetta express interest in each other then, but I think the 1996 Lyon production in particular does it pretty well because it shows him actually about to court Giannetta when he first comes onstage in Act 1, until he sees Adina.)

Then Dulcamara publicly announces the news about Nemorino’s massive inheritance, and happily boasts about the “love potion” being responsible for all these turns of events. Everyone rushes to buy some of that miraculous “love potion”, leaving Dulcamara filthy rich (in the first-ever production that I watched (a 2016 college production from Montreal, it has subs), the chorus people all stretch out their hands holding money in Dulcamara’s direction, and honestly this image is so visually iconic, why isn’t it used more often???). Nemorino and Adina may or may not sign the marriage contract onstage, depending on the director’s choices. The opera ends with a reprise of the melody from “Io son ricco e tu sei bella” with different lyrics as everyone waves goodbye to Dulcamara. The curtain drops, and everyone lives happily ever after as far as we know.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: Yours Truly loves this opera so much that she has made too many picrews of the two mains, let me know if anyone desires to be objected to them)

(PPS: sorry for this huge post. Have this cute little summary of the opera narrated and illustrated by none other than Rolando Villazón himself!!!!)