Fidelio

The only opera for lyric theater composed by Beethoven is the Singspiel “Leonore - Fidelio”, an opera that, from its very genesis, had a highly controversial reception. Today, while this controversy has been completely overcome abroad, the same cannot be said for Italy, where lyric theaters, dominated by supporters of bel canto who hold stubborn prejudices, see in Beethoven a composer who never knew how to handle voices—a prejudice that is only partially acceptable and which, fortunately, in recent years, has been brought back into proper analysis by expert musicologists and vocal specialists.

Beethoven had to rework the score and the text of this opera, first called “Leonore” and then “Fidelio,” as many as three times, in order to reach a satisfactory success with his third version in 1814. In Italy, however, “Fidelio” had to wait until 1883 for its first appearance, the year it was performed in Milan at the Teatro Dal Verme; this already says a lot about the relationship between the public of the Bel Paese and Beethoven's only theatrical opera. The first version of Leonora, published only in 1905, was instead performed only in 1970—on the occasion of the bicentenary of the composer's birth—though not in a staged form, at the Turin R.A.I. Auditorium, while for its staging, one had to wait until 1979 in Genoa at the Teatro Margherita.

And yet…! And yet Beethoven's opera, whether in its earlier version as “Leonore” or in its definitive version as “Fidelio,” is truly a great masterpiece worthy of standing alongside the other great masterpieces of the great opera composers of every century and every nation. But “Leonore - Fidelio” is not “only” beautiful musically speaking; it is also important for its content, its meaning: a hymn to freedom from all tyranny and a hymn to conjugal love.

As early as 1978, reviewing the opera that was performed at La Scala in Milan under the direction of Leonard Bernstein, Massimo Mila wrote: « (…) It is certain that Mozart and Verdi would have better integrated the comedy scenes of the first act, but they would then have paled with envy and would have paid dearly to achieve not only musical height, but also the overwhelming and highly traditional dramatic functionality that Fidelio achieves, starting from the Prisoners' chorus, in the colossal underground cell scene where Fidelio-Leonora saves her husband Florestan from death by defending him against the wicked governor Pizarro. From the dark colors of the prison, from the initial air of the languishing prisoner, from Leonora's anxiety as she recognizes her husband in the prisoner, from Rocco's helpless pity as he digs his grave despite feeling compassion for him, a flaming knot of dramatic music develops bit by bit, with a depth of inner experience that has no equal, even in the densest Wagnerian conceptions. It is truly all the ideals in which Beethoven believed—conjugal love, consolation in family, the irrepressible need for human freedom—that ignite here in an insane outpouring of incandescent lava (…) the scene has a universal value and a tremendous sense of subversive rebellion against any oppression on earth: anyone who has ever had, in their small way, the honor of suffering injustice will find themselves reflected in it. And if later, in the opera's finale, the songs of liberation take on a noble tone of idealistic celebration, here, in the frantic tightness of Leonora's insurrection, it is instead the moment of justice as vengeance, the moment when all tyrants hang themselves from street lamps, dancing the Carmagnola beneath them, and all this is enhanced, multiplied by the gigantic fury of a character like Beethoven, who in reality would not have harmed a fly, but in the imagination exalted himself to the most flaming temperature of Plutarchian heroism. »

Beethoven reached the conclusion of this Singspiel only in 1805. Before that, he had never tackled this repertoire, not because he feared the comparison with that genre, as many claim, but much more simply because he never found sufficient stimulus to do so. The models in vogue at the time referred, on one hand, to Italian opera, which the German composer did not love, and on the other, to German opera, which had its last great fruit in Mozart's Singspiel “Die Zauberflöte.” Beethoven considered this opera the ultimate masterpiece for theater composed by the Salzburg native but, since 1791, the year of its conception, many things had already changed in the understanding of musical theater and the fantastic-fable language used by Mozart—which was so much in vogue and indispensable at those times—it was already considered obsolete when Beethoven began to think about composing an opera.

As it happened, it was precisely the librettist of “Die Zauberflöte,” Emanuel"}

Schikaneder presented Cherubini's “Lodoiska” in Vienna on March 23, 1802. For Beethoven, it was love at first sight, and not just for that opera, but for Cherubini's music in general which, as he wrote to the Italian composer in a letter twenty years later, would be: « (…) always the one whom, among my contemporaries, I esteem most. (...) »

But what was so special about “Lodoiska” to make it so enthrall the great German composer? It revealed to him the expressive and rhetorical power contained in the musical dramaturgy that developed in Paris during those years, which had its beginnings in the revolutionary atmospheres of Gluck, later urged and lashed by the rhythms of the French Revolution and the tragic climate of the Terror that unfortunately followed.

It was Schikaneder himself who proposed to Beethoven a libretto “Vestas Feuer” (Vesta's Fire), a heroic opera in two acts. Soon, however, the master realized that the outline was absurd and boring and, after having set a first scene to music at the end of 1803, he abandoned it. The first step had been taken nonetheless, and his desire to dedicate himself not only to instrumental music was strong; within 14 days, he composed the music for the Oratorio “Christus am Olberge” (Christ on the Mount of Olives). Already from this first sacred-themed work, the genius from Bonn demonstrated what his ideas were regarding the subject. Beethoven went explicitly beyond the classical concept of the sacred, distinguishing himself completely, even in this, from his predecessors. He did not limit himself to setting a sacred text to music but, through it, wanted to launch a message of freedom, peace, and fraternity with a universal character to his contemporaries and posterity. And if this way of expressing himself found its highest apotheosis and structural and musical completeness in that absolute monument of sacred music that is his “Missa Solemnis” Opus 122 and in the other secular monument that is the “Ninth Symphony”, even in the oratorio “Christus am Olberge” those premises so dear to Beethoven were already present. In fact, it can rightly be said that it was the very premise of the Singspiel “Leonora-Fidelio”; indeed, the libretto prepared by Franz Xaver Huber under Beethoven's own supervision, with the description of Jesus' arrest in the garden, the heated confrontation with Peter, and the beautiful final chorus of praise to the Almighty Liberator, anticipated in its tragic mechanism the situation Beethoven found himself in the following year with the action of “Leonora - Fidelio”. The arias of Jesus, of the Seraph, the march with the chorus “Wir haben ihn gesehen”, the excited cry of the crowd, “Hier ist, hier ist”, prelude to the arias, concertatos, and choruses of Fidelio. As a whole and in its function, “Christus am Olberge” alludes to a “passion” that resembles that of Florestan and Leonora more than that of Jesus, and thus to an absolutely secular passion; and in asserting this, it is important to remember that in Beethoven's mind, the figure of Jesus was comparable to the figure of Socrates, and it is quite certain that this also had an influence on the approach the composer gave to the oratorio and, as we will see later, to the “Missa Solemnis”.

The composer began his search for a suitable subject for an opera, a search that turned toward the French genre he preferred, which after the French Revolution offered him those elements of linguistic renewal he required. The starting point was precisely where Mozart ended “Die Zauberflöte” and, this, to reaffirm in their entirety those ideals, those symbolisms of the victory of light over darkness, understood by Beethoven as a metaphor for the redemption of a humanity humiliated and tyrannized for centuries. To do this, precisely because the Singspiel in fairy-tale form had passed, Beethoven had the need to bring the story into a real rather than fantastic realm, where flesh-and-blood people would act. It is from these premises that a text like “Léonore où l’amour conjugal” by Jean Nicolas Boully fit perfectly, fully corresponding to all his aims. With this theme, he indeed found a way to make the characters of “Die Zauberflöte” real people. He was convinced – as he himself asserted – that Fidelio was indeed the: « (…) natural consequence of The Magic Flute, and that Florestan and Leonore are Tamino and Pamina, reborn as human beings, and forced to face as reality what they had previously known only in symbolic form. (…) »

Daniele, could you enlarge the font a bit?... I'm having a hard time reading

Interesting discussion, I know little to nothing about this work (thanks Daniele for the precious clarifications)... maybe Thallo could return to healthy habits and add his own point of view...

Remember Thallo ... "U.o.a.s." ...?

http://www.pianoconc...icale-classico/

Tiger wrote:

Interesting discussion, I know little to nothing about this work (thanks Daniele for the precious clarifications)... perhaps Thallo could return to his healthy habits and add his own point of view...

Remember Thallo ... "U.o.a.s." ...?

http://www.pianoconc...icale-classico/

Thank you Tiger, and given your interest, this is the second part!

But what were the reasons for the failure of Leonora-Fidelio in its first version? As always, it is necessary to keep in mind the historical-political events centered, in this case, on the figure of Napoleon.

After electing himself Emperor of France, he continued his expansionist ambitions toward the rest of Europe. Alarm in the Habsburg Empire skyrocketed, and this caused censorship to be felt even more strongly. Beethoven's Singspiel was completed in September 1805 and had to pass censorship clearance which, naturally, blocked it as being "not suitable for performance." A vast diplomatic effort then began, lasting three days, at the end of which Beethoven was imposed to tone down "the most brutal scenes," especially those concerning the despot Pizarro. While the composer was forced by force majeure to postpone the performance of the opera, the political situation took a sharp turn: Napoleon crushed the Austrian army at Ulm on October 20 and occupied Salzburg. From there he began his march toward Vienna, where he entered on November 15. Consequently, when the curtain rose at the Theater an der Wien on the 20th of the same month, it was completely filled with officers of the French army, usually accustomed to quite different kinds of shows in Paris, not to mention the music, which was highly complicated for their ears and, moreover, featured a text in the German language. The result was thus two performances in an almost empty theater.

After much insistence from friends, Beethoven agreed to revise the opera, reducing it from three to only two acts. The second version was given on March 29, 1806. In the new score, a new Overture shone in all its infinite beauty: the one we know by the name "Leonore 3" which, among the four conceived for Beethoven's Singspiel, is certainly an absolute masterpiece.

Salvatore Sciarrino, a contemporary composer, expressed himself regarding this Overture as follows: "A music of visionary impulses and wonders. (...) it is composed in blocks; secondly, its opening onto another dimension is incredible (...).

It is clear that Beethoven started from a simple dramatic contrast, reaching an unprecedented result.

With the abrupt alternation between fortissimo and pianissimo, between dense and less dense, blocks of sound with sharp edges are determined. We hear an intermission between the two musics: the fragments of a subdued and sobbing melody and the roars of a dark storm.

Then the scales open the curtain, the music stops, and we hear a trumpet blast rising from the outer courtyard.

The music resumes and soon settles.

Again, the external space opens to our minds. Then the music begins to flow back slowly.

I have not made any exaggeration in saying that we hear sounds from the courtyard.

This Overture was composed for the opera Fidelio. Of course, knowledge of the theatrical story can serve as a warning and provide some environmental data.

However, it is the author who demands from us an immediate spatial association, which comes directly from the music. Where would we want military fanfares to resonate, if not in the courtyards of barracks?

Here is the space-time incongruity raging in the midst of a symphonic piece. (...)

Space is one of the main seductions of theatrical language, and we understand that the clash between the outside and the inside is a derivative of theatrical music.

And yet, we should make a more subtle consideration when examining our tradition globally: namely, the expansion of the Romantic orchestra constitutes in itself a physical takeover of space. It is a almost natural consequence that a distant fringe detaches from the bulk of the orchestra, relocating elsewhere, as is the case with Mahler's isolated positions.

If today electronic sounds can move and rotate around the audience, it is thanks to some embryonic ideas disseminated throughout the 19th century."

But this Overture too, like much of Beethoven's music, was not understood by the public and critics of the time and was judged unsuitable. Therefore, in his final version of 1814, the composer was forced to compose what remained as the actual overture of the opera. Fortunately, Gustav Mahler, when conducting "Fidelio," thought it wise to insert "Leonora 3" in the middle of the second act between one scene change and another and,

today, although not accepted by all directors, many continue to perpetuate that choice which, in my view, precisely because of the strength and beauty it emanates, constitutes an added value to a part of the opera that in itself reaches its highest musical moment in that phase.

The opera in its second version seemed to yield good results, but Beethoven found himself in a period of his troubled life that was not very positive: his already very precarious health worsened further and this contributed to accentuating his most surly and despotic characteristics. He found flaws everywhere: the brass, the choir and, finally, he came to argue with Baron Braun, the owner of the theater, reproaching him for the low revenues. In turn, the baron replied that when the gallery was full, the takings would increase. Furious, Beethoven replied: « I do not write for the upper gallery! » The baron in turn responded: « Oh no? My dear sir, even Mozart did not disdain to write for the upper gallery! »

It was the straw that broke the camel's back! In a fit of rage, Beethoven requested the withdrawal of the opera; the matter was quickly done and there was no more talk of “Leonora - Fidelio” until 1814.

This attitude of Beethoven constitutes one of the firm points for which some believe the composer was a “reactionary”. Now, undoubtedly seen through today's eyes and judged with our current mentality, the phrase uttered by him could support the ideas of these people, who, above all, maintain that Beethoven cared very little about the principles of the French Revolution in general, and in particular, the one with which he was most on a collision course: Equality.

But, I think that as always, it is important to contextualize things. This phrase was uttered at the beginning of the 19th century, by a man of undoubtedly great ability and genius; when, that is, there was still a clear distinction between the various social classes. The theatergoers were representatives of the nobility, a class that Beethoven considered « frighteningly empty beyond the splendid and misleading appearances » and of the emerging bourgeoisie – a class to which, moreover, Beethoven himself belonged – which the composer considered, in general, mediocre and defined as « the plebeian mass », because seen as incapable of rising above and knowing how to fully realize one's own personality. In other words, Beethoven considered « the bourgeoisie ignorant, superficial, uncultured, dedicated only to profiting ». It was also true that he never denied those who believed him to belong to the noble class due to his surname preceded by a van - in reality, to be noble he should have been a von - but this claim was linked, above all, to the process in which the guardianship of his nephew had to be decided, as the eventual confirmation of a noble lineage would have automatically ensured him victory in the custody case.

Regarding Beethoven's level of democracy, in reality, I find myself in perfect agreement with what Luigi Magnani wrote instead: « He indeed refused to recognize what a man is “by chance of birth”, downplaying the importance of the social condition to which he belongs, not to level men downwards or upwards, but to establish a new hierarchy of values, to affirm the authentic superiority of eminent spirits, who constitute that true aristocracy, the flower of humanity, to which he knows he belongs.

His was a revolutionary aristocracy, fighting against the false superiority and supremacy of the dominant class and at the same time against the spiritual mediocrity and the miserably selfish life of the bourgeois class, both despised by Beethoven because both were an obstacle to the free development of the human personality, to the full affirmation of individual merit. (…) »

Individualism in Beethoven, as in Goethe, was a priority and both identify it with: « “The Right of Nature” - which has supremacy over every meditated form of order and organization – (…) Intimately linked to this Enlightenment conception, Beethoven defends it against the new Romantic tendency which opposes acquired right to natural right, and dependence on social institutions and laws to individual independence and freedom (…) »

Piero Buscaroli, a Bolognese music critic, to whom one owes a very questionable and, above all, very dispersive Beethoven biography, is certainly at the forefront among those who consider Beethoven a “reactionary”. The point is that Buscaroli creates a Beethoven in his own image.

Among the innumerable things he maintains against the current of more widespread opinions is that Beethoven chose Bouilly's “Leonore ou l’amour conjugal” precisely to make explicit his aversion toward the Revolution"}

French, asserting thus, despite those who usually maintain the contrary, his distance from the ideals advocated by it.

The premise of Buscaroli's reasoning starts from the fact that Bouilly ensured that the story she told actually happens in Turenna. A noblewoman took on a role as an assistant to the jailer of the prison where her husband was incarcerated and managed to save his life, repelling with pistol in hand the assassin in the service of Robespierre, tasked by him to kill him. From this, Buscaroli concludes that being: « (…) the bloody tyranny in question (...) the criminal climax of the revolution, while prisoners and victims were the aristocrats awaiting execution, fits perfectly into the antipathy that French expansionism aroused in Beethoven at the time, and would grow greatly in the following years.

It follows as a natural consequence that the liberty invoked here is not that of the Jacobin Saturnalia, but rather its opposite, i.e., the return to legitimate order. It does not appear paradoxical at all, contrary to what is sometimes read, that the definitive consecration of Fidelio as the progenitor of 19th-century German Opera occurred precisely in 1814, coinciding with the Congress of Vienna. The returned liberty exalted therein after the bloody terror now coincides with the end of the predatory wars that had torn Europe apart for fifteen years. Beethoven's political sentiments have completed the entire circuit, the conclusion of which coincides with the exhaustion of the “heroic” cycle in his personal artistic journey. (…) »

From my point of view, the fundamental flaw in his reasoning lies in the fact that

significant from a strictly musical point of view, they were dictated by the priority and sole need to earn money; a need that during that period was truly vital for him, given that those who had been his greatest patrons and supporters – for one reason or another – had failed him. And so, unfortunately, as often happens to many greats, Beethoven was also forced, in order to survive, to come to terms with the established power.

But a new alternative emerged on the horizon to tyrannical regimes, and this was the United Kingdom. Beethoven's interest in that country was already substantial when the Duke of Wellington wrested the Iberian Peninsula from the Napoleonic regime. Between August and September 1813, the composer composed, dedicating it to the Prince Regent of England, the future George IV, "Wellingtons Sieg" Opus 91 and, finally, in those years Beethoven harmonized many folk songs coming from that geographical area. He soon realized that within the political society of that nation there was something different compared to the tyrannies of the rest of Europe; indeed, it was, first among all, governed by a parliamentary system. During the reign of George IV from 1820 to 1830, there was then a liberal turning point. The civil and political emancipation of Catholics was in fact followed by the free association of workers who gathered into the first Trade Unions and, if Beethoven had not passed away, he could have witnessed, already with his successor William IV, the reform of the electoral system that expanded suffrage to the middle class and sanctioned the definitive affirmation of the parliamentary regime. But I let Luigi Magnani speak once more: « (…) England was not for Beethoven the land of dreams, the Ultima Thule, but the country in which his political ideals, his social aspirations had found concrete, historical reality; (…) On a sheet of album paper he had then written, to affirm the creed to which he would remain faithful all his life: "Do what good one can, love freedom above all things, never deny the truth, even before the throne" (…) Uncomfortable in the Vienna of Metternich, all court, spies and bureaucrats, hostile to a reactionary government that aimed to stifle even the spontaneous longing for German unity in people's hearts, Beethoven does not hide his admiration for England, which had known how to reconcile individual conscience with supranational aspiration, finding balance and harmony between political and human ideals. Indeed, it shone in the sky of liberal hopes since when, through the wisdom of its rulers, an expression of a manifest popular will, it not only abstained from participating in the Holy Alliance but, refusing the office of guardian of the Restoration and protector of absolutism, began to encourage constitutional and national independence movements, sometimes supporting them with force as when, during Canning's government, it had sent military support to Greece in revolt against Turkish rule. (…) »

x Can can

with the combination of keys ctrl + repeated press, you increase the font size of web screens until you can read them even from 10 meters away!

Nice, right!? . . . I've only known about it for a few months.

(with ctrl - you shrink it)

bye

I will be a composer, mah....

danielescarpetti wrote:

The only opera for lyric theater composed by Beethoven is the Singspiel “Leonore - Fidelio”, an opera which, from its very genesis, had a highly controversial reception. Today, while this controversy has been completely overcome abroad, the same cannot be said for Italy, where lyric theaters, dominated by supporters of bel canto who, with stubborn prejudices, see in Beethoven a composer who never knew how to treat voices—a prejudice that is only partially acceptable and which fortunately, in recent years, has been brought back to its proper analysis by expert musicologists and vocal specialists.

From my point of view, one either knows how to treat voices or one does not; anyone can say and maintain whatever they please, but the reality is easily learned from the score.

Clearly (and obviously), knowing how to treat the voice is not enough to write a good composition, and vice versa: one can be excellent at treating voices, yet the music as a whole may know nothing of substance.

Therefore, judgment must take into account factors that also affect the performability of the piece and thus the possibility that the work itself can be realized, given that in this specific case we are talking about a piece written for traditional ensembles.

And so far I have not mentioned Beethoven and Fidelio, in the sense that, a priori, I find it wrong to establish the value of an opera based on a single factor, perhaps even a secondary one in the sense that it was realized... therefore the piece is performable.

eh, the u.o.a.s. sometimes comes back to my thoughts, but laziness always wins

sur Fidelio I wouldn't know what to say that makes sense... I've seen it, never in the theater but always on DVD, I can't say I've ever studied it (neither as a listener nor as a singer). There are things I appreciated and things I didn't understand; it is certainly a score to be studied, which is a bit like saying it wasn't written for the gallery... even more so, that period there (early 1800s-late 1700s) as far as opera theater is concerned is still in a concert-musicological chaos, let's say. There are many studies, many authors, and practically NO interest from the theaters. Cherubini, Cimarosa, Salieri, Spontini, you don't see them in theaters anymore, not to mention the plethora of French, German, and Austrian composers like Mehul, von Dittersdorf, Grétry, all figures who contributed greatly to the development of an operatic taste that, personally, I do not know deeply. Well, for me almost all of these are just names. Instinctively I would say that Fidelio is incomprehensible to me as long as I don't start listening to a bit of this and a bit of that

... true the u.o.a.s.

Can't it be Thallo's opportunity to fill this gap?

Thanks Daniele for the 2 long posts

Aspirante wrote:

Thank you Daniele for the 2 long posts

Thank you! So here is the third long post, if you really feel like reading!

In the first scene of the first act, Giacchino, the prison porter, desperately tries to declare his love for Marcellina, daughter of Rocco, the head jailer. However, she is in love with Fidelio, not knowing that this person is actually Leonora, disguised as a man to try to enter the prison and save her husband Florestan, who is incarcerated there for political reasons. Once left alone, Marcellina sings of her love for Fidelio:

If only I were reunited with you

e could call you my husband!

Certainly a girl does not have the right

to confess more than half of her thoughts.

But when I will no longer have to blush

for an ardent kiss,

when the world will no longer bother me

- already hope fills my heart

with an inexpressible joy -

how happy I shall be!

In the sweet family peace

every day I awaken.

We greet each other with tenderness, activity chases away worries.

The work is done,

a gentle night awaits us

e makes us forget our sorrows.

Already hope fills my heart

with an inexpressible joy,

I shall be happy, I shall be happy!

And for me, it is a formidable text, precisely because conceived at the beginning of the nineteenth century: Woman is seen not only as a wife, but as a person who, like man, desires and asserts her need for love, tenderness, kisses, and gentle nights, because this, and only this, can be the prerequisite for happiness between two lovers.

After a conversation where Rocco hopes that Fidelio will marry his Marcellina, an Aria follows, where the head jailer asserts that the secret to happiness is certainly given by Love but would be very little:

If one has no gold on hand

(...)

Happiness must be paid for like a servant,

gold is a beautiful thing!”

Leonora-Fidelio does not agree and responds:

All that is fine for you, Master Rocco, but I maintain that the union of two hearts beating in unison is the source of true happiness.

Leonora-Fidelio takes this opportunity to ask about the prisoner who is in a secret underground cell where only Rocco is allowed to enter. The jailer states that he has been there for more than two years. Leonora, startled, says:

Two years you say? He must have committed a very serious crime!.

Rocco responds:

Or he must have very powerful enemies, which is the same thing.

This is a harsh accusation against tyrannies, where one ends up in prison not because of wrongdoing but because of being a bearer of ideas contrary to the established power.
Rocco says:

Well son, well

be always courageous

and you will succeed. (...)

Leonora-Fidelio responds:

For a great reward

love can well endure

even great sufferings.

Rocco asserts:

You will build, certainly, your happiness.

Leonora-Fidelio responds:

I have faith in God and in justice.

Marcellina concludes:

But look me in the eyes!

Not even the power of love is small

God, justice, and love: these are thus the cornerstones, essential for Beethoven to reach happiness and joy.

At the end of this scene, a march sounds announcing the arrival of Pizarro and his henchmen, the despotic governor who had Florestan incarcerated.
Pizarro, as soon as he enters, reads a letter sent to him by one of his spies which announces the arrival of the Minister, who will come to inspect the prison because word has reached him that real abuses are being committed against prisoners in that place by the governor. Terrified, Pizarro thinks of Florestan, whom the minister believes is dead, but whom he himself had put in chains because he intended to denounce all his misdeeds directly to the minister: In the following air, characterized by music that announces his threat, he asserts his intention to assassinate Florestan.

After instructing a guard to keep an eye on the road to Seville and to immediately raise the alarm if anyone is seen arriving, Pizarro turns to Rocco and, promising to make him rich, tasks him with killing Florestan. Rocco, terrified, refuses, and then the governor, very irritated with him, asks him to prepare the grave, after which he himself will kill the hated enemy. Leonora, however, listens to their entire conversation in hiding.

Once they have left, Leonora comes out into the open and sings a fugato recitative, followed by an extremely sweet Aria of love, announced and accompanied by magnificent horns, towards her Florestan, where for the first time reference is made to light as a source of liberation and the victory of love:

For me instead, the rainbow rises

up there above the black clouds

e its sight reassures me.

In it, ancient time is reflected

e my blood flows impetuously once again.

Come, hope, do not let the last fade away"}

star that brightens my sorrow.

Come illuminated goal

even if it is still so far away:

love will reach it.

I follow the impulse of the heart

Leonore – Fidelio convinces Rocco to open up to the prisoners and let them have a little light and air. The most famous and beautiful Prisoners' Chorus introduces the theme of the contrast between light, which identifies with life and freedom, and darkness, which identifies with prison and tyranny. Indeed, the prisoners emerge from their dark cells and, seeing the sunlight, chant:

Oh, what pleasure in the open air

to breathe without effort;

only here, only here is life,

the prison is like a tomb.

Faith sustains us

faith in divine mercy;

hope whispers to me;

we shall have freedom and rest.

Oh heaven, salvation, what joy!

Oh liberty, will you return to us?

Here appears another constant of Beethovenian thought: faith and optimism that help man even in the face of life's greatest adversities and injustices.
Rocco announces Pizarro's intention to kill Florestan to Leonore, who desperately tries to convince him not to go and dig the grave. Meanwhile, however, the tyrant has noticed the prisoners' exit and, very angry, takes it out on Rocco:

We are at the end of the first act; Pizarro imposes the return of the prisoners and tells Rocco to hurry and dig Florestan's grave. Forced to return, the prisoners sing:

Farewell, sweet light of the sun

in a moment we shall see you no more:

night is already ready to swallow us

a long night without morning.

Observing the prisoners, Marcellina whispers:

How they hurried toward the light

and now sadly abandon it.

While Leonore asks herself:

Is there no punishment for the crime?

We now enter the most dramatic and beautiful part of the opera: the second act. We are inside Florestan's dark cell, whose "darkness is broken by the glow of a lamp." The symbolism of the opposition between darkness – evil – and light – good – finds its maximum expression of dramatic musical beauty here.

In the words declaimed by Florestan, there is the acceptance of what the Divine has destined for him, comforted in this, however, by the awareness that regardless, he has fulfilled his duty as a free and honest man. The words Beethoven makes Florestan sing are an expression of his philosophy of life:

My God, what darkness!

What terrible silence!

The desert all around me,

no other living being!

What torment!

Your will is indeed just

I do not complain, oh God, you decide

the measure of my sufferings!

In the springtime of life, happiness has abandoned me.

I dared to speak the truth aloud

and chains were my reward.

But I endure every pain

and this miserable end,

comforted by the thought

of having done my duty. (...)

Immediately after, with great emotion, glimpsing a glimmer of light because Leonora and Rocco are entering, he exults; he does not realize what is happening and thinks that an Angel from heaven with Leonora's face has come to take him to the "Kingdom of Heaven"; the emotion is so strong that he collapses unconscious.

Leonora and Rocco have now descended into the cell and must begin digging the grave for the prisoner whom, in the dark, it is impossible to recognize. Leonora desperately tries to stall so as not to help Rocco, and, muttering to herself, she says:

Oh you, whoever you are, I will save you!

I swear they will not kill you

and that I will free you from your chains;

you move me to such compassion!

The whole thing is accompanied by beautiful music that fully conveys the sense of the tragic moment and the feelings that pervade the various characters.

Florestan wakes up and, speaking with Rocco, learns that the governor of that cell is Don Pizarro:

the man whose misdeeds I dared to unmask

Leonora now understands that it is her husband and, in a trio characterized by sweet and melancholy music, tries to appeal to Rocco's good feelings to bring him to her side and to free Florestan, who is unaware that she is right beside him:

My heart pushes me into his arms

in her murmurs, moving away and trying to master all her emotion.

What follows is the scene that always instills in me an unspeakable emotion and moves me to tears. Pizarro enters the prison and announces to his martyr who he truly is:

Pizarro whom you wanted to ruin

Pizarro whom you should have feared,

is here to take his revenge!

While attempting to stab him, however, Leonora steps between them, crying out:

Kill his wife first!

The ensuing astonishment is great but, immediately after, Pizarro decides to kill both; Leonora pulls out a pistol and, pointing it at the hated tyrant, stops him. Now, here, with profound emotion, one hears the fanfares...

out of the trumpet that announces
the arrival of the Minister. Pizarro flees. Leonora and Florestan sing together:

Love and courage united will give back freedom

Follows a duet where the two spouses manifest their happiness in finding themselves and freedom, thanking God for this:

Thank you, oh God, for this joy!

My husband, my wife

on my chest.

It's you!

It's me!

Oh sublime joy!

Leonora!

Florestan!

Final scene where the victory of light over darkness is sanctioned; it is Beethoven's wish that peoples be governed not by tyrants, but by "enlightened" men. Men who have as their goal the interest and the good of the entire community and not their own personal interests:

By express will

of our excellent king,

I have come here, poor unhappy ones,

to dissipate the thick darkness

that unjustly envelops you.

no longer on your knees like slaves!

far from me be the spirit of tyranny!

it is a brother seeking brothers

and he is happy if he can help them.

Rocco, followed by Leonora and Florestan, enters the scene and informs the minister of everything that has happened. Pizarro tries to justify himself but his condemnation is final. Marcellina, on her part and with such disappointment, must accept that her beloved Fidelio is a woman. Announced by a most sweet and liberating melody of the oboe and then the flute and gradually the strings, everyone sings:

Oh God, what a moment!

Sweet, inexpressible joy!

Just is your judgment, oh God.

You put us to the test

but you do not abandon us!

Whoever wins such a sweet woman

must join our jubilation

She will never be praised enough

the one who saved her husband

The philosopher Ernst Bloch in the 20th century built much of his philosophy on Fidelio. His main texts "The Principle of Hope" and "The Spirit of Utopia" start precisely from the sound of the trumpets announcing the arrival of the minister and from the cry of jubilation:

O God, what a moment!

A jubilation that reaches its maximum exaltation while Leonora pronounces the exaltation of Love as a true antidote against any adversity

Love has sustained my efforts!

True love fears nothing!

Love has allowed me

to free you from the chains.

Love makes me sing now:

my Florestan is with me again!

ps: Hi FranK, how's it going? I'll reply to you later too!

Frank wrote:

I'll be a composer, mah....

From my point of view, one either knows how to treat voices or one does not; anyone can say and maintain whatever they please, but the reality is easily learnable from the score.

I am not a composer, and much less an expert on voices, but I am convinced of one thing: a composer knows whether they are an expert on voices or not and, moreover, someone like Beethoven knew it.

If Beethoven decided to compose music that also relied on the voice, making mistakes – because no one doubts that his way of using voices was incorrect – he did so, therefore, consciously.

Oh wow, then why did he do it? You will ask me!

Beethoven did not compose "to make the singers shine," but the same can be said for instrumentalists. From my point of view, Friederich Lippman hit the mark by recalling the brutal response Beethoven gave to his friend and great violist Ignaz Schuppanzigh, who, speaking of one of his late quartets, complained about certain passages, calling them "unplayable": "Do you think I care about his wretched violin when the Spirit speaks to me?". "For Beethoven, as for no other composer before him, (...) the human voice was simply a means. The throat of an Anna Milder had for Beethoven, to whom the Spirit spoke, neither more nor less, the same value as Schuppanzigh's wretched violin; He wrote here neither as a vocal composer nor as an instrumental composer, but rather as a Tondichter (poet of sounds), who succeeded, as no other contemporary did, in fixing ideas and passions into sounds."

Two very experienced voice enthusiasts, Enrico Stinchelli and Michele Suozzo – presenters of the program "La Barcaccia" on Radio tre – who are certainly not guilty of being soft on anyone, some time ago while speaking about Beethoven and his way of treating voices, said clearly that while it is indubitable that there was an "incorrect" use of voices on the part of the composer from Bonn, the result obtained, however, is that of having given life to an opera that is a masterpiece.

Let's take the role of Leonore, for example, which "due to a writing that beats with sadistic insistence on the difficult area of the register passage (on a rather thick instrumental texture, among other things); which solicits burning leaps to natural highs immediately followed by plunges below the staff; which imposes long passages in the middle register in phrases to be articulated with particular clarity because they are decisive on the expressive side, is often entrusted to mezzo-sopranos provided with a good upper register" (Elvio Giudici).

One of these mezzo-sopranos was the great Christa Ludwig, who expressed herself regarding this opera as follows: "My connection with Fidelio is very profound. (...) It is an opera sui generis, both because Beethoven is not a true opera composer, and because of the profound meaning of this masterpiece, a heritage of all humanity, which transcends the purely musical realm."

… see that in the end

danielescarpetti wrote:

time ago speaking of Beethoven and his way of treating voices, they clearly said that while it is indubitable that from the Bonn composer's side there was an "incorrect" use of voices, the result obtained however is that of having given life to a work that is a masterpiece.

Anyway, I think this point from Carlos comes in handy, which you can read in full here

http://www.pianoconc...ne/page__st__20

Carlos wrote:

A Stravinsky, many years after he had written The Rite, someone said "See, Maestro? Finally the bassoonists are now able to perfectly perform that extremely difficult solo, despite the high register!" and Stravinsky replied "If I had ever imagined it, I would have written that solo a fifth higher!" Do you get the sense? He wanted it to sound bad and had written the solo in a register that, at that time, was almost taboo for bassoonists (imagine what must have happened at the first performance: I quite believe they threw chairs!).

It is an example in an instrumental context, but as I was saying, the value of a composition can transcend any single factor.

here I stick up for Beethoven: there are no correct and incorrect ways to use voices. If I can, especially if I have the time, I will analyze an aria or anyway a vocal piece from Fidelio to extract the vocal writing stylings and we can talk about it again specifically. The main point of the matter, however, is that Fidelio, like all of Beethoven's famous vocal pages, is "heavy", strenuous to sustain, meaning tending towards the high register, full of orchestral reinforcements, far from the typical "Italian" song-accompaniment structure and, often, rhythmically complex. These are all characteristics far from the vocalism of that period, much closer, instead, to what will become THE German vocalism. Not by chance, the great Fidelio-Leonores have been great Wagnerian and Straussian singers http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fidelio_discography people like Birgit Nillson, Martha Moedl, Hildegard Behrens, people with a big voice "of that kind", for an opera from a period in which vocalism was still late-Baroque, not even pre-Romantic...

thallo wrote:

here I break a lance in favor of Beethoven: there are no correct and incorrect ways to use the voices.

Goodness, let's talk about it... maybe it doesn't concern Beethoven, although it can be said that, especially in choral settings, he pushed the voices in an sometimes exaggerated manner towards the high register. I won't express myself on Fidelio, which I know little about, but one only needs to take a look at the Ninth Symphony and the cantata “Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt” to have an example: both pieces in D major, both pieces with sopranos always irremediably hanging on the extreme high notes and basses hanging on high D (so much so that even today's choirs struggle, I dare not think of Ludwig's screams at the time). Anyway: the voice is an instrument and if there is an incorrect way to use the violin, there is also an incorrect way to use the voice...

The example of the high sound in the Sagra, reported by Frank, belongs to the field of “instrumental effects” and I do not believe it can be helpful in identifying the purposes and reasons for certain difficult vocal writing by Beethoven, also because to solve a technical instrumental problem one can wait either for the improvement of the instrument's technique or for the improvement of the instrumentalist's technique, whereas for the resolution of a technical vocal problem one can only rely on the improvement of the singer's technique, because the instrument, alas, with all its limits, has not changed much in the last two hundred years...

I disagree, Carlos. The point is that for every "range" (meaning by range that precise part of extension that is most frequently struck in a piece) there can be a specific vocal type, and there can be singing techniques and styles. Beethoven's choral works (and those of almost all Romantic composers from the Germanic area) are heavy for an Italian vocalism because in Italy lyric sopranos and tenors are more widespread, rather than light (or pushed) sopranos and tenors. Technique adapts to contemporary music and music reflects contemporary technique. Or, at least, in most situations that is how it is. Perhaps this does not apply to Beethoven, as I do not know if he wrote Fidelio for specific singers. And even here, one should compare Beethoven's vocal writing with other contemporary vocal writings. A few days ago, however, I sang Brahms choral pieces that were just as heavy, only shorter. And here, while putting caveats aside and saying that I am not an expert in historical vocal practice, I think common sense must be applied: even today, German choirs have a very clear and sharp timbral texture. This corresponds to a technique, or a series of technical thoughts, that are far from the "Italian" vocal study tradition, based on uniformity, softness, and the search for dark color. Mozartian sopranos are almost all either mezzo-sopranos with high notes or light sopranos; tenors are either light or anticipate the Heldentenor, which is a very, very pushed baritone. Every time I have sung the Ninth, I have always wondered at one thing: it is not high in an absolute sense, it is simply written backwards; that is, many phrases begin in the high register and end in the low register, or their high notes do not correspond to the typical climax of a vocalise. Following the vocalise is synonymous with "well-written music for voices" for us, but I think it is merely a consequence of the privileged status of the singer in our musical culture. Non-tonal repertoires are one thing, Beethoven is another. That is, Beethoven does not present you with insurmountable vocal problems... it is just more "instrumental" than "vocal," as many others were before and after him much more so.

thallo wrote:

I don't agree, Carlos. (...)

Well, to tell the truth, neither do I... I didn't speak about Italian choirs and Italian vocalism, so I made no reference to what you are talking about. But even if I had, listening to the same choir (German, if it pleases you) sing Brahms' German Requiem and Beethoven's Ninth explains quite well (and better than a thousand words) which of the two pieces is better written for the voices. In any case, anything can be justified, but I would say that the fact that Beethoven did not dedicate himself much to the voice says enough, at least regarding his interest in the matter. I have sung a great deal of Brahms' vocal chamber music (just to refer to German Romanticism) and, there, there is truly no doubt about the fact that JB knew the voice, the placement of registers, and the most appropriate vocal writing. The same cannot be said of Beethoven, remaining my veneration for him notwithstanding, let it be clear. I don't know which choral pieces of Brahms you have sung, but those that I have sung, yes, they are "heavy" (also because there is a lot of counterpoint, I am referring to the motets) but certainly not in the same way. Lastly, you say that the Ninth "is not high"... well, you're talking big! You are a tenor and the middle parts are the least harassed by Beethovenian writing (no mezzo-soprano singing the Ninth will ever complain): ask what sopranos and basses think, then we'll talk about it!"},

it is no higher than many operas. So far, the two heaviest things I have sung in my life were Pagliacci (specifically, the entrance chorus, which is absolutely nonsensical in terms of vocal writing) and Turandot, which is as heavy as two nonas. They spoke to me deliriously about the Missa Solemnis, but I lack... but the point is that if the repertoire requires certain things from you, then the musician trains to provide those very things. I prefer to think that there are difficult parts or parts written for voices other than mine. And the problem, from my point of view, does not lie in the high notes.

Anyway, we sang the four quartets op. 92 at the Palazzina Liberty in Milan. Incomparable to the Ninth, it's true. I feel like I sang some Brahms motets years ago; I remember them as being difficult, but I don't remember which ones they were...

Carlos wrote:

The example of the high sound from the Sagra, reported by Frank, belongs to the field of "instrumental effects" and I do not believe it can be helpful in identifying the purposes and reasons for certain difficult vocal writing by Beethoven

Of course, it was only to say that sometimes choices can appear irrational, but then in the artist's mind they have a perfect placement.

Dear Carlos and Thallo,

I am following "silently" this beautiful discussion of yours (extremely interesting to me).

I was struck by a statement from Carlos. Happily struck. That is, the fact that you assert, in several points, that the Finale of the Ninth pulls—vocalistically speaking—towards the high register.

I also had this impression. But I never dared to make it a certainty because (unlike you) I am rather ignorant regarding vocals from the 1800s onwards.

However, I dare offer a personal impression: a suggestion that comes to me from listening to the Ninth, and which I propose to you as the function—reason and purpose—of certain difficult vocal writing by Beethoven.

It is the "toil of Joy".

It is the toil of preserving a joyful spirit despite the toil of living, of everyday life with all its bustle and fragmentation.

(Even the Finale of the Ninth is a joyful medley of styles, a sonic polyptych. A Finale that is like life . . . «yes, so that by doing so, saying is not different»).

Little grace in the treatment of the voices!?. . . Far from "bel canto" . . . here one must feel the toil: the "toil of joy".

Singing "joy" wears out the voice just as one is worn out by living life!

What do you say? . . . . could it be?