Rigoletto

Introduction

In 1860, the musical journal Zenészeti Lapok wrote only this much about one of the Pest performances of Rigoletto: “On 3 November, Rigoletto was performed – no other misfortune occurred.” The reason for the “misfortune” is not to be sought merely in the singers’ possible performances, but in the tradition of interpretation burdened with moral scruples that initially accompanied the piece (and also Victor Hugo’s drama Le roi s’amuse). “Oh, Le roi s’amuse, the greatest subject of modern times, perhaps even the greatest drama. Triboulet is a creation worthy of Shakespeare! Unlike Ernani! This subject must not be missed,” Verdi wrote to Piave in 1850. According to the censors, however, the subject of the play was “repulsively immoral, obscene, and vulgar,” and it therefore oppressed the composer and librettist from the outset. For Verdi’s protagonist, Rigoletto, completely broke with the operatic pattern up to that point: his character is built from the unusual pairing of a repulsive appearance, sensitive fatherly love, and an awakening passion for social criticism. What is more, at first we encounter in the title figure an immensely unsympathetic and arrogant man, who then undergoes a gradual transformation. Evil must be ugly, good must be beautiful, the noble must always be virtuous, and the ignoble forever base. It was this paradigm that Verdi sentenced to death when he disrupted the harmony of outer and inner qualities and refused to polarize the characters.

Today it is hard to imagine Rigoletto as a misfortune: as long as opera is performed, it can scarcely fall out of the repertoire. The masterpiece, composed in just forty days, besides introducing radically new hero-types (the unidealized, sex-obsessed Duke is at least as provocative as the hunchbacked jester), also realizes a new dramaturgical concept through peculiar atmospheric juxtapositions, motivic connections, and the elaboration of the broad psychological background of chatty, conversational scenes. A few examples of this: the Duke’s boisterous hedonism (think of the evergreen glove aria “Questa o quella” or the opera’s most famous aria in Act III, “La donna è mobile”) stands in stark musical contrast with the glowing sincerity of the love-duet “E il sol dell’anima.” According to an anecdote, Verdi handed over the score of “La donna è mobile” to the tenor singing the Duke only at the last moment, binding not only him but the entire rehearsal staff to complete secrecy: he knew perfectly well that the catchy melody would establish the opera’s reputation, so it could not leak earlier. The thunderous applause after the first stanza almost predestined the encore after the second. But we also encounter more masterful artistic devices: the quartet in Act III (“Bella figlia dell’amore” – the Duke, Maddalena, Rigoletto, and Gilda) is of downright operatic-historical significance. The unravelling of inner conflicts and intentions based on counterpoint, which nonetheless forms a harmonious unity, is clearly a phenomenon that is the specific hallmark of opera’s simultaneous character.

Zoltán Csehy

The director’s thoughts

Verdi had the problems of his own time in mind when he chose Victor Hugo’s play as the basis for Rigoletto. Power was limitless, the servant was at the mercy of his master, and he bore the brunt of punishment in his place. It was a brave act to pronounce all this explicitly at the time, but the nature of dictatorships changes. Former truths fade and become commonplace, just as many of the arias of Rigoletto have become popular hits. But the excellence of the music has preserved the explicit truths of the original work in its depths, ensuring it never becomes mundane. In an attempt to avoid the hackneyed and banal, many productions try to make Rigoletto appear more ‘up-to-date’ by desperately modernising the environment and transposing the opera to the 20^th century. On the other extreme, the work has often been performed with a museum-like piety, recalling the sight of the medieval city of Mantua. Of course, there have been excellent and poor performances at either end of the spectrum, with the brilliance or failings of the given musical implementation often overshadowing the staging concept.

Our production aims to find a third way. The stage is set in Verdi’s age, and the masked ball in the first act is merely an allusion to the original environment. The defencelessness of the clown is given more emphasis. This is not a novel theme, as a number of works discuss the role of the clown, from I Pagliacci to Mefistofele. But our production also wants the viewer to understand that if a person, through either fear or self-interest, finds his or herself becoming an accomplice to an immoral power, it can be impossible to break out – and this is what this opera is partly about. And about many other things: human compassion, indifference and hypocrisy. For example, Count Ceprano fears for his wife, yet he participates in the kidnap of Rigoletto’s daughter. Marullo, whom Rigoletto regards as the only good man in the court, pities and despises the jester in the same breath. The Duke is a monster, but, for a fleeting moment, he can be an attractive and honest man in love.

Verdi knew the secret, just as Shakespeare and Mozart did before him, that the human soul is very complex, and that many things depend on the perspective from which they are observed. In Monterone’s perception, Rigoletto is just a vile sycophant, but, in view of his tragedy, he is nothing worse than a pitiable, miserable and helpless man. Our aim is to present the many such nuances of this inexhaustibly rich masterpiece to the faithful friends of opera and theatre.

Miklós Szinetár