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O P E R A N O T E S | L Y R I C O P E R A O F C H I C A G O
January 28 - February 24, 2017
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the other hand, in that role, traditionally
assigned to coloratura voices, the composer
was eager to have not just dazzling technical
facility but also a certain dramatic color that
Pasta could provide in spades.
Pasta was a new kind of prima donna
– one of three women (Spain’s Maria
Malibran and Germany’s Wilhelmine
Schröder-Devrient were the others) who
together brought into being the decidedly
new idea of an operatic leading lady as a
“singing actress.” Pasta, by all accounts,
exuded dignity and regality onstage, with
the innate gift of expressive depth that
bespoke a true
tragedienne.
Yes, previous
leading ladies in bel canto repertoire had
displayed similarly refined musicianship
and vocal dexterity. Pasta, however, was
also utterly committed to the nuances of
drama and communicated overwhelming
theatrical presence. She simply
embodied
Norma and the other heroines in her
repertoire, including no fewer than 20 that
she premiered during her illustrious career.
The actress Fanny Kemble, who
heard all the greats in London for some
six decades, remarked of them that “above
them all, Pasta appears to me pre-eminent
for musical and dramatic genius – alone and
unapproached – the muse of tragic song.”
Perhaps the most famous quote related
to an opera singer during the entire 19th
century was in response to Pasta. Apparently
she kept her expressive powers to the end,
even when her voice was in tatters. One
of her greatest successors, Malibran’s sister
Pauline Viardot, attended the next-to-last
performance of Pasta’s career, in London
in 1850. Overwhelmed by the artistry she
had just witnessed, she declared that “like
the ‘Cenacolo’ [Last Supper] of da Vinci - a
wreck of a picture, but the picture is the
greatest in the world.”
Opposite Pasta in the first
Norma
were
three dazzling stars: Giulia Grisi (Adalgisa),
the Joan Sutherland of her day, soon to
become internationally celebrated in all the
great diva roles of bel canto, Norma included;
Domenico Donzelli, Italy’s first dramatic
tenor, with reportedly a marvelously dark-
toned, ultra-masculine instrument; and
Vincenzo Negrini (Oroveso), a magnificent
bass-baritone who no doubt would have
become one of the legendary figures of
Italian singing had heart disease not claimed
him at the age of only 35.
With all the vocal glory lavished on
it, and the glory of the Bellini score itself,
it seems completely bewildering that the
opening night of
Norma
at La Scala proved
decidedly unsuccessful. Why did it fail to
achieve a triumph? Bellini thought this
might have been due to the machinations
of a faction supported by money from
the rich mistress of a rival composer. But
Norma
did triumph thereafter, with nearly
40 performances in that first Milan season
alone. It also made it to America within
ten years, and arrived at the Metropolitan
Opera in 1890, during the company’s
seventh season, with a great Wagnerian,
Lilli Lehmann, in the title role.
Norma
very quickly became
the
piece
against which great sopranos measured
themselves. It was also the Bellini opera that
other composers most admired. One, in fact,
was Richard Wagner, who truly worshipped
Bellini. Six years after the premiere, he
conducted it himself; he wrote that “of all
Bellini’s creations, it’s
Norma
that unites
the richest flow of melody with the deepest
glow of truth.”
The principal men have their grand-
scale moments – Oroveso in his two scenes
with the male chorus, Pollione in his
exhilarating entrance scene – but the opera
truly belongs to the two women. Adalgisa
(written for the soprano Grisi, but generally
taken today by high mezzo-sopranos)
actually often sings in Norma’s range, and
HERMAN MISHKIN/METROPOLITAN OPERA ARCHIVES
Rosa Ponselle, the definitive Norma of her generation,
at the Metropolitan Opera, 1927.