Giacomo Puccini
Madama Butterfly

The study and analysis of today's approaches to traditional sources of classical music raises interesting issues regarding the current interest in what can only be called "opera music." It is curious to observe how a good part of the "modern" audience, those who are attentive to musical trends, whether in vogue or not, express preferences for the Symphony, Sonata, Concerto, in other words, musical expressions through which classical music exponents, if you will permit the generalization, interpret through instruments and orchestra.
Why does Mozart's "Symphony in G minor K550" appeal more than Bellini's "Norma"? Why is Grieg's "Morning" from "Peer Gynt" preferred over Delibes's "Lakmè"? Well, explaining comprehensively what causes a lack of warmth towards opera is not easy: in this case, we take the liberty of searching for the fundamental reasons, and without going into too much detail, it may appear quite evident that one such reason is the conspicuous difference in language.
The language in question is articulated on two levels: lexical and musical. In the first case, it refers to a linguistic choice, that of the libretto, which obviously cannot conform to today's lexical standards, while in the second, it hints at a canonical form, that of "long composition," full of pauses and climaxes, which cannot lend itself to attentive and constant listening. However, we will demonstrate that these barriers can be overcome, and that the language of opera is in some ways modern and relevant.

First argument of the demonstration: Giacomo Puccini. Just as Nietzsche called Euripides "the slayer of Greek tragedy" for his aspirations of "earthly" representation of human emotions, so we could call Puccini, with some license, "the slayer of opera," the indirect executioner of the great human aspirations expressed through the figures of the greats of history and the figures of myth: no longer the bold Siegfried of Wagner, no longer the gruesome Macbeth of Verdi, no longer the immortal Faust of Gounod; now through the oeuvre of the composer from Lucca, attention goes to the fragile Mimì of "La Bohème," the weak Liù of "Turandot," the defenseless Lauretta of "Gianni Schicchi."

Second argument of the demonstration: "Madama Butterfly" by the same author. An opera of precious lightness, not incidentally, at its debut in Brescia in 1900, it was loudly booed: Puccini's formal and content language, modern and innovative, was not understood. The opera speaks of a clash of cultures, a feud between nations with traditions too distant to avoid, directly or indirectly, entering into conflict: the dispute between the traditionalist Japan of timid geishas and the progressive America of social climbers. It recounts the small drama of Cio-Cio-San, who, at only fifteen, falls for the American naval lieutenant B.F. Pinkerton, renouncing her own religion and cults for him; abandoned by her furious relatives for her condemnable choice, Butterfly is also left by Pinkerton, carrying the child of her ill-fated love: hopeful of seeing her beloved again, she will see him return only after many years, now married to an American woman and intent on taking their child; the outcome is tragic, with Cio-Cio-San forced to take her own life.

The opera is an extraordinary work of delicate craftsmanship, an example of pain and lyricism to which Puccini's marvelous compositional ability pays honor with superb mastery. Through dazzling arias like "Spira sul Mar," "Un bel dì vedremo," and "Tu, tu, piccolo Iddio," the respective fleeting happiness, hope, and bewildered dignity of Butterfly are exhaustively articulated, artfully painted to perfectly convey the multiple facets of a pride, the Japanese one, which sees in the ethic of personal commitment an obligation, which if not respected, can only have a just and inevitable conclusion in harakiri. On the other hand, Pinkerton is the archetype of the American Yankee, the representative of a civilization that has forgotten the ritual of spiritual union, the petty climber who at the moment of truth cannot confront his own decisions: "Addio, fiorito asil" recites the American lieutenant upon seeing his ancient abode in Nagasaki again, unable to discern between old regrets and present emotional ties. Pinkerton and Butterfly, incompatible pieces of cultures that history too would witness clashing on more than one tragic occasion: the striking and prophetic relevance of Giacomo Puccini's message.

A so-called superficial analysis of an exceptional work, a rare find in the preference index of today's "music enthusiasts": we could spend hours talking about the splendid musical inventions of Puccini (see for example the ingenious "Coro muto" of the finale of the Second Act), the melodic characterization of the supporting characters - especially Suzuki and Goro -, the rich influence of extraneous musical styles on the opera; we could, but for our purposes, the demonstration is made, and not too much time was even needed. A deserved mention for the librettists Illica and Giacosa, precious linguists and co-authors. A good edition: obviously the one with Callas, alongside Gedda in the role of Pinkerton, under the direction of Von Karajan.
Q.E.D.