Giuseppe Verdi
Simon Boccanegra

This evening, at La Scala, the premiere of Simon Boccanegra.
So - I thought - you don’t want to go unprepared, do you?

Of Boccanegra, the Magician said it was an opera he held dear. Like you would cherish a child born with deformities.
Me, I adore Boccanegra. From the first time I heard it. And there would be much to say about it. And if I have time, if I feel like it, I will.

Certainly, it's a bit messy. In fact, the Magician (notice I don't call him Peppino anymore? Well, I studied, and discovered that not even his wife (la Peppina, also known as Giuseppina Strepponi) called him that. She called him either Verdi (usually when your wife calls you by your surname it's to make fun of you) or Maestro (but maybe because she didn't know Riccardo Muti yet (who, by the way, is doing a masked ball in Turin tonight, which also merits discussion) or the Magician) the libretto was revised several times. Over the years. And the last time, and we'll talk about it, even the bohemian got involved... Now, I don’t know about you, but when I revisit something done a long time ago, I find it tiring. And I don’t remember anything anymore. And I say: why did you do that? In short, it irritates me a bit. Usually, if I have to do it, if I have to go back over something done a long time ago, music helps me. I try to remember what music I was listening to while doing it. I play it and things improve. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that I’m strange.

I’m strange. And I ramble. As I was saying, the libretto is quite messy. You can see it has been handled several times, each time with a different idea. And in the end, it’s all really a bit confused.

Yes, very true. Patience. I adore Boccanegra. And if I adore it, it’s - more than anything else - thanks to the protagonist.

Simone Boccanegra (the corsair to the high seat).

To understand, however, we need to open another small parenthesis. We need to say a few words about Verdi’s father figures. Yes, because in almost every work of the Magician there is a father. And this father, who is always a baritone, can be explained quite simply. Just a single listen. Take Traviata. Go to the second act, to that wonderful thing that is the duet between Germont (the father) and Violetta. It's a wonderful duet, lasting almost an entire act, and it’s one of the things worth living for. Moreover. If schools in Italy did what they should, it would be studied, with a synopsis, like we do with poems.
Well, in this duet Germont goes to Violetta, who is an escort and has connected with his son Alfredo. It’s not acceptable. I’ll keep it brief so as not to waste your time. To keep it brief, just say it like the Magician does:

Violetta: Do you want me to give him up forever?
Germont: It must be done.

There you have it, it's really like that. Very simple. The father, in Verdi’s operas, says it must be done. Without even an exclamation point, nothing. It must. It wouldn’t have taken much to have him sing yes. It wouldn’t have taken much to have him sing thank you. No, the Verdi father says it must be done. No accents, no high notes. It must.

If you look, if you’re a bit curious, you can almost always find such a father in the Magician’s works. Paraphrasing Bernard Shaw, in the Magician’s works there’s always a tenor, who may be handsome but certainly somewhat foolish, a soprano who is beautiful and tormented, a father baritone who opposes the legitimate choice of the tenor to sleep with the soprano. And if you want to exaggerate, there’s also a bass who’s terribly wicked, and a mezzo-soprano, who’s bad but, deep down, we end up liking nonetheless...

It's also easy to imagine that our Maestro, in his youth, identified a bit with the tenor.

Then, however, the years pass. You're no longer the age to be the tenor. And maybe you're also a bit less foolish. Less passionate, maybe, but a bit less foolish.

So, Boccanegra is the opera of two firsts. It’s the first (and only) time we root for a father. A baritone, of course. It’s the first (and only) time we root for a powerful man.

Yes, because our hero, Simone, was a corsair. We are in Genoa, and Simone has spent his life fighting. A thousand adventures, a thousand messes, a thousand wars. Now he’s of a certain age. He’s no longer the corsair. And, of life, of his life, he is quite content as well. At least, he doesn’t have major regrets. Except one. A daughter. With a woman he loved who has died. And he doesn’t know where the daughter is anymore. Look, he just wants to see her again, just that. To know how she is.

We are in Genoa, as mentioned. And Genoa is really a mess. Political battles, people killing each other in the streets, family feuds. The patricians and the plebeians eager to cross swords. Well, amid this chaos, a guy named Paolo, who is a bass (remember!) and Simone’s friend, has an idea. Let’s put the corsair on the high seat. Let’s make him the Doge of Genoa (I almost wrote of Venice, because the association is easy, but no, of Genoa. Yes, they had one too). In the beautiful choruses of the first act, Paolo secures Simone’s yes and then convinces the people. Yes, they will vote for him. Simone at one voice.

Simone wins. And how does the Doge act? Well, let’s make no mistakes. Remember, in those years the Magician is entering politics. He will enter the chamber, and they will make him a senator for life. He is pondering these things. Simone leads in a marvelous way. It is said in a single word. He is fearless. But he is not a braggart, not a kamikaze. No. He is someone who has seen a thousand things. He has seen worse. He might even have been a vice principal in a nameless school. So now, whatever happens, he has one way, and one way only, to face it. Head-on. Without fear. If you have issues with me, tell me. No scheming, no deceit. No fears.
Genoa, however, is really a mess. It is the opposite of the world Simone has seen all his years at sea. Listen to him, Simone, because throughout the opera, several times (even on his deathbed), he will say: the sea... the sea... That life. Where if someone had a problem with you, swords were drawn, without much ado. And then, maybe after drawing the swords, there was talk, and understanding was reached. And it would end there. Here it's the opposite. Those who applaud you usually stab you. Everyone schemes. Secretly. You don’t understand anything. And he no, continues in his way. To say and have things said to his face. Without fear.

To cut it short, at one point we even have an agnitio. We are in the 1800s, it’s very much liked. Simone finds his daughter. However, they decide not to tell anyone. The daughter has a fling with the tenor (young, handsome, and foolish, Gabriele). Who sees fit to mistake Simone’s attentions for those of a pedophile. The daughter gets kidnapped. But they manage to free her. They kill the henchman who kidnapped her, who only has time to say that a powerful man ordered the abduction.
Thus, in the Council Chamber, it's chaos.

Outside, the rabble screams. They are armed. Furious. The patricians, who are inside, want them dispersed. Violently.
Inside, there are whispers that Simone had Amelia abducted for inappropriate reasons. Gabriele (the tenor) wants to kill him.
And Simone? Simone is there. On the high seat. And says: open the palace doors. Let them in. And we’ll understand each other. Meanwhile, Gabriele draws his sword. He wants Simone’s head. The guards take the sword away from him. Simone says give it back to him. And let him speak. Well, the plebeians enter. It’s chaos. It’s time to speak. Simone lowers his voice. Thus, he gains attention. And sings.
He sings one of the most beautiful arias ever written. It is called Plebe, patrizi, popolo. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard it. But, believe me, it’s worth it. And it would also be worth doing the synopsis, like in school, like with poems, with footnotes.
Now, however, a parenthesis is urgently needed. The first time I heard it, Simone Boccanegra and Plebe patrizi popolo, it was Placido Domingo’s debut as a baritone. Met of NY (which, by the way, it’s been a while since I’ve been (on the site, or), would you like an opera of which I then feel like writing to you...). Well, I don’t know what you think of Domingo, who was a tenor, then a baritone, then a conductor. I find him endearing, also because he reminds me, when I think about it, of my former student Marras. Marras studied as a mechanic. He comes to the sixth year, the final exams approach, he takes the written tests, one day before the oral. He comes to my office, with a very serious air and says: Simone (no, my name is not Simone, but oh well) I've decided. I’m doing the oral with the other Commission, they seem nicer than mine. And I: but the other commission is electronics, you don’t know anything (okay, I didn’t say anything) about electronics. And he: well, but neither do I about mechanics! So, Domingo is endearing because he reminds me of Marras. And his version is endearing, but it’s certainly not the best I’ve ever heard. The best, without a doubt, is Tito Gobbi’s. Seriously, a marvel of life, ten leagues above anyone.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zOQfz_uhnaU
And there would be nothing more to say, that Tito Gobbi is in my heart, I suppose you know. Too bad I didn’t like his Rigoletto at all. Patience. Do you want to know who the best Rigoletto is in my opinion? Sorry, but the margin of the page is too narrow, and I can only write initials. DFD. This evening, to shout peace, will be Luca Salsi. We will see...
Simone’s voice calms everyone. But there’s still to find out who it was. Simone senses it and, at the end of this beautiful scene, forces him to curse who it was. And Paolo (he’s the bass, didn’t you understand? It’s always him, the culprit) for three times, in front of all Genoa, must curse himself.
Be that as it may, tempers seem to have calmed down. They seem, because Paolo hasn’t swallowed it. Paolo is a villain. And in his character, which with the various revisions became more and more defined, Arrigo, of whom we spoke above, is heavily involved. Paolo has decided. He won’t confront Simone. No, he will poison him slowly. Without him noticing. And so it happens. Simone slowly fades. Paolo, however, before Simone dies, is arrested. On stage remains only Simone. He is on the ground, dying. Faintly he sings the sea... the sea...
I don’t know if this made you want to. I am listening to it in the Abbado version, opening night at La Scala 78. Cappuccilli, Freni, Carreras. I haven’t yet reached vo’ gridando pace. But the choruses of the first act are fabulous...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-HbV_YnMYI
Ah, I forgot. Rai doesn’t send it to us. Not even Radiotre. One should subscribe to ScalaTV. But it says it will be available on demand in a couple of days... We will see.
Now, excuse me, you've made me digress, and it’s gotten very long. So, maybe someone is late and can’t catch the train to go home. And I, working is out of the question, I still have to write the second version of the review on Don Carlo, which will begin just like this: I won’t make it very long, otherwise, you’ll miss the train...