Richard Strauss
Der Rosenkavalier

Salomé and Elektra: they are almost always mentioned together, so similar yet so profoundly different; their respective protagonists are like day and night, but this is not the moment to discuss that. More than anything, this preamble helps to say that after two such "boulders," many other composers would have gotten tangled in their own work: after all, if Elektra remains the most extreme, the most "modernist" among the operas that are still regularly performed in major theaters, obviously, there's a reason. And as the true genius he was, Richard Strauss understood it was time to take a step back: and this purely stylistic step back gave birth to one of the most beautiful and representative operatic pages of the '900s.

To fully understand Richard Strauss as an opera composer, it is important to keep in mind that he was also a prolific composer of symphonic poems and other forms of instrumental music (besides lieder, but that's another story); this helps to understand why the beauty of his operas is not to be found in the immediacy typical of closed forms. Strauss's is a more subtle, more cerebral style, sometimes more elusive unless listened to with the right mindset. This is true for the two previously mentioned "boulders" as well as for Der Rosenkavalier, which stands out not only musically but also for its much more "down-to-earth" setting and much longer duration (three hours plus).

It's curious to note how many characters have strong similarities with those in Verdi’s Falstaff (Ochs-Falstaff, Nannetta-Sophie, Faninal-Ford, Valzacchi and Annina-Bardolfo and Pistola), which by chance is definitely the most "Straussian," the most open of Verdi's operas. In the hands of any librettist, the plot of Der Rosenkavalier, a comedy of errors inherently frivolous, would have made a good subject for a Viennese operetta; but Hugo Von Hofmannsthal was anything but an ordinary librettist, which is why we find intelligent satires and complex psychological portraits perfectly set in the context of a delightfully bittersweet story.

The color of this opera can only be pink: pale and slightly faded in the first act, dominated by the mature and reflective personality of the Marschallin, bright and vivid in the second, the act of the love at first sight between the young Octavian and Sophie; in the third, the two tones mix, shifting from farce to the melancholy of the grand finale. To bestow Der Rosenkavalier with its unique musical identity, Strauss "borrows" the art of those other Strausses, scattering waltzes throughout the opera, in the form of recurring themes: nuanced for the Marschallin, lively and brash for Ochs. Putting the pieces together results in this marvel. And when you least expect it, in the rose presentation scene, one of the opera’s high points, Elektra reemerges, with that brilliant chord that makes this moment of love at first sight even more magical, more suspended in time, reaching sublime heights when in the hands of the right performers. Take for example the wonderful Lucia Popp, one of my absolute top three/four favorite sopranos, and Brigitte Fassbaender, a mezzo-soprano so versatile she could masterfully perform both Octavian and Clytemnestra in Elektra. Another episode "detached" from the opera’s continuum is "Di rigori armato il seno," the aria of the Italian tenor: it’s well known that Richard Strauss did not particularly love tenor voices and that closed forms were not in his style, yet this exquisite cameo, this deliciously sentimental romance is one of the most suggestive moments of Der Rosenkavalier, a homage from the composer to a style and tradition not his own.

Now let's take a moment to talk about that extraordinary, iconic role that is the Marschallin: she is not the only grand operatic heroine who ultimately bends without breaking (Turandot), what makes her unique is her self-awareness, her disenchanted intelligence, her nobility of spirit that ultimately leads her to make that painful renunciation. Despite being portrayed by great dramatic sopranos like Astrid Varnay and Gwyneth Jones, it is a genuinely lyrical role, requiring great "finesse" and a mature but not overly matronly timbre; her monologues in the first act, "Da get er hin" and "Die zeit, die ist ein sonderbar" depict a perfect portrait of her character. And all this refinement is contrasted by the conspicuous crudeness of Baron Ochs, an embodiment of a feudal aristocracy, arrogant, pompous, and narcissistic, in his repugnance he is another highly successful character, requiring a comic bass with excellent acting skills as well as a certain type of physique du rôle, delivering great comedic moments with each appearance.

But eventually, Ochs is forced to leave, making way for the Marschallin and the two young lovers, Octavian and Sophie. Their beautiful trio, with a twilight beauty that seems to almost anticipate the Vier Letzte Lieder, concludes with the exit, full of melancholy and dignity, of the "third wheel." What remains is then a duet of love, that definitively seals the opera by revisiting the theme of the rose presentation.

There are indeed few better ways than this to spend three free hours.