Richard Strauss
Die Schweigsame Frau

It's impossible to think of Strauss without Salome and Elektra, without their respective, intensely dramatic eponymous roles, to which we add the Empress and the dyer's wife in Frau ohne Schatten: it is also due to the type of vocality required for these roles and the enormous orchestrations that accompany them that he is often considered almost a continuum of Wagner. Yet, ironically, a large majority of Strauss's operatic repertoire presents completely different characteristics. None of his operas following Elektra (1909) can be considered a tragedy, not even Frau ohne Schatten, which remains a "fairy tale" with a happy ending; instead, comedies of errors abound, explored in every possible shade. Chronologically, one starts with Rosenkavalier, then Ariadne auf Naxos, Intermezzo, Die ägyptische Helena, and Arabella, finally reaching 1935 with Die Schweigsame Frau; all are fascinating, some marvelous, and each is a unique piece with a specific color, approach, and musicality, even though they start from seemingly similar foundations in terms of plot. Die Schweigsame Frau fits perfectly into this collection of semi-hidden treasures, showing us a truly new and unusual Richard Strauss.

After the death of Hugo Von Hofmannsthal, the librettist of his greatest successes, Strauss turned to another literary genius and tragic figure of the time, Stefan Zweig. Unfortunately, for reasons unrelated to music and art, Die Schweigsame Frau would remain the only "finished product" of this collaboration, although Friedenstag (1938) and Capriccio (1942) were initially drafted by Zweig and carried forward by Strauss with the help of another librettist. Returning to Schweigsame Frau, it is fascinating to note the stark contrast with the previous opera, Arabella, which, briefly and somewhat crudely put, is the "less flamboyant and more intimate and 'creamy' little sister" of Rosenkavalier, with a classic, lushly orchestrated Strauss timbre that is fundamentally Romantic-19th-century in style. Here, on the other hand, one wonders: is it possible to make dissonances and Mozartian melodies coexist? Certainly, at least for Richard Strauss, and with results of great value, originality, and depth.

Die Schweigsame Frau is one of the most unusual episodes in the Strauss repertoire, albeit still less eccentric and experimental compared to Intermezzo. Fact is, when one thinks of Richard Strauss, one certainly does not envision a relatively lean orchestration, at some moments almost chamber-like, with a lively and often nervous humor, which leaps from the late 18th century to the 20th century ignoring everything in between. The subject is taken from a not particularly famous (post)Elizabethan comedy, "Epicoene, or the silent woman" by Ben Jonson. This is also decidedly unusual for Strauss, but it is even more interesting to highlight the profound modifications made by Zweig, which transform a story with rather cynical and sarcastic outlines into a kind of celebration of benevolence. Said like this, it doesn't sound great, I know, let's try to elaborate a bit better: despite the frictions that arise between the characters of the opera, what always triumphs is a humane, mutual understanding and acceptance, which patches up all the farces and squabbles, leading to a happy ending. Considering the historical period and the "limitations" to which the composer and especially the librettist were subject; the apparent bovarism of Die Schweigsame Frau is a logical consequence, and Zweig's libretto seems almost an allegory conveying a very specific message between the lines: let us remain human.

Strauss, through music, was able to be much more explicit: he emphasizes the more "tense" moments of the opera, which theoretically should still be comedic and facetious, with a broad, sharp use of both pitched and unpitched percussion and brass, while the vocal lines often overlap in an almost chaotic manner, creating dissonant effects that, in such a context, very distant from the sumptuous post-Romantic symbolist decadence of Salome, Elektra, and Die Frau ohne Schatten, sound particularly harsh, "out of place". My world is falling apart; underneath, something monstrous is being born. This is what the composer seems to want to say with this stylistic choice. In the end, the sweet and brilliant Mozartian melody (a call to better times) triumphs with the final aria, "Wie schon ist doch die musik", peace and tranquility, perhaps a wish on a larger scale. Another thing that makes Die Schweigsame Frau unique in the Strauss repertoire is the fact that despite the title, it features a clear dominance of the male voice: the two key roles are Sir Morosus, a bass, an irritable old man but with a heart of gold, and Scheidebart, a baritone, the deus ex machina of the plot and the true Figaro of the situation, an extremely verbose role, almost more spoken than sung, in a semi-operetta style, alongside Henry Morosus, a tenor, who is linked to the most enthusiastic and lively melodic outbursts. On the part of Richard Strauss, so deeply in love with the female voice, this is yet another demonstration of his inexhaustible desire to propose something new, reinventing himself each time.

This is Die Schweigsame Frau, a comedy in three acts with music by Richard Strauss and a libretto by Stefan Zweig: original, fascinating, but not among the ultimate masterpieces of the Bavarian composer (which shows how well he has spoiled me). Personally, I find that it works better at some points than others; the musical dichotomy that distinguishes it (already starting from the orchestral prologue) is not always easy to appreciate; ultimately, it is not an easy listen, despite being a comedy. It remains an intelligent experiment and a historical document of great value, a vivid example of how the outside world, especially in times of great tension, shapes art in so many different forms. After just one performance, the opera was banned from Germany. It was bothersome, and I don't think Zweig was the sole reason; someone realized that besides grumpy old men, crafty barbers, and itinerant musician companies, there was something else here, and that something else, albeit allegorical, was still bothersome.