In Verdi's "Don Carlos," all paths lead back to the tomb of Charles V

The scene at the tomb of the Emperor Charles V, where Prince Carlos, the emperor's grandson, will shortly come seeking "peace and forgetfulness" (as we'll hear in a while), opens the four-act version of Don Carlos performed by Riccardo Muti at La Scala in December 1992. The monk who will so unnervingly remind Carlos of his grandfather is bass Andrea Silvestrelli.

"At the monastery of San Yuste, where my grandfather
Charles V ended his life, tired of his grandeur,
I seek in vain peace and forgetfulness of the past.
Of the one who was stolen from me
the image wanders with me into this icy cloister."

-- Don Carlos, at his grandfather's tomb, in Verdi's Don Carlos

by Ken

As I mentioned in Friday night's preview focusing on Verdi's Don Carlos, the scene I really want to get at is the first scene in the cloister of the monastery at San Yuste, before the tomb of Emperor Charles V. (Last night, you'll recall, we looked back to Verdi's much earlier opera Ernani to see the young King Carlos undergo a remarkable transformation at the time of his election as Holy Roman Emperor.) It's Act II, Scene 1 in the opera's original five-act version, but when Verdi grudgingly created a more practical four-act version, by cutting the prologue-like Act I, it became the opera's opening scene. And it makes not just an unusual but a singularly powerful opening scene -- there's nothing quite like it. (There's something with a more than casual resemblance, though. I'm afraid we have much too much to do today, but we'll come back to it.)

To refresh your memory, let's reset the scene. It begins with the scene you get by combining our mystery excerpts "E" and "B" from Frida:, a brief orchestral prelude, hushed and mysterious, dominated by the horns, followed by a sepulchral chorus of monks -- also dominated by the horns -- whom we might expect to be

Scene: The tomb of Charles V in the monastery of San Yuste. A choir of monks is praying in the offstage chapel. Onstage, a kneeling monk prays before the tomb.

MONKS: Charles, the supreme emperor,
is no longer more than mute dust.
At the feet of his heavenly maker
his haughty soul now trembles.
A MONK: He wanted to rule over the world,
forgetting the one who in the sky
guides the stars on their faithful path.
His pride was immense;
his error was profound.
MONKS: Charles, the supreme emperor &c.
A MONK: Great is God alone, and if he wills it
he makes heaven and earth tremble.
Ah! Merciful God,
compassionate to the sinner,
you will grant
that peace and pardon
descend on him from heaven.
MONKS: Let your wrath not fall,
not fall on his soul.
ALL: Great is God alone.
He alone is great.

José van Dam (bs-b), the Monk; Chorus of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. EMI, recorded Sept. 15-20, 1978

At this point, young prince Carlos enters -- the grandson and namesake of the great emperor, and son of the current king of Spain, Philip II (named for his grandfather, King Philip I of Castille, who reunited Spain through his marriage to the daughter of King Ferdinand of Aragon). Carlos is in despair over the loss of his barely met dream woman, the princess Elisabeth of Valois, daughter of the French king François I. This is the business of Act I of the five-act version.

The marriage of Elisabeth and Carlos had been arranged as a way to end the ruinous (especially for France) Hundred Years' War, and Carlos had come surreptitiously to the forest of Fontainebleau to "reconnoiter" his bride-to-be. Happily for him, one look was all it took; he was hopelessly in love. That's what the poor boy was originally singing about in his aria:

[a] Recitative
CARLOS: Fontainebleau! Immense and solitary forest!
What gardens bursting with flowers and light
could match, for the happy Don Carlos, the frozen ground
where his smiling Elisabeth passed?
Leaving Spain and my father's court,
braving the terrible wrath of Philip,
hidden among the people of his ambassador,
I've been able to see her finally, my beautiful fiancée,
the one who for so long has ruled my thoughts,
the one who from now on will rule my heart.

[b] Aria
I saw her, and in her smile,
in her eyes filled with an enchanting fire,
my heart, totally moved, could read
the happiness of living while loving her!
A future filled with tenderness!
Azure skies bathing all our days!
God smiles on our youth.
God bless our chaste loves!

Roberto Alagna (t), Don Carlos; Orchestre de Paris, Antonio Pappano, cond. EMI, recorded live March 1996

Plácido Domingo (t), Don Carlos; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Claudio Abbado, cond. DG, recorded January 1983 and June 1984

It got even better for Carlos. He managed to meet Elisabeth, pretending to be part of the Spanish ambassador's delegation, and she fell equally hard for him. Of course she couldn't admit her attraction, being engaged to the Spanish heir apparent and all. But in a truly magical musicodramatic moment, he declared, "Carlo son io." At least that's how it goes in the more familiar Italian translation. In the original French it's the even simpler "Je suis Carlos."

Now, to get back to "our" scene. It's at the point where Carlos enters San Yuste that the four- and five-act versions deviate for the only time. Oh, there are lots of other textual issues on which directors and conductors may make different choices, but they really aren't particular to four vs. five acts. However, we can say with confidence that's surprising when it comes to declarative statements about this opera that at this point:

* Darned near every four-act performance has Carlos sing an understandably agitated recitative that was newly composed for this version, leading into an only-slightly-modified version of his aria from the dropped Act I.

* Darned near every five-act performance has Carlo sing the brief bit of text translated from the French at the top of this post, music that is never heard in four-act performances. It lasts about 43 seconds in the performance we're about to hear; most performances probably take a couple of seconds less.

At the monastery of San Yuste, where my grandfather
Charles V finished out his life, weary of glory and honor.
I seek in vain the peace that my heart so desires.
Of the one who was stolen from me
the image wanders with me into this cloister of horror.
MONK: The sorrow of earth
follows us even into the cloister.
The heart's war only
in heaven will be calmed.
CARLOS: His voice! My heart trembles!
I thought -- what terror! --
I saw the emperor,
who in his habit was concealing
his breastplate and golden crown.
It's said that he still appears in the cloister!
MONK: The heart's war
in heaven will be calmed.
DON CARLOS: O terror! O terror!

Flaviano Labò (t), Don Carlos; Alessandro Maddalena (bs), the Monk; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Gabriele Santini, cond. DG, recorded 1961

A NOTE ON LANGUAGES

This is a nightmare with regard to Don Carlos, since the opera was written to a French libretto but is still far more often performed in Italian translation. There is a widespread misimpression that the original five-act version was in French but that the four-act revision was in Italian. Uh-uh. To my knowledge, the position of the ranking scholars of the opera is still that the composer never worked with any text but the French. Therefore, as a matter of practicality (and sanity), I've stuck as much as seemed sensible to the forms used in the French text -- for example "Carlos" (as in Spanish) rather than the Italian "Carlo" for the title character and "Elisabeth" rather than "Elisabetta" for his beloved (and later stepmother).

It's awfully difficult to be consistent, though, for example when quoting from actually sung text; "Carlo son io" is what tenors actually sing when performing in Italian. And I throw up my hands when it comes to figures of the historical importance of Emperor Charles V (Charles-Quint in French, Karl V in German) and King Philip II. Contrarily, I've stuck to "San Yuste" in preference to either the French "St. Juste" or the Italian "San Giusto," because it's a real place. For no particularly good reason, I can't bring myself to give up the familiar "Rodrigo" for "Rodrigue," though it's manifestly silly to butt "Carlos" up against "Rodrigo." (The difference, perhaps, is that "Carlos," the "French" option, is actually Spanish.)

As for the sung texts, there are significant (sometimes very significant) and much-discussed differences between the French and Italian. I've generally followed the language of the performance(s) being heard, which here is mostly Italian.

None of this works smoothly. So apologies all around, but I've done the best I could.

I said Friday that it was this scene of Don Carlos that had prompted this entire inquiry, and might have specified that I mean only this part of the scene. I don't know that many people give a hoot about it. Things become livelier in a moment, when Carlos's dear friend Rodrigo, the marquis of Posa, happens on the scene, and the two sing one of the great tenor-baritone duets, culminating in this thrilling oath of friendship and commitment to the liberation of oppressed Flanders:

CARLOS and RODRIGO: God, who in our souls
wished to instill hope and love,
in our hearts you must kindle
a desire for liberty.
We swear together to live
and die together.
RODRIGO: On earth, in heaven --
BOTH: -- your goodness
can unite us.
Ah, God, who in our souls &c.
RODRIGO: They're coming now.
CARLOS: O terror!
Just seeing her I tremble!
RODRIGO: Courage!
[Philip. leading Elisabeth, appears in the midst of the monks. Philip kneels for a moment before the tomb of Charles V, then proceeds on his way. The monks are heard from inside.]
MONKS: Carlo, the great emperor &c.
CARLOS: He has made her his!
I've lost her!
I've lost her. He has made her his!
Great God!
RODRIGO: Come close to me,
close to me. You'll have more strength,
more strength!
CARLO: He's made her his! I've lost her!
He's made her his!
BOTH: We'll live together and die together!
Our last breath
will be, will be a shout, a shout:
Liberty!
We'll live together &c.

Jussi Bjoerling (t), Don Carlos; Robert Merrill (b), Rodrigo; Fritz Stiedry, cond. Live performance, Nov. 11, 1950

Richard Tucker (t), Don Carlos; Ettore Bastianini (b), Rodrigo; Kurt Adler, cond. Live performance, March 5, 1955

Franco Corelli (t), Don Carlos; Nicolae Herlea (b), Rodrigo; Kurt Adler, cond. Live performance, March 7, 1964

(Although it was a decade later, Richard Tucker was my first Carlos and Robert Merrill my first Rodrigo. Bjoerling and Merrill of course recorded the whole duet for RCA on their mini-album of operatic duets -- a meager substitute for the complete Don Carlos they should have participated in. Carlos wasn't actually one of Franco Corelli's really good roles, since it didn't offer many opportunities for him to open up and let that glorious megatenor fly, but this is one such. This performance is also a nice memento of the Romanian baritone Nicolae Herlea; it's sobering to realize the Met roster was once so well-stocked with Italianate baritones that no great need was felt to keep him around.)

Still, as I say, this is not the part of the scene that I'm interested in. It's Carlos's flight to San Yuste, seeking something at the tomb of his grandfather: courage, answers, relief, or perhaps just oblivion. We don't, after all, know what Charles himself had sought there when he gave up the throne, either "weary of glory and honor" or "tired of his grandeur."

And so it's those 40-45 seconds I keep coming back to. Maybe we should hear this little chunk again. Here it is in French. Remember, it's only Carlos's first bit (about 42 seconds here) that was lost in the four-act reduction; the rest, as we'll hear in a moment, was successfully tacked onto Carlos's relocated aria.


Plácido Domingo (t), Don Carlos; Nikita Storojev (bs), the Monk; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Claudio Abbado, cond. DG, recorded January 1983 and June 1984

Perhaps Verdi himself thought so little of that tiny snip of music that he didn't give a second thought to throwing it overboard. He did, after all, have two problems to solve: rescuing Carlos's one and only aria (a modest one, especially alongside the extraordinary solo opportunities provided the soprano, mezzo, baritone, and bass in this opera, and really hard to make a special effect with, but still, one aria is better than none), and providing the basic plot details that were lost with the jettisoning of Act I. Here's how he did it.

[a] Opening of scene (see above)

[b] Recitative
CARLOS: I've lost her, I've lost her!. Oh, supreme power!
Another, and it's my father,
Another, and it's my father,
stole the woman I adore,
the wife promised to me!
Ah, how pure and beautiful was the day,
the day without tomorrow,
on which, drunk with hope,
it was given to us to roam in the shade,
alone together, on the sweet soil of France,
in the forest of Fontainebleau!

[c] Aria
CARLOS: I saw her, and her sweet smile
opened a new heaven to me.
Ahi, forever now I've been separated
from that heart by a father, a king!
My life now holds no hope
of a single day of joy.
You have robbed me, enchantress,
of heart and hope and dreams and love.
Alas! I've lost her! I've lost her!

[d] Solos
MONK: The sorrow of earth
follows us even into the cloister.
The heart's war only
in heaven will be calmed.
CARLOS: His voice! My heart trembles!
I thought -- what terror! --
I saw the emperor,
who in his habit was concealing
his breastplate and golden crown.
It's said that he still appears in the cloister!
MONK: The heart's war
in heaven will be calmed.
DON CARLOS: O terror! O terror!

[(b) at 6:18, (c) at 7:44, (d) at 9:30] Lubomir Vichegonov (bs), the Monk; Jussi Bjoerling (t), Don Carlos; Fritz Stiedry, cond. Live performance, Nov. 11, 1950

[(b) at 6:10, (c) at 7:45, (d) at 9:28] Luben Vichey (bs), the Monk; Richard Tucker (t), Don Carlos; Fritz Stiedry, cond. Live performance, Apr. 5, 1952
[Note that bass Lubomir Vichegonov, a Met stalwart of the era, has officially become Luben Vichey, which is how he's listed for his full Met career in the Metropolitan Opera Annals.]

(The Bjoerling performance was an obvious choice, but once you've heard Richard Tucker's out-of-his-mind-gorgeous 1952 performance, you'll understand why it's here too. For continuity, I've included the complete scene up to this point in both; if you don't want to listen to the previous part, you can just skip to the next track.)

For contrast, here's what the whole scene in the five-act version (or rather, again, the scene up to Rodrigo's entrance) sounds like:


Richard Margison (t), Don Carlos; Ildebrando D'Arcangelo (bs), the Monk; Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded July 1996

To the monks, and perhaps to the world, Charles V was vainglorious and overreaching. To Carlos, it sounds to me, he was more like the man we heard last night, in Act III of Ernani, reaching a crucial juncture in his life, and reaching deep in himself to see, in the end, what's there, what kind of man he is, or means to be.

It's an age-old question: Do people really change? It seems to me rather obvious that we change a little a lot, and that far less frequently we may change a lot. In most of our lives there come test points. Maybe it's not being elected Holy Roman Emperor, but in our own little world it may be just as consequential. Verdi not only managed to dramatize this process of rising to the challenge, of achieving a leap in personal growth, but did it in the form of a musical event -- what else is "O sommo Carlo" (and the ensuing ensemble) about?

"IF THEY STILL WEEP IN HEAVEN,
WEEP FOR MY SORROW"

I know I'm going on, but, It's frustrating to be scratching the surface of a work as vast and deep as Don Carlos. Perhaps we can let it go if we just follow some of the threads we've begun to trace back in "our" scene.

You'll recall that in Friday's quiz I tried to trick you into thinking that what is in fact the prelude to the final act of the opera might be its start. Perhaps you're sick by now of the Monks' Chorus, but we're going to hear it once again as resurrected in that prelude, and the extraordinary aria it introduces, Elisabeth's "Tu che le vanità," arguably Verdi's greatest soprano aria.

Elisabeth has uncomplainingly subjugated herself to the barrenness of her loveless marriage to King Philip, further tormented by the inevitable contact with her beloved (now) stepson, Carlos. One last meeting has been arranged at -- where else? -- the tomb of Charles V. And it's to the departed emperor that she addresses herself.

We're going to hear two quite remarkable but totally different performances. Eleanor Steber's is a vocal joy: the voice soaring easily and precisely and beautifully from top to bottom, with excellent advantage taken of this rare opportunity for Elisabeth to give voice to what's inside her. The Maria Callas of 1958 couldn't claim any of those vocal glories Steber commanded in 1955, but she was still Callas, which means the piece is taken very personally. To me this isn't an "either/or" proposition; I would hate to be without either.

Scene: The monastery of San Yuste. Elisabeth enters slowly, lost in thought. She approaches the tomb of Charles V and kneels.

ELISABETH: You who knew
the vanities of the world
and enjoy in the tomb
profound repose,
if they still weep in heaven,
weep for my sorrow,
and bear my tears
to the throne of the Lord.

Carlos will come here. Yes!
Let him leave and forget forever.
To Posa I swore
to watch over his days.
Let him follow his destiny;
glory will trace it.
For me, my day
has already reached its evening.

France, noble land,
so dear to my verdant years!
Fontainebleau! Toward you
my thoughts spread their wings.
There God heard my vow
to love for eternity,
and that eternity lasted
only a single day.

Amid you, lovely gardens
of this Iberian land,
if Carlo should ever
tarry in the evening,
may the turf, the brooks,
the fountains, the woods,
the blossoms sing of our
love in harmony.

Farewell! Farewell, bright golden dreams,
lost illusion!
The knot is cut,
the light is snuffed out.
Farewell! Farewell again, verdant years!

Yielding to cruel pain,
the heart has just one desire:
the peace of the tomb!

You who knew etc.

Ah, lay my tears
at the feet of the Lord.

[includes orchestral introduction to the act; aria at 2:27] Eleanor Steber (s), Elisabeth; Kurt Adler, cond. Live performance, March 5, 1955

Maria Callas (s), Elisabeth; Philharmonia Orchestra, Nicola Rescigno, cond. EMI, recorded Sept. 19-24, 1958

Carlos arrives, and Elisabeth persuades him to recommit himself to the Flemish freedom cause, which he sees as a glorious death. Our final excerpt picks up at this point.

ELISABETH, then CARLOS: But above we will meet
in a better world.
The eternal future's
hours already sound for us,
and there we will find,
folded together with the Lord,
the happiness that
always flees us on earth.
ELISABETH: On that day that for us
will have no tomorrow . . .
BOTH: . . . we shall forget all reference
to affection here on earth.
CARLOS: Farewell, my mother.
ELISABETH: My son, farewell.
CARLOS: Eternal farewell.
ELISABETH: Eternal farewell.
BOTH: Farwell! Farewell!
CARLOS: Forever farewell!
BOTH: Forever farewell!
Forever!
KING PHILIP [entering, followed by the Grand Inquisitor and the officers of the Inquisition, and taking the arm of the queen]: Yes, forever!
I demand a double sacrifice!
I will do my duty.
{To the Grand Inquisitor] But you?
THE GRAND INQUISITOR: The Holy Office will do its.
ELISABETH: Heaven!
THE GRAND INQUISITOR [to the officers, indicating Carlos]: Guards!
CARLOS: God will avenge me!
His hand will shatter
the tribunal of blood!
[Don Carlos, defending himself, moves back toward the tomb of Charles V. The cloister gate opens, and the Monk of Act I appears, but in the mantle and with the royal crown appears. It is Charles V.]
MONK: The sorrow of earth
follows us even into the cloister.
The heart's war only
in heaven will be calmed.
THE GRAND INQUISITOR: It's the voice of Charles!
OFFICERS OF THE INQUISITION: It's Charles V!
KING PHILIP [terrified]: My father!
ELISABETH: Oh heaven!
[Charles V drags the bewildered Carlos into the cloister.]

Mirella Freni (s), Elisabeth; José Carreras (t), Don Carlos; Nicolai Ghiaurov (bs), King Philip; Ruggero Raimondi (bs), the Grand Inquisitor; José van Dam (bs-b), the Monk (Charles V); Chorus of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. EMI, recorded Sept. 15-20, 1978

And the last thing we hear, sounded with vehemence by the brasses, is the Monks' Chorus in this newly violent form.

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