Teatro dell'Opera Giocosa di Savona, recorded live in Teatro Astor in November 2003
Zanetto by Pietro Mascagni
Libretto by Giovanni Targioni-Tozetti and Guido Menasci from the French play Le Passant (The Passerby) by François Coppée; first performed Pesaro Liceo Musicale Rossini, Mar. 2, 1896
This performance: Teatro dell’Opera Giocosa di Savona; Stagione Lirica 2003 (recorded live in Savona, Teatro Astor, November 2003); co-production of Kicco Music and Metis Film, Italy, 2004
Orchestra Sinfonica di Savona, cond. Bruno Aprea
Silvia, a courtesan of Florence – Denia Mazzola Gavazzeni, soprano
Zanetto, a wandering troubadour – Romina Basso, mezzo-soprano
Prelude begins with a pensive theme in the woodwinds, echoed in the flute; repeated in strings; curtains open on a dimly-lit stage, set with a table holding a bottle of champagne; nearby, Silvia, an aging courtesan, reclines on a chaise lounge, wearing a glittery, sparkling black mesh top over a form-fitting corset, with a billowing skirt of white taffeta and smoky gauze and sparkling gems in her hair. She is attended by an admirer; he pours himself a glass of champagne and leaves a handful of money on the table, toasting her, then takes his hat and leaves; another lover enters, salutes her, leaves money, and departs; then a third customer lingers with her, leaves money, has a sip of champagne, and leaves. Silvia rises, counts the money with some disgust, and moves offstage to dress. As the prelude continues, the three men re-enter, one by one, followed by Silvia, now wearing a long black velvet coat embroidered with sequins; the men salute her with a kiss of her hand, then depart. Silvia sings, “Cursed love! I’ve no more tears. I’m the cruel lady that all adore, that all adore. Each with respectful kisses brushes my hand; but the ardor of the kiss does not rise to my heart. Tedium is killing me. The quiet, luminous summer nights that seem made for serenades give poets the chance to vent their talents, and thus…in my honor, give wing to tasteless madrigals. Soldier, merchant, magistrate, all cover me with gold, but I do not esteem them and their vanity. I suffer! To live thus, without a love, is not to live. I don’t recall a flower, a true affection. Florence glistens there below, distant, serene; and perhaps a young man who saw me once and feels his heart beating in his breast for me, for unworthy me, turns his gaze to the sky. If, by chance, our paths should cross…Oh! No hope of escape, and I won’t be the only wretched one.” She tosses off a glass of champagne and strides out to linger on her balcony, listening as Zanetto sings offstage,accompanied by the harp: “Heart, like a flower love blooms within you…the song is not joyful…you hear it, little golden-haired one. Heart! There is grief between the perfume and the splendor…it seems there are tears hidden in the flower, little golden-haired one.”
Silvia sings, “Sweet is the melody; the voice touches my heart. But these fables, these fairy-tales of love, don’t reach me anymore.” Zanetto (a trouser role for mezzo-soprano) enters, dressed in black hat, leather coat, and breeches tucked into tall boots, singing, “The summer nights make travel pleasant, and one walks in the light of the moon. From up there, the stars give courage with their golden pupils. I’m here. Does Florence love the sound of lute and love song? Better that I sleep in the open air.” He falls asleep on an outdoor bench. Silvia, unobserved but attracted by his song, wanders closer…“Oh, poor soul. And I who hated this serenity! Should I call him and offer him hospitality? But, oh! He sleeps already! Do the silence, the perfume of the evening, this sleeping youth, by chance disturb me? A new throb stirs my heart. Alas, he seems my dream come true!” Silvia strokes Zanetto’s sleeping form and caresses his face…”Up! Wake up!”
Zanetto arises with a luscious violin melody; he sings, “The candid vision that laughed in my dream.” Silvia replies, “Child! You saw only a pale ray of starlight.”
“No, no, you are the beautiful reality of my dream; I heard this heavenly voice close to me!”
“I am, if you please, a gracious host to the traveler!”
“Thank you,” sings Zanetto, “I dined late, and sleep overcame me.”
Silvia says to herself, “Silvia, be good!...And your ruinous love, and he is but a child.” Zanetto returns, carrying his lute. Silvia says, “But, tell me, may I not know who you are?” “I am Zanetto, a nomad player; I like a change of air and roof each day. By twenty useless trades I earn my living; I can row a boat swiftly; launch the falcon on his shining course; break the agile colt to the bit; and round out a sonnet with bright rhymes.”
“And you will have not rarely missed a meal!”
“Sometimes yes, but if I find a courteous villager, I am welcome; they accept me at table, and my lute cheers the company, and, for that day, my dinner is assured!”
Silvia asks, “Is Florence your destination?” Zanetto answers, “I don’t know. If a greener path should please me, I will follow it. My strange fancy follows the daring trace of the bird in the blue. I have not yet, in my travels, found fortune.”
“But have you not dreamed of a day of rest from your fantastic and doubtful course? And have you never seen a white cottage among the green vineyards wherefrom a maiden waves hello?”
Replies Zanetto, “Yes, once in a while. But in my way I think of the parents, the tutors, and I don’t like to disturb the family peace.”
“And did you never stop if the maiden threw to you a flower plucked from her blouse?”
“A kiss, and on my way again. I hold dear my liberty; I want no other burden than the lute and the feather in my cap. A true love is too heavy a load.”
“The bird in the forest wants no cage!” declares Silvia.
“Never!” agrees Zanetto.
“Who knows if, one day, the nest will not appeal to you!”
“No, no! Love frightens me. You know? It is so nice to fly away like the dragonfly that travels the air, so free!”
“But you must not be happy…and you come here held by the hand of fate, or did you follow from afar the flight of some swallow?” asks Silvia flirtatiously.
“Almost!” answers Zanetto.
“Are you then guided by hope?”
“Just a dream.”
“Speak!”
Zanetto responds to Silvia’s caresses…”Here I could perhaps remain. Listen: people like me have neither father nor mother. Am I the son of a marquis, or of a villain? And who knows? I’ve traveled the world, free and carefree, nor have I aspired to a better life. But since I have savored your dear voice, beautiful madonna, I have dreamed of having a sister; when you whispered of the intimate sweetness of a cottage, far from the sounds of the world, among the flowers, then, yes, I felt alone! I surrender to your counsel. Oh, if you should want to hold near this stray nightingale! I would stay with you, you would always have me beside you, and with my song I would make your long days short.”
Silvia exclaims to herself, “Child! How my heart quakes! Whatever is this apprehension? To have him always with me, to hear him rave and call me lover! Oh, my dream come true!”
“Do you wish it so?”
“Do I wish? Oh no, never! And yet it is he who implores,” says Silvia to herself.
“Madonna, I asked too much, I know; but do you wish it?”
Silvia sighs, in an aside, “He’ll know who I am tomorrow.”
Zanetto persists: “Once more, do you want me to stay?”
“I can’t.”
“And why?”
“I am a widow, I am poor; I cannot be host to musicians nor to wandering poets.”
“You have no squire?”
“No!”
“A page?”
“No!”
“I can dine on fruit alone,” he declares.
“Oh, be silent,” she says.
“But…”
“I am a widow; I live in grief, alone.”
“And I want nothing more than to live at your feet,” cries Zanetto.
“It’s impossible, believe me,” says Silvia wistfully, with longing.
“So, then, goodbye forever my beautiful dream…Perhaps tomorrow I will have better luck with Silvia.”
Astonished, Silvia murmurs, “What is he saying?”
Zanetto continues, “Since my pleas were in vain, I would ask you of the Florentine, Silvia. They say she is the queen of all beauty, they say that her velvet glance is a caress which conquers and enamors, they say she is beautiful and pale…just like you…and that she is rich and prodigious…I came looking for her!”
“Oh! My God!” exclaims Silvia in dismay.
“Perhaps I could enter among her squires. But I heard it said that the strange beauty of that haughty woman and her strange way of life bring misfortune. I confess, madonna, that I am afraid. What must I do? Counsel me. Should I go to Silvia?”
Silvia muses, “So, he would return! This unknown child that fills my soul with tenderness…fate sends him to me. And must I drive happiness away?”
Zanetto presses her; “Are you not my friend? Don’t you want to answer me?”
Silvia decides to herself, “This is awful…but destiny wished it so!”
“Well?” says Zanetto.
“Listen, child, don’t look for her. Your beautiful soul does not know the danger! If I cannot protect you, give you hospitality, I can at least save you.” Jaded and cynical, Silvia continues, “Listen. No,” caressing Zanetto, “don’t go to Silvia! To pay the board and bed with the song which blooms on your lips is nice, but you must know what board, what bed is that, oh Zanetto…Zanetto, if I am moved, it is because I love you like a child that one wants to save…Oh, keep singing of the woods and hills! And if then, when a new April perfumes the air around the threshold of a humble cottage you shall see, bent over her work, a golden-haired, dark-eyed maiden, stay, oh singer, that is the nest of love,” weeps Silvia.
“I will obey,” he replies, “but perhaps Silvia is libeled…I have surely reopened the wound of your poor heart! You told me you are sad of soul! Has Silvia stolen from you a beloved brother, a dear lover? You do not fear only for me…are you jealous?”
Silvia replies, “You are imagining something untrue…Go, go…leave…You cannot imagine how much, how much it hurts me to tell you to turn away from your present course. But, before you go upon your way, you can thank me who saved you!” She continues despairingly to herself, “All is finished. Alas! If he had discovered me…”
“I will go. I assure you, I will not go to Silvia after what you have told me. I will go, taking with me a sweet and nameless balm; something tender there was in your refusal! And will I recall of you that if you were not able to help me, oh madonna, in some corner of your heart, you have felt pain and regret?”
Silvia offers, “Surely not, and may this ring remind you of me,” kissing it.
“Forgive me…too beautiful…too precious is the jewel…Thank you, madonna, I can’t accept it. But, tell me, are you not a poor widow?”
Alarmed, Silvia murmurs, “Has he recognized me, and is this refusal a test?” She asks, “But what do you want me to give you?”
“A remembrance,” says Zanetto. “I don’t want charity…Something worthless, but which is dear to you. Look…the flower which dies in your splendid hair…”
“Here is the flower. Before the break of day, the candid flower will die in your hand…but I want its death to remind you of my fate; when it will be wilted, forget me. Farewell.”
Zanetto takes the flower and shreds its petals with delight…”Oh, madonna, please, one more word! I tremble to resume my infinite travels, and it seems to me that from here there are no paths which lead to joy. I am afraid to choose. Guide my way. Choose for me. I will take the road that your little hand imposes.”
“So be it!” cries Silvia. “There, where dawn is breaking!”
Zanetto leaves, and Silvia collapses against the wall, weeping…she pulls off her sparkling overblouse in despair. We hear Zanetto singing again offstage as he continues on his way…Silvia continues to lament, singing “Bless you, my love. I still can cry!” She grasps a small pistol, holds it to her head, fires, and falls. At the back of the stage, in silhouette behind a translucent scrim, Zanetto reappears, turning to lift a glass in a toast to Silvia as the curtains close.
More information about Zanetto on Mascagni.org
