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Ludwig Von Beethoven
Fidelio Synopsis |  |
Fidelio Overture
Beethoven composed four overtures for "Fidelio." Three of these are known as Overtures
"Leonore No. 1," "Leonore No. 2," and "Leonore No. 3"--"Leonore"
being the title by which the opera was known at the unfortunate
first performance. The composer was never contented with the change
to "Fidelio" which was made, because of the identity of the story
with the "Leonore" operas, of Gaveaux and Paer. Much confusion has
existed in the books (and still exists, for that matter) touching
the order in which the four overtures were composed. The early
biographers were mistaken on that point, and the blunder was
perpetuated by the numbering when the scores were published. The
true "Leonore No. 1," is the overture known in the concert-room,
where it is occasionally heard, as "Leonore No. 2." This was the
original overture to the opera, and was performed at the three
representations in 1805. The overture called "Leonore No. 3" was the
result of the revision undertaken by Beethoven and his friends after
the failure.
In May, 1807, the German opera at Prague was
established and "Fidelio" selected as one of the works to be given.
Evidently Beethoven was dissatisfied both with the original overture
and its revision, for he wrote a new one, in which he retained the
theme from Florestan's air, but none of the other themes used in
Nos. 2 and 3. The performances at Prague did not take place, and
nobody knows what became of the autograph score of the overture.
When Beethoven's effects were sold at auction after his death,
Tobias Haslinger bought a parcel of dances and other things in
manuscript. Among them were a score and parts of an overture in C,
not in Beethoven's handwriting, but containing corrections made by
him. It bore no date, and on a violin part Beethoven had written
first "Overtura, Violino Imo." Later he had added words in red
crayon to make it read, "Overtura in C, charakteristische Overture,
Violino Imo." On February 7, 1828, the composition was played at a
concert in Vienna, but notwithstanding the reminiscence of
Florestan's air, it does not seem to have been associated with the
opera, either by Haslinger or the critics.
Before 1832, when Haslinger published the overture as Op. 138, however, it had been
identified, and, not unnaturally, the conclusion was jumped at that
it was the original overture. That known as "Leonore No. 2" having
been withdrawn for revision by Beethoven himself, was not heard of
till 1840, when it was performed at a Gewandhaus concert in Leipsic.
For the revival of the opera in 1814 Beethoven composed the overture
in E major, now called the "Fidelio" overture, and generally played
as an introduction to the opera, the much greater "Leonore No. 3"
being played either between the acts, or, as by Mahler in New York
and Vienna, between the two scenes of the second act, where it may
be said it distinctly has the effect of an anticlimax. The thematic
material of the "Leonore" overtures Nos. 2 and 3 being practically
the same, careless listeners may easily confound one with the other.
Nevertheless, the differences between the two works are many and
great, and a deep insight into the workings of Beethoven's mind
would be vouchsafed students if they were brought into juxtaposition
in the concert-room. The reason commonly given for the revision of
No. 2 (the real No. 1) is that at the performance it was found that
some of the passages for wind instruments troubled the players; but
among the changes made by Beethoven, all of which tend to heighten
the intensity of the overture which presents the drama in nuce
may be mentioned the elision of a recurrence to material drawn
from his principal theme between the two trumpet-calls, and the
abridgment of the development or free fantasia portion. Finally, it
may be stated that though the "Fidelio" overture was written for the
revival of 1814, it was not heard at the first performance in that
year. It was not ready, and the overture to "The Ruins of Athens"
was played in its stead.
Fidelio Act 1 Summary
Some two years before the incident which marks the beginning of the
action, Don Pizarro, governor of a state prison in Spain, not far
from Seville, has secretly seized Florestan, a political opponent,
whose fearless honesty threatened to frustrate his wicked designs,
and immured him in a subterranean cell in the prison. His presence
there is known only to Pizarro and the jailer Rocco, who, however,
knows neither the name nor the rank of the man whom, under strict
command, he keeps in fetters and chained to a stone in the dimly
lighted dungeon, which he alone is permitted to visit. Florestan's
wife, Leonore, suspecting the truth, has disguised herself in man's
attire and, under the name of Fidelio, secured employment in the
prison. To win the confidence of Rocco, she has displayed so much
zeal and industry in his interests that the old man, whose one
weakness is a too great love of money, gives the supposed youth
a full measure of admiration and affection. Fidelio's beauty and
gentleness have worked havoc with the heart of Marcellina, the
jailer's pretty daughter, who is disposed to cast off Jaquino, the
turnkey, upon whose suit she had smiled till her love for Fidelio
came between. Rocco looks with auspicious eye upon the prospect of
having so industrious and thrifty a son-in-law as Fidelio promises
to be to comfort his old age. The action now begins in the courtyard
of the prison, where, before the jailer's lodge, Marcellina is
performing her household duties--ironing the linen, to be specific.
Jaquino, who has been watching for an opportunity to speak to her
alone (no doubt alarmed at the new posture which his love affair is
assuming), resolves to ask her to marry him. The duet, quite in the
Mozartian vein, breathes simplicity throughout; plain people, with
plain manners, these, who express simple thoughts in simple
language.
But Marcellina affects to be annoyed and urges him to come to the
point at once. Quite delicious is the manner in which Beethoven
delineates Jaquino's timid hesitation.
Jaquino's wooing is interrupted by a knocking at the door
and when he goes to open the wicket, Marcellina expresses no
sympathy for his sufferings, but ecstatically proclaims her love for
Fidelio as the reason why she must needs say nay. And this she does,
not amiably or sympathetically, but pettishly and with an impatient
reiteration of "No, no, no, no!" in which the bassoon drolly
supports her. A second knocking at the door, then a third, and
finally she is relieved of her tormentor by Rocco, who calls him
out into the garden. Left alone, Marcellina sings her longing for
Fidelio and pictures the domestic bliss which shall follow her union
with him. Rocco and Jaquino enter, and close after them Leonore,
wearied by the weight of some chains which she had carried to the
smith for repairs. She renders an account for purchases of supplies,
and her thrift rejoices the heart of Rocco, who praises her zeal in
his behalf and promises her a reward. Her reply, that she does not
do her duty merely for the sake of wage, he interprets as an allusion
to love for his daughter. The four now give expression to their
thoughts and emotions. Marcellina indulges her day-dream of love;
Leonore reflects upon the dangerous position in which her disguise
has placed her; Jaquino observes with trepidation the disposition of
Rocco to bring about a marriage between his daughter and Fidelio.
Varied and contrasting emotions, these, yet Beethoven has cast their
expression in the mould of a canon built on the following melody,
which is sung in turn by each of the four personage.
From a strictly musical point of view the fundamental mood of the
four personages has thus the same expression, and this Beethoven
justifies by making the original utterance profoundly contemplative,
not only by the beautiful subject of the canon, but by the exalted
instrumental introduction--one of those uplifting, spiritualized
slow movements which are typical of the composer. This feeling he
enhances by his orchestration--violas and violoncellos divided, and
basses--in a way copying the solemn color with more simple means
which Mozart uses in his invocation of the Egyptian deities in "The
Magic Flute." Having thus established this fundamental mood, he
gives liberty of individual utterance in the counterpoint melodies
with which each personage embroiders the original theme when sung
by the others. Neither Rocco nor Marcellina seems to think it
necessary to consult Leonore in the matter, taking her acquiescence
for granted. Between themselves they arrange that the wedding shall
take place when next Pizarro makes his monthly visit to Seville to
give an account of his stewardship, and the jailer admonishes the
youthful pair to put money in their purses in a song of little
distinction, but containing some delineative music in the orchestra
suggesting the rolling and jingling of coins. Having been made
seemingly to agree to the way of the maid and her father, Leonore
seeks now to turn it to the advantage of her mission. She asks and
obtains the jailer's permission to visit with him the cells in which
political prisoners are kept--all but one, in which is confined one
who is either a great criminal or a man with powerful enemies ("much
the same thing," comments Rocco). Of him even the jailer knows
nothing, having resolutely declined to hear his story. However, his
sufferings cannot last much longer, for by Pizarro's orders his
rations are being reduced daily; he has been all but deprived of
light, and even the straw which had served as a couch has been taken
from him. And how long has he been imprisoned? Over two years. "Two
years! "Leonore almost loses control of her feelings. Now she urges
that she must help the jailer wait upon him. "I have strength and
courage." The old man is won over. He will ask the governor for
permission to take Fidelio with him to the secret cells, for he
is growing old, and death will soon claim him. The dramatic nerve
has been touched with the first allusion to the mysterious the
matter, taking her acquiescence for granted. Between themselves they
arrange that the wedding shall take place when next Pizarro makes
his monthly visit to Seville to give an account of his stewardship,
and the jailer admonishes the youthful pair to put money in their
purses in a song of little distinction, but containing some
delineative music in the orchestra suggesting the rolling and
jingling of coins. Having been made seemingly to agree to the way
of the maid and her father, Leonore seeks now to turn it to the
advantage of her mission. She asks and obtains the jailer's
permission to visit with him the cells in which political prisoners
are kept--all but one, in which is confined one who is either
a great criminal or a man with powerful enemies ("much the same
thing," comments Rocco). Of him even the jailer knows nothing,
having resolutely declined to hear his story. However, his
sufferings cannot last much longer, for by Pizarro's orders his
rations are being reduced daily; he has been all but deprived of
light, and even the straw which had served as a couch has been taken
from him. And how long has he been imprisoned? Over two years. "Two
years!" Leonore almost loses control of her feelings. Now she urges
that she must help the jailer wait upon him. "I have strength and
courage." The old man is won over. He will ask the governor for
permission to take Fidelio with him to the secret cells, for he is
growing old, and death will soon claim him. The dramatic nerve has
been touched with the first allusion to the mysterious prisoner who
is being slowly tortured to death, and it is thrilling to note how
Beethoven's genius (so often said to be purely epical) responds. In
the trio which follows, the dialogue which has been outlined first
intones a motif which speaks merely of complacency.
No sooner does it reach the lips of Leonore, however, than it
becomes the utterance of proud resolve, and out of it grows a hymn of heroic daring. Marcellina's utterances
are all concerned with herself, with an admixture of solicitude for
her father, whose lugubrious reflections on his own impending
dissolution are gloomily echoed in the music.
A march accompanies the entrance of Pizarro. Pizarro receives
his despatches from Rocco, and from one of the letters learns that
the Minister of Justice, having been informed that several victims
of arbitrary power are confined in the prisons of which he is
governor, is about to set out upon a tour of inspection. Such a
visit might disclose the wrong done to Florestan, who is the
Minister's friend and believed by him to be dead, and Pizarro
resolves to shield himself against the consequences of such a
discovery by compassing his death. He publishes his resolution in
a furious air, "Ha! welch' ein Augenblick!" in which he gloats over
the culmination of his revenge upon his ancient enemy. It is a
terrible outpouring of bloodthirsty rage, and I have yet to hear
the singer who can cope with its awful accents. Here, surely,
Beethoven asks more of the human voice than it is capable of giving.
Quick action is necessary. The officer of the guard is ordered to
post a trumpeter in the watch-tower, with instructions to give a
signal the moment a carriage with outriders is seen approaching
from Seville. Rocco is summoned, and Pizarro, praising his courage
and fidelity to duty, gives him a purse as earnest of riches which
are to follow obedience.
The old man is ready enough until he
learns that what is expected of him is whereupon he revolts, nor is he moved by Pizarro's argument that the
deed is demanded by the welfare of the state. Foiled in his plan of
hiring an assassin, Pizarro announces that he will deal the blow
himself, and commands that a disused cistern be opened to receive
the corpse of his victim. The duet which is concerned with these
transactions is full of striking effects. The orchestra accompanies
Rocco's description of the victim as "one who scarcely lives, but
seems to float like a shadow" with chords which spread a cold,
cadaverous sheen over the words, while the declamation of "A
blow!--and he is dumb," makes illustrative pantomime unnecessary.
Leonore has overheard all, and rushes forward on the departure of
the men to express her horror at the wicked plot, and proclaim her
trust in the guidance and help of love as well as her courageous
resolve to follow its impulses and achieve the rescue of the doomed
man. The scene and air in which she does this ("Abscheulicher! wo
eilst du hin?") is now a favorite concert-piece of all dramatic
singers; but when it was written its difficulties seemed appalling
to Fraulein Milder (afterward the famous Frau Milder-Hauptmann), who
was the original Leonore. A few years before Haydn had said to her,
"My dear child, you have a voice as big as a house," and a few years
later she made some of her finest successes with the part; but in
the rehearsals she quarrelled violently with Beethoven because of
the unsingableness of passages in the Adagio.
When called upon, in 1814, to re-create the part which had been
written expressly for her, she refused until Beethoven had consented
to modify it. Everything is marvellous in the scena--the mild
glow of orchestral color delineating the bow of promise in the
recitative, the heart-searching, transfigurating, prayerful
loveliness of the slow melody, the obbligato horn parts, the sweep
of the final Allegro, all stand apart in operatic literature.
At Leonore's request, and presuming upon the request which Pizarro
had made of him, Rocco permits the prisoners whose cells are above
ground to enjoy the light and air of the garden, defending his
action later, when taken to task by Pizarro, on the plea that he
was obeying established custom in allowing the prisoners a bit of
liberty on the name-day of the king. In an undertone he begs his
master to save his anger for the man who is doomed to die. Meanwhile
Leonore convinces herself that her husband is not among the
prisoners who are enjoying the brief respite, and is overjoyed to
learn that she is to accompany Rocco that very day to the mysterious
subterranean dungeon. With the return of the prisoners to their
cells, the first act ends.
Fidelio Act 2 Summary
An instrumental introduction ushers in the second act. It is a
musical delineation of Florestan's surroundings, sufferings, and
mental anguish. The darkness is rent by shrieks of pain; harsh,
hollow, and threatening sound the throbs of the kettle-drums. The
parting of the curtain discloses the prisoner chained to his rocky
couch. He declaims against the gloom, the silence, the deathly void
surrounding him, but comforts himself with the thought that his
sufferings are but the undeserved punishment inflicted by an enemy
for righteous duty done.
His sufferings have overheated his fancy, and, borne upon cool and
roseate breezes, he sees a vision of his wife, Leonore, come to
comfort and rescue him. His exaltation reaches a frenzy which
leaves him sunk in exhaustion on his couch. Rocco and Leonore come
to dig his grave. Melodramatic music accompanies their preparation,
and their conversation while at work forms a duet. Sustained
trombone tones spread a portentous atmosphere, and a contra-bassoon
adds weight and solemnity to the motif which describes the labor
of digging.
They have stopped to rest and refresh themselves, when Florestan
becomes conscious and addresses Rocco. Leonore recognizes his
voice as that of her husband, and when he pleads for a drink of
water, she gives him, with Rocco's permission, the wine left in
her pitcher, then a bit of bread. A world of pathos informs his song
of gratitude. Pizarro comes to commit the murder, but first he
commands that the boy be sent away, and confesses his purpose to
make way with both Fidelio and Rocco when once the deed is done. He
cannot resist the temptation to disclose his identity to Florestan,
who, though released from the stone, is still fettered. The latter
confronts death calmly, but as Pizarro is about to plunge the dagger
into his breast, Leonore (who had concealed herself in the darkness)
throws herself as a protecting shield before him. Pizarro, taken
aback for a moment, now attempts to thrust Leonore aside, but is
again made to pause by her cry, "First kill his wife!" Consternation
and amazement seize all and speak out of their ejaculations.
Determined to kill both husband and wife, Pizarro rushes forward
again, only to see a pistol thrust into his face, hear a shriek,
"Another word, and you are dead!" and immediately after the trumpet
signal which, by his own command, announces the coming of the
Minister of Justice.
Pizarro is escorted out of the dungeon by Rocco and attendants with
torches, and the reunited lovers are left to themselves and their
frenetic rejoicings. Surrounded by his guard, the populace attracted
by his coming, and the prisoners into whose condition he had come to
inquire, Don Fernando metes out punishment to the wicked Pizarro,
welcomes his old friend back to liberty and honor, and bids Leonore
remove his fetters as the only person worthy of such a task. The
populace sings in praise of wifely love and fidelity.
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