Don Carlos at the TCA
CALLED A “MUSICAL PORTRAIT GALLERY OF TROUBLED SOULS” by musicologist Roger Parker, Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Don Carlos may not promise levity, but it will provide you with nearly five hours of escape from your own troubles when it is simulcast live from the Metropolitan Opera this coming Saturday (March 26) at 10 a.m. (Six hours if you attend the 9 a.m. pre-opera talk by Carolyn Haddock, given by the Taos Opera Guild in support of the Santa Fe Opera). How’s that for your money’s worth?
By far Verdi’s longest work, it is also his most revised. A panoply of versions of Don Carlos exists, beginning with the original French version, commissioned by the Paris Opera in 1867, and including a much-shortened Italian version that has become standard repertoire for most opera houses. Even by his own admission, Verdi composed far too much music for the opera — it was said that the complete performance of the original opera would have made the people of Paris miss the last trains home — so Verdi was obliged to start making cuts before the opera even premiered.
The version that will be simulcast on Saturday at the TCA is a compromise: the original French version minus the lengthy Act III ballet. (The viewer will probably not mind this — the balletic disruption to the action can cause a serious case of the fidgets to set in.) But it’s close to the opera that Verdi expected to see on opening night, before the demands of conductors and audiences (and the Parisian transport system) caused material to be sacrificed.
The opera, based very loosely on the historical figures of King Philip II of Spain and his son, Carlos, begins in the forests outside Fontainebleau, France. Don Carlos has gone there in secret to check out Princess Elisabeth de Valois, to whom he has been betrothed. In true operatic style, the pair fall instantly in love. Also in true operatic style, their joy is short lived. A messenger arrives to announce that there has been a change of plans — Elisabeth is now to marry King Philip instead of his son.
Back in Spain, Carlos and Elisabeth, themselves pulled between love and duty, are embroiled in a host of conflicted characters: an autocratic king who rules half the world but can’t rule the hearts of those closest to him; an honorable marquis torn between loyalty to his best friend and fealty to his sovereign; a princess whose rejection brings out her basest instincts at the expense of those she loves most; and the people of Spain, exhausted by war and willing to accept peace in any guise, even if it comes under the thumb of the Spanish Inquisition.
Carlos makes repeated attempts to leave Spain to escape his heartbreak, but is thwarted by his scornful father. Philip, in turn, is driven to extremes by his son’s behavior and suspicion of his wife’s infidelity. He has Carlos imprisoned and is ready to sacrifice him to the Inquisition when Carlos is mysteriously saved (or killed?) by the specter of his grandfather, Emperor Carlos V.
Interestingly, although based in history and timeless in its moral conundrums, Don Carlos takes some serious liberties with the facts (and not just with the ghostly apparition at the end, which is, admittedly, somewhat inexplicable). It’s true that Carlos was a prince of Spain and son of King Philip II (he of The Spanish Armada), and that Carlos was briefly betrothed to Elisabeth de Valois, who later married King Philip. And, of course, the authoritarian political landscape that hovers ominously over the opera is based in history, as well. But that’s pretty much where the historical accuracy ends.
The Don Carlos we meet in the opera is isolated, miserable and desperate, but relatable, and mostly sane. The historical Don Carlos was “psychologically disturbed and physically deformed,” according to historian Robert Goodwin, and “would become a tragic and terrible cross for his father to bear for the rest of the boy’s life.” Carlos had a penchant for animal cruelty and a violent temper. As in the opera, King Philip did have his son imprisoned, but it had less to do with rebellion and infidelity and more to do with Carlos being off his rocker.
Although the “true” story may have made for an equally engaging opera, it is the Don Carlos of the poetic imagination who we will meet on the stage this Saturday. By the Met’s own admission, the opera Don Carlos “lacks the dramatic concision” of most of Verdi’s operas. It sprawls both in story and length, and occasionally resorts to what Sir Denis Forman called “theatrical hokum.” But at the same time, it provides an ageless account of corrupted and unrestrained power and the struggles of living under such a cloud. Don’t be fooled by the historical appearance of this new production by David McVicar. Don Carlos is as timely as ever. Visit tca.org.