Height of Style

We begin with representative works of the 19th to early 20th centuries in two of operas most important centers for popularity and advancement: France and Italy, starting with Jewish composers in Paris. The French Revolution (1789-1799) sparked an era of Jewish emancipation that would revolutionize Jewish life for a short period, though anti-Semitism would remain rampant. For the first time in French European history, Jews were granted legal citizenship and allowed to enter previously forbidden fields of industry and government, and to achieve national acclaim in the arts. It is because of Jewish emancipation, that composers Fromental Halévy and Giacomo Meyerbeer were able to become the most renowned opera composers in France (yes, that Meyerbeer, who Wagner would go on to disparage in his pamphlet on “Judaism in Music” in 1850). 

This afternoon, we start with an aria from Fromental Halévy’s opera, La Juive (1835), literally meaning The Jewess, written in the compositional style of the middle Romantic period. The opera follows the plight of the Jewish goldsmith Éleazar and his daughter Rachel who are persecuted by the Catholic Church in Constance, Switzerland in 1414. A scathing admonishment of anti-Semitism, La Juive was a bold achievement in the wider public awareness of Jewish music and themes. Though Halévy’s music does not necessarily “sound Jewish,” the opera, rather amazingly, has a 25-minute-long Passover Seder Scene, the first such opera to put Jewish tradition on prominent secular display. It is this scene that concerns us as we listen to “Il va venir,” Rachel’s aria from Act II. Rachel has become involved with a Jewish man she believes to be named Samuel. After inviting him for Passover, she notices he refuses to eat the matzah he is given. After the seder, he tells her he will come back to her later in the evening. In her aria, Rachel reflects on her doubts about Samuel, but ultimately reaffirms her love for him. It will later be revealed that Samuel is not, in fact, a Jewish man, but rather the Christian Prince Léopold. The illegality of relations between Jews and Christians leads to Rachel and Eléazar’s executions. Though Halévy put Jews front and center on the opera stage, he would be the only French composer to do so. La Juive, because of its subject matter, would fall out of the repertory.

A contemporary of Halévy, Giacomo Meyerbeer also found success with opera in the middle of the 19th century, though he was not as outwardly open about his Jewish identity. He frequently wrote operas on issues of morality and Christian sectarianism, such as Les Huguenots (1835). Meyerbeer would come to be regarded as the most famous composer in France – Jewish or not – after his great operatic success with Robert le Diable (1831). Today, though, we’ll hear an aria from his later work Le prophète (1849), about Jean of Leiden and his persuasion by the Anabaptists to proclaim himself King of Münster. In Act II, Jean’s mother Fidès blesses her son, attempting to console him after he has handed over his love to the feudal Count Oberthal. At the end of the five-act spectacle Jean and Fidès die together in the great hall of Münster palace, bombed by the Anabaptists. Le prophète, unlike La Juive, has remained in the repertory since its premiere, as one of the most brilliant examples of French grand opera. 

We’ll turn our gaze now from France to Italy, and away from Jewish emancipation as it was slower to occur in Italy’s fractured kingdoms. One can barely speak of 19th century opera without mentioning innovations in style from bel canto to verismo or the composers Donizetti, Verdi, and Puccini. Gaetano Donizetti was one of the leading composers pioneering the bel canto style, which, in truth, merely means “beautiful singing” and was not a term used by Dozitti himself. While the heroines of bel canto operas were sopranos, of course, we will instead focus on the baritone. In Act I of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), Enrico sings “Cruda…funesta smania,” reiterating his hatred for the Ravenswood family and their heir Edgardo, who has seduced his sister Lucia. “Too horrible is this fatal suspicion… so shameful is she who was born my sister!” Thus, the fateful events of this tragic opera are set into motion. Enrico, acting more as a father figure, forces Lucia to marry a different man inducing her madness. 

The baritone authorial father figure proves to be a consistent tool used in Italian opera. We’ll hear next from Germont, Alfredo’s father in Giuseppe Verdi’s tragic masterpiece La traviata (1853). Like Donizetti’s Enrico, Verdi’s Germont is the catalyst for lost love. After Germont finds his son Alfredo living with the famous courtesan Violetta Valéry, he finds Violetta to demand she end their relationship for the sake of his family and their station. Violetta agrees, and in “Di Provenza il mar,” Germont consoles his heartbroken son, reminding him of the family estate where he was once happy. Where Verdi departs from the bel canto style of Donizetti is in his treatment of text and use of orchestral color. Where Donizetti privileged beautiful singing, Verdi privileged dramatic impact, deferring to more a declamatory vocal treatment. Verdi’s compositional style comes to straddles the gap between Italian bel canto and French grand opera, with spectacle akin to that of Halévy, and orchestral writing that enhances vocal lines while emphasizing drama. 

Finally, we cannot finish our examination of the pinnacle of Romantic operatic style without Giacomo Puccini. Puccini’s late 19th-century Romantic style would develop into what was termed realistic verismo opera, that which was concerned with dramatic intensity and realistic themes (such as his Tosca, 1900, and Il tabarro, 1918). We need not concern ourselves too heavily with labels, however, as Puccini’s true genius lies in his ability to compose effortlessly lyrical lines that are well matched with orchestral structures to adapt to the dramatic action on stage. The final aria in our first set is “Un bel dì, vedremo,” from Madama Butterfly (1904), an opera that scholars still debate in labeling verismo or not. In Act II, Cio-Cio San (Madama Butterfly) awaits the return of her husband, U.S. naval officer B.F. Pinkerton, who had left Japan three years earlier. When her maid, Suzuki, tells her Pinkerton won’t be coming back, Butterfly sings of the day she knows he will return: “One fine day we’ll notice a thread of smoke arising on the sea… He will call, “Butterfly,” from the distance.” The aria, however, is tinged with tragedy. Pinkerton will indeed return, but with his American wife, prompting Butterfly to take her own life so that their child might remain with them. Puccini’s operas, including Madama Butterfly, remain some of the most performed works of the repertory today.                                                                                                                                                                                          

Negotiation of Self in Search of a Better Future

This second set examines how composers increasingly explored a “Negotiation of Self in Search of a Better Future.” The arias that follow are all reflective of how identity is impacted by clashes of desire and duty, courage and conviction, captivity and freedom. We begin with “Avant de quitter ces lieux,” from Charles Gounod’s Faust (1859), whose source material comes from Goethe. Goethe wrote Faust during the Age of Reason, at the very time when German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel declared the “Death of God.” In Goethe’s text, the Devil became more corporeal than ever before in literature – which certainly makes for the makings of a great opera. The aria we explore here, however, is not sung by devilish Méphistophélès or the angelic figure of Marguerite, but rather Valentin. Valentin, Marguerite’s brother has been called off to war. Torn between his civic duty and his love for his sister, Valentin makes a prayer to God: “Avant de quitter ces lieux.” He entrusts her future to the care of God and his good friend Siebel, so that she might remain protected. Of course, his prayer will prove to be in vain, as Méphistophélès, in his effort to sow as much chaos and destruction as possible, will set the wheels in motion leading Marguerite toward her demise. 

Perhaps no aria is better known for its assertion of independence that the Habanera from Georges Bizet’s Carmen (1875), “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle.” Set in Seville, Carmen is the Other, a “gypsy” exoticized, who is loved by her community. She enters in Act I with this provocative statement of herself and her sexual freedom: “Love is a rebellious bird that none can tame…” Look no further than Bizet’s use of rhythm and chromaticism to identify her comfortability with her sexuality. And yet, the Habanera is a performative act, a version of herself that she advertises to those around her. We know, however, that she struggles with her sexual identity as she begins a tumultuous affair with Don José. Her return to herself results in the loss of her life to Don José’s bitter jealousy. Bizet was masterfully skilled at the art of composing jealousy, which he exhibited even earlier on in his career with The Pearl Fishers (1863). A love triangle set in ancient times, the opera follows Nadir and Zurga who are both in love with the priestess of Brahma, Leïla. When Zurga finds out that Nadir and Leïla have declared their love for one another, he condemns them both to death out of jealousy and humiliation. Zurga reflects on his decision, however, in Act III in “L’orage s’est calme,” expressing remorse for sending his best friend to his death. He pleads with Nadir and Leïla to forgive his blind rage, after which he releases them both to flee together. 

We turn now from character to composer with Erich Korngold, a Jewish-Austrian composer who fled Nazi anti-Semitism for the safety of the United States in the mid-1930s. He had an illustrious career composing opera, concert music, and film music, and was praised by the likes of Giacomo Puccini and Max Reinhardt. Korngold returned to Austria briefly in 1937 to write the opera Die Kathrin, which was scheduled to be performed in March of 1938. Korngold and his wife safely returned to the California in January of 1938, on the eve of Hitler’s invasion of Austria that March. Due to Korngold’s Jewish ancestry, in addition to the invasion, the premiere of Die Kathrin was cancelled. In fact, the work was almost lost forever, after the Nazis broke into Korngold’s home to destroy his work. A publishing house employee recovered what was left of the manuscript from his home, and surreptitiously sent it to him in California. Korngold’s score then made its way to Stockholm in 1939, where it was finally premiered by the Royal Swedish Opera, albeit to anti-Semitic reviews. Die Kathrin was originally written as the ardent love story of a German woman and a Belgian soldier in the occupied Rhineland. For the Swedish premiere, the libretto was modified: Kathrin, A Swiss woman, meets and falls in love with a French garrison soldier named François, whose real ambition is to be a musician. After François is discharged from service, Kathrin realizes she is pregnant with his child and embarks on a journey to find him once again. “Ich Soll ihn Niemals” is her Act I farewell letter to François, one that is never sent.

To finish this set, you will hear “Printemps qui commence” from Samson et Dalila (1877) by Camille Saint-Saëns. Though Saint-Saëns was not Jewish, he spent the bulk of his career resisting the dominance of German musical style, seeking to codify a new French music. This new French music he pioneered was stylistically unique. Influenced by conservative Romanticism, he also employed musical idioms of the east like those of Egypt and Algeria. His signature use of harmony and orchestral color would lay the foundations for French musical Impressionism that would rise to popularity at the turn of the century. Saint-Saëns’ character, however, was damaged by his rumored Jewish ancestry and support of Alfred Dreyfus during the highly contentious anti-Semitic Dreyfus affair (though both rumors were false). Truth hardly mattered to the Nazi regime, who banned much of his music in Germany. Samson et Dalila is undoubtedly Saint-Saëns’ most successful opera, based on the tale from the Old Testament in which Dalila, a Philistine woman, betrays her lover Samson, an Israelite. Dalila sings “Printemps qui commence” in celebration of spring blossoming around her at the end of Act I, attempting to seduce Samson. 

Displacement and [American] Migration

In our final set of the afternoon, we delve into the search for an identifiably secular, Jewish music tradition after persecution, displacement, and migration: the collision of operatic tradition and Yiddish theater in New York City. The first piece is not necessarily an aria, but rather a traditional Ashkenazi lullaby, widely popularized by Abraham Goldfaden’s Yiddish operetta Shulamis (1880), “Rozhinkes Mit Mandlen (Raisins and Almonds).” Goldfaden was considered the “Father of Yiddish Theater,” having founded the first professional Yiddish theatre troupe in Romania in 1876 that would tour Imperial Russia and settle in Odessa (in what is now Ukraine). His troupe garnered acclaim from travelers around Europe. It’s Russian success was short lived, however, after a surge in anti-Semitism following the assassination of Tsar Alexander II. Yiddish Theatre was banned in Imperial Russia in 1883, causing an exodus of actors and playwrights to Western Europe and the United States, with theatrical troupes presented Yiddish productions in New York City as early as 1883. Goldfaden’s renowned lullaby made its way to New York City bookseller Judah Katzenelenbogen just a few years later. Katzenelenbogen’s subsequent publication of “Rozhinkes Mit Madlen,” is often considered one of the first examples of published Yiddish-American sheet music. Its success would open doors for further Yiddish publication. Listen for the refrain, “Unter Yideles vigele…” You’ll notice a striking similarity to the opening strain of Irving Berlin’s 1927 classic “Blue Skies,” though there’s no evidence he intentionally quoted the lullaby, according to musicologist Jack Gottlieb.

As more and more Jews immigrated to the United States—over 2.5 million between 1881 and 1924—Yiddish Theater became both a vessel for memory of the old country and a means to assimilate. This afternoon you’ll hear one of most renowned songs of the Golden Age of American Yiddish Theater, “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn.” Originally written by Jacob Jacobs and Sholom Secunda for their 1932 Yiddish comedy I Would If I Could at the Parkway Theatre in Brooklyn, the song fell into relative obscurity. Five years later, lyricists Sammy Cahn and Saul Chaplin wrote an English adaptation with an altered swing rhythm. In November 1937, Cahn and Chaplin’s version was recorded by the Andrews Sisters and released by Decca Records under its Germanized name, “Bei Mir Bist Du Schön.” It became an instant global hit, covered by such artists as Benny Goodman, Ella Fitzgerald, Rudy Vallée, and Guy Lombardo, and appearing in several Hollywood films. 

This is not to say that New York’s Jewish population was not at all interested in opera. Rather, several U.S. Yiddish newspapers and magazines published large numbers of articles about opera between 1900 and 1930 (even on a Yiddish adaptation of Wagner’s Parsifal!). It is evident that Yiddish Theater continued concurrently alongside the development of American opera and musical theater, primarily led by Jewish composers. Composers like George and Ira Gershwin, Leonard Bernstein, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Kander and Ebb would expand on both operatic and Jewish tradition to write some of the most iconic works of the 20th century. Leonard Bernstein has spoken extensively on his Jewish background and his inclusion of Jewish themes and symbols in his composition. Look no further than the shofar-sounding trumpet in Candide, his use of Jewish prayers modes in On the Town, or his composition of the Kaddish Symphony No. 3. Here today, though, you will hear an aria from his largely autobiographical one-act opera, Trouble in Tahiti (1952), a reflection on (Jewish) mobility and post-war marital dysfunction with a heavy jazz influence. In Scene 3, Dinah recalls her spoiled American dream with the aria “There is a garden.” 

Jewish themes and stories proved fruitful subject matter, even for seemingly non-Jewish musicals, like Carousel (1945) by Rodgers and Hammerstein, based on the 1909 play Liliom by Hungarian Jewish playwright Ference Molnár. Though Rodgers and Hammerstein Americanize the originally Jewish characters and changed Molnár’s ending, the bulk of Carousel’s plot is remarkably similar. Billy Bigelow, a carousel barker, falls in love with Julie Jordan, though both are playing coy in “If I Loved You.” A month later they marry and Julie becomes pregnant. Billy, determined to provide for his growing family, becomes involved in a robbery plot that leads to his suicide. As a spirit, Billy watches over Julie and his daughter Louise, finally earning his place in Heaven.

Please Sing With Us

To close the concert, we invite you to join us in singing Verdi’s famous Hebrew chorus from Nabucco, “Va, pensiero…,” as a celebration of peace and harmony. Verdi’s Nabucco (1842) is based on the plight of the Jews who were exiled from their homeland by the titular Babylonian king in 587 BCE. Verdi wrote the opera amidst the Risorgimiento, the unification of Italy, during which Italians fought against Austrian occupation and anti-nationalist repression. It is thought that the composer may have considered the story of the Jews to be a symbol for the repressed Italians, and so “Va, pensiero…” was adopted as an anthem for Italian patriotism. Sung at the end of Act III, the famous chorus is above all hymn for freedom–a yearning for the peace of home. Today, it is still sung across the world as a symbol of solidarity.

Let “Va, pensiero” – let opera – unite us. 

Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate;
va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,
ove olezzano tepide e molli
l'aure dolci del suolo natal!

Go, my thoughts, on wings of gold;
go settle upon the slopes and the hills,
where the sweet airs of my native land smell warm and fragrant!

Nicole Steinberg

Ph.D. Candidate in Musicology, University of Maryland
Adjunct Instructor of Music History & Culture, Towson University