Note to readers: This post isn’t actually about choral music but about an operatic aria. If you like Gounod’s Faust, though, I think you’ll enjoy reading the following:
The Faust of the title appears in many legends about this whole idea that it’s possible to make a bargain with the Prince of Darkness to have unlimited happiness on earth, but there always comes a day when the price has to be paid. In most of the legends the so-called happiness that’s supposed to come begins to sour long before the end comes; this souring has certainly happened by the time of the aria. Faust has gained youth, wealth, and the love of Marguerite, but now he stands fearfully outside her house where she lives as an outcast from the village after bearing his child. He is with Mephistopheles, the demon who has carried out the contract negotiations and become his companion in worldly and depraved pleasures. (The word “mephistopheles” itself is most likely from the Hebrew words “mephitz” meaning “destroyer” and “tophel,” meaning “liar.”) It’s night, but there is a light in Marguerite’s window. The following dialogue comes immediately before Mephistophele’s aria:
Meph: What are you waiting for? Enter!
Faust: Take care, damn you. I am afraid to confront the shame I have caused her.
Meph: Why see her at all? You deserted her. Come, the Witch’s Sabbath awaits us.
(Faust ignores him)
Meph: I see my advice is in vain. Love has carried you away. But I shall lend my voice to help you open her door.
He then launches into a serenade that’s supposed to lure Marguerite into welcoming Faust back. But the lyrics are actually a mockery of a love song. First there’s the plea from the lover for the woman to believe in his love and open her door to him. Then there’s the line, “And your heart believes in him,” but this statement is followed by satirical laughter. She’s being a fool to trust him. Then she is advised, “Don’t open the door, my beauty, until the ring is on your finger!” In other words, what started out as a love song ends up being a warning about the perfidy of men: they say whatever will get them what they want at the time, but women can’t really trust them. Better to tie them up legally first. To add to the mockery, the song doesn’t even have Marguerite’s name as the beloved; she is addressed as “Catherine.” The implication seems to be that the supposedly faithful lover can’t be bothered to get the name right. And the aria as a whole is a slap in the face at Marguerite anyway; it’s far too late to tell her that she should hold out for marriage!
Faust and Mephistopheles don’t realize that Marguerite is not alone in the house; her brother Valentin has come back from the war to find his sister disgraced and has come to see her. So, ironically, it’s not Marguerite who comes outside in response to the area; it’s Valentin. He is outraged to discover that Faust (or maybe Mephistopheles—he’s not sure which) is the cause of his sister’s downfall: “Which of you will satisfy my honor? Which of you will die today?” Of course, Faust is demonically helped to win the duel and kill Valentin; the scene ends with the brother cursing his sister as the real cause of his death.
Whew! All pretty dramatic. The interesting thing, though, is that, as is often the case, a famous aria (or big number in a musical) has very little to do with the plot. Sure, it’s a great piece of theater and a chance for the bass to show off, but the story would move along just the same without it. Valentin could still come outside and demand to know why two men are lurking outside his sister’s house. I remember hearing a segment once on the Metropolitan Opera’s opera quiz in which the contestants were being asked about this very issue: what great arias actually impede the plot of the opera in which they appear? I don’t remember if the aria under discussion was an answer or not; I do remember that someone mentioned “Vissi d’arte” from Puccini’s Tosca, one of the greatest vehicles for a dramatic soprano in all of opera. The title character sings this rather lengthy aria while the villain of the piece, Baron Scarpia, has to just sit and wait it out. It’s sort of a “Why me?” prayer/lament. I have a vague memory of attending a live performance and noticing that Scarpia was just sitting at his desk while Tosca sang; the libretto doesn’t call for him to write a very important letter until after the aria is over and he discusses matters further with the heroine, so he doesn’t even have that to do. Puccini was apparently hesitant to include the aria for the very reason that it slowed down the headlong action of the plot. He became more resentful of it as time went on and it became more and more popular; any reasonably-competent soprano could bring not just the plot of the moment but the entire opera to a halt, since there would usually be prolonged applause if not shouts and whistles at its conclusion. But no one was going to stand for its being cut.
So we’ll grant Mephistopheles the same dramatic license and let him sing his fake serenade and get to chortle evilly. It may not be necessary to the plot, but it’s great dramatic fun. Here’s a recital performance by the great, great bass Samuel Ramey.
https://youtu.be/ST_NBgJqlyA
© Debi Simons
