The Great Opera Tradition Died With Puccini
Published: 02:12 PM,Dec 10,2024 | EDITED : 06:12 PM,Dec 10,2024
Renata Scotto (right, with Claudia Catania) in the title role of Madama Butterfly, one of the heart-rending masterpieces that made Puccini an international celebrity. (Sara Krulwich/The New York Times)
There’s a knock at the door. A poor young poet is struggling to write in his attic apartment when he is interrupted by the sickly seamstress who lives downstairs. Her candle has gone out; can he light it?
Barely 15 minutes later, these two strangers are singing ecstatically about their love. Implausible, right? But when a performance of Giacomo Puccini’s “La Bohème” is working its hot magic, nothing could be more believable.
And nothing could be more essentially operatic than such a scene, with the emotions compressed and heightened through music. Puccini, who died 100 years ago, on Nov. 29, 1924, proved himself again and again a master of moments like this: unleashing a Technicolor extravagance of feeling while at the same time conveying plain, simple truth.
A painter assuring his jealous girlfriend that her eyes are the most beautiful in the world. A prince, pursued by a city desperate to know his name, promising that it will remain a secret. A teenage geisha convinced her husband will come back to her.
Once you know these passages, just thinking about them can bring you to tears. Spoken, the texts would be generic, sentimental, even laughable. Set to Puccini’s music, they suggest the most sincere and profound experiences that humans are capable of.
A century on, it can be said confidently: With Puccini died the great opera tradition. There have been extraordinary works created since his death, but next to none have penetrated the public consciousness or the core repertoire.
Out of the vacuum left by the 19th-century giant Giuseppe Verdi, whose final opera premiered in 1893, Puccini emerged just in time for — then dominated — the twilight of the art form’s mainstream centrality. His career coincided with social, political and cultural upheavals that calcified the canon and brought modernist styles to the forefront of fashionable composition. Stunning operas were written in that mode, but few that spread beyond connoisseurs.
What made Puccini the Charles Dickens of opera, able to manage the elusive combination of nearly universal accessibility and deep sophistication? His melodies are sumptuous yet irresistibly straightforward; the propulsive activity in his scores is dotted with seductive oases of breathtaking emotional expansiveness. His music pours forth, never square or regular — a nearly continuous flow that shows the influence of Richard Wagner.
But Puccini wasn’t interested in the mythic scale and symbols, the portentous poetry, of Wagnerian opera. He placed himself at the service of the concrete, the everyday, the intimate.
He often rued these limited ambitions and mulled taking on the kind of grander canvases, with their political and philosophical reverberations, that had become inextricably linked with Verdi. But Puccini’s modest scope — his gift for what he called his “cosettine,” his “little things” — is what has made his operas instantly approachable across the globe for newcomers and aficionados alike.
From the first bounding bars of “La Bohème,” you’re inside it, embraced and immersed. But it isn’t grand. Criticized throughout his career for relying on small-scale, precious subjects rather than sweeping historical plots, he has something in common with Jane Austen, who teased that she wrote her novels on “a little bit of ivory, two inches wide.”
Puccini wasn’t taken seriously by scholars until long after his death. Like Dickens, he was dismissed by many critics as a trashy hack, a guilty pleasure. Gustav Mahler and Benjamin Britten disdained his work. Influential musicologist Joseph Kerman notoriously panned “Tosca” as a “shabby little shocker.”
Puccini’s audience, much like the readers of Charles Dickens, has always been discerning. Yet, over time, the operatic landscape began to shift away from Puccini’s unique musical ethos. His methods, which intertwined with the vibrant aesthetics of Viennese operetta, notably in his tender work “La Rondine,” paved the way for the widespread acclaim of composers like Rodgers and Hammerstein. Broadway emerged as a key platform for Puccini’s genuine successors.
While classic operas remain fixed in repertoire for over a century, their interpretations have evolved significantly. Composers such as Mozart, Verdi, and Wagner provide fertile ground for innovative directors looking to reimagine and reinterpret the narratives, thanks to their enduring themes. However, Puccini’s operas, like “Tosca,” are deeply rooted in specific narratives and settings. Attempts to relocate these stories, set in precise historical contexts, often dilute their intended impact.
Puccini, sharing similarities with Richard Strauss in the twilight of the operatic era, occupied a liminal space between the 19th and 20th centuries. His music melds romanticism with modernism, featuring straightforward melodies veiled in intricate, lush harmonies influenced by contemporaries like Claude Debussy. His works transport audiences to various locales, from a wedding in Nagasaki to a Gold Rush scene in California, celebrating diverse cultural backdrops.
Born in 1858 in Lucca, Tuscany, into a family of musicians, Puccini faced early challenges after losing his father. His mother, Albina, fiercely championed his musical journey, ensuring he received proper education. This support ignited a passion that permeated his works, often reflecting deep maternal themes. After being inspired by Verdi’s “Aida” in 1876, his dedication to music flourished, particularly at the Milan conservatory.
Puccini's first opera, “Le Villi,” garnered attention after an initial failure, leading to success and mentorship from publisher Giulio Ricordi. The subsequent hit “Manon Lescaut” solidified his reputation, kicking off a series of masterpieces including “La Bohème,” “Tosca,” and “Madama Butterfly.” Despite health challenges due to smoking, Puccini continued to compose.
His final work, “Turandot,” with its poignant narrative set in mythical China, was tragically unfinished at his passing in 1924. The opera's final scene, completed by Franco Alfano, was famously left unplayed during its premiere in 1926, where conductor Arturo Toscanini poignantly declared, “Here the opera ends, because at this point, the maestro died.” Puccini’s legacy endures, celebrated for his poignant melodies infused with sorrow and beauty.
Barely 15 minutes later, these two strangers are singing ecstatically about their love. Implausible, right? But when a performance of Giacomo Puccini’s “La Bohème” is working its hot magic, nothing could be more believable.
And nothing could be more essentially operatic than such a scene, with the emotions compressed and heightened through music. Puccini, who died 100 years ago, on Nov. 29, 1924, proved himself again and again a master of moments like this: unleashing a Technicolor extravagance of feeling while at the same time conveying plain, simple truth.
A painter assuring his jealous girlfriend that her eyes are the most beautiful in the world. A prince, pursued by a city desperate to know his name, promising that it will remain a secret. A teenage geisha convinced her husband will come back to her.
Once you know these passages, just thinking about them can bring you to tears. Spoken, the texts would be generic, sentimental, even laughable. Set to Puccini’s music, they suggest the most sincere and profound experiences that humans are capable of.
A century on, it can be said confidently: With Puccini died the great opera tradition. There have been extraordinary works created since his death, but next to none have penetrated the public consciousness or the core repertoire.
Out of the vacuum left by the 19th-century giant Giuseppe Verdi, whose final opera premiered in 1893, Puccini emerged just in time for — then dominated — the twilight of the art form’s mainstream centrality. His career coincided with social, political and cultural upheavals that calcified the canon and brought modernist styles to the forefront of fashionable composition. Stunning operas were written in that mode, but few that spread beyond connoisseurs.
What made Puccini the Charles Dickens of opera, able to manage the elusive combination of nearly universal accessibility and deep sophistication? His melodies are sumptuous yet irresistibly straightforward; the propulsive activity in his scores is dotted with seductive oases of breathtaking emotional expansiveness. His music pours forth, never square or regular — a nearly continuous flow that shows the influence of Richard Wagner.
But Puccini wasn’t interested in the mythic scale and symbols, the portentous poetry, of Wagnerian opera. He placed himself at the service of the concrete, the everyday, the intimate.
He often rued these limited ambitions and mulled taking on the kind of grander canvases, with their political and philosophical reverberations, that had become inextricably linked with Verdi. But Puccini’s modest scope — his gift for what he called his “cosettine,” his “little things” — is what has made his operas instantly approachable across the globe for newcomers and aficionados alike.
From the first bounding bars of “La Bohème,” you’re inside it, embraced and immersed. But it isn’t grand. Criticized throughout his career for relying on small-scale, precious subjects rather than sweeping historical plots, he has something in common with Jane Austen, who teased that she wrote her novels on “a little bit of ivory, two inches wide.”
Puccini wasn’t taken seriously by scholars until long after his death. Like Dickens, he was dismissed by many critics as a trashy hack, a guilty pleasure. Gustav Mahler and Benjamin Britten disdained his work. Influential musicologist Joseph Kerman notoriously panned “Tosca” as a “shabby little shocker.”
Puccini’s audience, much like the readers of Charles Dickens, has always been discerning. Yet, over time, the operatic landscape began to shift away from Puccini’s unique musical ethos. His methods, which intertwined with the vibrant aesthetics of Viennese operetta, notably in his tender work “La Rondine,” paved the way for the widespread acclaim of composers like Rodgers and Hammerstein. Broadway emerged as a key platform for Puccini’s genuine successors.
While classic operas remain fixed in repertoire for over a century, their interpretations have evolved significantly. Composers such as Mozart, Verdi, and Wagner provide fertile ground for innovative directors looking to reimagine and reinterpret the narratives, thanks to their enduring themes. However, Puccini’s operas, like “Tosca,” are deeply rooted in specific narratives and settings. Attempts to relocate these stories, set in precise historical contexts, often dilute their intended impact.
Puccini, sharing similarities with Richard Strauss in the twilight of the operatic era, occupied a liminal space between the 19th and 20th centuries. His music melds romanticism with modernism, featuring straightforward melodies veiled in intricate, lush harmonies influenced by contemporaries like Claude Debussy. His works transport audiences to various locales, from a wedding in Nagasaki to a Gold Rush scene in California, celebrating diverse cultural backdrops.
Born in 1858 in Lucca, Tuscany, into a family of musicians, Puccini faced early challenges after losing his father. His mother, Albina, fiercely championed his musical journey, ensuring he received proper education. This support ignited a passion that permeated his works, often reflecting deep maternal themes. After being inspired by Verdi’s “Aida” in 1876, his dedication to music flourished, particularly at the Milan conservatory.
Puccini's first opera, “Le Villi,” garnered attention after an initial failure, leading to success and mentorship from publisher Giulio Ricordi. The subsequent hit “Manon Lescaut” solidified his reputation, kicking off a series of masterpieces including “La Bohème,” “Tosca,” and “Madama Butterfly.” Despite health challenges due to smoking, Puccini continued to compose.
His final work, “Turandot,” with its poignant narrative set in mythical China, was tragically unfinished at his passing in 1924. The opera's final scene, completed by Franco Alfano, was famously left unplayed during its premiere in 1926, where conductor Arturo Toscanini poignantly declared, “Here the opera ends, because at this point, the maestro died.” Puccini’s legacy endures, celebrated for his poignant melodies infused with sorrow and beauty.