Ariadne's Alter Ego

By Carl Cunningham

Personal letters tell interesting tales. The voluminous correspondence between composer Richard Strauss and his esteemed poet-librettist, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, tells us of a verbal fencing match that surrounded the creation of their most charming, intricate collaboration, Ariadne auf Naxos. This intimate opera-within-an-opera followed hard upon the heels of their first two projects, the brilliantly successful Elektra and Der Rosenkavalier. Strauss was champing at the bit for a new libretto to set, even before the wildly acclaimed premiere of Rosenkavalier January 26, 1911. He strove fruitlessly to interest Hofmannsthal in a project they had discussed as early as 1907 — an adaptation of Semiramis by Spanish playwright Pedro Calderón de la Barca.

But Hofmannsthal no longer shared Strauss’s fascination with pagan sex orgies; his mind was on a fairy tale by nineteenth-century German author Wilhelm Hauff (an idea that came to naught). The beginnings of their epic collaborative work, Die Frau ohne Schatten, also filtered through Hofmannsthal’s letters during this period, along with his ideas about adapting Molière’s comedy, Le bourgeois gentilhomme, with incidental music by Strauss and a one-act chamber opera replacing the Turkish entertainment that concludes the Molière play.

As a topic for the little opera, Hofmannsthal settled upon the mythological Greek legend of naïve young Ariadne, who was deserted on the island of Naxos by the god Theseus, after she had showed him the path in and out of the maze where he killed the vicious half-bull / half-man called the Minotaur. But, imitating eighteenth-century theatrical custom, Hofmannsthal chose to lighten this tale of abandonment by blending lighthearted commedia dell’arte scenes into the action of the little tragic opera.

Acquiescing to a choice not of his own making, Strauss politely accepted Hofmannsthal’s scenario for this recondite theatrical entertainment, calling the first half “very nice” but commenting that the second half was “thin.” From there on, the idealistic poet and the practical man of the theater could cross swords as quickly as they crossed a “t” or dotted an “i.”

The Molière-cum-Ariadne project was intended as a thank-you gesture for famed theatrical producer, Max Reinhardt, who had collaborated with Hofmannsthal on his original spoken-drama version of Elektra and had anonymously staged the acclaimed Dresden premiere of Der Rosenkavalier. However, the operatic portion of this new venture required an orchestra of thirty seven players and had grown beyond the physical dimensions of Reinhardt’s small stage at Berlin’s Kleines Deutsches Theater. So, plans were made for Reinhardt, his theatrical troupe and all the opera singers to travel to Stuttgart and stage the new work at the opera house there.

All went well until friction developed between the visiting performers and resident staff members, imperiling the dress rehearsal. And when the long, elaborate dual production of Le bourgeois gentilhomme and Ariadne auf Naxos was unveiled on October 25, 1912, Strauss and Hofmannsthal learned that those who came to see the Molière play were not interested in hearing the opera — and vice-versa. Thus the play and opera were separated and the two collaborators went to work on a drastic revision that resulted in the creation of a backstage Prologue to Ariadne auf Naxos. This Prologue showed all the characters in the second-act opera seria / commedia dell’arte as they appear in real-life portrayals — vying for dressing rooms, engaging in little backstage trysts and egotistical quarrels, and trying to deal with the sudden problem foisted upon them: how to sandwich together the little tragic opera and the commedia dell’arte in a simultaneous performance, in order not to delay a fireworks display scheduled at its conclusion.

The Prologue called for the creation of a character that became one of Strauss’s most appealing figures: the idealistic, temperamental young Composer of the second-act opera, Ariadne. In a letter written during January 1913 describing the personality he was creating for the Composer, Hofmannsthal identified him as “a man in love, fooled, as guest, child, victor and vanquished in this world.” Strauss, who had an apparent distaste for the sound of the tenor voice (few of his operas contain leading roles for this vocal category), cleverly enhanced the appeal of the vulnerable young Composer by casting the role for a soprano. In so doing, Strauss confirmed his predilection for featuring two or three female voices among the ensemble of singers in his operas.

With the Composer’s role confined to the Prologue and Ariadne’s arias placed in the tragicomedy that forms Act Two, Ariadne auf Naxos does not provide any situation comparable to the glorious third-act trio in Der Rosenkavalier. However, the high-voiced Zerbinetta does share a soaring duet with the Composer at the end of the Prologue and she interacts vocally with Ariadne in the second act of the work. And Strauss’s fondness for the sound of a female vocal ensemble extended to the charming trio of nymphs, Naiad, Dryad and Echo, whose singing graces the beginning of Act Two, as well as the final scene of Ariadne auf Naxos.

The role of the Composer typifies the struggles experienced by Strauss and every other composer in getting their works performed. It also initiated a celebrated professional association between Strauss and soprano Lotte Lehmann. When the revised Ariadne auf Naxos was ready for its premiere in Vienna in October, 1916, the 26-year old Lehmann was hired as understudy to noted soprano Marie Gutheil-Schoder in the role of the Composer. She substituted for the ailing Gutheil-Schoder in two rehearsals, whereupon Strauss realized she was the Composer of his dreams and engaged her to replace Gutheil-Schoder at the premiere. Lehmann went on to sing the title roles of five Strauss operas, and was, in Strauss’s words, “an unforgettable Marschallin” in Der Rosenkavalier.

Musically, the Prologue to Ariadne auf Naxos is largely given over to declamatory recitative and spoken dialogue introducing the various characters and the dilemmas they face in the forced combination of the two theatrical entertainments. It also hints at melodic themes to be heard and varying interpretations of the Ariadne tale and its meaning. The highlight occurs in the duet and the incipient infatuation that springs up between the ardent composer, defending the purity of his art, and flighty Zerbinetta, who momentarily acknowledges a personal loneliness akin to that of the abandoned, long-suffering Ariadne.

The major arias, duets and vocal ensembles occur during Act Two, when the characters all assume their stage roles. Following the soothing trio of Naiad, Dryad and Echo, there is heartbroken Ariadne’s aria, “Es gibt ein Reich,” pleading for death to come and relieve her suffering. Harlequin interrupts with the baritone aria, “Lieben, Hassen, Hoffen, Zagen” as the commedia dell’arte clowns fruitlessly try to cheer her up. Zerbinetta’s virtuoso coloratura aria, “Großmächtige Prinzessin,” is the centerpiece of the act, highlighting the entire opera as she blithely tells Ariadne to forget the faithless Theseus and take a new lover. Following a teasing scene between flirtatious Zerbinetta, Harlequin and the dimwitted clowns, the nymphs alert Ariadne to the approach of wandering young Bacchus, whom Ariadne mistakes for her long-sought messenger of death. Bacchus, in turn, is seeking the enchantress, Circe. Notwithstanding their chance encounter, these two strangers in paradise become acquainted in a joyous Straussian apotheosis celebrating the transforming power of newly-found love.

Like many of the Strauss-Hofmannsthal operas, Ariadne auf Naxos is layered with many shades of meaning, but that transforming power of constant love was a central theme Hofmannsthal sought to express when he contrasted Ariadne, “the woman who loves only once,” with Zerbinetta, “the woman who gives herself to many.” In his comprehensive study, The Operas of Richard Strauss, author William Mann quotes a newspaper article by Hofmannsthal, stating that Ariadne “was dead and is alive again, her soul is in truth transformed — and of course it is truth at a higher level, so how could it be truth to Zerbinetta and her like?….The two spiritual worlds are ironically connected in the end by the only possible connection: incomprehension…”

Recalling the often-quarrelsome correspondence between librettist and composer on the subject of this opera, Mann suggests it might have been “a telling allegory of their artistic collaboration: Hugo von Ariadne living alone on his creative island, awaiting the transfiguration of an idea; Zerbinetta-Strauss deriving pleasure and satisfaction from such lowly stimuli as Savonarola and Rückert — and the two united only through mutual incomprehension.”