The Power of a Potion

by Benjamin Folkman
art by Pattima Singhalaka

Little more than a halfcentury ago, bel canto opera seemed likely to become an endangered species. Even as a young soprano named Maria Callas dreamed of astonishing the world in scores by Gioacchino Rossini, Vincenzo Bellini, and Gaetano Donizetti, all three composers were on the brink of disappearing from the core repertory altogether. Rossini and Bellini hung on by virtue of a single work apiece: respectively, The Barber of Seville and Norma. With the more prolific Donizetti, the situation was scarcely better. Of his seventy
or so operas, only three appeared in theaters with any regularity: a tragedy, Lucia di Lammermoor; a farce, Don Pasquale; and a comedy-romance, The Elixir of Love.

Indeed, Elixir, Donizetti’s thirty-ninth opera, has occupied a privileged position in his output ever since its premiere in 1832. Following his first substantial critical success — Anna Bolena — by two years, Elixir catapulted Donizetti to fame throughout Europe and undreamed-of recognition at home. Between 1838 and 1848, a period when one out of every four opera performances in Italy was of a Donizetti score, Elixir was his most frequently heard work.

This popularity is all the more remarkable because Elixir was a rush job — even by the assembly-line standards of Donizetti’s era. Only in mid-March 1832 did he and librettist Felice Romani begin throwing it together against a May deadline — the score reportedly took a mere 14 days to write. Romani lifted the book wholesale from a nine-month-old Paris Opéra-Comique hit, Le philtre, composed by Daniel Auber on a superb libretto by the master technician Eugene Scribe. Romani did little more than translate Scribe’s effort into Italian verse, almost coming to blows with Donizetti over the one major change the composer wanted. Donizetti asked for a slow, lyrical tenor aria late in Act II; Romani protested that such an addition would kill the comic momentum. Donizetti prevailed, and the result was “Una furtiva lagrima,” one of the most beloved of all tenor arias.

Ask opera experts, in fact, why The Elixir of Love enjoys such enduring popularity, and many will say that the three words Una furtiva lagrima (“a furtive tear”) explain it all. A fuller understanding emerges, however, when we examine just why Donizetti felt his hero Nemorino needed this kind of aria as the opera was revving up for its comic climax. By capitalizing on the romantic dimension of Nemorino’s character — already implicit in Scribe — Donizetti transformed a clever, sassy farce into a deeply human comedy.

Here the composer’s artistic conscience was at work, for no immediate commercial necessity dictated such a change. Scribe’s scenario worked splendidly on a strictly-for-laughs level, with comic complications flowing naturally from droll topsy-turvy premises. For tradition’s tragic potion that makes one love, he substituted the absurd idea of a potion that makes one lovable. Nemorino and Adina are Tristan and Isolde, only with the sexual roles reversed. Nemorino displays the supposedly “feminine” virtue of irreversible monogamous devotion. Adina, by contrast, is “masculine” in her skeptical scholarship and pragmatism, eventually untangling every thread of the plot through clearheaded analytical intelligence. In their rustic milieu, it seems perfectly normal when Dr. Dulcamara (“Sweetbitter”) arrives to hawk a miracle drug that “eliminates toothache, rodents, and bedbugs, strengthens the liver, and cures asthmatics and diabetics.”

But Donizetti sought something richer than pure comedy, and so exploited hidden possibilities in Scribe’s commendably believable love relationship. The faithful Nemorino may be a clumsy bumpkin, but Adina — for all her professed indifference — can never get him out of her mind. Constantly aware of his reactions, she takes no action without considering the effect it will have on him. Like the Isolde she laughs at, she is unwittingly in love; the praise she heaps on Nemorino even as she rejects him in the first act could scarcely be higher. She sees him as the proverbial klutz with the heart of gold; and that heart’s innermost yearnings became an indispensable focal point for Donizetti’s musical inspiration.

These lyric raptures are neither demanded by, nor predictable from, the libretto. They stem from a Donizettian genius working at gut level to give this modest-seeming story memorable resonance. Which brings us to “Una furtiva lagrima,” heard after Nemorino has given Adina a lesson in payback, pretending to glory in the attention lavished upon him by other women. Here, nothing could cement the audience’s love for Nemorino more completely than a demonstration of his undying, abject devotion, and the famous aria provides it in haunting musical terms, interweaving plaintive bassoon with luminescent harp.

With his lyric magic and lovable awkwardness, Nemorino has been a godsend to superstar tenors of many physical and vocal types. Even a fireplug that could sing Nemorino beautifully would bewitch us. In 1901, the young Enrico Caruso staked his claim to the role in a legendary La Scala revival, and he kept it in his repertory ever after. Nemorino’s music next devolved upon Gigli, Schipa, Tagliavini, and Bergonzi, then passing to Kraus, Domingo, Carreras, and Pavarotti.

Now HGO welcomes John Osborn who is renowned for his agile and spirited interpretations of the classic Rossini and Donizetti roles. His vocal artistry and charisma are sure to make for a vintage Elixir!

Benjamin Folkman is president of the Tcherepnin Society (www.tcherepnin.com) and is the author-editor of the book Alexander Tcherepnin: A Compendium. Folkman was a Gold Record winner for his work on the electronic album Switched-On Bach and is a New York-based annotator and lecturer on music.

This article was originally published by Houston Grand Opera in 2000.