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February 24: Gioacchino Rossini: All'idea de quel metallo from The Barber of Seville "Money! Money! Money! Makes the world go round!" Beaumarchais' play, The Barber of Seville premiered at the Comédie Française in 1775. After a few inauspicious performances, it soon became a huge success, and French majors everywhere are eternally grateful. Because of its renown, no less than thirteen different composers turned it into operas before and after Rossini's version. Some of these composers had crowds of supporters, almost like today's football and basketball fans. Considering the fiasco which occurred at the first performance of Rossini's opera, reportedly caused by the supporters of a rival composer's version, however, these supporters seem more akin to the modern European football hooligans. We moderns complain of the liberties Asian countries take with intellectual property rights. In Rossini's time, though, the practice of plagiarism was almost as rampant as today. Beaumarchais, for example, used themes he borrowed from the Italian Commedia dell'Arte for the Barber. He also must have known about the existence of a French novel of the 1600s by Scarron called La Precaution Inutile. One of the more successful version of the Barber, written in 1782 by Giovanni Paisiello, is still known. Rossini paid homage to Paisiello in the preface to his Barber, and even called his work L'Inutile Precauzione (The Useless Precaution), which was the subtitle of Beaumarchais' play. He also had his librettist come up with an entirely new libretto to avoid any charges of plagiarism. Still, Rossini's use of the theme again caused great consternation among Paisiello's supporters, who disrupted the opera's premier in Rome at the Teatro Argentino. The hooligans did not throw potatoes studded with razor blades, but they did let a cat loose on the stage and leave a trap door open so that one of the characters would trip over it. The Roman audience laughed, hooted, and whistled throughout the performance, while Rossini sat playing the harpsichord accompaniment throughout. At the end, the composer saluted the soloists, and feigning indifference, went home to sleep. Rossini avoided its second performance, which the critics hailed as a triumph and at the end of the third, which he did attend, the crowd escorted him back to his house with a torch-lit procession. This is remarkable considering that the Roman audiences of the time were known to be the most demanding and critical of new works of music in all of Europe. My, how our modern sensibilities have changed. There is a funny description of Rossini that people used to tell, that went like this: "Rossini only cried three times in his life-once when he heard Carafa (the Caruso of his day) sing; once at the premiere of the Barber of Seville, and the third at a picnic when the truffled chicken fell into the river." This refers to the fact that after he retired from opera at the age of 36, he became a bon vivant and gourmand for his remaining 40 years. The Barber raised him to such a stature and eventually made him so rich that he could coast for the rest of his life. Which brings me back to today's piece. This duet between the tenor, Count Almaviva, and the baritone, Figaro, focuses on the wonder effect that gold has on people. Almaviva tells Figaro that he needs his help in winning Rosina's heart. He is prepared to pay Figaro handsomely. "In gold?" Figaro asks. When the Count says yes, Figaro starts to work on the spot. He starts the duet thus:
What a prodigious effect on my will To gratify your wishes The sweet idea of gold has.
At the mere side of that portentous I wonder whether this scene sums up some of Rossini's own feelings and explains a bit his own behavior after he retired. Perhaps he identified with Figaro and the little guy. Despite Rossini's reputation at the time, the Duke who owned the Teatro Argentino and contracted with him to write the Barber paid him only 1/3 of what the lead singer made for his performance. In addition, he only gave Rossini one month to write the opera! Could it be that after being bled for his ideas by the aristocracy himself, he just decided he'd had enough? Maybe this is why we chortle at Figaro's avariciousness.
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