Der Rosenkavalier at Garsington Opera

Miah Persson as the Marschallin and Hannah Hipp as Octavian at Garsington Opera. Photograph: Johan Persson. Image source: The Guardian/Observer

Staging Richard Strauss' and Hugo von Hofmannsthal's Der Rosenkavalier (The Rose-Bearer) is one of the most difficult tasks in opera. First you must cast four superb singers who are also excellent actors. And then you must put them onstage and stay out of the way.

Garsington Opera's 2021 production of Der Rosenkavalier is beautifully sung by an exceptional cast, and Strauss' score is ravishingly played in Eberhard Klokeby's reduced transcription by the Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by Jordan de Souza. Unfortunately, director Bruno Ravella fell at the second hurdle. Unable to resist the temptation to "improve" Hugo von Hofmannsthal's libretto, instead he makes staging choices that distract from the action and work against the drama.

A quick synopsis (you can skip the next three paragraphs if you're familiar with the opera): The libretto sets the opera in Vienna in the mid-18th century. Act I takes place in the boudoir of the Marschallin, the aristocratic wife of the Field Marshal. While her husband is away the Marschallin has spent the night with a young man half her age, the enraptured 17-year-old Octavian. As they are relaxing over a post-coital breakfast a distant relative of the Marschallin, the boorish Baron Ochs (which literally means "ox"), bursts in. Barely avoiding discovery, Octavian hides and hurriedly disguises himself as a chambermaid, "Mariandel." The deeply-in-debt Ochs has come to announce his betrothal to the young daughter of the rich merchant Faninal, and to ask the Marschallin to choose one of her relatives to present the traditional silver rose to his fiancée. He is distracted from his task by the pretty Mariandel, though, and while explaining his request to the Marschallin is simultaneously trying to arrange an assignation with the maid. The Marschallin, playing with fire, suggests her cousin Octavian as the rose-bearer.

The Presentation of the Rose: Madison Leonard as Sophie and Hannah Hipp as Octavian. Photograph: Johan Persson. Image source: Garsington Opera

In Act II, Octavian presents the silver rose to Faninal's 16-year-old daughter Sophie; as soon as the two young people set eyes on each other they fall in love. When Ochs arrives to sign the marriage contracts, Sophie is appalled by his crude behavior and refuses the marriage despite her father's threats. Octavian rises to her defense; swords are drawn and the Baron receives a scratch. After Octavian is forced to leave, the Baron receives a note from Mariandel asking to meet.

In Act III the Baron has arranged for an intimate dinner with Mariandel at a seedy inn, but of course it's a trap set by Octavian. Faninal, Sophie, and the Marschallin all arrive at the inn; Ochs, exposed and humiliated, flees. Sophie senses that there is a disturbingly intimate connection between Octavian and the Marschallin; Octavian is torn between the two women he loves; and the Marschallin recognizes that the time has come for her to give up Octavian.

Where does Ravella go wrong in staging this story? Let me count the ways.

Ravella and designer Gary McCann have changed the opera's roccoco 18th-century setting to the mid-century modern 1950s. This would be fine if there was a dramaturgical reason for the update. Instead, the main impetus for the change seems to be that it allows the Marschallin (Miah Persson) and Sophie (Madison Leonard) to be dressed in glamorous Dior "New Look"-style frocks instead of elaborate 18th-century gowns.

Madison Leonard as Sophie and Hannah Hipp as Octavian. Photograph: Julien Guidera. Image source: theartsdesk.com

But the 20th-century setting introduces a host of incongruities. Horses and carriages play essential roles in all three acts, for example. In Act I the Marschallin is alerted to the arrival of Baron Ochs (Derrick Ballard) by hearing his horse and carriage in the courtyard, and at the end of the act her servants tell her that Octavian (Hannah Hipp) has left by leaping onto his horse and riding away at a gallop. In Act II Octavian arrives at mansion of Herr von Faninal (Richard Burkhard) in a line of carriages, and when Ochs is wounded (or in this production, "wounded"), Faninal tells his servants to ride his ten carriage-horses to death to fetch a doctor. And in Act III, the Marschallin eases Faninal's distress by offering him a ride home in her carriage. Needless to say, none of this is very likely in 1950s Vienna.

In this production Octavian is dressed as some sort of military-school cadet, and carries a sword. But that doesn't explain why Ochs is also carrying a sword when he goes to Faninal's mansion. In the 18th century, of course, aristocratic men often carried swords, especially at formal occasions, but by the 1950s swords were hardly ever worn except with ceremonial military, diplomatic or scholarly uniforms. Ochs has no military rank and is certainly no diplomat or scholar. He has to carry a sword, though, because Octavian would not draw his against an unarmed member of his own class.

Finally, Sophie has been in a convent while her sight-unseen marriage to Baron Ochs has been arranged by her father. It's a straightforward deal: the Baron gets the young, beautiful Sophie, plus Faninal's money to pay his enormous debts; Faninal and his descendants achieve high social standing. But is this plausible in 1950s Austria? Rich businessmen already had high social standing: they were seen as leading the "economic miracle" that was pulling Austria out of postwar immiseration and famine. At the same time, the status of the Austrian nobility had been significantly diminished. Noble titles had been abolished in the aftermath of World War I, and one scholar has written that World War II left Austria with "a social structure largely free of the quasifeudal shackles of the powerful old conservative order." [1] (By the way, according to Hofmannsthal's libretto Faninal has gotten rich by supplying the army, but for a decade after World War II Austria was occupied by U.S., British, French, and Soviet forces, and essentially didn't have its own military.) In short, Ravella's staging doesn't engage in any way but the most superficial with what would have been the actual circumstances of the characters in the time period he's chosen.

Worse, though, than the multiple anachronisms introduced by Ravella's choice of period is his mishandling of the stage action. Ochs is far too clownish, signalled by his mass of unruly red hair, superabundant Victorian-style whiskers, and loud suits. In his memoirs Strauss himself wrote of the Baron, "Most basses have presented him as a disgusting vulgar monster with a repellent mask and proletarian manners. . . This is quite wrong: Ochs must be a rustic Don Juan of 35, who is after all a nobleman, if a rather boorish one, and who knows how to conduct himself decently." [2] This Ochs is simply a buffoon, which flattens the character.

Colin Judson as Valzacchi, Derrick Ballard as Baron Ochs, and Kitty Whately as Annina. Photograph: Johan Persson. Image source: Garsington Opera

Ravella's revisionism renders the Marschallin's private moment at the end of Act I less poignant. We've learned that, like Sophie, the Marschallin as a young woman was brought straight from a convent and "thrust into an unwelcome and cruel marriage to a rough, unloved, middle-aged nobleman," the Field Marshal. [3] This memory leads her to reflect on the passage of time and its inexorable cruelty. Traditionally as the curtain closes the Marschallin gazes into a mirror with deep melancholy and then slowly lowers it or turns away. In this production the Marschallin sprinkles a bit of perfume onto a handkerchief and inhales the scent, smiling wistfully. The perfume is likely attar of roses, a drop of which (we'll learn in Act II) is placed in the center of the silver rose presented to the brides of the aristocracy. But if she is remembering her betrothal to the Field Marshal, why would she smile, even wistfully, at the memories evoked by the scent of roses?

Other dramatic moments small and large are similarly undermined, especially in Act II. The Presentation of the Rose is underwhelming: when Octavian arrives to present the rose he is alone, despite the line of carriages in which he and his retinue have supposedly arrived. During the love duet between Octavian and Sophie, a Cupid figure appears and lounges about onstage. The Cupid first makes an appearance in Act I as a sort of substitute for Mohammed, the Marschallin's young African servant. This choice could have worked, but introducing Cupid during the Presentation of the Rose is ham-handed and pulls our focus away from the lovers. The music itself, with its sensuously intertwined voices, tells us that they're falling in love.

The music tells us, but perhaps due to pandemic protocols the singers remain far apart and generally look at the audience rather than one another, undercutting the sense of their dawning mutual passion. The need to maintain proper pandemic distance is also perhaps the reason why the Baron and Octavian don't cross swords (the Baron doesn't even draw his) before the Baron is "wounded" by Octavian and cries out "Murder!" And speaking of pulling focus, the milling about of Faninal's army of servants is often distracting, as is the frequent rearrangement of the furniture over the course of the act. McCann has dressed Ochs's servants in a motley array of costumes, some rudely rustic. For such an occasion even impoverished barons would dress their servants in matching (if well-worn) livery. And why does Ochs bring his own (drunken, lecherous) priest? Surely he and Sophie are going to be married on Faninal's schilling in St. Stephen's Cathedral with the archbishop presiding.

Another mis-step occurs in the Act III inn scene, where "Mariandel" is far too bold and sexually aggressive with the Baron. The Baron is taken aback, but why? He's invited her there to seduce her, after all. This also begs the question of what Mariandel/Octavian would do if the Baron responded eagerly to her/his provocations, as he well might, and it contradicts the character Mariandel must assume in front of the police sergeant as an innocent young woman being drawn into the sexual snare of a powerful and unscrupulous man.

I don't want to be too hard on this production. Even if Ravella's direction is often misconceived, it's remarkable that a small house such as Garsington (full capacity 600 seats) was able to mount a staging of this demanding work with international-level performers onstage and in the pit.

Miah Persson as the Marschallin. Photograph: Johan Persson. Image source: Garsington Opera

This was the first assumption of the role of the Marschallin by Miah Persson, who earlier in her career was a famous Sophie (I saw her in that role in the 2007 San Francisco Opera production, with Joyce DiDonato as her Octavian). Persson has personal glamour to spare and looks smashing in the 1950s-era costumes. Her portrayal, though beautifully sung, doesn't yet quite convey the inwardness and vulnerability of my favorite Marschallin, Gwyneth Jones. But those additional dimensions of the character may develop over time, and in this production their absence may be largely the fault of her director.

This is also the first time Hannah Hipp sings Octavian. She may not quite match Brigitte Fassbaender's early-Elvis charisma in the role, or Elīna Garanča's uncanny impersonation of a 17-year-old boy, but she is convincingly ardent in Act I, giving voice to waves of emotions Octavian hasn't yet learned to control (or at least conceal). In Acts II and III, it's true, the sparks that are supposed to fly between Octavian and Sophie seem more like embers, but the two singers' expression of passion is not helped by pandemic distancing protocols or their director.

Hannah Hipp as Octavian and Madison Leonard as Sophie. Photograph: Johan Persson. Image source: Garsington Opera

Madison Leonard is wonderful in her role debut as Sophie. She is convincingly girlish in both looks and manner, but has the vocal resources needed for the role's spectacular high notes. And her sorrowful realization in Act III that she is not Octavian's first love was most touching. I will be following her career with great interest.

Derrick Ballard sings the role of Baron Ochs quite well; he does not bark or bluster his way through, and is lacking only the role's very lowest notes (which for comic effect are written to be almost impossible for anyone to reach). He does everything asked of him by Ravella, and is not to blame for the director's and designer's misconception of the character as nothing more than a loutish bumpkin. But that characterization neutralizes the threat he represents to the Marschallin in Act III once he figures out who "Mariandel" really is and what Octavian was doing in the Marschallin's bedroom so early in the morning. Without that threat, Ochs' dismissal comes too easily.

A final word about Jordan de Souza's conducting of the Philharmonia Orchestra. Der Rosenkavalier is a long opera that can bog down at points (particularly in the first half of Act III). De Souza shapes each act's long dramatic arc beautifully, while allowing details in the score to emerge without calling undue attention to themselves or halting the flow. And he achieves such a full, lush Straussian sound with the Philharmonia that unless it had been mentioned in the program I would not have realized that they were employing Eberhard Klokeby's reduced transcription of the score for mid-sized orchestra (likely another pandemic concession). De Souza and the musicians and singers he leads provide a very assured performance of Strauss's sublime music.

So there are many musical and visual reasons to enjoy this production, and I would urge curious readers to explore it for themselves. Garsington Opera and OperaVision are generously making it available for free through April 30, 2022; production details and a video link can be found on the Garsington Opera website. A trailer for the production:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6JsN7BmJp4

More posts on Der Rosenkavalier:

• Glyndebourne: The 2018 Glyndebourne revival of Richard Jones' production set in pre-WWI Vienna.
• The Marschallin's farewell: Der Rosenkavalier at the Met: A review of the DVD of Renée Fleming in her final appearance as the Marschallin, partnered with Elīna Garanča in her final appearance as Octavian, in Robert Carsen's problematic 2017 production at the Metropolitan Opera.
• The Rosenkavalier Trio: A review of Michael Reynolds' book Creating Der Rosenkavalier: From Chevalier to Cavalier (Boydell Press, 2016), which details the important contributions of Count Harry Kessler to Hugo von Hofmannsthal's libretto, including a hitherto unsuspected source.
  
• Opera Guide 3: Der Rosenkavalier: A brief history and synopsis of the opera, with recording recommendations.

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1. Radomír Luža, Austro-German Relations in the Anschluss Era (Princeton University Press, 1975), quoted in Harry Ritter, "Grasping Toward Austria: The Anschluss - Book Review" (1979). History Faculty and Staff Publications 27. https://cedar.wwu.edu/history_facpubs/27.
2. Richard Strauss, Recollections and Reflections (Boosey & Hawkes, 1953), a translation of Betrachtungen und Erinnerungen (Atlantis Verlag, 1949) by L.J. Lawrence, pp. 160-161. The translation I quote is from a different source that I haven't been able to identify.
3. Norman Del Mar, Richard Strauss: A critical commentary on his life and works, Vol. 1 (Barrie and Rockliff, 1962), Ch. IX, excerpted in Alan Jefferson, Richard Strauss: Der Rosenkavalier (Cambridge Opera Handbooks, 1985), p. 41.

Glyndebourne

Glyndebourne. Photo: Bill Hunter (thestage.co.uk)

Audrey: I nearly fainted when I read what we're charging.

John: They have to respect us. They have to show us respect.

Rudi: He's right.

Audrey: And they do that, do they, by emptying their wallets?

Rudi: What better way?

Audrey: . . .No one's ever charged this much for music. It's unheard of.

John: . . .What have we been doing these last months? I'll tell you. We've been working harder than any of us have ever worked in our lives. We've been putting in a colossal effort. Now it's time for the audience to put in some effort as well. They must go to a London terminal at 2.30, they must give up their whole day to getting to an obscure part of Sussex, they must dress properly, they must spend the morning polishing their shoes and starching their dress shirts and searching out their cufflinks, and trying to tie a proper bow tie, a bow tie which will still have dignity at bedtime, they must for once in their lives take time to dress, and if it's an effort so what? So what? Wasn't starting Glyndebourne an effort?

Audrey: Jack, they just want a night out.

John: No! No! And if that's what they want, they're not getting it. . .Art can't be the sideshow. It mustn't be. I'm not having business people spending all day in their offices, talking on telephones, fiddling with stationery—whatever they do—and then in the evening saying, 'I'll pop back, pick up my wife and we'll take in a show.' No, I won't allow it! Not here! Not at Glyndebourne! Why? Because as far as I'm concerned, it's time someone told them in ringing tones: 'Gentlemen, your lives are the sideshow. Opera's the thing.' And if it takes a whole day and wipes out their savings, then so much the better. Because it matters! It matters, dammit. We're talking about the sublime.

—David Hare, Moderate Soprano, Scene 18

In Hare's play John is John Christie, owner of a 500-year-old English country estate on which he has built an opera house; Audrey is soprano Audrey Mildmay, his wife; Rudi is Rudolph Bing, a refugee from Nazi Germany and the newly hired general manager of what is about to become the Glyndebourne Festival Opera.

Not much has changed at Glyndebourne since 1934, when this imagined conversation among real people takes place. Tickets are still very expensive and very hard to come by. Attending still requires most of a day; the shuttle to Glyndebourne picks up passengers at the nearby Lewes Rail Station around 1:45 pm and returns them around nine hours later. (The opera starts in the late afternoon, but this span allows time for a leisurely pre-performance lunch in the estate gardens and a 90-minute intermission for dinner.) And audience members are still requested to dress in evening clothes: black tie for men, gowns or something similarly formal for women. Who on earth would be willing to subject themselves to these outrageous impositions for the sake of an archaic art form?

Well, we were. And to our pleased surprise we were able to get excellent seats. (Of course, Glyndebourne is so intimate and has such wonderful acoustics that there really aren't any bad seats.) Neither of us owned formal evening wear, but visits to the Bay Area's numerous well-stocked thrift stores soon outfitted me (I was able to buy a tuxedo, wing-collar shirt, suspenders, and black tie for under $50), and my partner cleverly combined items from her closet, her own exquisitely tatted accessories and donations from friends for a stunning look.

We decided to buy our food on site, a more expensive—about twice the cost of an equivalent meal in a local restaurant—but more practical option. Many regular Glyndebourne attendees haul in elaborate picnics and set up tables and chairs on the broad lawns, but that was logistically too complicated for us. (I have to say that the sound of champagne corks popping around us as we strolled in the gardens created quite the festive air.)

In the grass at Glyndebourne.

In Hare's play, John attempts to justify the high ticket prices (£2 in 1934, serious money in the middle of the Depression) by saying "They have to dig deep in their pockets, and if they do, by God, it'll make them sit up. They'll listen to the music with far keener attention." At one of the operas we attended the woman next to me fell asleep during the first act, probably due to a glass or two too many of champagne during her pre-performance picnic. Another woman in the same party had to make an urgent exit from our row after the lights came down at the beginning of the second act, probably for the same reason. (Their taller husbands were sitting in the row in front of them, blocking their view of the stage. As my partner put it, often the British have an exquisite sense of manners and no sense of courtesy.) At the same opera a man directly behind us with his loud voice, inane comments and braying laugh seemed to be competing for Upper Class Twit of the Year. If by setting prices outrageously high Christie hoped to keep out the boors and status-seekers and their trophy wives, his strategy didn't entirely succeed. But we also met several people who (like us) clearly had to make a financial sacrifice to attend, and who (like us) were willing to do so out of a sheer irrational love of opera.

We saw two operas on successive nights: Richard Strauss' Der Rosenkavalier (The Rose-Bearer, 1911) in a production by Richard Jones that dates from 2014, and George Frideric Handel's Giulio Cesare in Egitto (Julius Caesar in Egypt, 1724) in a production by David McVicar that dates from 2005.

Der Rosenkavalier

Mariandel/Octavian (Kate Lindsey), Valzacchi (Alun Rhys-Jenkins), and members of the Glyndebourne Chorus in Der Rosenkavalier. Photo: Glyndebourne.com

In its 2014 incarnation this production caused a huge controversy by the casting of the trouser role of Octavian. Irish mezzo Tara Erraught's singing received universal praise, but she was described in reviews by male critics as "diminutive," "stocky," "dumpy," "unsightly," and a "chubby bundle of puppy-fat." [1] In this year's production Octavian was played by Kate Lindsey, who has a beautiful voice and was convincingly and ardently boyish. In my view her Octavian ranks with that of other great exponents of the role such as Brigitte Fassbaender and Elina Garanča.

It's no shame that neither the Marschallin (Michaela Kaune) nor Sophie (Louise Alder) were quite at the same level as Lindsey. As singers they weren't as subtle or nuanced, and as actresses they weren't as convincing, although here the fault may lie with Jones' sometimes blunt, over-obvious direction. At one point the Marschallin gropes and plants passionate kisses on Octavian behind the back of the boorish Baron Ochs (wonderfully sung and acted by Brindley Sherratt)—not only does this highly risky behavior seem unlikely for a woman of her class, situation and era, it makes her sudden coldness to Octavian even more bewildering.

Speaking of bewildering, the curtain opened on an empty bathtub, with water cascading down from a shower head. I later read that in the 2014 production when the curtain rose the Marschallin (Kate Royal in that production) was standing naked under this cascade; Kaune apparently declined to appear nude, so the shower was left puzzlingly empty. If Kaune was not willing to be seen showering, this stage element should have been cut; instead it remained, flowing unused throughout much of the first scene. The intention may have been to evoke Klimt's Danaë, but Danaë was missing.

Gustav Klimt, Danaë (1907) Photo: Wikipedia.org

Jones and his designers made some other odd choices. The first act of the opera seemed to be set around the time of its composition (rather than the eighteenth century as specified in the libretto): at one point the Marschallin strikes a pose for Octavian that is reminiscent of a Klimt painting, and her great Act I monologue about aging and loss is staged as a psychoanalysis session during which a silent figure who seems to be Sigmund Freud listens and takes notes. But in Act II we seem to have jumped forward in time by 20 years: Sophie's father Faninal (the excellent Michael Kraus) runs an Art Deco hotel that looks like a set for a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movie. (It's not clear why Jones makes Faninal a hotelier; in the libretto he has made his fortune "supplying the army"—he's a war profiteer.) And in Act III during the final love duet between Sophie and Octavian the stage was flooded with green light, making the singers look like a particularly lurid expressionist painting—a mood that was jarringly at odds with the music.

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Street, Dresden (detail), 1907-1919. Photo: Museum of Modern Art

There were also the antics of Mohammed, the Marschallin's North African servant—a silent role played here by an adult (Adrian Richards), rather than by a young boy as called for in the libretto. Richards was directed by Jones to perform in ways that in my view verged on racist caricature. Mohammed is the last character on stage, and I have to say that I couldn't bear to watch: when the Octavian-Sophie love duet began in a sickly green haze I closed my eyes and just listened to the final five minutes or so of the opera.

That was actually a wonderful way to experience the final moments of this production. Lindsey and Alder's voices blended beautifully, and (as he had throughout the opera) conductor Robin Ticciati brought out details of this rich score that we'd never heard before. The London Philharmonic responded to Ticciati's direction with simply gorgeous playing—what a delight. I have reservations about many aspects of Jones' production, but with a strong (and in the cases of Lindsey, Sherratt and Kraus, superlative) cast and with Ticciati drawing glorious sounds from the London Philharmonic there was no question about the high level of the musical performances.

Giulio Cesare

 

Cesare (Sarah Connolly), Cleopatra (Joélle Harvey), and members of the Glyndebourne Chorus in Giulio Cesare. Photo: Glyndebourne.com

The next night the playing of the period-instrument Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment was not quite so gorgeous. Of course, period instruments don't provide as lush or as big a sound as modern instruments, but beyond that there were occasionally some distinctly sour notes from the gut-string violins and the notoriously difficult valveless natural horns (the horns struggled particularly in Cesare's "hunting" aria "Va tacito.") Conductor William Christie masterfully held things together, though, even when two of the singers at different times seemed about to lose their way in the middle of an aria.

This was the fourth time David McVicar's production has been staged at Glyndebourne, and the first time Danielle de Niese was not featured as Cleopatra. (It was the performance that made her a star, and fortunately it has been preserved on video.) American soprano Joélle Harvey bravely took on this role that de Niese has defined so indelibly, and acquitted herself more than honorably. She does not have quite the commanding stage presence of de Niese, and she performed the elaborate choreography gamely, if not quite with de Niese's charm and grace. But Harvey has a beautiful voice, and convincingly traced Cleopatra's journey from kittenish seduction to genuine feeling.

Joélle Harvey as Cleopatra in Giulio Cesare. Photo: Glyndebourne.com

When Sarah Connolly stepped forward at the start of the opera to sing Cesare's entrance aria she sounded seriously underpowered. My partner and I wondered if she was suffering from an unannounced indisposition, a suspicion made even more likely later on when she momentarily lost the thread of "Aure, deh, per pietà," an aria she must have sung onstage dozens of times. (Christie recognized her difficulties immediately and raised his hand to guide her back into sync with the orchestra. It was done so seamlessly that my partner didn't even notice.) Connolly is an excellent actress, though, and whatever vocal difficulties she was experiencing did not make her portrayal less dramatically engaged.

The rest of the cast was excellent. Christophe Dumaux has portrayed Tolomeo, Cleopatra's devious and lustful brother who contends with her for the throne, in two of Glyndebourne's earlier productions of Giulio Cesare. As he has previously, he brought to the role a nice swaggering assurance, a surprising athleticism, and an incisive countertenor voice. Achilla, Tolomeo's menacing lieutenant, was sung powerfully by bass John Moore.

Achilla (John Moore) and Tolomeo (Christophe Dumaux) in Giulio Cesare. Photo: Glyndebourne.com

Cornelia, the widow of the murdered Roman general Pompey and the object of the lust and ambitions of both Tolomeo and Achilla, was sung movingly by Patricia Bardon (also a veteran of two previous Cesare productions at Glyndebourne). Mezzo Anna Stéphany made palpable the anguish of Cornelia's son Sesto, who vows revenge on his father's murderers. Their sorrowful duet at the close of Act I, "Son nata a lagrimar," was deeply moving.

Cornelia (Patricia Bardon) and Sesto (Anna Stéphany) in Giulio Cesare. Photo: Glyndebourne.com

Like Jones' Der Rosenkavalier McVicar's Cesare also plays with stereotypes, but does so in a witty and knowing way (and in Dumaux and Kangmin Justin Kim, who sang Cleopatra's flighty but loyal servant Nireno, he has performers who clearly relish their roles). In the theater it was even more apparent than on video that the production comments on the lengthy history of British imperialism: the military conquests of India and Egypt are referenced as the naval ships in the background gradually change from sailing vessels to steam-powered dreadnoughts, and the bodies strewn about the stage in Act III seem to allude to the Indian Uprising. There's also a sly nod to the traditions of Glyndebourne, as in the final scene (apparently real) champagne is served all around—even to the deceased characters (neatly solving the problem of their participation in the final chorus). Despite Connolly's apparent vocal issues and a few wayward musical moments, this production once again proved a triumph. It was, in a word, sublime.

For more on Glyndebourne and its history, please see:

• The moderate soprano: Audrey Mildmay 
• The first Glyndebourne Mozart recordings

Update 5 July 2020: A video stream of Glyndebourne's 2014 production of Der Rosenkavalier starring Kate Royal as the Marschallin, Tara Erraught as Octavian, Teodora Gheorghiu as Sophie, and Lars Woldt as Baron Ochs is available on the Glyndebourne website or the Glyndebourne YouTube channel from now until next Sunday 12 July at 5 pm Glyndebourne time/noon EDT/9 am PDT.

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1. Mezzo-soprano Alice Coote, herself a famous Octavian, wrote in response, "It is ALL about the human voice. . .If young singers are pressurized into accepting a bigger emphasis on physical shape over sound. . .then we are robbing ourselves of the great singers of the future." And tenor Gwyn Hughes Jones posted a message on Facebook stating, "It is not a gender issue. No one, male or female, should have to experience such blatant disrespect. That such a situation exists at all is utterly unacceptable. The peddling of the 'Ken & Barbie agenda' to the profession and to the public has done an unbelievable amount of damage to the art form, to the importance and relevance of genuinely outstanding singing in the business and to the vocal tradition as a whole. Important artists have been and are being marginalized because they do not conform to the aesthetic agenda the industry would have championed." See Mary Elizabeth Williams' article for Salon.com, "An opera singer's backlash wasn't just sexism."

The Marschallin's farewell: Der Rosenkavalier at the Met

On May 13, 2017, at the Metropolitan Opera, Renée Fleming and Elīna Garanča gave their final performances as the Marschallin and Octavian, respectively, in Richard Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier (The Rose-Bearer, 1911). The occasion was broadcast in the Met Live in HD series; although we were forced to miss the event (and a later scheduled broadcast was cravenly cancelled at the last minute by our local PBS station), in November this performance was released on DVD and we finally had a chance to see it.

Robert Carsen's production is set at the time of Der Rosenkavalier's premiere, just a few years before the outbreak of World War I. The Austrian society in which it takes place is already highly militarized, and the production is full of signs of the impending conflict. The three orphans who plead for alms from the Marschallin in the first act are cadets, both Octavian and Baron Ochs and his retinue wear military uniforms, and in the third act the inn is full of soldiers on leave.

The directorial choice to set an opera at the time of its composition instead of the period specified by the composer and librettist can be illuminating. Patrice Chéreau's centenary Ring Cycle at Bayreuth, for example, turned Wagner's mythological saga into a parable of the Industrial Revolution. But Carsen's production is frustrating. It departs from tradition in many ways, some of which are thoughtful, and others of which either make little sense or make what is implicit in the libretto too obvious. Here are a few of my notes from Act I:

• The opera opens, not in Marschallin's boudoir as usual, but in the anteroom outside it. The door opens and Octavian wanders out in his nightshirt for a post-coital cigarette; soon he is joined by the Marschallin. But later when they are back in the bedroom and Baron Ochs is trying to gain entrance, the Marschallin mentions that her footmen will prevent him from coming in. If footmen are waiting outside her bedroom, wouldn't Octavian and the Marschallin have been seen when they went out for a cigarette?  They are not indifferent about witnesses because later in the act they are very keen to conceal Octavian's presence. To avoid this inconsistency there seems to be no compelling reason for the opera not to begin as it usually does, with Octavian and the Marschallin in bed together.

• Baron Ochs, the impoverished rural relative of the Marschallin who has come to Vienna to marry a rich middle-class girl, is younger and more vigorous than usual (Günther Groissböck is wonderfully appalling in the role). This accords with Strauss's own conception of the character. While Ochs is usually portrayed by basses in their 50s or 60s, Strauss wrote that "Ochs must be a rustic Don Juan of 35." 
  
  
  
  
  Günther Groissböck as Baron Ochs and Renée Fleming as the Marschallin
  
  However, Strauss also wrote that Ochs "is after all a nobleman, if a rather boorish one...who knows how to conduct himself decently." Carsen directs this Ochs to flop down next to the Marschallin while she's still in bed and maul her chambermaid "Mariandel" (Octavian in disguise) right in front of her. His rampant lecherousness and heedless sexual aggression make him a kind of Harvey Weinstein avant la lettre—but it's hardly likely that the Marschallin would tolerate these lapses (or that an Ochs who "knows how to behave decently" would commit them). Strauss also wrote that most productions "have presented him as a disgusting vulgar monster with a repellent mask and proletarian manners. . . This is quite wrong."

• When in the early morning Ochs bursts into the bedroom of the Marschallin, Octavian hides in a closet and emerges disguised as the servant Mariandel. In most productions he is dressed in a maid's outfit, but that raises the question of where the clothes would have come from. (Surely the Marschallin does not keep a chambermaid's costume in her closet for emergencies.) In this production Mariandel's costume is clearly one of the Marschallin's dresses, a choice which makes more sense (ladies' maids often received their mistresses' cast-offs). 

• During the levée (a kind of late-morning open house) many visitors enter the Marschallin's chamber: the orphans mentioned earlier, couturiers, sellers of exotic animals, purveyors of scandal sheets. Among them is the Italian Tenor (Matthew Polenzani, costumed to look like Enrico Caruso; he even signs a 78 for the Marschallin), who sings a love aria.
  
  
  
  
  In most productions the Tenor is competing for the Marschallin's attention with the other clamorous visitors, and while he is singing other conversations and the Marschallin's toilette continue. In this production the lights are lowered and the Tenor steps into the spotlight (literally); everyone else falls silent, gathers around, listens attentively and applauds when he is finished. Even if the lighting change is intended to reflect the singer's exaggerated sense of self-consequence (or his fantasy of holding the spotlight) it is a moment of unreality that comes out of nowhere.  (It must be said that Polenzani sings the aria beautifully.)

• Clothing is a significant marker of class in an opera where those distinctions are very important to the characters. When the Marschallin is finally fully clothed, her black dress and beige blouse look like something a bourgeois housewife of the time would wear, not something that a princess would don to go out in public. During the levée we've just seen a fashion show of fabulous period gowns; why would the Marschallin choose to wear such a drab outfit? There's no wartime austerity yet.

• The act closes with the Marschallin alone onstage. In most productions this moment is treated as an extension of her great scene with Octavian a few minutes earlier in which she laments the passage of time and the inevitable end of their affair, "today or tomorrow." Traditionally she gazes into a hand-mirror, and then slowly lowers it (in Strauss's words) "half weeping, half smiling." This moment foreshadows the glorious trio in the final act, in which she recognizes the moment that she must give up Octavian has come all too soon.
  
  
  
  
  But Carsen has Fleming play the end of Act I differently. On his return Octavian has brought a bouquet of roses, which he places on her bed. When the Marschallin is alone in the final moments of the act, she picks up this bouquet, holds it in a way that suggests an embrace, and then gazes around the room one last time. She is clearly flooded with tender memories of the night before, rather than with sorrowful anticipation of the inevitable future. This choice subtly changes the dynamic of the trio in the third act, making us think the Marschallin may be even more unready to end the affair than she is usually portrayed.

The second act opens in the ultramodern house of Faninal, the rich merchant who has betrothed his daughter Sophie to the Baron. Sophie is portrayed by Erin Morley, who like most Sophies looks a bit too mature for the role. Sophie is supposed to be 16; Morley seems almost ready to play the Marschallin herself.

In traditional productions we learn that Faninal has made his wealth by "supplying the army"; in this production he is an arms dealer. How can we tell? Two huge howitzers are parked in his reception room, and just in case we didn't get the connection, boxes of ammunition labelled "Faninal" lie scattered about.

Elīna Garanča as Octavian and Erin Morley as Sophie in front of Faninal's howitzer

These props don't seem to be intended as entirely symbolic, that is, not actually present, since the characters regularly interact with them. And later Faninal and his servants brandish rifles. But not only is this bizarre (surely Faninal would not actually have military hardware in his house), it doesn't accord with Faninal's aspiration to be accepted into the nobility. Would he not attempt to disguise rather than flaunt the source of his wealth?

Fortunately Carsen has the howitzers rolled offstage before the "love at first sight" duet between Octavian and Sophie:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6J8EP1wbdo

Later in the act Morley nicely captures Sophie's outraged shock at the Baron's gross over-familiarity. In this context the Baron's grabbiness works better than in the first act. It reads as a manifestation of his contempt: he doesn't feel that he has to behave well with the Faninals, since they are of lower social status. It would be more effective, though, if he hadn't been just as boorish in front of the Marschallin, who significantly outranks him.

But it's in Act III that Carsen makes his biggest miscalculation. In traditional productions the scene is set in a seedy inn where the Baron is hoping to seduce Mariandel; in Carsen's staging it is an outright brothel, complete with a bevy of prostitutes clad in merry widows and garter belts. That Sophie or the Marschallin would ever enter such an establishment, much less sit or lie down on a bed in one, defies belief.

The setting also undercuts much of the humor of this sequence. In traditional productions Ochs believes that Mariandel is an inexperienced girl; he plies her with wine but to his dismay she becomes maudlin rather than amorous. In Carsen's production Mariandel is dressed as one of the prostitutes, and brazenly comes on to a flustered Ochs. But again this doesn't make sense: for one thing, Ochs must realize that the Marschallin would not have a prostitute for a ladies' maid; for another, what would Octavian have done if Ochs responded with eagerness rather than confusion?

So Carsen is keenly attentive to some details but oblivious to others, and makes some jarring and/or nonsensical choices. His production does not compare favorably with the subtlety and elegance of, for example, Otto Schenk's 1979 production for the Bavarian State Opera in Munich, which remains a first choice on DVD. This isn't only a matter of adherence to the creators' specified settings, but of telling details in the interactions among the characters. In preference to Carsen's version, on video I would also recommend the 1985 production from the Royal Opera House and Paul Czinner's 1961 film of the Salzburg Festival production.

That said, Elīna Garanča almost single-handedly redeems the proceedings. Her Octavian is one of the best I've ever seen or heard. It's not only a matter of her looks, which are convincingly boyish to an almost uncanny degree. It's also her physical and vocal characterization; she is every inch the ardent young suitor.

In her between-acts interview with Polenzani (thankfully moved to the end of the DVD as an extra) she mentions that she has been playing the role for 17 years (coincidentally, Octavian's age); on the evidence of this performance she could have continued to play him for another decade should she have chosen to do so.

I have a sentimental connection to Fleming's Marschallin: she sang the role in the first Rosenkavalier I ever saw, 17 years ago at San Francisco Opera, with Susan Graham as her superb Octavian. But her performance as directed by Carsen in this production doesn't quite muster either the emotional vulnerability or the inner fire of Gwyneth Jones in the Munich production. Neither is she as coolly aristocratic as Kiri Te Kanawa in the Royal Opera House production or Elisabeth Schwarzkopf in Czinner's film.

One key moment encapsulates the differences. In the final act, when Ochs finally realizes what Mariandel/Octavian was doing in the Marschallin's bedroom, it is a moment of real menace. "I don't know what I should think of all this," he blusters. The Marschallin cuts him off. "You are, I believe, a gentleman?" she replies. "Then you will think absolutely nothing. That is what I expect of you." Fleming utters these lines almost with a smile, as though colluding with Ochs. But at this point the Marschallin isn't suggesting her complicity with the Baron. He is desperate, looking for any way to salvage his wedding with Sophie, and he has just understood that he might be able to blackmail the Marschallin. In contrast to Fleming's insouciance, Gwyneth Jones shows a flash of anger that lets us understand that the Marschallin recognizes the danger; Kiri Te Kanawa and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf are commanding, as though it is inconceivable that Ochs could disobey. Fleming's half-smile suggests unconcern, and so prematurely dissipates the dramatic tension.

In her book The Inner Voice Fleming wrote, "it has always been my goal to stop when I choose to and not when I have to" (p. 146). Her retirement of the role of the Marschallin raises the question of whether she will continue to perform in staged opera. Although she insists that she is not completely retiring, if these are her final opera performances it would be fitting. After all, Der Rosenkavalier is an opera about recognizing when the moment has come to let go even of the things we most cherish, and bid them a fond farewell.

For more on Der Rosenkavalier please see:

• Opera Guide 3: Der Rosenkavalier: a fuller synopsis with more musical clips and recording recommendations.
• The Rosenkavalier trio: an exploration of the sources of Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Count Harry Kessler's scenario as outlined in Michael Reynold's Creating Der Rosenkavalier, one of my favorite nonfiction books read in 2017.

The Rosenkavalier trio

Elina Garanča as Octavian, Wiener Staatsoper, 2007. Photo: Wiener Staatsoper/Axel Zeininger

At the heart of the opera Der Rosenkavalier (The Knight of the Rose, 1911) is a love triangle involving Octavian, an impetuous and ardent 17-year-old, his older married lover the Marschallin, and the beautiful 16-year-old Sophie von Faninal, who has been engaged against her will by her father to a loutish country baron.

The curtain rises in Act I on the boudoir of the Marschallin, who, it is clear, has just spent the night with Octavian (a role sung by a mezzo-soprano).

The Marschallin (Renée Fleming) and Octavian (Susan Graham) in Act I of Der Rosenkavalier.
Photo: Metropolitan Opera, 2010

In Act II Octavian meets Sophie, and it is love at first sight for both.

Sophie (Julianne Gearhart) and Octavian (Alice Coote) in Act II of Der Rosenkavalier.
Photo: Seattle Opera, 2006

In the final act the triangle is resolved in a trio in which Octavian is torn between his sensual connection with the Marschallin and his love for Sophie, Sophie recognizes the disturbing intimacy between Octavian and the older woman, and the Marschallin realizes that the time has come for her to give up Octavian. This trio and the love duet for Octavian and Sophie that follows are among the most sublime moments in all opera; they suspend time.

Sophie (Anneliese Rothenberger), Octavian (Sena Jurinac), and the Marschallin (Elizabeth Schwarzkopf)
in the trio from the 1960 film directed by Paul Czinner.

In Creating Der Rosenkavalier: From Chevalier to Cavalier (Boydell Press, 2016), Michael Reynolds describes a little-known French operetta, L'ingénu libertin (The young libertine, 1907). Composed by Claude Terrasse with a libretto by Louis Artus, L'ingénu libertin was based on Jean-Baptiste Louvet de Couvray's risqué eighteenth-century novels about the amorous adventures of the youthful Chevalier de Faublas.

Robert Hasti as La Jeunesse and Arlette Dorgère as La Marquise de Bay, caricature by Yves Marevéry from Le Radical, 12 December 1907.
Source: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b53049799z

In Act III of L'ingénu libertin the curtain rises on the boudoir of the Marquise de Bay, who, it is clear, has just spent the night with the 17-year-old Faublas. The rapturous half-dressed Chevalier kneeling at the bedside of the Marquise was sung by a woman, Jeanne Alba:

Jeanne Alba as the Chevalier de Faublas in L'ingénu libertin

Faublas' childhood sweetheart, Sophie de Pontis, has been engaged against her will by her father to a rakish Count. She makes her way to the home of the Marquise, where she encounters Faublas and the Marquise together.

Arlette Dorgère as the Marquise de Bay from Act II of L'ingénu libertin, 1907

Faublas is torn between his sensual connection with the Marquise and his love for Sophie, Sophie recognizes the disturbing intimacy between Faublas and the older woman, and the Marquise realizes that the time has come for her to give up Faublas. The love triangle is resolved in a trio: "two youngsters, reunited and looking forward to their wedding day, the older woman, abandoned and hurt but with elegance and dignity intact, blessing their union. Curtain." [1]

Sophie (Jeanne Petit), Faublas (Jeanne Alba) and the Marquise de Bay (Arlette Dorgère) in Act III of L'ingenu libertin (detail)

Source: Creating Der Rosenkavalier

The parallels between Der Rosenkavalier and L'ingénu libertin are too direct, surely, to be coincidence. But although L'ingénu libertin had a highly successful run at the Théâtre des Bouffes Parisiens between 11 December 1907 and 2 February 1908, it closed after its 66th performance and, curiously, was never revived in France or elsewhere. How did the French operetta come to be known to Der Rosenkavalier's German creators, the librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal and composer Richard Strauss?

Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Richard Strauss around the time of the composition of Der Rosenkavalier

The answer points to the key role played in the creation of Der Rosenkavalier by a third man, Count Harry Kessler. Kessler was an avid connoisseur of art, literature, theater and music. While the friendship between Kessler and Hofmannsthal has long been known, it is only with the relatively recent publication of Kessler's diary for the years 1908-1909 and some archival detective work by Michael Reynolds that the full significance of his role has become apparent. Without Kessler, it's now clear, there would be no Rosenkavalier.

Count Harry Kessler in 1909. Source: Creating Der Rosenkavalier

We know from his diary that on 18 January 1908 Kessler had attended L'ingénu libertin. During a visit by Hofmannsthal to his Weimar home in February 1909, Kessler recounted the operetta in detail. That night Hofmannsthal went to bed with a copy of one of Couvray's Faublas novels from Kessler's library; the next day, the two men began to develop the scenario for what became Der Rosenkavalier.

The characters and situations combined elements from a number of sources. The loutish Baron Ochs, to whom Sophie is unwillingly engaged, was derived from Molière's Monsieur de Pourceaugnac (1669)—in fact, in early drafts of the scenario the character was referred to as Pourceaugnac. Sophie's name comes from the heroine of Couvray's novels and L'ingénu libertin. In early drafts Octavian was called Faublas, also after Couvray and L'ingénu libertin; of course, in addition to Faublas Octavian was based in part on Cherubino, the 16-year-old page (also sung by a woman) in Mozart and Da Ponte's The Marriage of Figaro (1786). The Marriage of Figaro also provided, in the character of the unhappy Countess Almaviva, a model for the Marschallin. Further inspiration was derived from William Hogarth's series of paintings (and later engravings) Marriage à la Mode (1743-1745).

The Countess's Levée, by William Hogarth, ca 1743
Source: National Gallery of London: https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/william-hogarth-marriage-a-la-mode-4-the-toilette

Act I of Der Rosenkavalier 
(Eric Cutler as the Italian Singer, Martina Serafin as the Marschallin, Sam Meredith as the hairdresser Hippolyte, Peter Rose as Baron Ochs)
Source: Metropolitan Opera/John Elbers, 2014

Kessler owned the Couvray Faublas novels, had seen productions of Figaro, had visited London exhibitions of Hogarth's work (and may have owned a volume of his engravings), and was the only one of Der Rosenkavalier's creators to have attended L'ingénu libertin. It seems clear that Kessler supplied most of the sources for Der Rosenkavalier.

But he did more than point Hofmannsthal to theatrical, literary and artistic precedents that could be borrowed; he actively helped to reshape the material. On 12 February 1909, after Hofmannsthal had been staying with him for three days, Kessler recorded in his diary:

In conversation the work done by Hofmannsthal and by me is so intertwined that it becomes impossible to separate out our respective contributions. One of us has an idea, a train of thought, the other criticises and as ideas pass to and fro, something quite different emerges; it is often the case that ten minutes later neither he nor I can say who actually thought up a given scene. [2]

This is not, however, the way that Hofmannsthal described their work together to Strauss. In a letter dated 11 February he wrote,

I have spent three quiet afternoons here drafting the full and entirely original scenario for an opera, full of burlesque situations and characters, with lively action, pellucid almost like a pantomime. There are opportunities in it for lyrical passages, for fun and humour, even for a small ballet. I find the scenario enchanting and Count Kessler with whom I discussed it is delighted with it. [3]

This is misleading in several ways: it was not Hofmannsthal alone who drafted the scenario, it was hardly "entirely original" (see the list of sources above), and Kessler might well have been delighted because he made major contributions to it.

We know, for example, that it was Kessler who came up with several key elements. At one point the opera was set to begin at the house of Sophie's father, with characters awaiting the arrival of the Pourceaugnac/Ochs character. Kessler realized that the order of the first two acts should be reversed; it would be more effective to introduce Ochs by having him burst into the Marquise/Marschallin's boudoir as Faublas/Octavian scrambles to disguise himself as a chambermaid.  (Faublas cross-dresses in L'ingénu libertin, as does Cherubino in Figaro.)

Kessler's second inspiration was that, unlike L'ingénu libertin, in which Faublas and Sophie de Pontis are childhood sweethearts, Octavian and Sophie von Faninal should first meet during the Presentation of the Rose—and fall in love at first sight:

As I got dressed the solution came to me, and I told it to Hofmannsthal in the carriage:. . .Faublas does not yet know Sophie at all, but is sent to her by the Marquise on Pourceaugnac’s behalf, to announce P. to her. This is where the fun begins with 1) Faublas falling in love with Sophie, 2) Sophie meeting Pourceaugnac and loathing him on sight. . .These changes will turn Pourceaugnac from an almost passive figure into the main driving force of the work; he is the cause of all his own misfortune and he is even responsible for Sophie and Faublas getting to know each other. . .Hofmannsthal accepted all this immediately [4].

Finally, several months later when Kessler was reviewing Hofmannsthal's libretto-in-progress, he pointed out that all three acts ended quietly. Kessler suggested that it would be more effective if the second act had a boisterous comic ending that provided a contrast (Hofmannsthal and Strauss reworked the ending of Act II precisely along those lines).

It's unclear who suggested developing the character of the Marschallin along the lines of the Countess in Figaro. While Baron Ochs may drive the plot, the Marschallin is the emotional center of the opera. In her great Act I monologue we learn that as a young woman she was brought from a covent to marry the Feldmarschall, whom she had never met; marriage to a much older and emotionally incompatible man is also the fate intended for Sophie von Faninal before Octavian intervenes. It is also what awaits Sophie de Pontis in L'ingénu libertin: when the operetta begins, Sophie is in a convent and is intended to marry the disreputable (and much older) Count Rosambert. The L'ingénu libertin connection may indicate that Kessler made a contribution here as well.

And again deriving from L'ingénu libertin is the idea that the opera should conclude with a trio for Octavian, Sophie and the Marschallin. Here is the trio from the 1984 Salzburg Festival, with Anna Tomowa-Sintow as the Marschallin, Agnes Baltsa as Octavian, and Janet Perry as Sophie:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmvQAtZSzXA

(If you click on the link, the trio ends at 5:05...but why stop there?)

It seems appropriate that Der Rosenkavalier, a work structured by threes (Octavian/the Marschallin/the absent Feldmarschall, Octavian/Sophie/Ochs, Octavian/the Marschallin/Sophie), should end with a trio. How fitting as well that Reynolds' detective work has shown that the opera itself owes its existence to a creative trio: Richard Strauss, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, and the collaborator who has finally gained some recognition for the extent of his contributions, Count Harry Kessler.

Now, where is that revival of L'ingénu libertin?

Cover image source: Boydell & Brewer

Creating Der Rosenkavalier is a revised version of Reynold's doctoral thesis, and sometimes it shows. There are repetitions that weren't caught in the editing, for example, and material that is peripheral to the book's main argument that was probably included to satisfy a thesis committee's expectations of scholarly thoroughness. But these are minor issues. Reynolds has uncovered a treasure trove of production photos, programs, scores, and other materials, and has thoroughly investigated the myriad sources of both Der Rosenkavalier and the work that it was largely modelled on, L'ingénu libertin. (The Artus-Terrasse operetta does not appear in any of the other books I've seen about Der Rosenkavalier, including Alan Jefferson's excellent Cambridge Opera Handbook (1985)). If you love Der Rosenkavalier, Reynolds' book is essential—and fascinating—reading.

For more on the Strauss/Hofmannsthal/Kessler opera, see Opera Guide 3: Der Rosenkavalier.

Update 6 January 2018: On May 13, 2017, at the Metropolitan Opera, Renée Fleming and Elīna Garanča gave their final performances as the Marschallin and Octavian, respectively. For a review of the DVD release of this performance please see The Marschallin's Farewell. 

---

1. Michael Reynolds, Creating Der Rosenkavalier: From Chevalier to Cavalier, Boydell Press, 2016, p. 1.
2. Quoted in Reynolds, p. 137.
3. A Working Friendship: The Correspondence Between Richard Strauss and Hugo von Hofmannsthal, translated by Hanns Hammelmann and Ewald Osers, Random House, 1961, p. 27.
4. Quoted in Reynolds, p.142.

Opera guide 3: Der Rosenkavalier

Fans of Bollywood should find Der Rosenkavalier (The Rose-Bearer, 1911) to be strikingly familiar: central to the plot is an arranged marriage, which in the 18th century—the period of the opera's action—was common among the European aristocracy. The middle-aged Baron Ochs has come to Vienna to marry Sophie, the beautiful young daughter of the wealthy merchant Herr Faninal. From the marriage Ochs will gain Faninal's wealth and Sophie's youth and beauty; Faninal and Sophie will get a more exalted social status. It’s a straightforward business deal between the two men: Sophie herself doesn't have a say in the matter.

Or does she after all? In the comedies of Molière and Beaumarchais and Goldoni, the young girl destined to be united with a husband she doesn't love contrives to thwart the older man's desires and assert her own. And it was those comedies, along with Louvet de Couvray's novel Les Amours du Chevalier de Faublas (1781), Mozart and da Ponte's opera Le Nozze di Figaro (1786), and William Hogarth's painting series Marriage à la Mode (1743-45) that librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal took as explicit models when he sent the first outline of what would become Der Rosenkavalier to the composer Richard Strauss.

The engine of the plot may be the plans of the Baron Ochs (pronounced "ox," and with good reason) to marry Sophie, and her attempt to escape the fate the Baron and her father have arranged for her. But the true centers of interest are the Marschallin, a woman past the first bloom of youth, and her adolescent lover Octavian—played, like Cherubino in Le Nozze di Figaro, by a woman. In another Figaro parallel, the Marschallin, like Mozart's Countess, is trapped in an unhappy marriage and facing the loss of her youth and allure. Octavian is evidently neither her first nor probably her last lover.

In the first moments of the opera Octavian and the Marschallin are entwined in her bedchamber after a night of passionate lovemaking (strongly, not to say vulgarly, suggested in the opera's overture) when Ochs bursts through the door. He's made his unwelcome entrance to ask the Marschallin to nominate the person who will be the bearer of the silver rose that Ochs, by family tradition, will present to his new bride. The Marschallin, in a moment of perhaps deliberate incaution, names Octavian. Her choice will have far-reaching consequences for everyone involved when the 16-year old Sophie and the 17-year-old Octavian set eyes on each other. (The presentation of the rose, above; Octavian and Sophie becoming acquainted, at right.)

Baron Ochs is usually portrayed as a blustery, dim-witted and lecherous old man, an immediate figure of low comedy. But Ochs doesn't have to be such a buffoon. Strauss himself wrote of the Baron, "Most basses have presented him as a disgusting vulgar monster with a repellent mask and proletarian manners. . . This is quite wrong: Ochs must be a rustic Don Juan of 35, who is after all a nobleman, if a rather boorish one, and who knows how to conduct himself decently." But over time Ochs has become a role for aging basses, so that in most productions these days he seems to be at least in his 50s, and the coarse and clownish aspects of the character have become more prominent.

The jarring comedy of the Baron is all the more surprising because Hofmannsthal could write scenes possessing an incredible delicacy of feeling. In the first act the Baron's plans bring the Marschallin to the uncomfortable recognition of the ways in which her own life parallels Sophie's: she too was a young girl brought out of convent school to marry an older man whom she barely knew. This recognition makes her feel the passing of her youth all too keenly, and in a touching monologue at the close of the first act she laments the passage of time:

"How can it really be
that once I was little Resi
and that one day
I shall be an old woman?
An old woman, the old Marschallin!
'There she goes, the old Princess Resi!'
How can this happen?
How can our dear Lord make it so?
When I am still the same person?
And if He must make it so,
Why does He let me see it all
so very clearly?
Why does He not hide it from me?"

Strauss felt that this scene must be played, "not sentimentally as a tragic farewell to life, but with Viennese grace and lightness, half weeping, half smiling."

In the great final scene of the opera, Sophie, Octavian, and the Marschallin all finally meet. Sophie realizes immediately that there's a disturbingly intimate connection between Octavian and the Marschallin; Octavian feels torn between his new love for Sophie and his sensual connection to the Marschallin; and the Marschallin realizes that the inevitable day of parting from Octavian has arrived far sooner than she anticipated. These characters express their bittersweet feelings in a trio which contains some of the most breathtaking music in all opera.

This is an excerpt of the final scene taken from the 1961 film of the Salzburg production directed by Paul Czinner, conducted by Herbert von Karajan, and featuring Sena Jurinac as Octavian, Elizabeth Schwarzkopf as the Marschallin, and Anneliese Rothenberger as Sophie:

https://youtu.be/31CtNc0Zp2c

As if this ravishing music weren't enough, at the end of this amazing scene the Marschallin withdraws, leaving Sophie and Octavian to sing one of the most tender love duets ever written.

There are many wonderful recordings of this opera to choose from. I can personally recommend two on DVD. The first is the 1979 Munich production conducted by Carlos Kleiber and designed by Otto Schenk. It has perhaps the greatest Octavian ever in Brigitte Fassbaender, who has the charisma of the young Elvis in the role; the heartbreaking Marschallin of Gwyneth Jones; and the Sophie of Lucia Popp, who may look slightly mature for the role (Sophie is, after all, supposed to be 16) but whose youthful voice and acting sweep away any hesitation. My second recommendation is the 1985 London production conducted by Georg Solti and designed by William Dudley and Maria Björnson. Anne Howells is not perhaps among the greatest Octavians, but Kiri Te Kanawa is a coolly regal Marschallin, and Barbara Bonney's beautiful (and beautifully sung) Sophie makes the "love at first sight" moment with Octavian in Act II perfectly convincing. The 1960 film excerpted above also looks well worth viewing in its entirety.

The classic 1956 studio recording conducted by Herbert von Karajan with Elizabeth Schwarzkopf as the Marschallin, Christa Ludwig as Octavian and Teresa Stich-Randall as Sophie remains the standard version more than 50 years on. But this is an opera that should really be seen to be appreciated—live, if possible, but if not, via one of the superb DVD versions recommended above.

The photos in this post were taken by Terrence McCarthy during San Francisco Opera's 2007 production, which was adapted by Thierry Bosquet from Alfred Roller's original 1911 designs. The Marschallin was sung by Soile Isokoski (pictured above) and Martina Serafin, Sophie by Miah Persson, and Octavian by Joyce DiDonato. DiDonato writes a delightful blog, Yankee Diva, which I highly recommend.

Update 12 August 2009: Thanks to ruizdechavez, (most of) the final trio and duet of the 1979 Munich Rosenkavalier featuring Lucia Popp, Brigitte Fassbaender and Gywneth Jones has been posted on YouTube—watch it while you can:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYZliEez2Vk

Update 21 August 2009: In my DVD recommendations I didn't mention the 1994 Wiener Staatsoper production conducted by Carlos Kleiber, with Felicity Lott as the Marschallin, Anne-Sofie von Otter as Octavian, and Barbara Bonney as Sophie, because I'd never seen it. Thanks to Anik LaChev's eye bags blog and YouTube's rwprof, though, I've just seen the final trio and final duet of that production, and they're exceptional—if the entire production achieves this standard, then this version would rank with the Munich Opera production discussed above as the best available.

Update 4 February 2017: Michael Reynolds has discovered that many of the key elements of Der Rosenkavalier were drawn from a little-known French operetta, L'ingénu libertin, and were provided to Hofmannsthal by his friend (and, it's now clear, collaborator) Count Harry Kessler; for more information please see The Rosenkavalier Trio.

Update 6 January 2018: On May 13, 2017, at the Metropolitan Opera, Renée Fleming and Elīna Garanča gave their final performances as the Marschallin and Octavian, respectively. For a review of the DVD release of this performance please see The Marschallin's Farewell.