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An opera is an absurd thing.
Orders are given in song,
duets talk of politics.
Graves are for dancing around
and the stab of a dagger is delivered musically.
l could get used to the idea
that one sings an aria
whilst dying in the opera.
But why
are the words always worse than the music?
Their power of expression comes from the music.
lt's different with Gluck.
He guides the poets;
he knows the passions of our hearts,
and awakens
their hidden strengths.
With him, too, the word is only a stepchild of the baton.
Only with him
is music no longer a servant!
lt's as important as the text
and sings with it.
lf only there weren't any recitatives!
Who can withstand the leaden boredom they project?
They drag on forever. - They have neither the sweetness
of melody, nor the appeal of powerful speech.
Your critique is for old style operas.
Our master's ''Accompagnato'' has the power of ancient monologues.
The richness of the orchestra
brings it to climax in his tragedies.
And the arias? Should they disappear? - The incurable
ailment of our opera is the deafening noise of the orchestra.
lt's roaring and raging swallows up the voices.
The singers are forced to scream.
Whether the text is good or bad is meaningless.
No one can understand it.
Where is the song, that gift of the gods?
The human voice,
the first instrument, is debased into slavery!
Gone the tradition of the old ltalian singing!
Bel Canto
lies upon its death bed! - A dramatic death!
His prophetic words seem to me greatly exaggerated.
Before it dies,
dear La Roche, let us hear your singers!
We would like to have an impression
of the vitality of ltalian vocal art.
Give us a taste of your ''subservient'' art!
You will hear a duet
from an ltalian opera
with a text by Metastasio.
lt will end the debate
pleasantly.
Farewell
my life, farewell.
Don't cry for my fate,
miserable ...
l am not,
you are faithful and l know it ...
lf l don't die at your side ... - lf fate should take you from me ...
With your
beloved name ...
on my lips ...
l shall die ...
Farewell ...
light ...
... of my eyes ... - You are faithful and l know it ...
A very cheerful ''farewell''! Wouldn't you say, Flamand?
The text doesn't seem to fit the music very well. - Bravo!
When there is a beautiful cantilena, one does not care about the words.
There is still an art to expressing such great sorrow
to a happy melody.
This art has one virtue:
Despite some terrible incident, we feel agreeably consoled.
lf you are true to me ...
lf l shall lose my beloved ...
... what more can l wish for? - ... what more can l hope for?
A barbarous torment ... - A tender happiness,
like the one l feel,
gods,
who has ever felt it?