Reflections... and then some
From Verdi's La Traviata, we now move to Puccini's tragic opera Tosca and her desperate plea to the heavens - Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore, which translates to "I lived for art, I lived for love."
As Traviata was the story of a dying courtesan and her doomed love, Tosca is the tale of an actress desperate to escape Napoleon's grip on Rome. Her lover, Mario Cavaradossi, aides an escaped prisoner from Castel Sant'Angelo (the same Castle used in the da Vinci Code) from the Roman consul Baron Scarpia. Scarpia arrests Mario and tortures him for information about the prisoner (forgot his name); Flora Tosca tries to help Mario by agreeing to sleep with Scarpia in exchange for Mario's freedom and a safepass to get out of Rome - per sempre (forever). So Scarpia gives orders to his minions that Cavaradossi was to be given a false execution at 4 o'clock at the highest tower of Castel Sant'Angelo, come Conte Palmieri (like Count Palmieri). As Scarpia makes his move towards Tosca, she grabs his (steak) knife and stabs him to death - Ti suffoca il sangue?? Mouri dannato!!! Mouri! Mouri! MOURI!!! (Is your blood choking you? Die you #*##*$@#*!!! [I'm paraphrasing] Die! Die! DIE!!!).
Before she leaves, she takes the safepass which Scarpia had written prior to his stabbing, and takes off to give Mario the good news - he will be given a mock execution, and they will leave Rome together. But it turns out Scarpia had given his minions orders to go through with the execution anyway, just as they had done with Count Palmieri. So, Tosca sits in a quiet place admiring how well Mario was playing his role of execution-victim. She walks over to his body, and realizes that he is indeed dead. Scarpia's minions then appear (apparently they'd discovered Scarpia's body and with a quick CSI study, they come to the conclusion that Tosca had murdered Scarpia). Tosca, knowing that all is lost, runs towards the edge of the tower, and with departing words - O, Scarpia, avanti a dio! (Scarpia, before God!) - she leaps off the tower to her death.
Sometime in between the torturing and the stabbing, the opera's action breaks and Puccini inserts the wondeful aria Vissi d'arte. Some people view it as a prayer actually, since it's addressed to God - in the middle Tosca complains that after doing good all her life and devoting it to Love and Art; why, in the end, is this my reward? Although oddly placed, the aria lends life to the opera's second act; still I love the part where Tosca turns the tables around and tortures Scarpia - Questo il baccio di Tosca! (This is Tosca's kiss)... Mouri dannato... E uccisi da una donna! M'hai assai torturata? Odi tu ancora? Parla! Son Tosca! Oh Scarpia! (You are killed by a woman! Did you torment me enough? Can you still hear me? Speak! I am Tosca!) Here Tosca shows her inner strength; her shouts of Son Tosca amidst Scarpia's cries of Aiuto! (Help!) are exclamations of her revealing herself for the first and final time in the opera - that she, instead of being a lousy push-over actress, was actually a tigress. But then again, she does jump off the tower. In one production, a somewhat overweight soprano was singing Tosca (can't recall if it was Montserrat Caballe or Nellie Melba), and instead of leaping off the stage into the background, she simply walked off... hihi! Incidentally, this was the opera with which Callas started her professional career in Athens in 1942; and she ended it with a revival of Tosca at Covent Garden, London in 1965 - standing room tickets sold for around 50 pounds, equivalent to almost 600 pounds today.
I chose to change the title from La Traviata (The One who Strayed) not only because 'The one who strayed' strangely reminds me of cats dying in the streets, but also because the last year has taught me more about art than any other year. I'm not talking about opera as my art - the gods didn't exactly bless me with a beautiful voice, neither did they gift Callas with this, but then they gave her an excellent ear for music and an innate understanding of its artistry - they only gave me good ears. I'm talking about the art of Communication, which I teach. Segue to another of Puccini's operas, this time the sad tale of Cio-cio San as Madama Butterfly.
The subtext on the new title is taken from the first few lines of yet another aria, Un bel di. See, arias are named after the first few words of each song - Casta Diva (Bellini: Norma - Casta diva che inargenti, questa sacre antiche pianti.. blahbityblahblah), O Mio Babbino Caro (Puccini: Gianni Schicci - O, mio babbino caro, mi piace e bello, e bello....), Ritorna Vincitor! (Verdi: Aida - Ritona vincitor! E dal mio labboro usci l'empio parole) - you get the picture. This time it's Un bel di, vedremo levarsi un fil di fumo sull'estremo confin del mare; e poi la nave appare (One beautiful day we shall see coming from a strand of smoke over the far horizon of the sea; and then a ship appears). Taken also from Act II, Cio-cio San sits patiently at her window and explains to her maid, Suzuki, her hope of one day seeing the return of her American Navy officer husband Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton. Another heart-wrenching plea, this time for hope, comes from Puccini's heroine, an act and a few scenes away from killing herself - this time so that her son could become an American.
If you're thinking that I'm gonna kill myself - you're wrong. I don't have suicidal tendencies - I outgrew them, along with wearing my hair short. The point is, the past year has become one of the most exciting - albeit completely harassing - years of my life. Try finishing your thesis, defending it, graduating (with, ehem... honours), finding a job that you like, adjusting to your "new" life, going into grad school (where one of my former professors is my classmate), standing in front of students when your barely older (or wiser) than them, worrying about what to wear, your weight, and trying to find the love of your life in one year and see how well you'll do. The fact is, last year was a whirlwind of new experiences which have made me mature far too fast - not even a year ago, I was ogling at cute freshies (who happen to be my students now - hello ***s and *e***! You know who you are...) and thinking how my baon of P150 a day would allow me to buy my next opera having gotten bored with the others I've studied and memorized. Now, I have money to buy cute girly/gay shirts that I want, sandals which were designed for women, colourful sarongs, gay-oriented books, Oscar de la Renta glasses, and recordings of Macbeth, Butterfly, Tristan and Isolde, Turandot (none of which feature Callas), and other stuff... Please do not misunderstand - my salary does not allow me to buy these luxuries. I am solely able to buy these because I don't pay for my food at home, or the electricity which I squander downloading mp3s, or most of my clothes and shoes (sandals). My mom takes care of all of these. If I had to, I can spend no more than P50 a day - 30 pesos going to school (pedicab - bus - jeep) and P20 going home (Fx - Fx - asenso na, hindi na ko nagji-jeep papunta Quiapo and then home... I walk home though, exercise... Hihi!). I can skip lunch because I don't like eating at the cafeteria (okay, sometimes I do), at home I can make Macaroni and Cheese or have steaks and lambchop with mashed potato sidings (So much for the exercise!) for free (courtesy of my mom). But spending my money - or not spending it - hasn't exactly made me feel mature.
What really makes me feel mature (old...) is the fact that I have responsibilites now... I have a ton of papers to grade, and I have to check all of them... I read all of them, even though sometimes I skip a few paragraphs (or pages, depending on how well, or rather how badly it was written). I feel guilty when I don't give a paper enough time and effort, so I have to re-check the ones which scored low. I also have bills now... In addition to paying for opera recordings and my own clothes and kikay stuff, I now have to pay for my Globe line, my DSL, and my phone (which I got at zero interest - thank the gods)... plus the constant gimmicks and going-out with my friends (whom I'm getting to know better - thanks to our maturity, as well... hey, no one said growing old doesn't have its perks). Not that I don't like going out with them; I actually love going out with them, I've been very close to a few of them since Darcy left - I sort of filled in for his position. I've been going out with Nelson, Boom, Patrick, and the Kanto girls more often since I graduated - I haven't seen so much of these people since High School - during my undergrad days, we had to schedule a get-together months ahead; now, I'm only one text away.
That's not all. Since Butterfly and Tosca sing of Hope and Despair, respectively, I figured I could change the title of this blog to Vissi d'arte because I find most of my hope siphoning off from finding a great boyfriend to having great students. Translation: My art has moved from Boy Watching to Teaching - Career Development ito! It's not very likely that I'll meet my future partner in the academe, and it's very likely that I'll end up as an old maid occupying the Dean's office - my God, can you imagine a bitter old Mikee telling students off for running in my prestine hallways (which I plan to redecorate, along with probably the entire RH building, starting with the DAC and Speech classrooms)? But I really don't care now. I'm more at peace with the fact that I'll be living alone in my three-floor condo, with probably 10 toy dogs and a few cats, and a statuette of my beloved Bailey (my boxer, who currently has breast cancer, poor deary... sob), inviting friends to have high teas and chatting about whom we had sex with in high school (well... whom they had sex with in high school; I spent my high school days worshipping at the altar of Vesta - and Hecate... I still do, occasionally).
There is hope, of course. It is pointless to live a life without hope, and since we already decided that I wasn't suicidal; I choose to live life with hope, still. Afterall, Pinkerton returned to Butterfly at the end of Act III; of course, he was late and the opera ends (exactly like Miss Saigon) with Pinkerton calling out Butterfly! Butterfly!!! as Cio-cio San strangles herself with a silk scarf. Note to self - stay away from silk scarves... Stick to the silk neckties your father left you... Hihihi!
Still, you could always go back to Violetta Valery:
Sempre libera degg'io
Folleggiar di gioia in gioia,
Vò che scorra il viver mio
Pei sentieri del piacer,
Nasca il giorno, o il giorno muoia,
Sempre lieta nè ritrovi.
A diletti sempre nuovi
Dee volare il mio pensier.
Forever free, I will be
Frolicking from one joy to another,
I want my life to run
Through the roads of pleasure.
Although the day is born and dies,
I shall always be happy with my [friends]
To new joys,
My mind will always fly.
As Traviata was the story of a dying courtesan and her doomed love, Tosca is the tale of an actress desperate to escape Napoleon's grip on Rome. Her lover, Mario Cavaradossi, aides an escaped prisoner from Castel Sant'Angelo (the same Castle used in the da Vinci Code) from the Roman consul Baron Scarpia. Scarpia arrests Mario and tortures him for information about the prisoner (forgot his name); Flora Tosca tries to help Mario by agreeing to sleep with Scarpia in exchange for Mario's freedom and a safepass to get out of Rome - per sempre (forever). So Scarpia gives orders to his minions that Cavaradossi was to be given a false execution at 4 o'clock at the highest tower of Castel Sant'Angelo, come Conte Palmieri (like Count Palmieri). As Scarpia makes his move towards Tosca, she grabs his (steak) knife and stabs him to death - Ti suffoca il sangue?? Mouri dannato!!! Mouri! Mouri! MOURI!!! (Is your blood choking you? Die you #*##*$@#*!!! [I'm paraphrasing] Die! Die! DIE!!!).
Before she leaves, she takes the safepass which Scarpia had written prior to his stabbing, and takes off to give Mario the good news - he will be given a mock execution, and they will leave Rome together. But it turns out Scarpia had given his minions orders to go through with the execution anyway, just as they had done with Count Palmieri. So, Tosca sits in a quiet place admiring how well Mario was playing his role of execution-victim. She walks over to his body, and realizes that he is indeed dead. Scarpia's minions then appear (apparently they'd discovered Scarpia's body and with a quick CSI study, they come to the conclusion that Tosca had murdered Scarpia). Tosca, knowing that all is lost, runs towards the edge of the tower, and with departing words - O, Scarpia, avanti a dio! (Scarpia, before God!) - she leaps off the tower to her death.
Sometime in between the torturing and the stabbing, the opera's action breaks and Puccini inserts the wondeful aria Vissi d'arte. Some people view it as a prayer actually, since it's addressed to God - in the middle Tosca complains that after doing good all her life and devoting it to Love and Art; why, in the end, is this my reward? Although oddly placed, the aria lends life to the opera's second act; still I love the part where Tosca turns the tables around and tortures Scarpia - Questo il baccio di Tosca! (This is Tosca's kiss)... Mouri dannato... E uccisi da una donna! M'hai assai torturata? Odi tu ancora? Parla! Son Tosca! Oh Scarpia! (You are killed by a woman! Did you torment me enough? Can you still hear me? Speak! I am Tosca!) Here Tosca shows her inner strength; her shouts of Son Tosca amidst Scarpia's cries of Aiuto! (Help!) are exclamations of her revealing herself for the first and final time in the opera - that she, instead of being a lousy push-over actress, was actually a tigress. But then again, she does jump off the tower. In one production, a somewhat overweight soprano was singing Tosca (can't recall if it was Montserrat Caballe or Nellie Melba), and instead of leaping off the stage into the background, she simply walked off... hihi! Incidentally, this was the opera with which Callas started her professional career in Athens in 1942; and she ended it with a revival of Tosca at Covent Garden, London in 1965 - standing room tickets sold for around 50 pounds, equivalent to almost 600 pounds today.
I chose to change the title from La Traviata (The One who Strayed) not only because 'The one who strayed' strangely reminds me of cats dying in the streets, but also because the last year has taught me more about art than any other year. I'm not talking about opera as my art - the gods didn't exactly bless me with a beautiful voice, neither did they gift Callas with this, but then they gave her an excellent ear for music and an innate understanding of its artistry - they only gave me good ears. I'm talking about the art of Communication, which I teach. Segue to another of Puccini's operas, this time the sad tale of Cio-cio San as Madama Butterfly.
The subtext on the new title is taken from the first few lines of yet another aria, Un bel di. See, arias are named after the first few words of each song - Casta Diva (Bellini: Norma - Casta diva che inargenti, questa sacre antiche pianti.. blahbityblahblah), O Mio Babbino Caro (Puccini: Gianni Schicci - O, mio babbino caro, mi piace e bello, e bello....), Ritorna Vincitor! (Verdi: Aida - Ritona vincitor! E dal mio labboro usci l'empio parole) - you get the picture. This time it's Un bel di, vedremo levarsi un fil di fumo sull'estremo confin del mare; e poi la nave appare (One beautiful day we shall see coming from a strand of smoke over the far horizon of the sea; and then a ship appears). Taken also from Act II, Cio-cio San sits patiently at her window and explains to her maid, Suzuki, her hope of one day seeing the return of her American Navy officer husband Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton. Another heart-wrenching plea, this time for hope, comes from Puccini's heroine, an act and a few scenes away from killing herself - this time so that her son could become an American.
If you're thinking that I'm gonna kill myself - you're wrong. I don't have suicidal tendencies - I outgrew them, along with wearing my hair short. The point is, the past year has become one of the most exciting - albeit completely harassing - years of my life. Try finishing your thesis, defending it, graduating (with, ehem... honours), finding a job that you like, adjusting to your "new" life, going into grad school (where one of my former professors is my classmate), standing in front of students when your barely older (or wiser) than them, worrying about what to wear, your weight, and trying to find the love of your life in one year and see how well you'll do. The fact is, last year was a whirlwind of new experiences which have made me mature far too fast - not even a year ago, I was ogling at cute freshies (who happen to be my students now - hello ***s and *e***! You know who you are...) and thinking how my baon of P150 a day would allow me to buy my next opera having gotten bored with the others I've studied and memorized. Now, I have money to buy cute girly/gay shirts that I want, sandals which were designed for women, colourful sarongs, gay-oriented books, Oscar de la Renta glasses, and recordings of Macbeth, Butterfly, Tristan and Isolde, Turandot (none of which feature Callas), and other stuff... Please do not misunderstand - my salary does not allow me to buy these luxuries. I am solely able to buy these because I don't pay for my food at home, or the electricity which I squander downloading mp3s, or most of my clothes and shoes (sandals). My mom takes care of all of these. If I had to, I can spend no more than P50 a day - 30 pesos going to school (pedicab - bus - jeep) and P20 going home (Fx - Fx - asenso na, hindi na ko nagji-jeep papunta Quiapo and then home... I walk home though, exercise... Hihi!). I can skip lunch because I don't like eating at the cafeteria (okay, sometimes I do), at home I can make Macaroni and Cheese or have steaks and lambchop with mashed potato sidings (So much for the exercise!) for free (courtesy of my mom). But spending my money - or not spending it - hasn't exactly made me feel mature.
What really makes me feel mature (old...) is the fact that I have responsibilites now... I have a ton of papers to grade, and I have to check all of them... I read all of them, even though sometimes I skip a few paragraphs (or pages, depending on how well, or rather how badly it was written). I feel guilty when I don't give a paper enough time and effort, so I have to re-check the ones which scored low. I also have bills now... In addition to paying for opera recordings and my own clothes and kikay stuff, I now have to pay for my Globe line, my DSL, and my phone (which I got at zero interest - thank the gods)... plus the constant gimmicks and going-out with my friends (whom I'm getting to know better - thanks to our maturity, as well... hey, no one said growing old doesn't have its perks). Not that I don't like going out with them; I actually love going out with them, I've been very close to a few of them since Darcy left - I sort of filled in for his position. I've been going out with Nelson, Boom, Patrick, and the Kanto girls more often since I graduated - I haven't seen so much of these people since High School - during my undergrad days, we had to schedule a get-together months ahead; now, I'm only one text away.
That's not all. Since Butterfly and Tosca sing of Hope and Despair, respectively, I figured I could change the title of this blog to Vissi d'arte because I find most of my hope siphoning off from finding a great boyfriend to having great students. Translation: My art has moved from Boy Watching to Teaching - Career Development ito! It's not very likely that I'll meet my future partner in the academe, and it's very likely that I'll end up as an old maid occupying the Dean's office - my God, can you imagine a bitter old Mikee telling students off for running in my prestine hallways (which I plan to redecorate, along with probably the entire RH building, starting with the DAC and Speech classrooms)? But I really don't care now. I'm more at peace with the fact that I'll be living alone in my three-floor condo, with probably 10 toy dogs and a few cats, and a statuette of my beloved Bailey (my boxer, who currently has breast cancer, poor deary... sob), inviting friends to have high teas and chatting about whom we had sex with in high school (well... whom they had sex with in high school; I spent my high school days worshipping at the altar of Vesta - and Hecate... I still do, occasionally).
There is hope, of course. It is pointless to live a life without hope, and since we already decided that I wasn't suicidal; I choose to live life with hope, still. Afterall, Pinkerton returned to Butterfly at the end of Act III; of course, he was late and the opera ends (exactly like Miss Saigon) with Pinkerton calling out Butterfly! Butterfly!!! as Cio-cio San strangles herself with a silk scarf. Note to self - stay away from silk scarves... Stick to the silk neckties your father left you... Hihihi!
Still, you could always go back to Violetta Valery:
Sempre libera degg'io
Folleggiar di gioia in gioia,
Vò che scorra il viver mio
Pei sentieri del piacer,
Nasca il giorno, o il giorno muoia,
Sempre lieta nè ritrovi.
A diletti sempre nuovi
Dee volare il mio pensier.
Forever free, I will be
Frolicking from one joy to another,
I want my life to run
Through the roads of pleasure.
Although the day is born and dies,
I shall always be happy with my [friends]
To new joys,
My mind will always fly.
posted by Mikee @ 10:04 PM
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