As an aficionado of classical music, few things thrill me more than
listening to Mozart, Beethoven, Puccini or Wagner. Opera in particular (the
word comes from Latin for “the works”) offers wonderful music, elaborate sets,
sumptuous costumes, glorious singing and almost more passion and drama than one
can pack into a three hour extravaganza — in other words: ”the works.” At this
very moment I am listening to a recording of Beethoven’s one and only opera, Fidelio
— but more on that later.
Mozart’s comic opera, Così fan tutte, translates to the title of
this post: All Women Are Like That. Though I adore the music, as a 21st
century liberated woman I find the plot of this opera rather difficult to
swallow. It involves two friends who, spurred on by a cynical acquaintance,
test their fiancées’ fidelity by donning disguises to see if either of their
ladies will succumb to a stranger’s affections. Each man attempts to seduce the
other’s fiancée. As much as I pray that at least one of the women will resist
temptation and remain faithful, proving after all that “all women are not
like that,” both yield to the wooing. Since this is the 18th century
equivalent of a romantic comedy, all ends happily. The gentlemen forgive their
fiancées for their transgressions — after all, they are members of “the weaker
sex.” Despite Mozart’s glorious music, I can’t help but feel a little
disheartened by the condescending portrayal of my gender. But I try to forgive
the storytellers, hindered as they were by living in a less enlightened age
than our own.
So I look to other operas for more inspirational models of womankind.
There’s another lovely opera by Mozart, Die Zauberflöte (The Magic
Flute). The heroine, Pamina, courageously stands by her hero’s side through a
perilous trial of fire and flood. She is certainly an exemplary feminine
archetype. But misogynistic themes permeate the libretto. The villain is a
woman, Pamina’s own mother. Pamina’s wise male guardian advises her that “a man
must guide your heart, for without a man, a woman would not fulfill her aim in
life.” The hero, too, is warned to ignore the counsel of women because “a woman
does little, chatters much.”
Operatic heroines often fall victim to frailty, intemperance, or their
own or their lovers’ errant ways. Violetta (La Traviata), Carmen, Madama
Butterfly, and Mimi (La Boheme) all succumb through illness, suicide or
murder. Though a more sympathetic prototype than the villainess, these are not
models that a strong, self-sufficient, modern woman would care to emulate.
But back, as promised, to Fidelio. Beethoven’s opera, first
staged in 1805, weaves thrilling melodies into a tale of intrigue. Yet it is
the heroine, Leonore, who shines above all. Disguised as a man, she rescues her
husband from certain death. The divine music is that much sweeter because
Beethoven has lifted the female ideal to a higher plane. In the magnificent,
soaring finale the chorus exalts “the devoted wife, the savior of her husband’s
life.” In Fidelio, I discovered a synthesis of music, lyrics and plot
that affirms my deeply held convictions. Through Leonore, the opera devotee’s
faith in the strength, courage and fidelity of heroines is restored. And I do
believe that many (though not all) women are like that.
You’ll find
another courageous heroine — along with a dashing hero — in Lisbeth Eng’s World
War II romance novel, In the Arms of the Enemy, available online at
Amazon, Barnes & Nobel and The Wild Rose Press. Please visit her at
www.lisbetheng.com.
