VERDI

ERNANI

ACT ONE

The scene is a remote, desolate clearing in the mountains of Aragon, toward sunset, where a group of far from desolate young men are eating, drinking, playing cards, clearing their weapons, and celebrating the happy outdoor life of the bandit:

Be merry! Hurrah, hooray!

Together we say

To hell with the law!

With soup in the kettle

We bandits will settle

For life in the raw.

Though danger we relish,

The days can be hellish

But never routine.

We gamble at poker

But jack and the joker

We’d trade for a queen.

Along the road we swagger

With musket, knife and dagger

In search of spice and sport.

For want of a tavern

A cave or a cavern

Will do when cash is short . . .

One of them, however, stands apart, silently, his mind on more serious matters. The girl that he is in love with, who resides in the nearby castle, under the supposed protection of her aged uncle and guardian, is about to be forced into marriage with this same protective uncle and guardian. Ernani must act quickly and decisively, and he will need all the help he can get.

Inside the castle, Elvira is restlessly waiting to be rescued from the pending marriage, relieved at any rate that Count Silva, her uncle, guardian and desig-nated husband, is temporarily absent. One may well suppose that a young woman of this era, like those in some parts of the world today, has little control over her own destiny, but Elvira has taken matters into her own hands. Passion-ately in love with Ernani, she is ready to forego the easy, luxurious life in which she is virtually imprisoned, for the freedom, however arduous and uncertain, that Ernani offers.

Ernani! Ernani! Oh, rescue me

From his unwanted embraces!

Together in regions far from here

We’ll find in love safe haven.

Through wilderness of thicket and thorn,

I’ll follow wherever, wherever you go.

When nurtured by love, the barren desert

Becomes a garden where flowers grow . . .

While Elvira, eager, expectant, starry-eyed, is awaiting the arrival of Ernani, someone else has decided to take advantage of the old Count’s absence to pay her a call. It is Don Carlo, no less than the king of Spain, whose future grandson, by the way, will become the hero of a later Verdi opera. Like Silva, like Ernani, he too is enamoured of Elvira, and as king it goes without saying that he has a dazzling array of splendors to offer, even if marriage is not on the list. Although she has rebuffed him already, he cannot believe that she is serious, or that she can hold out indefinitely. He will conquer through sweet persuasion. That failing, he has other means.

My peace of mind destroyed, robbed by Elvira!

I love her, but not by passion nor position

Can I impress her.

Disdainful of my royal title,

She has chosen a bandit sworn to rebellion . . .

Carlo turns from persuasion to coercion, but Elvira is quick to counter with a knife seized from his side. She is spared using it by the most opportune appear-ance of Ernani. The bandit and the king meet face to face for the first time. But in fact their history goes far back. It was Carlo’s father that persecuted Ernani’s father and eventually brought him to the scaffold. Ernani, dispossessed, out-lawed, reduced to banditry, has sworn to avenge his father’s death on the son of the man who ordered the axe to fall, and his life until recently has been dominated by this hunger for vengeance.

Carlo, on the other hand, is no less aggrieved by the unrest and rebellion that the charismatic bandit has succeeded in fomenting among his discontented subjects. The stage set, these two dedicated enemies, each nursing a lifetime of grudges and grievances, are soon to discover that they are rivals in love as well.

The two rivals are trumped by a third -- Count Silva returns unexpectedly to discover two suspected lovers in his fiancee’s bedroom. Privately, he laments the folly of his own situation -- an old man trying to force love upon a young woman. When the body reaches the season of winter, why oh why does the heart remain in springtime?

Better far if the cold ice of winter

Froze the heart, the flaming heart

That burns for naught . . .

But this does not mean that he is ready to capitulate. Ignoring the burden of age, he is quite up to the challenge of taking on these contemptible upstarts with the sword, and is stopped only by the revelation that one of these upstarts is the king of Spain.

CARLO:

(Note the change! So overheated,

Now his wrath he tries to conquer,

Soon enough restored to reason

By the presence of the king.)

SILVA:

(On my eyes a veil has fallen;

Can I trust my wits no longer?

Other means I might have chosen

Had I known it was the king.)

Moreover, Carlo, practiced politician that he is, deftly maneuvers his way out of the awkward situation by claiming that he has come calling at this uncon-ventional hour expressly to see Silva and ask for his advice. The old Emporer has just died. Carlo aims to become the next Emporer, as do several other plausible contenders. The esteemed Count no doubt can give valuable pointers on how best to proceed.

Silva is charmed by this appeal to his sagacity, as well as vastly relieved to find that Carlo’s motives are political and not romantic. And almost incidentally, Ernani is let off the hook. Carlo simply pretends that Ernani is one of his own followers and nonchalently orders his dismissal.

If you think this is because Carlo has suddenly gone soft on Ernani, think again. What self-respecting man of honor would be so craven as to allow his revenge to be carried out by somebody else?

ACT TWO

This time it looks as if the wedding is for real. Elvira and Silva are about to be married. Time has elapsed. Ernani, again banished into the wilderness, is believed to be dead. Elvira, with nothing to live for, gives way to pressure. She can be forced to the altar -- so they think -- but she still carries the knife that she intends this time to use upon herself.

Meanwhile, the wedding guests are giddy with pleasure. The long-awaited, long-delayed festivities are actually coming off. Hallelujah!

Youth and age come together in marriage,

She so fair and he so devoted,

Also rolling in wealth, be it noted.

For each other the couple are made . . .

A pilgrim knocks at the door, seeking asylum. As the rule of the day decrees, the request is granted without question, and the host therby assumes a sacred obligation: the protection of a guest is inviolate, even when the guest turns out to be somewhat fraudulent.

For when he sees Elvira in wedding attire, Ernani throws off his disguise. Giving vent to his despair and indignation, he bitterly offers his own head as a wedding present -- the head for which the king, even now in hot pursuit, has offered a goodly price:

Ponder the price for a criminal

Greater than greed can fantasize.

So easy! Why do you hesitate?

Blood of my body is bought so dearly . . .

Such a violation of the code is of course unthinkable, but when Silva returns after a brief absence from the room to discover Elvira in Ernani’s arms, the fire explodes. Though he cannot betray his guest to a third party, the rules do not preclude him from staking out his own revenge:

I want greater, sweeter pleasure,

Vengeance of my own creation.

Till that moment, remain in hiding.

Let them hunt for you in vain.

Later on, more open for action,

My bloodlust I’ll not restrain . . .

And when the king’s entourage is heard at the gate, Silva insists that Ernani conceal himself. Scores can be settled after the king’s departure. Once again, the strict code of honor puts Ernani’s life on hold.

Convinced that Ernani is hiding out in the castle, Carlo barges in and demands that Silva turn him over. But the more wildly he threatens, the more obstinately the Count resists, determined not to betray the code of the Silvas by violating the laws of hospitality. His own head he will surrender before he surrenders Ernani.

Frustrated by the Count’s intransigence, the king leaves in a fury, but not entirely in defeat. Ever the Machiavellian, he smoothly takes Elvira with him as a hostage. This breaks the old man’s heart, but not his allegiance to principle.

While sparing this gray withered head,

You stab me in the heart . . .

A lonely man with little left . . .

Oh, leave me my one happiness!

Once the king has gone, there is nothing to prevent Silva from taking out his rage on Ernani, except that Ernani refuses to fight. Again, the code of honor, at its most pristine. The inequality of age would make a duel improper. But because Silva has sheltered him from the king, thus saving his life, that life now rightfully belongs to Silva. It is his to take, without resistance. Ernani’s only wish is to see Elvira once more before receiving the deathblow -- a wish that leads to the appalling discovery that she is now in the king’s all-powerful hands. This is matter for alarm. She must be rescued, and like it or not, the bandit and the nobleman must combine forces.

To gain consent to this awkward alliance, Ernani proposes a solemn pledge: after Elvira is rescued, Silva can take Ernani’s life whenever he chooses:

ERNANI:

Choose the time,

And I shall die as you determine.

Sound a signal on the horn,

And when he hears, Ernani dies.

The terms agreed, the two rush off to the rescue.

ACT THREE

The scene is the tomb of Charlamagne, the designated meeting place for a band of conspirators headed by Silva and Ernani, their purpose to assassinate Carlo, the king and would-be emperor. At the same time, not far away, another group is assembling to elect the next ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, the most powerful office in the Western world. A prime candidate -- Carlo, the king.

First to appear is Carlo himself, come to spy on the conspirators, and while awaiting their arrival, to reflect upon the vanity, the futility of earthly glory -- a gaudy illusion, but one to which he is irresistably drawn:

Assassins! Upon the white sepulchral marble

They sharpen up their knives

Drawn for my slaughter.

Power, position . . . the honors, the pleasures . . .

Youth and health . . .

What do they come to?

Barks idly floating on the sea of destiny,

As waves come crashing,

Bearing wreckage of sorrow,

Till at last on the reef we call the tomb

All ends in nothing,

The fragile spell of renown and glory broken . . .

The conspirators gather, exchange passwords, and cast lots to determine which one of them is to have the pleasure and distinction of killing the king. The winner -- Ernani, whose dream of avenging his father’s death seems about to come true. Silva, green with envy, is so covetous of the privilege that he offers even to rescind the gruesome pact that Ernani has agreed to, if Ernani will turn over the job to him. But Ernani is not to be bought.

Like their counterparts in the world today, the conspirators are united in the certainty that they are serving a noble cause, backed by the blessings of a just God who shares their political beliefs.

Three cannon shots signal that Carlo has been elected Emperor. The assassination attempt is foiled, the conspirators exposed, Ernani sentenced to death. But partly moved by Elvira’s passionate intercession, partly inspired by the magnanimous spirit of Charlemagne, Carlo, now Charles the Fifth, undergoes a remarkable transformation.

History has provided ample evidence that power corrupts, but it would appear that it can sometimes do the opposite. Carlo, who till now has displayed all the hallmarks of a petty tyrant, opens his eyes to a broader horizon, a higher standard. Vowing to be worthy of his new eminence, his first step it to issue a pardon to his would-be killers. Then, overriding his own lust, he gives Elvira to Ernani, and restores to him his confiscated property and privileges. All in all, it looks like a gloriously happy ending.

All rejoice in praise of the enlightened new Emperor; nevermind the one exception. For while Silva sings along with the crowd, his bitterly discordant words will hardly be detected even by the most sensitive ear:

Scornful of mercy, foraging on,

Inflamed by rage, I yield to none.

Greedy for vengeance, gorging on hatred,

I live to reclaim that life on loan . . .

ACT FOUR

For a third time, guests assemble to celebrate the pending marriage of Elvira, this time to the man of her choice, the man that she loves, an occasion of unmitigated happiness, only slightly shadowed by the unwelcome presence of a somber masked figure in black who clearly does not belong:

Who’s the man of doom and gloom,

His cloak of black so out of keeping?

Like a specter from the tomb,

He comes to cast an evil spell.

Anger on the verge of snapping . . .

Eyes ablaze like glowing embers . . .

Rancor must not spoil the party.

Send the devil back to hell!

But later, after the guests have departed, after the music has stopped, as Ernani and Elvira, together at last, rejoice in the serenity of the starry night, their ecstacy is jarred by the faint sound of a horn, a signal that Ernani recognizes with chilling clarity, the end of any hope of happiness. The code of honor -- merciless, tyrannical, unsparing and unforgiving, allows no escape. His debt has come due, and must be paid.

The signal has sounded.

I have heard,

And go where I am summoned.