VERDI

LA TRAVIATA

ACT ONE

At first glance, it would seem that we have entered the sparkling make believe land of operetta: Parisian gaiety and glitter, a party in pro-gress, champagne, elegant people, animated conversation, a rousing drinking song, followed by dance music:

A song to the season of glory that flowers

In laughter, abandon and revelry,

At ease in a garden of beauty still ours,

Embellished with sweet buds of May.

Love on! Explore sheer ecstacy

Found only by shy lovers,

When one rare moment uncovers

What eyes alone convey.

Sing on! To the passionate rapture inspired

By the wine turning night into day.

But cracks in the brittle surface are soon exposed. The hostess, Violetta, not yet recovered from a recent illness, falters under the strain of the hectic pace, an indication that her illness is far more serious than she is willing to believe.

At the same time, something altogether unexpected happens, some-thing far removed from the hollow. corrupt, brightly camouflaged world that she inhabits, a depth of feeling greater, more powerful than she had imagined possible: passionate, romantic love poured from the heart of a shy provincial, literally a young man from Provence, who has already given quiet evidence of a steadfast devotion:

Love, total love, born of fire and ecstacy,

Awesome and vast as the universe around us,

Love that takes over, love spanning earth and heaven,

Torment, torture and rapture,

Torture and rapture, bliss and despair.

She laughs it off with a warning:

Better to stay far clear of me;

How can I share your feeling?

I’ve got no heart to offer,

And find torture unappealing.

But also with a strong hint of encouragement. And later on, after the party is over, she wonders: Could this possibly be a dream come true? Could it be a blessing greater than she had dared hope was possible? An opening to a new life?

I wonder, I wonder . . .

I still can’t believe it really happened!

Would love on such a level be so unwelcome?

Groping, grasping, I hardly know the answer.

No man before has stirred the fire.

Oh, joy I dared not hope for!

To love the man who loves me.

Can I spurn such a blessing

For the vast and empty desert

Where long I’ve wandered?

But she quickly shakes off this fit of wild delusion. Live for the moment, enjoy while you can, travel lightly, no serious involvements. But the mysterious tantalizing spark has been ignited.

ACT TWO

Three months have gone by, a period of idyllic bliss for Alfredo and Violetta, who have settled down quietly in a country house not far from Paris in terms of mileage, but light years away in terms of tranquillity and peace:

Passion of wild intensity,

Fire raging fierce and rampant,

She laid to rest with but a smile,

A tender, gentle smile born of love.

Their dream is soon to be shattered. First, Alfredo is rudely awakened to the ugly realization that he has been living all this time at Violetta’s expense, an indignity not permitted to a gentleman of honor. He hurries off to Paris to see about repairing the damage.

During his absence, Violetta receives an unexpected caller. Bear in mind that to a sophisticated Parisian, it is a matter of small concern if a man is living openly with a woman to whom he is not married, even with a woman of dubious reputation like Violetta. He is more apt to be congratulated than censured. But in the heartland, away from the big city, it is quite a different story. There the moral code is far more rigorous, and there is much concern and little uncertainty about what is right and what is wrong. Such a scandal exposes an entire family to shame and ostracism.

Germont, from the vineyards of Provence, Alfredo’s father, comes to plead with Violetta to abandon this relationship, for the sake of his daughter, Alfredo’s younger sister, whose future happiness will be blighted if not destroyed by her brother’s self-indulgence:

Pure as the dew upon the rose,

God gave to me a daughter.

Now is her hope of happiness

Imperilled by her brother.

Loved by the young man she adores,

Soon they embark on marriage.

What can he do but break a bond

So stained by scandal and dishonor?

Must they forego felicity?

Are they to love in vain?

Oh, hear a father’s plea!

For now my daughter’s fate

Is in your hands, not mine.

Germont is far from realizing the magnitude of the sacrifice that he is demanding. But he is there when his son returns, to offer what consolation he can:

From the land of olive trees

Have you wandered far astray?

Have you wandered far astray

From the land of olive trees?

From the blue of Southern skies

What has stolen you away?

What has stolen you away

From the blue of Southern skies?

In your grief, remember where

Simple pleasures yet remain.

Past the winter of despair

See the orchards bloom again.

Come with me there!

Beside himself with indignation, rage, jealousy and despair, Alfredo rushes from the house and heads to Paris and to Flora’s party, where he expects to meet Violetta with her well-heeled former lover, the Baron.

We shall get there first. Flora has outdone herself -- gypsy fortune tellers, toreadors, a gala masquerade! And the inevitable card table, where the stakes tend to be high. A party that culminates in Alfredo’s scathing denunciation of Violetta, when she refuses to return with him to the country.

ACT III

Although only a few weeks have gone by since the scene of pain and humiliation that ended the second act, Violetta’s decline has been rapid and devastating. And despite her doctor’s well-meant efforts to offer encouragement, the truth is grim and all too obvious.

When we saw her last, she was surrounded by friends. Where are they now? Yet there is one hope that keeps her alive --- a letter from Germont, read and reread, over and over again. Alfredo, having fled from the country after a duel with the Baron, has been told the truth about Violetta’s loving sacrifice. He is on his way back. But will he arrive in time?

VIOLETTA:

Too late! I’m waiting, still waiting . . .

And my days are numbered.

Oh, how the bloom has faded!

But the Doctor sounded cheerful, even hopeful . . .

Ah! I know better.

All hope I must abandon.

My journey nearly over,

Life’s curtain soon closes.

Farewell, youth and beauty!

Long gone are the roses.

My love far away,

By the past we are parted.

Alone, here I lie,

Pale and weak, broken hearted.

Here lonely . . . forlorn . . .

Ah! Turning unto heaven, my soul I surrender.

Oh, father! In Thy mercy, allow me to enter.

Ah! Soon total, total dark!

My fire burns low, my end draws near . . .

Alfredo arrives in time for one brief ecstatic moment of hope:

Far away from shallow splendor,

We’ll start all over,

New realms of rapture

There to discover . . .

Arm in arm we’ll wander

Through greener meadows,

Where flowers blossom

And skies are fair . . .