Mirella Freni died about five years ago. She was the last of her kind – an italianate voice with full, easily produced tone, a firm line, and expressive phrasing. This type of singing has unfortunately died. I have put a video of a masterclass that Freni gave in Russia at the end of the posting. The audio is in Italian and Russian with no subtitling; however, even if you speak neither language, I think that you will still get a feel for what Freni is trying to impart to the participants. She doesn’t want tension in the voice, and she demands forward placement. That is the key to her singing as well. In the first selection, the beautiful letter scene from Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin, she is not singing with dark, Russian vowel sounds. She is using Italian vowels, so that they can be more forward. Of course, she did not speak Russian, but the performance is still remarkable.
ТАТЬЯНА.
Пускай погибну я, но прежде
я в ослепительной надежде
блаженство темное зову,
я негу жизни узнаю!
Я пью волшебный яд желаний!
меня преследуют мечты!
Везде, везде передо мной
Мой искуситель роковой!
Везде, везде, он предо мною!
(Быстро пишет, но тотчас же рвет написанное)
Нет, все не то! Начну сначала!
Ах, что со мной! я вся горю!
Не знаю, как начать…
(Задумывается, потом снова начинает писать.)
Я к вам пишу, – чего же боле?
Что я могу еще сказать?
Теперь я знаю, в вашей воле
Меня презреньем наказать!
Но вы, к моей несчастной доле
Хоть каплю жалости храня,
Вы не оставите меня.
Сначала я молчать хотела;
Поверьте, моего стыда
Вы не узнали б никогда,
Никогда!..
(Задумывается.)
О да, клялась я сохранить в душе
Признанье в страсти пылкой и безумной!
Увы! не в силах я владеть своей душой!
Пусть будет то, что быть должно со мной! Ему признаюсь я! Смелей! Он все узнает!
(Продолжает писать.)
Зачем, зачем вы посетили нас?
В глуши забытого селенья
Я б никогда не знала вас,
Не знала б горького мученья.
Души неопытной волненья
Смирив, со временем, (как знать?)
По сердцу я нашла бы друга,
Была бы верная супруга
И добродетельная мать…
Другой! Нет, никому на свете
Не отдала бы сердца я!
То в вышнем суждено совете,
То воля неба: я твоя!
Вся жизнь моя была залогом
Свиданья верного с тобой;
Я знаю: ты мне послан Богом
До гроба ты хранитель мой.
Ты в сновиденьях мне являлся,
Незримый, ты уж был мне мил,
Твой чудный взгляд меня томил,
В душе твой голос раздавался.
Давно … нет, это был не сон!
Ты чуть вошел, я вмиг узнала…
Вся обомлела, запылала,
И в мыслях молвила: вот он!
Вот он!
Не правда ль! Я тебя слыхала…
Ты говорил со мной в тиши,
Когда я бедным помогала,
Или молитвой услаждала
Тоску волнуемой души?
И в это самое мгновенье
Не ты ли, милое виденье,
В прозрачной темноте мелькнул,
Приникнув тихо к изголовью?
Не ты ль с отрадой и любовью
Слова надежды мне шепнул?
Кто ты, мой ангел ли хранитель
Или коварный искуситель?
Мои сомненья разреши.
Быть может, это все пустое,
Обман неопытной души,
И суждено совсем иное?..
Но так и быть! Судьбу мою
Отныне я тебе вручаю,
Перед тобою слезы лью,
Твоей защиты умоляю,
Умоляю!
Вообрази: я здесь одна!
Никто меня не понимает!
Рассудок мой изнемогает,
И молча гибнуть я должна!
Я жду тебя,
Я жду тебя! Единим словом
Надежды сердца оживи,
Иль сон тяжелый перерви.
Увы, заслуженным укором!
Кончаю, страшно перечесть
Стыдом и страхом замираю,
Но мне порукой ваша честь.
И смело ей себя вверяю!
TAT’YANA.
Puskay pogibnu ya, no prezhde
ya v oslepitel’noy nadezhde
blazhenstvo temnoye zovu,
ya negu zhizni uznayu!
Ya p’yu volshebnyy yad zhelaniy!
menya presleduyut mechty!
Vezde, vezde peredo mnoy
Moy iskusitel’ rokovoy!
Vezde, vezde, on predo mnoyu!
(Bystro pishet, no totchas zhe rvet napisannoye)
Net, vse ne to! Nachnu snachala!
Akh, chto so mnoy! ya vsya goryu!
Ne znayu, kak nachat’…
(Zadumyvayetsya, potom snova nachinayet pisat’.)
Ya k vam pishu, – chego zhe bole?
Chto ya mogu yeshche skazat’?
Teper’ ya znayu, v vashey vole
Menya prezren’yem nakazat’!
No vy, k moyey neschastnoy dole
Khot’ kaplyu zhalosti khranya,
Vy ne ostavite menya.
Snachala ya molchat’ khotela;
Pover’te, moyego styda
Vy ne uznali b nikogda,
Nikogda!..
(Zadumyvayetsya.)
O da, klyalas’ ya sokhranit’ v dushe
Priznan’ye v strasti pylkoy i bezumnoy!
Uvy! ne v silakh ya vladet’ svoyey dushoy!
Pust’ budet to, chto byt’ dolzhno so mnoy! Yemu priznayus’ ya! Smeley! On vse uznayet!
(Prodolzhayet pisat’.)
Zachem, zachem vy posetili nas?
V glushi zabytogo selen’ya
Ya b nikogda ne znala vas,
Ne znala b gor’kogo muchen’ya.
Dushi neopytnoy volnen’ya
Smiriv, so vremenem, (kak znat’?)
Po serdtsu ya nashla by druga,
Byla by vernaya supruga
I dobrodetel’naya mat’…
Drugoy! Net, nikomu na svete
Ne otdala by serdtsa ya!
To v vyshnem suzhdeno sovete,
To volya neba: ya tvoya!
Vsya zhizn’ moya byla zalogom
Svidan’ya vernogo s toboy;
Ya znayu: ty mne poslan Bogom
Do groba ty khranitel’ moy.
Ty v snoviden’yakh mne yavlyalsya,
Nezrimyy, ty uzh byl mne mil,
Tvoy chudnyy vzglyad menya tomil,
V dushe tvoy golos razdavalsya.
Davno … net, eto byl ne son!
Ty chut’ voshel, ya vmig uznala…
Vsya obomlela, zapylala,
I v myslyakh molvila: vot on!
Vot on!
Ne pravda l’! Ya tebya slykhala…
Ty govoril so mnoy v tishi,
Kogda ya bednym pomogala,
Ili molitvoy uslazhdala
Tosku volnuyemoy dushi?
I v eto samoye mgnoven’ye
Ne ty li, miloye viden’ye,
V prozrachnoy temnote mel’knul,
Priniknuv tikho k izgolov’yu?
Ne ty l’ s otradoy i lyubov’yu
Slova nadezhdy mne shepnul?
Kto ty, moy angel li khranitel’
Ili kovarnyy iskusitel’?
Moi somnen’ya razreshi.
Byt’ mozhet, eto vse pustoye,
Obman neopytnoy dushi,
I suzhdeno sovsem inoye?..
No tak i byt’! Sud’bu moyu
Otnyne ya tebe vruchayu,
Pered toboyu slezy l’yu,
Tvoyey zashchity umolyayu,
Umolyayu!
Voobrazi: ya zdes’ odna!
Nikto menya ne ponimayet!
Rassudok moy iznemogayet,
I molcha gibnut’ ya dolzhna!
Ya zhdu tebya,
Ya zhdu tebya! Yedinim slovom
Nadezhdy serdtsa ozhivi,
Il’ son tyazhelyy perervi.
Uvy, zasluzhennym ukorom!
Konchayu, strashno perechest’
Stydom i strakhom zamirayu,
No mne porukoy vasha chest’.
I smelo yey sebya vveryayu!
TATYANA
Let me perish, but first
let me summon, in dazzling hope,
bliss as yet unknown.
Life’s sweetness is known to me!
I drink the magic potion of desire!
I am beset by visions!
Everywhere, everywhere I look,
I see my fatal tempter!
Wherever I look, I see him!
(She goes to the writing table, sits down, writes, then pauses.)
No, that’s all wrong!
I’ll begin again!
(she tears up the unfinished letter)
Ah, what’s the matter with me! I’m all on fire! I don’t know how to begin!
(She writes, then pauses and reads it over.)
‘I write to you, – and then?
What more is there to say?
Now, I know, it is within your power
to punish me with disdain!
But if you nourish one grain of pity
for my unhappy lot,
you will not abandon me.
At first I wished to remain silent;
then, believe me, you would never
have known my shame,
never!’
(She puts the letter aside.)
O yes, I swore to lock within my breast
this avowal of a mad and ardent passion.
Alas, I have not the strength to subdue my heart!
Come what may, I am prepared!
I will confess all! Courage!
He shall know all!
(She writes.)
‘Why, oh why did you visit us?
Buried in this remote countryside,
I should never have known you,
nor should I have known this torment.
The turbulence of a youthful heart,
calmed by time, who knows? –
most likely I would have found another,
have proved a faithful wife
and virtuous mother…’
Another! No, not to any other in the world
would I have given my heart!
It is decreed on high,
It is the will of heaven: I am yours!
My whole life has been a pledge
of this inevitable encounter;
I know this: God sent you to me,
you are my keeper till the grave!
You appeared before me in my dreams;
as yet unseen, you were already dear,
your wondrous gaze filled me with longing,
your voice resounded in my heart
long ago … no, it was no dream!
As soon as you arrived, I recognized you,
I almost swooned, began to blaze with passion,
and to myself I said: ‘Tis he!
‘Tis he!
I know it! I have heard you …
Have you not spoken to me in the silence
when I visited the poor
or sought in prayer some solace
for the anguish of my soul?
And just this very moment,
was it not you, dear vision,
that flamed in the limpid darkness,
stooped gently at my bedside
and with joy and love
whispered words of hope?
(She returns to the table and sits down again to write.)
‘Who are you’? My guardian angel
or a wily tempter?
Put my doubts at rest.
Maybe this is all an empty dream,
the self?deception of an inexperienced soul,
and something quite different is to be …’
(She rises again and paces pensively to and fro.)
But so be it! My fate
henceforth I entrust to you;
in tears before you,
your protection I implore,
I implore.
Imagine: I am all alone here!
No one understands me!
I can think no more,
and must perish in silence!
I wait for you,
I wait for you! Speak the word
to revive my heart’s fondest hopes
or shatter this oppressive dream
with, alas, the scorn,
alas, the scorn I have deserved!
(She goes swiftly to the table, hurriedly finishes the letter and signs and seals it.)
Finished! It’s too frightening to read over,
I swoon from shame and fear,
but his honour is my guarantee
and in that I put my trust!
The cavatina begins at about 6:25. Freni does not sing the cabaleta.
Bellini, La Sonnambula, “Ah! non credea mirarti”
Ah,non credea mirarti
si presto estinto, o fiore;
passasti al par d’amore,
che un giorno sol(o) duro.
Potria novel vigore
il pianto mio recarti
ma ravvivar l’amore
il pianto mio, ah no, non puo.
Bellini, La Sonnambula, Ah! I didn’t believe that I would see you”
Oh, I didn’t believe that I would see you
so quickly extinct, o flowers;
you have passed away like love
that one day only lasted.
Perhaps new life
my tears will bring to you
but to revive love
my tears, o no, cannot.
Mozart, Don Giovanni, “Dove sono”
LA CONTESSA
E Susanna non vien! Sono ansiosa
di saper come il Conte
accolse la proposta. Alquanto ardito
il progetto mi par, e ad uno sposo
sì vivace, e geloso!
Ma che mal c’è? Cangiando i miei vestiti
con quelli di Susanna, e i suoi co’ miei…
al favor della notte… oh cielo, a quale
umil stato fatale io son ridotta
da un consorte crudel, che dopo avermi
con un misto inaudito
d’infedeltà, di gelosia, di sdegni,
prima amata, indi offesa, e alfin tradita,
fammi or cercar da una mia serva aita!
Dove sono i bei momenti
di dolcezza e di piacer,
dove andaro i giuramenti
di quel labbro menzogner?
Perché mai se in pianti e in pene
per me tutto si cangiò,
la memoria di quel bene
dal mio sen non trapassò?
Ah! Se almen la mia costanza
nel languire amando ognor,
mi portasse una speranza
di cangiar l’ingrato cor.
Mozart, Don Giovanni, “Where are (those happy moments)”
COUNTESS
And Susanna’s is not coming! I’m impatient
To know what the Count said
To her proposal; the plan seems to me
Somewhat rash, and with a husband
So impetuous and jealous …
But where’s the harm?
To change my clothes
With those of Susanna, and hers with mine,
Under cover of darkness … Oh heavens!
To what humiliation am I reduced
By a cruel husband, who after having
First loved me, then neglected and finally
Deceived me, in a strange mixture
Of infidelity, jealousy and disdain,
Now forces me to seek help from my servant!
Where are those happy moments
Of sweetness and pleasure?
Where have they gone,
Those vows of a deceiving tongue?
Then why, if everything for me
Is changed to tears and grief,
Has the memory oft hat happiness
Not faded from my breast?
Ah! if only my constancy
In yearning lovingly for him always
Could bring the hope
Of changing his ungrateful heart!
Puccini, Madama Butterfly, “Viene la sera”
PINKERTON
Viene la sera.
BUTTERFLY
E l’ombra e la quiete.
PINKERTON
E sei qui sola.
BUTTERFLY
Sola e rinnegata!
Rinnegata… e felice!
PINKERTON
(batte le mani. I servi accorrono.)
A voi, chiudete.
BUTTERFLY
Sì, sì, noi tutti soli…
E fuori il mondo…
PINKERTON
E il Bonzo furibondo!
BUTTERFLY
Suzuki, le mie vesti.
(Suzuki le porta una veste bianca e l’aiuta a metterla,
poi se ne va.)
SUZUKI
Buona notte.
BUTTERFLY
Quest’obi pomposa
di scioglier mi tarda…
Si vesta la sposa
di puro candor.
Tra moti sommessi
sorride e mi guarda.
Celarmi potessi!
Ne ho tanto rossor!
E ancor l’irata voce
mi maledice…
Butterfly rinnegata,
rinnegata… e felice.
PINKERTON
Con moti di scoiattolo,
i nodi allenta e scioglie!
Pensar che quel giocattolo
è mia moglie! Mia moglie!
Ma tal grazia dispiega
ch’io mi struggo
per la febbre
d’un subito desìo.
(Pinkerton s’avvicina a Butterfly, che ha finito di
vestirsi.)
Bimba dagli occhi pieni di malia
ora sei tutta mia.
Sei tutta vestita di giglio.
Mi piace la treccia tua bruna
fra candidi veli.
BUTTERFLY
Somiglio la dea della luna,
la piccola dea della luna
che scende la notte
dal ponte del ciel.
PINKERTON
E affascina i cuori…
BUTTERFLY
…E li prende, e li avvolge
in un bianco mantel.
E via se li reca
negli alti reami.
PINKERTON
Ma intanto finor non m’hai detto,
ancor non m’hai detto che m’ami.
Le sa quella dea le parole
che appagan gli ardenti desir?
BUTTERFLY
Le sa. Forse dirle non vuole
per tema d’averne a morir,
per tema d’averne a morir!
PINKERTON
Stolta paura,
l’amor non uccide,
ma dà vita, e sorride
per gioie celestiali
come ora fa
nei tuoi lunghi occhi ovali.
BUTTERFLY
Adesso voi siete per me
l’occhio del firmamento.
E mi piaceste dal primo momento
che vi ho veduto.
Siete alto, forte.
Ridete con modi sì palesi!
E dite cose
che mai non intesi.
Or son contenta. Or son contenta.
Vogliatemi bene, un bene piccolino,
un bene da bambino
quale a me si conviene.
Noi siamo gente avvezza
alle piccole cose,
umili e silenziose,
ad una tenerezza
sfiorante e pur profonda
come il ciel, come l’onda del mare.
PINKERTON
Dammi ch’io baci
le tue mani care,
mia Butterfly!
Come t’han ben nomata
tenue farfalla…
BUTTERFLY
Dicon ch’oltre mare
se cade in man dell’uom
ogni farfalla d’uno spillo
è trafitta
ed in tavola infitta!
PINKERTON
Un po’ di vero c’è:
e tu lo sai perché?
Perché non fugga più.
Io t’ho ghermita…
Ti serro palpitante.
Sei mia.
BUTTERFLY
Sì, per la vita.
PINKERTON
Vieni, vieni…
Via dall’anima in pena
l’angoscia paurosa.
È notte serena! Guarda:
dorme ogni cosa!
Sei mia! Ah! vien!
BUTTERFLY
Ah! dolce notte! quante stelle!
Non le vidi mai sì belle!
Trema, brilla ogni favilla
col baglior d’una pupilla.
Oh! quanti occhi fisi, attenti,
d’ogni parte a riguardar!
pei firmamenti, via pei lidi,
via pel mare…ride il ciel!
Ah! dolce notte!
Tutto estatico d’amor,
ride il ciel!
Puccini, Madama Butterfly, “Night is falling”
PINKERTON
Night is falling.
BUTTERFLY
And darkness and peace.
PINKERTON
And you are here alone.
BUTTERFLY
Alone and renounced!
Renounced and happy!
PINKERTON
(claps; the servants run out.)
Come here and close up the house.
BUTTERFLY
Yes, yes, we are all alone…
and the world shut outside…
PINKERTON
And the furious Bonze.
BUTTERFLY
Suzuki, my clothes.
(Suzuki goes to a chest and gives Butterfly her night
clothes.)
SUZUKI
Good night.
BUTTERFLY
I long to take off
this ceremonial sash,
let the bride be dressed
in pure white.
Whispering to himself
he smiles and watches me.
If I could only hide!
It makes me blush so!
And still the angry voice
is cursing me…
Butterfly renounced,
renounced… and happy.
PINKERTON
With squirrel-like movements
she shakes the knots loose and undoes them!
To think that this little toy
is my wife! My wife!
But she displays such grace
that I am consumed
by a fever
of sudden desire!
(Pinkerton approaches Butterfly, who has finished
dressing.)
Dear child, with eyes full of witchery,
now you are all mine.
You’re dressed all in lily-white.
I love your dark tresses
amid the white of your veils.
BUTTERFLY
I am like the moon-goddess,
the little goddess of the moon,
who comes down at night
from the bridge of heaven.
PINKERTON
And captivates all hearts…
BUTTERFLY
…and takes them and folds them
in a white cloak.
And carries them away
to the higher regions.
PINKERTON
But meanwhile, you haven’t told me yet,
you haven’t told me you love me.
Does that goddess know the words
that satisfy burning desire?
BUTTERFLY
She does. Maybe she’s unwilling
to say them for fear of dying of it,
for fear of dying of it!
PINKERTON
Foolish fear –
love does not kill,
but gives life and smiles
for heavenly joy,
as it does now
in your almond eyes.
BUTTERFLY
For me you are now
the eye of heaven.
And I liked you from the first moment
I set eyes on you.
You are tall and strong.
You laugh out so heartily.
And you say things
I’ve never heard in my life before.
I’m happy now, so happy.
Love me with a little love,
a child-like love,
the kind that suits me.
Love me, please…
We are a people used to small,
modest, quiet things,
to a tenderness gently caressing,
yet vast as the sky
and as the waves of the sea.
PINKERTON
Give me your dear hands
and let me kiss them!
My Butterfly!
How aptly you were named,
fragile butterfly!
BUTTERFLY
They say that overseas
if it should fall into the hands of man
a butterfly is stuck through
with a pin
and fixed to a board!
PINKERTON
There’s some truth in that;
and do you know why?
So that it shouldn’t fly away again.
I’ve caught you…
Quivering, I press you to me.
You’re mine.
BUTTERFLY
Yes, for life.
PINKERTON
Come along, come…
Cast all sad fears
out of your heart!
The night is clear! See,
all things sleep!
You are mine! Oh, come!
BUTTERFLY
Oh, lovely night! What a lot of stars!
Never have I seen them so beautiful!
Every spark twinkles and shines
with the brilliance of an eye.
Oh! What a lot of eyes fixed and staring,
looking at us from all sides!
In the sky, along the shore,
out to sea…the sky is smiling!
Oh, lovely night!
In a ecstasy of love
the sky is smiling!
This is a recording of a masterclass that Freni gave in Russia. It is in Italian and Russian, but you don’t need to understand Italian to get an idea as to what Freni is saying. She wants all the singers to bring their voices into the mask (this is another term for the resonating cavities in the face and head). In other words, she wants the voices to be free of tension.
Mirella Freni
February 27, 1935 – February 9, 2020
Mirella Freni had a nearly 50-year career. She was acclaimed for her exquisite singing in lighter lyric roles. In mid-career she also dared to explore weightier ones.
In the late 20th century, when opera was becoming increasingly homogenized, Freni was hailed as a last exponent of the great Italian operatic heritage.
“That tradition is ending,” Plácido Domingo was quoted as saying in a 1997 New York Times article about Ms. Freni. “Mirella is the end of a chain. After that you cannot see who really follows her.”
Many opera lovers acknowledged Freni’s special claim on this tradition, which valued bel canto principles of producing rich, unforced sound; of shaping even, lyrical lines across the range of a voice; and of sensitively matching sound to words.
In her early years Ms. Freni won acclaim for her singing in lighter roles like Bizet’s Micaëla in “Carmen,” Mozart’s Susanna in “The Marriage of Figaro” and Zerlina in “Don Giovanni,” and Verdi’s Nannetta in “Falstaff.” She sang those roles with a matchless blend of radiance, lyrical ardor and girlish pluck.
With her beguiling stage presence, quiet charisma and the affecting vulnerability she could summon in her singing, Ms. Freni made Mimì in Puccini’s “La Bohème” a signature part. She won international acclaim in the role in a landmark 1963 production at La Scala in Milan, directed by Franco Zeffirelli and conducted by Herbert von Karajan, who became one of her major champions.
As she went on to almost every role available to her voice, she observed the verities of good singing – full, easily produced tone, a firm line and expressive phrasing, her portrayals always graceful, decorous, secure.
Though vocal beauty and proper technique were central to the Italian tradition, Ms. Freni placed a premium on expressivity and feeling. Commenting on the state of opera in a 1997 interview with The New York Times, she said there were many young artists who sing well and move well. “But that is all,” she added. “Finito! I want something deeper.
“It is important to have emotion, to live through the music onstage,” she continued. “Also, the Italian singers have a special feeling for the language. Even when we speak it is musical.”
Yet she steadily expanded her repertory and, as the colorings of her voice grew darker with maturity, sang more dramatically intense and vocally heavy roles, like Desdemona in Verdi’s “Otello,” Verdi’s Aida and Puccini’s Manon Lescaut. She was particularly urged on this course by Karajan, who brought her to the Salzburg Festival to sing Desdemona and the demanding role of Elisabetta in Verdi’s “Don Carlo.”
With the support of her second husband, the Bulgarian bass Nicolai Ghiaurov, she ventured into Russian repertory, singing Tatyana in Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin” and Lisa in Tchaikovsky’s “Pique Dame.”
Yet Ms. Freni never lost the warmth and richness of her lyric soprano origins. Reviewing her performance in “Manon Lescaut” at the Met in 1990, The New York Times’s Donal Henahan marveled at her longevity and excellence.
“The wonder of Mirella Freni at this stage of her career,” he wrote, “is that she continues to sing Puccini with seemingly reckless ardor while preserving a surprisingly fresh and beautiful sound.”
Still, Ms. Freni considered herself a judicious soprano. She could say no, even to the imposing Karajan, if she though a particular role was not right for her. She recorded Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly” twice, including a film version conducted by Karajan, but never performed the role complete in a staged production in an opera house.