Those words are also the subtitle in the above photograph – a still from yesterday’s High Definition Simulcast of Puccini’s Manon Lescaut from the Metropolitan Opera. I have to confess that Sunday morning, as I was frantically chopping through that firmly packed mountain of snow in my initial efforts to free up our storm sewer and eliminate the lake in front of our house, one thought kept me going – – – and that thought was not “I have to save our house” or “I want Kathy to be proud of me” or even “boy, I’m sure to be sweating off some pounds.” Nope, the thought that kept me going more than anything was “I have to get this fixed so I can go to Manon Lescaut this afternoon!” And as you might have read in yesterday’s blog, disaster was averted – I didn’t need to call my friend Noah to consult his ark sketches – and my reward was some Puccini.
Events conspired to keep almost everyone away to whom I had promised free passes – people found themselves either iced in or scared inside or just too weary to venture out again. But Trevor Parker braved the elements, as did Nick Sluss-Rodionov and Sarah Gorke along with a handful of other opera nutcases.
And I for one am so glad I went. The opera was the first big hit of Giacomo Puccini, and the best parts of this work are among the most emotionally wrenching of anything ever composed for the stage. The title character, Manon Lescaut, on her way to the convent to which her father has sent her, evades kidnapping by a leacherous old rich man through the intervention of the dashing young and poor des Grieux. Manon soon tired of their poverty-stricken existence and leaves him for Geronte, the old guy who was going to kidnap her in the first place, and she grows fond of the luxurious lifestyle which he provides her. But Manon comes to realize that the only man she has ever loved is des Grieux, with whom she is reunited when he pays her an unexpected visit. Unfortunately for her, Geonte walks in and finds Manon and des Grieux in a compromising position, and he angrily withdraws but vows to return. des Grieux fears he will be back with the police and insists that they must leave, but Manon won’t leave until she has gathered up her jewels- and the delay is enough to ensure her arrest on morals charges. des Grieux’s efforts to rescue her from prison fail, but just as she is about to be shipped off to exile and all-but-certain death, des Grieux persuades the captain of the ship in question to allow him aboard to join Manon in exile. They walk on to the ship arm and arm, with the orchestra ringing out with the big melodic theme from their earlier love duet. The last act is just the two lovers, by this point abandoned without food or water in the desert outside of New Orleans – where they share a last tender exchange before Manon dies as the curtain comes down.
It’s kind of funny to read that story summary as I’m typing it, because I can imagine somebody reading that and wondering what drives otherwise normal human beings to seek out something so heartbreaking. . . especially those of us who have very little interest in tearful “chick flicks.” Why is it that some of us would never seek out a tear-jerking film like “Beaches” but would gladly to Manon Lescaut.
And the answer is : the music. Giacomo Puccini’s score is full of the most amazingly passionate, emotional music and in the hands of great singers and a wonderful orchestra, there’s nothing like it. There were moments yesterday when I practically had to sit on my hands, so mightily tempted was I to conduct – to say nothing of just wanting to thrust my arms in the air, lost in the soaring passion of this score. It didn’t hurt that the title role was performed by one of the greatest opera stars in the world today, a soprano from Finland named Karita Mattila. I’m not sure there’s anyone in the world who can portray bone-chilling sorrow and despair like Mattila, and there were times when you felt the strangest urge to climb up on to the screen and somehow comfort her, so real and searing her sorrow seemed to be.
It only occurred to me much later that the real miracle of yesterday’s Manon Lescaut was that it banished everything else from one’s mind for a time. . . Gone were the frustrations about this horrific winter or the fact that our $300 Honda snow blower has been nothing more than a $300 scarf rack this season (because the thing won’t start). Gone was any awareness of the punishment my body had absorbed earlier in the day. Gone were any worries about getting ready for Heritage class the next day or the fact that I had only read 15 out of the 180 pages of Lois Lowry’s “The Giver” and needed to try and finish it before Monday morning’s interview with her. For several hours, the rest of the world, but especially the nasty part that’s smothered in snow, went away. . . and all that was left were those of us in that theater, those remarkable singers up on that screen, and a certain guy named Puccini whose music conquers all.