VISSI D'ARTE

Royal Opera Director Oliver Mears probably has some sense of how Russian soprano Anna Netrebko feels about calls for her cancellation, after he snatched a Palestinian flag from a chorus member who staged an impromptu protest against events in Gaza during a curtain call of Verdi’s Il Trovatore back in July—an act that drew public fury and forced him to defend his position, which was essentially sound.

“I believe it possible to hold political positions (which those who know me personally know well) while also believing that a curtain call is not the time for a personal, impromptu political protest.”

Watching Netrebko deliver Tosca’s raison d’être, the aria Vissi d’arte, last night in the Royal Opera’s new production of Puccini’s Grand Guignol felt like a subtle form of sweet revenge against those—including Olena Zelenska—who have either publicly signalled their disapproval or called for her to be banned from performing in opera houses outside Russia.

It was a moment where Nebtrebko and Tosca became one, and it was electric—reminiscent of sixty years ago, when Maria Callas famously performed the role (for what would be her last time) and delivered her own unforgettable interpretation of the same aria, the operatic equivalent of a private confession set amidst the dark chaos of Baron Scarpia’s tyrannical reign over Rome.

When the thunderous applause arrived in wave after wave of euphoric appreciation, Netrebko remained frozen in character, yet it was clear—behind Tosca’s mask—that she fully grasped the power of what she had achieved, performing the aria with a transcendence that left no room for criticism. She couldn’t afford to falter in this iconic moment, knowing any slip would be instantly seized upon—just as Scarpia, here played by Gerald Finley with all the sleaze of a corrupt Italian funzionario, seizes upon Tosca’s desperate revelation (under duress) of the whereabouts of the escaped political prisoner Angelotti.

Though Netrebko may not rank among the very best voices in opera, as a musical actress she is consistently electrifying, commanding every stage she steps onto. I also appreciate the jeopardy of imperfect people performing perfect art. If every artist has to meet an impossible moral standard imposed by an amorphous mob each time they commit to a performance or act of creation, then what will be left? A sort of generic humanity, no better than the AI slop awash on the internet these days.

Like Tosca, Netrebko is forever compelling because she contains multitudes—not merely a human puppet performing without the investment of a soul, afraid to embrace the paradox that lies at the heart of so many great artists and their works.

And it is for this reason that all great divas no doubt cherish the raw humanity of Tosca as a character leaving her passionate nature nowhere to hide, and her great aria Vissi d’arte reveals this as beautifully as Mimì’s Mi chiamano Mimì in Puccini’s La Bohème and Cio-Cio San’s Un bel dì vedremo in Madama Butterfly.

I lived for my art, I lived for love,
I never did harm to a living soul!
With a secret hand
I relieved as many misfortunes as I knew of.
Always with true faith
my prayer
rose to the holy shrines.
Always with true faith
I gave flowers to the altar.
In the hour of grief
why, why, o Lord,
why do you reward me thus?
I gave jewels for the Madonna’s mantle,
and I gave my song to the stars, to heaven,
which smiled with more beauty.
In the hour of grief
why, why, o Lord,
ah, why do you reward me thus?