In La forza del
destino Verdi writes on a massive
dramatic canvas. With its story of unrequited
love, racial prejudice and violent deaths,
some contend it is his darkest opera.
Ever the man of the theatre, Verdi leavened
the dark facets of the story with brighter,
even humorous, interludes. The first
in act 2 is an inn scene where Preziosilla,
a gypsy woman of easy virtue, is recruiting
for the army, promising fame and fortune
as well as sexual favours (CD 1 Trs.
8-10). The scene is an ideal counterweight
to the accidental death of Leonora’s
father at her suitor’s hand in the previous
scene. Further leavening, even humour,
comes with the character of the irascible
monk Melitone who berates the peasants
as he distributes charity (CD 3 trs.
1-2) or laments the goings-on in the
army camp as he is forced to join a
whirling dance with the vivandiers in
act 3 (CD tr. 17). Verdi poured great
intensity and creativity into this work
of his mature compositional period,
and the opera contains scenes, arias
and duets that are amongst his finest
music.
La forza del destino
was written after a two-year gap
from composition following the premiere
of Un Ballo in Maschera (February
17th 1859). This was a period
of turmoil in the states of Italy. On
28th April of that year the
Austrian army had invaded and Victor
Emmanuel had called on the Italian population
to rise up and fight for their independence.
On April 29th Verdi married
Giuseppina Strepponi, his long time
companion. He was 45, she 43. Whilst
the regularisation of their relationship
ensured Giuseppina’s situation in the
turbulent times, it also made easier
their social acceptance and movement
in the political circles in which Verdi
was increasingly involved. During the
ensuing months Verdi, and his close
friend Mariani, paid for and helped
import guns for the local militias.
With the assistance of Garibaldi’s troops
and the machinations of Cavour, who
Verdi described as ‘the father of Italy’,
a unified nation came into existence.
At Cavour’s insistence Verdi stood,
and was elected to Italy’s first National
Parliament. This was not exactly what
Verdi had intended for this period of
his life. Rather, he had hoped to spend
time and money, on his estate at St.
Agata. Nor was Verdi wholly comfortable
amongst the political activities. Although
he in fact remained a deputy until the
end of the first parliament in 1865,
he had earlier asked Cavour, who died
in June 1861, for release as he had
been approached for another opera. This
overture had come from the Imperial
Italian Theatre in St. Petersburg. With
Verdi busy away at the parliament, Giuseppina
managed the correspondence and persuaded
Verdi that with suitable provisions
the cold in Russia would be manageable
and he should accept the lucrative commission.
The first suggestion of a subject, Victor
Hugo’s dramatic poem ‘Ruy Blas’, with
its romantic liaisons across the social
divide, met censorship problems. After
a struggle for another subject Verdi
settled on the Spanish drama ‘Don Alvaro,
o La fuerza destino’ by Angel Perez
de Saavedra, Duke of Rivas. This was
deemed suitable in Russia and Verdi
asked his long time collaborator Piave
to provide the libretto. Verdi worked
throughout the summer of 1860 as Giuseppina
made the domestic arrangements for the
shipment of Bordeaux wine, champagne,
rice, macaroni cheese and salami for
themselves and two servants. They expected
to be in St. Petersburg for three months
and travelled to Paris to take a direct
train.
The Verdi’s arrived
in St. Petersburg in November, but during
rehearsals the principal soprano became
ill. As there was no possible substitute
the premiere was postponed until the
following autumn and after some sightseeing
the Verdis returned home. At its delayed
premiere the work was well received
with the Czar attending a performance.
However, Verdi himself was not wholly
satisfied with his creation, and after
its Rome premiere in April 1863 he withdrew
it for revision. This recording is of
the original St. Petersburg version.
In 1869 Verdi wrote
an expanded overture, a new last scene,
and re-arranged the numbers in the latter
part of act 3 so as to finish with Preziosilla’s
Rataplan della Gloria. This
also resulted in the loss of the tenor
aria and cabaletta (CD 2 trs. 22-23).
It also involved the relocation of the
duet where Carlo reveals that he has
identified Alvaro as the killer of his
father, and he believes seducer of his
sister, for whom he has been searching
with intent to assuage the Calatrava
family honour. It is in the 1869 revision,
albeit often with cuts, that the opera
is all too infrequently heard today.
Unlike the previous
Opera Rara issues in this series of
Verdi’s original versions derived from
BBC broadcasts, Macbeth (review),
Simon Boccanegra (review)
and Les Vêpres Siciliennes
(review),
there is a studio competitor. This is
the 1995 Philips recording deriving
from performances at the Kirov opera
- a version of which is also available
in a DVD format (Arthaus Music). Most
interestingly, that production was based
on the sets of the first production
in St. Petersburg in 1862. The all-Russian
cast are singers of international repute.
Otherwise, other studio recordings are
of the 1869 version. The most notable
of these feature two of the greatest
Verdi sopranos of their generation.
They are those with Leontyne Price,
partnered by Placido Domingo as Alvaro
and Sherrill Milnes as Carlo (RCA),
and that with Martina Arroyo, also the
Leonora on this issue, alongside the
incomparable Carlo Bergonzi as Alvaro
and Pierro Cappuccilli as his non-pareil
antagonist under the idiomatic baton
of Lamberto Gardelli (EMI).
Unlike two earlier
issues in this series, this recording
was made without the presence of an
audience. This has the immense benefit
of allowing the conductor to build dramatic
cohesion and tension without unnatural
breaks for applause. I was not unduly
impressed by Matheson’s conducting of
Macbeth, also made without audience,
finding him more vital in Boccanegra.
In this performance his balance of the
dramatic, lyric and foreboding Verdian
cantilena are most impressive, and make
a significant contribution to the success
of the whole. Like its successor opera,
Don Carlos of 1867, La forza
del destino requires six principal
singers. As a consequence of that requirement,
and the demands made on the soloists
in terms of vocal weight and legato,
performances of the work tend to be
thin on the ground. By the early 1970s
I had managed to see nearly all of Verdi’s
major operas and a few of his less well
known earlier ones also. The decade
was a heyday of Verdi singing at the
British International House, Covent
Garden, and also with the Sadlers Wells
(later ENO) and Welsh National touring
companies. Despite all of that, La forza
del destino had eluded me, as had the
opportunity to hear Martina Arroyo (b.
1940) in a staged production. I had
been greatly impressed by her recorded
Leonora in the EMI version referred
to, and which remains my favourite recording
of the 1869 revision. So when a Covent
Garden revival of André Anderson’s
1962 production, with sparse sets by
Sam Wanamaker, was announced for the
late autumn of 1973, with Miss Arroyo
as Leonora, I determined to be there.
On December 29th at only
the 20th presentation of
the work at Covent Garden I sat, expectantly,
in my A row amphitheatre seat to await
those dramatic first chords. Before
that happened, the curtains parted and
the Musical Director, Colin Davis, stepped
out to announce Martina Arroyo’s indisposition
and replacement. There are no compensations
for such disappointments. However, her
presence on this recording serves to
remind me what a consummate Verdi singer
she was. Inevitably, she sounds a more
mature Leonora than for Gardelli, recorded
twelve years earlier. Any loss of youthfulness
is more than compensated for by her
command of the Verdian line and ability
to soar over the orchestra in long arching
phrases with full tone, skills that
remained undimmed. The role of Leonora
is not merely demanding of the singer
in respect of line and tessitura but
more importantly in terms of characterisation.
Leonora has to convey the whole gamut
of emotions. These encompass love, as
she ponders leaving her father to elope
(CD 1 tr. 3), fear, as hidden from view
she hears her brother at the inn, and
relief at arriving at the monastery
and hearing the monks in Son giunta
(CD 1 tr.15). She pleads for forgiveness
of her sin in Madre, Madre, pietosa,
(CD 1 tr.16) through the soaring
phrases of La Vergine degli Angeli
(CD 2 tr.23) and we hear despair
in her final plea to God in Pace,
pace (CD 3 tr.8). In this performance
Miss Arroyo conveys these varying emotions
to render a formidable interpretation
that is at least comparable with the
very best on record.
Yorkshire-born Peter
Glossop as Carlo is another singer with
an enviable international reputation
as an interpreter of Verdi. He braved,
and conquered, the ‘bear-pits’ of the
Italian provincial theatres at Palermo,
Parma and Naples before being acclaimed
in this repertoire at La Scala, the
Paris Opera and the Met. I heard him
in many roles with the Sadlers Wells
and Covent Garden companies. His full-toned
baritone had a wide palette of colours
and he always fully identified with,
and characterised, whatever role he
was singing - a fact that endeared him
to audiences. In his recent autobiography
‘The Story of a Yorkshire Baritone’
(Guidon, 2004) he recalls the recording
sessions for the Macbeth in this
series, but confuses the person of his
soprano partner, attributing the role
of Lady Macbeth to Martina Arroyo, his
Leonora here. As Macbeth in the earlier
issue in this series, I felt he sounded
past his considerable best. Although
his portrayal here is not the wide-ranging
interpretation and characterisation
he might have recorded ten years earlier,
he is, as always, fully committed and
sings strongly and with varied colour.
Only when he is singing full-out is
there a slight sign of strain (CD 2
trs. 20-21).
Alvaro is sung by Birmingham-born
Kenneth Collins. He graduated from the
chorus at Covent Garden to sing many
Verdi roles with Welsh National Opera
and English National Opera before debuting
at New York City Opera and later at
the Maggio Musicale in Florence as Radames
in Aida. Whilst he has not the capacity
of Bergonzi to ravish a Verdian phrase,
he sings strongly and his Alvaro is
suitably agonised in La vita e inferno
at the start of act 3 (CD 2 tr. 2) and
in the aria deleted in the revision
at the end of the act (CD 2 trs. 22-23).
Don Garrard conveys appropriate gravitas
as well as humanity and humility as
Padre Guardiano, whilst Derek Hammond-Stroud
in the near buffa role of Melitone relishes
his music. He could perhaps have put
more of a smile in Melitone’s reaction
to the goings-on in the army camp (CD
2 tr.17). Janet Coster sings accurately
and with verve as Preziosilla and her
Rataplan della Gloria is a fine
call to arms (CD 2 tr. 18). All these
singers were stalwarts of the British
opera scene over the twenty or so years
prior to this recording. They bring
their vast stage experience, particularly
in the Verdi repertoire, to their portrayals.
They may not all have the vocal beauty
of their competitors in the international
studio recordings, but they understand
the Verdi idiom and it shows in their
characterisation of the various roles.
This is particularly relevant in the
direct competition from the Gergiev
recording of the 1862 original version.
With one exception, all the principals
on that recording sing with distinction.
The downside for me is the somewhat
idiosyncratic and rather glottal vocal
production that often characterises
Russian singers when singing in Italian.
A massive plus of this recording is
the performance of the BBC Singers.
I often enthuse over the particular
patina and squilla of an Italian opera
chorus in Verdi’s music. Aided by a
clear and well-balanced recording, and
their discipline, the chorus here are
a match for the La Scala forces on Muti’s
rather dry live recording of the 1869
version from that theatre (EMI on CD;
Opus Art on DVD).
Whilst Verdi was correct
in his recognition of the need to revise
his original creation, this coherent
performance highlights the validity
and gauntness, even brutality, of the
original with its stark ending of multiple
deaths. The composer was ever caring
of this work, refusing the opportunity
of performances, and hence income, when
he thought a theatre’s roster of singers
would not do it justice. In either version,
La forza del destino is a work
that needs an ensemble of singers fully
immersed and versed in the Verdi idiom.
The presence of such singers in this
performance, together with a similar
understanding from the conductor, and
a vibrant idiomatic contribution from
the chorus, combine to give a whole
that is significantly greater than the
sum of the parts and one that can stand
alongside any rival of either version
in the catalogue. It is a welcome and
thoroughly recommendable addition to
the available recordings of one of Verdi’s
finest creations.
Robert J Farr
Marquis of Calatrava, Roderick Kennedy (bass);
Donna Leonora, his daughter, Martina Arroyo
(sop); Curra, her chambermaid, Alison Truefitt
(sop); Don Alvaro, lover of Leonora and of Royal
Inca Indian descent, Kenneth Collins (ten);
Don Carlo of Vargas, Leonora’s brother, Peter
Glossop (bar); Preziosilla, Janet Coster (mezzo);
Fra Melitone, Derek Hammond Stroud (bass-bar);
Padre Guardiano Don Garrard (bass); Fra Trabuco,
muleteer, Kenneth Bowen (ten); Alcade. Philip
O'Reilly (ten); Spanish military surgeon, David
Fieldsend (ten) 
