Moniuszko, Stanislaw

Stanisław Moniuszko – Ouvertüre zur Oper Verbum Nobile

Instrumentation: 1 fl (pic), 2 ob, 2 cl, 2 bn, 4 hn, 2 tpt, 3 tbn, strs, timp, perc

Duration: ca. 6 min.

“Song is speech aroused to the pinnacle of passion: music is the language of passion.” Richard Wagner

Editor’s Preface

If listening to and understanding music places high demands on the listener, speaking and writing about it poses further quite special challenges to writers and readers alike. How is it possible or feasible to think about something so intangible and to convey it to other people? This question applies not only to music in general, but especially to Stanislaw Moniuszko and his forgotten works.

In the 2011-12 winter semester, I held a seminar on “Writing about Music” at the Musicological Institute of Robert Schumann University in Düsseldorf. The result was five prefaces to opera overtures by Moniuszko: Halka, Flis, Jawnuta, Paria, and Verbum Nobile. The relevance of such practical experience became immediately apparent in that, happily, there were more seminar members than prefaces to be written. As a result, students from the arts and humanities formed teams to write joint essays. The combinations produced a very broad and varied array of intellectual and personal prerequisites, which led to productive discussions. During the regular seminar sessions, the emerging and expanding versions were debated, altered, and optimized both within the group and in individual discussions using various approaches and methods of reading.

One primary “difficulty,” and at the same time an opportunity, was the paucity of scholarly writings on Moniuszko in German. The ability and necessity of proceeding more or less from scratch made it possible to view his works with a fresh and independent eye. As a result, all the prefaces represent wholly different and original approaches, convincingly demonstrating that the study of music outside the standard “canon” is always worth the effort.

Yvonne Wasserloos, May 2012

Writing the Preface to the Verbum Nobile Overture

The preface to the Verbum Nobile Overture arose from the collaborative efforts of two members of the “Writing about Music” seminar: Jill Hollender and myself. As we began to gather information on Moniuszko and his work, we immediately realized that the assignment would not be easy. First of all, we knew next to nothing about Moniuszko the man and musician. Then we discovered that the scholarly literature on him in the German-speaking countries was extremely sparse. However, as we set out on our research, we were able to exchange the information we collected with the other participants in the project, including several who spoke Polish. Gradually Moniuszko’s life and music became clearer. Amazingly, the more familiar his life and works became to us, the faster we wanted to learn more about him. As a result, sooner than we thought, we faced a number of riddles: How could his music fall into oblivion? What caused him to write in this way rather than another? What cultural and social context left a mark on him? To be sure, our pursuit of these and other questions, hampered by the shortage of time, was no easy task. Nevertheless, today we think of it as a very enriching experience, which is, however, primarily intended to give you, the reader and music-lover, a concise but penetrating overview of the life and work of Stanisław Moniuszko.

Maribel Saldaña Márquez

The Polish composer Stanisław Moniuszko shared this view and expressed his unbounded admiration for Richard Wagner. In a letter of 25 June 1853 to the Polish musicographer Józef Sikorski, he even called Wagner the “great reformer” and the “savior of musical drama.” He also enlarged on Wagner’s views by adding an aspect all his own: music should function as a sort of translator for all human feelings expressible in spoken language. Moreover, it should be clear and intelligible to everyone, and as precise as possible in its expressive force. It thus comes as no surprise to find that Moniuszko, apart from two string quartets and a few minor pieces for piano or organ, mainly wrote songs, operas, operettas, and cantatas. For the expressive force he was seeking, he gave pride of place to vocal music.

But who was this man who was and still is honored and celebrated as the national composer of his native country? This man whose first opera, Halka, was perhaps the greatest triumph of his career, but who never attained a similar reputation outside the borders of Poland? This man whose successes never received proper recognition abroad, so that he fell virtually into oblivion for the rest of the world?

Moniuszko was born into an impoverished noble family on a small country estate in the White Russian town of Ubiel on 5 May 1819, and died in Warsaw on 4 June 1872. He combined the functions of composer, conductor, and music educator in a single person. His many operas are all distinguished by a patriotic and national character. In later years he even came to regard his compositions as a sort “service to the nation.” In general, his works follow in the tradition of Polish art music, which he developed into a personal musical idiom full of inventive melodies and striking rhythms. With its accessible harmony, however, it remained essentially clear and intelligible to the listener, who was meant to identify with it.

Some might suspect that Moniuszko’s motives for composing arose from an unsullied awareness of aesthetic principles. To these motives it must be added that his musical activities were no less educational in intent, in that they centered on building up a distinctive and progressive musical life in Poland, a nation that no longer existed as such at the time. It was thus essential for the Polish people to redefine themselves as a unity and to forcefully set themselves apart from neighboring states. Moniuszko, for his part, tried to advance this cause with educational and organizational activities, e.g. by founding music societies and mounting public concerts. Nonetheless, the actual crown of his activities and the focused goal of all his musical aspirations was the opera – which brings us to Verbum Nobile.

A distinctive element crops up time and again in the opera’s plot: the aristocracy, who expressly stand for Polish customs and traditions. It is not by chance that the opera bears the title Verbum Nobile, “The Word of Honor.” The plot hinges on the militaristic heads of two aristocratic households and takes place in front of the home of one of these commanders. The two noblemen, Serwacy Łagoda and Marcin Pakuła, have already reached an agreement on the future marriage of their children, Zuzia and Stanisław. Now the two young people have attained the necessary maturity and the date of their wedding draws implacably nigh. They fall in love – except that, much to the chagrin of their fathers, they apparently choose different partners. The word of honor seems broken, a solution to the conflict unreachable. But the audience becomes a silent witness to a mare’s nest of confusions, after which the prevailing sense of helplessness begins to brighten. Zuzia’s lover, Michał, turns out to be the bridegroom originally foreseen for her: Stanisław, the son of Marcin Pakuła. Fate has, uniquely and almost ironically, brought them together after all. The word of honor can be upheld.

The one-act opera begins with an overture lasting roughly six minutes. The libretto is by Jan Chęciński, a contemporary Polish writer who was, at the time, by and large unknown. In this sense the composer ran a certain risk, for a collaboration with well-known librettists and a choice of familiar subject-matter were considered de rigueur for success on the musical stage. This unusual combination would later have an impact on the work’s reception. The première took place on 1 January 1861 in Warsaw’s Teatr Wielki (“Great Theater”).

Though Verbum Nobile can be readily classified as a comic opera, the nature of the comedy played a key role in the way it was received. Critical opinion fell into two camps: to some, the work was overly critical of the aristocracy and deserving of rejection; to others, its portrayal of Poland’s more refined society was welcomed and the opera hailed as a national work of art. The point of view hinged on how the actions of the figures were perceived. Critics arrived at conflicting assessments depending on whether these actions were interpreted a satire on outdated rituals or as the apotheosis of an idealized ancienne Pologne.

Here, for example, is the Warsaw daily newspaper Gazeta Codzienna of 2 January 1861: “Moniuszko decorated this light and merry work with equally light, merry, and pretty music.” With his terminology the reviewer emphasizes the opera’s musical qualities, though he also drops such verbal tags as “pretty gem” and “cute plaything,” thereby granting the reader much leeway for ironic interpretation. But not everyone was convinced by Verbum Nobile’s comic stance: the absence of a tangible intrigue was frowned on and the plot criticized as overly succinct. These complaints were offset by the skillful confluence of libretto and score. Finally the opera was said to be unimportant: “Verbum Nobile is not a rural idyll, but a courtly one […] like the life in our old courts” (Gazeta Codzienna of 2 January 1861). The anonymous author even advised Moniuszko to turn in the future to the more meaningful form of serious opera, the very form that had helped him to widespread recognition: “But now, after four operas on comic subjects […], we are permitted to urge Moniuszko to return to the genre that brought him fame – to opera seria. He has recuperated long enough in realms of smiles and levity.”

In contrast Józef Sikorski, writing in Ruch Muzyczny (Warsaw, 9 January 1861), expressed his complete satisfaction with the plot. True, he called it a “little drama” and referred to the overture as “lightly chirped in the strings.” But basically, he continued, it is “an excellently staged genre painting. The main idea, ‘the nobleman’s word is sacrosanct,’ is prettily depicted.” Accordingly, he attached deeper significance than other critics to the opera’s basic theme. Yet not even his review mentions a critique of the aristocracy.

Given the increasingly difficult situation in Warsaw’s theaters, the mere performance of a new national opera amounted to a political uprising against the Russian overlords. As Moniuszko’s contemporaries paid little heed to interpreting it as an allegedly overdrawn satire and a grotesque depiction of aristocratic mores, these aspects fell by the wayside. How different this was from the blatant critique of society in Halka, whose obviously negative reading of social conditions made it imperative to mention them. In this light, Verbum Nobile is a prime example of the different ways in which Moniuszko’s works, whose importance was measured with the yardstick of political circumstances and national needs, were perceived and assessed.

Moniuszko’s music arose in an age dominated by the quest for a national identity, an age in which the discovery of the “self” and the demarcation from the “other” were guiding thoughts in the minds of many European artists and intellectuals. His contribution to this quest resides in the way he approached the general legacy of art music with his own resources and forms. But he combined this legacy with specifically Polish features, such as the Polish language and the familiar rhythms of folk dances. He applied quite specific devices depending on what messages and moods he sought to convey.

The Overture to Verbum Nobile gives the audience a quick glance into the course of the story, which, as we know, has to do with a growing conflict in aristocratic circles. It opens with a crisp chord in the tonic D major, struck by the winds and timpani, after which the first violins immediately state a strikingly lively and tuneful ascending motif. From the very outset, the Allegro vivo, leggierissimo that follows radiates a relaxed cheerfulness that generates a festive atmosphere. Suddenly we hear two successive fanfares from the orchestral tutti in the dominant key of A major (rehearsal no. 2). They might be said to stand for the majesty of the courtly surroundings. This is followed by lively entrances from the string and wind sections in rapid alternation. The fanfare motif returns, this time with four occurrences (no. 3), further emphasizing the pervasive presence of the dominating nobility. Then the orchestral forces are unexpectedly reduced. Traversing a dynamic range from pianissimo to fortissimo, the orchestra reaches the subdominant G major with a full tutti (nos. 4-5). Proceeding from the tonic, the strings elaborate a lyrical motif to signify the transition to a new section (nos. 5-6).

Playing in octaves, the first violins and the cellos now state another lyrical melodic motif ranging from cantabile to dolcissimo delicatamente. The unison writing may be said to represent the genuine love between two characters, with the violins embodying the female role and the cellos the male. A trio of flute, clarinet, and bassoon initially provides harmonic support but occasionally assumes solo functions (nos. 6-7). The violin-and-cello duet returns to the foreground. Shortly thereafter the winds, strings, and percussion offer their support, creating a transition to a section of light, dance-like grace (nos. 8-9). With variegated rhythmic motifs, sprightly articulation, and large melodic leaps, the music proceeds to a tutti fortissimo landing on a dominant 7th chord in the highest register (rehearsal nos. 9-13). Here the piece reaches a moment of such tension that the drastic culmination of the conflict becomes almost palpable. After a few bars the strings alone, playing diminuendo, introduce a very delicate lyrical dialogue between the flute and violins (nos. 14-16). The newly joined duet suggests a parallel to Michał’s dual identity: though first presented as Zuzia’s lover, he is in fact Stanisław, the son of Marcin Pakuła, and thus her fiancé.

The development of the duet (nos. 16-17) is abruptly interrupted by a fortissimo chordal hammerblow, followed by a tutti marked Con brio. The fanfare motifs return (no. 18), the orchestration is again reduced, and the articulation again sounds light and evanescent. A solo in the first violins, accompanied by strings and winds (no. 19), evolves into a lively rhythm initiated by the percussion (nos. 20-21). Here a brief chordal interpolation clearly paves the way to the final section. The first motif, restoring the music to the tonic, is presented by several instruments in alternation. The volume noticeably rises; all the instruments become involved; the tempo quickens; and the articulation turns detaché (nos. 21-27). In particular, the relentless sound of a military drum is heard for the first time (no. 28). The pompous nature of the percussion might be said to mark the crowning resolution of the conflict while depicting the aristocracy as an imposing, dominating class of society. The overture ends with a powerful tutti on the tonic D.

The straightforward harmony and varied instrumental combinations produce a bright, translucent sound, lending the piece a flavor of almost festive majesty. Together with its many highly lyrical melodies, it brings the overture to a scintillating, entertaining, yet sophisticated conclusion. Moniuszko offers listeners and musicians alike a rich palette of widely varied timbres and striking rhythms – in brief, an orchestral piece abounding in strength and vitality.

Translation: Bradford Robinson

For performance material please contact the publisher PWM, Krakow. Reprint of a copy from the Musikabteilung der Leipziger Städtischen Bibliotheken, Leipzig.