The opera novice: Verdi's Don Carlo

Don Carlo is a grand opera of political intrigue and private passions, says Sameer Rahim.

Gloriously expressive: Jonas Kaufmann in the title role of 'Don Carlo'
Gloriously expressive: Jonas Kaufmann in the title role of 'Don Carlo' Credit: Photo: Alastair Muir

Every opera lover dreads the moment when the manager comes onstage before a performance. Inevitably it means the star performer who you have been waiting years to sing the role has pulled out unwell. At the Wednesday performance of Verdi’s Don Carlo at Covent Garden, Kasper Holten (ROH's Director of Opera) announced that Anja Harteros – who had pulled out of Otello lasy year to much disappointment – would not be playing Elizabeth. Her only appearance was at the press night. I heard someone call out: “Never book her again!” (Was that Antonio Pappano?) I’ll admit that I felt a bit short-changed: it’s difficult enough to get a ticket without thinking you need to book the very first performance. (I wonder if opera singers are like footballers – some more injury-prone than others?) Never mind: Lianna Haroutounian, already rehearsed for the role, got fairly into the swing of things, and was much applauded at the end.

Verdi based Don Carlo on Schiller’s play set in 16th-century Spain. Since the opera was first performed in Paris in 1867, it has gone through a number of versions – some longer and some shorter, and set to both French and Italian librettos. The version I saw was in Italian and weighed in at four and a half hours: and apparently it still missed out some people’s favourite scenes. Despite its length, though, every scene has something heartbreaking, awe-inspiring or terrifying.

The opening scene has Don Carlos (Jonas Kaufmann), the son of King Philip of Spain, wandering in the French woods. As part of a peace treaty between the two nations, he has been promised the hand of Princess Elizabeth (Haroutounian). Carlos’s splendid opening aria declaring his love “Io la vidi” takes you to the emotional heart of the story. Elizabeth appears and they have a falling-in-love duet that’s refreshingly down-to-earth – no Wagnerian histrionics here. In one of those twists of fate Verdi loves inflicting on his characters, Elizabeth’s father declares she must instead marry King Philip – Carlos’s father. Torn between desire and the laments of war-widows, she chooses public duty over private happiness.

Carlos, haunted by his grandfather King Carlos, is an unhappy figure at court. Kaufmann brings a dark – dare I say it, German – intensity to the role, while allowing for the Infante’s boyish skittishness. He reminds me of Hamlet – he even has a Horatio in the form of Rodrigo, Marquis of Posa (Mariusz Kwiecien). Posa, though, is more than a sidekick. He turns into one of Verdi’s liberal heroes, taking up the cause of oppressed Flanders. Posa is possibly the most admirable character in the piece – though not, I think, the most musically gripping.

Don Carlo is made up of spectacular set pieces. Others will have their favourites but I’ll highlight three. The spirit of the Moors hovers over the Spanish Golden Age and Verdi takes full advantage. Princess Eboli (Beatrice Uria-Monzon), Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting, sings an enchanting Saracen song, telling the story of a Sultan bored with his wife who asks a veiled dancer to be his mistress. When she is unveiled the dancer is revealed as his wife – and so desire and duty pleasingly converge. Verdi re-shapes the tropes of this story at the start of act three; but the ending is less happy. Princess Eboli appears at a midnight assignation with Carlos. When she unveils, Carlos is horrified: he thought the Queen was finally succumbing to him.

In the next scene the chorus sing a jaunty paen to King Philip (Ferruccio Furlanetto), before the Inquisition arrives to chillingly grave music: they have heretics to burn. The chorus remains cheerful – happy to see the disloyal go up in flames. I rather liked Verdi’s cynical representation of the way the populace can be swayed. The grim scene is given humanity by the appeals of the Flanders men under the king’s control, appealing for freedom. Philip is implacable – rebellion against him is a rebellion against God – and Carlos is arrested for arguing their cause. Verdi renders superbly counter-reformation Spain’s unappealing cocktail of monarchical absolutism and religious bigotry. As the heretics burn, a soprano “high up and in the distance,” in Verdi’s words, sings they will be redeemed in heaven.

The composer also said the auto-da-fé was “without doubt the best thing in the opera”. For me, though, the next act gives it a run for its money. We see Philip not as king but as suffering man. Sitting mournfully alone in his study (as the real Philip liked doing), he reflects that his wife does not love him. Enter the Grand Inquisitor (Eric Halfvarson), blind and decrepit, yet fired with an unyielding passion. He tells Philip he must show no mercy to his rebel son Carlos. Philip replies that he cannot be so harsh. “All must be silenced to exalt our faith,” demands the Inquisitor. This bass duet was stunning: just thinking of the music gives me the creeps. This was well staged by Nicholas Hytner, as you can see from this clip from the 2008 version of the same production with Halfvarson and Furlanetto.

Perhaps it reflects its complicated compositional history, but you get the feeling that not all Don Carlo’s loose ends were tied up at the finale. The Elizabeth and Carlos duet was wonderful but when the ghost of old King Carlos appears and takes his grandson to heaven, it was a bit out of the blue. Don Carlo, however, has absolutely everything an opera-lover could wish for: charismatic characters, clashes of ideals and glorious musical set pieces that always retain human interest. It resists summary. Do catch it if you can.

Until May 25. For tickets, call 0207 304 4000; roh.org.uk