Tosca

The most perfect opera in the history of opera?

*Tosca* must be one of the most perfect operas in the operatic canon. It features a clear conflict between idealism and personal desires, portrayed through a love triangle with well-defined characters. The plot moves forward at a brisk pace and has no dragging sections—it never becomes boring. The dramaturgy is flawless. For an opera, it is short and to the point. The music is fully integrated into the drama and conveys both what is happening on stage and what remains unsaid.

Given that Puccini was also a brilliant composer of melodies, the opera is, moreover, a veritable hit parade of immortal arias. All of this likely explains why it is so beloved and holds a clear position as one of the world’s most frequently performed operas—No. 5, to be exact. This means that *Tosca* has been presented in thousands of different productions. It also means there’s a preconceived notion of what *Tosca* is and how it should be staged—conventions that many directors have tried to break free from, with one idea more contrived than the next. Every possible interpretation and shift in time and space has already been tried, so what new perspective is there to offer? To avoid getting stuck in performance conventions and a lame, formulaic repetition of tired tropes, we need a director who dares to look beyond the perfect and preconceived ideas.

Now that Eirik Stubø, together with set and costume designer Magdalena Åberg and lighting designer Ellen Ruge, has taken on *Tosca*, he’s approaching it the same way he approaches other plays—namely, as if it were the first time they were being staged. Eirik is a theater director who always cuts right to the bone in the texts he tackles to see what’s actually there. It’s not so much a method as it is an approach. In a conversation many years ago, he said that the most magical moment for him is meeting the actors at the first reading—the first day of rehearsals—when everyone sits around a table and reads the play. That moment when all doors are still open and anything can happen. He tries to hold on to that stripped-down experience and removes elements rather than adding them. There is no directorial concept in the sense of applying a interpretive framework that deals with something other than what is actually described in the text and music.

This approach creates a distilled and clear version of the timeless classic *Tosca*. Does it say anything new? Not necessarily, but the plot is presented in a stark light that strikes the audience with all its brutality and relentlessness. As an audience, we not only understand that this is about us as human beings—we are given the opportunity to experience it through more channels than just the purely intellectual ones. From that perspective, the search for something new turns out to be a banal and shallow ambition in relation to what already exists within the work itself.

It’s so wonderful that the Norrlandsoperan and the Folkoperan have co-produced this particular production, and I’m so happy that it will now be presented to audiences in Umeå.

Dan Turdén

“Having the orchestra on stage adds a lot.”

Photo: Peter Hållsten

Following a critically acclaimed run at Folkoperan, it is finally Norrlandsoperan’s turn to present *Tosca*. And when director Eirik Stubø’s version of the beloved Puccini opera takes the stage in Umeå, it is the strings that set the tone.

By: Jonas Pekkari

In a nutshell: What is *Tosca* about?

– Tosca is an explosive mix of art, love, erotic obsession, and wonderful music by a brilliant composer.

Is it possible to pick a favorite moment in the performance?

– It’s almost like asking, “Which of your children do you love the most?”—you don’t even want to think about it. But Tosca somehow culminates with everything coming together in “Vissi d’arte, ” the famous aria at the end of the second act. That’s where all the threads of the play come together.

It’s a co-production between Folkoperan and Norrlandsoperan, but does the production differ in any way between the two opera houses?

– Musically speaking, there was no string section at Folkoperan. There, Henrik Schaefer created a fantastic arrangement for wind instruments. Here at Norrlandsoperan, a string section has been added, and it’s really fun to experience the music as fully as we do here—a wonderful orchestra! But there are more differences; Folkoperan and Norrlandsoperan are two very different venues.

How does that come across in the performance?

– At Folkoperan, there’s no orchestra pit, so the orchestra has to be on stage. If the production had started here at Norrlandsoperan, the orchestra would most likely have been in the orchestra pit—but now we had to find another solution. It turned out very well, and we carried that basic idea forward and adapted it to the conditions at Norrlandsoperan. Having the orchestra on stage adds so much to the performance.

In what way?

– That element of live music becomes so palpable when the orchestra is gathered on stage. It’s a constant reminder that this isn’t naturalism—it’s something else: a ritual, a way of telling a story through music and acting, where everything is on the same level.

Photo: Elin Berge

by Cecilia Düringer

Photo: Elin Berge

Things are really chaotic. Yes, in *Tosca*, of course, but there’s also widespread turmoil in the world surrounding the opera’s plot. A struggle for the future is in full swing. The setting for Tosca is Rome, a city we tend to associate more with the past than with looking toward the future. History echoes around every corner of the Eternal City. A stroller who pricks up their ears can hear two-thousand-year-old whispers about the mighty Roman Empire, listen to the beating heart of the Catholic Church, and sense the long cavalcade of celebrities who have made the city their home.

In the year 1800, things are looking grim. The Roman Republic has just fallen—and after a statement like that, maybe someone who actually paid attention in history class will perk up, raise their hand, and ask in astonishment, “Huh?” “The Roman Republic—what does that have to do with the 1800s? That’s ancient history! Right?”

Yes, that’s right. The First Roman Republic was part of the ancient world for several hundred years. Around the beginning of our era, however, it was gradually worn down by power-hungry men like Julius Caesar, Augustus, and Tiberius and transformed into an empire. Although, of course, that’s not that the Roman Republic, which is floundering in Toscas periphery, but rather another, of a significantly more modern nature. Much may have changed between the days of antiquity and the early 19th century. But one thing remains the same: the power struggles. And to understand the historical background of Puccini’s opera, one needs to take a closer look at the political turmoil that characterized much of Europe at this time—and get to know at least one power-hungry man.

In the year 1800, it had not been long since the great revolution—with liberty, equality, and fraternity on the agenda—had shaken France. In the upheaval that was to sweep away the old world, the heads of royalty rolled. These shocking developments caused monarchs across Europe to 1. tremble with fear in their palaces and 2. take up arms against the strange new order in France and the radical ideas that had been part of the great upheaval. The ideas of the Enlightenment, that is. Philosophical and political visions of ways to govern other than through royal autocracy, of freedom of speech, and of being allowed to find happiness in one’s own way. These were the ideas that renowned authors such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Voltaire, Olympe de Gouges, and Mary Wollstonecraft had thoroughly explored in their writings.

As the 18th century draws to a close and the new century begins, the French Revolution is, for the time being, over. Amid the chaos that, after several turbulent years, eventually degenerated into a reign of terror, a gentleman from Corsica had worked his way up, built a military career, and established himself at the pinnacle of politics. He is a member of the lower nobility, perhaps not much to look at, but a brilliant strategist and commander. It will still be a while before he proclaims himself emperor, but by 1800, the military genius Napoleon Bonaparte is, in all but name, the leader of France. And if you were to ask him yourself, you might get the answer that he is also the strongman of all of Europe.

Napoleon’s armies have achieved great successes in Toscas a world that would one day become Italy but which, at that time, was a patchwork of various small principalities. A few years earlier, the French had marched into the region, and Napoleon conquered vast territories with astonishing efficiency. Among other places, Naples and Rome came under French control—and were subjected to a new order. Out went the old, conservative, and repressive autocracy, and in came a modern form of government guided by the ideas of the Enlightenment. Voilà: the Roman Republic was born. It pursued the fugitive in Tosca, Cesare Angelotti, was one of its consuls. Mario Cavaradossi, who in the opera gives his life to protect Angelotti, is also a friend of the New World. The beautiful-voiced Floria Tosca herself seems more inclined to side with the conservative camp due to her deep devotion to the Church, but with a firm grip on a fruit knife, she will show that love ultimately trumps any political sympathies.

France is one of the major political players in Tosca’s world. Another is the Austrian Empire, which rules over certain Italian states and is allied with others. The Austrians have, aside from the obvious geopolitical reasons, many reasons to want to put the French in their place. For example, there is the tragic story of Marie Antoinette, the Austrian princess who became Queen of France and met her end at the guillotine. Marie Antoinette belonged to the Habsburg imperial dynasty, and it is still her close relatives who rule in Austria and its vassal states.

In addition to the great powers, there is a third power: the Catholic Church and the Pope. By the year 1800, Rome had been the Papal States for over a thousand years—an independent kingdom with its own laws and armies. The head of the Papal States, is the Pope. A man who by no means welcomed the French Revolution or the ideas of the Enlightenment. One of the revolutionaries’ first moves was to tighten their grip on the Church and the clergy in the country, and it’s probably not too far-fetched to assume that the leader of Catholicism absolutely did not want to see such a development spread. But with the wars that followed the Revolution—and which later came to be waged under Napoleon’s command—the papal nightmare risked becoming a reality. And that was not all. God’s foremost emissary on earth was thus ousted from his spiritual and temporal seat when the French occupied Rome in 1798 and the emblem of the Papal States was replaced by the tricolor.

While the then-elderly pope was forced to end both his career and his life in French captivity, Rome was transformed from an outdated theocracy into a modern republic. But the republic was short-lived, and in 1800, when Tosca In the story, the Church’s loyalists have regained power with the help of Austria and its allies. There is no pope in place yet, but society has been thrown back into reactionary religious rule—indeed, almost a police state, with strict control over the population. Being an Enlightenment thinker and reading Voltaire is once again fraught with great danger. Anyone who has also associated with the French—or worse still, like Angelotti, held positions in the fallen Roman Republic—is branded an enemy of the state by the heavy-handed regime and its henchmen. People like the sadistic police chief Scarpia.

Yeah, like I said: it’s a mess. And it’s only going to get more complicated. Before Tosca’s Once this intense action is over, the dice must be rolled once more and the game board reset. In the opera’s first act, we hear about the Battle of Marengo in northwestern Italy, where French troops clash with Austrian forces. Napoleon Bonaparte has put his men through a veritable ordeal, marching them across the Alps. When the exhausted soldiers arrive in Italy, the Austrian general Michael von Melas seizes the opportunity to launch an attack—and the French don’t stand a chance. They are driven back so decisively that the Austrians undoubtedly emerge as the victors. News is quickly sent to Rome, causing conservative forces to rejoice that the wretched Bonaparte’s forces have been virtually annihilated. But as we all know, you shouldn’t count your chickens before they’re hatched. In the opera’s second act, new news arrives. At Marengo, General Melas gets a real wake-up call when Napoleon’s troops are unexpectedly reinforced by fresh soldiers. With a shock and a crash, the balance of power shifts, and the next courier setting off for Rome carries a message entirely different from the first—namely, that the Battle of Marengo, which was thought to have been won, has in fact been lost. The Austrian garrison that had guaranteed Rome’s security had fallen, and at any moment Napoleon’s soldiers were likely to march in and restore the republic—much to the horror of the conservatives, but to the delight of the republicans.

However, that is not exactly how it turns out. No new Roman Republic is proclaimed. Instead, weapons are exchanged for diplomacy, and Rome remains under the rule of the Papal States, though it must accept that Napoleon and the French dictate certain terms. Men like Scarpia can no longer rule through terror, and the city’s Enlightenment enthusiasts and republicans can, at least in private circles, speak and think freely. Perhaps not quite the dream that Angelotti cherished and died for, but still a step forward in the small state dominated by perhaps the world’s most reactionary leader.

Does this mean that calm can now settle over Rome and the Italian states? No, one cannot say that. Fifteen years later, Napoleon finally falls at Waterloo, and after that, Austria advances its positions once again. Italy remains, as before, a motley mosaic of different states, populated by ordinary Italians who do not yet call themselves or identify as Italians, and who are by no means in agreement on the best path forward. There is certainly no consensus on the Apennine Peninsula. The various small states all have their own governments, their own jurisdictions, and their own economies. They are linked to some extent by religion, but culturally, the divides are vast. The same is true linguistically. The dialects spoken in the various states or regions can be so different from one another that they are practically distinct languages. Communicating across borders is therefore difficult, which does not exactly bode well for joint political projects.

Yet, just seven decades later, through long and tortuous struggles and processes, the country would be forged into a unified state. The patchwork quilt was unstitched and sewn together to form the Kingdom of Italy through the so-called Il Risorgimento, the unification of Italy, completed in 1870. And it is in the wake of this unification that the play *La Tosca* written by the French playwright Victorien Sardou. It was panned by critics but became a huge box-office hit, starring superstar Sarah Bernhardt as Floria Tosca. The play was then adapted into Puccini’s opera and premiered shortly after New Year’s Day 1900, in a Rome where calm was still conspicuous by its absence. The premiere was dramatically postponed until the following day when the opera house, the Teatro Costanzi, received a bomb threat from anarchists. For, as everyone knows, the political turmoil in Europe did not end with the 19th century. All the historical turmoil that forms the backdrop to both the opera’s plot and its premiere carries over into the 20th century, and continues to make itself felt all the way into our own, equally turbulent times. Which means that “Tosca ” remains relevant. Power struggles, passion, and dreams of freedom are things we humans can always relate to—and will probably never tire of.