A Transcription of Un Ballo in Maschera
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Operation, as in “Opera”
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On-fiction non-fiction
Because of censorship Giuseppe Verdi was forced to change the time and setting of the story based on factual events. In an absurd stroke of genius the censors chose Boston shortly before the Revolutionary war. I sympathize with these censors, whoever they were — their art also speaks to me.
First Synopsis of Opera, then my…
Transcription
Act one. Since arriving in Boston, Riccardo finds that the only diversion from politics was womanizing. The unmarried Earl leaves the discussions of adulterous fishermen and violent Indian ghosts to woo the ladies of higher Bostonian society. He is delighted to read that a yet un-chartered conquest by the name of Amelia will be attending a masked ball given for his birthday. He is pleased too that previous subjugations, spouses of Sam and Tom, will also attend. Lots of lovers. He thinks of blushed cheeks while staring aimlessly at the guest list. Blushed cheeks and foxy stares.
Standing beside Riccardo as he reviews the list in interminable silence, save the creaking of pews, is anxious second, Renato, who looks over the faces of present officials with a grave forehead. He pokes Riccardo’s side, then speaks into his ear: “There is a conspiracy afoot.” Riccardo looks around his congress, creaking chairs, nodding naps. How could that sullen patch of farts afoot a conspiracy?
The arrival of cheerful young Oscar the page. “There’s a witch who’s leagued with the devil. She predicts the future, and has the harbor enthralled with her wild braided fantasies.” An old man calls out, “Dismiss her!” Oscar defends her. “Exile her,” another blue geezer shouts. “Well,” Riccardo says, bringing silence to the hall with his palm. “We shall visit this witch. In disguise we shall visit her, to prepare ourselves for the festivities of tomorrow. We will also be able to judge objectively.” In a swell of merriment the politicians rise to their tippy toes and don their peasant clothes and skip off to the harbor.
Ulrica the witch sees through the fishmonger disguise of Riccardo, who beats the old farts to the chase. She accepts Amelia’s visit, and the two act like they don’t notice Riccardo’s conspicuous enormity. Amelia complains of her infatuation with the Earl, and Ulrica suggests she swallow a drug that grows at a place of execution. Amelia waddles off and Riccardo’s congress enters through the front door. Riccardo has his fortune taken. Unfortunately, the next person who shakes his hand will kill him. Lo and behold, Renato comes out, shakes his hand. The pair laughs it off and Ulrica laughs in a different mode.
Act two. Resolute Amelia comes to collect the magic weed, inversion of whatever Tristan and Isolde drank. Riccardo lurks out of the bushes and the two sing of their mutual love. Amelia turns to the audience and wails a high note while her corset is slyly unraveled.
Renato has witnessed the conspiracy coagulate, and jumps ahead of the small, fugal mob to warn Riccardo. He comes out on stage, deaf to the gasps of audience members, and fails to recognize his wife, herself blinded by an impractically practical veil. Riccardo suggests, quelling his own chortles, that Renato take the woman back to town. The married couple walks for a bit in silence, but they run into the mob that Riccardo escaped from. In the hurly-burly, the veil slithers to the ground and Renato is publicly humiliated by his wife’s implied infidelity. He asks Tom and Sam to meet him at his place in the morning. Sure, in the morning.
Act three. Ulrica’s fortune mechanically conceiving itself, Renato thinks of different ways of executing his wife. Craftily, Amelia reminds her husband of their son, who might as well be George Washington, why not. He gives in to her maternal plea with a shrug, resolved now to drain Riccardo of all life’s pleasure-juices. Renato Washington, to prove his allegiance to Sam and Rom, pledges the life of George. They, like gangsters, shake hands. Their names (including Amelia’s name) are written on cards and one is drawn. Wouldn’t it be terrific if Amelia’s name was drawn? Of course it is Renato. He will do the deed, lunge the dagger, take the blame. Cellos surge, and they head off to the masked ball.
Amelia ignores the ballet. Pierrot is drunk, twirling a ballerina. Passing through dancers, Amelia finds the disguise; a red cap. “Riccardo,” she sighs. “Amelia,” Riccardo says, astonished. “Perhaps now is not the best time,” (eyeing the skinny dancer) “What?” Amelia asks, bemused.
Thud, thud, Renato approaches.
“Amelia, as I said, perhaps now isn’t the best time. I don’t want to talk to now.” “What?” she repeats. “What do you mean you don’t want to talk to me? I’ve risked my marriage for you. The least you can do is talk to me.” Thud. “I’m simply not attracted to you any more.” Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Why not have Amelia grab the knife from Renato just before he plunges it into Riccardo, then do the honors herself, atoning for her near adultery. The music ends with a congruous cadence, crash landing on a shattering c minor triad.
Then Historical Epilogue
