Saturday, June 2, 2018

The proud lion can be tamed, or can it? (The Music of Zaide)

An illusion of control often slips into our lives. Some are more prone to control and dominate various situations. Often, they don’t care who they hurt, as long as they have control. What about in matters of love? How much pain is caused because one wants to control the way he or she is loved? “If only my beloved would do so-and-so, then I know they really love me. Otherwise, that means they must not.” In turn, people tear into each other's hearts, inflicting some of the greatest pain. 

Who can inflict more pain? The wretch who finds pleasure in making others miserable? Yes, there are such people, but rare. Or the mourner of a battered heart? While the pure sadist will seek opportunities to inflict pain, he or she will not do it at the expense of self. The truly selfish sort is limited by his or her selfishness. The obsessive inflicted however, will (even at his or her own expense) tear into those who have hurt him.

And, thus I am once again brought back to Mozart’s opera Zaide. Sultan Soliman, Zaide’s master, loves the girl. He loves her so much, he’d give her nearly anything. Thus, when she betrays him, it becomes personal.


I’ve heard some psychobabble about the first stage of grief being denial. So, when pain strikes, there is the numb, surreal fuzzy state that makes it feel as if our eyes aren’t attached to our brains. We’re deadened. “This didn’t happen. It can’t be real.” So, when Soliman first hears the news, he simply can’t believe it. “It is not possible that my treasure left me for a dirty, disgusting slave.” No physical pain could possibly sting away such a deadened state

Der stolze löw’ lasst sich zwar zähmen (The proud lion can be tamed) starts with a deadened determination. It is the aria of a man who seeks no joy in what he has determined to do, but doesn’t care. He is going to hurt Zaide. Make her pay for falling in love with another. The kettledrums (or timpani) slam with determination, like a man beating his chest or slamming his fist into a wall in order to feel something. Duty compels him to act. Then, the pace quickens and heightens like a soul suffering a panic attack. “This can’t be real. This can’t be real. I won't let it be real. I’ll make it not real.” The music seems to say. Soliman is in control, and by golly he’s going to make things turn out his way.

All the while, the music still carries elements of stoic nobility. Hurt hearts often seek to justify their actions. We all recognize certain historical figures as pure evil, but would those figures have said that of themselves? No. Surely, they were convinced their actions were just. They wanted control. They were out to fix the world. (How often, in similar manners, do we assume we’re justified?) Adding to the opera’s animal imagery, Soliman declares he is a lion. A man who devours the flatterer. (She may have pretended to love him for her own safety.) Now in his mind, Zaide in the cruelest of sorts. Of course, he is deaf to his own cruelty. The cruelty that made her flatter… and made her leave.

Did such emotions hyperventilate through Mozart’s head as he wrote the aria of Soliman? Not to say he was out to be cruel, but I could imagine him thinking of Aloysia (the one who broke his heart right before the opera was begun), “What a cruel woman? Tearing my heart from my ribs after my mother died!” What was he going to do to gain control? (I wonder how those dynamics worked after he married Aloysia’s sister, Contanze.) In addition, did he see his father and Archbishop Colloredo as Soliman-like figures in his own life? Clearly, both were control-hungry individuals that butted heads, leaving Mozart smashed in between. That’s the problem with control. It’s kind of like the adage of holding a bird in your hand and letting it go mumbo jumbo, but the larger problem stems from squeezing tightly. It either slips out greatly injured, or dies.

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