Life and death— “Vissi d’arte”

I often point out grammatical errors that I heard on radio and/or TV shows to friends. One of them always responds: “Only people that had to study the language would notice these things.” It is very true that, being a non-native speaker, I try my best to use the language properly.

There is no such a thing as “verb tenses” in Chinese language. (On the other hand, there are many words and phrases that can reflect the timing of events and actions.) When I first started studying English, it annoyed me a great deal to have to learn the conjugation of strong verbs and to understand tenses. Italian is a language twice remote from my linguistic roots and, like any Romance language, it has a complicated system of verb tenses.

In Act II of Puccini’s Tosca, Scarpia, chief of the secret police, pressures the protagonist to give into his sexual advances, in exchange for the life and freedom of Cavaradossi, her lover and a supporter of revolutionary movement. At the moment of extremity, Tosca sings “Vissi d’arte.”[1]

Vissi d’arte; vissi d’amore
I used to live for arts; I used to live for love.

Non feci mai
male all’anima viva
I never did evil thing to any living soul.

Con man furtiva,
Quante miserie conobbi aiutai
With furtive hand,
I helped many people in misery as I knew.

Sempre con fè sincera
Always with sincere faith,

la mia preghiera
ai santi tabernacoli salì.
rose my prayer to the holy tabernacles.

Sempre con fè sincera
Always with sincere faith,

diedi fiori agl’altar.
I gave flowers to the altars.

Nell’ora del dolore
In the hour of sorrow

perchè, perchè, Signore,
perchè me ne rimuneri così?
Why, o why, Lord,
Why do you remunerate me so?

Diedi gioielli
della Madonna al manto,
I gave jewelries for the mantle of Madonna,

e diedi il canto
agli astri, al ciel,
che ne ridean più belli.
I also sent my singing to the stars, to the sky,
So, because with it, they would shine more beautifully.

Nell’ora del dolor
In the hour of sorrow,

perchè, perchè, Signor,
Ah, perchè me ne rimuneri così?
Why, why, Lord,
Ah, why do you remunerate me so?

When I first studied the aria, I noticed that almost all the verbs were in passato remoto (remote past).[2] It is a tense often associated with historical writing or storytelling, describing things that happened in the past and will not recur. The very first word “vissi” is first person/singular/passato remoto of “vivere” (to live). It is rarely used as it actually says, “Once upon a time, I lived.”

Tosca could have said, heroically, “Vivo d’arte; vivo d’amore” (“I live for art; I live for love”). She could even have said, “Sono vissuta. . .”[3] (“I have lived. . .”), giving a sense of how life had been and how it might continue. Clearly, she was distancing herself from the past, saying “I used to live for art; I used to live for love. . .”. Unfortunately, the desperation of cutting off one’s present realities from the past does not come through in English translation. Most singers are either ignorant of the complexity or simply setting it aside.

In all these years, I searched for the reason that the librettists[4] chose such strong tense. I addressed the questions to every soprano that passed through my door. I asked many reputable professionals. No answers.

Early last week, while working with a wonderful playwright/actress/singer on Tosca, I brought up the subject again. Her reaction was immediately different than most people. She asked a key question: “Did Tosca sing the aria before or after she caved in to Scarpia’s demands?” AFTER. Suddenly, it was clear to both of us that the moment of her surrender was a point of departure: A life of art, love, devotion and sincerity was no more. Tosca was eulogizing her own life and begging for a reason from the Lord.

I am a firm believer of the dramatic power of words, especially when combined with music. Since every language has its characteristics, in order to release such power, the interpreters must truly appreciate the choices of words as well as the construct of the text. Linguistic study could be a challenging task. Nonetheless, it is paramount for serious musicians.


[1]Vissi d’arte: Maria Callas
[2]The verb “rimuneri” (you remunerate) is in present tense.
[3]In conjugation of the verb “vivere,” auxiliaries “avere” (to have) and “essere” (to be) are both used. When associate with location, i.e. “Ho vissuto in Italia per un anno” (I have lived in Italy for a year), the auxiliary “avere” is used. When indicating being alive, “essere” should be used.
[4] Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica collaborated on the libretto of Tosca. They also cowrote the libretti of La Bohème.

Old-fashioned

This entry is part 4 of 5 in the series Trees

For a few years, I lived in a colonial house with a big yard. Despite its Depression-Era genesis, no details, in and around the house, were spared. However, by the time I took over the property, it was begging for some tender-loving care.

On the south side of the house, there was a hawthorn tree. It was allowed to grow wild and was tall enough that I could look out of the windows on the second floor to enjoy its white flowers in the spring. Its shades would keep the sunroom cool in the summer. Birds loved hiding in its leafy branches and feeding on its red fruits.[1] Alas, the thorns and the uninviting odor.

On the other side of the driveway, there were two other old-fashioned trees—a buckeye and a tulip tree, standing on a narrow strip of soil along the property line, sandwiched in by driveways on both sides. The ownership of these trees was never declared, nor did it lead to any disputes.

Having studied and worked for many years in Ohio—the Buckeye State, I only knew how a buckeye tree looked like after moving into the old house. Every spring, cream-colored flowers with spotty red center would stand out from the branches like little candelabras, ready to lite up a great hall for the most splendid banquet.

The tulip tree was the tallest and the prettiest among these trees.[2] Its leaves had the most distinguishable characters: palm-shaped with four wide blades, symmetrical—as if someone clipped off their tips. On breezy evenings, the sound of fluttering leaves sang me to sleep. Because the sepals of its tulip-like flowers were pale green, blending in easily with the leaves, I often failed to notice them until the driveway was strewn with large petals.

Every May all these trees will bloom about the same time. Concerto? Competition? Conspiracy? Organized activism? No matter. The enthusiasm was obvious. Standing at the edge of my backyard, I would see the perfect blend of light green, cream and white moving in accordance with spring breezes.

Then, tragedies would take place with unexpected storms. Suddenly, bright-color confetti on the branches would become muddy chutney on the ground. It would be the prelude of what’s to come later in the season: Leftover haws and prickly buckeye fruits with their inedible nuts would give me the runaround, keeping them off the driveway. After adding their glorious yellow to the autumn foliage, fallen tulip tree leaves would make the ground slippery.

Some friends made fun of me trying to keep up with these trees. But I loved the fact that they had been part of the landscape for a long time, not only on my land but also in the general geographical area. For the joy that they brought me, it was only fair that I took good care of them. After all these years, I still think of them often.


[1]Haws (hawthorn fruits) can be made into jellies. Fruits of Chinese hawthorn (Crataegus pinnatifida) 山楂 are similar to crabapples in color and size. They are often used in herbal medicine and/or made into sweets. Tanghulu 糖葫蘆, sugar-coated haws on bamboo skewers, are most popular with children.

[2]It is often said that tulip trees are the tallest and straightest tree in the forests in Eastern North America.