Opera Barber of Seville Program Notes, Sheet Music and Recordings

Program Notes & Analysis

The Most Joyful Failure in Opera History

The night of February 20, 1816, at Rome's Teatro Argentina was a catastrophe. Gioachino Rossini, just 23 years old, was presenting his new opera, Almaviva. (He didn't even dare call it The Barber of Seville at first, as a sign of respect to the great, 75-year-old Giovanni Paisiello, whose own Barber was a beloved masterpiece). It didn't matter. Paisiello's supporters filled the theater, determined to destroy the arrogant young composer. They booed, hissed, and whistled from the first note. The tenor's guitar for his serenade was out of tune. The singer playing Don Basilio tripped over a trapdoor and had to sing his aria with a bloody nose. To cap it all, a stray cat wandered onto the stage, became terrified, and ran back and forth, dodging the singers. The opera was an utter fiasco. Rossini, famously cool under pressure, simply went home, ate, and went to bed. The next night, the real audience came. The opera was a sensational, explosive triumph. It was clear that Rossini had not just written a new opera; he had redefined opera buffa for a new generation. The Barber of Seville is perhaps the most perfect, joyful, and relentlessly brilliant comedy ever set to music.

The Inheritance of Opera Buffa

Rossini was writing in a tradition perfected by masters like Domenico Cimarosa and Paisiello himself. The elements were all there: the bumbling bass buffo (Dr. Bartolo), the clever servant (Figaro), the pair of young lovers, and the plot built on disguises. Even more, Rossini was directly confronting the legacy of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose Le nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro) was the direct sequel to this very story. Rossini's opera is, in essence, the "prequel" to Mozart's. But where Mozart's comedy is deep, philosophical, and tinged with a melancholy sense of class warfare, Rossini's is pure, unadulterated, high-speed energy. He took the opera buffa form, with its "patter songs" and ensemble finales, and supercharged it. He created a style built on "physicality." This is not music that invites deep, intellectual thought; it is music that makes you tap your feet, hold your breath, and laugh out loud. It is a masterpiece of pure, joyous, theatrical mechanics.

A "Bel Canto" Tour de Force

This is bel canto ("beautiful singing") at its most athletic. Rossini was writing for some of the greatest singers in the world, and he treated their voices like high-performance instruments. The opera is a relentless stream of vocal fireworks. It demands superhuman agility, perfect breath control, and the ability to spin out long, lyrical lines one moment and dash through machine-gun-fast "coloratura" (rapid scales and ornaments) the next. But unlike later bel canto composers like Bellini or Donizetti, Rossini's "beautiful singing" is rarely about pathos or tragedy; it is about energy and character. Rosina's coloratura in "Una voce poco fa" is not just vocal showing off; it's the sound of her witty, fiery, and indomitable will. Figaro's "Largo al factotum" is not just a tongue-twister; it is the sound of a man who is the kinetic, multitasking, caffeinated center of his entire universe. Rossini famously despised the "vanity" of singers who added their own improvised ornaments. He seized control, writing out every single note of the coloratura himself, making the vocal line an inflexible, composer-driven part of the drama.

Largo al Factotum: The Ultimate "I Am" Aria

It is, simply, the most famous entrance aria in history. "Largo al factotum della città" ("Make way for the factotum of the city") is the opera's brilliant mission statement. It's not just a song; it's a "crescendo" of character. Figaro, the "barber of quality," is the ultimate "fixer." He is a barber, a doctor, a matchmaker, a veterinarian, and a confidant. He is, as he sings, "wanted by everyone" ("Figaro qua, Figaro là..."). Rossini builds this aria as a perfectly controlled explosion. It starts with a simple, boastful melody and then, note by note, syllable by syllable, it accelerates. The "patter" (the rapid-fire, syllabic singing) becomes a musical depiction of his busy, chaotic, and joyful life. By the end, the orchestra is racing, and Figaro is spitting out "Figaro!"s in a breathless, exhilarating display. This aria perfectly established the new "baritone" archetype—not a villain, not a king, but the clever, charismatic, middle-class hero.

Rosina: The "Viper" in the Guise of a Lamb

If Figaro's aria is the opera's "energy," Rosina's "Una voce poco fa" (A little voice, just now) is its "wit." This is her entrance, and it defines her character. She is not a wilting, passive victim. She is a lioness trapped in a cage. The aria is in two parts, a classic cavatina. The first part is slow, lyrical, and "sweet" ("I am docile, I am respectful..."). She is playing the part of the perfect, obedient ward. But then the music shifts. The second part, the cabaletta, reveals her true nature: "...but if you cross me, I become a viper! I will have a hundred tricks to play!" And as she sings this, the music explodes into a fiendishly difficult, sparkling, and defiant series of coloratura runs. She is telling the audience exactly who she is: a woman who will use her "obedience" as a weapon and her "docility" as a disguise to get exactly what she wants. It is one of the greatest "character" arias ever written.

The "Rossini Crescendo" and Ensemble Chaos

Rossini's true genius, like Mozart's, was in his ensembles. He was a master of musical "chaos theory." The Act I finale, "Fredda ed immobile" (Cold and motionless), is a perfect example. The plot has descended into anarchy: the Count (disguised as a soldier) is brawling with Bartolo, and the entire city guard has arrived to arrest him. The action freezes. And Rossini begins his most famous trick: the "Rossini crescendo." It starts with a single, stunned, quiet phrase. Then, that phrase is repeated, slightly louder, with more instruments. Then it's repeated again, louder, faster, and higher. This "steamroller" effect, a long, controlled, 10-minute build of volume and rhythmic intensity, creates a feeling of exhilarating, unbearable tension that finally explodes in a wall of sound. It is the musical equivalent of a "panic attack," and it is pure, theatrical, comic genius. Rossini turns confusion itself into the "subject" of his music.

A Prequel to Mozart, A Blueprint for the Future

The Barber of Seville is the "prequel" to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, and it is fascinating to see the characters in their "youth." The witty, independent Rosina of Rossini's opera becomes the sad, melancholic, and abandoned Countess of Mozart's. The brilliant, all-powerful "fixer" Figaro becomes a "servant" who is almost outwitted by his master. Rossini’s opera is a snapshot of pure, uncomplicated joy, a world where wit and love conquer all. Its influence was total. Gaetano Donizetti’s Don Pasquale and L'elisir d'amore are its direct descendants. Even the great Giuseppe Verdi, in his final, masterful comedy Falstaff, was still paying homage to the buffa forms that Rossini had perfected. Barber is not a "profound" opera, and it was never meant to be. It is a "perfect" opera, a work of such relentless, joyful, and brilliant energy that, over 200 years after its disastrous premiere, it remains the most popular and beloved comedy in the world.

The Story of the Opera

Act I

In a square in Seville, at dawn. The young, noble Count Almaviva arrives with a band of musicians to serenade the beautiful Rosina, who is held as a virtual prisoner in the house of her old guardian, Dr. Bartolo. He sings "Ecco ridente in cielo" (Lo, in the laughing sky), but she does not appear. The Count dismisses the musicians just as Figaro, the local barber and "factotum," enters, singing his famous "Largo al factotum," bragging about his busy, popular life. Figaro recognizes the Count, his former employer, and the Count explains his predicament. He is in love with Rosina, but she only knows him as "Lindoro," a poor student, as he wants to be loved for himself, not his title. Figaro, who has access to every house in Seville, agrees to help.

Rosina appears on the balcony and manages to drop a note to "Lindoro," asking him to tell her who he is. The Count sings another serenade, "Se il mio nome" (If my name), telling her he is a poor student named Lindoro. Inside, Rosina sings her great aria "Una voce poco fa" (A little voice, just now), vowing to win "Lindoro" and defeat her guardian. Dr. Bartolo is also planning to marry Rosina, but for her dowry. His accomplice, the slimy music master Don Basilio, arrives. Basilio warns Bartolo that Count Almaviva has been seen in Seville. He suggests they start a rumor to destroy the Count's reputation, in his famous "slander" aria, "La calunnia è un venticello" (Calumny is a little breeze).

Figaro, who has overheard, tells Rosina of the plot and urges her to write a note to "Lindoro." She, already one step ahead, hands him a note she has already written. Figaro's first plan is set in motion: the Count will disguise himself as a drunken soldier and demand to be billeted in Bartolo's house. The Count bursts in, pretending to be drunk, and a scene of total chaos erupts. Bartolo is furious. The Count resists arrest, and the act ends in a massive, "frozen" ensemble of confusion, "Fredda ed immobile" (Cold and motionless), as the city guard, baffled, lets the Count go after he secretly reveals his true identity.

Act II

The Count returns, this time in a new disguise: "Don Alonso," a music teacher, who claims to be a student of Don Basilio, who is "sick." Bartolo is suspicious, but "Alonso" wins his trust by giving him Rosina's own letter, claiming he "found" it and will use it to "slander" the Count and prove to Rosina that "Lindoro" is just a toady for Almaviva. The "music lesson" begins. Rosina sings a "show" aria (which is often substituted), and she and "Lindoro" are ableto whisper and plot under Bartolo's nose, who keeps falling asleep. Figaro arrives, insisting he must shave Dr. Bartolo, as it is his "day." His real motive is to steal the key to the balcony. The entire plan is nearly ruined when the real Don Basilio arrives, looking perfectly healthy. In a brilliant, fast-paced quintet, the Count, Figaro, and Rosina "convince" Basilio, with a fat purse, that he is, in fact, very sick with "scarlet fever" and must go home to bed ("Buona sera, mio signore"). As Figaro shaves Bartolo, the lovers finalize their plan to elope at midnight. But Bartolo overhears. Enraged, he kicks everyone out.

Bartolo, in a fury, puts his own counter-plot in motion. He shows Rosina her own letter, the one she gave to "Lindoro," which "Don Alonso" gave to him. He tells her that "Lindoro," "Don Alonso," and "Figaro" are all just agents of the wicked Count Almaviva, who plans to "abduct" her. Rosina, heartbroken and believing she has been betrayed, confesses the entire elopement plot and, in a fit of rage, agrees to marry Dr. Bartolo that very night. Bartolo sends for the notary.

A storm rages (a famous orchestral interlude). At midnight, Figaro and the Count climb a ladder to the balcony. They are met by a furious Rosina, who accuses "Lindoro" of betraying her for the Count. The Count, overjoyed, reveals his true identity: "I am that Lindoro... I am the Count Almaviva, who sought not your riches, but your heart!" They reconcile, but Don Basilio arrives with the notary, ready for the wedding. The Count, in another flash, bribes Basilio with a diamond ring (and a threat of a pistol) to be the witness to his marriage to Rosina. Just as the contract is signed, Dr. Bartolo bursts in with soldiers, but he is too late. The Count explains the situation, and, in a final gesture of goodwill, he allows the "defeated" Dr. Bartolo to keep Rosina's dowry. The opera ends in a joyous, celebratory ensemble hailing the triumph of love.