Crowds of excited baseball fans sweep toward the stadium. The voice of a peanut vendor rises over the melee. The smoke and baseball music combine to summon up associations of summer. A long line of funnel cake, bratwurst, pretzel and hotdog stands usher the fans toward the stands and as they find their places, the seats rumble with the volume of the audio system. Excitement grows as the players’ names are displayed on the big screen and every so often, one is distracted by the sound of the hotdog man slamming the metal lid of the hotdog box.
Everyone knows that the opera is a very different scene. One goes to the opera in the evening, wearing formal attire, perhaps after a dinner at a nice restaurant. Wine and perfume are more likely to scent the air than the smoke from a deep fat fryer.
I associate the word ‘opera’ with passion and ardor, tragic death scenes, mysterious ghosts and vibrato-laden tenor arias. But it turns out this may be a rather hasty and recent view of the art form. In fact, operas used to be more like a baseball game than an opera as we now think of it.
Take a look at this excerpt from a letter written by the Englishman Samuel Sharp in 1765:
“…[I]t is so much the fashion in Naples, and, indeed, through all Italy, to consider the Opera as a place of rendezvous and visiting, that they do not seem in the least to attend to the musick [sic], but laugh and talk through the whole performance, without any restraint; and, it may be imagined, that an assembly of so many hundreds conversing together so loudly, must entirely cover the voices of the singers.”
In eighteenth century Italy (and France as well), one went to the opera house to see one’s friends, to dine, to carouse and sometimes even to fight. In short, to have a good time. Often the ladies would ‘hold court’ in their boxes and the gentlemen would visit back and forth.
Giovanni Paolo Panini (1691-1765), Musical Fête (1747). Oil on canvas, 207 x 247 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris
The last time I was in the Louvre I saw this painting while wandering the French art wing. I spent a long time staring at its details – aristocrats congregating in the isles, servants wandering around offering food and beverages, ladies discussing amongst themselves, laughing and pointing. Opera’s place in society has shifted incredibly: from a social meeting place, to a spectator sport. From diversion to high art.
So the question is: will we ever revert to the historical model when it comes to operas? Chould the opera house become a place where you can find those mini doughnuts you love so much? Or do you think instead that in three hundred years, the baseball game will have assumed the same hallowed seat of high culture that opera now occupies?
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Stephanie Claussen is a professional harpist from Minneapolis, Minnesota. She performs on her harp throughout Minnesota in various concerts, recitals, and collaborations with other musicians. Consider signing up for her e-mail newsletter to be notified directly of upcoming performances and important announcements.