Rigoletto (Fabian Veloz, right) taunts the Duke (Dinyar Vania) while hiding a secret of his own. Photo courtesy of Opera Omaha.
Rigoletto is a study of contrasts. The source material, Victor Hugo’s 1832 play Le roi s’amuse (The King Amuses Himself), is, in true Hugo fashion, a subtly pointed critique of the abuse of power. The original play was so pointed it was banned for several decades after opening night. Verdi and his librettist, Francesco Maria Piave, had to deal with Austrian censors who saw their plot as inappropriate for the operatic stage. Verdi and Piave changed the character of the King of France to the nondescript Duke of Mantua and the jester Triboulet to Rigoletto. But they kept the moral tension and tragic consequences of revenge at the heart of the work, which was rapturously received at its premiere in 1851.
Rigoletto is also deceptively entertaining, bringing the tension of the source material into the very essence of the work and how audiences respond to it. Two of the most memorable opera arias ever, “La donna è mobile” and “Questa o quella,” are light and melodically catchy—sung by a character who routinely seduces and rapes women. Our protagonist, Rigoletto, is the Duke’s jester—and becomes the victim of the cruelest joke. As the Duke’s personal cheerleader, he mocks and teases the husbands, fathers, and relatives of the Duke’s victims. Yet he does whatever he can to keep his daughter, Gilda, from the Duke’s reach. Such an act shows that perhaps his cruelty is more act than essence; how to speak against the person who helps you maintain your quality of life?
And yet in his desire to protect, he leaves Gilda unguarded. She is not allowed outside the home except to attend church, always chaperoned by a nurse. At no point, does he sit her down and prepare her—to spot liars, to defend herself against predators, or to be wary of strangers. It is at church that she meets who she thinks is a poor student—actually the Duke in disguise. She has no knowledge of her father’s profession, not even his name; and so when she learns her father is the court jester and her father learns she has slept with the Duke, it is one of several cruel jokes that occurs and hints to the ultimate tragedy to come.
The Duke, used to moving through the world with no consequences and getting what he wants, gets no comeuppance: there is no descent into hell like Don Giovanni or Faust, nor a triumphant mob of disgruntled courtiers carrying him off stage. He is completely unaware of Rigoletto’s plot to assassinate him. The disconnect between awareness and consequences heightens the disparity between the Duke and Rigoletto: one gets off scot-free, the other fails in his plan of righteous revenge, in part because his daughter chooses to sacrifice her life for a man that she sees as her true love.
And so, amidst the cheery, earwormy tunes of this popular opera lies a series of moral conundrums and frustrations. Is this a commentary on the limits of revenge? That one’s moral compass should never be compromised or that it can never be without stain? That this world is not suited for those pure and good? That is for you to decide.
Alexandra Kori Hill is a musicologist, editor, and freelance writer. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, I CARE IF YOU LISTEN, and the Journal of the Royal Musical Association.