Sadly, the summer opera season has drawn to a close. I have enjoyed six glorious Friday (and Saturday) nights in the Verona Arena over the past nine weeks, sharing the opera experience with my friends and family. For those of you thinking, “Wow, how did you get your husband to take you to the opera six times in one summer?” I have two words: You’re funny. SSG OPSEC was delighted that I found a friend that I could go to the opera with last summer, and even happier when I found my daughter wanted to go this year. He did go once, to Romeo and Juliet, because that was a story he knew. But on a regular basis? Not gonna happen.
Each opera has been different in style and design, but the one factor that is the same each time--and has actually been my favorite element--has been the crowd. When 14,000 people are in the same place at the same time, they often share the same thoughts. It’s fun to be a part of this and to watch it happen.
The crowd behavior begins before the opera even starts. As the orchestra takes their seats, tiny lights wink on all over the Arena. It's no secret that one flame can give life to hundreds of lights. Candles are provided to the audience most nights, in honor of a performance on Verdi’s birthday nearly 100 years ago when the audience held them both to read their programs and to light the stage.
Of course, the opera is not just about sight, but sound. During the first act of La Traviata, as the orchestra began the first notes of the “drinking song,” the crowd began to hum along. When that many people hum together, the sound hovers around and wraps itself around you in a unique form of unity. Once that first line was finished, I couldn’t help but chuckle--and that sound echoed throughout the Arena as well.
The night we saw Romeo and Juliet, well, it was hot. Hot and miserable. The performance begins at 9 PM, and usually the temperature has fallen into the “pleasant” range by then. Not that night. It was still blazing when the conductor’s baton fell. So it was no surprise that in the third act when a breeze finally began to blow, a collective sigh of relief was heard and felt across the Arena.
I’ve already written about what happens to the crowd when there is a rain delay. I didn’t know Italians knew how to do the wave, much less that they would do it at the opera, until the night we experienced Aida.
My favorite opera this year was Nabucco, a retelling of the story of the Biblical king Nebuchadnezzar. It’s full of brilliant music and profound loss, and the Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves in which they sing of their longing for their homeland moved me to tears. I left that night determined to learn the song. “What did they sing about, Mom?” my daughter asked. “I don’t know, but they want it deeply,” I replied. Sometimes you don’t have to understand the words to get the meaning.
I have most likely seen my last opera in Verona. By the time next summer’s opera season rolls around, we will probably have moved. Though I am admittedly sad about this, I look forward to finding another opera crowd to join and observe.
They may even do the wave.
