In the mid 1720s, George Frideric Handel, now in his late 30s, was at the peak of his career in London. As notable conductor Jane Glover summarizes in her engaging new biography, Handel in London, “There were many positive elements in his life: financial and domestic freedom, court approbation, the Royal Academy of Music, the best singers and musicians in Europe, a supportive team in his workshop, and, for the most part, trusted and invigorating colleagues.” In 1723, Handel moved into a new five-story townhouse at 25 Brook Street in London’s fashionable Grosvenor neighborhood; there he would live, compose prolifically, and work with his creative team until his death in 1759. The stars were now perfectly aligned for him, and the result was the “miracle year” of 1724 and 1725 when he created a trio of his greatest operas: Giulio Cesare (premiered February 24, 1724), Tamerlano (premiered October 31, 1724), and Rodelinda (premiered February 13, 1725).
Not to be confused with today’s British conservatory of the same name, the early 18th century’s Royal Academy was a consortium of prominent Londoners—including King George I, a devoted opera lover—who combined their considerable financial resources to sponsor Italian opera in the city. In 1719, they hired Handel as their music director and chief composer and established their new company at the King’s Theatre in Haymarket.
In writing three operas within such a short period, Handel did not lean on a formulaic blueprint, for each of these operas is radically different from the others. Set in ancient Egypt, Giulio Cesare is a tragi-comedy—with considerable emphasis on comic elements—of Julius Caesar’s early years as he aids the young Cleopatra in reclaiming the Egyptian throne from her brother Ptolemy. By contrast, Tamerlano is pure tragedy and one of Handel’s darkest works: a story about the Tartar conqueror Tamburlaine and his abuse of his noble Turkish captive Bajazet. Though it also has strong tragic elements, Rodelinda, regina de’ Longobardi (Rodelinda, Queen of the Lombards) is a domestic drama about the power of conjugal love (a theme Beethoven would take up nearly a century later in Fidelio).
Vital to the success of these operas was Handel’s trusty right hand, librettist Nicola Haym, who took unwieldy stories from centuries past and shaped them into compelling dramas. Rodelinda’s plot was derived from eighth-century historian Paul the Deacon, who chronicled the travails of the Lombardian kings of the seventh century. In 1652, the classical French dramatist Pierre Corneille turned this story into a play, Pertharite, roi de Lombards—unfortunately so unsuccessful that it caused him to cease writing plays for seven years! In 1710, Antonio Salvi salvaged the play for an opera libretto that was subsequently used by a number of composers. Not satisfied with its ponderous succession of recitatives and arias, Handel directed Haym to drastically overhaul it; the result was an exceptionally swift-moving plot that keeps audiences involved for its duration.
As biographer Jonathan Keates wrote, “If Handel’s operas, like those of almost every other 18th-century composer, are primarily focused on the singer as vocal artist, they are also concerned with the credible presentation of human feeling.” Handel’s genius for creating multi-faceted, fully rounded characters through music far exceeded his many competitors. And he delighted in producing memorable female characters—like Agrippina, Alcina, and Cleopatra—who effortlessly dominate their operas. Though she is more virtuous than those three, Rodelinda is as strong as any of them. She is the courageous heroine in a story that lacks truly heroic men, and she fights fiercely for her son, for the unblemished memory of her supposedly deceased husband, and for her own honor and integrity. “Rodelinda’s dignified resistance in a male-dominated society comes across as unexpectedly modern,” says Harry Bicket.
The composer wrote this magnificent role for his current leading prima donna Francesca Cuzzoni, who had also created the role of Cleopatra. The Italian soprano was peerless in her technique and in the beauty of her sound; as one contemporary musician remembered her: “It was difficult for the hearer to determine whether she most excelled in slow or rapid airs … so grateful and touching was the natural tone of her voice that she rendered pathetic whatever she sang.”
In his arias for Rodelinda, Handel capitalized on all these qualities. When we first meet her imprisoned with her son in a dank apartment, her doleful minor-mode aria “Ho perduto il caro sposo” shows her weighed down by grief for Bertarido and by the apparent hopelessness of her situation. But moments later, when the usurper Grimoaldo arrives with a proposal of marriage, the pride and steel in her character comes to the fore as she rejects him in “L’empio rigor del fato,” an aria lashed by furious violins. Later as she takes her son, Flavio, to visit Bertarido’s memorial monuments, she reveals her vulnerable side in the exquisitely beautiful “Ombre, piante, urne funeste,” an echo aria in which her drooping phrases are imitated by solo flute. To complement his female protagonist, Handel chose for this opera an orchestra that omitted the brass instruments and drums of war and focused instead on the gentler colors of flutes, recorders, and oboes with strings.
In Act II, Rodelinda is caught in a vise as Grimoaldo forces her to choose between marrying him or letting her son die. Expertly reading the weakness of his resolve, she turns the tables on him by agreeing to his proposal, but stipulating he must first kill Flavio before her very eyes. We know that Handel wrote the text himself for “Spietati,” her extraordinary aria condemning Grimoaldo and his counselor Garibaldo. Dissatisfied with Haym’s words for this ultimate confrontation between good and evil, he penned a briefer, sharper denunciation. And rather than composing a customary Baroque rage aria bristling with coloratura, he created spare phrases that make each word sting.
When Unulfo reveals to Rodelinda that her husband is actually alive, the enchanting aria “Ritorna, o caro” shows her softer side and how deeply she loves Bertarido. Set to a lilting siciliano rhythm, it is one of those elegantly simple Handelian melodies that cling in the memory. But in Act III, when the plot to free Bertarido from prison seems to have failed and that he has died in the attempt, Rodelinda is finally reduced to her lowest ebb, no longer wishing to live. Handel portrays her emotional collapse in one of his greatest Largo-marked laments, “Se’l mio duol.” In the orchestra, bassoons and recorders mourn with her.
Balancing Rodelinda is the primo uomo role of her husband, Bertarido, the rightful ruler of the Lombards. Handel wrote this part for the most popular singer of the day in London, the castrato Francesco Bernardi, who was known professionally as Il Senesino for his birthplace of Siena. The composer and flutist Johann Quantz described him: “He had a powerful, clear, equal, and sweet contralto voice, with a perfect intonation and an excellent shake [trill]. His manner of singing was masterly and his elocution unrivaled.”
As a character, Bertarido is impulsive and driven by his emotions, especially his passion for his wife. He tends to alternate between passive self-pity and ill-considered action as when he stabs his true friend Unulfo, who is always trying to save Bertarido from his worst instincts. Though he is the rightful ruler of a country, he seems little interested in recovering his throne.
If these qualities do not make him a genuinely heroic figure, they do provide Handel with varied opportunities for marvelous arias. The most famous of them—indeed one of Handel’s best-loved arias—is his introductory song in Act I: the meltingly tender “Dove sei?” Emerging smoothly from the preceding recitative, this is a sublime Largo love song that expresses Bertarido’s longing for reunion with his wife. However, at the end of Act I, when he falsely believes she has betrayed him with Grimoaldo, he reveals an uglier side with the furious “Confusa si miri,” an aria of explosive starts and stops in which his jealousy runs wild.
In Act II, Bertarido, known only by Unulfo to be alive, is still morosely skulking in the shadows. And as we hear in “Con rauco momorio,” he is indulging in the pathetic fallacy: Nature’s brooks, caves, and mountains are mourning with him. In the B section of this beautiful aria in pastoral siciliano tempo, recorders and flutes sympathetically echo his words. However, Handel apparently became concerned about making his leading man too passive, and for the opera’s first revival he added the brilliant Act III aria “Vivi, tiranno,” as Bertarido rescues Grimoaldo, kills the evil Garibaldo, and assumes at last his kingly power in a burst of energetic coloratura.
Perhaps a more fascinating figure is Grimoaldo, the would-be king and putative villain who torments Rodelinda, but confronted by her blazing integrity, cannot carry out his dreams of absolute power. Handel created this role for his new tenor discovery, Francesco Borosini, who was an exceptionally strong and versatile actor; Borosini just months earlier had created the tragic role of Bajazet in Tamerlano. Unlike Garibaldo, Grimoaldo possesses a conscience, which is finally his undoing. In Act III, Handel charts his emotional unraveling in a superb scena of accompanied recitative and aria. The recitative “Fatto inferno è il mio petto” is the more musically potent, as driven by a hounding orchestra, he wrestles with the furies that torment him. Longing to sleep in peace once more, he then sings a charmingly innocent aria, “Pastorello,” in which he longs to be nothing more than a poor shepherd with no worldly cares.
Of all the extraordinary musical riches in Rodelinda, the one that lingers in the mind longest afterward is Rodelinda and Bertarido’s heartbreaking da capo love duet “Io t’abbraccio,” which brings down the curtain on Act II. Finally out of hiding, Bertarido has been captured by Grimoaldo, who threatens to put him to death. Having so recently been reunited, husband and wife are torn apart again. In Handel’s favorite key for portraying anguish, F-sharp minor, their voices blend gorgeously above an implacable walking bass line symbolizing the imprisonment and possibly death awaiting Bertarido.
At his death, the King of Lombardy left his domains in equal portions to his three children: Bertarido, Eduige, and Gundeberto. Also aspiring to these lands is Grimoaldo, Duke of Benevento, who is wooing Eduige. The avaricious Gundeberto has now been killed, and it is believed Bertarido also has died, leaving behind his wife, Rodelinda, as Queen of Milan.
Act I: In the royal palace, Rodelinda mourns for her husband with their son, Flavio. Grimoaldo has seized power, and she is now his prisoner. Grimoaldo offers the throne back to her if she will marry him. Despite her precarious situation, Rodelinda refuses him. Once pledged to Grimoaldo, the spurned Eduige vows vengeance on him.
Unbeknownst to anyone except his faithful aide Unulfo, Bertarido is alive and hiding nearby. Unseen, he watches Rodelinda weep as she and Flavio bring flowers to his memorial monument. Grimoaldo’s ruthless councilor, Garibaldo, arrives with another offer of marriage from Grimoaldo; if she refuses again, her son will be killed. When she finally accepts, the eavesdropping Bertarido is consumed with rage. Unulfo, his aide, restrains him from revealing himself.
Act II: Rodelinda announces her terms for marriage: She will only wed Grimoaldo if he personally kills Flavio before her eyes. Grimoaldo recoils at this, just as Rodelinda suspected he would. Garibaldo urges the wavering Grimoaldo to kill the boy, but Grimoaldo refuses. Unulfo rushes to Bertarido to reassure him of his wife’s fidelity.
Bertarido’s sister, Eduige, discovers her brother’s hiding place and promises to help him win back his wife and son. Acting as intermediary, Unulfo tells Rodelinda that Bertarido is alive and brings them together. Grimoaldo comes upon the happily embracing couple and threatens to imprison Bertarido. Rodelinda and Bertarido sing anguished farewells to each other before he is led away.
Act III: Eduige and Unulfo plot Bertarido’s escape from prison. Garibaldo urges Grimoaldo to execute Bertarido. When Unulfo breaks into Bertarido’s prison cell, Bertarido, thinking he is one of the guards, stabs him. Not seriously wounded, Unulfo leads Bertarido to the secret escape route Eduige has prepared. Finding their way to the empty cell, Rodelinda and Flavio discover Unulfo’s blood on the floor and fear the worst. Rodelinda is overcome with despair.
Meanwhile, Grimoaldo, tormented by his conscience, seeks sleep in the palace gardens. Garibaldi discovers him there and, eager to usurp the throne for himself, is about to kill him. Bertarido leaps from his hiding place and strikes down Garibaldo. Chastened, Grimoaldo now reveals his change of heart and relinquishes the throne of Milan to Bertarido and Rodelinda. And he makes amends to Eduige by offering to wed her. All express their joy and hail a brighter future.
—Janet E. Bedell
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