Rossini’s Guillaume Tell and Verdi’s Don Carlos are French grand operas that both deal with the subject of revolution, an incredibly contentious political topic in the nineteenth century. Both works portray a noble and heroic lead character struggling against the corrupt, malicious and illegitimate powers that be. By way of evocative libretti and powerful musical expression, the audiences’ sympathies are engaged with the oppressed masses in their battle for freedom from the ruling authorities, and hence both these operas actively promote an infectious revolutionary sentiment. However, there are also notable differences between the two works, mainly as a result of the contrasting artistic sensibilities of Rossini and Verdi, and also the different historical contexts in which they were working. Guillaume Tell is a very optimistic work that deals specifically with a successful revolution against oppressive foreign rulers. Don Carlos on the other hand is a far darker entity, exploring the tyranny of absolute rulers, the state and the Church, as well as portraying the hopelessness of trying to combat them.
Both these operas are based on plays by Friedrich Schiller (1759-1805), a German playwright, poet, historian and philosopher who displayed a strong political agenda throughout his career. He was a key figure in the romantic movement and a passionate libertarian.
It is widely thought that the crucial formative period for Schiller’s political views was his time spent at an academy set up by Karl Eugen, the Duke of Wuttemberg. T.J Reed tells us in his biography of Schiller that the academy was run with “the pupils in military uniform, under military discipline and close supervision; no holidays or compassionate leave; rarely visitors.” Eugen was an absolute monarch who spent lavishly and irresponsibly; he unfairly imprisoned persons he disliked for obscene periods of time, such as the poet and journalist Schubart who was imprisoned for ten years after criticising Eugen and the academy; and his setting up of the academy was largely motivated as a means of training “cadres of unquestionably loyal public service, indebted for and indoctrinated by their education.”
1728 Carl Eugen
Schiller’s adverse reaction to these years was immediately clear from his very first play, The Robbers, published in 1781. It is a historical drama set in sixteenth century Dalberg, which tells the story of a group of revolutionaries, one of whom is a disowned aristocrat, rebelling against the injustice, corruption and hypocrisies of the feudal authorities.
Influenced by the works of Rousseau and the writers of the ‘Sturm und Drang,’ Schiller produced a shocking critique of what T. J. Reed calls, “the evils of absolutism: this is Schiller’s legendary first outburst after years of constraint, the product (he said later) of ‘the unnatural intercourse of genius and oppression.’” So admired was the republican verve of the work that in 1792 Schiller was made an honorary citizen of the French Republic by the revolutionary leaders, and throughout his career he would constantly return to historical dramas exploring similar themes regarding revolution. For example, Don Carlos in 1787, which Reed describes as “an impassioned statement of liberal principles against the legendary tyranny of Phillip II of Spain and the Inquisition.” Also, in 1804 Schiller would produce Wilhelm Tell, a retelling of the famous folk tale about the 14th century Swiss marksmen struggling for Swiss independence from the cruel and corrupt Habsburg Empire.
Historical Context: Rossini and Guillaume Tell
The choice of Shiller’s plays as subject matter by Rossini and Verdi says a lot about politics in the nineteenth century; the profound influence of the French Revolution and its ideals of ‘Liberty, equality, fraternity.‘ Anthony Arblaster tells us, “Of the political changes that followed from the French Revolution, none was more important than the rise in nationalism.”  National freedom became a hugely important phenomenon, causing a string of uprisings against oppressive foreign rulers, such as the Greek War of Independence from 1821-1829. Linked in with nationalism was a dramatic surge in republicanism, with absolutist rulers being accused of corruption, illegitimacy and oppression, leading to a series of revolutions such as in Spain and Portugal in 1820, or the 1825 Decembrist Revolt in Russia.
This post-Revolution unrest was unsurprisingly also evident in France during the 1820’s, where in 1829, Rossini would produce Guillaume Tell. The Bourbon monarchy had been restored in 1814 under Louis XVIII (succeeded by Charles X in 1824), but as Jane Fulcher argues, “the charter of the Restoration created aristocratic institutions in its political laws, but left a democratic principle in the civil laws that would eventually destroy the edifice.“ Many people felt that political freedoms promised in La Charte were not being delivered, and this situation gradually led to the July revolution of 1830 where a constitutional monarchy was declared, and Charles X was forced to stand down in favour of the more liberal Louis-Philippe I.
Crucially, the Restoration Opera of the 1820’s was largely identified with the monarchy, being financed mainly by the King. Fulcher argues that “its concern was with royal image…It was a special kind of political institution for the crown, a rhetorical means to proclaim the monarch’s political achievements and glory.” As such, it was necessary for it to have popular appeal and relevancy to the people so as not to harm the King’s already flagging status. However, at this time audiences were enjoying Schiller-esque tales of nationalism and revolution that were in tune with their democratic ideals and the contempt they had for the monarchy. This is evident from the output of the less stringently censored boulevard theatres of the period, where according to Fulcher, “a bevy of works about notorious leaders of past revolts began to appear. Favourite among these were the stories of the first popular revolt in Naples and that of the legendary Swiss revolutionary leader, Guillaume Tell.” Hence, to rival these theatres, the Opera had to stage similar stories whilst also trying to avoid stirring revolutionary sentiment.
This situation is undoubtedly part of the reason Rossini was lured by the Opera to come work in France in 1824, and in many respects, he was the perfect composer. Incredibly popular and politically ambiguous, as Fulcher says, “His style had the advantage of being both liberal and royalist at the same time,” and throughout his career, both these sides of his personality are evident. He was court composer from 1816 to 1822 for the Bourbon King Ferdinand I of Naples, he composed cantatas in 1822 for the congress of European powers at Verona, and in 1825 he wrote a single act opera to celebrate the coronation of Charles X. However, he also composed ‘Inno dell’Indipendenza’ to celebrate the brief Italian liberation from Austria in 1815, conducted a charity concert in 1826 to raise money for the Greeks in their war of independence, and in 1848 composed a patriotic hymn during the revolutions. From this evidence, it is probable that Rossini at least had some sympathy with liberal causes, but as Arblaster concludes, it is also likely that “As in the case of Mozart, Rossini’s command of his musical resources may have enabled him to express feelings and attitudes with which, ultimately, he did not wholly or deeply identify with.”
His first opera for Paris was Le Siege de Corinthe in 1826, a historical drama about the Greek rebellion against Turkey in the 1450’s. This was deemed very appropriate as it provides a sympathetic portrayal of a revolution which audiences at the time would have identified with, but only in the “specific context of political domination by a distinctly foreign power;” hence not relevant to republicanism in France. Furthermore, the revolution fails. These factors are also true for 1828’s La Muette de Portici by Auber. Given that both these operas were very successful, it is unsurprising that the typically audience-aware Rossini would then approach another revolution centred work, Guillaume Tell, as suitable subject matter in 1829, (especially considering it was already a popular story in the theatres of the time.) Although it depicts a successful revolution, it was still that of a revolt against an oppressive foreign power, and so politically acceptable to the authorities.
It seems safe to conclude then that Rossini’s Guillaume Tell was not a dynamic political statement. Instead, Rossini was following audience tastes for revolutionary tales as encouraged by his employers, the French elite and monarchy, in order to try and boost their own popularity. Most importantly, Guillaume deals with revolution against tyrannical foreign rule, rather than preaching republican ideals, and hence wasn’t making a specific political statement in regards to 1829 France.
Historical Context: Verdi and Don Carlos
Whilst Rossini is often seen as politically ambiguous, the same cannot be said of Verdi. As Paul Robinson states, “Of all the great opera composers, Verdi is the most political. Issues of power and authority figure more centrally in his operas than they do in any of his artistic peers.” His republican political views are evident from his letters, and his friendships with “a group of Milanese republicans and literati” including Giuseppe Mazzini, the patriotic Italian philosopher and political activist who fought for democracy and republicanism, views that would influence Verdi in becoming a passionate liberal, dedicated to the cause of the Risorgimento. “As a frequent victim of political censorship himself, he was readily drawn to the ideals of individual freedom and self-determination, and he was no less ardently committed to delivering Italy from her Hapsburg oppressors.” Evidence for Verdi’s deep enthusiasm for Italian unification can be seen in a letter of 1848, which he wrote after hearing of the revolution in Milan.
“I left the moment I heard the news, but I could see nothing but these stupendous barricades. Honour to these heroes! Honour to all Italy, which in this moment is truly great! The hour of her liberation has sounded.”
However, Verdi’s political views, although always founded in republicanism, would evolve throughout his life. In the 1840’s, he was a product of his era “a time of rising political consciousness, as the conservative hegemony of the post-Napoleonic era gave way to a revival of liberalism and nationalism.” This was the period of his great patriotic operas such as Nabucco, with its swelling choruses and profound sense of optimism. It is disputed how overtly political these operas are, but it is notable that during this period Verdi would adapt no less than three of Schiller’s plays into operas, including The Robbers into I Masnadieri, showing his affinity with the playwright’s liberal views.
Camillo Benso - Conte di Cavour III
However, post 1848 and the failure of the various revolutions that took place in the Italian states, Verdi became increasingly cynical politically. He became an admirer of Cavour, the cunning Italian politician who would play a vital role in the unification of Italy, and whose views can be seen as a representation of ‘Realpolitik,’ where politics is “guided by considerations of power rather than ideology.” Verdi’s opera’s of the late 1850’s and the 1860’s reflect this new cynicism, including Don Carlos in 1867. As Paul Robinson argues, “The ideals of liberty and nationhood still remain significant themes in these works, but they are overshadowed by a new sobriety, a darker less sanguine vision of the political process than one finds in the early operas.” This was perhaps also influenced by Verdi’s own brief political career, being persuaded by Cavour to stand for the first national parliament, a post he would hold until 1865 when he resigned. Also important in these operas is Verdi’s anti-clericalism which comes across very strongly. These views originated from the role of the Catholic Church in Italy, and its opposition to liberalism. This is particularly evident in a letter from 1870, where Verdi would write about the completion of Italy’s unification, and his ill feelings.
“I cannot reconcile Parliament with the College of Cardinals, liberty of Press with the Inquisition, civil law with the Syllabus…Pope and King of Italy: I cannot envisage them together even in this letter.”
Given his views and his affiliation with Schiller, Don Carlos was an obvious choice of topic for Verdi that had been recommended to him as early as the 1850’s. France at the time was under the rule of Napoleon III who was attempting to court supporters from the left with libertarian policies, such as allowing a greater level of freedom in political discussion with his 1860 removal of the gagging of the French Press. Hence, Verdi was able to express himself politically with less fear of censorship, producing a powerful critique of authoritarian rule and the Church. These were topics that would still be widely sympathised with in France, where Napoleon III‘s dictatorship was growing increasingly unpopular.
The fundamental similarity between these two operas is their sympathetic portrayals of revolutionary libertarianism via plot and dialogue. In Guillaume Tell we see the Swiss trying to go about their simple, peaceful lives in the forest at one with nature, but being cruelly oppressed by the Austrians. They are unable to practice their traditions, their freedom is restricted and their people subjugated.
Tell is portrayed as a noble and brave patriot, mortified by the tyranny of the Austrians, stating in the first act, “We no longer have a Fatherland.” He preaches of Helvetia as “a field of tortures, where they harvest its children,” and he also makes grand revolutionary proclamations such as “Independence or death.” We hear of Austrian atrocities, such as the soldier attempting to rape a local girl, whose father is then set to be arrested for murder until Tell courageously helps him escape. Their successful passage over the dangerous lake is described by the rejoicing Swiss as “God’s handiwork.” However, their joy is short-lived as the bullying Austrian soldiers demand to know who helped the father escape. The revered Swiss elder Melcthal is then murdered by the Austrians after he refuses to reveal Tell’s identity.
In contrast to the noble Tell, the cruel Austrian Governor Gessler is portrayed as evil and bullying. He forces the Swiss to pay homage to him, and when Tell bravely refuses, Gessler has him arrested, and also his son Jemmy. We then witness the famous scene where Gessler maliciously forces Tell to shoot an apple off his son’s head with an arrow, whilst the surrounding Austrians mock Tell’s torment. After he successfully shoots the apple off, Gessler orders his imprisonment in the dungeons. Given all this, the audience inevitably sympathises with the Swiss and wills their success when they rebel in the final act, resulting in Tell assassinating Gessler.
Interestingly, as Arblaster points out, by removing some of the more complex moral issues from Schiller’s play, Rossini and his librettists actually make the opera even more politically potent. There is no question of the morality of the revolution in the opera, as there is in the play, and the portrayals of good and evil couldn’t be much more straightforward, producing “a more explicit and unambiguous political drama than Schiller had done.”
Don Carlos portrays similar libertarian revolutionary ideals, although it is undoubtedly a more complex work. The first example of this at the start of the second act, where the monks are chanting a prayer for the deceased Charles V, discussing his foolishness in aspiring to “rule the world, forgetting Him who guides the stars…His pride was great, his folly immense.” This immediately sets up the theme of immoral and illegitimate absolute rule. This is further explored by Rodrigo’s entrance, having just come from the oppressed land of Flander’s. He entreats Carlos, “on behalf of that blood soaked country…The people are on their knees. They raise their arms to you.”
Rodrigo later make similar entreaties to King Phillip, a scene from Schiller that Verdi insisted was put in the libretto. He talks passionately and at great length about “that country once so fair, that is now but a desert of ashes, a place of death and despair. There in the street there are orphans, they’re starving and beg for food…smeared with their own parents blood.” This sort of vivid imagery goes beyond what appears in Guillaume Tell, and certainly engages the audience’s sympathies onto the side of Rodrigo and Flanders.
Phillip meanwhile is only really troubled by his own affairs and appears disinterested. He also repeatedly warns Rodrigo, “Beware my inquisitor.” This sets up the aspect of the tyranny of the Church, a theme which is elaborated upon in Act Three where an ‘Auto-da-fe’, the mass burning of heretics, is staged. This is interrupted by Carlos who brings some Flemish deputies with him to confront the king and plead for mercy. “All your subjects implore you in their grief and distress, Oh help us in our pain.” The King once again is unmoved, orders Carlos disarmed and the burning goes ahead.
The following scene was also insisted upon by Verdi. It introduces the evil Grand Inquisitor, who is portrayed as cruel and hypocritical, telling the paranoid King that God would pardon him if he murdered Carlos, as well as insisting on the imprisonment of Rodrigo to stop the King being influenced by reformers. He actually threatens Phillip himself unless he gives Rodrigo up, brutally portraying the tyrannical power of the Church, and the dark methods they and Philip will resort to in order to hang onto power.
This is in stark contrast to the heroic Rodrigo who in the following act frames himself as a conspirator in order to save the imprisoned Carlos, and is murdered by Philip. A revolting crowd then arrives to demand Carlos’s freedom, and as in Guillaume Tell, the audiences’ sympathies are inevitably with the crowd and the noble Carlos rather than the twisted oppressors Phillip and the Church. However, unlike Guillaume Tell, there is no happy resolution here. The crowd are subdued by the arrival of the Grand Inquisitor, and in the following scene Phillip attempts to re-arrest Carlos, only for him to be kidnapped into the underworld by the ghost of Charles V. This bizarre shock ending encapsulates Verdi’s new found political cynicism and pessimism; the ghost states to Carlos, “The peace that your heart so yearns for will be found at the throne of grace,” suggesting there is little hope in life for an end to political or religious tyranny. As Arblaster puts it, “This is the difference between Verdi’s treatment of Risorgimento themes and that of Rossini in Guillaume Tell, where the general rejoicing finally blots out all else. Perhaps because Verdi was closer to the struggle, he found it harder to be wholly optimistic about it. Tragic heroism is at the core of his work.”
La Muette de Portici
Another aspect the operas do have in common is that they both explore the profound role personal factors play in the political story. This is a theme also explored in both of Schiller’s plays, which seeks to help the audience sympathise and identify with the characters. As with La Muette de Portici, (where a fisherman’s mute sister, Fenella, is the trigger for a revolution,) in these works characters’ political actions are often motivated by personal reasons, there is a deep sense of brotherhood between the revolutionaries, and also, characters sometimes must sacrifice their own personal happiness for their political beliefs.
In Guillaume Tell, Arnold must choose between his love for his country and his love for Mathilde, a choice he is only able to make when the murder of his father causes him to seek revenge on the Austrians. Similarly, it is a father protecting his daughter from rape that initially causes Tell to become an outlaw, and it is in protecting his own son that he ends up being imprisoned. Finally, there are a great deal of moments promoting the sentiment of brotherhood throughout the opera, such as Tell, Arnold and Walther’s vow to free Switzerland at the end of act 2, followed by the arrival of the different Swiss cantons, all come together for revolution.
Gilles de Van writes of Don Carlos that “The opera’s originality lies precisely in its attempt to represent the interrelationship between individual and community. “ This is evident throughout the opera, as individuals personal problems intertwine with political issues. For example, when Elisabeth and Carlos meet in the first act and fall in love, Elisabeth is then pressured into marrying Philip instead so as to cement the peace treaty between France and Spain, a sacrifice she makes. This in turn causes Carlos the despair that turns him against his father and makes him promote the Flemish cause. Also important is the character of Princess Eboli who is in love with Carlos, causing her to rouse the angry crowd that demand his freedom. There are also several duets between Carlos and Rodrigo where they proclaim their brotherhood and resolve to help Flanders.
There are many similarities between how Rossini and Verdi approach these operas musically, the most obvious being the use of rousing choruses. This is a very effective device in political operas, as the chorus can represent the voice of the people and also create that infectious rousing sense of revolution to engage the audience’s sympathies and passions. Big choruses abound in Guillaume Tell, where Anselm Gerhard argues that Rossini “drastically reduced the importance of soloists. On the Swiss side, Tell himself is left as the only significant character apart from “the people” and the sentimental tenor-hero Arnold.” Perhaps the most striking example of this is at the end of Act 2 with the arrival of all the Swiss cantons. The first canton is originally heard as an off-stage unaccompanied chorus, singing stately, major key, hymn like music, announcing their arrival and intention to join the fight.
The rest of the cantons then arrive, and the music gets louder, bigger and more rousing as loyalty is sworn to Tell and his cause. There are stirring brass fanfares in the accompaniment, rapid ascending string flourishes; Tell sings a noble descending major arpeggio with spiky dotted rhythms, and each phrase he sings is responded to and imitated by the chorus, creating the sense of him as a great leader.
Also typical of this section are the big heroic leaps in each vocal part, creating a sense of passion and daring on important words, such as “traitors.”
This section climaxes with the repeated cry of “To arms,” in rapid emphatic rhythms; cries followed by big orchestral chords with lots of brass and percussion, as well as rapid string scales featuring rapturous chromaticism, more brass fanfares, and more rapid dotted rhythms. All combined, this creates an incredibly evocative, militaristic sense of fervour.
Similarly, at the end of the opera, the Swiss celebrate victory, beginning with a more serene section reflecting nature and the peace that has been restored by the revolution. There’s lots of fluttering harp and ethereal flute, with a static enraptured vocal line and simple diatonic harmonies. This gradually gets louder, with repetitions of the word “Liberty” as the opera comes to its climax.
Don Carlos also features enormous rousing choruses to inspire its audiences. One important example of this is in Act 3, where the people plead with Philip to have pity on the Flemish deputies Carlos has brought before him. They are given impassioned, lyrical and pleading descending vocal lines, and lush, sentimental harmonies completely at odds with Philip’s hurried, antagonised and fragmented part.
The chorus swells, getting more impassioned, repeating the same music over and over, giving a sense of the difficulty in attempting to persuade Philip; they beg him to have pity on the poor Flemish, “bleeding and in chains” which also sees darker harmonies emerge, and more dissonance.
To add to this effect of increasing passion, Verdi later gives the chorus an ascending sequence, rising each time with more lush sentimental harmonies and some striking chromaticism. This creates a striking effect of zealous pleading, all to no avail with the unmoved Philip.
This moving chorus is one of the most heart-wrenching in the opera. A more violent confrontational chorus occurs as the crowd come to demand the release of Carlos from prison in the following act. As Rossini does in Guillaume, Verdi utilises the incredibly rousing effect of having the crowd first heard off-stage, further anticipation inspired by frantic oscillating chromatic strings, rapid repeated brass chords, and the choruses’ dramatic leaps and violent rhythms.
This is then followed by an incredibly angry chorus; fast, loud, in a minor key with lots of dissonances and chromaticism, violent orchestral outburst such as brass fanfares, rapid string flourishes, and restless fragmented vocal parts filled with giant leaps. This perfectly captures the outrage of the people with the appalling actions of Philip and the Grand Inquisitor.
Another way Rossini and Verdi portray the political aspects of these operas in the music is the evocative manner in which they depict the evil of the regimes that need to be overthrown. In Guillaume Tell, the Swiss are given calm, simple and diatonic music when left in peace in the forest. However, this is constantly interrupted by horn fanfares, announcing the arrival of the Austrians, brilliantly symbolising the disruption the Austrians cause. The Austrians’ cruel actions are also symbolised in the music, such as at the end of Act 1 when they arrest Melchtal; furious strings go back and forth representing the outrage of both sides.
Similarly, the presentation of Gessler in Act 3 is highly unflattering; as usual with ‘bad’ characters he is a bass, and he is given pompous dotted rhythms, echoed in the brass, representing his self importance.
As he orders the arrest of Jemmy, Rossini represents it with a loud, ugly diminished seventh harmony, evoking the repugnance of his actions.
His music grows even uglier after Tell’s success, where his fury abounds and he is accompanied with violent rapid chromaticism, and his own vocal line is highly fragmented with aggressive rhythms and dissonance.
In Don Carlos, Verdi also uses these sorts of evocative musical effects to represent the evil of the powers that be, although to far greater effect. For example, there are Rodrigo’s impassioned pleas to King Philip regarding Flanders. As he lists the atrocities occurring there, the music evokes them with violent syncopated rhythms, gathering speed, sudden striking orchestral outbursts, restless strings, rapid repeated notes, extreme dynamic contrasts, lots of dissonances and completely unexpected turns of phrase and harmony. There is also an incredibly fragmented vocal line, filled with leaps and unusual rhythms. It is an extraordinarily redolent section that brilliantly captures the horror of what he is describing.
There is also the chilling characterisation of the Grand Inquisitor (a bass, as is typical.) He is accompanied with grotesque orchestration comprised of low, grinding strings, low brass discords, minor harmonies and a slow, bleak vocal line replete with ugliness.
Consequently, both these two operas both have very strong political overtones. As they were based on Schiller’s plays, they inevitably carry his liberal, republican beliefs throughout. However, it is easy to see that Guillaume Tell was meant as a more straightforward piece of audience pleasing entertainment than Don Carlos was, thanks to its simplified story and themes, and overall more upbeat feel; this would have been expected of Rossini’s more populist, less political style. Verdi’s Don Carlos on the other hand, is a much darker, more complex work, reflecting Verdi’s disillusionment with politics and religion. However, this is not to take away from either work; they both represent their respective tales through masterful musical expression that superbly reinforces the political ideology of Schiller’s original works.
Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, (Verso, 2000)
Don Carlos/Verdi: Opera Guide 46 ,ed. Jennifer Batchelor, (Calder Publications Ltd, 1992)
Jane Fulcher, The Nation’s image, (Cambridge University Press, 1987)
Anselm Gerhard, The Urbanisation of Opera,(Oxford, 2000)
T. J. Reed, Schiller: Past Masters, (Oxford University Press, 1991)
John George Robertson, 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica/Schiller, http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/1911_Encyclop%C3%A6dia_Britannica/Schiller,_Johann_Christoph_Friedrich_von
Paul Robinson, Opera and Ideas: From Mozart to Strauss, (Cornell University Press, 1985)
 T. J. Reed, Schiller: Past Masters, (Oxford University Press, 1991) p9
 T. J. Reed, Schiller: Past Masters, p18
 Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, (Verso, 2000) p63
 Jane Fulcher, The Nation’s image, (Cambridge University Press, 1987) p15
 Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, p66
 Jane Fulcher, The Nation’s image, p24
 Paul Robinson, Opera and Ideas: From Mozart to Strauss, (Cornell University Press, 1985) p155
 Verdi letter to his librettist, Francesco Piave, quoted by Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, p95
 Paul Robinson, Opera and Ideas: From Mozart to Strauss, p155
 Verdi letter to Clarina Maffei, quoted by Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, p94
 Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, p5
 Julian Budden, A Grand Opera with a Difference, appears in Don Carlos/Verdi: Opera Guide 46 ,ed. Jennifer Batchelor, (Calder Publications Ltd, 1992) p8
 Anthony Arblaster, Viva la Liberta, p66
 Gilles de Van, “Off the Beaten Track” appears in Don Carlos/Verdi: Opera Guide 46 ,ed. Jennifer Batchelor, p14
 Anselm Gerhard, The Urbanisation of Opera,(Oxford, 2000) p88