Giacomo Puccini's Nessun Dorma
I've given myself the task of writing about one song a week for 2024 because, well, I think it'd be fun.
Giacomo Puccini's Nessun Dorma
What is there more to say about one of the most famous songs in the world?
We've all likely heard "Nessun Dorma", the beginning aria of Act III of Giacomo Puccini's "Turandot", probably from the pipes of Luciano Pavarotti, ironic given that he didn't play Calaf, the specific character role for the song, all that much. Apparently the lyrics were adapted for DIO's - another all-caps - theme in the 1993 OVA of "JoJo's Bizarre Adventure", and even more bizarrely Pavarotti, Carreras and Domingo, all three famous tenors, sang it for the 1990 FIFA World Cup, inextricably linking the song to football.
Hard not to, right? The song has been associated with the feeling that accompanies total triumph. It begins with Pavarotti's rising, quivering voice, "Nes-s-sun do-re-ma!" (the "r" seems to be given emphasis in Italian), then the repeated, "Nes-s-sun do-re-ma...", adding to the song's pondering qualities. Indeed, beyond the song being played to the beauty of moonlight, the song is in part a meditation on winning; more than the visceral feeling of victory, there is a slow, intellectual realization of having won, that redoubles itself, leaves the plain of confidence and enters the world of fact, that Calaf has achieved something that neither fate nor God can take away from him (well, this is more-or-less true until you get to the end of the opera...) This pondering quality continues with "Tu pu-re, o prin-chi-pessa, / nella tua fredda stanza", which is rife with long vowels (ch, ua) and double letters (ss, ll, dd), as if Calaf were playing with the moonlight, aided by the orchestra's woodwinds.
The moment everyone begins to fawn:
Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me;
Il no-me mio nessun saprà!
(The "chiu" of "chiuso" pronounced, for English speakers, like "queue", a meaty word.)
For a song about triumph, it's a surprisingly slow song, and Pavarotti wrings out every syllable, particularly in the line "Ed il mio bacio scioglierà" (for English speakers, again, the "e" in "scio-gliera" is not emphasized, so the "gliera" is "glee-ra"), where the cio's of "ba-cio scio-gliera" come out abrasively in this elegant song full of a's and l's; but the meanness of the words serve the tenor's intent, which is a kind of deserved arrogance.
Finally, the closer:
Dilegua, o notte! (di-le-gua) (not-te)
Tramontate, stelle! (stel-le)
Tramontate, stelle!
All'alba...vincerò! (vin-che-ro)
Vincerò! (vin-ne-che-ro - here, Pavarotti places great stress on the "n")
Vincerò!
This is usually the time when the crowd starts clapping furiously, with the orchestra visibly annoyed.
It's precisely this ruminating quality, this "dawning" - as the inevitable sun will succeed the night - as well as the soaring heights the tenor goes through that allies the song entirely with the feeling of victory, as if the volume of the music overpowers any argument that can be made against it. The aria has the force of inevitability, as the waves will reach the shore. No wonder it is used to signal triumph in films; no wonder ANOHNI sang it for Lavazza.
However, this is all strange and humorous for anyone who knows the context and lyrics of the aria.
The titular Turandot, princess of China, will marry anyone who can answer her three riddles; if they cannot, she will kill them. Calaf, stunned by Turandot's beauty, full of masculine pride, decides to undertake her trials, taking place before the emperor's court. In attendance are peasants, who earlier clamored for the last suitor's blood, before relenting to the calming beauty of the moon. This, I think, is a critical aspect of the opera, that is also important for understanding Puccini's viewpoints on his heroes: yes, Calaf's decision to take on the trials come in part from manly vigor, but he is also disgusted, as a man, that the princess gets away with murder. The solution is two-fold: violence should not be resolved with violence, but by love. Calaf succeeding in the trials awakens something in the peasants, which had been laid to sleep by the princess. This is their sense of humanity, to not let innocent young men, y'know, die for proposing to someone. As Calaf answers each riddle, the crowd becomes more animated, more excited; Turandot becomes more flustered and more woman-ish (hey, Puccini, not me) as Calaf wins through wit alone. When Calaf answers all three riddles, Turandot, weakened, begs her father to not honor the marriage proposal. As an honorable king, he forces his daughter to keep to her promises. Calaf, again, our masculine hero, shows Turandot a false sense of mercy: if she can find out his name by dawn, then he will relinquish the proposal.
Thus setting the scene for "Nessun Dorma": peasants are frantically searching for the princess's name - on penalty of death! - while Calaf reflects on the moon, for his victory is dependent on merely waiting. Yes, when you hear a chorus of people crying "Il nome suo nessun saprà / e noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir!" they are really singing "No one will know his name / and we, alas, will have to die, die, die!" in despair. It's very morbid, and not at all fitting for football matches.
But flip this: consider the truthfulness of what the peasants say. They say they will die with certainty. This is not certain at all. The princess will lose all of her power by dawn; they fear her, but they don't realize she has, by Calaf's victory, lost the power that drove that fear. That is why Calaf can sing so open-eyed, so innocently to the moonlight: all this despair, all this fear will be nought, once daybreak comes, and he will emerge as champion.
Finally Calaf's lyrics:
Nessun do-re-ma! Nessun do-re-ma... (None shall sleep! None shall sleep...)
Tu pure, o principessa, (Even you, O princess,)
Nella tua fredda stanza, (in your cold room,)
Guardi le stelle (look at the stars)
Che tremano d'amore, e di speranza. (that tremble with love and with hope.)
Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me; (But my mystery is locked inside me;)
Il nome mio nessun saprà! (No one will know my name!)
No, No! Sulla tua bocca (No, no! On your mouth)
Lo dirò quando la luce splenderà! (I will say it when the light shines.)
This is the inevitability we spoke of earlier - as the stars shining in the night are inevitable, so too is my victory. This is a poignant image, that Calaf's win is a fact, as factual, vast and luminous as there is an entire cosmos over our heads every night. (Well, in reality, even beyond night.) So, too, is Turandot's eventual love for him inevitable. (Very italian, this belief.)
Finally, the triumphant string:
Dilegua, o notte! (Disappear, night!)
Tramontate, stelle! (Fade away, stars!)
Tramontate, stelle! (Fade away, stars!)
All'alba vincerò! (At dawn, I will win!)
Vincerò! Vincerò! (I will win! I will win!)
As if dizzy with the notion of his sudden strength, he feels himself omnipotent enough to even wish away the immortal night and stars. Even God is his accomplice now. With the tenor's performance, we believe him.
But, hilariously, Puccini does not; the aria's outro cuts in immediately and transitions to Ping, Pong and Pang (of all things to complain about, their names are the only legitimately racist thing about "Turandot", and I find it funny) bringing up an offer to Calaf. Puccini is a bit of a master: he wants to give the audience the feeling, but he knows that some feelings cannot be had in our physical reality.
As you can see, this is why the orchestra gets mad: the music is supposed to transition smoothly to the next aria, and people, because they know the Pavarotti song, begin madly clapping. That's how it is with such a powerful song though, we must all make way.
So "Nessun Dorma" is funny, when one thinks about it. It's so allied with triumph, but it's specifically constrained, lyrically, to Calaf's triumph; more broadly, it is the triumph of love over hate. Only the last five lines are appropriate for football matches, and this is particularly poignant when football occasionally devolves into violence and madness. But we're reminded that songs are always about feeling; we share in Calaf's triumph - he is, in fact, extending it to us the audience - and so we extend his irrepressible joy to our human living.