K. 51, La Finta Semplice, Ella vuole ed io torrei

Back in my 4-H days, we'd have horse practice three days a week. I hated going to practice and on a particularly rushed day, my mom was harping on me to get my horse caught. I think this was Chiam (Kai-am). I can never remember which one I used which year. His advantage over other horses, he was easy to catch. In addition, it was a hot day. Horses aren't anxious to move on a hot day. So, I walked up beside him with sloppy, careless, yet confident steps. He started walking away. I followed. He walked faster. I trotted along side. He took off. He had never taken off. I ran. With a burst of gas and a flung rear hoof, he kicked me in the upper thigh. 

I collapsed in pain. Screaming. Yelling. I lay in the hardened hoof-hacked dirt. Grinding my teeth, pissed off at that horse. Chiam stopped, turned, a wondered back over toward me. He lowered his bobbing head, his eyes carrying apologies. I didn't care. Grabbing a clod of mud, I chucked it at his face. He spooked and ran off. Worst of all, my parents still made me go to horse practice, with Chiam and the hoof-shaped bruise he left on my thigh. (I don't bruise easy.)

And this bring me to Cassandro, the woman-hating rich gentleman, whom Rosina is trying to make fall in love with her. She works her 'pretend simpleton' magic on him, softening him up: until she asked for a ring (of course for all this to happen in one night breaks a bit of time constraint logic). Here's where he breaks into the aria Ella vuole ed io torrei. Something must have happened. Something made him bitter and jaded. The music starts of noble,"I won't" then intensifies with a mix of fear and anger. After the first huff, it sighs as he says, "Once she gets my ring, her love will be done." Following the breather, it gets more intense. With the music, young Mozart nicely flecks out the confused emotions of a once beaten dog, wanting the meat, yet seeing a lofted stick. (The simile is at the end of the aria.)

I would venture to say, La Finta Semplice was Mozart's first occupational kick to the thigh. I could imagine a youth, who'd received nearly nothing but praise, going into this project with lofty hopes, and even arrogant assumptions. Even, if he was correct in his assumptions, I doubt divas and royalty would have taken too kindly to such boldness. They didn't. And, I don't think they even gave him a fair chance. Leopold was no help, either. And, the Mozart's felt that hoof strike. Leopold grabbed his own clod of mud, trying to put a hurtin' on those who refused to pay for the opera. He took the lot to court. In the end, the Mozart looked the fools, and lost their loot. Their looking like fools likely stole away the archbishop's patience for their having been gone much longer than planned.

Consequently (I'm not sure what Mozart learned), Leopold grew shrewder. He lost trust and when he ventured to Italy, he made sure to get payment in advanced. I can't help but wonder if he lost a hint of trust in Mozart? A burrowing mistrust in Mozart social capabilities, that created a need in Leopold to do everything for his son, instead of teaching him to take care of himself.

K. 51, La Finta Semplice, Marito io vorrei

As I have said, I have been chewing on Mozart's Opera La Finta Semplice for a spell. I'm trying focus. Trying to figure out what I want to write. "Can I devote enough words to one blog?" I've asked my self. No. So, I'll hit a few chunks here and there. A La Finta Semplice series is a'coming. This is a crucial benchmark work in Mozart's life. 

La Finta Semplice. 'The pretend simpleton.' Why pretend to be a simpleton? Wouldn't you want people to know you're smart? Hmmm. Children, until a certain age, are obliviously honest. They spit out whatever they're are thinking and feeling. And, they often surprise adults with their comprehension. Of course, this honesty makes it hard to get away with things. And, it also heaps expectations. I know if my kids are capable of something, I expect them to do it. Then, they turn the age where they learn to 'play dumb.' Oh, I see this tactic used all the time from the boys at the residency where I work. "Ah... Well... I didn't know that we weren't supposed... yada." Not buying it. Not buying it.

I can hardly blame them. I've done it. I still do. Even this blog is a shell of me playing dumb. From time-to-time I tell my lazy self, these post don't need to be perfect. I've out right declared that I'm a troglodyte. They expect me to be stupid. "So what, if I get something wrong?" 

And, poor Mozart. He laid all his talent aces on the table at a very early age. He lost any chance of being the pretend simpleton. And, he may have never had to have worried about it up to this work. A gob of effort poured into a full length opera. Never to be performed in the city having requested it. Maybe only a patronizing pity performance was later requested from the Archbishop a year later.

So, why pretend to be simple? I think sometimes, it simply makes life easier. Even in the realm of love. That's why I chose the aria marito io vorrei. A key motivator of simplicity (not the right use of the word, but I'm using it anyway).  Sung by Giacinta, this aria speaks of a woman who wants love. She has recently had a bit of a spat with her love. Realizing the work a relationship takes, she sings with a longing voice. A pining voice. A voice we have all bellyached within our lives. "I really really want something. I just don't want to deal with all the strife it takes to get it." Giacinta's actual words, "I want a husband, but without the work. To have him if he suits me, to leave him if he is troublesome... I just want him to do whatever I want him to do." No one today in our selfless society says such babble. 

And, we too want our life goals to come easy. I want my work accepted by the masses after the first draft. I want to create what I want to create, without catering or even seeking what others might be interested in. But, life is not that easy. I'm not that great that I can just whip out something without work and get others to like it. Even if I was that talented, it wouldn't matter. Mozart was, but he still couldn't get everyone to swoon over all his stuff. 

Sure, you can tell me we need to follow our happy-hippy dreams, but we can't expect them to come easy. And, we can't expect to be entitled to them. (I'm yelling at myself about this all the time.) It is hard. Most dreams won't come true by playing dumb. And so, I'm reminded of something I wrote from my book Schizic.