Zaide K. 344, Der stolze löw’ lasst sich zwar zähmen

Who can inflict more pain? The wretch who finds pleasure in making others miserable? Osmin. Or the mourner of a battered heart? Soliman.  While the pure sadist will seek opportunities to inflict pain, he will not do it at expense of self. The truly selfish sort is limited by his or her selfishness. The obsessive inflicted however, will (even at his own expense) tear into those who have hurt him.

I’ve heard some psychobabble about the first stage of grief being denial. When tragedy strikes, there is the numb, surreal fuzzy state that makes it feel as if our eyes aren’t attached to our brains right. We’re deadened. “This thing that didn’t happened. It can’t be real.” Or, in Soliman’s voice, “It is not possible that my treasure left me for a dirty, disgusting slave.” No new physical or emotional pain could possibly sting away the deadened state.

Der stolze löw’ lasst sich zwar zähmen reflects a deadened determination. It is the aria of a man who seeks no joy in what he has determined to do, but doesn’t care. He is going to hurt Zaide. Make her pay for falling in love with another. The kettledrums (or timpani) slam with determination, like a man beating his chest or slamming his fist into a wall in order to feel something. The pace quickens and heightens like a soul suffering a panic attack. “This can’t be real. This can’t be real. I won't let it be real. I’ll make it not real.” The music seems to say.

All the while, the music still carries elements of stoic nobility. The inflicted often seek to justify their actions. We all recognize certain historical figures as pure evil, but would those figures have said that of themselves? No. Surely, they were convinced their actions were just. (Aside: how often, in similar manners, do we assume we’re justified?) Adding to the animal imagery, Soliman declares he is a lion. A man who devours the flatterer. Zaide being the cruelest of sorts, in his mind.  Of course, he is deaf to his own cruelty. The cruelty that made her flatter… and made her leave.

Did such emotions hyperventilate through Mozart’s head as he wrote this ditty? Not to say he was out to be cruel, but I could imagine him thinking of Alloysia, “What a cruel wench? Tearing my heart from my ribs after my mother died!” I wonder how those dynamics worked after he married Alloysia’s sister.