Like a Prayer
Tosca’s Act II aria “Vissi d’arte” (Track 19 or MOoD clip 22)—oddly enough, the only solo piece granted to a heroine who is herself an opera diva—has been alternately critiqued and celebrated since the work’s premiere in 1900. Audiences and commentators alike have remarked that the aria seems dramatically ineffective, as it grinds the second act to a halt just when the action is ramping up. Indeed, “Vissi d’arte” occurs just when Tosca has found herself in an impossible situation. In the preceding scenes, she has learned that, after being interrogated and tortured in an adjoining room, her lover Cavaradossi has been sentenced to death. Meanwhile, the corrupt police chief Scarpia makes violent advances at her, offering Cavaradossi’s freedom in exchange for her acquiescence.
It is at this point that Tosca launches into the descending, plaintive first phrases of the aria: “I have lived for art. / I have lived for love. / I have never harmed a living soul.” This introspective reflection reveals an altogether new aspect of Tosca’s character. Previously defined by her jealous outbursts, erratic behavior, and emotional turbulence, here the eponymous character poignantly recalls her past, insists upon her moral goodness, and vows her devotion to God. As the harp accompanies her with arpeggiated triplets and the flute assumes long, melodic phrases—first heard upon the singer’s initial entrance in Act I—Tosca continues almost haltingly, as if muttering to herself: “I prayed with true devotion at the holy tabernacles. / I gave flowers to place upon the altars.”
From here, the aria builds into a full-throated lament as Tosca decries her predicament. The melody heard earlier in the flute is taken up by the string section, and the soprano repeats the phrase, “Now in my hour of grief, Lord, why do You repay me this way?” The second utterance of this plea leads into the dramatic highpoint of the aria, a high B-flat on the word “Signor,” followed by an equally affecting diminuendo on the subsequent syllable (“ah!”), bringing the aria to a subdued close.
If “Vissi d’arte” slows the dramatic propulsion of Act II, it is for good cause. The piece freezes narrative time in order to cleave space for its protagonist, for the first time in the entire opera, to consider her circumstances and articulate—if only for herself—the unjust hand she has been dealt. It also provides a welcome vehicle for the diva at the center of the action to be, well, a diva. The history of the aria indicates as much: Moravian soprano Maria Jeritza, who performed the piece at the Vienna State Opera in 1920, sang “Vissi d’arte” lying prone, having been “thrown” to the ground in her attempt to fend off Scarpia’s advances. The aria can thus take on added dimension as a kind of meta-theater, allowing the diva to portray a diva being a diva and affirming the enduring power of art in a world debased by corruption, greed, and violence—a power encapsulated in Tosca’s resounding declaration, “I sang to the stars and the heavens shone more brightly.”