Opera buffa in three acts
Libretto: Gaetano Donizetti & Giovanni Ruffini
Don Pasquale is Gaetano Donizetti’s most famous comic opera and one of the brightest examples of Italian bel canto—the art of celebrating the beauty and expressive power of the human voice. A highly prolific composer, Donizetti wrote his operas with the voices of the finest singers of his time in mind, as well as the enthusiastic audiences who filled the theaters to hear them. If there had been a billboard chart in 1843, Don Pasquale would have shot straight to number one: its success came on the heels of the warm reception of La fille du régiment, which premiered in 1840 at the Opéra-Comique and received particularly glowing praise, including from Felix Mendelssohn, who surprised his friends by confessing he was genuinely charmed by the work—so much so that he wished he had composed it himself. We may rightly assume his reaction to the clever, witty, and cheerful Don Pasquale was similar; in any case, the work went on to enjoy its greatest and most lasting success in Germany, Mendelssohn’s homeland.
The premiere took place on January 3, 1843 at the famous Théâtre des Italiens in Paris and was considered the crowning triumph of opera buffa—and at the same time its swan song, marking the beginning of the end of the genre. Thanks to its vocal virtuosity, unforgettable melodies, humorous plot, and lively characters, Don Pasquale claims its place alongside Rossini’s The Barber of Seville and Verdi’s Falstaff.
Don Pasquale is a character everyone recognizes—from stories, from songs, perhaps even from the family table during holiday gatherings. The same is true of Norina, Ernesto, and Malatesta. Donizetti draws inspiration from the archetypal characters of commedia dell’arte, the Italian popular comedy that flourished from the 16th to the 18th century. Pasquale recalls the old Pantalone; the love-struck Ernesto echoes the melancholy of Pierrot; Dr. Malatesta carries the slyness of Scapin; and Norina borrows Columbina’s sparkle. These familiar echoes provide the framework, upon which Donizetti paints the touches that make each character unique.
Despite his declining health, the composer wrote this masterpiece in just eight days. As his biographer William Ashbrook notes, the ease with which he dominated all the major opera stages of Paris made him beloved—and also stirred envy, heightened by his successes in elite salons, his good looks, intelligence, refined manners, and the charm he held for women.
The jealousy of the musical world is clearly reflected in the words of Hector Berlioz: “Mr. Donizetti seems to treat us as a conquered country; this is a real invasion. We can no longer speak of the operas of Paris, but only of the operas of Mr. Donizetti.” In the City of Light and artistic innovation, the composer benefited from a greater freedom of subject matter and a more discerning audience, many of whom belonged to the Italian community: for his compatriots living in Paris, Donizetti’s triumphs were a source of national pride.
Synopsis
Act I
In his home in Rome, the elderly bachelor Don Pasquale awaits his friend, Dr. Malatesta, who has arranged a marriage for him: a bride who is beautiful, modest, and—as it happens—Malatesta’s own sister.
Don Pasquale reminds his nephew Ernesto that he must marry a wealthy lady or be disinherited. Ernesto refuses again; he is in love and wants to marry the poor Norina.
At her home, Norina laughs at the romantic novel she is reading. Malatesta arrives and reveals his plan to help her marry Ernesto. Norina will appear before Pasquale as “Sofronia,” Malatesta’s shy sister, supposedly just out of a convent. A fake notary will perform a sham wedding, and Pasquale will fall into the trap.
Act II
Disinherited, Ernesto feels he cannot ask Norina to share his poverty. Meanwhile, Malatesta brings the timid “Sofronia” to Don Pasquale’s house.
Pasquale proposes marriage and she accepts. The fake notary signs a contract making her mistress of the house and owner of half of Pasquale’s fortune. The moment the ceremony ends, “Sofronia” transforms into a domineering, extravagant, ill-tempered woman—and even appoints Ernesto as her escort.
Act III
Pasquale is horrified by the mounting bills and the house turned upside down. Norina, still in disguise, appears dressed for the theater. Pasquale tries to stop her, but she treats him with contempt. As she leaves, she intentionally drops a note. Pasquale picks it up and discovers a message from her lover, arranging a secret meeting that night in the garden. He immediately summons Malatesta, and they plan to catch the couple in the act.
Later in the garden, Ernesto sings a serenade to Norina, and the two express their love. Pasquale and Malatesta spy on them and spring forward, but Ernesto escapes before being recognized. “Sofronia” denies everything and refuses to leave, until Malatesta convinces her she must disappear, because the real Norina—the true bride of Ernesto—is arriving the next day.
To be rid of his own “wife,” Pasquale is forced to accept Ernesto’s marriage. When the truth is revealed, he forgives the young lovers, and the opera ends with general reconciliation.
Conductor’s Note: Giorgos Ziavras
Don Pasquale is a work rooted in the commedia dell’arte, and from that perspective it could easily be considered dramaturgically outdated by today’s standards. I do not share this view. On the contrary, I find it particularly compelling that the opera appears to arrive at an expected and seemingly conventional conclusion: that “an older man should not marry, and certainly not a young woman.” Today, however, that same theme takes on a different dimension. We live in a time when many younger people, due to social and economic pressures, often seek partners with greater maturity and financial stability—someone who can help support studies, ambitions, or even just a certain standard of living.
At the same time, the question of loneliness in old age becomes increasingly urgent, within a society whose population is rapidly aging. We are confronted with how older individuals can claim their right to companionship and meaningful participation in a world that often pushes them to the margins—from the broken pavement that restricts their mobility to the deeply ingrained assumption that “certain things simply aren’t for certain ages.”
These are precisely the themes that Donizetti’s opera can illuminate today, perhaps indirectly but still with sharp insight: issues of social mobility, economic dependence, and even the position of women—questions that, as a society, we have by no means resolved.
My joy and interest in conducting this opera are particularly strong—not only because it is perhaps the pinnacle of opera buffa, but because in Donizetti’s music one hears the fully mature assimilation of the musical practices of his time and their transformation into something new. In Don Pasquale, Donizetti achieves with remarkable clarity this transition from tradition to evolution; it is a work that looks forward to Verdi and profoundly shapes the subsequent development of Italian and European opera.
Director’s Note: Eleni Efthymiou
Gaetano Donizetti’s delightful comic opera feels today like a celebration of femininity and youth in the face of conservatism and patriarchy. Although written in the mid-19th century, the libretto by Giovanni Ruffini—with contributions from the composer himself—presents the woman not as a simple archetype, but as a profoundly emancipated personality. Within the playful frame of farce and the familiar patterns of commedia dell’arte, Norina completely overturns Don Pasquale’s world as he knows it: strictly defined, predictable, unmoving.
Beyond its romantic and humorous surface, the work sheds light on timeless dysfunctions: Ernesto’s passivity, the nephew-heir who seems unable to assume responsibility for anything; Malatesta’s authoritative role as the “man of science,” pulling the strings with motives far less transparent than they first appear; and, of course, Pasquale’s own “punishment”—the moral lesson that the old man must step aside—which compels us to confront the way society deals with age and decline.
Today, in difficult and turbulent times—just like those in which the opera was born—the lighthearted yet ridiculous everyday life of the bourgeoisie is laid bare before us, revealing the obsessions, illusions, neuroses, and petty vanities of power. Through laughter and subtle irony, we watch it unfold, and we are invited to observe it closely, to wonder whether it reflects something of ourselves. At the same time, Donizetti’s rich and playful music offers us the chance to let go and take a deeply human breath—much like the one the composer himself sought, sick and exhausted, near the end of his journey.
An old world recedes, and a newer, louder one takes its place. But where will Pasquale stand when the lights go out?
Don Pasquale has a long history at the Olympia Theatre: its first presentation by the Greek National Opera took place on December 14, 1949, and its most recent was in February 2004, also at the Olympia, in a new production at that time.