In a month when many stop to focus on love, I’m reminded of a lovely topic I love: opera. Opera will always remind me of Prof. Figurito. Imagine this little Italian man. A Boston College Professor, who loved opera to his very core. Italian to his very core. He was tanned and wrinkled—signs of a life well-lived. He was passionate about what he taught. And what he taught was opera.
But to Prof. Figurito, opera was only real if it was Italian. Librettos in German or French or any language other than Italian were not true opera. Would he go so far to say they were imposters? He went further. He said they were not real opera.
And because we loved Prof. Figurito and accepted his opera worldview, we adopted his belief. Real opera is Italian. Indeed, when I visited one of the most famous opera houses in the world—Staatsoper in Vienna—and got the chance to see one of the most famous operas, Mozart’s Magic Flute, the fact that it was sung in German made it somewhat of a letdown.
Prof. Figurito was right. It did not sound as beautiful as opera should. No amount of Mozart-written music could improve the German libretto, the guttural tone of the words.
Hearing is believing. But I guess I already knew this long before the journey across the ocean. Thanks to the little Italian man who loved his opera and knew his stuff, as much as he loved being Italian.
By the way, tonight Staatsoper is doing a Giacomo Puccini opera. I’m sure Prof. Figurito would love that.
