Baltimore Opera Company

Study Guide

Tosca

Tosca on the Witness Stand

Ever wondered how some of our most popular operas might have turned out if some of the characters had hired attorneys, instead of taking matters into their own hands or becoming resigned to their fate? True, a few of them have made use of available legal services, but the results have been mixed. The attorney for Berg's Lulu makes such a mess of her defense that the Countess Geschwitz is forced to free the girl by entering the prison and change places with her beloved. Then there's Lawyer Frazier, the shyster who charges Porgy extra for Bess' divorce from Crown on the grounds that it's a “a complication” to annul the marriage of a woman who has never actually been married! On the other hand, Douglas Moore's The Devil and Daniel Webster stars an attorney so wise and dedicated that he manages to get his client out of a Faustian bargain with “Mr. Scratch”, even when pleading the case before a jury of the damned. And the attorney for Jack Beeson's Lizzie Borden manages to win an acquittal for his client, even though the entire audience has seen her gripping the bloody ax! See what happens when you have a sharp lawyer?

What might have happened if Puccini's Madame Butterfly had hired an attorney with some expertise in custody issues! Imagine a scene with Pinkerton in Family Court, trying to convince a judge that Trouble would be better off living with him and his new, American, wife. Butterfly's attorney (a baritone) might sing a cavatina, reminding the court of how the caddish Navy man abandoned his Japanese bride and their child three years ago, providing no separate maintenance or child support during the separation. What would have happened when Butterfly's personal savings were finally depleted? What if the child had become ill? In the spine-chilling aria that would follow, the judge (a bass) reads Pinkerton the riot act, then grants Butterfly full custody of the child, along with generous alimony and child support payments. The opera closes with a rousing quartet; Butterfly and Trouble sing celebratory endearments to each other, while Kate announces her intention to file bigamy charges against her soon-to-be-ex husband, and Pinkerton whines away as only a tenor can do.

But, if anyone in opera could use a good lawyer, it's the title character in another Puccini opera, Floria Tosca, and her lover, Mario Cavaradossi. Political persecution, infringements on civil rights, sexual harassment, murder … the evil Baron Scarpia manages to violate statutes that every budding attorney learns about in Criminal Procedure 101!

For example, as Act Two begins, Scarpia's lackey Spoletta has tried to question Cavaradossi about the whereabouts of the freedom-fighter Angelotti, and reports that the painter's “every gesture, every word betrayed such mocking irony that I put him under arrest.” Of course, Spoletta's definition of probable cause wouldn't pass muster with any magistrate in America , and all statements obtained from Cavaradossi while in custody for the crime of “mocking irony” would be thrown out as well.

An old adage tells us that “a man who defends himself has a fool for a lawyer.” Yet, Cavaradossi does such a good job in the absence of any attorney that I suspect he may have read an Italian translation of the Federalist Papers! For example, Scarpia has barely begun to accuse him of hiding Angelotti when Cavaradossi asserts his right to be presumed innocent by demanding, “Where is the proof?” When the corrupt police chief cites an anonymous “loyal citizen” as the informer, Cavaradossi invokes his right to be confronted by his accuser. Throughout the first half of Act Two, Cavaradossi continues to assert his right against self-incrimination, even under torture. He probably would have died crying “Liberty, arise; tyrannies crumble,” defiant to the last, if Scarpia hadn't known that Tosca's love for the painter was the weakest link in the chain of silence that surrounded Angelotti's escape. With Scarpia for an accuser, Cavaradossi was doomed from the start.

And what of Tosca? Assuming she survived her leap off the battlements of Castel Sant'Angelo, could a good attorney win a suit against the estate of Scarpia? Don't be too sure. A recent Arkansas Supreme Court decision ruled that an isolated act of sexual harassment isn't sufficient cause for a civil suit. Tosca's attorney would have to prove that Scarpia had engaged in a pattern of harassment—not merely a single act—in order to win the case. Of course, with the man before whom “the whole of Rome trembled” lying dead on the floor of his office, perhaps other victims would now come forward to testify that sex for favors was one of the costs of doing business during Scarpia's reign of terror.

But, could Tosca's lawyer get her off on a murder charge? Probably. After all, her use of deadly force to defend against an attempted rape would strike a sympathetic chord with almost any jury. Of course, the lawyer would throw in a diminished capacity defense for good measure, telling of how Tosca stabbed her tormentor in a blind rage, after he ordered that her boyfriend be tortured. He'd go on to explain that Tosca's fear of Scarpia numbed her senses to the point where she didn't know what she was doing. He would also reveal that Tosca had imbibed at least one glass of wine during the Second Act, and present expert witnesses to testify that even one drink can lead to diminished capacity. Then, he'd call Tosca to the stand in her own defense, where she'd sing a reprise of “Vissi d'arte.” There wouldn't be a dry eye in the courtroom by then, and the jury would surely vote to acquit the poor woman; or, at worst, reduce the charges to involuntary manslaughter.

Yes, the services of a good attorney might have kept Tosca and her Mario loving, laughing, and probably bickering for years to come. But then, we wouldn't have one of the greatest—and most thrilling—operas in the repertory. Thankfully, in nineteenth century Italy at the Castel Sant'Angelo, there was never a lawyer around when you needed one.

-Lou Santacroce —Mr. Santacroce is the former host of National Public Radio's At the Opera . He once made the mistake of going to court without a lawyer.

 

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