The greatness in great art lies in its flexibility. Many things
can entertain or even stimulate within the narrow confines of a
particular context, but great works of art—be they paintings or
plays, sculptures or symphonies—transcend limitations. They
reveal different things at different times.
In the world of opera, Mozart’s Le
nozze di Figaro (“The Marriage of Figaro”) stands at the summit
of achievement, a work so perfect, so inspired and heartfelt, so
gloriously engaging that it is almost impossible to do it violence.
It is, of course, frequently staged and as a result has been at the
mercy of numerous operatic fads. Yet the work has faced such
slings and arrows bravely. Indeed, it seems that no matter how
outré the production, Mozart’s sparkling music and Lorenzo da
Ponte’s scintillating libretto come through unscathed, immune, as
it were, to the vagaries of opera directors looking to make a
name for themselves.

There are reasons for this resilience. Figaro is
based on Beaumarchais’s celebrated play La folle journée, ou
Le Mariage de Figaro,
and, until Verdi at least, no opera was built on a more solid
foundation. It helps that the play lays its own claim to
greatness, if not absolutely for its comic content than for its
historic significance as a harbinger of revolution. But Mozart
and da Ponte transformed Beaumarchais’s work,
enriching its humanity, toning down its political content, and
further shading its compelling characters. Primarily, this feat
was accomplished through music, but one mustn’t