I wonder, if anybody ever took love seriously enough to die for it. Or rather I am talking about Love, not the plain love. Love the thing which has metaphysical properties, somethings intermingled with the concept of purity, chastity, respect, and duty. Isn't that the Love found in operas about 15th century baronesses. Love that can be lost, gained or transfered at a moment's notice. That love is certainly the love that the bible describes, especially in that standard wedding reading, 2nd Corinthians 13, I believe. The Love in this opera was much more like a possession. They seemed to be saying put your will in me, property in Hegelian terms. Isn't that what Love is? Mutual self sacrifice for mutual benefit, never mind the companionship bit. The idea of complete and utter devotion, to one and only one thing, one person. Seems somewhat silly, no wonder Love doesn't mean anything. Especially when such great Loves are lost from one moment to the next.
Theater was ok, the staircase smelled like piss. There seems to be a British custom to sell sherbet at shows. Than the customers are required to leave the containers in strange places. A sort of hide and seek for the clean-up gang.
Operas would sound horrible in any other language, besides Carmen in french... and Carmina Burana in whatever language that is. The lyrics leave a lot to be desired.
Well off to the paper I've been avoiding.
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