The entrance of Rhadames, borne on high under a canopy by twelve officers, is a dramatic climax to the spectacle. But a more emotional one is to follow.
The recognition of King Amonasro by his daughter; the supplication of the captives; the plea of Rhadames and the people in their favour; the vehement protests of the priests who, in the name of the gods of Egypt, demand their death; the diverse passions which agitate Rhadames, Aïda, and Amneris; the hope of vengeance that Amonasro cherishes—all these conflicting feelings are musically expressed with complete success. The structure is reared upon Amonasro's plea to the King for mercy for the Ethiopian captives, "Ma tu, re, tu signore possente" (But thou, O king, thou puissant lord).
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When the singer who takes the rôle of Amonasro also is a good actor, he will know how to convey, between the lines of this supplication, his secret thoughts and unavowed hope for the reconquest of his freedom and his country. After the Egyptian King has bestowed upon Rhadames the hand of Amneris, the chorus, "Gloria all'Egitto," is heard again, and, above its sonorous measures, Aïda's cry:
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What hope now remains to me? To him, glory and the throne; To me, oblivion—the tears Of hopeless love. |
It is largely due to Verdi's management of the score to this elaborate scene that "Aïda" not only has superseded all spectacular operas that came before it, but has held its own against and survived practically all those that have come since. The others were merely spectacular. In "Aïda" the surface radiates and glows because beneath it seethe the fires of conflicting human passion. In other operas spectacle is merely spectacle. In "Aïda" it clothes in brilliant habiliments the forces of impending and on-rushing tragedy.