Recommended for Grades 6-12
In this resource, you will:
- Learn the opera’s background and synopsis
- Meet the opera’s composer
In this resource, you will:
Family ties fray and unravel in Verdi’s spectacle of forbidden passion, political intrigue, and shattering betrayal set at the height of the Spanish Empire. Don Carlo, the son of the King of Spain, laments that Elisabeth of Valois, the woman he loves, has been forced to marry his father to forge peace with France. With everyone under the watchful eye of the Grand Inquisitor, tension and paranoia run rampant, leading the king to suspect his wife of infidelity with Carlo. What follows is a fierce struggle between father and son, allegiance and devotion, honor and the heart, with no easy answers or easy way out.
You’ve heard of the Spanish Inquisition before, right? No?
Okay, well, just in case you haven’t, you might want to keep in mind that the Spanish Inquisition was a Catholic branch of the Spanish government whose task was to find and “question” anyone who wasn’t loyal to the Catholic church, particularly Jews and Protestants. These “interviews” were often literal torture. Additionally, the Spanish monarchy was known to use the Inquisition as an excuse to enslave innocents in order to get free labor.
Now that you’re familiar with the Inquisition: Did you know King Philip II, his wife Elizabeth, his son Carlos, and the Princess of Eboli were also real? Philip II was a sixteenth-century Spanish monarch who did indeed marry a French woman (Elizabeth of Valois) whom he had initially intended for his son. Turns out Philip and Elizabeth actually had a reportedly happy marriage, and the love story between Elizabeth and her stepson was invented by writer Friedrich von Schiller in the eighteenth century and exploited by Verdi in the nineteenth century for maximum dramatic impact.
The Princess of Eboli was likewise a genuine attendant at court and the wife of King Philip’s right-hand man. Rodrigo, however, never actually existed; he’s more of an ideal representation of compassion and progressive thinking created by Schiller at a time when the Enlightenment ideals of reason and rationality swept across Europe.
And Carlos? Sadly the historical Carlos wasn’t quite the romantic hero he is in the opera. Rowdy and unpredictable, the real-life Carlos was decidedly not in love with his stepmom. Yet, as in the opera, Carlos wasn’t given much power by his father and eventually grew fed up with life in Spain. The infante then demanded control over Flanders, which was being ruled by a brutal cardinal of the Catholic Inquisition.
Just like in the opera, Flanders was a place of political and religious unrest in the mid-sixteenth century. Absorbed into Spain’s considerable empire via a political marriage, Flanders was somewhat content to be ruled by Philip’s father, Charles V, who had been born in Flanders and was well respected there. Things changed when Philip assumed the throne, however. Philip was more Catholic than his father and the new king had no trouble sending clerical and military forces to keep the Protestant-friendly Flemish in line—often using violent methods of persuasion.
Philip ultimately deemed his son unfit to serve as ambassador to such an unstable region and had Carlos put in jail to prevent a political catastrophe (thanks, dad). Carlos died while under arrest, but the Flemish controversy continued, and uprisings followed soon after.
Spain, the mid-sixteenth century.
Our hero, Don Carlo isn’t doing well. The infante (basically a Spanish word for “prince”) can’t get along with his father, King Filippo II, and, to top it off, Carlo has no real royal responsibilities to keep him busy.
Oh, and did we mention he’s in love with his stepmother?
Filippo had promised Carlo a beautiful French bride named Elisabetta, but, at the last minute, the king swept in and married her himself. Not cool. Nope, definitely not cool.
Enter Rodrigo, a nobleman and Carlo’s best friend. Rodrigo tries to cheer Carlo up by getting him involved in a political cause (nothing says “distraction” like a revolution). Spanish-occupied Flanders, (present-day Belgium) Rodrigo explains, is badly oppressed and needs a leader ASAP. Having a lot of free time on his hands, Carlo agrees to act as “savior” to the Flemish (i.e., the folks from Flanders). Got it so far?
But there’s a catch. He’ll need his stepmom’s permission.
Rodrigo arranges a meeting between Carlo and Elisabetta, telling the queen her heartbroken stepson needs a favor. But one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, the Princess of Eboli, overhears and takes Carlo’s heartbreak completely out of context—she thinks Carlo might be in love with her.
In other palace news, the king is highly suspicious of Elisabetta’s relationship with Carlo. He summons Rodrigo and asks him to spy on Carlo and Elisabetta’s extracurricular activities. Rodrigo unwisely uses this moment to plead for Flanders, claiming the king is applying unnecessary force to maintain peace in the Flemish territories. Though slightly moved, Filippo warns Rodrigo his rebellious ways may get him into trouble with the Spanish Inquisition.
Sometime later, Carlo receives a mysterious letter. Thinking Elisabetta wishes to see him, he waits for her in a romantic spot, and she promptly arrives wearing a veil for cover.
(Yeah, just kidding: It’s not really Elisabetta, but Eboli in disguise.)
Carlo whispers sweet nothings to “Elisabetta,” but when the mix-up comes to light, he tries to take back his professions of love. The damage is done, however—Eboli figures out Carlo’s words were meant for someone else…and that the “someone else” must be the queen.
Rodrigo rushes in. Believing Eboli will go straight to the king for revenge, he asks Carlo to hand over any incriminating evidence pertaining to Flanders.
But tensions between Filippo and Carlo are about to boil over anyway. At an auto-da-fé (an execution led by the Inquisition and overseen by the king), Carlo interrupts the ceremony by bringing some Flemish citizens before Filippo to call the king out and beg for royal mercy. Things get heated, and Carlo draws his sword. Horrified by this treasonous act, Filippo calls for someone to arrest his son. To everyone’s surprise, Rodrigo steps forward and leads Carlo to jail.
Filippo wants Carlo out of the way (like… completely out of the way), so the king appeals to the Grand Inquisitor to ask if the holy man will pardon Filippo for ordering Carlo’s execution. Convinced the uprising of the Protestant-leaning Flemish—and not Carlo—is the real threat to Spain and to the Catholic Church, the Inquisitor slyly suggests Filippo may be absolved if he hands over the traitorous Rodrigo in exchange. Yikes.
Suddenly, Elisabetta bursts in claiming she’s been robbed. She asks her husband to take action against the culprit, but Filippo quickly admits to the crime himself. He then confronts Elisabetta about a portrait of Carlo she keeps hidden in her stolen jewelry box. Elisabetta maintains her innocence, however. She may love Carlo, but she’s never been unfaithful.
And yet here’s a twist: Filippo has.
While comforting the queen after Filippo’s accusation, Eboli confesses she’s been having an affair with the king and that jealousy (for both Carlo and Filippo) led her to steal Elisabetta’s box and throw some serious shade at the queen. Shocked, Elisabetta orders Eboli to head to a convent. Eboli searches for a way to make things right—and finds one. She stumbles onto Carlo’s death warrant and resolves to intervene before it’s too late.
But can Eboli alert Carlo in time? Can Rodrigo escape the watchful eye of the Inquisition? And, most importantly, will Elisabetta and Carlo be allowed to ride off into the Spanish sunset?
Carlo Cornaglia (artist, flourished 1854 to 1899), Act IV, Scene 3 of Giuseppe Verdi’s Don Carlo, as performed at La Scala in the 1884, engraving by Giuseppe Barberis (engraver, 1840?-1917) [].
Presented by Washington National Opera, host Saul Lilienstein takes you through the musical world of Verdi’s 1886 passionate political love story, Don Carlo.
Written by
Eleni Hagen
Edited by
Lisa Resnick
Produced by
Kennedy Center Education
Digital Learning
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