he Unicorn, The Gorgon and The Manticore, like its composer, is hard to classify. Menotti himself has always resisted calling it a ballet, although he considers dance an indispensable element for its completest realization. Calling a work that has no solo singing roles an opera would be quite a stretch, too. What's left? Menotti's designation, "A Madrigal Fable," comes close to capturing the essential musical nature of the piece, harking back to the rigorous training in classical tools of composition that the composer received under Rosario Scalera at the Curtis Institute as a youngster. Unicorn's model was Orazio Vecchi's Amfiparnaso, commedia harmonica or madrigal comedy from 1597, an operatic precursor. In its various movements Unicorn is a virtual catalogue of 16th century secular choral devices. The tone of the work, despite its obvious 20th century resonances, evokes a medieval world in spirit.

Menotti, the witty, urbane and articulate author of all his own English language librettos, spoke not a word of English when he arrived in this country at the age of sixteen. His verbal virtuosity in his new language coupled with his story-telling genius have made him a valued librettist for others — notably for his life-long friend, Samuel Barber, whose opera Vanessa is a setting of Menotti's words.

Menotti's first opera, Amelia Goes to the Ball, written when he was in his 20s, was so well received that it was taken into the repertory of the Metropolitan Opera within a year. His next opera, The Old Maid and the Thief, was the first such work to be commissioned for radio performance (by NBC). The Mediu had a long run on Broadway. The Consul, a Kafkaesque memento of the Cold War, still grips audiences with its depictions of bureaucratic nihilism. And Amahl, (also a commission from NBC — this time for television) has for years been among the most frequently performed operas in this country — virtually a universal symbol for Christmas. There have been other operas, too; some as well-received as these, only a few less so.

As a composer, Menotti has spent his whole life at the center of controversy. Though prodigiously successful at an early age — and almost continuously so during his productive years — no school has developed around him. Audiences, for the most part, respond to the dramatic integrity, humor and emotional directness of his operas. Some critics and not a few colleagues, on the other hand, have faulted him for his failure to join them on the 20th century's musical barricades — for looking too much backwards in terms of musical methodology, and for his determined refusal to buy into the dominant aesthetic trends of the century.

Unlike some of this century's other notable outsiders — the soft-spoken Barber, for instance, in this country; Britten, and other anti-dodecaphonists abroad — Menotti has been outspoken in touting his contrarian views, and has rarely backed away from a good (preferably public) knock-down-drag-out with his critics. Someone dismissed him as "the Puccini of the poor." "Better that than 'the Boulez of the rich,'" he countered. Comments like that make him — nd his music — fair game. To him the label modern musi is an "unnecessary chronological separation which implies that there is something fashionable about art, making the work of the past ridiculous and old-fashioned."

That view, not so thinly disguised in the garb of comedic allegory, permeates The Unicorn, the Gorgon and the Manticore. The Man in the Castle is the artist/poet (Menotti himself?). His three companions represent the hard-won creative offspring respectively of youth, mid-life and the late years. Envy, mockery and spite are stirred into a pot that bubbles with a kind of domestic warfare reminiscent of commedia dell' arte — with a dab of slapstick thrown in. Slavery to fashion, including the expendability of the unfashionable, and the pack mentality are all portrayed; but grace and charm are also to be found — it's hard to dislike these folk. Its humor like its moral is direct; true to its 16th century sources, apt. And if, at the poignant farewell of its conclusion, one feels a little chastened by one's earlier easy laughter, the composer's point will have been all the more effectively made.

Richard Dyer of The Boston Globe may have been right when he recently described Menotti's current status as "deeply unfashionable." However, history is known to be blithely and notoriously indifferent to contemporary judgements in matters artistic. It will be interesting to see how it finally ranks some of the more conspicuous non-conformists of this conspicuously chaotic century. One hopes that with the cultural climate becoming more receptive to diversity in the tools of creativity, an objective reappraisal of the work of Menotti is on the near horizon.

© 2004 Donald Teeters. All rights reserved.

The Boston Cecilia performed this piece at Harvard University's Sanders Theatre in Cambridge, MA on March 10, 1996.

Buy The Boston Cecilia's recording of this piece