Abstract
I have suffered through an execrable performance of a Vivaldi pastiche in Nice; the production was so pitiable, I have even forgotten the name of the work. On the other hand, I have exulted in performances of Dido and Aeneas in Toronto, Tosca at the Met in New York, and Der Rosenkavalier at the Staatsoper in Vienna. Like Oblomov, the protagonist in Gonchorov's novel who cannot get the aria `Casta diva' out of his mind, I can be `shattered' by a phrase from Mozart, Donizetti, or Puccini. Oblomov falls in love with Olga because she sings `Casta diva.' I spend days letting phrases from Le Nozze di Figaro, Madama Butterfly, or Eugene Onegin drift through my mind like a private soundtrack. I have learned from Oblomov that a single aria can give access to love. This is a productive fantasy for Oblomov, for it rouses him from lethargy. It is a productive fantasy for many opera lovers.
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