Stuff and Nonsense
In Strangers in a Strange Land, we touched upon how language can be used in opera to denote a character having another nationality -- a particularly interesting case being the Italian-flavored German of Valzacchi in Richard Strauss' Der Rosenkavalier. Some librettists go still further than that, however, tipping all the way over into "nonsense" lyrics that are meant to give the impression of the sound of another language.
One amusing example is the centerpiece of Offenbach's 1861 Monsieur Choufleuri restera chez lui le 24 janvier 1883 (Yes, that's the name of the opera!). It is essentially a drawing room comedy in which a wealthy man invites guests to hear three famous real-life opera singers in concert at his home: Sontag, Rubini, and Tamburini. When they don't show up, his daughter (Ernestine), her young lover (a poor composer, Babylas), and M. Choufleuri himself disguise themselves as the singers so the assembled guests won't be disappointed. The result is a glorious parody of Italian bel canto, topped off by "improvised" Fran-italiano lyrics in which Ernestine and Babylas genuinely plead their own case with M. Choufleuri while pretending to be acting out characters who are in a typical Commedia dell'Arte situation in which a wealthy father disapproves of the impoverished lover his daughter has chosen. The parody peaks with the literal patter lyrics ("patati" here means something like "et cetera") of Babylas, who strings together Italianate versions of the names of composers of the day: "Bellini, patati, Rossini, patati, Halévy, patati, Auberi, Poniatowksi, Davidini, Heroldini, Wagnerini..." Once the ensemble has ended (to applause from the listeners who accept this foolishness as the real thing) Babylas blackmails M. Choufleuri into permitting his marriage to Ernestine by threatening to expose the musical event for the farce it is.
Another French operetta features gobbledegook of another caliber: Messager's 1923 L'Amour Masqué. Its heroine, known only as "Elle" (She), is wooed by a Burmese Maharadje, who arrives complete with translator and employs nothing but a cleverly constructed mock-Asiatic dialect during the entire opera. Unfortunately, I do not have a set of lyrics in French to be able to quote from this; however, librettish Sasha Guitry’s own English translation of the "Chant Birman" -- yes, the Maharadje has an entire aria, a love song no less -- tips us off to the fact that, though the gibberish is playful, yet it is not quite nonsense. Part of this translation reads, "Say to any Polish girl, 'Je t'aime,' and she will understand. Hold any English girl tightly in your arms and whisper, 'Io t'amo,' and you will have said everything...." In other words, he pleads to Elle that love itself speaks a universal language, even as he expresses himself in an invented tongue known to no country on earth!
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