Daily Inspiration Quote by Robertson Davies

Calling the librettist a "mere drudge" is Davies at his most politely barbed: a novelist pointing to opera's dirty little hierarchy, where language is essential but rarely sovereign. Opera markets itself as the triumph of voice and music, so the writer becomes the invisible laborer - the one who hauls narrative, character motivation, and singable syntax up the hill, only for the composer and star singers to plant the flag at the summit.

The word "drudge" does double work. It names the grind (endless revisions, compromises with musical structure, cuts demanded by directors and conductors) and it needles the romantic myth that opera is pure inspiration. A libretto is engineered: it has to be concise, rhythmically pliable, emotionally legible from a balcony seat, and sturdy enough to survive being stretched, repeated, and exploded into aria. That constraint can look like lesser writing if you judge it by novelistic standards - which is exactly the point Davies wants you to notice.

Subtext: opera is a collaborative art that still pretends it's a pantheon. The librettist sits closest to commerce and logistics: deadlines, translation issues, censorship (historically), and the blunt fact that audiences often remember melodies more than words. Davies, coming from a literary culture that prizes authorial primacy, is also winking at his own medium's vanity. It's a provocation disguised as resignation: if the librettist is treated as a servant, it's because opera needs someone to do the servant's work - making grand feeling intelligible.