The policies of centralisation pursued by Louis XIV and his ministers affected most aspects of French life and culture. From 1645 opera had been imported from Italy by Louis' minister Cardinal Mazarin, originally out of political motives. When it had become ‘naturalised’, assuming its characteristic French guise under the despotic direction of Lully's Académie Royale de Musique, it continued to serve political purposes. In return for a monopoly on theatre music, Lully saw to it that opera served not only as entertainment for the nobility and bourgeoisie, but also as propaganda for the state and for the divine right of the King. An incidental effect of these policies was that the number of French operas produced was small compared to the number in Italy. This was due to the monopoly; to the centralisation, which meant that with few exceptions ‘French’ opera really meant ‘Parisian’ opera; and to the lavishness of the productions, which made frequent changes of repertory impractical even with subsidies. Each première was an event of note, chronicled in official and unofficial sources – the archival documents, mémoires, correspondence, periodicals, pamphlets and books of the day. This profusion of documentation frequently makes possible a degree of precision about the history of early French opera that can rarely be attained for other national schools.

A natural starting point for a critical reading of Verdi's Rigoletto might be the protagonist's ‘Cortigiani, vil razza dannata’ in Act II: an utterance around which much of the emotional intensity of the opera is centred. Rigoletto's outburst can be discussed to great advantage in terms of current musicological fashion, as it alters conventional forms in fascinating and provocative ways, and to great dramatic effect. Yet such an approach presupposes that the key to understanding operas lies in their Great Moments – those passages of intense musical expression that tend to be quoted in movies and television commercials. Of course these moments are a crucial aspect of our delight, and can be a rich source for interpretative ventures. But there is more to opera: various levels of meaning invite our exploration and enjoyment; hermeneutic ‘secrets’ lurk behind seemingly ‘trivial or irrelevant’ passages, and can lead to new perspectives on familiar works.

This essay originated as a contribution to a symposium organised by the Dallas Opera and Southern Methodist University around the Opera's production of Boro-din's Prince Igor in November 1990. Since many Soviet guests had been invited, the poster and programme book were printed in English and Russian side by side. I found that the word ‘orientalism’ in my title had become tema vostoka – ‘the Eastern theme’ – in translation, even though orientalizm, or more commonly, orientalistika, are perfectly good Russian words (well, Russian words, anyway). It was a sensible precaution. ‘The Eastern theme’ is neutral: from a paper with that phrase in the title one expects inventories, taxonomies, identification of sources, stylistic analysis. ‘Orientalism’ is charged. From a paper with that word in the title one expects semiotics, ideological critique, polemic, perhaps indictment. The translator was quite right to err on the side of innocuousness, rather than saddle me with a viewpoint I might not wish or manage to live up to.

No aspect of Janáček's operas has been publicised more widely than their alleged use of ‘speech melodies’. Indeed, most commentators now assume the a priori existence of speech melodies in the composer's operas. However, only John Tyrrell has explored the matter in depth, and many basic questions about Janáček's speech-melody theory and practice remain unanswered. What follows is an attempt to investigate in detail one of the most prominent, and most misrepresented, issues of Janáček opera analysis. A brief initial digression into the principal characteristics of spoken Czech is unavoidable.