Even in opera, an artform predicated on exalted statements, the second act of Giuseppe Verdi's "Aida" is extraordinarily grand.

In its second scene, known as the Triumphal Scene, a mighty Egyptian throng hails the victorious return of its army after defeating the warring Ethiopians. Verdi calls for a chorus of more than 100 for the various roles, highlighted by the famous "Triumphal March" played on long trumpets (meant to evoke Egyptian ceremonial use). But the total stage presence -- soldiers, fan-bearers, trumpeters, priests, captives, dancers, citizens, chariots and carts of spoils -- numbers near 200 and has been known to balloon up to 2,000 (in a production in Shanghai at the turn of the millennium).

The Pittsburgh Opera's production will put 72 choristers, 14 dancers, 15 onstage musicians, seven soloists and 60 supernumeraries on the stage for the scene. The latter are extras -- palm bearers, prisoners, guards and city inhabitants -- which in this production will include wrestling legend Bruno Sammartino as a guard.

Just as spectacular is the tradition of using animals in the victory scene. That custom originated in Cairo in 1871 at the opera's premiere, in which elephants and camels paraded across the stage (zebras, giraffes, ostriches and more were planned). These days, the full zoological treatment happens mostly in outdoor productions, such as in Verona's Arena, but the Pittsburgh Opera did include a young elephant in the Benedum Center 12 years ago in its last production of "Aida." This run will have a real horse drawing a chariot.

With this sort of animal, woman and manpower -- not to mention ballet dancers and majestic sets -- Verdi clearly was interested in portraying the god-like power of the Egyptian Pharaohs in "Aida." Not just for the plot's sake, but because the Viceroy of Egypt commissioned it for the newly built Cairo Opera House (not for the opening of the Suez Canal, however, as is often thought).

Verdi did such a good job of creating these splendors that the opera is not even known as a tragedy these days, but as a grand spectacle. But at the heart of "Aida" lies an intimate story. At its center is a love triangle between Amneris (the Pharaoh's daughter), Aida (the captured daughter of the Ethiopian king) and the man they both love, Radames. His unyielding love for Aida -- voiced in the work's first aria, "Celeste Aida" -- and Amneris' jealousy fuel the tragedy.

"It's ironic that most people think of 'Aida' as a series of spectacular, larger-than-life sequences, but in reality it's more of a chamber opera with one enormous scene right in the middle," says Christopher Hahn, artistic director of the Pittsburgh Opera. "It is not just a bombastic cannon shot, but all the things Verdi was famous for in 'Otello' and in 'La Traviata' -- getting under the skin of the characters."

"It is either everybody on stage or two people," says stage director Stephen Pickover. "You don't have sextets, quintets or quartets." In fact, Pickover's instruction to the singers focuses on "the difference between the private and public. One behaves differently when in front of many people than when behind the scenes with someone. The body language and voice changes."

The opera opens with Radames, a young Egyptian general, thinking about his love for the Ethiopian Aida (the famous romanza "Celeste Aida") even as he hopes that he will be named to lead the army into battle against her country. Soon after, Ramfis, the high priest, confirms this, but in the offing Amneris has guessed at Aida's love and proceeds to trick her into revealing it. Radames returns victorious and the Pharaoh betroths Amneris to him and grants him one wish. Radames' wish is to release the prisoners, but one of them, the captured Ethiopian king Amonasro, later forces his daughter into making the general reveal further battle plans. When he realizes his lapse in judgment, Radames submits himself to the vengeful priests and is eventually sentenced to death.

Verdi went to great lengths to set the intimacy of the trio of lovers and also the relationship between Aida and her father, Amonasro, into relief. A series of duets keeps the opera focused on the human scale amid the towering set, brassy fanfares, vibrant ballets and exotic color.

"Even in the canvas scenes, Verdi maintains individuality," says Hahn.

Indeed, some of the greatest tensions throughout the opera come from concerted solo and tutti singing. A striking example occurs during the large choruses of Act 2. Here the texture occasionally reduces to a single singer, such as for the appearance of Amonasro and for the exquisite supplication by Aida for the prisoner's release that quiets everyone else. And the most intense moment of the opera occurs when Amneris vehemently argues with the Egyptian priests that Radames be allowed to live, her solo voice flailing against the monolithic and dogmatic responses of the male singers.

Even the transitions between the large scenes and the small ones play up the differences between the intimate and the grand. "In Amneris' bath scene she is with all of her students, but when Aida comes, the first thing [Amneris] does is send them all away," says Pickover. "That changes the dynamic, and it is a typical thing in the opera." Another example is when she calls the guards to bring Radames to her in the opening scene of Act 4 and then dismisses them.

Verdi's reasons are not necessarily to juxtapose individual and society, although that is a clear result, but to be theatrical. Drama, sung or not, is a human expression. We remember "Aida" as a vehicle for Maria Callas, Leontyne Price and Renata Tebaldi, not for various opera choruses.

Verdi also realized that in an opera populated with so many leaders who had to keep their true opinions hidden from the public, that private scenes and arias would need to be the vehicles for drama. "You need the privacy because the characters must be vulnerable," says Pickover. "They can only put their guard down when they are alone."

The opera in general shifts about midway through. The first two acts show more of the influence of French grand opera. Verdi's "Don Carlos," was written for the Parisian stage, with its emphasis on splendor and ballet, and indeed, the auto da fe scene in which heretics are to be killed is similar to the Triumphal Scene. But Act 3 opens "on the banks of the Nile" and the drama and music turn inward to the psychological struggles of the main characters. Amneris prepares for an uncertain marriage, Aida pines for her country, which Amonasro uses as guilt to force her to betray Radames. The music is quieter, more individual, flexible and colorful -- more personal than the formal music that came earlier.

And the final scene can hardly be more intimate. Per the cruel sentence afforded traitors, Radames is buried alive in a chamber. There, Aida greets him, having sneaked in earlier, for a final tragic duet, with a now remorseful Amneris praying on the stone slab above them. It may be more reserved than the earlier action, but the effect is just as potent.