OPERA: Highland Fling
Margherita d’Anjou at the RFH, 2nd November 2002, produced by Opera Rara
In order to preserve the integrity of ERO, let me commence with a retraction. Although I claimed in my introductory article on Meyerbeer that Margherita d’Anjou had never been performed in England, I have now discovered some evidence that it was presented in London in 1828. In my defence I will venture to assert that it must nonetheless still rank as a complete novelty for the vast majority of the readers of this distinguished organ.
A packed house at the Festival Hall awaited the event with eagerness — and indeed several hundred had attended the preliminary discussion in the concert-hall between Patric Schmid, the Artistic Director of Opera Rara, to whose intrepidity we owed the occasion, and Nicholas Payne, late General Manager of the ENO. How far the Meyerbeer revival may continue, no-one can say, but it is clear that we must begin to drop, when speaking of him, the sobriquet ‘forgotten’.
Margherita was written for La Scala in 1819 to a libretto by Felice Romani, who wrote also for Rossini and Donizetti and supplied virtually all the books for Bellini’s greatest hits. Adapted from a French melodrama of 1810, the story-line could be kindly described as quaint; it is one of those select few where reading the synopsis actually leads to one becoming more confused. Here goes, for what it is worth; Margaret (Annick Massis, soprano), widow of Henry VI, finds herself in Scotland disguised as a Highland peasant, fighting the revolt of Glochéster (the delightful Italian pronunciation of Gloucester) (Pauls Putnins, bass-baritone). Her commander and would-be lover Lavarenne (Bruce Ford, tenor) is meanwhile pursued by his jilted wife Isaura, en travesti as a young soldier (Patrica Bardon, mezzo-soprano), who has fallen in with the quack doctor Michele (Fabio Previati, baritone). Things are complicated by the traitor Carlo Belmonte (Alistair Miles, bass), and a gang of amiably disreputable Highland brigands willing to switch their loyalties at the drop of a sporran (the Geoffrey Mitchell Choir, who also doubled as assorted soldiers, country folk, and vivandières).
The absurdities of the plot, plus the advantage of being able to cut a large dollop of tedious recitative, provide good reasons for seeing such a work in concert rather than on-stage. Besides, in these days of surtitles, we should scarcely be able to suppress our giggling when confronted with translations such as those provided by Robert Arsanty in the concert programme, where the hawkers’ cry of ‘frutta e pasta a buon mercato!’ becomes ‘Fruit and inexpensive pastry!’ and Isaura’s plea to Michele of ‘Taci, taci, per pietà’ is represented as ‘Shut up, shut up, for pity’s sake!’ I understand Mr. Arsanty is translating the libretti of all of Meyerbeer’s operas with a view to publication — if his version of Margherita is anything to go by, this will indeed be a collector’s item, in its way.
Another argument in favour of concert versions is the opportunity of hearing the orchestra properly, particularly of interest in this work where Meyerbeer can be seen to begin to expand the range of orchestral colour beyond the Italian standard towards the more daring experiments of Robert le Diable. The London Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by David Parry, was set before us in all its splendour, including a generous percussion section and my first ever sighting in use of a cimbasso, a sort of vertical contra-bass trombone. It looked great, even if its sound was a bit lost in the crowd. The downside of all this was however that at climactic moments the voices of the soloists were also at risk of being overwhelmed by the forces ranged behind them.
The six operas which Meyerbeer wrote in Italy, when they are referred to at all, are generally mentioned only as Rossini-esque apprentice works. The experience of hearing Margherita is sufficient to convince that, although no masterpiece, it is far from an imitative essay. Indeed it is a tribute and monument to Meyerbeer’s dedication.
When he came to Italy in 1816 he was twenty-five and steeped in the German traditions which he had learnt from Zelter and Vogler, and which he shared with his friend Carlo Maria von Weber. He stayed there to learn about the voice, and it is clear from Margherita that his studies were deep and far transcended the affectations of a dilletante. Throughout the opera, from the opening bars of the overture, he shows a command of the forms, structure, and pacing of the Italian opera of his day, admittedly not approaching Rossini’s wit or lightness of touch. But to this he also allies a Germanic handling of the orchestra. The scene-setting of a Scottish valley owes much to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony (and also anticipates some of the Alpine atmosphere of Rossini’s Guillaume Tell). The music (and the character) of Michele certainly owe something to Rossini’s Figaro, but also much to Mozart’s Leporello. Altogether the nascent combination of the German vertical harmonic and colouristic approaches with Italian horizontal melodic lines shows opera reaching tentatively towards the age of Verdi and — dare we say? — Wagner.
The performance we heard was appropriately full-blooded on the part of orchestra, chorus and soloists. Only Mr. Putnins disappointed slightly, not by the quality of his voice but by its absence of force and blackness, surely essential for the man who was to become Richard III. Admittedly his exit line here (‘My heart has lost its resolve in the face of such humiliation’) is not a patch on the one Shakespeare gives him. But Mr. Putnins is still young and will doubtless develop. Miss Massis’s purity of line was delightful and she will be an excellent Lucia in next year’s Met season. Mr. Ford’s performance was appropriately ringing and heroic, and Ms. Bardon’s rich and powerful. Mr. Previati, who had a gift of a role in Michele, made the most of it and displayed a most attractive operatic personality. The trio between Gloucester, Michele and the double-turncoat Carlo, as whom Mr. Miles conveyed an appropriately anguished performance, is undoubtedly one of the opera’s high spots musically and dramatically, and was rendered most convincingly. (A recording of this trio is available on the compilation of Meyerbeer’s Italian period issued by Opera Rara, and a complete recording of Margherita d’Anjou based on the evening’s performers will be available in September 2003).
At just over two-and-a half hours, the evening conveyed an ideal mixture of novelty, discovery, talent and entertainment. The resuscitation of Margherita by Opera Rara was wholly vindicated and the performance marks another stage in the painfully slow restoration of Meyerbeer’s reputation.
English opera reviews in the 1820s usually concluded with mention of persons of quality and fashion in the audience, and I am delighted to revive this tradition for ERO. Amongst those whom I met I was honoured to be introduced to the last living descendant of the composer, Ms. Elisabeth Beer, who was visiting London especially for the performance. She told me that Meyerbeer would have been delighted that his opera was being revived in London, a town which he greatly loved but which his predisposition to sea-sickness prevented him from visiting regularly. We were joined in conversation by the distinguished Meyerbeer scholar, and editor of his Diaries, Mr. Robert Letellier. I had a fascinating conversation with Mr. Nicholas Payne and Mr. Norman Rosenthal, whom I was able to set right on the question of the talents of Ignaz Moscheles. A significant contingent of the audience was represented by the Meyerbeer Fan Club, led by its maven Mr. Stephen Agus, who also made a lightning trip to London for the performance, having to return by Tuesday in order to vote in New York. Not least we were made welcome after the performance backstage by two of its heroes, Ms. Massis and Mr. Ford. In all, a thoroughly memorable evening.
Allen Buchler, November 6, 2002 11:14 AM