Mascagni’s “poème dramatique en deux actes” had its première in
Monte Carlo on 16 March 1905, with Geraldine Farrar in the leading
role. An Italian version was immediately staged in Rome. I presume
that the only previous recording of this brief opera, recorded
in Budapest in 1995 under Marco Pace and starring Katia Ricciarelli,
was sung in Italian, so here we have a first for the original
in French.
If
beginnings were everything this opera would be at least as
good as “Das Rheingold”. If, a bit more logically, we compare
Mascagni’s dawn with Puccini’s prelude to Act III of Tosca,
we must surely recognize the difference between the inspired
natural poet and the cunning purveyor of effects.
The
trouble with the cunning purveyor of effects is, they work
so damn well. I’m prepared to give Mascagni the benefit of
the doubt over his daybreak prelude, however. As the music
gathers power and momentum the chorus here proves ragged and
few in numbers, while the orchestra is short on strings. The
booklet note-writer, Alberto Cantù, admits that the “Inno
del Sole” from “Iris” is “something else again”, but I daresay
this one would come off too, given a better chance.
This
deeply poetic opening sets the stage for what is ostensibly
a rustic village wedding in the foothills of the Piedmont
Alps. In a series of dances and general invitations to merriment
we may note the inventiveness of Mascagni’s orchestral colouring
and his continual veering away from the stereotyped music
which could so easily have been called upon for such a situation.
Then comes the bridegroom-to-be and we get a tenor aria.
This,
of course, is where the cunning purveyor of effects scores.
Puccini at this point would have come out with something like
“Recondita armonia”. Mascagni follows the words with vocal
writing that is melodious and expressive without actually
blossoming into a melody as such. But wait a moment, are we
perhaps listening for the wrong thing? When a Richard Strauss
opera breaks into a soliloquy for a leading character, with
vocal writing which is similarly melodious and expressive
without blossoming into a melody as such, we accept this happily
because it’s what we expect. We therefore have to get away
from the idea that Mascagni is trying to write a Puccini-tune
and not quite managing it and listen more attentively to what
he is actually doing. We may then appreciate the mastery of
his orchestral backdrop, which in its motivic interest, thematic
entwining and variegated colour places Mascagni firmly among
the Middle-European post-romantics. Post-romantic, too, is
the somewhat acidic tinge to the vocal lines. If we are reminded
of Puccini, it is more likely to be the later Puccini of “La
Fanciulla del West”, where he, too, began to head in this
same direction.
Another
problem – not Mascagni’s fault – is that we are used to hearing
Puccini and Strauss better sung than this. David Sotgiu has
a quite pleasing voice when singing quietly, and at first
I wondered if he would be able to present the case for not
singing this sort of music full blast. Alas, he fails to expand
and drive the music home to us. And this is only the beginning
… Giorgio is actually described as “fragile and suffering”,
but opera is about suspended disbelief and a fragile Giorgio
can’t deliver the goods any more than a fragile Butterfly
or a genuinely tubercular Violetta.
Thus
far, however, we might go along with the portrayal, since
Giorgio, the presumed bridegroom, actually introduces in this
aria the first blight on the idyllic scene, the first faltering
suggestion that things are not what they seem. For this is
an arranged marriage – arranged for fairly cynical reasons
I won’t go into here – and the lady’s not going to play. Amica,
we soon discover, is passionately in love with Giorgio’s “solid
and vigorous” brother Rinaldo, who has been driven out of
the home. However, while Amica rejects Giorgio’s overtures,
she does not reveal who it is she really loves. Here, and
in the subsequent confrontation with her foster-father Camoine,
we find that Anna Malavasi has a voice that is not always
soundly produced, but with something of the scale to get the
music across. There is a frisson to the singing which has
been lacking so far.
Rinaldo,
in response to a letter from Amica, arrives on the scene.
The two love each other as much as ever and Amica reveals
the marriage that is being forced on her but, also in this
case, does not say who the intended bridegroom actually is.
Rinaldo curses the man “who seeks to have your love” and they
flee to the mountains. Giorgio catches sight of them in the
distance, without recognizing Rinaldo, and gives chase, intending
to avenge himself on the “thief of love”. Just to add to the
drama, a thunderstorm is brewing.
The
music has by this time developed from its innocent, colouristic
beginnings to a tense, darkly-hued symphonic web driving the
action forward. Mascagni now gives full vent to his orchestral
mastery with the longest of his many intermezzi – 10:18 in
this performance. It should be said that, while the orchestra
is rough and ready and the strings undernourished, Manlio
Benzi has all the right ideas about how the music should go
and this piece comes off pretty powerfully.
Act
II takes place in a wild ravine. Giorgio confronts the couple,
then draws back on recognizing Rinaldo. Rinaldo is equally
astonished. At this point his fraternal love proves stronger
than his love for Amica. He accuses the latter of having lied
to him and, pitying his weak brother, who has now collapsed
in a faint, renounces to her: “His ghost would always rise
up between us; and if he lived, each kiss that you gave me
would seem to be stolen from my brother”. “If you loved me”,
he continues, “let your heart not be deaf to my begging voice
… you alone hold Giorgio’s fate in your hands, make him a
gift of your pity, of your love”. He leaves, clambering up
the sheer rock face. Amica, still declaring her love for Rinaldo,
attempts to follow him up the cliff, but falls into the torrent
below. Giorgio has by now come to and as the opera ends Rinaldo
attempts to rejoin his brother.
All
this action is underpinned by powerful orchestral writing,
basically a continuation of the intermezzo. Pierluigi Dilengite’s
rather hoarse, barking baritone is unable to express much
against this backdrop and even Anna Malavasi is reduced to
ungainly shouting. This means that the effectiveness of the
opera is not really proved either way. Could a Gobbi
or a Taddei have given Rinaldo at this point the humanity
which Mascagni evidently wants? Could a Callas have
involved us emotively in Amica’s desperate final gesture (maybe
Geraldine Farrar was able to do this)?
My
worry is that, while I think this opera may be musically a
masterpiece – it certainly exhibits rare mastery – it may
fail to engage us at the human level we expect of an operatic
masterpiece. Rinaldo’s sacrifice is, logically, completely
useless and even silly. It’s obvious that the lady’s not for
turning – he seems to expect her to switch her love from one
to the other rather as a bath-tap switches from hot to cold
water by moving the lever from left to right – so his own
loss is of no benefit to his brother. Surely he could not
have imagined otherwise? On the other hand, I’ve tried juggling
the situation in my mind to produce a number of alternative
endings, but most of them seem worse still. The cunning purveyor
of effects might have thought of something, though, and exacted
suitable changes from his librettist.
So
what can we say? The musical riches of this opera demand a
hearing. From this version you’ll get some idea of the orchestral
mastery and the sureness with which it progresses from an
idyllic beginning to a darkly dramatic conclusion in a short
space of time. Anna Malavasi’s singing in the first act, at
least, gives a fair hint of the sort of frisson the music
could presumably have all through with a high-octane international
cast. And, in spite of the positive judgement on Manlio Benzi,
a Gavazzeni in the pit might have helped the singers by creating
more transparent textures. Unfortunately I am unable to say
whether the Ricciarelli/Pace version is any better. Michael
Oliver’s Gramophone review (2/97) reports a fairly effective
performance, very poorly recorded. The present recording has
all the bangs and thumps we expect from a live theatre production
but is technically more than acceptable. The likelihood of
another version seems remote. It has become a truism among
Mascagni lovers that his operas – post-Cavalleria – are a
treasure-house of wonderful music which is in abeyance because
the singers with the heft to cope with them are a lost breed.
This is not the only recording which seems to prove them right
on both counts.
Christopher
Howell