Fidelio,
it must be said, is not an easy opera
to admire (the composer even had some
difficulty with the monster he had created).
But in a great performance it can give
the illusion of being a great work,
despite its many faults. The most obvious
of these is its plot - though that is
a fault by no means unique to Beethoven’s
opera. One could argue that what Beethoven
achieves within these limitations of
believability is almost overwritten
by his dramatic skill, an often over-looked
Beethovenian virtue in this opera. Beneath
the simplicity of its story – this is
almost the ultimate ‘rescue’ drama –
lie fragile human emotions, human misery
and a wider thesis of humanity versus
tyranny all set within the grim terrain
of a prison. That drama is highlighted
by the music that Beethoven composed
for his characters. The supernatural
figures of Leonore/Fidelio, Florestan
and Don Pizarro are given music of uncommon
beauty; in contrast, Rocco, Marzelline
and Jacquino are given music of uncommon
ordinariness. Yet, even within the context
of the great music something almost
nobler bubbles beneath the surface and
it is this that can sometimes undermine
performances of the work. Pizarro’s
aria ‘Ha! Welch’ ein Augenblick’ is
fermented by boiling rage as he plans
the murder of Florestan but its response
is Leonore’s ‘Abscheulicher! Wo eilst
du hin?’ music, enormous in scale and
ambition, that tries to be all things
at the same time. In very few performances
in my experience is this music both
exciting and beautiful, as it should
be, but in at least one performance
on record it achieves just that.
That performance is
Testament’s transfer of a live BBC broadcast
of Fidelio from Covent
Garden in 1961. Preceding his Philharmonia
studio recording by almost exactly a
year, this Covent Garden one is one
of the very greatest opera recordings
a listener can ever hope to hear. Where
his Philharmonia version was limited
by the month long recording process
at Covent Garden we have uncommon electricity,
a sweeping grandeur, and an impeccable
cast that has never been bettered. Moreover,
the opera is presented uncut with all
the spoken dialogue (as opposed to secco
recitative) in place and, perhaps controversially,
Leonore No.3 inserted after the Leonore/Florestan
duet in Act II. In both respects, this
differs from the other Klemperer Fidelio
under review here, the 1948 Hungarian
performance, released for the first
time on CD (the Covent Garden Fidelio
has previously been available on the
enterprising Melodram label). In the
Hungarian recording we have neither
the spoken dialogue nor Leonore No.3,
though the drawback is that it is sung
in Hungarian (something the booklet
notes fail to mention). What is so fascinating
about Budapest, however, is its sheer
drama and the magnetic way in which
Klemperer spins through the opera with
torrential power. This has much in common
with the way that Klemperer performed
Beethoven symphonies at the time, performances
that were often shorn of their tragedy
and solemnity. This Fidelio
is unlike any late Klemperer, and has
little comparative meaning when set
beside recordings from the same decade
by Furtwängler and Toscanini. Both
of those conductors (especially the
former) took a much grander view of
the work than Klemperer does in 1948;
indeed, both eschewed the lightness
of touch that Klemperer gives to this
Hungarian performance to give us a much
more Wagnerian interpretation of it.
If the recording is an important historical
document – and it clearly is – it is
in how it anticipates one made nine
years later, in 1957, by Ferenc Fricsay,
the first that incorporated the spoken
dialogue into Fidelio.
Where the two performances
are similar, however, is in that they
both derive from productions that Klemperer
oversaw in every artistic respect. This
gives both recordings a convincing trajectory
and focus that is largely missing from
others of the opera; it was, as Klemperer
suggested, to ensure that the musical
conception of the work was not disturbed
by what was happening on stage. It is
arguable that his Philharmonia performance
suffered from casting problems Klemperer
had little control over (at Covent Garden
he got what he had asked for), and this
issue simply doesn’t arise in the Covent
Garden recording. Christa Ludwig, for
example, and fine as she is, seems less
emotive, less moving than Sena Jurinac
is at Covent Garden. Moreover, Jurinac’s
creamier tone is like balm compared
with Ludwig’s slightly harsher upper
register. Their performances of the
‘Abscheulicher!’ are a case in point:
Jurinac is meltingly tender where Ludwig
is not, Jurinac more sheerly thrilling
than Ludwig’s more earthbound approach.
Beethoven, a rather clumsy writer for
the human voice, found in Jurinac his
ideal Leonore.
One of the virtues
of all the Klemperer Fidelios
is the way in which he gets all his
orchestras to play with a chamber-like
clarity. In the case of both the Act
I Quartet and the Prisoners’ Chorus
this is because he reduces the strings
to achieve that otherworldly effect,
but in the Covent Garden performance
the re-seating of the orchestra – with
the woodwind placed right in front of
the conductor – helped achieve that
Beethovenian balance of woodwind to
the fore that Klemperer preferred in
his later recordings. Also similar,
is the non-interventionist approach
that Klemperer brings to all his recordings
of the opera – the oboe solo in Florestan’s
Act II aria, for example, is so languidly
done as to suggest Klemperer just lets
the soloist phrase as he wishes. In
all three cases it is uniquely done,
but at Covent Garden it has just that
bit more risk to it. That is not to
say, however, that Klemperer’s approach
is overtly minimalist – there is a depth
of sonority to this Covent Garden Fidelio
that is truly thrilling, the string
tone – with separated violin desks –
at once a combination of darkness and
light, density and clarity. Tempi are
fluent – less so than in Hungary where
Klemperer is faster in both the overture
and in each aria, sometimes notable
faster, as in the overture (5’47 Hungary,
6’54 Covent Garden). Leonore No.3, so
controversially included at the time,
may well, dissipate the drama for some
listeners, but given as it is here with
such spontaneity by Klemperer it hardly
seems problematical today.
Of the Covent Garden
cast only Jon Vickers (Florestan) and
Gottlob Frick (Rocco) were used in the
studio recording; all rather a pity
since the Covent Garden cast is unmatched.
Vickers was at the peak of his vocal
powers when this 1961 performance was
recorded and his singing is everything
one could wish for. His Act II aria
is the greatest on record: the cry of
‘Gott! Welch Dunkel hier!’ is agonised
and stinging. ‘Od’ ist es um mich her’
has a gravity to it which is heart-rending.
Frick excels in his spoken dialogue
and along with Hans Hotter’s villainous
Don Pizarro brings a nobility to the
sung German that is mesmerising. Hotter
is truly menacing in his Act I aria
(Walter Berry on EMI is no match for
him), a perfect foil to the Leonore
of Jurinac, so intense of voice but
so meltingly lyrical with it. None of
the Hungarian singers equal these great
artists, but what is common to both
performances is a commitment and drama
that puts them above the ordinary.
Testament’s sound transfer
is spacious and atmospheric (the Melodram
release always tended towards dryness).
The Hungarian transfer suffers from
somewhat squally sound and a certain
opaqueness here and there but ably captures
the electricity of the performance.
Reproduction values on the Testament
release are of the highest standards:
a booklet of essays about the production
and performance and a full libretto.
The Urania notes are brief but given
the fact the opera is sung in Hungarian
the absence of a libretto is unfortunate.
The Testament discs
are a thrillingly vivid reproduction
of a great performance; the Urania discs
are invaluable for giving us what was,
at the time, a singular interpretation
of this opera. Both are indispensable
and both confirm that in the case of
Fidelio there was no greater
interpreter than Otto Klemperer. These
recordings, but especially the Covent
Garden one, are unlikely to ever be
equalled.
Marc Bridle
see also
BEETHOVEN
(1770-1827)
Fidelio. Leonore Overture
No. 3.
Christa Ludwig (mezzo) Leonore; Jon
Vickers (tenor) Florestan; Walter Berry
(bass) Don Pizarro; Gottlob Frick (bass)
Rocco; Ingeborg Hallstein (soprano)
Marzelline; Gerhard Unger (tenor) Jaquino;
Franz Crass (bass) Don Fernando; Kurt
Wehofschitz (tenor) First Prisoner;
Raymond Wolansky (baritone) Second Prisoner;
Philharmonia Chorus and Orchestra/Otto
Klemperer.
EMI Great Recordings of the Century
CMS5 67364-2 [two discs] [142.52] [ADD]
[CC]
If you haven't
already heard this performance, this
set is an essential purchase.
