The rôle of Giordano’s
revolutionary poet is taken in this
set by the great Beniamino Gigli (he
had sung this at his London debut in
1931). Although recorded in Milan in
1941, this recording did not reach Great
Britain until a decade later because
EMI’s head office in England had cut
off ties following the outbreak of hostilities
between Italy and Britain in 1940.
This lovingly transferred
issue must surely constitute one of
the highlights of Naxos’s ‘Great Opera
Recordings’ series. Surface noise offers
minimal distraction, and the tone of
the individual voices comes through
magnificently. If Gigli was no longer
in the first flush of youth at the time
(he was in his fifties), the combination
of a still-remarkable voice and a wealth
of experience paid huge dividends. Take
Chénier’s first big aria (‘Colpito
qui m’avete … Un dì all’azzurro
spazio’ from Act I). Gigli gives us
a miracle of gradual opening out from
the tentative beginnings to passionate
lyric outpouring. Fabritiis’s accompaniment
helps at all stages, tracing and underlining
the shifting moods (Fabritiis also conducted
Gigli recordings of Tosca and
Butterfly). Try, also, Chénier’s
affecting plea at ‘Sì, fui soldato’
(Act 3).
The cast is an impressive
one, and one that works together to
give a memorable account of Giordano’s
opera. Maria Caniglia, a lyrico-spinto
soprano, takes the part of the feisty
and dedicated Maddalena. A regular partner
of Gigli’s (recording Tosca,
Un ballo in maschera and Aida
with him), she acts as the perfect dramatic
foil. Her harp-accompanied ‘Al mio dire
perdono’ (Act I) sums up the basis of
her portrayal as essentially young and
pure. Her ‘La mamma morta’ (Act III),
where she tells of her mother’s death,
is a marvellously touching recollection,
the strings’ dark hues perfectly underlining
the emotion of the aria. The final section
of the entire opera, wherein Chénier
and Maddalena enjoy a final declaration
of their love, is magnificently tender
and tells explicitly in sound of the
success of these two singers’ assumptions
of their roles and their complete rapport
with their characters.
Florentine baritone
Gino Bechi takes on the part of Carlo
Gérard. Between 1939 and 1953
he was the leading Italian dramatic
baritone at La Scala. His ‘Nemico della
Patria’ (Act III) is dramatically true:
one can hear his character’s growing
determination as he overcomes his qualms
about his denunciation of Chénier
by focusing on his jealousy. The seriousness
of intent here is almost visceral. At
other times, he can be commanding and
powerful (towards the end of Act I,
for example). A memorable assumption
of this role.
Another major name
on the operatic circuit of the time
was mezzo-soprano Giulietta Simionato.
Here she is the Countess di Coigny.
Her voice is full and rich, her approach
confidant and her pitching pure. Giuseppe
Taddei (as Fléville, doubling
as Fouquier-Tinville) is marvellously
focused (try ‘Passiamo la sera allegramente!’
from Act I). Gino Conti takes on several
roles here; Italo Tajo is Roucher. Conti
(as Schmidt) and Tajo make a lasting
impression (at least they did on this
listener) at the beginning of Act IV.
After a desolate orchestral introduction
(masterly handled by de Fabritiis),
their darkly shaded exchange as Chénier
writes his poem is remarkable. This
short passage (1’18) acts as the perfect
lead-in to Chénier’s ‘reading’
of said poem (‘Come un bel dì
di maggio’).
Vittoria Palombini’s
portrait of hesitancy (Act II, ‘Ecco
l’altare’) is masterful; she is superbly
touching later on, in Act III also (‘Son
la vecchia Madelon’). Adelio Zagonara’s
light tenor suits L’Incredibile well.
Leone Paci is a Mathieu who shades his
lines effectively (he also has the distinction
of being the first voice heard in both
Acts II and III). Maria Huder’s soprano
suits Bersi well, although she verges
on the shrill. She is appropriately
proud at ‘Temer? Perché?’ (Act
II), as she describes her feelings of
freedom and of being a daughter of the
Revolution.
Steering everyone with
the confidence and ability of a Naval
Admiral, de Fabritiis captures the shifting
emotions in the orchestral flow completely
naturally. His experience in the opera
pit shines through in his flexibility
and in the way he follows his singers
like a shadow. Moods are invariably
apt – try the very opening (the de Coigny
family’s preparations for the evening
reception), which sparkles infectiously
(and how superbly the violins navigate
their difficult parts).
Malcolm Walker’s notes
are, as usual, informed and fascinating.
Only one production complaint this time
– on my review copy, CD2 is given in
the booklet as having a duration of
0’00 (the back of the box gives 74’53).
Maybe some annotations on the appendix
of Arias from this opera sung by ‘Various
Artists’ would have been nice. Comparative
listening such as this approach encourages
is a fascinating experience, one that
offers much scope for absorbing alternative
readings as well as widening our appreciation
of Chénier’s recording
history.
Some great names of
the past are chosen. Giacomo Lauri Volpi’s
1934 HMV recording of ‘Un dì
dall’azzurro spazio’ begins with the
singer in tremulous voice, but his outpouring
at around 1’30 is a thing of wonder.
Gigli is nice and strong over his full
range, ardent and thrilling at the climax,
also. Musically, these are two contrasting
responses to the same text and as such
offer a stimulating listening experience.
Gigli, as part of the complete recording,
seems to be so much more inside the
words and music, it must be said; with
Lauri Volpi it sounds like a snippet.
Antonio Cortis sings
‘Io non amato ancor’ with somewhat chopped
up phrasing, and the 1930 recording
favours the orchestra too much. Much
better is Cesare Formichi’s ‘Nemico
della Patria’, although his orchestra
is scrappy. Bechi’s version (CD2, Track
5) is more dramatic, and the music flows
better because of de Fabritiis’s superior
understanding of Giordano’s harmonic
workings.
The great Claudia Muzio
sings ‘La mamma morta’ with all the
hysteria one could ever want (and listen
to the portamento-obsessed solo cellist!);
Caniglia is more tender in approach.
Francesco Merli’s ‘Sì, fui soldato’
lacks some body to the tone, and is
not really commanding or proud in comparison
with Gigli (who is simultaneously more
lyrical). It has to be admitted that
Aureliano Pertile’s ‘Come un bel dì
di maggio’ is an excellent and fulfilling
way to end the entire product. Despite
the somewhat distanced perspective,
his phrasing is beautifully lyrical
(Gigli, as part of the complete opera,
is lighter, but no less impressive).
A fascinating release
from just about every angle, therefore.
This Chénier will not
disappoint.
Colin Clarke
see also review
by Robert Hugill
Chorus and Orchestra of La Scala, Milan/Oliviero
de Fabritiis.