The
operas of Leoš Janáček were by no means unknown in the
English-speaking world before 1947, when Charles Mackerras went
to study in Prague. Indeed, Rosa Newmarch had championed the
composer’s cause so effectively that Janáček dedicated
his Sinfonietta to her. Sir Adrian Boult, George Szell and Břetislav
Bakala, the composer’s friend and pupil, all performed his work
in Britain, well before Mackerras. Nonetheless, for him, finding
Janáček was like finding a gold mine. He became the leading
Janáček specialist in the English-speaking world.
The
obvious comparison to this recording would be Mackerras’s 1978
recording with Elisabeth Söderström as Emilia Marty, and a cast
of leading Czech singers including Dalibor Jedlicka, Benno Blachut,
Vaclav Zitek and others. Although that performance was sung
in Czech, and this in English, language is the not the primary
difference by any means. Indeed, learning the opera from the
first recording is a disadvantage when listening to this one,
because the first is so good. Söderström is magnificent, completely
inhabiting the role as if it were second nature, no easy task
with a role as unnatural as Emilia Marty. Söderström was also
a Janáček specialist, singing all the major roles, much
as Karita Mattila is doing so today. It does make a difference,
because they seem to intuit the composer’s unique idiom.
On
its own merits, however, this recording is adequate, especially
if you want a clear, no-frills English-language version. Indeed,
Chandos is marketing it as part of its Operas In English
series. This is a perfectly reasonable premise. In earlier
years, Mackerras customarily conducted Janáček in English
because this made it easier for English-speaking audiences to
assimilate. There’s a long established tradition of performance
in translation. Indeed, it was fairly common practice in the
“golden years” of opera before the recording era. There’s no
reason to be snobbish about translation, per se. Translations
do change the musical line, but within reason, it’s not something
to be condemned outright, especially by people who don’t know
the original. In any case, there’s still so much to give pleasure.
Were it not for Mackerras, the ENO and English translation,
the operas of Janáček might not have the international
profile they now enjoy.
To
a certain extent, the more spartan approach works fairly well
in the first act, where the aim is to create an impression of
sterility. The inheritance case has dragged on for a hundred
years, but that suits a prissy mind like Vítek’s, who regrets
the resolution of “such a fine lawsuit” and cruelly mocks Gregor’s
fears of suicide. The endless litigation is a mirror of EM’s
endless life, for her, it’s a curse. EM of course refers to
the different names, all variants of her original name. She
is Emilia Marty now, but was the Elian Macgregor whose descendant
Gregor is. It’s fascinating how Janáček weaves the maze-like
narrative, reflecting its intricacies in the score. In this
first act, EM is depicted through small snatches of dialogue,
filtered through the other characters’ perceptions of her. Moreover,
each character subtly contrasts another: Janek’s youthful adoration
contrasts with Count Hauk-Sendorf’s old man’s obsession. Graham
Clark’s experience makes the character sound truly demented,
but delusion runs throughout. All the characters are imposing
their own ideas of what EM “must” be, but none know who she
really is. The shrill, sharp-edged delivery here adds to the
sense of deluded alienation. The tenors all sound like prototype
Graham Clarks, which is quite perceptive. The tension continues
in the Second Act, broken for a moment by a nicely-done comic
scene between the stagehand and cleaner: Graeme Darby and Kathleen
Wilkinson.
But
the focus of the opera is Elina Makropulos herself. Despite
her talent, she’s weary of life, cynical and alienated. That’s
why she’s lethal for innocents like Janek and Kristina. Yet
her cold-heartedness springs from centuries of unhappiness.
Janáček nicknamed the character “Miss Brrrr”, consciously
willing himself to write more warmth into the part. “I’ll fall
in love with her yet”, he said. As EM starts to face the truth,
her personality, and her music, expand. Janáček wants a
fuller exploration of the role, because it is self-knowledge
that finally ennobles her, and it’s beyond the grasp of the
other characters. This is where Söderström excels. Her EM reaches
a kind of apotheosis, as she regains her humanity by rejecting
the magic elixir. Eternal life is a false dream. Kristina is
given a choice, but she, too has learned enough to know that
she must destroy the formula. Although Cheryl Baker has sung
Kat’a Kabanová, it would be unfair to expect her to compare
with Söderström and Mattila. She’s certainly good enough, especially
in the beginning where the coldness of the role counts, but
at the end, what might be more convincing would be greater warmth
and colour.
Nor
is the English National Opera Orchestra anywhere near the league
of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Mackerras himself, too,
seems more focused in the earlier recording, which is a genuine
triumph. The booklet notes are not specially informative, but
this reflects the Anglo-centric approach. Karel Čapek is
extremely important, even if Shaw might be better known to English
readers. As a bonus, there’s an interview with Sir Charles Mackerras
about his career in Janáček. Nonetheless, this recording
is good as a souvenir of the long connection between Mackerras
and the ENO, and benefits an opera house that deserves support.
It’s useful, too, as an introduction to the opera.
Anne Ozorio
Cheryl Baker (soprano) - Emilia Marty; Neal Davies (bass baritone)
- Dr Kolenatý; John Graham-Hall (tenor) - Vítek; Elena Xanthoudanis
(soprano) – Kristina; John Wegner (baritone) - Baron Prus; Thomas
Walker (tenor) - Janek Prus; Graham Clark (tenor) - Count Hauk-Sendorf
