The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh and the Maiden
Fevronia - to give the opera its full and cumbersome title
- was the last of his stage works that Rimsky-Korsakov saw performed;
the later Golden Cockerel ran into censorship problems
and was not given until after his death. It is the composer’s
greatest work in the genre and was probably expected by him
to be his swan-song. Into it he pours all his fascination with
nature and spirituality. It matters not that the plot itself,
a curious mélange of Russian history and mythology, makes
no real sense. We accept similarly nonsensical admixtures in
the case of Parsifal. The comparison with Wagner is not
at all inappropriate. Both works - neither were called operas
by their composers - concern a protagonist who saves a spiritually
dedicated people through a combination of divine intervention
and trust in the healing powers conveyed by natural forces.
The music, which unlike most previous Russian operas runs continuously
and is through-composed, also recalls Wagner in places, particularly
in the opening where the influence of the Forest murmurs
from Siegfried and the Good Friday music from
Parsifal is felt in writing of sublime delight. This
is enhanced by the superbly refined orchestration that Rimsky
provides.
This new recording makes the third modern recording of the work
in the catalogue - the old Melodiya recording under Nebolsin
from 1956 is in mono, disastrous in a work as finely textured
in orchestration as this - all derived from live performances
over the last fifteen years. Of those three recordings that
from Fedoseyev on Koch Schwann is ruled completely out of court
by the swingeing cuts which the conductor inflicts on the score,
amounting to about an hour of music - that is, about a third
of the total is missing. The performance of what is left does
not begin to compensate for the massacre. The conductor in his
booklet states that the excisions made for the Bregenz Festival
production on which the recording is based “chiefly eliminated
repeats, often in the large tableaux”. Even were that
strictly true - and it most certainly is not - the wanton interference
with the composer’s intended proportions would rule this
version out of court despite some fine individual performances,
the most integrated orchestral playing (from the Vienna Symphony
Orchestra) and a very good recording.
The only real competitor to this set is therefore Gergiev, from
his Philips series of Russian operas recorded live at the Mariinsky
Theatre with his Kirov Opera forces, but a comparison of that
recording with this Cagliari one reveals some surprisingly poor
sound in St Petersburg with the voices dominating in a rather
unresonant theatre acoustic. Nor is the balance of advantage
in the performances as one-sidedly in favour of the Kirov set
as one might perhaps expect. The orchestral playing from the
Cagliari orchestra is very good in the atmospheric opening nature
music, and is not at all disadvantaged by comparison with the
Kirov forces. The players under Vedernikov sound well drilled,
and at a marginally slower tempo make more of the showpiece
interlude The Battle near Kerzhenets than the rather
over-excited Kirov players under Gergiev. It is not clear what
sort of warfare Gergiev has in mind, but surely horses never
charged at this sort of speed.
Galina Gorchakova as Fevronia in St Petersburg sounds blustery
and over-enthusiastic (in the wrong sense) by comparison with
Monogarova here. At the time of the first performance Rimsky-Korsakov
was criticised for his choice of a dramatic soprano to depict
this “light, ethereal, disembodied” character. Mongarova
produces just the right sort of tone. In the opening scenes
her cries of Aou! display a beautifully shaded diminuendo
as Rimsky requests, an effect that Gorchakova hardly hints at.
Unfortunately with the entry of her future lover Vsevolod the
emotional temperature is lowered, for Panfilov is much less
heroic-sounding than Yuri Masurin at the Kirov. His over-precise
phrasing lacks warmth, and when his fellow-hunters arrive he
is almost drowned by the offstage chorus. In the brief closing
scene, Hakobyan is not as firm as his Kirov counterpart.
The Second Act opens with a fair-tide scene which in some ways
- particularly the sometimes startling juxtaposition of rhythms
- anticipates the work of Rimsky’s pupil Stravinsky in
Petrushka less than a decade later. Here in Cagliari
the drawbacks of a live theatre recording are evident, with
unrhythmic sounds of crowds milling and bustling around the
stage obscuring the music. Gergiev overcomes this with his very
forward reading which underlines the parallels with Stravinsky
but at the same time loses some of Rimsky’s more subtle
touches. Vedernikov here, with his more recessed sound, gets
more light and shade into the music. The same sound allows more
of the music to be obscured by the onstage noise, and his singers
in the various small roles of market traders, buskers and beggars
are less characterful than with Gergiev - although the fine
voice of Dettori deserves a mention. The bear-tamer and the
ballad-singer both sound much younger in St Petersburg, but
the accompaniment to the ballad-singer’s third verse with
its pizzicato strings is much clearer in Cagliari; it
is quite inaudible at the Kirov. Vedernikov also appreciates
the string imitations of the sound of the gusli in the links
between the verses, where Gergiev’s players sound rather
ordinary. Gubsky as the drunkard who assumes the principal male
role in some of the closing scenes, although somewhat dry in
tone, is every bit as good as the character tenor of Nikolai
Putilin at the Kirov. Vladimir Galusin on the Fedoseyev set
produces more ingratiating tone than either although he suffers
most heavily from the cut text employed. The Cagliari chorus
cope well with Rimsky-Korsakov’s ingenious and tricky
choral writing, especially in the scene when the invading Tartars
interrupt the reception of Fevronia into the city. Gilmanov
and Naumenko as the two Tartar chiefs are more menacing and
villainously impressive than the two rather woofy basses at
the Kirov. At the end of the Act, as Fevronia prays for a miracle
to save Kitezh, Gorchakova at the Kirov sounds somewhat backwardly
placed on the stage. Monogarova here is far more impressively
transported, and conveys the real feeling that her confidence
in divine intervention might prove to be justified.
The opening of the Third Act clearly demonstrates Rimsky-Korsakov’s
debt to Mussorgsky, with the choral writing in particular recalling
the death scene from that opera. The basically bass voice of
Hakobyan - in what is admittedly a rather low-lying baritone
part - cannot avoid a sense of strain in his upper register
here. On the other hand Kazakov is more dominating and noble
as the Prince of Kitezh than Gergiev’s rather gritty Nikolai
Ohotnikov. Although the Page of Gulordava is very feminine and
is not at all distanced when she is supposedly up on a watchtower
looking out on the devastation of the land, she sings most beautifully
in her heartfelt lament. Again Panfilov rather lets the side
down with his decidedly unheroic address to his soldiers as
he leads them out to battle against the Tartars. In the second
scene, with the prince killed in battle, it falls to Gubsky
to take over as the leading male protagonist. His voice displays
a considerable degree more strength in the first of his lengthy
duets with Fevronia.
By the beginning of the final Act, with the Tartar invaders
miraculously foiled, the dramatic action of the plot of Kitezh
is effectively completed, as in Wagner’s Parsifal.
All that remains is a lengthy series of resolutions between
the principal characters including Panfilov as the prince, now
conveniently returned as a ghost. After an impressive mad scene
for Gubsky and a sort of transfigured Good Friday spell
beautifully sung by Monogarova, we are introduced to Alkonost
the bird of death and Sirin the bird of joy, both firmly sung
here if without any hint of mystery, and re-introduced to Panfilov,
who sounds somewhat refreshed by his new status as a ghost although
his voice remains resolutely unheroic. The chorus sing with
proper fervour in the final scene, and it is a reflection on
the care with which this performance has been prepared that
a clearly incorrect note in the choral soprano part (at track
9, 5:45) in the vocal score published in 1962 has been amended
- a similar alteration is made by Gergiev and Fedoseyev. In
this final scene there is a passage which could be dangerously
anticlimactic, as Fevronia dictates a lengthy letter of forgiveness
to Kuterma - Fedoseyev unpardonably cuts the whole of this section
- but which in the right hands can be as effective as the similar
scene of reconciliation in Janáček’s Jenůfa.
Gorchakova for Gergiev is a little blustery here, but Monogarova
is ideally simple and the result is most touching. Although
at the very end the recorded balance in St Petersburg gives
more presence to the chorus than here in Cagliari, the sound
remains rather forward and blatant.
One major complaint about this set is the fact that there is
no text or translation provided either in the booklet or online.
This is simply unacceptable with a work as complex as this.
Not complex in the plot; the basic synopsis which is provided
gives enough information to supply this; but - to take just
one example - the duet in the opening scene between Fevronia
and her prince is not a conventional love-duet in which, to
quote the booklet synopsis, “he is captured by her spirituality
and love of nature. They sing a love duet…”. No,
it is much more than that - their duet is a philosophical colloquy
to rival that in Tristan, where Fevronia speaks of the
way in which she feels drawn to God not through religious ceremonial
but through a communion with the whole of the natural world.
The music closely reflects every word that she sings. Without
a detailed translation the listener is getting much less than
half the story. This production is also available on DVD (Naxos
2.110277-78), and presuming that in that version it comes with
full subtitles it would certainly appear that the viewer would
at least be able to appreciate the subtleties of the score even
if - as appears from the booklet photographs - the rather static-looking
production itself might leave something to be desired.
There have been a number of studio recordings of the suite which
Rimsky extracted from the opera stretching back to the early
stereo Supraphon under Smetaček in the 1960s. These amply
illustrate the richness and depth of the score in a way that
these theatre recordings cannot match. To take just one example
again: the opening scene for Fevronia begins with a series of
birdsong imitations on various woodwind instruments - like Wagner’s
woodbirds. These are generally not of recognisable species but
their songs are repeated to underpin Fevronia’s words
and act as a counterpoint to them. There is one passage for
piccolo which sounds rather like an over-excited quail, and
when this is heard without the voice it is clear in both recordings.
When it recurs - in counterpoint with a clearly recognisable
cuckoo call - one can clearly see it in the vocal score, but
one cannot hear it at all. This simply illustrates the point
that this is a score which cries out for a properly balanced
studio recording with the balances carefully calculated. No
live theatre recording will ever be able to match in sound even
the recordings we have of the suites.
Nevertheless this is a work which should be in the collection
of everyone who is interested in nineteenth century opera, romantic
music, or Russian music of the period. It is quite simply -
to employ a much over-used phrase - a neglected masterpiece.
When you add it to your collection - as you must - you have
only very limited options to choose from. At the cheap Naxos
price you could well invest in this set as a stop-gap until
a studio recording eventually appears, or purchase the DVD -
which would at least give you the English subtitles which you
really need to appreciate the complexities of the action.
Paul Corfield Godfrey