Opera review – Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda at Lisbon’s National Theatre of São Carlos
The focal point of Maria Stuarda, Gaetano Donizetti’s opera premiered at la Scala, Milan, in 1835, is the exchange between Queen Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots at a contrived meeting on the purlieu of Fotheringhay Castle, Norfolk.
Discount, for a moment, the irritating detail that the encounter never actually took place. Friedrich Schiller, the playwright who wrote Mary Stuart in 1800, the play on which Donizetti based the opera, thought it should. So there! Onstage, it did. If playwrights and composers can sharpen edges boring history has left blunt, why the hell not?
In this case the librettist had little to do with it. Donizetti had recruited Giuseppe Bardari, an inexperienced seventeen-year old student, to write the libretto, after Felice Romani, the librettist of the earlier successful Anna Bolena, declined the commission. Donizetti was a control freak.
The face-off is epic, one of the most explosive in the operatic canon. The encounter is contrived by the Earl of Leicester, one of Mary’s former lovers, now entangled with Elizabeth, as a stratagem to reconcile the two bristling, proud, cousin monarchs. Think Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un chumming together in a North Korean diner at a rencontre contrived by Dominic Cummings, and you are getting close.
Starts well enough, with Elizabeth offering polite formalities, but slyly impugning Mary’s honour. In response, Mary loses it. She rounds on her cousin and the dam of pent up emotion bursts: “Impure daughter of Boleyn, do you speak of dishonour? Prostitute — unworthy and obscene, I blush for you. The throne of England is sullied by your feet, vile bastard!” Well, that’s you told, Liz. No metanoia for Mary.
At a rehearsal for the original performance the outburst provoked a physical catfight between Giuseppina Ronzi di Begnis (Elizabeth), and Anna del Serre (Mary). The word “bastard” was delivered with such convincing venom that Ms di Begnis took it personally, clocking Ms del Serre, who was then carried off in a dead faint.
Would Lisbon opera, in its production by Italian director, Andrea de Rosa, rise to the occasion? No disappointment. As the moment of confrontation approached, other characters melted into a dimly lit background, the black arts of film director, Sam Mendes, famous for his evocative tracking shots, were brought into play and the two monarchs stood out, bathed in white light.
Fabrizio Maria Carminati, the Musical Director, missed nothing. Of course not. He had been artistic director of the Donizetti Theatre in Bergamo for four years. He knew how to pace insults. The almost imperceptible ritenuto that preceded the spitting out of the insult “Bastardi”, showed the artful hand of a Donizetti master.
Ekaterina Bakanova, a Russian soprano with a flourishing international career, playing Mary, blasted Elizabeth close up and I jumped in my seat. I knew perfectly well what to expect, but it was still a thrill.
It will come as no surprise that it’s all downhill for Maria Stuarda from there. It’s not long before she sings her famous aria, Bewitched, Bothered and Beheaded, then off to the chopping block.
Donizetti’s dilemma. Composer of opera seria, or opera comique? He wrote both, to great contemporary acclaim. Well, maybe not from fellow composer, Vincenzo Bellini. “Two cocks in the same poultry house”, is how they were characterised by contemporaries, as they slugged it out for the throne of King of Italian Opera, occupied by Giacomo Rossini in the first half of the 19th century. Bellini lost out – by irresponsibly dying in 1835. Donizetti scrambled onto the throne, until ousted in turn by the up and coming Giuseppe Verdi.
His prodigious output is worth a comment. Donizetti wrote upwards of 80 operas. Nineteenth century composers were prolific because, to be financially successful, they had to corner the market. An opera in every civic opera house. Every European city worth its salt was building opera houses. Donizetti was the Mark Zuckerberg of the 19th century. He was ubiquitous.
Did Donizetti ever descend to scraping the bottom of the creative barrel? He certainly came close. Emilia from Liverpool, about a minty Scouser who worked in a hermitage after rejecting Don Romualdo and being seduced, then abandoned, by Frederico (perhaps Spanish deckhands on a ferry ‘cross the Mersey) is, even to the charitably minded, a bit of a credibility stretch. Fat Thursday, a take on the Neapolitan carnival, Il giovedi graso, is … pathetic.
What about the repertoire survivors? L’Elisir d’amore is an almost hackneyed comic favourite. But can his twiddly music with the rum-ti-tum tunes really deliver seria, such as Maria Stuarda? How can the execution of a storied monarch gallop at allegro furioso amid a deluge of quicksilver, four beamed semiquavers, yet be taken seriously?
Step up Maestro Carminati. He delivered an impassioned performance, with careful use of tempi and accents that kept the audience (well, me at least) on the edge of its seats. Want a mood? Donizetti doloroso; Donizetti declamando; Donizetti dissonante. Just flick the baton, glint the eagle eye and Maestro Carminati’s well-rehearsed orchestra will conjure up just about any mood that the sometimes-ridiculous libretto demands.
Was the maestro following the original score? Not a chance. There is no original score. Lost. There are three versions performed in Donizetti’s day, two from Naples and one from Paris. Prepare for a lot of ad lib.
Sticklers for originality please note that Donizetti did not give a stuff about what conductors did with his scores. Chunks of the music were written to suit the voice a diva of the day – and if it wasn’t her day the arias were simply left out. Operas varied from performance to performance.
In Lisbon, Elizabeth was sung by Italian mezzo soprano, Alessandra Volpe. She hit a note of realism. Too often, Elizabeth appears on stage done up in pasty white makeup, boasting Darth Vader shoulders and neck gear, in an effort to ape the iconic Nicholas Hilliard portraits – all puffed up propaganda. Ms Volpe relied on her smooth voice and compelling dignity to sustain her authority.
The roles of Talbot, Leicester and Cecil were sung by Portuguese baritone, Luís Rodriguez, Italian tenor, Leonardo Cortellazi and Portuguese baritone, Christian Luján. They all delivered excellent performances in what are essentially functionary roles, especially the conflicted Leicester. Elizabeth, Mary? Not a great choice, really.
Thanks to Teatro Nacional de Sâo Carlos for supplying a magnificent programme. Compared with the usual offhand playbills at most houses, this was 165 pages of intriguing content – not one page otiose. At the back of the book there was a full libretto. Why, oh why, is this not more common practice?
Essays on history, a performance chronicle, biographies of artists and production background were all erudite. One featured the facsimile signature of Mary, herself – Mari-R. I hope the Stuart estate is still collecting royalties.
This co-production with Teatro dell’Opera di Roma is, in my judgement, the best Maria Stuarda doing the rounds today. For Donizetti doubters, in which I include myself, it proves that in the right hands he is a composer of the first rank. And if Emilia from Liverpool ever makes it back to Merseyside, so long as Maestro Carminati is wielding the baton, count me in.