Listening to Beethoven #222 – Leonore

Beethoven’s Leonore as designed for the Wiener Staatsoper, 2020

Leonore, opera in three acts (1804-05, Beethoven aged 34)

Libretto Jean Nicolas Bouilly, trans. Joseph Sonnleithner

Duration 138′

by Ben Hogwood

Background, Synopsis and Critical Reception

“Probably nothing has caused Beethoven so much grief as this work, whose value will be fully appreciated only in the future”.

The words of Stephan von Breuning to Franz Wegeler in Bonn, talking about Beethoven’s first opera Leonore, which did indeed bring a great deal of strife for its composer in the lead-up to the premiere in November 1805.

The libretto was relatively new, written in the late 1790s by Jean Nicolas Bouilly, the administrator of a French department near Tours during the Reign of Terror. Lewis Lockwood gives an excellent back story to Leonore’s construction. He writes that ‘it was widely accepted that during Bouilly’s governance an episode resembling that of the opera plot had actually taken place’…where ‘a woman disguised as a young man had worked her way into her husband’s prison and freed him from his unjust captivity. Thus, if the take were true, Bouilly himself would have been the minister who liberated the prisoner, and so the libretto seemed to commemorate not only actual heroism but the author’s own benevolence amid the frightening atmosphere of France in those years.’

The opera is set in the prison. The first act is conducted at ground level, where the prisoners take in the rarified air on their rare visits above ground, and where Leonore, disguised as Fidelio, has arrived to try and rescue her beloved Florestan. Immediately she becomes the object of Marcellina’s affections, which she eventually repels. In this process we are introduced to Rocco, a peasant voiced by a fulsome baritone who helps Leonore greatly.

The two levels below ground are reserved for the prisoners, The second act brings them to the fore, as Leonore gets closer to freeing her beloved, with memorable moments including the quartet Mir ist so wunderbar and the Prisoners’ Chorus. The third and final act begins in the dungeon where Florestan has been chained to the wall for two years, freezing and starving. He takes centre stage at the start, his pain all too evident for the audience in the aria Gott, welch Dunkel hier. Liberation is at hand, however – Florestan seeing Leonore as an angel sent to rescue him. The finale celebrates her bravery.

Rather confusingly, Beethoven wrote four overtures for Leonore / Fidelio. The first one to be used was Leonore no.2, which was used for this version of Leonore. The subsequent three versions work in different introductions for Florestan’s aria, while the Fidelio overture itself – written for the 1814 staging – is wholly different.

Two composers had already set the libretto to music. The second, Ferdinando Paer, aroused Beethoven’s interest and competitive edge. Because Paer had already named his version Leonore, Beethoven titled his Fidelio, or Conjugal Love. He hooked up with Joseph Sonnleithner, a prominent musical figure in Vienna, who translated the libretto – on which Beethoven began work in January 1804. At that point he only wanted the ‘poetical part’ of the libretto to be translated, and an exchange between the two reveals that his plans were already in place to stage the work in June 1804. leading up to the premiere in November 1805, which took place under the shadow of Napoleon’s anticipated invasion of Vienna – and was indeed attended by a large number of French army officers. Further attempts at staging in Berlin and Prague were unsuccessful, before Beethoven revised the opera for a production in Vienna in 1814, renaming it Fidelio.

As Jan Swafford explains in an absorbing biography chapter about Leonore, writing vocal music could be a struggle for Beethoven. “He always had more trouble writing vocal music than instrumental”, Swafford writes, referring to the sketchbook for Leonore where there are 18 different beginnings to Florestan’s aria In des Lebens Frühlingstagen and a mere ten for the chorus Wer ein holdes Weib. That didn’t mean Beethoven wasn’t any good at it, but the process of getting the right notes on the page was a painful experience.

The results, however, have been revelatory. Lewis Lockwood describes a work that “has resonated through two centuries as a celebration of female heroism”. In a candid booklet note for his recording of Leonore on Deutsche Grammophon, John Eliot Gardiner notes how “for sheer simplicity and directness of utterance, and for the way he imbues his orchestral set-pieces and accompaniments with dramatic life and emotional intensity, Beethoven has no peer. His single opera has a unique appeal, and a magic very much of its own – especially in its first version, the Leonore of 1804-05, where his ideas, while sometimes crude, are at their most radical.” Later, he declares that “while as a musician I can easily succumb to the sheer beauty of the new music written for Fidelio, nothing, I find, can compare with Beethoven’s original response to his material in 1805.”

Thoughts

In spite of Beethoven’s difficulties, and a compositional practice where he had to grind out many of the results, Leonore is a thoroughly absorbing drama from start to finish. Right from the call to arms of the overture the listener is gripped, the stark outlines immediately setting a tense atmosphere which only occasionally lets up when more tender love is expressed.

The use of a narrator between scenes does not check the flow of the drama – if anything it provides helpful points of context. Without the information provided by Beethoven scholars, would we have known of the difficulties he experienced in composing? As John Eliot Gardiner says, the ‘dramatic life and emotional intensity’ are always there, with relatively little padding in the plot.

What helps, too, is how easily Beethoven moves between solo arias, duets, trios and quartets – and even in the latter the use of many voices does not stop him from getting clarity. The first quartet in Act 1, Mir ist so wunderbar, is beautifully woven in together – while on the solo front, Ha! Welch is a brisk aria, led from the front by Pizarro who is in jubilant mood. Beethoven is certainly not afraid of putting his foot on the accelerator when needed.

Interestingly the operatic influences – to this ear at least – are less from his vocal training with Salieri but more from study of Handel. This is the case especially where recitatives and arias are paired, as in the finale to Act 2.

There are some genuinely thrilling moments in Leonore. The flurry of activity through the Act 2 duet between Pizarro and Rocco (Jetzt, Alter, hat es Eile!) shows the urgency of which Beethoven is capable. Auf Euch nur will ich bauen, led by Pizarro is an exhilarating trio, punchy and red blooded with a shiny brass coating. Countering this is the bleak, vivid word painting at the start of Gott! Welch dunkel, the extended scene where Florestan is down in the dungeon. It is a stark piece of writing and incredibly affecting with orchestra and emotion stripped bare, Florestan’s pain revealed for all to hear in F minor, one of Beethoven’s ‘tragic’ keys. Consolation, however, is found in the love for Leonora, expressed in a tender theme whose radiance is all the more revealing in this setting. High drama follows in the quartet, the exclamations brilliantly managed, and the top ‘C’ soprano near end of Ich Kann mich noch nicht fassen carries maximum impact.

The opera flows very naturally from one section to the next. Although this is an opera with a female hero there are a lot of steely lines for men at the start of Act 2 – none more so than the explosive arrival of Pizarro with his declamation that Ha! Welch ein Augenblück (Ha, the moment has come when I can wreak my vengeance!) Marcellina and Leonora arrive to redress the balance in a brightly cast C major. Ach brich noch is a standout aria, with sonorous horns for company, written in a higher register that looks forward to Weber and beyond. While Act 1 is described as more ‘domestic’ is it nonetheless a satisfying experience, with the arias for Marcellina and Rocco hardly throwaway. The latter’s first aria, where “if you haven’t gold as well, happiness is hard to find” is memorable.

Yet while these moments are high points, nothing quite carries the impact of The Prisoners’ Chorus. This is the dramatic apex of the work, wide-eyed wonder spreading from the jailed forces as their strength comes to the fore. Then, as Leonore learns of the likelihood of marriage, there is a breathless joy. The other many high points are the prisoners, ‘filled with loyalty and courage’ at the rousing end to Act 2, and the reveal of Leonore to Florestan, with the oboe’s involvement especially poignant. The finale is full of incident, the music eventually shifting to a pumped-up C major for a triumphant finish.

Beethoven experienced a great deal of bad fortune in the realisation of Leonore, and the opera has since proceeded under a cloud. In fact, it is only in the last 30 years or so that it has regained anything of its stature, thanks to notable recordings from John Eliot Gardiner and René Jacobs. Both these esteemed conductors have seen the qualities in the music, and how Beethoven – contrary to the opinion of some – has proved to be a great opera composer.

Recordings used

Hillevi Martinpelto (Leonore), Kim Begley (Florestan), Franz Hawlata (Rocco), Matthew Best (Don Pizarro), Christian Oelze (Marzelline), The Monteverdi Choir, Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique / John Eliot Gardiner (DG Archiv)

Marlis Petersen (Leonore), Maximilian Schmitt (Florestan), Dimitry Ivashchenko (Rocco), Johannes Weisser (Pizarro), Robin Johannsen (Marzelline), Freiburg Baroque Orchestra / René Jacobs (Harmonia Mundi)

Those two recordings I mentioned are both cut and thrust experiences. René Jacobs provides a leaner orchestra and much faster tempo choices, which plays to the speed of Beethoven’s creativity. For John Eliot Gardiner Matthew Best is a superbly malevolent Pizarro. Both have superb soloists – and rather than choose a favourite I would merely opt for both! You can listen on the links below:

Also written in 1805 Cherubini Faniska

Next up Leonore Overture no.2 Op.72a

In concert – Alice Coote, Philharmonia Orchestra / John Eliot Gardiner: The Sea and the Land: Mendelssohn, Elgar & Dvořák

Mendelssohn Hebrides Overture Op.26 ‘Fingal’s Cave’ (1830, rev. 1832)
Elgar Sea Pictures Op.37 (1899)
Dvořák Symphony no.5 in F major Op.75 (1875, rev. 1887)

Alice Coote (mezzo-soprano), Philharmonia Orchestra / John Eliot Gardiner

Royal Festival Hall, London
Thursday 16 February 2023

Reviewed by Ben Hogwood Picture credits – John Eliot Gardiner (c) Sim Canetty-Clarke; Alice Coote (c) Jiyang Chen

This was an ultimately invigorating concert, using a cleverly constructed programme to look at how composers respond to the earth itself.

We began off the west coast of Scotland, the Inner Hebrides to be exact – and the uninhabited island of Staffa. Here it was that Mendelssohn saw Fingal’s Cave (above) in the summer of 1829. His musical response has become one of the composer’s best-loved pieces, an early and remarkably vivid example of the symphonic poem. Under John Eliot Gardiner, the Philharmonia Orchestra recounted the scene with remarkable accuracy, capturing the unusual, organ-like appearance of the landmark as well as the sea spray crashing around it. Gardiner steered a sure-footed and clear course through the water, aided by a wonderful clarinet duet from Mark van de Wiel and Laurent Ben Slimane in the second theme.

Alice Coote (above) then joined the orchestra, transporting us to the rarefied waters of Elgar’s Sea Pictures, the mezzo-soprano bringing to life five carefully chosen gems that took the composer far from his desk in Malvern in 1899. It took a while for singer and orchestra to achieve the optimum balance, so the words on the screen above were helpful as Coote found her feet. She did so quickly, and the somnambulant atmosphere of Sea Slumber-Song was cast, the strings lapping at the edges of Coote’s beautifully placed words. As she grew into the role so the gently rocking In Capri was attractively weighted and subtly intense.

Sabbath Morning At Sea was solemn yet soon reached for the heights, Coote’s innate grasp of the text matched by Gardiner’s control and shaping of the melodic line from the orchestra. The celebrated Where Corals Lie was perhaps inevitably the highlight, but The Swimmer ran it close, running all the way to a richly coloured high register from the singer at the end. Support came from the depths, too, with Alistair Young’s sensitive contribution on the Royal Festival Hall organ one to savour.

We returned to land for Dvořák’s Symphony no.5, the work with which he ‘rebooted’ his career as an orchestral composer in 1887, his publisher having spotted an opportunity to re-promote a piece finished in 1875. In this concert the parallel with the seasons was irresistible, the symphony’s first movement in particular resembling the flourishing of flowers in spring. Fleet footed strings were complemented by fresh faced woodwind, headed by the burbling clarinets who shone once again in the opening theme.

The Fifth is a sunny work, sitting in the shadow of the last three symphonies (nos.7-9) where live performances are concerned. As this concert revealed, however, it is a descendant of Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony, a work with considerable depth of its own and many different orchestral colours in which to revel. After a vivacious first movement, where Dvořák’s themes were given the best possible chance to shine, the cellos took the lead in their burnished opening to the romantic slow movement. This serious, minor key theme – surprisingly similar to the main tune of the Mendelssohn – was supplemented by an attractive, triple-time dance in the major key.

The slow movement segued effortlessly into the Scherzo, where the flurry of violins conjured up a vision of dancers trying to find their feet on the floor. The give and take between orchestral sections was a delight both to hear and to watch, as it was in the finale. The material here turns a little sour initially, Dvořák struggling manfully to regain the positive demeanour of the first movement. In Gardiner’s hands this was a compelling argument, ultimately won with the help of the superb Philharmonia brass, trombones punching out their melodies to thrilling effect. Once the ‘home’ key was reached the winter storms retreated and we basked in glorious musical sunshine, capping a fine evening where spring really did seem within touching distance.

You can read all about the 2022/23 season and book tickets at the Philharmonia Orchestra website.

Arcana at the Proms – Prom 59: Soloists, Monteverdi Choir, Orchestra Révolutionnaire et Romantique & Sir John Eliot Gardiner – Benvenuto Cellini

Benvenuto Cellini (1836-38)

Opera in two acts (four scenes)
Music by Hector Berlioz
Libretto by Léon de Wailly, Auguste Barbier and Alfred de Vigny
Semi-staged performance, sung in French with English surtitles

Benvenuto Cellini – Michael Spyres (tenor)
Teresa – Sophia Burgos (soprano)
Fieramosca – Lionel Lhote (baritone)
Ascanio – Adèle Charvet (mezzo-soprano)
Giacomo Balducci – Maurizio Muraro (bass)
Pope Clement VII – Tareq Nazmi (bass)
Pompeo – Alex Ashworth (bass)
Innkeeper – Peter Davoren (tenor)
Francesco – Vincent Delhoume (tenor)
Bernardino – Ashley Riches (bass-baritone)
Perseus – Duncan Meadows (actor)

Stage director Noa Naamat
Lighting designer Rick Fisher
Costume designer Sarah Denise Cordery

Monteverdi Choir, Orchestra Révolutionnaire et Romantique / Sir John Eliot Gardiner (above)

Royal Albert Hall, Monday 2 September 2019

Reviewed by Richard Whitehouse
Photo credits Chris Christodoulou

You can listen to this Prom on BBC Sounds here

The Proms has witnessed some memorable (and innovative) Berlioz performances – with this evening’s account of Benevento Cellini, itself the culmination of Sir John Eliot Gardiner‘s Berlioz project leading up to the 150th anniversary of the composer’s death, an undoubted highpoint.

Not a little of its success was the effectiveness of this ‘staged concert performance’ – directed by Noa Naamat so as to make resourceful use of the Royal Albert Hall platform (who would have thought that singers hiding behind – antiphonally divided – second violins made so deft a theatrical conceit?), with unfussy costumes from Sarah Denise Cordery in keeping with the late-Renaissance setting and lighting from Rick Fisher as vividly expanded on the latter-day Proms procedure of illuminating the stage area. A presentation serving the opera admirably.

At least as significant was Gardiner’s pragmatism over just how much of the opera to include. Even at its Paris premiere in 1838, what was heard of Benvenuto Cellini was already distinct from what Berlioz had written; an issue further complicated by versions presented at Weimar during 1852-6. Taking the Urtext published in the New Berlioz Edition, Gardiner has arrived at a compromise which encompasses all the music one would reasonably hope to hear while vindicating this opera as an overall dramatic concept. Recklessly ambitious in its technical demands as it may have been, Cellini was always practicable as a dramatic undertaking and – akin to Prokofiev’s War and Peace a century later – giving a convincing shape to this excess of material is at least half the battle in ensuring its theatrical as well as its musical success.

Not the least of those technical demands is on the singers, and this cast did not disappoint. As Cellini, Michael Spyres (above) evinced all the necessary panache without buckling under some stentorian vocal requirements. He was ideally complemented by Sophia Burgos as a pert yet never too coquettish Teresa; her naivety thrown into relief by the machinations of her suitor Fieramosca, given with suitably hollow bravado by Lionel Lhote, and cynicism of her father Balducci – tellingly rendered by Maurizio Muraro. Adele Charvet made for an appealing and sympathetic Ascanio, with Alex Ashworth exuding appropriate pomposity as Pompeo. Peter Davoren’s cameo as the unctuous Innkeeper was matched by that of Tareq Nazmi as the self-aggrandizing Pope. The Monteverdi Choir brought off its crucial contributions with aplomb.

Inevitably it is the orchestra which so often steals the limelight in a work by Berlioz, and the Orchestre Revolutionnaire et Romantique accordingly rose to the challenge. Of course, any performance of this music on ‘authentic’ instruments must contend with his assertions that the development of instrument-making and instrumental practice (notably within Germanic territories) was a necessary one. That said, he may have been reconciled to those limitations had his work been rendered with such timbral brilliance and intonational accuracy as here.

In building an ensemble of such consistency Gardiner takes especial credit, the more so as his performance demonstrably channelled its authentic credentials towards the spontaneous and creative reassessment of a masterpiece now receiving its due – even if many decades too late.