Ursula Paludan Monberg, one of The English Concert’s two horn players, slipped from her seat in the Garsington Opera pit during a pause and took up station at a spot on the same level as the conductor, just visible to the audience, facing Sifare, but unobtrusive. What was going to happen next?
The horn duet – Lunga da te, mio bene – from Mozart’s 1770 opera seria, Mitridate, re di Ponto, was about to begin. This set piece would have been a remarkable creation for any composer. The horn innovatively assumes the role of a character, paired in a beautiful love duet with the character Sifare, King Mitridate’s good son, in this powerful Racine-based opera about conflict, a love quadrangle, duty and disloyalty.
That the form of the aria Far from you, my loved one was conceived by a fourteen-year-old Mozart is a wonder of the 18th century musical world. Even now it seems fresh, innovative. Musically beautiful. Emotionally heart wrenching. A high point in this early opera, chock full of stunning arias. It is a sort of St John the Baptist aria, telling of the wonders of the Mozart to come.
Monberg took Lunga da te to a new level, creating a performance moment in her personal engagement with Louise Kemény (Sifare)that was unforgettable. Aside: Elim Chan, the Hong Kong conductor, described such rare, sublime moments to Tom Service on Sunday’s BBC Radio 3’s Music Matters (33 minutes in). “I could bend time. I am not conscious of what’s happening.”
So it was at Garsington. Time stood still as the aria unfolded. The other characters on stage seemed to fade out of focus. The horn part was not shouty, sensitively blending with the Scottish soprano’s four minutes of deep introspection. Drawing the audience in to Sifare’s inner turmoil.
In other performances I have seen the horn’s role is often raised to prominence. It is given a separate voice. The genius of English Concert’s approach was to make it part of Sifare’s conflicted character.
But what on earth was Monberg playing? Not the conventional French horn with familiar valves. Her piece of highly complex brass pipework twisted, turned and wound back on itself, resembling a piece of complex plumbing that had been recently involved in a road traffic accident.
At the end I headed to the pit to congratulate the horn player on her bravura performance. Her instrument turned out to be a Bohemian horn – pre valve – common in the era when the work was written. A real bugger to control, I’m sure. Whatever, Monberg’s embouchure nailed it. The sensitive sounds she evoked from this twisty brass thing were remarkable.
Garsington Opera at Wormsley Park, an isolated refuge for endangered species, opera goers and the newly reintroduced swooping Red Kites – watch that sandwich – only yards from the humming M40, was founded in 1989 by financier Leonard Ingrams, brother of Private Eye’s acerbic Richard Ingrams. It boasts two resident orchestras – The Philharmonia and The English Concert.
As with most country opera house venues the performing space has evolved over the years. Garsington’s is a modernistic Meccano set construction – all exposed pipework, glass, steeply pitched steps and stretched awnings. Not great for acoustics and with an orchestra pit that, for my taste, extends too deeply under the performance space to allow proper justice to be done to the sound of the likes of The English Concert.
There is no attempt to block out exterior light and performances are bathed in the whims of luminescent or threatening Oxfordshire skies. Lighting Director, Malcom Rippeth, is familiar with London’s The Globe, so a highly skilled and appropriate choice.
So, what’s going on? This opera is all about modern times, the invasion of an independent state – Ponto – by an overweening neighbour, Rome, in a “Special Musical Operation. What’s new?
ACT 1
Mitridate (tenor), King of Pontus, has ostensibly left his kingdom, somewhere in Turkey, to fight Rome. His fiancée Aspasia (soprano), already titled “queen” is left under the protection of his two sons, Sifare (soprano) the younger and Farnace (countertenor) the elder.
Mitridate has himself declared dead to flush out his suspicions about his sons’ feelings for Aspasia. Cunning dad! Farnace then declares his love for Aspasia, who pushes him away and takes refuge with Sifare, whom she loves.
A dual rivalry of love and politics evolves between the two brothers, with Farnace deciding to ally himself with Rome to usurp his father’s throne. Arbate (tenor), the king’s counsellor, announces Mitridate’s unexpected return. Defeated by Pompey, he returns accompanied by Ismene, daughter of the king of Parthia, whom he intends for Farnace, to seal a new alliance.
He reveals to his counsellor that he himself spread the rumour of his own death, to put his sons to the test. Arbate reports to him that Sifare has been faithful while Farnace, who is plotting with Rome and intends to wed Aspasia, has betrayed him. Mitridate swears to avenge himself.
Act II
Mitridate’s jealousy is heightened when Aspasia – despite already being queen – hesitates to marry him and Ismene admits that Farnace has rejected her. Alone together for a moment, Sifare and Aspasia declare their love for one another. But Aspasia is torn between her duty and her inclination.
The king summons his sons and tells them he is leaving for the war. Farnace tries to dissuade him. Bow to the inevitability of Rome as ultimate conqueror. Mitridate is then convinced of his treason.
To defend himself, Farnace clypes on his brother and Aspasia. The king then sets a trap for his fiancée, pretending to break it off with her. He then asks her to choose between his sons. Without hesitating, she confesses her love for Sifare. The furious king swears they will die together.
ACT III
Ismene, who has forgiven Farnace, defends Aspasia to the king. Mitridate tells his betrothed that he will spare Sifare’s life if she will swear to be faithful to him. But she refuses. The landing of the Roman troops forces the king to go off to fight.
During his absence, Aspasia decides to poison herself, but Sifare prevents her, then sets out to join his father. Farnace, tortured by remorse, gives up his ambitions. Freed, he rushes to set fire to the Roman fleet. Mitridate, mortally wounded, forgives him and entrusts Aspasia to Sifare. The two brothers will fight Rome together. THE END
The opera has no ensembles. Recitatif and solo arias move the action along. Except for the horn duet and a defiant summation quintet – Sifare, Farnace, Aspasia, Ismene and Arbate, Non si ceda al Campidoglio, The Capitol shall never see us yield. It is, therefore, difficult to promote action onstage.
Productions, such as Staatsoper Berlin’s bizarre 2022 kabuki offering, can be boringly static. Everyone else standing around contemplating their navels during solo arias.
Director Tim Albery fell into no such trap. His characters were in constant motion, reacting emotionally to the content of the arias. Stage direction was impeccable and the result was absorbing.
The cast was well seasoned and up to the dramatic challenges Albery demanded of them. Robert Murray is a highly experienced English tenor, with numerous roles tucked under his belt since he embarked on his varied and much praised career in 2003. His Mitridate blended bravery and paranoia perfectly. His redemptive death scene was gripping.
Iestyn Davies, countertenor, was a lounge-lizardy, purple silk dressing gowned Farnace. Louise Kemény, British-Hungarian soprano was a delightful Sifare. This may be early Mozart, but the seeds of the vocal challenges that reached their apogee in The Queen of the Night’s Magic Flute extravaganza were sown in Mitridate. No opera for timid sopranos.
Aspasia, well sung by soprano Elizabeth Watts, was cast in a dowdy black dress. When she donned her crown, she looked as if she had escaped from a hen party bound for Malaga. The character would have benefited from more directional oomph.
The English Concert under the baton of Clemens Schuldt for the night, delivered the perfect sound for this baroque opera. Founded in 1972, deploying period instruments – including that Bohemian horn – directed from the harpsichord by Trevor Pinnock for 30 years, it is now directed by harpsichordist Harry Bicket.
Amongst its future engagements is a performance at New York’s Carnegie Hall on Sunday 10th December which is firmly in my diary. I think the feeling of intimacy they create for opera being performed in smaller spaces is a highly precious commodity.
Missing the close relationship with his librettist which Mozart was to establish during his legendary da Ponte era, the composer was in this early work obliged to follow rather than develop an artwork of his own. But even as a musical colouring in exercise Mitridate, re di Ponto can fly confidently.
Garsington and The English Concert gave it wings to soar like the damned kites!
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