La Contadina was a big hit in the eighteenth century. Although Johann Adolph Hasse had yet to compose his finest and most celebrated Metastasian opera seria in Dresden and Venice, this beautifully poised, transparent comedy received no less than 38 productions in leading opera houses from its composition in 1728 until 1769. As with so many German composers of previous generations, Hasse travelled to Italy, where he spent the best part of six years fully immersed in heady Naples, inhabited by the likes of Alessandro Scarlatti, Jommelli, Porpora and Pergolesi. His taste for the comic led to eight intermezzos in the Contadina mould which found considerable favour in court circles of the time.
It is hard to imagine quite how easily a composer of Hasse’s accomplishment could ‘have been as famous and yet as quickly forgotten’, as Fetis wrote. La Contadina is a beguiling and witty work, dispelling any prejudice one might harbour for a composer whose pure, classically-conceived narrative has been known to drag; here, each recitative is explicitly action-packed, forming delightfully quicksilver tableaux. Arias unfold with supreme spirit and skill as well as melodic innuendo of a highly amusing kind. Of the two intermezzos which constitute this near hour-long work, the first concerns the mute servant Corbo’s love for Scintilla, a peasant girl. Corbo is accompanied by his well-heeled but dim master, Don Tabarano, and he observes anxiously while the wily girl flatters the Don in exchange for goodies in order to elope with her lover Lucindo. The second intermezzo is proto-pantomime with disguises and Turko-Neopolitan dialects as the lovers are apprehended at the quay. Scintilla’s craftiness seemingly knows no end as she does a deal with the disguised pirates (really the Don and Corbo) to take them to the gullible Don for potential extortion. After Scintilla has played all her cards, she admits to never really loving Lucindo. A liaison with the Don is her only escape.
Hasse’s adept characterization is communicated in some memorable arias which deserve wide recognition for their attractive vocal coloratura and melodic elan, and not least, strong instrumental accompaniments. ‘Strappami il core, o barbaro’ in the second intermezzo is a fine example and negotiated with sensitivity, if not always complete confidence in the higher tessitura, by Graciela Oddone; ‘non voglio placarmi’, in the concluding recitative, is the only really dangerous moment in an intermittently distinguished performance from Oddone. Lorenzo Regazzo, as Don Tabarano, on the other hand, is an exquisitely salacious old bounder, with not a little of the Squire Weston in his bluff gait. His presence especially, supported by the invigorating if rather unprimed strings of Ensemble Arcadia, provides the essential buffo elements in this highly enjoyable performance. Attilio Cremonesi must take considerable credit for bringing this fine work to our attention and with such affecting dramatic flavour. The Concerto in G by the Neapolitan Michele Mascitti is an attractive filler. Thumbs up all round.
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