Knowing, perhaps, that she has a winning hand, the recitalist plays her strongest card first. This is Juliet's solo in I Capuleti ed i Montecchi on the eve of what would have been her wedding day, the morning of which will find her apparently dead. The purity of voice suggests the virginal character, its delicacy suggests her youth and vulnerability, and the beauty of tone represents the loveliness of appearance and disposition which makes doubly poignant the predicament in which she is now caught. All here is exquisitely performed. The first note of all with its sure placing and gentle swell prepares for a sequence of delights ending with the cadenza in which the voice is heard in sad isolation, as is the girl. Just enough variation is introduced (at ''cosi fatali'' in the recitative for instance, and the intensification of the melodic line in the aria after the sighing embellishments of the second verse), and for the rest the beauties of tone and of Bellini's melody, sensitively supported by the orchestra, are amply sufficient.
Much the same could be said about much of the recital. Its limitation is felt most at the end, for the Countess of Folleville needs a little more folly about her. This is the solo which starts in mock-tragedy (she will have to go to the Coronation of Charles X without her finery) and develops in mock-triumph (her hat at least has been retrieved). In the recent recording of Il viaggio a Reims (Sony—see page 116) Luciana Serra has a squeeze of lemon-juice in the voice, sharper for comedy, and the fioriture have a birdlike, pecking quality which, whether deliberately or not, is funnier. In the original set (DG, 1/86) the part is played by Lella Cuberli who, with ravishing beauty of tone, maintains a more aristocratic manner and so achieves the mock-heroic status deliciously at odds with the trivialities of the occasion. In both Abbado brings out the wit of rhythm and orchestration more keenly than does Campanella here.
To some extent the closing scene from La sonnambula also wants more vivacity and stronger projection as it develops into joy. Yet the aria itself is beautifully sung, and indeed there is high accomplishment throughout. The Tancredi solo sparkles, with its scales and staccatos in brilliant order. Norina in Don Pasquale has a genuine gaiety and Linda of Chamounix sings her song of happiness with blissful virtuosity. The work of chorus and supporting soloists is all up to standard, Karl Schumann's essay on bel canto provides useful background, and the booklet is further graced by a photograph of the soprano in a confection which would have astounded the Countess of Folleville herself.'