Pauline Viardot led a remarkable life. Born in France to Spanish tenor Manuel García, who created the role of Count Almaviva in Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia, she was the younger sister of Maria Malibran, the celebrated but short-lived soprano/contralto. Pauline trained as a pianist but after Maria’s death became a professional singer, making her debut as Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello in 1839. She became an operatic star, creating a number of roles, but she also taught and composed. She mastered many languages and sang Russian like a native – Ivan Turgenev was besotted by her and eventually manoeuvred himself into the Viardot home (and was librettist for her opera Le dernier sorcier). ‘She is’, wrote Clara Schumann, ‘the most brilliant woman I have ever met.’ This album presents a portrait of the singer via some of her greatest roles, mezzo-soprano Marina Viotti stepping into her shoes. Les Talens Lyriques under Christophe Rousset play with panache, especially in overtures from Semiramide and La favorite.

From contemporary accounts, Viardot’s voice was admired … but was unusual. ‘This is no nightingale, who has only the talent of her species and admirably sobs and trills her regular spring routine’, wrote Heinrich Heine in 1844. ‘Nor is she a rose – she is ugly, yet ugly in a way that is noble – beautiful I might almost say.’ Speaking at Viardot’s funeral, Saint-Saëns described it as ‘not a velvet or crystalline voice, but rather rough, compared by someone to the taste of a bitter orange’. These days, Viardot might hope for more supportive PR!

Viotti’s mezzo is certainly neither rough nor ugly. Viardot is mostly described as a mezzo or contralto, but many of the roles she sang – such as Rachel in La Juive – are sung by sopranos, so we are very much in Zwischenfach territory. Viotti’s mezzo sits quite high and is bright and shiny. Indeed, she copes with the ‘soprano’ roles here very well; the top notes in Rachel’s ‘Il va venir’ ring out gloriously, as they do in Semiramide’s ‘Bel raggio lusinghier’, even if she sometimes skates over the florid runs. Indeed, there is a certain caution in Rosina’s ‘Una voce poco fa’ (Barbiere), too, taken at a moderate tempo.

In the more traditional mezzo territory, ‘Ô mon Fernand’ from Donizetti’s La favorite is sung with simplicity and at a flowing tempo, and there’s a wonderful swagger to Romeo’s cabaletta from Bellini’s I Capuleti e i Montecchi. Viotti doesn’t have great richness of tone in her lower register, however, and I miss a certain plushness as Dalila, a role Viardot premiered at a private performance but declined to sing in public on account of her age.

One of Viardot’s greatest roles was Gluck’s Orphée in the version Berlioz arranged for her, rewriting the coda in ‘Amour, viens rendre à mon âme’. That coda is cruel and Viotti is a little blustery here; her trill is also indistinct. Didon’s air ‘Adieu fière cité’ from Les Troyens is prettily sung, though under-characterised. ‘Ô ma lyre immortelle’ from Gounod’s Sapho is very fine, as is the aria from Massenet’s oratorio (or drame sacré) Marie-Magdeleine, sung with great sincerity.

Much of this repertoire has been recorded – albeit on different discs – by the outstanding Latvian mezzo Elīna Garanča. As a comparison, just listen to ‘Ô ma lyre immortelle’ on her ‘Romantique’ album (DG, 1/13). Like Viotti, Garanča has – or had, at that earlier stage in her career – a similarly bright mezzo but with more bronze to the voice and sprightlier agility. That doesn’t stop the present album from being enjoyable, though, and a worthy tribute to a great talent.