If ever proof were required that time brings its revenge, one need look no further than Una cosa rara. Originally, in Vienna, eclipsing Mozart's Figaro in popularity, and enjoying a huge success throughout Europe (it was translated into five languages and quoted in other works, such as Storace's Siege of Belgrade), it now, ironically, is remembered only because Mozart introduces a tune from its Act 1 finale into the supper scene of Don Giovanni. The opera has hitherto passed all but unnoticed by record companies, except for a long-deleted (and never widely available) CBC 'highlights' disc conducted by Harry Newstone (using the edition I prepared for the BBC 40 years ago) and a couple of arias sung by Berganza with an entirely inappropriate guitar accompaniment. Now that Barcelona has staged this work by the Valencia-born composer (stressing its local patriotism by issuing the accompanying booklet in Catalan and Spanish besides English, French, German and Italian), we are enabled to hear why it so delighted the Emperor Joseph II that he broke his own rule of ''no encores''.
Spanish subjects were much in vogue at the time—Una cosa rara is set in Spain, as are Figaro and Don Giovanni, and some of the protagonists in Die Entfuhrung are also Spanish. Da Ponte's libretto contains several elements that will be familiar from his operas for Mozart—a noble who lusts after a village girl, the jealousy of her incensed beloved and her attempts to soothe him, misunderstandings in the dark, a stormy denunciation of women in general and a pert declaration by a girl who knows what's what. Musically too the listener will sometimes be put in mind of Mozart, especially by Martin's enterprising use of woodwind and the strength of his numerous recitativi accompagnati: the prince's cavatina ''Piu bianca di giglio'' has overtones of ''Voi che sapete'', Lilla's aria ''Consola le pene'' has a Mozartian grace and charm, and Tita and Ghita's patter repetitions anticipate Papageno and Papagena. On the other hand, Martin's harmony and, often, his melodic invention are much more conventional, and he has a rather tiresome habit of repeating phrases several times. Particular points of interest are a couple of canonic trios and two sextets (though the latter consist largely of separate pairs); and the end of the opera is remarkable for Martin's adoption of the zarzuela practice of including folk dances on the stage—what has often been described as a waltz (defying an Imperial edict banning the dance as immoral) is in fact a jota, and is followed by a seguidilla (complete with a mandolin).
Jordi Savall directs a well-controlled performance, his orchestra of period instruments acquitting themselves honorably. A curiosity is the use of a baroque guitar as continuo in recitatives, which are extremely well done, the singers admirably varying the pace and bringing out all the verbal points. Of the cast, it is the men who steal the honours. Ernesto Palacio's clean-cut singing, more suave than it has sometimes sounded, is outstanding as the caddish prince—who cravenly allows his elderly squire to be exiled for his own misdeeds (which doesn't seem to worry da Ponte in the least). His big florid aria in Act 2 rightly draws applause from the audience. As the two husbands or husbands-to-be, Inaki Fresan in his angry Act 1 aria and Fernando Belaza-Leoz in his furious outburst in Act 2 (where Tita momentarily drops into Spanish) are both excellent, though in the latter his voice at one point abruptly shoots across from the left to the right channel. Montserrat Figueras does not do a great deal to characterize what is in effect the title-role (''A rarity, or Beauty and virtue''), and the fast quiver in her voice cannot be ignored. Gloria Fabuel is suitably bright-toned for the vivacious and worldly-wise Ghita (a distinct foretaste of Mozart's Blonde), but her notes above F are produced with some unease. As the queen who acts as a benign settler of all problems, Maria Angeles Peters decorates her material more freely than the others and wins a round of applause for her big aria in which she sighs for the joys of the simple life, but unfortunately she is very flat in her first aria, ''Calma l'affanno''.
Yes, some things might have been better, but that is so in so many opera recordings, and the appearance of this one helps to fill in the background against which Mozart has to be judged.'