''It is slight, it is familiar, it is catching, it is everything that pedants find easy to condemn.'' So Henry Chorley, a contemporary witness, wrote of Donizetti's military comedy, and it's as fair an assessment as one could wish for. He also wrote that it must have been composed ''when the well-spring of melody was in a sparkling humour'', and this new performance, whatever its drawbacks, certainly conveys that characteristic. Taken from live performances, it evidently amused the audience and should please its listening public at home, even if they can't appreciate fully what must have been a funny production.
The cast is probably as strong as any that could be assembled at the moment. June Anderson sings Marie's tuneful music with verve and consistent accomplishment; the almost ageless Alfredo Kraus phrases Tonio's cantilena with his customary appreciation of Donizettian style; Michel Trempont makes an idiomatic and spry Sulpice; Helia T'Hezan hugely enjoys herself as the dotty Marquise.
The difficulty for the new set is that it is up against an even better performance, in almost every way, on the Bonynge/Decca. Once you begin listening to Sutherland you realize how much more variety, spirit and sheer vocal beauty she brings to Marie's part as compared with Anderson. She may take more licence with the vocal line, add unwritten cadenzas and the like, but she does all that with such conviction as to make it worthwhile. By her side, Anderson sounds one-dimensional, her tone unvaried and with something of a glare on it as recorded, and wanting in the expertise, especially as regards trills, shown by Dame Joan. Listen to Pavarotti in his youthful prime and you realize that Krauss achieves by guile and 'management' of his voice what Pavarotti delivers freely and freshly and—surprisingly—Pavarotti maintains a secure legato. In the top C stakes in ''Pour mon ame'', he is also the more acceptable. Then Monica Sinclair, very much in the picture as the Marquise on the Decca set, has nothing of the wobble that mars her counterpart's tone, although her French is inevitably less idiomatic. Similarly, Spiro Malas (Decca) gives points in French accent to Trempont, but Malas is the more accomplished singer.
Then we come to the question of dialogue. This differs markedly in the two sets, but whereas the Decca foreshortening has been intellingently done to keep us clear what is going on, the EMI is likely to confuse the listener, particularly as only the musical numbers are printed in the accompanying booklet, which has been poorly prepared in many other respects (an inadequate essay on the work, for instance, as compared with Decca's two excellent articles that accompany the new CD issue). More serious drawbacks on the new version are the constricted recording and the inclusion of far too much applause. I have always been one for live recordings, but here that applause and the amount of stage noise is disturbing. Decca have the better solution; their set has the advantage of being recorded following Covent Garden performances so that the cast, chorus and orchestra can bring the zest of the stage into the studio but without opera-house distractions. Moreover, Bonynge is exactly suited by Fille, and gives more lift to its infectious, compound rhythms than Campanella. So, in this case, the older set is the one to have. In its new CD form (CD 414 529-2DH2, 11/86), it is a total delight as EG indicated. The new version, enjoyable as it is in its own way, must take second place.'