How this opera grows in the affections. And how it strengthens the larger, ever-deepening appreciation not merely of Donizetti's work but of operatic conventions as such. I mean that the frequently derided forms of opera (the set pieces, aria-and-cabaletta and so forth) can increasingly be a source of pleasure and of perceived power in the writing. Here, for instance, part of the exhilaration arises out of the composer's skill in suiting the conventions to his dramatic and musical purposes. Elizabeth's first aria, meditatively hopeful yet anxious, fits the lyric-cantabile form; then the arrival of Talbot and Cecil with their opposing influences provokes the intensified turbulence of irresolution that makes dramatic sense out of the cabaletta. It is so with the duets and ensembles: they look like conventional set-pieces, but established form and specific material have been so well fitted that, with the musical inspiration working strongly (as it is here), you have opera not in its naive stage awaiting development towards freedom from form but, on the contrary, opera at the confident height of a period in its history when it was entirely true to itself.
The new recording fortifies such conviction, partly for the very reason that the opera survives a lack of some of the drama so vividly presented by its immediate predecessor in the catalogues. Indeed the work has sufficient dramatic power inherent in it to be able to do much more than merely survive. A loss is incurred essentially because Elizabeth is undercharacterized by the singer: Baltsa's performance is by no means devoid of feeling, but she is curiously selective in the emotions she chooses or manages to convey. Thus, we are given a sense of strong will-power through the characteristic thrust of her lower register, in the Queen's determination to settle the destinies of England and France, but when it comes to the aria, though tenderness is evident, the more tense and anxious tones required in its development are not. When she then turns to the hateful thought that Mary Stuart may have stolen the heart of her lover, Baltsa fails to mirror the change of mood. Then, in the scene with Leicester, she is not good at the angry or regretful asides or in fully expressing the harsh determination behind the references to her rival. The greater completeness and vividness of Gruberova's presentation of Mary throw this into relief, yet when it comes to the confrontation of the two Queens (''A frank exchange of views'' as Our Diplomatic Correspondent describes it) both singers are somewhat underpowered, Baltsa in the bite of her ''No'', Gruberova in the venom of her ''Bastarda''. Plowright and Baker made more out of this in the Mackerras/EMI recording, as indeed did their predecessors, Sutherland and Tourangeau with Bonynge on Decca (due out on CD shortly).
All the same, this is opera as opera (not 'opera as drama' or any other such silly concept), and in opera much of the drama comes through the singing ('as such'). Baltsa's is a glorious voice beautifully produced; she has feeling for the music, which is enabled to communicate through delighted ears to what we call the heart. At Covent Garden the performance of Baltsa and Gruberova together in Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi produced the truest, most moving evening of bel canto opera that I have known in many years. When they sing together it is an occasion, and though Gruberova's voice does not always sound completely steady in recording it is still an instrument of exceptional purity. The accomplishment at work in its usage is matched here by an imaginative and, I would say, intellectual grasp of the part—shown (to take a simple example) in the indrawing of breath as she forms the inspired notion of a prayer for her enemy. Hers is a most lovely performance throughout. Araiza also sings well especially in Act 3 (earlier there are some small points, but telling ones, where score-markings go unobserved). Alaimo as Cecil makes little impression till his duet (''duettino'') with Elizabeth, Francesco Ellero d'Artegna makes a firm-voiced dull old stick out of Talbot (which is perhaps what he is). The Munich Chorus is excellent, both musically and dramatically. Orchestral playing is fine too, and Patane's direction both spirited and flexible: rather more than the other recordings that have appeared since his death, this one serves as a worthy memorial. Recorded sound compares well with the Mackerras, and the relevance of further comparisons is reduced because Sutherland and Bonynge use a different score (see EG's review, 6/76) while the Baker and Mackerras version is in English with a mezzo-soprano Mary. The present recording makes some small cuts in the Gerard score, all of coda material apart from the second verse of Elizabeth's cabaletta in Act 1.'