The merits of this great but neglected opera were first brought to my notice when Roger Norrington conducted the first professional performance since Handel's day on BBC Radio 3 some five years ago for the tercentenary celebrations. Dating from Handel's early years in London (1715), it proved once more the composer's early command in creating drama within the formalities of opera seria as it was then practised. It is the second of Handel's magical operas; set in Gaul, it describes how the scheming sorceress Melissa tries to entice Amadigi away from the lovely Oriana, who is also hopelessly desired by Dardano, Prince of Thrace.
Although there are virtually only these four characters, all originally taken by high voices (the hero by an alto castrato), Handel wholly avoids monotony through his skill in giving their emotions true expression in a wonderfully varied succession of numbers, every one appropriate to the situation in hand. Such pieces as Amadigi's aria alternating a presto section for anger with an adagio for sorrow, Melissa's brilliant outburst of triumph that closes Act 2 in a blaze of striking invention, Oriana's ''Dolce vita'' at the start of Act 3, or Melissa's death scene, a solemn sarabande enclosing a lamenting arioso, evince Handel's burgeoning genius, also his ability—like that of all the most telling composers of opera—to sympathize with the baddies as well as the goodies (cf. Mozart and Wagner). Throughout, Melissa's frustrations are as aptly delineated as the simple happiness of Oriana, whose B flat largo ''O caro mio tesor'' is perhaps the work's most sensuous delight. But that is to overlook Dardano's ''Pena tiranna'' (a sarabande that is the basis of Melissa's death scene)—have the pangs of unrequited love ever been expressed with such languorous beauty, the sinuous vocal line underpinned by five-part strings and a languishing oboe and bassoon? At the same time, the recitative, when treated as boldly as it is here, carries forward the drama in succinct fashion. Indeed, in that respect, and its spare orchestration, it demonstrates Handel's early, Italianate style at its most attractive.
The merits of the piece might not be so obvious were not this performance so convincing, at once sensitive and spirited. Wholly eschewing the British fashion for performing Handel without vibrato, in a 'hoot and tweet' manner, Minkowski and his team, as did Norrington, treat it as a very present drama. Minkowski's direction, lithe, direct yet always responsive to the emotional turbulence voiced by the principals, is consistently admirable, avoiding the Scylla of over-accentuation and the Charybdis of dullness, and his period-instrument Musiciens du Louvre play with an ease and character that sound right and natural.
His singers have been chosen with an ear for their aptness to the characters. Young Nathalie Stutzmann confirms her growing reputation with her palpitating, eager Amadigi. She sings Handel's divisions securely and uses her grave, peculiarly dark voice to arresting effect throughout. She is a true contralto, well contrasted with the mezzo of Bernarda Fink, and Amadigi's friend and rival Dardano. Hers was a voice new to me, and I found it had just the right colour and timbre for Handel's special demands: she is particularly suited to the aforementioned ''Pena tiranna'' and to Dardano's highly original scene as a Ghost in Act 3, intoned against staccato strings.
Similarly, Jennifer Smith's soft-grained, somewhat languid singing as Oriana is nicely contrasted with Eiddwen Harrhy's more incisive, fiery style as Melissa—listen to her deft handling of the awkward runs of ''Vanne lungi'' in Act 3—and yet Harrhy draws out all the pathos from Melissa's dying words. Occasionally both sopranos show a suspicion of strain in their topmost notes, but I am willing to bear with that slight drawback in order to gain and enjoy the warmth and fulness of their performances. Orgando's role is tiny, but in a few phrases Pascal Bertin reveals a pleasing countertenor.
To add to one's pleasure the recording is wellnigh ideal, forward and realistically balanced with no hint of the current preference for the cavernous, that gives the drama just that much more sense of immediacy. Erato, quite cleverly, print the Italian libretto and its English translation as it must have appeared originally, with a delightful precis of each aria. Thus, Melissa's aria of fury (already mentioned and superbly delivered by Harrhy) with trumpet obbligato that ends Act 2, is described: ''She says she'll raise every Fury to make war against Amadis and Oriana, whom she calls cruel and perfidious, and commands the blackest Ghosts to ascend from their Dungeons to torment those who slight her.'' Altogether a set to convert the most obstinate antiHandelian.'