Giacomo Meyerbeer
Robert le diable

Honestly, I couldn't really say if in the history of opera there is a case similar to that of Giacomo Meyerbeer in general and Robert le Diable in particular. A work of colossal importance, I repeat, colossal, triumphantly received and gradually increasingly marginalized, buried not only by the natural change of fashions but also by a squalid denigratory campaign by certain critics, incited primarily by the foolish whims of one Richard Wagner, who, artistically and not only, should have only kissed the ground where Meyerbeer walked. However, this is not the place to delve into the interesting Meyerbeer-Wagner affair in detail, instead let's start at the beginning: who exactly was Giacomo Meyerbeer?

A rather unusual figure, a German Jew, trained as an opera composer in Italy and reaching the pinnacle of success in France; he could be defined as a stateless person, or better yet a European before the term existed. With Robert le Diable (1831 being the year of its premiere) he fully defined and codified the Grand Opera, inaugurated the partnership between opera and ballet, and gave an enormous boost to French opera in general, for which his various successors would pay abundant tribute; one example I noticed immediately is that in Bizet's Carmen the character of Micaela is borrowed directly from Alice. But it would be wrong to reduce Robert le Diable to a purely historical matter, this is a spectacle, a continuous succession of colorful and captivating scenes, a serious opera but one that never takes itself too seriously, and which is open to interpretations that are anything but trivial.

It is certainly not a severe and iconographic Middle Ages where the action takes place, you can already tell from that picturesque first scene, dominated by the choirs of brave knights singing praises to wine, women, and gambling and, speaking of choirs, Robert le Diable has them in abundance; choirs of knights, courtiers, ladies, monks, always lush and captivating. Especially regarding this aspect, the young Giuseppe Verdi would surely have taken many, many notes. The three key characters are Alice, Bertram, and, of course, Robert: respectively a classic "angelic" maiden but by no means weak, the tempting devil, and a knight who is neither flawless nor fearless, rather, he is a weathervane caught between two fires; still speaking of Carmen, there is also a rather obvious similarity between Robert and Don José (and of course between Robert and Tannhauser, the protagonist of the homonymous Wagnerian opera). The dynamics of this triangle resolves in the final act, with Alice and Bertram competing for Robert's soul in a long and spectacular trio, which almost goes beyond the closed form. For his part, the protagonist remains undecided until the end, thus achieving a redemption through love that comes very late, very late, or indeed a redemption through indecision, which, if it does not push to do the right thing, at least curbs the worst impulses of human nature. I really like this interpretation, realistic and without mannerism heroics.

There is then a fourth main character, Isabelle, the woman loved by Robert: from a dramaturgical point of view, it is a role somewhat less crucial than the other three, but the most beautiful arias are hers, "Robert, toi que je t'aime", a heartfelt and seductive romance and especially that fountain of champagne which is her cavatina at the beginning of the second act, "En vain j'espere" a classic grand aria with introduction, choirs, and final cabaletta, "Idole de ma vie," from graceful melancholy to an uncontrollable, joyful, sparkling crescendo. These two wonderful showcase pieces are both enriched with arabesque elements, reminding that the story is set in Palermo in the high Middle Ages and Isabelle is presented as the princess of Sicily. A part for a coloratura soprano, recalling the vocal stylings of those bel canto composers (particularly Rossini) under whose shadow Meyerbeer honed his skills in a long apprenticeship period. Overall, the most intriguing and challenging role from both a vocal and acting standpoint is that of Bertram, which requires an extremely dynamic bass-baritone capable of sustaining a third act in which, among monologues and duets, he almost entirely monopolizes the stage. And this dark, grand guignolesque third act culminates with an absolute novelty, the ballet of the ghost nuns, practically a "postcard" from Venusberg in a spectral and blasphemous version; controversial stuff for the time, and which remains a musical and scenographic number of the highest level.

How much magnificence that risked being forgotten forever due to trivial or worse reasons; danger averted? On the whole, I would say yes, thanks also to important sponsors like Joan Sutherland the operas of Giacomo Meyerbeer (especially Les Huguenots and L'Africaine) have regained their place in the repertoire, and eventually even the mother of all Grand Operas, Robert le Diable, has returned to its natural habitat, which obviously can only be the grand theater. Royal Opera House in London, 2012, double DVD, good performers like John Relyea as Bertram and Patrizia Ciofi, probably the most experienced and competent living interpreter of Meyerbeer, as Isabelle. The direction of Laurent Pelly is intriguing, as he envisions a lively and colorful show, in line with the atmospheres of the opera, intelligently using stylizations and occasionally modernist "poetic licenses" that do not distort the original setting at all. A well-made and interesting production; now, if La Scala did something similar, for example, for Guglielmo Ratcliff or Isabeau by Mascagni, or for Siberia by Umberto Giordano, it would be truly a great thing, but I am digressing.