As a starter for ten, the title of Napoleon’s favourite opera may fox even the keenest opera buffs. Could you have identified it as Zingarelli’s Giulietta e Romeo? The idea of the greatest of French military men shedding a tear may seem alien to us, but Napoleon was an ardent fan of Zingarelli’s treatment of the story and, indeed, a devotee of opera more generally. The Neapolitan Zingarelli has now practically disappeared from the mainstream, but this opera has remained alive on the fringes, performed within the last decade in Salzburg and more recently recorded by Stefan Plewniak, who now leads a new production at the Opéra Royal, Versailles.
Giuseppe Maria Foppa’s libretto puts the conflict between the Capulets and Montagues to the background, context to what is as much a challenge of female self-determination against paternal authority as it is a love story. In this opera, there are three people in the relationship: the two lovers, plus Giulietta’s father, Everardo, determined that Giulietta will marry his friend (and ally) Teobaldo. Unmoved by the pleas of the lovers, Everardo’s violent obstinance unleashes events that leave him broken and bereft.
Director Gilles Rico correctly identifies the opera as a family tragedy and, with a few exceptions, hones in on this in a production which is far from avant-garde. We have frock-coats, britches and plenty of swords being thrust, but Rico throws in a couple of conceptual plays. There is a suggestion of mental health crises taking hold of the principals, particularly Everardo who at times seems to veer towards “madness”, but also Giulietta whose “despairs” are literally evoked by cowled singers surrounding and grasping her. Teobaldo falls to Romeo’s blade at the end of Act 1 and then haunts the trio through the remaining two acts.
Is this blood guilt, a suggestion that violence begets violence? It feels at times that Rico is reaching for something that never quite comes through. More perplexing is the dressing of the two lovers as Napoleon and Josephine which apart from acknowledging the imperial love of the opera, doesn’t add much to Rico’s reading. At his best though, Rico delivers some powerful scenes, with much of Act 3 a series of visual hammer blows. The almost ritualistic showering of Giulietta’s corpse with rose petals stands out, but the impact that the grief of Romeo and Everardo makes is a testament to Rico’s sensitive direction.
Romeo, originally written for a castrato, was sung by countertenor Franco Fagioli whose vivid portrayal commenced with manly playfulness before descending into the depths of despair, all conveyed in languidly spun phrases which seemed to show almost disturbing breath control. It’s a role which demands constant exploration of a wide vocal range while simultaneously requiring huge theatricality from the singer. Fagioli was a tour de force. His Giulietta, Adèle Charvet, gave a similarly committed performance. Clean and incisive in her middle voice, Charvet gave a sense of grandeur to her presence; though top notes were generously delivered, they veered towards the astringent on occasion.
Krystian Adam’s nuanced portrayal of Everardo took the role beyond the simple caricature of controlling patriarch, his forceful, even-toned tenor, articulated with thought, a pillar of strength that gave us a father wavering and clinging to violence as a means of securing himself and crushing moments of self-doubt. Adam’s performance was most moving at the end as Everardo comes to the tragic comprehension of the fatal results of his actions.
Nicolò Balducci’s Gilberto stepped handily into the time-honoured tradition of well-meaning, but ultimately unhelpful friend. His pale countertenor was appealing, but had a tendency to lose power in the middle register which detracted from some elegant singing. Florie Valiquette’s sparky Matilde was a delight; her voice is slim, but expressive and there was much to enjoy in her crystalline upper register. Valentino Buzza’s Teobaldo was somewhat of a wet blanket in life, pleading for Giulietta’s love and then attempting to best Romeo in battle with sulky petulance. In death, Buzza’s still movements gave a rather colder presence to the stage. The chorus sang with a lusty vigour, making the most of moments on stage.
In the pit, Plewniak led a dynamic, searing reading of the score, galvanising his players with forceful, energetic gestures. A heavy, fate-laden opening to the overture led into brisk punchy playing with some particularly rich passages for the strings, but the woodwinds seemed to suffer rough patches throughout the evening; first night nerves. Zingarelli’s take on one of Europe’s most famous love stories is never going to surpass more famous versions, but its moments of high drama make it an opera worth seeing. And one is unlikely to hear such a convincing musical interpretation as here.
