Antonio Vivaldi wrote La fida ninfa on a tight deadline, having replaced the original composer late in the day. The opera was commissioned to inaugurate the Teatro Filarmonico in Verona and its 1732 première was a resounding success. The driving force behind the new theatre, respected historian and influential dramatist Scipione Maffei, also co-financed the extravagant production and stellar cast. Maffei also penned the libretto, whose overwrought plot taxes credibility, even allowing for contemporary conventions. Besides Licori, the universally desired titular nymph, there is her sister and rival Elpina, their shepherd father, and two brothers with the same name. They are all kidnapped at some point, because the plot needs them to converge on the island of Naxos, which is ruled by an explosive pirate-tyrant.
At home in Skyros, Licori once promised herself to Osmino. Torn apart, they meet years later, but she does not recognise him, chiefly because he now goes by the name Morasto. She falls in love with a shepherd, who later turns out to be Osmino’s younger brother, chiefly because their parents had renamed him Osmino. Meanwhile, back at the olive grove…
The flummoxing plot is redeemed by Vivaldi’s exquisite score, one long enchanting pastorale, which has survived intact, except for the opening sinfonia. Last Saturday, the opera’s Dutch première borrowed the stirring sinfonia from Bajazet. La fida ninfa combines instantaneous melodic appeal with deeply felt sentiment. Heartache, jealousy, homesickness: Vivaldi captures their essence with an economy of harmonic colours that keeps the music buoyant. Unusually for the time, he also adds a trio and a quartet, and flavours proceedings with a number of short arias. Conducting from the harpsichord, Andrea Marcon chose unhurried tempi that allowed the score to exhale its sensuousness. The musicians of La Cetra played with elegant precision and, when things became fast and furious, retained crisp rhythmic articulation. Nothing ever felt rushed or sluggish. The supple strings had a rosily warm sound, and the solos were one delight after another, from the molten horns in the overture to the sparkling theorbos.
The allure and pathos of the title role stemmed from María Espada’s soft, round soprano. Although her coloratura was impressive, her voice lost its contours the higher and faster it went, and lyrical moments such as the deeply dejected “Amor mio, la crude sorte” suited her best. Franziska Gottwald was a vivacious Elpina, especially nuanced in the recitatives. In her arias she wielded her compact, dark-brown mezzo with style and technical assurance. Equally perceptive with the text was Topi Lehtipuu as the sisters’ father, Narete. The tenor gets the longest aria, the plangently gorgeous “Deh, ti piega, deh consenti”, in which Narete begs the corsair to free his family. With his youthful, gracile voice Mr Lehtipuu was a sweet-toned Narete, although his vocal emission was uneven and some of his runs over-aspirated.