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Prom 18: Monteverdi, The Coronation of Poppaea Soloists, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, Emmanuelle Haїm (harpsichord/conductor). Glyndebourne production by Robert Carsen, staged for the Proms by Bruno Ravella. Royal Albert Hall, London 31.7.2008 (ME)


This annual visit by Glyndebourne Opera was the first of four complete operas to be heard at the Proms this season and it got the mini-opera festival off to a fine start, even though the size of the auditorium and the nature of the production meant that things were sometimes more Verdi than Monte. Those who saw Carsen’s ‘Semele’ at the ENO a few years ago will have felt very much at home in this version of the Imperial palace – large double-bed, the stage dominated by a single vibrant colour, slinky lingerie for the heroine and a court more like Little Italy than Ancient Rome. Given the constraints of an intimate work with a tiny orchestra, it was remarkable that it was possible for most of the singers to ‘recitar cantando’ (speak through singing).

In ‘The Annals of Imperial Rome’, Tacitus wrote that Poppaea ‘had every asset but goodness… she seemed respectable, but her life was depraved’ – in this production Poppaea was a largely sympathetic character, beloved not only of Nero, but her faithful nurse, Arnalta (a wonderfully ripe performance from Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke, especially in the incarnation as the Queen Mum). Danielle de Niese’s Poppaea was surprisingly restrained after her no-holds-barred Cleopatra in 2005 – the voice is rather small for such a huge space, but she phrased the music gracefully, her silvery tone the ideal counterpart for Alice Coote’s richer timbre.

Nero is the centre of this opera just as Sesto is in ‘La clemenza di Tito’ so it was especially revealing to experience Alice Coote in both rôles within a week – everything that delineated her Sesto, such as tenderness, conflicted loyalty and true devotion were seen as in a mirror-image in her Nerone, the tenderness now a part of obsession and the loyalty only to an ideal of power. This was a commanding characterization, superbly sung, with ‘Ascendi, O mia diletta’ as central a moment as ‘Parto parto’.

Iestyn Davies was a highly sympathetic Ottone, genuinely touching in his scenes with Drusilla and managing to be dignified even when wearing a silver lamé disguise – his voice is small in scale but it is used with such skill that he was able to make both words and music tell in every scene; his ritornelli passages in Act I were especially fine. Both dramatically and musically, the closing lines of Scene 12 were amongst the most gripping of the evening, ‘Non mi vo’ più nutrir il serpe in seno… Perfidissima Poppaea!’ bitingly phrased yet elegantly nuanced.

Tamara Mumford was a finely dignified Octavia, both ‘Disprezzata Regina’ and ‘Addio, Roma’ high points, and Marie Arnet was a vividly presented Drusilla. Amy Freston’s ubiquitous Cupid grated a little, as did Dominique Visse’s Nurse, but Paolo Battaglia was a convincing Seneca, although I couldn’t work out why he did not die in his bath, given that poor old Lucan bought it so gruesomely in just that location.

Emmanuelle Haїm provided vibrant, enthusiastic support both as harpsichordist and conductor of an on-form OAE (when are they ever less than that?) nowhere more so than in the wonderful trio of the Famigiliari, ‘Non morir, Seneca, no’ and of course the glorious closing duet. I was in two minds about the use of the vast crimson cloak during this scene – yes, we get the points that Nero is ‘in blood steep’d in so far, that… returning were as tedious as go o’er’ and that even though Cupid appears to have won the day, Fortune is to regain the upper hand pretty soon with a really nasty death for Poppaea at the hands of Nero, but having to swathe oneself in yards of velveteen cannot help in the presentation of the duet, since, absurdly, it meant that the lovers were some distance apart just as they were singing the line ‘Pur ti stringo.’ Somewhat on a par with Leonore and Florestan being on opposite sides of the stage whilst singing ‘O Namenlose Freude’ but then we’ve all seen that, too. Never mind – the singing of ‘Pur ti miro’ was meltingly lovely enough to rise above it, as indeed did the whole of Monteverdi’s last opera.

Melanie Eskenazi


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