Bampton Classical Opera – Grétry’s Zemira e Azor (‘Beauty and the Beast’)

Grétry
Zemira e Azor – Opera in four Acts to a libretto by Jean-François Marmontel [1776 Italian version with revised libretto by Mattia Verazi and additional music by Niccolò Jommelli and Ignaz Holzbauer in an edition in collaboration with the Forschungszentrum Hof-Musik-Stadt Schwetzingen; sung to an English translation by Gilly French and Jeremy Gray]

Sandro – Samuel Pantcheff
Alì – Andrew Irwin
Azor – Gwilym Bowen
Zemira – Ffion Edwards
Fatima – Siân Dicker
Lesbia – Rachel Roper

The Orchestra of Bampton Classical Opera
Andrew Griffiths

 Jeremy Gray – Director
Pauline Smith & Anne Baldwin – Costume designer
Ian Chandler – Lighting designer
David Hudd & Keith Farr – Visuals

This year’s offering by Bampton Classical Opera – Grétry’s Zemira e Azor – could almost be an allegory for the present situation in Iran, albeit that in this version of the Beauty and the Beast story, partly set in the Strait of Hormuz, Azor is a cursed prince of Persia, not an orange-coloured monster of the West. The story doesn’t seem entirely true to life in 2026 however, in that Azor is redeemed by Zemira’s love because she recognises an underlying nobility and dignity behind his bestial appearance. Although the fate of nations and the world economy are not at stake in the opera, the predicament of Azor’s curse is such that when the shipwrecked merchant of Hormuz, Sandro, approaches the prince’s palace and plucks a rose for his daughter Zemira, he must pay for that indiscretion either with his own life or with that of any of his three daughters who will stand as the sacrifice in his place. It is Zemira who takes up the challenge, instead of her two more streetwise, utilitarian sisters Fatima or Lesbia. 

Mixed in with the story are certain elements of other fairy tales or legends, such as Zemira’s less than sympathetic pair of sisters like the wicked stepsisters of Cinderella; and the theme of Azor languishing under a curse until the love of a virtuous woman redeems him is akin to the story that inspired Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman. Jeremy Gray’s production, set in contemporary times, happens to draw an affinity with the latter since, like Senta who is fixated by the image and idea of the wandering Dutchman before he actually arrives, Zemira and her sisters contemplate a pop-up book of the fairy tale of ‘Beauty and the Beast’, as though the template which prepares Zemira for her future destiny. They inhabit a primly proper home at one side of the stage, contrasting with Azor’s palace at the other, where the blue floral patterns of Ottoman Iznik tiles and pottery allude in general terms to the opera’s Middle Eastern (even if not specifically Persian) setting; and a feast of dried fruit and nuts is laid out. 

Orientalist representations are otherwise helpfully avoided, and Azor’s power of magically conjuring up images of Sandro’s home to the merchant and Zemira in turn is successfully rendered by means of rational 21^st century technology by way of video projections on screens, where other visual displays also enhance other aspects of the drama beyond the set physically laid out on stage. That all works effectively in an opera which, despite the fantastical elements and the alternation of distant locations, bears essentially the same domestic character as any other 18^th century opéra comique or opera buffa.

The performers give a spirited account of a lively work whose music is more Italian in style than French, although this later version with sung recitatives (rather than the spoken text of the 1771 French original) and some interpolations by Jommelli and Holzbauer help. Nevertheless, among Grétry’s original numbers is the striking Act Three coloratura aria ‘La fauvette’ in which birds are imitated in the obbligato flute part and long florid cadenza for the voice – one wonders whether Mozart had this virtuoso aria in mind when writing ‘Martern aller Arten’ in The Abduction from the Seraglio. Ffion Edwards delivers it with a fine balance between agility and levity, not overwhelming the music with excessive force, but registering as a sudden, vivid expression of passion on the part of Zemira. That registers as such, even after the arresting opening scene of the same Act, in which Azor soliloquises on his dual nature – as civilised human and untamed beast – in a gripping sequence of accompanied recitative and aria that bears all the hallmarks of the Sturm und Drang. Gwilym Bowen ably conveys the character’s frustration in being torn between loving tenderness and bestial rage. 

Despite Sandro’s desperate situation, Samuel Pantcheff plays the part equably, while Andrew Irwin is much more voluble and volatile as his servant Alì, in the typical strain of such characters in 18^th century comedies. Irwin doubles up as the fairy at the conclusion when the curse on Azor is lifted. As the two sisters, Siân Dicker and Rachel Roper are an impish pair, the former showing a harder edge than the more nobly forbearing Zemira.

Andrew Griffiths leads the Orchestra of Bampton Classical Orchestra in an alert performance where strings are to the fore, but they create some varied and lustrous textures despite their small numbers, for instance in the airborne suspensions as Sandro and Alì are flown home on clouds at the end of Act One. Horns add notable colour to the odd other number, and Alex Norton provides dependable support on the harpsichord. Bampton have unearthed another rarity from the large pool of forgotten 18^th century repertoire. This has a score of more than passing interest which is delivered here, alongside the production, with avidity.