When Gioachino Rossini’s Guillaume Tell debuted triumphantly at the Paris Opéra in 1829, no one imagined that it would serve as the 37-year-old composer’s operatic swan song. That he was at the height of his powers becomes clear from EMI’s superb new recording of the original French version, recorded live in a near-complete concert performance in late 2010 at the National Academy of Santa Cecilia in Rome.
The entire second act, beginning with Princess Matthilde’s (Malin Byström) great soprano aria, “Ils s’élongement enfin – Sombre forêt” and extending through a series of duets, trios, and choruses, thrills with its beauty and power. More knockouts arrive in the two subsequent acts, not the least of which are Tell’s (baritone Gerald Finley) aria “Sois immobile” and Arnold’s (tenor John Osborn) almost-impossible scene “Ne m’abandonne point ... Asile héréditaire.”
A dramatic work approaching Wagnerian proportions (the recording occupies 3 CDs and lasts nearly 3½ hours), William Tell shows a far more profound side of Rossini than do his more famous operas Il barbiere di Siviglia and La cenerentola. Rossini’s love of vocal fireworks remains, not least in Matthilde’s challenging runs and booming high notes, and in Arnold’s astonishing string of 54 B-flats, 15 Bs, 19 high Cs, and 2 C sharps. Still, these displays serve not merely as visceral titillation, but more as means to drive home the epic monumentality of the protagonists’ emotions and actions.
Conductor Antonio Pappano has assembled a sterling cast. Finley’s voice has grown even more beautiful with age, and he sings with a power and elegance that befit French opera. Byström is more a dramatic soprano than a coloratura — she cannot clearly articulate the notes in her demanding runs, and sounds labored in the unaccompanied passage that ends “Sombre forêt” — yet her exciting high notes, impassioned delivery, and vocal glamour go far to compensate. Osborn has none of her technical limitations: His voice has substantial weight, and his high notes are thrilling. His bravura performance of “Asile héréditaire” and the C-sharp with which he caps “Amis, amis, secondez ma vengeance” deservedly bring the virtual house down.
As Tell’s wife, Hedwige, Marie-Nicole Lemieux is excellent, combining vocal glamour and dramatic heft in equal proportions. Carlo Cigni sounds a bit too elegant as the evil Gessler; his vocal beauty bespeaks a much nicer character. To Tell’s son Jemmy, Elena Xanthoudakis brings a naive, light soprano; her high, uncomplicated, and occasionally imperfect sound convinces. Supporting roles are sung well, and the men of the Coro dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia are especially strong.
Pappano again proves himself a master on the podium. True, he can’t prevent the three divertissements from sounding like tedious excuses for formal French ballet. But when given the opportunity to show his worth, as in the famed “William Tell Overture” and the pacing of soloists and chorus, he invariably transcends cliche.
I considered comparing this recording to other well-regarded efforts from conductors such as Gardelli (with singers Bacquier, Caballé, and Gedda) and Chailly (Milnes, Freni, and Pavarotti). Then I realized that comparisons, albeit always illuminating, were unnecessary. This recording is so fine that all that really matters is finding enough time to sit back and marvel.