It may seem surprising that only a small number of fairy-tale subjects, with all their potential for magic, romance and wholesome moral lessons, have become well-established in the operatic canon.  Humperdinck’s Hänsel und Gretel and Rossini’s La cenerentola (Cinderella) are perennial favourites, of course, and there are several other Cinderellas, such as the opera by Massenet, a little-known one by Isouard (performed by Bampton in 2018), as well as the magnificent ballet by Prokofiev.  Humperdinck explored further Märchenopern (‘fairytale operas’) with works based on the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault, and the genre was pursued extensively by Richard Wagner’s son (and Humperdinck’s pupil) Siegfried. There’s a handful of operas based on Little Red Riding Hood and this short summary should probably include Bartok’s Duke Bluebeard’s Castle, although that takes us well out of children’s comfort zone and definitely requires ‘parental guidance’.  But surprisingly, despite the global fascination with the compelling romance of a virtuous girl imprisoned by a hideous beast, immortalised in perceptive films by Jean Cocteau (La belle et la bête,1946) and Walt Disney (1991 and 2017), few could name any operas of Beauty and the Beast.  There are in fact some: by           Stephen Oliver in 1984 and Philip Glass in 1994 (an ambitious live-opera accompaniment to Cocteau’s film), as well as a children’s opera by Péter Tóth premiered by Hungarian State Opera this year.  But if you want to see a musical staging of Beauty and the Beast it is most likely to be a secondary-school or am-dram spin-off of Disney’s films, featuring Alan Menken’s popular music, complete with singing teapots and candlesticks.

But what’s in a name?  There is a long string of operas which relate the compelling story of Beauty and the Beast but do so under the puzzling name of Zemir and Azor.  These originated with André Grétry’s French-language ‘comédie-ballet mêlée de chants et de danses’ in four acts, Zémire et Azor, of 1771.  This, the eleventh stage work by a young and progressive composer from Liège, was to prove one of his most successful works, both in Paris, where he became established, and widely beyond.  Its appeal undoubtedly derived from its magical story, which inspired inventive stage technicians to create audience-charming effects such as a passenger-carrying cloud, a magic ring, and a spectacular television-like picture or mirror.  Grétry’s simple but well-characterised music had enormous appeal, especially its radiant and lyrical ensembles such as the trio for the three sisters which opens Act 2, and the celebrated ‘magic picture’ scene in Act 3.  Within a few years the fame of Grétry’s masterpiece spread across the main European centres, as well as Scandinavia and Russia (Catherine the Great named her greyhound “Zemira”), the New World and Cuba, going through many transformations and languages.  One of the most significant of these was the Italian version made in Schwetzingen and Mannheim in Germany in 1776, the somewhat complex edition we are using tonight.

Grétry’s librettist was Jean-François Marmontel (1723-1799), who based his text on the recent French contes des fées (fairy-stories) of La belle et la bête (Beauty and the Beast) by Mme Villeneuve and Mme Beaumont (see the accompanying essay on ‘The Beast’ for further information).  As with any operatic adaptation the narrative details were inevitably simplified and condensed, resulting somewhat awkwardly in an imploded time span of the story, but Marmontel provided a well-structured plot in 4 acts which suited Grétry’s refined and simple lyrical style and encouraged his colourful and expressive orchestration.  It appealed to contemporary tastes for exotic oriental settings (Persia, on the Gulf of Hormuz), and with its intriguing love-story of a courageous young girl and an outlandish beast, provided plenty for audiences to enjoy and debate.  The source stories by Villeneuve and Beaumont do not name the characters, but Marmontel personalised them by adopting the exotic names of Zémire and Azor from a popular verse play Amour pour amour (1742), itself a fairy romance, by Pierre-Claude Nivelle de La Chaussée.  These names would have been familiar to an educated French audience, and must have strengthened the opera’s literary pedigree and ‘otherness’, without steering it into the more elevated but challenging genre of serious opera. 

Perhaps the initial success of Grétry’s work was also fired by perceptions of the composer’s romantic character: the influential Paris-based German journalist and critic Friedrich Melchior Grimm admired the young Grétry’s “pale, cadaverous, suffering, tormented appearance, all the symptoms of a man of genius” (although going on to comment how his health had improved since marrying a young woman “with very dark eyes, quite a strain for a constitution as delicate as his.” )  Working successfully in Paris from 1767, Grétry was astute in cultivating a circle of powerful and appreciative patrons; Zémire et Azor was dedicated to the Countess du Barry, the last ‘official’ royal mistress of King Louis XV: her sumptuous dress and diamond tiara worn at the première made her appear as though she were part of the fairy-tale herself.  She herself was not so lucky, and the dedication was deleted from published copies after her execution in 1793. 

This première took place at the court theatre at Fontainebleau palace on 9 November 1771: an account praises “the famous diamond decoration [which] appeared even more superb and resplendent through additions and a more brilliant play given to the stones.” Public performances in Paris soon continued from 16 December at the Comédie-Italienne theatre.  Marmontel and Grétry were already refining the work during the initial run, including Zémire’s 2nd act ‘air’ Rose chérie, which was significantly trimmed down at the request of its singer, soprano Marie-Thérèse Laruette.  Thus began a process of adaptation, translation and sometimes radical re-composition, subject to local tastes and personalities in many foreign centres, which was to continue right up to modern times, proof of the considerable appeal and resilience of the story and music at a time when most operas rapidly fell out of fashion.  In its first ten years 128 performances are recorded, with a further 143 in the next twenty years – a remarkably high quota.

However this prolific appeal was accompanied by a belief in many European opera centres that the work would be much improved by adopting the language and styles of Italian opera.  Even Grimm, who attended a performance at the Comédie-Italienne in 1771 concluded that Grétry “ought to set out for Italy from time to time to clear his head and refresh his ideas.”  In Germany it was first performed in the market square in Mannheim in 1772 in German translation, but by 1776 it was thoroughly worked over and transformed into an Italian work for performances at the Elector of Mannheim’s court opera house.  The new librettist was the Italian-born court poet Mattia Verazi (c.1730-1794), who worked over several months “day and night with tireless perseverance” in collaboration with the Elector’s Kapellmeister, Ignaz Holzbauer (1711-1783).  Verazi kept fairly true to his source material, but Marmontel’s spoken dialogues now became sung recitatives set by Holzbauer, transforming the work into a through-composed piece.  It was presumably Verazi who, as a lifelong friend and collaborator of the Italian composer Niccolò Jommelli (1714-1774), suggested that the ‘new’ Mannheim Zemira e Azor would also much benefit from the insertion of additional music ‘borrowed’ from that composer’s Italian operas.  Jommelli’s recent death perhaps justified this act of homage to a composer who was widely acclaimed as one of the greatest of the age.  These insertions add to the emotional intensity and colour of the story through a more florid and unashamedly serious style than Grétry’s, characterised by unusual rhythmic motifs and precisely differentiated dynamic contrasts.  We hear this in several recitativi accompagnati (recitatives accompanied by orchestra rather than only harpsichord) which punctuate the opera and also in the added arias which develop the significance of the two sisters Fatima and Lesbia, who had received no such individual emphasis in the French original.  Thus Grétry’s opéra-comique became an azione teatrale per musica, well-suited to the high calibre cast who performed it at the Elector’s summer court theatre at Schwetzingen, probably on 30 June 1776. 

Italian performances were soon given in London where Verazi’s libretto was printed in bi-lingual versions in London and used at the King’s Theatre from 1780 following a première there in French in 1779.  Mozart’s librettist Lorenzo da Ponte later claimed in his (not always reliable) Memoirs that he made a new Italian translation in forty-eight hours (for a handsome fee of 50 guineas) for performances at the King’s in 1796, although these were described by the poet as a “great fiasco.”  It seems likely that Da Ponte had seen productions in Vienna where it was performed at the court Burgtheater from 1779, often in German.  Mozart owned a score, and it has been said that he copied out parts of it by hand.  Its influence is probably felt in the Magic Flute, where the role of Papageno has been argued as a derivative of Zemira’s family servant Alì.  The Grétry scholar David Charlton has suggested that several aspects of the Flute are foreshadowed in Zémire, including the experimental orchestration, the passage of time with changes of place, and specific dramatic details like the conjuring up of a meal in Act 1.  Mozart’s sister-in-law (and former pupil and would-be wife), Aloysia Lange (née Weber) performed the role of Zémire probably at the Kärtnertortheater in 1784, as portrayed in a painting by Johann Baptist von Lampi; she had an exceptionally high range, well up to the demands of ‘La fauvette’, Grétry’s impressive show-piece aria with its concerto-like obbligato part for solo flute, the climax of Act 3.

In different languages or versions, the opera was still being performed as late as 1862, although many of these were with the new enriched orchestration by Adolphe Adam made in 1846.  Another re-orchestration was made by Sir Thomas Beecham in 1955 for a production at the Theatre Royal Bath (recorded for the Somm label).  At times Grétry’s music was slashed or replaced – important versions which adhered to Marmontel’s libretto but with entirely new music include Thomas Linley the Elder (Selima and Azor, Drury Lane Theatre, London 1775) and Louis Spohr (Zemire und Azor, Frankfurt 1819).  And there was even a complete sequel: Ignaz Umlauf’s 3-act Singspiel, Der Ring der Lieb, oder Zemirens und Azors Ehestand (The Ring of Love, or Zemira’s and Azor’s Marriage), at the Kärntnertor Theater, Vienna, 1786.  The most recent UK production of the original French version was by Phoenix Opera at the Camden Festival in March 1980, followed by several other productions in Europe and America.  The Verazi-Holzbauer-Jommelli version however remained an obscurity until it was revived at the Schwetzinger SWR Festspiele in the historic Pigage-Theater (Schlosstheater) in May 2023, with further performances at the Nationaltheater Mannheim.  Bampton is delighted to be giving further coverage to this complex and enchanting rarity.

The critic Rodney Milnes effectively summed up Grétry’s skill as “an art that concealed art, simple, almost naïve on the surface but with many a hidden depth.” Jommelli’s style, which is more eloquent and intense, undoubtedly creates a contrast of musical colour, but listeners are unlikely to feel an uneasy disjunction between the two.  Although Grétry’s music may at times seem cheerfully robust and down-to-earth, its “hidden depth” juxtaposes effectively with the richly ethereal textures of Jommelli: their different styles may be seen to parallel the encounter between reality and the imagination which lies at the heart of every fairy-tale.  Zemira e Azor is more nuanced than Zémire et Azor, and by losing the spoken dialogues (which can cause aural fragmentation, as is often felt with Die Zauberflöte and Fidelio), the opera enters more enticingly into a world of make-believe and beauty.  

At the heart of Grétry's Zémire et Azor lies one of the most enduring figures in European fairy tale: la Bête - the Beast.  Long before Disney's animated film, French writers, artists and theatre-makers struggled to imagine what sort of creature Belle's mysterious suitor might be.

“I am not called ‘My Liege,’” said the monster, “my name is ‘Beast’: I don’t like flattery, and I prefer that people say what they think” (as Mme Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont wrote in La Belle et la Bête in 1756).   La Bête, for all his fearsome form and hot temper which threatens death to the hapless thief of his roses, is nothing if not self-aware.  Whatever his fabulous wealth and incredible magical powers, he expects no deference.  Whilst subjecting the uneasy Belle to his dinner-time voyeurism (“Will you let me watch you dine?”) he insists that she acknowledges honestly his repulsive ugliness.  Moreover, he takes his self-deprecation further, protesting that “I also lack intelligence - I know very well that I am nothing but a beast.”  Belle’s quick response is perfectly poised: “You can’t be a beast if you know that you lack intelligence.  A fool never knows that he is stupid.”  His underlying brutish nature is revealed in an unforgettable scene in Jean Cocteau’s 1946 film when the sumptuously attired Bête gently takes his plucky young prisoner for an evening walk along the sculptured parapets of his palace.  At the very moment that their conversation indicates the stirrings of romantic affection from Belle’s perspective, his feline ears twitch: he is helplessly distracted by a running deer (his habitual prey and food) crossing his sharp peripheral vision.  No wonder that Belle, who only a moment earlier had commented that his voice now seemed gentle, sharply rebukes him: “Eh, la Bête - où êtes vous?!”

Cocteau’s beast is a magnificent and disturbing visual creation, a rich synthesis of complex make-up, extravagant costume and the powerfully contained and measured acting of Jean Marais.  With mesmerising pale eyes, leonine face and mane, and threatening incisors protruding over his ever-salivating mouth, “he has never been matched for erotic power”, according to Marina Warner.  It is likely that Cocteau’s dream-like vision was inspired in part by portraits of Petrus Gonsalvus (c.1537-c.1618), a man who suffered from extreme hypertrichosis (sometimes known as ‘werewolf syndrome’), a condition passed on to four of his six children.  Born in Tenerife, he was gifted at the age of ten to the Court of Henri II of France where he fascinated as a hybrid creature – man and beast.  His extraordinary appearance has led many scholars to identify him as one of the historical figures who may have helped inspire later Beauty-and-the-Beast narratives.

The two French foundation texts for the story offer only limited visualisation: narrative momentum is more important than indulgent description.  In the elaborate novella by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve (1685-1755), published in 1740 in her collection La jeune américaine, et les contes marins, the father’s fateful theft of a rose provokes a “frightful noise” made by “a horrible beast which…laid upon his neck a kind of trunk, resembling an elephant’s.”  Later in the story, Belle’s first encounter with “le Monstre” is prefaced by “a shocking noise, caused by the enormous weight of his body, by the terrible clank of his scales, and an awful roaring”, imagery that today may suggest a prehistoric monster, although dinosaurs themselves were as yet unknown to eighteenth-century readers.  By 1756, when Mme de Beaumont (1711-1780) wrote her much condensed version of the story, such alarming detail was expunged: the beast is still alarmingly noisy but there is no description at all beyond his “horrid form.”  Whatever ghastliness confronts Belle’s eyes, she bravely tolerates him without fainting away.

We must turn to illustrations of the early performances of Grétry’s opera to discover how the Beast was visualised on the 18th-century stage, interpreting Marmontel’s libretto rubric “sous une forme effrayante.”  There are several depictions of the entrancing ‘magic picture’ scene from Act 3, an apparent technological miracle on theatre stages and a prime cause of the opera’s widespread popularity: Marie Antoinette claimed that she dreamed about this scene after a visit to the theatre.  In Henri Gramont’s painting, maybe as early as 1771, the Beast is presented as a civilized ‘gentleman’ in ermine trimmed cloak over a leopard-skin body stocking, although with a full-face mask with equine features, surely unsuited for the task of singing.  A similar (and maybe derivative) engraving by François-Robert Ingouf is probably more accurate: here the mask is leonine and does not obscure the singer’s face.  A more expansively visualised mise-en-scène is depicted in a painting by Pehr Hilleström from the Drottningholm production of 1778: again with cloak and leopard-skin stocking, but with a more dog-like (and presumably impractical) muzzle.

We know from an account by Marmontel that the renowned singer Clairval (Jean-Baptiste Guignard), who created the role of Azor for the première at Fontainebleau, was unhappy at being made “ugly”. When Marmontel wanted to see what costume the court designer had prepared he was at first forbidden access to the wardrobe; the librettist disagreed with “a pantaloon just like the skin of a monkey with a long bare tail, a naked back, enormous claws for each of the four paws, two long horns in the headpiece and the most deformed mask, with boar’s teeth.”  After arguments, he insisted on a new design: “the simplest design in the world, with tiger-coloured pantaloons, shoes and gloves of the same, a Turkish robe of purple satin, a wavy black mane picturesquely dishevelled, with a frightening but not deformed mask, not at all resembling a snout.”  When Marmontel made Clairval try on this new costume, “he saw himself in the mirror and it appeared to him dignified and commanding.”

The 1697 anthology Les Contes des Fées, by the Countess d’Aulnoy (1652-1705) - the pioneering work which coined the designation of ‘fairy-tale’ - may appear child-like and aimed at didactic moralistic improvement, but contains disturbing and dark accounts of sexual encounter between humans and beasts; indeed, the British dramatist and antiquarian, J.R. Planché, who translated these tales into English in 1855, deleted two which “could not, without considerable alteration… have been rendered unobjectionable to the English reader.”  Planché applied similar censorship when translating Villeneuve’s story.  In the original French the Beast’s regular dinner-time appointment with Belle is, for the innocent girl, always disturbed by his abrupt and forward question - “si elle voulait la laisser coucher avec elle” (“if she would let him sleep with her”), although as a gentleman he accepts her “non” without argument and politely retires.  Planché’s decorous English translation rephrases the delicate matter as: “he asked her bluntly if she would marry him”.  And Mme de Beaumont had already toned down the impertinent request to “voulez-vous être ma femme?” 

It matters in both the French stories and the operas based on them that the Beast is humane enough for Belle gradually to recognise his underlying gentleness - "I own I am pleased with your kindness, and when I consider that, your deformity scarce appears."  A wide range of 19th and 20th-century book illustrations of the beast consequently tend towards the endearing and cute, with him adopting characteristics of the bear, monkey, pig and even walrus, often docile and sometimes comic.  Even so, an 1847 French reprint of Beaumont’s story depicts a demure Belle accompanied by a frisky fork-tongued dragon, and Villeneuve’s elephantine invention permeates H.J. Ford’s vivid drawings in an English edition (text by Andrew Lang) in 1908.  For the original 1991 animated Disney film, the supervising animator Glen Keane was inspired by a buffalo head acquired from a taxidermist but added a range of features from several other creatures to create a powerful (and loveable) chimera.

Whatever his animal form, we may ask: why should the Prince of Kamir, on the Strait of Hormuz, have become so beastly?  The Disney film opens with an explicitly moral explanation, depicted as if in a stained-glass window, and so lending the story the authority of a moral parable.  We learn how a pampered and entitled young prince was punished for his cruel rejection of a haggard old woman who, one winter’s night, arrived at his door seeking shelter and offering a single rose as payment.  The woman, of course, was an enchantress, on a mission to redeem a sinful human from his fallen state: the spell of hideous transformation could only be broken (and before he reaches the age of twenty-one) if he can be loved by a virtuous girl, returning her love to the extent of allowing her freedom of action.  In Mme de Villeneuve’s complex and elongated explanation (which effectively occupies a full half of her story), the Beast is the victim not of a redeeming spirit but of a malignant fairy who, in the position of godmother to the boy, cursed him for rejecting her inappropriate amorous advances.  In an intriguing modern retelling, the American teen-novel Beastly (2007) by Alex Flinn, a young witch curses a wealthy and selfish high school boy when he cruelly rejects and demeans her at a school Prom.  There is no such prequel in Marmontel’s libretto for Grétry, which launches directly into Sandro’s arrival at Azor’s hidden palace.  But we learn a little more in Act 3 which opens with Azor’s bitter monologue of frustration and anger as he rails against the cruel fairy who made him monstrous: “You had given me good looks, a gift I made too much of.”  Thus persistent vanity appears to be the cause of his punishing transformation.  Nothing more is made of this in the French libretto, but in the 1776 Italian (Mannheim) edition, this very fairy makes an appearance to conclude the opera - not exactly admitting culpability, but nevertheless reinforcing the fundamental message of mutual attraction - “once upon a time, a beautiful face fell in love with a beautiful soul.”  The Prince has to learn his lesson and reform his character, suppressing his bestial instincts and enabling his humanity to return and love to flourish.  For Marmontel and Grétry, beauty is not recovered through magic alone, but through a genuine change of heart.  

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 21st 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 18th 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 18th 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 18th century repertoire. This has a score of more than passing interest which is delivered here, alongside the production, with avidity.
 

A house on the Strait of Hormuz is one of the two alternating locations in Grétry’s Zémire et Azor.  Wisely, though he favoured modern dress in his production, Jeremy Gray did not attempt to impose geopolitics on this charming take on Beauty and the Beast.  The rest of the opera takes place in the ‘fairy palace’ where Azor, the Beast, seeks to ingratiate himself with the lovely and brave Zémire.  In the high-ceilinged dining hall of Cokethorpe School - a new venue for Bampton Classical Opera after nearly 40 productions - each location occupied its own small stage and the conductor, Andrew Griffiths, and 17 instrumentalists were flanked by the scenic action.  Azor’s taste seemed to run to glossy contemporary chic, but the dominant feature of his home was a large video screen.  Initially, it displayed decorative Middle Eastern motifs and in Act 3 it conjured up the ‘magic picture’ (a theatrical effect admired by Marie Antionette when she saw the opera) that Azor uses to show Zémire her faraway family.

Zémire et Azor was first staged in 1771 as a comédie-ballet with dialogue.  Five years later, an Italian adaptation, Zemira e Azor, was presented in Mannheim with recitatives by Ignaz Holzbauer and additional arias by Niccolò Jommelli.  It was this version, revived at Schwetzingen in 2023, that Bampton Classical Opera chose to use, translated into lucid and lively English by Gilly French, Jeremy Gray’s co-artistic director.  The most celebrated number is the avian showpiece, with flute obbligato, that Zémire sings to delight Azor in Act 3.  Here, depicting a winged warbler with paint in addition to words and music, Ffion Edwards performed it with sweetness, grace and pinpoint precision.  Over its four acts the opera offers a satisfying variety of arias and ensembles, sensitive to the specificities of situation and emotion.  The sombre reflections of Zémire’s father Sander (here Sandro) made a particular impact, though Samuel Pantcheff’s sonorous distinction did not preclude a lightness of touch elsewhere.  Portraying his servant Alì with physical agility and vocal acuity, Andrew Irwin displayed hair’s breadth comic judgment, and his two ‘wicked’ daughters – allotted one big solo moment each – were sharply profiled by Siân Dicker (Fatmé/Fatima), who added a glint of polished steel to her vibrant line, and Rachel Roper, whose dark, dappled mezzo lent allure to the more reticent Lisbé (Lesbia).  On each of his appearances Gwilym Bowen, singing with both searing intensity and beguiling flexibility, ensured that, despite his hairy, clawed hands, ram’s horns and matted, bleached lock, the audience could sense the loving man behind Azor’s monstrous mask.

The modern instruments of the small orchestra sounded gratifyingly rich and rounded, and the inventiveness of Grétry’s wind writing – which includes ‘magical’ offstage effects – shone out.  Through an interpretation informed as much by disciplined energy as by elegance, Andrew Griffiths joined in recounting a fairy tale that cast its enchantment with no hint of preciosity.

When three years ago, Mannheim  opera produced a real mash-up of Gretry’s slight tale of Beauty and the Beast with Disney dwarfs, a Sugar Puff monster and a footballer hero, I thought I would never see a production to do the piece justice. Opera

Bampton Opera and director Jeremy Gray have put that right, with a charming show elevated by two outstanding performers in the title roles, Ffion Edwards as Zemira and Gwilym Bowen as Azor, the prince turned monster.

Zemira’s merchant father Sandro (Samuel Pantcheff) with his servant Ali (Andrew Irwin) is marooned in the Gulf of Hormuz (yes that one), held captive by Azor, but allowed to return home to his three daughters Zemira, Fatima (Sian Dicker) and Lesbia (Rachel Roper) if one of them returns as his hostage.

The music, much of it later additions for the original Italian language performance in 1776, also in Mannheim, has a Mozartian feel, albeit without the sophistication that the greater composer’s symphonic experience brought to the orchestration.

Highlights include a highly interactive quartet for Sandro’s family and an off-stage obbligato for horn and flute that complements the final scene, but best of all are the showpiece arias for the principals. Bowen raises the show to a nerve-tingling level with his first entrance, "Beware my furious rage", menace combined with smooth, long legato lines, and a trilling Edwards handles the virtuoso songbird air with great delicacy and poise.

It is not a story of great depth—its appeal at the time largely a result of its magical effects—yet by their mutual reticence, in the scene where suspicion turns gradually to love, the couple achieve a real sense of pathos.

Irwin plays up Ali’s timidity—a model perhaps for Mozart’s Papageno, Pantcheff projects boldly the figure of the merchant, Dicker invests considerable feeling into her act two lament, and Roper sounds ravishing in one of many additions to the score in 1776 from the works of Niccolo Jommelli, the only shortcoming of which is its brevity.

The stage is split in two with Azor’s Persian palace on one side and Sandro’s simple home on the other, and video screens effectively portray the magical connection between the two. Placing the orchestra between them gives it rather undue prominence, but conductor Andrew Griffiths was keenly responsive to the singers and only once did the sound slightly lap over the soloist.

Tribute is due also to Pauline Smith and Anne Baldwin for their character-enhancing costume designs, Ali in cowardly yellow, Zemira resembling Little Red Riding Hood setting out to meet the wolf and Azor best of all, somewhere between cruel and cuddly, like a tabby cat with great claws and ram’s horns. Spot on.

Bampton Classical Opera’s Director, Jeremy Gray searches every year for an opera not frequently heard. Once again, his selection is an excellent one with a geographical setting so very topical! Early 18th-century composers seeking oriental settings to show their colourful and expressive orchestrations discovered Persia and the waterway between the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Oman – the Strait of Hormuz – appealing to contemporary tastes of the time. With a choice of 2000 folklore stories of the ‘morality lesson’ which is Zemira e Azor, Bampton’s 2026 selection is André Grétry’s 1771 composition, recomposed in Mannheim in 1776, with the Italian libretto by Mattia Verazi. An ingenious English translation by Gilly French and Jeremy Gray, with additional music by Niccoló Jomelli and Ignaz Holbauer, this opera in four acts builds the Bampton Classical Opera’s reputation for fresh and exciting developments. This classic fairy tale teaches the importance of empathy and kindness.

Sir Thomas Beecham, a keen supporter of Grétry’s music, praised him for his grace and melodic invention surpassed only by Mozart. In conductor Andrew Griffith’s hands this production is a musical treat, thanks in no small part to hand-picked musicians capably led by Caroline Balding. Creative offstage contributions by wind and brass players add to the enjoyment of the final act. So too, some extremely effective lighting designed by Ian Chandler and visuals created by David Hudd and Keith Farr. There are two stages, one, the home of Sandro (Samuel Pantcheff) the trader, the other, part of the palace belonging to ‘the beast’ Azor, the Prince of Kamir (Gwilym Bowen). Musicians slot in conveniently between the two stages. A vibrant overture begins the opera as Sandro, the trader loses his vessels in the Strait of Hormuz to the severe storms and lightning in these dangerous waters, depicted musically by excellent horn and bassoon playing. Seeking refuge in Azor’s palace, Sandro with his servant Ali (Andrew Irwin) are caught in the act of attempting to steal a rose as a gift for Zemira his youngest daughter (Ffion Edwards). Azor, the twin-horned ‘beast’ threatens death but relents when a deal is negotiated in which one of three daughters will take their father’s place as a sacrifice!

Baritone Samuel Pantcheff leads an extremely talented cast as the very caring trader father. Siân Dicker (Fatima) is outstanding as one of the spiteful and disgruntled sisters; she soon becomes the leader of the trio, her spinto soprano voice equipping her well for dramatic moments as the seriousness of the potential sacrifice of one of the girls dawns on the trio. The duet in the second act between Dicker (Fatima) and mezzo-soprano Rachel Roper (Lesbia) when they discuss the implications of the sacrifice was noteworthy. Zemira travels with Ali to meet Azor to fulfil her father’s deal.

Tenor Gwilym Bowen (‘the beast’ Azor) is a remarkable discovery by Bampton; his portrayal as ‘the beast’ from the balcony was most convincing as he despairs of his future. He patiently sits for Zemira as she paints his portrait, offers her a magic ring which will release her from his power and arranges for her to be part of the amazing ‘magic picture scene’ in which she sees her father and sisters at their home.  Above all, he is charming and, as Zemira impresses him with her tenacity and resilience, Azor to, becomes charmed. The complications of staging the ‘magic picture scene’ are enormous; it worked without a hitch! As offstage wind and brass are conducted by Andrew Griffiths, his harpsichord player Alex Norton takes charge of the remaining string and wind players. The creative direction of Act III is remarkable with the lighting plot designed to remind the audience of the significance of that rose – which caused the controversy – with floods on the ceiling of coloured rose depictions.

This is an opera which merits many a revival. The production has a well-chosen cast always engaging and showing sympathy when required, notably in Act IV as a miserable Sandro (Pantcheff) needs the comfort of Fatima (Dicker) and Lesbia (Roper) who deliver another excellent duet before Zemira (Edwards) returns from the now charmed ‘beast’. Ffion Edwards was proficient as Zemira, Rachel Roper was adept as Lesbia, Siân Dicker was superb as Fatima; all three girls engage in a family row which ends abruptly when Zemira (Edwards) casts off her magic ring and disappears, soon to reappear alongside Azor at his palace. The happy end to the fairytale is in sight! Gone is ‘the beast’s’ ugly twin-horned costume; replaced by an elegant long coat as the count reflects on the success of the ‘magic picture scene’, with offstage flutes echoing the onstage strings. Andrew Irwin’s busy interpretation of Ali the servant, a role he has clearly enjoyed, culminates in a most humorous fourth-act appearance as an angel clasping a bunch of roses, soon to utter the immortal words ‘may you live happily ever after’ to Azor and Zemira! Fireworks appear on the screens of the ‘magic picture scene’ and the happy ending is complete.

Bampton Classical Opera has delivered another delightful achievement.

Bampton Classical Opera’s rarely heard Zemira e Azor proved an absolute delight at Cokethorpe School, combining glorious music, playful staging and a beautifully accessible take on the Beauty and the Beast story.

This was a rare opportunity to hear a work that once travelled widely across Europe but is now seldom staged in Britain. Bampton Classical Opera presented a version based on the 1776 Italian edition, with additional music by Ignaz Holzbauer and Niccolò Jommelli, sung in a new English translation by Gilly French.

That scholarly detail might make the evening sound specialist. In practice, it was anything but remote. The production was warm, funny, generous and unexpectedly immediate, proving once again how skilfully Bampton can make rarely performed 18th-century opera feel alive for modern audiences.

The opening performances took place at Cokethorpe School, near Witney, a new venue for Bampton Classical Opera.  The setting worked beautifully. The production unfolded across two stages, while also making use of the balcony and, at times, the audience seating area. That gave the evening a sense of movement and intimacy, with the story seeming to grow out of the room rather than being kept at a polite distance.  There was also something special about being so close to the orchestra. Watching Andrew Griffiths shape Grétry’s score was a pleasure in itself, and the Orchestra of Bampton Classical Opera played with elegance, brightness and affection throughout.  For a semi-staged production, it felt remarkably vivid. The performance had theatrical imagination without losing sight of the music.

Zemira offers herself in place of her father as a prisoner in the magical castle of Azor, a prince transformed into a terrifying beast by a fairy’s curse. At first she is horrified by his appearance, but gradually sees the dignity, tenderness and nobility beneath the surface. When she finally declares her love, the spell is broken.

Director Jeremy Gray gave the piece a playful modern edge. Bright yellow cagoules, matching rubber gloves and even a copy of Just Seventeen magazine brought flashes of contemporary humour into the fairytale world.

Those choices could have jarred with the period score, but instead they gave the production a mischievous lightness. The comedy never mocked the music. It opened a door for the audience, making the opera feel approachable without flattening its emotional shape.

The cast was excellent throughout, mixing returning Bampton performers with company debuts. Ffion Edwards brought sincerity, warmth and vocal clarity to Zemira. Her performance made the character’s compassion feel active rather than passive, giving the heroine a quiet strength as she moved from fear to understanding.  Gwilym Bowen was both imposing and sympathetic as Azor. He captured the loneliness and strangeness of the cursed prince, while allowing enough tenderness through the disguise for Zemira’s change of heart to feel believable.  Their scenes together were among the evening’s strongest, giving the opera its emotional centre.

Rachel Roper was delightful as Lesbia, while Siân Dicker repeatedly stole scenes with a wonderfully dry and expressive Fatima  Andrew Irwin brought infectious comic energy to Ali, making every entrance count, while Samuel Pantcheff completed the principal cast with authority as Sandro.

The ensemble balance was one of the production’s pleasures. Nobody overplayed the comedy, but everyone understood its rhythm. The result was light, lively and precise, with enough theatrical sparkle to keep the audience smiling without losing the opera’s fairytale tenderness.

Bampton Classical Opera has built its reputation on rescuing rarely heard works from the late 18th century and presenting them in clear, lively English translations.  Zemira e Azor is exactly the kind of piece that justifies that mission. It is not merely a curiosity. It is melodically charming, theatrically generous and full of feeling.

The production also showed how a company can bring scholarship and entertainment together. The rarity of the edition mattered, but so did the laughter, the performances, the costumes, the staging and the sheer pleasure of hearing a score that deserves more attention.  At Cokethorpe, the result was a magical evening, and a strong argument for why these rediscoveries matter.  It took a rarely staged opera and made it feel fresh, accessible and full of theatrical life. The English text allowed the story to land clearly, and the cast gave the fairytale both humour and heart.

For anyone who thinks 18th-century opera might feel distant, this production is a persuasive answer. It was warm, playful and quietly magical.

If you only know Beauty and the Beast from the 1991 Disney version, you may not realise that the original story dates from the mid-18th century, and has been retold multiple times. It’s the basis of this opera by André Grétry, which was massively popular following its premiere in 1771.

Dancing teapots aren’t in evidence in Bampton Classical Opera’s production, directed by Jeremy Gray, but there’s much wit and energy here, as well as a sincere commitment to the charming score.

The company has been championing lesser-known or forgotten (sometimes with good reason) operas for more than 30 years at the Deanery Garden in Bampton. This year, they’ve shifted to Cokethorpe School, near Witney. The change from the outdoors picnic atmosphere of Bampton to an indoors school setting is all to the benefit of performers and audience. Sight lines and sound are vastly improved, and the risk of a mid-performance downpour is gone.

The Cokethorpe motto ‘Inopiam Ingenio Pensant’ (‘Ingenuity overcomes scarcity’) is emblazoned on a balcony in the hall. It seems an equally appropriate sentiment for a company that survives on shoestring budgets while bolstering the careers of young and upcoming singers. In Gray’s produciton, performers are periodically up on that balcony, but most of the action takes place on two small stages on the floor, with the first-rate orchestra (confidently conducted by Andrew Griffiths) positioned in between.

As Zemira (Beauty) and Azor (the Beast), Ffion Edwards and Gwilym Bowen are convincing in their growing mutual attraction, despite the obvious obstacle of Azor’s beastly behavior and his hirsute façade: a goat-like headdress and bear paws (costumes by Pauline Smith and Anne Baldwin).

Edwards essays the treacherous heights of coloratura role with aplomb. As Sandro, Zemira’s father, Samuel Pantcheff is touching in his mixture of guilt for having gotten into this mess and his desire to protect his three daughters. Rachel Roper and Siân Dicker have great fun as Zemira’s eye-rolling older sisters, Lesbia and Fatima, who join their sister in the famous trio.

There are issues with diction for some of the singers – unfortunate, given the new indoor venue and the use of an English translation by co-artistic director Gilly French. Andrew Irwin as Sandro’s servant, Ali, is vocally on point and embraces the comic nature of the character. He shines in an Act II duet with Zemira, as the two return to Azor’s castle.

Grétry’s opera took Europe by storm in the 1770s – Catherine the Great named her favourite greyhound Zemira. Audiences were entranced by its exotic setting – Persia, near the Gulf of Hormuz (a painfully resonant location in our time), and a stage effect that sees Zemira and Azor gaze at a ‘magic picture’ of Zemira’s family as they worry over the missing Zemira.

That magic is accomplished here by video screens, which presumably will be along for performances later in the year at Westonbirt Orangery in Gloucestershire and Smith Square Hall, London.

Gretry is a composer who has not reached the same heights of popularity of many of his contemporaries of the mid to late eighteenth century. It is thus fantastic that Oxfordshire is home to Bampton Classical Opera – a company dedicated to reviving lesser known works by musicians of this period.

Zemira e Azor is, essentially, a retelling of Beauty and the Beast. A father, Sandro, stumbles across an enchanted palace. This angers the owner, Azor, a hideous monster of a man, who threatens Sandro's life unless he is willing to send one of his daughters in his place. The father is horrified at such a prospect but accepts the bargain as a way of ensuring his escape. His youngest daughter, Zemira, discovers the details of the deal and runs off to the palace determined to save her father.

She meets Azor and an unexpected bond is formed and after the traditional obstacles are overcome, the curse turning Azor into a Beast is lifted and they all live happily ever after.

Musically, there is absolutely much to admire. It is a a lyrical and beautifully orchestrated opera-comique with many gorgeous moments shared between the singers and members of the chamber ensemble.

Andrew Griffiths conducts with the right balance of flair and precision necessary for music of this period. He shapes everything with care and allows both musicians and singers space to shine.

There is not a weak link in the cast. In the title roles, Ffion Edwards and Gwilym Bowen showcase their voices to perfection, handling the challenging demands of the score with apparent ease. Samuel Pantcheff (Sandro) has a rich, warm sound that is right for the part, which has one of the largest ranges of any baritone role in the repertoire.

Andrew Irwin uses his bright, characterful tenor to deliver much humour and personality to the role of the servant, Ali. And the cast is rounded out by the two other sisters. Lesbia (Rachel Roper) and Fatima (Sian Dicker) who blend their voices perfectly in what are, sadly, underwritten and underused roles.

This is music making of the highest order and whilst the material is not hugely memorable, it is a delight to hear performed so well.

For all the beauty and elegance of the score, it is a opera with many issues in terms of the plot and the drama. It is lacking in drama and tension with key moments, like the departure of Zemira, not even shown on stage only reported by other characters. It is not uncommon for operas to lacking dramaturgically speaking but, that said, the beauty of the music does mask some of these shortcomings.

The venue, Cokethorpe School, has many virtues – it is a lovely environment with more than adequate parking and plenty of space in which to enjoy a summer evening. The auditorium is not ideal for a theatrical presentation. Because it lacks a proper stage, the orchestra is on the same level as the singers and thus sight lines are badly compromised meaning that large parts of the action are obscured to significant sections of the audience. The staging is inventive with good use of technology to move things along. But the fact that the whole audience could not see all of the action is to be regretted.

All in all, there is absolutely much to enjoy. Bampton Classical Opera is a gem that should be cherished for doing what it does so well.

Amongst England's summer opera companies, there's no doubt Bampton Classical Opera is one of the most enchanting, original and unique...

Co-founder Jeremy Gray has evolved a marvellously idiosyncratic house style: his stagings are full of the teasing and unpredictable, the cheeky and unflappable, so that every Bampton staging emerges chock-full of clever and artful ideas: plots are invariably fast-moving and zany; moves are slick and dotty and finessed; characters are just as humorous: he has a gift for turning harmless types into irrepressible, energetic and vigorous personalities; or into hopeless, clumsy, disaster-prone idiots.

not only does Bampton perform in English, but it does so in brand new translations made by co-founder Gilly French. These joyous versions have everything to applaud about them. They are fabulously entertaining. loaded with skilfully devised comic detail, full of splendid rhymes, scrupulously accurate, meticulously abreast of all the subtleties and secrets and clever intricacies of the original, in fact expert in every way. Cheekiness, flair, ribaldry, impishness, bustling energy, naughtiness - these are the Bampton preserve. These supremely desirable versions really do deserve preserving.

Bampton's speciality - unique in the UK - has always been to revive composers and works that have - sometimes inexplicably - faded from the repertoire. Their initiative in this respect is staggering. They do a massive service by enlarging and tremendously enhancing our view of the repertoire

Typically, there's masses of fun in this latest, classic Bampton production. It's teasing and hilarious from the very start

Soon we meet the hyperactive Ali's hard-pressed master, Sandro (Samuel Pantcheff) whose agonies over his appalling material losses - like Antonio in The Merchant of Venice, his ships have been wrecked - are naturally all the greater. Pantcheff shone in all respects: capable in recitative, distinctive in each of his smooth-flowing, appetising arias.

Bowen, superbly characterised in the role, edgy, snarling, aggressive, is unremittingly terrifying. 

Fatima's beautifully crafted aria (soprano Siân Dicker) unexpectedly lends the Act character. Hers - the music in a couple of places in this opera was, for whatever reason, borrowed or poached from Italian Niccolò Jommelli, 1714-74 - was palpably a highlight of the entire music.

[Zemira] is enchanted and unexpectedly thrilled, responding with a truly gorgeous extended, melodious aria, with horns and high-reaching flute, that evokes a rapturous songbird.

Lesbia (mezzo Rachel Roper), tries to allay things and calm everyone's mood (another superb moment)

impeccably balanced by excellent conductor and finessed continuo provider Andrew Griffiths. 

What was clear was the joy and vitality that, as always, Bampton Classical Opera brought to yet another stagework. If anyone could bring to life the Mozart-like qualities lurking within it, they certainly could.

(for the complete, lengthy article, please follow this link).

The performance last night was superlative. You showed such ingenuity in the use of the space at Cokethorpe. The two stages, the placement of the orchestra between and their performance of such unfamiliar music, the light projection on the ceiling, the use of ‘live streaming’, the costumes, the direction, the libretto, the casting and the voices were all magnificent… I was about to type ‘onward and upward’ but I wonder how in the world you can improve on such a magnificent performance.

a delightful piece with gorgeous music, excellent cast, direction and a very singable translation

Last night's performance was a magnificent success… most particularly in promoting enjoyment and understanding of the music, which was sung and played with real brilliance

Atmospheric music, perfectly attune to the story and scenes, particularly the thunder and lightning. Fantastic voices. Brilliant Azor costume. Creative split scene production and technical effects.

The last opera I saw was Tosca at Glyndebourne.  I enjoyed Monday [at Westonbirt] more.