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Rimsky Korsakov’s third opera
The Snow Maiden
(premiered 1882) draws upon pagan Russian folklore (albeit mediated through a fairly recent play by Alexander Ostrovsky) about the appeasing of the sun god Yarilo, who is jealous of the relationship between Grandfather Frost and Spring Beauty, which resulted in the birth of the eponymous Snow Maiden. Ever since, winters have been long and harsh, and Yarilo doesn’t relent in withholding heat and light until she is sacrificed. That can only happen when her icy heart thaws by feeling the warmth of human love, and so she melts and disappears.
Olivia Fuchs’s production for English Touring Opera interprets the tale in a more or less realist way (even if with a pared down set) as a domestic coming of age story – so, perhaps as something like a Chekhov drama, although Fuchs does cite Jung’s principle of individuation, that is, a person’s process of personal development as learned in relation to a collective unconscious, which is presumably the reason for rendering the title character simply as ‘Snowmaiden’ (dropping the definite article to give her a proper noun for a name, and to make her a more personalised figure, rather than an archetype or allegory). Here she seeks to escape her loveless, austere upbringing (as presided over by her strict father) and, like Rusalka, to enter the world of human beings and find out what moves and motivates them. Although she experiences disappointment and rejection by Lel, and violence at Mizgir’s hands, the opera’s original scenario isn’t as straightforwardly tragic as Dvořák’s folkloric opera. But Fuchs reinstates an element of myth at the end – and a note of optimism – as Snowmaiden doesn’t disappear for good, but is transfigured into adulthood, and leads the dancing of the festive final chorus, hailing light, life and love. Even her abusive suitor, Mizgir, isn’t killed off by letting him fall into oblivion in a lake, as in the original, but is raised to greater insight and humanity through Snowmaiden, as he is seen prostrate before her, as though worshipping a goddess. (For much of the time, Snowmaiden is elevated on a small square dais that constitutes one of the few parts of the set, centring the drama upon her predicament and development, and the expectation of her as a sacrificial victim, until it is angrily pulled apart by Mizgir in his moment of frustration, which paradoxically liberates her from confinement.)
Patrick Bailey’s reduced orchestration, given here by the ETO orchestra with no more than two to any instrumental part, inevitably dilutes some of the colour of Rimsky Korsakov’s score, and smaller numbers means less drama and impact overall. If Hannah Quinn’s conducting doesn’t always move it on with sufficient vigour, the performance does emphasise a more intimate dimension of the music, and exposes the players’ various contributions: one violin solo is a little wayward, but there are some expressive clarinet lines (presumably from Sacha Rattle). Over that is a songful, ballad-like quality to the vocal setting which the cast generally capture rather well. Ffion Edwards characterises Snowmaiden’s timidity and quietness persuasively, contrasting with the more forthcoming temperaments of Edward Hawkins and Hannah Sandison as her parents, the former brusque, the latter more upbeat and encouraging to her daughter.
Spring Beauty’s emerald attire is mimicked in the bright green corset dress worn by Joseph Doody’s transgendered Tsar (less the fur shrug) for no reason that seems obvious from the production. But insofar as the Tsar’s benign authority is exercised both when Kupava seeks redress for Mizgir’s breach of promise to her before he casts his attentions on Snowmaiden, and also in general to do something about the country’s lovelessness and cold-heartedness, the idea appears to be that his power and charisma is to be construed as a constructive, feminine quality, as against the destructive, masculine one represented by Grandfather Frost and Mizgir, whose actions block personal development (in this respect, it’s probably telling, too, that the harmless songster Lel, a possible candidate for Snowmaiden’s affections but who eventually settles for Kupava, was written as a trouser role for a contralto singer). Where Doody sings with a reedy facility, Kitty Whately contrives an elusive charm in the songs with which Lel entertains the assembled peasants or seeks to woo.
Other parts are taken idiomatically, notably Edmund Danon’s brazen, slightly gruff Mizgir, Katherine McIndoe’s extrovert Kupava, and Jack Dolan’s quirky Bobyl who takes Snowmaiden in as a foster daughter. At a time when the arts sector has to contend with scarce resources, it is a commendable achievement by ETO to risk mounting a comparatively rare work, which they bring off with vitality and imagination.
Further performances at various location to 16 November 2024
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