The topic of transnationalism will not be an unfamiliar one to scholars of nineteenth-century music. In the broadest terms, studies of musical transnationalism seek to challenge any sense of fixed national boundaries, and to highlight the myriad ways in which the movement of individuals can complicate our understanding of national musical styles. The exploration of these international and mobile musical networks has been a fruitful line of enquiry for scholars of opera, with France – and particularly Paris – emerging as a vibrant cosmopolitan centre for cultural exchange. Many Italian musicians were attracted to the French capital with the promise of greater financial rewards, as well as the prestige afforded by working in the Parisian theatre scene.Footnote ¹ Both Benjamin WaltonFootnote ² and Sarah HibberdFootnote ³ have added greatly to our understanding of the work of Italian musicians in France, demonstrating that their presence was highly influential in the French operatic world. Indeed, the study of mobility presents a challenge to simplistic ideas of operatic ‘Frenchness’. After all, the French operatic tradition is not defined by the work of French musicians alone, but rather is the result of numerous convergences of genre and style afforded by the movement of composers and performers from across the globe – including the Italians.Footnote ⁴ However, outside the forums of scholarly debate, these discussions of mobility, cosmopolitanism, translation, language, and stylistic influence are perhaps paths less well-trodden.

Boulevard des Italiens, the most recent album release from French tenor Benjamin Bernheim, launches these ideas well and truly into the public sphere. The album offers a new perspective on the Italians in nineteenth-century Paris, presenting a programme of operatic repertoire in French written by Italian composers. Produced by Deutsche Grammaphon and supported by the Palazzetto Bru Zane in Venice – home of the Centre de la Musique Romantique Française and itself producer of many fine recordings in recent yearsFootnote ⁵ – this disc brings together a broad programme, covering both classics and a number of lesser-known works. Bernheim, whose career boasts performances at many of Europe's major opera houses, is particularly known for his interpretations of French and Italian lyric roles. Questions of language are central concerns in this recording – a number of tracks appear in French translation, and not under the Italian titles by which they might be better known. For the purposes of clarity within the context of this review, I refer to both the tracks and operas themselves by the French titles given on the album.

Bernheim opens his programme with an excerpt from Madame Butterfly (1904), Pinkerton's Act III aria, ‘Adieu, séjour fleuri!’. The French libretto for the opera's first Parisian performance in 1906 was the work of Paul Ferrier, who had previously collaborated with Puccini on translations of La Bohème and Tosca. However, this new libretto was not, as Alexandre Dratwicki's liner notes for the disc clarify, a purely translational exercise (9). Instead, Puccini – who had been unhappy with the first versions of the opera – saw the French translation as an opportunity to revise the work, overseeing the changes himself. Puccini's publisher Ricordi subsequently translated Ferrier's French libretto back into Italian, and it is this version that has endured as Butterfly today.Footnote ⁶ Bernheim's performance of this aria is rich and lyrical, lusciously backed by the Orchestra del Teatro Communale di Bologna under Frédéric Chaslin. For those who are familiar with the Italian, Ferrier's French text does require a little adjustment for the listener – but it does not take long for the ear to adapt.

No stranger to the Parisian stage, Donizetti makes a number of appearances in this album's programme, beginning with a pair of arias from La Fille du régiment (1840) and La Favorite (also 1840), which premiered at the Opéra-Comique and the Opéra respectively. For both operas, Donizetti composed to an original French libretto – the first time he had done so rather than using a translation. Tonio's Act II romance from La Fille du régiment (‘Pour me rapprocher de Marie’), remains a favourite for tenor soloists for its charming melodies and expansive top notes. Bernheim offers a classy interpretation, showcasing a voice that seems perfectly suited to this repertoire. ‘Ange si pur que dans un songe’ from Act IV of La Favorite, presents a complementary romance. Dratwicki's liner notes make sure to highlight the ‘Parisian “fashion” of Donizetti's orchestration and use of rich instrumental colour’ (7), although on this occasion Bernheim arguably falls a little short of matching the mellifluous nuance of the accompaniment.

After the Donizetti double bill, Bernheim's programme takes a chronological leap forward to include four entries from Verdi's Don Carlos (1867): ‘Fontainebleau! forêt immense et solitaire!’ and ‘Je l'ai vue’ from Act I, and ‘Le voilà, c'est l'enfant! – Ô mon Rodrigue!’ and ‘Dieu, tu semas dans nos âmes’ from Act II. Although more often performed in Italian translation (as Don Carlo), it was Joseph Méry and Camille du Locle's French-language libretto that first premiered at the Salle de Pelletier in 1867. Baritone Florian Sempey joins Bernheim for the latter two tracks, providing a pleasing contrast to the previous solo work. The blend of their voices is generally excellent, barring some awkward moments in some of the more text-heavy passages and a few unsettled unison phrases in the final track of the set.

Bernheim returns to his solo programme with another romance from Donizetti, this time from Dom Sébastien, roi du Portugal (1843). Sébastien's Act II aria, ‘Seul sur la terre’, begins with a serene introduction spotlighting the harp and the horn – two hallmark features, adds Dratwicki, of mid-century French orchestration (7). It is this track more than any other that showcases Bernheim's full vocal range. After three high Cs sung in a strong (if slightly unrefined) full voice, he reaches the top D-flat, marked doux in the score, with apparent ease.

Two entries from Spontini's La Vestale (1807) – an orchestral prelude and Licinius's aria ‘Qu'ai-je vu! quels apprêts! … Julia va mourir!’ – mark the earliest point chronologically on the album, and serve as a welcome move towards a different musical mood. It is in these tracks that the Orchestra del Teatro Communale di Bologna really shines. The strings expertly handle the transition between the atmospheric prelude and the more turbulent introduction of the aria itself, and the winds are robust without ever being overpowering. The energy and drama of Bernheim's vocal performance fully matches that of the orchestra, and he elegantly captures the shifts of light and shade throughout the aria. While La Vestale may not be as well-known as some of the other entries on this album, this pair of tracks serves as a real dramatic high point of the disc.

Verdi's second appearance in Bernheim's lineup includes two arias from Jérusalem (1847), the French translation and adaptation of I Lombardi (1843) for the Académie Royale de Musique. Verdi was drawn to the musical and dramatic possibilities offered by grand opera, and felt that I Lombardi was most suited to translation for the Parisian stage.Footnote ⁷ However, this was no small undertaking. The process of reworking I Lombardi required significant modifications to the setting and action, but also resulted in major musical changes – to the extent that Verdi himself described Jérusalem as essentially unrecognizable from its predecessor.Footnote ⁸ Bernheim presents two arias from Jérusalem, ‘L’émir auprès de lui m'appelle’ and ‘Je veux encor entendre ta voix’. Those familiar with I Lombardi will recognize the latter as ‘La mia letizia infondere’ – again, listeners might find themselves needing to reprogramme their ear from Italian to French. While Bernheim's rendition might lack some of the lightness of tone evident in the equivalent recordings of I Lombardi (a notable example being those of Pavarotti), he still shapes the French text of the Jérusalem arias with great skill and subtlety.

The next two tracks are drawn from Cherubini's Ali-Baba, ou les Quarante Voleurs (1833), which boasted an original French libretto by leading writers Eugène Scribe and Mélesville (the nom de plume of Baron Anne-Honoré-Joseph Duveyrier). After a lukewarm reception at its premiere, Ali-Baba is rarely performed today – but Bernheim shines a light on two arias: ‘C'en est donc fait, plus d'espérance!’ and ‘C'est de toi, ma Délie, que dépendait mon sort’. Once again, the lyrical quality of Bernheim's voice is ideally suited to this repertoire, especially the quieter, more tender moments. The high Cs of ‘C'est de toi’ present him with no problem; his top notes are delicate without ever being fragile. For a lesser-known opera like Ali-Baba, then, the opportunity of inclusion on a disc such as Boulevard des Italiens – especially with a performer of Bernheim's calibre at the helm – is a valuable one.

The programme then makes another major time leap, this time forwards to the turn of the twentieth century and Mascagni's Amica (1905), the only work on the album to receive its first performance outside of Paris.Footnote ⁹ Amica was Mascagni's sole attempt to write an opera to a French libretto, which was provided by Paul de Choudens under the pen name Paul Bérel. However, despite a warm reception at its debut, Amica did not secure a lasting place in the operatic repertoire, in either its French original or the Italian translation that followed. Bernheim presents Giorgio's aria from Act I, split over two tracks: ‘Amica! Vous restez à l’écart’ and ‘Pourquoi garder ce silence obstiné?’. Stylish and full of tender feeling, Bernheim's interpretation of Mascagni's melodies is quite simply exquisite. Along with the two arias from La Vestale, these numbers are surely a highlight of the recording.

Bernheim then presents one final entry from Verdi, from Les Vêpres siciliennes (1855). This was Verdi's second attempt at writing grand opera for the Parisian stage, although this time, he wrote to a French libretto (by Scribe and Charles Duveyrier) rather than reworking an existing opera as he had done with I Lombardi. Premiered to great acclaim at the Paris Opéra, Les Vêpres siciliennes nevertheless struggled to establish itself in the mainstream repertory and remains relatively obscure. The aria presented here, Henri's ‘Ô toi que j'ai chérie’ from Act IV, does not date from the original 1855 version, but was a later addition for the 1863 revival (composed for the tenor Pierre-François Villaret) to replace ‘Ô jour de peine’. Bernheim's performance in this aria is excellent, characterized by the warmth and richness of his voice throughout.

Puccini's Tosca (1900) closes the album, featuring another libretto translated by Ferrier, with Cavaradossi's Act I aria ‘Ô de beautés égales dissemblance féconde!’. As with the other entries in this collection that are better-known in Italian, the French text does require a little linguistic recalibration – but this does not prevent ‘Ô de beautés’ from being a fitting finale to the disc. It is perhaps with this final track that we hear the Orchestra del Teatro Communale di Bologna at its best. The shimmering dissonances of the opening string figure are pure atmospheric magic, with serene winds floating above. Bernheim excels here as elsewhere, though he fittingly leaves his most expansive note until the very last bars.

***

As is perhaps already evident from these earlier summaries, language and translation are central concerns in Boulevard des Italiens. While all of the tracks are in French, Dratwicki's liner notes are careful to elucidate the differing circumstances by which these texts came about. In many cases, such as La Fille du regiment, La Favorite, and Amica, the French is the original text, where the composer worked directly alongside native-speaking librettists in order to create a work for the Parisian theatres. Others are translations from Italian originals – and in more cases than one, these translations then formed part of a significant revision (in the case of Madama Butterfly) or drastic rescoping (in the case of Jérusalem) of the initial works. As they were not working in their native language, the relationships of these Italian composers with their French librettists or translators were key to their working lives– and are, in themselves, worthy of more extensive scholarly attention. Furthermore, while Bernheim himself is singing in his native tongue, bringing with it the appropriate textual shaping of sung French, there are occasional moments where one senses that some nuance of an Italian text may have been lost. Perhaps this is due to the reviewer having listened to French and Italian versions of the same aria in quick succession – for example, to compare I Lombardi's ‘La mia letizia infondere’ with Jérusalem's ‘Je veux encor entendre ta voix’ – but listeners may still notice these moments even without the aid of an immediate comparison. This is by no means the fault of Bernheim, who tackles his repertoire with great vocal dexterity and skill. Indeed, such moments are perhaps inevitable when dealing with music in translation – but it is nevertheless a quirk that may require a certain re-programming of the listening ear.

The scope of Bernheim's project is ambitious, as its 18 tracks (spanning almost a hundred years) allow for enormous musical variety. However, it is peculiar that an album with this particular remit includes not a single entry from Rossini, whose years in Paris resulted in a number of French-language operas that would have been very much at home in this collection. Rossini's output, too, would have engaged with the questions of language prompted by the disc, whether in his reworkings of Italian-language operas, such as Le siège de Corinthe (1826), Moïse et Pharaon (1827), and Le comte Ory (1828), or brand-new works to a French libretto such as Guillaume Tell (1829). Dratwicki's liner note attests that Rossini is the ‘undisputed leading light of the Théâtre-Italien’ (7), though no explanation is provided for his omission from the album's lineup. Although Rossini might have been something of an obvious choice, it is certainly a shame that those shaping the programme for this album did not seize the opportunity to highlight some of his lesser-known works – especially given the emphasis elsewhere on music that has not survived as part of today's mainstream operatic repertory.

Omission of Rossini aside, it must also be said that the logic behind the ordering of the disc's tracks – which proceeds neither chronologically nor by composer – is not immediately apparent. Bernheim's programme instead interweaves works from different periods, resulting in some major time leaps between tracks. This approach does introduce more variety than a chronological approach might have done, although the decision to bookend the track list with Puccini does mean that the album begins, slightly oddly, with an ‘Adieu’. Furthermore, it is worth noting that Dratwicki's liner notes – printed in English and German translation along with the French original – do not discuss the tracks in the play order, but rather chronologically. This is almost certainly an easier task for Dratwicki, allowing him to draw out more clearly the influences and networks between the album's featured composers, but the differing orders do slightly hinder comparative reading while listening. These are but minor quibbles, taking the form of observations rather than complaints; these small details certainly do not mar the impact of an otherwise impressive whole.

In sum, the rich and varied programme presented by Bernheim, Chaslin and the Orchestra del Teatro Communale di Bologna captures a century-long cultural phenomenon of the Italians in Paris. The mixture of established classics with little-known operas is greatly welcomed, as the recording shines a spotlight on some neglected gems. Immaculately produced and beautifully presented, Boulevard des Italiens adds much to our understanding of operatic mobility during the long nineteenth century, and makes a fitting addition both to Bernheim's output with Deutsche Grammophon, and to the growing lineup of recordings produced by the Palazzetto Bru Zane.