More substantive than such distractions is the basic set design, whose pluses and minuses could be legitimately disputed. The ruling structure is the stage of the Comédie, cleverly set up in Act 1 to first accommodate the dressing tables of the actors and show us the bustle of backstage preparations, then to allow us to catch glimpses from the wings of Adrianna and La Duclos as they enact their monologues. This last would seem advantageous. But when we’re allowed to peek at something, we often will, and as I gazed at La Netrebko (I think it was her) miming the big speech, wondering if these moves actually bore any relation to Roxane’s, and why on earth she would keep backing far upstage, then down again, during such an important monologue, I had to snap to and remind myself that what the scene is about is Michonnet’s reception of the onstage happenings—this is his monologue, “Ah, stupenda! mirabile!“, brimming with his sad love for Adrianna, his pride in his pupil. And when I did focus back on Maestri, all I saw was a fellow standing politely where positioned, singing as earlier described but brimming with nothing much in either voice or body.

In Act II (the Seine-side villa of La Duclos) this structure is moved out; in Act III (the ballroom) it is back, serving handily enough for the dance and Adriana’s Phèdre recitation. And it stays with us for Act IV, looming over Adriana’s little sitting room where, attended by Michonnet, she will sing to her poisoned dead flowers, reunite fleetingly with her true love, and die. Then, during the final bars of music, the assembled comedians line up on the lip of the structure and bow to us as the curtain falls. I understand the thought of the stage as Adriana’s raison d’être. I know that in her delirium she becomes Melpomene. But what the opera says is that true love is finally of more importance than anything else to all the characters—more important to Adriana even than her acting, to Maurizio even than his military or political exploits, and to Michonnet even than his ambition to become a sociétaire. It’s private life, life away from the stage, where real love and real death happen, and I think that’s where we should be at the end.

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NEXT TIME: For lovers of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, part of the work’s fascination is with the maze of meanings that give rise to the mysteries of its unique score. This season’s revival of the Jonathan Miller production, with Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducting, affords an opportunity to enter the maze once again. On Friday, Feb. 15.

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