In Act 1 (this work, though only thirty-eight minutes long, is divided into five acts, like a  Meyerbeer grand opera in miniature), Tintagiles, a preadolescent boy, and Ygraine, one of his two older sisters, stand on a hill overlooking a half-ruined castle, which lies below them in an airless, shadowed hollow. The boy has just arrived from an ocean voyage, summoned by the elderly queen who reigns in the castle. Ygraine’s opening speeches are not in the line of sisterly comfort. She predicts a dark and stormy night, and then relates some family history: after the death of her aged father and the disappearance of two brothers without a trace, she and her sister, Bellangère, live here alone with their elderly retainer, Aglovale. They never see the old queen, their grandmother, and are forbidden the parts of the castle that lead to her quarters. The queen has three maidservants, wishes to reign alone, and now, as Tintagiles approaches manhood, has brought him to the castle . . .

The remainder of the piece takes place in the castle, and is the logical working-out of this premise. The two sisters and old Aglovale are determined to shield Tintagiles. But Bellangère, on an excursion through an open door into corridors leading to the base of the tower, has heard the three maidservants in whispered conversations, laughing as they speak of a child that has arrived. She is certain something is going to be attempted that evening. In the first confrontation, after sounds in the corridor and the turning of a key, the grand door to the room they are defending slowly opens a crack. After a struggle, the sisters and Aglovale succeed in shutting it; they have saved Tintagiles! But next, in the corridor outside this same apartment, the maidservants plot a new assault. The sisters are sleeping now, embracing Tintagiles with their hair twined about him. The maidservants enter, shear the sisters’ hair, and seize Tintagiles. The sisters awaken too late. In the final scene, Ygraine has come to a heavy door in the depths of the castle. Tintagiles can be heard from the other side, but Ygraine is unable to force the door, and can only listen to his cries as female hands close around his throat and he falls silent.

Reimann’s idea of combining these three pieces into a single opera is ingenious, and the musical layout builds compellingly, provided one does not reject its language out of hand. As with any opera, its impact is much conditioned by its performance, of which we have here the musical portion. To discuss what seem to me the positive elements first:

The orchestra is a superior one, and like most high-quality contemporary ensembles, seems entirely comfortable within this idiom. The recording, taken from a total of four in-theatre and broadcast performances with a short follow-up patching session, is excellent. If asked about Runnicles’ conducting, my only honest answer would be “How do I know?” I’m just meeting the piece, without either a score or alternative readings for comparison purposes. But everything sounds on point. Among the singers, the women do well throughout. By far the heaviest assignment belongs to the soprano Rachel Harnisch, who sings Ursula in The Intruder (Reimann has conflated the three daughters into this one, the eldest), Marie (one of the Old Man’s two granddaughters) in Intérieur, and Ygraine—a demanding role both vocally and emotionally—in Tintagiles. Her intonation is keen, her command of the spiky tessitura is complete, and her dramatic commitment is palpable. This isn’t just a “Modern Music” voice; I’d like to hear it in classical repertory and, of course, live. Two mezzos, Annika Schlicht (Marthe in Interior and Bellangère in Tintagiles) and Ronita Miller (a maidservant interrogated by the family in The Intruder) also sing solidly and meaningfully.