Two of Rosenthal’s reservations probably reflect the mudslide in expectations that has occurred in the 61 years since this performance. It’s true that Blanc’s Count is less of any Mozartean “school” than the other principals’ contributions—there’s not much snap or rhetorical spark to his work. But he had a large voice of superior quality, in good technical balance, and his failures are strictly those of omission, not commission; he’s more than listenable. And I don’t understand the dismissal of Giorgio Tadeo’s Bartolo, which Rosenthal calls “not really adequate.” My notes read “Tadeo: expert, and a full, beautiful voice.” Perhaps he didn’t register quite that way in the Royal Albert’s roomy confines.

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With my Figaro receptors back in working order, I returned to the trailhead—a few steps before it, actually, in recording terms, since although the Met’s restoration to the repertory had occurred in February of 1940, the San Francisco Opera hit the airwaves first, in October of 1940, with the same cast as that of the Met’s premiere save for the smallest roles. Unfortunately, only Act 2 of the San Francisco performance was broadcast. But that’s still worth a listen, since the Met’s transmission a little less than two months later involved two important cast changes (Susanna and Cherubino), as well as a different conductor. Whereas both the similarities and differences of the performances are most easily discussed in relation to the more complete one, I’ll move on to it, keeping comparisons in mind.^(I)

Short of performances of Italian origin, we could not do much better in search of the Italian essence of Figaro than this Met performance, conducted by Ettore Panizza with top-of-the-line Italian artists, all in prime form, in two of the principal and the two most important “character” roles. To our ears, it is also a period performance, and I’d say that the outstanding characteristic of this Italian Period rendition is an unpremeditated quality.^(II) It never smacks of The Studies. It assumes that everything important to the work is lying right there on the surface, needing only to be recognized and animated by the performers. Although, within Panizza’s framework, Pinza’s Figaro is the linchpin of the performance, and all the arias benefit from major voices, the Italian and Period elements come together most interestingly in the recitatives and ensembles. I recall the reaction of a close colleague and friend at the time of this set’s first release. Like all us devotees of ’40s and ’50s upbringing, he was familiar with much of the Pinza discography, including the album of Mozart arias under Bruno Walter, and so, he said, “I knew the arias would be terrific, but I wasn’t ready for the recitatives.”