There are several other aspects of Arabella that for me have constituted barriers to full acceptance, along with those that do beguile. But they are best explored through immersion in performance. And so:

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My introduction to Arabella—and that of most American devotees of the time, I’m sure—was through the Metropolitan Opera’s premiere production, first via the broadcast of 1955 (with Eleanor Steber, Hilde Gueden, and George London, under Rudolph Kempe) and then live two years later, with Lisa della Casa replacing Steber (thus completing the trio that had already sung these roles together in Vienna) and Erich Leinsdorf succeeding Kempe. That’s the same cast of principals heard on the opera’s first studio recording, with the Vienna Philharmonic under Solti and with welcome upgrades for the Waldners (Ira Malaniuk and Otto Edelmann) and the splendid Matteo of Anton Dermota. So it’s not surprising that my preparation for the current revival began by sampling that, along with the disc of excerpts recorded around the same time, with Elizabeth Schwarzkopf and Josef Metternich, Anny Felbermayer as Zdenka and Nicolai Gedda in a brief but invigorating appearance as Matteo, and conducted by Lovro von Matacic with the Philharmonia Orchestra. I also re-listened to Arabella’s half-hour of highlights from Dresden in 1943 under Karl Böhm, with Margarete Teschemacher, Matthieu Ahlersmeyer, and Christel Goltz in the three leading roles. ^(I)It was with these refreshments in mind that I headed down to Lincoln Center for this fall’s revival.

With the Schenk/Schneider-Siemssen team, we know we are in traditional, anti-Konzept territory regarding both physical production and character behavior. And with a production created in 1983 and revived several times since with no important carryovers from the last iteration, we know we are not seeing a performance that has the benefit of either deep ensemble familiarity or the fresh creation and rehearsal time that would be granted a new production. In the light of that, and in view of the specialness of the piece, I think we could say that the performance went quite well. I had a good impression of the conductor, Nicholas Carter, who kept this challenging, inconsistently inspired opera moving well without over-driving it. There was nothing slovenly—everyone hit his or her marks alertly. But I doubt that the performance won many converts. Before evaluating it, let’s take a look at the major roles.

Arabella’s an unusual young woman. For a time, Strauss had trouble seeing what Hofmannsthal was getting at with her character, or how that could be shown in stage action. In December of 1927 (still fairly early in the opera’s development), Hofmannsthal saw her as a “thoroughly mature, wide-awake young girl . . . completely the mistress of the situation,” and suggested a kinship with some of Shaw’s heroines—he mentions G. B. S.’s St. Joan. In other words, a self-assured young person who is steadfast in her convictions and unruffled by the obstacles she encounters. And what is the situation of which she is completely the mistress? She must marry. She may be “modern,” but she stays within her social expectations, and has a sense of moral duty according to their code. If she does not marry, and marry well, her beloved, gambling-addicted Papa and her beloved, fortune-telling-besotted Mama will be out on the street. That is unthinkable. The candidates? She has had some feeling for Matteo, but he’s an impecunious army officer, pleading pitiably. Of the three Counts who besiege her, Elemer is clearly in post position, though she seems to have the tenderest feelings for Lamoral. She handles them all with the deftness of an experienced sophisticate. If the right person, “der Richtige,” does not appear—and soon, for instance tonight, at the Faschingsdienstag Fiakerball (Shrove Tuesday’s Coachmen’s Ball), of which Arabella is to be declared the Queen—she will have to settle on Elemer. And, without doubt, will. Arabella’s a long role, not particularly challenging with respect to compass (three quick touchdowns—in Act 3 over light orchestration or none at all—on the A below middle C, otherwise the C on the bottom; a couple of high Bs in passing and a few sustained B-flats at the top), but requiring advanced control, technically and expressively, of the long line in upper-middle tessitura—and, we hope, with the words still recognizable. Her excursions below the passaggio are only a few, but they are all important (the opening of “Aber der Richtige,” for instance; several phrases in her “Mein Elemer!” monologue in Act 1 and in the opening pages of the final duologue, “Das war sehr gut, Mandryka“). So the lower range needs to be firm. The bulk of the role is beautifully, songfully set, but I find (others obviously disagree) that at a couple of crucial junctures, of which the end-of-Act 1 monologue, “Mein Elemer!,” is the most important, Strauss did not find his way into the heart of things. The writing is expert and intelligent, of course, and I hear the gestures that are intended to reflect the scene’s pensiveness, its development of thoughts and moods. But melodically and structurally, it doesn’t quite fulfill what seems to be there.