Leoš Janáček (1854-1928)
The Makropulos Affair JW 1/10 (1923-25)
Marie Collier (soprano) – Emilia Marty; Gregory Dempsey (tenor) – Albert Gregor; Raimund Herincx (baritone) – Jaroslav Prus; Eric Shilling, (bass-baritone) – Doctor Kolenatý
Male Chorus and Orchestra of Sadler’s Wells Opera / Charles Mackerras
rec. live, 21 February, 1964, Sadler’s Wells Theatre, London
The Diary of One Who Disappeared, JW V/12 (1917-19, rev. 1921)
Richard Lewis (tenor); Maureen Forrester (contralto); Three women’s voices from the BBC Singers; Ernest Lush (piano)
rec. 3 July, 1956, BBC Studios
Both works sung in English. Texts available at somm-recordings.com/5044libretto  
SOMM Recordings Ariadne 5044-2 [2CDs: 137]

With this set, SOMM Recordings pays a handsome tribute to Sir Charles Mackerras, the centenary of whose birth fell on 17 November 2025. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, Mackerras (1925-2010) made a series of studio recordings of the major Janáček operas for Decca in Vienna. Widely acclaimed at the time of their initial release, those recordings remain a benchmark to this day. The Vienna recordings helped significantly to widen appreciation of the works in question but even by then Janáček’s major operas had started to establish a firm place in the repertoire. Sir Charles (he was knighted in 1979) played a leading role in raising awareness of these scores outside Czechoslovakia and this live recording of The Makropulos Affair is a significant example of just how he did it. This recording preserves the fourth in a series of performances of the opera; these were the first UK performances of the work. The opera was sung in an English translation, which was made specially for this production by Norman Tucker (1910-1978). Tucker’s work seems entirely convincing; the story is told clearly and the dialogue is taut and idiomatic.

SOMM’s booklet includes an exemplary booklet essay by Nigel Simeone on which I have drawn for background information in this review. Mackerras arrived in the UK from Australia in 1947 and initially made a living as an orchestral oboist. Later that year, Mackerras, newly married, obtained a British Council Scholarship which enabled him to go to study conducting with Václav Talich at the Prague Academy of Music; he and his wife went off to spend a year in Czechoslovakia, which must have been quite a daunting proposition so soon after the end of World War II. I’m not clear whether Mackerras was primarily attracted to Czech music or to the prospect of study with such an important conductor as Talich, but in the event the two things came together. Simeone relates that not long after arriving in Prague, Mackerras and his wife went to see a performance of Káta Kabanová, conducted by Talich; this was something of an epiphany for Charles Mackerras. During his time in Czechoslovakia, Mackerras saw nearly all of the Janáček operas. Simeone includes a lengthy quotation from the conductor’s later recollection of his time in Prague from which the following extract caught my eye: ‘I also had an opportunity of experiencing the different styles of Janáček performances which obtained in Czechoslovakia: the “Prague style”, led by Talich, who brought out the smooth lyricism of Janáček, sometimes even “beautifying” Janáček’s often rough orchestration to give the music more luscious, even Straussian colours; and the “Brno style”, which kept rigorously to Janáček’s orchestration as he wrote it, “warts and all”’. It was the “Brno style” which particularly attracted Mackerras and which he adopted during his years of proselytising Janáček’s music. As early as 1951, Mackerras gave the UK premiere of Káta Kabanová. Nigel Simeone details in his essay a number of productions of various Janáček operas, conducted by others, in the following years, despite which the composer’s operas struggled to gain wide acceptance. To be honest, I’m not surprised. As I listened to this fine performance of The Makropulos Affair I reflected more than once how strange and even wild much of the music must have seemed to British audiences of that era, added to which the plot was, shall we say, somewhat unusual.  

Simeone reminds us that the libretto of the opera was devised by Janáček himself and is based on the play of the same name by Karel Čapek (1890-1938). He relates that Janáček saw the play in 1922 and immediately sought permission to use the play as the basis for an opera. He began work in November 1923 and, by a nice piece of symmetry, finished the opera in December 1925, the month after Charles Mackerras was born. The plot is weird. The ‘case’ referred to in the title is an old probate case, which has been in dispute for the best part of 100 years. Unknown to the rival claimants of the estate, the assets of the estate include some documents, one of which is the formula for a life-extending elixir. The opera singer, Emilia Marty shows great interest in the case; though Emilia appears young and beautiful her real identity is Elina Makropulos, a woman from Crete, who has lived for 337 years. Elina’s father was the court alchemist to Emperor Rudolf II (1552-1612); he it was who devised the formula. Elina, then sixteen years old, was obliged to drink the elixir and she has lived through a variety of identities ever since (the initials of each one bear the initials EM). As we join the action, this centuries-old tale is about to reach its dénouement.

Sadler’s Wells assembled a strong cast for this UK premiere. One of the many virtues of the cast is that, without exception, their diction is excellent. Another, equally priceless virtue is that all the singers are fully engaged with their respective characters; as a result, we hear a compellingly dramatic performance. I’m certain Nigel Simeone is right to say that the performance was properly ‘run in’ by the time the BBC broadcast this, the fourth of a run of six; that’s certainly the impression I got from listening. I must admit I was hooked right from the off by the tremendous energy with which Mackerras and the orchestra deliver the Prelude.   

Inevitably – and rightly – the opera is dominated by the character of Emilia Marty. Marie Collier (1927-1971) gives a vivid portrayal. I was struck, for example, by her dismissive attitude in Act 2 towards the ‘stage door johnnies’ who flock to pay her compliments backstage after all her performances. In the following act, as the truth comes out, she’s riveting in the way she explains how everything came about and how great a burden the elixir has been as she has lived out her unnaturally long life. When Mackerras, made his famous Decca recording in 1978, he had Elisabeth Söderström in the role of Emilia. Collier’s voice here has quite an edge to it – a comment which I don’t in any way make in a derogatory way. Those who know the later Vienna recording may feel that Söderström brings more vocal warmth to her portrayal. I think that the two approaches complement each other and shine different lights upon the character. In addition, the edge – if such it be – in Collier’s singing is entirely suited to a live onstage portrayal of this particular character.

There are also some fine performances among the leading men. I remember Raimund Herincx (1927-2018) as a notable presence on the concert/oratorio scene when I was growing up in Yorkshire in the 1970s and 1980s. Here, he characterises the role of Jaroslav Prus very well indeed; at the start of Act 3 his bitterness is palpable when he realises that Emilia has got the better of their bargain. He also convincingly shows Prus’s grief when he learns that Janek, his only son, has killed himself. In addition to Herincx’s dramatic skills, his voice is in excellent condition. A few years after this performance was given, Gregory Dempsey (b 1931) featured as Mime in the celebrated Reginald Goodall Ring cycle. It’s no surprise, then, that he makes a strong impression as Albert Gregor. Gregor’s extended exchange with Emilia in Act 1 is strongly projected by both soloists. Dempsey, with his clear, ringing tenor, communicates most effectively his character’s desperate affection for Emilia. In the second Act he conveys his bitter disappointment that, despite his affections, she “treats [him] like dirt”. In passing, it’s interesting to note that in this production Australian-born singers took the roles of both Emilia and Gregory. Eric Shilling (1920-2006) was a stalwart of Sadler’s Wells/English National Opera for many years. Here he appears as Doctor Kolenatý – was it his role debut, I wonder? I learned from Nigel Simeone that Shilling sang this role “in almost every SWO or [ENO] performance of Makropulos from 1964 until the 1990s”. Simeone praises Shilling’s “sharp wit and impeccable diction”; I didn’t read that comment until after I’d listened for the first time but I fully agree with the verdict.  The other members of the cast have smaller roles; no one disappoints.

I think I should give a particular shout-out to the Sadler’s Wells orchestra. Nowadays, opera house orchestras are well versed in Janáček’s music but, outside Czechoslovakia, that certainly wasn’t the case in 1964. I mentioned earlier that the Prelude hooked me on this performance; it proves to be an excellent harbinger of what we’re to hear from the pit as the opera unfolds. The players could not have wished for a better guide to this music than Mackerras. I don’t know how much rehearsal time he had with the orchestra but however long – or short – a time they had together, the players were well-schooled. The BBC recording is sufficiently detailed that we can hear a good deal of orchestral detail. I thought the SWO orchestra turned in a highly commendable performance. As for Mackerras, he conducts the opera with a sure hand. There’s an abundance of electricity in the performance and he conveys the sweep of the drama whilst also evidently paying a great amount of attention to detail. I presume these performances were the first he’d given of the opera; one would not know, so assured and idiomatic is his direction.

Overall, this a really involving, skilled and highly committed account of The Makropulos Affair. The performance is immediate and vivid and I felt drawn in from the outset. Aficionados of Janáček’s operas may miss the authentic sound of the Czech language and the way that language fits the music. However, there are ample compensations in terms of the very direct communication that results from hearing the plot unfold and the characterisations develop in English. As I said earlier, Norman Tucker’s translation seems to work exceptionally well. I was interested to note that on many occasions there were small but definite discrepancies between the words that the characters sing and the text printed in the libretto. I wonder why this should be since SOMM have licensed the libretto from the publishers.     

To complete the set, SOMM give us an opportunity to hear a studio recording of The Diary of One who Disappeared. This is a most unusual song cycle, not least in its scoring. The primary performer is the solo tenor, Richard Lewis, in the role of Jan, a village boy, but there’s also a substantial part for a female singer, here the contralto, Maureen Forrester as Zefka, the gypsy for whom Jan falls. In the middle of the cycle, three offstage female singers are also required. The accompaniment is provided by a pianist, who has a solo intermezzo partway through. The songs are settings of anonymous poems which Janáček found in a Brno newspaper in 1916. The cycle was the first of the composer’s works to be inspired by Kamila Stösslová, after he met her in July 1917. Nigel Simeone points out that although Janáček began sketching the songs in August 1917, he didn’t finish the work until the summer of 1919 and even then, he kept the manuscript from public gaze. One of his pupils found it in 1920 and after some revisions it was performed in 1921. The recording preserved here was the first performance of the cycle in an English translation by the late Bernard Keeffe (1925-2022). The translation seems to me to work pretty well, though I was surprised to note a couple of occasions – in ‘See how high the sun is’ and again in ‘Now she bears my child’ – where Lewis sings a completely different set of words in the first line of each poem. Why this should be the case I don’t know since, as with the opera, SOMM appear to have licenced the text from the publishers.

The two vocal soloists do well. Lewis is very English in his timbre, which may not be to everyone’s taste in this repertoire; there were times when I craved a more open-throated style. That said, he’s very expressive and he catches the moods of the smitten Jan very convincingly. One undeniable asset is the crystal clarity of his diction; though I was following the texts, Lewis almost – but not quite – made them superfluous. Maureen Forrester also offers characterful singing, though I did wonder if the timbre of her voice was perhaps a bit too mature; that was certainly the impression she gave on her first appearance (‘Welcome, my handsome one’). Both soloists, ably supported by Ernest Lush, distil very successfully the mysterious ambience that pervades much of ‘God all Powerful, God eternal’ and the following song, ‘From the ripening cornfield’. I’m afraid I was far less impressed by the contribution of the three female members of the BBC Singers. I grant that they are supposed to be heard as from offstage but I can only describe their singing as woolly. Ernest Lush plays very well indeed and he makes a fine job of his solo movement, the atmospheric Intermezzo. It’s very interesting to hear this committed performance. As a minor point of detail, at the end, the BBC announcer refers to the cycle as The Diary of One who Vanished. 

The performance of The Makropulos Affair is one which all admirers of Sir Charles Mackerras should hear because it shows his pioneering work on behalf of Janáček to excellent effect; it’s impossible to overstate the importance of the role he played – and not just in Britain – in disseminating this composer’s music outside Czechoslovakia. It’s also a set which anyone interested in Janáček’s music will find of great interest because it documents an important event in the performance history of the opera outside the composer’s native land.  

As is their wont, SOMM have gone to town on this release. The sound on both recordings has come up extremely well thanks to Lani Spahr’s painstaking restoration work and his fine ear for recorded music. Though both recordings come over very well, I was especially impressed with the opera. That must have represented more of a challenge both to the original BBC engineers and to Spahr; it’s a tribute to their work that the performance comes across with such immediacy. Applause has been retained after each act of the opera, which is good, I think, because it shows the audience becoming ever more appreciative. The radio announcer’s concluding words have also been retained after both works.  Nigel Simeone’s essay is a mine of information and informed comment; I learned much from it. The opera’s libretto and the texts of the song cycle have not been printed in the booklet; had they been, the booklet would have been very bulky. They are available on the SOMM Recordings website. I accessed them without difficulty and found them easy to use and clearly set out.

This is a very fine and fitting centenary tribute to an outstanding conductor and powerful advocate for Czech music.

 John Quinn

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The Makropulos Affair – other cast members
Stanley Bevan (tenor) – Vitek
Jenny Hill (mezzo-soprano) – Krista
Joan Davies (contralto) – charwoman
Michael Maurel (bass) – stage carpenter
John Chorley (tenor) – Janek, Prius’s son
Cragg Sinkinson (tenor) – Hauk-Šendorf
Margaret Gale (contralto) – chambermaid