Caffarelli, Carestini, Farinelli, and Senesino – names that inspired composers like Caldara, Gluck, Handel, Hasse, Porpora, and Vivaldi to exhaust both their own compositional talents and the utmost limits of the castrato voice, and who sent audiences across Europe into frenzies of sensual delight. It was with Giovanni Carestini in mind that the Neapolitan composer Leonardo Vinci (ca. 1696-1730) created ‘the most celebrated Italian opera’ of its time, L’Artaserse, which premiered at the Teatro delle Dame in Rome on 4 February 1730. L’Artaserse, almost entirely forgotten by history, is the last and finest of nineteen opere serie or drammi per musica the prolific Vinci composed between 1722 and 1730 before his career, and his careening love-life, was cut short by poison. Like the composer, this elegant work met a premature end when Pope Benedict XIII died two weeks into its first run, an event which prompted the closure of the Roman theatres, and Carestini to intone a particularly indignant ‘lasciatemi’ when the performance was rudely interrupted by the breaking news, as one apocryphal anecdote has it. In spite of this misfortune, L’Artaserse proved a (posthumous) triumph for Vinci, inspiring one contemporary critic to hail the opera as one of those rare works which ‘harrow the soul and prompt us to shed tears of pity and horror’.

The libretto, written by the composer’s friend and collaborator, the poet Pietro Metastasio (1698-1782), was universally popular in the decades after Vinci’s death. It is one of the most widely set dramas of the eighteenth century, with over one hundred known adaptations across Europe, of which Vinci’s is the first. Among these is a setting by Johann Adolph Hasse (1730), which subsequently travelled to London as a pasticcio with arias composed by Riccardo Broschi for his brother, the castrato Farinelli, by Attilio Ariosti, and, ironically, by Vinci’s arch-rival, Nicola Porpora (1734). Johann Christian Bach adapted the libretto for performance at the Teatro Regio, Turin, in 1760; Thomas Arne followed suit in 1762, Josef Mysliveĉek in 1774, and Marcos Portugal as late as 1806. By that time the material had become virtually ubiquitous.

To modern audiences, Metastasio’s drama may seem abstruse and somewhat contrived. It tells a complicated story of betrayal, love, loyalty, and princely magnanimity which unravels around the ancient Persian prince Artaserse. Following the murder of his father, the young ruler finds himself at the centre of a plot designed by the villainous prefect of his father’s personal guard, Artabano, to place his son Arbace, who is Artaserse’s closest friend, on the throne. Disgusted by his father’s crime and its political ramifications, yet unable to disavow his filial duties, the conflicted hero Arbace must fight to protect Artaserse’s life, his father’s reputation, and his own integrity. A moving and musically brilliantly realised secondary plot involves two pairs of star-crossed lovers whose sufferings lend the political goings-on emotional depth: Arbace pursues a slow-burning romance with Artaserse’s high-minded sister Mandane; Artaserse himself burns for Semira, who is Arbace’s sister and Artabano’s daughter, whom the ambitious villain plans to marry off to his co-conspirator, the aptly named Megabise. Eventually, after much heartache, tragedy, and high drama, Artabano is moved to confess his guilt, is sentenced to death and then pardoned by Artaserse, whose magnanimity provides a fitting subject for the final chorus.

All of this may seem overly complicated and just a little ludicrous. However, the poetry, simple and affecting throughout, paints surprisingly deep and nuanced portraits of the drama’s heroes, and unfolds its charm thanks chiefly to Vinci’s brilliant orchestration, which favours long passages of delicately wrought word painting, often in combination with dizzying coloratura cadenzas in the soprano voices, understated melodic lines, and the ‘singing allegro’ – all of which became symptomatic of the ‘gallant style’ of composition later perfected by Mozart.

Vinci’s adaptation, a structurally clumsy but musically and dramatically immensely satisfying string of recitatives and arias, has been rescued from obscurity by Max Emanuel Cencic, undoubtedly one of the finest countertenors now active and the driving force behind a recent revival of L’Artaserse under the musical direction of Diego Fasolis. This sumptuous new production enjoyed a triumphant run at the Opéra national de Lorraine in Nancy in November 2012 and was originally intended for another six performances in Cologne in December. Unfortunately, Silviu Purcârete (mise-en-scène) and Helmut Stürmer’s (costumes) stunning set designs fell victim to disastrous local policy making. As a result, singers and audiences had to make do with a meagre three concert performances held in Cologne’s so-called Musical Dome, a permanent giant blue tent erected behind the central station which currently houses My Fair Lady and functions as the temporary home of Oper Köln while the city’s run down opera house is being renovated.

These less than ideal circumstances aside – contrary to expectation, the acoustics were acceptable – L’Artaserse’s all too brief though much anticipated sojourn in Cologne proved a resounding success. At the time of the opera’s first performance in early 1730, Roman regulations barred female singers from public performance, forcing Metastasio and Vinci to assemble a glittering all-male cast of castrati, with Giovanni Carestini in the lead role of Arbace. Max Emanuel Cencic, in the role of Mandane, has brought together a no less impressive crowd of countertenors including Philippe Jaroussky in the small titular role of Artaserse, the ravishing Argentinian coloratura soprano Franco Fagioli as Arbace, Valer Barna-Sabadus as Semira, Yuriy Mynenko as Megabise, and the tenor Juan Sancho as the villain Artabano. Gianluca Capuano capably directed Concerto Köln in the absence of the ill Diego Fasolis.

It has become something of a commonplace among modern critics to deplore casting choices which place any number of countertenors on the same stage at the same time, often on grounds of monotony. Whatever one’s feelings towards the problems posed by historically informed performance, this production of L’Artaserse proved an exception to the rule. From Fagioli’s seemingly effortless excursions into the highest soprano range to Cencic’s lowest notes, the five singers offered up an authoritative and superlative cross-section of the astonishing range and beauty of the countertenor voice – not even the slightest trace of monotony here. And although the production bears Jaroussky’s promotionally effective face and Cencic’s name, these stars readily stepped aside to let their younger and internationally less well known colleagues shine. Philippe Jaroussky was of course superb in the role of Artaserse, and the entire cast received enthusiastic and wholly deserved ‘bravi’ after virtually every appearance, but it was Fagioli who regularly stole the show in the devilishly tricky coloratura arias Vinci wrote for Carestini. Though easily the smallest and lightest of the cast, Fagioli demonstrated breath-taking range, depth, and stamina, particularly in Arbace’s explosive coloratura aria at the end of Act One, ‘Vo solcando un mar crudele’, a seven-minute vocal tour de force for which he earned almost as much applause.

Another discovery of this evening was the young Romanian countertenor Valer Barna-Sabadus, who commands a pure, soft, and wonderfully expressive voice just a little reminiscent of Andreas Scholl’s. He brought great charm, innocence, and just a little (entirely fitting) bathos to the role of Semira, especially in those priceless scenes with her father and would-be husband Megabise. Max Emanuel Cencic’s mezzo, meanwhile, shone particularly in Mandane’s tragic aria, ‘Se d’un amor tiranno’, a hauntingly beautiful lover’s lament in which Cencic demonstrated great dignity and taste. Among the most affecting and effective moments of the evening was his heart wrenching duet with Fagioli’s Arbace in the middle of Act Three, ‘Tu vuoi ch’io viva, o cara’, a quietly simmering gem of a scene which pits the raw emotion of the suffering protagonists against the inhuman restrictions placed upon their relationship by courtly decorum.

The two villains, played by Yuriy Mynenko in the smallest part of Megabise, and Juan Sancho in the somewhat thankless role of Artabano, brought just the right amount of nastiness to the proceedings. Mynenko gave a confident and fittingly haughty performance as the ambitious social climber, while Sancho brought a strong, pleasant, and well-rounded tenor voice to his portrayal of Artabano, creating a sympathetic and all too human villain.

Together, the ensemble, Fagioli in particular, gave us a tiny glimpse of the immense skill involved in bringing the lost world of the eighteenth-century castrato superstar back to life. This they did tastefully, tactfully, and not without the occasional moment of self-deprecating humour. The result is entirely entrancing. It is safe to say that both the baroque repertoire and the cause of countertenors around the globe have gained immeasurably by this revival of Vinci’s L’Artaserse. More of the same please!

A superb recording of Vinci’s L’Artaserse with the same cast is available from Virgin Classics.