Russia, Ukraine and Tchaikovsky: ‘Mazeppa’ at Grange Park

Since Ukraine gained independence from Russia in 1991, Ivan Mazepa’s reputation has been somewhat rehabilitated. Active in the second half of the 17th and early 18th century, he was Hetman (ruler) of an area in Eastern Ukraine. Mazepa played an important role in the Battle of Poltava in 1709, where Peter the Great defeated the powerful Swedish army. After learning that the Tsar intended to replace him, Mazepa defected from the Russian side to fight for the Swedes. His name is still literally anathema to the Russian Orthodox, but Ukrainians now see him in a more favourable light.

Sweden and Russia dominated the region at the time, and while a legend in his own lifetime, Mazepa became as mysterious as he was controversial. Indeed when people began to realise that an alliance with Sweden would not yield Cossack independence, but merely land them with a Swedish monarch, Mazepa’s once suspect reputation became permanently damaged. Today, however, some look to Mazepa as a proto-nationalist champion of Ukrainian independence. Hence the topicality of this opera, although its plot reflects the fact that Tchaikovsky himself was a strong Russian patriot.

The libretto of Mazeppa was based on Poltava, an epic poem by Russia’s national poet, Alexander Pushkin. He based his story on events at Poltava, but taking some creative license he abandoned historical accuracy in order to create powerful characters and grand passions. For example, Kochubei (the wealthy Cossack whose daughter Mariya elopes with Mazeppa) may not have denounced Mazeppa in order to punish him for stealing his daughter, though he did betray Mazeppa to the Tsar four years after Mariya ran away with him.

In this fine production at Grange Park, the opera is split into two parts, the first ending with the gruesome torture scene in Act II where Mazeppa’s henchman Orlik has extracted a confession. By this time Kochubei has already lost his three greatest treasures: his honour to a false confession, Mariya’s honour to Mazeppa, and he is now left only with the prospect of God’s vengeance after his death. The confession is not enough for Orlik, who demands the location of buried treasure, and the tortures recommence. At this point the dinner interval provided a welcome release from the growing intensity of the opera.

After dinner we are plunged back into murder and execution as Kochubei and his friend Iskra are dragged onto stage to be executed. Mariya and her mother, Kochubei’s wife Lyubov, dash onto stage to stop the executions, but just too late. In this production by David Pountney, updated to modern times, the men die instantly by electrocution. Thus ends Act II, before we are treated to an orchestral interlude representing the Battle of Poltava, where the Russians are victorious. The stage effects of black flags, and corpses fitted with gas masks rising out of coffins, is bleak but the music and singing are simply wonderful. Mariya’s lullaby over her childhood friend Andrei’s corpse formed a beautiful and contemplative ending to this furious opera.

The singing (all in Russian, of course) was magnificent, with David Stout giving a superbly nuanced portrait of Mazeppa in his long-haired and bedraggled state. Croatian bass Luciano Batinic made a vocally secure and sympathetic Kochubei, with Sara Fulgoni a firm and strong presence as his wife Lyubov. John Findon, Andreas Jankowitsch and Sam Utley (as Andrei, Orlik and Iskra) all provided vocal heft, but it was Rachel Nicholls whose singing raised the performance to an almost ethereal level, all under the baton of  Mark Shanahan. This may be a seriously grim opera, but in the end you forgive the heavy Russian passion for its spiritual redemption and honesty.

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