Aix—Mozart—Rosbaud … the three names have become synonymous. It is in fact a curious manifestation of the French music festival for Rosbaud is most un-French in his outlook. His style is severely correct and immensely authoritative, yet he drains from a score all colour and nuance so that Mozart seems worked in lead rather than precious metals. It seems strange that the smart Parisian audience at Aix should have taken this conductor to their elegant bosoms whilst in Berlin, Monique Haas, essentially Gallic, and the sensuous Celibidache have become the most feted of visiting foreigners. The cult of Mozart at Aix is equally inexplicable except that the objectionable habit of French audiences to expect, and orchestras to play the last played movement as an encore, does not work at all badly in the case of Mozart, the master of the finale. But when it comes to opera, which is the core of the Aix festival, what is to be done? It is not possible to go on providing even more marvellous performances of the half dozen operas, and routine performances are best left to the opera-houses. Last year there was an adequate Così and a Figaro made memorable by the wonderfully inventive decor of Clavé. This year we had an appalling Seraglio and (sigh of relief) a tremendous Don Giovanni. This was an intelligent production by Jean Meyer magnificently acted and sung by a mainly Italian cast and beautifully designed by Cassandre.