The history of singer and famed tragedienne Susanna Cibber (1714–66) demonstrates the influences of the British theatre and the culture of sentiment on Handel’s oratorios. Throughout Cibber’s long career, audiences lauded the ‘natural’ qualities of her performances, conflating her onstage and offstage identities as both deeply moving and holding great potential for moral instruction. In the late 1730s and early 1740s this presumed symbiosis was challenged by a highly publicised sex scandal that had profound effects on Cibber’s roles in the spoken theatre. At the same moment, Handel began crafting parts for Cibber in Messiah, Samson, Hercules and Belshazzar in ways that showed awareness of the new complexity of her image. This article both illustrates the nature of Cibber’s evolving public identity and explains Handel’s revisions of pre-existing parts for her. It shows that Handel recognised the challenges of Cibber’s troubled public image and continued to highlight her greatest skills, setting her the task of harnessing the power of sympathy, drawing audiences in by appealing to them as fellow men and women of sensibility.

On 30 January 1890, the audience at the Théâtre Municipal in Nice witnessed something extraordinary. Midway through the first public performance of a Russian opera in France, Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar, the chorus and orchestra broke into a rendition of the Russian national anthem, followed by the ‘Marseillaise’. Both anthems were then repeated, with the audience calling out ‘Vive la Russie!’, ‘Vive la France!’ With France and Russia on the verge of a historic alliance, the evening was proclaimed a political and an artistic triumph. This unusual event, I suggest, can be explained by considering the context of operatic decentralisation in France, in conjunction with the arrival of a new director at the Théâtre, Raoul Gunsbourg. As a result of local and personal imperatives, the performance came to resonate nationally, with A Life serving as an unlikely emblem of modernity, while also bringing one peripheral French region strongly into Paris’s purview.

Journalists and scholars have long observed how Aldeburgh seems to function as a larger stage for Benjamin Britten’s village-themed operas. Not only is it the explicit setting for Peter Grimes, but it also serves as the site for the annual Aldeburgh Festival of Music and the Arts, founded by Britten in 1948. This article examines how the Festival served as a parallel construction of the village life seen in Britten’s early operas, particularly Albert Herring (1947) and Little Sweep (1949). Analysing materials from the initial years of the Festival – including programme books and accounts of exhibitions and performances – I trace how Festival organisers drew upon the rhetoric and modes of behaviour of contemporary tourism in promoting a particular vision of the local community. By blurring the line between the fictional worlds of Britten’s village-themed operas and the site of Aldeburgh, the Festival encouraged the visitors to fabricate the very kind of community that organisers claimed could already be found at Aldeburgh.