“It’s not an opera anymore, it’s a nightmare,” Camille Saint-Saëns famously wrote in 1880, when asked to produce a potential SIXTH version of his FIRST ever opera “Le timbre d’argent” (“The Silver Bell”) for a St Petersburg production which, like so many of its previous productions, was eventually abandoned.

Commissioned in 1864, it saw its first abandonment at its inception, during rehearsals at the Theâtre Lyrique, due to lack of funds. Subsequent staging attempts were beset with a whole gamut of problems, delays and revisions, not least the interjection of the Franco-Prussian war, before its eventual staging in 1877 at the Théâtre de la Gaîté in Paris. Cue MORE revisions, rewrites and abandonments until its final presentation as opéra fantastique in 1914.

After which, the work was never heard or seen again until over a hundred years later when it was revived and recorded at the Opéra Comique Salle Favart in June 2017 by French Symphony orchestra, Les Siècles. Although it received critical praise, there was nothing really to suggest that it wouldn’t be another hundred years before its next outing.

Fast-forward to 2025, in an inconspicuous little seaside town on the UK’s South East coast, where this fairly remarkable opera is in the run of its UK premiere, performed by the modest New Sussex Opera for an even more modest audience. Despite THIS productions’ budget constraints, its dearth of funding was more than made up for it by its showcasing of a profound wealth of talent.

The opera tells the tale of Conrad, a tormented, disillusioned soul who enters a pact with a manipulative, devilish character in exchange for fulfillness, riches and love, who has to undergo a series of supernatural events and pay for the consequences of his actions and…….hang on!! Haven’t we heard this story before?? Well, yes, actually. Librettists Jules Barbier and Michel Carré were also responsible for Gounod’s “Faust” with  Barbier also penning Offenbach’s “Contes de Hoffmann,” both operas of which feature similar themes, although this work preceded, and obviously influenced, those works. Further, this theme has been exploited in more modern times, including a television episode of “The Twilight Zone” and, later, a motion picture entitled “The Box.”

HERE, the devil take the form of Dr Spiridion, an incarnation who gifts the hapless Conrad a small silver hand bell which, when rung, will present the latter with all that he desires. Alas, the penalty for ringing it is the tragic demise of someone close to him.

Consequently, in the first act, where the miserably ill and feverish Conrad has taken to bed, desperately desiring both money and the affections of his muse, Circé/Fiametta, an exotic dancer whose charms he has succumbed to and whose portrait he has painted, (despite him being betrothed to his true love, Hélène), he takes the bell and rings it, with the inevitable passing of someone close.

Still, replete with riches, he pursues his quarry, tempting her with diamonds. But WAIT! The evil Dr Spiridion, in a different guise, is also competing for the dancer’s amour! Cue catastrophe where Conrad engages in a bet with Spiridion and ends up poverty stricken again, having failed to hold on to either his wealth or his dancer.

The third act sees our anti-hero attending the wedding of his loyal friend, Bénédict and his bride, Rosa, where the guests include Spiridion in yet ANOTHER guise, and the temptress dancer, Fiametta. Conrad again rings the bell… with the result that it is his close friend Bénédict who dies.

The final act sees Conrad sink further into hellish paranoia and torment, tortured with remorse and desperate for atonement, hounded by underworld ghouls, plagued further still by the merciless Spiridion with another exotic dancer……..yes! It’s a ridiculously convoluted tale; but then opera so frequently is.  The only thing that could possibly make it more ludicrously contrived would be if it all turned out to be a bad dream!

SPOILER ALERT: It’s all a bad dream!

All conjured up in the poor, fevered, malady-stricken mind of Conrad.  Presumably as bad as the nightmares poor Saint-Saëns endured in getting the work to the stage.

And yet, the direction, stagecraft and acting on display here by far betters that of more cogent stories with resplendent stage settings that I have experienced. Director Paul Higgins, no stranger to the big stage (or, indeed; the big screen), has done an incredible job here. Together with dramaturg Benjamin Poore, he has created a visually appealing and most impressive staging where an inconceivable story has been giving an almost convincing makeover.

Combined with some understated yet potent set designs by Mollie Cheek and some vibrant costumes by Jane Francis and her team, they breathed  life into, and gave substance to, a highly implausible plot.

Of significant importance in the telling of this tale, was the lighting, courtesy of James Harvey. Multi coloured strobes, accenting spots, and subtle key lights spoke volumes, especially the vivid red pulsating beams that depicted Conrad’s sinking into hellish oblivion.

Of course, great direction needs accomplished actors, and Higgins couldn’t have asked for more from his principals. Tenor Anthony Flaum, as Conrad, gave a bravura performance of a man descending into madness, infusing what I perceived to be a physically demanding role, requiring much stamina, with just the right amount of animation and angst to maintain credibility, whilst avoiding being overly melodramatic. Moreover, he sings with a fine, nuanced lyric tenor instrument, beautifully rotund in the middle with a confident, powerful top. His ‘In silence and shadow’ aria was particularly impassioned but his ‘Humble and poor as you are, are you happy?’, posed to his friend Bénédict, was sublime.

His nemesis, Spiridion, was portrayed by Armenian bass-baritone Arshak Kuzikyan who mixes menace with comedy supremely well here. With a commanding stage presence, he has a superb instrument that resonates throughout the whole range, retaining striking clarity even in the lowest of registers. His interactions with Conrad were delightfully jocose. His aria and accompaniment with the chorus, ‘In the noise and in the drunkenness’ was most effective and stentorian.

Harun Tekin plays Bénédict. He is a delightful light lyric tenor who sings with assuredness and pleasing colour. He perfectly complimented Flaum, particularly throughout the first act where the audience were treated to the rarity of TWO tenors combining voices. However, he showed wonderful phrasing in his second act entreaties to his friend Conrad ‘Excuse me, friend Conrad’.  With his tangible youthfulness, abundant energy and foppish long hair, he is unquestionably destined for great things.

Australian soprano Sky Ingram plays Hélène, true love to Conrad and sister to Rosa. She possesses a positively huge instrument, one which she demonstrably kept tight reign on at times, just occasionally allowing her full-bodied tone to let loose and reverberate around the theatre. A powerful voice, yet one capable of producing melting tenderness when called for. She sung a beautifully engaging ‘Happiness is a light thing‘ and her interactions with Conrad, especially when answering his pleas and coming to his aid in the final act, were emotionally palpable and compellingly acted out.

Rosa, here performed by English soprano Lucy Farrimond, was equally both exquisite in voice and convincingly sincere in her actions. She has  a sweet, caressing clarion voice, crystal clear with wonderful diction. Her ‘Humble Moth’ duet with Bénédict in the third act was enchanting, but her duet with Rosa ‘O Virgin Mother’, was exquisite with both sopranos blending beautifully.

The role of Conrad’s femme fatale, in turn his muse then alluring dancer, Circé/Fiametta, is performed here by French/Japanese dancer and choreographer Namiko Gahier-Ogawa who acted with superb authority, astoundingly so given this is a totally non-singing, non-speaking role. She danced with sensuality and with feeling, and it is also further testament to Paul Higgins directorial skills that he managed to incorporate a non-singing artist into an important ‘duet’ with Flaum, in addition to proving remarkably adept at connecting with all the other singing artists, making a major and tangible contribution to the story.

The minor role of Patrick was played by Hope Heaven who brought warmth and humour to the stage, as well as being a stalwart and key guide for the chorus.

Speaking of which, The New Sussex Opera chorus are the very backbone of this opera company, and they do a sterling job in bringing their productions to life. They are somewhat encumbered, however, by the fact that they are mostly of a senior age, some of them very much so, and therefore lack some of the physical dynamism and vocal magnitude of younger outfits. They nonetheless proved eloquent and proficient in their singing and made major contributions to the more whimsical elements of the show.

This performance was conducted by Leif Tse, standing in for Toby Purser. Tse is normally the chorus master, an improbably young man who did a great job driving the St. Paul’s Sinfonia orchestra. Particularly impressive were the strings, especially the violins who exquisitely caressed Saint-Saëns score.

I previously described “Le timbre d’argent” (“The Silver Bell”) as a fairly remarkable opera. For that is what it is. When performed and directed like this, its ridiculously incredulous tale proves to be somewhat enchanting, almost endearing. More saliently, it is crafted by Saint-Saëns with a divine score, at times, with heart achingly beautiful music so redolent of some of finest from the Romantic Era.

Even MORE remarkable is the fact that unless one has managed to stumble across the 2017 recording, one can not possibly have ever heard it. That it took over a century before anyone elected to bring it to the stage is both a travesty and a tragedy.

In a world where the future and validity of opera is frequently still being questioned and debated; where the buzzword is “innovation,” where directors and producers are striving to shock for effect, to provoke, to grab attention;  where it is still being contorted and turned topsy-turvy by the movers and shakers in the big houses, it’s so refreshing and delightfully heartening to learn that some smaller enterprises are striving to maintain the true ethos and beauty of the art.

It is encouraging to see that there are opera companies that embody the tenets of myself and my colleagues who are privileged to write about opera, who are entrenched in the belief that far from dying, opera is thriving, and whose mission is to shine a spotlight on all the amazing people nurturing and developing the art form today. 

New Sussex Opera and all involved in this production should be justly proud. They are deserving of every plaudit for performing works that, in turn, are deserving of greater attention and greater scope, performed by consummate artists that deserve bigger audiences and bigger rewards.

If divine intervention could have facilitated Camille Saint-Saëns having the prescience and means of watching this performance, I have no doubt he would afterwards have slept soundly, free from the nightmares that seemingly plagued him for the entirety of its creation.