Pity Carl Maria von Weber. On the morning of 5 June 1826 a servant knocked on the door of his bedroom in Great Portland Street, and heard no response. Stricken by tuberculosis, and tortured by the ‘thick, dank, yellow’ London smog, Weber had died in his sleep, aged 39. He knew that he was dying, and he’d travelled to London to try and make as much money as possible for his wife and children. He spent his last strength on Oberon; a sprawling half-opera, half-pantomime that he had been assured would drive British audiences wild.

So it was fitting that the Proms should commemorate the 200th anniversary of Weber’s death with a concert staging of his only English opera, warts and all. It’s hardly the Proms’s fault that no major company in Britain has done anything else to celebrate this giant of romanticism in his anniversary year. Yes, giant: Weber’s output was patchy but no more so than (say) Donizetti’s. Berlioz idolised him and Schumann, Brahms and (supremely) Wagner are all unthinkable without Weber’s Der Freischütz, which ought to be standard rep in any credible opera house. It hasn’t been seen at Covent Garden this century.

Weber’s Der Freischütz ought to be standard rep in any credible opera house

Weber’s Der Freischütz ought to be standard rep in any credible........

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