ANNANDALE-ON-HUDSON, NY.- Giacomo Meyerbeer was the toast of Paris in the 19th century. Nowadays, when he’s mentioned at all, he’s the object of backhanded compliments.

“The man may not have been a genius, but he was a craftsman,” critic Harold C. Schonberg wrote in The New York Times when one of Meyerbeer’s grand operas, “Le Prophète,” came to the Metropolitan Opera in 1977.

Long on spectacle and long on length, “Le Prophète” has five acts with ballets and choruses galore; a coronation scene; and a grand finale in which an entire palace goes up in flames and kills, well, everyone. Based on a historical event, it tells the story of an Anabaptist uprising in 16th-century Germany led by Jean of Leiden, who is declared a prophet and king. The world premiere is remembered for its coups de théâtre, which included ice-skating (indicated with roller skates) and a sunrise (the first use of electricity on the Paris Opera stage).

The notion of Meyerbeer’s exploitation of the public’s taste for dazzle persists. To give you an idea of how severely he has fallen out of fashion, the Met performed three — yes, three — of his operas in its first six months of operation in 1883-84, and hasn’t staged any of them since 1979.

Fortunately, there are opera die-hards like Leon Botstein, the president of Bard College and the music director of the American Symphony Orchestra, who has a penchant for reappraisal. He mounted a persuasive argument for “Le Prophète” at the Fisher Center at Bard College on Friday. Because of modest resources, the spotlight was less on the staging and more on an often-overlooked element of Meyerbeer’s art: his fantastic instincts for vocal writing.

For nearly all of Act IV, mezzo-soprano Jennifer Feinstein held the stage as Fidès, the pious mother of the false prophet Jean (John) and the opera’s richest role. Mad with anguish and thinking her son dead, Feinstein’s Fidès stitches together an unforced, just-hefty-enough sound from a mellow bottom to a ringing top in writing that was vocally gracious and terrifically exciting.

Like George Frideric Handel, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and many others, Meyerbeer clearly reveled in exploiting the vocal and theatrical resources of his star singers. His first Fidès was the sui generis Pauline Viardot, whose voice, while unlovely by some accounts, was a potent force of dramatic revelation. Fidès’ Act V scena, with its scales, filigrees, trills and tumbling triplets, is a showcase of technical skill almost cruel in its thoroughness; Feinstein put on an entirely creditable, if not superhuman, display.

As Jean, tenor Robert Watson had a sumptuous timbre ripe for romance and an even emission that suited Meyerbeer’s elegant lines. His top notes were thrilling when they didn’t falter. His Jean was a reluctant rabble-rouser, not truly wanting to seize divine power, and only turning to radicalism after the despotic Count Oberthal (a cardboard menace in the bass-baritone Zachary Altman’s portrayal) abused his position to steal Jean’s beloved, Berthe. As Berthe, Amina Edris sang with beguiling sensitivity, unfailing accuracy and a tone of dark steeliness, bringing resoluteness and emotional depth to a character that can feel underwritten.

The intent of Meyerbeer’s music, which is nothing if not fluent in achieving its dramatic purpose, eluded Botstein throughout the night. He was on sure ground in moments with a single, monolithic affect, such as a military march or a big chorus (sung by the well-prepared Bard Festival Chorale). But he dragged the tempo with a four-square approach in emotionally complex scenes. The singers knew when to quicken a scene’s musical pulse, and they did so without a conductor’s support.

Christian Räth, the director, seemed more at home in the comedic charms of Richard Strauss’ “Die Schweigsame Frau,” which he staged for Bard in 2022, than the high dudgeon of “Le Prophète.” His blocking verged on tacky. The set, by Räth and Daniel Unger, was made of three enormous Bibles, which had various surprises and compartments, winking proof of the excessive use to which religion is put in the story. Video projections for the ostentatious, presumably expensive dramatic moments instead made them feel smaller.

Crossing the four-hour mark, Bard’s “Le Prophète” was a long night. Even Meyerbeer cut his own 11-minute overture, which Bard included (though it thoughtfully moved some of the ballet music to a wind quintet during the two intermissions).

There was noticeable audience attrition, especially after the second break, but those who stayed were treated to Feinstein and Edris’ stupendous Act IV duet. Their lengthy harmonized cadenza receded, surged and reached unusual height as they climbed in thirds to a roof-raising climax. Stripped of gimmickry, it was just ravishing music-making. Across the dark hollow of the auditorium, I heard an audience member exclaim under his breath, “Wow.”

—

‘Le Prophète’

Through Sunday at the Fisher Center at Bard, Annandale-on-Hudson, New York; fishercenter.bard.edu.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.