Curiously Debussy once said that ‘music begins where
words are powerless, music is made for the inexpressible’. To find a
poet for whom he could write music he needed one who had left space
for music to be grafted on, something which in effect was only semi-complete
and awaiting the addition of music. In this he lighted upon an exact
contemporary of his, Maurice Maeterlinck, as his collaborator. The opera
was completed in first draft in 1895, orchestrated in 1901 when Debussy
had received assurances from the Opéra Comique that it would
be staged, and a cast selected at the head of which was the Scottish
soprano Mary Garden - ‘you would have to be stone deaf to resist the
charms of her voice’, said the composer. Debussy’s translucent score
and Messager’s meticulously balanced conducting allowed Maeterlinck’s
libretto to be heard, and in parts whipped up a scandal only Parisians
can arouse. In the musical fraternity there was an obvious schism, followers
of Massenet (who left a rehearsal astounded) protested, while the likes
of D’Indy, Koechlin, Dukas and Pierné were admirers.
Haitink is nothing but refined in his conducting of
this magnificent score, and has a wonderful cast before him headed by
the incomparable Anne Sofie von Otter, and an orchestra steeped in the
style. The textures are iridescent, the homogeneity of the string textures
radiant, the interpretation searingly poetic, as a colourist he is supreme
(such as the hints of the storm at the end of the first act, and the
impressionist-like watery textures of the fountain beginning the second).
The two ill-fated lovers, von Otter and the fine Holzmair as Pelléas,
electrify the tension in this scene in which her ring is predictably
lost as she tosses it foolishly into the air, and together they build
an erotic sensuality at any mention of her hair, hanging in long golden
tresses, and which play such a vital part in the climactic love scene
in the fourth act as she lowers them from the castle window. Despite
outward appearances there is in this opera an enormous amount of symbolism,
to which Debussy’s impressionistic harmony and scoring is ideally suited,
her plaited hair, a cave, a well, the sea, the ring and so on. Wagner’s
post-Tristan harmony and the leitmotif principle are subliminal, if
not acknowledged influences, such as the Parsifal-like enigma and innocence
of Pelléas, and even more, of Mélisande; who is she, where
did she come from, what was it that happened to her before Golaud discovered
her in the forest and to which she can never allude or illuminate?
As the jealous husband and short-tempered brother,
Laurent Naouri’s portrayal of Golaud is vivid, for the voice has a richly
dramatic sound, whilst Alain Vernhes (like Timur in Puccini’s Turandot)
brings dignity and sadness to the role of the blind Arkel. This is a
magical recording of a magical score.
Christopher Fifield
Chorus of Radio France