Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893)
La nonne sanglante (1854)
Michael Spyres (tenor) – Rodolphe, Vannina Santoni (soprano) – Agnès, Marion Lebègue (mezzo-soprano) – La
Nonne, Jérôme Boutillier (baritone) –Comte de Luddorf, Jodie Devos (soprano) –
Arthur, Jean Teitgen (bass) – Pierre l’Ermite, Luc Bertin-Hugault (bass) –Baron
de Moldaw,
Enguerrand De Hys (tenor) – Fritz, Le Veilleur de nuit, Olivia Doray (soprano) –
Anna, Pierre-Antoine Chaumien (tenor) – Arnold, Julien Neyer (bass) – Norberg, Vincent Eveno (bass-baritone) –
Théobald
Stanislas Briche, Arnaud Chéron, Simon Frenay, Florent Mahoukou, Papythio Matoudidi, Marius Moguiba (dancers)
Accentus Chamber Choir
Insula Orchestra/Laurence Equilbey
rec. 2018, Opéra Comique, Paris
NAXOS NBD0097V Blu-ray [143 mins]
It has to be observed that La nonne sanglante was born under a very unlucky star indeed. The draft libretto by the famed Eugene Scribe (1791-1861) and his less celebrated collaborator Germain Delavigne (1790-1868) was originally offered to no less a composer than Hector Berlioz, still recovering from the debâcle at the Paris Opéra which had attended the première of his Benvenuto Cellini in 1838. Berlioz was initially quite enthused with the idea, and during the early 1840s he seems to have sketched or composed music for some two acts of the projected opera. Then doubts began to set in. The plot, drawn from Matthew Lewis’s novel The Monk which in the late eighteenth century set the fashion for Gothic horror that was ultimately to result in Frankenstein and Dracula, seems to have well calculated to appeal to Berlioz’s taste in diablerie, although the text presented by Scribe and Delavigne sidestepped much of Lewis’s original unholy concatenation of sentimentality and sado-masochism. But it seems hard to imagine that an opera entitled in translation The bleeding nun, no matter how English its origins, could ever have been presented on Victorian stages; and the fact that the librettists consistently failed to furnish the text for the later acts led Berlioz to abandon his work on the score. The writing team then turned, in collaboration with the director of the Opéra, to the young Charles Gounod, whose great triumphs (ironically enough with the Berliozian subjects of Faust and Roméo et Juliette) were still in the future, but who had already scored a success with his earlier Sapho. The result, after extensive rehearsals extending over a year, appeared at the Opéra for eleven critically acclaimed performances before being scrapped by the house’s new manager who vetoed any further presentations of what he described as “such trash”.
And that might well have been that. La nonne sanglante disappeared from the boards; and although Gounod toyed with the idea of making revisions to his score, the success of Faust shortly thereafter seems to have driven any such schemes from his mind. It was not until a new production was mounted in 2018 that it staked any claim to resurrection, and it is this revival that is presented on this video. One can see why Gounod might have subsequently abandoned the opera to oblivion; there is not much scope here for his trademark melodic lyricism, until an aria for the errant and sinning father in the final act. The solo writing elsewhere is often more decorative than emotional, and the writing for the chorus can be distressingly rum-ti-tum; but at several points the composer displays an unexpected talent for the construction of substantial concertante ensembles, and in the final act he produces quite a sense of fire in the duet between the hero and his betrayed bride-to-be. Indeed there are several places in the score where Gounod shows evidence that he has been listening with profit to the works of Berlioz, as well as to those of Verdi.
Mind you, it is unclear how much of the text presented to Berlioz survived into the version set here by Gounod. Cairns mentions that one the elements Berlioz particularly enjoyed was the “scenically spectacular” catastrophe at the final curtain, with the castle destroyed by an explosion; and one can imagine how the composer of The damnation of Faust might have relished such an opportunity for orchestral display. But in the meantime Scribe had employed the device of the exploding castle in his libretto for Meyerbeer’s La prophête, and so a new ending had to be substituted – and a very damp squib it is. One is accustomed in mid-nineteenth century operas to somewhat abrupt finales (examples can be found everywhere, from Il trovatore to The flying Dutchman before Wagner expanded the musical setting in his revision) but here we are presented with a conclusion that is downright perfunctory. After the quarrel duet between the tenor and soprano, the baritone father offers himself as a decoy in a projected ambush and assassination (the plot is too convoluted, and too ridiculous, to summarise here) and, after his death, the two lovers are reconciled with hardly a word exchanged and the father is claimed by the nun of the title as her husband in death before the curtain falls. All of this is accomplished in a matter of just four minutes – which includes in this version an additional segment of orchestral music for the ambush, which was originally conceived as an abridged alternative for the eight-minute “ouverture dramatique” which opened the opera. The edition employed for this performance, by the way, seems to be a very good one; the score has been edited under the auspices of the Palazzetto Bru Zane (responsible for so many other revivals of French operas in recent years), and the only cuts for theatrical presentation appear to have been one half of the ballet music, a second verse of a coloratura aria for the page, and a drinking song in the first act which conductor Laurence Equilbey describes in an interview included in the booklet as “duff”. This makes it all the more surprising that the fourth act lasts a mere twelve minutes, of which three quarters consists of a final concertante movement. Gounod appears to have experienced trouble in balancing his dramatic material, although of course as in the case of Faust he might well have subjected the score to major reconstruction if the opportunity had ever arisen.
Whatever might be one’s opinions regarding the quality of the music itself, the performance on offer here gives it every opportunity to shine. The principal tenor role sounds like a positive killer, combining as it does demands for heroic delivery with sudden passages of high pianissimo head voice; and the poor singer is on the stage almost continuously from his first entrance, with only occasional moments allowed for rest. Michael Spyres, fresh from tackling Berlioz’s Aeneas, manages to keep his voice fresh throughout; and although one might have welcomed some sense of greater lyric warmth between the soft and loud extremes, that is clearly Gounod’s fault rather than his. Vannina Santoni as his multiply betrayed lover (she is by turns forced into an unwelcome marriage with his brother, then widowed, then spurned by her true love in favour of a ghostly apparition) manages to make all the twists and turns of the plot believable – to a limited extent – but she sings with force and passion. Marion Lebègue as the eponymous nun also sings with commitment and a richly warm lower register, although it is hard to take seriously the menaces of a singer whose false contact lenses create an irresistible comic effect with their suggestion of a cross-eyed squint.
As her errant lover (and the hero’s father) Jérome Boutillier has a well-burnished baritone that rises superbly to his Mon fils me fuit en vain; Jodie Devos as the page who assumes principal soprano duties in Act Three is suitably perky, and Jean Teitgen is nicely sonorous as the would-be peace-making friar whose music in some ways echoes Father Laurence in Berlioz’s Roméo et Juliette (although in the version of the text offered to Berlioz, the hermit was given the decidedly unglamorous name of Hubert). The other miscellaneous warriors and villains, not very well differentiated either by Gounod’s music or David Bobée’s production, acquit themselves with credit; and the chorus and orchestra both fizz with excitement under the baton of Laurence Equilbey. And especial credit should be especially given to the members of the chorus, whose acting and fighting is unusually convincing. The sets are basic but serviceable, and the costumes by Alain Blanchot don’t create any jarring elements except the slightly startling electric blue wedding suits for the peasant couple in Act Three.
The booklet gives a comprehensive track listing, a historical introduction to the opera itself, a synopsis of the action, biographies of the composer and artists, and an extensive interview with conductor and producer which yields some valuable insights. Indeed I would say that the last of these is much preferable to the kind of extra documentary one so often encounters where everybody seems more concerned to be enthusiastic (and not always convincingly) than to provide any real information. This material is given in both English and French, while subtitles also come in German and Korean. Naxos could teach other more established video companies a good deal about how works such as these should be presented. In the meantime let us welcome the chance to hear Gounod’s La nonne sanglante, even while recognising that it is extremely unlikely ever to recover a niche in the repertory.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
Previous review:
Robert Cummings (Recording of the Month)
