Nikolai RIMSKY-KORSAKOV (1844-1908)
The Snow Maiden (1882) [3:14:00]
Snegurochka (the Snow Maiden) - Aida Garifullina
Lel’ - Yuriy Mynenko; Kupava - Martina Serafin; Tsar Berendey - Maxim Paster; Mizgir’ - Thomas Johannes Mayer
Orchestra and Chorus of the Opéra National de Paris/Mikhail Tatarnikov
Director - Dmitri Tcherniakov
rec. April 2017, Opéra Bastille, Paris,
Region code: 0. Sound: 2.0 PCM and 5.1 Dolby Digital. Picture: NTSC, colour, 16:9.
Synopsis in English, French, German.
Subtitles in English, French, German, Spanish, Korean, and Japanese.
BEL AIR CLASSIQUES DVD BAC186 [2 discs: 194 mins]
Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Snow Maiden (Snegurochka) of 1882 was the second opera I fell in love with as an undergraduate, following Der Freischütz. I was attracted to it for much the same reasons as I was attracted to Weber’s masterpiece: it’s full of wonderfully memorable melodies, many of them derived from folk tunes, and possesses an extraordinary folkloric intensity. Rimsky-Korsakov was able to imagine pre-Christian Russia vividly, with no sort of condescension or pastiche; his love for his material breathes through the score, which, importantly, he himself judged his finest. But I have to confess that the slight story, dragged out through a Prologue and four acts (the opera is well over three hours long, and was originally even longer), did not strike me as convincing, or even particularly important. It seemed no more than the thread on which Rimsky-Korsakov had suspended his gorgeous jewels. Such, I discovered later, was a typical Western response to what have often been described rather patronisingly as Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘fairytale operas’. As Richard Taruskin has stoutly argued, their profoundly mythic and symbolic character has been largely ignored by non-Russians.
Grasping the profundity (if that is what it is) of The Snow Maiden is no easy matter, though. The ultimate sources for the opera are some old Russian folktales in which a childless couple create a child from snow; the child comes alive, but later disappears, or melts. Variations of this story have found their way into English, too, and British readers may, like me, have first encountered it in Hilda Boswell’s Treasury of Children’s Stories (1971). In 1873, the prominent playwright Aleksandr Ostrovsky developed the central idea of these folktales into a highly allegorical play entitled The Snow Maiden, which Rimsky-Korsakov later shortened to create his libretto. (It is worth noting that Ostrovsky’s play was performed with extensive incidental music composed by Tchaikovsky, meaning that Rimsky-Korsakov was often setting lyrics already set by the older composer.) Here the snow maiden is not created by a human couple, but is the offspring of a brief love affair between Bonny Spring and Grandfather Frost. She has grown up with her father, who has extended the reign of winter so as to keep her safe in a freezing forest. Snegurochka has watched human activities from afar, and heard the songs of Lel’; now, aged fifteen, she longs to be part of the human world, an aspiration in which she is supported by her mother. Frost eventually lets her go, but warns her that the sun god, Yarilo, has been upset by the long cold, and will attempt to melt her. Eventually, as we expect, Yarilo’s beams touch her and she melts. The frozen times are now at an end and the local people rejoice as summer finally commences. In this scheme, Snegurochka is something like the sacrificial victim whose death will ensure the end of winter: there is a striking anticipation of The Rite of Spring by Rimsky-Korsakov’s student Stravinsky.
This might seem sufficient imaginative work for the audience, but another level of symbolism is introduced in which Snegurochka’s frozen nature means she cannot feel love. Coming to understand the force of what she cannot feel (her beauty plays havoc in the human community), she begs her mother for the power to love, and obtains it. Her melting is immediately preceded by her feeling love for a very underserving merchant called Mizgir’, and thus becomes another operatic Liebestod. The more deeply one thinks about all this, the harder it is to know how to respond (unless, according to Taruskin, one is Russian). The seasonal plot certainly ends happily, with rejoicing, but both play and opera position Snegurochka as a sympathetic central protagonist, and her story is surely tragic, though Mizgir’ (who promptly commits suicide) is the only human character who expresses any sorrow. Dealing with a conclusion which seems both joyous and tragic is a major challenge for any production. Another formidable challenge the opera poses is its scenic demands. Designed for the lavish resources of the Mariinsky Theatre in its golden age, it calls for all sorts of special effects.
The ravishing beauty of Rimsky-Korsakov’s score has ensured that The Snow Maiden has been well treated by the record industry. There have been six complete, or nearly complete, audio recordings made, including acclaimed interpretations by Krešimir Baranović (1957) and Vladimir Fedoseyev (1977). These have satisfied demand until now, and, notably, there has been no new audio recording since the 1980s. The Opéra National de Paris production from 2017, filmed live at the Opéra Bastille, is thus the first commercially issued video recording, and it naturally raises interpretative issues in a way the earlier sound recordings could largely avoid. The director, Dmitri Tcherniakov, boldly updates the action to the modern day, the synopsis explaining: ‘A community known as the Berendey gather in the present day to recreate the archaic way of life of their Slav ancestors’. The huge stage of the Opéra Bastille is evocatively turned into a sort of deep forest in which the Berendey live in caravans and simple wooden houses. The reason they do this is, perhaps wisely, never explained, but it is clear they have not wholly abandoned the modern world: they wear a mixture of modern and ‘traditional’ clothing (the proportion of the latter gradually increasing), and use modern furniture and utensils, and even electronic devices. It is certainly not what Rimsky-Korsakov was imagining, but the question has to be: does it work on its own terms? On the whole, I would have to say the challenges for the audience are increased rather than diminished.
It’s just about possible to imagine that people living like this would choose a ‘Tsar’, and appoint him an autocratic leader. Perhaps they might even genuinely worship the sun god Yarilo, and take part in fertility rituals, and so forth. But the conception hardly allows for the genuinely mythological material that so fascinated and inspired Rimsky-Korsakov. There must be some suspicion that the story of Snegurochka is merely acted out by these modern Berendey, and the first part of the Prologue, oddly set in a rehearsal studio, with a harsh-sounding Grandfather Frost (Vladimir Ognovenko) looking like a politician unhappily stranded in a cold airport, seems to hint at such a scheme. However, it is not pursued, and when the opera gets going, it seems we are meant to see Snegurochka as a genuine ‘Snow Maiden’, not just a member of the community who is playing that role. Thus, there are two quite different levels of ‘reality’ involved, and the very organic imaginative world of the opera, where the marvellous and the everyday are closely entwined, is splintered. The ending then almost inevitably comes across as (pun intended) cold-hearted, for if the reaction of the Berendey to Snegurochka’s melting suggests they know her to be an actress merely playing the role, that largely undermines the pathos of her ‘death’; on the other hand, if they take her as ‘real’, their seeming indifference to a miracle associated with Yarilo makes their cult look decidedly superficial.
These issues aside, the video recording makes a very good introduction to the opera for those wanting to experience it as more than a musical score. It is intelligently and sensitively directed for television by Andy Sommer (it was broadcast on ARTE in 2017), and with many individual scenes, it’s possible to forget the ‘present day’ aspect entirely. The musical values are very high, even if muffled to some extent by the Opéra Bastille’s acoustic. The title role is superbly taken by Aida Garifullina, who not only looks just right, as a sort of ‘lost waif’, but brilliantly acts the part of a confused innocent ill-prepared for human life, singing with a beautiful crystalline purity and sense of yearning. The second most important role, the shepherd minstrel Lel’, was written as a mezzo part, but is here given to the Ukrainian countertenor Yuriy Mynenko, who is initially presented as a sort of long-haired hippie. He sings his songs with mesmerizing intensity and beauty of intonation and, better than the other human characters, manages to project a sense of timelessness, as though to suggest the minstrel will always be with us. These two are the stars of the show, but are very ably supported by a strong cast including Martina Serafin as Kupava, Snegurochka’s friend and later enemy, Maxim Paster as a fastidious and precise Tsar Berendey, Thomas Johannes Mayer as a commanding Mizgir’, and Elena Manistina as Bonny Spring. Mikhail Tatarnikov conducts with style and real feeling for the opera’s unusual, but quietly potent drama.
In summary, I would say that anyone simply wanting to enjoy Rimsky-Korsakov’s superb score, a perfectly understandable wish, should stick with one of the classic audio recordings. But for those who are seriously interested in The Snow Maiden as a stage work, and undoubted imaginative and directorial challenge, this new video release will be an essential purchase. It is generously subtitled in English, French, German, Spanish, Korean, and Japanese.
David Chandler
Previous review (Blu-ray): Mike Parr
Full cast list
Snegurochka (the Snow Maiden) - Aida Garifullina
Lel’ - Yuriy Mynenko
Kupava - Martina Serafin
Tsar Berendey - Maxim Paster
Mizgir’ - Thomas Johannes Mayer
Bonny Spring - Elena Manistina
Grandfather Frost - Vladimir Ognovenko
Bermyata - Franz Hawlata
Bobïl’-Bakula - Vasily Gorshkov
Bobïlikha - Carole Wilson
Forest Sprite - Vasily Efimov
First Crier - Vincent Morell
Second Crier - Pierpaolo Palloni
Royal Page - Olga Oussova
Note that here, and throughout the review, the names are given according to the translations and transcriptions Richard Taruskin uses in The Grove Dictionary of Opera.
