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Tragédiennes 3: Les Héroïnes
Romantiques
Étienne-Nicolas MÉHUL (1783-1817)
Ariodant (1799): Quelle fureur barbare !... Mais, que dis-je ?...
O des amants le plus fidèle [10 :06]
Rodolphe KREUTZER (1766-1831)
Astyanax (1801) : Ah, ces perfides grecs … Dieux, à qui
recourir [3 :20]
Antonio SALIERI (1750-1825)
Les Danaïdes (1784) : Ouverture [4 :47]*
Christoph Willibald GLUCK (1714-1787)
Iphigénie en Tauride (1779) : Non, cet affreux devoir –
Je t’implore et je tremble [3 :17]
François-Joseph GOSSEC (1734-1829)
Thésée (1782) : Ah ! faut-il me venger … Ma rivale
triomphe [3 :19]
Giacomo MEYERBEER (1791-1884)
Le Prophète (1849) : Ah, mon fils [3 :55]
Auguste MERMET (1810-1889)
Roland à Roncevaux (1864) : Prête à te fuir … Le soir pensive
[6 :21]
Hector BERLIOZ (1803-1869)
Les Troyens (1858) : Entrée des constructeurs – Entrée
des matelots – Entrée des laboureurs [3 :57]*, Ah !
Je vais mourir… Adieu, fière cité [6 :13]
Camille SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921)
Henry VIII (1883) : O cruel souvenir ! … Je ne te
reverrai jamais [8 :32]
Jules MASSENET (1842-1912)
Hérodiade (1881) : C’est Jean ! … Ne me refuse pas
[4 :10]
Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901)
Don Carlos (1867) : Toi qui sus le néant des grandeurs
de ce monde [9 :33]
Véronique Gens (soprano) [except items marked *]
Les Talens Lyriques/Christophe Rousset
rec. 30 June – 5 July 2011, Ircam, Paris
Booklet includes original texts with English and German translations
VIRGIN CLASSICS 0709272 [67:49]
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Have I been missing something? This is the third volume of a
series that began from the dawn of French opera, with Lully,
Campra and Rameau, and now reaches its romantic flowering in
the later 19th century. Common to all three discs
is the presence of Gluck; French opera, as can be seen from
the names of Gluck, Salieri, Meyerbeer and Verdi, is intended
in the broad sense of opera in French.
An ambitious programme for a single singer. I can only say that,
as far as the present end of the operation is concerned, Véronique
Gens is triumphantly in command of it all. Her voice has a natural
sweetness that may seem small until we realize that she can
expand excitingly – as in the climax of the Verdi – without
a trace of hardening. She can also employ her chest tones without
rasping. Above all she has weighed every word, every phrase,
to bring maximum meaning to what are almost exclusively dramatic
scenas rather than strict arias. Given that the period-instrument
band exploits the piquant sound of its wind instruments in the
quiet passages and invests the agitated ones with a whiplash
attack and a sizzling precision that even Toscanini would have
been proud of, the music is given every possible chance.
It is here that some doubts arise. Maybe for those who have
followed the whole enterprise from its first volume the whole
is greater than the sum of its parts. The parts that open volume
3 come from a period which did not produce many French operas
that have taken a firm place in the repertoire. Méhul, Kreutzer
and Gossec are all names one knows from the history books. Or,
at least, we remember that Méhul wrote an overture that Beecham
was fond of, Kreutzer – yes, that Kreutzer – was the
dedicatee of one of Beethoven’s violin sonatas and Gossec wrote
a charming piece called Tambourin that used to be very
popular. In theory one can only welcome the opportunity to know
more about them. Would a complete opera have made a better case
for them, or buried them for good? The trouble is that they
seem stylistically interchangeable. Adept at providing dramatic
recitation with some colourful orchestral touches, they fail
to cap it with a memorable tune you take away with you. And,
if they do try, they fall back on banality. It can be described
as “functional” music, the late 18th century equivalent
of a film soundtrack. With opulent staging I’m sure it “worked”,
and maybe still would. Which is why I wonder if a complete opera
might not have made a better case. Gens certainly makes a strong
case for being chosen as the leading soprano in any such recording
that might be made.
The interesting thing about this group is that Gluck, as far
as this aria from this opera goes, seems no better than the
others. As for the Salieri overture, it sounds like a Hoffnung-style
tease, a manic switch of Mozart quotations dangled before us
and whisked away while we still have the source on the tip of
our tongues. Well, there’s one you’d have to get… only the Salieri
quote precedes the Mozart “source” by two years, giving rise
to interesting reflections.
We now step forward a generation. Meyerbeer’s “Le Prophète”
was actually a repertoire opera for a substantial part of its
lifetime. Famed for its grandiosity, the piece here is tender,
lyrical, and brings a breath of genuine inspiration to the programme
at last. Mermet was new to me entirely. His aria is a well-written
affair with a principal lyrical tune that comes dangerously
close to Adophe Adam’s “Cantique de Noël”. I have no idea, though
whether Adam’s pretty bit of Christmas tinsel had reached its
present-day ubiquity by 1864.
The Berlioz orchestral piece is a surprisingly sprightly affair
for a grand opera that is mostly very grand indeed. Dido’s monologue
and aria are another matter, full of tragic depth and heartfelt,
if not heart-on-sleeve – emotion. Gens interprets it strongly
with a strong awareness of its essentially classical manner
of utterance.
The Saint-Saëns piece is a lyrical, tender outpouring with a
well-coloured orchestral part. It is not an obvious smash-hit
like that aria from “Samson et Dalila”, but it is possibly
equal to Dalila’s other two arias from the same opera, which
is no mean thing. A modern complete recording is probably needed,
preferably with Gens in the role of Catherine d’Aragon.
The Massenet extract suffers from the problem of many later
19th century operas that, while not through-composed
in a strictly Wagnerian sense, they are nonetheless continuous.
They have extractible “arias” in the sense that sometimes one
singer takes the stage alone for five minutes or so, but they
are not, and the present aria is not, satisfactorily-shaped
individual entities with a beginning, middle and end. This is
not intended to detract from a piece that is surely finely effective
in its context. It just sounds a bit inconclusive here.
Can a piece have a beginning, middle and end, and at the same
time form part of a larger overall design? Meyerbeer and Berlioz
seemed to show that it can. Verdi, just in case you haven’t
guessed it, gives a lesson to them all. How to forge a meaningful
accompaniment, how to make each section follow on inexorably
from the last and, finally, how to provide that essential ingredient
of a great evening in the opera house, a climatic phrase that
just knocks you for six. Gens rises to it all splendidly.
Put like this, it sounds as if I’m suggesting Gens would have
done better to record a disc of popular Verdi arias and have
done with it. No doubt she would have done that well, but I’m
very glad she opted, instead, to use her talents for the purpose
of extending our knowledge. Even if a few of the pieces here
elicit the response, “Well, so that’s what it’s like..”, the
singing and the orchestral collaboration ensure there’s never
a dull moment. A major project from a major artist.
Christopher Howell
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