Respighi’s Marie Victoire
edited by Ian Lace
Nelly
Miricioiu and Alberto Gazale in a duet
scene from the premiere of Respighi’s
Marie Victoire (uncredited photo
issued in the Italian music magazine
Opera, January 2004 issue)
The world premiere
of Ottorino Respighi’s opera Marie
Victoire (sometimes referred to
as Maria Vittoria in Respighi’s
later Italian version. The original
is sung in French) was staged at the
Teatro dell’Opera in Rome in late January
and early February 2004. It starred
Nelly Miricioiu as Marie Victoire de
Lanjallay and Alberto Gazale as Maurice
de Lanjallay with Alberto Cupido as
Clorivière.
Respighi had written
Marie Victoire at the beginning
of the second decade of the 20th
century and yet it has lain unperformed
until this year. It clearly possessed
considerable merit for the directors
of La Scala Milan and of the Costanzi
Theatre (now the Opera House) in Rome
were impressed and Maestro Tullio Serafin
examined it; but pressures to stage
other operas of Verdi and Wagner precluded
its production in1913. And then the
Great War intruded with consequent cuts
in expenditure for new works. And so
Respighi’s opera lay in the publisher’s
drawer for many years and no doubt Respighi
was pressed for other work.
The opera is based
on the drama, Marie Victoire,
by the French author Edmond Guiraud
first performed at the Théâtre
Antoine in Paris in April 1913. Guiraud
is also credited with the libretto for
Respighi’s opera. Marie Victoire
holds a place at the centre of Respighi’s
output (No. 100 in the Catalogue
of Music by Ottorino Respighi)
Marie Victoire
is a work of the composer’s early maturity
and it comes between two other Respighi
operas: Semirâma and Belfagor.
On this occasion, the instrumental aspect
of the music is more transparent than
for Semirâma, the orchestra
being of normal size and rather bare
of percussion. The correspondent of
Il Resto del Carlino, making
the above comparison, wrote of Marie
Victoire as being freer, lighter,
less pompous or heroic; more sentimental,
more intimate, more theatrical ... the
singing is natural, the melody preponderant"
On might imagine that
Marie Victoire would be
an obvious progression from its predecessor
Semirama in which Respighi had
already found his own voice. Listening
to the off-air recording of the first
performance for the first time, one
might not immediately recognise the
usual Respighi ‘footprints’. Indeed,
in the first act, one might be forgiven
for mistaking the music for Richard
Strauss. But as the opera progresses
the accustomed voice of Respighi becomes
more apparent. Interestingly, there
are pre-echoes of melodies which would
be present in subsequent works.
One of the Respighi
Society members, after listening to
the work said, "As I listened repeatedly,
I appreciated the work more and more,
recognising it as a valuable addition
to Respighi’s opera canon. The orchestration,
elegant and somewhat lighter than that
of Semirama’s is well up to his
finest standard. He repeatedly used
the fascinating device of inserting
pastoral ballads of the story’s period,
juxtaposing them against the dramatic
emphasis of his music. From time to
time the subject and its treatment brought
to mind Poulenc’s Dialogues des
Carmélites, particularly
when a Carmelite novice is to be executed.
But Poulenc could never have heard it
or seen the score of Marie Victoire."
"The orchestra
in the Rome premiere performance was
more than adequate and conveyed the
constant swings of mood excellently
as did the principals. I do not enjoy
excessive vibrato in the human voice
and sadly that took away some pleasure
in this performance. At the end one
recognises it is a good story, of great
drama, well told and composed with fine
skill."
The Plot The
opera tells the story of the effect
of fear and the blood-letting of the
first year of the French Republic on
a respectable and honourable countess;
the pressures changing the behaviour,
character and response of those about
her. Her gardener becomes her gaoler
and finally she sees him as her only
family. It lasts for 2½ hours and is
sung, as composed, in French.
Act 1 In her
chateau ((the noble mansion of Lanjallay
at Louveciennes) Countess Marie sings
a pastoral ballad at the harpsichord,
only to be warned by her gardener, Cloteau
that it is dangerous to sing a song
written for the widow of an enemy of
the Republic. A quarrel between Cloteau
and Kermarec another servant ensues,
the music rising. Finally her husband,
Maurice, urges her to continue, only
to be interrupted by the drums and shouts
of an approaching mob. Trying to continue,
her voice is countervailed by the mob’s
singing of the Carmagnole, and
their demanding the death of all aristocrats.
Their leader flourishes decrees authorising
this and conveys that he must hear of
any suspect activity. After Maurice
and Simon, a Deputy of the Gironde,
assures them that nobody present can
be suspected, the mob leaves, singing.
A charming love duet between Marie and
Maurice is followed by the entrance
of Clorivière bringing news that
Maurice’s father is in danger in Brittany.
They deplore the condition of the nation
and an attendant slips away to contact
the mob leader. Departing for Brittany
with Kermarec, Maurice makes a fond
farewell, exchanging declarations of
everlasting love and Chevalier Clorivère
reprises the ballad at the harpsichord.
The lovely melody of the parting takes
on a darker colour as Marie sings, conveying
a sense of approaching doom. A violin
obbligato echoes the melody sadly, the
harp enhancing it. Marie weeps inconsolably,
when to her horror the alerted leader
returns with members of the mob and
they seize Clorivière. There
follows the music of a brief dance of
menace, reminiscent of Belkis. Finally,
the curtain falls to a gentle rendition
of the ballad by the violins, then augmented
by the woodwind.
Act 2 - is set
in a convent chapel, in use as a prison
for enemies of the Republic. Marie sits
with a poet, Simon, and a sad old man,
with his granddaughter, a Carmelite
novice, while the Marquis de Langlade
tries to interest fellow prisoners in
enacting a Rousseau play. The curtain
rises to a roll of drums, that is displaced
by a wordless song (la, la), which becomes
a minuet to be danced in the play. Marie
protests at the levity, demanding respect
for the feelings of those approaching
death. The following dispute is quelled
by the entry of Cloteau, who is now
her gaoler. He promises violins for
the Rousseau performance. Then, from
the courtyard, comes the singing of
the choir for the play, juxtaposed with
sad expressions of fear by the grandfather
and novice. Suddenly Cloteau announces
that Maurice too is held by the Committee
of Public Safety. Simon despairs that
his fate will be no better than theirs;
the only hope would be Robespierre’s
death. The choir continues rehearsing
and Maria sings to a violin accompaniment.
Recalling their childhood together,
Clorivière declares his love
for Maria, to her consternation. Clorivière
is furious when overheard, but he continues,
causing an argument with Simon, which
is interrupted by a roll of drums, whereupon
the commissioner arrives. Cloteau reads
the names of those to be executed: two
Marquises, a Chevalier, Clorivière,
Marie, Simon, the Abbé and the
novice. A dance and song by the prisoners,
precedes the grandfather’s plea to be
taken in place of the novice. The drums
fade to create a serene end to the scene.
Cloteau laments that
Marie has been denounced and that he
is now serving her tormentors. She forgives
him and she departs supported by Clorivière.
A planted spy begins to mock them and
Cloteau challenges him and in the argument
he and Simon kill him, the timpani underlining
the drama.
Marie returns, her
face reflecting shame and the outrage*
she has suffered. She sings with deep
sorrow, seeming to have no life left
in her; she recognises that she is damned
forever. The Marquis continues to mount
the play, the violins striking up the
overture and the drama commences. Then
a bell chimes eleven, drums and shots
are heard and an entr’acte contains
music for the play, interposed with
the crowd singing the Carmagnole and
with music expressive of impending death
and her dishonour.
This quietens to music
heralding a calm dawn, the oboe prominent.
A shot, tumult and drums shatter this,
Cloteau shouting that Robespierre is
dead. Recognising they are saved, the
prisoners rush out, leaving Marie. Crying,
she sings that the guillotine would
have cleansed her soul and that now
she must endure a dishonoured life.
Act 3 It is
Christmas, six years later in the Paris
boutique where Marie sells hats. Milliners
tease Cloteau in a lively passage, establishing
a mood far from the previous act. Emerantine
enters with Marie’s five-year old son,
Georges, and she quarrels with Cloteau
until Marie tells him to close up. The
mood has changed and she sings sorrowfully
to Maurice in heaven, protesting her
innocence and that she lives only to
serve the needs of Georges. The music
calms and Simon joins her announcing
that Clorivière is coming before
quitting France. She embraces her son
and there is a knock on the door. The
strings again establish calm, before
Clorivière’s entry and Marie
tells Georges to embrace the crying
gentleman. On his knees before Georges,
Clorivière begs him to pray for
him, then leaves unforgiven, the music
redolent of his grief; he had hoped
for some hint of comfort. Alone with
Cloteau, Marie tells him always to set
another place at table, as he is now
her only family. They reminisce, the
mood calm, without a hint of turmoil,
when an owl’s hoot alarms them and the
music mounts in anticipation of further
drama.
Maurice and his manservant
arrive; they had gone to America assuming
that Maria had perished. The strings
lead through to a romantic reunion between
man and wife. An explosion startles
them and Georges cries out. Maurice
asks if this is their son and Marie,
mad with suffering, admits it is not
his heir. There is the sound of frantic
galloping and cries of death intervene
as Clorivière enters admitting
he has tried to assassinate Bonaparte.
Seeing an extra place at the table,
Maurice assumes that Clorivière
is the father. The music mounts as they
confront one another, Maurice forcing
him to leave, whereupon the police,
soldiers and others pour in accusing
Maurice. Seeing no future for himself,
he accepts the blame, as the crowd cries
for blood, leaving Marie alone in the
sacked boutique, the strings taking
the drama to a high point as she calls
out her husband’s name. The music subsides,
but a rhythmic pulse emerges, leading
to a slow instrumental prelude, the
music presaging the drama of the final
scene.
The last scene is set
in the courtroom of Maurice’s trial.
When he will not respond to her, Marie
makes an impassioned admission of guilt
in allowing herself to be violated,
explaining the torment she has suffered.
A drum beat punctuates her public humiliation.
Tears spring to the eyes of Maurice
and the judge, and the public call for
Maurice to forgive her, which he does.
They demand his exoneration, but Maurice
refuses to indict the man who has besmirched
his honour. Cloteau intervenes to name
"the filthy beast" but Clorivière
stands and proclaims his own guilt,
while asking Marie and Maurice to forgive
him. They do and Clorivière shouts
his defiance of the regime, grabs a
pistol and sings the ballad which opened
the opera. The song and cries for his
blood are cut short. He has shot himself.
* As in so many
operas, much is left to the imagination.
Here it is left to the listener to fill
in what has happened off-stage. It must
be supposed that in the witnessing of
so many bloody executions, Marie, anticipating
that she, herself, would shortly fall
under the guillotine, had sought comfort
and passion with Clorivière
