Texte paru dans: / Appeared in: Alpha |
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Reviewer: Bertil
van Boer
In 1778 Paris was in the grip
of the rather tumultuous Gluck-Piccinni feud, where rival factions argued
(sometimes forcefully) the merits of operas by both Christoph Willibald von
Gluck and Nicolò Piccinni, both of whom were invited to Paris to “revive”
the Tragèdie Lyrique from the time of Louis XIV. One need not dwell upon
this contretemps, but rather let it suffice that the rivalry at the Opéra
was calculated to fill seats with their partisans. That both were foreigners
was important perhaps in the lack of decorum that greeted the spirited
debate, but it did mean that earlier French attempts in the same direction,
by Jean-Philippe Rameau among others, were largely supplanted. Never one to
let an opportunity go by, the intendant Ann-Pierre-Jacques du Valgay was
always on the lookout for increasing his audience base through new and
perhaps innovative means. Rameau’s Dardanus, for example, had been revived
tenuously 1760–71, but the work, though proclaimed a masterpiece by the
audiences, was thought too old-fashioned for the public taste, particularly
after the advent of Gluck a few years later. Valgay, however, noted the
positive views of Rameau, and was also cognizant of the failure of Gluck’s
rendering of a tale in Torquato Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberate the previous
year. Gluck had expended all his efforts into his Armide, only to have it
whistled off stage. Adding insult to injury, the Parisians demanded a
reprogramming of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s final work of the same name as a
substitute. How much this reaction can be ascribed to a foreigner setting a
Quinault French iconic text composed by Lully (himself deified frequently)
or the various cliques that were then in vogue is difficult to say, but two
things seem to stand out: first, the same sort of reaction had occurred a
decade or so earlier when Jean-Joseph de Modonville had dared to set a
modern version of Lully’s Thésée, and second, whether Valgay remembered the
critical conflagration that had accompanied this abortive production.
Modonville, of course, destroyed his own score as penance, but Gluck was
made of sterner stuff and persisted despite the reviews, until Armide became
a staple of the French repertory by the end of the century. Valgay made the rather odd decision at this point to reprogram Lully’s work as a sop to the audiences, but it was probably clear from the outset that the work, iconic as it was, was too old-fashioned; the orchestration was dated, the vocal parts needed revising, and the staging required new dramaturgy. Therefore, he decided to hand the score over to Louis-Joseph Francœur, nephew of the famed composer François, to update. Apparently the arranger took his task seriously, for in short order he had a plan that included a new overture, accompanied recitatives, musical insertion from other works, and a raft of new dances that were more suitable to Parisian ballet of the 1770s. Valgay, however, must have realized that, whatever modernization was done to the venerable work, it would better remain in the realm of icon, and he shifted his attention to the task of convincing audiences that modern composers could set older texts, something that had caused the kerfuffle with Gluck in the first place. Thus, the work by Louis-Joseph was terminated and this modernization left to molder in the archives until this recording.
Given that the text by
Quinault serves as the outline of the opera, a plot summary is not
necessary; one can look up the texts in both the Lully and Gluck recordings.
Suffice it to say, the work remained unfinished, and score was completed by
Benoît Dratwicki and Julien Dubruque. Here, one can find a sampling of how
early works in ancient régime France were commonly updated for the later
public, though even today how this might play as the edition of a
rearrangement of an iconic original is doubtful apart from this documentary
recording.
Francœur’s overture is quite
modern, even a bit Gluckian, though not as dramatic, with fine woodwind
writing and lots of Mannheim touches. It is a good piece, though what Lully
would have thought of it would have raised eyebrows. This contrasts with the
first chorus, where the dotted rhythms seem a bit forced with the thicker
orchestral textures. Armide’s first accompagnato, “Un songe affreux,”
certainly would not be out of place in 1770, with the swirling strings, but
the vocal line fits just a tad awkwardly. Hidraot’s aria with chorus (“Armide
est encore plus aimable”) has the flowing continuo bass part accompanied by
a thicker triadic texture in the strings and a Gluckian homophonic chorus.
Thereupon, one finds a regal chaconne (short, as Lully would have it) but
thickly orchestrated with powerful trumpets and timpani. In the recitative
“O ciel” these turn sinister, quick punctuations as Armide learns that
Renaud has freed all Christian slaves, which in turn merges into a final
chorus. Renaud’s “J’aime la liberté” is short, succinct, and very much in
the Grétry vein with no introduction, a smoothing of the line, and discrete
woodwind parts, all of which appear and vanish subtly. One could not find a
more Gluckian ballet than the demons transformed into nymphs, for this seems
almost a gloss on Elysian fields in Orfeo, as does the chorus and aria that
follows. Here we are far from the world of the Baroque, which is something
that Parisian audiences would certainly have noticed. The gavottes of the
scene alternating between strings and flutes are pretty and quite modern.
Armide’s opening aria of act III (“Ah! Et la liberté”) has some fine
woodwind writing in the introduction, but the accompaniment of the voice
seems a bit awkward at times in terms of voice leading. More interesting are
the gnarly harmonies of the “Premiere air pour la suite de la Haine,” while
his aria with chorus has elements of Zémire et Azor in the accompaniment.
And so it goes, with Lully’s lines often submerged into a thicker and more
colorful orchestration. When Ubalde and his Danes appear in act IV one finds
more Mannheim than Versailles in the use of texture crescendos and rushing
strings; and at the end, as Armide is thrown over, her “Le perfide” returns
to Lully in the rhythms and sparse orchestration, while the demon symphony
and final exhortation (“Traitre! Attends”) is pure Lully and a jarring
exception to the remainder of the work. Here the modern completion does not
connect with the rather lush 18th-century rearrangements, even with the
thunder and lightning of her vanishing. The performance by the Concert Spirtuel is quite fine, with good tempos, a solid instrumental foundation, and good choral singing, though the chorus can sound a bit wooly at times. Véronique Gens does a credible Armide, though sometimes a bit throaty, while Reinoud van Mechelen’s Renauld has the nice lightness of the hautcontre. The rest of the cast are also on form, and the recording itself is just the sort one would imagine for a good rendition of a long-forgotten work. Two questions do come to mind, and none of them really involve whether Francœur ought to have even attempted to update Lully. In other words, the styles of this opera are what they are, and though not unknown as a means of reviving early music at the time, they certainly show that comparisons between this version and the originals are invidious. So, the first question is about the recording itself. The cover seems to be the size and scope of a DVD, and given the through-composed nature of the work, in which one movement mores seamlessly into another, much of its content almost demands a staging. Thus the two discs present what must be only a tithe of the true effect of this revision, and I would have liked to have the music done in context with the visual medium. The second is more aesthetic: Should this updated version of an iconic work really be performed or even revived today? Without discussing the merits of such, it is clear that Armide is a mixed bag stylistically, and even when it was done by Francœur, Valgay knew that it probably would not work. Thus, while it is good to have the opera as a document, and important for that reason, it is not something that, even with the current completion, would appeal beyond an academic audience, in my opinion; at least, not without some sort of visual media attached. If you are into French opera of the last half of the 18th century, then this fine performance will appeal to you; beyond that, it will serve only a documentary function.
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