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Analyste: Daniel Morrison
Rameau’s opera Zoroastre, in the terminology of 18th-century French musical theater designated a tragédie lyrique or tragédie en musique, has been recorded several times before. The 2001 Erato recording, led by that tireless advocate for the French Baroque, William Christie, is still available. The 1983 recording conducted by Sigiswald Kuijken, on Deutsche Harmonia Mundi, has apparently been deleted, but there is also a somewhat perplexing video led by Christophe Rousset, another highly regarded specialist in this repertoire (Opus Arte). All these recordings, however, are not of the original 1749 version of the opera but rather of the heavily revised version prepared for its 1756 revival. This new release, under the auspices of the Centre de musique baroque de Versailles, is the first recording of the 1749 version. Although it ran for 25 sold-out performances at the Académie royale de musique, and although Rameau was so popular that the government had to order the theater management to produce no more than two of his works in a given season in order to give other composers a chance, Zoroastre in its original form met with a mixed reception. In response to the criticisms their initial effort had received, Rameau and his customary librettist, Louis de Cahusac, produced a major rewrite of the opera for the 1756 revival. Acts I and IV remained substantially the same, with minor changes, although there was a cut in the final scene of act IV that I regard as undesirable. The other three acts were “largely recast, involving fundamental changes to the plot and the replacement or revision of much of the music,” to cite Rameau authority Graham Sadler’s notes for the Christie recording. While the two most important female roles, those of Amélite and Érinice, were significantly expanded, three of the lesser roles were eliminated and a new one was introduced. As a result, in the words of Benoît Dratwicki’s notes for the present release, “the two versions can almost be regarded as two separate operas.” After studying both versions, I can unhesitatingly agree with this assessment. I cannot say that one or the other of the versions is superior overall, but I can assert with confidence that both overflow with musical riches, and that the original version is unquestionably viable. I also find that the 1749 version of the final act is the better of the two. In devising their scenario, Rameau and Cahusac drew upon ancient Persian religion and mythology instead of the more common sources of subject matter for Baroque opera, Classical Greece and Rome and Medieval Europe. Zoroastrianism was the principal religion of the Persian Empire prior to the Islamic conquest. Its theology stressed the stark opposition and struggle between good and evil, represented by the opposing deities Ahura Mazda and Ahriman. Rameau and Cahusac combined this precept with compatible Masonic ideas, including the opposition between light and darkness, love and hate, and enlightenment and ignorance. (It is known that Cahusac was a mason, and Rameau is believed to have been one.) According to Sadler, a major distinction between the two versions is that the 1749 one focuses “almost exclusively” on the “struggle between Good and Evil,” paying “far less attention than usual to the amorous entanglements of the characters.” But there are actually quite a few expressions of love between Zoroastre and Amélite in the 1749 version, although admittedly less time is spent on this theme than in the revision, and there is also a love scene for two minor characters whose roles were eliminated in the 1756 version. As in Rameau’s final stage work, Les Boréades, the action of Zoroastre is set in Bactria, an ancient realm that included parts of present-day Afghanistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan, and in its capital, the city of Bactra, today the Afghan city of Balkh. The characters in the drama include Zoroastre himself, the founder or mentor of the Magi (Zoroastrian priests); Abramane, identified as the High Priest of the Idols in the 1749 cast list and as the High Priest of Ahriman in that of the Christie recording; the two Bactrian princesses, Amélite and Érinice; Orosmade, the Supreme Being and God of Light (who in the revised version becomes Oromasès, the King of the Genies and is transformed from a tenor to a bass); Céphie and Zélise, young Bactrian women of Amélite’s court (the latter role was eliminated in the revision); Zopire, a priest of the Idols or of Ahriman; Abénis and Cénide, two young Indian followers of Zoroastre (whose roles were deleted in the revision). There is also an allegorical figure, La Vengeance, who has a substantial part in act IV. As the first act begins, the Bactrian king has met an untimely death at the hands of Abramane and his minions. The kingdom is in ruins, and Zoroastre has been exiled. Amélite is the presumptive heir to the throne, but Abramane and Érinice conspire to seize it. They also seek revenge against Amélite and Zoroastre for having been rejected by them as lovers. To further their plot, they form a marriage of convenience, and Abramane agrees to share his supernatural powers with Érinice. Amélite appears and bemoans the absence of her beloved Zoroastre, but she is abducted by a band of “Cruel Spirits” summoned by Érinice. Act II is set in Hindustan, at the foot of Mt. Taurus, where the exiled Zoroastre has taken refuge. At sunrise, he conducts marriages for some of his followers, including Abénis and Cénide. All sing of the joys of love, but Zoroastre laments his exile and the oppression under which the people of Bactria are suffering. (Unlike what happens in the revised version, he doesn’t mention his longing for Amélite and desire to free her from her cruel captivity.) A flaming cloud appears and opens to reveal a chariot. The voice of Orosmade commands Zoroastre to free Bactria from the tyranny to which it has been subjected. Zoroastre leaps into the chariot and, enclosed by the cloud, disappears into the air. As the third act opens, the city of Bactra is engulfed in darkness, and the people lament their miserable fate. Zoroastre arrives and mobilizes the people to resist the evil powers. Bright light dissipates the darkness, and Amélite is rescued just as Érinice is about to stab her to death. (In the revised version, the rescue occurs at the end of act II.) But Abramane appears and reimposes darkness on the realm. Zoroastre appeals to the Spirits of the Air, who provide him with various talismans, including a magic ivory wand that conjures a palace in the air. He places Amélite under their protection before departing to do further battle with the forces of darkness and evil. Act IV takes place in the subterranean vault of the temple of Ahriman, with its bloodstained altar. Zopire brings news of reverses suffered in battle by Abramane’s forces—the power at Zoroastre’s disposal is causing the soldiers to turn their weapons against themselves. Érinice is losing confidence in her alliance with Abramane, but he assures her that his powers will prevail in the end. He initiates rites to mobilize the forces of the evil god, involving the bloody execution of captives and the participation of the evil spirits of Hate, Jealousy, Despair, and Vengeance, along with a coterie of Demons and Infernal Spirits. The subterranean voice of Ahriman summons Abramane and his priests to battle. In the final act, Zoroastre and Amélite are about to celebrate her coronation and their marriage when Abramane and his forces appear, proclaiming that an oracle has chosen Érinice to be queen. The two leaders appeal to their respective gods, and the powers backing Zoroastre prove stronger. A flaming pit opens at the feet of the evil High Priest and his minions, and they are “swallowed up into the bowels of the earth.” A magnificent temple arises on the site, populated by the Magi and the Spirits of the Elements. Amid general rejoicing, the enthronement of Amélite and her marriage to Zoroastre are completed. The score is fully representative of Rameau’s unsurpassed resources of invention, expressivity, and spectacular effect. The orchestration, including clarinets for the first time in French musical theater, is lavish with vivid color. The struggle between good and evil is already highlighted in the Overture, in which the harsh, brutal opening statement soon gives way to music of a noble, uplifting character. There follows a cornucopia of musical riches, in the form of melodious recitatives, airs, ariettes, duets, ensembles, and choruses. As is usual with Rameau, the vocal numbers are interspersed with a large quantity of dances of various kinds. The score provides ample opportunity for ravishing vocalism, which the excellent cast supplies in abundance. The singers all have fine voices, well suited to this repertoire and well schooled in the idiom. Their performances, including those of the lesser roles, are technically accomplished, dramatically charged, effectively characterized, and expressively shaped. Since the versions they represent are so different, performance comparisons between this release and the Christie recording are to some extent moot—true Rameau enthusiasts will need both sets, given that each one contains much treasurable music that is not in the other. The Christie recording also boasts an excellent cast, overall the equal of the one heard on this new release. In general, Christie’s singers exhibit still more pronounced characterization, dramatization, and expressive inflection, although their counterparts are by no means lacking in those respects. In the title role, Christie’s Mark Padmore offers pleasing, well-centered tone and sensitive expressivity, but Reinoud van Mechelen, in the 1749 version, delivers these qualities with a larger, more heroic voice. As Amélite, both Jodie Devos and her counterpart in the Christie recording, Gaëlle Méchaly, have fine light-soprano voices, with purity of tone and proficient coloratura technique, but I give a slight edge to Devos, whose entrancing vocalism reaches its pinnacle in the joyous act V ariette “Règne Amour,” with its spectacular high note. (Incredibly, this stunning number was omitted from the revision.) Both Véronique Gens and Anna Maria Panzarella are convincing in the role of Érinice and are capable of impassioned lyrical singing as well as ferocity, but the revised version gives Panzarella more opportunity for the former. As Abramane, Tassis Christoyannis deploys a good light bass voice and interprets the role persuasively, but Christie’s Nathan Berg has a larger, deeper, more powerful voice, with stronger low notes, and is a more fearsome representative of evil. Other singers in the new recording cover more than one of the lesser roles. For instance, bass David Witczak takes the roles of Zopire, Ahriman, a Genie, and La Vengeance, interpreting each part convincingly, even when he has to sing as Ahriman right after representing La Vengeance. Alexis Kossenko, who began his career as a flutist, has achieved deserved prominence as a conductor of Baroque repertoire, with numerous recordings to his credit. This is the third Rameau recording led by him that I’ve reviewed, and the previous releases have established a record of excellence that is maintained in this new recording. He leads the performance with a sure hand, with energy and a strong rhythmic profile, with pacing that is forward-moving but never hurried and that allows the listener to savor the details of the score. Christie’s tempos tend to be faster, but I don’t find them too fast. The excellent Namur Chamber Chorus is a match for Christie’s choristers. Kossenko’s orchestra, which in this performance exactly emulates the composition and seating plan of the Paris Opéra orchestra of the 1750s, has an edge over Christie’s deservedly renowned ensemble in color, in textural clarity and detail, and in incisive execution, advantages that might have something to do with a recording that is two decades younger. That recording, made in the Grand Manège of the Namur Concert Hall in Namur, Belgium, is spacious, clear, detailed, and vivid in color, with excellent definition of vocal and instrumental timbres. The accompanying 96-page booklet has the French libretto with an English translation, while the notes are trilingual, including German as well. The organization of the booklet is somewhat inconvenient, however. The cast listing, one of the first things one would want to see upon opening the booklet, is on page 10, and on page 46 there is a separate list of the dramatis personae, without the performers. With much wonderful and otherwise unavailable music by Rameau, superbly performed, this release is for me one to treasure, and I believe it would be so for other aficionados of the French Baroque as well. It is guaranteed a place on my next Want List.
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