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Reviewer:
Richard Lawrence
Like Les fêtes de l’Hymen et de l’Amour (Glossa, 12/14), Les fêtes de Polymnie is an opera-ballet. But whereas the former was to be composed for a royal wedding, Polymnie was written to celebrate the defeat of the forces commanded by the Duke of Cumberland (not yet the ‘butcher’ of Culloden) at the Battle of Fontenoy. Staged at the Paris Opéra on October 12, 1745, it marked the first collaboration between Rameau and Louis de Cahusac, the librettist of several further operas including Les fêtes de l’Hymen et de l’Amour and Zoroastre.
The Prologue takes place in the Temple of Memory. In the presence of the goddess of memory, Mnémosyne, a golden statue is erected to ‘the greatest of kings’, who has triumphed over Strife and Jealousy. We could be back in the grand siècle but the sovereign is now Louis XV. Polyhymnia, the Muse of lyric poetry, invites the victorious warriors to be entertained at her festivities. In the first entrée, ‘Legend’, Hebe tells Alcides (Hercules) that she cannot marry without the consent of Fate; Jupiter intercedes on her behalf, Fate gives the nod, and all is well. In ‘History’, King Seleucus returns from battle to marry Stratonice; when he sees that she and his son Antiochus are in love, he gracefully withdraws his suit. The last entrée, ‘Enchantment’, has Zimès bewitched into cruelty by a malevolent fairy. Fate has decreed that only love will release him from the spell. Argélie and his mother Oriade bring this about.
The Hungarian chorus and period orchestra are so idiomatic that they could easily have come straight from the banks of the Seine. There’s a very fine haute-contre in Mathias Vidal. In ‘Legend’, Alcides is a bit of a wimp – no club-wielder he – but Vidal makes you care for his plight through his sensitive phrasing. As Antiochus, he is tender in a G minor air in which contentment is tinged with wistfulness. Lovely singing from the three women, and Thomas Dolié movingly expresses Zimès’s remorse. And the music! An all-too-brief Lullian sleep scene, an eight-minute chaconne, a hunting chorus (with some terrific horn-playing) and much else besides, all faultlessly brought together by György Vashegyi. Most enjoyable. |
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