Anonymous terror vs true humanity
Marie Lambert-Le Bihan directs Dialogues des Carmélites in Liège (****) [live]
Author : Jos Hermans
One might doubt the seriousness of the commitment with which Francis Poulenc confessed to the Catholic Church as a composer in the mid-1930s after several disastrous relationships as a homosexual with younger men. Indeed, Poulenc was considered the playboy of French music for many years. Claude Rostand characterized him as "moine et voyou" (monk and rascal). A visit to the Black Madonna of Rocamadour triggered his spiritual renaissance, and a number of religious works followed, of which "Dialogues des Carmélites" is the culmination. To this end he recycles some from his own work and for the rest he is mostly honest when he admits to having written the work under the influence of Debussy, Monteverdi, Verdi and Musorgski. Listening to the fanfares and the finely coiffed straw of the brass section, he could easily have added Stravinsky to that list.
"Dialogues des Carmélites" owes its place in the opera canon to its harmonic inventiveness and the development of some twenty leitmotifs that provide the work with structure and a never-ending arc of tension. There is the fantastic opening theme that we are told we should associate with the ancien régime. It haunts throughout the score and we find it transformed at the end of the piece. Evident highlights are the death scene of Madame de Croissy (Act I, tableau 4), the duet between Blanche and her brother with its brief but exciting orchestral introduction (Act II, tableau 3) and the finale with the Salve Regina, introduced by a march to the scaffold, the actual orchestral climax of the work (Act III, tableau 4). The 12 scenes of the piece are introduced by orchestral interludes that are never uninteresting. How Poulenc, echoing Debussy, follows the natural rhythm of the French language is admirable. The resulting clear vocal style balances between recitative and arioso. The tonal language is entirely diatonic, only a piano occasionally breaks in to add a modern color. Interesting detail : Dialogues is the only opera where a guillotine gets a separate stave in the orchestral score, as do all the other instruments.
Poulenc worried about the lack of an amorous plot. There is one for sure : it is the love of the Carmelites for God, God as a concoction of the religious that gives them the strength to overcome the fear of death. That life-destroying process, achieved through prayer and asceticism, is what Blanche calls divine grace. Once achieved, only suicide remains for her : she offers herself of her own accord under the falling axe of the revolutionary guillotine. "Dialogues des Carmélites" thus focuses on the unavoidable tension between the life-affirming nature of spirituality (through its creative role in the arts) and the life-destroying nature of that same spirituality in following the path to asceticism and martyrdom. As with Parsifal, one does not need to have a special talent for a religious life to experience the sisters' spiritual growth as a theatrical catharsis.
The second theme that guarantees the immortality of the work is the revelation of the ease with which revolutions turn into terror. The contempt for dissenters by the revolutionaries is concisely summed up in the commissioner's dialogue : "Il n'y a pas de liberté pour les ennemies de la Liberté", to which Mère Marie replies with "La nôtre est hors de vos atteintes ". It is the juxtaposition of the anonymous terror of the revolutionaries and the true humanity of the religious that constitutes the greatness of the final act. To sum up : modern staging must capture both the Catholic mysticism and the destructiveness of the revolutionary spirit.
Has the ancien regime dozed off when the revolution strikes ? The marquis is asleep, the servant lies stretched out on the floor, while the audience takes their seats in the auditorium. Only Speranza Scappucci's prelude to Poulenc's opera awakens them to life. In Cécile Trémolières' unified set, scene changes are very simple. The stage is framed by walls of frosted glass panes that evoke the atmosphere of a monastery. At the center is a trapezoidal stage whose sharp point is facing the audience and will not reveal its secret until later. The production team tackles the piece with less visual imagination than Olivier Py did in his matchless production for Brussels but never turns against it. After all, the play is strong enough to never become boring.
After intermission, the back wall is replaced by a horizon featuring outsized cannonballs. Starting with the prison scene centered around Madame Lidoine, the performance comes full circle. Bathed in Fiammetta Baldiserri's warm sunlight, an enchanting tableau vivant emerges. The jailer (Kamil Ben Hsaïn Lachiri) announcing the names of the condemned nuns makes a great impression. The trapezoidal playing surface is lifted up, tilted and now shows itself as the giant falling axe of the revolutionary guillotine, the tacit symbol of anonymous terror. The chorus, which according to the stage directions is supposed to converge on the Place de la Révolution, is not to be seen on stage. Is it because the Revolution is a little ashamed of itself? While the sisters drop into a mass grave like motionless dolls during the Salve Regina, Blanche will find herself transfigured by divine grace in the closing measures, projected like a beam of light on her chest. Again, this finale is highly irresistible.
Patrick Bolleire does not always articulate the Marquis' part with sufficient rhythmic feeling and respect for the consonants. His discourse loses focus too often as a result. Surprising is the perfect diction of Bogdan Volkov as the Chevalier. Even the "r" he can make sound French. In the duet with Blanche, he disappointed a bit: is the voice too small or was the orchestra too loud? Alexandra Marcellier's rendition of Blanche was lively but I cannot call it a flawless performance. The voice sounds rough over large parts of the ambitus. The vibrato is not very nice either. Very good was Claire Antoine as Madame Lidoine with noble phrasing and a well-projecting, clear voice. Less bright was Julie Boulianne's mezzo as Mère Marie. Sheva Tehoval was a playful Zerlinesque Constance. The part of Madame de Croissy is meant for a contralt. However, you almost never hear it that way. Neither here either. While surely a deeper female voice could make a difference during this grim farewell to life. It is not easy to look death straight in the eye despite years of practice in detachment. Julie Pasturaud's death scene was poignant but without the gravitas that makes Madame de Croissy's physical and spiritual agony such a hallucinatory experience. François Pardailhé's almoner had priestly allure. The fine choruses had intensity and were effective in capturing the Catholic mystique.
Speranza Scappucci, back in Liège as guest conductor, brought all the thematic material compellingly to its inescapable finale. Fragments of piano, timpani, plucked strings, temple bells, xylophone, everything found its place in the transparent soundscape. It was also a debut that perhaps could grow in terms of discipline and dynamic differentiation. The solo moments sounded good. A curious acoustic effect occurred during Madame de Croissy's death scene where the shimmering sound of the cymbals seemed to come from the balconies and ceiling.