"When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying the cross."
-- Sinclair Lewis
Sunday, February 12, 2017
Nicolai Gedda (1925-2017)
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10pm ET UPDATE: We have Yevgeny Onegin audio files!
Anneliese Rothenberger and Nicolai Gedda as Constanze
and Belmonte in Mozart's Abduction from the Seraglio,
from the cover of their 1966 EMI recording
MOZART: The Abduction from the Seraglio: Overture and Belmonte's entrance aria, "Hier soll ich dich denn sehen?"
BELMONTE: Here am I then to see you,
Constanze -- you, my happiness?
Let Heaven make it happen!
Give me my peace back!
I suffered sorrows,
o Love, all too many of them.
Grant me now in their place joys
and bring me toward the goal.
[aria at 4:35] Nicolai Gedda (t), Belmonte; Vienna Philharmonic, Josef Krips, cond. EMI, recorded February 1966
Now here it is sung by a younger, fresher-voiced Nicolai --
[aria at 4:20] Nicolai Gedda (t), Belmonte; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, Hans Rosbaud, cond. Recorded live at the Aix-en-Provence Festival, July 11, 1954
Finally, here it is sung in English (from a complete Abduction
recording based on a Phoenix Opera Group production) --
[in English; aria at 4:10] Nicolai Gedda (t), Belmonte; Bath Festival Orchestra, Yehudi Menuhin, cond. EMI, recorded Oct.-Dec. 1967 (now available in Chandos's opera-in-English series)
by Ken
Although Nicolai Gedda continued singing publicly well into his 70s, he had, not surprisingly, slipped out of the international circuit well before then, and since he was 91 when he died on February 8, in Switzerland, it may be that to younger music lovers the Swedish tenor is just a name, if that. But there was a time, and a fairly long one at that, when he seemed to be everywhere, singing more or less everything -- at least everything assumable by a generous-voiced lyric tenor, in the wide range of languages in which he sang with both technical and expressive assurance.
I NEVER THOUGHT OF OUR NICOLAI AS A FAVORITE
SINGER. IT'S MORE THAT HE WAS ALWAYS THERE.
For Christmas Eve, we hark unto the openings of Berlioz's "Childhood of Christ" and Handel's "Messiah"
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In the Sunday Classics era, Christmastime provided a bountiful musical opportunity. Since 2016 brings us a "three-day Christmas" -- Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Christmas holiday celebrated -- I thought I would dip back to 2011, when Sunday Classics had a three-day sequence that began with the openings of Berlioz's oratorio L'Enfance du Christ (The Childhood of Christ) and Handel's eternal Messiah, then zoomed in on that opening tenor solo of Messiah, and finally expanded to encompass the whole of Part I, the only one of Messiah's three parts that is in fact Christmas-connected.
The original plan, of course, was just to paste the contents of the three original posts into new blogfiles. Alas, for all sorts of reasons that wasn't possible. Behind the scenes, for starters, all of the audio clips, every one of them had to be reformatted -- that is, once I figured out how to reformat them. For that matter, substantial portions of the texts of these posts had to be reformatted thanks to the Googlified software's fondness for eating up line breaks in older posts. Then, as noted below, a video clip had disappeared. On the bright side, my MIA-in-2011 CD copy of Colin Davis's first Messiah recording (the good one) has resurfaced, and will be pressed into heavy service on Monday. And on and on. The upshot is that, while I've tricked to stick as close as possible to the 2011 posts as possible, a fair amount of the 2016 versions is not only updated but brand new.
In the manger at this time Jesus had just been born,
but no wonder had yet made him known.
And already the powerful were trembling;
already the weak were hoping.
Everyone was waiting.
Now learn, Christians, what a monstrous crime
was suggested to the King of the Jews by terror.
And the celestial warning that in their humble stable
was sent to the parents of Jesus by the Lord.
Michel Sénéchal (t), Narrator; Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959
Jean Giraudeau (t), Narrator; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. Pathé/Vox, recorded in the early '50s
Cesare Valletti (t), Narrator; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956
Anthony Rolfe Johnson (t), Narrator; English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded 1986
NOTE: These audio files were made, not for the 2011 post being revived here but for a later post. Since we're not returning to that later post anyway, I've folded these performances of the Opening Narration in here to replace a now-vanished video clip of the early numbers of L'Enfance du Christ. For more about the "new" clips of the Opening Narration, see below.
by Ken
Don't tell Bill O'Reilly, but I'm not a Christmas person. People don't come much more secular than me. But there are things about the Christmas season that I respond to, and Sunday Classics actually has several Christmas traditions. We do Tchaikovsky, and in particular the ballets -- a tradition carried forward with last week's first-ever Sunday Classics complete Nutcracker. [This was 2011, remember. The DWT complete Nutcracker became a mini-tradition itself for a couple of years.] And we do two altogether extraordinary works, which we've been prodding and poking at for years now: Handel's Messiah and Berlioz's L'Enfance du Christ (The Childhood of Christ).
As it happens, both Messiah (following its overture) and L'Enfance kick off with tenor solos, each of which is for me one of the most meaningful, most powerful pieces of music I know. We have, in fact, dealt with both of them in past years, and we're going to be dealing with them again this week and next. But for tonight, I thought it might be fun to hear them sung by the same tenor.
Of course there wouldn't be much point if the tenor wasn't much good. But it occurred to me that we could accomplish this with a pretty good tenor indeed, Nicolai Gedda -- not one of my very favorite singers, but a good one, with a high degree of stylistic adaptability and and ability to sing effectively in more languages than any singer I can think of. (You'll notice that in "Comfort ye," for the phrase we normally hear as "saith your God," he carefully and precisely sings, each time, "sayeth two syllables] your God.") I don't know whether it qualifies as irony that for this quintessentially English and quintessentially French music, we're turning -- where else? -- to a Swede. These are both highly accomplished performances, which we're going to hear in the click-through.
2016 UPDATE:In 2011 there was actually a second week of "Christmas" posts, in which, having listened more closely to the opening tenor solo and then the whole of Part I of Messiah, which we're going to do again tomorrow and Monday, respectively, we proceeded to do the same with L'Enfance du Christ; this year, though, I'm afraid we're going no farther into L'Enfance than the Opening Narration. In the click-through -- new for 2016 -- I'm going to say a little about our opening assortment of performances of the Opening Narration of L'Enfance. We can proceed just as soon as you click through!
Sunday Classics Easter Edition: Berlioz baits-and-switches us on the miracles of "The Childhood of Christ"
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King Herod's Dream
KING HEROD: That dream again! Again the child who is to cast me down. And not to know what to believe of this omen which threatens my glory and my existence!
O the wretchedness of kings! To reign, yet not to live! To mete out laws to all, yet long to follow the goatherd into the heart of the woods! Fathomless night holding the world deep sunk in sleep, to my tormented breast grant peace for one hour, and let thy shadows touch my gloom-pressed brow.
O the wretchedness of kings!, etc.
All effort’s useless! Sleep shuns me; and my vain complaining no swifter makes thy course, O endless night.
Roger Soyer (bs-b), King Herod; Orchestre National de l'ORTF, Jean Martinon, cond. Tono/Nonesuch, recorded in the early 1960s
Ernest Blanc (b), King Herod; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, Andre Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
by Ken
What a prince this King Herod is! Would rather not be a king at all, but just frolic with the goatherds. That is, until the second he learns from his soothsayers that there's a threat to his continued reign, at which point he instantly goes as murderously berserk as it's possible for a human person can get.
We're going to review that story, at least in Berlioz's recounting, in a moment, by listening to the whole of Part I of Berlioz's Childhood of Christ. Meaning that we'll relive the celestial intervention by which the baby Jesus is saved from Herod's Slaughter of the Innocents, as promised in the opening narration -- which by now longtime Sunday Classics readers have heard, oh, a zillion times. (What can I say? It's one of the most amazing two-minute spans of music I know.)
Nobody grasps the human dimension of the saving of an innocent child better than Berlioz, who wrote the text as well as the music of L'Enfance du Christ, but as I noted in Friday's preview ("It's a miracle -- no, TWO miracles! Berlioz imagines the saving of the baby Jesus"), it's only one of two miracles depicted in this amazing "sacred trilogy," and only this first one involves divine intervention -- and even in the case of this one I think it would be inadvisable to stress the divinity overly hard; after all, who created the murderously mad king who creates the need for the miracle?
The second miracle, the saving of the little family unit of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus (and while Berlioz carefully refers to them as the holy family, and to the grownups as "Saint Mary" and "Saint Joseph," his treatment of them is otherwise strictly as the struggling family of a precious newborn) is entirely human, though again, it's made necessary by the substantial inhumanity of all the humans who turn a deaf ear to the desperate pleas of the near-death strangers.
I was wrong Friday to say that we had never heard this summing-up Epilogue (I found the post!). Nevertheless, for now we're going to jump straight to the end of L'Enfance.
BERLIOZ: L'Enfance du Christ (The Childhood of Christ): Epilogue
The family of the baby Jesus, after wandering in the Sinai desert for three days, arrived in the Egyptian city of Saïs on the brink of death from thirst, hunger, and exposure. At the last possible moment they were taken in from the street without hesitation by an Ishmaelite family (whose father turned out to be, like Joseph, a carpenter), which dropped everything to tend first to the physical and then to the spiritual needs of their unexpected guests. In this Epilogue, the Narrator -- soon joined by a Mystical Chorus -- finishes the story.
NARRATOR: It was thus that by an infidel the Savior was saved. For ten years Mary, and Joseph with her, saw flourish in him sublime gentleness, infinite tenderness united with wisdom. Then at last, returned to the place where he first saw the day, he wished to accomplish the divine sacrifice that redeemed the human race from eternal punishment, and made clear for it the way of salvation. O my soul, what does it remain for you to do but to break your pride before such a mystery? MYSTICAL CHORUS: O my soul, what does it remain for you to do but to break your pride before such a mystery? NARRATOR and CHORUS: O my soul! O my heart, fill yourself, fill yourself with that serious and pure love that alone can open to us the celestial sojourn. Amen! Amen!
Cesare Valletti (t), Narrator; New England Conservatory Chorus, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded 1956
Michel Sénéchal, tenor; French Radio-Television Chorus, Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Véga/Adès, recorded 1959
Anthony Rolfe Johnson (t), Narrator; chorus directed by John Alldis, English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded 1986
12/24/2009: "Christmas Eve edition: A Christmas miracle, courtesy of Hector Berlioz" Opening Narration sung by Jean-Luc Viala, Cesare Valletti, and Anthony Rolfe Johnson; Opening Narration plus Scene 1 (with Michel Sénéchal et al., conducted by Pierre Dervaux) Part II: Overture and Farewell of the Shepherds; Repose of the Holy Family; Part III: Arrival in Saïs narration and Epilogue (all conducted by Jean-Claude Casadesus, Charles Munch, Philip Ledger, and Pierre Dervaux)
12/25/2010, "Christmas Eve edition: In Berlioz's telling, unto us a child is saved Opening Narration (sung by Giraudeau and Nicolai Gedda Part I: Scenes 1 and Scene 2 (Herod's aria) (Cluytens-EMI) Opening Narration through Herod's aria (sung by Roger Soyer, conducted by Jean Martinon) Scenes 5 and 6 (The Stable in Bethlehem) (Cluytens-EMI) Plus Part II, Overture and Farewell of the Shepherds; Repose of the Holy Family. Part III: The Arrival in Saïs narration
3/2/12: from Flute and Harp Week The trio for two flutes and harp played by the children of the Ishmaelite family in Part III (three performances)
Sunday Classics Easter Edition preview: It's a miracle -- no, TWO miracles! Berlioz imagines the saving of the baby Jesus
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Yessirree, girls 'n' boys 'n' moms 'n' dads . . .
It's a genuine downloadable "Holy Family Picture" coloring page! Download the pattern, color it in with crayons, cut it out with scissors, and with the mere addition of navy blue construction paper, four Popsicle sticks, glue, and a gold or silver star, you can make your very own version of this lovely, um, thing -- just in time for the holiday! (One quick word of caution, though, kids: "Parental supervision is recommended.")
NARRATOR: In the manger at this time Jesus had just been born, but no wonder had yet made him known. And already the powerful were trembling; already the weak were hoping. Everyone was waiting.
Now learn, Christians, what a monstrous crime was suggested to the King of the Jews by terror. And the celestial warning that in their humble stable was sent to the parents of Jesus by the Lord.
Michel Sénéchal, tenor; Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Véga/Adès, recorded 1959
by Ken
Personally, as a culturally Jewish nonreligious person, I have no stake in Easter, unless you count the slashed-price leftover chocolate bunnies and Easter-colored m&m's we can look forward to finding on the shelves next week. And while I can't speak for Hector Berlioz, I don't think his "sacred trilogy" The Childhood of Christ has much to do with religion either -- unless you think of religion as having something to do with fundamental issues of humanity and human relations, stuff like social responsibility, altruism, and empathy. And how crazy do you have to be to think of those things as having anything to do with religion?
Usually at Sunday Classics we "do" Berlioz's L'Enfance du Christ in time for the Christmas season, along with Handel's Messiah. After December's preview post (in which we heard Nicolai Gedda singing the first tenor solos from both works), the main post focused on Messiah (we heard the whole of Part I), leaving us with an opening for a special Easter edition devoted to L'Enfance, focusing on the two miracles depicted in the text (the composer's own) and music. The one that the composer himself seems to focus on, as expressed in the opening narration that we've just heard, is the "celestial warning" that enables Joseph and Mary to spirit the baby Jesus away to safety from the paranoia-induced infanticide ordered by King Herod.
But as it turns out, the first miracle saves the little one only in the short term, and the second miracle is wrought entirely by human agency. Without giving short shrift to the first miracle, this holiday weekend we're going to be keeping an ear open for the second.
Sunday Classics, Christmas Day edition: In Berlioz's telling, unto us a child is saved
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by Ken
"For unto us a child is born," as we heard again in yesterday's Christmas Eve tribute to Handel's Messiah, and in both Handel's and Berlioz' celebration of this Christmas miracle the emphasis is clearly on the birth of "a child," with all the possibilities and hope the birth of every child represents.
Berlioz' Childhood (which we can also think of as "Infancy") of Christ is usually treated as if it were a simple bit of treacly sentimentality, but it seems to me one of the toughest-minded (if warmest-hearted) as well as elusive of Berlioz' characteristically elusive masterpieces. We've been poking at it for a couple of Christmas seasons now -- in 2008 and 2009.
We've seen, by now a lot, that Hector Berlioz was a compulsive inventor. Almost every time he imagined a major work, he invented a form (or, more accurately, a set of forms) for it. The result isn't easy for performers, as we saw, for example, with the extraordinary first part of his "dramatic symphony" Roméo et Juliette, in which a semi-chorus functions as narrator, telling the whole story (with careful guest interjections) in a sort of chanting mode the composer concocted for the occasion.
Narration is a major issue in The Childhood of Christ as well. The tenor Narrator sings to us three times: before Part I, at the end of Part II, and at the start of Part III. We focused on the narration last year, and I'm going to plunge right into the amazing Opening Narration, where the tenor's lines, which have to be sung musically and beautifully without lapsing into the "sing-songy," minutely track the import of the horrific and miraculous doings they relate, while the modest orchestra is layered to suggest a wheezing church organ.
BERLIOZ: L'Enfance du Christ: Opening Narration
At that time Jesus had just been born in the manger; but no portent had yet made him known. Yet already the mighty trembled, already the weak had hope. Everyone waited ... Learn now, Christian folk, what hideous crime terror prompted then in the King of the Jews, and the heavenly counsel the Lord sent to Jesus’s parents in their lowly stable.
Jean Giraudeau, tenor; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. Pathé/Vox, recorded 1951
Sunday Classics, Christmas Eve edition: "Comfort ye"
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The Mormon Tabernacle Choir announces the joyful news, "For unto us a child is born," from Part I of Messiah.
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
[Isaiah 9:6]
[No. 12]Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Philadelphia Orchestra, Eugene Ormandy, cond. Columbia/CBS/Sony, recorded 1958-59
Once again I thought we'd go straight to the heart of the matter and start with the chorus "For unto us a child is born," and once again, note the way Handel emphasizes, in the roster of names the newborn child will have, "Prince of Peace."
Mostly we're going to concentrate this year on the big bass excerpts from Messiah. We're doubling up with two fine basses, and we're going to have a lot of lovely singing, but mixed in is one truly breathtaking performance.
For now, though, we're going to start, resume, with the very beginning, almost -- we're skipping the Overture to go straight to the first musical numbers, the tenor recitative "Comfort ye, my people" and aria "Every valley shall be exalted." Note that the numbers included in brackets for all our Messiah selections are from the Eulenburg score edited by Brian Priestman. I've included them simply to give you an idea how the selections fit together, which we're really not going into today.
I've mentioned before that the little "Comfort ye" is one of my most deeply loved pieces of music, and I've already told the story of listening, on my friend Richard's 78-rpm copy, to the opening numbers of Sir Malcolm Sargent's first recording of Messiah and being simply overwhelmed by tenor James Johnston's seemingly singing directly to me about my warfare being accomplished and my iniquity pardoned. It was the beginning of my understanding that in setting this curious assortment of biblical texts, Handel wasn't trying to strike religious poses -- he found music that made the ideas embodied in the verses human and deeply personal.
Now this isn't James Johnston we're going to hear sing "Comfort ye" and "Every valley," but I've picked (I think) a pretty special recording, by a very familiar -- and distinctive-voiced -- performer who should be readily recognizable, but perhaps may not be. Just for fun, I'm not going to identify him till the click-through.
HANDEL: Messiah
Part I, Recitative and aria (tenor), "Comfort ye, my people" . . . "Every valley shall be exalted" [Nos. 1-2]
Recitative Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
[Isaiah 40:1-3]
Aria Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight, and the rough places plain.
Sunday Classics, Christmas Eve edition: A Christmas miracle, courtesy of Hector Berlioz
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by Ken
Last year, hobbled by the limitations of the music available on YouTube, the closest I was able to bring you to Berlioz' remarkable -- and not especially sacred -- oratorio The Childhood of Christ was a rather lumbering video clip of the Farewell of the Shepherds from Part II. More than anything I wanted you to hear the opening narration. This year we hear all of the narration, four times over.
PART I: HEROD'S DREAM
All we're going to hear of Part I of L'Enfance (in which King Herod conceives the slaughter of the innocents to protect his power, and we meet the Holy Family) is the two-minute opening narration by the solo tenor with orchestral accompaniment scored to sound like an organ or harmonium, but I consider this wisp of narration that launches Part I one of Berlioz's (or anyone else's finest, most haunting achievements. The trap always is that tenors want to make it sing-songy rather than declaiming it -- albeit beautifully declamatory. Although I'm giving you only an English translation, listen to the graceful rhymes of the French text. Note too the precision of the setting, and the quick changes of tone -- the crucial ones being at "Or apprenez, Chrétiens, quel crime épouvantable" ("Now learn, Christians, what a monstrous crime"), and then at "et le céleste avis que dans leur humble étable" ("and the celestial warning that in their humble stable").
The other performance trap, which applies to the whole of L'Enfance, is to smother it in religiosity. It tells this hard and uplifting story of the saving of a child and then his whole family in blunt and sharply felt terms.
Among these performances, note that the Adès recording goes beyond the opening narration to include the whole first scene: a characteristically Berliozianly eccentric Nocturnal March, followed by a dialogue between a centurion (tenor) and the patrol commander Polydorus (bass) in which we learn of King Herod's increasingly erratic behavior. ("He dreams; he trembles; he sees traitors everywhere.")
Opening Narration
In the manger at this time Jesus had just been born, But no wonder had yet made him known. And already the powerful trembled; Already the weak began to hope.
Now learn, Christians, what a monstrous crime Was suggested to the King of the Jews by terror. And the celestial warning that in their humble stable Was sent by the Lord to the parents of Jesus.
Jean-Luc Viala, tenor; Orchestre National de Lille, Jean-Claude Casadesus, cond. Naxos, recorded Dec. 4-7, 1996
Cesare Valletti, tenor; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956
Anthony Rolfe Johnson, tenor; English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded c 1984
Opening Narration plus Opening Scene: Nocturnal March; Centurion-Polydorus dialague
Michel Sénéchal, tenor (Narrator and Centurion); Xavier Depraz, bass (Polydorus); Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959
PART II: THE FLIGHT TO EGYPT
We're actually going to hear the whole of Part II. First there's a lovely overture and the moving Farewell of the Shepherds, who give the young family an emotional sendoff on the journey into the desert they have to undertake to save the infant boy's life. Then the Narrator returns to describe the first leg of the journey.
Part II: Overture and Farewell of the Shepherds
He is going away far from the land Where in the stable he saw they day. Of his father and his mother May he remain the constant love. May he grow up, may he prosper, And may he be a good father in his turn.
If ever among the idolaters He comes to experience misfortune, Let him, felleing the unkind land, Come back to happiness among us! Let the shehpherd's poverty Remain always dear to his heart.
Dear child, may God bless you! May you never have to feell The blows of injustice! May a good angel warn you Of the dangers hanging over you!
Choeur Régional Vittoria de l'Ile de France, Maîtrise de Radio-France, Orchestre National de Lille, Jean-Claude Casadesus, cond. Naxos, recorded Dec. 4-7, 1996
New England Conservatory Chorus, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956
chorus directed by John Alldis, English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded c 1984
Chorus of the Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française, Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959
Part II: The Resting Place of the Holy Family (Narration)
The pilgrims have come To a place of beautiful appearance, Where there were leafy trees And pure water in abundance, Saint Joseph said: "Stop By this clear spring. After such long toil, Let us rest." The baby Jesus was sleeping. Now Saint Mary, Stopping the ass, replied, "See this carpet of sweet and flowered grass. The Lord extends it into the desert for my son." Then, having sat under the shade Of three palm trees with green foliage, The ass drowsing, The child sleeping, The sacred travelers slumbered for some time. Cradled by happy dreams, And angels from heaven, on their knees around them, Adored the child.
Jean-Luc Viala, tenor; Orchestre National de Lille, Jean-Claude Casadesus, cond. Naxos, recorded Dec. 4-7, 1996
Cesare Valletti, tenor; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956
Anthony Rolfe Johnson, tenor; English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded c 1984
Michel Sénéchal, tenor; Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959
PART III: THE ARRIVAL IN SAÏS
We continue directly from the end of Part II above.
Narration
For three days, despite the ardor of the wind, They made their way in the moving sand. The poor servant of the holy family, The ass, had fallen in the desert; And well before seeing the walls of a city Would have succumbed from fatigue and thirst Without the help of God. Only Saint Mary Walked on calm and serene, and her child's And his blond locks and blessed head Seemed to reanimate her, resting on her head. But soon her steps stumbled! How many times the parents stopped! Finally, however, they arrived In Saïs, gasping, Almost dying. It was a city that had long been joined To the Roman Empire, Full of cruel people, with haughty airs, Hear how the pilgrims endured Grueling agony searching for shelter and bread.
Jean-Luc Viala, tenor; Orchestre National de Lille, Jean-Claude Casadesus, cond. Naxos, recorded Dec. 4-7, 1996
Cesare Valletti, tenor; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956
Anthony Rolfe Johnson, tenor; English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded c 1984
Michel Sénéchal, tenor; Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959
Part III: Epilogue
On the brink of death the family is taken in by an Ishmaelite householder who sets his whole household the task of reviving them. The crisis past, the fathers discover that they're both carpenters. The Ishmaelite Father asks his guest the baby's name. Told it's "Jesus," he replies, "What a charming name." The Narrator returns to teach the lesson of the happy ending.
So it was that by an infidel The Savior was saved. For ten years Mary, and Joseph with her, Saw flower in him a sublime gentleness, Infinite tenderness United with wisdom. Then finally, returning To the land in which he saw day, He wanted to accomplish the divine sacrifice That redeemed the human race From eternal torment And marked out the path to salvation.
NARRATOR AND CHORUS O my soul, what remains for you to do But to break your pride before such a mystery? O my heart, fill yourself with the deep and pure love That alone can open the heavenly kingdom to us.
Jean-Luc Viala, tenor; Choeur Régional Vittoria de l'Ile de France, Maîtrise de Radio-France, Orchestre National de Lille, Jean-Claude Casadesus, cond. Naxos, recorded Dec. 4-7, 1996
Cesare Valletti, tenor; New England Conservatory Chorus, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956
Anthony Rolfe Johnson, tenor; chorus directed by John Alldis, English Chamber Orchestra, Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded c 1984
Michel Sénéchal, tenor; Chorus of the Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française, Orchestre des Concerts Colonne, Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959
And for Christmas day, our musical offering is Berlioz' always-unexpected "Childhood of Christ"
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FAREWELL OF THE SHEPHERDS TO THE HOLY FAMILY (from Part II of Berlioz' L'Enfance du Christ, "The Childhood of Christ" -- text by the composer)
He's going away, far from the land where, in the stable, he first saw day. Of his father and his mother may he remain the constant love. May he grow, may he prosper, and may he be a good father in his turn.
If ever, among the idolaters, he comes to experience misfortune, fleeing the unkind land may he return to good fortune in our midst. May the poverty of the shepherd remain always dear to his heart.
Dear child, may God bless you! May God bless you, happy couple! May you never be able to feel the blows of injustice. May a good angel warn you of dangers hanging over you.
by Ken
Once more I'm at the mercy of the clips, but at least this performance of the shepherds' farewells, from a 1966 telecast of the complete L'Enfance du Christ by the Boston Symphony under its former music director, Charles Munch (released on DVD by VAI), isn't as hopelessly sentimentalized as most. Munch was known as a Berlioz specialist, and while his performances may have tended to a certain overripe softness, they did capture the music's basic sense and stature.
Berlioz was a composer of such extraordinary imagination and originality that it's perhaps not surprising when performers try to drag his unique musical constructions back into something conventionally sing-songy. And the "Shepherds' Farewells" is meant to strike a note of the conventional; it's written in a notoriously dittylike meter, 3/8. But Berlioz is always concerned with what lies beneath appearances, especially conventional ones. Try to imagine these farewells sung -- yes, earnestly and with deep concern, but without sloppy sentimentality -- by a band of shepherds gathered to offer this sad but hopeful farewell to a family forced to flee, in order to save the infant son's life, into the unknown of the desert.
It's worth noting that these good shepherds have no sense that there is anything special about this particular newborn, or this particular family. As the narrator has told us in the remarkable opening narration of L'Enfance, "No wonder had yet made [the infant Jesus] known." (At some point we're going to have to come back and talk about this astonishing opening narration -- a mere 30 bars of music, lasting about two minutes, which as a matter of fact I've never heard performed really well.) No, to our shepherds the urgency is simply to save the life of the child.
As I was saying last night about the miracle announced in Handel's "For unto us a child is born," the clear sense is that the miracle is not the child's divinity, but the mere fact of the birth of a child, with all the attendant promise and hope. Actually, I suppose you could say that Berlioz' entire enterprise in L'Enfance is blasphemous, since Joseph is treated throughout as, simply and unequivocally, the baby Jesus' father.
When, eventually, the Holy Family arrives in Sais, on the brink of death from fatigue and starvation, their desperate pleas for help are rebuffed the the Romanized Egyptians who scorn them as "vile Hebrews" -- until one Ishmaelite householder unhesitatingly takes them in and nurtures them back to life. And like nearly everything else in L'Enfance, almost everything in the wonderful scene inside the home of the Ishmaelites is unexpected and unexpectedly miraculous.
In short order a bond is formed between Joseph and the Ishamelite Father as they discover that they're both carpenters. But first comes a moment of delicacy and gentility that's almost unimaginable -- except by Berlioz. The Ishmaelite Father asks his revived guests their names, and Joseph says, "Her name is Mary, I'm Joseph, and we call the child Jesus.
"Jesus!" their host replies. "What a charming name!"
Which is something I think we can all celebrate. And on that note, once again, Merry Christmas!
OH YES, A RECORDING OF L'ENFANCE? HMMM --
This is tough. So many Berlioz performances don't even try to get beneath those deceptively simple surfaces (and don't necessarily do that great a job of realizing even those surfaces), and L'Enfance poses the additional difficulty of generally being performed as if it's a simple exercise in Christmas piety, when that's just about the last thing it is.
There hasn't been a recording that really satisfies me. The one that came closest was a sparely recorded French Radio performance issued on LP by Nonesuch, with Jean Martinon conducting, and principal soloists mezzo-soprano Jane Berbie, tenor Alain Vanzo, baritone Claude Cales as Joseph, and bass Roger Soyer as Herod (a rare souvenir of the voice before it dried out). I don't believe that recording has found its way onto CD.
I can report that while I was working on this blogpost, I pulled out the recording by Charles Dutoit with the Orchestre symphonique de Montreal, with mezzo Susan Graham, tenor John Mark Ainsley, baritone Francois Le Roux as Joseph, and bass Philip Cokorinos as Herod. All I was actually listening for was the amazing two-minute opening narration -- and you know, the Ainsley-Dutoit performance isn't bad! Which is a virtual rave. I don't remember the performance as a whole making much of an impression on me, and I'm a little nervous about rehearing the whole thing, but those first two minutes are at least a good start. (Oops, the recording seems to be out of print! Well, copies do seem to be available. Of course, I'm not exactly recommending it, necessarily.)
Video-wise, though the Munch/Boston performance doesn't break any ground, and probably is less successful as a whole than their earlier RCA studio recording, I can certainly recommend it as a memento of this productive Berlioz collaboration. Throughout the long tenure of Seiji Ozawa, the Boston Symphony remained probably the world's finest Berlioz orchestra (with awfully good recordings of The Damnation of Faust and Romeo et Juliette to show for it.)
[12/25/2010] Christmas Day edition: In Berlioz's telling, unto us a child is saved (continued)
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Some 15 years after the recording we just heard, conductor André Cluytens got to rerecord L'Enfance du Christ in stereo, this time with some imported soloists: Nicolai Gedda as the Narrator and Victoria de los Angeles as Mary. (Joseph was sung, not very happily, by bass-baritone Roger Soyer, whom we're going to hear in a moment as a really outstanding King Herod.) Here's Gedda singing the Opening Narration.
At that time Jesus had just been born in the manger; but no portent had yet made him known. Yet already the mighty trembled, already the weak had hope. Everyone waited ... Learn now, Christian folk, what hideous crime terror prompted then in the King of the Jews, and the heavenly counsel the Lord sent to Jesus’s parents in their lowly stable.
Nicolai Gedda (t), Narrator; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
Scene 1: Nocturnal March; Scene, Centurion and Polydorus
The first scene proper we heard last year: a simultaneously eerie and goofy Nocturnal March that sets the stage for a dialogue in which a Roman centurion and a soldier who stands watch on King Herod's palace discuss the king's increasingly erratic behavior. To refresh our memory, here's the continuation of the Cluytens-EMI stereo L'Enfance.
A street in Jerusalem. A guardhouse; Roman soldiers on night patrol.
NOCTURNAL MARCH
CENTURION: Who goes there? POLYDORUS: Rome. CENTURION: Advance! POLYDORUS: Halt! CENTURION: Polydorus! Corporal, I thought you were on Tiber’s banks by now. POLYDORUS: So I should be if Gallus, our precious Praetor, had only let me. But for no good reason he’s shut me up in this dreary city, watching its antics and keeping guard over a petty Jewish king’s sleepless nights. CENTURION: What’s Herod doing? POLYDORUS: He broods, quakes with fear, sees traitors on every side, and daily summons his Council; and from dusk to dawn has to be looked after: he’s getting on our nerves. CENTURION: Absurd despot! But off on your rounds now. POLYDORUS: Yes, I must. Good night! Jove’s curse on him! [The patrol resumes its march and moves off into the distance.]
Rémy Corazza (t), Centurion; Bernard Cottret (bs), Polydorus; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
Scene 2, Herod's Aria
The scene switches to Herod's palace, where the king is haunted by persistent dreams of an imminent threat to his rule. He then claims -- to himself, mind you, since there's no one else around -- that this business of being a king is a misery, a horrible burden, when what he would really like to be doing is gamboling with goatherds out in the fields. It's as eloquent and heart-rending an outpouring as you can hear anywhere, and of course it's all total bullshit. The moment his soothsayers confirm the possibility of a threat to his reign, he instantly orders the massacre of the innocents, without hesitation or compunction.
We're going to hear Ernest Blanc sing this stunning aria first. Blanc had a lovely, plummy baritone (I've never heard the equal of his recorded performance of the High Priest in Saint-Saëns' Samson et Dalila), but he's handicapped here by the fact that while the writing does go high-ish, it's clearly written for a bass, not a baritone. Blanc might have been better used as the legitimately baritonelike Joseph, which was sung in this recording by bass-baritone Roger Soyer, whom we're going to hear in a moment, in a recording from roughly the same time, singing a stupendous Herod.
HÉRODE: That dream again! Again the child who is to cast me down. And not to know what to believe of this omen which threatens my glory and my existence!
O the wretchedness of kings! To reign, yet not to live! To mete out laws to all, yet long to follow the goatherd into the heart of the woods! Fathomless night holding the world deep sunk in sleep, to my tormented breast grant peace for one hour, and let thy shadows touch my gloom-pressed brow.
O the wretchedness of kings!, etc.
All effort’s useless! Sleep shuns me; and my vain complaining no swifter makes thy course, O endless night.
Ernest Blanc (b), Hérode; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
TO RECAP . . .
Opening Narration; Scene 1, Nocturnal March and Dialogue, Centurion-Polydorus; Scene 2, Herod's Aria
Now let's hear the whole thing put together, in the recording conducted by Jean Martinon that was available here for a longtime on Nonesuch LPs. It's on the dry side acoustically, and interpretively it's on the spare side, but it's performed with real understanding and is on the whole quite decently cast. Overall it's still the most nearly satisfactory performance I've heard of this incredibly difficult piece. Is anyone aware of a CD issue of it?
Vanzo and Martinon give by a good margin the best performance I've heard of the Opening Narration, and in Herod's aria, as noted, we have bass-baritone Roger Soyer in his brief prime. Because Soyer went on singing so long after the juice drained out of the sound, people tend to forget how fine a voice this was at the outset. In collaboration with Martinon he gives one hell of a performance.
Alain Vanzo (t), Narrator; Robert Andreozzi (t), Centurion; Jean-Pierre Brossmann (b), Polydorus; Roger Soyer (bs-b), King Herod; French National Radio Orchestra, Jean Martinon, cond. Tono/Nonesuch, recorded in the mid-to-late '60s
THE SCENE CHANGES TO THAT STABLE IN BETHLEHEM
We're still in Part I, mind you, but these last scenes always seem to me to belong to the minuscule Part II, which consists of an Overture, the "Farewell of the Shepherds," and the Narrator's tale of the relative unproblematic first leg of the Holy Family's flight. I suppose, though, that these scenes really do belong to Part I, since they round out the events foretold in the Opening Narration: the "heavenly counsel" delivered in the humble stable to the parents of the infant Jésus.
After Herod's convocation soothsayers say the sooth that leads to the butchering of so many Judean infants (this of course is the monstrous crime the Narrator told us of, the one that was suggested to the king by terror), in the final scenes of Part II we meet the Holy Family holed up in their stable. The adoring parents are tending to their precious new son when angels deliver the celestial warning the Narrator also told us of, and Mary and Joseph accept that their only hope of saving little Jésus is to flee into the desert wilderness in the direction of Egypt.
Part I, Scene 5, The Stable in Bethlehem
MARY: O my dear son, give this fresh grass to these lambs that come bleating to thee; they are so gentle, let them take it. Don’t let them go hungry, my child. MARY, JOSEPH: Spread these flowers, too, about their straw. They are pleased with thy gifts, dear child; see how blithe they are, how they gambol, and how their mother turns towards thee her grateful gaze. MARY:Blessed be thou, my dear sweet child! JOSEPH: Blessed be thou, holy child!
Victoria de los Angeles (s), Mary; Roger Soyer (bs-b), Joseph; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
This scene, although understandably placed by Berlioz at the end of Part I -- it does, after all, represent the completion of the events we were told of in the Opening Narration -- always seems to me to belong more properly to the ensuing, minuscule Part II, which consists of an Overture, the "Farewell of the Shepherds to the Holy Family," and the return of the Narrator to tell us of the successful first part of the Holy Family's journey.
Part I, Scene 6, The Angels' Warning
CHOIR OF UNSEEN ANGELS: Joseph! Mary! Hearken to us! MARY, JOSEPH: Spirits of life, can it be you? ANGELS: Thou must save thy son whom great danger threatens, Mary. MARY: O heavens! My son! ANGELS: Yes, you must go and leave no trace behind you; this very night you shall flee through the desert towards Egypt. MARY, JOSEPH: Obedient to your word, pure spirits of light, we shall flee with Jesus to the desert. But grant us, we humbly pray, wisdom and strength, so we shall save him. ANGELS: The power of heaven will keep from your path all fatal encounters. MARY, JOSEPH: Let us hasten to get ready. ANGELS: Hosanna! Hosanna!
Victoria de los Angeles (s), Mary; Roger Soyer (bs-b), Joseph; Choeurs René Duclos, Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
Part II, Overture and "Farewell of the Shepherds to the Holy Family"
As always, Berlioz digs to the heart of the human situation, and the pain of separation here is palpable -- as long, as I suggested last year, as it's performed without sloppy sentimentality, which gets in the way of the real event.
SHEPHERDS: He is going far from the land where in the stable he was born; may his father and his mother always love him steadfastly; may he grow and prosper and be a good father in his turn.
If ever among the idolaters he should find misfortune, let him flee the unkind land and come back to live happily among us. May the shepherd’s lowly life be ever dear to his heart.
Dear child, may God bless thee, and God bless you, happy pair! May you never feel the cruel hand of injustice. May a good angel warn you of all dangers that hang over you.
Choeurs René Duclos, Paris Conservatory Orchestra, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded 1965-66
Here, then is a cobbled composite of the scenes of the Holy Family in the stable.
Part I, Scene 5-6, The Holy Family Receives the "Heavenly Counsel" Part II, Overture and "Farewell of the Shepherds to the Holy Family"
Jane Berbié (ms), Mary; Claude Calès (b), Joseph; French National Radio Chorus and Orchestra, jean Martinon, cond. Tono/Nonesuch, recorded in the mid-to-late '60s
THE JOURNEY
The story of the Holy Family's flight into the desert spans Parts II and III. At first, things go well; then, not so well.
Part II, The Repose of the Holy Family
NARRATOR: The pilgrims having come to a place of fair aspect with bushy trees and fresh water in abundance, St Joseph said: ‘Stop! near this clear spring. After such long toil let us rest here.’ The child Jesus was asleep. Then Holy Mary, halting the ass, answered: ‘Look at this fair carpet of soft grass and flowers that the Lord spread in the desert for my son.' Then, having sat down in the shade of three green-leaved palm trees, while the ass browsed and the child slept, the holy travellers slumbered for a while, lulled by sweet dreams, and the angels of heaven, kneeling about them, worshipped the divine child.
Léopold Simoneau (t), Narrator; Choral Art Society, The Little Orchestra, Thomas Scherman, cond. BOMC Classics Record LIbrary, recorded c1957
Part III, The Arrival in Saïs
NARRATOR: For three days, despite the hot winds, they journeyed through the shifting sands. The holy family’s poor servant, the ass, had already fallen in the desert dust; and long before they saw a city’s walls, his master, would have died from exhaustion and thirst but for God’s help. Only holy Mary walked on serene and untroubled; and her sweet child’s fair locks and blessed head, resting against her breast, seemed to give her strength. But soon her feet stumbled ... How many times the couple stopped ... At length they came to Saïs, gasping and near to death. It was a city that had long been part of the Roman Empire, full of cruel folk, with haughty airs. Hear now of the grievous agony endured so long by the pilgrims in their search for food and shelter.
Léopold Simoneau (t), Narrator; The Little Orchestra, Thomas Scherman, cond. BOMC Classics Record LIbrary, recorded c1957
And here is a composite of the Narrator's account of the Holy Family's journey.
Part II, "The Repose of the Holy Family" Part III, "The Arrival in Saïs"
Alain Vanzo (t), Narrator; French National Radio Chorus and Orchestra, Jean Martinon, cond. Tono/Nonesuch, recorded in the mid-to-late '60s
Last year we dipped farther into L'Enfance, hearing how, at the point of death, the exiled Jewish family, its plight ignored or scorned by everyone else, is taken in unhesitatingly and restored to health by an Ishmaelite family whose supremely humane head of household turns out to be, like Joseph, a carpenter. I suppose you could figure that God steered the family to that Ishmaelite Father -- though of course you would have to say that God also steered the family to the verge of death in the desert. It might be better argued that a sense of human decency and connectedness which is represented by some people's image of God is what inspired the kindness and generosity of the people along the family's perilous journey rally to its support.
Now that's a spirit of Christmas I can get behind. Happy holidays to all!
[English translations of the text of L'Enfance are by David Cairns, from the 2007 LSO Live release of Sir Colin Davis's most recent recording of the piece.]
