fanatical
martyrs
by Douglas Messerli
Francis
Poulenc (libretto, based on the play by Georges Bernanos), Francis Poulenc Dialogues des Carmélites (Dialogue of the Carmelites) / New York,
Metropolitan Opera House, May 4, 2013
Francis Poulenc’s 1957 opera Dialogues des Carmélites is an
extraordinary musical work, not only for the narrative powerfulness of the libretto,
based on both Gertrude von Le Fort’s 1931 fiction, Die Letzte am Schafott (The Last Woman on the Scaffold) and an
unpublished play by the great Catholic novelist and writer George Bernanos (the
source also of at least two Bresson films)—its musical richness—encompassing as
it does musical influences from the Renaissance, Verdi, Debussy, and Stravinsky—but
also because of its unusual structure, basically a series of 12 short scenes
spread over three acts (the intermission in this production occurred midway
between Act II) in which the characters, often antiphonally, relate ideas and
their psychological emotions in recitative form. The only “group” choruses
occur during the Carmelites’ religious expressions, in their group prayers and,
particularly, in the dramatic “Salve Regina” chorus of the last scene of the
opera.
The production I saw (after a delightful breakfast at the Metropolitan’s
Grand Tier restaurant) was originally introduced by John Dexter, first sung in
English, in February 1977; this 2013 season the Met presented only three
performances, the May 4th production being this year’s premiere of
the work.
The
opera begins in the wealthy home of the Marquis de la Force (David Pittsinger),
a man who would like to ignore the rebelling peasants outside his estate,
except that on one previous journeys he and his wife have been attacked in their
carriage, resulting in the early birth of their daughter Blanche and his wife’s
death. As Dialogues opens his son,
the Chevalier (Paul Appleby) expresses his fears for his sister, who has been
attending a ceremony in the Carmelite order in Compiègne, and her carriage, it
has been reported, has also been stormed by the French mobs. The Marquis,
despite his previous horrific experience, attempts to allay his son’s fears,
while expressing his own fears of the rising revolution. When the daughter
Blanche (Isabel Leonard) does return home, unharmed, all are relieved. And
Blanche herself attempts to make light of her brother’s caring worries. Yet, we
soon discover, as she becomes terrified when she observes the shadow of a
servant attempting light the lamps, that she is a constantly terrorized young
woman, a girl who often finds it difficult to even get through the nights.
Perhaps a product of her terrorizing birth, Blanche would like to face up to
the challenges of life, but finds it daily difficult to get through each day.
To resolve some of these problems, she is determined, as she tells her
father, to join the hard life of the Carmelite convent, in the hopes to learn
how to face up to life’s difficulties and to accomplish something worthy of her.
Although her father tries to dissuade her, she insists upon her decision, and
in the very next scene we observe her being interviewed by the head prioress,
Madame de Croissy (Felicity Palmer), a loving but iron-handed leader who
explains that the convent, whose major activities are devoted to silent prayer,
is not a place of refuge or escape, but a world of engagement with the
frailties of oneself and others. As Blanche expresses her determination and her
decision of her name, Sister Blanche of Christ of the Gethsemane, a close
relationship rises up between the ailing prioress and the young novitiate,
perhaps because that was the name that the prioress had originally chosen for
herself, but was dissuaded in choosing it since it signified of facing a life
of dealing with Christ’s own most human doubts.
In the very next scene, among the working activities of the nuns, we
encounter the other novitiate, Constance (Erin Morley), almost the polar
opposite of Blanche. If Blanche is a frightened, nervous woman, Constance is
light and optimistic, a woman who remembers dancing and singing with great joy,
and in her innocent lightness seems ill-suited to her newly chosen life. Yet,
unlike Blanche, she declares, she is unafraid of death, even reporting that she
has envisioned her and her fellow nun’s death, both dying young on the very
same day.
So begins a series of “dialogues” about religious vocation and values,
as well as the concept of death and even martyrdom which dominate the convent
life. On her deathbed in the very next scene, Madame de Croissy, worries about
Blanche, consigning her special attention to the strong and loyal observation
of mother Marie (Elizabeth Bishop). The prioress attempts to maintain the
strength she has expressed throughout her long life, yet at the last moments,
she too collapses in fear and despair, even cursing God. Only Blanche has been
on hand to witness this momentary heresy, and she is warned by Marie to forgive
and ignore it, to tell no one else.
Both Constance and Blanche might wish Marie would now become the
prioress, but Madame Lidoine (Patricia Racette) is appointed to the role. As
the revolutionary forces daily gain strength, Blanche’s brother arrives at the
convent in an attempt to try to convince his sister to leave and return home to
her father. In one of the most beautiful duets of the opera, sung between bars
of crosses—representing both the separation of the young woman and a kind of
confessional wall of admission—Blanche presents herself almost as a
proto-feminist, insisting that she has grown in her role as a nun, that she is
no longer a child, useless in the world—as her brother and father have always
treated her—while she insists she will not abandon her sisters. The love
between the two, brother and sister, almost plays out as a confrontation of
sexual values.
Soon after the convent Chaplin (Mark Schowalter) is forbidden to perform
his religious duties and is determined to escape, as the women increasingly perceive
that they may become martyrs, just as Madame Lidoine reminds them that their
role is to perform prayers; only God can chose them for martyrdom.
At the very same moment, revolutionary commissioners enter the convent
to tell the nuns of their expulsion from the convent. The prioress is called
away to Paris, and the nuns, now under the control of Marie, are terrorized,
forced to cloth themselves as peasants. Marie, who has always recognized the
martyrdom underlying their self-inflicted sufferings, asks the group to vote
for a pledge of martyrdom from the remaining women. One by one—an action
paralleling their later final voyage to death—each of them passes by the
Chaplin, quietly whispering their vote into his ears. But the vote, in order to
be valid, must be unanimous; if even one votes against it, they shall abandon
their position. To most it is clear that Blanche still cannot summon up the
courage to accept death, and as the final vote is announced with only one vote
against, it is apparent that Blanche has voted with her fears. Constance,
however, comes forward, claiming she has voted against it, but has now
determined to change her mind. Might they vote one more time?
As the second vote begins, Blanche rushes out, just as the others are
forced to leave their convent behind.
Her father having been put to death, Blanche now has no choice but to be
a servant at the mansion in which she once lived. Mother Marie finds her there,
trying to convince her to join the other women at a safe house.
Finally, determined to rejoin her sisters, Blanche rushes into the
streets to hear that her friends have been arrested. All but Marie are
sentenced to die. Marie would gladly join them but is reminded by the chaplain
that it is God’s decision, not hers. And it will be Marie’s story ultimately
that will become the basis for the recounting we are witnessing.
At the Place de la Révolution the crowds have gathered. Singing “Salve
Regina,” the nuns, one by one, move forward up the path of officers where they
enter between two soldiers at the tunnel’s end, who as they pass turn their
backs to the audience, the crashing sound of the guillotine coming from just
beyond. The powerful chorus continues as each bravely take their turn, finally
becoming a trio, a duet, a solo as Constance begins and, suddenly in fear,
momentary turns back. Blanche suddenly appearing out of the observing crowd
reassures her young friend, following her, finally up the gauntlet to her own
death, as the last voice among her order.
Such a powerful scene of faith and survival surely draws tears from
almost all audience members, and, coming as it did, just after the Nazi
outrages of World War II, the faith of these figures has special meaning. Yet
it is hard to ignore the fact that these women of 1794 were also fanatical
martyrs of a kind perhaps not so very different from the Muslim women “martyrs”
of today. These 18th century women believed insanely in their
powers, but in an age in which women had no power, that perhaps was a very
significant statement. Certainly they were not wearing weapons of destruction
nor were intending to kill others in revenge. Only their own bodies, which they
perceived were in God’s hands, were offered up as symbolic weapons. What else
could they possibly offer up in such a world?
In the case of the Carmelites, their prayerful actions apparently
achieved their goals. Soon after, the so-called Reign of Terror and the
Robespierre rule fell, in part, in response for these cruel and inexplicable
murders. In 1906 Pope Pius X beatified the 16 murdered nuns.
I must add that conductor Louis Langrée brought out beautiful
performances from the always memorable MET orchestra. And all cast members, who
in this work must act as an ensemble, were excellent. The audience was not
easily dispersed, and its applause was quite deafening.
New
York, May 5, 2013
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