PARIS has much to offer the tourist who likes to visit the last
resting-places of the famous: the Père-Lachaise for Balzac, Proust,
Wilde, and Jim Morrison; Montparnasse for Beckett and Sartre;
Montmartre for Berlioz and Offenbach. These cemeteries are
well-known. But few visit the Cimetière de Picpus, a five-minute
walk from the Nation métro station. This is where 1306 victims of
the Terror are buried, their names recorded in the chapel; and, at
the far end of the garden, near the grave of Lafayette, is a plaque
listing the names of 16 Carmelite nuns who were guillotined on 17
July 1794. It is their fate that is the subject of Francis
Poulenc's opera Dialogues des Carmélites, first performed at La
Scala, Milan - in an Italian translation - in 1957.
Actually, it is about more than the nuns' fate. The libretto is
derived from a play by Georges Bernanos, which in turn was based on
a short story by a German writer, Gertrud von Le Fort. Bernanos was
a devout Roman Catholic - educated by the Jesuits, he nearly became
a priest himself - and he was preoccupied with "the transference of
grace". In a key passage, the young Sister Constance says: "We do
not die for ourselves but for one another, or even instead of each
other. Who knows?" Thus, the Prioress dies in physical and
spiritual agony, while Blanche - who has run away - finds the
courage to join her sisters on the scaffold.
Robert Carsen's production at Covent Garden was first seen in
Amsterdam in 1997; it has since toured to other cities, including
Milan, Vienna, and Madrid. The set designs are by Michael Levine,
but there is no scenery, only furniture and props, with traditional
costumes by Falk Bauer. What grips the attention, non-musically
speaking, are the kaleidoscopic placing of the characters, the
movement (credited to the choreographer Philippe Giraudeau), and
the imaginative lighting by Jean Kalman. Blanche's interview with
the Prioress is witnessed by the nuns kneeling, facing the
audience; lined up, they form a barrier when Blanche is visited by
her brother; in prison, they huddle together. When they hear of the
death sentence, they raise their eyes to heaven; at the end,
singing the Salve Regina, one by one they sink slowly to the ground
as (invisible, but very loud) the guillotine descends. The Royal
Opera's newly founded Community Ensemble provides silent,
motionless witnesses.
The cast is superb. Deborah Polaski makes a dignified Prioress.
Emma Bell is equally authoritative as her successor, though she
could have shown more steel when rebuking Sophie Koch's Mother
Marie. Anna Prohaska chirrups delightfully as Sister Constance,
wide-eyed and wise at the same time; Poulenc makes it virtually
impossible for any producer toshow that it is not she but Blanche
who votes against martyrdom.Sally Matthews catches all the aspects
of Blanche's behaviour: her resolve, her impatience, her fear. The
men don't get much of a look-in, but Thomas Allen, Yann Beuron, and
Alan Oke all make a strong impression; a special word forCraig
Smith's jailer, who fires off the list of the condemned without
making it sound like Rossinian patter.
In the pit, Sir Simon Rattle and the orchestra are wonderfully
rapturous, stately, and violent by turns. The short run of
performances is already over, but the production's Milan
incarnation - different conductor and cast - can be seen on
DVD.