Fervaal by Vincent d’Indy

Nineteen when Prussia tramped all over his beloved France in 1870, he became a
passionate nationalist with all the excesses of the time and place: anti-Germanism became, for him as for many, a racial “Celticism,” and his Francophilia included royalism, anti-Dreyfusism and anti-Semitism. Yet he was too good a musician not to appreciate Wagner and be influenced by Wagnerian method.

As a composer of opera, d’Indy was part of that post-Wagnerian
movement determined to find in local folklore ways to celebrate national glory,
a movement that produced dozens of works from Ireland to Armenia, most of them
long forgotten — Humperdinck’s Hansel und Gretel is a rare
success and survival. D’Indy’s Fervaal, which affects to
find in the druids a mythic antidote to sophisticated modern life, is
d’Indy’s contribution. It had its premiere in Brussels in 1897 and
reached Paris in 1913 — just in time for this sort of perfervid
nationalism to cheer entry into World War I; Fervaal has not been
fully staged anywhere since. That the hero, a druidic prince of divine descent
vowed to chastity — though how that will preserve his dynasty is not made
clear — is seduced by the love of a “Saracen” princess. Their
doomed union prefigures the death of the old gods and the birth of a world
based on love (sound familiar?). The Celtic-Saracen passion might appeal to
multiculturalists in modern France, with its huge, disaffected Muslim
population, but would probably not delight the aristocratic d’Indy and
leaves the auditor puzzled.

Still, as a concert version presented by the American Symphony Orchestra
under that indefatigable lover of obscure scores, Leon Botstein, made clear,
Fervaal is extraordinary without being especially endearing. The great
flaw is that none of the three principal characters has much personality
— they declaim at taxing length but they never persuade us that they feel
any of the emotions they announce. They do not persuade us that they exist
— that they have inner lives, emotions that can be reached by other
persons. None of their music possesses the charm d’Indy gives to his
choruses, who are variously and convincingly warring tribes, exultant priests,
sensuous Saracens, spirits of the clouds or natural forces moaning as storms or
winds. D’Indy might have achieved success with a dramatic oratorio had he
ever composed one — grand opera on the Meyerbeer or Wagner pattern does
not bring out his best.

The opera’s enormous orchestra lacked (Botstein said) several
instruments d’Indy requested that are no longer much played. There were
an enormous variety of winds and brasses typical of the period, exquisitely
deployed: contrabass clarinets, for example, and four saxophones to accompany
the apparition of the cloud-goddess Kaito and her cumulonimbus attendants
— an answer for those who have doubted the spiritual qualities of the
saxophone sound. For orchestral color, d’Indy was clearly a master of the
genre — he is perhaps best known for his set of orchestral variations on
the legend of the Descent of Ishtar — played in reverse from most complex
to least, as the goddess disrobes to her naked theme.

My heart went out to the three lead singers — especially to Richard
Crawley, a last-minute replacement, who had to learn the title role (easily as
long as either Siegfried) in two and a half weeks — for the acres of
ungrateful declamatory singing they were obliged to hurl out at Fisher Hall all
evening. That they could pace themselves and did not run out of steam is a
tremendous tribute to the professionalism of all hands. Donnie Ray Albert may
lack the Wagnerian surge and sonorous depths that d’Indy appears to have
hoped for in Arfagard, the uncompromising druid priest and prophet, but his
sturdy bass-baritone never lost authority. Deanne Meek’s clear
mezzo-soprano probably has some sensuous notes somewhere, but she didn’t
much display them as the Saracen princess Guilhen, though one would have
thought “seductiveness” part of the job description. She, too,
deserves points for unflagging industry. Barbara Dever sang the small but
distinctive role of Kaito, whom d’Indy calls the goddess of the clouds
— but he wrote it and she sang it in the style and intensity of
Wagner’s Erda, a part she could obviously handle whenever called upon.
Many small roles were ably covered and the Concert Chorale of New York were
especially virtuosic, with the only really lyric singing of the occasion.

John Yohalem

image_description=Portrait du compositeur Vincent d’Indy (1851 – 1931) par Antoine Bourdelle au MusÈe Bourdelle.
product_title=Vincent d’Indy: Fervaal
product_by=Fervaal: Richard Crawley; Guilhen: Deanne Meek; Kaito: Barbara Dever; Arfagard: Donnie Ray Albert. American Symphony Orchestra conducted by Leon Botstein, at Avery Fisher Hall. October 14.