Opéra de Compiègne

On January 31st, Maggie and I headed out of the city with my piano accompanist and friend, Dominique, who had invited us to go to the Opéra de Compiègne with him. Compiègne is a city of around 40,000 an hour to the northeast of Paris and boasts a fine château and forest, both of which have some historical importance (armistices ending WWI and ending the German invasion of France during WWII were signed in the forest). Napoleon III liked the château enough to tack on a sizable opera house in the mid-19th century, which became the Théâtre Impérial de Compiègne. It was there that we were to see a two-part production: Le Gendarme Incompris (1920), a play by Jean Cocteau and Raymond Radiguet with incidental music and songs by Francis Poulenc; and Les Mamelles de Tiresias, an opera bouffa by Poulenc based on Guillaume d'Apollinaire's 1903 play. This was a great pre-birthday present, since my dissertation focuses on all these early-20th-century artists, and since Poulenc is one of my favorite composers.

(Thanks to the Compiège Tourism Office for this shot of the Théatre Impérial.)

We had a hard time understanding Le Gendarme Incompris, what with the cross-dressing, affected Italian accents, and the lack of sub- or surtitles. In fact, I fell asleep partway through (I'm terrible!) and totally missed the following scene, which included one of Poulenc's songs. (This clip is from a 2009 production in Toulon.)

We still couldn't tell you exactly what Le Gendarme incompris is about, but c'est pas grave (it's no big deal), because Dominique couldn't explain it to us afterwards either.

On the other hand, I already knew Les Mamelles de Tirésias from reading about Poulenc, and from a recording I have. The basic premise of this so-called Surrealist work ("so-called" because it was written before the advent of Surrealism, and because there's no such thing as Surrealist music) is that Thérèse, a normally submissive housewife, rebels against femininity and spontaneously changes sex (her breasts turn into balloons and float away), not only leaving her husband to fend for himself, but becoming a famous general (Tiresias) who leads a successful campaign against childbirth. Her husband, put off by the whole affair and fearful for the future of the country, figures out a way to have children by himself, and manages to (re)produce 40,049 in a single day. At the end Thérèse/Tirésias comes back, repents of her errant ways, and joins the husband and the rest of the cast in singing the praises (literally) of childbearing. The last line of the opera, repeated over and over again in blatant symbolism, urges the French to make as many babies as possible. This was relevant during WWI (when Apollinaire's play was first performed), after WWII (when Poulenc's opera was premiered), and today (when European birthrates are dropping precipitously).

It's a great piece, with lots of catchy tunes and clever orchestration. For a post-war opera, it might be considered a little reactionary (it's a crowd-pleaser), but it's also typical Poulenc, which is what I like about it. For a snippet of the opera, I first offer Poulenc himself accompanying Denise Duval, who created the role of Thérèse/Tirésias in 1947, in a concert version of the beginning of the work. The second clip gives a glimpse of staging, costumes, and the silliness of it all (especially from 1:00 in), from a 2007 Prague State Opera production.

It's delicious stuff, and of course it's best savored live. Afterwards, thanks to Dominique's connections we were able to go backstage, meet the performers, and even go to the cast party! We truly live charmed lives here.

Paris Day Trips: Lyon (Part Work)

Matt's visit three weeks ago wasn't just about galavanting around Paris - he came to get some research done as well. So early in the morning on his second day in town, we embarked on a research expedition to Lyon, a two-hour train ride from Paris.

Lyon is the second city of France, known for its rich history (it was the capital of Gaul under the Romans), its beauty (thanks in part to the confluence of the Rhône and the Saône rivers), and its gastronomy. But all that could wait until after we got some work done at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique de Lyon, or Lyon Conservatory (second only in prestige to the CNSM de Paris).


The Conservatoire is located in a former convent, built in the 17th century, that was appropriated during the Revolution and became a veterinary school. We spent all our time in the reading room, which was well-appointed, quiet, and provided easy access both to internet-enabled computers and listening stations, two things the BN's music library needs to work on.

Matt and I had come to the Lyon Conservatory's library because it houses a nearly-complete collection of scores formerly owned by Nadia Boulanger, a composer, concert pianist/organist, conductor, and famous composition teacher. We were interested in determining whether Boulanger had annotated scores of works by the composers we're studying (Matt is working on Mahler), either for conducting or teaching. It turns out that she only rarely wrote in her scores, and frequently only to indicate mistakes in the editions. But in a few cases, it looked like she had done some analysis (perhaps with a student), and we noticed other interesting characteristics of certain scores.

For instance, in this score of a Beethoven piano concerto, Boulanger wrote in instrument names, probably to help her cue various performers while she was conducting. Notice also the heavy wear on the corners of the pages - this is something she played through or conducted a great number of times. Finally, we realized that some of the scores (like this one) had been bound after purchase, which might indicate that the score was in worse shape, or that someone wanted to protect it. Believe it or not, all of these details can prove useful to a musicologist . . . but ultimately Matt and I didn't find too much that was useful among all the scores we studied in Lyon. Still, we had to look, just to make sure.

Not at all discouraged by our findings (or lack thereof), we took a little time to enjoy the city's gastronomic offerings and lovely old city. To be continued tomorrow . . .

Paris Day Trips: Fontainebleau

Just 35 minutes by train from Paris, the Château de Fontainebleau rivals the Château de Versailles in size and splendor. On a snowy Friday in early January, my mom, Cathy, Maggie and I went to check it out.

Thanks in part to the snow, we basically had the place to ourselves. Where the audio guide politely asked us to move quickly through a room, we dawdled. We took pictures of empty rooms, appreciating how they must have looked during the significant part of the year that the French court was not in residence.

We appreciated the many layers of French history represented by different styles of architecture and interior decoration. François I established the chateau in full Italian Renaissance style in the 16th century, building on top of a Romanesque abbey constructed by Saint Louis in the 12th century. In addition to the above picture, the chateau's chapel pretty well sums up what "Italian Renaissance" means:

Each French king in turn managed to decorate a room or tack on a wing. But it took French emperors (Napoleon and Louis-Napoleon) to leave the longest-lasting impressions on the place. Napoleon actually abdicated (for the first time) at Fontainebleau, and his throne remains at the scene of the crime.

Looks kind of short, if you ask me . . . then again, I'm not one to talk. Anyway, in addition to the Château itself we would have loved to explore the grounds, which include the largest parterre (planned garden) in Europe and a humongous forest that itself welcomes millions of visitors each year. But it was almost impossible to see what with all the snow, and we were cold, and we have to leave something for next time, right?

We also failed to find the location of the American summer music school that supposedly takes place within the Château, and that holds a decently important role in music history. We did succeed in finding a solid Belgian-themed brasserie to have lunch in, and my mom and Cathy got to share waffles. Success!

If you get the chance, visit the Château de Fontainebleau. Not on a Tuesday. It's closed Tuesdays, as my mom, dad and I discovered all too late, one fateful day 10 years ago. And if you do get there, don't get too distracted by the magnificent vistas and sumptuously decorated rooms. There are plenty of small-scale details to appreciate, too.

Paris Day Trips: Chartres

My mom and Cathy arrived in Paris on New Year's Day, at the height of holiday tourism. You already know how I feel about crowds of tourists (and how Matt feels about how I feel about tourists), so I was relieved when we decided to leave the city for a day-trip on January 2nd. Our destination was Chartres.

Chartes, population 40,000, is the lovely capital of the Eure-et-Loire department. We ate lunch at a decent restaurant (Café des Arts), checked out the public médiathèque (library for DVDs and CDs), and walked the medieval ramparts. But mostly we were there to see the city's massive cathedral, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

There are any number of things that distinguish this cathedral from others in France and throughout the world: the speed with which it was constructed (26 years), its high fidelity to what we think of as the main tenets of Gothic architecture and decoration; the relic it was built to protect (a tunic supposedly worn by the Virgin Mary); its non-matching towers and extant Romanesque façade (above). But one of my favorite parts of the cathedral was its 172 12th- and 13th-century stained-glass windows.

Beautiful, non? Chartres is only an hour-long train ride from Paris (Gare Montparnasse). Tell them I sent you, and don't forget to try the labyrinth . . .