Reviews — The New York Times

MISS SANDERSON IN MASSE-
NET’S OPERA.

     Paris, June 1. - Never was a score more talked of than the “Esclarmonde” of M. Massenet. Although quite forty, the composer is always spoken of as a young master, and each new effort is expected to be almost a revelation. The first idea of the subject belonged, I am told, to M. Grammont, and it was put in verse and shape by M. Blau. This union formed the collaboration for the libretto. Previously, M. Grammont had made a translation of “Othello” for the Odéon, and M. Blau was one of the authors of the manuscript of “Sigurd.”
     The musician is one among the few happy mortals who have tasted permanently and with long, comforting draughts of the joyous cup of full success and popularity during early life. Every one knows him and all like him. His personality is wonderfully sympathetic. Under the charm and delight of a certain bonhomie of manner M. Massenet hides resolute will and firm determination; his character is like his music, it charms at once, and subsequent readings reveal its strength and depth. Another great and rare gift is that, while the composer appeals to the inmost soul of the dilettanti, he delights the vulgar public. One has only to watch the faces of the gros public to become aware of this gift; they listen attentively, religiously, and their own instinct must find its echo before the charm begins. All the music of M. Massenet is sensual, and yet it is religious. Be it Eve, Mary Magdalene, Herodiade, Manon, or the Cid, it is always the same lore, but with pardon and redemption in the future.
     “Esclarmonde” is almost, if not quite, a fairy spectacle, a marvelous take of dreamland. The Emperor Phorcas, a Byzantine sovereign, abdicates in favor of his daughter, Esclarmonde. She is to be the right royal Queen, but with one imperious condition. She must remain veiled to the eye of man, and at the end of two years she must wed the hero of a tournament. Phorcas withdraws to the Ardennes forest to study in retreat his favorite science of sorcery or the black art. Esclarmonde is unhappy because she secretly loves Roland, Count of Blois, whom she has seen but once. Using her magical power, she calls to her aid the spirits of fire and water, who transport her to a lovely island, where she meets Roland every night; she is full of trust in his vow never to betray their secret and never to ask to see her face.
     The Saracens threaten to pillage the city of Blois, and Esclarmonde, unduly ambitious, bids her lover hasten, to save the town, and he is, of course, the victor. Unfortunately, out of gratitude, the old King of France, Cléomere [Cléomene], offers him his daughter, and his refusal irritates the curiosity of the Bishop, who bids Roland confess to God - not to man. At the midnight hour Esclarmonde comes, but as her lips touch his brow light fills the chapel, and the Bishop, the Court, and Roland see her beauty. The spirits of fire drag her away and the charm is broken.
     In the last act Phorcas, touched by his daughter’s sufferings, makes Roland victorious in the tournament, and this against the will of the hero, who vainly seeks death only to forget. The sword of St. George wins the day, and Esclarmonde appears, to happiness and Roland. Such are the outlines of the legend.
     The musical score really rests upon five themes. By these the composer has realized the note representation of the invisibility of Esclarmonde, her power over the spirits, her love for Roland, their mutual tenderness and promises, the priestly interference, and the final triumph. Either energetic or passionate, these five melodies constantly reappear in the score, and in Act III., which is the culminating point of the opera, they mingle their originality.
     Since the “Roi de Lahore,” M. Massenet has done nothing equal to this, and it may yet rank as his best work. It is much akin to the Wagner methods, the leit motive being the basis of all; but if the strength of supreme expansion is lacking, the working up is delicate and wonderfully skillful. No living composer understands better the handling of an orchestra. Their accompaniment is certainly delightful. One might take each bar and describe in detail its pleasure and its picturesque description.
     “Esclarmonde” is long and very much cut up. The composer has called upon all the resources of the scenic art, and the costumes are bewildering and fascinating. The opera is entirely intellectual, even the lore is graceful, tender, and never gross, and the spectacular fairy developments add to this shading. There is a decided abuse of the brass instruments and they do not always appear to be necessary, but this is hypercriticism, for page after page is one long, exquisite delight. It will soon be classical and form the daily part and portion of every instrumental concert.
     The prologue is very short. A few chords and a recitative for Phorcas introduces Esclarmonde, who has the rare privilege of a perfectly-arranged entrance, where the personal beauty of Miss Sanderson served her well. The artist meets her father robed in all the splendor and jewels of her rank, and, raising her veil, she silently withdraws. Flowers are thrown and incense wafts its perfume upon the air. The cause of the débutante was won then and there, for a more radiant creature was never seen upon the stage. Then follows an andante for soprano, which is exquisitely simple and tender. The duet for the mezzo and soprano is more like a melodious recitative conversation than the usual duet intermingly of two voices, and while the eye follows the singers the ear watches for the orchestral harmony. The entrance of Eneas changes the movement, and there is wit and sparkle in the accompaniment. The invocation is not given its full value by Miss Sanderson; she is too young an artist to realize all the grandeur that a more dramatic voice could obtain from its declamation. It is here that the singer first soars to the high pitch where the composer affects to retain her voice, and above the line is twice and thrice repeated and held, and, I must add, without effort.
     Act II. is a long love duet - I should say trio, for the orchestra lingers and encourages it in delicious caprice. The principal motive, following the exquisite soprano page, Peur achever ton œuvre, is heard even during the ballet scene, and it comes and goes until it unites in one sweet melody with the orchestra, while the curtain of roses falls slowly to hide the lovers and close the stage. This intermèdie is encored nightly. The applause, I must add, is of necessity continuous, but fitful, because the composer, while yielding to the high note speciality of Miss Sanderson’s voice, has not paved the way to any operatic old-time effect.
     In Tableau IV. Roland leaves Esclarmonde swearing to be faithful to his vow of secrecy and to his adored mistress. The love duet still continues with just as much clearness, but with more virility of accent and intention. All this will be heard again and again, until the measures become a household joy; indeed, one of the great peculiarities of the music is that your memory recalls such and such a singer who would charm the ear by its interpretation.
     Act III. contains a marvelous prayer for the Bishop of Blois, which is underlined by the voices of the people repeating the entreaty of mercy, and the Oremus is heard from the church within. All the scene between Roland and the priest is noble, the music is simple yet broad and full, and the climax seems of facile construction and yet so satisfying. It is at its close that Esclarmonde is heard in the distance, her voice gradually coming nearer and reaching up higher and higher, from B flat to high G, which Miss Sanderson takes and holds with precision, coming down in a scale to the E in chest. The plainte of Esclarmonde is another jewel of the musical casket, and one longs to hear it from a voice less gifted, but with more roundness of timbre.
     The andantino of Act IV. is pastoral and soothing, quiet and fresh as a Summer morn, when all care and trouble seem to be defied. Laskin’s voice came out nobly here, and the cantabile was admirably rendered. The father calls the spirits to his aid and bids them bring Esclarmonde, who appears, waking from her long slumbers, only to receive the reproaches of her father. To save Roland she swears that her love is a dream of the past. The epilogue is short and resumes itself in a final duet, repeating the constant measures of the third act.
     The interpretation is perfect on the part of the orchestra and chorus. Miss Sanderson quite naturally interests at once and above her companions, and it is very hard to realize that the singer is new to the stage. The graceful carriage, perfect assurance, and command of all the possibilities of her rôle would do justice to an artist of much experience. It would be folly to ask if the extensive range of Miss Sanderson’s voice is not unequal, and it is strangely responsive, under good control, and all her highest notes are easily and quietly reached. In personal appearance the débutante is thoroughly charming and unaffected, and she should be justly proud of the effort and its result. To create Massenet’s opera would be a crown of glory to close a career of useful operatic excellence; to begin there is almost too good to be true, and Miss Sanderson and her friends should rejoice.
     Mlle. Nardi is perfect in every sense. The tenor might easily be improved upon. Gilbert does not look the part, and neither does he give full vocal value to Roland. Laskin was himself, and Bouvet also, and that means everything.
     A word now for the mise en scène and costumes. The latter were designed by Bianchini, and they are nearly 400 in number I am assured. Seen in a mass, they are certainly very wonderful. There are two short ballets. The appearances of Roland in the growing moon are startling and beautiful. There are numerous turcs, such as the lighting up of all the stage by the brilliancy of the magical sword; the fairy island, with its wealth of vegetation, its trees hanging all in brilliant flowers, with rocks of strange outline cutting out their variety against the blue horizon. It is here that the spirits dance in long pale-yellow transparent tunics, with garlands of fuchsias and imaginary flowers of impossible coloring. Others have fans of ostrich plumes upon their backs, swaying in the wind to meet the butterfly wings fastened to each hip. The costumes of Miss Sanderson are bewildering in color and design, and the artists certainly cannot complain of the meanness of their makers. All is light and splendor to make a fitting framework and setting to one of the most finished and complete artistic manifestations of recent years.