Fauré’s ‘Pénélope’, Radio France, 1956

Pénélope

Roger Nichols

The opera
‘I’m making superhuman efforts to get used to Pénélope,’ wrote Fauré’s old teacher
Saint-Saëns to Charles Lecocq after the opera’s Monte-Carlo premiere in March
1913, ‘but I can’t reach that state of mind which accepts never settling in any key
or looks with equanimity upon consecutive fifths and sevenths and on chords
helplessly waiting for a resolution that never comes.’ The opera was, for Fauré, the
culmination of a long journey and, while Saint-Saëns was known not to approve of
modern music in general, the stages of harmonic daring through which Fauré had
already passed should perhaps have prepared his teacher for those that appear in the
opera: albeit infractions, as Saint-Saëns went on to complain, of those very rules
which Fauré, as Director of the Paris Conservatoire, was charged with teaching to
his pupils. But maybe Saint-Saëns was misled by the Homeric subject matter into
looking for a work in all things classical? It is clear indeed from letters and
newspaper articles of the time that no one quite knew what to expect from a Fauré
opera.

Reasons for this can readily be found in the composer’s life history up to the time
he began the opera in 1907. He had studied not at the Conservatoire, the accepted
stable from which opera composers emerged, but at the far less prestigious Ecole
Niedermeyer which aimed to turn out organists and choirmasters. Fauré became
one such, reaching the heights as organist of the Madeleine church from 1896 to 1905. But the fact that he wrote less religious choral music than many of his church
colleagues, and none whatever for organ, suggests that his real interests lay
elsewhere; and his description of the run of church choir sopranos as ‘old she-goats
who have never known love’ points even more strongly to a dramatic, voluptuous
side of Fauré’s character that has not always been fully appreciated by critics, or
indeed performers.

He prepared for opera writing through his songs and through incidental music,
both instrumental and vocal. Some of his most beautiful pages, all too rarely heard
these days, are to be found in his incidental music for Shylock, an 1889 adaptation of
Shakespeare’s play. Here his lyrical gifts generate a depth of emotion made all the
more striking by the absence of any dramatic effects. As always with Fauré, the
drama comes, not from vulgar surprise, but from organic development over long
paragraphs.

This ability would seem to mark him out as an opera composer and from the mid-
1870s he considered a number of operatic projects, including Manon Lescaut (five
years before the premiere of Massenet’s opera), Faustine, set in the bloodthirsty
Rome of Marcus Aurelius, and a Mazeppa based on Pushkin. This was abandoned,
probably by the librettist, when news came that Tchaikovsky had had an opera
performed on the same subject, but it did lead Fauré to make a profession of faith:
‘it’s a theory too easily accepted, that French music should be light and spruce and
that German music should be heavy, compact or unintelligible in its search for
depth. If I write a Mazeppa, I can promise you it won’t sound intentionally French
or German. I shall do my best to translate human feelings through music that
surpasses what is human.’

We may presume that he brought the same intentions to writing Pénélope, and it
could be that it was in searching for the ‘music that surpasses what is human’ that
he found himself driven to adopt the solecisms that so upset his teacher. One thing
is certain: the idea for an opera of Homer’s story came to him from the soprano
Lucienne Bréval, who went on to sing the title role in the 1913 premieres in
Monte Carlo and Paris. He therefore had her voice in his head while writing the
opera, and it is important to know that she had been a wonderful Brünnhilde in the
first Paris performances of Die Walküre in 1893. The role of Pénélope is not
therefore designed to be grey or self-effacing and, if power is called for only
infrequently, we should nonetheless feel it is being contained in the many quieter
passages, just as her deception over her father-in-law’s shroud depicts the
containment of her intelligence, determination and anger.

Fauré wrote at length to his wife over his problems with the opera, not least with
the verbosity of the original libretto. He complained that his young collaborator,
René Fauchois, ‘hasn’t considered that music expands the lines enormously, so the
final result was almost as much Fauré’s work as his librettist’s, with much cutting,
altering and reordering. The ‘interminably disputatious’ Suitors were prime targets.

But over the question of ‘how to write an opera after Wagner?’ (one that exercised
practically every French composer of the period) he had no doubts or complaints:
he decided to use leitmotifs and to do away with self-contained arias – ‘it’s the
Wagnerian system, but there isn’t a better one.’ The leitmotifs are restricted to
four. The one for Pénélope is the two chords heard right at the start of the Prélude.
Immediately she is depicted as determined (the wider first chord is compressed decisively into the second) and as a more active participant in the drama than in
Homer’s original (her motif immediately develops and provides the Prélude, and
much of the opera, with basic material). Also, as the work progresses, the first
chord, initially a major triad, mutates into the ‘Tristan chord’, ratcheting up the
tension. Ulysses’s royal theme, often on solo trumpet, oscillates round a rising
octave, and the fact that it consists essentially of a single note means that Fauré can
easily insert it into the surrounding texture. The motif for the Suitors, for which
Fauré wanted ‘something that gives the impression of brutality and total selfsatisfaction’,
is made up of three abrupt notes with a follow-up in dotted rhythm.
Finally, the love motif, heard first hidden away in Pénélope’s vocal line, emerges
into the light at the beginning of Act I scene 8: a smooth theme rising through five
notes of the scale and culminating in one of Fauré’s typically oblique cadences. It
provides the act with one of the most beautiful endings in all music.

It has been widely believed that Fauré was uninterested in orchestrating his own
music and that Pénélope was in fact orchestrated by someone else. The first
proposition is palpably untrue, and the second true only to the extent that because
of time problems Fauré had to ask Fernand Pécoud to orchestrate parts of Acts II
and III, around one third of the opera overall; and he then revised what Pécoud had
done. Even so, dissatisfaction with the result began shortly after his death. In the
late 1920s Ravel was asked to undertake the task, but replied bluntly that Fauré’s
music was not orchestratable! The version heard on this disc is the work of the
conductor D-E Inghelbrecht, a long-time champion of the opera. He put together
the orchestra for the Paris premiere in May 1913 and made the present version for
performances given in 1949. Although his amended score, in the Paris Opéra library, testifies to his intention of ‘lightening some of the heavier textures by
suppressing the doubling of strings by woodwind, or vice versa; reducing the
number of desks in the strings at certain points to make it easier to hear the voices;
and mending the breaks in continuity’, as themes passed from one instrument to
another, in fact when it came to recording the work, as the Fauré scholar Jean-
Michel Nectoux has noted, he frequently returned to the composer’s original
scoring. This is essentially string-based, with discreet highlights provided by oboes,
horns or solo trumpet, and stands at the opposite extreme, as Nectoux has further
observed, from works characteristic of ‘an era dominated by Strauss’s
Expressionism, Italian verismo and the sumptuous spectacle of Diaghilev’s Ballets
russes.’ By and large, containment is the rule, recalling André Gide’s dictum that a
work is truly classical only by virtue of its subdued romanticism.

The performers
Désiré-Emile Inghelbrecht (1880-1965) began his conducting career in 1908 and
three years later was the chorus conductor for the premiere of Debussy’s Le martyre
de saint Sébastien. In the same season in which Pénélope was premiered at the Théâtre
des Champs-Elysées, he conducted the first performances of Boris Godounov in
French. He went on to conduct for the Ballets suédois and at both Paris opera
houses. In 1931 he founded the French National Radio Orchestra. He was known
as a martinet (Henry Barraud, for years director of music at French Radio,
described him to me as having a ‘caractère de cochon’) but there is no arguing with
the excellence of the results.

The Canadian tenor Raoul Jobin (1906-1974) was an excellent choice for the role
of Ulysse, bringing to it both heroism and tenderness. His professional debut was
in 1930 and his last performance, as Ulysse with Régine Crespin, was in 1958 – a
long career for a tenor, testifying to his healthy voice production, free of strain or
tightness. He sang all over Europe and America and in 1956 was accorded the
signal honour of singing the role of Julien in the 1000th performance of
Charpentier’s Louise at the Opéra-Comique.

Of the supporting cast, perhaps particular mention should be made of Christiane
Gayraud as Euryclée for her exemplary diction and the atmosphere she radiates of
mature calm, and of Robert Massard, one of the stalwarts of French opera of this
period, whose dark-toned authority as Eurymachus is a necessary counterweight to
that of Ulysse. But without question the star of the recording is Régine Crespin
(1927-2007) who, after her 1951 debuts at both the Paris Opéra and Opéra-
Comique, respectively as Elsa in Lohengrin and as Tosca, went on to have an
international career second to none, between 1962 and 1987 making over 120
appearances at the New York Metropolitan Opera. For the role of Pénélope she
may well have benefited from the advice of another great soprano, Germaine
Lubin, who had sung the role for the first revival of the opera in 1919, and who
certainly coached her for the role of the Marschallin, and for that of Kundry at
Bayreuth. Crespin recorded in her autobiography that the Decca engineers called
her ‘the French cannon’ because of the size of her voice. She thus continued the
tradition of Lucienne Bréval in presenting Pénélope as a woman of passion and
spirit, but also as one incapable even in anger of emitting an ugly note, a queen
fully entitled to give her name to this great and greatly undervalued opera.

© Roger Nichols, 2014

Gabriel Fauré  (1845–1924)

Pénélope

Track 1 – Act One

Track 2 – Act Two

Track 3 – Act Three

Opera in three acts to a libretto by René Fauchois

Synopsis by Nicholas Payne

It is so many years since Ulysse left Ithaca to join the Greek army that he is
generally assumed to have perished in the war. Only his wife, Pénélope, refuses to
give up hope and she has vowed to wait faithfully for him. She is besieged by
persistent suitors, who ignore her rejection and billet themselves in her house.

Act 1
The servants of the house, weary of their work, gossip about the hedonistic suitors
and agree that, in Pénélope’s place, they would long ago have chosen a new
husband. The suitors brusquely enter their workroom, demand to see Pénélope and
attempt to force their way past Euryclée, Ulysse’s former nurse. Violence is
forestalled by the entry of Pénélope who, in the face of the suitors’ cynicism,
reasserts her belief that Ulysse will return. They remind her of her vow – to
choose one of them after weaving a funeral shroud for Ulysse’s father – and insist
on seeing how close she is to completion. The shroud is revealed, barely begun, and
the appalled suitors demand that, henceforth, they watch her at work. Dancers are
summoned, to entertain her while she weaves, but instead she prays for the return
of Ulysse. At the climax of her prayer, a beggar appears and she offers him
hospitality. The suitors, disgusted, return to their feast, inviting the servants to join
them. Washing the Beggar’s feet, Euryclée discovers that he is in fact Ulysse, who
orders her to keep his identity a secret. Pénélope is left alone and secretly unpicks
her work on the shroud. The suitors catch her at it and give her an ultimatum: the following day she must marry one of them. Her last hope is that Ulysse should
return that night, and, in the company of Euryclée and the beggar, she heads off to
the hilltop to watch for the arrival of his ship.

Act 2
On the hilltop, the old shepherd, Eumée, greets the sunset and bids his fellow
shepherds goodnight. When Pénélope arrives, he declares his dearest wish: that
Ulysse should return and exact revenge on the riotous suitors, who have plundered
most of the island’s property. Pénélope is at first thrilled by the news but then –
despite the beggar’s attempts to convince her – she gives in to doubts about
Ulysse’s fidelity. Having watched so long in vain for her husband’s ship, Pénélope
announces that she would rather die than be forced into tomorrow’s marriage. The
beggar comes up with a stratagem: she should only accept the hand of the man who
can pull Ulysse’s great bow. She embraces this plan and returns home. The beggar
summons the shepherds, reveals that he is actually Ulysse, and enlists their help.

Act 3
The following morning, Ulysse plots his revenge. Hearing from Euryclée that
Pénélope has not slept all night, he comforts the old woman with the knowledge
that only Ulysse will succeed with the bow. Eumée brings the news that the
shepherds – commanded by the suitors to bring animals for the feast – are in place
and awaiting Ulysse’s cue. The suitors themselves arrive, apparently ready for their
wedding day, although they admit to being disturbed by a number of ill omens in the night. When their bride-to-be appears, Antinoüs begs to know which of them
will be the lucky man. Pénélope announces her decision: she will marry whoever
can pull Ulysse’s great bow. They are horrified by the magnitude of the task and by
Pénélope’s vision of Ulysse returning to slaughter the suitors. After they have tried,
and failed to bend the bow, the beggar asks to chance his arm. He succeeds, then
turns his weapon on Eurymaque, the head of the suitors, and kills him. Realising
that the beggar could be no one but Ulysse himself, the suitors attempt to flee but
are caught by the shepherds and executed. Justice done, Pénélope and Ulysse are
reunited in triumph.

© Nicholas Payne, 2014

Recorded in the studios of French Radio and TV on the 24 May 1956.

This recording is from the Harewood Collection at Music Preserved.

Remastering by Roger Beardsley and Paul Baily.

• Raoul Jobin
  Ulysses, King of Ithaca
• Régine Crespin
  Penelope, his wife
• Christiane Gayraud
  Eurycle, an old nurse
• André Vessières
  Eumeus, an old shepherd
• Michel Hamel
  A herdsman
• Nicole Robin
  Eurynome
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• Joseph Peyron
  Antinous
• Robert Massard
  Eurymachus
• Michel Hamel
  Laertes
• Bernard Demigny
  Ctesippus
• Pierre Germain
  Pisander
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• Janine Collard
  Cleone
• Françoise Ogéas
  Melantho
• Geneviève Macaux
  Alcandra
• Nicole Robin
  Phylo
• 
  
• 
  
• Choeurs et Orchestre National de Paris
  Chorus master Jean-Paul Kreder
• Desire-Emile Inghelbrecht
  Conductor