C'est Magnifique

Jean-Philippe Rameau
"Le Temple de la Gloire"
(The Temple of Glory)
Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra & Chorale"
New York Baroque Dance Company
Cal Performances, Zellerbach Hall
Berkeley, CA
April 28, 2017

by Rita Felciano
copyright Rita Felciano 2017

Baroque operas are not exactly a rarity in the contemporary repertoire even though many are performed in concert versions since the theatricality of their inherent dramas is not that easily transferred to the stage. So to have an opportunity to see the first performance of a work, last seen in its original form in 1745 with music by Rameau and libretto by no less a writer like Voltaire, must be considered a major event. That it has been realized in such an exquisitely refined and coherent manner is almost miraculous. No wonder, on opening night the production received a standing ovation at the first intermission. This reconstruction may have been a gift to music lovers, but it was an even a larger one to those of us who seem forever enamored of dance. According to the program notes, Parisian audiences would have seen "Temple" as an "opera-ballet". Catherine Turocy's eight-member New York Baroque Dance Company, with help from some local dancers, including children, contributed the many dance numbers -- some elegant, some robust, some ribald -- in the spirit of the time. As the stage director she insured a cohesion in which singers and dancers performed as a unit. Such a splendid achievement needs to have a longer live than the four performances in Berkeley.

Meggi Sweeney Smith as Venus in PBO's "Le Temple de la Gloire" by Rameau. Photo by Frank Wing.

Though Voltaire's libretto had widely circulated, the manuscript of the original score seemed lost until it was acquired by the Berkeley Music Department in 1976 where it became of primary interest to scholars and researchers. Finally, all the "gods" aligned -- as they tended to do in the 18th century -- and the current resurrection, which also included members of the Centre de musique baroque de Versailles, became a wished-for reality.

The original performance celebrated winning battles by Louis XV, and told the story of a mythic Temple of Glory to which only the most honorable leaders would be admitted. Two applicants Bélus (a mythic king of Assyria), and Bacchus didn't make it. The Roman emperor Trajan did because he saved Rome but also because he wanted the temple -- you hear Voltaire's admonishment to the king -- be open to all peoples, of whatever status, religion or, as we would say, national origin. Voltaire was ahead of his time. Reportedly, the king was not amused.

For a twenty-first century dance watcher, this marvelous production was like opening a book to the family ancestry. We all know where ballet came from -- but here it was live, so familiar, and so full of promise. And yet it was complete in itself. Since no notation existed for the choreography, Turocy relied on the music and what she glanced from period manuals. I am sure that I saw versions of the Minuet, an Allemande and, in the finale, a Contradanse. Beautiful were the delicacy and elegance of the poses -- stillness was prized -- the front-oriented body, soft plies and turnout. The slight tilt of the torso and bobbing moves never moved far from the vertical. Already some of the men -- particularly those of the Roman court -- showed higher jumps, more legs extension and serial pirouettes.

Dancers doubled the singers enhancing the emotional quality of the music, but they also pushed the narrative into the visible world of shepherds, drunkards and hedonists as well as the muses as representative of the gods. In the first act in which evil Bélus derided the pastoral idylls of shepherd and shepherdesses, they watched and danced, rested and gently frolicked with small hops, fast beats and wrists gently angled. With Bacchus, several of the singers proved to be inspired "movers" as they joined satyrs, fauns, a priestess and rustic wood cutters' good-humored debaucheries in a style called grotesco which may date back to Roman plays and traveling circus acts. A lovely touch was a curious ostrich who ambled through the chaos, crossing his feet and angling his neck. (I wondered whose invention that was.) The third act, the most plangent one, had Plautine, supported by her dancing attendants, ache for her husband. When he returned La Gloire honored him. Dramatically, this was the weakest act, but, then, happy endings often are.

The musical values of this dance-opera were of the highest qualtiy, with singers often doing double and triple duty. Scott Blake's superb set -- with an upstage opening that allowed for quick changes of scenery -- could have come from a Watteau painting. Any opera house in the country should be delighted to have this treasure.