“Faust” from 1912

A-OP-Faust (Pathe)The Very First recording of “Faust” in French is Impressive

 Ardent collectors of opera on CD should visit the website of Marston Records. Ward Marston is considered the top person in the art of transferring very old recordings onto modern discs and his catalogue is filled with fascinating first—and often only—recorded versions of popular operas.

For example, the very first “Carmen” (1908) stars Emmy Destinn and is in German, as is the “Faust” (1908). “Carmen also appeared as the first recordings in French in 1911. And there is the only recording I know about of the French version of “Il Trovatore” (1912). The sound is ancient but thoroughly made as good as possible by Marston, the singing historic. And it is so good to hear French singers performing in French operas.

Then there are collections of famous singers such as Conchita Supervia, Feodor Chaliapin, Lotte Lehmann, and Rosa Ponselle. There are also discs such as “Three Tenors of the Opera Comique,” which offer even more variety.

There are plenty of non-operatic artists, but my specialty is opera and for me the Marston catalogue is a treasure trove of rare and even rarer recordings.

The rest of this report will concentrate on a French “Faust” recorded 1911-1912 and it will serve as a good example of what Marston has to offer.

It is 1912 and a French company named Pathé has issued a recording of Charles Gounod’s immensely popular opera “Faust.” It took up no less than 56 sides!  But now, this very “Faust” is available on 3 somewhat more convenient CD sides in a boxed set from Marston Records. And it is a stunner.

Ward Marston  describes in a well detailed booklet how Pathé made these recordings (in a most primitive way), a history of the opera “Faust,” and details about the singers heard on this recording. He did wonders with the sound, which is at times nearly as good as any early electric 78-rpm disc. The slightly noticeable surface noise only adds charm to what is essentially a time-trip to 17 years before electric recordings became possible.

Indeed, I was also amazed at how complete and well paced the performance is. Not only does it contain the Walpurgis Night scene  with all of the ballet music (omitted from many an early LP version) but actually includes Marguerite’s Act IV lament, which is even today seldom heard in the opera house. Valentine’s aria, which was added by Gounod at the request of an English baritone, is not included.

Not too surprisingly, while much of the singing is quite good, there is little dramatic tension, for example, in the duel between Faust and Valentine. The conductor is Francois Ruhlmann.

Andre Gresse makes a lively Mephistopheles, Leon Beyle a sympathetic Faust, and Jeanne Campredon a fragile Marguerite. More important is the fact that this recording is a valuable document of how French opera was sung early in the last century before rapid transit brought international casts to every opera house, thereby neatly killing anything of a national style. Lovers of Gounod’s masterpiece will want to hear this performance, as will operatic vocal coaches and their students.

As a wonderful filler for disc 3, Marston has included 13 other recordings of arias and ensembles, including Valentine’s solo, that give even more examples of French singing at that point in history.

Search www.marstonrecords.com for this and other operatic treasures from a bygone age.

Music and the Legend of Faust, 3

This entry is part 3 of 7 in the series Music and the Legend of Faust

IMG_20150603_0003_NEW Faust as Love Story: the Gounod Version
 

 

    Charles Gounod said he had read Goethe’s “Faust” at age 20. By the time he had seen his short-lived “Sapho” on the stage, he was determined to give the story, at least the First Part, a musical setting. By chance the librettist of “Sapho” introduced him to the librettist Jules Barbier, who just by chance happened to have a version of “Faust” that he had offered to Meyerbeer, who happened to turn it down as a desecration of the German masterpiece. Gounod  could not believe his luck

However Barbier’s libretto was based on a play “Faust and Marguerite” by a certain Michele Carré, whose permission was necessary. Although he provided the words to only two of the songs (“The King of Thule” and “The Calf of Gold”), Carré always appears as co-librettist. All this aside, the Opera turned Gounod’s score down, but a smaller, less grandiose theater accepted it. Opening was delayed a year because of a similar work being given elsewhere; and it was during this year that Gounod learned more of the craft of preparing an opera as opposed to cantatas and other vocal but static forms of music.

Like “Carmen” after it, the original “Faust” was given with spoken dialogue between the concerted numbers. But once it caught on all over Europe, Gounod scored the dialogue as recite and that is pretty much the opera as we know it today.

When English baritone Charles Santley became enamored of the role of Valentine, Marguerite’s brother, he wanted the role built up and asked Gounod for an aria in the Fair Scene based on the lovely melody heard in the prelude. Gounod obliged—for which every baritone afterwards should be grateful—and an English critic supplied the lyrics that begin with “Even bravest heart may swell.” Now (and this might be a “oner” in the history of opera) French words had to be supplied for non-English performances; and that is how the lovely “Avant de quitter ces lieux” came to be!

As for the opera itself, the philosophy of Goethe’s First Part is boiled down to a few minutes of “qvetching” in Faust’s opening monologue. (A long scene with Wagner was cut out earlier in the opera’s career.) By the time Mephistopheles conjures up the image of Marguerite some 20 minutes into the First Act, we know this will be a love story with supernatural overtones.

In fact, the Devil himself becomes little more than the Trickster figure of folklore. In this opera, his powers seem to be confined to conjuring up images (although he is unable to prevent Faust from seeing an image of the condemned Gretchen during the Walpurgis Night sequence), making wine flow from statues, and making himself surrounded by a force field when threatened by the crowd’s drawn swords. Unlike the seemingly more potent demons of modern films, this one cringes when the swords are inverted as crosses (a good director can get around this), although the crowd seems completely to forget about him seconds later.

But whatever his potential powers may be, the music has him a Charmer. I think only the French baritones on the very old recordings—Marcel  Journet for example—capture that oily spirit that Gounod seems to want. The roaring Devils brought in by Chaliapin and his basso-profundo successors seem to miss the point entirely. Those who saw Gustav Grundigs play the role back in the 1940s or heard his recording of the part will see what I mean.

With the diminution of Mephisto’s character, there is also the excision of the Witches’ Kitchen scene, most of the Walpurgis Night, and all the off-stage choruses of Spirits (except in the Church Scene). In short, this is a pretty sanitized version of the play and it makes sense that Faust should be damned at the end, since the point of view of mid-19th century French Catholics and the audiences would have expected no less a punishment. Modern audiences might wonder what all the fuss is about and claim “She could have said No” at least or “So what did she do so wrong?” at the most.

Faust himself, as I suggested, is a pallid copy of the original and exists only as an operatic tenor. Marguerite is “too virginal for words,” but her lack of depth is redeemed by her soaring melody at the end of the prison scene that is so theatrically effective. In fact the only believable character is Martha, the soprano’s earthy guardian who is willing to marry the Devil himself once she learns she is a widow.

In short, the mighty First Part of the Goethe work is boiled down to a boy meets girl story that was quite acceptable to the audiences of the time who considered going to the theater a social and not a cultural event. But it might be informative to take a peek into Edith Wharton’s New York world a few generations later and see her comments in “The Age of Innocence” about a performance attended by the hero of the novel:

 She sang, of course, “M’ama” and not “He loves me,” since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of  English-speaking audiences.

That leaves little more for me to say other than we will take a look at Boito in our next essay.