Charles-Hubert GERVAIS (1671-1744)
Hypermnestre (1716/17)
Hypermnestre – Katherine Watson
Lyncée – Mathias Vidal
Danaüs – Thomas Dolié
Une Égyptienne / une Naïade / une Argienne / une Bergère / une Coryphée – Chantal Santon-Jeffery
Un Égyptien / le Grand Prêtre d’Isis / un Berger / un Coryphé – Manuel Núñez Camelino
Isis / une Matelote – Juliette Mars
Le Nil / Arcas / l’Ombre de Gélanor – Philippe-Nicolas Martin
Purcell Choir, Orfeo Orchestra/ György Vashegyi
rec. 17-20 September 2018, Béla Bartók National Concert Hall, Müpa Budapest, Hungary
Booklet notes and synopsis in English, French, and German
French libretto with English translation
GLOSSA GCD924007 [74:32 + 71:27]
Opera enthusiasts may know the story of Hypermnestra and her many sisters, the daughters of Danaus who are betrothed to the sons of Aegyptus, from works by Cavalli (Hipermestra) and Salieri (Les Danaïdes). Charles-Hubert Gervais’s setting of Joseph de La Font and Simon-Joseph Pellegrin’s libretto in 1716 is a rarity, however, even despite being accorded the fairly unusual honour in its own time of having been revived in Paris on a number of occasions until 1766, and during the time of Rameau’s ascendancy at that. Thereafter it fell into oblivion, but has been resurrected from the archives of the Académie Royal de Musique in the French capital, where it had been first performed.
This is its premiere recording, in an edition based principally upon the opera’s first revival in 1717, but also drawing upon various sources from its several presentations throughout the 18th century to create a full, workable score since no single source contains complete parts. Furthermore, some filling in of the inner orchestral parts was necessary to enable it to be performed. Owing to criticism of the libretto at the premiere run, the last act was entirely rewritten, resulting in new music for its tragic conclusion in which the dying Danaüs curses Hypermnestre for not keeping her vow, unlike all her sisters, to avert the prophecy that he would be killed by one of Aegyptus’s sons, by murdering her fiancé Lyncée, just as her sisters have killed his brothers. The triumphal final act of the original 1716 version is included here as an appendix, in which Lyncée is crowned king of Argos. The later setting might be more consistently tragic, but musically it ends with a whimper in an inconsequential recitative, whereas the 1716 version ends emphatically.
Although Gervais’s composition predates Rameau’s first opera by 17 years, it foreshadows the style of his tragédies en musique in that the sequence of accompanied recitative, airs, choruses, and dances bear a harmonic and melodic liveliness which already mark a departure from the more sober character of Lully’s operas. Indeed some of the airs are Italianate in style, with virtuosic vocal writing, and so are really short arias. The music rarely reaches quite the same level of inspiration as Rameau’s greatest stage works, but it is an accomplished and well-integrated composition nonetheless.
In this recording it receives a stately, unhurried performance, befitting a work composed for royal entertainment, as revealed in the broad account of the Overture and opening chorus. The generous acoustic of the Béla Bartók National Concert Hall is well exploited by György Vashegyi, as the Purcell Choir and Orfeo Orchestra create a sonorously blended timbre, which is always also transparent. The hall gives space to grander musical statements so that they make a full dramatic impact, such as Danaüs’s singing into tomb of Gélanor with a slight echo, to evoke an eerie depth, followed by his address to the people of Argos accompanied by a trumpet, in an air that rather anticipates ‘The trumpet shall sound’ from Handel’s Messiah. The trumpets and drums in the battle episodes in the 1716 version of the fifth act also come off well. Quieter passages are no less effective, such as the lucid tone of the strings’ suspensions just before Hypermnestre makes her oath in act three, to take one small example; and the continuo group throughout are captured with exemplary clarity.
The singers are generally expressive and carry the drama efficiently through their musical acting. In the title role, Katherine Watson is clear and direct, creating more urgency or nuance as necessary by underlining important or emotional moments. Mathias Vidal’s performance as Lyncée combines gentleness and depth, inciting the listener’s sympathy not only in his tender music with Hypermnestre, but also as he realises that her sisters have killed his brothers, and he wonders what will happen to him next.
Thomas Dolié tends to sound growly and a little dry as Danaüs, lacking something both of menace as the king who has usurped the throne from Gélanor, and of fluster as he tries to avoid the fate prophesied for him. He is more rhetorically convincing in his desperate dialogue with Hypermnestre in act three, and he attains a certain nobility as he confronts his end in both versions of the final act.
Taking on five smaller roles throughout the course of the drama, Chantal Santon-Jeffery comes to be a distinctive and impressive vocal presence in her own right, with the radiance and freshness of her singing. The way she seems to float effortlessly the musical line of the arietta ‘Hâte-toi de quitter les cieux’ in act two is a highlight of the whole recording, and the more ebullient vocalism of ‘Vous, que le bruit afffreux’ is no less wondrously poised.
Manuel Núñez Camelino is uneven in the handful of roles he assumes, sometimes sounding unsettled or stretched in tone, but more secure in his appearance as a shepherd. Juliette Mars is well placed acoustically in this recording to sustain necessary dramatic grandeur as Isis, and Philippe-Nicolas Martin sings with a steady, disembodied authority as the ghost of Gelanor.
Overall this is a fine achievement for Vashegyi and his forces, as he demonstrates a winning, sympathetic understanding for the refined style and temperament of French Baroque opera, which may be less obviously vivid than its Italian counterparts, but needs deft, subtle colouring all the same. For fans of that genre, this is an absorbing realisation of a fascinating work in the period of transition between the careers of Lully and Rameau.
Curtis Rogers
