(Photo: Felix Grünscloß)

Among the offerings at this year’s Karlsruhe Händelfestspiele was a performance of “Phèdre,” an opera by the fairly obscure French composer Jean-Baptiste Lemoyne. What the connection is to Händel, however, is somewhat of a mystery. There was no explanation provided in the program. The two composers never met; in fact, Lemoyne would have only been eight years old when Händel died. Nor does the opera follow a direct, continuous line of development from Händel’s opera serie; rather, it incorporates an eclectic mix of influences, reflecting the trend at the time of combining styles from across European borders. It is possible to identify his debt to Gluck, Rameau and Piccinni, among others.

Whatever the reason for its inclusion, it made for a hugely enjoyable evening.

In his day, Lemoyne was a well-known and successful composer. Born in 1751 in the Dordogne area of France, he received his early musical training from an uncle, who was a conductor at Périgueux Cathedral. By 1770, he found himself in Berlin, where he honed his skills, studying with Gottlieb Graun, Johann Philipp Kirnberger and Johann Schultz, and composed his first opera, “Le Bouquet de Colette,” which premiered in Warsaw, before returning to Paris in 1780, where he quickly drew attention to himself with the controversial premier of his opera “Électre.”

“Phèdre,” which was his next opera, was premiered before the French court at the Palace of Fontainebleau in 1786 before moving to the Académie Royale de Musique for its public premiere. Deemed a success, it went on to knock up a further 60 performances over the next six years. Lemoyne was to write a further eleven operas over the next eight years before his early death in 1796. Unfortunately, following its initial success, however, the popularity of “Phèdre” quickly faded and received its last revival in 1813, before disappearing from the stage for over 200 years.

Defined as a tragédie lyrique, its libretto, by François-Benoît Hoffman, is based on Racine’s play of 1677, which in turn had been drawn from Euripides’ “Hippolytus.” Its central theme of a love that contravenes the dominant morality, together with the subsequent shame and guilt, is embedded as deeply in today’s society as they were in the fifth century B.C., yet Euripides’ work is able to speak as clearly to us as it did to audiences almost 2,500 years ago.

Phèdre, who is married to Thésée, is also in love with her stepson, Hippolyte, something that causes her great disquiet and anxiety. Such is her obsession, however, she cannot pull back, and in desperation confides her feelings to her confidante, Oenone. Fate then intervenes; news arrives that Thésée has died while abroad on a diplomatic mission, which opens up a pathway for Phèdre to confess her love to Hippolyte, to whom she also offers the throne, ahead of her own son Acamas. The only problem is that Thésée has not died! The scene has thus been set for the events to play out, in which the raging, turbulent emotions of all involved lead directly to Phèdre’s suicide, Oenone’s banishment and Hippolyte’s death, who is drowned by a raging sea deliberately instigated by Neptune at Thésée’s request. Thésée is now left alone at the centre of a great tragedy: realizing his error, he had tried to stop Neptune, but it was too late. Worse still, Phèdre, with her last words, confesses that Hippolyte was guilty of nothing; he had rejected her advances.

Lemoyne’s score expertly captures the emotional depths experienced by the characters, most notably so in the case of Phèdre and Thésée, which the conductor, Attilio Cremonesi, superbly brought forth from the Badische Staatskapelle. While ensuring that the musical momentum was sensitively paced to meet the needs of the on stage drama, he was equally attentive to its textural coloring and dynamic contrasts, which he successfully moulded to promote the emotional experiences of the characters and to furnish the stage with a dark ambience that for long periods weighed heavily on the drama. It was also a beautifully balanced performance that successfully trod the thin line between supporting the extreme emotions of the characters and melodramatic excess.

Singing Excellence From the Entire Cast

Unsurprisingly, the drama is dominated by Phèdre. It is her behavior that drives the narrative towards its tragic ending, and with one or two exceptions, she is at the centre of every scene. She is involved in long emotionally exhausting confrontations with Thésée, with Hippolyte and with Oenone, requiring substantial amounts of recitative and demanding arias. Mezzo soprano Ann-Beth Solvang as Phèdre rose to the challenge with a superb performance that captured not just the depth and range of Phèdre’s emotions, but presented them with a high degree of verisimilitude, carefully measured to meet the situation; there were instances of restraint, in which her delivery was subtle and nuanced, while on other occasions, she abandoned herself completely to her emotions in explosive outbursts, verging on madness.

Her expertly constructed recitatives, furnished with well-placed accents and colored to accentuate their impact, kept the tensions high as she moved from what felt like one stressful situation to the next. Arias were brilliantly delivered, in which she frequently pushed her voice to the limits with fiery renditions that caught the full force of her feelings. Just listening to her was an emotionally exhausting experience.

It was a compelling and expressive presentation from an accomplished singing actress, who convincingly immersed herself in the fabric of Phèdre’s emotional nightmare.

Her confidante, Oenone, was given an impressive reading by soprano Anastasiya Taratorkina, in which her fine technique and vocal beauty caught the attention. She created a portrait of a sympathetic, well-meaning character, which was reinforced by her vocal charm and elegant phrasing. Even when Phèdre banished her for deceiving Thésée into believing Hippolyte has betrayed him, one felt undeserved sympathy for her. Although not a particularly big role, it nevertheless allowed her to display her ability in effortlessly rendering delicately crafted lines, sensitively attuned to the text.

Although Thésée does not make his first entrance until the second act, he immediately takes on a significant role. Baritone Armin Kolarczyk, essaying the part, had the necessary presence and strength of character to assert his authority and personality instantly and so force the drama towards its deadly conclusion. In a state of rage, Thésée in “Seconde ma rage” invokes Neptune to take revenge on his son, Hippolyte. Kolarczyk produced a blistering rendition that caught the extreme pain and anger that overwhelmed him; even his body was riven with physical convulsions. This was followed later by an equally expressive outpouring of his grief as the reality of the situation became clear. In all, it was a stunning vocal performance.

Hippolyte’s decency, air of passivity, and disgust at Phèdre’s advances were neatly portrayed by the young Polish tenor Krzysztof Lachman. Although his character is far less demonstrative than the other principal singers, notwithstanding his revulsion displayed toward his stepmother, he was still able to make a fine impression with his attractive timbre, well-crafted phrasing, and lyrically appealing singing.

The two minor roles of a High Official of the State and Phèdre’s son, Acamas, were played by bass-baritone Ogulcan Yilmaz and Phillip Hohner, respectively. Both produced solid performances.

The Badischer Staatsoperchor made the most of their opportunities, producing beautifully sung choruses that ranged from the rousing and joyful to the more sensitive and plaintive.

Bernuth’s Strong Presentation

The staging was in the hands of the director Christoph von Bernuth, scenographer Oliver Helf, costume designer Karine Van Hercke, and lighting designer Stefan Woinke, and together they created an unambiguously dark presentation that successfully captured the full impact of the tragedy. Phèdre’s obsession with her stepson was highlighted by placing her in a confined space, hemmed in by black walls upon which she scrawled “Hippolyte” again and again and again, clearly highlighting the loneliness of the obsession. Rarely did the dim lighting lift; the atmosphere was heavy and claustrophobic, successfully reflecting her state of mind.

The costumes were taken from the 19th century. The period has no specific relevance to the opera, but nor is it any less relevant than any other period that could have been chosen from classical antiquity to the present day. Aesthetically, however, the costumes were pleasing to the eye, and Phèdre’s dark, heavy attire added to the ambience of the staging and again reflected her anxieties. Of course, there were also flashes of color, such as the female chorus’ bright yellow dresses and Oenone’s silvery-grey colored costume, which acted as strong contrasts to highlight the pervasive heavy atmosphere.

There were, however, some negatives relating to the staging. A rotating stage was used to quickly change the scenery, which, although an excellent device for keeping the drama moving, was not used to create imaginative settings, particularly in the case of a wide, bright wooden staircase, which did nothing to support the presentation, other than provide a space upon which the characters, including the chorus, could fit. Also, the use of the chorus was weak; often they were required to do little but stand and deliver their lines, which also conflicted with the direction of the main characters, whose movements were always carefully thought through to good effect.

The final scene, however, was superbly presented. Phèdre was standing alone on the stairs, upon which was projected a video of a raging sea that engulfed the set. It was a spectacular effect, which gave the appearance of being in 3D, and hammered home the catastrophic nature of the tragedy taking place.

Overall, this was a well-presented and well-performed production of an opera that has been unjustly neglected. “Phèdre” is a work of real substance. The libretto captures the spirit and thrust of the well-known tale, and Lemoyne’s music has real quality; it has a strong forward dynamic and brilliantly supports the dramatic tensions of the drama, while containing plenty of opportunities for the singers to display their talents. The melodies are easily accessible, if not necessarily memorable, and contain some exciting musical moments, such as Thésée’s invocation to Neptune, Phèdra’s numerous arias, and Oenone and Phèdre’s scena in which the coloring and weight of their voices contrasted beautifully.