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Rare
Tchaikovsky gem enchants São
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Charodeika (The Enchantress)Opera in Four Acts by
Zoltán Peskó, conductor New production / Co-production between the São Carlos National Theatre and St. Petersburg’s Mariinsky Theatre Performances of February 27,
March 3 and 5, 2003 at All photos by ALFREDO ROCHA, courtesy of São Carlos National Theatre LISBON, PORTUGAL – In September 1885, Tchaikovsky began composing his eighth opera at his rented manor house in Maidonovo. Despite a regular working schedule, The Enchantress took almost two years to be finished. Only on the 6th of May 1887 did Tchaikovsky end the orchestration of Charodeika. To be fair to the Russian musician, it must be pointed out that, between 1885 and 1887, he not only composed the Manfred Symphony, but also reviewed a previous opera of his: Vakula, the Smith, later renamed Cherevichki. In addition, Tchaikovsky did a lot of travelling, going from Tiflis in the Caucuses to Paris by sea or making a steamer trip down the Volga from Nizhny-Novgorod. This last trip must have helped Tchaikovsky while composing The Enchantress, because the opera takes place in Nizhny-Novgorod and the rivers Volga and Oka can be seen as symbols of Kuma’s freedom and ability to live according to her own will, overcoming moral and social restrictions.
The Enchantress premiered October the 20th, 1887 at the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg. Tchaikovsky himself conducted the opera’s first night and thus ensured its early success. However, The Enchantress magic soon began to fade and, by the seventh night, the theatre was half empty. As a consequence, to Tchaikovsky’s amazement and annoyance, The Enchantress was taken out of the Mariinsky’s repertoire. According to Tchaikovsky’s friend, Vladimir Pogozhev, Emilia Pavlovskaya, the first Kuma, was to blame for Charodeika’s failure. In his opinion, Pavlovskaya’s voice sounded fatigued and the singer’s taste and abilities did not suit the role. On the other hand, Konstantin Dumchev, an acquaintance of Tchaikovsky’s, stated that the composer found Pavlovskaya’s singing and acting marvellous. Therefore, the enigma of Charodeika’s failure remains unsolved. Who should we blame for the opera’s short life at the Mariinsky: Pavlovskaya, Tchaikovsky or Shpazhinsky? During the composer’s life, The Enchantress had six successful performances in Tiflis (December 1887), but only one disastrous performance at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow (February 1890). Nonetheless, Tchaikovsky himself never lost faith in his work and, in a letter to Shpazhinsky’s wife, stated: “I find Charodeika an opera which has been properly and seriously written and if the public does not like it, so much the worse for the public..." Until now the public must have been immune to The Enchantress spell for the opera has had very little performances in and outside Russia. Has this oblivion been justified or has the public unfairly neglected a most deserving work? On February 25 and 27 and on March 1, 3 and 5, the São Carlos Theatre gave its audience the chance to finally decide if Tchaikovsky was right or not in his evaluation of Charodeika. Judging from the audience’s reaction, Charodeika is a work worthy of more frequent stagings. Not only did the public fill almost all available seats, but its ovations also grew longer and louder from performance to performance. Indeed, even if Charodeika fails to achieve the consistent quality of Eugene Onegin or The Queen of Spades, because of less inspired moments, it, nonetheless, contains exquisite music, brilliantly orchestrated, as well as several dramatically poignant and effective scenes. However, the opera lacks a multi-layered and complex character, such as Tatiana, Lensky (Eugene Onegin), Hermann or the Countess (The Queen of Spades). Nastassia or Kuma could have been a unique creation, but Tchaikovsky faltered and gave in to stereotypes in Act III. An orphan innkeeper, Kuma is often described as the Russian Carmen and shares with Bizet’s character a strong will and a zest for life which are masterfully portrayed by a succession of frantic and energetic dances during Act I. As Carmen, Kuma is an outcast, but, unlike her French predecessor, she does not have a conscious seduction strategy. On the contrary, she is just naturally and spontaneously seductive. Men cannot resist her beauty, her untamed and independent spirit, the same way they cannot avoid being marvelled at the Volga’s vastness. Musically, the close kinship between Kuma and the river Volga is expressed by the long and expansive melodic lines of Nastassia’s Act I aria (Glyanut s Nizhnevo, so krutoy gory). Two acts later, Kuma is burdened with all the stereotypes of an operatic woman in love. She chastely rejects Prince Nikita’s sexual advances, as she loves his son, Prince Yuri, to whom she will declare her passion in a conventional manner.
At São Carlos, soprano Olga Sergeeva, with her focussed and silvery voice, created a living and believable Kuma, offering a stream-like legato in the gorgeous and never-ending melodic lines of “Glyanut s Nizhnevo” as well as a tender mezza voce in Nastassia’s beautiful Act IV aria (Gde zhe ty, moi zhelanniy). Her rendition lacked real piano singing, despite Sergeeva’s various attempts, but there wasn’t any shortage of power. Quite the opposite, Sergeeva’s voice had no trouble in cutting through the thick orchestration and chorus and it soared magnificently during the ensemble in Act I. Compared to Kuma, all other characters seem conventional. And indeed they are conventional, but, through inspired music, Tchaikovsky manages to breathe life into them. A case in point is Princess Evpraksia Kurlatiev. She is the typical aristocratic mother, tormented by her husband’s infatuation with Nastassia and determined to protect the family’s honour and respectability, even if it means using sorcerer Kudma’s witchcraft. In fact, in an ironic turn of events, Kuma, wrongly accused of seducing men through sorcery, is killed by a poisoned drink which was offered to her by none other than Princess Evpraksia, the symbol of family cohesion and respect for religious and moral values. Mezzo Olga Savova conveyed with intensity and conviction all Princess Evpraksia’s conflicting emotions, so efficiently depicted by Tchaikovsky’s music. In the Act II arioso, Savova constantly shifted from anguish to vengeance. With her even and rich voice, she caressed the haunting melody that echoes through her duet with Prince Yuri, her beloved son. Moreover, her strong and resonant low notes were put to good use during her fiery confrontation with Prince Nikita where she only lacked larger and more piercing high notes to create the necessary dramatic climaxes. However, if we had to choose a moment in Olga Savova’s performance, it would certainly have to be the last phrase she whispered to Kuma. The Russian mezzo painted “You shall remember me” with a biting irony and a sinister darkness. A superb example of vocal acting. Baritone Viktor Chernomortsev was not as successful as Savova in depicting Prince Nikita’s changing moods. His heavy, deep and coarse-grained voice ideally portrayed the Prince’s darker side: the violence he used to impose his will or his ferocity when contradicted. Chernomortsev also handled Tchaikovsky’s orchestration with ease. In the opera’s last scene, his voluminous instrument could be distinctively heard despite the devilish woodwinds and the continuous blasts of a thundery percussion. To this madness scene, the Russian baritone brought an acute sense of the drama, conquering the Portuguese audience with his chilling rendition. Unfortunately, Chernomortsev was less convincing when expressing Prince Nikita’s passion for Kuma. Though he was able to scale down his powerful voice, it lacked the sweetness of tone required for the duet with Nastassia in Act III or the Prince’s aria in Act II.
Along with Kuma’s two arias, Nikita’s aria is one of the musical jewels of Tchaikovsky’s score. And one should listen to Pavel Lisitsian’s interpretation to fully grasp all its beauties. In his Preiser CD, the Armenian baritone pours out waves of golden tone and amazes the listener with his inexhaustible legato. Following in the footsteps of Lisitsian, Dmitri Hvorostovsky offers us another remarkable rendition of Nikita’s aria in his Philips CD. Coincidence or not, both baritones’ CDs contain two other declarations of love, similar to Prince Nikita’s for their melodic charm and sincerity of feeling: Mazeppa’s (Mazeppa) and Prince Yeletsky’s (The Queen of Spades). Returning to the opera’s strengths and weaknesses, Charodeika might be considered a bit too lengthy, courtesy of two scenes which do not advance the plot and could be omitted. In scene thirteen of Act II, the peasants rebel against the abuses of Prince Nikita’s lackeys only to be calmed down by Prince Yuri’s generous nature. This scene serves to contrast Nikita’s violent rule with Yuri’s just behaviour, which is why it is not necessary to the development of the plot, for, in Act I, the men who frequent Kuma’s Inn had already expressed fear of Nikita’s brutality and admiration for Yuri’s benevolence. At the beginning of Act IV, in another non-essential scene, Prince Yuri awaits Kuma who he is going to save from his father’s wrath. Stopping the flow of the action, the composer decides to give his tenor a chance to shine by offering him an aria. How could an opera survive without a tenor aria ? – Tchaikovsky must have thought. And, though Yuri’s Act IV aria has its beauties, it fails to achieve the quality of Kuma’s or Nikita’s and thus could be cut, especially if sung by Vladimir Grichko. His was a flawed instrument. The tone was whitish and bland, the low notes non-existent and the middle register thin and weak. The voice only bloomed on top, but one wishes it didn’t, since the high notes sounded strained and worn, despite their power. Grichko didn’t convince in the acting department either and lacked the commitment of Sergeeva, Savova and Chernomortsev.
Charodeika’s weaknesses derive, above all, from libretto inadequacies: not fully developed characters, dispensable scenes and one dramatic climax too many. In fact, the opera finishes with a succession of three dramatic climaxes. First, Kuma dies, poisoned by Princess Evpraksia. Next, it is time for Prince Yuri’s death, murdered by his own father who wanted to prevent his elopement with Nastassia. And finally, Prince Nikita descends into madness, consumed by guilt. This surcharge of morbid events gives the opera’s ending an unwanted artificiality and Tchaikovsky himself failed to provide each climax with the required inspired music. In a letter to Modest, the composer assured his brother that the whole audience would shed tears while witnessing Kuma’s death. Unfortunately, his predictions did not materialise, because Nastassia’s last scene is devoid of pathos. No such thing happens with Yuri’s and Nikita’s scenes. A touching orthodox-like chorus follows Yuri’s murder and Nikita’s madness is accompanied by sinister and swirling woodwinds as well as furious brass and percussion, creating a most frightening finale. If one forgets the ultra-romantic twists of an unrealistic plot, Charodeika has a lot of excellent music to offer: marvellous arias, thrilling duets, lively choruses and folk-like dances. In addition, some of the best music Tchaikovsky ever wrote can be found in The Enchantress, namely the magnificent a cappella ensemble in Act I. Elsewhere, the Russian musician usually struggled when composing for more than two voices and his attempts in ensemble writing were not always successful. Taneyev, for example, criticised Eugene Onegin’s quartet for lack of intelligibility. However, in Charodeika’s Act I ensemble, Tchaikovsky managed to give each voice its own melodic line, keeping, at the same time, the clearness, coherence and unity of the whole. In other words, the author of this text fully agrees with Tchaikovsky’s evaluation of his own opera. And those who wish to hear this undeservedly neglected work can do so, for the production staged at São Carlos National Theatre will be presented at the Mikkeli Music Festival in Finland and at the White Nights Festival in St. Petersburg. Although Charodeika’s action originally takes place in the 15th century, David Pountney, the production’s stage director, views the opera as a combat between passion and restraint, freedom and repressive moral values within a disfunctional aristocratic family from the 19th century. According to Pountney, this struggle between sensuality and social norms echoes Tchaikovsky’s own psychological conflict and his difficulty in dealing with his homosexual nature. As a result, when the curtain rose, Pountney surprised the audience with a cold, austere and neo-classic salon where the Kurlatievs dined as if they were one happy family. But this deceptive appearance would soon be dispelled as the family cohesion disintegrated. The set itself, mirroring the Kurlatievs’ downfall, got gradually deconstructed and, at the end, the elegant salon was nothing but a dilapidated room with leaning walls and books scattered about. In this chaotic scenery, the Kurlatievs gathered again to dine. Yuri, already dead, sat beside his mother and Prince Nikita wandered around the table with a lit candlestick in one hand and blood in the other. Nastassia and Princess Evpraksia are, as far as Pountney is concerned, one and the same woman. Two sides of a single coin. Both belong to the 19th century castrating society. One enforces its rules; the other fights them. Following this line of thought, the same neo-classic set was used to depict the Kurlatievs’ salon as well as Kuma’s Inn. These two opposite spaces could only be distinguished by the intelligent and subtle use of lighting. At the Kurlatievs’, all shades of black and white portrayed the family members’ distinct emotions. Red lighting prevailed in Nastassia’s Inn and room. By the way, it was exactly in Kuma’s room – during the love duet between the innkeeper and Yuri in Act III – that lighting best expressed the characters’ inner feelings. Night had come and the severe walls of the Enchantress’ room were covered with a fluttering fabric, creating an ethereal and sensual ambience. At the beginning of the duet, one wall only was bathed in red lighting, since Kuma’s passion was not yet reciprocal. As Yuri slowly fell under Nastassia’s spell, all walls gained soft reddish hues. And when the young Prince finally confessed his love for the innkeeper, the whole room glowed in a vibrant red.
Charodeika can be considered an anticlerical work. Deacon Mamirov and Paissi, a vagabond monk, are symbols of the religious values which asphyxiate 19th century society and thus are musically portrayed by an evil-sounding instrumentation. The fact that Mamirov and the sorcerer Kudma are usually performed by the same bass only reinforces this view. Pountney did not ignore it and made blatant use of the score’s and libretto’s anticlericalism in his production. Paissi, hypocrite and greedy, is seen picking up money from the floor in several scenes. He also rapes Princess Evpraksia’s maid, Nenila, and mistreats her with sadistic pleasure. Maybe Pountney went too far. There is no doubt Paissi gives monks a bad name, but is he the next Marquis de Sade? Exaggerations aside, the character tenor Nikolai Gassiev created a delicious Paissi by bringing a bit of humour to the monk’s overblown actions. On the contrary, Aleksandr Morosov failed to express Mamirov’s and Kudma’s authority due to his strangulated low register. Maya Dashuk as Polia and Liubov Sokolova as Nenila both displayed beautifully rich voices and convincing acting abilities. Aleksei Tanovitski’s and Carlos Guilherme’s amusing portrayals did not go unnoticed either. Last, but not least, the Portuguese Symphonic Orchestra did not disappoint and was able to convey the buzz and frantic excitement of the Act I dances as well as the terror of the opera’s last scene. Charodeika’s complete recordings are hard to come by. There is an old Soviet one from 1954 conducted by Samouil Samossoud with Nelepp, Borissenko, Sokolova and Kisselev either on Lys or Preiser. If you are really interested in The Enchantress, try to find the elusive but rewarding Valery Gergiev pirate recording with a luxury cast: Gorchakova, Grigorian, Diadkova and Putilin. Regarding recital CDs, apart from the ones mentioned above, we recommend Galina Gorchakova’s Verdi and Tchaikovsky arias as well as Julia Varady’s Tchaikovsky arias on Orfeo. Varady’s voice sounds worn and thin on top and the Rumanian soprano stumbles once or twice through Tchaikovsky’s long melodic lines, but she still manages to do some touching vocal colouring. Finally, if you come across BMG’s “The Tchaikovsky Experience”, lend an ear to it. The CD includes not only Kuma’s first aria, sung by Marina Shaguch, but also extracts from other less known Tchaikovsky operas, such as: The Oprichnik, Undina, The Voyevoda, Mazeppa, Vakula the Smith, Iolanta and The Maid of Orleans. This is not – obviously – a complete discography, just a few pointers for those who wish to be seduced by Tchaikovsky’s enchantments. Nuno Miguel Marques is a Classical Voice correspondent in Lisbon, Portugal.
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