Florent Schmitt (1870-1958)
La Tragédie de Salomé (Original Version)
The present recording appears as a musicological rediscovery
of great interest. It revives in fact, for the first time, the Tragédie de
Salomé, Opus 50, as it was originally written by Florent Schmitt in 1907, that
is to say music for small orchestra to accompany a danced mime-drama in seven
tableaux. Until now we have only known under this title the symphonic suite for
large orchestra, which lasts no more that half an hour, while the complete
first version, recorded here, provides nearly an hour of listening.
Soon after the resounding performances of the Salomé of
Richard Strauss at the Châtelet in May 1907, Robert d'Humires, recently
appointed director of the elegant little Théâtre des Arts, decided in his turn
to write and stage a choreographical spectacle inspired by the same biblical
episode. This Tragedy of Salome, conceived for the dancer Lore Fuller, was
created by her on 9th November 1907 with specially commissioned music by
Florent Schmitt.
The myth of Salome, so highly prized by writers and artists,
notably in the decadent Europe before 1914, admirably suited the temperament of
Florent Schmitt. Here one might find the blood, pleasure and death celebrated
in the title even of an anthology by Maurice Barrès. This legendary subject
also fitted quite naturally into the orientalist mode, fashionable since the
beginning of Romanticism, in which the Orient was used to provide a thrill of pleasure
and an escape.
All the same, if the musical orientalism of Félicien David
is rich in local colour, that of Ernest Reyer suave and of Camille Saint-Saëns
picturesque, the orientalism of Florent Schmitt is above all barbarous, a trait
to which several of his works of oriental inspiration, which marked out his
career for him, bear witness. Nevertheless in the youth of this composer from
the East of France there was nothing to indicate such a taste for the Orient,
an Orient voluptuous, sensual, savage and frenetic. In fact this personal and
original conception, the result of the circumstances of his life, was formed in
direct contact with the oriental world, and more precisely with the Islamic.
The offspring of a family of cloth-manufacturers, Florent Schmitt
was born on 28th September 1870 at Blâmont in Lorraine, a few kilometres from
the German border. After studying the piano and harmony for two years at Nancy,
he continued his musical education at the Paris Conservatoire from October
1889, studying harmony with Albert Lavignac, fugue with André Gédalge, and
composition with Jules Massenet and later with Gabriel Fauré in a class of
which his friend Maurice Ravel was also a member. After completing his military
service, as a flautist in a military band, he won in 1900 the first Grand Prix
de Rome with his cantata Sémiramis, a lyric scene characterised already by a
style that combined the symphonic and the dramatic.
Schmitt stayed at the Villa Médici in Rome for four years,
taking the opportunity to travel widely throughout Europe and round the
Mediterranean, from Morocco to Asian Turkey. From this time the influence of
these Islamic countries began to appear in several of his compositions. In many
ways Turkish influence was the most profound. In Istanbul in November 1903
Schmitt was able to take part in a Selamlik, an event that clearly impressed
him. In the Ottoman period there was a ceremony, both religious and military,
every Friday, at which, before reviewing his troops, the Sultan went in ceremonial
procession to the mosque, greeted by the enthusiastic applause of faithful
Moslems. In his Memoirs Schmitt recalled this roaring of the Tartars at the
Sultan's appearance, which he tried to transpose, at the beginning of his
Psalm, into an acclamation of Israel. This sacred enthusiasm of Moslems before
their spiritual and temporal leader, Schmitt effectively transferred to the
wild Hebrew exaltation of the glory of Yahveh, the God of Israel, in Psalm
XLVII. This masterpiece, which brought him recognition in critical and
intellectual circles, resounded like a clap of thunder in the ears of those in
Paris who first heard it in December 1906 in the concert-hall of the
Conservatoire. A few years after Pelléas, at a time when musical impressionism
was flourishing in France, this almost barbarous composition astonished the
audience, not least by its rhythmic dynamism and war-like sonorities. Yet the
composer did no more than restore the text taken from the scriptures to an
authentic oriental atmosphere comparable to that of his own experience. His
Psalm is, therefore, not basically Christian but biblical and Jewish. The same
aesthetic tendency informed the Tragedy of Salome, but it may be asked why this
composer from Lorraine sought inspiration again from the ancient Orient of the
Bible.
While on holiday in the Pyrenees, Florent Schmitt received
at the end of August 1907 a letter from one of his friends, Jean Forestier,
making him a tempting proposal. Forestier invited him to contact Robert
d'Humières, who had just engaged Loïe Fuller to dance a Salome; for the musical
element of the spectacle d'Humières desired the collaboration of the composer
whose Psalm he had heard some months earlier at the Conservatoire.
Florent Schmitt accepted the offer immediately and wrote the
score quickly in the two succeeding months. Nevertheless the composer
encountered very great difficulties in the matter of instrumentation, since the
Théâtre des Arts was very small and could not hold an orchestra of normal size.
For this reason Schmitt had to use instrumental forces reduced to the minimum:
a mere quintet of strings, a harp, a limited percussion section and some wind
instruments (a flute, an oboe, occasionally replaced by the cor anglais, a
clarinet, a bassoon, two horns, a trumpet and two trombones). A gifted
orchestrator, he was thus obliged to restrict his palette, something
particularly hard for a colourist, and to construct a symphonic work intended
only for some twenty players. This posed a difficult and delicate, if not insoluble
problem, if, in such conditions, he was to rival the richness of the full
orchestra employed by Richard Strauss. Schmitt knew very well that, barely six
months after the Paris performances of the opera by Strauss, contemporary
audiences would inevitably make comparisons between the two Salomes, the German
and the French. Yet, in spite of the small number of players, he was able to
draw from his orchestra astonishing effects, as we can hear for ourselves from
the present recording.
The argument of the Tragedy of Salome, as conceived by
Robert d'Humires, no longer rests on one danced episode. It consists of the
fascinating character of the heroine, in turn carefree and flirtatious (Dance
of the Pearls), proud and haughty (Dance of the Peacock), sensual and evil
(Dance of the Serpents), cold and cruel (Dance of Steel), lascivious and
perverse (Dance of Silver), terrified and delirious (Dance of Fear). These
illustrate, one after another, joy, pride, pleasure, cruelty, luxury and
finally terror, developing progressively towards a darker colour and taking on,
little by little, a tragic aspect. For this reason these dances offer an
interesting dramatic evolution, both choreographic and musical. The librettist
Robert d'Humières, known particularly up to that time for his translations of
the books of Rudyard Kipling, was not content to write a scenario that would
only serve as an excuse for the dances of Loïe Fuller. He wanted to add a
symbolic significance and above all confer a moral dimension on his mute drama,
probably as a reaction against the prose of Oscar Wilde, considered unhealthy.
This Salome is therefore in no way in love with St. John the
Baptist, unlike the other princesses of Judea previously treated in music
(whether in the Hérodiade of Jules Massenet or the Salome of Richard Strauss).
In accordance with the gospel narrative, Salome is an obedient young woman, who
dances in obedience to her mother and to please, but who in no way desires the
death of the prophet. The drama is not between her and the Baptist, but only
between her and King Herod, who is gradually seduced and fascinated by the
destructive charm of his step-daughter.
On this biblical canvas Robert d'Humières embroidered freely
his own version of the legend, leaving, in the gradual unwinding of the mime
drama, more and more to his poetic fantasy, his creative imagination and his
sense of tragedy. The mark of the aesthetic of decadence becomes apparent in
the final tableaux through their sensuality, their dream-like character and their
climate of morbidity. Hardly has Salome received the head of the martyr than,
seized by unutterable fear, she casts it into the sea, which changes then into
a great sea of blood. Then, pursued by the head of John, which has suddenly
reappeared (that is to say, symbolically haunted by remorse), she turns,
overpowered by the gory vision that now arises all around. The death of John
the Baptist is not the dénouement of the work, but provokes the breakdown of
all this world of perversion and final cataclysm with the collapse of the
palace, the breaking of the bonds of nature and the conflagration of the
mountains, the moral apocalyptic epilogue of the piece.
This tragic story of Salome found in Florent Schmitt a
marvellous illustrator. Throughout the prelude and the seven scenes that follow
almost without interruption, the music is at once a kind of symphonic poem
danced to and a symphony that can be seen. By following carefully the
indications of the poetic text, the composer has designed around the biblical
episode a brilliant musical commentary, disturbing and passionate, which,
through its breathless rhythms and its powerful development, reinforces the
dramatic atmosphere and increases the emotion.
Through its slow tempo, its dark colour, its mysterious character
and its ambiguous harmonies, the Prelude, in F minor, establishes musically a
climate altogether favourable to the drama that follows. It evokes perhaps less
a biblical landscape than releases an impression of sad passion, hovering over
the legend of Salome.
In order the better to follow the musical development of
this choreographic mime-drama, the action of which we cannot see, we give here,
for each scene, the principal elements of the plot, as given in the programme
of the first performances.
[1] The first scene. The sun sets. John appears and slowly
crosses the terrace. Everything around him shocks him, the atmosphere of
suspicion and of luxury, the scent of the harem and of the executioner.
Herod enters in agitation. News from Rome. Someone has
spoken ill of him to Caesar. After a short struggle between anxiety and pride,
he decides to consult John. He is for him the visionary with threatening words,
the holy fool through whom the gods express themselves.
The queen Herodias appears from the palace. She hates John,
who has publicly denounced her adultery. The growing influence he exerts over
the Tetrarch has filled her with mute fury. Salome follows her.
[2] The second scene corresponds to the traditional episode
of Salome dancing before Herod. It takes place in surroundings and instrumental
colour completely different from the preceding sequences:
Torches illuminate the scene. Their light draws brilliance
from the materials and jewels that cover a precious chest.
Salome, as though fascinated, appears, leans forward, draws
back, then, with a childish delight starts her first dance, the Dance of the
Pearls. An expression of triumph gradually appears on the face of Herodias.
[3] The following scene is steeped in a nocturnal
atmosphere, with an element of ceremony:
Herod is seated on the throne, Herodias at his side. Some
women bring cups of wine. Herodias shows marked tenderness to her husband
without succeeding in bringing back their loving past in which she had strong
influence on his troubled heart.
But she has other wiles in reserve, and Salome, suddenly
appearing at the top of the staircase, expresses them in the proud brilliance
of the feathers and jewels with which she dances the Dance of the Peacock.
[3] With its allegorical evocation of serpents, creatures
that traditionally symbolise sensuality and perverse desire, the fourth scene
seems an accomplished model of symphonic and descriptive imagery:
The dancer has disappeared. Herod, at first surprised, gives
a hint of curiosity and growing desire. Mute scene showing the rival influences
of Herodias and John.
Suddenly, at the corner, by the base of the wall, two
serpents twist. The royal couple recoil in fear. Salome, holding the snakes,
appears behind them. Dance of the Serpents.
[5] After an impressive silence, the magnificence of the
first dances gives way to a more vicious mood, laden with voluptuous memories
of the past. A presage of the dramatic conclusion, the fifth scene marks an
important and decisive turning-point in the tragedy. Through its feeling of
maleficence and perversion, it directs the work towards some kind of biblical
nightmare. Heavy with significance, it gives the myth of Salome a new and
essentially symbolic dimension. Very developed, it offers three very different
but complementary sequences, the Enchantments over the Sea, Dance of Steel and
Song of Aisha:
Darkness envelops Herod, lost in his thoughts of luxury and
fear, while Herodias, vigilant, watches him. Then, on the Cursed Sea,
mysterious lights are seen from the depths, the buildings of submerged
Pentapolis appear in confusion under the waves. Ancient scenes seem to come to
life again and beckon Salome. This is like a projection on a magic mirror of
the drama that is being acted out in the minds of the couple seated there, in
the night.
Much more condensed, the two last scenes overflow with
sensuality, passion and tragic violence. Here there appears in all its vigour,
the composer's temperament, shown in a depiction of the barbarous orient, from
the time of his fruitful period of travel in the countries of Islam. During his
stay in Istanbul, Schmitt had been able to see the howling dervishes of
Scutari, on the Asiatic side of the city, with their prayers, flagellation and
dancing in a state of extreme excitement. It is probable that this scene of
oriental frenzy, sacred in character, encouraged the musician to establish this
climate of violence in the last two dances of the Tragedy of Salome.
Scene of debauchery and blood, the Dance of Silver, later
renamed Dance of Lightning, expresses the paroxysm of luxury in an atmosphere
of demoniac nervous tension:
[6] The sky grows dark. Distant thunder sounds. Salome
starts to dance. Darkness covers the scene and the rest of the drama can only
be seen in sudden flashes of lightning.
The lascivious dance and the pursuit of Herod. Salome is
seized, her veils torn away by the hand of the Tetrarch. In an instant she is
naked. But John comes forward and covers her with his mantle. A movement of
anger from Herod, quickly understood by Herodias, a sign from whom delivers
John to the executioner, who drags him away.
The executioner reappears. He holds the head on a bronze
dish. Salome takes hold of her trophy. Then, as if touched by a sudden feeling
of anxiety, she runs to the edge of the terrace and casts the blood-stained
charger into the sea, which suddenly appears the colour of blood. Salome falls
senseless.
[7] Salome comes to herself. The head of John appears,
stares at her and then disappears. She turns away: the head looks at her again
from the blood-stained visions that now multiply, and this is the Dance of
Fear.
A raging wind surrounds the dancer; a hurricane whips up the
sea.
Lofty cypresses twist tragically and break in the storm.
Thunder rolls. The whole range of Moab is on fire. Mount Nebo hurls up its
flames.
The dancer is transported in infernal frenzy.
Florent Schmitt has succeeded in masterly fashion,
throughout this wordless drama, in creating the musical atmosphere of the
subject he is treating. Furthermore, he has given it a soul. His orchestral
commentary, tense and concentrated, quivers with inner life, vibrant in its
passion. With an astonishing firmness of style and an incontestable rhythmic
force, the composer has translated both the subtleties and the brutalities inherent
in the poetic text. The listener has only to give himself up to the sensations
provided by the music; he will be in turn charmed, rapt, overwhelmed, buffeted
or thrilled. Seductive on the one hand and tragic on the other, the orientalism
of this score appears in two guises, in the image of the heroine Salome, but,
either way, it derives inspiration from authenticity that adds too to the
intense and moving expressiveness of this work.
Finally we must underline the astonishing symphonic aspect
of the Tragedy of Salome. With an ensemble of only twenty instruments, Florent
Schmitt succeeds in almost giving the impression of a full orchestra. It may be
asked whether he has achieved this effect by making more use of louder dynamics
or by using to the maximum all the instruments at his disposal. This is
absolutely not the case. On the contrary, he has cleverly controlled the sounds
of the orchestra, making notable use of contrast and by entrusting an important
element to the woodwind instruments. The result is an orchestral texture
completely remarkable and original, that offers great richness of colour
without any clumsiness.
Greeted in 1907 as one of the principal artistic events of
the season, the choreographic mime-drama, the Tragedy of Salome, was very favourably
received. This is confirmed still further by the fifty performances that
followed. Reports in the contemporary press bear witness in fact to a success
that increased each day, drawing the attention of several provincial and
foreign theatre directors, particularly from Berlin, Vienna and St. Petersburg.
Too fascinated by the visual effects of the mime-drama, the
critics, for the most part, could only give half an ear to the music. Some,
nevertheless, succeeded in concentrating all their attention on the symphonic
commentary and appreciated particularly the intrinsic qualities of this
composition, especially the "rhythmic science", "the charm of
timbre" and "the almost miraculous orchestration". Henri
Gauthier-Villars, for example, referred to the "sumptuous symphony that
shimmers" around Loïe Fuller; Tancrède de Visan judged that Florent
Schmitt had shown himself a far-reaching lyric poet, who had realised the most
grandiose and boldest effects. A. Mangeot told his readers in Monde Musical
that the composer had succeeded in providing the words, in expressing the
sombre colour of the drama, the violence of the characters, the lasciviousness
and perversity of the dances, with remarkable artistry. Emile Vuillermoz, whose
judgement held considerable authority at the time, wrote at length in praise of
Schmitt's music, which he considered held first place in the Tragedy of Salome;
he concluded his article in the Nouvelle Presse by addressing his eulogy to the
most passionate of conductors, the composer Inghelbrecht, who every evening,
trembling in his seat, expended immense energy in marking the complex and
treacherous rhythms with which the score was full. The small orchestra was, in
fact, directed by the young conductor Désiré-Emile Inghelbrecht, chosen by
Schmitt himself. The two knew one another very well, both belonging to the
happy band of musicians known as the Apaches.
Two years later Florent Schmitt rescored his symphonic work
for full orchestra, but, for concert purposes, cut half the music, suppressing
three of the six dances, the Dance of the Peacock, Dance of the Serpents and
Dance of Steel, as well as all the purely scenic elements. Since then this
music has never been heard in its original form for small orchestra, hence the
particular interest of the present recording. We hope that a number of those
who hear this recording will share the opinion of Igor Stravinsky, who, in a
letter to Florent Schmitt of 23rd February 1912, expressed his admiration for
the Tragedy of Salome as follows: "God, how fine it is! It is one of the
greatest masterpieces of modern music".
Catherine Lorent
Paris, March 1992
Translated by Keith
Anderson
Rheinland-Pfalz Philharmonic
The Rheinland-Pfalz Philharmonic was founded in 1919 and is
based in Ludwigshafen. Principal conductors have included Christoph Eschenbach,
Leif Segerstam and, in 1991, Franz Welser-Möst, and guest conductors and
soloists with the orchestra have included musicians of the greatest
distinction, from Furtwängler and Richard Strauss onwards. The 100-strong
orchestra has toured widely throughout Europe, with regular performances in
Frankfurt, Stuttgart, Cologne and many other cities and frequent recordings, broadcasts
and appearances on television.
Patrick Davin
Patrick Davin was born in 1962 at the Belgian town of Amay
and had his musical training in piano, violin and conducting in Liège, in
Brussels and in France, his teachers including Lucien Jean-Baptiste, Pierre
Boulez and Peter Eötvös. He also worked as assistant to Sylvain Cambreling,
Heinrich Schiff and Luciano Berio. Patrick Davin has conducted the symphony
orchestras of Brussels and Liège and of Belgian Radio Television, as well as a
number of orchestras in Germany, where he is a frequent guest of the
Württemberg Philharmonic.
