Le coeur se creuse: Werther in Frankfurt

Order vs. the artist: Werther, Act I
Photo © Oper Frankfurt/Wolfgang Runkel

Until last night, Werther belonged to the category of operas I'd never seen live, despite its being solidly established as part of the standard repertoire. I'm glad to have amended this under such favorable conditions: Frankfurt's current revival boasts not only an excellent cast, but a cool, intelligent production by Willy Decker that provides a welcome counterweight to the emotionalism of Massenet's score. Decker's visual language is straightforward and effective, dividing the nature where Werther absorbs experience and sensation from the Bailli's house by a sliding wall. The Bailli's reference to it as "his kingdom" appears as a hollow reference to a pretense of bourgeois order which he cannot uphold: the image of his dead wife has a stronger presence than any of the living in this repressed and depressive atmosphere. The emotions in the score are officially forbidden by the bourgeois society on stage: Massenet is writing in and for the time of Ibsen, not that of Goethe. The children's toy houses reappear as the village of Act II; Albert and Charlotte are separated as they are bound by the enormous dining table where they preside over all the parishioners. I particularly liked that Decker's production creates many silent, musically sensitive interactions among the characters which helped give a clear emotional through-line between the opera's episodes. Credit is due to the revival director, Alan Barnes, for making poignantly clear how each of the opera's characters is imprisoned. Even the Bailli is depressed rather than feckless; Schmitt and Johann function like Shakespearean mutes, personifying the unimaginative apathy which, as Goethe's protagonist observes, can be as dangerous as malice. It is they who bring the messages which interrupt Werther and Charlotte's attempts to break free of their prescribed social roles. Charlotte, for all the calm which Albert praises, has a lively intellectual life, and is aware, with painful intensity, of the emotional life which she is being denied. And for once we see a Werther whose Todessehnsucht is present (and credible) from the outset: he devotes himself to art and nature alike; but he is exhausted by the constant effort of maintaining his refusal to compromise.

Maurizio Barbacini conducted the orchestral forces with strong impulsion, which I appreciated. I was concerned about orchestral coherence during the prelude, but matters rapidly improved. Barbacini sometimes seemed just slightly ahead of the singers (who were attentively watching him,) but the dramatic coordination of stage and pit was on the whole strong. I could have wished for more nuanced subtlety, but the orchestral performance was admirably energetic, and brought out Massenet's repeated themes to strong dramatic effect. The saxophonist made the most of the instrument's contributions. Also, I should note that either this performance restored many sections of dialogue which are often cut, or gave unusual emotional significance to sections of dialogue which I have managed to entirely miss/forget in listening to a variety of recordings! Once again I was impressed by the strong contributions of Frankfurt's ensemble, scrupulous in characterization and vocally solid. Daniel Schmutzhard, as Albert, sang with a secure and plangent baritone, showing Albert's development from a nervous young man, anxious about meeting societal expectations, to a man merciless--even brutal--in ensuring that Werther and Charlotte meet those standards, which he has pledged to uphold. Sofia Fomina made a very touching Sophie, whom we see awkwardly poised on the threshold of adulthood: eager to be taken seriously, eager (in her innocence) for the romance and responsibilities which her older sister has already discovered to be mutually exclusive. Fomina sang with a bright, focused, and well-controlled soprano, shaping her phrases expressively. She sketched credibly Sophie's emotional trajectory as she learns not to take the order of her world for granted, or to assume that it is good. Touchingly, when Charlotte calls her back for the last time, it is to give her the quasi-maternal comfort which has so long defined their relationship.

The violence of respectability: Charlotte & Albert, Act III
Photo © Oper Frankfurt/Wolfgang Runkel

As Charlotte, Tanja Ariane Baumgartner gave a powerfully moving, deeply sensual performance. In her bearing and movements she embodies the womanly ideal praised by Albert as "calm and smiling," but desire shines in her eyes; grief and passionate frustration throb in her voice. When Werther declares that he has recognized her soul, she is instantly irradiated with a light as quickly quenched when he praises her conventionally as "the best and most beautiful creature." Baumgartner used the chiaroscuro coloring of her rich mezzo well throughout, expressing through her voice much of that which cannot be said. Each moment of emotional honesty she permits herself is a hard-won victory, so that the repeated acknowledgments of the letter scene built irresistibly to a "Va! laisse couler mes larmes" which was a necessary, painful confession rather than a self-indulgent cry. When Werther appears at her door, her instinct is to run to him; she pulls back when her hands are already on his lapels. Their embrace is a chaste one, its release one of acknowledging at last what each of them has always known, and her face is radiant with an almost childlike joy and relief. Baumgartner sang the final scene with an incredible generosity, crying out her anguish, pouring out her love. It is to Albert, not a distant Providence, whom she cries for mercy; and her declaration that she is beyond fear is made as much to him--and to herself--as to Werther, as she lies down at last beside the man who has never been her lover.

John Osborn, making his house debut as Werther, was a very exciting discovery to me. Although he's a countryman of mine, he's spent a good deal of time in bel canto operas and in European houses, so this was my first time of hearing him. Osborn was not only never annoying (something of a feat for Massenet's Werther, I think) but sang with easy, ardent tone across his range. The passionate "O nature!" assured me that I need have no fears for this Werther's high notes, so I settled back and enjoyed. Osborn sang Werther as a committed sensualist (capital-R Romantic,) obsessed with experience and emotion, accordingly unafraid to stretch notes beyond their written value when dramatically appropriate. In Decker's staging, we get to see him, too, develop as a character. He refuses Charlotte's offer of social friendship, but by the third such gesture, he is at least trying to find a way of saving her feelings while remaining honest about his own. Even in Werther's anguished "Lorsque l'enfant revient d'un long voyage," his crisis is more emotional than existential. Osborn lent nice expression to individual words and phrases, with "caresses" of notable beauty in "Pourquoi me reveiller," as well as a sensitive decrescendo. In the last act, Werther returns, half-delirious, with the instincts of the soul which Albert has half-ironically praised as loyal, to Charlotte's house; she, equally heartsick, has gone to seek him in the nature which he loves. (I started shaking, although my seat neighbor was checking her watch.) The final scene was beautifully sung and acted by both Baumgartner and Osborn. Even in this extremity, they are too exhausted by what they have been through to be other than hesitant at first; but after so much restraint, even the touch of a hand is much. Decker's staging has Werther and Charlotte actually dance to the waltz rhythms of the "moonlight" scene, here repeated for the last time, with infinite tenderness. Werther's death is presented as an escape which is denied to Charlotte--here quite literally, as Albert prevents her from leaving the house, wrenching the pistol from her hands. He joins the family tableau in celebrating Christmas Eve; Charlotte, in remaining by Werther's body, resists at last.