Grand-operatic sensibilities turned loose on a masterwork of world literature, containing the ruin and founding of civilizations... I knew I wasn't going to see a fully-staged production of Berlioz' Les Troyens for some time. I also know that travel to St. Petersburg is not in my near future (more's the pity.) So this week's Carnegie Hall concerts with Valery Gergiev and the orchestra, chorus, and soloists of the Mariinsky were welcomed with jubilation. (The split--Acts I and II on Tuesday, III-V on Wednesday--was irksome, but I noticed a considerably fuller house for the second half, and there were mid-concert departures both nights, so I may be in an unwearied-by-Berlioz minority.) I can't imagine what Maestro Gergiev would do on a podium; here he stood in the midst of his orchestra (in a space curved forward like a proscenium in reverse) behind a music stand. And "stood" is a misleading verb. On the second night, his movements were usually limited to an encouraging sashay to one side or the other, or a few steps back to give scope to his cues for the chorus. In directing the frenetic fall of Troy, however, he fairly danced, darting and swooping with the movements of the music itself. There were moments when, directing the chorus, he actually left the ground with both feet. Nor did this come across as histrionic distraction; the orchestra and the chorus reflected his energy.
