Honegger: Judith. Netania Davrath (Judith), Blanche Christensen (the Maidservant), Madeleine Milhaud (narrator), Salt Lake City Symphonic Choir (Armont Willardson), Utah Symphony Orchestra, Maurice Abravanel 1964.
Vanguard Classics (Europe) 08 9054 71 (1992) barcode 3351479054719
Vanguard Classics (North America) OVC 8088 (1995) barcode 0723918808826 (with Darius Milhaud: La Création du Monde).
Abravanel 1964 vs Corboz 1990: ideal would be a mixture of both – and the operatic version
posted 28 July 2024 (a review 22 years in the making)
Like his contemporary and fellow writer from the (French-speaking) Lausanne region in Switzerland Charles-Ferdinand Ramuz (1878-1947), remembered today mainly from his collaborations with Stravinsky during World War I (Renard, Noces, The Soldier’s Tale), playright and poet René Morax (1873-1963) (link will open new tab to his entry on Wikipedia) is an all but forgotten name today, his literary reputation never having extended beyond the provincial, if not parochial confines of his native Canton de Vaud and French-speaking Switzerland. Like Ramuz with Stravinsky (who doesn’t mention him even once in his Conversations with Robert Craft and Expositions and Developments), Morax today is remembered mainly (except for the Swiss literary cognoscenti) for his collaborations with composer Arthur Honegger (and, at the time, it would have been presented as Honegger’s collaborations with him – sic transit gloria mundi!), on Le Roi David (1921) – which instantly established the young composer’s fame – and, attempting to surf on the success of that Biblical Play, Judith (1925), which was less successful (there were a couple of others, now forgotten even in Honegger’s output).
Both plays were originally performed at Théâtre du Jorat (link to Wikipedia again), a large 1000-seat wooden hall that Morax himself had established in 1908, some 30 kilometers away from his native Morges (with Lausanne in the middle) and which he ran. His philosophy with Théâtre du Jorat was to try and attract both the uppity intellectual audiences from Lausanne and Geneva, and the farmers from the surrounding countryside. That he achieved by offering either patriotic plays based on the Swiss national (or even Canton de Vaud’s provincial) history, or on the Bible, with a large use of choral forces sung by amateurs from the region.
The story here is that of Judith and Holophernes from the Bible’s Book of Judith, made familiar to today’s classical music audiences by Vivaldi’s oratorio Judita Triumphans and Mozart’s Betulia liberata (there have been other settings) – and by countless paintings, as such was the fascination of Christianity with the figure of the widow-seductress-murderess-for-the-good-cause. As written for Théâtre du Jorat, Honegger’s Judith features two important sung parts for sopranos (Judith and her Maidservant). The rest of the roles were spoken.
It is important to keep in mind that both King David and Judith, as given at Théâtre du Jorat, were not operas, not even staged oratorios. They were spoken theatre, theatre plays with music (mainly choral in King David). The complete cast of actors in King David were amateurs (and were widely criticized for their lack of talent). Researching for this review, I was able to establish that one of the leading roles, that of Saül, had been performed by Gaston Abravanel, a commercial lawyer and the older brother of conductor Maurice who, decades later, would record, with the Utah Symphony Orchestra and for Vanguard, both King David and Judith – it must have been very personal to him. In Judith, soprano Claire Croiza (Judith) and actor Pierre Alcover (in the spoken role of Holophernes) were the only professionals.
Judith was not a success on its premiere run and Théâtre du Jorat incurred a deficit, that even the accumulated profits from King David were not sufficient to cover. Rehearsals were fraught with tensions, anti-Honegger coteries and underhand anti-semitic manoeuvers, in addition to an apparent undecisiveness from Morax in his capacity as stage director. But ultimately the reasons for the initial failure were that the subject was too daring for the devout and stiff Protestant attendance, and no doubt Honegger’s music was, to their ears, too modern and brutal. Indeed, in the intervening years since King David, Honegger had moved away from the still popular and accessible music of his first collaboration with Morax, and towards the more aggressive modernism of the the avant-garde of the time (in the meantime he had composed, among other works, Pacific 231). His choral writing in Judith proved fiendishly difficult for the largely amateur forces gathered in Mézières. The subsequent adaptations by Honegger (in the form of an oratorio, and a fully-developed opera, see below) had an initial run of success (thanks to the composer’s growing fame) but ultimately, in the 1930s, that tapered off as well.
And I don’t know why. I find Judith a superb work – way more interesting, in fact, than King David. Morax’s libretto is effective in a sort of “ritualized” way rather than theatrically – it isn’t the “German expressionism” of Strauss’ Salome or Elektra. The music is modern for its day, it can be aggressive and brutal when it depicts the Assyrian besiegers (“Fanfare”, “Incantation”) or the revengeful Israelites after the murder of Holophernes (“Return of Judith” and “Battle Canticle”). The score offers many striking flights of invention, as the passage in jagged compound 12/8 rhythms in “Cantique funèbre”, anticipating Orff by a number of years, or the chorus part on a single tone in “Invocation”, or again the extraordinary “groans” in the battle of Hebrews against Assyrians after the murder of Holophernes (not sure who which camp is groaning). “Musique de fête” announces the atmospheres of Symphonie liturgique from 1946. Despite its impressive bursts of violence, the music remains, I find, very accessible to our contemporary ears, often very lyrical too (in Honegger’s style, not Puccini’s) in numbers such as “Prière” (Prayer) or “Cantique Funèbre” (Funeral Canticle). The penultimate number, “Cantique des vierges” (Chant of the Maidens) has the folk-like simplicity of Honegger’s Christmas Cantata.
Unlike King David but like Honegger’s opera Antigonae (a composition begun in 1922 and premiered in 1927, and another illustration of Honegger’s most modern style), Judith has been badly and sadly neglected on stage, in the concert hall and in recordings. To the best of my knowledge there have been only two of those, the first from 1964 by Maurice Abravanel leading the Utah Symphony Orchestra on Vanguard, and Michel Corboz’ Cascavelle’s recording, made in June 1990.
And I have an anecdote about this. By the end of the 1990s I had both recordings in my collection but had given only a casual listening to the Corboz version; as I wanted to study the piece and recordings thoroughly, in 2002 I went to publisher Salabert (“22 rue Chauchat”) and borrowed a vocal score, against a deposit of 60 euros, that would be cashed if I didn’t give back the score within a month.
Well, I must have forgotten about the check, and it took me 22 years to come to it. I don’t remember if the check was cashed, but I see no reason why it wouldn’t. Now that I’ve posted this comparative review I really need to return the score. Maybe they’ll forgive me. Maybe they’ll even thank me for being so belatedly honest. Or maybe, if they have cashed the check, now I own the score and may keep it? What does Jiminy Cricket have to say about this?
And a post-script from the next morning: now I have an (incredible) anecdote about the anecdote. See my blog-post.
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Anyway, the big disappointment with both recordings is that both play the (intermediate) concert version of Judith, with 13 numbers linked by a spoken narration. The liner notes of Cascavelle – by Honegger expert and biographer Harry Halbreich – are very detailed and informative about the successive versions. As mentioned above, the original version created at Théâtre du Jorat in 1925 had (as in King David) a number of spoken roles (Ozias the governor of Bethulia, Holophernes, Holophernes’ servant Bagoas…), which were replaced for the 1926 concert version (premiered in Rotterdam) by the spoken narration, thus depriving the oratorio of its theatricality. But in February 1926, Opera de Monte-Carlo also premiered a full opera version (and this is the vocal score I have), much longer (998 bars, to the original version’s 576 and 711 for the concert version, resulting in a performance of 65 minutes to the concert version’s 42 under Abravanel to 47 with Corboz…), and narrator and spoken roles replaced by male singing roles (Ozias, Holophernes and another minor tenor role). That’s the version that cries for a recording, and performances (apparently it’s never been given in Paris). The concert version is somewhat frustrating, when compared to what you can imagine of either the original version with spoken roles, or the full opera version (in scene 10 “The Return of Judith”, Corboz inserts a vocal line for Ozias governor of Bethulia that Honegger had added for the operatic version). Incidentally, a little before he composed Judith, and out of the same practical concerns (ensuring performances, as the original theatrical version was difficicult to produce and stage), Honegger had also adapted and reduced the original, “theatrical” version of King David into an oratorio with narrator, which is the version played and recorded nowadays. Honegger musicologists often consider that it is a bastardization of the original work, and apparently the composer himself later came to regret having written the oratorio versions of David and Judith (as reported by Pierre Meylan in his 1966 book on the collaborations of poet René Morax and Honegger, see reference at the end of this review).
Abravanel’s 1964 recording still holds up very well. Sonics are a bit harsher and louder than Cascavelle’s but more detailed, letting you hear details of orchestration (like what I think is bass clarinet at the beginning of track 2 – check on IMSLP, which has what I think is the orchestral score of the original version: good ear… ) that are often more muffled and generalized with Corboz. The Salt Lake City Choir’s attempt at a French accent is acceptable – but there’s no mistaking that they are American; Corboz’ Portugese chorus is fine and well-coached. Abravanel’s soprano Netania Davrath is commendable as well, although you can hear unmistakable traces of her native Russian language – but only French-speaking audiences will perceive it. Abravanel is also, as expected, more dramatic and urgent than Corboz (as in the “Trumpet of Alarm” section, track 2, taken in 1:36 to Corboz 1:50, sounding with the latter almost like a Trumpet of mourning, ominous rather than truly alarming), illustrating again the abundantly observed trend of post-war musicians to draw out tempos. Corboz’ Fanfare (track 4) is solemn and triumphant, Abravanel’s (track 6) is fierce and brutal – and Abravanel is here dramatically right, as it is the Fanfare of Holophernes’ camp. In the ensuing “Invocation” chorus (Holophernes’ Assyrians invoking their Gods for victory over the besieged city) Corboz is powerful and slightly heavy, Abravanel is… fierce and breathless. Upon Judith’s return to Bethulia with the severed head of Holophernes, Abravanel (track 10 at 2:58) conveys much more of a feeling of urgency and danger than the comparatively placid Corboz (track 8 at 3:03), and his battle scene (track 11) is again fiercer than Corboz’ (track 9), although the latter doesn’t lack power either, but it’s heavier.
Corboz, especially in the moments of repose, is prone to very laid-back tempi. Take for example the Nocturne after the murder of Holophernes (track 8 with Corboz, track 10 for Abravanel), were tempo indication is “modéré sans lenteur” (“moderate without being slow”) and the metronome indication 80 quarter-notes/mn: his tempo of 65 is clearly “avec lenteur” (Abravanel is at circa 73). I don’t mean it as a criticism: it’s a Nocturne, both tempi are fine. In the “Canticle of the Maidens” celebrating the triumph of Bethulia, Abravanel’s, again, more flowing tempo (track 12) conveys the sense of innocent joy better than Corboz’ more meditative and almost wistful atmosphere (track 10 at 1:30). What would they be wistful about?
The (instrumental) dance supposed to take place under Holophernes’ tent and described as the “end of an orgy” with a “dancing slave” (and with a tempo indication “Andante moderato”), track 9 (Abravanel), could almost be out of Schoenberg’s Pierrot lunaire, with an added oriental sensuousness. The music doesn’t necessarily evoke to me the end of orgy and dancing slave it is supposed to describe, but I guess, taking in account the stupefied middle-of-night drunkenness of the attendance, Abravanel, who takes the section at a tempo slightly under Honegger’s metronome indication (dotted quarter-note 39-40 to score’s 46), can pass. Under Corboz (track 6), at a very held back tempo of circa 29, it sounds more like the charming of the cobra snake, or the shadowy dance of ghosts. In truth, I see that there’s a discrepancy here between the metronome indications on the opera’s vocal score (e.g. dotted 46 quarter note/mn) and that of the orchestral score of the original version uploaded on IMSLP: 96 eighth-notes/mn, which is the equivalent of 32 dotted quarter-notes. So Honegger seems to have had second thoughts. Independent of what the music is supposed to depict, I like both approaches, and the same comment applies to the scene of Holophernes’ murder (track 9 at 2:49), more dramatic with Abravanel who steps up the tempo with the rise of expectant tension, more ominous with Corboz who keeps it very stable, and both approaches work – incidentally, the passage bears striking theatrical and musical resemblance to the murder scene of Jochanaan in Strauss’ Salomé, all the way to the beheading not seen but perceived through the noise and thumps it makes…
It isn’t systematic, though, and in the “Invocation” (Abravanel’s track 4, Corboz’ 3), despite the “Lento” tempo indication, Corboz is now more pressed than Abravanel. I have no preference, text (a prayer to God “Eternal Lord of Armies” to protect Judith) supports both approaches. In Judith’s “Scene at the well” (Abravanel track 8, Corboz track 5) where she expresses her disarray at the silence of God, only the clock, rather than subjective impression, gives you precise indication of respective tempo (more expansive with Abravanel).
The Vanguard CD is more abundantly cued (one track per number), translating into three cues 2-4 to Cascavelle’s single and 10-minute long track 2. On the other hand Cascavelle separates some numbers which have clear-cut divisons, as No. 9 Feast Music and Death of Holophernes (tracs 6 & 7) or No. 10 Nocurne & Return of Judith to Bethulia (tracks 8 and 9). The Cascavelle disc has also the advantage of a filler, the early (1918) Cantique de Pâques for three sopranos, chorus and orchestra (very lyrical, very much post-Fauré), but it isn’t really determining (the US edition of Abravanel has an even more substantial one, Milhaud’s Création du Monde, but the CD is now hard to find at a reasonable price). Both CDs provide texts and translations. The Cascavelle liner notes by Harry Halbreich are substantial but those of S.W. Bennett for Vanguard are okay.
Where I do give preference to Corboz is in the better French accent of his soloists and chorus. And as fine as Davrath is, Brigitte Balleys is even better, with a more vernacular French and a more beautiful, sensuous and touching timbre than her predecessor. I was first somewhat put off by Madeleine Milhaud (the wife of composer Darius Milhaud) as a female narrator in Abravanel’s version. As she starts narrating for the male role of Ozias, governor of Bethulia, I found it difficult to be entirely “gender-deaf” here. But later on when she narrates for the acts of Judith or the women of Bethulia, she’s fine. Possibly, the best version would be one with two alternating narrators, male and female. That said, I find Oers Kisfaludy, Corboz’ narrator, serviceable but rather bland and anonymous (it was already the case in Corboz’ recording of La Danse des Morts – hard to even approach the hallucinatory incandescence of Jean-Louis Barrault with Munch in 1941, here – links will open new tabs to my reviews).
Ultimately both versions are complementary. Ideal would have been Abravanel conducting Corboz’ chorus and soloists…. in the operatic version. Well, hopefully I have a few more years to live and maybe I’ll see it happen. In the meanwhile, I’ll keep those two CDs and return the score to Salabert.
Further reading:
Pierre Meylan: René Morax et Arthur Honegger au Théâtre du Jorat. Editions du Cervin, Lausanne 19 / Librairie Ploix, Paris VIe (1966), no ISBN. Reissue Editions Slatkine, Geneva (1993) ISBN-10 2051012571, ISBN-13 9782051012577. Very useful and full of informations on the Morax-Honegger collaborations, circumstances of composition and production, press reception, further performances…
Kate Espasandin: Musical Modernism at the People’s Theatre: Arthur Honegger and René Morax’s Judith at the Théâtre du Jorat. Schulich School of Music, McGill University, Montreal. A thesis submitted to McGill University in partial fulfilment of the requirements of the Master’s degree in Musicology, April 2013, available online.