Although Thaïs is one of Massenet’s most famous operas, its recorded legacy has been considerably less glamorous than its eponymous heroine, a legendary 4th century Egyptian actress/courtesan. Akin to the plight of Thaïs, herself, the opera that bears her name seems to have a history of exposing the frailties of the flesh. A kind of curse seems to have followed her throughout her history. This palmy, highly atmospheric opera, which premiered in 1894, was originally written for the talents of Sybil Sanderson, a beautiful young California soprano who was a protegee of the composer (and who was also to create his Esclarmonde in 1889). Her troubled life and career ended tragically early making her the first victim of the “Thaïs curse.” The opera was based on a novel by Anatole France which, in turn, was based on the life of the original Thaïs, who is first mentioned in a 7th century Syriac text. Until now, there have only been four complete recordings and one set of independent highlights since the advent of the LP record. Each has had serious drawbacks.
The first, released in America during the 1950s on the Urania label featured the much-respected French husband-wife team of Geori Boue and Roger Bourdin. Unfortunately the edition was severely cut and the recording offered raw performances by its leads. The next, recorded circa 1961 by Vega in France and available in America on Westminster (briefly available on Accord CD) also hacked Massenet’s score to bits. But at least it offered more artistic performances by its leads Renee Doria and the smooth-toned Robert Massard. Unfortunately Doria’s fast-spinning voice was not flattered by close vocal miking (although her finish to Act II has the frisson of true hysteria) and the distant miking of the orchestra killed the drama and atmosphere making the recording virtually unlistenable. In 1965 Angel released a set of highlights with Jacqueline Brumaire and Michel Dens. Now out of print for more than 20 years, this was a thrilling performance in excellent style but so severely abridged that it didn’t even present all the famous “hits,” much less give a comprehensive view of Massenet’s complex and beautiful score.
In 1975 the “Thaïs curse” struck again with the first of two real disasters on records. In a sadly misguided endeavor, RCA presented Anna Moffo in the first truly complete recording of the score. No expense was spared in RCA’s LP presentation. The package was exceptionally lavish and even included an oversize Playboy-like foldout of Moffo as a beautiful and seductively costumed Thaïs. The soprano was in such appalling vocal estate, however, that it is criminal that she was allowed to complete the recording sessions. The result of the producer’s irresponsibility is surely the saddest complete operatic performance ever recorded by a major singer; mercifully, this set has never been released on CD. The following year, corporate greed forced Beverly Sills, on the brink of retirement and at the very end of her voice, to record the complete opera for EMI. The resulting set is still available on CD, but emphatically not recommended. Although both of these ill-fated sets had stellar supporting casts and conductors, they ultimately counted for little because if you haven’t got a Thaïs, you haven’t got a Thaïs.
Now, after nearly 30 years without adequate representation on disc, Thaïs has a new recording with Renée Fleming and Thomas Hampson (Decca 466 766-2). Overall, the result is stunning and what especially impressed me about the work of the two leads was their obvious commitment and care in projecting the merits of Massenet’s score.
Technically the recording is clear and brilliant. There are a few instances, however, when acoustics change oddly, suggesting that various artists may have recorded their parts at separate times, an unfortunate but not unknown occurrence today. These minor blemishes, however, do little to dull the shine of this remarkable achievement.
Much of this album’s success and great allure is due to the sensitive and supportive conducting of Yves Abel in this, his first recording assignment. Refreshingly, he allows Massenet’s score to speak for itself, never rushing it unnecessarily or exaggerating its contrasts and never afraid to let its inherent and delicate pseudo erotic/spiritual mysticism be the ruling atmosphere.
Among the smaller roles a special treat is Giuseppe Sabbatini’s Nicias. He manages to bring the cardboard figure of Thaïs’ final lover — or client — to animated life. His exchanges with Thaïs in the first act are absolutely wonderful and vividly show Nicias’ humor.
Contrary to what many may think, when Renée Fleming made this recording (February, 1997 and May, 1998) she was already intimately familiar with the role of the Egyptian courtesan, having sung the opera in 1991, in Washington DC. This was during an early, extremely adventurous period when she essayed a number of diverse roles: Maria Padilla (1990), Rusalka (1990) La Sonnambula (1991), Thaïs (1991), Dame Blanche (1991), Pamina (1991), La Straniera (1993), and Armida (1993), before settling (generally) into more lyrical assignments around 1994.
Fleming’s Thaïs is articulate, musical and sung with imagination and individuality. There are a few “bluesy” phrases which are not to my taste, but these occur early in the opera and Fleming’s interpretive intent is always crystal clear. What I found most fascinating was her subtle handling of Thaïs’ difficult transition from an aggressive, dominant courtesan to a gentle and subservient “Fille de Dieu.” Fleming’s is a multifaceted and often vocally stunning interpretation that accurately reflects what Massenet intended to convey with this, his most intricately emotional heroine. Manon may be the more famous role but Thaïs’ emotional and character polarities are much further apart and more difficult to communicate smoothly; she has to go literally from “sinner” to “saint.” Fleming’s voice is solid and darkly burnished from the low reaches up to some remarkably brilliant top Ds. The two in the final scene duet are simply spectacular and their impact is aided by the perceptive conducting of Abel. The D at the end of the “Mirror” aria, on the other hand, barely makes the mark even with obvious technical intervention. Is this an artistic choice to show Thaïs’ extreme vulnerability? As with some vintage Callas recordings, one can never quite be certain where art meets the frailty of the flesh. Although dispelled, the “Curse” hovers nearby, and the mystery remains.
Thomas Hampson is equally impressive as the impetuous Athanaël, the monk who seeks to “save” Thaïs. His emotional journey is just as important and complicated as that of Thaïs. Actually, Athanaël can have an even bigger impact on an audience if interpreted with insight. His character must evolve from an obnoxious, self-righteous and hypocritical religious fanatic into a caring human being. Although ultimately he loses his faith, he regains the integrity of his soul by acknowledging his love, need and obsession for Thaïs. (In the original novel, Athanaël is clearly a crank, a flagpole-sitting weirdo whose antics inadvertently cause his village to become a tourist attraction.) As is typical of fanatics, Athanaël interprets his visions and dreams the way he wishes to see them rather than as they really are and his obsession with Thaïs is obvious to everyone but himself.
Massenet cleverly reflects these character traits in Athanaël’s music and brilliantly sets up the moment of his complete transformation. It occurs when he leaves the “new” Thaïs in the charge of the Albine and comprehends that he will never see her again. Here the enormity of what he has done comes down upon him. It is at that moment — with the redemptive “Meditation” reappearing in the background — that Athanaël fully integrates.
This is no small task for a singer to convey within a 3 hour span but Thomas Hampson does a remarkable job. His beautiful timbre, youthful ardor and obvious sincerity convey the role effectively and do much to counterbalance a curious vocal heaviness and often widening vibrato evident during the earlier scenes of the opera. By the center sections of the work, however, he has lightened his approach and so is able to offer some of the most sweetly expressive singing one can hear in this role. Indeed the final Act is almost unbearably poignant. The two protagonists, thrillingly supported by their conductor, succeed in nailing the great final scene to the back wall of the metaphorical theater for all time.
Note complete, this set includes all of the ballet music as well as what is arguably the most unusual set piece ever composed for an opera: the La Charmeuse scene. This oft-maligned trio (a soprano-alto duet with a high soprano obligato) is rarely given the importance it deserves as a startling composition. Nothing in the entire canon of French opera equals this bizarre and haunting piece and Abel rightly highlights it as a fascinating, central diversion of the scene. Although Norma Burrows (Sills set) and Jessica Cash (Moffo set) may offer more lush tone as the high flying Charmeuse (Enchantress), Elisabeth Vidal’s approach to this music (including some well-pointed straight tones) seems perfect to me — as if conjuring the pagan atmosphere of such festivities. It is has a menace that matches the text, is icily chilling and ultimately unforgettable.
I cannot recommend this new Thaïs highly enough for lovers of French opera or Massenet or even for those who may have come to this work through the infamous violin solo, “Meditation,” which gets an excellent performance here by Renaud Capucon.
If you immerse yourself in Massenet’s world as created by Abel, Fleming and Hampson, though, you had better be ready to reach for the Kleenex. I confess that I found my eyes tearing at least twice while listening. But I didn’t mind. In an era of recordings that are antiseptically perfect but often emotionally void I welcomed the ability of this recording to move me so. After all isn’t that what performances — even those on records — are supposed to do?
