Arts & Events

For all the glib talk around the Opera House about glimpsing the sublime in Francis Poulenc’s Dialogues of the Carmelites, including a note with that title by the company’s general director Matthew Shilvock at the back of the program for this opera, I find this a troubled work and a troubling one. Based in part on a true story of Carmelite nuns guillotined during the French Revolution’s Reign of Terror, the story was picked up by 20th century French writer Georges Bernanos who embellished the tale with a fictional young overly sensitive woman, Blanche de la Force, who occupies the center of the screenplay Bernanos created for a film, and his Dialogues des Carmélites was later published posthumously as a play in 1953. Georges Bernanos, who is often called “the most distinguished Catholic French writer of his generation,” larded his Dialogues des Carmélites with heavy doses of Catholic mysticism, abnegation, the desire (and dangers) of a wish for martyrdom in imitation of Christ, and fears of both death and life. From the Bernanos play, Francis Poulenc, himself a troubled Catholic, created his opera in 1957. 

For anyone not a Catholic, or even a Christian, this opera is heavy going. It is three hours long, and amid scenes of undoubted dramatic power there are quite a few tedious longueurs in which we are required to navigate arcane notions of Catholic theology. Sung in the original French, and directed by Oliver Py in a revival staging by Daniel Izzo, this Dialogue des Carmélites takes place on what is largely a bare stage, although sliding panels often open and close to vary the stage space. Occasionally, we glimpse trunks of trees with stunted limbs that suggest a rather unwelcoming cloister of the Carmelite nunnery, the trees’ very stuntedness being perhaps a metaphor for the possibly stunted lives of the nuns. The production designer is Pierre-André Weitz and the lighting director is Bertrand Killy, who employs a palate of whites, blacks, and grays. 

Poulenc’s score is surprisingly rich in orchestral colors, including airy oboe solos and occasional blaring trumpets. Music Director Eun Sun Kim led the orchestra expertly through this score. The singers were generally excellent, although soprano Heidi Stober as Blanche de la Force initially had some uncharacteristic difficulties projecting her voice, at least at the October 30 matinee performance I attended. The standout vocalist in this production was German soprano Michaela Schuster in the role of Madame de Croissy, the first prioress of the convent. Michaela Schuster is first seen as Madame de Croissy interviews young Blanche and warns her that the convent is a house of prayer not a refuge from life. Later, the ailing prioress is seen on her deathbed, which the production designers have turned upright so we look down on her as if from above. As she lays dying, the prioress who has led an exemplary life of devotion now experiences a fierce struggle with the fear of her imminent death. Michaela Schuster’s voice in this deathbed scene was intensely expressive, full of sharp, biting accents. When advised by one of her closest associates that she should only concern herself with God, Madame de Croissy blurts out “Let Him concern himself with me!” 

Veteran bass-baritone Dale Travis portrayed Blanche’s adoring father, the Marquis de la Force, and tenor Ben Bliss was excellent as her brother, who fears that his younger sister is overly sensitive and fearful. When Blanche enters the Carmelite convent, she is befriended by another young novice, Sister Constance, beautifully sung by soprano Deanna Brewick. Though initially irrepressible and delighting in amusement at life, Sister Constance also reveals a strong mysticism, which includes her insistence that she knows that both she and Sister Blanche will die together on the same day. That this ultimately proves true at the end of this opera is yet another bit of uncanny mysticism at the heart of this Bernanos-derived opera. The role of Mother Marie, Assistant Prioress, was adroitly sung by soprano Melody Moore, and the role of Madame Lidoine, the successor to Madame de Croissy as Prioress, was expertly sung by soprano Michelle Bradley. 

When Blanche’s brother visits her at the covent to tell her he’s leaving the country to avoid the Reign of Terror, he advises his sister to return to take care of their ageing father. Blanche refuses, saying her life is here with the nuns. Her brother is taken aback by this and by his sister’s lack of offering him any intimacy in this encounter. As he’s about to leave, Blanche suddenly runs to him and embraces him warmly. However, when her brother calls her by a pet name from their childhood, Blanche rebels, stating to herself that he always wants her to remain a child. This is perhaps the one and only moment in this troubled life when Blanche seems to have grown at least a bit in self-awareness and confidence. 

One scene seemed particularly heavy-handed to me, and that was when the nuns entrust Sister Blanche with a doll-figure of the baby Jesus, and the doll slips out of Blanche’s hand and hits the ground, breaking in half with the Jesus doll losing its head. Blanche is horrified at this and fearful that it is an omen. It may heavy-handedly prefigure the fact that the nuns will all ultimately lose their heads to the guillotine. When a chaplain, sung by tenor Brendon Ryan, is forbidden to say mass, and the nuns seem bent on choosing martyrdom, he reminds the nuns that martyrs are not chosen by their own will but only by God’s. Nonetheless, the nuns all make a vow of martyrdom. 

Only Sister Blanche, ever fearful of of death and life, decides spontaneously to run away and leave the convent, returning to her father’s house, only to find that he has been guillotined and the servants are now in charge. 

Meanwhile, the nuns are rounded up and imprisoned in the Paris Conciergerie, where they are informed they are condemned to die by the guillotine. In the opera’s final scene, the nuns gather in a semicircle and sing the Salve Regina as one by one, the sound of the guillotine’s blade signals their deaths. Finally, only Sister Constance remains, and as she begins singing praise of God and the Holy Trinity, she sees Blanche emerging from the crowd to join her as each of them in turn is guillotined. 

San Francisco Opera has given this Dialogues of the Carmelites about as good a staging as
possible. However, this opera’s heavy dose of Catholic mysticism is by no means everyone’s cup
of tea. It is certainly not mine. Far from offering a glimpse of the sublime, it offers a glimpse of
morbidity at the heart of this Bernanos-derived opera.