FRANCIS POULENC
DIALOGUES DES CARMÉLITES
FRANCIS POULENC
THE STORY OF MY OPERA You’re asking me for the most difficult thing of all, to tell your readers something about the Dialogues des Carmé lites. With this sort of thing there’s the risk of self-conceit on the one hand and false modesty on the other hand. I think the only way to avoid this is for me to simply tell the story of this opera. Singing has always been the greatest thing for me, and my first great impres sions are of Don Giovanni, Pelléas et Mélisande, Boris Godunov and Rigo letto. So it’s natural to find the names Debussy, Mussorgsky and Verdi on the dedications page of the Carmélites. And if the name Mozart is missing, it’s because it’s not easy to dedicate something to God the Father. My parents took me to the Opéra and the Opéra Comique from a very early age. You might say I grew up on the knees of the tenor Edmond Clément, and by the time I was ten, Carmen, La bohème and Manon had no further secrets from me. Ever since I started composing, it’s been my dream to write an opera. But alas, there was always the terrible question of the libretto! And remember that I’m terribly spoiled in literary terms. I have been inspired to set pieces
by Eluard, Max Jacob, Aragon, Louise de Vilmorin and Apollinaire to music, I have been able to write Les mamelles de Tirésias, which I confess I particularly treasure, and it took a real piece of luck, a strange encounter for me to find the libretto I’d been dreaming of for years. Around 1953 I was supposed to write a ballet for the Scala in Milan. I’d thought far off of writing a half profane, half sacred plot – St Margareta of Cortona – but I never got to give the plan shape (I’ve always written the story of my ballets myself ). That’s how things stood when I came to Milan in March 1953 during a tour with the cellist Pierre Fournier. I explained to Signor Valcarenghi, director of the Ricordi publishing house, who had commissioned the ballet from me, how unenthusiastic I was about the project. “Oh,” I added during a pleasant lunch, “why don’t you ask me for an opera?” “If that’s what it takes, then I’ll order one right away,” my host replied. “And the libretto?” “As you’re looking for a mystical story, why don’t you do an opera on the Dialogues des Carmélites by Bernanos?”
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THE STORY OF MY OPERA
I was surprised by this suggestion. What would people say about an opera without a love story? But because I always trusted the Italians’ inborn sense of theatre, I ignored this objection, but asked for time to think… Oh, so much! Naturally, I knew the Bernanos piece, had read it and read it again, and seen it twice, but I had no sense of the rhythm of his language, an essential point for me. I’d decided to think about it later, when I was back in Paris, when two days later I discovered the Dialogues in the middle of the display window of a bookshop in Rome, where they seemed to be waiting for me. I’d left the hotel early to walk from church to church, as I like to do when I’m in Rome. It was such beautiful weather that I had nothing more in mind than to enjoy the magic of a spring morning, and there I saw myself – unwillingly – facing the great adventure that would keep me busy for three years. I bought the book and decided to read it again. To do this, I went to the Piazza Navona and sat on the terrace of the Tre Scalini. That was at ten in the morning, and I was still there at noon. Half an hour later I was intoxicated with enthusiasm, but the decisive test was still ahead of me. Would I find the music for such a text? I opened the book at random and forced myself to put the first sentences I read to music. The “random” idea was merciless. Judge for yourself: La Prieure: N’allez pas croire que ce fauteuil soit un privilège de ma charge comme le tabouret des duchesses! Hélas, par charité pour mes chères filles qui en prennent si grand soin, je voudrais m’y sentir à mon aise mais il n’est pas facile
de retrouver d’anciennes habitudes depu is trop longtemps perdues et je vois bien que ce qui devait être un agrément ne sera jamais plus pour moi qu’une humil itante nécessité. (Prioress: Don’t think that this chair is a privilege of my office, like a duchess’s footstool! Not at all! For the love of all my daughters who surround me with their care, I would love to feel comfortable in it. It isn’t easy to get used to things again that used to be familiar but which you’ve long since lost. I see how something that was originally meant as a comfort will never again be anything for me but a humiliating necessity.) It might seem incredible, but I immediately found the melody for this long passage. So that decided it. At two o’clock I telegraphed Signor Valcarenghi, this rich source of information, to tell him I’d write the Dialogues. I struggled with writing the libretto for some time, but then in July 1953 I finished it in one go, between Paris and Brive. I started on the score in August 1953, and completed it at the end of June 1956. Many people were surprised by my choice of material. It’s a long way from the Mamelles to the Carmélites, but anyone surprised by my collaboration with Bernanos doesn’t know me very well. His spiritual views exactly match mine, and his forcefulness coincides with a trait in my own being, of wholeheartedness where either pleasure or asceticism is involved. I’ve placed the fiery words of Saint Teresa of Avila as a motto on the first page of the orchestral score, “Lord, save us from bleak saints.” This sets the tone I tried to maintain throughout the work. This tragic and true story is rooted in feelings of a frightfully
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FRANCIS POULENC / TO HENRI HELL, 14 FEBRUARY, 1954
Definitely this atmosphere of fear was necessary for my ladies. You’ll see, it’s a fearful atmosphere, and I think that people will have cold chills running down their spines in the intermission. I’ve absolutely hit the mood in the duet between brother and sister to a T. A mixture of anxiety and tenderness. I’d never have thought that I could write a piece in this tone. I thank God for it, despite the sufferings involved. And afterwards people will talk about “charming Poulenc” again.