[Met Performance] CID:95370



Pell?as et M?lisande
Metropolitan Opera House, Fri, February 11, 1927




Pell?as et M?lisande (9)
Claude Debussy | Maurice Maeterlinck
Pell?as
Edward Johnson

M?lisande
Lucrezia Bori

Golaud
Clarence Whitehill

Arkel
L?on Rothier

Genevi?ve
Kathleen Howard

Yniold
Louise Hunter

Physician
Paolo Ananian


Conductor
Louis Hasselmans


Director
Wilhelm Von Wymetal

Set Designer
Joseph Urban

Costume Designer
Gretel Urban





Bori's costumes were designed by Ert?.
Pell?as et M?lisande received four performances this season.

Review 1:

Review of Samuel Chotzinoff in the New York World

The season's first "P?lleas et M?lisande" was given at the Metropolitan last night with Mlle. Bori and Mr. Johnson as the shadowy lovers and Mr. Whitehill in the role of the unfortunate husband. Mr. Hasselmans conducted an unnecessarily subdued performance.

Whether one is affected by "P?lleas" is, I think, mostly a matter of the mood one is in at the moment. The same holds true of Maeterlinck's play. There are times when the vague characters of the strange tragedy communicate emotions too secret for concrete expression, feelings that border on dream states. At other times the whole story seems a silly concoction for the befuddlement of one's rational mind. At such moments M?lisande appears to be a poeticized dumbbell who hasn't enough sense to come in out of the rain. When one is "en rapport," the fragile lost lady in the first scene, who Golaud finds weeping for a lost crown, is the embodiment of romantic symbolism, whose implications somehow attain universality. But when one isn't, M?lisande's plight seems rather fishy. When all she can say to Golaud's sensible questioning is, "I don't know." You begin to suspect her of half-wittedness and think Golaud a fool for taking up with her.

It is the same with Debussy's music. When you are attuned to it, it seems the inevitable musical expression of a powerful dream tragedy. It lays bare the germ of sensuous intimations. Like an eerie negative, it retains the shadowy impressions of disembodied people. When you are not properly attuned, the eternal succession of ninth chords gets on your nerves. You are exasperated by the endless weavings of cloudy nothingness. There may be occasional moments when the music springs to life, but they are lost in the half-hours of uncontrasted sameness, and you leave the place with a sense of hopeless futility.

Your state of mind may, of course, be greatly biased by the quality of the performance. Last night's was generally good as far as the acting, singing and the stage direction went. But neither Miss Bori nor Mr. Johnson possesses that elusive quality which can so intrigue the imagination that it will willingly relinquish its connection with reality and sit like a child at the feet of Maeterlinck and Debussy. At least that is how they seemed to me last night. Perhaps I wasn't in the right mood for "P?lleas." The next time it is given I may feel altogether different.



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