Bateman French Opera: La Belle Hélène

“French Theatre.—The ‘Belle Hélène’ was performed here last night to an immensely crowded house, enthusiastically delighted and giving in every sentiment the general verdict that this is the greatest of all the comic operas. No entertainment fits so exactly as comic opera does all the requirements of the city public in the way of theatrical entertainment. It is light and does not wear the brain; it is brilliant and fills the eye; it is primful of the spirit of art and chamrs the taste; it is richly nonsensical and ministers to our universal love of fun; it sparkles, bubbles, effervesces, with the dainty, delicious sort of music for which the public has a passion. All this being true of comic opera in general is true ten times over of ‘La Belle Hélène.’ The libretto of this piece is one of the best results of modern historical criticism. It takes us at once right through the whole crust of the heroics, smashes the ancient ideals of Helen, Agamemnon, Achilles, Paris and Meleaus, and puts us fairly in company with those queer Greeks. Just as they were, just as they lived and laughed and made fun of one another. At all events it gives a more natural idea of them than any to be gotten out of the idealized yarns of that old harper who glorified in such jolly heroics—the ancestors of every man who brought him out to dinner. The music sympathizes with the libretto. It bears the same relation to the stilted and tremendous in music—that is, the classical—as the storydoes to Homer. It is familiar, absurd, ridiculous, running in happiest keeping with the vein of the piece, and always perfectly delicious. Already, ‘La Belle Hélène’ has made a great hit, and we doubt not it will fairly rival its predecessor in continued favor.”

“The ‘Belle Hélène’ was performed here last night to an immensely crowded house, enthusiastically delighted and giving in every sentiment the general verdict that this is the greatest of all the comic operas. No entertainment fits so exactly as comic opera does all the requirements of the city public in the way of theatrical entertainment. It is light and does not wear the brain; it is brilliant and fills the eye; it is brimful of the spirit of art and charms the taste; it is richly nonsensical and ministers to our universal love of fun; it sparkles, bubbles, effervesces, with the dainty, delicious sort of music for which the public has a passion. All this being true of comic opera in general is true ten times over of ‘La Belle Hélène.’”

“Yesterday. . . to hear La Belle Helene at French Theater. We laughed ourselves faint and sick. The music seems not quite equal to that of the Grand Duchess, but the burlesque is far more exuberant and extravagant and funnier, if that be possible. The parts are admirably cast . . . Tostee continues to make her plainness absolutely pretty. How she achieves that marvel is known to none but French women and the D___. The play is not exactly coarse or immoral, it keeps just on the shady side of the law. One might regard it as a satire on the immoral nonsense of French novelists about ‘Fatalite.’”

“‘La Belle Hélène’ enters on its second week to-night, and of course with undiminished signs of success. The critics have expressed their opinions of the work, and with agreeable impartiality have praised it to the skies or condemned it to the bottomless pit. In a moral point of view there can be no doubt that Helen was an improper person, and although over a hundred years old at the time when her story is taken up in this piece, was still distractingly pretty, and therefore the cause of incalculable mischief. The Trojan war was entirely of her making and the result of a row among her sweethearts. It is the incidents leading to this calamity which furnish Mr. Offenbach with the materials for his opera . . . . [comments about the charactersitics of the various personae]

The French are fond of treating such subjects. The ‘beautiful mythology’ of Greece is an excellent butt for their wit and cynicism. Messrs. Meilhac and Halevy, the authors of the libretto of ‘La Belle Hélène,’ have put no restraint on themselves. They lampoon the past at the expense of the present. Menelaus is perhaps not a flattering type of a French husband, but he is easily sent on a foolish errand or otherwise disposed of in favor of a third party, and is, therefore, a just object of ridicule. The sarcasm is not very biting; nor need it be. The object is fun; to laugh; not to sneer. It is more than proba ble that the authors had no impelling motives on the subject of public morality when they wrote the piece. Preaching is a little out of place at the Variétés Theatre, although it sometimes furnishes texts to Father Hyacinthe, and has certainly done so to one or two gentlemen of the Press in this City. Nevertheless the saucy Helen is a winning, if a wicked heroine, and is by no means so loathsome in the play as in the legend. Plato says that the Gods made men for their sport. Messrs. Meilhac and Halevy have reversed this. They make the Gods for man’s sport, and such an odd set of divinities deserves to be laughed at.

The libretto is funnily written, but the action flags in the second act, especially in the ponderous game of Goose. The dialogue is still profuse, although it has been materially shortened since the first night. There are puns in it of the most atrocious kind, some of which the liberal-minded translator has attempted to render into English. The result is not always convulsive. There are one or two instances: Agamemnon in announcing the contest between Kings, poets and shepherds says that the prize will be a wreath of pine leaves, adding ‘Pour des gens d’esprit—du pin, c’est bien assez.’ This is rendered ‘for men of genius pine is good enough,’ an utterly paralyzing literalness. The play is on the pronunciation of the words pin and pain—bread. The staff of life is not only sufficient for poets, but more than many of the honorable fraternity have sometimes been able to obtain. The linguist languishes when he comes to the awful conundrum solved by Paris—the difference between Calchas and a pickle. A pickle is ‘confit dans du vinaigre; Calchas est confidant du Roi,’ (the one is preserved in vinegar, the other is preserved by the King,) which he renders thus—taking refuge miserably in French. The one is’ ‘Confits dans du vinaigre, Calchas is confidant of the King.’ But the most curious of these valiant but unsuccessful efforts is where Calchas says to Helen, ‘Je voic venir la musique à pas de loup.’ (I see the music of Pasdeloup coming,) which is translated: ‘The music is approaching with a wolf’s step.’ Pasdeloup, we need scarcely remind our readers, is the most distinguished musical conductor in Paris, and hence this play on his name. There are dozens of other puns which, equally with those quoted, have eluded the vigilance of the translator. We refer to them simply as appropriate illustrations of the play, and as an indication of the severe state of mind in which the spectator should witness it. They serve also to explain why we think the dialogue too long. A pun is a trying and vexatious thing at the best of times, but in a foreign language it becomes additionally aggravating. Let us add that the translation of ‘La Belle Hélène’ is generally clear and intelligible. Our language is too blunt, our mode of expression too solid to reflect all the playful nuances of the original, and we suspect that, owing to this cause, a vast amount of virtuous earnestness will be expended on trifles which really have no damning import in French.

Offenbach's music is in many respects the best he has ever written. There is not so much of it as in the ‘Grand Duchess’ and other works, but the quality is firmer and the workmanship more conscientious. The ensembles are particularly well constructed. The themes are effective, yet of sufficient elasticity to admit of occasional stretches and wrenches. This gay composer cannot be serious for more than eight bars at a time. The vitality which pervades his music; the alacrity with which he throws off the slightest impediment and takes to the tips of his toes, are the secrets of his success. Well-bred vivacity is always acceptable, and so far as music is concerned, Offenbach is always well-bred. The commonest little subject from his pen is graceful and airy. He never forces his talent beyond its proper limit, but leaves an agreeable suggestion on the mind that he can still do better. That he possesses an ufailing source of sparkling melody can not be disputed. It is usually of a quadrille or waltz character, but often takes a better shape, especially in those orchestral bits where the band sustains the melody whilst the actors pursue the business of the stage. There are several instances of the kind in ‘La Belle Hélène,’ and we may add that the march is intrinsically good. For the rest it is a light, delicate, sensitive touch that quickens the story; nervous in its rhythm and clear and certain in its purpose. The orchestral music is written for a small orchestra—smaller in Paris than here—and is unpretentuos [sic], but fluent and well colored. Offenbach is fond of ridiculing the pretensions of instrumentalists. Everyone remembers the clarinet obligato in the ‘Duchess’—an ingenious distortion peculiarly suited to the scene of the conspiracy, where everything is supposed to be out of joint. There is a similar exaggeration in ‘La Belle Hélène’ satirizing the music of Pasdeloup’s band, before alluded to.

There can be no doubt that this work depends very largely on the principal singer. In this respect it is not so desirable a managerial nuggett [sic] as the one which preceded it. Any one could take the part of the Duchess, not so well as Tostée, to be sure, but sufficiently well to insure a laughable entertainment. It will be difficult, we are sure, for Mr. Bateman, with all his managerial tact, to find a successor to the lady we have named in the rôle of Hélène. She is thoroughly charming, not merely in the abandon of her style, but in the intellectual quickness with which she seizes the slightest allusions of the play. It is not often that such comic acting is seen on any stage. Her jollity tends to extremes, like the mercury in a barometer, but it is always within bounds, and is the correct record of every momentary change. There is something in the snap of her fingers, the shrug of her shoulders, the play of her eyes, that even expresses more the words. Sometimes, too much, as in the last lines of the air, ‘Nous Naissons Toutes Soucienses,’ where, in addition to the members we have mentioned, the hips are employed for purposes of expression. The Can-can seems to be a part and parcel of Opera-Bouffe, but it might, we think, be occasionally dispensed with. Mlle. Tostée's voice is pleasant and sufficient. She uses it discreetly, and sings well.  In every way she is an excellent Hélène, and gives a performance which is worthy of the best artistic consideration and study.

The Orestes of Mlle. De Felcourt, although somewhat ungainly, displayed the ladies’ [sic] voice to advantage, and, so far as clothes was [sic] concerned, was an unembarrassed effort.  M. Guffroy [sic] was the Paris. The music requires some slight attempt at singing, which the gentleman bestowed on it. A little more animation would not, we think, be out of place. Of the other characters, from Agamemnon to Euthycles, it is unnecessary to speak. The artists who sustain them are all thoroughly good, and entirely adequate to every requirement. The chorus is sufficient in numbers, and has been drilled efficiently. The scenery and dresses reflect the greatest credit on Mr. Bateman's liberality and taste. From the first, indeed, the performances have been complete, and fully equal to those given of the same work in Paris.”

“In one of the battles engaged in for Helen’s beautiful eyes, the Trojans, indosorder, flee toward the walls of Pergamom and the gates of Scee. ‘Aeneas, anger in his heart, had turned his chariot toward the walls, and altogether trembling, could hardly not respond to the provocations of Diomedes; the venerable Priam, witnessing from on high a triumphant victory circuit of the Achaeans, implored Hecuba to let him march into battle.’ In brief, everything appeared lost, when the protector-gods of Ilium spread over the battlefield a darkness so profound that it stopped the battle and limited the victory. Then the great Ajax, [himself] not unlike the Immortals, hurled this prayer and this challenge to the powers of Olympus: ‘Gods, give us back the light and fight against us!’ Well, M. Bateman is like Ajax, not like Offenbach’s absurd Ajax, but like Homer’s Ajax, son of Telamon and husband of Tecmessa. The gods or those who claim to represent them can battle against him; the puritans can pour out their bile on his undertaking and exhaust the rich arsenal of their envious hypocrisy in order to make it fail; M. Bateman will triumph over all obstacles and emerge the winner of all these ordeals. But before everything [else], the Gods must not deny him the light, the star that makes the success of La Belle-Hélène; they must keep Mlle Tostée in good voice and vigorous health.

Mlle Tostée is, in effect, the soul of Offenbach’s work. They can’t replace her, but should make up for her in La Grande-Duchesse. It would be worth more to interrupt the performances of La Belle-Hélène than to substitute an understudy for her, if by misfortune she should fall ill. They feared a misadventure Thursday evening [4/2]: the New York climate is the tormentor of larynxes, and Mlle Tostée had been very unwell during the day. When the curtain went up, M. Bateman appeared on the stage and said: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that Mlle Tostée is indisposed. . . .’ On hearing this, some unbecoming loud ‘Be quiet’s on the part of the audience. But M. Bateman, accompanying his words with a gesture worthy of one of Homer’s heroes, added with energy: ‘You can hiss all you want to, but you will hear the end of my communication. Mlle Tostée is indisposed, but not wanting to have the performance fail, she will perform even so, and will do her best.’ At that, a thunder of applause and roars of enthusiasm.

In fact, if they hadn’t been warned, nobody would have been aware of Mlle Tostée’s indisposition. The valiant artist didn’t have a single weakness: only those who know the musical score noticed one or two insignificant cuts. Once again Mlle Tostée agreed to repeat the verses

                        Et voilà comme

                        Un gallant home, etc….

La Belle-Hélène pleases infinitely more on second hearing than upon the first: we’ve experienced it, and the desire to come back to it becomes more and more keen. You also have to hear the score several times to catch hold of the musical form of the work. It’s a success of long duration for M. Bateman. The clamors of the virtuous critics have ceased, and we read yesterday in the Times, with pleasure, an excellent article on the piece in fashion.”