Do you know Capitaine Fracasse? Imagine France in the 17th century under the reign of Louis XIII. A wet and windy night in the Gascogne, a derelict mansion, cut off from the rest of world. In the kitchen, the only heated room, the fire is dying down. The Baron de Sigognac, a solitary and impoverished young nobleman, muses about his sad fate, when a bunch of comedians knocks at his door and seeks shelter. During the night, he feels he has to make a decision. He can continue to mourn the past glory of his family, stay in the old mansion with his faithful servant Pierre and die from poverty. Or he can give his life a meaning he never anticipated and join the comedians assuming a new name: Capitaine Fracasse.
These opening bars! The massive brass fanfare. The short, sharp string accents. The gently swaying, lyrical bars that follow and seem to paraphrase a the section “From Bohemian Woods and Fields” of Bedrich Smetana’s “Ma Vlast” (My Fatherland). The opening of a first movement that I will never forget. That you will never forget. The agitated drama of the first movement prompted me to pick that picture as an illustration. The ever-changing sky at sunset keeps fascinating me, especially when it takes that dark pink color, clouds glowing like a stream of magma.
What a fantastic full moon! I stood at the back door leading to our garden and watched it in awe for many minutes. How big it seemed to be! That old dream from my childhood came back – me, flying to the moon. The dream is still very much alive, I feel it intensely when I watch the moon on days like that one, a month ago. And by chance that very same evening I discovered a composer whose piano music seemed to perfectly fit my mood. Or was it the music that discovered me at the right time?
April 2015: I am at the Opéra Bastille in Paris and the final curtain on Antonin Dvorak’s opera “Rusalka”, Op. 114 has just fallen. An exhilarating experience. I remember I left the opera in a kind of trance, perpetuated at least for some time by a glass of wine at the opera restaurant. The magnitude of the performance, directed by Robert Carsen and conducted by Jakub Hrusa, probably was the main reason why I never resolved myself to write a post about it even though I had one scheduled for autumn 2015. I was worried that the unique impression of music, the acting and the stage design would dwarf anything I would feel when listening to a mere recording and prevent me from rendering justice to Dvorak’s work (the casting is available here).