Kaija Saariaho’s opera “L’Amour de Loin” (“Love From Afar”) had its premiere
at the Salzburg Festival in 2000, in a period when Europe, especially
Austria, was roiled by rising nationalism, movements to protect the
sanctity of borders and demonization of the “other.”
This powerful work was presented for the first time at the Metropolitan Opera
on Thursday night, at a moment when America seems shaken by its own
conflicts, having just gone through an election stoked by rhetoric about
immigrants and renewed calls for nationalism.
Feelings
about the “other” run through “L’Amour de Loin.” In this story,
however, the other is not demonized, but idealized. Yet, as this
haunting opera suggests, idealized assumptions can also cause harm,
however unintended.
With
this production, by the director Robert Lepage, the Met has also
addressed a serious gap in its history: “L’Amour de Loin” is only the
second opera composed by a woman to be presented by the company. The first was Ethel Smyth’s “Der Wald” in 1903.
In addition, Thursday’s performance was the Met debut of the brilliant Finnish conductor Susanna Malkki, who becomes, amazingly, only the fourth woman to take the podium in the company’s history.
What
matters most is that this impressive work has finally come to New York.
Ms. Saariaho, born in Helsinki in 1952, has long been known for writing
music rich with luminous sounds, astringently alluring harmonies,
myriad instrumental colorings and atmospheric textures — qualities
ideally suited to telling this medieval tale. The Lebanese-born author Amin Maalouf wrote the poetic and profound libretto.
The
story tells of a renowned troubadour, Jaufré Rudel, prince of Blaye, in
12th-century Aquitaine in France. Grown weary of a life of pleasure and
entitlement, Jaufré yearns for an idealized, distant love, but assumes
that this is impossible. His hearty companions try to snap him out of
it. A pilgrim just arrived from overseas, struck by the prince’s
longing, tells him that the woman of his imagination exists: the
countess of Tripoli, who is “beautiful without the arrogance of beauty.”
The
pilgrim’s report fires the hopes of Jaufré, who rhapsodizes about the
countess in song. At first he does not want to meet her, lest reality
spoil his distant love. The pilgrim becomes a go-between, traveling
across the sea to Tripoli to bring Clémence, the countess, news of
Jaufré’s idealized devotion. She is also feeling sick at heart. Still,
that a noble troubadour may love her so purely leaves her questioning if
she merits such devotion.
Ms.
Saariaho establishes the story’s mystical mood at the start with
suspenseful orchestral murmurings, over which rising pitches stack up to
form piercing, sustained chords. Jaufré’s first lament unfolds in
phrases that subtly evoke medieval song, but with modes fashioned by the
composer.
The bass-baritone Eric Owens,
in one of his finest Met roles, makes an achingly vulnerable Jaufré.
The earthy, weighty qualities of his voice convey the troubadour’s
world-weary sadness. Yet, when the character’s ruminations take the
music into higher lyrical phrases, Mr. Owens sings with poignancy and
tenderness.
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