On Sunday evening, 27th April, London was treated – albeit for just one performance – to a Rameau opera, and the value of his works was proved again. Rameau wrote Zaïs in 1748, with a libretto by his frequent collaborator, the writer and dance theorist Louis de Cahusac; not surprisingly therefore the work contains much dancing. This new staging at the Queen Elizabeth Hall brought together some fine experts, several of them Rameau specialists, as part of the larger Rameau Project of performances and conferences organised by the Oxford Research Centre in the Humanities, which combines academic research with practical performance. For Zaïs, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment was conducted by Dr Jonathan Williams, to a new edition of the score edited by Professor Graham Sadler, with choreography by the French baroque dance specialist Edith Lalonger. From the very first bars of its extraordinary overture, depicting the creation of the world, to the closing scenes of the last act, which celebrates the constancy in love of the shepherdess Zélidie for Zaïs (who turns out to be not the shepherd she though he was, but the immortal Spirit of the Air), the music and dance of this semi-staged opera-ballet blended in a powerful performance. Graham Sadler gave a light touch to an erudite and carefully illustrated pre-performance talk, which set the scene for what was to follow.
The story presented in this ballet héroique, first staged at the Paris Opéra on 29 February 1748, opens with a Prologue depicting the emergence out of chaos of the elements of earth, air, fire and water to create the world at the behest of the creator of all, Oromazès. Amour descends from the heavens to complete the creation by bestowing on all living creatures the capacity for love. Act I takes place in a pastoral setting near a temple to Amour, and opens with the sylph Cindor trying to convince his friend Zaïs that the shepherdess Zélidie is likely to be fickle. When Zaïs and Zélidie visit the temple, the oracle orders Zaïs to test the worthiness of their love, and throughout the opera Cindor acts as the instigator of several trials to test Zélidie’s constancy. These take place (Acts II and III) in the celestial palace of the Spirits of the Air, in which Cindor pretends to declare his own love for Zélidie and brings to life statues beguiled by suitors who are unseen, disguised, or seen only in a dream; but Zélidie does not falter in her devotion to Zaïs. Cindor then tempts her with power, glory, beauty and immortality, but she shuns them all for fear of losing Zaïs; even when Cindor summons a wrathful storm, her only concern is for the safety of her lover. Finally, Cindor gives her magic flowers that will fulfil her every wish, but she disdains to use them. When Zaïs appears, she warns him of Cindor’s advances to her, and gives the magic flowers to him for his own protection. But Cindor plants in her mind the thought that Zaïs might use the flowers to win other lovers, and Zélidie sings a moving lament for his supposed infidelity. A conjured-up divertissement celebrating inconstancy repels her, and when Cindor reappears (by now in fact Zaïs in disguise, anxious to see for himself where her loyalty lies), she rejects him and leaves the celestial palace to find Zaïs. He, realising her love for him is unshakeable, summons Amour to end the trials and follows her away from the palace. In Act IV Zaïs reveals his true identity to Zélidie, tearing off his ring of eternal life so that they may both die as mortals. A storm heralds the coming of Oromazès himself, who does the only sensible thing in such operas and grants both lovers immortality, returning them to Zaïs’s celestial palace where the themes of love and constancy are celebrated in a final, lively, divertissement.
Jonathan Williams’s dynamic interpretation of the music was given full support by the OAE and the Choir of the Enlightenment, ranged across the back of the stage; solo singers and dancers working downstage kept an eye on the conductor by means of a monitor downstage left. It was very rewarding to see some of the soloists sing without scores in their hands (always, for me, the down side of a semi-staged performance), so that rather than being a succession of very beautiful voices they became distinct characters in the action, and the impact of even minimalistic natural gesture as they sang and moved about the stage was immediately striking. Edith Lalonger’s choreography for Zaïs, always very musical and sensitive to the sources of the time and the meaning of the text, created a succession of imaginative and effective dances that were just right for a work of 1748, varied in mood and manner but rarely compromising the aesthetic of dance at that time – and all the dances worked. (So it can be done convincingly, without resorting to post-modern dance movements and gimmicky acrobatics!). The dancing was made even more delightful by all eight dancers being in mid-eighteenth century costume, and there was much to admire in the variety and agility of their steps, and the ever-changing moods and characterisations, from playfully amorous shepherds and shepherdesses, to boorish rustics, to other-worldly moving statues. The clear and very expressive arm movements and the contrasts of posed stillness and intricate movement were all well suited to the music and the drama that was being enacted. Judging by the audience’s enthusiastic response, it was indeed admired, and we trust that this is not the last we shall see of such well-considered performances of Rameau operas.