Part 1 is set at the foot of the mountains near the city of Bethulia. The Chorus of Assyrians tell how Holofernes and his army are preparing to attack the city. In a sung trio, three of his commanders tell how the Israelites are counting on the steep cliffs to protect them, and they recommend cutting off their water supply by placing a guard at their well. An Assyrian recounts how this plan pleased Holofernes, and for the next twenty days the Israelites went without water. The scene changes to the camp of the thirsty Israelites and an Israeli relates how three of them went to ask their leader Ozias to surrender to Holofernes. The trio of Israelistes say that it is clear that God had delivered them into his hands and that it would be better to die swiftly by the sword than slowly by thirst, and, in a chorus of startling harmonic richness, the Israelites bewail how they have sinned and acted unjustly and that this is their well-deserved punishment. They grow weary and then Ozias arose and in a dancelike solo air he tells his people to take heart and wait five more days for mercy from God; if no aid arrives by then, they will surrender to Holofernes.

A trio of Israelistes then relate how Judith, a daring and beautiful widow, arose and addressed the people. In solo arioso, Judith tells them that they should not set a time limit for God to deliver them from their foreign conquerers and in an aria advises them to adopt an attitude of humility that may become for the Israelites a thing of glory. Judith then reveals to Ozias that she has a plan to save her people. Part 1 concludes with a series of set-pieces. First, a glorious concertante Chorus of Israelites sends Esther on her mission with their best wishes. Then a solo historicus explains that the following night, Judith put on haircloth, spread ashes in her hair, and prayed to the Lord. Judith’s sung prayer, interspersed with ritornelli for flutes and continuo, is the musical high point of Part 1. Here she reveals her plan to use her beauty to entrap Holofernes with his eyes and then cut off his head with his own sword.

After her prayer, Judith bathed, anointed herself with myrrh, plaited her hair, put on garments of gladness, and left the city with her handmaiden. An evocative instrumental number entitled “The Night” concludes Part 1, and requires further explanation from Pierre Le Moyne’s article on Judith in his Galerie des femmes fortes (Paris: Sommaville, 1647, pp. 39-44):

The Angel of Israel, has come in person to defend the frontier of his nation. He has created shadows where there is something of the shadows that he once created in Egypt. And by his command, Night has come early, contributing its silence and its darkness to the great action he is preparing. But this darkness is only for the enemies of God’s people; and this intelligent Night is discrete, as was the night in Egypt, and is very capable of singling out the faithful and distinguishing between individuals. What is fog and shadows for others will be light for us. And even if there is only the brightness of these luminous spirits, added to the glow of Judith’s zeal and eyes, which seem to set fire to all the gems of this superb tent, that would be enough to see, from here, the Tragedy that is beginning in the tent of Holofernes.

In Part 2, we learn from the handmaiden’s narration that she and Judith descended the mountain at sunrise and were met by two Assyrian watchmen. The watchmen question her and Judith responds by promising information on the Israelites and they escort her to their prince The Assyrian Chorus relates that she was taken to Holofernes’s tent and that he was immediately attracted by the her beauty and caught “in the net of his own eyes” depicted by interweaving melodic lines. Esther falls down to worship him but Holofernes commands her to rise. In a solo air, Holofernes tells Judith not to be afraid, and asks her why she deserted her people. Judith tells him that the sins of the Israelites have angered their God, who has abandoned them, and she offers to take Holofernes with her to Bethulia. Holofernes tells her that as her God has done well, her God shall become his God; and so Holofernes promises Judith riches and invites her into his tent to partake of wine. Judith responds coyly “Who am I, that I should oppose the will of my Lord?”

Judith’s coy behavior here might seem inconsistent with her virtuous and devout character. However, Pierre LeMoyne sheds light on her seduction of Holofernes by explaining that, essentially, Judith temporarily adopts what might in our day be described as a split personality:

But this is not the Judith that Virtue, Zeal, and the angles have brought here. This is a Judith fashioned by a deluding dream (un Songe imposteur), which has made a coquette of the heroine: and this coquettish and false Judith will soon be struck down by the true and modest one. The sword you see in her hand will deliver justice to this imposter-dream: and all of these vain images will be drowned in the blood of the dreamer [i.e., Holofernes], and will fall with his head.

Judith entered the tent with Holofernes, his servants withdrew and the prince so enjoyed her company that he drank too much wine. Judith’s handmaiden continues the narration, telling that while Holofernes lay on his bed in a drunken stupor, Judith said a prayer for the Lord’s strength and decapitated him with his own sword. Stuffing the severed head into her maid’s sack, Judith and her servant quietly passed through the Assyrian camp, wound through the valley, and finally arrived at the city gates. In a solo air, Judith asks the watchmen to open the gates for “God is with us who hath shown his power in Israel.” The Chorus of Israelites relate how all the population “from the least to the greatest” rushed out to meet her and gathered round her with lighted torches; and she ascended to a higher place, she commanded silence from the people. In a solo air, Judith praises the Lord, uncovers the head of Holofernes “which the Lord struck off through the hand of a woman,” and that she has returned to them without any stain of sin. Judith then exhorts her countrymen to sing a canticle of praise to the Lord. This final blessing is a magnificent concertante set piece inspired by a reading of the feast of the Assumption—where Judith is presented as a prefiguration of the Virgin Mary.

Esther relates the story of a Jewish girl who becomes queen of Persia and thwarts a genocide of her people. The biblical Book of Esther is set in the third year of the reign of Ahasuerus, a king of Persia. In the opening chorus, the Jewish people relate how Ahasuerus, ruler of a massive Persian empire, held a lavish party, initially for his court and dignitaries and afterwards for all the inhabitants of the capital city Shushan. Queen Vashti held a separate feast for the women of the palace. On the seventh day, Ahasuerus, merrier than usual with wine, commands Queen Vashti to display her considerable beauty before the guests but Vashti refuses to obey Ahasuerus’s order. Ahasuerus becomes very angry and consults his wise men as to a fitting punishment for his queen. One of them warns the king that other women in the provinces will learn from this and come to disobey their own husbands, and he advises Ahasuerus to remove Vashti as queen and give her estate to a more worthy consort.

Ahasuerus has a royal decree sent across the empire that men should be the ruler of their households and should speak their own native tongue. Ahasuerus then orders all the beautiful young girls in the empire to be presented to him, so he might choose a new queen to replace Vashti. One of these is the orphan Esther, who finds favor in the king’s eyes and is made his new queen.  Esther at first does not reveal her Jewish background, as her uncle Mordecai had advised her.

Ahasuerus had appointed Haman as his prime minister; but Mordecai, who sits at the palace gates, fell into Haman’s disfavor when he refused to bow down to him. Three officers question Mordecai: “Why do you not obey the King’s commandments like the others and revere Haman?” Having found out that Mordecai is Jewish, Haman plans to kill not just Mordecai but all the Jews in the empire. Haman obtains Ahasuerus’s permission to execute this plan, against payment of ten thousand talents of silver; the King declines to accept payment and rather allows him to execute his plan on principle and he casts lots to choose the date on which to do this—the thirteenth of the month of Adar. On that day, everyone in the empire is free to massacre the Jews and loot their property.

The Chorus Judeorum now recounts that when Mordecai found out about the plans he rent his clothes and Jews in every province began to mourn and wail. Esther was afraid to plead for her people, for going to the King unsummoned was forbidden and would incur the death penalty. In a solo air a messenger tells Esther that she must go and trust in God; in any case she would not escape just because she is in the King’s house…and besides, saving her people is perhaps her destiny.

Meanwhile, Mordecai was waiting at the palace gates when he happened to overhear a plot by two guards to assassinate King Ahasuerus. He told Esther, who told the king, and the two conspirators are apprehended and hanged—and Mordecai’s service to the king is recorded.

On the third day, after Esther has wept and prayed, she appeared before the King unbidden, and the angered king had fury blazing in his eyes. A sudden change to ‘white notation’ occurs at this point in the score, as the choral historicus relates how Esther turned pale. At this point, God turned Ahasuerus’s arrogance to kindness and, fearing for Esther, he leaps from his seat and, holding Esther in his arms, speaks to her lovingly. In a beautiful solo air, Ahasuerus tells her that the decree was not made for her, but for others, and she shall not die; and Ahasuerus asks her what she wishes and tells her that he would grant her half his kingdom. Esther asks that Haman be brought to a second banquet that she has arranged. Ahasuerus orders that Haman come according to the queen’s request. At this news, Haman leaves the palace joyfully, but grows indignant when Mordecai refuses to rise to honor him. In a solo air, Haman express his displeasure with Mordecai and the Three officers relate how Haman ordered a gallows built for Mordecai.

Ahasuerus suffers from insomnia that night and requests the court recorders read to him to help him sleep. There he learns of the services rendered by Mordecai in the plot against his life. When he asks the three officers what reward Mordecai has received, he learns that Mordecai has not received any recognition for saving the king’s life. Just then, Haman appears to request that Mordecai be hanged. But Ahasuerus asks Haman what should be done for the man that the king wishes to honor. Thinking that the man that the king is referring to is himself, Haman says in a pretentiously noble aria that the man should be dressed in the king’s royal robes and led around on the king’s royal horse, while a herald calls: “See how the king honors a man he wishes to reward!” To Haman’s horror and surprise, the king commands Haman to do precisely this for Mordecai. After leading Mordecai’s parade, Haman returns in mourning to his wife and friends, and is then was summoned to Esther’s banquet.

Immediately after, Ahasuerus and Haman attend Esther’s second banquet. In a solo air Ahasuerus offers Esther whatever she would like and she responds that she would have her life spared (“ani-mam meam” is broken by a rest – a realistic touch suggesting a catch in her voice) and that of her people. In recitative Esther reveals to the king that she is Jewish and that Haman is planning to exterminate her and her people. Overcome by rage, Ahasuerus orders Haman to be hanged on the gallows that Haman had prepared for Mordecai. Esther sings a joyous air of jubilation accompanied by two violins and is joined in celebration by the Chorus Judaeorum, for this day of grief and sadness has changed into one of joy and gladness.

When, in 1673, Marc-Antoine Charpentier became the principal composer to the King’s Troupe (Troupe du Roy), he became involved in the ongoing struggle between the company’s director and chief playwright, Jean-Baptiste Molière, and the composer Jean-Baptiste Lully. Throughout the 1660s, Molière and Lully had worked closely in providing for the king’s entertainment a series of multi-generic experiments that combined theater, ballet, vocal numbers, choruses, and machine effects. But by the spring of 1672 Lully had decided that his own future lay in opera. Having witnessed the successes of Perrin and Cambert with pastoral opera, Lully set about obtaining the royal opera privilege and, thereafter, a series of draconian decrees designed to protect his monopoly and reduce his musical competition.

Molière soon found another musical colleague in Charpentier, recently returned from Rome and his studies with Giacomo Carissimi. The revivals of earlier collaborations with Lully (La Comtesse d’Escarbagnas, Le Mariage forcé) with new music by Charpentier led to a full-scale comedy-ballet, Le Malade imaginaire. This devastating musical satire would be the playwright’s last work—for during its fourth performance Molière, playing the leading role of the hypochondriac Argan, fell ill during the finale and died at his home shortly thereafter. Thereafter, musical life in Parisian theater was a struggle to survive in the face of Lully’s active opposition.

Charpentier continued on as the leading composer the Troupe du Roy after Lully evicted the actors from their theater. On 17 March 1675, the company premiered Circé, the first in a series of new machine-plays given at their new playhouse, the Théâtre de Guénégaud. Struggling to survive after Molière’s death and to justify its existence in the shadow of Lully’s Académie Royale de Musique, the actors deployed all of their scenic, musical, and choreographic resources in this spectacular and expensive production.

Whereas Louis XIV did not come personally to see it, the Gazette reported that on 4 October 1675 the king’s younger brother, together with his wife and their daughter Louise, attended a performance, and that “Their royal highnesses were marvelously satisfied with this fine spectacle, whose stage décor, aerial flights, and machines were extraordinary.”  Pierre Bayle concluded that “if they were permitted to perform with music, dance, and instruments according to their imagination, Circé would highly surpass all the operas performed until now.”

Circé brought together a team of dramatists, musicians, and artists who had wide experience in both court and public theater. The play was by Thomas Corneille, younger brother of Pierre Corneille, who would provide the Théâtre de Guénégaud with a series of machine-plays written in collaboration with Donneau de Visé (Circé, L’Inconnu, La Devineresse, and La Pierre philosophale).  De Visé had collaborated with the rival Théâtre du Marais, for which he had written a trilogy of musical machine-plays (Les Amours de Vénus et d’Adonis, Les Amours du Soleil, and Le Mariage de Bacchus et d’Ariane). He returned to the Troupe du Roy during Molière’s last season, and published favorable reviews of their productions in his newly founded gazette, the Mercure Galant.

Charpentier’s position had been established with the success of his music for Molière’s Le Malade imaginaire. The preface of the libretto for Circé (probably written by de Visé) praised “the delicacy of the music, in which Monsieur Charpentier, who has been already admired for the airs of Le Malade imaginaire, has in some way surpassed himself as much by the gracefulness of the symphony as by the noble manner in which he elevates all the words that are sung.” The ballet master Pierre de La Montagne had danced in court ballets and comédies-ballets throughout the 1660s, and with Circé he succeeded Pierre Beauchamps as maître à danser to the Théâtre de Guénégaud. Alexandre, sieur de Rieux, known as the Marquis de Sourdéac, was the scenic designer for Circé. Sourdéac was a nobleman and an amateur engineer whose hobby was designing stage machinery. He had furnished the sets for Perrin’s and Cambert’s pastoral operas, and when the Troupe du Roy relocated to the Hôtel de Guénégaud (Perrin’s former theater) after Molière’s death, the company entered into a turbulent partnership with Sourdéac and his nefarious cohort, the Sieur de Champeron.

Circé required a large number of singers, dancers, aerial artists, and instrumentalists: 6 strings and harpsichord, 10 “marcheurs” (probably so named to circumvent the 1673 prohibition on dancers), 20 aerial artists (voleurs), and 3 professional singers—which the company combined with their own singing actors.  One of the unusual features of Circé was the presence of acrobats in two numbers of the Finale (the “Chœur des divinitez des forets” and the “Rondeau pour trois figures”). For two productions given in 1674-75 (Corneille’s Le Comédien poète and Molière’s Le Malade imaginaire), the Troupe de Guénégaud had engaged a company of “sauteurs” directed by Charles Alard, the celebrated acrobat of the Théâtre de la Foire; thus it seems likely that Alard choreographed the acrobatic “figures” cued in Charpentier’s score.

Corneille’s mythological play is framed by a prologue and finale, with musical entr’actes articulating the overall dramatic structure.  Acts 1-4 all contain divertissements drawn from traditions common to the pastoral and burlesque ballet:  songs by satyrs, shepherds, shepherdesses, dryads, and fauns, and dance-pantomimes by monkeys and furies.  Moreover, the acts of the play are separated by ballet entr’actes, no doubt performed by the ten “marcheurs” that are listed in the company’s account books.  The play ends with a miniature ballet performed by the divinities of the forests and the seas.

In the Prologue Mars, Fortune, Love, and Fame complain of the honor Louis XIV is receiving.  They are convinced by Glory that it is useless to oppose him, and that they will profit by doing his bidding.  After three spoken scenes featuring Mars, Fortune, Fame, Cupid, and Glory, the Pleasures and the Liberal and Mechanical Arts  make their balletic entrance in the temple built by Glory for Louis XIV.

In the first act, Glaucus, a sea-god, has disguised himself as a Thracian prince in order to make love to Silla, who cares only for Mélicerte; but this Theban prince has disappeared and fallen in love with the sorceress Circe. Piqued by Glaucus’s indifference, Circe tries to win his love. After whisking through the air some satyrs who have been annoying her nymphs, Circe takes Glaucus to her palace in a chariot drawn by dragons. There she shows her indifference to Mélicerte’s love lament and offers her love to Glaucus.  When he remains faithful to Silla, Circe brings animals against him; but he makes them sink into the earth. The statues she animates meet with the same fate.  Circe sends Mélicerte a ring that makes him return to his love of Silla, bids that Silla continue to refuse Glaucus, and carries her off in a cloud.  Glaucus appeals to Venus, who sends some cupids to rescue Silla. Circe, finding herself powerless against Glaucus, resolves to punish him by means of the girl he loves. She first charms her so that she prefers Glaucus to Mélicerte and, when Mélicerte protests, she turns him into a tree. Then Circe makes Silla appear hideous by attaching monsters to her body. Silla leaps into the sea and Circe disappears with her palace; but Glaucus appeals to Neptune, who changes Silla into a rock and gets the consent of Jupiter and Destiny to her becoming a Nereid.  Glaucus is not allowed to marry Silla, however—for her love, caused by Circe’s charm, has departed.

Construction of the sets, stage machines, and the special magic effects required by the play began in October of 1674—a full six months before the première. The unusually high production costs caused some division among the actors and delayed the production. But with the première on Sunday, 17 March 1675, Circé proved to be highly profitable, and for one performance (31 March) the gross receipts reached a record 2775 livres. Years later, de Visé described the extraordinary popularity of this work in the Mercure Galant: “It is noteworthy that during the first six weeks the auditorium was completely filled from noon on, and that as no seats could be found, spectators gave a half louis d’or at the door solely to be admitted, and were content when, for the same sum paid for the lower boxes, one might be placed in the third balcony. Circé received 9 performances before the 1675 Lenten break, and was given 67 more times during the 1675-76 season. De Visé asserts that the production would have run longer “if the interests of one individual [i.e., Lully] has not made them cut back on singers.”

Five years later, the Troupe du Roy were joined by royal decree with the rival actors of the Hôtel de Bourgogne. This new company, known as La Comédie-Française, consisted of fifteen actors and twelve actresses—of which five of its new members were already accomplished playwrights.  Raymond Poisson wrote their first new comedy, Les Fous divertissants, which premiered on 14 November 1680.  This in fact was a full-scale comedy-ballet, conceived in the spirit of Molière’s final musical/balletic works and with an extensive score composed by Charpentier.

We will recall that, after he acquired the opera privilège, Lully sought to protect his monopoly by restricting the amount of music allowed in public theaters other than his own. By this time companies were limited to two singing actors, six string players, and no dancers of any kind. However, with the consolidation of the rival theaters into a single, state-subsidized institution, it would appear that a new spirit of détente arose between the Académie Royale de Musique and the Comédie-Française, and Lully’s restrictions on music and dance clearly were relaxed for this production.  In addition to the two singing lovers of the play (Léandre and Angélique, played by the actors de Villiers and perhaps Mlle Molière), three other singing actors (Verneuil, Guérin, and La Grange) performed in the intermèdes.  Moreover, Lully allowed the Comédie-Française to include parodies of excerpts from his latest two operas, Bellérophon (1679) and Proserpine (1680).

Poisson’s Les Fous divertissants followed in a series of lunatic plays that were very popular in the 17th century, and from which he borrowed freely. From Cervantes La Cueva de Salamanca Poisson derived many of his plot details—the warden’s departure, Angélique’s hypocritical farewell, the arrival of Léandre and the soldier, the husband’s unexpected return, and the use of a magical trick to rescue Léandre and the meal from a place of concealment.  Much of the dialogue for Act 3 was borrowed from the short story by Antoine Le Metel, sieur d’Ouville, entitled “Un jeune Advocat qui jouyt de la femme d’un bourgeois sous prétexte d’estre devin” (1643). And he followed Charles Beys’s L’Hospital des fous (1636) by introducing a concièrge who displays the lunatics for the public’s entertainment, and in introducing a young lover pretending to be mad to be near his beloved.

In the excerpt performed here, Monsieur Grognard, the warden of the asylum, departs to attend to his dying brother, and the inmates take this opportunity to throw a party.  Four dancing and three singing lunatics enter to the music of a march, and then one of them urges the young lovers in song to profit from her fiancé’s absence.  Meanwhile, the inmates show joy in their new found freedom in a dance, Les Fous déchaînés—for which Charpentier’s music suggests the effect of derangement by the abrupt juxtaposition of the triple-meter minuet with the furious, duple-meter pantomime.  In the next entrée, Les Geôliers, some keepers arrive to lock up the madmen, and the intermède ends with a manic “laughing trio” of infectious hilarity.

In the third act, Angélique’s lover Léandre has planned a banquet for her, for which the lunatics will provide the entertainment.  But first, he wishes to sing a little song that he has composed (“Ce n’est qu’entre deux Amans”), and asks that she respond with a minuet (“Quand la flame”).  Angélique’s maid Jacinte then brings news that their respective fathers have consented to their marriage.  When Grognard unexpectedly returns, he finds a soldier billeted in his home; he then requests something to eat, but is told that there is nothing in the house.  The soldier, having seen Léandre’s feast being brought in, pretends to be a magician, and he commands a “demon” to appear from the armoire carrying some roasted meat; then he summons the inmates to perform the concert that Léandre had prepared for Angélique.  Grognard fails to see the relevance of the first chanson (“Bacchus et l’Amour font débauche”—Bacchus & Cupid are living it up), and is mystified by the outburst of laughter caused by the even more transparent lyrics of the second song (“…the fat rogue, the drunken babbler, the big windbag, the decrepit old fool…pull the wool over his eyes, the ugly owl, the werewolf, the old hooter, the foolish cuckold”). The soldier then commands the demon to take the form of Léandre–who then departs with Angélique.  Jacinte tells Grognard of the trick, and informs him that Angélique and Léandre are to be married.  He summons his valets, only to find that the lunatics have locked them in their cells and are coming after Grognard.  The play ends with a lively ballet put on by the lunatics—consisting of a Marche des fous, a récit addressed to lovers (“Amans, vous faites bien de quitter ce sejour”), an entrée for eight fools “with caps and bells,” and a “dialogue de deux Fous amoureux” (“Je ne sçaurois vivre sans toy”).

Though Poisson’s plot is derivative, the play is remarkable for the variety of devices used for entertainment:  magic-effects, farce, drinking-songs, ballet, opera.  While it seems to have been well-received at the time of its premiere (one performance brought in over 1500 livres), the Comédie-Française gave Les Fous divertissants only eleven times between November 14 and December 2, 1680, and three times the following year.  It achieved greater success after Poisson’s death, when Florent Carton Dancourt reduced it to a one-act comedy entitled Le Bon Soldat—in which form it was performed 197 times during the early 18th century.

Charpentier, Corneille, and de Visé collaborated on four musical machine-plays for the Théâtre de Guénégaud and the Comédie-Française during 1675-81:  Circé (1675), L’Inconnu (1675), Le Triomphe des Dames (1676), and La Pierre philosophale (1681). Whereas their first three works enjoyed long and successful runs, La Pierre philosophale played there only twice (on 23 and 25 February) during Carnival of 1681.  Evidently its creators miscalculated the interests of the Parisian public with this satire on the popular cult of the ‘Cabalistes’ (Rosicrucians), for not even the spectacular machine-effects could save the production from failure.  It was soon withdrawn, and Corneille’s play was never published; all that survives is the printed libretto and Charpentier’s music.

The plot centers on a Marquis, who brings about two marriages by taking advantage of a bourgeois’s naïve belief in the occult. Monsieur Maugis and Madame Raimond are squandering their fortunes trying to discover the secret of the philosopher’s stone.  Maugis intends to use the stone’s power to regain his youth, whereupon he will marry Madame Raimond’s daughter Angélique.  Moreover, Maugis plans to give his own daughter, Marianne, to a Chevalier who seems interested in their experiments.  However, the Chevalier is merely pretending to be interested in order that he may marry Angélique himself, while Marianne loves a Marquis who plans to thwart her father’s plans. The Chevalier persuades Maugis to join the order of the Rosicrucians, and makes him believe that, when a member, he must not marry Angélique, but rather one of the invisible elemental spirits (a gnomide), while his daughter may be united to a silphe (actually the Marquis in disguise).

Act 4 takes place in the home of the Comte de Gabalis, a German residing in France who has offered to introduce Maugis to the mysteries of the Rosicrucians. Charpentier’s music accompanies the appearance of “a machine composed of four elements, of the height of a Mount Parnassus,” whereby the spirits associated with the four elements provide the music for this occult ritual. First, a Choeur des Quatre Éléments celebrates the victory of love in song and dance (‘Les sages par un choix heureux’), then a smaller group of these elements address themselves to the little gnomide, whom Maugis (knowing that gnomides guard treasures) has chosen as his wife (‘Vous, sur qui de cet heureux choix’). The little gnomide sings and dances a menuet to celebrate her forthcoming wedding (‘Le bel âge’), and the Marquis, disguised as a silphe, approaches Marianne and invites her to accept him as her spouse (‘Je suis un élément léger’). The four elements then dance, and Fire and Water concur that love has the power even to bring opposites together (‘Le Spectacle est assez beau’).  M. Maugis expresses his pleasure with these signs of rejoicing—but he begs his little gnomide to grow taller. She then disappears into the ground, and a large figure gradually emerges to the musical encouragement of the Choeur des Quatre Éléments (‘Croissez, gnomide, croissez’). Maugis is so astonished by this metamorphosis that he can scarcely believe his eyes.  Eventually the gnomide becomes jealous of Angélique, whom her mother later gives to the Chevalier. The Marquis (still disguised as a silphe) offers to appease the gnomide in exchange for Marianne’s hand, and at the end the parties go off to sign the marriage contracts.

“The Dauphin’s Music” consisted of three vocalists: Magdaleine Pièche, a high soprano (haut-dessus); Marguerite Pièche, a soprano (dessus); and Antoine Frison, a bass (basse). They were accompanied by two treble instruments—usually flutes, played by Antoine and Pierre Pièche—and basso continuo. Charpentier had known the singers from his collaborations with Molière in the early 1670s, when the Pièche sisters (then ages 7 and 9) had danced in, and Monsieur Frison had sung in, Le Malade imaginaire (1673).

So taken was Monseigneur with his Music, and so eager was he to please his new bride (who had a fine voice and extensive vocal training), that he began taking singing lessons himself. The Dauphin, “in his extreme youth, where the generosity and the kindness of his heart were continually appearing, thought only of his pleasures and left the cares of the Crown to the King his father.” By contrast, the Dauphine was proving to be “a princess with a great deal of wit, but she did not permit its breadth to be seen in all sorts of situations. She kept her eyes on the King, wanting to let his wishes entirely rule hers, and to do nothing that would appear disagreeable to him.” (Sourches, I, 11)

The Dauphin’s education was all but over by the final months of 1682, and his Bavarian bride was becoming quite outspoken about her musical and theatrical tastes. Mirroring this change in focus, Madame de Guise ordered some entertainments for the coming winter season, when she would be in residence at Versailles. One of these court events was the “Fête of the Apartments”, an innovation by Louis XIV himself that began in November of that year and continued well into January. Three times a week, from 6 until 10 in the evening, a variety of entertainments were held in the principal rooms of the Great Apartment of Versailles: billiards, cards, games of chance, refreshments (including fruits, sorbets, wine and liqueurs, and hot coffee and chocolate), plus “symphonies” and “dancing”. Throughout the fête, only a few guards were present, and the King, the Queen, and all the royal family stepped down from their grandeur, to gamble with some of those present, who have never before been so honored…[The King] goes to one game or another. He allows no one to rise or stop the game when he approaches. (Mercure, Dec. 1682)

During this fête, an “opera” was performed every Saturday (Mercure, Jan. 1683). Les Plaisirs de Versailles and La Couronne des Fleurs were most probably performed on these occasions. In an annotated list of the manuscripts that Charpentier bequeathed to him, the composer’s nephew Jacques Edouard claimed that Les Plaisirs de Versailles was a “piece for the King’s apartments”—for those evening entertainments in the royal palace at Versailles hosted by the King (and referred to generally as “the apartments”). Indeed, on his manuscript title page Charpetier includes the rubric: “la scène est dans les app[artements] ”.

These two works are examples of the operatic divertissement: a short entertainment that is sung throughout in the manner of an opera, but has only one act and lasts a mere half-hour. As common in the divertissements of French opera, the main characters of Les Plaisirs de Versailles are all allegorical—La Musique, La Conversation, Le Jeu, a “Choeur des Plaisirs”—and one mythological figure, Momus, the god of festivities. The singing of La Musique is interrupted by La Conversation, who cannot stop prattling. They argue at length and with increasing heat: which of them is more essential to pleasure…expecially the King’s pleasure? Fearful that they both will leave the château of Versailles in anger, the Chorus of Pleasures calls upon Comus to mediate. He offeres them chocolate, fine wine, exquisite pastries. No use. He then pleads for help from Le Jeu, who is equally unsuccessful, for La Musique and La Conversation continue their bickering. Finally, however, they are reconciled, and the Chorus of Pleasures sigh with relief: Music, Conversation, “our flutes and our voices” can continue to help distract the great King from his military pursuits.

The most striking thing about this lightweight mini-opera, besides its witty and sparkling text, is the sharpness with which Charpentier portrays each character musically. La Musique is languid, tender, sensuous. La Conversation has to admit that she is a “sociable siren”. La Conversation is a nonstop chatterbox, and something of an idiot: she cannot tell a minuet from a courante. La Musique confesses, however, that she is a “babillarde divinité”. Comus, a bass, is a gourmand of small sensibility and Falstaffian bluster. Le Jeu (perhaps played by Charpentier himself) is a wheedling card-sharp.

La Couronne de Fleurs was most probably also performed at Versailles for such an occasion. Names of singers from the musical establishment of the king’s cousin, Marie de Lorraine, Duchess of Guise, known as “Mademoiselle de Guise”—which she shared with her cousin/aunt Isabelle d’Orléans, Duchess of Alençon, known as “Madame de Guise”—appear in the margins of Charpentier’s manuscript. We will recall that Madame de Guise had arranged for musical events to coincide with her winter residence at Versailles; given the flatteries paid to the King in La Couronne des fleurs, it seems likely that Louis XIV was present for the performances.

The text is a free adaptation of the original 1673 Prologue to Molière’s final comedy-ballet, Le Malade imaginaire (1673). In fact, the unknown librettist (perhaps Charpentier himself?) retained only the skeletal outlines of the Prologue. Flora, goddess of spring, calls upon the flowers to repopulate the desolate winter fields, and summons the shepherds and shepherdesses to return. “Louis has banished from them the dire sounds that the cries of the dying and the clash of arms had once allowed to reign there.” She then calls for a contest to see who can best sing of the valiant deeds of Louis. Four brave shepherds (Amaranthe, Forestan, Hyacinte, and Mirtil) try their best, and compare Louis’s warlike prowess to that of a devastating spring torrent, to a bolt of lightning, to the great deeds of ancient Greece, and lament that future generations will scarcely believe the least of his exploits…as they will have nothing with which to compare. Pan then appears to call a halt to the contest, and Flora renders her decision: although they all lack the strength and ability to do justice in song to Louis’s immortal glory, it was enough that they attempted it. So she divides the flowers among the four contestants. In a final ensemble, they wish that just as Louis is the master of the world, may he become the master of time and live a hundred years.

Such are the facts, the forensic evidence, offered up by Charpentier’s autograph manuscripts these works. From this we can broaden our understanding of them by considering the various Christmastide feasts and saint’s days for which they were intended.

Epiphany is from a Greek word meaning “appearance” or “manifestation”, and it is the Christian feast to celebrate the “shining forth” or revelation of God to mankind in human form. The feast is also called Twelfth Night, as it falls 12 days after Christmas. This observance has its origins in the Eastern Orthodox church, and included the commemoration of Jesus’s birth, the visit of the “Wise Men” who arrived in Bethlehem, and all of Jesus’s childhood events up to and including his baptism by John and Baptist. By 534, the Western Christian church had established December 25th as the date of Jesus’s birth, and January 6th the arrival of the wise men. These are the events dramatized in Charpentier’s Pour la Feste de l’Épiphanie, the words of which are taken the second chapter of the book of Matthew:

Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him. When Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he demanded of them where Christ should be born. And they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judaea: for thus it is written by the prophet, and thou Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of Juda: for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel. Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, enquired of them diligently what time the star appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also. When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense and myrrh. And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.

The Feast of the Circumcision falls on January 1st for the Western Christian church, and it celebrates Jesus consenting to submit to Jewish law…and the first time that he spilled his blood for mankind. The beginning text of Charpentier’s motet is taken from the second book of Luke, with newly-written words of adoration:

And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

Following immediately in Luke is the text for the Feast of the Purification, also known as the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple. In the Roman Catholic church this feast is celebrated on February 2nd, and marks the end of the Epiphany season. According to gospel, Mary and Joseph took the baby Jesus to the Temple in Jerusalem 40 days after his birth to dedicate him to God…in line with Jewish law of the time:

And when the days of her purification according to the law of Moses were accomplished, they brought him to Jerusalem, to present him to the Lord; (as it is written in the law of the LORD, every male that openeth the womb shall be called holy to the Lord;) and to offer a sacrifice according to that which is said in the law of the Lord, A pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.

Upon bringing Jesus to the Temple, the family encountered Simeon, who had been promised “he should not see death before he had seen the Messiah of the Lord”. Simeon then prayed the prayer that became known as the “Nunc Dimitis” or the “Canticle of Simeon”.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen they salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.

Charpentier’s text is taken from Luke 2, verses 25-33, with the usual words of adoration appended.

Another name for this is the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin. Under Mosaic law as found in the Torah, a mother who had given birth to a male child was considered unclean for 7 days; moreover, the new mother was to remain for 33 days “in the blood of her purification”. This feast therefore falls on the day which, according to Jewish law, Mary should have attended a ceremony of ritual purification. The gospel of Luke relates that after Jesus’s presentation in the Temple Mary was purified according to the religious law. This feast also became known as “Candlemas”, which refers to the practice whereby a priest would bless the beeswax candles with holy water and distribute some of them to the faithful for use within their homes.

In Poland this feast is called “Matka Boska Gromnicza”…”Matka Boska” meaning “Mother of God”, and “Gromnicza” meaning beeswax candle. The image captures a Polish legend and is associated to Candlemas Day celebrated on February 2. The legend relates that Mary, the Mother of God of the Candle (Matka Boska Gromniczna), watches over the people on cold February nights. With her candle she wards off the ravenous pack of wolves and protects the peasants from all harm. In Poland, dying persons are given the Gromnica to light their way to eternity.

The final motet in this succession is entitled “For the Day of St. Geneviève”, which may provide some clues regarding the performing circumstances of the other three works.

Saint Geneviève is the patron saint of Paris, whose feast is celebrated on January 3rd. She was a peasant girl born in Nanterre around the year 420, and who became a nun at age 15. On the death of her parents she went to live with her godmother in Lutetia…the Roman name for the city of Paris. There she became known for her piety and devotion to works of charity. She had frequent visions, which she reported in her prophecies. Shortly after Attila the Hun attacked Paris in 451, the panic-stricken people of Paris were persuaded not to abandon their homes. The diversion of Attila’s army to Orléans was attributed to Geneviève’s prayers. Then during Chileric siege of Paris in 464, Geneviève was able to pass through thee siege lines to Troyes, and she brought back grain to the starving city.

When Geneviève died in 512, King Clovis had her remains put in what became known as the Church of the Abbey of Sainte-Geneviève. Under the care of the Benedictines, the church was so named owing to numerous miracles that her associated with her tomb. In 1129, for example, when Paris was suffering from an epidemic of ergot poisoning, this “burning sickness” was halted after her relics were carried in public procession. The miracle occurred as the people approached Notre Dame de Paris, and were in the parvis before the cathedral. Afterwards, the little church was renamed Sainte-Geneviève des Ardents, which soon was honored with becoming a parish church. This did not take away the luster from Sainte-Geneviève du Mont, which owned the relics and kept them on display in the reliquary that would be taken in public procession.

On January 3rd of each year, high Mass was sung at Sainte-Geneviève du Mont, on the hill above the Sorbonne, by the archbishop, the canons of that church, and the choir of Notre Dame de Paris. Thereafter, St. Geneviève’s relics were carried in procession to the cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris (see the Offices propres de Sainte Geneviefve Patrone de Paris et de toute la France, Paris 1667). In the summer of 1675 there had been especially heavy rains in France, and the archbishop called for a special procession to stop the rain. In her letter of July 19th, 1675, Mme de Sévigné gives a description of this pageant:

Do you know what a fine procession this is? All the religious orders, all the parishes, all the reliquaries, all the parish priests, all the canons of Notre-Dame, and the Archbishop, who processes on foot, pontifically blessing to the right and left, up to the cathedral. However he does only the left side, and on the right it is the abbé of Sainte-Geneviève barefooted, preceded by 150 monks also barefooted, with his crosier, his miter, like the Archbishop, and also blessing, but modestly and devoutly, and on an empty stomach, with an air of penance that shows that ‘tis he who will say mass in Notre-Dame. The Parliament in red robes and all the sovereign companies following the reliquary, which glitters with precious gems, borne by 20 men dressed in white and barefooted. At Sainte-Geneviève are left in hostage the provost marshal of the merchants and four counselors, until such time as this precious treasure is returned. You will ask me why they took the relic down from its place; it was to make the rain stop, and bring on the warmth. The one and the other came as soon as this plan was decided upon, so that, as it generally is done to bring about all sorts of good things, I believe that it is to her that we owe the return of the King. He will arrive on Sunday.

Given the place of the Sainte-Geneviève motet in the Mélanges, close to the motets intended for the Epiphany season, it is unlikely that Charpentier composed this work for the special procession of July 1675. Its title “Pour le Jour de Ste Geneviefve” (for the Day of Saint Geneviève) all but proves that it was intended for the annual Feast of Saint-Geneviève held on January 3rd (however…see below). It is doubtful that it was performed during the pontifical Mass celebrated at Sainte-Geneviève du Mont, for on this occasion the music would have been furnished by the musicians of Notre Dame. Yet, there are some internal clues in the text that suggest the event that prompted this piece, advances the possibility that it was performed on January 5th (rather than January 3rd), and the venue where it might have been performed.

First of all, the anonymous text is non-liturgical, and so was presumably written specifically for this setting. That the words emphasize the “virginity” of Saint Geneviève, suggests that the motet was possibly intended for the “Feast of Sainte Geneviève Virgin,” celebrated on January 5th.

Patricia Ranum has advanced the hypothesis that this motet was composed for the Abbey of Montmartre, one of the most prestigious female convents that ringed Paris in the 17th Century. In 1685 Charpentier composed another piece for Ste Geneviève, an antienne for January 3 that was evidently sung in the processional at the royal abbey of Montmartre (its liturgical text of which is found in the Processionnal Monastique de l’Abbaye Royale de Montmartre, ordre de saint Benoist (Paris: Billaine, 1675), pp. 220-21). Since this convent celebrated the Feast of Sainte-Geneviève, it is a plausible venue for Charpentier’s motet. Furthermore, this connection is strengthened through Charpentier’s two protectresses: Marie de Lorraine, Duchess of Guise, known as “Mademoiselle de Guise,” and Isabelle d’Orléans, Duchess of Alençon, known as “Madame de Guise.”

Who was Isabelle d’Orléans, Duchess of Alençon, known as “Madame de Guise”? As one of four daughter of Gaston d’Orléans—brother of Louis XIII—she was first cousin to Louis XIV and a close friend of Queen Marie-Thérèse. Mme de Guise had strong ties to the Abbey of Montmartre: her husband’s, mother’s and son’s hearts were buried there, and since the summer of 1675, Montmartre had been the residence of her sister, the Grand Duchess of Tuscany.

Her cousin/aunt was Marie de Lorraine, Duchess of Guise, known as “Mademoiselle de Guise”. Charpentier is known to have composed music for her musical establishment in the 1670s and 1680s, and in turn he was provided with an apartment in the Hôtel de Guise (near the Hôtel de Ville) during this time.

Both women were very devout. After Mme de Guise lost her infant son—the last male of the House of Guise—in March of 1675, both women became increasingly drawn to the cult of Virgin and Child. The tragedy that had plunged both houses into mourning brought an abrupt about-face in the preoccupation of the two Guise princesses. They sought consolation and new meaning for existence in the Mother and Child, and they decided that they could best serve the Christ Child by promoting childhood education. Patricia Ranum has suggested that the two Guise princesses were the material and spiritual protectors of two religious institutions that were founded that year: the “Hôtel de l’Enfant Jésus,” and the “Institut des écoles charitables du Saint Enfant Jésus.”

In Charpentier’s notebooks we find in succession music for the principal holidays for the Infant Jesus—Christmas, Circumcision, Epiphany, and Purification. It seems likely that Charpentier’s music was composed for the devotionals of the two Guise princesses. Its performing forces matches those used by the Guise establishment during these years: soprano, soprano, bass, 2 instruments, continuo.

Where might this music have been performed? Possibly in the ground-floor chapel of the Hôtel de Guise, where Mlle de Guise lived. Or perhaps at the Church of Our Lady of Mercy, next to the Hôtel de Guise. Maybe at the chapel in the Luxembourg Palace, which was the principal residence of Mme de Guise. Or, still less hypothetically, especially as far as the motet for the Saint Geneviève motet is concerned, at the Abbey of Montmartre.