Il viaggio a Reims review – Rossini at his satirical best
The coronation of Charles X of France in 1825 was choreographed meticulously. It set the seal of legitimacy on the restored Bourbon dynasty – whose assumption of the throne dated from Henri IV in 1589 – so rudely interrupted by the revolution of 1789, a Terror, a Consulate, an Empire, then resolved on the eventual enthronement of Louis XVIII in 1814.
Well, 1814 … ish. Boney swept back into town briefly in 1815, until Wellington delivered the order of his newly invented boot at Waterloo. The point in 1825 was, that to re-establish Bourbon legitimacy after Louis’ shaky reign, all the historical stops of flummery were to be pulled, foot pedals of ancient ritual pressed, and every pipe of pomp blasted for Charles’ coronation in the cathedral at Reims.
Well, coronation… ish. The more important element of the ancient ceremony was the Sacre, the anointing of the monarch. Boy, was this steeped in history. It is worth a short explanation.
Ancient regalia, like the throne and sceptre of Merovingian King Dagobert 1 (624 – 639), and the crown and sword of Charlemagne, were kept in the Basilica of Saint-Denis, close to Paris. The God bit of legitimacy – Holy Ampulla and Chalice – were kept in Reims.
The Ampulla was the big bazooka. It was kept in a reliquary, in the form of a round gold plaque thickly set with jewels, in the centre of which was a white enamelled representation of the dove of the Holy Spirit, upright with the wings open and pointing down, of which the Holy Ampulla itself formed the body. The reliquary had a heavy chain by which it could be worn around the neck of the abbot of the Abbey of Saint- Remi, it’s keeper.
He brought it to the ceremony, walking barefoot at the head of a procession of monks under a canopy carried by four noblemen on horseback, the Hostages of the Holy Ampulla. He walked from the Abbey to the very steps of the high altar of Reims Cathedral, where he turned the relic over to the Archbishop of Reims for its use in the coronation ritual. All succeeding Kings of France were anointed with this same oil—mixed with chrism before their coronation. Dan Brown would have loved it.
Chrism is actually Myrrh, which famously went seasonally viral in the year 0, after three Wise Men ordered it on Amazon during a Herod lockdown and it was delivered to a family bubble, quarantining in a stable in Bethlehem. Now being re-branded by Meghan Markle as a trendy super latte, it is set for a second coming. No ass, ox or sheep being watched in its flock by night was harmed in the preparation of this unction.
Charles X’s advisers understood that simply looking to past glory and traditional form would send the wrong message to still turbulent France. Much of the transformative, elaborate artwork installed in the cathedral and along the processional route referenced social themes and industry, captured by Manufacture de Sèvres painter, Jean-Charles Develly, in the form of a commemorative plate.
And they commissioned a Rossini opera – yes, we are getting to the point – to mark the occasion. Just the thing. The most famous and popular composer of the era in Europe would add opera on-stage in Paris to complement the performance at Reims. The cathedral was so theatrically decked out that Victor Hugo allegedly asked to be shown to his box.
The Rossini paradox is that Il viaggio a Reims – The journey to Reims – was the last opera he wrote in Italian. His subsequent operas, Le Siège de Corinthe, Moïse et Pharaon, Le comte Ory and Guillaume Tell, featured French libretti. In 1829, only four years after Il viaggio, Rossini – he was only 37 – set down his operatic quill for good.
Just as John Lennon would later quit the Beatles, set up in New York, and embark on another genre of music entirely, Rossini decamped to Paris, abandoning his native Naples. There he hosted legendary musical soirees (thankfully, not from his bed) and painted a fresh, sophisticated musical landscape in the colours of song and piano works.
The opera is a buffo gem. Rossini resists the attempt to mimic the grand ceremonies of Reims and instead provides a comedy about the plight of a group of travellers who never actually make it to the coronation. It’s as if Beckett’s Waiting for Godot precedes and spoofs Waiting for Charles X. Not least, because nothing at all happens. This was not the paeon of reflected flummery the sponsors had expected, but Rossini, being the most celebrated opera composer on the planet, nose-thumbed his way to a triumph. No one even harrumphed.
The libretto by Luigi Ballochi, a bit of an unsung hero, is razor sharp. In this 2009 production from La Scala, Milan, available on Medici.tv the stage director, Luca Ronconi, is faithful to the point of punctiliousness to the libretto. He ensures that every reference in the sung text is echoed on set, down to a casual mention of green apples. A tower of Granny Smiths stands silently by, almost glowing with pride at the reference. In other contemporary productions, which use much the same set of a layout which surrounds the orchestra pit which allows the singers to promenade before the audience, this thoroughness is missed.
Here is a brief synopsis of, well, not a lot. Several prestigious guests have been staying at The Golden Lily Hotel and Spa on their way to the coronation of Charles X, in Reims. The day of the coronation has finally arrived, and the hotel is alive with the preparations for the grand journey.
During their stay, the travellers have got to know each other’s particular quirks, and have formed new friendships and relationships, some more vigorous than propriety demands. The carriage, en route to the hotel, has overturned and all that has been saved from the carnage is an unlikely, enormous hat belonging to La Contessa de Folleville. French, you know. Maybe explains the tricolour draped round her shoulders.
But all of this drama could not prepare them for some tragic news. There are no horses available to pull their righted coach to Reims. Their plans to celebrate the coronation of Charles X will have to be abandoned. I just wriggle with pleasure at Rossini’s chutzpah in, having been commissioned to write an opera celebrating a coronation, he rattles one out about the people who did not actually attend.
In the meantime, backstage there are screens depicting the coronation ceremony being missed by the guests as the King, courtiers and flunkies solemnly process to the cathedral.
Come off it. That’s not Reims! I recognise that hat shop behind Charles’ crown. It’s the Borsalino Boutique in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, a coronation shimmy away from Milan’s Duomo. I remember because this is where I bought my wife a very proper hat two years ago – small compensation for allowing me out for a performance of Simon Boccanegraat la Scala.
Meneghini strollers were unfazed by this impromptu coronation, wending its disruptive and solemn way through shoppers’ ranks. Many paid no attention at all and went on buying hats. Coronation processions are ten a penny in Milan. Look, there’s Verdi’s statue.
Back at the hotel, the company is quickly saved from despair by a letter from Paris. It informs them that the new king will be heading to Paris shortly after the coronation. Anyone who missed the great event can join in the festivities there.
Overjoyed at this news, and now with money to spare, the travellers decide to hold a grand banquet at the hotel instead. A travelling troupe of dancers is brought in to perform during the celebrations, and each traveller performs a toast from their homeland, in a celebration of grandeur, splendour, culture, and, of course, France. The British rosbif colonel even sports a Union flag waistcoat.
I wish Rossini was still around, to write a Brexit opera. This sequence of patriotic arias in Il viaggio deftly takes the mickey out of the growing nationalism du jour, which, of course, particularly in Italy and Germany, was to shape the Europe to come, lead to war between France and Prussia in 1870 and devastate the 20th century twice. Turning his composer’s gimlet eye on EU institutions would have been dreamwork.
Yes, Il Boris de Brexit is what we need to cheer us up. Think of the arias. Ah! Donati il caro pesci, (Give us back our dear fish); Senta un interne voce, (I keep hearing the voices in my head); Sempre gridi e tumulti, (Always shouts and tumult).
Il viaggio is a musical treat, difficult to stage, as it features no fewer than fourteen principals, all with blazing arias to deliver front stage. Picking up the tab for that bunch needs an EU subvention. There is not a weak voice on stage in this production. Annick Massis, the French soprano, who tragically mourned the loss of her dear hat is a standout and carries off a series of spectacular, coloratura high Cs effortlessly. Unless Rossini contortions are rattled through with seemingly casual aplomb, they become car crashes waiting to happen.
Performed only four times, Il viaggio a Reims died a premature death, was dissected in the musical mortuary, then reassembled and brought back to life as Le comte Ory, in 1828. Only recently have there been revivals of the original Il viaggio. And that is a good thing. It would be neglectful to ignore this work that speaks to Rossini’s deft craftsmanship and ability to throw off a topical, satirical spoof on demand. Small wonder he was the most successful operatic composer of the first half of the 19th century. Then, there’s the steak. But Tournedos Rossini is another story