Camille Claudel: Into the Fire • Program Note
The heart-wrenching French film Camille Claudel has haunted me since I first saw it in 1989. Isabel Adjani’s magnificent, complex portrayal of the French sculptor opposite Gérard Depardieu’s ferocious Rodin struck me as extraordinarily theatrical; something I wanted one day to explore through music.
Claudel (1864-1943) was an artistic genius at a time when a woman was rarely taken seriously on her own. The famed French art critic Octave Mirbeau described her as “a rebellion against nature: a woman of genius!” Claudel knew she was a genius, but it was only in connection with a man that she would be known: Rodin, her mentor, teacher and lover. She was called “Rodin’s muse,” “Rodin’s protégée,” “Rodin’s mistress,” “Rodin’s whore” — but hardly ever her own person. Their stormy and ill-fated romance, warring egos, clashing genius, her bold life choices, his broken promises, and the mental illness that would lead to her isolation and confinement in a remote asylum — all of this is part of her tragic story. But only part. For there are her sculptures: sublime, beautiful, inspired, aching, they dance and sing to us through time. Only a relatively few survive, for she destroyed much of her work before her family sent her away to the asylum; and there, she never sculpted again.
I had been seriously considering an opera based on Claudel when in 2010, Ruth Felt, president of San Francisco Performances, asked me if I would be interested in creating a new work to celebrate the Alexander String Quartet’s 30th anniversary. Knowing I am primarily an opera composer, Ruth also said we could invite a singer to participate. I called my friend, the great mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato and asked her about the project. “Yes, please,” was her reply. Then, I contacted wonderful Gene Scheer, my frequent collaborator, to see if he would write new texts and he enthusiastically signed on, as well. Instead of a full opera, a theatrical song cycle would be our first foray into the story of Camille Claudel.The cycle takes place the day Camille is to be taken to the asylum.
As dawn breaks (Awakening), she wakes to the strange reality of what is about to happen and addresses her sculptures. The powerful, rugged bust of Rodin is first, followed by the lyrical La Valse — a sensuous dance of love and death.
Shakuntala, according to Hindu mythology, was the bride of King Dushyanta. Dreaming of her husband one day, she inadvertently offended a powerful rishi, or sage, whose curse was that she would be forgotten by the one she dreamed of. For many years, she and her child were banished and isolated until the king was awakened to his error and sought her out to beg forgiveness. Claudel’s sculpture depicts the difficult, emotional moment of their reunion.
La Petite Châtelaine is a tender, radiant portrait of innocence. In 1892, Claudel reluctantly aborted Rodin’s child — likely at his behest — and ended their affair. This sculpture dates from shortly after, when Claudel began to sense a growing paranoia: a fear that Rodin was trying to steal her ideas and destroy her career.
The Gossips represents a real turning point for Claudel. While Rodin’s sculptures and fame became more massive, hers became more intimate and small. Her paranoia led her to believe that she was being followed and persecuted by “la bande à Rodin” (or “Rodin’s gang”). Here four women whisper and gossip in a corner. About whom?
L’Age Mûr (“Maturity” or “Destiny”) is a large bronze sculpture in the Musée d’Orsay. It depicts three figures: an older man being led away by an ancient woman while
a younger woman, on her knees, tries desperately to reach out to him. This also dates from about the time of Claudel’s abortion and Rodin’s refusal to leave his long-time lover, Rose Beuret.
In 1913, on her mother and brother’s order, Claudel was taken to an asylum. To avoid any more scandals, her brother, the diplomat and playwright Paul Claudel,
had her confined in isolation. Though her caregivers insisted that she did not need
to be thus confined, that what she needed was society with people, her mother and sister never visited her, and Paul only every few years. In 1929, her closest friend from their student days in Paris came to visit (Epilogue). Jessie Lipscomb and her husband were on their way to Italy and decided to seek out Camille. They found her quiet, reflective, and dear. The photograph Jessie’s husband took of them is the last evidence we have of Camille Claudel.
Musically, the cycle is tonally based with a strong sense of dance throughout, especially a strong undercurrent of 3⁄4 time. Debussy’s G minor string quartet is a primary source of inspiration. The composer was a close friend of Claudel and kept a copy of her sculpture La Valse on his mantle. There are a few recurring themes, most of which are permutations of the music from Camille’s first line: “Last night, I went to sleep completely naked” — a line from an early letter she wrote to Rodin.
Camille Claudel: Into the Fire was completed in December 2011 and received its premiere at the Herbst Theater in San Francisco on February 4, 2012. The chamber version of the work was commissioned by San Francisco Performances and generously underwritten by a gift from Linda and Stuart Nelson. During rehearsals for the premiere, Kern and Marnie Wildenthal — my good friends from Dallas —remarked that they thought the piece cried out to be orchestrated. I heard what they meant and my ear was piqued to explore orchestral timbres to dive even deeper into the big emotional palette of the songs.
Shortly after, René Mandel introduced me to Joana Carneiro and we talked about taking these songs to the next level with the wonderful Berkeley Symphony. Once again, Linda and Stuart Nelson stepped forward to commission the orchestration — and Kern and Marnie stepped forward to underwrite the performance of our soloist, the luminous and radiant mezzo-soprano Sasha Cooke.
The orchestration includes single winds and harp in a fragile balance with strings, brass and percussion. I chose this to reflect the precarious emotional balance that exists throughout the piece: Camille knows her world is changing drastically —knows something is terribly wrong — but has no way to control or change it. The orchestral version was completed in December 2014.
Program Notes provided by Berkeley Symphony