Bizet’s name, ever since the early (though by no means instant) success of his last opera and major bestseller Carmen, has become synonymous with the idea of catchy tunes and exotic soundworlds. That’s the composer who is with us most of the time. You needn’t be surprised, then, if some of his lesser-known operatic works are also, whenever possible, read along the same line – works falling into that unique species of “failed pieces” so often trapping scholars and critics alike into depressing arguments about compositional deficiencies or precursory experiments to later, grander musical achievements. Les Pêcheurs de perles, first performed to good audience but modest critical success at Paris’ Théâtre Lyrique in 1863, in many ways comes in handy to support Bizet’s popular Orientalist image.
Based on a libretto by Eugène Cormon and Michel Carré set in a fishing village in ancient Ceylon, it tells the story of a priestess torn between love and her vows; two men who are both friends and love rivals; and a community concerned about the possible fallout of the god Brahma’s fury over the propitiating virgin breaking her religious oath. The plot as developed in Cormon and Carré’s libretto may not be very credible, yet when dressed with music it provides a host of situations in which to display some of the fondest harmonic and orchestral subtleties – all of which are nicely brought to the fore in the current Opera Holland Park production by the City of London Sinfonia under the young baton of Matthew Waldren.
It may strike one, then, that despite the compelling exotic subject and Bizet’s numerous hints of shimmering Oriental music, the opera was in its time mostly discussed for its (then) alarming mixture of varied musical styles. Bizet’s score is indeed a melting pot of 19th-century French, German and Italian idioms: pages fraught with rare harmonic colours inspired by non-Western soundscapes alternate with bel canto fiorituras, as well as with passages where an unexpected rhythmic verve suddenly makes you hear treasures of early Verdi. I like, in this sense, to think of such stylistic amalgam as the “exotic” in the opera: as the feature that may still lend Bizet’s work today (and have lent it in 1863) a compelling sense of “otherness” – of diversity, of peculiarity.