Choeur de Chambre de Namur, A nocte temporis, directed by Reinoud Van Mechelen
58:36
Versailles Spectacles CVS163
Member of a family with a long musical association with the French court, Nicolas Clérambault (1676-1749) is today remembered principally as arguably the finest composer of the French secular cantata. However, he was also a distinguished organist who held the post of organist of Saint-Sulpice in Paris from 1715. Commenced in the mid-17th century, the building of the church of Saint-Sulpice (a replacement for a much smaller original church) was not completed until a century later. It is likely that Clérambault’s Te Deum was one of a number of his works given at the lavish opening celebrations in July 1745. Although designated ‘à grand choeur’ and according to reports originally performed by 100 musicians, it is overall less ostentatiously spectacular than familiar examples of the hymn by Lully and Charpentier. While the scoring includes the expected trumpets and drums, they are used sparingly, while in keeping with the custom for French settings the work is colourfully multi-sectional, contrasting solo passages with full choral passages. The composer makes the hub of the work the verse ‘Tibi Cherubim et Seraphim’ (To thee Cherubim and Seraphim), at once the most extended and elaborate passage in the work. Opening with the ethereal high voices of the angels’ praise of God, the section segues into dramatic contrast with the outburst of trumpets and drums at ‘Pleni sunt caeli’ (Heaven and earth are full). Other notable moments include the exceptionally lovely choral devotional passage at ‘Te ergo’ (We therefore pray).
While not aspiring to the use of 100 performers – the forces are fewer than half that number – the intimacy of so much of the writing makes for a highly satisfying reading of the work. The many solos and duets, often involving quite florid melisma, are well taken by a fine team, with haute-contre Reinoud Van Mechelen, tenor Guy Cutting and bass Lisandro Abadie particularly distinguishing themselves. The choral singing and orchestral playing are equally satisfying.
If the Te Deum is something of a discovery, I’m tempted to say that here it must give way to an even more exceptional work. As French Baroque music expert Catherine Cessac notes in her customarily valuable notes, L’Histoire de la femme adultère is something of an anomaly, an oratorio after the style of those of Charpentier, composed well after such works had passed into history. Like those of Charpentier (and his model Carissimi), it employs a narrator to tell a biblical story, in this case one of the most touching of those involving Christ’s ministry on earth. The story of the adulterous woman comes from the Gospel of St John, and tells of Christ’s forgiveness of a woman accused of adultery, a crime for which she would of course have been put to death. The story revolves around the famous words by which He puts her accusers to shame – ‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone’. Unsurprisingly, Clérambault’s setting puts these words at the heart of the oratorio, with a sublime passage of wonderment for the Narrator and chorus. But the work’s remarkable quality is apparent from the outset, a darkly sombre ‘simphonie’. In addition to the Narrator (Abadie) there are roles for Jesus (Van Mechelen), the Adulterous Woman, beautifully sung with sensitive insight by Gwendoline Blondeel, and two Jewish accusers.
Anyone yet to discover Clérambault is urged to hear this exceptional recording. Then go on to explore some of the composer’s secular cantatas, starting with Orphée.
Brian Robins
