Édouard Manet’s A Bar at the Folies-Bergère (1882)

Édouard Manet is thought of as a lead­ing light of the Impres­sion­ists, but actu­al­ly, although he was asso­ci­at­ed with them and was admired by Mon­et and Renoir, he nev­er actu­al­ly exhib­it­ed at any of the Impres­sion­ist Exhi­bi­tions in Paris. He was more of a pre­cur­sor to the new era of artis­tic impres­sion­ism, and still had a foot plant­ed firm­ly in real­ism. His ear­ly work was, how­ev­er, con­tro­ver­sial, and he scan­dalised crit­ics and pub­lic alike, most notably with Le Déje­uner sur l’herbe and Olympia (both 1863), but even these were mod­elled on old clas­si­cal mas­ter­pieces: Giorgione’s Pas­toral Con­cert (1509) and Titian’s Venus of Urbino (1538) respec­tive­ly. Let’s have a quick look and see if you can spot, in the mind of a nine­teenth cen­tu­ry purist, the ele­ments of Manet’s work that trans­formed ele­gant clas­si­cism into lewd mod­ernism:

How­ev­er, the sub­ject of this blog is actu­al­ly the Manet that is arguably the most recognisable…the cel­e­brat­ed A Bar at the Folies-Bergère. The Folies Bergère was the most famous of Paris’s café-con­cert halls and was not­ed at this time for its new-fan­gled elec­tric lights. We see the frontal image of a bar­maid look­ing out at us from behind her counter, and behind her a huge mir­ror in which we see reflect­ed the back of the bar­maid along with the scene that she her­self is observ­ing. There are the mem­bers of the audi­ence, watch­ing the show, and indeed an ele­ment of the show itself: the legs of the trapeze artist which appear in the very top-left cor­ner of the pic­ture.

The woman behind the bar was actu­al­ly a real per­son, known as Suzon, who worked at the Folies Bergère dur­ing the ear­ly 1880s, and whom Manet paint­ed in his stu­dio. The gen­tle­man at the bar was Manet’s neigh­bour. The bot­tles, fruit and vase of flow­ers arranged on the counter are repli­cat­ed with all the pre­ci­sion of a still life paint­ing, and inter­est­ing to note – for such a French-feel­ing paint­ing — the bot­tles of British beer: yes, Bass Pale Ale of all things! The loose British con­nec­tion is main­tained: this famous paint­ing is held not in Paris but at the Cour­tauld Gallery, Lon­don.

Édouard Manet

Giacomo Puccini’s Madama Butterfly (1904)

Last year my fam­i­ly and I went to see Puccini’s Madama But­ter­fly per­formed at the Roy­al Opera House. I should men­tion I sup­pose that it was the live stream­ing we attend­ed, at Leeds’s Cot­tage Road Cin­e­ma, rather than the actu­al event, lest you think your blog­ger can actu­al­ly afford to ponce about in the cap­i­tal, with fam­i­ly in tow, and attend operas at £175 a tick­et. Any­way, attend the live stream­ing we did, and a com­fort­able and rel­a­tive­ly uncost­ly affair it was.

Operas are not exact­ly unknown for their explo­ration of trag­ic themes, but you would be hard pressed to find a more per­fect exam­ple of tragedy as expressed in music than Puccini’s mas­ter­piece. Indeed, it was a per­son­al favourite of the com­pos­er him­self who described it as ‘the most felt and most expres­sive opera that I have con­ceived’. This pro­duc­tion was direct­ed by Anto­nio Pap­pano (who first appeared on my radar in 2015 when I caught his excel­lent TV series about opera singers, Clas­si­cal Voic­es) and fea­tured Alban­ian sopra­no Ermonela Jaho in the star­ring role.

Madama But­ter­fly is set in Japan at the start of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, and tells the tale of the teenage geisha Cio-Cio San (“But­ter­fly”) and her doomed mar­riage to Pinker­ton, an Amer­i­can naval lieu­tenant. To Pinker­ton, the mar­riage is one of con­ve­nience and short­ly after the wed­ding he leaves Japan. Three years lat­er, But­ter­fly is still wait­ing for him, and despite her maid Suzu­ki endeav­our­ing to con­vince her that Pinker­ton is not com­ing back, But­ter­fly won’t listen…and just that dogged belief alone, against all ratio­nale, is enough to break your heart. We know only too well, as does Suzu­ki, that he’s not com­ing back.

Actu­al­ly Pinker­ton does come back, but not to But­ter­fly. Instead, he is – cru­el blow! — with his new Amer­i­can wife, and from this point on, Puc­ci­ni focus­es ever deep­er on the heartache that cul­mi­nates in But­ter­fly com­mit­ting sui­cide.

I have select­ed the elec­tri­fy­ing Un bel dì vedremo (One fine day we’ll see) to show­case Ermonela Jaho’s (and Puc­cini’s) for­mi­da­ble artis­tic skill. Jaho, as But­ter­fly, deliv­ers this rav­ish­ing and pathos-filled solo from a deep well of emo­tion. As she stead­fast­ly sings of her belief that Pinker­ton will return to her, we can hard­ly watch, know­ing that tragedy awaits! It’s a great per­for­mance…

Ermonela Jaho