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