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Werner Egk

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Der Revisor
Comic Opera in Five Acts based on a Text by Nikolai Gogol

Douglas Nasrawi, Nikolai Galkin, Michael Dries, Janet Walker, Cornelia Zink, Nikola David, Felipe Peiró, Markus Hauser, Dimitri Ivashchenko, Juri Svatenko, Katerina Rauer, Kathrin Koch, Gerhard Werlitz
Philharmonic Orchestra Augsburg
Hans Norbert Bihlmaier, conductor

Werner Egk’s comic opera Der Revisor premiered in 1957. Egk brilliantly condenses Nikolai Gogol’s comedy to create an opera score whose wittiness and acuity is equal to the original in every way. Composed as a number opera in the traditional opera buffa manner, the music bubbles over with ideas, illustrative moments, onomatopoeic effects and stylistic parodies, e.g. from jazz and sacred music. The work’s basic “Russian” color is created by harmonic references to Russian folkloric music.

The CD ROM contains extensive information on the opera’s environment and the events leading up to its creation as well as on the composer’s life and works. In addition to biographical material, it provides examples of Werner Egk’s artistic work as well as fotos from the Augsburg production. The material is rounded out by two radio interviews that Werner Egk gave to the Bavarian Radio Broadcasting Company in 1956 and 1976.



Werner Egk: Der Revisor
(“The Government Inspector”)



Werner Egk, the Bavarian-Swabian composer usually mentioned in the same breath as Carl Orff, has come to be known primarily as an opera and ballet composer. With astonishing skill and versatility he has made use of the most diverse themes and dramatic poems, transforming them into a language of his own for the musical theatre. A series of seven major operatic works began in 1932 with Columbus, conceived as a radio opera for Bavarian Radio. Werner Egk’s breakthrough came, however, not with this experimental work, somewhere between opera and oratorio, and tailored to the the new medium of radio, but with the opera first performed in Frankfurt in 1935, Die Zaubergeige. This richly-coloured, three-dimensional and cherfully folk-influenced stage piece was followed by a treatment of the enigmatic figure of Peer Gynt, based on Ibsen. The Berlin première of Peer Gynt was to remain almost its only performance, since the opera soon aroused the displeasure of the National Socialist authorities. The work was not to resurface until the 1950s, when Werner Egk was already busy with another literary source, W.B. Yeats’s Countess Cathleen. The moralising background to Yeats’s re-told and dramatized Irish saga stimulated Egk to produce his most committed and heavily symbolic opera, Irische Legende (1955), which he himself readily describes as his most important work. In contrast to the realistic images and moments of metaphysical vision in Irische Legende, Egk turned to comedy from world literature with his adaptation of Gogol’s The Government Inspector. Gogol’s comedy, still much-played today, was written in two months in 1835, prompted by a suggestion from his friend Alexander Pushkin. While working on his epic novel Dead Souls he had asked Pushkin to send him a subject with a typically Russian anecdote that he could adapt for a comedy. Pushkin apparently responded to the request with a story from his own experience. While in a small Russian town on one of his journeys, on account of his city clothes and St. Petersburg looks he had been taken for one of those government inspectors sent out by Tsar Nikolaus I to exercise stricter control over provincial administrative bodies. There were, however, other examples in contemporary Russian literature of mistakes arising from the presumed rank of a traveller. For example, The Stranger from the Capital (1827) by the Ukrainian writer Grigorij Kwitka-Osnowjanenko bears a strong resemblance to Gogol’s comedy, with the difference that the “stranger” is from the outset a deliberate swindler. Gogol’s Chlestakow, on the other hand, does not deliberately set out to deceive. Gogol might also have found models for corrupt nepotism in a provincial backwater in August von Kotzebue’s comedy Die deutschen Kleinstädter, which was speedily translated into Russian. The Russian brand of political satire, too, may well have provided a rich vein of material on the depravity, fondness for bribes and drunkenness of civil servants. An outstanding example of this is Vassily Kapnist’s comedy of provincial courts, The Bullies.

From Gogol’s text Werner Egk devised a libretto in which the throng of events and characters is reduced to a minimum. He described his working method graphically in conversation: “While taking a cure in Wörishofen, I first learned the piece thoroughly. Then I wrote out the content and characters of each scene in capitals on big sheets of wrapping paper, which to the chambermaid’s irritation I stuck on doors, walls and cupboards. Then, once I had made the content totally viewable, I struck out repetitions, simplified, reduced, fused related characters together until (after several necessary emptyings of the wastepaper baskets) I had arrived at a clearly comprehensible layout of the plot.” In this fashion he reduced the twenty-four characters of the original play to thirteen singers, with one male and two female dancers for the interpolated dream ballet in which the inspector represents the dream-object of the mayor’s wife and daughter. Gogol’s bribery scene in the fourth act is set by Egk for instruments only, accompanying a pantomime of eloquent gestures. Nonetheless, Egk succeeds in retaining the humour and vivid characterization of Gogol’s figures. In the programme note which he wrote to accompany the première at the 1957 Schwetzingen Festival, Egk gives the core of Gogol’s “tragicomedy” of human stupidity, corruption and abuse of office a slant towards a portrayal of the human condition: “If the official scribblers had been right, and Gogol’s work was no more than a political satire, it would have perished, together with the society it satirized. It outlived both its time and its critics, however, because through its contemporary characters it portrays humanity itself, with its ever-present weaknesses, which are not dependent on any period.” For Egk, the most valuable feature of Gogol’s comedy would seem to be that “its characters are not merely remote, separate creatures who arouse our laughter or revulsion; at the same time they arouse our understanding, our fellowfeeling, even our sympathy.” Egk’s understanding of the comedy is most notably evident in the figure of the mayor, whose great final aria sounds a tragic background note of despair, giving the comedy a depth of perspective.

In formal terms, Egk, in composing Der Revisor, was guided by the principles of the “number opera” typical of opera buffa, with through-composed numbers and secco recitative. For the listener, it is hardly noticeable that the opera is laid out in 22 sections, packed together in forms ranging from rapid parlando to arias, duets, quartets etc. The colourful orchestral part is of chamber-musical, one might almost say sketchy transparency, and Egk, as a practical man of the theatre, frequently underlines the situation comedy of individual scenes. Thus we hear in places in this highly pictorial score the slamming of doors, face-slapping, jazzily distorted march fragments, parodied church music in the form of a pathetic chorale as the soup is brought in, a lament for the widows, and a good deal more. Parody triumphs when Chlestakow, that would-be man of the world, bewitches the two ladies of the house with an original French chanson by Charles Simon Favart. The high point in the succession of artfully constructed ensemble numbers is without doubt the a capella nonet in the fifth act. The most important element in bringing the music to life is the ever forward-driving, throbbing rhythm. In this connection, catchy hammered- out repetitions à la Carl Orff can be found alongside spiky wind effects that recall Stravinsky. To achieve a specific musical colour, Egk naturally weaves echoes of Russian folk music into his score, but limits himself to imitating the typical Russian basic tetrachordal structure for his melodic forms: “the intended relationship to Russian folklore would be achieved by the frequent use of tetrachordal melody, free of modulation, built up from the characteristic seventone scale formed from two linked tetrachords, but also by frequent reference to Russian song and dance forms …” (Egk) With one exception, Egk avoids actual quotation of Russian original melodies. Maria’s folksong A birch tree stood in the field is a direct quotation, and was used by Tchaikovsky in his Fourth Symphony.

The première of Der Revisor, commissioned by Südwestfunk for the Schwetzingen Festival, took place in the rococo theatre there on 5 May 1957, in a production by Günther Rennert and under the musical direction of the composer. Productions of this ensemble piece on a variety of stages large and small quickly followed, and were taken as evidence that opera buffa and comic opera, so often pronounced dead, still had a place in the 20th century. From a musical point of view, one may suspect that a work like Hans Werner Henze’s opera, Der junge Lord (1965) was obviously influenced by Egk’s formal principles. The multiplicity of musical tendencies at work in the theatre of the late 1950s may be clearly seen from works which also had their premières in 1957. Giselher Klebe’s opera Die Räuber stands alongside Wolfgang Fortner’s Bluthochzeit and Hindemith’s Harmonie der Welt. In Zurich the first stage production of Schönberg’s Moses und Aron took place, and in the same year, Rolf Liebermann’s new version of L’Ecole des Femmes had its première. Against this background, Werner Egk’s musical comedy Der Revisor may justly claim a place of its own within the development of music theatre since 1945.



The Plot

Act 1
“Things are serious – there’s an inspector on the way”. This piece of news from a friend sets off consternation in the mayor’s house of a small and remote Russian provincial town. Uncertainty among the town’s functionaries is made worse by the fact that the impending visitor will arrive incognito, as a private person in ordinary clothes, to cast his eye over the district and the town. Since everyone has skeletons in the cupboard, the mayor, the charity commissioner and the judge are united in a decision that suitable measures must be taken. The postmaster is to be asked to “slightly open” incoming and outgoing letters to pick up any denunciations of the functionaries. In tumble Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky to say that they have seen a young man in the inn who, according to the landlord, is a civil servant from St. Petersburg. His name is Chlestakov, he has been lodging there for three weeks, but paid nothing. Given the oddity of such an arrival, Dobchinsky and Bobchinsky suspect the stranger might be a government inspector. The mayor is alarmed to discover that the gaol’s prisoners have had no food for the past three weeks, that the sergeant’s widow has been flogged, and that total drunkenness and filth disfigure the town’s image. He decides to go off to the inn himself, with Dobchinsky, and gives instructions to get the poorhouse and the courts into some kind of order, and have the streets swept as far as the inn.

Scarcely have they all gone their separate ways when Anna, the mayor’s wife, and her daughter Marja arrive. Anna wants to know more about this inspector, and sends her maid Avdotja off hard on her husband’s heels, to take a good look through the window of the inn at the stranger’s eyes, beard and nose so that she can give Anna a report. Marja, on the other hand, is reprimanded for pointlessly wasting her time in front of the mirror, since the postmaster wants nothing to do with her, anyway.

Act 2
In a shabby inn room, Ossip, the servant, complains that his master, Chlestakov roams about the world, fritters his money away, and lets himself be fleeced by anyone who comes along. Now here they both are, stuck in this inn, and almost dying from hunger, because funds from Chlestakov’s father have dried up. The landlord is threatening them with the police if they do not settle their bill. At Ossip’s entreaty and with the assurance that the bill will be settled later, the landlord sends in one last meal. The twocourse “menu” provokes a storm of complaints from Chlestakov about the stinking, watery soup, in which chicken feathers are floating, and the brick-hard bread. Ossip foresees the arrival of the police, and Chlestakov expects proceedings from the landlord. The mayor enters, and Chlestakov, believing he is about to be arrested, complains at the inadequacy of such accomodation for a civil servant from St. Petersburg, and threatens with “the Minister”. Alarmed, the mayor thinks the “inspector” has already discovered the sorry state of affairs in the district, and begs for mercy for himself and his family. Finally, he attempts to buy his way out of trouble with a bribe of 400 roubles, and invites Chlestakov to take up residence in his house. A note for his wife Anna is quickly penned on the back of the landlord’s bill before both leave for an inspection of the poorhouse.

Act 3
Anna, with Marja, waits at home for her husband, and for what news he may have of the stranger. Dobchinsky appears with the mayor’s message, and is immediately showered with all kinds of questions about the looks and standing of the civil servant. All is immediately made ready for the arrival of the important guest, in the course of which an argument breaks out between mother and daughter, culminating in Marja being sent off with a resounding box on the ears. Then Ossip arrives with his master’s suitcase, and immediately enquires about the next meal; he is followed by Chlestakov, the mayor and the rest. Chlestakov, only too ready to fill his assigned rôle of honoured guest, professes himself satisfied with the state of the poorhouse, and in particular with the splendid fish breakfast they had there.

When the mayor introduces his wife and daughter, Chlestakov immediately begins to flirt with Anna, and with a couple of French compliments creates the impression of a man of the world. As he lowers the level in the wine-bottle, he drifts into increasingly extravagant boasts about his supposed reputation and his influence in every branch of St. Petersburg society, from literature to high politics. Eventually he collapses in a drunken stupor and is carried off to bed. While the gentlemen withdraw, Anna and Marja doze off, and give themselves up to dreams in which Chlestakov is the object of their secret desires: Marja visualizes herself courted by Chlestakov, and as a bride at his side; Anna’s flirtation, in contrast, culminates in a tempest of passion which she tries unsuccessfully to disguise from herself.

The mayor returns and asks Ossip about his master’s little ways. Since he, too, appears to be a willing player in this game, Marja decides to give him a taste of her singing, and decides to practise the folk-song The Birch. Meanwhile, the mayor gives orders that the square in front of his house should be cleared of irksome complainants and grousers.

Act 4
The functionaries are discussing how they might totally win over the government inspector for their purposes, and decide on bribery. As Chlestakov wakes, the judge, the postmaster, the charity commissioner, Dobchinsky and Bobchinsky enter, and shower him with bundles of banknotes. Chlestakov takes them all, and decides to tell his St. Petersburg friend Christian of his adventure. Ossip, who is to take the letter to the post, urges departure before the deception is discovered and the real inspector arrives. A wagon is ordered for “urgent government business”, as the sergeant’s widow and the locksmith’s wife try to get in to complain about the mayor and his illegal goings-on. As evidence of the flogging, the widow displays her bare bottom. As Ossip returns from the post with a basketful of letters of complaint, Chlestakov decides that enough is enough. He has the women thrown out, and dumps the basket out of the window.

Suddenly Marja arrives, and Chlestakov woos her with a French song. As they draw nearer to each other, Anna comes between them, and is herself now wooed by Chlestakov. Now it is Marja who is upsetting the idyll. Without a moment’s hesitation Chlestakov retrieves the situation by asking the mother for Marja’s hand in marriage. The mayor stumbles in, enraged, and protests his innocence in the misfortunes of the locksmith’s wife and the widow, well known in the town as a pair of liars. He is surprised by a turn of events which will have him signing his daughter’s marriage contract. With the excuse that before the marriage he must visit an old, rich great-uncle, Chlestakov takes his departure, but not before pocketing a small gift of travel expenses from the mayor.

Act 5
News of the impending wedding has spread like wildfire. All have gathered in front of the mayor’s house to give the parents and bride their congratulations on the happy event. Suddenly they notice that the bridegroom is missing. The mayor announces self-importantly that Chlestakov has had to leave at short notice on urgent family business, to do with an inheritance. The postmaster comes up with a letter of Chlestakov’s that he had opened “just as a precaution”. The letter confirms, without a shadow of doubt, that this was no government official. Furthermore, it mercilessly makes public the stupidity and bigotry of the provincial administration. For the first time in his thirtyyear term of office the mayor sees himself made to look a fool. Finally, everyone falls on Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky, who first set off on the false trail of a supposed government inspector. At this point the mayor’s servant Mischka appears, to announce the tidings that a civil servant has arrived from St. Petersburg, duly armed with letter of authority, and would like to see everyone…