Yesterday I mentioned that the late Richard Wilbur wrote the lyrics for at least two of the musical numbers in Leonard Bernstein‘s operetta Candide. Further investigation revealed that the smorgasbord of lyricists who worked on this enigmatic work he was the entrée with John Latouche, Dorothy Parker, Lillian Hellman (who also wrote the libretto) and Bernstein himself providing side dishes, and the odd garnish. At one point James Agate contributed material which went unused. In subsequent metamorphoses additional lyrics have been provided by Stephen Sondheim, John Mauceri, and John Wells.
After it’s initial Broadway failure in 1956 – a failure attributed in large part to Hellman’s libretto – the piece underwent a rewrite for off-Broadway by Hugh Wheeler in the 1970s. This was later expanded for use by opera companies – including a production at Stratford in 1978. A further adaptation was made under Bernstein’s supervision for what he considered the “final version” in 1989. However Wheeler’s book was to be rewritten once again by John Caird for the National Theatre in 1999. And so it continues – more than 60 years after it’s premiere is seems that Candide is still a work in progress.
Notably little of what Wilbur contributed has been altered in any of these versions including the two numbers I mentioned yesterday.
Any coloratura soprano worth her high E-flat (there are three of them) from Edita Guberova to Madeline Kahn (yes my dear our beloved Madeline was a trained opera singer) has sung – and in some cases recorded – “Glitter and Be Gay”. However wonderful they may have been nothing can beat the lady for whom it was written. Here’s the late Barbara Cook as Cunegonde bemoaning her very well-kept state!
Voltaire’s novelette ends with Candide rejecting his tutor Pangloss’s insistence that all the trials and tribulations have turned out for the best by necessity. Instead he simply insists that “we must cultivate our garden” (il faut cultiver notre jardin). From this phrase Wilbur and Bernstein build an inspiring and inspirted choral finale that just avoids being maudlin – strangely the only performance I have ever heard where the scales are tipped in that direction is conducted by Bernstein at his most sanctimonious. There are several performances out there but I think this one from the BBC Proms manages to capture all the words and avoid any hint of sentimentality.
We’re neither pure, nor wise, nor good
We’ll do the best we know.
We’ll build our house and chop our wood
And make our garden grow…
And make our garden grow.
Richard Wilbur (1921-2017)
On this day in 1648: Boston Shoemakers form the first North American labor organization.