Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges was a busy man. A fixture on the musical scene of eighteenth-century Paris, he might be found seated in the violin section of the orchestra Le Concert des Amateurs; performing the solo part of his many virtuosic violin concertos; directing a theater; or composing a string quartet, a symphony, or an opera. (And this is to say nothing of his astonishingly varied extramusical pursuits as a champion fencer, a soldier, and a political thinker.) Bologne’s atypical status – he was a Black composer in an overwhelmingly white art form, and he was accomplished in both music and myriad other pursuits – means that he is often thought of as a wholly exceptional figure (or as the “Black Mozart,” a moniker that is unsatisfying for its insistence on comparing Bologne to a better-known contemporary, rather than recognizing the individual nature of his creativity). Yet as extraordinary as he may have been, he did not work alone: he was also both a product of, and a key contributor to, a broader French musical scene. The Anonymous Lover – the only one of Bologne’s operas for which a score has survived – offers a window into not just his style as a composer, but also the whole of his immensely multifaceted musical life.
Bologne’s immersion into the world of French musical culture began early. He was born around 1745 in the French colony of Guadeloupe, under circumstances that were then brutally common: his father was a white wealthy planter, and his mother, Nanon, was a teenager enslaved by his father’s family. Before he turned ten, his father brought him to Paris, where he entered into a privileged social sphere. While documentation of this stage of his life is sparse, he likely
studied composition with François-Joseph Gossec and violin with Antonio Lolli, both eminent musicians in their respective fields. His talent particularly impressed Gossec, who dedicated a set of string trios to his “brilliant” student. Bologne joined Gossec’s orchestra as a violinist and moved up through the ranks, becoming concertmaster and then director. In this capacity, he came to know a wide range of other instrumentalists; in addition, because the orchestra specialized in contemporary music and premieres, he also became familiar with the latest compositional trends.
Given his work as an orchestral musician and stature as a violinist, it is unsurprising that Bologne’s early compositions were primarily instrumental pieces. He composed several sets of string quartets, making an important contribution to a genre that was still nascent in France. Elegant and fluid, they are also appealingly conversational works, which offer each of the four players a turn in the melodic spotlight. He also wrote a dozen violin concertos, serving as soloist for many of their premieres. These are strikingly virtuosic pieces which give an indication of the skill that Bologne must have possessed as a performer: the ability to toss off bravura passagework, then smoothly shift gears to offer a languid, slow melody.
Bologne turned to opera when he was in his early thirties. The genre held enormous cultural significance in France, and audiences flocked to both tragédie lyrique (stately, dramatic works in five acts, on serious subjects) and the comparatively lighter opéra comique. Its name is easily mistranslated: opéra comique was not necessarily funny or lighthearted, but rather explored a wide range of emotional states. Its themes were often socially relevant: reworkings of historical events with clear contemporary significance, for instance, or commentary on the divisions among social classes. It interspersed music with spoken dialogue, allowing for substantive plots in which dialogue could propel the action forward, while musical interludes enabled characters to explore their more private, interior feelings in song.
The Anonymous Lover exemplifies opéra comique in its plot, structure, and style. Like many works in the genre, it celebrates the virtues of characters of humble social status. As the noble-born Léontine and her devoted friend Valcour dance around the topic of their obvious-to-everyone-else love for each other, they find inspiration in the romance of Jeannette and Colin, two villagers whose affections are pure and uncomplicated. The opera also traverses a wide emotional range, moving well beyond frothy comedy. The circumstances which facilitate Léontine’s distress regarding the identity of her anonymous lover, and Valcour’s self-tormenting reluctance to reveal his feelings, may be faintly ridiculous, but Bologne’s music imbues the characters’ sentiments with real weight.
Take, for example, Léontine’s Act II ariette, “Du tendre amour” (“Of Tender Love”). In a lengthy spoken section, she finally agrees to meet the man who has professed his admiration of her through gifts and letters. But then she finds herself deeply conflicted. When she begins to sing, she does so gracefully, her elegant but straightforward phrases evoking the “defenses” that she has built up against love’s power. Yet when she muses upon the Cupid-like “arrows” which threaten those defenses, she breaks into florid melismas, illustrating the irrepressibility of her emotions. The ariette’s middle section is agitated, with chromatic harmonies conveying the unraveling of Léontine’s resolve. When, as necessitated by the ariette’s da capo structure, she returns to the music of the opening section, her earlier emotional wavering takes on new significance: we can hear the enduring tenuousness of her decision, and wonder if she will change her mind yet again. Although it is easy to laugh at the plot’s silly antics, Bologne’s music insists that we take Léontine’s feelings seriously – that we make fun of the situation, but not of her.
The eminent musicologist Dominique-René de Lerma once observed that Bologne’s music was “totally French,” and as a piece which perfectly embodies key characteristics of eighteenth-century opéra comique, The Anonymous Lover fits this description. But it is worth thinking further about what “totally French” means with respect to a Black composer who – before he was a superstar of Parisian musical culture – was a Caribbean-born child of French colonialism. The question is particularly relevant to Bologne’s work in opera, given that this was a musical realm in which he experienced direct racism: in 1777, a few years before he composed The Anonymous Lover, his candidacy to become director of the Académie Royale de Musique (later the Paris Opéra) was blocked by singers who refused to work under a Black man’s leadership.
To be sure, Bologne’s music does not directly address his biography. His enslaved mother, journey from Guadeloupe to Paris, and racial identity are not subjects of his compositions, in The Anonymous Lover or elsewhere. (In fact, given that more recent operas by Black composers are often expected to address culturally or biographically specific themes, it is interesting to consider how Bologne’s works depart from that norm.) Yet the opera may nonetheless offer insight into how Bologne understood French society and, perhaps, his place within it. Léontine shares Bologne’s insider-outsider status: despite her high social position, she is also an independent woman in a male-dominated world. The association is further strengthened in that her music, the most technically challenging in the opera, recalls the virtuosic violin concertos that Bologne wrote and premiered himself. More broadly, while the opera is not unusual in representing people of different social classes, it is compelling to wonder what these portrayals might have meant to a composer who was the product of a profoundly unequal relationship between an enslaved mother and a father made wealthy by the system of slavery.
The Anonymous Lover is not an overtly political opera, but, like all operas, it elucidates much about the people and place who created it. It is a showcase for Bologne’s remarkable talents as a composer, which were indelibly shaped by his experience as a violinist, love of
instrumental music, and immersion in the world of French composition. On a more oblique level, it may also illuminate his perspective on the social arrangements which shaped his world. To contemporary audiences, it offers not only a delightful operagoing experience, but also a reminder of how much we can still learn about – and from – music of the past.
By Lucy Caplan