Atys Goes for Baroque

It was a hit in 1676. When it was revived in Paris two years ago, audiences went wild again. Now Atys comes to New York's Brooklyn Academy of Music for four performances, and we can see just why the Sun King was so pleased. Splendor is everywhere, and the action takes place at a royal court as sumptuous and formal as Louis XIV's own (an effect reinforced by having the chorus dressed like the denizens of Versailles).

Jean-Baptiste Lully was an Italian who moved to France at an early age and became the king's favorite composer; he wrote music for every occasion, and while he was at it he invented the French opera. The result in Atys is lyrical, grand, occasionally poignant, and written in a form not seen again until Richard Wagner: unlike most eighteenthand nineteenth-century opera, Atys is not divided between the recitative, which you had to sit through, and the arias, during which you stopped chatting with your neighbor and actually listened. Instead, the melodies flow continuously, as much of an enchantment to the ear as the spectacle's sets, costumes, and dances are to the eye.

This does not exclude deep emotion, however. Atys is a story of love denied, and it ends very badly indeed—all for our greater pleasure, it turns out, since this gave Lully a reason to write some dramatic, moving music. Louis XIV himself invariably sobbed during Atys's last act, and that we should have a chance to do so ourselves is due entirely to William Christie, who rediscovered the opera and directed its Paris and New York revivals. He deserves thanks for an evening that allows us, uniquely, to feel as privileged as the Sun King.

OLIVIER BERNIER