Sávitri

Which is stronger—love or death? That’s the question Gustav Holst’s chamber opera Savitri asks and joyfully answers within its half-hour span. Composed in 1908-09 (though not premiered until 1916), it’s one of a small cluster of works including the Hymns from the Rig Veda and The Cloud Messenger that grew out of the English composer’s fascination with Hindu literature and philosophy. Its plot is taken from an episode from the great Sanskrit epic, the Mahabharata. When Sāvitri hears Death calling for her beloved Satyavān, she knows she must outwit him in order to save her husband’s life. The simplicity of the story, with just three characters, is echoed in Holst’s setting, which paints its evocative scene with spare, tip-of-the-brush textures: India imagined through Western ears. Just 12 instrumentalists (two string quartets, double bass and woodwind) accompany the voices, but often leave them exposed in extended unaccompanied passages like the opera’s unusual opening: a striking moment in which we hear Death approaching gradually nearer and nearer. An offstage, wordless chorus of female voices representing “maya” (worldly illusion) supplies an eerie shimmering glow, a sonic veil sometimes draped over the speech-song clarity and lyrical directness of Holst’s vocal writing. English folk-like melodies are combined with more daring harmonic elements to create a strange, distinctive soundworld—one that’s neither familiar nor self-consciously exotic.