Artaban

The author / director’s concept

The story of Artaban is apocryphal, non-canonized, it belongs to a lesser-known strand of Christianity rather than to the Bible itself. This Advent-rooted legend can also be linked to Christianity’s mysterious and significant sacred numbers: there are threes, sixes, and twelves, but there are also fours. One may think, for example, of the four Evangelists, and indeed it is possible that not three but four Wise Men – or so-called Magi – set out to find the birthplace of the infant Jesus and pay him homage. Yet this fourth Wise Man is far less well-known. (Meanwhile, let us not forget the curious notion held by some theologians that there were not four, nor even three kings, perhaps only one.)

But let us return to our story, for regardless of its historical basis, it proves highly inspiring. I first heard about Artaban during the COVID Advent of 2021, from a Greek Catholic priest on the radio, and not long afterward I called the Kossuth Prize–winning composer György Selmeczi. He ultimately wrote a one-act opera based on one variant of the theme to be premiered at the Hungarian State Opera later. I, however, envisioned a finely crafted kind of music hovering on the border between film music and a relaxed, contemplative sound world. This version was ultimately composed in record time by my childhood friend, the renowned composer Attila Pacsay, while the dramaturgy and narration testify to the talent of András Almási-Tóth, the OPERA’s artistic director, who is also continuously active as a creator. As I had done back in 1985/86 during the brief life of the Veszprém-based Caranten ensemble that Attila Pacsay and I formed together, I took on the task of writing the song lyrics and attempted to place and direct this “4D radio play” in a special spatial layout.

According to the basic legend, the fourth Wise Man was also a wealthy man from the East, whether a scholar or a king is not essential. What matters far more is that Artaban liquidates all his possessions and uses the money to buy a string of pearls, reasoning that on an Asian journey of that era it would be easy to convert them back into cash. He then sets out to join his three companions. Along the way, however, he continually encounters situations that test his mercy, his willingness to sacrifice, and his kindness: beaten and robbed people, the persecuted, and those living in misery who are in need of help. Artaban helps everyone, devoting time, energy, and even sacrificing one pearl after another. As a result, he arrives neither at the meeting place nor at the birth of Jesus. Instead, thirty-three years later, he reaches Golgotha, beneath the cross. Has he squandered his entire life, and has he truly missed the great spiritual experience, the birth and earthly presence of the Lord Jesus? It may sound Buddhist, yet this is precisely where the explanation reveals itself: in Christianity this interpretation of life’s mission is far older. Was it not the journey itself that mattered, through which Artaban’s life became far more meaningful than if he had simply laid his string of pearls before the manger?

When the idea of creating an Artaban séance took shape, two goals stood before me. On the one hand, I wanted to introduce this instructive and profound story to as many people as possible; on the other, I wanted to create a performance for the Advent season that builds on the experience that although darkness already envelops our afternoons, we nonetheless enter a state of wondrous expectation and joy. According to our intentions, the chamber production titled Artaban will flexibly complement the astonishing operatic “large-scale production line” of the Advent–Christmas–New Year–Epiphany festive season (such as The Nutcracker, Messiah, La bohème, The Magic Flute for Children, Die Fledermaus), while also drawing on perceptions that are usually pushed into the background by our most dominant sense, sight. (“Guard it as the apple of your eye!”) During this one-hour séance, let hearing take the leading role instead of vision: secondary, almost intuitive perception, inward attention.

Szilveszter Ókovács

On the music of Artaban

One of the defining elements of Artaban’s music is the songs, which I composed to texts by Szilveszter Ókovács. The other important pillar is the accompaniment to the narration, which might best be described as a kind of experimental musical texture. In this part of the task, my guiding aim was to create “storytelling” soundscapes unlike anything we have heard before, sounds that are exciting yet still pleasant to the ear. When writing the songs, I drew less from the tradition of classical art song and more from the aesthetic and formal world of works such as Kurt Weill’s The Threepenny Opera and Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story. These also gesture toward lighter genres, while at the same time featuring finely chiselled orchestrations crafted with classical ambition and sung primarily by opera singers. As a result, the piece evokes chamber music-making or a song recital more than an opera. The genre association of a radio play also emerged during the initial discussions, since not only musical but also natural sounds can be heard throughout the storytelling.

Although the accompaniment to the songs is pre-recorded, live instruments appear alongside the live singers and the narrator. Soft, atmospheric music underpins the narration, occasionally highlighting its key moments. It seemed self-evident to me that, given the theme, the period, and the setting (the Middle East), a few characteristic instruments should also be used but only as “spices.” Thus, from time to time, a duduk, a santur, or percussion instruments such as the bendir and the dammam emerge. In its overall effect, the result is intended to be pleasing to the ear, uplifting and thought-provoking for the soul, and – hopefully – cathartic.

Attila Pacsay