Maybe one of those teeny French lemon tarts that has about six ingredients and the flavors just explode in your mouth, one after the other-the buttery flavor!-the rich lemon curd!-the sugar mixed with lemon juice that forms an adorable shell of icing-the tiny dollop of whipping cream and even tinier nub of lemon peel-its artful, compact size-oh, yes, to it all! (Particularly if you’re in Paris and you’ve just bought one at a patisserie that had a line out the door which means you found the best of the best. It’s so pure, the only thing you can compare it to is the finest of champagnes, the way the first sip makes you feel. The “Flower Duet” is utterly transporting.
In Act I, early on, Lakmé and her servant, Mallika, go down to the water’s edge and sing a duet as they bathe and collect flowers. I’ve been aware of the beautiful aria from the British Airways and Ghirardelli chocolate commercials in that I-know-it-but-not-its-name-or-its-composer way, but I didn’t figure out until recently that it’s taken from Delibes’ 1883 opera, Lakmé. The opera, inspired by Pierre Loti’s novel, Le Mariage de Loti, is set in 19th century British-ruled India and revolves around Lakmé, the daughter of a Brahmin priest. Initially, I only knew composer Léo Delibes for his ballet scores, the 1870 Coppélia and his 1876 Sylvia. What is so irresistible about Delibes’ music is his ability to apply colorful orchestration, harmonic dexterity, delicious rhythms, in a fully fleshed-out symphonic sound that never comes across as heavy-handed. Léo Delibes’ “Flower Duet” is utterly transporting.