
Orpheus and Euridice
Gluck
Information
Orfeo ed Euridice (1762), azione teatrale in three acts
Music by C W Gluck
Libretto by Raniero de’Calzabigi, English translation by Anthony Fabian
20 July 1996: The Deanery Garden, Bampton
Cast
| Orfeo (Orpheus), a musician | Jane Haughton |
| Euridice, his wife | Amanda Pitt |
| Amor, the god of love | Edward Stevens |
| Dancer | Kate Elliott |
| Conductor | Guy Hopkins |
| Producer and Director | Jeremy Gray |
Chorus of wedding guests, Furies and Blessed Spirits
The Southern Sinfonia Chamber Ensemble
Synopsis
The background to the drama enacted during the opera may be related through the words of Ovid in his Metamorphoses. ‘But the musician Orpheus’ invitation to Hymen, the god of marriage, to attend his wedding was of no avail, for though he was certainly present, he did not bring good luck. The outcome was even worse than the omens foretold: for while the new bride was wandering in the meadows, a serpent bit her ankle, and she sank lifeless to the ground...' Thus Gluck's festive - even banal - overture gives way to a chorus of extraordinary and intense mourning, prefaced by what Calzabigi designated a 'melancholy symphony’, and punctuated by Orpheus’ heart-rending and unconsolable cries. His friends dismissed, Orpheus calls to the spirit of Euridice, but is answered only by an echo. His raging against the gods is interrupted by a god: Amor reveals that Orpheus is to be permitted to cross the waters of Hades even as a living man. If he can overcome the cruel Furies with his music, he will be able to reclaim his bride and return to the world of the living. But there is a condition...
Act Il has been described as ‘the most simply and the most beautifully constructed of all opera acts’. Scene 1 is set in a ‘fearsome cavernous region beyond the river Cocytus, darkened from afar by gloomy smoke lit up by flames which envelops that whole dreaded abode.' Here Calzabigi's call for an ‘oribile sinfonia’ was supplied by Gluck in the form of a prelude of restrained terror, before the Furies unleash their venom upon the hapless intruder. Yet the Furies' insistently reiterated 'No!' is eventually calmed, overcome by Orpheus' sweet music (represented in harp-like passages) and his plaintive reasoning.
In Scene 2, Orpheus reaches the Elysian Fields, ‘a delightful region with verdant groves and flower-filled meadows’. He is charmed by the beauty and tranquility of the landscape, but longs for Euridice, his ‘own delightful Elysium’. Eventually, the blessed spirits of heroes and heroines reveal her to him, and thus the real trial begins. In Act 3, Orpheus leads his bewildered wife through ‘a dark cavern forming a tortuous labyrinth, obstructed by huge rocks’. Euridice is overwhelmed by this unthinkable meeting with her husband, but is increasingly hurt by his apparent indifference, his lack of ardour, and his refusal to even look at her. He offers no explanation but constantly presses forward on their difficult journey. The joyous prospect of renewed life with him soon becomes hateful: ‘Unbearable destiny, oh bitter and cruel fate, you've led me from death's gate to sorrow and grief’. When her emotional turmoil causes her to faint, Orpheus' will breaks: Si volta con impeto e la guarda - impulsively he turns and looks at her. Her second death is the more bitter for being the result of his momentary weakness: in this twilight world between Hades and Earth, he is now utterly alone - Che farò senza Euridice - ‘Can I live without Euridice?’ His determination to recross the infernal waters into eternal oblivion is questioned by Amor: Orpheus’ suffering is too much for even the gods to bear, and once again Euridice is awakened to life. What else can the ending be than a hymn of praise to the all-powerful God of Love?
Programme note
Jeremy Gray
Like many composers of his generation, the career of Christoph Willibald Gluck (1714- 1787) was centred on music-theatre - the ballet and especially opera. His earliest operas were written for Milan and Venice, before a visit to London in 1746 where he produced two new operas and met Handel, to whom he developed a lifelong veneration, as well as the reforming actor David Garrick. From 1748 he was working at Vienna, and it was during his residency there in the following decade that he began to move away from the accepted conventions of opera seria, in which the dramatic narrative unfolds through recitative, alternating with lengthy and often florid da capo arias. His collaboration with the colourful Italian poet Raniero de’ Calzabigi, sometime murderer and friend of Casonova, decisively encouraged his own inclinations to a new and more fluent concept of dramatic art, 'restricting music to its true purpose of expressing the poetry and reinforcing the dramatic situation, without interrupting the action or hampering it with superfluous embellishments'. Their reforming ideas came to full fruition in Orfeo ed Euridice (1762), Alceste (1766-7), and Paride ed Elena (1770), the first of which became recognised as one of the great turning points in operatic development.
Orfeo sets a familiar Greek myth, related by Virgil and Ovid, which had already provided inspiration for numerous pastorali and opere, including seminal works by Poliziano and Germi (1472) and by Rinuccini and Peri (1600). The character of Orpheus, variously portrayed as poet, singer and lutenist, and the story of the enduring power of his love for Euridice, held a considerable natural appeal to writers and musicians of all ages, although subject to many variations of emphasis and narrative. Calzabigi's presentation of the story is succinct and focused, rejecting the proliferation of divinities (with the exception of Amor) who feature in most other versions, ignoring any sub-plot, and compressing the narrative into effectively a single unbroken passage of time. Although neither of the main protagonists is granted any sense of individual personality, nevertheless the human emotions expressed, especially in the tragic and tortuous journey out of Hades, are clear and eternally true. The confusion and fear of Euridice as she is led away from the security of Elysium and Orpheus' frustration at maintaining the divine injunction imposed upon him are precisely and deeply conveyed, both in the words and Gluck's setting of them. Only the ending has caused grief to many 20th- century critics and producers, even to the extent of drastic tampering with the score. In his own ouiline of the plot, the librettist explains how ‘in order to adapt the story to the stage, I have had to modify the tragic ending’: thus, the dénouement of the legend in which Orpheus loses his wife irrevocably, is replaced by a happy ending in accordance with 18th-century expectations. However, might we not echo tonight the reviewer of the first performance who commented that ‘all spectators, who otherwise would have returned to their homes saddened by shared suffering, are most grateful to him for this happy change’?
The mastery of Gluck's score derives from its intense lyricism, its simplicity, and its powerful evocation of mood and emotion. Most significant in the musicological sense is the linking of a number of short recitatives, arias, choruses, and ballet-interludes, so that the music flows through uninterrupted sequences of varying and yet related passages. Each of the main dramatic scenes thus has a continuity and independence which was later to be admired and imitated by the great romantics, Berlioz and Wagner. A bold architecture in the scenes individually and in the opera as a whole provides a monumentality and breadth far in excess of its relatively brief duration.
Gluck effectively composed the opera twice. The first performance at the Burgtheater in Vienna on October 5th, 1762, used the Italian libretto of Calzabigi with Orpheus sung by the renowned contralto castrato singer Guadagni. In 1774 the score was completely revised for a resoundingly successful production at the Académie Royale, Paris, sung in a French translation, with the title-rôle rewritten for the high tenor Joseph le Gros. This newly-orchestrated version was substantially longer, with additional arias and ballet movements, marvellous music in themselves but which nevertheless compromise the architecture and refinement of the original. A further rewriting, in effect an amalgamation of the two scores, was made by Berlioz in 1859 for performance in Paris by the mezzo-soprano Pauline Viardot-Garcia, and this edition remained in general use until the authentic performance movement of the past two decades. Tonight's performance adheres to the original Vienna version, although in a reduced orchestration and with the omission of the sequence of ballets from the final scene.
