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Reviewer: Bertil
van Boer
Christoph Willibald von
Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice was a sensation when it was premiered on October
5, 1762, but this work was a long time in its genesis. Since the Florentine
Camerata of the late Renaissance, intellectuals had pondered the revival of
Greek theater, and among the first operas were two based upon the Orpheus
myth: Jacopo Peri’s Euridice and Claudio Monteverdi’s Orfeo, the latter
often considered to be the first “real” opera. Since this beginning, the
deliberations of how to best approach the original Greek stage and how to
modernize it went full steam, even as the opera itself continued to evolve.
By 1755 Francesco Algarotti had written a treatise on the opera of the day
and how to “reform” it, while a contemporary, archeologist Johann
Winckelmann, revisited the notion of Greek theater, noting that such reform
could be undertaken by reviving and imitating the actual ancient works. All
of this struck a resonant chord with the director of the Viennese
Burgtheater, Count Giacomo Durazzo, who conspired with composer Gluck and
librettist Ranieri di Calzabigi to turn these suggestions into reality.
Gluck himself was not unknown either as a composer of operas in various
styles, both seria and opéra comique, or as an innovator. The previous year
he had teamed up with choreographer Gasparo Angiolini to produce a powerful
pantomime entitled Don Juan, which was already becoming well known outside
the Austrian capital for its drama. The idea that he should be involved with
this new project probably appealed to him from a musico-dramatic standpoint,
and his connections insured that it was not just an intellectual experiment.
The myth of Orpheus is so
well-known that it doesn’t need much explanation here. As the opera opens,
he has lost his bride Euridice and Amore appears to instruct him to seek her
down in Hades. The second act, probably the most dramatic of the work, had
Orpheus passing through the gates of Hades, placating Cerberus and the
Furies, and eventually entering the realm of Elysium. Here the “spirits”
reunite him with Euridice, and in the third act they venture to the outer
world. As she returns to living consciousness, she wonders whether the fact
that Orpheus does not answer or look at her is another cruel twist of fate.
We know the end; Orpheus cannot resist and Euridice is lost. In this work,
Amore functions at the end as a deus ex machina, somehow returning Euridice
(for a third time) to life and proclaiming that love conquers all. Despite
the hype, one can immediately see that this “reform” has little to do with
actual Greek forerunners and is conceived more along the lines of opera
seria, right up to and including the happy ending. There is, of course, more
chorus involved, and extraneous characters (such as Hades/Pluto) are
excluded, and the action is rather tame. Finally, the voices are
conventional, as Orpheus is written for a castrato. The orchestration can be
a bit old-fashioned at times, with Gluck using instruments such as the
chalumeau and cornett. Still, the integration of chorus, solo, and
instrumental numbers reflects the sort of unity proposed by Algarotti,
especially. Finally, the numbers are relatively short, eschewing the drawn
out (and superfluous) da capo arias. Still, there is content that hints that the composer was not entirely sure about how this might be received. This is apparent in the lively C-Major Overture, which, although in a single movement, seems a bit too happy for an act that opens on a funeral urn. The numbers in the first act seem to tumble one after the other, each under three minutes long (and these happen to be the choruses). It is the second act that has all of the musical action. One cannot fault the intensive dialogue between Orpheus and the various Furies, with his harp playing an arpeggiated soporific tune that eventually placates them. Here, the conductor David Bates has chosen to include the iconic Dance of the Blessed Spirits, even though it was composed only for the French version a decade later. The languid flute line seems indelibly linked to the opera, so this is not particularly disturbing, as it is the only outlier in the recording. The third act has a rather lively and actually quite happy duet (“Viene appaga il tuo consorte”) that gives a different impression of the conundrum in the text between Euridice and Orpheus. Thereafter come two of the most iconic arias, Euridice’s “Che fiero momento” and his “Che faro senza Euridice.” Her first one is quite dramatic, almost Sturm und Drang, while his is rather sentimental, but the tune is an earworm. The finale is a rather lively march, and as it is extended there is a sort of nod towards the ensemble finale of the opera buffa, even if it includes some dance sections. In short, the audience, whatever its interest, could find something herein that ot liked. Since this all appeared to work, this inspired Gluck to do a full-fire opera (Armide) that really got the reform ball rolling.
There are,
of course, a fair number of recordings out there of this opera in all of its
versions. What makes this one stand out is the pace, not too slow or
lugubrious or too fast even in the accompagnatos, but rather smooth and
easy. Soprano Sophie Bevan and countertenor Iestyn Davies match each other
in purity of tone and sensitive interpretation. Soprano Rebecca Bottone has
rather less to do, but she has a clear and distinctive voice that fits the
limited role well. The orchestral performance of La Nuova Musica is finely
balanced, and each of the instrumental textures emerges with no muddiness or
intonation issues. The tempos are, under David Bates’s capable direction,
all perfect for this opera. Given what I have heard of the other recordings
in my collection, this one now becomes my preferred one. | ||||
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