opera which he produced there, Baron von Tschudi's "Echo and Narcissus"
(autumn of 1779) was coldly received, and after a few representations
disappeared from the repertoire. From the fact that in this the master
lavished his skill on a dull, dramatically ineffective text, we may
conclude that he owed more to chance than to his literary ability in
finding such an excellent text for "Iphigénie in Tauris." Even his
follower, C. M. von Weber, was quite doubtful in regard to the dramatic
effect of a text, as is proved in his choice of "Euryanthe." In this same
year Gluck left Paris and never returned. In possession of a considerable
fortune and loaded with honors he passed the last years of his life in
Vienna in comfort and ease. Owing to an iron constitution he recovered
from a severe illness the following year and his adherents in Paris
did not relinquish the hope of seeing the master again in their midst,
but this they were forced to do when, in 1784, Gluck had a stroke of
paralysis. It is true he recovered from this, but a second stroke, three
years later, put an end to his life. In his death the whole artistic
world shared the heavy loss sustained by art. Vienna in particular
honored the memory of her celebrated citizen with grand funeral services,
when his "De profundis" came to light, as well as other treasures of his
mind to which he had devoted his constant and most loving care.
[Illustration: GLUCK'S GRAVE IN VIENNA.
From a photograph.]
After what has been said concerning the progress of Gluck's development,
stress need hardly be laid upon the fact that, in reviewing his work,
poetry no less than music must be considered. In the first place we
cannot refuse the poet of "Orpheus," Raniero Calzabigi, the honor of
having had a considerable share in the reform effected by our master. In
view of the then prevailing indifference of the opera-lovers to the text,
we cannot be surprised that the credit of the opera-reform was attributed
to Gluck, whose name entirely eclipsed that of his co-laborer. That Gluck
himself, however, is not accountable for this mistake, is proved by his
letter sent to the "Mercure de France" in Feb., 1773, in which he says:
"I should bitterly reproach myself were I to consent to having attributed
to me this new kind of Italian opera, the success of which has justified
the experiment. To Calzabigi, rather, belongs the special credit, and if
my music proves effectual I must thank him who has put me in a position
to draw freely from the well-springs of my art." Due allowance should
be made for Calzabigi's own statement, as this was published after
Gluck had parted from his first co-worker in the inconsiderate way
already mentioned, and the latter had every reason to be incensed with
him. In a letter addressed to the "Mercure" (June 25, 1784), he says,
among other things, that he had convinced Gluck that musical expression
should be based upon an expressive rendering of the libretto, that he
had begged him to banish from his music all ornate passages, cadenzas
and ritornelles, and Gluck had yielded. We may confidently assent to his
closing words: "I hope you will concede from this _exposé_ that if Gluck
is the author of dramatic music he has by no means created it out of
nothing. It was I who gave him the material, or, if you will, the chaos;
the honor of this creation should, therefore, be shared equally between
us." Finally, the following words from Gluck's preface to "Alceste" are
sufficient proof that Calzabigi's claims were just. "By a lucky chance
I happened upon the very _libretto_ in which the celebrated author had
developed _a new plan_ for the musical drama," a statement which only
through an inconceivable blunder could have been given the interpretation
"the celebrated author of 'Alceste,' Herr von Calzabigi, _carried out
my plan for a lyric drama_" attributed to Gluck by Anton Schmid and his
numerous followers.
Let us now consider Gluck's works, beginning with "Orpheus." Even in this
first opera we find the libretto as well as music at the extreme limit
of his departure from the old forms. The break with the old opera is a
complete one; it seems to be the opinion of successive generations by
whom the "Orpheus" has been considered Gluck's most sympathetic work,
that it would have been impossible to reach a greater climax. The action
is of the most extreme simplicity; to the myths transmitted from Virgil
and Ovid the operatic poet makes no material addition. In the first act
we hear the lamentations of Orpheus and his companions at the loss of
the beloved; whereupon Amor (Cupid) appears, to bring the singer the
consoling word that Euridice can be restored to him provided he possesses
not only courage to descend to Hades, but the moral strength to refrain
from looking at his love until they shall have again reached the upper
world. The second act is laid in Hades and begins with the dances and
songs of the furies. To the entreaty of Orpheus to abate their wrath,
they answer with a horribly inexorable "No!" At length, however, they are
unable to resist his supplication and open to him the door of Hades. The
scene now changes to a charming region of the Elysian Fields, enlivened
by the song of the departed spirits and later of Euridice herself. The
prayer of Orpheus to the shades that his wife may be restored to him
is not unheeded; she is brought to him, he seizes her hand and without
looking at her, leads her away. The beginning of the third act represents
the tragic conflict of the lovers. Euridice, who knows nothing of Cupid's
injunction, is in despair that Orpheus stubbornly refuses to regard her
or to make reply to her words of soft entreaty; but finally his power
of resistance fails, he turns toward his wife to embrace her, whereupon
she sinks back lifeless, now apparently irrevocably lost. Once again,
however, the gods have compassion, and at the moment in which Orpheus, in
desperation, is about to end his life, Cupid again appears, and satisfied
with the fidelity of Orpheus pardons the false step and leads the lovers
to the upper world to unite them there forever.
[Illustration: Fac-simile autograph letter and musical manuscript by
Gluck.]
Judging from his own words, the simplicity of the action did not deter
the composer from employing extensively all aids to his art. In order to
do full justice to his music we must remember his great successor who,
much more richly endowed and filled with a spirit of a new time, far
surpassed him as a musician--Mozart, who in this case could confirm the
old saying: "Let well enough alone." Still more, if we look backward and
contrast the greatest representative of the older Italian opera, Handel,
with Gluck, we are astonished at the progress made by opera-music through
the former. The old-fashioned ornate music of Handel has disappeared;
true expression has gained the supremacy, although it never reigns at
the expense of the melody which is almost inexhaustible and in its grace
betrays in every measure the country whence it came. The celebrated aria
"Che farò senza Euridice" is an example of Gluck's power to harmonize
the greatest nobility of sentiment with the insinuating charm of melody.
A sharp characterization corresponding to modern emotion is of course
excluded here, and one of Gluck's French critics is not incorrect in
his assertion that one can sing to the aforesaid air "J'ai trouvé mon
Euridice" as well as "J'ai perdu mon Euridice." (I have _found_ my
Euridice as well as I have _lost_ my Euridice.)
In the part of Euridice and in the duet of husband and wife, Gluck's
power of musical delineation is even greater, but most impressive are the
choruses in which the influence of the Handel oratorios is unmistakable.
The chorus of the furies forbidding Orpheus the entrance to Hades is
one of the most affecting, most impressive in the entire province
of dramatic music, and serves to heighten the restful effect of the
graceful ballet of a chorus of blessed spirits led by a flute solo, which
immediately follows. Here the effect produced by the orchestra must not
be overlooked, neither the modest means of this orchestra, which in the
"Dance of the Furies" consists merely of a string quartette, two horns,
oboe and flageolet.
As regards the music, the "Alceste" is more admirable than the "Orpheus,"
in that the uniformity of the libretto has put the skill of the composer
to the more severe test. Even J. J. Rousseau averred that he knew of
no opera in which the expression of the passions was more uniform than
in "Alceste "; that all revolved about the two conditions of the soul,
love and fear, and to describe these two sensations over and over again
without monotony, required the composer's utmost skill. Rousseau makes
also the just criticism that in the last act, where a climax is most
needed to hold the listeners to the end, the interest flags. In point of
fact the action of the "Alceste" is more feeble than that of "Orpheus."
In agreement with Gluck, Calzabigi has preserved in his poetry the entire
strength and simplicity of his prototype, the "Alceste" of Euripides;
even the element of the unexpected which appears in "Orpheus" is not here
employed. Admetus, King of Thessaly, is dangerously ill; his death is
hourly expected. Apollo, who once, when driven from Olympus, found favor
with the King, wishes to express his gratitude and causes his oracle to
proclaim that if another person will voluntarily die for him, Admetus
shall live. While the people, horrified, take flight, Alceste declares
herself ready to sacrifice her life for her beloved husband. She dies,
but Apollo (not Hercules, as in Euripides) appears at the same instant,
rescues her from death and restores her to her family and people.
In his "Alceste" Gluck has exercised all his talent as composer in order
to give the most intense musical expression to the evangel of devoted,
self-sacrificing love. Naturally, it is to the noble, touching figure of
the queen, wife and mother that he devotes the greatest love and care.
Courageously she faces death with the words of the famous aria, "Ombre,
larve, compagne di morte"; and the tenderest mother speaks in her when in
parting from her children she makes her last petition: "Venite sovente
alia mia tomba ornatela di fiori."
Further, the choruses in "Alceste" are overpowering in effect, which
fact indicates a step in advance of "Orpheus" in so far that here the
orchestra conduces infinitely more to the portrayal of the situation.
Even in the first mentioned arias of "Alceste" the instruments,
especially the trumpets, are employed in the most telling manner.
Still more stirring is the orchestral action following the decree of
the oracle, in the chorus "Fuggiamo!" Scarcely have the words of the
gods died away when the basses are heard, in dull, sustained tones,
descriptive of the murmur of the multitude. The murmuring grows louder
and individual cries are heard until finally the entire mass of orchestra
and chorus unites in the cry: "Let us away!" The full power of the Gluck
orchestra, however, is revealed in the chorus of the gods of death which
is sung upon one key by the basses, while the melody is sustained by the
instruments. As an orchestral piece of the highest, most imperishable
worth the sacrificial march in the first act deserves special mention.
In this the melody, sustained simply by stringed instruments and low
flutes, is quite different in character from ordinary marches and cannot
fail to produce upon the mind of the hearers the mood corresponding to
the high religious action.
Of "Paris and Helen" the reader knows already that, in spite of the
sanguine hopes of the composer, the work was decidedly rejected by the
public. He will remember also that Gluck, in this case, was not disposed
to recognize the "vox populi" as the "vox dei," as he gave vent to
indignation at his failure in the dedication of the work to the Duke of
Braganza. Later, however, he must have acknowledged the justice of the
judgment pronounced by the Viennese public, proved, if in no other way,
by the fact that he did not consider "Paris" suitable to appear at the
Paris Opera with "Orpheus" and "Alceste." Still, this almost unknown
opera has its significance in the resumé of the master's development. In
his endeavor to draw a sharp contrast between the principal figures--the
effeminate Phrygian and the pure, true Spartan maid--Gluck has gained
perceptibly in this direction of his art, and in the vocal as well as
in the orchestral parts the peculiarity of each distinct nation is
expressed. This is apparent even in the overture, which is more nearly
related to the drama than in the case of Gluck's former operas, in that
certain of its motives are repeated in the course of the action.
The overture to "Paris and Helen" may serve as a bridge from those
works to which Gluck had given his whole creative strength and in which
he had, so to speak, surpassed himself, to the works of the Parisian
period, which is commonly regarded as the master's third period, though
incorrectly, for in point of fact, Gluck's activity is divided into but
two sections: the time before and the time after his acquaintance with
Calzabigi. This is not saying that Gluck, in the presence of a drama
as important as "Iphigénie in Aulis," the first real drama which he
undertook to set to music, took, as it were, new impetus in order to
outdo himself if possible for the sake of the Paris public whose judgment
he so thoroughly respected. This is demonstrated in the overture to the
aforesaid opera which, corresponding to this sort of ideal prologue,
transports us to a higher sphere, in which we are prepared for the drama.
"Here, as in the overture to 'Don Juan,'" says Richard Wagner, "it is
the struggle or at least the juxtaposition of two adverse elements which
determines the movement of the piece. Even in the action of 'Iphigénie'
these two elements appear. The army of Greek heroes is assembled for the
purpose of a great mutual undertaking; inspired by the thought of this
alone, all other human interest disappears before that of the masses.
Opposed to this is the interest attaching to the preservation of a human
life, the rescue of a tender maiden. With what characteristic perspicuity
and truth has Gluck almost personified these contrasts! In what lofty
proportion has he measured them and made such contrast that by this
juxtaposition alone is the opposition, and in consequence the movement
given! By the ponderousness of the principal motive advancing solemnly,
the mass of the people united in one interest is recognized, while
immediately in the succeeding theme the interest in the suffering, frail
creature fills us with compassion. The repetition of this single contrast
throughout the composition gives us the great idea of the Greek tragedy,
filling us alternately with fear and pity. Thus we attain to the lofty,
excited state which prepares us for a drama the highest meaning of which
it reveals to us at the outset and so leads us to understand, according
to this meaning, the action which immediately follows."
In his treatment of the subject-matter of "Iphigénie in Aulis," Gluck's
co-worker, du Rollet, has closely followed Racine's tragedy of the same
name, even as the latter followed the drama of Euripides. The army of
the Greeks has embarked for Troy in order to avenge the insult to their
country by the capture of Helen. In the harbor of Aulis the warriors are
detained by a tedious calm because their leader, Agamemnon, has killed a
stag sacred to Diana and called down upon himself the vengeance of the
goddess. Kalchas, the high priest, inquires of the oracle what may be
done to propitiate Diana and receives the terrifying answer that naught
but a human sacrifice, even the daughter of the king, Iphigenia, can in
any wise appease her wrath. At these words, paternal affection, pride,
love of country and military glory wage a fearful battle in the heart of
the king, who becomes still more desperate when his wife, Clytemnestra,
appears at the camp with her daughter who is to be forthwith united in
marriage to the hero Achilles. The murmurs of the warriors clamoring
for the sacrifice and the repeated warning of Kalchas reveal the
frightful truth to the unsuspecting one; but Iphigenia declares herself
ready to obey the gods. She kneels at the altar and is about to receive
her death-blow, when Achilles with his Thessalonian warriors hastens,
by force of arms, to save his bride from sacrificial death. Kalchas,
however, steps between the combatants and tells them that their zeal has
already appeased the anger of the goddess; the altar is destroyed by
lightning, a favorable wind arises and amidst gay dancing and songs of
great rejoicing the reunion of the lovers is celebrated.
(Only in the conclusion does du Rollet differ from Racine and the latter
from Euripides, on whose account Diana herself saves Iphigenia by taking
her to Tauris enveloped in a cloud. Racine brings about the dénouement
through Eriphile, who loves Achilles, and recognizing the hopelessness of
her love, offers herself a willing victim.)
This material offered the musician the richest opportunity to describe
various conditions of the soul, as well as to satisfy the desire for pomp
and show inherent to grand opera. The rejoicing at the appearance of the
queen and the bridal couple, and also after the rescue of Iphigenia;
the encounter of the Greek and Thessalonian warriors; the solemnity of
the sacrificial rites are all illustrated in most glowing colors by the
music. The dances are distinguished by greater brilliancy than those
of Gluck's former operas, aided by a richer instrumentation--besides
the string quartette two each of the flute, oboe, horn and flageolet.
A passecaille in the third scene of the second act is so charming in
effect that even Gluck's most bitter enemy, Professor Forkel, was obliged
to give it his approval. But the master appears most admirable where
the libretto allows him to display his skill as a dramatic author,
chiefly in the ensemble pieces in which essentially different characters
are united, as in the mighty ruler Agamemnon, the loving Clytemnestra
wildly incensed by the loss of her daughter, the suffering Iphigenia
ready for any sacrifice, and the youthful hero Achilles impelled by
impetuous strength. Later composers surpassing Gluck as regards skill in
counterpoint may have excelled him in _fineness_ of distinction, but for
truth, sincerity and strength of conviction there is nothing greater to
be found in the entire realm of operatic literature than the love-duet
of Iphigenia and Achilles in the first act, "Ne doutez jamais de ma
flamme!" than Clytemnestra's outburst of despair in the words "Etouffez
des soupirs trop indignes de vous"; than the scene of Agamemnon in the
second act, "O, dieux, que vais-je faire? C'est ta fille," in which the
remorse of the unhappy father is vividly portrayed; than the trio, in
the same act, of Iphigenia, the mother and Achilles, in which the mild,
forgiving spirit of the maiden contrasts effectively with the passionate
ebullition of her partners. In relation to this trio we must agree with
Marx's assertion that "Gluck had no need of the perfected art of later
time, nay, its possession might have confused him and led him far astray.
The characters of Gluck's conception needed nothing other than what
was already at hand. As well clothe Raphael's chaste madonnas with the
splendid garments of Veronese as to adorn Gluck's character with later
ornamental art." ("Gluck und die Oper," II. 93.)
When Gluck brought out "Armide" he was sixty-three years old. He was
exceedingly daring in this venture, for he had closely followed the
libretto of Quinault and therefore ran the risk of being compared to
Lully by many who still adhered to him in Paris, and also of seeing
the "Armide" of the older master preferred to his. In the flush of his
egotism, however, he believed he had no reason to fear this comparison;
besides, it was a fascinating thing to lose himself for once in the
romance of the Middle Ages, for up to this time he had set to music only
subjects from ancient mythology of gods and heroes. At first Gluck seems
to have intended to make no unusual exertion; the overture to "Armide" is
none other than the one written for "Telemachus" and subsequently used
in the festival play "Le feste d'Apollo;" the aria of Hatred, "Plus on
connait l'amour," is an imitation of the Jupiter aria in "Philemon and
Baucis," and the main features in the conspiracy-scene in the second act
(Hidraot and Armide) are likewise taken from "Telemachus." In the course
of the work, however, the novelty of the material and the opportunity
for musical description allows greater and finally the greatest display
of power, and this opera becomes well worthy to rank among his strongest
works.
[Illustration: STATUE OF GLUCK IN PARIS OPERA HOUSE.
Executed by the sculptor Houdon. Reproduced from a photograph made for
this work by special permission. One of the four life-size statues placed
in the vestibule of the Opera House, at the foot of the grand marble
staircase.]
Quinault used as material for this libretto an episode from Tasso's
"Jerusalem Redeemed." Armide, the Queen of Damascus, is an enchantress,
and with the help of her genius Hidraot, has beguiled into her net
a number of the crusaders who had started with Gottfried von Bouillon
for the Holy Land. The captured knights are to be delivered over to the
king of Egypt--when Renaud appears and releases them from the hands of
the guards. "Un seul guerrier!" cry Armide and her train filled with
astonishment and rage, these words followed by a chorus of irresistible
power, "Poursuivons jusqu'au trépas l'ennemi." In the second act Armide
and Hidraot proceed to summon the demons in the awful words mysteriously
rendered by the orchestra, "Esprits de haine et de rage, demons
obéissez-nous!" Here the scene changes to a charming landscape, Renaud
appears, and in sharp contrast to the preceding movement a lovely idyl
led by the flute is rendered by the orchestra. Ensnared by the charm
of the region, the knight sinks into slumber, but Armide approaches
to take her revenge. In her magnificent monologue "Enfin il est en ma
puissance," she believes herself near the goal, but the beauty of the
sleeping hero transforms her hate to love and she becomes inspired with
the single wish that she may chain him to her. In the third act she
seeks to overcome the passion and again evokes the demons of hate, this
time entreating them to free her from her love. "Venez, venez, haine
implacable!" Hatred appears also, with his followers (avec sa suite) but
is powerless to heal the love-wounds inflicted upon Armide. Her attempt
to awaken responsive love in Renaud's breast, after having chosen an
enchanted island in the ocean for a dwelling-place for both, forms the
subject-matter in the fourth act, the music of which, though dramatically
insignificant, is nevertheless fully calculated to disprove the assertion
made by Gluck's opponents, that he lacked a sense of the grace and beauty
of true melody. In the last act we see Renaud in Armide's arms entranced
by her witchery. The dances executed at her command, among them the
Chaconne (which at that time was indispensable to the French opera), have
bewildered him, robbed him of his senses and his knightly power, when
two messengers--Ubalde and the Danish Knight--appear, having been sent
by the army of crusaders to his rescue. At the imperious word "Notre
général vous rappelle!" he summons all his strength and frees himself
from Armide's arms, but she, torn with remorse and anger causes the abode
of their brief happiness to disappear in flames.
In his "Armide" Gluck made great concessions to gratify the love of
the spectacular and the craving for the sensual of the opera-loving
public; in the main, however, this opera owes its chief success to the
earnestness with which the master performed his task as a dramatist. As
an instance of the way in which he obtained the best dramatic effects
in "Armide," at the time of the representations in Paris, Gluck begged
the famous singer, Larrivée, to undertake the part of the Danish Knight,
though he acknowledged it a slight part for his talent. "But," he added,
"it contains one passage which will be sufficient compensation." He did
not say too much, for the words "Notre général vous rappelle," rendered
with tremendous effect by Larrivée, called forth a storm of applause at
every representation.