The "Dramatic" Overture

and the Idea of Tragic Narrative

Kieran Philip Hulse

King’s College, London

A dissertation submitted for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

2011

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Abstract

This thesis consists of four chapters, each chapter presenting a case study of an overture from either the latter half of the eighteenth century or first decade of the nineteenth century, in particular overtures written between the years 1767 and 1809. The aim is to explore the relationship between the overture and the drama that it introduces. I assess whether an overture bears any relation to the ensuing drama and, if so, how the music of the overture is able to foster a sense of drama that is akin to that of the literary-based narrative that follows. In short, this thesis explores ideas of introduction, preparation, and expectation, and is as much concerned with ideas of music as drama and music as narrative, as it is with overtures. The four overtures I have chosen to focus upon each introduce either a tragedy or contain tragic scenes and/or subjects. By focusing my investigation on the idea of tragic narrative, I will be able to look in detail at the relationship between music, narrative and drama, and explore whether literary ideas particular to tragedy can inform the musical narrative of an overture. This thesis, then, is not so much a contribution to the history of the overture, than a contribution to the theory of music as narrative and, in particular, music as tragic narrative.

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Table of Contents

Title Page 1

Abstract 2

Acknowledgments 4

Introduction: Words, Music and the Eighteenth-Century 5

Dramatic Overture

Chapter One: Tragic Temporality and Musical Tableaux: 44

Gluck’s Tragic Overture to Alceste

Chapter Two: A Tragic Conflict of Characters: Gluck’s 112

Iphigénie en Aulide Overture

Chapter Three: Either/Or: Tragic/Comic Narratives 166

in the Don Giovanni Overture

Chapter Four: Tragedy, Trauerspiel and Transcendence: 232

Beethoven’s Heroic Egmont Overture

Conclusions: The Implications of a Narrative Study of Overture 300

Bibliography 309

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Acknowledgements

I would like to express my gratitude to my supervisor, John Deathridge, for his encouragement and constant guidance throughout this project and am indebted to Cliff Eisen, Daniel Chua and members of staff at King’s College, London for their help and support. Much appreciation is also given to Julian Rushton and

Amanda Glauert for examining this thesis, to Michael Seymour for his advice and direction, and to Suzannah Clark and Emanuele Senici for providing me with the confidence and inspiration to pursue this project.

I would like to thank the Arts and Humanities Research Council for funding the first three years of this project and for providing a series of informative and useful programmes.

Thanks go to Richard Graylin for his help with translations and Paul Thompson for his enlightening comments and for proof reading this thesis. A very special thank you goes to Guy Fenby for his unflagging support in the final stages of this difficult project.

Most of all, I would like to thank my Mum and Dad for their inspiration, help, forbearance, and constant words of comfort. I dedicate this thesis to them.

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Introduction Words, Music and the Eighteenth-Century Dramatic

Overture

This thesis consists of four chapters, each chapter presenting a case study of an overture from either the latter half of the eighteenth century or first decade of the nineteenth century. My aim is to explore the relationship between the

overture and the drama that it introduces. Over the course of the next four

chapters, I assess whether an overture can bear any relation to the ensuing

drama and, if so, how the music of the overture is able to foster a sense of

drama or narrative that is akin to that of the literary-based narrative that

follows. In short, this thesis explores ideas of introduction, preparation, and

expectation, and is as much concerned with ideas of music as drama and music

as narrative, as it is with overtures.

Studying the Eighteenth-Century Overture

This is not the first study to focus upon the eighteenth-century overture.1 Adam

Carse’s book on the eighteenth-century symphony, for example, touches upon the history of the overture and presents a number of case studies. Although

Carse concerns himself predominantly with the eighteenth-century sinfonia and

1 For general discussions concerning the eighteenth-century overture see Linda Ardito, A Study of Compositional Procedures in Selected Opera Overtures (1791-1821) (Ph.D. dissertation: City University of New York, 1994), Adam Carse, 18th Century Symphonies: A Short History of the Symphony in the 18th Century (London: Augener, 1951), and Frederick Niecks, 'Historical Sketch of the Overture', Sammelbände der Internationalen Musikgesellschaft, Vol. 7, No. 3 (1906), p. 386- 390. Also see Barry S. Brook, ed., The Symphony, 1720-1840: a Comprehensive Collection of Full Scores in Sixty Volumes (New York; London: Garland, 1979-1986). In particular, series A, Vol. 1 (The Ripieno Concerto/The Eighteenth-Century Overture in Naples), series D, Vol. 7 (The Overture in France, 1790-1810), and Series E, Vol. 1 (The Symphony and Overture in Great Britain). On the dramatic nature of the overture see Basil Deane, 'The French Operatic Overture from Grétry to Berlioz', Proceedings of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 99, No.1 (1972), p. 67-80, Constantin Floros, 'Das "Program" in Mozarts Meisterouvertüren', Studien zur Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 26 (1964), p. 140-186, Daniel Heartz, 'Mozart's Overture to Titus as Dramatic Argument', Musical Quarterly, Vol. 64, No. 1 (1978), p. 29-49, Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963), p. 89-99, and Reinhard Strohm, Dramma per Musica: Italian Opera Seria of the Eighteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), p. 237-251. 5

not the overture, he does draw the reader’s attention to the particularly interesting and close relationship that existed between the overture and the sinfonia.2 The two histories are, indeed, entwined, there being many instances where a symphony or symphonic movement was employed as an overture, and where an overture was performed as if a symphonic, concert work. For example, the overture to Mozart’s opera La finta semplice is a reworking of his

Symphony in D, K. 45 (No.7), and his Symphony in D, K.161, K.163 (No. 50) is thought to have been first used as the introduction to his opera Il sogno di

Scipione.3 In addition, we know that Mozart amended his Don Giovanni overture so that it could be performed in the concert hall, and that Beethoven struggled with the writing of his Leonore overture because he wanted it to function as an opera overture and as an independent concert piece. Perhaps more intriguing is the recent suggestion that a number of Haydn’s so-called Sturm und Drang symphonies may have been intended originally as theatrical overtures.4 This observation challenges our perception not just of Haydn’s Sturm und Drang symphonies, but also of our understanding of how the symphony evolved and developed. A study of eighteenth-century overtures and their possible connection to literary dramatic models, then, may enrich the way in which we understand some of the more unusual melodic and harmonic features of

2 For a discussion of the relationship between the overture and symphony see Adam Carse, 18th Century Symphonies: A Short History of the Symphony in the 18th Century (London: Augener, 1951). See also Gordana Lazarevich and Douglas Green’s prefatory comments to Barry S. Brook, ed., The Symphony, 1720-1840: a Comprehensive Collection of Full Scores in Sixty Volumes (New York; London: Garland, 1979-1986), p. xl-xlvi, and Neal Zaslaw, Mozart Symphonies: Context, Performance Practice, Reception (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989). 3 Neal Zaslaw, Mozart Symphonies: Context, Performance Practice, Reception (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989), p. 250-251. 4 Stephen C. Fischer, Haydn's Overtures and their Adaptations as Concert Orchestral Works (Ph.D. Dissertation: University of Pennsylvania, 1985), and Elaine R. Sisman, 'Haydn's Theatre Symphonies', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 43, No. 2 (1990), p. 292-352. See also Barry S. Brook, 'Sturm und Drang and the Romantic Period in Music', Studies in Romanticism, Vol. 9, No. 4 (1970), p. 269-288, W. Dean Sutcliffe, ed., Haydn Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 120-245, and R. Larry Todd, 'Joseph Haydn and the Sturm und Drang: A Reevaluation', Music Review, Vol. 41 (1980), p. 172-196. 6

Haydn’s dramatic symphonic works, such as those of his Sturm and Drang period.

The connection between the overture and the symphony is certainly important, the evolution of one being closely tied to that of the other. It is worth pointing out, however, that towards the close of the eighteenth century the different social functions of the overture and the symphony began to have an impact on the way in which they each were composed and understood, the overture over time becoming a genre independent of the symphony. This increasingly estranged relationship between the overture and the symphony towards the end of the eighteenth century is captured perfectly in Sulzer’s General Theory of the Fine Arts (Allgemeine Theorie der schönen Künst, 1771-1774). Although Sulzer addresses the symphony and the overture under the single heading Symphonie, his discussion focuses primarily on the apparent differences between the concert and theatrical symphony. He stated:5

The symphony is excellently suited to expressions of grandeur, passion, and the sublime. Its purpose is to prepare the listener for profound music, or in a chamber concert, to offer a splendid display of instrumental music. If it is to be successful in the former goal, and an integral part of the opera or church music it precedes, it must express more than grandeur or passion; it must have a character that puts the listener into the mood of the following piece, and differentiate itself by the style that is appropriate for either the church or the theatre. The chamber symphony, which constitutes a self-sufficient whole and is not dependent upon any subsequent music, achieves its aim with a sonorous, polished and brilliant style.6

5 All quotations (both in translation and in the original language) appear as in the source text. Where possible, I have amended without comment any obvious spelling errors. 6 ‘Die Symphonie ist zu dem Ausdruk des Großen, des Fryerlichen und Erhabnen vorzügliche geschikt. Ihr Endzwek ist, den Zuhörer zu einer wichtigen Musik vorzubereiten, oder in ein Cammerconcert alle Pracht der Instrumentalmusik aufzubeiten. Soll sie diesem Endzwek vollkommen Genüge leisten, und ein mit der Oper oder Kirchenmusik, der sie vorhergeht, verbundener Theil seyn, so muß sie neben dem Ausdruk des Großen und Fryerlichen noch einen Charakter haben, der den Zuhörer in die Gemüthsverfassung sezt, die daß folgende Stük 7

Despite the fact that Sulzer places the overture and the symphony within the same generic category, he perceives the chamber symphony as having a different function from the theatre symphony.

The complex relationship between the overture and the symphony makes for an interesting point of study, especially when we consider that the overture appears to lie at the opposite end of the aesthetic spectrum to the symphony.

Indeed, while Sulzer understands the latter as a ‘splendid display of instrumental music’, his claim that the overture functions in a more dramatic manner may suggest that the late eighteenth-century overture bears a similarity to programmatic music, the music of the overture being tied to, and perhaps representative of, the ensuing drama.

Neal Zaslaw touches upon this idea in his book on Mozart’s symphonies, stating that there is a notable change in Mozart’s treatment of the overture from

Idomeneo (1781) onwards, the overture to Idomeneo being ‘the first of Mozart’s overtures that he did not (and perhaps could not) recycle as a concert symphony’.7 For Zaslaw, this was no doubt because it was with the Idomeneo overture that Mozart first attempted to apply some of the then current theories that claimed that the overture should try to align itself more closely with the drama of the opera. In this thesis I will focus upon one side of the symphony- overture relationship, exploring specifically the dramatic nature of the overture.

im Ganzen verlangt, und sich durch die Schreibart, die sich für die Kirche, oder das Theater schift, unterscheiden./ Di[e] Kammersymphonie, die eim für sich bestehendes Ganze, das auf keiner folgenden Musik abzeihlet, ausmacht, erriecht ihren Endzwek nur durch eine volltönige glänzende und feurige Schreibart’. Johann Georg Sulzer, Allgemeine Theorie der schönen Künste (Leipzig, 1771), p. 1122 , translated in Nancy Kovaleff Baker and Thomas Christensen, ed., Aesthetics and the Art of Musical Composition in the German Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 106. 7 Neal Zaslaw, Mozart Symphonies: Context, Performance Practice, Reception (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989), p. 514. 8

Several eighteenth-century treatises discuss the function and nature of the overture and how it should try to pre-empt the drama that is to follow, and these will be looked at in more detail in chapter one. The most famous document to comment on the overture is, perhaps, the dedicatory preface to

Christoph Willibald von Gluck’s Alceste (1767), and it was this document that provided the starting point for this thesis. Although the preface has already received much scholarly attention, proving to be an invaluable insight into

Gluck’s so-called reform operas, one aspect that I have found to be frequently overlooked is the remarks on the overture.8 While scholars have drawn attention to the assertion that the opening sinfonia ‘should inform the spectators of the subject that is to be enacted, and constitute, as it were, the argument’, and noted the sombre tone of the Alceste overture, few have sufficiently probed what Gluck means exactly by the word ‘argument’ and how the music of the overture could possibly imitate literary ideas.9 The comments concerning the overture in the preface, it seems, need further investigation, as they could have several significant implications for both a study of the overture

8 The most important study in the English language of Gluck’s ‘reform operas’ is Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963). Other significant contributions include Bruce Alan Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), Daniel Heartz, 'From Garrick to Gluck: The Reform of Theatre and Opera in the Mid-Eighteenth Century', Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, Vol. 94 (1976-1968), p. 111-127, Klaus Hortschansky, Christoph Willibald Gluck und die Opernreform (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989) and Karl Geiringer, 'Concepts of the Enlightenment as Reflected in Gluck's Italian Reform Operas', Studies in Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, Vol. 88 (1972), p. 567-576. Some have suggested that these operas do not, in fact, mark a significant change in the writing of opera, but are indicative of a general trend in the way composers and librettists were approaching operatic composition. See H. C. Robbins Landon, Essays on the Viennese Classical style: Gluck, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven (New York: Macmillan Co., 1970), p. 22-38 and Ernst Bücken, 'Gluck', in Die Musik des Rokokos und der Klassik (Wildpark-Potsdam: Akademische Verlagsgesellschaft Athenaion, 1929). 9 ‘Ho imaginato che la Sinfonia debba prevenir gli Spettatori dell’ azione, che ha da reppresentarsi, e formarne, per dir così l’argomento’. Preface to Alceste (Vienna, 1769). A facsimile of the preface can be found in Stanley Sadie, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London: Macmillan, 1980), Vol. 7, p. 466, and a translation in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 85. Although it is Gluck’s name that is attached to the preface, it was most probably written by his librettist Ranieri Calzabigi. Gluck, however, would certainly have been consulted. 9

and, indeed, the history and analysis of eighteenth-century music. Firstly, because the preface explicitly draws our attention to the dramatic nature of the overture, it is implied that the overture was thought to be an important, if not integral, part of the operatic event.10 The preface confronts us with the idea that the overture is not a simple, introductory piece of music that is intended to quieten the listener, but an important musico-dramatic statement that forms an integral part of the opera itself. Secondly, the preface suggests that the author thought that the overture was in need of reform, previous overtures not having any relation to the opera they introduce. Indeed, the preface does not tell us how overtures were being composed, but how they should be composed.

Thirdly, it is implied in the preface that the overture is different from the symphony, the comments going beyond those of Sulzer mentioned earlier and stating that the overture is to serve a specific dramatic function. Fourthly, and finally, it is said that the overture to Alceste will, as it were, from the argument of the opera to follow. The preface, it seems, speaks of a new type of overture, an overture that, unlike previous overtures, prepares listeners for the drama that follows. This new style or type of overture I would like to call, for the purposes of this thesis, the “dramatic” overture, as I believe this phrase captures the idea that these introductory pieces were intended to play an important role in the drama as a whole.

10 Interestingly, the preface is not the only theoretical writing to stipulate that the overture should prepare the listener for the action of the ensuing drama, the writings of Francesco Algarotti, Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Johann Joachim Quantz, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Johann Adolph Scheibe and Johann Georg Sulzer also ascribing the overture a specific dramatic resonance. These will be explored in more detail in chapter one. See, in particular, Francesco Algarotti, Saggio sopra l'opera in musica (Livorno, 1755) in Ettore Bonora, ed., Opere di Francesco Algarotti e Saverio Bettinelli (Milan; Naples: Illuministi italiani, 1970), p. 445-446, translated in Francesco Algarotti, An Essay on Opera/Saggio sopra L'opera in Musica, anonymous English translation 1768; edited with notes and introduction by Robin Burgess (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 2005); Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburgische Dramaturgie (Hamburg, 1769) in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften, Bd. II (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 380-389, translated in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, translated and with an introduction by Victor Lange (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 70-77; and Johann Adolph Scheibe, Der critische Musikus (Hamburg, 1738) in Johann Adolph Scheibe, Critischer Musikus (Hildesheim: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1970). 10

One of the main weaknesses of Carse’s aforementioned work on the overture is that he does not take into account the dramatic function of the overture discussed above. Carse approaches each overture as if it were an independent symphonic movement and, thus, fails to look at how the overture may have functioned in, and been determined by, its original dramatic context. It is my intention here to explore the dramatic side to the theatre symphony and show how an overture can play an important role in the drama it introduces.

There have been a number of studies that have already looked at the dramatic merits of the overture in the eighteenth century. Basil Deane, for example, has written a short, yet comprehensive, survey of the late eighteenth-century

French operatic overture.11 Deane begins by giving a brief historical and theoretical background for the overture, before going on to look at some of the ways in which composers may have provided their overtures with a sense of drama. His assessment, however, is vague and lacks analytical detail. While he notes that Gluck’s overtures had a significant impact on the French public and

‘were the first that could be said to convey such a wealth of dramatic meaning’, he does not explain how these overtures fostered a sense of drama.12 Indeed, despite the fact that he acknowledges that the overtures consist of a ‘variety of

[dramatic] types, founded on the composers’ determination to fulfil a dramatic function through the evocation of passions, periods or locations’, Deane does not look at how the music evokes these passions, periods, and locations, and what effect this may have on both the narrative of the overture and that of the ensuing drama.13

11 Basil Deane, 'The French Operatic Overture from Grétry to Berlioz', Proceedings of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 99, No.1 (1972), p. 67-80. 12 Ibid., p. 73. 13 Ibid., p. 74. 11

Daniel Heartz’s study of the dramatic merits of the overture has more analytical detail than Deane’s article, as it focuses on a single overture, that to Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito (1791).14 He observes that Mozart’s overture employs motifs, themes, and harmonic patterns from the opera and goes on to provide a thorough analysis of the musical correspondences between the overture and the opera, arguing that the overture is employed not only to anticipate some of the musical material from the opera, but also to foreshadow some of the opera’s main musical conflicts. As he observes, the opera’s opposition of the keys of C and Eb is anticipated in the overture, Eb forming the central and contrasting section of the C-major overture. While Heartz’s article brings to light some of the important musical connections that exist between the overture and opera, like Deane he does not investigate the effect the overture has on the ensuing drama and whether the overture can be said to have any kind of narrative.

Indeed, his article begs the question of whether these connections affect a listener’s perception and understanding of both the narrative of the overture and the opera. In sum, although Heartz draws attention to some interesting musical correspondences, he does not explore why the overture employs material from the opera, how this material is used to foster a sense of drama, and what effect the musical connections have on the ensuing narrative.

Julian Rushton’s article on J. B. Lemoyne's Electre is one of the most interesting articles on the dramatic merits of the overture.15 According to Rushton,

Lemonyne’s overture to Electre is used ‘as a quarry from which motifs are extracted and adapted to new contexts’ later in the opera.16 While Rushton does not go as far as to ascribe these recurrent motifs the same function as a

14 Daniel Heartz, 'Mozart's Overture to Titus as Dramatic Argument', Musical Quarterly, Vol. 64, No. 1 (1978), p. 29-49 (also in Daniel Heartz, Mozart's Operas, edited, with contributing essays, by Thomas Bauman (Berkeley; Oxford: University of California Press, 1990), p. 319-341. 15 Julian Rushton, 'An Early Essay in 'Leitmotiv': J. B. Lemoyne's Electre', Music & Letters, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1971), p. 387-401. 16 Ibid., p. 389. 12

Wagnerian leitmotif, he does say that they carry ‘particular associations’ with different emotions in the opera, such as vengeance and lamentation. Rushton concludes that the overture is used to familiarise the listener not just with some of the key musical moments in the opera, but also with the opera’s emotional territory. Interestingly, Rushton attributes this technique not to Lemoyne, but to

Gluck, noting in particular its use in Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide.17

Unfortunately, as this article is not concerned solely with Lemonyne's overture, the way in which the various motifs are employed and arranged in the overture and the effect the motifs might have on a listener’s understanding of the ensuing narrative are not addressed.

There has been little written about the dramatic nature of the overture since these writings. In this thesis I will explore some of the ideas put forward by these three scholars in an attempt to provide a detailed and rounded account of the overtures I have chosen to study. To achieve this I have had to limit myself to looking at just four overtures. However, whereas Deane focused on French opera overtures, I have opted to look at overtures composed for both Parisian and Viennese audiences in an attempt to show that the overture underwent a cross-cultural development.18 In addition, I broaden my focus beyond opera overtures and in my final chapter explore Beethoven’s Egmont overture, an overture frequently performed as a concert work, but originally intended to introduce Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s play of the same name. What makes the

Egmont overture a particularly interesting overture to study is that it draws upon musical ideas taken from the musical numbers and passages of incidental music that occur within the play. In short, it appears to employ some of the

17 Ibid., p. 390. 18 On the cross-cultural, developmental interchange of ideas between Vienna and Paris during the eighteenth century see Bruce Alan Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991) and his essay, ‘Lo specchio francese: Viennese opera buffa and the legacy of French theatre’, in Mary Hunter and James Webster, ed., Opera Buffa in Mozart's Vienna (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 50-81. 13

same musical devices and techniques as the opera overtures studied by Deane,

Heartz, and Rushton.

The four overtures I have chosen to study are: Gluck’s Alceste overture, Gluck’s

Iphigénie en Aulide overture, Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture and, as noted above, Beethoven’s Egmont overture. I understand all of these well-known overtures to be “dramatic” overtures, overtures intended to play an important part in the overall drama of the works they introduce. It is my aim to look at these overtures from a new perspective and show that it can prove informative to listen to overtures as works from a theatrical and perhaps even literary perspective. In this thesis I explore the similarities and the differences between the narrative designs of these four overtures and look at whether the nature of the dramas they introduce impinges upon their musical structure and potential to communicate a narrative. From these four samples, I hope to draw some larger conclusions about the relationship between overtures and operas (or play), and, indeed, the relationship between music, drama, and narrative. I believe that there is much that can still be mined from a study of the “dramatic” overture, especially if modern theories of music as drama and music as narrative are brought into account.

Defining Drama and Navigating Though Theories of Narrative

To assess effectively the dramatic merits of an overture and its possible relationship to the larger dramatic work it introduces requires not only a study of the musical structure and attributes of the overture - or even of the overture and the opera - but also an exploration of contemporary theories concerning overtures and opera, combined with a study of both current and contemporary ideas of drama and of narrative. The terms ‘dramatic’ and ‘narrative’ need to be used with caution, as they have been much discussed and undergone various redefinitions. Within the realm of literary criticism alone much ink has been 14

spilt on defining these two words and their relationship to one another.19 It is, therefore, worth exploring how these terms have been understood and what I understand these two terms to mean before continuing with my enquiry into the possibilities of studying the dramatic and narrative merits of the overture from the mid-eighteenth century onwards.

The distinction made between tragic and epic poetry in Aristotle’s Poetics has been employed by many theorists of narrative as a starting point for a discussion of drama and narrative. Aristotle posits that in tragedy the imitators of the dramatic action are agents engaged directly in the activity they are presenting, whereas with the epic, events and actions are communicated at a temporal distance and by a particular persona, what we would today refer to as the narrator.20 Put simply, dramatic poetry presents events and actions as if they were happening at that moment in time, whereas epic poetry relays the various events through a third person. Aristotle’s definition of epic poetry is what we now more commonly understand as narrative, the mode of communication in which a series of events and actions are communicated by a third person narrator.

While Aristotle’s distinction is useful as a starting point (and is a still a commonplace today), the term narrative has in recent times gained a more

19 See, in particular, Mieke Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative, 2nd Edn. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), Félix Martínez-Bonati, Fictive Discourses and the Structures of Literature: A Phenomenlogical Approach, translated by Philip W. Silver with the author's collaboration (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978), Gérard Genette, Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method, translated by Jane E. Lewin and with a forward by Jonathan Culler (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1980), Gérard Genette, Narrative Discourse Revisited, translated by Jane E. Lewin (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1983), and Robert Scholes and Robert Kellogg, The Nature of Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1966). 20 Aristotle, Poetics, translated and with notes by Malcolm Heath (London: Penguin, 1996), p. 10 and 38. 15

theoretical and formalist weight. The work on narrative undertaken by the so- called Russian Formalists Victor Shklovsky and Boris Tomashevsky argued that narrative should be understood not only in terms of who was telling the story, but also in terms of how the story is told.21 Shklovsky and Tomashevsky employed the terms fabula and sujzet to distinguish between the story in its most elemental state (the fabula) - the events and actions abstracted and placed into their most basic and chronological ordered state - and the story as it is presented to the reader (the sujzet) - the way in which the events and actions are arranged, expanded upon, interrupted, and, in some cases, interpreted by the various characters in the drama. In essence, the Russian Formalists explored the idea of plot structure, or what is now referred to as the work’s discourse.

Seymour Chatman translates the Russian Formalist terms fabula and sujzet as story and discourse, and these words have tended to be employed by Anglo-

American scholars when discussing narrative ever since.22 I will employ these anglicised terms in my exploration of the idea of narrative to distinguish between the basic premise of a story and the way in which it is then expressed in telling.

Although Shklovsky and Tomashevsky worked within Aristotle’s definition of narrative, concerning themselves only with works that had explicit narrators, such as the novel and the epic, their work has inspired more recent scholarship to expand the story-discourse dichotomy to explore other artistic media, such as film, ballet, and, indeed, music. For Chatman, narrative is not a genre or mode of poetic presentation, but an all-encompassing, theoretical abstraction of a work’s presentational structure that is less concerned with who is telling the

21 For an overview and a translation of some of the writings of the Russian Formalists see Lee T. Lemon and Marion J. Reis, Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1965). 22 Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978). 16

story, and more with how the story is communicated to and understood by its recipient. In summary, he sees a study of narrative as an investigation into the way in which a series of events and actions are communicated to a reader, listener, or spectator, and the way in which those listeners then interpret the events and actions to construct a narrative. Chatman’s placement of the recipient at the centre of his understanding of narrative explains in part why he understands media such as music, ballet, comic strips, paintings, and drama to be capable of presenting a narrative. One of his main arguments is that there are, in fact, numerous examples of how the same story or fabula has been communicated through several media. In his opinion, all artistic media have the capacity to communicate a narrative, but each medium tells the story in a different way, each employs a different discursive strategy. For example, I note that the story of Don Juan has been presented through a diverse range of artistic media, it having been the topic for a play, poem, ballet, opera, and symphonic poem. In each telling the basic tenet of the story remains the same; the way in which the story is told, however, is significantly different. In chapter three, I look at how this story is told in Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture and how it relates not just to the opera’s narrative discourse, but also to other tellings, such as Molière’s play Don Juan and Giuseppe Gazzaniga’s 1787 opera Don Giovanni.

My interpretation of the term ‘narrative’ is strongly influenced by Chatman’s theory. In my view, narrative is not representative of a particular mode or type of poetic presentation (as Aristotle had it), but as an overarching theoretical construct that can be applied to a host of different artistic media. The terms

‘epic’ and ‘drama’ I see as falling within this construct and are representative of only two types of possible narrative presentation. In sum, I employ the term narrative in this thesis as a broad, umbrella term for the various ways in which stories are told and then interpreted by their recipients.

17

The Possibilities of Musical Narratives

Whilst a number of attempts have been made to understand music’s expressive and possible narrative capabilities, there has been little consensus as to whether music has the ability to express a concrete idea, and even less as to the way in which it might be able to foster a narrative. The fact the term ‘narrative’ is still absent from the Grove Dictionary suggests an underlying resistance to the term’s application to music. In Jean-Jacques Nattiez’s opinion, music does not have the capacity for narrative.23 He argues that music cannot communicate the specificities of a plot, as it unable to name characters, designate actions, and locate events. As he states:

if music could, in itself, constitute a narrative as language can constitute a narrative, then music would speak directly to us, and the distinction between music and language would disappear...music is not a narrative, but an incitement to make a narrative, to comment, to analyse.24

For Nattiez, music is fundamentally an abstract language that only gives the impression of narrative; it cannot speak to us directly.

Despite the formalist claims of many like Nattiez, scholars such as Anthony

Newcomb, Susan McClary, Carolyn Abbate, Vera Micznik, and Fred Maus have challenged the idea that music is nothing but pure structure, and have formulated various analytical methods for actively understanding music’s expressive and narrative capacities.25

23 Jean-Jacques Nattiez, 'Can One Speak of Narrativity in Music?', Proceedings of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 115, No. 2 (1990), p. 240-257. See also Jean-Jacques Nattiez, Music and Discourse: towards a Semiology of Music, translated by Carolyn Abbate (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990). 24 Jean-Jacques Nattiez, Music and Discourse: towards a Semiology of Music, translated by Carolyn Abbate (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), p.127. 25 On narrative see, in particular, Carolyn Abbate, Unsung Voices: Opera and Musical Narrative in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), Jeffrey Kallberg, Chopin at the Boundaries: Sex, History, and Musical Culture (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1996), Joseph Kerman, Opera as Drama, New and Revised Edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), Lawrence Kramer, Music as Cultural Practice, 1800-1900 (Berkeley: 18

Newcomb, for instance, has argued that music can communicate a narrative through a combination of music’s supposed innate ability to express emotional and mental states, and a composer’s employment and manipulation of archetypal musical structures.26 Newcomb claims that a listener can hear a musical work in a narrative manner if they follow the main theme through a

linear sequence of musical events, actions, and emotions, almost as if it were the

main character of a novel, growing, learning, and transforming. McClary’s

work on narrative follows a similar line of thought, although, unlike Newcomb,

she takes a more culturally informed approach. McClary posits that one way in

which music can foster a sense of narrative is through the manipulation of a

listener’s harmonic expectation and their desire for tonal closure, an expectation

that, as she notes, is culturally conditioned and thus alters with time.27 She

argues that chromatic passages and new key areas can create musico-dramatic

tensions, the unstable key area functioning as a conflicting musical Other.28 The

University of California Press, 1990), Fred E. Maus, 'Music as Drama', Music Theory Spectrum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1988), p. 65-72, Fred Everett Maus, 'Narrative, Drama, and Emotion in Instrumental Music', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 55, No. 3 (1997), p. 293-303, Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1991), Susan McClary, 'Narrative Agendas in "Absolute" Music: Identity and Difference in Brahms's Third Symphony', in Musicology and Difference: Gender and Sexuality in Music Scholarship, ed. Ruth A. Solie (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), p. 326-344, Vera Micznik, 'Music and Narrative Revisited: Degrees of Narrativity in Beethoven and Mahler', Journal of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 126, No. 2 (2001), p. 193-249, Anthony Newcomb, 'Once More "Between Absolute and Program Music": Schumann's Second Symphony', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 7 (1984), p. 233-250, Anthony Newcomb, 'Schumann and Late-Eighteenth-Century Narrative Strategies', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 11, No. 2 (1987), p. 164- 174 and Robert Samuels, Mahler's Sixth Symphony: A Study in Musical Semiotics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 26 Anthony Newcomb, 'Once More "Between Absolute and Program Music": Schumann's Second Symphony', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 7 (1984), p. 233-250 and Anthony Newcomb, 'Schumann and Late-Eighteenth-Century Narrative Strategies', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 11, No. 2 (1987), p. 164-174. 27 Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1991). In particular see chapter three. 28 McClary, here, is building upon the ideas of Joseph Kerman, who argues that operatic music does not serve a tautological function, merely reiterating what the libretto has already told us, but is intended to heighten the dramatic intensity of the opera and, in places, adds an additional narrative layer. See Joseph Kerman, Opera as Drama, New and Revised Edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988). Kerman’s thesis is actually based upon and pays homage 19

tension between stable and non-stable key areas she sees as providing music with a fundamentally dramatic trajectory, the two opposing forces battling it out for harmonic closure. She cites Bizet’s Carmen as an example, showing that

Don José’s diatonic and stable music contrasts in the opera with Carmen’s unstable and chromatic music. The tension between stability and instability in the music McClary sees as underscoring and heightening the tension between the two main characters in the opera.

Quite interestingly, Abbate does not understand music to be a wholly narrative medium, but as consisting of a series of narrative moments.29 She argues that as music lacks the tenses of language; it does not have the ability to establish the complex narrative framework that is characteristic of much literary narrative.

Be that as it may, she does see music as being able to narrate temporarily at moments of rupture and noncongruence. She suggests that intrusive and unusual passages invite the listener to compare what they have previously heard with what they are now hearing. By standing out as different, Abbate claims that the musically disruptive passages have the power to function as a discursive voice that can be used to comment upon the previous musical material. In other words, at moments of rupture Abbate perceives music as having a fleeting voice that has the power to add a narrative to the musical drama, opera, or symphonic movement.

Fred Maus’ approach to musical narrative is quite different from those discussed above and is worth briefly exploring here as it has played a crucial

to Wagner’s essay on music’s role in opera. See Richard Wagner, Oper und Drama (Zurich, 1850- 1851). 29 Carolyn Abbate, Unsung Voices: Opera and Musical Narrative in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991). 20

role in the formation of my understanding of musical narrative.30 Maus uses

Aristotle’s definition of narrative and drama as the basis for his argument and thus, he understands narrative not in the manner described above, but as a method of presentation, as the telling of a story using an overt narrator. So, when Maus says that music is not able to host a narrative, it having no narrator, no comprehensible narrative voice, he is not thinking in terms of music’s ability to communicate a story, but in terms of the way in which music communicates a story. For Maus, music has no narrator, because music does not function as narrative, but as drama. He argues that the problem with much narrative musical analysis is that it is overly preoccupied with the story/discourse dichotomy; a dichotomy which he does not believe is useful when talking about music, as this is not how we understand or perceive musical structures. In

Maus’ opinion, music consists of a series of dramatic actions, its expressive potential resting on the presentation of outbursts, pauses, exclamations and statements. These musical statements and actions, he claims, are what enable listeners to read narratives into music. As he states:

The actions that a listener follows in listening to the Beethoven passage do not belong to determinately distinct agents. More precisely, as the listener discerns actions and explains them by psychological states, various discriminations of agents will seem appropriate, but never with a determinancy that rules out other interpretations.31

Maus’ theory is that music does not host a narrative, but provides the listener with a series of dramatic events and actions that can be used by the listener to create a narrative. Maus’ theory of music as drama indirectly touches on

30 See Fred E. Maus, 'Music as Drama', Music Theory Spectrum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1988), p. 65-72 and Fred Everett Maus, 'Narrative, Drama, and Emotion in Instrumental Music', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 55, No. 3 (1997), p. 293-303. On music as drama also see Joseph Kerman, Opera as Drama, New and Revised Edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988) and Jerrold Levinson, 'Music as Narrative and Music as Drama', Mind & Language, Vol. 19, No. 4 (2004), p. 428-441. 31 Fred E. Maus, 'Music as Drama', Music Theory Spectrum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1988), p. 68. 21

Chatman’s theory of narrative that claims also that the recipient plays an important role in the construction of a narrative.

Micznik’s work on musical narrative is indebted to Chatman and along the same lines as Maus.32 Micznik, however, refines Chatman’s theory, making the point that while every artistic medium has the ability to communicate a narrative, the degree to which it can narrate varies. In addition, although agreeing with Maus that the listener plays a significant role in the formation of musical narrative, Micznik also stresses that the criticism that a narrative interpretation of a musical text is only a figment of our ‘narrative impulse’ does not necessarily demonstrate music’s non-narrativity any more, or less, than that of any other field’.33 For Micznik, music, like other artistic media, presents the listener with a series of events and actions that are to be interpreted by the listener. Even though music fails to provide as clear or as thorough an account of these events and actions as, say, a literary narrative, she argues that music still triggers a narrative impulse in the listener.

Although the work carried out by these scholars has had an impact on the way in which we can understand, analyse, and listen to music, Nattiez’s assertion that music cannot narrate as it lacks the clarity of literary narrative is still not easy to dismiss. Indeed, even if we take into account that music requires the listener to take an active role in the formation of a narrative, the question remains as to what role music exactly plays in the formation of the narrative.

Although I do not intend to provide an answer to this question, I aim to show over the next four chapters that we can learn much from looking at the

32 Vera Micznik, 'Music and Narrative Revisited: Degrees of Narrativity in Beethoven and Mahler', Journal of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 126, No. 2 (2001), p. 193-249. 33 Ibid., p. 197. 22

“dramatic” overture from the perspective of narrative, and, in particular, with cross-reference to the dramatic, epic, and lyric literary modes of narrative.

Although the lyric mode has yet to be discussed, it is one of the core poetic modes and, thus, could also help with our investigation into music’s communicative abilities. Lyric poetry is the subjective mode of poetic presentation in which the author (or performer) expresses their feelings on a particular object, characteristic, or emotion. For Felix Martinez-Bonati, lyric poetry is ‘the mode of communicating something that is in essence unsayable’, it is a subjective mode of expression that is, in a sense, less concerned with the object, and more with the way in which the object is described and presented to the reader.34 Interestingly, Martinez-Bonati claims that music is the most extreme form of the lyric mode, saying that ‘the language of music corresponds to the idea of “phrasing” or “discourse” in which subjectivity is mobilized, ordered, and objectified only in expression’.35 Martinez-Bonati’s view of music seems to echo those of the so-called early Romantics. Indeed, writers such as

E.T.A Hoffmann and Novalis claimed that the power of music rested in its ability to express the ineffable, a view of music that still persists today and is epitomised in Martinez-Bonati's book: music thought of as expressing feelings and emotions without having to name them.36

In this thesis I aim to demonstrate that, while there is no reason why music cannot be thought of and heard in this manner, it can also be useful, in certain

34 Félix Martínez-Bonati, Fictive Discourses and the Structures of Literature: A Phenomenlogical Approach, translated by Philip W. Silver with the author's collaboration (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), p. 88. 35 Ibid., p. 89. 36 For a general survey of nineteenth-century attitudes towards music see, in particular, Mark Evan Bonds, 'Idealism and the Aesthetics of Instrumental Music at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 50, No. 2 (1997), p. 387-420, Daniel K. L. Chua, Absolute Music and the Construction of Meaning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), Carl Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music, translated by Roger Lustig (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), and Siobhán Donovan and Robin Elliot, ed., Music and Literature in German Romanticism (Rochester: Camden House, 2004). 23

cases, to look at music’s narrative capabilities from the perspective of the dramatic and epic literary modes as well. In my view, music’s narrative capacity is best explored from a variety of perspectives, music being an artistic medium that has the capacity to present emotional pictures (lyric), real-time actions and gestures (drama), as well as function across time, commenting on events and actions through the manipulation of tonal and formal patterns, transformations of motifs and themes, and interpolation of passages of rupture and of noncongruence (epic).

Music and Narrative in the Eighteenth Century

Through a study of four overtures, I aim to open some new avenues of investigation for a study of overtures of the latter half of the eighteenth century from a literary perspective. Interestingly, while there has been a significant amount of scholarly work done on nineteenth-century muscio-narrative techniques, the eighteenth century has remained relatively untouched.37

Newcomb’s aforementioned work on Schumann’s symphonies, for example, although said to be based upon eighteenth-century musical procedures, actually employs a narrative analytical method that is more suited to a study of nineteenth-century works. Indeed, his analysis is based upon ideas of thematic transformation, and a rather strict idea of sonata form. His claim that the various transformations of the main theme in a symphony represents the evolving mental states of a protagonist in a drama is not actually applicable to many eighteenth-century works, which are, more often than not, based upon ideas of repetition and the subtle modification of short motifs and musical

37 A notable exception is the work of Susan McClary, who has attempted to tackle the issue head on by analysing the narrative merits of instrumental works by the likes of Johann Sebastian Bach and Mozart. See Susan McClary, 'The blasphemy of talking politics during Bach year', in Music and Society: the politics of composition, performance, and reception, ed. Richard D. Leppert and Susan McClary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 13-62, Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1991), and Susan McClary, Conventional Wisdom: The Content of Musical Form (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). 24

ideas. Vera Micznik’s work on musical narrative similarly fails to do justice to the music of the eighteenth century. In her article on the narrative merits of the symphonies of Beethoven and Mahler, Micznik asserts that Mahler’s Ninth

Symphony has a greater degree of narrativity than Beethoven’s Sixth because

Mahler had greater recourse to more complex musical structures and procedures. Her analysis of the two works, however, is biased by employing analytical tools and ideas that are geared more towards a study of works that are cast in a late nineteenth-century symphonic mould. Beethoven’s Pastoral

Symphony is simply not of this type; it is not a work intended to express a conflict of epic proportions, but a series of pictorial tableaux. Beethoven’s

Pastoral Symphony, then, is perhaps best understood from a dramatic and lyrical perspective, rather than an epic one. In short, it is not, as Micznik suggests, that Beethoven’s symphony does not narrate as much as Mahler’s, but that Beethoven’s Pastoral tells a different story in a different way and, therefore, requires a slightly different analytical approach.

To establish an analytical method for the study of eighteenth-century musical narratives is not, however, simple, as the music of the eighteenth century has often been regarded as highly stylised and based upon purely musical structures, such as dance and sonata forms. As Susan McClary observes:

Many “cultivated” people (even – perhaps especially – humanities scholars) by and large regard the eighteenth century as a kind of rationalist’s Garden of Eden before the fall into subjectivity, and that music of that time (particularly that of Mozart) is considered to be the articulation of perfect order – abstract, universal, free from the stain of human interests.38

According to McClary, there is an underlying resistance to the study of the works by composers such as Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven as historically and

38 Susan McClary, 'A Musical Dialectic from the Enlightenment: Mozart's Piano Concerto in G Major, K. 453, Movement 2', Cultural Critique, Vol. 4 (1986), p. 130. 25

culturally informed products. As a result, any extra-musical elements to these works are ignored, as they are thought to have little or no bearing on either the form or content of the work. In a sense, the works of the Classical era form the prized exhibit at Lydia Goehr’s imaginary museum of musical works; they are works of pure genius that we prefer not to understand as determined by, or representative of, cultural trends and societal beliefs.39

Music, Drama and Eighteenth Century Aesthetics

To propose that an eighteenth-century overture, such as the overture to Gluck’s

Alceste or Mozart’s Don Giovanni, takes on a narrative function that, in a way, parallels literary poetic modes may seem a large claim. This is especially so in view of the fact that the symphony and overture only later in the hands of

Berlioz, for example, are thought to have taken on overtly dramatic features.

The proposal, however, is not that far-fetched when evaluated against a background of eighteenth-century musical aesthetics.

For the best part of the eighteenth century, the expressive capacity of music was a hot topic for debate across Europe. Two questions seemed to concern musicians, theorists, and philosophers alike. The first was whether words were necessary for music to be understood, and the second was whether music could heighten the effect of a literary drama or text.40 The debates arose out of, and

39 See Lydia Goehr, The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: An Essay in the Philosophy of Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). 40 For an overview of eighteenth-century musical criticism and the perceived relationship between music and words see Daniel K. L. Chua, Absolute Music and the Construction of Meaning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), Carl Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music, translated by Roger Lustig (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), Carl Dahlhaus, Die Idee der absoluten Musik (Kassel: Bärenreiter-Verlag, 1978), Gloria Flaherty, Opera in the Development of German Critical Thought (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978), Bellamy Hosler, Changing Aesthetic views on instrumental music in 18th Century Germany (Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1981), John Neubauer, The Emancipation of Music from Language: Departure from Mimesis in Eighteenth-Century Aesthetics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), Cynthia Verba, Music and the French Enlightenment: Reconstructions of a Dialogue (Oxford: Clarendon 26

were a reaction to, the severe criticism that opera and instrumental music had suffered at the hands of neoclassical critics during the first few decades of the eighteenth century, criticism that persisted throughout the century. Johann

Jakob Bodmer, Johann Jakob Breitinger, Johann Christoph Gottsched, and Noel

Antoine Pluche were some of music’s main opponents.41 For example, in his

Attempt at the Criticism of Poetry (Versuch Einer Critischen Dichtkunst, 1730)

Gottsched states that ‘the opera is merely a production for the senses: the understanding and the heart get nothing out of it. Only the eyes are blinded; only the ear is tickled and stunned: reason however must be left at home, when one goes to the opera’.42 In Gottsched’s opinion, music clouded the clarity of the text and was a superfluous element that simply hindered the effect of the dramatic action. This disparaging attitude towards music was echoed even towards the end of the century by Immanuel Kant, who perceived music to be an art form that occupied the senses, but lacked any serious moral message.43 In short, music was thought to be unable to communicate an intelligible and moral

Press, 1993) and John Warrack, German opera: From the Beginnings to Wagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). For an English translation of some of the more important writings accompanied by a brief discussion see Enrico Fubini, ed., Music & Culture in Eighteenth- Century Europe: A Source Book (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994). 41 See, in particular, Johann Jakob Bodmer and Johann Jakob Breitinger, Die Discourse der Mahlern (Zurich, 1721-1723) in Johann Jakob Bodmer and Johann Jakob Breitinger, Die Discourse der Mahlern, facsimile reprint (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1969), Johann Christoph Gottsched, Versuch Einer Critischen Dichtkunst (Leipzig, 1730) in Johann Christoph Gottsched, Ausgewählte Werke: Versuch Einer Critischen Dichtkunst, Anderer Besonderer Theil, edited by Joachim Birke and Brigette Birke (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1973), Vol. 6, and Noel Antoine Pluche, Spectacle de la nature (Paris, 1732-1750), translated in Noel Antoine Pluche, Spectacle de la nature: or, Nature display'd, being Discourses on such Particulars of Natural History (London, 1739-48). 42 ‘So ist denn die Oper ein blosses Sinnenwerk: der Verstand und das Herz bekommen nichts davon. Nur die Augen werdern geblendet; nur das Gehör wird gekützelt und betäubet: die Vernunft aber muss man zu Hause lassen, wenn man in die Oper geht’. In Johann Christoph Gottsched, Ausgewählte Werke: Versuch Einer Critischen Dichtkunst, Anderer Besonderer Theil, edited by Joachim Birke and Brigette Birke (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1973), Vol. 6, p. 369, cited and translated in Bellamy Hosler, Changing Aesthetic views on instrumental music in 18th Century Germany (Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1981), p. 52. 43 See ‘The division of the Fine Arts’ in Immanuel Kant, Kritik der Urteilskraft (Berlin, 1790), translated in Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgement, translated by James Creed Meredith, revised, edited and introduced by Nicholas Walker (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 149-154. 27

message to the listener. As a result, it was rendered nothing more than a frivolous form of entertainment that occupied the senses and not the mind. This is particularly interesting given the comments on the overture in the preface to

Gluck’s Alceste and the remarks of composers such as, say, Haydn who claimed that in his symphonies moral characters were portrayed.44

There was clearly an underlying tension during the eighteenth century between how philosophers and theorists perceived music aesthetically, and the aims and intentions of composers. The increasing popularity of the new Italian style of composition was partly to blame for the perception of music as nothing more than a sensuous divertissement. Indeed, Italian vocal music was highly decorative and revelled in variety and contrast and, thus, was accused of ignoring the dramatic import of the text in preference for titillating, aural effects. Italian instrumental music, which took this style to its extreme, faced an even worse fate, it having no recourse to any kind of explanatory text or plot.

According to Noel Antoine Pluche:

The most beautiful melody, when only instrumental, almost inevitably becomes cold, and then boring, because it expresses nothing. It is a fine suit of clothes separated from the body and hung on a peg; or if it has an air of life about it, it is at most like a marionette or mechanical doll.45

44 See Georg August Griesinger, Biographische Notizen über Joseph Haydn (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1810), translated in Georg August Griesinger, Joseph Haydn: Eighteenth-Century Gentleman and Genius, translated by Vernon Gotwals (Madison: University of Madison Press, 1963). For a discussion of the implications of this comment see David P. Schroeder, Haydn and the Enlightenment: the Late Symphonies and their Audience (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990). 45 ‘Le plus beau chant, quand il n’est qu’instrumental, devient presque nécessairement froid, puis ennuyeu, parce qu’il n’exprime rien. C’est un bel habit séparé du corpos & pendu à une cheville: ou s’il a un air de vie c’est au plus à la façon d’une marionette & d’un voltigeur’. Noel Antoine Pluche, Le spectacle de la nature (Paris, 1732-1750) in Noel Antoine Pluche, Le Spectacle de la Nature (Paris: Nouvelle, 1752) , p. 115, translated in Enrico Fubini, ed., Music & Culture in Eighteenth-Century Europe: A Source Book (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994), p. 83. 28

In his opinion, music is too artificial an artistic medium to imitate nature effectively, the unintelligible series of sounds failing to provide the listener with a moral or philosophical message.

As the eighteenth century progressed, a number of writings appeared that opposed this view, claiming music to be not simply an ear-tickling art form, but a powerfully expressive medium. Perhaps the earliest and most important text to address music’s expressive capabilities was the second edition of Jean-

Baptiste Dubos’ Critical Reflections on Poetry, Painting, and Music (Réflexions critques sur la poésie, la peinture et la musique, 1733).46 According to Dubos, music was able to portray sentiments and passions by imitating ‘the inarticulate language of man, and all the natural sounds that he instinctively uses’.47 For

Dubos, music was understood to function in an expressive manner through the imitation of the sounds of Man in the throes of passion.

Despite the innovative and forward looking work of Dubos, later writers such as Gotthold Ephraim Lessing and Johann Gottfried Herder still thought it necessary for music to be accompanied by words if it was to communicate effectively. For example, in the twenty-seventh review from his Hamburg

Dramaturgy (Hamburgische Dramaturgie, 1767-1769), Lessing discusses the limitations of music’s expressive capabilities, stating that:

46 In Jean Baptiste Dubos, Réflexions critiques sur la poësie et sur la peinture, reprint of 7th edition [1770] (Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1967), Vol. 1, p. 457-487, translated in Jean Baptiste Dubos, Critical Reflections on Poetry, Painting and Music, reprint of Thomas Nugent's translation of 1746 (New York: AMS Press, 1978), selected parts translated in Enrico Fubini, ed., Music & Culture in Eighteenth-Century Europe: A Source Book (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994), p. 324-333. 47 ‘La Musique ne s’est pas contentée d’imiter dans ses chants le language inarticulé de l’homme, & tous les sons naturels don’t il se sert par instinct’. In Jean Baptiste Dubos, Réflexions critiques sur la poësie et sur la peinture, reprint of 7th edition [1770] (Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1967), p. 470, translated in Enrico Fubini, ed., Music & Culture in Eighteenth-Century Europe: A Source Book (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994), p. 326. 29

Now I can well comprehend how the poet can carry us over from any one passion to its very opposite without unpleasant violence; he does so gradually and slowly, he ascends the ladder rung by rung either up or down, without making any jump. But can the musician do this? Granted that he can do this in a piece of sufficient length, can he do so in two distinct, entirely opposed pieces, must not the jump from e.g. the calm to the stormy, from the tender to the cruel be necessarily very marked and have all the offensive traits that any sudden transition has in nature, such as from darkness to light, from cold to heat? Now we melt with sympathy and suddenly we are to rage. Why? How? Against whom? Against the person for whom our soul was all pity? or against another? Music cannot define all this; it only leaves us in uncertainty and confusion; we feel without perceiving a correct sequence for our feelings; we feel as we do in a dream, and all these undefined sensations are more fatiguing than agreeable.48

In Lessing’s opinion, music can communicate meaning, but the senseless use of contrast employed by composers makes it difficult for listeners to decipher exactly what the music was trying to say. In fact, Daniel Chua has argued recently that the difficulty eighteenth-century listeners had in understanding eighteenth-century instrumental compositions was the result of the music having too much meaning. Chua claims that ‘the problem was not so much the lack of signification, but the uncontrollable polysemy of the new Italian music

48 ‘Nun begreife ich sehr wohl, wie uns der Dichter aus einer jeden Leidenschaft zu der ihr entgegenstehenden, zu ihrem völligen Widerspiele, ohne unangenehme Gewaltsamkeit, bringen kann; er tut es nach und nach, gemach und gemach; er steiget die ganze Leiter von Sprosse zu Sprosse, entweder hinauf oder hinab, ohne irgendwo den geringsten Sprung zu tun. Aber kann dieses auch der Musikus? Es sei, daß er es in einem Stücke, von der erforderlichen Länge, ebensowohl tun könne; aber in zwei besondern, voneinander gänzlich abgesetzern Stücken, muß der Sprung, z. E. aus dem Ruhigen in das Stürmische, aus dem Zärtlichen in das Grausame, notwendig sehr merklich sein, und alle das Beleidigende haben, was in der Natur jeder plötzliche Übergang aus einem Äußersten in das andere, aus der Finsternis in das Licht, aus der Kälte in die Hitze, zu haben pflegt. Itzt zerschmelzen wir in Wehmut, und auf einmal sollen wir rasen. Wie? warum? wider wen? wider ebenden, für den unsere Seele ganz mitleidiges Gefühl war? Oder wider einen andern? Alles das kann die Musik nicht bestimmen; sie läßt uns in Ungewißheit und Verwirrung; wir empfinden, ohne eine richtige Folge unserer Empfindungen wahrzunehmen; wir empfinden, wie im Traume; und alle diese unordentliche Empfindungen sind mehr abmattend, als ergötzend. In Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften, Bd. II (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 386-387, translated in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, translated and with an introduction by Victor Lange (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 74-75. 30

that seemingly fluttered from one mood to another without rhyme or reason; it made sense to the body as a kind of ear-tickling sensation but left the rational soul morally vacant’.49

Herder’s understanding of music is similar to that of Lessing’s. In his essay,

Does Painting or Music Have a Greater Effect? (Ob Malerei oder Tonkunst eine grössere Wirkung gewähre?, 1778-1779), he argues that, although music has an expressive capacity, a text is still needed for it to be fully understood.50 In this imaginative and poetic essay the three muses - Poetry, Painting, and Music - battle it out for the title of the most powerful and expressive art. Although the debate does not reach a definitive conclusion, the discussion between the three muses does raise some interesting aesthetic issues concerning the expressive abilities and limitations of each art form. The comments on music are particularly interesting: while it is praised for its depth and ability to move its listener, it is criticised by Painting because of its ‘confused tongue of half- sensations’.51 In short, although Painting acknowledges that Music has a powerful expressive capability, it is said to have indeterminate meanings. This leads Poetry to assert that ‘without my words, song, dance, and other actions, the sensations you awaken in man will always be obscure’.52 For Herder,

49 Daniel K. L. Chua, Absolute Music and the Construction of Meaning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 85. 50 Johann Gottfried Herder, Sämmtliche Werke: zur schönen Literatur und Kunst. (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, 1861-1862), Vol. 13, p. 253-269, translated in Johann Gottfried Herder, Selected Writings on Aesthetics, translated and edited by Gregory Moore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 347-356. 51 ‘Kann jemand wohl, was Töne sagen wollen, sagen? reden sie nicht die verworrenste Sprache von Halbempfindungen’. In Johann Gottfried Herder, Sämmtliche Werke: zur schönen Literatur und Kunst. (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, 1861-1862), Vol. 13, p. 257, translated in Johann Gottfried Herder, Selected Writings on Aesthetics, translated and edited by Gregory Moore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 348. 52 ‘Du wirst mir aber zugeben daß ohne meine Worte, ohne Gesang, Tanz und andere Handlung, für Menschen deine Empfindungen immer im Dunkeln bleiben’. In Johann Gottfried Herder, Sämmtliche Werke: zur schönen Literatur und Kunst. (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, 1861-1862), Vol. 13, p. 262, translated in Johann Gottfried Herder, Selected Writings on Aesthetics, translated and edited by Gregory Moore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 351-352. 31

music’s power lay in its ability to affect the passions of the listener; its weakness, though, was that it lacked clarity and required poetry in order for it to be fully understood. As he concludes, ‘you [Music] stir the feelings and the passions, though in an obscure manner, and require a guide, an elucidator, who will at least enable you [Music] to have a more determinate effect on man’s understanding and delight not only his physical but also his moral sense’.53

It seems that the problem with music in the eighteenth century was that, although it was understood to be a powerfully expressive medium, listeners were unable to decipher exactly what was being expressed. The debates on music’s expressive potential raged throughout the century. Interestingly, these debates did not have a detrimental effect on the production and performance of music, but inspired a fascinating period of experimental composition that sought to tackle head on the questions raised by bringing the literary and musical realms into closer alignment. Indeed, dramatists, philosophers and musicians all began to engage in projects that probed the expressive nature of both music and words in an attempt to reconcile the expressive power of music with the clarity of the written text.

Rousseau’s creation and development of the melodrama is indicative of this experimental trend. Melodrama is a genre in which music and poetry are combined in such a way that each medium is given its own expressive space, the music often sounding after the text has been spoken, providing a comment

53 ‘du regst die Empfindungen und Leidenschaften, aber dunkler Weise, und hast einen Führer, einen Erklärer nöthig, der dich wenigstens zur bestimmtern Wirkung dem Verstande des Menschen nähere, und mit dem physischen auch seinen moralischen Sinn vergnüge; bist auch du zufreiden?’ In Johann Gottfried Herder, Sämmtliche Werke: zur schönen Literatur und Kunst. (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, 1861-1862), Vol. 13, p. 268, translated in Johann Gottfried Herder, Selected Writings on Aesthetics, translated and edited by Gregory Moore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 355. 32

upon it.54 Georg Benda’s melodramas (such as his Ariadne auf Naxos, 1775, and

Medea, 1775) took the genre to a new level, music now underpinning the spoken word as well.55 His works are believed to have been well received in Germany and had a profound impact upon the young Mozart.56

Alongside the development of melodrama, there was a notable increase in the writing of incidental music, dramatists increasingly wanting to use music’s expressive power to heighten the drama of their plays.57 Prolific playwrights such as Johann Wolfgang Goethe and Friedrich Schiller both employed music in

their works to intensify the narratives of their dramas.58 Literary works such as the novel also began to employ musical episodes in their narratives. Tili Boon

Cuillé has observed, for example, that in the French novel music is increasingly

54 On melodrama see, in particular, Kirsten Gram Holmström, Monodrama, Attitudes, Tableaux Vivants: Studies on Some Trends of Theatrical Fashion, 1770-1815 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1967), James L. Smith, Melodrama (London: Methuen, 1973), and Jacqueline Waeber, En Musique dans la Texte: Le Mélodrame de Rousseau à Schoenberg (Paris: Van Dieren éditeur, 2005). 55 On Benda’s melodramas see Arthur Simeon Winsor, 'The Melodramas and Singspiels of Georg Benda' (PhD Thesis, University of Michigan, 1967). 56 In a letter to his father dated November 12, 1778, Mozart wrote, ‘What I saw was Benda’s Medea. He also wrote another one, Ariadne auf Naxos, and both are truly admirable’. See Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Mozarts Briefe, compiled by Ludwig Nohl (Salzburg: Mayer, 1865), p. 214, translated in Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, The letters of Mozart and his family, chronologically arranged, translated and edited with an introduction, notes and indexes by Emily Anderson (London: Macmillan, 1938), Vol. 2, p. 631. 57 See Roger Fiske, English Theatre Music in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), Kirsten Gram Holmström, Monodrama, Attitudes, Tableaux Vivants: Studies on Some Trends of Theatrical Fashion, 1770-1815 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1967), Bellamy Hosler, Changing Aesthetic views on instrumental music in 18th Century Germany (Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1981), and Robert Lamar and Norma Wright Weaver, A Chronology of Music in the Florentine Theatre, 1751-1800: Operas, Prologues, Farces, Intermezzos, Concerts, and Plays with Incidental Music (Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 1993). The German Singspiel can also be said to probe the relationship between words and music. See John Warrack, German opera: From the Beginnings to Wagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 124-143. 58 See A. C. Keys, 'Schiller and Italian Opera', Music & Letters, Vol. 41, No. 3 (1960), p. 223-227, Rey M. Longyear, 'Schiller and Opera', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 52, No. 2 (1966), p. 171-182, Bayard Quincy Morgan, 'Goethe's Dramatic Use of Music', PMLA, Vol. 72, No. 1 (1957), p. 104- 112 and Romain Rolland, Goethe et Beethoven (Paris: Éditions du Sablier, 1930), translated in Romain Rolland, Goethe and Beethoven, translated G. A. Pfister and E. S. Kemp (New York: Benjamine Blom, 1931). 33

referred to in an attempt to intensify the emotional situation of a drama.59 Of course, in the novel music is not actually heard, but described. Nevertheless, the emotional power that these novels ascribe to music remains significant as it provides another example of where the expressive capabilities of the combination of words and music were being thought about and explored.

The development of what I term the "dramatic" overture can also be said to be indicative of this trend, the overture providing an experimental ground on which composers could explore the relationship between music and words.

Indeed, one of the main reasons for choosing to study the narrative potential of the mid eighteenth-century overture, rather than, say, the eighteenth-century symphony, is that the overture is host to a literary connection, the story of the drama it introduces. What distinguishes the overture, however, from the other experimental genres mentioned above - such as melodrama and song - is that it does not have direct recourse to words; the story of the opera is only implicitly inscribed in the overture’s narrative. In this respect, the overture can be said to function in a similar manner to the symphonic poem or concert overture, it being accompanied by a kind of “programme” - the drama of the ensuing opera.60 This is not, however, to say that overtures can only be understood in retrospect, as many eighteenth-century operas were based upon stories, legends, and histories that would most likely have been familiar to an eighteenth-century listener. In short, the title of the opera would have provided the listener with a narrative framework by which to understand the overture.

59 Tili Boon Cuillé, Narrative Interludes: Musical Tableaux in Eighteenth-Century Texts (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006). 60 For a discussion of the way in which music and programme are interwoven in the symphonic poem see Jee-Weon Cha, 'Ton versus Dichtung: Two Aesthetic Theories of the Symphonic Poem and Their Sources', Journal of Musicological Research, Vol. 26, No. 4 (2007), p. 377-403 and Vera Micznik, 'The Absolute Limitations of Programme Music: The Case of Liszt's 'Die Ideale'', Music and Letters, Vol. 80, No. 2 (1999), p. 207-240. 34

The overture, therefore, provides a suitable terrain in which to explore the relationship between words and music, and, perhaps, even ideas of musical narrative in the eighteenth century. Indeed, the “dramatic” overture appears to lie somewhere between vocal and instrumental music; it is a work that while purely musical in appearance is intended to, as the preface to Alceste suggests, have a specific dramatic, if not narrative, resonance.

The Tragic Overture

In this thesis I aim to highlight the complex relationship between the narrative structure of particular "dramatic" overtures and contemporary musical aesthetics. In order to present this in as much detail as possible I chose to limit this study to four overtures and, moreover, to focus upon a single perspective: that of tragedy. There are several reasons for this decision. Firstly, by focusing on tragic overtures, the thesis has a sense of continuity and is able to build and expand upon the works of the aforementioned scholars. Secondly, it is the overtures to tragic operas that have captured the attention of scholars such as

Deane, Rushton and Heartz. This begs the question of whether tragic subject matter is in some sense connected to the dramatic development of these overtures. Thirdly, it was with his tragic opera Alceste (rather than any of his comic operas) that Gluck first chose to explore the overture’s dramatic potential. Fourthly, contemporary theorists thought tragic overtures to have a different function and effect from comic overtures. In his discussion of the overture in his journal The Critical Musician (Der Critische Musikus, 1737-1740),

Johann Adolph Scheibe states that ‘the music which is appropriate for tragedy must be different to that appropriate for comedy as the two genres are from each other’, going on to write that:61

61 ‘So verschieden also die Tragödien und Comödien unter sich selbst sind, so verschieden muß auch die dazu gehörige Musik seyn’. In Johann Adolph Scheibe, Critischer Musikus (Hildesheim: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1970), p. 614 (translation mine). 35

All tragic symphonies must be powerful, fiery and full of spirit. One must deal with the character of the protagonist, the main content of the plot and prepare for what follows…As far as comedies are concerned, the appropriate music is quite different to that for tragedy. Not only are the contents and events in the piece different, but also the style of writing and as different as the content and events of the piece are, so must the composer make the symphonies different. Comedy symphonies must be free, flowing and playful.62

In this passage Scheibe claims that a comic overture has a different musical

makeup from a tragic overture, an observation that is confirmed in the first

volume of Georg Joseph Vogler’s Views of the Mannheim Music School

(Betrachtungen der Mannheimer Tonschule, 1778-79). In a discussion of his

overtures and entr’actes to Hamlet, Vogler distinguishes between approaches to

writing tragic and comic music. He writes:

The comic is differentiated from the tragic not only by harmony but also by motion: the dancing bass line and little staccato notes in the upper voice are appropriate for Arlequin even if they use the saddest harmonies of the diminished seven of seven in minor, but the same harmony would be tragic if used in whole notes instead of eighths.63

62 ‘Alle Synphonien [sic.] zu Trauerspielen müssen prächtig, feurig und geistreich gesetzet seyn. Insonderheit aber hat man den Charkter der Hauptperson, und den Hauptinhalt zu bemerken, und darnach [sic.] seine Erfindung einzurichten…Was nun auch die Comödien betriift, so muß die Muisk dazu ganz anders beschaffen seyn, als zu den Tragödien. So wie sich nicht nur der Inhalt und die Begebenheit, sondern auch die Schreibart in diesen unterscheidet, eben so muß auch der Componist in seinen Synphonien diesen Unterschied bemerken. Es müssen also die Comödiensynphonien frey, flißend, und zuweilen auch scherzhaft seyn’. Ibid., p. 615 and p. 616 (translation mine). 63 ‘daß die komik sich vom tragischen nicht sowohl durch die Harmonie, als durch die Bewegung auszeichne; daß ein tänzelnder Gang des Baßes, abgestoßene kleine Nötgen der oberen Stimmen, zu den Stellungen des Arlequins immer noch passen, und sollte es auch die traurigste Harmonie der verminderten Siebente des siebenten Tones in der weichen Leiter sein; daß dieselbige Harmonie kann tragisch werden, sobald man statt Uchteln lauter ganze Noten setz’. In Georg Joseph Vogler, Betrachtungen der Mannheimer Tonschule, facsimile reprint (Hildescheim: Olms, 1974), Vol. 1, p. 317. For a discussion of this passage and extracts of Vogler’s music see Floyd K. and Margaret G. Grave, In Praise of Harmony: The Teachings of Abbé Georg Joseph Vogler (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987), p. 59-62 and p. 185-187 and Elaine R. Sisman, 'Haydn's Theatre Symphonies', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 43, No. 2 (1990), p. 307-309. 36

Theorists and composers such as Scheibe and Vogler clearly perceived that a different compositional approach should be taken when writing tragic overtures than when writing comic ones, a difference that can certainly be detected when listening to the overtures to Gluck and Mozart’s many operas.

The Alceste overture, for example, has a markedly different musical landscape from that of Gluck’s comic overtures. Mozart’s Idomeneo and Don Giovanni overtures, similarly, contrast starkly with the overtures to his comic operas Così fan tutte and Die Zauberflöte. This is not to say that the overtures to Così fan tutte and Die Zauberflöte are not dramatic and that they do not function in a similar manner, but that they are of a different narrative mould and, thus, would have a different effect upon the opera to follow and the listener.

The decision to focus solely on tragic narrative in this thesis means that I am able to explore not only ideas of narrative, but also the relationship between narrative and genre, looking specifically at how our perception of a work as of a particular generic type can affect the way in which we understand a work to function and the narratives we construct as a result. Contemporary discussions of tragedy and modern theories concerning tragedy will both play an important part in my thesis as a result.

Four Tragic Overtures

It should be clear by now that the aim of thesis is not to present four formalist analyses, but to explore how an overture can communicate a narrative and the effect the overture can have on our subsequent understanding and perception of the ensuing drama.64 In the chapters to follow I will undertake a detailed analytical and hermeneutic investigation of the overture’s narrative nature,

64 Owen Jander has written an article on the impact a narrative reading of work can have on the way in which the work is performed and understood. See Owen Jander, 'Bethoven's "Orpheus in Hades": The Andante con moto of the Fourth Piano Concerto', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 8, No. 3 (1985), p. 195-212. 37

with each chapter dealing with a different tragic drama. The four overtures have been chosen deliberately because they prepare for different types of drama and thus, have different musical and narrative structures.

The first chapter is dedicated to Gluck’s Alceste overture and I begin by outlining the historical background and analytical framework that forms the basis of this thesis. I probe the comments on the overture made in the preface and go on to look at what other theorists, such as Scheibe, Quantz, and Lessing, expected of the overture and how they thought it should function. I then analyse the Alceste overture showing how motifs, harmonic patterns, and orchestral textures from the opera are employed in the overture to help prepare the listener for the musical soundscape of the opera. I also look at the overture’s structure in an attempt to explain why this overture may be thought of as tragic. I conclude by looking at the overture’s narrative potential and by drawing a connection between the narrative structure of the overture and

Diderot’s conception of dramatic tableaux. I argue that Gluck’s presentation of a series of musico-tragic images in his overture, in effect, allows the listener to be absorbed into the emotional and tragic situation of the opera. I believe it is through this process of absorption that the listener is prepared for the ensuing dramatic action.

Chapter two also focuses on an overture by Gluck, the aim being to show how a different tragic drama requires a different type of overture. Using an analytical method similar to chapter one, my analysis of Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide overture highlights a stark contrast between this overture and the overture to

Alceste. I argue that, whereas the Alceste overture encapsulates the emotional drama that surrounds Alceste and her close family in the opera, the employment of distinct and contrasting musical passages in the Iphigénie en

Aulide overture provides it with an entirely different musico-tragic argument, 38

an argument more suited to expressing the overt dramatic conflicts that exist between the various characters in the opera. The difference between the two overtures, while no doubt a result of the fact that they introduce different dramas, I argue is also a result of the changing attitudes towards tragic drama.

The chapter concludes by looking at how the changing nature of tragedy and of

Gluck’s understanding of tragedy may have impacted on the structure and nature of this overture.

The subject of chapter three may seem out of place in a study of tragic overtures, as Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture provides the focus. While this opera does not have the explicit mythological and tragic weight of Gluck’s operas, both the overture and the opera have often been thought to carry a tragic resonance. For instance, in answer to a letter from Friedrich Schiller, in which Schiller states that he ‘had always a certain faith in the Opera, that out of it,[...]tragedy would develop itself in a higher form’, Johann Wolfgang Goethe replied that ‘the hope which you had in the Opera you would lately have seen fulfilled in [Mozart’s] Don Juan in a high degree’.65 Nineteenth-century writers such as E.T.A Hoffmann and Søren Kierkegaard also thought Mozart’s opera to have an unnerving and tragic resonance and both these writers said that this is evident from the very opening of the opera’s overture.66 In this chapter I probe

65 ‘Ich hatte immer ein gewisses Bertrauen zue Oper, das aus ihr wie aus den Chören des alten Bacchusfestes das Trauerspiel in einer edlern Gestalt sich loswickeln sollte’ [Schiller; Jena, 29th December, 1797], and ‘Ihre Hoffnung, die Sie von der Oper hatten, würden Sie neulich in Don Juan auf einen hohen Grad erfüllt gesehen haben’ [Goethe; Weimar, 30th December 1797]. In Friedrich Schiller, Briefwechsel zwischen Schiller und Goethe in den Jahren 1794-bis 1805 (Stuttgart: Union Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft), Vol. 1, p.431-432 translated in Friedrich Schiller and Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Correspondence between Schiller and Goethe from 1794 to 1805, translated by George H. Calvert (New York and London: Wiley and Putnam, 1845), Vol. 1, p. 391.-392. 66 See E. T. A Hoffmann, Schriften zur Musik, edited and with notes by Friedrich Schnapp (München: Winkler-Verlag, 1963), translated in E. T. A Hoffmann, 'Don Giovanni: A Marvellous Adventure which Befell a Travelling Enthusiast', translated by Abram Loft, Musical Quarterly, Vol. 31, No. 4 (1945), p. 504-516 and Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life, ed. Victor Eremita, abridged, translated and with an introduction by Alastair Hannay (London: Penguin Books, 1992). 39

the comments of Goethe, Schiller, Hoffmann and Kierkegaard in an attempt, not to add more literature to the much discussed question of whether or not Don

Giovanni is a tragedy, but to try to understand some of the possible reasons as to why the work was perceived as such by these writers, and to assess whether the unusual opening to the overture could have affected the way in which they interpreted the opera. In my judgment, the overture could have a bearing on a listener’s understanding of the opera, the opening bars of the overture placing us in the dramatic, tragic realm, the overture alluding to both Gluck’s tragic overture to Alceste and the opera’s penultimate scene in which Don Giovanni is dragged to hell. What makes the Don Giovanni overture such an interesting point of study is that while in many respects the opera is very much of the opera buffa tradition, the music playing up to the comic elements of the drama, the opera also appears to employ ideas associated with tragedy and, in particular, musico-tragic works. In this chapter, I explore the overture from both a tragic and a comic perspective, probing the relationship between these two types of drama in an effort to understand the reception of the overture and whether it has had a subsequent effect on how the opera has been interpreted. Using the analytical techniques developed in the previous chapters, I argue that the interplay of comic and tragic in the overture provides the overture with an innovative musical and narrative structure that possibly marks the Don

Giovanni overture out as an important turning point not just in the development of the overture, but also in the way in which music can foster a sense of narrative. The overture’s unusual narrative structure, I again perceive as tied to changing perceptions of tragedy and tragic conflict at that time. Indeed, the fusion of comic and tragic elements in the overture and the opera I argue parallels a developmental trend in literature towards the end of the eighteenth century that sought to blur the boundaries between comic and tragic drama.

Consequently, the chapter draws to a close by looking at some of the possible connections between the narrative structure of the overture and the works of 40

writers such as Samuel Richardson and Choderlos de Laclos, writers who attempted to fuse ideas of tragedy with comedy in an effort to present the reader with a more accessible, more natural, and more rational drama.

The final chapter of this thesis focuses on Beethoven’s Egmont overture. The chapter begins by attempting to break down some of the mythology that surrounds Beethoven and his music, so that we can look afresh at the overture and its possible narrative potential. What makes this overture a particularly interesting example is that, unlike the other overtures studied in this thesis, the

Egmont overture is more often performed as a concert piece. In addition, as noted earlier, this overture was not intended to introduce an opera like the three above, but a play (to which Beethoven also wrote the incidental music).

The direct result of this seems to be that there is greater dependence in this overture on what we might call abstract musical processes, rather than a reliance on quotation and allusion.67 In my analysis I hope to show that through the interpolation of a series of conventional musical signs, the manipulation of formal structures, and the use of references to the incidental music the overture is provided with a narrative resonance. In addition, I look at the way in which the musico-narrative devices developed by Gluck and Mozart in their overtures help furnish the Egmont overture with a tragic narrative that prepares the listener for the main argument of Goethe's play. I conclude that, although

Beethoven’s Egmont overture appears to function on an abstract level, it also functions in a manner similar to the “dramatic” overtures of Gluck and Mozart, its narrative being informed by the play’s tragic structure. What is particularly striking about the Egmont overture and what signals it out as representative of yet another stage in the overture’s development, however, is that it is less

67 This is not to say that the overture does not use ideas from the incidental music that it accompanies. Indeed, the coda of overture, for example, quotes the music that is to accompany the final scene of the play. 41

dependent on music taken from the drama it introduces and more dependent on the exploitation of conventional musical devices and formal manipulation.

In this respect, I argue that this overture can be considered a forerunner of the concert overture.

To understand how an overture prepares the spectator for the drama that is to follow, I take several different avenues of investigation in this thesis. Firstly, I explore the perceived change in the nature and function of the overture in the eighteenth century, looking specifically at the writings of several theorists and composers on how they thought overtures should function. Through a process of sampling, I draw attention to the potential impact a "dramatic" understanding of overtures could have on the history of the overture; the limit of this thesis to a study of four overtures, however, restricts the extent to which we can say that the observations made are necessarily representative of any larger trends. Secondly, this thesis explores the relationship between music and narrative. By using the overture as a crucible in which to look at the relationship between music and narrative, I attempt to highlight the close relationship between musical and literary narrative modes, and provide a foundation for the study of musical narrative in the eighteenth century. Thirdly,

I use the overture to probe ideas of genre, in particular the genre of tragedy, looking at how contemporary understandings of tragedy and of tragic narrative might not only affect the structure of an overture, but also how the overture is understood and the effect this then has on how the ensuing drama is perceived.

In short, I investigate the various ways in which composers approached writing a dramatic and tragic overture, as well as the narratives that are constructed by listeners.

To summarise, throughout this thesis I use the overture as a means of exploring the relationship between musical and literary drama and, in particular, the idea 42

of tragic narrative. It is my aim to look at these well-known overtures from a new perspective and to suggest that it can be informative to listen to overtures as works that are theatrically conceived, that have a narrative potential, and that form an important part of the narrative of the work with which they are associated. In looking at these works from this perspective, I hope to establish an analytical method (and perhaps even new aesthetic) for looking at and listening to works that explore the relationship between words and music.

43

Chapter One Tragic Temporality and Musical Tableaux: Tragic

Overture to Alceste

The dedicatory preface to Gluck’s Alceste has received much scholarly attention

and has offered invaluable insights into Gluck’s so-called reform operas.1 One

aspect to the preface that is frequently overlooked, however, is the comments concerning the overture. The preface states that ‘the sinfonia should inform the spectators of the subject that is to be enacted, and constitute, as it were, the argument’.2 This statement has a number of implications for a study of the dramatic overture and for our understanding of how music might be able to communicate a narrative. Firstly, from the preface it is clear that Gluck

perceives there to be a significant change in the function of the overture during

the second half of the eighteenth century, with the overture now taking on a

specific dramatic role. Secondly, a connection is made between the nature of the

overture and the dramatic events of the opera, the implication being that the

overture not only prepares the spectator for the opera, but forms an important

part of the operatic drama. Thirdly, it is suggested in the preface that it may be

1 The most important study in the English language of the ‘reform operas’ is Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963). Other significant contributions include Bruce Alan Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), Daniel Heartz, 'From Garrick to Gluck: The Reform of Theatre and Opera in the Mid-Eighteenth Century', Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, Vol. 94 (1976- 1968), p. 111-127, Klaus Hortschansky, Christoph Willibald Gluck und die Opernreform (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989) and Karl Geiringer, 'Concepts of the Enlightenment as Reflected in Gluck's Italian Reform Operas', Studies in Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, Vol. 88 (1972), p. 567-576. Some have suggested that these operas do not, in fact, mark a significant change in the writing of opera, but are indicative of a general trend in the way composers and librettists were approaching operatic composition. See H. C. Robbins Landon, Essays on the Viennese Classical style: Gluck, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven (New York: Macmillan Co., 1970), p. 22- 38 and Ernst Bücken, 'Gluck', in Die Musik des Rokokos und der Klassik (Wildpark-Potsdam: Akademische Verlagsgesellschaft Athenaion, 1929). 2 ‘Ho imaginato che la Sinfonia debba prevenir gli Spettatori dell’ azione, che ha da reppresentarsi, e formarne, per dir così l’argomento’. Preface to Alceste (Vienna, 1769). A facsimile of the preface can be found in Stanley Sadie, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London: Macmillan, 1980), Vol. 7, p. 466, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 85. Although it is Gluck’s name that is attached to the preface, it was most probably written by his librettist Ranieri de Calzabigi. Gluck, however, would certainly have been consulted. 44 possible for music to communicate a literary idea, the overture preparing, in a sense, the listener for the opera’s ‘argument’. It is worth stressing that the preface does not state that the overture constitutes the argument of the opera, but that it constitutes, as it were, the argument of the opera. The use of the phrase ‘as it were’ draws attention to the disparity between the expressive abilities of the opera and the overture. Indeed, although the overture is attached to a dramatic work, it not accompanied by spoken word and, thus, is limited in what it can tell a listener. As Berlioz states in his assessment of Gluck’s Alceste overture:

The overture to Alceste may foreshadow scenes of sorrow and of love, but it can indicate neither the object of this love nor the cause of this sorrow. It can never inform the listener that Alceste’s husband is King of Thessaly and condemned by the gods to die unless someone undertakes to die for him.3

Put simply, the argomento of the overture does not and cannot replicate exactly the dramatic argument of the opera. Be that as it may, the overture was still thought to be able to communicate some kind of narrative. The comments on the overture in the preface, then, are certainly worthy of attention as they call out not only for a scholarly reassessment of the nature and function of the overture at this time, but also a reappraisal of music’s complex communicative abilities. Indeed, to what extent can music communicate a literary based set of ideas?

This chapter explores the implications of the preface’s statement. It asks whether the Alceste overture does in fact prepare the spectator for the nature of

3 ‘Ainsi l’ouverture d’Alceste anoncera des scènes de désolation et de tendresse, mais elle ne saurait dire ni l’object de cette tendresse ni les causes de cette désolation; elle n’apprendra jamis au spectateur que l’epoux d’Alceste est un roi de Thessalie condamné pas les dieux à la mort pour lui’. In Hector Berlioz, A travers chants: études musicales, adorations, boutades et critiques (Garnborough: Gregg, 1970), p. 152, translated in Hector Berlioz, The Art of Music and Other Essays (A Travers Chants), translated and edited by Elizabeth Csicsery-Rónay (Bloomington: Indian University Press, 1994), p. 103. 45 the ensuing action that is to follow and, if so, how the music of the overture can communicate a narrative that is, in a sense, akin to literary narrative. I explore the overture from a variety of different perspectives and employ analytical, historical, and hermeneutic strategies, in combination, to show how the overture might anticipate the ‘argument’ of the opera. Due to the interdisciplinary nature of my work, the three methodological approaches I employ are necessarily presented side by side, as the findings of one is often tied to and/or builds upon the findings of another. In fact, I understand the act of analysis to be a hermeneutic enterprise, the analyst choosing to focus on certain passages, highlight particular figures, and employ specific analytical techniques. In sum, throughout this thesis, my analytical investigation will be closely tied to and accompanied by both historical insight and hermeneutic exploration.

Contemporary Concerns: Expressive Capabilities and Limitations

The preface to Alceste was not the first theoretical writing to suggest that an overture should attempt to fulfil a dramatic function. In fact, Johann Adolph

Scheibe draws attention to this aspect of the overture in an article from his weekly journal, The Critical Musician (Der Critische Musikus, 1737-1740).4 Scheibe stated that:

All symphonies that are composed for a play should concern themselves primarily with its content and nature. Necessarily therefore, different types of symphony are appropriate for tragedies than as for light-hearted or comedic pieces. The music which is appropriate for tragedy must be different to that appropriate for comedy as the two genres are from each other. In particular, one must ensure that each section of the music fits each individual section of the play. The opening symphony must complement the first scene of the play, therefore, but by the same token, the symphonies which occur in between the various scenes must

4 Johann Adolph Scheibe, Critischer Musikus (Hildesheim: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1970), p. 611-618. 46 complement both the end of the preceding scene and the beginning of the following.5

Scheibe uses the term ‘symphony’ to refer to any instrumental music used within a play, although he does note there is a difference between symphonies that open a drama and those that occur between the acts. According to Scheibe, the opening symphony should prepare the spectator for the ensuing action and, in particular, the drama of the opening scene. Scheibe’s most intriguing remark, however, is that which concerns the composer’s understanding of the structure and nature of the literary drama for which the accompanying music is intended.

He claimed that:

Concerning the dramas, a composer must fundamentally understand not only how they are constructed but also how each drama differs from another. He must also know exactly the individual and innate character of each type of play, so that he can differentiate between them, each by its own characteristics, by its own content, by its sections and all the other contributory factors.6

In this passage Scheibe suggests that the nature and design of a dramatic work can be seen to impinge upon and affect (even determine) the character and structure of an overture or entr’acte. In short, he makes a direct connection

5 ‘Alle Synphonien [sic.], die zu einem Schauspiele verfertiget werden, sollen sich überhaupt auf den Inhalt, oder auf die Beschaffenheit desselben beziehen. Und so gehöret zu den Trauerspielen eine andere Art von Synphonien, als zu den Freuden - oder Luft - oder Scherzspielen. So verschieden also die Tragödien und Comödien unter sich selbst sind, so verschieden muß auch die dazu gehörige Musik seyn. Insbesondere aber hat man auch wegen der verschiedenen. Abtheilungen der Musik in den Schauspielen auf die Beschaffeneit der Stellen, zu welcher eine jede Abtheilung gehöret, zu sehen. Daher muß die Anfangssynphonie sich auf den ersten Auftitt des Schauspiels beziehen, die Synphonien aber, die zwischen den Aufzügen vorkommen, müssen theils mit dem Schlusse des vorhergehenden Aufzuges, theils aber mit dem Anfange des folgenden Aufzuges überein kommen; die letzte Synphonie aber muß dem Schlusse des letzten Aufzuges gemäß seyn. Man sieht also, daß ein Componist bey dem Entwurfe und bey der Ausarbeitung seiner Synphonien die Schauspiele überhaupt und insbesondere zu betrachten hat; und daß ferner so wohl die Anfangs - als auch die Zwischensynphonien ihre eigenen Regeln enfordern’. In Ibid., p. 614 (translation mine). 6 ‘In Betrachtung der Schauspiele überhaupt soll ein Componist gründlich verstehen, wie nicht nur die Einrichtung derselben beschaffen ist, sondern auch, was die Schauspiele unter sich selbst wieder unterscheidet. Er soll also den eigenen und natürlichen Charakter einer jeden Art der Schauspiele auf das genaueste kennen, damit er ein jedes Schauspiel von dem andern unterscheiden, von allen aber nach ihrem Wesen, nach ihrem Inhalte, nach ihrem Abtheilungen, und nach allen dabey noch übrigen Umständen vernünftig urtheilen könne’. In Ibid., p. 614-615. 47 between the narrative of a drama and the narrative of a musical work. As noted in the introduction to this thesis, Scheibe also made a distinction between tragic and comic overtures, perhaps suggesting that overtures could somehow influence the way in which a listener perceives the events of the ensuing drama.7 In sum, his comments ask us to question how an overture might affect the narrative of the drama that is to follow and how this effect might be achieved.

Scheibe’s demands and comments on the overture were echoed throughout the eighteenth century, and by a variety of different theorists from all over Europe.

(The preface to Alceste in many ways is a mere extension of Scheibe’s theory of the overture). Johann Joachim Quantz’s Essay on a Method for Playing the Traverse

Flute (Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen, 1752) is one such example, Quantz claiming that ‘a sinfonia should have some connexion with the content of the opera, or at least with its first scene, and should not always conclude with a gay minuet, as it usually does’.8 What is particularly interesting about Quantz’s assessment of the overture’s narrative potential is that he goes on to explore how a composer might achieve this effect (although adding the caveat that drama is too various to provide a definitive model for the dramatic overture). In his treatise, Quantz questions whether a sinfonia necessarily requires three movements and asks if, in some cases, it would be more suitable for the overture to end with the first or second movement depending upon the nature of the opening scene. He writes:

7 See p. 35-37. 8 ‘Indessen solte doch billig eine Sinfonie, wie oben schon gedacht worden, einigen Zusammenhang mit dem Inhalte der Oper, oder zum wenigsten mit dem ersten Auftritte derselben haben; und nicht allezeit mit einem lustigen Menuet, wie mehrentheils geschieht, schließen’. In Johann Joachim Quantz, Versuch einer Anweisung die Flute traversière zu spielen (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1983), p. 301, translated in Johann Joachim Quantz, On Playing the Flute, a complete translation with an introduction and notes by Edward R. Reilly (London: Faber and Faber, 1966), p. 316. 48 For example, if the first scene were to contain heroic or other fiery passions, the sinfonia could conclude after the first movement. If melancholy or amorous sentiments occur in the scene, the composer could stop with the second movement. And if the first scene contains no marked sentiments, or if these appear only in the course of the opera or at its end, he could conclude with the third movement of the sinfonia. In this fashion the composer could adjust each movement to the situation, and the sinfonia would still retain its usefulness for other purposes.9

For Quantz, the sinfonia’s three-part structure should be adapted to suit the nature of the drama and, in particular, the dramatic nature of the opening scene.

Francesco Algarotti’s comments on the overture take the ideas of Scheibe and

Quantz a step further, and his theory can be said to directly anticipate the comments on the overture in the preface to Alceste. In his Essay on Opera (Saggio sopra l’opera in musica, 1755), Algarotti states that ‘the main drift of an overture should be to announce in a certain manner the action of the drama, and consequently prepare the audience to receive those affecting impressions that are to result from the whole of the performance’.10 Algarotti, while stating that the overture should focus upon the drama’s affecting impressions, also suggests that it should prepare the listener for the action of the drama, implying that, like the preface, it is possible for the overture to host some kind of argument. Unlike

9 ‘Der erste Auftritt hielte heroische oder andere feurige Leidenschaften in sich: so könnte der Schluß der Sinfonie mit dem ersten Satze geschehen. Kämen traurige oder verliebte Affecten darinne vor: so könnte man mit dem zweiten Satze aufhören. Hielte aber der erste Aufritte gar keine besondern Affecten in sich, sondern diese kämen erst in der Folge der Oper, oder am Ende vor: so könnte man mit dem dritten Satze der Sinfonie schließen. Auf solche Art hätte man Gelegenheit, enien jeden Satz der Sache gemäß einzurichten. Die Sinfonie aber bliebe doch noch auch zu andern Ansichten brauchbar’. In Johann Joachim Quantz, Versuch einer Anweisung die Flute traversière zu spielen (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1983), p. 301-02, translated in Johann Joachim Quantz, On Playing the Flute, a complete translation with an introduction and notes by Edward R. Reilly (London: Faber and Faber, 1966), p. 316. 10 ‘Suo principal fine è di annunziare in certo modo l’azione, di preparar l’unditore a ricevere quelle impressioni di affetto, che risultano dal toltale del dramma’. In Ettore Bonora, ed., Opere di Francesco Algarotti e Saverio Bettinelli (Milan; Naples: Illuministi italiani, 1970), p. 444, translated in Francesco Algarotti, An Essay on Opera/Saggio sopra L'opera in Musica, anonymous English translation 1768; edited with notes and introduction by Robin Burgess (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 2005), p. 20. 49 Quantz, however, Algarotti does not go into any detail as to how a composer might achieve this effect.

Perhaps the most informative commentator on the dramatic nature and narrative potential of the overture is Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, as his writings address the possible effects an overture might have on the ensuing drama. In his review of Voltaire’s Semiramis, which followed a performance of the play at the Hamburg Theatre in 1767, Lessing discusses the incidental music that was provided by Johann Friedrich Agricola. Lessing states that an ‘overture must only indicate the general tendency of the play and not more strongly or decidedly than the title does. We may show the spectator the goal which he is to attain, but the various paths by which he is to attain it, must be entirely hidden from him’.11 Lessing was familiar with Scheibe’s writings and, in fact, quotes several extensive passages from Scheibe’s essay in his review. While agreeing with Scheibe that the overture should hint at the nature of the drama, he stresses that the overture should avoid revealing to the spectator how the drama is to unravel. According to Lessing, the overture should be limited to providing an outline of the general mood of the play or opera, so as not to weaken the effect of the drama to follow. What is significant about Lessing’s review is that he goes on to provide a description of Agricola’s overture and highlight what he thought the overture sought to express. He writes:

The opening symphony consists of three movements. The first movement is a largo with oboes and flutes beside violins; the bass part is strengthened by bassoons. The expression is serious, sometimes wild and agitated; the listener is to expect a drama of this nature. But not of this

11 ‘Mit der Anfangssymphonie ist es ein anders; sie kann auf nichts Vorhergehendes gehen; und doch muß auch sie nur den allgemeinen Ton des Stücks angeben, und nicht stärker, nicht bestimmter, als ihn ungefähr der Titel angibt. Man darf dem Zuhörer wohl das Ziel zeigen, wohin man ihn fürhen will, aber die verschiedenen Wege, auf welchen er dahin gelangen soll, müssen ihm gänzlich verborgen bleiben’. In Gottohld Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 386, translated in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, translated and with an introduction by Victor Lange (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 74. 50 nature only; tenderness, remorse, conscience, humility play their parts also, and the second movement an andante with muted violins and bassoons, is occupied with mysterious and plaintive tones. In the third movement the emotional and the stately tones are mingled, for the scene opens with unusual splendour; Semiramis is approaching the term of her glory and as this glory strikes the eye, so the ear must also perceive it.12

According to Lessing, Agricola’s multi-movement overture conveys a variety of different moods or sentiments, each of which corresponds to a different emotional aspect of Voltaire’s play. Interestingly, his reading of Agricola’s overture seems to overstep his own theoretical assessment of what an overture should and should not try to achieve, this overture not outlining the general tendency of the play, but exploring a series of different and contrasting musical moods that are indicative of the various emotions and characters that appear in

Voltaire’s play. Lessing does not, however, go into any detail as to whether the arrangement and presentation of the various musical emotions encourages the listener to form any kind of narrative from the overture. As Agricola’s incidental music is lost we cannot probe Lessing’s comments any further to assess whether the overture’s series of musical images can be said to constitute an argument that parallels that of the play it introduces. His review, though, remains important as it provides an insight into how overtures were perceived to function in the latter half of the eighteenth century and their relationship to the dramas they introduced.

12 ‘Die Anfangssymphonie bestehet aus drei Sätzen. Der erste Satz ist ein Largo, nebst den Violinen, mit Hoboen und Flöten; der Grundbaß ist durch Fagotte verstärkt. Sein Ausdruck ist ernsthaft; manchmal gar wild und stürmisch; der Zuhörer soll vermuten, daß er ein Schauspiel ungefähr dieses Inhalts zu erwarten habe. Doch nicht dieses Inhalts allein; Zärtlichkeit, Reue, Gewissensangst, Unterwerfung, nehmen ihr Teil daran; und der zweite Satz, ein Andante mit gedämpften Violinen und konzertierenden Fagotten, beschäftiget sich also mit dunkeln und mitleidigen Klagen. In dem dritten Satze vermischen sich die beweglichen Tonwendungen mit stolzen; denn die Bühne eröffnet sich mit mehr als gewöhnlicher Pracht; Semiramis nahet sich dem Ende ihrer Herrlichkeit; wie diese Herrlichkeit das Auge spüren muß, soll sie auch das Ohr vernehmen’. In Gottohld Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 385 translated in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, translated and with an introduction by Victor Lange (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 73-74. 51 In each of the above examples, it is suggested that an overture should try to prepare either the mood of the drama to follow or present some of the drama’s main sentiments. Algarotti goes a stage further and states that the overture should anticipate the action of the drama to follow, foreshadowing the comments of the Alceste preface that state the overture should present the listener with the opera’s ‘argument’. Reinhard Strohm has drawn attention to the fact that the term ‘argomento’ in Gluck’s preface carried a very particular linguistic weight during the eighteenth century and actually referred to a type of printed introduction that was commonly handed out before the performance of a play or opera. As he states:

The term ‘argument’ was, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, familiar to theatregoers as a printed introduction to the subject matter of a drama or opera libretto. It was not a preface, nor necessarily a synopsis of the plot; more often the author concentrated on the prehistory of the action in order to prepare the spectator for basic conflicts and constellations between characters. Rarely did an argomento give away the turning points of the dramatic intrigue. 13

Strohm’s reading of this term, and of the preface, suggests that he understands the overture to Alceste to familiarise the listener with the prehistory of the drama and with the basic ‘conflicts and constellations’ that exist between the main characters. Strohm’s theory is backed up to some extent by Bernard

Germain Lacépède near contemporary treatise, The Poetics of Music (La Poétique de la musique, 1785).14 In a discussion of the overture, Lacépède claims that the best type of overture is one that reveals to the spectator the prehistory of the plot.15 While Strohm’s definition of Gluck’s ‘argument’ is certainly convincing from a historical and linguistic perspective, his reading of the preface in my opinion conflicts with both the music of the Alceste overture and the writings of

13 Reinhard Strohm, Dramma per Musica: Italian Opera Seria of the Eighteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), p. 239. 14 See Comte de Lacépède, La Poétique de la musique (Genève: Slatkine Reprints, 1970), Tome II, p. 1-38. 15 See Basil Deane, 'The French Operatic Overture from Grétry to Berlioz', Proceedings of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 99, No.1 (1972), p. 68-69. 52 the other theorists cited earlier. Indeed, Scheibe, Lessing, Quantz, and Algarotti all speak of the overture preparing the listener for what is to come, not what has happened.

So what does the Alceste overture seek to present to the listener? Although

Lacépède’s treatise seems to back up Strohm’s assertion that there were overtures that presented the listener with a prehistory of the opera, it is worth noting that Lacépède also outlines several other types of overture: those that present a condensed portrait of the entire piece (although these detract from the impact of the opera); those which prepare the listener for the main sentiments of the opera (although not necessarily in all their detail); and those that anticipate the drama’s overall mood.16 In my view, it would be difficult to describe the Alceste overture in terms of just one of these categories, although it perhaps most closely corresponds to the type of overture that prepares the listener for the opera’s main sentiments. Indeed, the overture draws, as I will show, upon musical ideas and material that are taken from various different moments in the opera and associated with specific emotions. This is not to say, though, that the overture functions in the same manner as the modern medley overture, which jumps from one main theme to the next. I believe the Alceste overture is more complex, and structured in such a way that it encourages the listener to construct a narrative from the musical events it presents, something which I will discuss throughout the course of this chapter.17 The Alceste overture

I would argue looks forwards, rather than backwards, and does not simply set the scene for the opera, but provides the listener with a foretaste of what is to

16 One other alternative suggested by Lacépède is that the overture can be dispensed with altogether. Interestingly, Gluck in Iphigénie en Tauride chooses not to begin with an overture in the traditional manner, but a musical storm that flows directly into the troubled events of the opening scene. On Gluck’s Iphigénie en Tauride overture see Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963), p. 89-99, and Julian Rushton, 'Iphigénie en Tauride: the operas of Gluck and Piccinni', Music & Letters, Vol. 53, No. 4 (1972), p. 411-430. 17 I will look at some of the readings of the Alceste overture later in this chapter. 53 come. In short, I understand the overture as concerned less with prehistory and more with tragic premonition.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau writings on the overture and his detailed discussion of the Alceste overture are particularly intriguing in this respect, as he addresses directly this idea of preparation. In his article on the overture in his Music

Dictionary (Dictionnaire de Musique, 1768), Rousseau claims that while a connection between the overture and the opera is desirable, the overture should not introduce all the different characters of the drama, something which he accuses Gluck of having done in Alceste.18 In a letter to Charles Burney that discusses the Alceste overture (Lettre à M. Burney sur la musique, avec fragments d’observations sur l’Alceste italien de M. le chevalier Gluck, c. 1777), Rousseau provides an analysis of the Alceste overture which concludes that the overture has three flaws:

The first, the use of a kind of harmony that is not sonorous enough for an overture destined to awaken the spectator by filling his ear and preparing it for attention. The second, of anticipating this same kind of harmony, which one will be forced to employ for such a long time, and which consequently must be handled very carefully in order to prevent satiety; and the third, of also anticipating the sequence of time, by expressing for us in advance a distress which is not yet in the scene and which the announcement of the public Herald alone is going to arouse, and I do not believe that one should indicate in a retrograde order what is going to come as having already passed.19

18 On the overture see Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud-Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 356-358, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, A complete dictionary of music: consisting of a copious explanation of all words necessary to a true knowledge and understanding of music (London: J. Murray, 1779), p. 305-306. On Gluck’s Alceste overture see Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud-Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 441-457, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Languages and Writings Related to Music, the Collected Writings of Rousseau, Vol. 7, edited and translated by John T. Scott (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 491-505. 19 ‘Le premiere, l’emploi d’un genre d’harmonie trop peu sonore pour une ouverture destinée à éveiller le spectateur, en remplissant son oreille et le préparant à l’attention. L’autre, d’anticiper sur ce même genre d’harmonie qu’on sera forcé d’employer si longtem[p]s, et qu’il faut par 54 According to Rousseau, the overture jars with the first scene; the Herald’s opening announcement is rendered dramatically redundant because the overture has already announced that the opera is concerned with tragic subject matter. Rousseau believes that the overture’s anticipation of the opera’s soundscape weakens the effect the soundscape could have had later in the opera, the overture having already saturated the listener with minor key harmonies. In short, Rousseau perceives the Alceste overture to say too much too soon, the overture taking away from, rather than adding to, the tragic potency of the opera. Gluck’s overture, however, was not intended simply to prepare the listener for the tragic events of the opening scene, but for the entire opera. In my interpretation, the overture to Alceste establishes the narrative framework for the opera, filling the spectator with a sense of impending doom and placing them in a state of tragic expectation that will persist until the second half of the opera’s final act. In this chapter, I aim to look at the ways in which the overture anticipates the music of opera, and ask what affect this might have on a listener’s understanding of the overture as narrative and the opera as tragedy.

Establishing a Dramatic Framework: Tragedy and the Alceste Overture

For Albert Einstein, the Alceste overture ‘is the first truly tragic introduction to an opera’, a view that is echoed by Patricia Howard in her study of Gluck’s reform operas.20 She states that it is ‘the first overture to introduce so

conséquent ménager très-sobrement pour prévenir la satiété; et le troisième, d’anticiper aussi sur l’ordre des tem[p]s, en nous exprimant d’avance une douleur qui n’est pas encore sur la scene, et qu’y va seulement faire naître l’annonce du Héraut public, et je ne crois pas qu’on doive marquer dans un ordre rétrograde, ce qui est à venir comme déjà passé’. In Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud- Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 451, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Languages and Writings Related to Music, the Collected Writings of Rousseau, Vol. 7, edited and translated by John T. Scott (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 499-500. 20 Alfred Einstein, Gluck, translated by Eric Blom (London: Dent, 1936), p. 108 and Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963), p. 90. 55 unequivocally a tragic action’.21 But how does Gluck foster a sense of tragedy in his overture? For Howard, ‘the [musical] material of the reform overtures is often based on characteristic music - and music that Gluck increasingly associated with specific characters or incidents in the course of the opera’.

Howard notes, however, that the Alceste overture lacks any significant references to music from the opera. As she states, ‘the Alceste overture is the

“purest” in this sense, devoid of any but the most tentative and ambiguous reappearances in the opera’.22 These tentative reappearances, though, are important to my understanding of the overture and of its narrative potential.

Indeed, when listening to Alceste, the overture’s dependence on musical ideas from the opera becomes clear, the overture sharing the same soundworld as the opera, something that Rousseau noted in his aforementioned discussion of the piece. So why does Howard play down the significance of these musical correspondences in her discussion of Alceste? The reason may be that the overture consists of musical figures that are not immediately susceptible to traditional methods of analysis. The musical connection between the opera and the overture is not the result of the use of direct quotation, but from the use of shared musical motifs, orchestration techniques, and harmonic patterns.23 As a result, it is difficult to say what exactly constitutes these musical correspondences and to pinpoint precisely the moment that they occur in the both the overture and the opera as the various correspondences appear across a number of passages in different combinations and disguises. In this chapter, I aim to highlight some of these musical connections and show how they might furnish the overture with a sense of narrative.

21 Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963), p. 90. 22 Ibid., p. 90. 23 It should be noted that there is no evidence either way to suggest whether the overture was composed before, after, or during composition of the opera. This does not take away, however, from the correspondences that exist between the two. 56 In my view, the overture is constructed from a series of what Robert Samuels refers to as “s-codes”. 24 This is a grouping of musical ideas that carry a certain signification when presented in combination (although not all members of the group are necessarily required in order for the s-code to have its intended effect). For Samuels, an s-code ‘denotes any collection of objects, ideas, musical stimuli or whatever that can be grouped together and described as structured in some way’.25 S-codes, though, do not have determinate meanings, as ‘meaning arises from the “sign function” that a term derives from the play between s- codes, and the receiver of a message must engage in “sign production”, by bringing her own s-code into relation with the s-code of the signifier’.26 In short, s-codes cannot be easily defined as they consist of a fluid set of features and require the listener to actively participate in their interpretation. In addition, the interpretation of the s-code is dependent upon the listener as it is determined by the cultural and historical context in which they are situated. To assess the possible s-codes present in the Alceste overture, then, an understanding of eighteenth-century musical and dramatic procedures, alongside a study of the overture’s reception history, is required. An analysis of the overture’s musical structure with reference to contemporary theories concerning music, drama, and tragedy I believe is one step towards this goal. Through a multi- methodological investigation I will look at how the overture’s s-codes have been interpreted over time (which may aid with our understanding of how these codes may have been intended originally to function) and explore how these s-codes might encourage a listener to construct a narrative from the overture. My intention is to investigate not only the musical structure of the overture, but how the overture functions as part of the larger operatic drama and how we, as listeners, might hear and interpret this overture.

24 Robert Samuels, Mahler's Sixth Symphony: A Study in Musical Semiotics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 25 Ibid., p. 6. 26 Ibid., p. 6. 57 The primary method of investigation in this thesis derives from the fact that the overture shares musical material with the opera, thus providing me with a key with which I can interpret some of the meanings of the overture’s s-codes. As these musical ideas, these s-codes, are accompanied by a text in the opera, they are ascribed an explicit dramatic resonance that, in a sense, can be said to carry over into the overture. An investigation into the dramatic nature of these musical motifs and ideas in the opera, then, could possibly help with my interpretation of these motifs in the overture.

Before I begin my detailed narrative analysis of the overture, it is probably worth outlining, in table format, the basic structure of the overture, so as to break it down into several digestible sections. My reason for doing this is not to provide any major analytical insights, but to help guide the reader through my analysis. The sections outlined below are by no means definitive and I hope do not overshadow the fluidity and dynamic nature of the overture. Indeed, the aim of my analysis is not to draw rigid conclusions on musical structural and compositional method, but to look at the ways in which we might hear the overture and why we might perceive it to have a narrative; the fluid nature of the overture is thus essential to my analysis and should not be forgotten.

The Alceste overture is in a binary form, the second section repeating the material of the first section, although harmonically altered. Within each of the two sections I understand there to be five main musical ideas. Even though specific bar numbers have been allocated to each of these ideas in the table below, I want to stress again that the overture is far more fluid and that the various musical ideas are not as clearly delineated as the table might suggest (as the sections often overlap). In the table below the letter A represents the first section of the binary form and B the second, repeated section; the numbers represent the five main musical sections.

58

Section Bar Key/Key area Description Numbers A1 1-11 D minor Strong forte D minor statement, followed by creeping melodic lines in the upper strings that incorporate sighing figures and occasional chromatic notes. A2 12-29 D minor and then at bar 21 More turbulent section; semiquaver a move towards A minor movement, syncopation, full orchestra. A3 29-38 A minor More lyrical and melodic in nature; melody alternates between woodwind and strings; no brass. A4 39-53 C major Sudden interruption; full orchestra, forte. Music becomes increasingly agitated; syncopation and unstable harmony from bar 43 onwards. A5 54-60 Evaded A minor cadence at Music appears to liquidate and bars 53-54. A minor chord becomes more lyrical in nature. replaced by A major seventh chord. B1 61-71 A minor (no strong perfect Opening material reappears in cadence as dominant dominant minor supported by an A pedal in the bass). B2 72-90 Sudden move towards E Material is altered in last beat of bar minor; does not remain in 71 to accommodate a change of key. A minor as expected. Gradually moves back to A minor before moving to D minor. B3 91-100 D minor Lyrical material as before. B4 101-115 F major Sudden interruption as earlier. B5 116-130 Perfect cadence in D minor, Material appears to liquidate as replaced by D major before, but passage is extended at seventh chord. At bar 122- bar 123 with the return of the lyrical 123 harmony moves material from A3/B3. This is towards dominant of D followed by sighing motifs minor. Overture closes on reminiscent of bars 5-11. dominant chord.

Table 1: Outline of basic structure of Alceste overture

59 Orchestration and Instrumentation: Tragedy and Trombones

Having looked at the general structure of the overture, I now want to look, in detail, at how a connection is established between the overture and the opera.

One of the ways in which I believe this is achieved is through Gluck’s use of original orchestration techniques and innovative instrumentation. Both instrumentation and orchestration are used throughout the opera to help characterise and intensify the drama, with particular instruments and textures being used to accompany certain aspects of the drama, but not others.27 For example, the trumpet is omitted from the overture, so that when it opens the first scene it has a more striking and powerful dramatic effect. Indeed, the trumpet signals the Herald’s announcement that Admeto is to die, thus marking the beginning of the tragedy.

The timpani are also used in the opera in a discerning manner and only appear once to accompany the jubilant chorus that celebrates Admeto’s return to health in Act II. This is a particularly potent dramatic moment, as the on-stage characters, unlike the audience (which has witnessed Alceste take the oath), are unaware that Admeto’s return to health is a result of Alceste’s decision to take

Admeto’s place in death. The timpani may have been omitted from the overture because they are used in the opera to accompany a celebratory event and not the more overtly tragic events. Employing timpani in the overture, then, could possibly have weakened the characteristic effect they are to have later in the opera. The chalumeau is also used in the opera to accompany a particular type of dramatic scene and, like the timpani, does not feature in the overture.28 The chalumeau is reserved until Act II, scene 2, where it accompanies a moment of

27 Berlioz analyses Gluck’s innovative orchestration techniques throughout his treatise on orchestration. See Hector Berlioz, Grand traité d'instrumentation et d'orchestration modernes (Paris: Lemoine, 1843), translated in Hector Berlioz, Berlioz's orchestration treatise: a translation and commentary, translated and with commentary by Hugh Macdonald (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). On Gluck’s orchestration techniques also see, Ulrico Pannuti, 'La riforma di Gluck', La scala, Vol. 91 (1957), p. 26-29. 28 On Gluck’s dramatic use of the clarinet see Angela Maria Owen, 'The Chalumeau and its Music', American Recorder, Vol. 8, No. 1 (1967), p. 7-9 60 deep introspection: Alceste asks ‘Who speaks to me? What do I answer?’29 The chalumeau also appears in Act II, scene 6, as Alceste approaches the altar and, in a similar moment of introspection, invokes the goddess Vesta. It may be deduced from the above examples that in Alceste distinct musical textures were employed to help characterise particular dramatic scenes and emotions.30 The trumpet, timpani, and chalumeau were possibly all omitted from the overture as they did not sit well with the particular effect that Gluck wished the overture to have.

The similarity between the orchestration of the Alceste overture and a number of scenes in the opera (yet not others) is probably also of significance. For example, the opening chord of the overture is scored for strings, two flutes, two oboes, two bassoons, two horns, and three trombones. The use of three trombones in the overture is particularly unusual as it provides the overture with an odd musical timbre and weight.31 This effect is heightened by the fact that, as already noted, the trumpet is omitted from the overture, thus creating an orchestral imbalance in the brass section. Although the trombones disappear from the musical texture at bar 6, they reappear throughout the overture (bars

18-22, 39-51, 61-65, 78-84, 101-113) and in the overture’s final three bars. The unusual low-brass texture, in my view, can legitimately be described as a distinguishing feature of the overture. What is more interesting, though, is the fact that this low-brass texture is also used in a number of choruses and

29 ‘Chi mi parla? Che rispondo?’ All quotes from the libretto are taken from Rudolf Gerber [et al.], ed., Christoph Willibald Gluck: Sämtliche Werke (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1988), all translations are by Keith Anderson and taken from the CD inlay to Arnold Östman and the Drottningholm Theatre Chorus, Gluck: Alceste, No. 8.660066-68 (Munich: Naxos, 1999). 30 I shall look in more detail at the way in which these scenes are constructed and the effect they have later in the chapter. 31 In fact, trombones were rarely employed in the theatre. For a history of the trombone see Robin Gregory, The Trombone: The Instrument and its Music (London: Faber and Faber, 1973), David M. Guion, The trombone: its history and music, 1697-1811 (New York; London: Gordon and Breach, 1988) and Terry Pierce, 'The Trombone in the Eighteenth Century', Journal of the International Trombone Association, Vol. 8 (1980), p. 6-10. 61 instrumental passages in the opera, all of which are intended to have a similar, if not the same, dramatic effect.

The trio of trombones appears most prominently in Alceste’s Act I, scene 5 aria, the trombones used here to represent a force that opposes Alceste. Having decided that she must sacrifice herself to save her husband, in this aria Alceste shows her love for her family and her heroic strength as she, metaphorically, confronts the gods and inhabitants of the underworld: ‘shades, ghosts, companions of death, I do not ask of you, I do not want mercy. If I take away from you a beloved husband, I abandon to you a faithful wife’.32 The trombone unison statement that repeatedly interrupts her melodic line is, no doubt, intended to musically represent the shades and ghosts of whom Alceste sings

(see Ex. 1): 33

32 ‘Ombre, larve, compagne di morte,/ non vi chiedo, non voglio pieta./ Se vi tolgo l’amato consorte,/ v’abbandono una sposa fedal’. 33 All the examples in this chapter are taken from Rudolf Gerber [et al.], ed., Christoph Willibald Gluck: Sämtliche Werke (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1988). 62

Example 1: Christoph Willibald Gluck, Alceste, Act I, scene 5, Ombre,

Larve, compagne di morte, bars 7-12.

The association of trombones with the underworld and the supernatural was nothing new, and is actually seen as early as Monteverdi’s Orfeo.34 It is, therefore, perhaps no surprise to find that in Act I, scene 4, the same low-brass texture is employed to accompany the Oracle, and in Act II, scene 2, the gods of the underworld.

34 See fn. 31. 63

Example 1: continued, bars 81-2.

This low-brass texture was not the only means by which an eighteenth-century composer could attempt to portray the sounds of the underworld.35 As Clive

McClelland notes, a certain style of composition existed in the eighteenth century that specifically pertained to the depiction of this realm.36 McClelland

35 In fact, the use of trombones was somewhat a compositional luxury of the Viennese theatre, as trombonists were not employed by many eighteenth-century theatres and opera houses. 36 This style of composition has been designated the ombra style. It should be noted, however, that this term was not employed during the eighteenth century. For a history of the term and an assessment of the style’s characteristics see Clive McClelland, Ombra Music in the Eighteenth Century: Context, Style and Signification (PhD Thesis: University of Leeds, 2001) and Birgitte Moyer, 'Ombra and Fantasia in Late Eighteenth-Century Theory and Practice', in Convention in Eighteenth-and Nineteenth-Century Music, ed. Wye J. Allanbrook, Janet M. Levy, and William P. Mahrt, (Stuyvesant: Pendragon Press, 1992), p. 283-306. 64 ascribes a whole range of musical ideas to this so-called ombra style, such as slow tempi, minor keys, chromaticisms, dissonances, bold and surprising progressions, tremolo effects, syncopation, strong contrasts, silence and unusual instrumentation. The ombra style is certainly a feature of the Alceste overture (as well as the scenes described above) and is no doubt employed in the overture to help prepare the spectator for the opera’s supernatural atmosphere.37 The trombone trio I think add to the ombra effect as they provide a menacing, and somewhat foreboding, quality to the music.

According to Gluck’s contemporary Olivier de Corancez, in Alceste Gluck attempts to depict the gods of the underworld not as monsters or demons, but as ethereal ‘agents of fate’, Corancez saying that Gluck once said:

It is not possible to imitate the language of the supernatural creatures, because we have never heard them. But we must strive to get close to the ideas we have of the functions they undertake. Demons, for example, have a well-known and well-defined conventional character, and their portrayal should be dominated by an excess of rage and fury. But the underworld gods are not demons; we think of them as the agents of fate; they are subject to no emotion; they are impassive. They are indifferent to Alcestis and Admetus; the only necessity is that their destiny is fulfilled.38

It seems that Gluck intended the underworld scenes in Alceste to have a different effect as those of, say, Orfeo. While the latter depicts the underworld as

37 The use of ombra music and its supernatural and tragic associations will be explored in more detail in chapter three. 38 ‘Il n’est possible, me dit-il, d’imiter le langage des êtres phantastiques, puisque nous ne les avons jamais entendus; mais il faut tâcher de se rapprocher des idées que nous donnent d’eux les functions dont ils sont chargés. Les Diables, par example, ont un caractère de convention bien connu & bien prononcé; l’excès de la rage & de la fureur doit y dominer; mais les Dieux infernaux ne sont pasles Diables; nous les regardons comme les Ministres du destin; ils n’agissent point par une passion qui leur soit propre; ils sont impassibales. Alceste, Admète, leur sont indifférens; il faut seulement qu’à leur égard le destin s’accomplisse’. Olivier de Corancez, 'Lettre sur le Chevalier Gluck', in Journal de Paris (1788), p. 1022, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 248. 65 filled with demons and presents to the spectator the rage of the Furies, Alceste presents the gods of the underworld in a much more functional and ritualistic manner, as impassive ‘agents of fate’. If Corancez's anecdote is taken to be true, it could be said that the low-brass texture and ombra style in Alceste have a far more subtle significance in Gluck’s opera as a whole, and are not just intended to superficially depict the supernatural characters, but to represent the overwhelming fateful force that drives Alceste to her death. The sound of the underworld that first appears in the overture and reappears throughout the opera was possibly intended to serve as a reminder to the listener of Alceste’s fate, the ombra style functioning as a musical metaphor for the tragic essence of the drama.

As a result, it is perhaps not surprising to find that the low-brass texture and ombra style also accompany moments of grief and sorrow in the opera, such as the choruses that open Act I and the chorus that follows Alceste’s death in Act

III. These choruses, though, do not employ the trombones in the dramatic manner described above, but as part of the music’s overall texture. By creating a subtle allusion to an instrumental texture associated with the supernatural realm, a narrative link is created between these emotional and mournful choruses and the music that accompanies the so-called agents of fate in the opera. These choruses, then, further underscore the opera’s tragic narrative.

The use of the ombra style and trombone texture in the overture could also have this double significance: the trombones and ombra style indicative of both the drama’s supernatural elements and the opera’s turbulent and mournful emotional landscape. Their use in the overture and frequent reappearance throughout the rest of the opera I believe serves as a constant reminder to the listener of the higher forces at work throughout the entire opera. The unusual timbre of the overture, it seems, has lasting effect, preparing the listener not just for the soundworld of the opera, but also for the tragic nature of the drama.

66 Sound-Similes: The Overture and the Operatic Chorus

The use of trombones to accompany the mournful choruses of the opera is not the only musical feature that connects these choruses to the overture. Indeed, these choruses incorporate a number of harmonic patterns and melodic motifs that are also found in the overture. For example, the opening chorus to Act I features frequent syncopation, sighing figures, melodic lines that exploit semitone movement, and, although in a major key, repeated allusions to the minor mode; musical ideas and devices that also feature in the overture.

Another possible connection can be seen between the overture and the chorus that follows the death of Alceste in Act III, scene 3. The solemn and static homophonic opening of this chorus, in a sense, parallels the opening bars of the overture; both are based upon a tonic pedal, both are in a minor key, and both create the illusion that time is suspended. By this I mean that in each of these examples I do not feel as if the music has a clear harmonic trajectory; even though new harmonies are being explored and there is constant harmonic movement in both these passages, I do not hear either passage as being directed to a particular harmonic goal. For instance, in the chorus, although the upper strings, woodwind, and brass push the harmony forward, the reiteration of the tonic note in the basses provides the passage with a strong sense of the tonic C minor chord, grounding the harmony and furnishing the passage with a feeling of stasis. In addition, I do not believe the movement in the upper strings, woodwind, and brass is intended to push the harmony in a new direction, but to elaborate and enrich the chord of C minor. A similar effect I believe is achieved in the overture, the opening bars establishing a clear sense of D minor and the tonic chord. In the first four bars only notes from the D minor chord are used, and it is not until the end of the fifth bar that the violins begin to explore notes outside of the tonic chord, notes such as bb, c#, and g#. However, despite the expansion of the harmony at this point, the passages remains centred on the chord of D minor, the decorative melodic line of the strings not pushing the

67 harmony in a new direction, but presenting to the listener some of D minor’s essential harmonic characteristic, notably bb and c#.

The Misero Admeto chorus that opens Act I, scene 2, provides another potential correlation; for it bears a remarkable similarity to the overture’s opening 17 bars. Although the two aforementioned choruses do appear to share a number of similarities with the overture, they are not host to as many musical connections as the chorus Misero Admeto. The following analysis is intended to highlight some of the subtle musical patterns and ideas that I think are features of both the overture and this chorus. Shared pitches, melodic descents, harmonic identities, identical motifs, and nuanced orchestration all contribute to a complex web of ‘sound-similes’ that create an aural bridge between the overture and this chorus, a bridge between overture and opera. The term

‘sound-simile’ is my own and is used to describe a musical idea or cluster of ideas (an s-code) from the opera or overture that, when heard, refer the listener to a similar, although not necessarily identical, grouping of ideas that appear elsewhere in the opera or overture.

For example, at bars 4 and 6 of the Misero Admeto chorus the sixth degree of the scale appears accented (Ex. 2a). In the orchestral accompaniment the sixth is introduced as part of a melodic line, appearing on the first beat of bar 4 (and then the first beat of bar 6) in the flute and violin, both instruments having ascended from the fifth degree in the previous bar. In the soprano part the appearance of the sixth degree is more striking, the melodic phrase beginning on this note (Ex. 2a):

68

Example 2a: Misero Admeto, Act I, scene 2, bars 1-6.

69

Example 2a: continued, bars 7-12.

In the overture, the flat-sixth degree (a defining characteristic of the minor mode) is also given special attention, the flutes, oboes, and violins leaping out of the musical texture to a high and piercing bb’’ – the sixth degree of D minor

(Ex. 2b):

70

Example 2b: Intrada, bars 11-14.

The accent given to this scale degree in this passage I hear as striking, the sudden appearance of the note having an almost jarring effect. Perhaps this musical figure would have made a similar impression on the eighteenth- century listener? Nevertheless, the prominence of the flat sixth in both the chorus and the overture is an example of where a small-scale musical device, albeit a musical device with a powerful aural effect, has been used to foster a connection between the music of the overture and that of the opera.

Another possible musical correspondence can be found at bar 7 of the chorus and bars 12-14 of the overture. At bar 7 of the chorus the first violins leap to a high bb’’, creating an interval of a diminished seventh with the c#’’ of the second violins and oboes (Ex. 2a). At bar 13 of the overture, a bb is similarly placed above a c#’, creating an almost identical diminished seventh interval to that seen in the chorus (see Ex. 2b). The only difference between the two examples is that the c# is an octave lower in the overture than in the chorus; in both cases, however, the bb does retains its distinctively high pitch. In the chorus, the

71 diminished seventh interval is reiterated a tone lower three bars later, imprinting the interval on the listener’s mind and heightening the connection between the chorus and the overture.

It is, perhaps, worth pointing out that when the same material returns in the second section of the overture’s binary structure (bars 61-130), an unusual modulation occurs. At bars 72-78 the harmony moves from the dominant A minor to E minor (the dominant of the dominant). I understand this to be unusual as the customary aim of the second section of a binary structure is a return to the tonic key. In the second part of the overture, however, the music appears to move further away from the home key and moves towards the dominant of the dominant. I believe this can be explained if we understand the diminished seventh and sixth motifs discussed above as being important and significant musical events in the overture. As I have already noted, in the overture the (flat) sixth is presented initially in the upper register of the violin – bb’’. If this passage had appeared in the second part of the binary structure in A minor, as we might expect, the sixth motif would have appeared a fourth lower, beginning on the note f. I think this would have significantly weakened the high and piercing effect given to the motif in the first section of the overture.

For the effect be retained, then, the passage had to be transposed. A return to the tonic key at this point in the overture, though, would probably have been too early. So in an effort to avoid D minor and avoid the unsatisfactory presentation of the motif a fourth lower in A minor, I believe this passage was transposed to the key of E minor so that the motif could retain its piercing quality, it now beginning on the note c’’’. In my view, this not only retains the distinctive effect of the motif, but intensifies it, the motif now appearing a note higher. By retaining the note’s unique quality, the note is instilled on the listener’s mind, strengthening the connection with the similar clusters of motifs that appear later in the opera in the Misero Admeto chorus.

72 Bar 34 of the Misero Admeto chorus is host to another sound-simile. Here a near- chromatic descent of a fourth appears in the sopranos, first violins, and upper woodwind (d’’-c#’’-c’’-bb’-a’). At bars 99-100 a melodically identical motif is heard in the overture, although in rhythmic diminution (the motif also occurs at bars 37-38 of the overture a fourth higher). What is perhaps most significant, though, is that in both the overture and the chorus this motif does not have a descent that is perfectly chromatic - the motif proceeds directly from c§’’ to bb’, omitting the b§’ in between. The omission of the bb’ in both examples heightens the connection between these two motifs and the connection between the overture and the opera.

Although not a perfect chromatic descent, I believe the symbolic significance commonly associated with chromatic descents of a fourth would still have been readily apparent to the eighteenth-century listener. Indeed, during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a chromatic descent of a fourth featured frequently in laments. Over time this motif acquired a symbolic significance and came to be representative of grief and of death.39 In the eighteenth century the motif began to be employed outside of the lament and in a variety of other genres as a subtle means of alluding to the lament topos. Its inclusion in the

Misero Admeto chorus is in many ways quite apt, as the chorus refers to the suffering state of Alceste, who is soon to lose her husband. The fact that the motif accompanies, in particular, the words ‘l’afflitta madre’ (suffering mother) perhaps even hints that it is Alceste, and not Admeto, that is to die. The appearance of the motif in the overture, then, not only establishes another aural bridge between the overture and opera, familiarising the listener with musical ideas that are to occur in the opera, but also hints at the opera’s tragic narrative, the chromatic motif conjuring in the minds of the listener the lament topos.

39 For a history of the motif and its significance see Ellen Rosand, 'The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 65, No, 3 (1979), p. 346-359 and Peter Williams, The "Chromatic Fourth" During Four Centuries of Music (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997). 73 The musical soundscape of Misero Admeto parallels closely that of the overture.

The prominent use in the Misero Admeto chorus of sighing figures, the sixth degree of the scale, a trio of trombones, and the chromatic fourth motif may have been intended to remind the listener of the music of the overture. This, of course, begs the question of whether a listener can pick up on these connections when listening to the opera. In my view, it does not matter whether a listener hears the exact correspondences between the musical ideas and motifs in the overture and those of the chorus, as connection results from their shared soundscape, their overall effect, or perhaps more pertinently their overall affekt.

The connection between overture and this chorus is further encouraged in the opera as the Misero Admeto chorus is repeated later in the same scene. By repeating the chorus, the audience’s familiarity with these musical fragments and sound-similes is increased, imprinting the soundscape of the passage on the listener’s mind.

I believe the connection between chorus and opera also helps to heighten the opera’s tragic narrative by preparing the listener for, and then reminding the listener of, music associated with grief, mourning, and the supernatural agents of fate. I would like to argue that one of the main functions of the overture is to introduce the listener to some of the opera’s most important musical motifs so that when these musical ideas recur they are accompanied not only by an air of familiarity, but impregnated with a sense of history.40 In sum, I understand the

Alceste overture to play host to a series of musical clusters that reappear later in the opera. As noted above, there is a particularly close connection between the overture and the chorus Misero Admeto - a chorus that mourns Admeto’s illness and pities the fate of his wife and children. The foreshadowing in the overture

40 Both Julian Rushton and Daniel Heartz have drawn attention to this aspect of the dramatic overture. See Daniel Heartz, 'Mozart's Overture to Titus as Dramatic Argument', Musical Quarterly, Vol. 64, No. 1 (1978), p. 29-49, Julian Rushton, 'An Early Essay in 'Leitmotiv': J. B. Lemoyne's Electre', Music & Letters, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1971), p. 387-401 and Julian Rushton, 'The Overture to Les Troyens', Music Analysis, Vol. 4, No. 1/2 Special Issue: King's College London Music Analysis Conference, 1984 (1985), p. 119-144. 74 of musical material associated with grief and mourning, as well as the supernatural, I believe is one way in which the overture prepares the listener for the drama to follow and one of the ways in which a sense of narrative is fostered in the overture. What I find most interesting about the above observations, however, is that the overture in particular foreshadows musical ideas from the opera that are associated with tragic pathos and tragic emotion, and not tragic action. I believe the focus on tragic pathos is not particular to this overture, but indicative of contemporary attitudes towards lyric tragedy as a whole. It is worth, therefore, briefly exploring contemporary ideas of tragedy in more detail as it could possible help with my understanding of why musical ideas from the grieving choruses appear in the overture and what bearing this might have on the narrative of the overture.

Tragedy and Emotion: A More Rational Overture

During the first half of the eighteenth century, opera was understood to be a genre entirely different from that of spoken tragedy. The tragedies of Jean

Racine, for example, were not considered to be of the same nature as those of, say, Philippe Quinault and Jean-Baptiste Lully. Whereas Racine aimed to create plots that were realistic and rational, the operas of Lully were situated in the realms of the marvellous and the magical; while Racine’s plays focused upon human situations and emotions, Lully’s operas were filled with gods, demigods, and magical elements. For Rousseau, the marvellous was an essential element to opera and intrinsic to its very nature. As he states in his

Dictionary of Music (Dictionnaire de Musique, 1768):

At the birth of Opera, its inventors, wanting to avoid what was scarcely natural in the unison of Music with discourse in the imitation of human life, took it into their heads to transport the Scene into the Heavens and into Hell, and, for want of knowing how to make men speak, they preferred to make Gods and Devils sing rather than Heroes and Shepherds. Soon magic and the marvellous became the foundations of the Lyric Theatre, and, content with enriching themselves with a new

75 genre, they did not even dream of inquiring whether that was the only one they should have chosen.41

Rousseau believed that opera justified its use of music because it was based upon plots that were invested with magical characters and elements.42 Put

simply, music was used to depict an irrational, magical, and mythological

realm, a world, in short, quite set apart from our own. In Rousseau’s opinion

there was a distinct difference between the tragedies of the ancients and lyric

tragedy, a genre which he saw as artificial and intended to please the senses, rather than the mind. As he states:

This manner of uniting Music to Poetry in the Theatre which, among the Greeks, sufficed for interest and illusion because it was natural, by the contrary reason could not suffice among us for the same end. When listening to a hypothetical and constrained language, we have difficulty conceiving what is trying to be said to us; with a great deal of noise little emotion is produced in us; from this arises the necessity of bringing physical pleasure to the aid of the moral, and of making up for the energy of the expression with the attraction of the Harmony. Thus, the less one knows how to touch the heart, the more one must know how to flatter the ear, and we are forced to seek in sensation the pleasure which feeling denies us.43

41 ‘À la naissance de l’Opera, ses inventeurs voulant éluder ce qu’avoit de peu naturel l’union de la Musique au discours dans l’imitation de la vie humaine, s’avisèrent de transporter la Scène aus Cieux et dans les Enfers, et faute de savoir faire parler les hommes, ils aimèrant mieux faire chanter les Dieux et les Diables, que le[s] Héros et les Bergers. Bientôt la magie et le merveilleux devinrent les fondements du Théâtre lyrique, et content de s’enricher d’un nouveau genre on ne songea pas même à rechercher si c’etoit bien celui-là qu’on avoit dû choisir’. In Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud- Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 951, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Languages and Writings Related to Music, the Collected Writings of Rousseau, Vol. 7, edited and translated by John T. Scott (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 450. 42 Gary Tomlinson has explored the relationship between music and magic during the Renaissance and has highlighted the way in which opera uses music’s supposed magical quality to legitimise its use of music. See Gary Tomlinson, Music in Renaissance Magic: Towards a Historiography of Others (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993) and Gary Tomlinson, 'Pastoral and Musical Magic in the Birth of Opera', in Opera and the Enlightenment, ed. Thomas Bauman and Maritza Petzoldt McClymonds (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 7-22. 43 ‘Cette manière d’unir au Théâtre la Musique à la Poésie, qui, chez les Grecs, suffisoit pour l’intérêt et l’illusion, parce qu’elle étoit naturelle, par la raison contraire, ne pouvoit suffire chez nous pour la même fin. En écoutant un language hypothétique et contraint, nous avons peine à 76 Although opera could create a spectacular and magical illusion, its overall effect was nothing more than sensual titillation. In essence, Rousseau thought that music trivialised the beautiful simplicity and potency of tragic drama.

Despite opera’s supposed artificiality, composers still sought to make opera an acceptable medium for tragic drama. In my view, Gluck’s so-called reform operas offer up a direct challenge to Rousseau’s comments. As the preface to

Alceste states, for opera to function as a respected dramatic art form it needed to rid itself of its ‘abuses’ and ‘restrict music to its true function of helping poetry to be expressive and to represent the situations of the plot, without interrupting the action or cooling its impetus with useless and unwanted ornaments’.44 In short, in the minds of Gluck and Calzabigi opera needed to be re-invented, so that it could be seen to enhance, rather than detract from, the tragic effect of the drama. Gluck’s operas from Orfeo onward represent a determined attempt to focus the music upon the drama, rather than on irrelevant and unnecessary musical ornamentation and superfluous repetition. If opera was ever to

(re)produce the powerful and cathartic effect of the Greek tragedians, Gluck knew that it needed to communicate in a more direct manner and speak to the mind and not just to the senses.

concevoir ce qu’on veut nous dire; avec beaucoup de bruit on nous donne peu d’émotion: de-là naît la nécessité d’amener le plaisir physique au secours du moral, et de suppléer par l’attrait de l’Harmonie à l’énergie de l’expression. Ainsi moins on sait toucher le cœur, plus il faut savoir flatter l’oreille, et nous sommes forcés de chercher dans la sensation le plaisir que le sentiment nous refuse’. In Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud-Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 951, translated in Jean- Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Langauges and Writings Related to Music (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 450. 44 ‘Pensai di restringer la Musica al suo vero ufficio di servire alla Poesia per l’espressione, e per le situazione della Favola, senza interromper l’Azione, o raffreddarla con degl’ inutile superflui ornamenti’. Reprinted in Stanley Sadie, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (London: Macmillan, 1980), Vol. 7, p. 466, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth- Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 84-85. 77 In his Conversations on ‘The Natural Son’ (Entretiens sur Le Fil Naturel, 1757),

Denis Diderot - although agreeing with Rousseau that opera ought to take place in the marvellous realm (and interestingly not in the domain of his newly formulated genre of domestic tragedy) - suggests that opera should focus on the drama’s emotional aspects rather than on its marvellous and magical actions.45

Diderot argues that music should not seek to represent actions or objects, but emotions, warning that ‘everything that he [the composer] devotes to the pictorial scene will deflect from the pathetic expression. It will have a greater effect on the ears, less on the soul.’46 For Diderot, lyric tragedy needed to focus upon tragic emotion, rather than tragic action. Opera needed to exploit music’s emotive qualities and become more realistic, more probable and, most importantly, based upon human, and not supernatural, actions and emotions.

With Alceste, there is a determined effort by both Gluck and Calzabigi to map the drama onto the human aspects of the tragic situation. This is perhaps why the overture is constructed, as noted above, from music associated with the emotional choruses of the opera. By providing the overture with an air of tragic pathos, grief, and sorrow, Gluck, from the very beginning, focuses the listener’s attention on the emotional elements of the drama.

Tragic Temporality: Static and Cyclical Structures

Thus far, it seems that the main premise of the Alceste overture is not to present an all-encompassing musical synopsis of the plot, but to draw the listener’s attention to particular moments in the drama, moments associated specifically with tragic emotions. But this is not to say that the Alceste overture functions in

45 See Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994). In particular, see p.167-175, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 72-74. 46 ‘Tout ce qu’il accordera à des tableaux sera perdu pour le pathétique. Le tout produira plus d’effet sur les oreilles, moins sur l’âme’. In Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), p. 170, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 75. 78 the manner described by Quantz and Lessing earlier, the overture presenting a kaleidoscope of the main sentiments of the opera; indeed, I believe the overture has a far more potent narrative. As noted above, the Alceste overture hosts a series of musical ideas that are found in the opera, each motif or idea being associated with a specific emotional element in the tragedy; in particular, those of grief, sorrow and loss. It should be stressed, though, that the overture does not draw upon all the emotional situations explored in the opera: there is no reference to the music that accompanies Alceste’s decision to die, and no reference to the jubilant music that accompanies her resurrection - a sense of tragic grief pervades the entire overture. This is something which Rousseau picks up on in his assessment of the overture, Rousseau alerting the reader to the overture’s predominantly sad and emotional tone:

The overture, of a single piece by a beautiful and simple ordering, is well and regularly laid out, by means of it, the Author intended to prepare the spectators for the sadness into which he was going to plunge them from the beginning of the first act throughout the entire Piece, and for this he modulated his overture almost entirely in the minor mode, and even with affection, since in this entire piece, which is quite long, only the first brace [bracket] on page 4, and the first related brace on page 9, are in the major mode.47

In my interpretation, however, these major mode passages that come as a relief to Rousseau (designated A4 and B4 on my table) do not function as such, as they actually bear the imprint of the concluding section to Alceste’s tormented aria that closes the second act. Although the aria is in 6/8 and not the overture’s

47 ‘L’ouverture d’un seul morceau d’une belle et simple ordonnance y est bien et réguliérement dessinée; l’Auteur a eu l’intention d’y préparer les spectateurs à la tristesse, où il alloit les plonger dès le commencement du premier acte et dans tout le cours de la Pièce, et pour cela, il modulé son ouverture presque toute entière, en mode mineur, et même avec affectation, puisqu’il n’y a, dans tout ce morceau qui est assez long, que la première accolade de la page 4, et la première accolade relative de la page 9 qui soient en majeur’. In Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud-Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 451, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Languages and Writings Related to Music, the Collected Writings of Rousseau, Vol. 7, edited and translated by John T. Scott (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 499. 79 4/4, the aria does seem to play host to a cluster of musical ideas that are also found in the overture. For example, both passages are centred on C major, both employ a C pedal in the bass, and both have a remarkably similar harmonic progression. In addition, the melodic line of the aria and this passage in the overture is remarkably similar: each melody ascends by step and features numerous acciaccaturas (compare Ex. 3a and Ex. 3b).

Example 3a: Act II, scene 6, Ah, per questo già stanco mio core, bars 56-59.

80

Example 3a: continued, bars 60-63.

Example 3b: Intrada, bars 37-39.

81

Example 3b: continued, bars 40-42.

Despite the C major tonality of the passage, this passage, like those before it, seems to carry a tragic weight. It is worth noting at this point that during the eighteenth century major and minor tonalities were not considered to be diametrically opposed, as they are now often perceived to be. Gluck’s Che farò senza Euridice is a case in point. For this aria Gluck opts for a major key in which to explore the intensely painful emotional situation. In Deryck Cooke’s opinion, although the aria is in a major key, it gains in emotional intensity through

Gluck’s use of ‘semitonal tension’.48 By semitonal tension, Cooke means melodic phrases that “resolve” though semitone movement, such as 4-3 resolutions onto the tonic (f-e in C major) and 8-7 resolutions onto the dominant

(c-b in C major). In Che farò senza Euridice Cooke understands the repeated use of 8-7 semitone, sighing figures, to furnish the aria with a ‘sense of pathos [that] is more acute than that of 4-3, since the “resolution” is on to the major seventh, which is itself a dissonance requiring resolution’.49 According to Cooke, the

48 Deryck Cooke, The Language of Music (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989), p. 83. 49 Ibid., p. 83. 82 interpolation of semitonal tensions provides the aria with a classical pathos, a pathos which is only enhanced by the major key context, the semitonal tensions undermining the joyful nature of the major key. Interestingly, in both the aforementioned section of the overture and Alceste’s aria Ah, per questo già stanco mio core, semitonal movement also features. In both cases semitonal tension is created through the use in the melody of acciaccaturas and lower auxiliary notes that outline a semitone. For example, in bar 39 the melody moves from c to b and back to c'. In this context the b functions as a lower auxiliary note, providing not only a semitonal tension, but a semitone clash with the C major harmony of that bar. In bar 40 this effect is used again, an f'-e'- f' auxiliary figure in the melody highlighting a semitone movement and creating a dissonance with the accompanying harmony.

Although the use of semitone tension in Alceste’s aria and this major key passage in the overture is not identical to its use in Che farò senza Euridice, the comparison does draw attention to the fact that music is capable of subtle expression through the manipulation of both small- and large-scale musical devices. Indeed, alongside harmony and melody, Gluck also thought metre and tempo could significantly affect the dramatic import of a piece of music. As he states in the preface to Paride ed Elena:

Nothing but a change in the mode of expression is needed to turn my aria from Orfeo, “Che farò senza Euridice”, into a dance for marionettes. One note held or shortened, a neglected increase in speed, a misplaced appoggiatura in the voice, or a trill, passage-work, or roulade can ruin a whole scene in such an opera.50

50 ‘Non ci vuol nulla, per che la mia Arià nell’ Orfeo, Che farò senza Euridice, mutando solamente qualche cosa nella maniera dell’ espressione, diventi un saltarello da Burattini’. In Ludwig Nohl, Musiker-Briefe. Eine Sammlung Briefe von C. W. von Gluck, Ph. E. Bach, J. Haydn, C. M. von Weber und F. Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Leipzig, 1867), p. 10, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 97. 83 The expressive importance Gluck ascribes to tempo, metre, and rhythm in the above passage is something that Johann Philipp Kirnberger also stresses in his treatise The Art of Strict Musical Composition (Die Kunst des reinen Satzes in der

Musik, 1771-1779). Kirnberger wrote that:

A succession of notes that mean nothing by themselves and are differentiated from one another only by pitch can be transformed into a real melody - one that has a definite character and depicts a passion or a particular sentiment - by means of tempo, meter and rhythm, which give the melody its character and expression.51

For Kirnberger, tempo, metre, and rhythm are crucial in establishing the correct affekt. When analysing arias such as Che farò senza Euridice and Ah, per questo già stanco mio core, a broad analytical approach should to be taken. Indeed, if we are to understand the emotional and/or narrative nature of works such as these we need to look not only at their harmonic and melodic structures, but also the tempi, rhythms, and the way in which they are orchestrated.

The same might also be said of the Alceste overture, as it employs emotive small-scale musical ideas and devices which are later used later in the opera to express specific emotions and situations. Perhaps the alla breve tempo of the overture, a tempo slower than what was typical for overtures at that time, was chosen to create a feeling of restraint, and in places possibly even discomfort. In the C major passage, for example, I feel that the slower tempo works against the dynamic thrust of the sequential and ascending melody, thus generating a sense of unease. The frequent use of semitonal auxiliary notes adds to the effect, and may explain why Gluck chose to incorporate musical ideas associated with this

51 ‘Daß eine Folge von Tönen, die an sich nichts bedeuten, und nur durch Höhe und Tiefe von cinander unterschieden sind, zu eimem würklichen Gesang wird, der seinen bestimmten Charakter hat, und eine Leidenschaft oder eine bestimmte Gemüthsfassung schildert kommt von der Bewegung, dem Takt und dem Rhythsmus her, die dem Gesang seinen Charakter und Ausdruck geben’. In Johann Philipp Kirnberger, Die Kunst des reinen Satzes in der Musik (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1988), p. 105, translated in Johann Philipp Kirnberger, The Art of Strict Musical Composition, translated by David Beach and Jurgen Thym, with an introduction and explanatory notes by David Beach (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), p. 375. 84 particular passage Alceste’s major-key Ah, per questo già stanco mio core in his otherwise tumultuous minor-key overture.

In my opinion, Rousseau’s interpretation of the major-key passage in the overture as a moment of repose overlooks some of the overture’s musical subtleties. Whilst it cannot be denied that the passage provides a harmonic contrast to the minor-key music that has come before it, the major-key passage does not actually alter the overall mood of the overture. Indeed, by creating yet another aural connection between the overture and a tragic and emotional aria in the opera, this passage serves to further prepare the listener for the tragic emotions of the opera, reinforcing what I perceive as the overture’s tragic narrative.

In the above analyses I hope to have shown that the overture to Alceste presents the listener with a series of musical passages that allude to a variety of different musical moments in the opera. The association of these passages with tragic grief and loss in the overture has the effect of enveloping the listener of the overture in a maelstrom of musico-tragic emotional activity; the overture never allows the listener a moment of rest, presenting a relentless stream of intense tragic music. This effect I believe is heightened by the fact that the overture is not primarily concerned with harmonic and/or thematic development, but with the interplay of various musical effects and affekts. Despite the continually evolving series of motifs and key areas that repeatedly push the listener from pillar to post, the overture lacks any clear harmonic goal; there is no sense of direction and harmonic resolution is never achieved, the overture ending on the dominant. Like the spiralling, tragic situation that subsumes Alceste from the

Herald’s announcement that opens Act I to her eventual death in Act III, the overture similarly envelops the listener in an unrelenting musical whirlwind of tragic drama. Its overpowering and unremitting musical force leaves the

85 listener unable to envisage the opera having any sort of satisfactory resolution.

In short, the overture suggests to the listener that Alceste’s tragic fate is sealed.

Nowhere is this perhaps more apparent in the overture than at the work’s most crucial musical juncture: the bars that connect the first section of the binary structure to its second (see Ex. 4):

Example 4: Intrada, bars 52-58.

86

Example 4: continued, bars 59-63.

From bar 52 onwards the listener’s harmonic expectations are constantly toyed with, the listener being led to expect a perfect cadence in A minor at bar 54. The cadence, however, is evaded, the tonic chord being transformed into an A major seventh chord, perhaps suggesting that music is moving back to the overture’s home key of D minor. The A-pedal that begins in this bar (and continues for the next six bars) suggests that this might indeed be the case. However, at bar 56 the dominant of A minor returns, causing the listener to expect once again a perfect cadence in A minor. This cadence, like before, is avoided; D minor remains. At bar 60 the dominant seventh chord of A minor appears for the third time. This time the listener’s harmonic expectations are fulfilled, bar 61 presenting an A minor chord accompanied by the return of the overture’s opening material. This reappearance of the opening material, however, is in my opinion undermined by the way this cadence is prepared. For instance, the A minor pedal that begins at bar 56 goes across the formal juncture between the first and second sections of the binary form, weakening the return of the

87 opening material which could have been articulated at bar 60-61 with a perfect cadence. The cadence of bars 60-61, in short, lacks the harmonic weight that was given to the evaded cadence of bars 54-55. Indeed, in the overture there is a marked disjuncture between the return of the thematic material and the appearance of tonic note A, which occurs some six bars earlier. This juncture toys with what Susan McClary calls our narratives of desire; these six bars consisting of two evaded A minor cadences, as well as passing references to the dominant seventh of the overture’s home key, D minor.52 Even when we are finally presented with a cadence in A minor at bar 61, it is undermined by the fact that the dominant seventh of bar 60 occurs above an A pedal, the cadence, therefore, lacking the force and drive of the first evaded cadence.

The way in which the return of the opening material is harmonically presented may have an impact on how we might read a narrative into the overture.

Indeed, this important structural juncture is not used to create a harmonic and dynamic push forward, but a sense of dissatisfaction, the weaker, perhaps even unsatisfactory, final cadence in A minor accompanied by the return of the overture’s uncomfortable and oppressive atmospheric opening bars.

From a purely formalist perspective, the Alceste overture’s binary structure may appear old fashioned in comparison to some of Gluck’s earlier overtures, the

Alceste overture having a more traditional binary structure where the second section begins in the dominant before moving to the tonic. By contrast, the overture to Orfeo, written some five years earlier, appears to take a far more modern approach, having a binary structure where the second section begins in

52 According to Susan McClary narrative structures can be created in music through the manipulation of tonal trajectories and the listener’s desire for tonal resolution. In particular see Susan McClary, Conventional Wisdom: The Content of Musical Form (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000) and Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1991). On perception and expectation, see also Leonard B. Meyer, Emotion and Meaning in Music (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1956). 88 the tonic, rather than the dominant key. For Linda Ardito, the Orfeo overture relies on the ‘harmonic conventions of the sonata principle’.53 While I would agree that the overture consists of three sections that each appear to mirror those of a traditional sonata form movement, it cannot be said that this overture is based upon a principle that was not in common use and that had yet to be defined by any theorist. Perhaps it would be better to say that the Orfeo overture antcipates some of the structural features that we now associate with sonata forms, rather than say it relies on sonata from principles. Indeed, the first section is host to two contrasting key areas that explore the tonic and dominant respectively. This is then followed by, what appears to be, a short

‘development’ section, the music moving through a number of key areas and interpolating musical figures from the opening sections. The concluding section sees a return to the opening material and the tonic key. The overture to Alceste, by comparison, does not invoke a dominant-tonic polarity, has no quasi- development section, and, at first sight appear, appears to have a far simpler structure.54 For Ardito, however, the Alceste overture does not represent a retrograde step in Gluck’s compositional development, but a significant move forward, Ardito stating that the overture’s ‘irregularity becomes a model for continued exploration in future overtures’.55 In her thesis Ardito strives to uncover some of the overture’s supposedly more modern structural aspects to back her claim. Interestingly, although she understands the Alceste overture to have a simple binary form, she analyses the overture from a sonata form perspective, almost forcing the overture into a sonata form mould. For example, she sees each section of the binary structure as consisting of two sections, each

53 Linda Ardito, A Study of Compositional Procedures in Selected Opera Overtures (1791-1821) (Ph.D. dissertation: City University of New York, 1994), p. 23. 54 It should be noted that the difference between the Orfeo and Alceste overtures is a result of their different functions. Unlike Alceste, Orfeo was an opera that was not intended for the public theatre, but as part of a festival. In fact, it was subtitled as a festa teatrale. The lighter and apparently un-dramatic tone of the Orfeo overture, thus, could be a result of its more festive context. It is intended, perhaps, to anticipate the opera’s inevitable lieto fine. 55 Linda Ardito, A Study of Compositional Procedures in Selected Opera Overtures (1791-1821) (Ph.D. dissertation: City University of New York, 1994), p. 23. 89 of which explores a different key area: the first section establishes the tonic key

D minor and the second section explores the dominant key A minor. The A minor section in Ardito’s opinion is a ‘large dissonant harmonic area’ that functions as a dynamic event justifying the return of the tonic key at the beginning of the second section of the binary structure.56 For Ardito, ‘Gluck is, in effect, moving beyond the classical norms of what constitutes a dissonant second key, thus opening the door to further harmonic/chromatic compositional innovations that will ultimately change the entire approach to sonata form’.57 Ardito’s analysis of the Alceste overture concludes that the overture, although based upon a simple binary form, is actually a forerunner of chromatic sonata forms. Ardito’s conclusion is too grand. While Ardito is right to identify the overture’s unusual modulation to the dominant minor, rather than the more commonly used relative major, her analysis fails to take into account the equally interesting move to C major in the first section of the overture and the unusual orchestration techniques I draw attention to above.58

Indeed, I believe that some of the overture’s more unusual harmonic elements, such as the moves to A minor, C major, and E minor can be explained in terms of the overture’s musical narrative. Using A minor instead of F major adds to the overture’s tragic potency, the minor key not only helping to retain the foreboding atmosphere created in the overture’s opening bars, but also reinforcing the connection between the overture and passages for chorus cited earlier. I would argue, in addition, that the move to A minor and C major also removes any sense of tonic-dominant polarity from the overture, a polarity that would possibly have provided the overture with a harmonic kinetic energy, a sense of harmonic drive.

56 Ibid., p. 25. 57 Ibid., p. 25. 58 On minor key in binary and sonata structures see Rey M. Longyear, 'The Minor Mode in Eighteenth-Century Sonata Form', Journal of Music Theory, Vol. 15, No. 1 (1971), p. 182-229. See also Rey M. Longyear, 'Binary Variants of Early Classical Sonata Form', Journal of Music Theory, Vol. 13, No. 2 (1969), p. 162-185. 90 In his discussion of eighteenth-century binary form, Rey M. Longyear describes the overture to Alceste as ‘one of the best examples of a non-hierarchic binary form, for it is made up of groups of thematic or motivic complexes’.59 By ‘non- hierarchic binary form’ Longyear means a form that is not determined by tonic- dominant relationships and is not based on an opposition of contrasting thematic material. For Longyear, the secondary, minor-mode key area of the overture is not representative of a conflicting or dynamic event, as Ardito perceives it to be, but an exploration of a closely related key areas. In effect, it expands, rather than conflicts with, the overture’s D-minor tonality. Longyear’s view of the overture as having a non-hierarchical binary structure is corroborated by the fact that the overture’s binary structure is not based upon the opposition of two key areas, but five: D minor, A minor and C major, returning in the second half of the structure as A minor, moving through E minor, to D minor, to F major and, finally, back once again to D minor. By dismantling any sort of tonal hierarchy in the overture - there is not a single perfect cadence in the entire overture - Gluck weakens any clear sense of harmonic conflict. The fact that the overture is not host to two distinctive themes, but a collage of different motifs and melodic ideas intensifies this effect.

The problem with Ardito’s analysis is that she views the work from a purely formalist perspective, trying to apply sonata form procedures and ideas to a work that, in essence, negates the fundamental harmonic conflict that defines sonata forms. In my interpretation, the Alceste overture is not intended to function as a well-crafted symphonic composition for the concert hall that goes beyond sonata form procedures, but as an introductory piece of music that effectively prepares the listener for the tragic nature of the ensuing drama. The use of a minor- key secondary area and the teasing of listeners’ expectations at the work’s most important juncture help reinforce the tragic narrative by

59 Rey M. Longyear, 'Binary Variants of Early Classical Sonata Form', Journal of Music Theory, Vol. 13, No. 2 (1969), p. 167. 91 creating the illusion that in the overture musical time has been suspended.

Indeed, the overture is not driven forward by a series of conflicting thematic ideas, but presents a collage of musical images, each picture expanding on the previous one, providing a new perspective from which to understand the emotional situation.

Listening to the Alceste overture, then, is akin to viewing, say, a Grecian urn or painting, each different point of view providing the viewer with a new perspective by which to understand the same object. It is this pictorial quality to the overture that I believe provides it with its static and tragic temporality, a sense that the events of the ensuing opera are predetermined and the fate of

Alceste sealed.

The overture’s lack of any real conclusion only adds to this effect. Indeed, the overture closes on the dominant chord, A major. Tonal resolution is suspended until the D-major trumpet fanfare of the first scene that signals the Herald’s announcement and the beginning of the operatic action. The resolution is, however, undermined somewhat because the trumpet is an instrument that is not associated with the soundworld of this overture and, moreover, appears to emanate from the world of the on-stage characters, rather than the orchestra. A more fluid transition between overture and opera is achieved in the French version of the opera, Gluck choosing to begin his opera with four bars for chorus that are based upon the overture’s concluding material. This creates an almost transitional passage that transports the listener from the soundworld of the overture to the world of the opera. The use of a transition, however, has the effect of undermining the harmonic closure of the overture, as our attention has already been directed towards the dramatic action on stage before the resolution actually occurs.

92 In my opinion, there is a clear connection between the structure of the overture and the structure of the opera. Like the overture, the opera appears mainly concerned with the presentation of intense portrayals of tragic emotion, rather than with a kinetic series of actions and events.60 The intensity and almost static quality of both the overture and the opera is probably one of the work’s defining features, Gluck creating the illusion that musical time is suspended in an effort to explore tragic and emotional space, the opera based not on a series of connected actions, but a sequence of intense emotional pictures.

Although the fragmented melodies and multiple key structure may perhaps suggest that an epic narrative mode of presentation is at work - a sequence of events and actions being communicated through an invisible narrator - the sense that the overture lacks any kind of teleological drive and development suggests that it is not concerned with a portrayal of an ordered series of events in time, but with an exploration of space. Perhaps a connection can be made with the structure and effect of much lyric poetry.61 Indeed, the overture does not present us with a cinematic trailer for the action of the opera, but with emotions, the overture presenting a portrait of the opera’s emotional landscape.

In this respect, the overture is, perhaps, best understood with reference to

Diderot’s concept of the emotional tableaux, a pictorial and narrative depiction of a dramatic action.

Diderot’s Dramatic Tableaux: Alceste and Absorptive Listening

Diderot’s concept of the dramatic tableau is based upon the belief that stage drama could learn much from painting and that a pictorial portrayal of emotion

60 In fact, in the opera it is not until the final moments of Act III that the dramatic and tragic musical weight of the opera of the overture is lifted. 61 For a discussion and definition of epic, lyric, and dramatic poetry, see p. 14-17 and p. 22-23. It is worth noting that Lessing makes a connection between painting and lyric poetry in his Laocoon. Although space does not permit me to investigate his theories here, an exploration of his understanding of the relationship between lyric poetry, painting, and music may be a worthwhile pursuit. 93 on the stage could heighten the effect of the drama.62 Contrasting the effect of tableaux with that of the coup de théâtre, Diderot states:

An unforeseen incident which takes place in the action and abruptly changes the situation is a coup de théâtre. An arrangement of these characters on stage, so natural and so true that, faithfully rendered by a painter, it would please me on a canvas, is a tableau.63

He goes on to say that ‘if a dramatic work were well made and well performed the stage would offer the spectator as many real tableaux as the action would contain moments suitable for painting.’64 In short, Diderot perceives good drama to consist of a series of painted (emotional) moments, rather than a continuous flow of abrupt actions and events. This is not to say that dramatic action is suspended in these tableaux, but that the focus of the drama lies less with the characters’ actions and more with their emotional states. Indeed, although these tableaux are intended to present to the spectator a dramatic moment suspended in time, Diderot also thought of them as host to a latent kinetic energy.

62 On Diderot’s theory of the dramatic tableau see Daniel Brewer, The Discourse of Enlightenment in Eighteenth-Century France: Diderot and the Art of Philosophizing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), Jay Caplan, Framed Narratives: Diderot's Genealogy of the Beholder, Theory and History of Literature, Vol. 19 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985), Tili Boon Cuillé, Narrative Interludes: Musical Tableaux in Eighteenth-Century Texts (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), Jack Undank and Herbert Josephs, ed., Diderot Digression and Dispersion: A Bicentenial Tribute (Lexington, Kentucky: French Forum Publishers, 1984) and Peter Szondi, 'Tableau and Coup de Théâtre: On the Social Psychology of Diderot's Bourgeois Tragedy', New Literary History, Vol. 11, No. 2 (1980), p. 323-343. 63 ‘Un incident imprévu qui se passe en action, et qui change subitement l’état des personages, est un coup de théâtre. Une disposition de ce personages sur la scène, si naturelle et si vraie, que, rendue fidèlement par un peintre, elle me plairait sur la toile, est un tableau’. In Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), p. 88, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 12. 64 ‘Je pense, pour moi, que si un ouvrage dramatique était bien fait et bien représenté, la scène offrirait au spectateur autant de tableaux réels qu’il y aurait dans l’action de moments favorables au peintre’. In Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), p. 90, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 13. 94 One of Diderot’s most interesting examples of a dramatic situation that could be used as a tableau comes from Euripides’ Iphigeneia in Aulis. As he says:

Can there be anything more passionate than the behaviour of a mother whose daughter is being sacrificed? Let her rush on to the stage like a woman possessed or deranged; let her fill the place with cries; let even her clothes reveal her disorder: all these things are appropriate to her despair. If the mother of Iphigeneia showed herself for one moment to be the Queen of Argos or the wife of the Greek general, she would only seem to be the lowest of creatures. The true dignity which seizes my attention and overwhelms me is the tableau of maternal love in all its truth.65

In Diderot’s description of this scene, he creates a narrative by expanding the dramatic moment, focusing, in particular, on the emotional aspect of the situation. Michael Hays has observed that the focus upon emotion is a common feature of Diderot’s literary works, stating that 'in his plays Diderot focuses on a category of feelings, not on action, and the formal homologue to this turning away from action towards situation is found in Diderot’s interest in the tableau'.66 What is particularly interesting about Diderot’s description of the scene from the Iphigenia at Aulis myth described above is that he reduces

Clytemnestra’s regal status to that of a domestic mother; her emotional situation causes her to forget the fact she is royalty and the wife of

Agamemnon. There are no intricate verses here in Diderot’s tableau, but inarticulate cries and gestures. In this scene Clytemnestra is completely enveloped in the situation; her emotion results solely from maternal instincts. In

65 ‘Quoi donc, pourrait-il y avoir rien de trop véhément dans l’action d’une mère don’t on immole la fille? Qu’elle coure sur la scène comme une femme furieuse ou troublée; qu’elle remplisse de cris son palais; que le désordre ait passé jusque dans ses vêtements, ces choses conviennent à son désespoir. Si la mère d’Iphigénie se montrait un moment reine d’Argos et femme du général des Grecs, elle ne me paraîtrait que la dernière des créatures. La véritable dignité, celle qui me frappe, qui me renverse, c’est le tableau de l’amour maternel dans toute sa vérité’. In Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), p. 90-91, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994) p. 13. 66 Michael Hays, 'Drama and Dramatic Theory: Peter Szondi and the Modern Theatre', bondary 2, Vol. 11, No. 3 (1983), p. 73. 95 short, despite the status of the characters in this scene, the emotions portrayed can be said to be entirely domestic.

Diderot’s notion of dramatic tableaux is based on the idea that dramatic action should focus upon the representation of an intense situation that completely envelops the characters on stage. For a tableau to be truly effective, however, the characters must be unaware of their surroundings and absorbed completely by the emotional situation in which they are placed. The idea of absorption and

Diderot’s focus upon absorptive situations and activities in his works is something that Michael Fried argues is also a feature of eighteenth-century

French painting.67 He posits that from around the middle of the century there is growing interest in depicting subjects involved in absorptive actions, such as reading, writing, and thinking. The subjects, according to Fried, are so engaged in their activities and/or mental states that they are unaware that they are the object of someone’s gaze, whether it is that of the viewer or another character in the picture. Fried sees the focus on absorptive states as contrasting with previous approaches to painting that, more often than not, feature characters that look outside the frame and towards the viewer, or consist of a number of characters that are unaware of the action that is taking place elsewhere in the frame. In Fried’s opinion, paintings that depict absorptive activities are paradoxical in nature; while the viewer is drawn into the painting, seized by the character’s intense state of absorption, they are also excluded, the character being unaware that they are the object of someone’s gaze. In short, a distance is created between the drama and events portrayed in the picture and the viewer.

Interestingly, in his famous review of the Jean-Baptiste Greuze’s Girl Weeping for

Her Dead Bird, written for the Salons of 1765, Diderot attempts to bridge the gap between object and viewer by exploring the narrative potential of Greuze’s

67 Michael Fried, Absorption and Theatricality: Painting and Beholder in the Age of Diderot (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1980). 96 absorptive painting.68 The girl’s trance-like state seems to instigate Diderot’s reading of the work and, in a sense, allows him to participate in the painting’s narrative as if he were another character standing next to the girl in the room.

As he states:

But, little one, your grief is very profound, and very thoughtful! Why this dreamy, melancholy air? What, all for this bird? You’re not crying, but you’re distressed, and there’s a thought behind your distress[…] That morning, alas, your mother was out; he came, you were alone; he was so handsome, so passionate, so tender, so charming, there was such love in his eyes, such truth in his expression! He said things which went straight to your heart!69

The image’s narrative potential - the girl’s intense mental state begging more questions than it answers - enables Diderot to enter into the picture and fill out the narrative. The interest in the picture, therefore, lies not just with the girl absorptive mental state, but also with the fact that her deep introspection provides the work a narrative potential - a latent kinetic energy - that opens up an emotional tableau which Diderot is then able to explore. Indeed, in his narrative he speaks of events outside the temporal frame of the painting and of emotions both past and present. It is the girl’s absorptive melancholy state that allows Diderot to penetrate this painting and explore the emotional space of the tableau. Had the painting lacked the apparent introspection, the emotional space in which Diderot wanders would have been limited.

68 See Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994) p. 533-537, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 236-240. 69 ‘La jolie élégie! Le charmant poème!…Mais, petite, votre douleur est bien profonde, bien réfléchie! Que signifie cet air rêveur et mélancolique! Quoi! pour un oiseau! Vous ne pleurez pas, vous êtes affligée; et la pensée accompagne votre affliction[…] Ce matin-là, par malheur votre mère était absente. Il vint; vous étiez seule: il était si beau, si passionné, si tender, si charmant! il avait tant d’amour dans les yeux! tant de vérité dans les expressions! il desait de ces mots qui vont si droit à l’âme!’ In Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), p.533-534, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 236-237. 97

Figure 1: Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Girl Weeping for Her Dead Bird (Oil on Canvas,

53.50 x 46.00, Edinburgh National Gallery).70

Diderot’s approach to drama and, indeed, his theory of the dramatic tableau are, in a way, tied to Fried’s observations on absorption in eighteenth-century painting. In his theories on drama, Diderot suggests that playwrights should focus their attention upon powerful and emotive situations that overwhelm the characters on stage. In short, drama should consist of a series of situations that envelope the spectator through the intense emotions being portrayed on stage.

In my opinion Gluck brings elements of Diderot’s theory of drama into his

Alceste, employing a series of dramatic tableaux throughout the opera to help intensify the emotional and tragic aspects of the drama. For Susanne Langer, tragedy is fundamentally a genre of hyper-involvement; it is a genre that is ultimately absorptive, the emotional intensity of the situation enveloping all the characters on stage and, indeed, the spectators.71 In tragedy, then, the artificiality of the theatre is problematic and has to recede as far as possible into

70 Image taken from: http://www.nationalgalleries.org/collection/online_az/4:322/result/0/4985?initial=G&artistId=497 1&artistName=Jean-Baptiste%20Greuze&submit=1 71 It is no surprise, then, that Diderot chose a tableau derived from the Iphigenia myth on which to explore his dramatic theory 98 the background for the tragic narrative to be truly effective. Interestingly, it was the artificiality of opera – the very fact it was sung rather than spoken – that caused critics to claim that opera lacked the power and force of the spoken tragedies of playwrights such as Racine and Corneille. Paradoxically, it was opera’s use of music (combined with its focus upon the marvellous) that rendered it an irrational and highly artificial form of entertainment.

In Alceste, however, Gluck and Calzabigi attempted to give their opera a tragic intensity and realism that was to equal the plays of Racine and Corneille. By structuring their drama upon a series of powerful dramatic tableaux, they sought to provide it with the potent effect of Greek tragedy. In fact, in a letter to his patron Prince Wenzel Anton Kaunitz about Alceste, Calzabigi states that

‘reduced to the form of Greek tragedy, the drama has the power to arouse pity and terror, and to act upon the soul to the same degree as spoken tragedy does’.72 This tragic intensity is something that Gluck also clearly intended to emphasise in his musical setting, Gluck writing in a letter to Padre Martini that:

In the music of this opera [Alceste], my sole aim was to enter into the [whole] content and situation of the drama, and to seek to give expression to these, not to express the meaning of a single isolated word or a fragment of dialogue, as some have imagined.73

The close tie between the emotional and tragic aspects of the plot and the music of Gluck’s Alceste can be seen more clearly if compared to the Alceste of Lully

72 ‘onde ridotti alla contestura delle tragedie greche hanno il privilegio d’eccitare il terrore e la compassione e di agir sull’anima al pari d’una tragedia declamata’ (letter from Ranieri de Calzabigi to Prince Wenzel Anton Kaunitz; Vienna, 6th March, 1767). In Vladamir Helfert, Musikologie, Vol. 1 ((Praha, 1938), p. 117, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth- Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 79-80. 73 ‘Del resto è ben vero che non ho cercato nella Musica di quest’opera che di trasportarmi coll’immaginazione nell’interesse, e nella situazione del dramma, e di cercar quell’espressione che nasce appunto da queste, e non dalla significazione di alcune parole staccate, come alcuni s’avvisano, o da qualche solo pezzo isolato della [sic] dialago’ (letter from Gluck to Padre Martini; Vienna, 14th July, 1770). In Klaus Hortschansky, 'Glucks Sendungbewußtsein: Dargestellt einem unbekannten Gluck-Brief', Die Musikforschung, Vol. 21, (1968), p. 30, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 95. 99 and Quinault, an earlier operatic telling with which Gluck and Calzabigi would probably have been familiar. It is immediately apparent that whereas

Quinault’s plot is riddled with secondary characters and love plots, Calzabigi’s

drama is centred more on the character of Alceste. In a letter to du Roullet, the

translator and adaptor of Alceste for the French stage, Gluck highlights the

different approach taken by du Roullet in his version of Alceste, du Roullet

having eliminated in his revised version of Alceste the various roles of the

confidents:

I now begin to understand the shrewdness of Quinault and Calzabigi, who fill their works with subsidiary characters to give the spectator some respite, enabling him to enjoy a peaceful episode. An opera such as [Alceste] is no entertainment, but a very serious occupation for whoever listens to it.74

In a way, Gluck’s Alceste can be considered a vocal exercise for soprano and chorus in tragic emotion, the spectator being submitted to a very powerful, tragic presentation that is not dependent upon secondary plots or characters.75

This is something which I believe is made apparent from the very beginning of the opera, the overture announcing the seriousness and intensity of the subject matter to follow.

74 ‘à présent je commence à comprendre la finesse de Quinault et de Calzabigi, qui remplissent leur ouvrages des personnes subalternes, pour donner relache au Spectateur pour pouvoir se mettre dans une situation tranquille, un opera semblable n’est pas un divertissement, mais une occupation tres serieuse quiconque l’attend, vous me direz vous mème les nouvelles quand vous l’attendroit’ (letter from Gluck to François-Louis Gand Leblanc Bailli Roullet; Vienna, 1st July, 1775). In L. R., 'Correspondance inédite de Gluck', La Revue Musicale: Bulletin Français de la Société Internationale de Musique, Vol. 10, No. 6 (1914), p. 5, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 146- 147. 75 Berlioz draws attention to this aspect of Gluck’s opera in his comparison of the various settings of the mythological tale by Euripides, Gluck, Guglielmi, Handel, Lully and Schweitzer. Berlioz, incidentally, sees Gluck’s opera as far superior and more intensely dramatic than the other settings. In Hector Berlioz, A travers chants (Paris, M. Lévy, 1862), reprinted in Hector Berlioz, A travers chants: études musicales, adorations, boutades et critiques (Garnborough: Gregg, 1970), p. 139-197, translated in Hector Berlioz, The Art of Music and Other Essays (A Travers Chants), translated and edited by Elizabeth Csicsery-Rónay (Bloomington: Indian University Press, 1994), p. 88-134. 100 By focusing the action more upon the emotional aspect of the drama and by presenting a sequence of Diderotian dramatic tableaux, Gluck and Calzabigi’s opera was less of a theatrical excursion into the world of the marvellous and more of a dramatic portrayal and exploration of human and tragic emotion.

Although there is no hard evidence that acknowledges their debt to Diderot, we do know that Calzabigi was actively engaged in the debates concerning opera in both France and Italy and, thus, would have been familiar with many of the theoretical writings on both spoken and sung drama. In addition, several scholars have argued that connections exist between the so-called reform operas of Gluck and Calzabigi and the developments taking place in French, Italian, and English theatre.76 Most pertinently, Richard Will has suggested that the dramatic construction of Gluck’s ballets of the 1750s, such as Sémiramis and Don

Juan (as well as some scenes in Orfeo), are indebted to the ballets of Noverre, ballets that were directly influenced by Diderot’s theories concerning dramatic tableaux.77 As Will states:

In Noverre’s scenarios, the story moves forward mainly in the change from scene to scene, while the scenes themselves can contain any degree of action or none at all…In Don Juan and Sémiramis Gluck and Gasparo Angiolini developed a ballet d’action very similar to Noverre’s…and related principles underlie the dramaturgy of Orfeo, whose second act is

76 Bruce Alan Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), Aubrey S. Garlington Jr., 'Le Merveilleux and Operatic Reform in 18th-Century French Opera', Musical Quarterly, Vol. 49, No. 4 (1963), p. 484-497, Daniel Heartz, 'From Garrick to Gluck: The Reform of Theatre and Opera in the Mid-Eighteenth Century', Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, Vol. 94 (1967-1968), p. 111-127, J. G. Prod'homme, 'Gluck's French Collaborators', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 3, No. 2 (1917), p. 249-271, and Julian Tiersot, 'Gluck and the Encyclopædists', translated Theodore Baker, The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 16, No. 3 (1930), p. 336- 357. 77 Richard Will, The Characteristic Symphony in the Age of Haydn and Beethoven (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 46-59. Bruce Alan Brown has also drawn a connection between the reform that was taking place in ballet and Gluck’s works of the 1750s. See Bruce Alan Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), p. 282-357. For a general overview of the developments in the dramatic nature of ballet see, in particular, Susan L. Foster, Choreography and Narrative: Ballet's Staging of Story and Desire (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996). For an assessment of the late-eighteenth dramatic tableaux in both musical and stage drama see Kirsten Gram Holmström, Monodrama, Attitudes, Tableaux Vivants: Studies on Some Trends of Theatrical Fashion, 1770-1815 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1967). 101 a familiar example of a plot proceeding by virtue of successive distinctive scenes, from underworld oscrurità to Elysian chiarità.78

The use of distinctive, large-scale blocks of drama in Gluck’s operas has also been noted by Frederick W. Sternfeld, who argues that in Orfeo and Alceste

Calzabigi expands upon the time-span of Metastasian opera.79 Although

Sternfeld does not use the term ‘tableau’, he understands the large-scale scenes and structural repetitions in Gluck’s operas to be essential elements of the opera’s dramatic structure.

The opening two scenes of Alceste could be considered to be representative of a single, dramatic tableau. For instance, both scenes 1 and 2 of Act I feature homophonic and choral textures that are frequently supported by the lower brass. In addition, melodic and harmonic ideas are repeated throughout the two scenes, creating a sense of unity and, in a way, stasis, the music not undergoing a process of development, but repetition. Semitonal voice leading is also a feature of these two, predominantly minor-mode scenes. In the few cases where the music is in the major mode, it is subjected to constant modal mixing and minor-key intrusions. For example, the opening chorus in Eb major frequently borrows from its parallel tonic minor. In fact, a cb enters the texture in just the second bar, and by bar 4 we are presented with the minor third, gb. To help further articulate the dramatic unity of these two scenes, Gluck frames them by repeating two of the choruses: Ah, Di Questo Afflitto Regno and the aforementioned Miserero Admeto. By using the chorus Ah, Di Questo Afflitto

Regno twice in the first scene and again towards the end of the second scene, and by using Misero Admeto twice in the second scene, Gluck creates a feeling of musical unity and emotional stasis. Indeed, the use of repetition negates any sense of dramatic development. While the narrative does progress - we witness

78 Richard Will, The Characteristic Symphony in the Age of Haydn and Beethoven (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 53-54. 79 Frederick W. Sternfeld, 'Expression and Revision in Gluck's Orfeo and Alceste', in Essays presented to Egon Wellesz, ed. Jack Westrup (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1966), p. 114-129. 102 Alceste’s arrival, Evandro’s suggestion to consult the Oracle, and Alceste’s decision to seek help from the gods - the constant repetition of musical minutiae and large-scale choral passages works against these narrative developments by suspending any sense of musical and, thus, emotional progress. In short, the music draws the spectator’s attention away from the dramatic action and focuses it on the overbearing sense of grief that pervades both these scenes. This has the effect of enveloping the audience in Alceste’s tragic and emotional situation.

Alceste was certainly not the first, or the only, opera to feature dramatic tableaux. For example, Act II, scene 2, of the Italian version of Gluck’s Orfeo consists almost entirely of instrumental dances and choruses, all of which feature large-scale repetition. The use of repeating melodious and lyrical dance pieces in this scene absorbs the listener into the dramatic situation, the music painting a picture of the serene Elysium. Put simply, the listener is absorbed into the calm and serene soundscape that is presented in these dances. In the later French version this effect is intensified, the number of dance movements and repeating passages having been increased. Tommaso Traetta’s Ifigenia in

Tauride and Antigona possibly provide even earlier examples of operatic tableaux, these two operas incorporating scenes that centre again on the repetition of large blocks of music. Unfortunately space limits a discussion of these operas here, but I imagine an investigation into the dramatic structures of these operas in relation to Diderot’s concept of the dramatic tableaux could produce some fruitful and interesting findings.

The Overture as a Dramatic Tableau: The Argument of Alceste

In my opinion the Alceste overture functions in a similar manner to the scenes described above, the overture being host to a similar set of musical ideas and techniques. In the overture the listener is presented with a changing series of musical pictures that are each associated with a particular, yet similar,

103 emotional element of the opera. The use of repetition, a non-hierarchic tonal structure, and the lack of any clear tonal close provides the overture with an unusual narrative design that does not, in effect, present the listener with a chronological sequence of events, but a series of interrelated musical images. In essence, the listener is presented with a musical tableau that explores the intense emotional and tragic situation that subsumes Alceste throughout the opera. The narrative of the overture, then, does not tell the listener of the various events and actions to come, but, through a bombardment of minor-key harmonies and fragmentary themes, of the tragic situation that subsumes Alceste for almost the entire opera. In sum, when I listen to the Alceste overture I am subjected to and absorbed by the unremitting, irresolvable, and harsh musical soundworld that will later in the opera define Alceste.

That said, the narrative outlined in the overture is not a musical translation of the story of Alceste. Indeed, the overture constitutes, as it were, the argument of the opera; it does not accompany any on-stage actions or stage characters, but sounds before the opera begins, the only physical presence being that of the listener. Unlike other art forms where the spectator can stand safely outside the frame, beyond the invisible fourth wall, when listening to music the listener is enveloped by the music. Indeed, the listener of instrumental music has no choice except to subject themselves to the sounds emanating from the orchestra and allow their body to be seduced, if not abused, by the music. Quite interestingly, Friedrich Nietzsche argues that it is music’s dissonant element that makes it the ideal genre for tragedy.80 However, it is not simply the use of dissonance that makes music a suitable medium for tragic drama, but the complex relationship between consonance and dissonance that is innate to musical structure. Dissonance, although causing a sense of displeasure to the

80 See Die Geburt der Tragödie aus dem Geiste der Music (Leipzig, 1872, enlarged 1886), translated in Friedrich Nietzsche, Basic Writings of Nietzsche, translated and edited, with commentaries, by Walter Kaufamann (New York: The Modern Library, 1992), p. 15-144. 104 ear, is essential to the creation of a musical work and in sustaining the listener’s interest - it is desirable feature of music. Although Nietzsche’s view may seem

simplistic, it highlights an important point, a point that Rameau also made in

his Treatise on Harmony (Traité de l’harmonie réduite à ses principes naturels, 1722):

‘far from dissonance being an embarrassment in composition, it facilitates its

course’.81 Be that as it may, Rameau also stresses that dissonance needs to be used with discretion:

Consonant chords can be found everywhere, but they should predominate in cheerful and pompous music. As it is impossible to avoid using dissonant chords, these chords must arise naturally. The dissonance must be prepared whenever possible, and the most exposed parts, i.e., the treble and bass, should always be consonance with one another./ Sweetness and tenderness are sometimes expressed well by prepared minor dissonances./ Tender lamentations sometimes demand dissonances by borrowing and by supposition, minor rather than major. Any major dissonances present should occur in the middle parts rather than in the extremes./ Despair and all passions which lead to fury or strike violently demand all types of unprepared dissonances, with the major dissonance particularly occurring in the treble.82

81 ‘Bien loin que la Dissonance doive embarrasser dans la Composition, elle en facilite au contraire les voyes’. In Jean-Philippe Rameau, Treatise on Harmony, translated with an introduction and notes by Philip Gossett (New York: Dover Publications, 1971), p. 197, translated in Jean-Philippe Rameau, Treatise on Harmony, translated with an introduction and notes by Philip Gossett (New York: Dover Publications, 1971), p. 271. 82 Les Accords consonants se rencontrent par tout, mais ils doivent être employez le plus souvent que l'on peut dans les Chants d'allégresse, & de magnificence; & comme on n peut se dispenser d’y entre-mêlet des Accords dissonans, il faut faire ensorte que les Dissonances y naissent naturellement; qu'elles y soient preparées autant qu'il est possible, & que les Parties qui se distinguent le plus, comme sont le Dessus & la Basse, soient toûjours consonants entre- elles.\ La douceur, & la tendresse s'expriment quelquefois assez bien par des Dissonances mineures préparées.\ Les plaintes tendres demandent quelquefois des Dissonances par emprunt, &: par supposition, plutôt mineures que majeures ; faisant régner les majeures qui peuvent s'y rencontrer , dans les Parties du milieu , plutôt que dans les extrêmes.\ Les langueurs , & les souffrances s'expriment parfaitement bien avec des Dissonances par emprunt, & fur tout avec le Chromatique, dont nous parlerons au Livre suivant.\ Le désespoir, & toutes les passions qui portent à la fureur, ou qui ont quelque chose d'étonnant , demandent des Dissonances de toute espèce, non prépares, & sur tout que les majeures règnent dans le Dessus.’ In Jean-Philippe Rameau, Traité de l'harmonie, reduite à ses principes naturels (Paris, 1726), p. 141, translated in Jean-Philippe Rameau, Treatise on Harmony, translated with an introduction and notes by Philip Gossett (New York: Dover Publications, 1971), p. 155. 105 Dissonance is a feature of the Alceste overture, and is, perhaps, alongside its minor key, one its defining elements. I have already drawn attention to the manipulation of semitonal tensions in the overture and the striking use of the diminished seventh chord, a chord that appears numerous times throughout the overture. The intense use of dissonance in this overture I believe sets this overture apart from so many others of the period. The violent music of the overture thrusts itself upon the listener and causes them to, in a sense, experience the tortured and tragic events that are to come in the opera. In effect, the listener of the Alceste overture is forced to participate in the overture and take on an active role in the formation of the overture’s narrative, much in the same manner as had Diderot did in his review of Greuze’s painting.

In my interpretation, it is crucial that the listeners allow themselves to engage with and be enveloped by the overture, as they are, in a sense, the main character - it is the listener that is faced with the physical onslaught of Gluck’s dissonant and fragmentary, tragic music. According to the preface to Alceste, the overture attempts to ‘inform the spectators of the subject that is to be enacted, and constitute, as it were, the argument’.83 To understand the overture’s ‘argument’, however, the listener must step inside the work. Like

Diderot who stands watching the girl who weeps over her dead bird, when we hear the overture to Alceste we must also partake in the stage show and attempt to place ourselves within the musical frame, allowing ourselves to be enveloped by the music. In short, we must construct a narrative, although one that is inspired by and a direct result of the musical events outlined in the overture. If, however, the listener stands outside the music and hears the overture as a piece of so-called absolute music, I feel that the theatrical elements of the overture are lost and the work reduced to nothing but an ‘odd’ work that is lacking in musical fluidity and unity.

83 See p. 44, fn. 1. 106 The question which opened this chapter and asked whether the overture to

Alceste hosts a dramatic argument is in many ways simplistic; it misunderstands the narrative function of the overture and underestimates the many ways in which music can communicate. The overture to Alceste does not simply anticipate the main argument of the opera, but fulfils several simultaneous musical and narrative functions. Firstly, it familiarises the listener with some of the important musical ideas from the opera. This provides these motifs not only with an air of familiarity, but with a historic resonance, the motifs reminding the listener of the gloomy overture that opened the drama. In short, these motifs help to underscore the tragic narrative of the opera by creating a sense that all events are predetermined and have been announced in the overture. This does beg the question of why the connections aren’t made more specific and whether these connections can be heard by a listener. In my view, by only alluding to more general scenes and emotions in the opera, the overture is not ascribed with particular narrative resonances, but with an overwhelming sense of tragic grief and loss. I believe the similarities in soundscape between the overture is something that listeners do pick up upon, although perhaps not consciously.

The subtle musical connections between the overture and the opera, while not easily recognised, do help foster a feeling that the overture is associated with particular scenes in the opera.

This leads me to my second point: that the overture helps to establish the tragic atmosphere of the opera. In a sense, the Alceste overture functions in the same manner as one of Euripides’ prologues.84 It serves to provide the listener with a foretaste of events to come and to place them in a tragic frame of mind.

However, in contrast to the prologue of, say, Euripides’ Alceste, Gluck’s overture does not hint at the fact that in the opera Alceste is brought back to life

84 On the way Euripides employs prologues to help establish a tragic atmosphere see B. Goward, Telling Tragedy: Narrative Technique in Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides (London: Duckworth, 1999) and Richard Hamilton, 'Prologue Prophecy and Plot in Four Plays of Euripides', The American Journal of Philology, Vol. 99, No. 3 (1978), p. 277-302. 107 and instead focuses entirely upon the opera’s tragic elements. Indeed, whereas

Euripides uses his prologue to toy with the expectations of the audience, the

Alceste overture clearly situates the opera in the tragic domain by establishing not only a feeling of despair, but also a sense of tragic determinancy that all will not end well, a feeling that persists almost throughout the entire work. In fact, it is only in the final scene that the audience is given a sense of repose.85 In my mind, it is this aspect to the opera that makes it such a difficult work to listen to and is, perhaps, the reason why it is rarely performed today. The intensity of the operatic drama and the fact the overture so effectively anticipates its musical landscape caused concerns for Rousseau, who questioned whether the continued use of such intense, minor key harmonies would saturate and eventually bore the listener. However, the intensity of the musical presentation is important to the opera as it helps to sustain the drama’s tragic narrative. The overture’s anticipation of the opera’s main soundscape, moreover, reinforces this by placing the listener in a state of musico-tragic expectation from the very beginning.

The final function of the overture is that it helps to prepare the listener for the drama to follow through the incorporation of musical material and textures that during the eighteenth century carried specific dramatic resonances; for instance, the opening ombra music provides the overture with a supernatural resonance, and the interpolation of chromatic and sighing figures throughout the overture allude to Alceste’s despair. Through the evocation of both the opera’s supernatural and emotional elements, the overture, in essence, condenses the opera’s argument and presents to the listener the tragic essence, the kernel of the opera’s narrative: the overbearing and ever-present fateful force that envelops Alceste for almost the entire opera.

85 On the prologue to Euripides’ Alcestis see Geoffrey Arnott, 'Euripides and the Unexpected', Greece & Rome, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1973), p. 49-64 and Richard Hamilton, 'Prologue Prophecy and Plot in Four Plays of Euripides', The American Journal of Philology, Vol. 99, No. 3 (1978), p. 277- 302. 108 Gluck’s effective use of orchestration, harmony, and melodic structure all help to provide the overture with a tragic narrative. If we add to this the fact that the overture is, of course, directly associated with the subject of Alceste, a subject that would have been familiar to eighteenth-century theatregoers, we can begin to understand how a listeners may have read a narrative into the overture. This is not to say that the overture hosts a narrative that functions in the same manner as a literary narrative. Indeed, Gluck’s overture does not communicate the specificities of the plot, but provide the listener with a series of narrative signposts that can guide and encourage the construction of a narrative. It is in this sense that I believe the overture to have a narrative potential: the ability not to tell a story, but to provide the listener with a series of images that can be used to construct a narrative.

This is the way in which Fred Maus understands much instrumental music to function.86 He argues that music is fundamentally a dramatic medium that, although unable to communicate an explicit narrative, can aid in the construction of a narrative through expression and gesture. As he says:

The actions that a listener follows in listening…do not belong to determinately distinct agents. More precisely, as the listener discerns actions and explains them by psychological states, various discriminations of agents will seem appropriate, but never with a determinancy that rules out other interpretations.87

The use of a series of s-codes in the Alceste overture combined with the interpolation of material from the opera and the exploitation of musical and formal gestures when taken together invite the listener to create a narrative that is based upon the story of the opera in relation to the dramatic structure and gestures of the overture.

86 Fred E. Maus, 'Music as Drama', Music Theory Spectrum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1988), p. 65-72. Also see Fred Everett Maus, 'Narrative, Drama, and Emotion in Instrumental Music', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 55, No. 3 (1997), p. 292-303. 87 Fred E. Maus, 'Music as Drama', Music Theory Spectrum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1988), p. 68. 109 The overall effect of the Alceste overture, then, is closely tied to the way in which it is perceived and interpreted by the listener. Interestingly, the act of reading a plot into a purely instrumental piece of music was not as unusual as one may think during the latter half of the eighteenth century. In fact, Jérôme

Joseph Momigny’s provides a description of the opening bars of the Alceste overture in his entry on overtures in the Encyclopédie méthodique:

In the first bars we hear the expression of these words of Alceste and those of a whole people united in love for a King who is in danger of death. “Heaven have pity on us” The gods are deaf to this fervent plea, and Alceste says “So be it, my misfortune is inevitable”.88

Momigny claims that the overture’s opening bars outline the opera’s main plot.

Although it would be hard to claim that the specificities of his narrative are clearly audible in the overture opening bars, his narrative reading is no less legitimate as his reading is a result of a combination of his knowledge and perception of the opera’s subject matter with his interpretation of the dramatic and gestural signposts of the overture.

While the Alceste overture will always lack a definitive narrative, it does have a latent narrative potential that comes to life in performance. This chapter has shown how the overture is tied to aspects of the opera’s drama in an effort to provide the overture with a sense of narrative. It has looked at how the tragic nature and structure of the opera and asked to what extend it can be said to inform and impinge upon the musical structure of the overture. It has also shown that if we, as listeners, actively engage in interpreting and participating

88 ‘Dans les quatre premières mesures, on entend à peu près l’espression de ces mots qui partent de la bouche d’Alceste & de celle d’un peuple tout entier qu’a rassemblé son amour pour son roi, menacé de perdre la vie:/ Ciel! ah! Prends pitié de nous!/ Les dieux étant sourds à cette prière si fervente Alceste dit: C’en est donc fait, mon malheur est certain!’. Jérôme Joseph Momigny, 'Ouverture', in Encyclopédie méthodique, ou par ordre de matières par une Société de Gens de Lettres, de Savans, et d'Artistes, Musique, Tome II, ed. Nicolas Étienne Framery [et al.] (Paris: Liège, 1782-1832), p. 249. 110 in the Alceste overture we can begin to understand the work from a new perspective, and possibly even come to new conclusions about the overture’s structure and how it could be performed. To ignore the interpretative aspect of the overture and to view it primarily as a piece of purely instrumental music only results, paradoxically, in a narrowing of our understanding of the overture’s musical structure.

111 Chapter Two A Tragic Conflict of Characters: Gluck’s Iphigénie en

Aulide Overture

In a letter dated 1776, François Arnaud wrote:

The overtures which in your [Italian] Operas do not have any relationship with the drama, this skilful Artiste always relates to the action: thus the overture of his Iphigénie announces a religious action, a great action, a warlike action, a pathetic action, and all the characters are expressed in a fashion that I dare to characterize as a divine one; that of Alceste moans, sobs and cries and has something dark, imposing and terrible, something of which, I maintain, no example is to be found in any work pertaining to this genre.1

Arnaud’s letter is representative of just one of the many contributions to the debate between “Gluckistes” and “Piccinnistes” that raged during the last few decades of the eighteenth century.2 In his letter, Arnaud makes two important observations regarding the dramatic nature of Gluck’s overtures and their relationship to the operas they introduce. Firstly, he draws attention to the dramatic nature of both the overtures; something which he sees as markedly different from the overtures of the Italian tradition.

Secondly, he notes that the Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide overtures have strikingly different effects upon their listeners. Despite their similar tragic subject matter, the two overtures appear, at least to Arnaud, to be of an entirely different character.

1 ‘Les ouvertures qui dans vos Opéras n’ont aucun rapport avec le Drame, cet habile Artiste les lie toujours à l’action: ainsi l’ouverture de son Iphigénie annonce une action réligieuse, une action grande, une action guerrière, une action pathétique, & tous ces caractères y sont exprimés d’une manière, j’ose le dire, divine; celle d’Alceste est pleine de gémissements, de sanglots, de larmes, & a je ne sais quoi de sombre, d’imposant & terrible, dont je maintiens qu’il n’y a point d’example dans aucun ouvrage de ce genre’. François Lesure, ed., Querelle des Gluckistes et des Piccinnistes (Genève: Minkoff, 1984), Tome I, p. 246 (translation mine). 2 For an overview of the debate see Julian Rushton, 'The Theory and Practice of Piccinnisme', Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, Vol. 98, No. 1 (1971), p. 31-46 and Julian Rushton, 'Iphigénie en Tauride: the operas of Gluck and Piccinni', Music & Letters, Vol. 53, No. 4 (1972), p. 411-430. For a reprint of some of the main contributions to the debate see François Lesure, ed., Querelle des Gluckistes et des Piccinnistes (Genève: Minkoff, 1984). 112

Although Arnaud claims that it is the Alceste overture that has the more potent effect upon its listeners, it is the overture to Iphigénie en Aulide that has attracted the attention of subsequent scholars and critics. Richard Wagner was particularly drawn to this overture and discussed it in two of his theoretical writings.3 He perceived the overture to be ‘Gluck’s most perfect masterpiece of this description’ because of the way in which ‘the master draws the main ideas of the drama in powerful outline, and with almost visual distinctness’.4 Frederick Niecks was of a similar opinion and argued that the overture ‘is modern in form and more especially in spirit, namely in the striving to be truly introductory to and premonitory of a particular drama’.5 More recently, Patricia Howard has written that in the Iphigénie en

Aulide overture all the ‘tendencies that had begun to appear in Alceste and

Paride here assert themselves as part of the whole dramatic plan of the opera’.6 In my view, however, the difference between the two overtures is not the result of an improvement in Gluck’s compositional and dramatic

3 See Richard Wagner, 'De l'ouverture', Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, Vol. 8, 10th-17th January (1841), p. 7-19, 28-29 and 33-35. This article was later translated into German by Cosima Wagner for the 1871 collected edition of his works (the translation was supposedly approved and modified somewhat by Wagner). The German version of this essay, which contains some alterations, can be found in Richard Wagner, Sämtliche Schriften und Dichtungen (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1911-1914), Vol. 1, p. 194-206, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 7, p. 153-165. On Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide overture see Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 1-6, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 155-166. For a discussion of Wagner’s writings on the overture see Thomas S. Grey, 'Wagner, the Overture, and the Aesthetics of Musical Form', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 12, No. 1 (1988), p. 3-22 and Reinhard Strohm, 'Gedanken zu Wagners Opernouvertüren', in Wagnerliteratur- Wagnerforschung, ed. Carl Dahlhaus and Egon Voss (Mainz: Schott, 1985), p. 69-84. 4 ‘L’ouverture d’Iphigénie en Aulide est la plus achevée que Gluck ait écrite. Le maître a tracé ici en traits grandioses et puissants l’idée principale du drame, et l’a personnifiée avec la clarté de l’evidence’. Richard Wagner, 'De l'ouverture', Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, Vol. 8, 10th-17th January (1841), p. 18, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 7, p. 155. 5 Frederick Niecks, 'Historical Sketch of the Overture', Sammelbände der Internationalen Musikgesellschaft, Vol. 7, No. 3 (1906), p. 389. 6 Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963), p. 93. 113 technique, but is due to the fact that each overture introduces an entirely different type of drama. Indeed, whereas in the Alceste overture sombre and emotional music is employed in an attempt to prepare the listener for the unrelenting, tragic emotional force of the opera, in the Iphigénie en Aulide overture a series of contrasting musical images are presented that are intended to represent the various characters and conflicts in the opera. This chapter focuses upon the Iphigénie en Aulide overture and looks at some of the differences that exist between this overture and the overture to Alceste. I will assess how the Iphigénie en Aulide overture might establish a sense of narrative that parallels that of the opera and explore why Gluck may have felt it necessary to employ a musico-dramatic procedure quite different from that which he had used in his Alceste overture.

As in the previous chapter, it is worth outlining the basic structure of the overture so that the reader can more easily follow my analysis, which, as before, will incorporate hermeneutic as well as historical insights, with particular reference to Wagner’s two essays on Gluck’s overture (see Table

1). The most notable difference between the Iphigénie en Aulide overture and the Alceste overture is that the Iphigénie en Aulide overture does not have the clear-cut binary structure of the Alceste overture, but a rather complex structure, both in terms of its harmony and motivic and thematic material.

Indeed, I understand the Iphigénie en Aulide overture to consist of five sections: an opening statement, a preliminary presentation of four musical ideas, a modified presentation of three of these ideas, a slightly altered presentation of the original four ideas, followed by a brief closing passage. I have numbered each of what I see as the main sections and given each musical theme or idea a letter. The dashes added to each letter denote a modification in the presentation of the material.

114

Agamemnon’s Melancholy: an Emotional Opening (Idea A)

The overture to Iphigénie en Aulide, like the Alceste overture, begins by establishing a dark and foreboding landscape: it opens in a minor key and has a moderate tempo, marked alla breve. The opening material and the way in which it is orchestrated, however, are strikingly different. Whereas the

Alceste overture opens with terrifying and domineering D-minor chords, supported by a chorus of trombones, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture opens with a contrapuntal melancholic theme for strings and woodwind in C minor. In short, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture has a different tone, opening not with powerful and foreboding ombra music, but with a lament-like passage. The opening bars are filled with sighing figures and semitonal tensions, intended not to depict otherworldly forces, but painful human emotions (Ex. 1).7

7 It should be noted that semitonal tension and sighing figures are also a feature of the Alceste overture, although not its opening statement. On semitonal tension, see chapter one, p. 82-83. 115

Section Idea Bar No. Harmony Description Section 1: A 1-19 C minor Lyrical lament-like theme, Opening presented in imitation. Statement Section 2: B 20-28 C major Martial theme in octave unison. Presentation Tempo change of four C 29-39 C major Semiquaver passage with timpani themes D 40-49 C major Lyrical passage – no obvious connection to opera B’ 50-62 G major. Martial theme returns with Harmony begins repeated semiquaver to move bar 57 accompaniment in violins and toward G minor. thicker orchestration. E 63-85 G minor (moving Plaintive oboe melody – sighing to A minor at bar figures. 73) Section 3: B’’ 86-94 D minor Martial theme returns- Modified orchestrated differently with presentation theme imitated by basses and of B, C, and bassoon. D C’’ 95-101 D minor Semiquaver with timpani passage. Orchestrated differently with increased syncopation. D’ 102-111 F major Lyrical passage. Presented as earlier but in key of F. Section 3: B’’’ 112-120 C major Martial theme returns- Repetition orchestrated as in B’’, but of section 2 curtailed with slight C 121-130 C major Semiquaver passage with timpani alterations – presented as in bars 29-39. D 131-140 C major Lyrical passage – presented as in bars 39-49. B’ 141-154 G major moving Martial theme returns with toward G minor repeated semiquaver accompaniment in violins and thicker orchestration. As in bars 50-62 E’ 155-167 G minor As earlier, but shortened. Section 4: F 168-188 G major to C Passage contacting hints of C, E, Closing minor to C and then B. passage or major. Overture Coda closes on dominant note (G) in octave unison.

Table 1: Outline of the basic structure of the Iphigénie en Aulide overture.

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Example 1: Iphigénie en Aulide, Ouverture, bars 1-6.8

The opening bars of the Iphigénie en Aulide overture conjure up feelings of painful human emotion, rather than supernatural and otherworldly forces.

Interestingly, in Leo Schrade’s study of the relationship between music and tragedy, he argues that opera is unable to communicate tragic actions in the

Greek sense.9 He claims that for opera to have a tragic effect upon its listener it needs to focus on the emotional aspects of the drama and the portrayal of tragic pathos. For Schrade, although lyric tragedy lacked the powerful actions of Greek tragedy, it could redeem itself through music’s potent and emotional effect, music, in a sense, inducing the tragic effect of the drama.

According to Schrade, it was the operatic lament that most powerfully recreated the dramatic effect of tragedy; ‘it is true that musicians brought the lament over the tortures of love to the height of tragic pathos. They made tears audible where they were not even visible’.10

8 All examples are taken from Rudolf Gerber [et al.], ed., Christoph Willibald Gluck: Sämtliche Werke (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1987). 9 Leo Schrade, Tragedy in the Art of Music (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1964). 10 Ibid., p. 104. 117

Schrade’s thesis seems to mirror Diderot’s writings on lyric tragedy from almost two centuries earlier. In the previous chapter it was mentioned that in the middle decades of the eighteenth century, there was an increasing desire to focus tragic drama on the emotional aspects of the tragedy. According to

Diderot, tragic drama would be more effective if it consisted of a series of emotional tableaux, rather than a series of dramatic actions.11 As I noted in chapter one, Diderot perceived the Greek myth of Iphigeneia in Aulis to be particularly well suited to this kind of emotional setting and in his

Conversations on ‘The Natural Son’ (Entretiens sur ‘Le Fils naturel’, 1757) he imagines a powerful and dramatic tableau that focuses upon Clytemnestra’s grief as Iphigénie approaches the altar, a scene that he says cannot be effectively expressed in words and, thus, would be more appropriate for musical setting.12 For both Diderot and Schrade, opera has the ability to arouse tragic sentiments through the portrayal of tragic pathos, rather than through the depiction of tragic actions and events. The Iphigénie en Aulide overture appears to go a step further than the Alceste overture, immediately focusing the listener’s attention on the opera’s emotional, rather than supernatural, attributes.

In Wagner’s essay on Gluck’s overture to Iphigénie en Aulide (1854), he refers to the lament-like motif that opens the overture as a ‘motif of Appeal’, noting that the motif is taken from Agamemnon’s arioso that opens the first act.13

Distraught because he has been asked to sacrifice his daughter (Iphigénie),

Agamemnon invokes the goddess Diana, who has asked for the sacrifice in

11 See chapter one, p. 93-96. 12 In Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), p. 168-169, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 72-73. 13 ‘ein Motiv des Anrufs aus schmerzlichem, nagendem Herzensleiden’. Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 4, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 162. 118 exchange for the necessary winds to send Agamemnon’s army to Troy. This opening arioso sets the tragic wheel in motion, exposing Agamemnon’s tragic dilemma that puts his love for his daughter in conflict with his duty towards his soldiers and his people. In a similar way to the Herald’s announcement that opens Alceste, Agamemnon’s arioso plunges us immediately into the tragic nature of the dramatic situation.

The fact that the opening bars of the overture are almost identical to the arioso that opens the first scene is intriguing.14 In the Alceste overture, Gluck appears to avoid creating exact musical correspondences between his opera and his overture. Instead he chooses to establish musical connections through the interpolation of a shared series of what I term “sound-similes”, a group of musical ideas, motifs, harmonic patterns and devices that appear in both the overture and opera, and that are associated with particular dramatic events and/or emotions in the opera. In the Iphigénie en Aulide overture, however, the connection between overture and opera is made explicit.15

From the very beginning of the overture we are introduced to music that is taken directly from the opera, directly from the tragedy that is to take place.

Although on first hearing the listener would be unaware of this association

(unaware that the music will later accompany Agamemnon’s grief), this passage still familiarises the listener with this theme so that when it reappears it has a more potent effect and is imbued with a sense history.

It is, perhaps, also worth noting that this motif also has a history outside of the overture and opera, the music for Agamemnon’s arioso being taken from

14 It should be stressed again that we do not know whether the overture was composed, before, after, or alongside the opera. This, however, does not take away from the connections that exist between the two. 15 It needs to be pointed out that the quotation is not exact, as the overture presents a purely instrumental version of the arioso and, thus, is orchestrated differently. Moreover, whereas the passage in the overture is in C minor, in the opera it is in G minor. Its melodic and harmonic contrapuntal construction in both cases is the same. 119

Gluck’s opera Telemaco (Vienna, 1765). In its previous incarnation this music accompanied Telemaco’s fears for the safety of his father. Although this reference to Telemaco would not have been known to the Parisian audience for which Iphigénie en Aulide was written, the fact that Gluck uses this musical fragment to accompany an emotionally similar dramatic moment in both operas suggests that he felt the music was particularly well suited to the depiction of familial pain and suffering. The passage’s slow tempo, minor key, accented sixth degree, semitonal tensions, and sighing figures all aid in the portrayal of human suffering and furnish the passage with a tragic tone that, in a way, refers the listener back to the tormented soundworld of

Alceste, which employed similar musical devices to establish a tragic, emotional atmosphere.

The opening passage’s musical construction combined with its musico-tragic resonances imbues it with a sense of tragic pathos that foreshadows

Agamemnon’s emotional state at the beginning of the opera. In addition, I understand the interpolation of the arioso passage to have another narrative function in the overture. By quoting musical material from within the opera,

Gluck blurs the boundary between overture and opera, between music with and music without words. By musically weaving the two together - the overture actually leads directly to Agamemnon’s arioso - the overture becomes inextricably wedded to the opera; the overture is no longer an appendage, but an integral part of the operatic work, perhaps even the source for the entire opera. By creating aural bridges through the use of shared material, the overture does more than quieten the listeners and simply announce the subject matter of the opera; it signals the beginning of the dramatic action and places the listener in a state of dramatic expectation.

As Alfred Einstein notes, the overture ‘culminates in Agamemnon’s vision of

120 the sacrificial scene’.16 This comment is intriguing because it suggests that it is not just that the overture is part of the opera, but that the first scene of the opera is also a part of the overture; he says that the overture culminates in

Agamemnon’s vision. In Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide the overture and opera are fused together - and this is long before the preludes of Wagner. Gluck achieves this effect by avoiding any sense of harmonic closure at the end of the overture. In fact, a perfect cadence in the overture’s key of C major never occurs. The overture ends with octave unison on the note G; although this displaces the tonic C minor, it creates an harmonic bridge to Agamemnon’s

G minor arioso that follows. Harmonic closure is, therefore, avoided in the overture and the music moves straight into the arioso. A feeling of a return, although not necessarily of tonal closure, however, is achieved, as the overture ends with the very music with which it had begun. In effect, the arioso frames the overture’s narrative and creates a cyclical design that induces a feeling, at once, of stasis and of continuation; the lack of harmonic resolution creates a sense of continuation, but the return to the opening material creates a feeling of closure. This “double” ending I believe helps to foster a sense of tragic atmosphere and temporality in Gluck’s overture. The overture’s lack of tonal closure and the harmonic bridge forged between the overture and the opening arioso provides a kinetic intensity, a forward thrust that persists throughout the opera, driving it forward (something which I will discuss in more detail later). The fact the arioso is now sung rather than instrumental increases the effect and intensity of the repetition. The return of the overture’s opening bars in Agamemnon’s arioso, however, also suggests closure, that all is predetermined and that no matter what happens there will be an inevitable return to the opening conflict. This dialectic – the opposition between closure and intensification - I see as a defining element of tragic narratives, narratives that are driven forward by a process of intensification,

16 Alfred Einstein, Gluck (London: JM Dent and Sons, 1964), p. 141. 121 but also that move towards a goal that is predetermined and that has already been announced to the audience or interpretant.

A Portentous Passage: the Barbaric Greek Chorus (Idea B)

At bar 19 of the overture the music takes an unexpected turn and appears to leave the tragic realm, the melancholic music associated with Agamemnon being abruptly interrupted by a militaristic statement. This passage stands in stark contrast to the music that had preceded it: C minor is replaced by C major, brass and timpani are now added to the texture, the lyrical melody is now replaced by staccato, quaver movement, and the dense contrapuntal texture is substituted for an exposed, octave-unison melody.17

In his aforementioned essay, Wagner refers to this passage as ‘a motive of

Power, of imperious, overbearing demand’.18 This is, no doubt, because of the musical characteristics it shares with the music that accompanies the

Greek army in the opera. The musical correspondence here is not an exact match as above, but arises from a series of shared musical ideas and images that are used both in this passage in the overture and to characterise the

Greek army in the opera. At this point in the overture it seems that Gluck reverts to the technique he employed in the Alceste overture: that of using a series of sound-similes that invite the listener to hear a connection between the musical material of the overture and that of the opera.

17 It should be noted this military passage is repeated several times during the overture. It occurs in the keys of C major, G major and A minor, although some of these repetitions are modified. For example, the first repetition adds a tremolando figure in the upper strings (bars 50-57) and the second repetition presents the theme in free imitation with the uppers strings continuing the tremolando accompaniment (bars 86-94). 18 ‘ein Motiv der Gewalt, der gebieterischen, übermächtigen Forderung’. Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 4, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 162. 122

The chorus that opens Act I, scene 2, in particular, bears a close resemblance to the unison theme in the overture. Both passages have a continuous, bustling, staccato quaver movement, a major key, and a predominantly homophonic texture (compare Ex. 2a with 2b):19

Example 2a: Ouverture, bars 19-24.

19 Julian Rushton draws attention to this musical connection (as well as some others) in Julian Rushton, ''Royal Agamemnon': the two versions of Gluck's Iphigénie en Aulide', in Music and the French Revolution, ed. Malcolm Boyd (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 32. 123

Example 2b: Act I, scene 2, C’est trop faire de résistance, bars 6-10.

The opening chorus of Act III provides a further example of the stylised music that is used to depict the Greek army and again the similarities with the militaristic passage in the overture are quite obvious: the major tonality, the use of staccato quaver passages, the homophonic texture and, towards the end of the phrase, an octave-unison presentation of the melody (see Ex.

2c). It seems that in Iphigénie en Aulide the Greek chorus are assigned a particular set of musical characteristics.

124

125

In the previous chapter we saw how the chorus played a significant role in the drama and in its narrative construction; the choral passages used to frame the drama creating a series of dramatic tableaux that function, as

Frederick Sternfeld points out, in a similar manner to an instrumental ritonello.20 The important narrative and structural role the choruses play in

Alceste is, in addition, foreshadowed in the overture, with material from these choruses appearing in the overture to help provide the overture with a narrative resonance. In Iphigénie en Aulide the choruses also play an important part in both the opera and the overture. The choruses of Iphigénie en Aulide, however, are of a different musical nature and have an entirely different narrative function in the opera. The densely chromatic, melancholy, mourning choruses of Alceste are not to be found here, nor would they have been appropriate. Indeed, in Iphigénie en Aulide the choruses are not reflective, but active; they do not sing of grief and tragic suffering, but call out for the sacrifice of Agamemnon’s daughter, pushing the drama forward.

Intriguingly, in a collection of anecdotes, Olivier de Corancez recollects a conversation with Gluck concerning his treatment of the chorus in Act III of

Iphigénie en Aulide:

I also complained to M. Gluck that, in the same opera Iphigénie, the chorus of soldiers, who come forward so many times to demand loudly that the victim must be given to them, not only offers nothing outstanding from the point of view of melody, but is also constantly repeated, note for note, even though variety is so desirable a quality. ‘These soldiers’, he told me, ‘have left all they hold most dear, their country, their wives, and their children, in the sole hope of attacking Troy. They are becalmed in the middle of their journey, and forced to remain in the port of Aulis. A contrary wind would be less disastrous for them, because at least it would enable them to return home. Suppose’, he added, ‘that a large province experienced a terrible famine. The citizens assembled in large numbers, and went in

20 Frederick W. Sternfeld, 'Expression and Revision in Gluck's Orfeo and Alceste', in Essays presented to Egon Wellesz, ed. Jack Westrup (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1966), p. 114- 129. 126

search of a ruler of the province, who addressed them from his balcony: “My children, what do you want?” All would reply together, “Bread.” “But is this how…” “Bread.” “My friends, we’re going to provide…” “Bread, bread!” To every speech, they reply “bread”; not only do they pronounce nothing but one laconic word, but they say it always on the same note, because great emotions have but one accent. Here the soldiers ask for the victim; all the circumstances are as nothing to their eyes; they see only Troy, or a return home. They can only utter the same words and always with the same accent. I could have doubtless composed a musically more beautiful chorus, and gratified the ears by varying it. But then I would have been only a musician, and I would have departed from Nature, which I never must do.21

According to Corancez, Gluck said that the use of continuous repetition in the third act of his opera was an attempt to musically depict the increasingly tense dramatic situation, with repetition and melodic unison employed to represent the desperate situation of the chorus and their united purpose. The militaristic theme in the overture alludes to the music that accompanies the

Greek army’s plight in the opera and, in a way, functions in a much similar manner; the increasingly intense repeated statements of the theme in the overture paralleling the insistent and repeated demands for the sacrifice of

21 ‘Je me suis aussi à M. Gluck de ce que, dans ce même Opéra d’Iphigénie, le chœur des Soldats qui s’avancent tant de fois pour demander à haute voix que la victime soit livrée, non-seulement ne présentoit rien de saillant, comme chant, mais aussi de ce qu’il étoit répété chaque fois note pour note, quique la variété soit cependant si nécessaire./ Ces Soldats, me dit-il, ont quitté ce qu’ils ont de plus cher, leur patrie, leurs femmes & leurs enfants, dans la seule espérance du pillage de Troye. Le calme les surprend à moitié chemin & les force de rester dans la port de l’Aulide. Un vent contraire leur seroit moins funeste, puisqu’au moins ils pourroient retourner chez eux; supposez, m’a-t-il ajouté, qu’une province étendue éprouve une forte disette. Les Citoyens, en grand nombre, se rassemblent & vont trouver le Chef de la province, qui se présente à eux sur son balcon: Mes enfants, que demandez-vous? Tout répondront à la fois, du pain. Mais est-ce ainsi que vous devez…. du pain. Mes amis on va pourvoir…Du pain, du pain. A toutes les observations ils répondront du pain, non- seulement ils ne prononceront que ce mot laconique, mais ils le diront toujours du même ton, attendu que les grandes passions n’ont qu’un accent. Ici les Soldats demandent la victime; toutes les circonstances sont nulles à leurs yeux, ils ne voyant que Troye ou le retour dans leur Patrie; ils ne doivent proférer que les mêmes mots & toujours avec le même accent. J’aurois pû sans doute faire un plus beau chœur musical, & surtout, pour le plaisir de vos oreilles, le varier; mais je n’aurois été que Musicien & je serois sorti de la nature, que je ne dois jamais abandonner’. Olivier de Corancez, 'Lettre sur le Chevalier Gluck', in Journal de Paris (1788), p. 1010, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 246. 127

Iphigénie by the chorus in the opera. Indeed, as shown in Table 1, the militaristic statement appears six times in the overture, increasing in intensity with each statement (the only exception is the final statement that brings the overture to a close).

The Act I, scene 2 chorus also bears a striking musical resemblance to the military passage in the overture and again is concerned with the Greek army’s need for sacrifice. In this passage the chorus demand that Calchas reveal the name of the person that is to be sacrificed so that they can continue their journey to Troy. This scene, then, presents a dramatically similar situation to the chorus of Act III. In both cases the chorus demands a sacrifice and, thus, are representative of a force that stands in direct conflict with

Agamemnon’s love for his daughter. Unlike the choruses of Alceste that have a passive narrative function, providing an emotional reaction to the tragic situation in which they are enveloped, the choruses in Iphigénie en Aulide have a far more active role; they form an important part of the tragic conflict and help to establish the tragic narrative. In the opera, the Greek army choruses represent a terrifying and barbaric collective that repeatedly calls out for the sacrifice of Iphigénie. In a sense, the choruses function as a grounded representation - a humanised representation - of the will of the gods; it is the Greek army that now represent the ‘agents of fate’, a role previously played by the chorus of the gods of the underworld in Alceste.22

It seems that rather than have the opera focus upon the gods’ demand for sacrifice, in Iphigénie en Aulide Gluck uses the Greek army to generate the tragic action. While Agamemnon may have the courage to defy the gods at the beginning of the opera (as seen in his opening arioso), he finds it increasingly difficult to ignore the needs and violent demands of his people.

22 See chapter one, p. 63-64. 128

In Iphigénie en Aulide, Gluck and du Roullet focus the action of their opera on human situations and actions. Despite the fact that the tragic situation results from Diana’s demand for sacrifice (something which is not presented on stage, but relayed to the audience by Agamemnon), the opera centres predominantly on human interaction. This enables the tragedy to unfold in a more natural manner. By limiting the appearance of the gods and ascribing their role to the Greek chorus, Gluck and Du Roullet effectively balance a rational plot with supernatural spectacle, appeasing both the needs and wants of the critics and the desires of the audience. Indeed, as Aubrey S.

Garlington, Jr. notes ‘all spectacular appearances of gods, goddesses, furies, demons, witches, etc. were not only tolerated in the opera but encouraged’.23

It seems that although opera was criticised throughout the eighteenth century for its use of the marvellous, audiences still expected and revelled in the marvellous elements. Interestingly, when Iphigénie en Aulide was revised, less than a year after its first performance, the ending of the opera was altered.24 In the original version of the opera (following a confrontation with

Iphigénie’s betrothed, Achilles), Calchas claims that the gods have been appeased and no longer require Iphigénie’s sacrifice. In the opera’s dénouement, the magical aspect to the story is minimised, Calchas relaying to the people the gods’ decree. By contrast, in the revised version of the opera, Diana descends and announces to everyone that the sacrifice is no longer required. In the 1775 version it seems that Gluck and Du Roullet

23 Aubrey S. Garlington Jr., 'Le Merveilleux and Operatic Reform in 18th-Century French Opera', Musical Quarterly, Vol. 49, No. 4 (1963), p. 485. On the marvellous see also Thomas A. Downing, Aesthetics of Opera in the Ancien Régime, 1647-1785 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 24 On the differences between the two version see Julie E. Cumming, ‘Gluck’s Iphigenia operas: sources and strategies’ in Thomas Bauman and Marita Petzoldt McClymonds, ed., Opera and the Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), Michel Noiray, Gluck's Methods of Composition in his French Operas (Thesis, M. Litt: Oxford University, 1979), p. 7-30 and Julian Rushton, ''Royal Agamemnon': the two versions of Gluck's Iphigénie en Aulide', in Music and the French Revolution, ed. Malcolm Boyd (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 15-36. 129 succumbed to popular demand and bring the marvellous element back to the forefront of the drama in the final act.

According to Jeremy Hayes the finale is altered to rid it of ‘the ambiguity of

Calchas’ change of heart in the face of a challenge to his divine powers by

Achilles’.25 The appearance of Diana is not simply a theatrical spectacle, but an assertion of divine power and of a higher order. As Julian Rushton notes,

‘in 1774 the success of Achilles questions the legitimacy of the system, but in

1775 his rebellion, motivated by love, is assimilated into the higher order.

The latter, surely, is the Enlightenment solution’.26 The revised ending, therefore, may not simply be the results of a need to satisfy the audience’s desire for marvellous spectacles, but to replace an ending that may have been interpreted as questioning the religious authority of the Church.

In my opinion, the ending may have altered because in the original version it seems that fate succumbs to chance; Iphigénie’s life does not rest in the hands of the gods, but with a confrontation between Achilles and Calchas. This ending, in effect, weakens the opera’s tragic trajectory. The appearance of

Diana in the revised finale, as Rushton notes, reasserts divine order, and this can be taken not just to mean religious faith, but of other forces, such as fate.

The revised ending, then, reaffirms the plot’s tragic narrative, which would otherwise have been called into question. Although the ending brought about by Diana is a happy one - the sacrifice of Iphigénie being averted - the overall tragic narrative of the opera I believe remains unaffected, as it is not in my opinion the outcome that necessarily defines tragedy, but how the

25 Jeremy Hayes, "Iphigénie en Aulide", The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, edited by Stanley Sadie: Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/O902325 (accessed July 15, 2008). 26 Julian Rushton, ''Royal Agamemnon': the two versions of Gluck's Iphigénie en Aulide', in Music and the French Revolution, ed. Malcolm Boyd (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 36. 130 drama progresses, is generated, and understood by its audience. Even with a happy ending, I believe tragic drama can still raise questions about our mortality, our future, our beliefs, and how we reconcile conflicts within and around us. Indeed, a happy ending does not necessarily detract from the torment of the tragic conflict just witnessed and the feeling that the drama could have had potentially a disastrous and tragic conclusion.

Interestingly, Schrade argues that modern (Christian) tragedy is unable to foster a fatalistic drive, as the concept of fate is tied to Greek religions and cults and fundamentally at odds with Christian belief systems. As he states, the ‘restoration of Greek tragedy, more imaginary than real, was debarred from ever being complete because the Greek concept of tragedy had been eclipsed largely by the intervention of Christian ideas’.27 Schrade’s understanding of modern tragedy echoes that of George Steiner. Steiner argues that Christian tragic drama is ultimately paradoxical in nature because of the Christian notion of redemption. As he states:

In authentic tragedy, the gates of hell stand open and damnation is real. The tragic personage cannot evade responsibility. To argue that Oedipus should have been excused on the grounds of ignorance, or that Phèdre was merely prey to hereditary chaos of the blood, is to diminish to absurdity the weight and meaning of the tragic action. The redeeming insight comes too late to mend the ruins or is purchased at the price of irremediable suffering… In tragedy, the twist of the net which brings down the hero may be an accident or hazard of circumstance, but the mesh is woven into the heart of life.28

In Steiner’s opinion modern tragedy fails because Christianity offers a solution to the tragic event, thus negating the tragic effect of the drama. Both

27 Leo Schrade, Tragedy in the Art of Music (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1964), p. 4. 28 George Steiner, The Death of Tragedy (London: Faber and Faber, 1961), p. 128. Also see George Steiner, 'A Note on Absolute Tragedy', Journal of Literature and Theology, Vol. 4, No. 2 (1990), George Steiner, '"Tragedy," Reconsidered', New Literary History, Vol. 35, No. 1 (2004), p. 1-15. 131

Schrade and Steiner, however, fail to take into account the different historical contexts of the tragic works they study and how each dramatist adapted tragedy to suit their own ideals and beliefs.29 Indeed, as Raymond Williams quite rightly points out:

Tragedy is…not a single and permanent kind of fact, but a series of experiences and conventions and institutions. It is not a case of interpreting this series by reference to a permanent and unchanging human nature. Rather, the varieties of tragic experience are to be interpreted by reference to the changing conventions and institutions.30

According to Williams, tragedy is not a stable concept or dramatic type, but something which undergoes constant change and evolution, with writers and theorists adapting tragedy to suit their own ideals and beliefs. Michelle

Gellrich also perceives tragedy as a constantly evolving dramatic type and concept stating that dramatists ‘render tragedy amenable to an accepted system of beliefs by excluding its characteristically subversive aspects and treating it as an affirmation of conventional hierarchies and norms’.31 Any study of tragic drama, then, should take into account the constantly evolving nature of tragedy and the historical and cultural context in which it was written if we are to try and understood the effect it may have had on its interpretant.

29 Several scholars have, in fact, put forward a case for possibility of Christian tragedy. See Terry Eagleton, Sweet Violence: The Idea of the Tragic (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), Adrian Poole, Tragedy: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), Elias Schwartz, 'The Possibilities of Christian Tragedy', College English, Vol. 21, No. 4 (1960), p. 208-213, George W. Harris, Reason's Grief: An Essay on Tragedy and Value (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), Stewart R. Sutherland, 'Christianity and Tragedy', Journal of Literature & Theology, Vol. 4, No. 2 (1990), p. 157-168 and Graham Ward, 'Steiner and Eagleton: The Practice of Hope and the Idea of the Tragic', Literature & Theology, Vol. 19, No. 2 (2005), p. 100-111. 30 Raymond Williams, Modern Tragedy, edited and with an introduction by Pamela McCallum (Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2006), p. 69. 31 Michelle Gellrich, Tragedy and Theory (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1988), p. 174. 132

In my opinion, it is not that in modern tragedy the notion of fate is absent, but that it is given a slightly different meaning and is portrayed in a different fashion. The way in which Gluck and Du Roullet almost completely

‘humanise’ the role played by the Greek gods in Iphigénie en Aulide in the

1774 version possibly represents an attempt by the authors to incorporate a more modern notion of the Greek concept of fate, and in a number of ways this is indicative of contemporary attitudes towards tragedy and tragic drama. As noted earlier, in his Conversations on ‘The Natural Son’, Diderot takes a view of Greek tragedy as based ultimately upon human actions. In fact, in a discussion of the role played by the gods in tragic drama Diderot asks:

What are the gods of Homer, Aeschylus, Euripides and Sophocles? The vices of men, their virtues, the personifications of the great phenomena of nature, these are the true theogony, this is the perspective in which we should see Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Apollo, Venus, the Fates, Love and the Furies.32

Diderot understands the will of the gods as an external representation of the character of man and/or nature, their presence nothing more than a theatrical, literary device. In short, the gods represent the inner nature of the characters themselves. In Iphigénie en Aulide Gluck and Du Roullet seem to adopt this notion and weave the idea of fate and the role played by the gods into the fabric of everyday life of the human characters. The original 1774 ending to the opera, then, seems to offer a far more modern and subtle approach to the tragic drama than the 1776 version, the earlier version almost eliminating entirely the gods from the plot of the opera.

32 ‘Qu’est-ce que les dieux d’Homère, d’Eschyle, d’Euripide et de Sophocle? Les vices des hommes, leurs vertus, et les grands phénomènes de la nature personifiés, violà la véritable théogonie; violà le coup d’œil sous lequel if faut voir Saturne, Jupiter, Mars, Apollon, Vénus, les Parques, l’Amour et les Furies’. Denis Diderot, Œuvres Esthétiques de Diderot, ed. Paul Vernière (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 1994), 158-159, translated in Denis Diderot, Selected Writings on Art and Literature, translated with an introduction and notes by Geoffrey Bremner (London: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 65. 133

Although in Iphigénie en Aulide the drama appears to result from the actions of the characters, a fateful and supernatural resonance still presides over most of the opera. The chorus of Greek soldiers furnishes the opera with a sense that higher forces are at work, with its repeated and increasingly violent demands for sacrifice providing the drama with a tragic intensity and fatalistic quality. The fact that Gluck uses similar music, characterised music, to represent its demands heightens this effect, the recurring music of the

Greek army perhaps functioning as and offering an early example of a reminiscence motif.33 While this technique has often been considered to be a nineteenth-century musical device, Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide conceivably offers a precedent. By creating aural connections throughout the work, the repeated musical ideas serve as a constant reminder of the fateful force that drives the plot towards the altar scene. Like many tragic, literary works that employ recurrent lingual and pictorial symbols to hint at future events, these

“reminiscence” motifs provide the spectator with a sense that the way in which the drama unfolds is somehow predetermined. In effect, the overture functions in an oracular manner. By sounding musical events that have yet to occur, the overture helps to establish a sense of tragic inevitability.

The repeated and increasingly intense demands for sacrifice of the Greek chorus, in short, furnish the opera with an increasing sense of tragic intensity and impending doom. For Susanne Langer, a defining feature of tragic drama is that it is based upon a process of gradual intensification. She states that:

33 On the reminiscence motif see A. D. McCredie, 'Leitmotive: Wagner's Points of Departure and their Antecedents', Miscellanea Musicologica, Vol. 14 (1985), p. 1-28, Frits Noske, The Signifier and the Signified: Studies in the Operas of Mozart and Verdi (Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1990) and Julian Rushton, 'An Early Essay in 'Leitmotiv': J. B. Lemoyne's Electre', Music & Letters, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1971), p. 387-401. See also "Reminiscence motif" in The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, edited by Stanley Sadie. Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/O009217 (accessed May 13, 2008). 134

Intensification is necessary to achieve and sustain the “form in suspense” that is even more important in tragic drama than in comic, because the comic denouement, not making an absolute close, needs only to restore balance, but the tragic ending must recapitulate the whole action to be a visible fulfilment of a destiny that was implicit in the beginning.34

If tragedy is a “form in suspense”, then the overture is crucial in preparing the listener for the tragic nature of a drama, as it is the overture that sets the tragic ball in motion and places the listener in a state of tragic expectation.35

In particular, the overture to Iphigénie en Aulide fosters a sense of tragedy by anticipating the fatalistic role the Greek army is going to play in the opera.

The militaristic passage is played six times during the course of the overture, with each statement (except the last) intensified through the addition of tremolandi and imitation. The repetition of these increasingly intense statements provides the overture, in my opinion, with a sense of foreboding and tragic intensity. The dynamic thrust that results from these increasingly intense presentations, however, does not furnish the overture with a linear plot. Indeed, the overture does not anticipate all the dramatic events of opera, but anticipates the opera’s main dramatic conflict. As stated above, the unison passage in the overture refers to choruses from both Acts I and III and, therefore, does not refer to a specific dramatic moment, but to the barbaric nature of the chorus in general. Moreover, as the overture draws to its close, the military theme reappears in its original, unison presentation, returning the overture to the music with which it had begun - its initial state of being. Like the Alceste overture, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture has a structure that is fundamentally repetitive and cyclical. Indeed, the arioso that opens the Iphigénie en Aulide overture also serves as its close. What

34 Susanne K. Langer, Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from Philosophy in a New Key (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Limited, 1953), p. 357. 35 This idea of generic expectation will be explored in more detail in chapter three. 135 distinguishes the two overtures, however, is that the Iphigénie en Aulide appears to engender Langer’s view of tragedy as based upon a narrative that is less concerned with development and more concerned with processes of intensification. Although the structure repeats creating an almost cyclical narrative, the increasing intense statements of the militaristic theme furnish the overture with a narrative of intensification, these statements giving the overture a sense of drive.

Achilles and his Heroic Vision: the source of hope (Idea C)

The passage that follows the military theme (bars 29-39) provides yet another contrast within the overture, although one that appears not to have been discussed by scholars. Wagner makes no mention of this passage in his discussion of the overture and Martin Cooper relegates it to ‘a hint of the same empty, bustling style which we found in the overture to Orfeo and

Alceste, the legacy of the old Italian overture’.36 For both Wagner and Cooper, this passage has no specific narrative resonance and simply adds to the overture’s overall mood.

I believe, however, that this passage does play an important role in the overture’s narrative and actually shares several musical characteristics with several scenes in the opera. This bustling passage is heavily orchestrated, employing both the brass and the timpani. In the opera there are only a few occasions where this texture is employed: the celebratory music of Act II, scene 3, Chantez, célébrez votre reine, the chorus that follows shortly after, Ami sensible, ennemi redoubtable, and Achilles aria of Act III, scene 3, Calchas, d’un trait mortel percé. The orchestration of these three passages is remarkably similar and each passage hosts a near-identical rhythmic figure: q iq q iq .

This figure in all examples is given to the timpani and brass and is

36 Martin Cooper, Gluck (London: Chatto & Windus, 1935), p. 186. 136 predominantly on one note (compare Ex. 3a with Ex. 3b, 3c, and 3d).

Interestingly, all of the above examples accompany either Achilles or choruses that depict his conquests.37 It seems that the empty, bustling passage in the overture, then, might actually have a narrative resonance, the passage indicative of the music that accompanies and is associated with

Achilles in the opera. More specifically, it is music associated with Achilles’ love for Iphigénie, his heroic nature and strength, and his vow to rescue

Iphigénie from the altar. In sum, this passage provides a contrast with the previous material of the overture, as it does not signal a tragic ending, but provides a message of hope, suggesting to the listener that Achilles might rescue Iphigénie from her dreadful fate.

The Achilles’ passage in the overture introduces and familiarises the listener not only with another important (musical) character in the opera, but a character that provides us with a very different vision of the dramatic events to come. Indeed, Achilles stands in opposition to both Agamemnon and the

Greek army in the opera; he is determined to save Iphigénie from being sacrificed to the gods. It seems that in the Iphigénie en Aulide overture, Gluck is not just intent on establishing a tragic mood, but in introducing the listener to some of the opera’s main characters, their differing and conflicting perspectives on the tragic situation, and the various possible outcomes to the drama.

37 Example 5a is from an aria for Achilles and chorus, which celebrates his marriage to Iphigénie. Example 5b is taken from the chorus of Thessalians, who sing of Achilles’ strength and power. The last example is taken from Achilles aria in Act III, in which he shows his heroic strength as he plots to rescue Iphigénie. 137

138

139

The Cry of Nature: Iphigénie and the Oboe (Ideas D and E)

Two passages from the overture remain to be discussed, although only one character from the opera: Iphigénie. The first of these passages is found at bars 40-49 and is scored for flute and violins (Ex. 4a). The passage has a lyrical quality and, unlike the rest of the overture, has a simple melody with accompaniment. For Wagner, the motif has a graceful quality and is representative of ‘maidenly tenderness’.38

Example 4a: Ouverture, bars 39-42.

The passage certainly has a folk-like simplicity and provides the overture with an unexpected moment of repose. The Lydian fourth at bar 39 could be an attempt to give the passage a Grecian quality. Indeed, both the theorists

Johann Mattheson and Johann Philipp Kirnberger understood the modal

38 ‘ein Motiv der Anmuth, der jungfräulichen Zartheit’. Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 4, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 162. 140 system to have its roots in ancient Greek music.39 And it has been suggested more recently by James O Young that the Lydian modes in particular were thought to be connected to ideas of ‘ease and soft pleasure’ and were often associated with ‘high pitch and best sung by women’.40 Perhaps the reference to the Lydian mode in this passage alludes to both Iphigénie’s Grecian heritage and her feminine nature.

As with the other passages discussed in this chapter, a possible musical parallel for this passage can be found in the opera. The chorus that opens Act

I, scene 5, similarly functions as a moment of rest. It removes the listener from the dense tragic soundworld that has, up until this point, subsumed the opera. This chorus announces the arrival of Iphigénie and Clytemnestra, the chorus describing their majesty and beauty. The passage is light and simple and has a folk-like character that is reminiscent of the passage for flute and violins in the overture (Ex. 4b).

Iphigénie’s aria that occurs later in the same scene could also be said to have a folk-like character. It is both melodically and harmonically restrained and is accompanied by an unobtrusive and straightforward string accompaniment; the first violins double the melodic line and the second violins harmonise the melody at the third. The basses are used to articulate the basic harmonic framework of the aria, while the violas drone-like note that begins at bar 5 helps to emphasise the aria’s pastoral and folkish feel (see

Ex. 4c). In short, the music associated with Iphigénie in this scene is

39 Although the newer, tonal system predominated in the eighteenth century, compositions based upon modal scales and modal theory persisted. On the use of modes in eighteenth century see Joel Lester, Between Modes and Keys: German Theory, 1592-1802 (Stuyvesant: Pendragon Press, 1989), p. 133-161 and Rita Steblin, A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries (Epping: Bowker, 1983). 40 James O. Young, 'Key, Temperament and Musical Expression', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 49, No. 3 (1991), p. 235-236. 141 restrained and simple (providing a direct contrast to Clytemnestra’s more decorative and ornate aria earlier in the scene).

Example 4b: Act I, scene 5, Que j’aime à voir ces hommages flatteurs,

bars 1-5.

142

Example 4c: Act I, scene 5, Les veoux dont ce peuplem’honore, bars 1-20.

Gluck’s musical portrayal of Iphigénie as a pure, innocent (and perhaps even exotic) character is, in a sense, representative of the way in which many eighteenth-century writers, philosophers, and artists perceived ancient

Greece and Greek art. For example, in his widely disseminated essay

Thoughts on the imitation of the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks (Gedanken

über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerey und Bildhauerkunst,

1755) Johann Joachim Winckelmann states that artists should follow the

143

Greek examples and represent emotion in a restrained and stoic manner.41

For Winckelmann, ‘the calmer the state of a body, the fitter it is to express the true character of the soul’.42 In his opera Gluck appears to have carved the character of Iphigénie in this fashion. The simple and restrained style in this aria is perhaps an attempt to depict musically beauty and emotion in its purest form; the artifices of music in Iphigénie’s aria, and indeed in the passage for flute and strings in the overture, recede into the background. The simple and lyrical passage in the overture, then, can be said to not simply represent the character of Iphigénie, but the widely held view of Greek art and sculpture as depicting the epitome of pure beauty and innocence.

The second passage in the overture that is associated with Iphigénie, by contrast, appears to have a far darker significance, and is not representative of her pure and maidenly character, but, as Wagner says, is ‘a motif of sorrowing, of agonising Pity’.43 The motif to which Wagner refers is found in the final part of the second section of the overture, and is almost twice as long as some of the other passages in the overture. This passage, then, is one of the overture’s most memorable passages and would have probably had a striking impact on the listener. The prominent use of the oboe and of sighing figures that emphasise the interval of a semitone both furnish this passage

41 In Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Johañ Winckelmañs Sämtliche Werke, edited by Joseph Eiselein (Osnabrück: O. Zeller, 1965), Vol. 1, p. 1-58, translated in H. B. Nisbet, ed., German Aesthetic and Literary Criticism: Wincklemann, Lessing, Hamann, Herder, Schiller, Goethe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 32-54. 42 ‘Je ruhiger der Stand des Körpers ist, desto geschiker ist er, dem wahren Charakter der Seele zu schildern’. In Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Johañ Winckelmañs Sämtliche Werke, edited by Joseph Eiselein (Osnabrück: O. Zeller, 1965), p. 32-33, translated in H. B. Nisbet, ed., German Aesthetic and Literary Criticism: Wincklemann, Lessing, Hamann, Herder, Schiller, Goethe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 43. 43 ‘ein Motiv des schmerzlichen, qualvollen Mitleidens’. Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 4, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 162. 144 with a musical potency that contrasts sharply with the folk-like melody discussed above.

Example 5a: Ouverture, bars 71-80.

Interestingly, as the opera progresses and the dramatic tension mounts,

Iphigénie’s music becomes increasingly unsettled. For instance, in her second aria, Hélas, mon cœur sensible et tendre (which Iphigénie sings on hearing of

Achilles’ supposed betrayal) a more complex, dense, and unsettling musical texture is employed, creating a contrast with her opening aria earlier in the

Act.

145

The unnerving oboe passage in the overture is potentially an early indication of the troubled situation that awaits Iphigénie later in the opera, the plaintive oboe melody serving as a musical symbol for her pending sacrifice.

Intriguingly, the oboe is employed to represent Iphigénie’s plight several times in the opera. For example, the oboe is given a prominent place in the musical texture in Act II, scene 4, providing an obbligato accompaniment to

Clytemnestra’s aria that follows on from the revelation that her daughter is to be sacrificed. As with the overture, the obbligato oboe is given prominent sighing motifs. The oboe reappears again in the duet for Agamemnon and

Achilles in Act II. As the two male figures confront each other in this aria, sighing motifs are heard once again in the oboe. A clearer connection with the overture is perhaps found in Agamemnon’s recitative that follows this duet. The sighing figures here are used to depict Agamemnon’s guilt and closely correspond to the oboe line in the overture in both their intervallic content and their presentation (Ex. 5b).

146

Example 5b: Act II, scene 7, Tu décides son sort, bars 77-88.

The most frequently referenced example of Gluck’s symbolic use of the oboe in this opera, however, is found in Agamemnon’s Act I, scene 3, aria. In this aria Agamemnon questions the gods’ request for sacrifice, refusing to obey their commands. The aria is in C minor (the same key as the overture’s opening arioso passage), although it is in the aria’s central Eb major section that the oboe features.44 At this point in the aria Agamemnon sings of the

‘plaintive cry of nature’, going on to say that nature’s ‘voice rings more true than the oracles of destiny’.45 As Agamemnon sings these words, the sighing figures are heard in the oboe (accompanied by the flute) paralleling those found in the overture (Ex. 5c):

44 It should be noted that these sighing figures are not exactly identical to those found in the overture. In the aria these figures descend rather than ascend and some figures move a tone, rather than a semitone. This passage, nevertheless, is clearly intended to hark back to the bars 63-85 of the overture, which place the oboe at the forefront of the musical texture and presents a series of sighing figures. 45 ‘Le cri plaintif de la nature:/ Elle parle à mon cœur,/ Et sa voix est plus sûre/ Que les oracles du destin’. 147

Example 5c: Act I, scene 2, Peuvent-ils ordonner?, bars 24-27.

According to Geoffrey Burgess, the ‘oboe’s simple ascending sequence of appoggiaturas represents the anguished cries of Iphigénie rising in her father’s imagination as he reflects on his obligation to deliver her for sacrifice’.46

Einstein's understanding of this passage is along a similar line, although he ascribes to the sighing figures an almost metaphysical resonance:

That lamentation of the oboe, which cuts Agamemnon to the soul, is not only an innovation in opera, but in the whole dramatic art. For the first time opera demonstrates its superiority over the spoken drama; for the first time the orchestra recognizes its function of saying things and evoking conceptions not to be expressed in words and stirring only in the subconsciousness of the soul.47

Einstein’s statement may seem a little grand, but it does touch upon an important point. As he notes, the oboe is used here does not just reinforce the meaning of the text, but adds an extra narrative layer that presents the

46 Geoffrey Burgess and Bruce Haynes, The Oboe, Yale Musical Instrument Series (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), p. 225. 47 Alfred Einstein, Gluck (London: JM Dent and Sons, 1964), p.141. 148 listener with a musical vision of Iphigénie at the altar. The oboe passage in the overture, which is of a much similar nature, is possibly also intended to carry this narrative significance and present a musical portrait of Iphigénie at the altar.

Both Patricia Howard and Julian Rushton observe the oboe’s importance in both the overture and the opera, understanding the motif to be the ‘cri plaintif de la nature’, taking the line from Agamemnon’s aria.48 The natural, primitive aspect that Howard and Rushton ascribe to the oboe motif stems not just from its use in this aria, but also from the oboe’s association with nature and the pastoral.49 For Hector Berlioz, the oboe was perfectly suited to the drama of Agamemnon’s aria, causing him to question whether ‘those innocent cries, those endless pleas, growing ever more intense, [could] belong to any other instrument but the oboe?’50 In his treatise on orchestration, Berlioz states that the oboe is ‘above all a melodic instrument; it has a rustic character, full of tenderness, of bashfulness even’ and is best at conveying ‘candour, naïve grace, sentimental delight, or the suffering of a weaker creature’.51 Berlioz’s association of the oboe with suffering and the pastoral genre most probably results from his study of Gluck’s works,

48 Patricia Howard, Gluck and the Birth of Modern Opera (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1963), p. 94, and Julian Rushton, 'An Early Essay in 'Leitmotiv': J.B. Lemoyne's Electre', Music & Letters, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1971), p. 396. 49 See Geoffrey Burgess and Bruce Haynes, The Oboe, Yale Musical Instrument Series (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), p. 216-236. 50 ‘Ces plaints d’une voix innocente, ces supplications incessantes et toujours plus vives, pouvaient-elles convenir à aucun autre instrument autant qu’au hautboy?’ In Hector Berlioz, New Edition of the Complete Works: Grand traité d'instrumentation, Vol. 24, edited by Peter Bloom (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2003), p. 156, translated in Hector Berlioz, Berlioz's orchestration treatise: a translation and commentary, translated and with commentary by Hugh Macdonald (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 104. 51 ‘La candeur, la grâce naïve, la douce joie, ou la douleur d’un être faible, conviennent aux accents du hautbois: il les exprime à merveille dans le cantible. Hector Berlioz, New Edition of the Complete Works: Grand traité d'instrumentation, Vol. 24, edited by Peter Bloom (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2003), p. 156, translated in Hector Berlioz, Berlioz's orchestration treatise: a translation and commentary, translated and with commentary by Hugh Macdonald (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 103 and 104. 149 suggesting he felt that Gluck's use of the oboe was well suited to this dramatic effect. Interestingly, Gluck employs the oboe in several of his other operas to achieve a much similar end: in Orphée, the oboe echoes Eurydice’s voice as she ascends from the Underworld; in Alceste it is used to accompany

Alceste’s Act I, scene 3, aria which speaks of her love for her children; and in

Iphigénie en Tauride it is employed in Iphigénie’s Act II, scene 6, lament.52

Gluck clearly felt that the oboe was well suited to the depiction of suffering and loss. The use of the oboe in Iphigénie en Aulide is particularly memorable as it is used to depict the cry of nature, providing a musical representation of

Iphigénie’s primitive cry at the altar.

For Michael Burgess, ‘resembling a disembodied voice, the oboe is not unlike the ‘cry’ of a singer’s ecstatic high note when text dissolves into pure sound’.53 The connection Burgess makes between the sound of the oboe and the cry of a singer’s high note is interesting, as it reinforces my idea that the oboe in the overture perhaps represents Iphigenia’s cry at the altar, an idea that becomes more compelling when it is evaluated against a background of eighteenth-century aesthetic ideas concerning music and primitive language.

Indeed, during the eighteenth century a number of writings appeared that made a direct connection between music and the language of primitive man.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Essay on the Origins of Language (Essai sur l’origine des langues, où il est parlé de la mélodie et de l’imitation musicale, 1753) and Johann

Gottfried Herder’s Correspondence on Ossian and the Songs of Ancient People

(Auszug aus einem Briefwechsel über Ossian und die Lieder alter Völker, 1773) being two well-known examples.54 For Rousseau, language originated as a

52 See Geoffrey Burgess and Bruce Haynes, The Oboe, Yale Musical Instrument Series (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), p. 224-225. 53 Ibid., p. 234. 54 See Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la 150 series of sounds and gestures. He claimed that ‘in all languages the most lively exclamations are unarticulated; cries and groans are simple voices’.55

Johann Gottfried Herder’s essay makes a much similar point, although

Herder draws the reader’s attention specifically to the emotional power of primitive song. For Herder, the more primitive a song, the more potent effect it has on the senses. As he states:

Know then, that the more barbarous a people is - that is, the more alive, the more freely acting (for that is what the word means) - the more barbarous, that is the more free, the closer to the sense, the more lyrically dynamic its songs will be, if songs it has.56

This idea that music’s origins lay with the powerful and emotive language of primitive man was something that also keenly interested Gluck.57 At the time

Gluck was composing Iphigénie en Aulide, he was also engaged with setting

collaboration de Samuel Baud-Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 375-429, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Languages and Writings Related to Music, the Collected Writings of Rousseau, Vol. 7, edited and translated by John T. Scott (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 289-332 and Johann Gottfried Herder, Werke: Herder und der Strum und Drang, 1764-1774, edited by Wolfgang Pross (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1984), Vol. 1, p. 477-525, extracts translated by Joyce P. Crick in H. B. Nisbet, ed., German Aesthetic and Literary Criticism: Wincklemann, Lessing, Hamann, Herder, Schiller, Goethe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 154-161. 55 ‘Dans toutes les langues les exclamations les plus vives sont inarticulées; les cris, les les gémissemens sont de simples voix’. In Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complètes: Écrits sur la musique, Vol. 5, Édition publiée sous la direction de Bernard Gagnebin et Marcel Raymond; avec, pour ce volume, la collaboration de Samuel Baud-Bovy [et al.] (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), p. 382, translated in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Essay on the Origin of Languages and Writings Related to Music, the Collected Writings of Rousseau, Vol. 7, edited and translated by John T. Scott (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1998), p. 295. 56 ‘Wissen Sie also, daß je wilder, d. i. Je lebendiger, je freiwürkender ein Volk ist, (denn mehr heißst dies Wort doch nicht!) desto wilder, d. i. desto lebendiger, freier, sinnlicher, lyrisch handelnder müssen auch, wenn es Lieder hat, seine Lieder sein!’ In Johann Gottfried Herder, Werke: Herder und der Strum und Drang, 1764-1774, edited by Wolfgang Pross (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1984), Vol. 1, p. 482, translated in H. B. Nisbet, ed., German Aesthetic and Literary Criticism: Wincklemann, Lessing, Hamann, Herder, Schiller, Goethe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p. 155-156. 57 Gluck was probably familiar with Herder and his writings. In fact, Herder sent Gluck a letter (dated 5th November, 1774, Bückeburg) asking him to consider setting his libretto, Brutus. Sadly, Gluck’s reply is lost. See Johann Gottfried Herder, Briefe, Dritter Band (Mai - 1773 - September 1776), edited by Wilhelm Dobbek and Gunter Arnold (Weimar: Hermann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1978), p. 124-125, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth- Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 128-129. 151

Klopstock’s Hermannsschlacht, a tragedy based upon a series of bardic songs that attempted to depict a more primitive and natural vision of man.

Although the music never reached written form, Johann Friedrich

Reichardt’s autobiography does provides us with a description of Gluck’s work:

Several times during the songs from Hermannsschlacht Gluck imitated the sounds of horns and the cries of swordsmen from behind their shields; once he interrupted himself saying that he must invent his own instrument for the work.58

From Reichardt’s observations it seems that Gluck used Klopstock’s bardic odes to help forge a new, primitive musical style that was intended to present the listener with a series of powerful and raw human emotions. A parallel can certainly be made between what Reichardt has to say about

Gluck’s Hermannsschlacht and the oboe section of his Iphigénie en Aulide overture in which Gluck attempts to portray pain at its most raw and primordial level.

The depiction of pain (and death) in the arts, however, was an aesthetic problem during the eighteenth century and, in this respect, Gluck and Du

Roullet’s solution to this problem in their opera is ingenious.59 Although

58 ‘Zwischen den Gesängen aus der Hermannsschlacht ahnte Gluck mehrmalen den Hörnerklang und den Ruf der Fechtenden hinter ihren Schilden nach; einmal unterbrach er sich auch, um zu sagen, dass er zu dem Gesange noch erst ein eignes Instrument erfinden müsse’. Johann Friedrich Reichardt, 'Bruchstüke aus Reichardts Autobiographie', Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 41, 13th October (1813), p. 670, translated in Patricia Howard, Gluck: An Eighteenth-Century Portrait in Letters and Documents (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), p. 235. 59 On the depiction of pain in eighteenth-century art see Susan E. Gustafson, 'Sadomasochism, Mutilation, and Men: Lessing's Laokoon, Herder's Kritische Wälder, Gerstenberg's Ugolino, and the Storm and Stress of Drama', Poetics Today, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1999), p. 197-218, Simon Richter, Laocoön's Body and the Aesthetics of Pain: Winckelmann, Lessing, Herder, Moritz, Goethe (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992), and Matthew Schneider, 'Problematic Difference: Conflictive Mimesis in Lessing's "Laokoon"', Poetics Today, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1999), p. 273-289. On portraying the sacrifice of Iphigenia in particular 152 many artists wished to portray emotion in its most intense and natural form

– as Gotthold Ephraim Lessing says, ‘to cry out is the natural expression of bodily pain’60 - they did not wish to present the horrific and the ugly. For

Lessing, the artist needed to balance beauty with real emotion. As he states in his Laocoön:

Let one only, in imagination, open wide the mouth in Laocoön, and judge! Let him shriek, and see! It was a form that inspired pity because it showed beauty and pain together; now it has become ugly, a loathsome form, from which one gladly turns away one’s face, because the aspect of pain excited discomfort without the beauty of the suffering subject changing this discomfort into the sweet feeling of compassion.61

According to Lessing, an element of beauty should be retained when depicting pain. As Matthew Schneider notes, ‘the need to avoid explicit depiction of violence re-creates the double, even paradoxical character of sacrificial ritual…The painter’s sacrifice of mimetic faithfulness to the Law of

Beauty thus conceals. It spares the viewer a potentially disturbing glimpse’.62

It appears that the problem that faced the eighteenth-century artist was in finding a balance between faithfully representing the tragic moment and

see H. Fullenwider, '"The Sacrifice of Iphigenia" in French and German Art Criticism, 1755- 1757', Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1989), p. 539-549. 60 ‘Schreien ist der natürliche Ausdruck des körperlichen Schmerzes’. Gottohld Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 11, translated in William A. Steel, ed., Lessing: Laocoön; Nathan the Wise; Minna von Barnhelm (London: Dent, 1930), p. 7. 61 ‘Denn man reiße dem Laokoon in Gedanken nur den Mund auf, und urteile. Man lasse ihn schreien, und sehe. Es war eine Bildung, die Mitleid ein flößte, weil sie Schönheit und Schmerz zugleich zeigte; nun ist eine häßliche, eine abscheuliche Bildung geworden, von der man gern sein Gesicht verwendet, weil der Anblick des Schmarzes Unlust erregt, ohne daß die Schönheit des leidended Gegenstandes diese Unlust in das süße Gefühl des Mitleids verwandeln kann’. Gottohld Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 20, translated in William A. Steel, ed., Lessing: Laocoön; Nathan the Wise; Minna von Barnhelm (London: Dent, 1930), p. 13. 62 Matthew Schneider, 'Problematic Difference: Conflictive Mimesis in Lessing's "Laokoon"', Poetics Today, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1999), p. 280-281. 153 creating a beautiful and pleasant work of art.63 Carle van Loo’s painting of

Iphigenia’s sacrifice, which was exhibited at the Salon of 1757, is an interesting case, his rendering of this emotional scene causing much debate as he had chosen to depict Agamemnon’s pained expression as Iphigénie was being sacrificed (Fig. 1), an expression that critics thought could not be captured without offending the eye.64

Figure 1: Carle van Loo, Sacrifice of Iphigénie (Oil on canvas, 426 x 613;

Staatliche Schlösser und Gärten Castle Potsdam-Sans Souci, New Palace.

Berlin).65

Suffering, however, is an important, if not essential, element of tragic drama.

According to George W. Harris, a defining feature of tragedy is that it always

63 It is interesting to note that, given Lessing’s comments above, in his Emilia Galotti Emilia is sacrificed on stage. However, there were different attitudes towards what was expected of stage drama and what was expected of opera. 64 For a discussion of this painting and several other paintings that depict the sacrifice of Iphigenia see H. Fullenwider, '"The Sacrifice of Iphigenia" in French and German Art Criticism, 1755-1757', Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1989), p. 539-549. 65 Image taken from http://galatea.univtlse2.fr/pictura/UtpicturaServeur/ GenerateurNotice.php?numnotice=A5290 154 involves significant loss.66 Indeed, the climax of many tragic dramas occurs at the point when it becomes vividly clear to both the on-stage characters and the spectators that there is to be no satisfactory solution to the situation; no matter what course of action is taken, it appears that the drama is to result in some kind of loss. This, of course, begs the question of how eighteenth- century artist and writers tackled the issues of realism, expression, and beauty in the popular, but horrific, genre of tragedy.

For Gluck and Du Roullet (as for many other playwrights) the solution was simple: rewrite the ending so that the sacrifice is averted. Indeed, in both their versions of the Iphigenia legend the sacrifice never takes place, Diana intervening in the 1775 version and Achilles saving Iphigénie from her fate in the 1774 version. A sense of tragedy, however, I think still permeates across almost the entire opera, an effect that partly results from the constant references in the opera to Iphigénie’s sacrifice. The oboe’s repeated sighing figures - figures expounded in the overture - possibly providing the spectator with a recurring image of Iphigénie at the altar.

Although Gluck and Du Roullet avoided giving their opera a tragic ending, the essence of tragedy is in my opinion still captured by the music that alludes to the moment of sacrifice; in the oboe section of the overture the spectator is allowed a brief moment in which to experience Iphigénie’s torment. In a sense, Gluck and Du Roullet paint a dramatic picture that parallels the effect created by the Greek painter Timanthes in his much- discussed painting of Iphigenia’s sacrifice (c. 406 BC).67 Timanthes’ painting,

66 George W. Harris, Reason's Grief: An Essay on Tragedy and Value (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 67 None of Timanthes’ works are extant, but there are a number of writings that describe his works. For a discussion of his version of the sacrifice of Iphigenia see H. Fullenwider, '"The Sacrifice of Iphigenia" in French and German Art Criticism, 1755-1757', Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, Vol. 52, No. 4 (1989), p. 539-549. 155 of which we only have written records, supposedly concealed Agamemnon’s face with a veil so that Agamemnon’s intense, emotional torment was not portrayed directly to the spectator. By presenting the spectator with a musical vision of Iphigénie’s sacrifice in the overture and by averting the sacrifice at the end of the opera, Gluck and Du Roullet allow the spectator a glimpse of the tragic altar scene at a ‘safe’ and aesthetically pleasing distance.

Like the Greek army choruses, the passages for the oboe in both the overture and the opera have an oracular function. Like an oracle, the oboe provides the spectator with a vision of tragic events to come. The oboe passages, thus, help to establish and maintain the opera’s tragic narrative, with each repetition intensifying the narrative, leading the spectator to expect that

Iphigénie will be sacrificed at the end of the opera. The overture’s portentous oboe passage, then, has an interesting narrative function, toying with our expectations of how the drama is to unravel. In this sense, the narrative of

Gluck’s overture conforms to Lessing’s notion that overtures should only indicate to the listener the general tendency of the play and avoid revealing how the drama is to unravel.68 Although the Iphigénie en Aulide alludes to some of the opera’s main dramatic conflicts and characters, it does not relay to the listener how the opera is to unravel and, in fact, hints at two possible endings, the oboe passage hinting at the possibility of a tragic finale and the music associated with Achilles suggests that Iphigénie will be saved.

Degrees of Narrativity: Character, Conflict and Contrast

In my view, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture prepares the spectator for the ensuing drama by presenting a series of contrasting musical images that represent some of the main characters of the opera and their different

68 For a discussion of Lessing’s view of the overture see chapter one, p. 50-51. 156 perspectives on the tragic situation.69 It is the presentation of these motifs in close juxtaposition, however, that I believe provides the overture with a narrative potential. Indeed, the sharp contrasts that occur throughout the overture furnish it with a conflicting and contrasting series of musical images that allude to particular characters and conflicts in the opera. For example, the overture opens with a musical passage based upon Agamemnon’s opening arioso, which is followed immediately by a passage intended to represent the barbaric force of the Greek army in the opera. The close juxtaposition and contrasting nature of these two themes produces a jarring effect that could possibly have been intended to allude to the conflict within

Agamemnon: that between his love for his daughter and the responsibility he has towards his army. In my interpretation, the music associated with

Achilles that follows intensifies the musico-dramatic conflict by providing another moment of musical and dramatic contrast. In this case, the overture hints at the conflict between the Greek army’s demand for sacrifice and

Achilles, to whom Iphigénie is betrothed. The allusions to Iphigénie’s innocence and her sacrificial cry at the altar provide additional narrative layers to the overture that heighten the musical drama of the overture by subjecting the listener to yet more conflicting musical and dramatic ideas.

For Wagner, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture’s dramatic power resulted from its clear depiction of the main characters and conflicts of the opera. However, in his first essay on the Iphigénie en Aulide overture, On the Overture (De l’ouverture, 1841), Wagner did not understand the overture to be based upon a network of motifs, but on the opposition of two musical ideas, stating that:

69 Interestingly, despite Clytemnestra’s formidable presence in the opera, there does not seem to be any reference to her music in the overture. This could be because that, while she is certainly an emotionally involved character, she is not directly involved in the tragic action, but more an onlooker. 157

It is a contest, or at least an opposition of two hostile elements, that gives the piece its movement. The plot of Iphigenia itself includes this pair of elements. The army of Greek heroes is assembled for a great enterprise in common: under the inspiring thought of its execution, each separate human interest pales before this one great interest of the gathered mass. Now this is confronted with the special interest of preserving human life, the rescue of a tender maiden. With what truth and distinctness of characterisation has Gluck as though personified these opposites in music! In what sublime proportion has he measured out the two and set them face to face in such a mode as of itself to give the conflict, and accordingly the motion. In the ponderous unison of the iron principal motive we recognise at once the mass united by a single interest, whilst in the subsequent theme that other interest, that interest of the tender, suffering individual, forthwith arrests our sympathy.70

For Wagner, ‘a solitary contrast is pursued throughout the piece’ that ‘gives into our hands the broad idea of old Greek Tragedy, for it fills us with terror and pity in turn’.71 Wagner’s view of the dramatic nature of the overture is clouded by his perception of Greek Tragedy, which stems from a Hegelian view of tragic drama.72 Hegel understood tragedy to be based primarily

70 ’c’est la lutte de deux éléments ennemis qui produit le mouvement du morceau. Le drame même d’Iphigénie se compose de ces deux éléments. L’armée des héros grecs est convoquée et réunie pour l’accomplissement d’une grande entreprise commune: animée d’une seule idée, l’exécution de ce grand dessein, tout intérêt humain disparaît devant cet intérêt unique de la masse. A cet intérêt colossal est opposé un seul intérêt privé, la conservation d’une seule vie humaine, le salut d’une tendre jeune fille. Avec quelle vérité caractéristique Gluck n’a-t-il pas personnifié musicalement ces éléments ennemis! Avec quelles sublimes dimensions ne les a-t-il pas mesurés et opposés l’un à l’autre dans l’ouverture, à ce point que dans cette opposition seule résident tout d’abord la lutte, et par conséquent le mouvement. On peut reconnaître à sa vigueur imposante dans l’unison de fer de l’allegro la masse réunie pour un intérêt unique. C’est avec attendrissement qu’on reconnaît ensuite dans le tendre et touchant contraste l’individu souffrant qui doit être sacrifié à la masse’. Richard Wagner, 'De l'ouverture', Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, Vol. 8, 10th-17th January (1841), p. 34, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), p. 161-162. 71 ‘L’œuvre musicale ainsi animée par le contraste de ces mêmes éléments nous donne immédiatement l’idée la plus grande de la tragédie grecque, et remplit tour à tour nos cœurs d’admiration et de pitié’. Richard Wagner, 'De l'ouverture', Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, Vol. 8, 10th-17th January (1841), p. 43, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), p. 162. 72 Hegel discusses the nature of tragedy in a number of his works. The most detailed discussion is found in his Lectures on Aesthetics (Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik, 1835) in Georg 158 upon a collision of opposites. He claimed that two different types of collision predominate in tragic drama: the first is an opposition between societal values and familial ties and morals, as seen in Antigone, and the second is a conflict between intelligence and knowledge, as seen in Oedipus Rex. With

Gluck and Du Roullet’s Iphigénie en Aulide, however, the tragic situation envelops a number of different characters and is based upon more than just a single, binary conflict. Indeed, the tragic situation involves Iphigénie,

Agamemnon, and Achilles, as well as the needs of the Greek army. This complex web of tragic characters is something that I believe is hinted at in the overture. Wagner’s claim that the overture is based predominantly upon a binary conflict fails to take into account the overture’s complex musical and narrative structure and ignores several important motifs in the overture.

It is interesting to note that following his adaption of Gluck’s Iphigénie en

Aulide, Wagner published another essay concerning the dramatic nature of

Gluck’s overture, in which he amends his view, now arguing that the overture is not constructed from an opposition of two themes, but a number of different motifs:

The whole content of Gluck’s overture, then, appeared to me as follows: - (1) a motive of Appeal, from out a gnawing anguish of the heart; (2) a motive of Power, of imperious, overbearing demand; (3) a motive of Grace, of maidenly tenderness; (4) a motive of sorrowing, of agonising Pity. The whole compass of the overture is filled by nothing

Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Werke: Vorlesungen über die Ästhetik, edited by Eva Moldenhauer and Karl Markus Michel (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1986), Vol. III, p. 474- 576, translated in Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Hegel on Tragedy, edited and with an introduction by Anne and Henry Paolucci (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1975). For a discussion of Hegel’s writings on tragedy see ‘Hegel’s Theory of Tragedy’ in A. C. Bradley, Oxford Lectures on Poetry (London: Macmillan, 1909), p. 69-92 and Mark William Roche, Tragedy and Comedy: a Systematic Study and Critque of Hegel (Albany, New York: State University of New York Press, 1998). 159

but the constant interchange of these (last three) chief-motives, linked together by a few subsidiary motives derived from them.73

Following his adaptation of Gluck’s opera, Wagner’s perception of the overture seems to have changed; it moves away from his previous view that the overture expresses a binary conflict and towards an understanding of the overture as constructed from a number of different musical and dramatic ideas. That said, the bustling motif that I argue is representative of Achilles appears remains at the sidelines, referred to as a subsidiary motif that is derived from the other passages. Interestingly, in his adaptation and revision of the opera, the choruses which share some of the features of this passage in the overture are drastically shortened or cut.74 It seems that Wagner did not perceive Achilles to be an important character in the drama and, as a result, overlooked the role Achilles’ music plays in the overture.

It is also worth pointing out that in his revision of the opera Wagner masks some of Gluck’s effective orchestration, such as his discerning use of the oboe, which, as noted above, plays an important part in the drama of the opera and overture. In Wagner’s adaptation the oboe is used far more frequently and its solo passages are often doubled by clarinets and/or flutes.

In addition, there are a number of occasions where Wagner adds transitional passages between arias and recitatives in an effort to create a more fluid,

73 ‘Der ganze Inhalt der Gluck’schen Ouvertüre erschien mir daher folgender: - 1) ein Motiv des Anrufs aus schmerzlichem, nagendem Herzensleiden; 2) ein Motiv der Gewalt, der gebieterischen, übermächtigen Forderung; 3) ein Motiv der Anmuth, der jungfräulichen Zartheit; 4) ein Motiv des schmerzlichen, qualvollen Mitleidens. Die ganze Ausdehnung des Ouvertüre füllt nun nichts Anderes, als der fortgesetzte, durch wenige abgeleitete Nebenmotive verbundene, Wechsel dieser (drei letzten) Hauptmotive; an ihnen selbst ändert sich nichts, außer der Tonart’. Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 4, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 162. 74 For a discussion of Wager’s 1854 adaptation of Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide see ‘Wagner’s version of Gluck’s Iphigenia in Aulis’ in William Gillies Whittaker, Collected Essays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1940), p. 200-221. 160 musical texture. In effect, Wagner applies his own theory of unending melody to Gluck’s work, which has the effect of smoothing over Gluck’s effective use of contrast in the opera. Wagner’s nineteenth-century orchestration, then, while intensifying the drama in places, conceals some of the subtleties of Gluck’s score which, as I have demonstrated, are important, if not integral, elements of both the overture and the opera.

Nevertheless, Wagner’s revisions provide an interesting insight into what he perceived to be the opera’s most essential and dramatic elements. Although his later essay on the Iphigénie en Aulide overture does not address all the motifs that I have identified in the overture, it does touch upon the way in which the overture might be thought to foster a narrative. As he states, the overture is not based upon the development of motifs, but the presentation of contrasting ideas ‘side by side’:

I say: side by side; for one can scarcely call them evolved from out of each other, saving insofar as each unit drives its impression home by having its antithesis placed close beside it, so that the effect of the abrupt juxtaposition, and thus the impression made by the operation of the earlier motive on the specific effect of its successor, is not only of importance, but of quite decisive weight.75

Wagner perceives the overture’s dramatic argument as resulting from the close juxtaposition of contrasting passages of music. He does not, though, dispense completely with his Hegelian dialectic and perceives the overture to consist of a number of antithetical statements, rather than as a series of

75 ‘Ich sage: neben einander gestellt; denn aus einander entwickelt konnten sie nur insofern sein, als jedes einzelne sich dadurch für den Eindruck am kenntlichsten macht, daß es seinen Gegensatz dicht neben sich gestellt bekommt, so daß allerdings die Wirkung dieser scharfen Nebeneinanderstellung, somit der empfangene Eindruck des vorhergehenden Motives auf die besondere Wirkung des folgenden Motives von Bedeutung, ja von entscheidendem Einfluß ist’. Richard Wagner, 'Gluck's Ouvertüre zu "Iphigenia in Aulis"', in Zeitschrift für Musik (1854), p. 4, translated in Richard Wagner, Richard Wagner's Prose Works: In Paris and Dresden, edited and translated by William Ashton Ellis (London: Kegan Paul, 1898), Vol. 3, p. 162. 161 contrasting musical images that are not, in narrative terms, temporally ordered, but that exist outside of time, that exist, as he even says himself, side by side. In my opinion, the overture is best understood in a manner similar to the Alceste overture, as a pictorial presentation of the drama’s main conflicts, rather than a chronologically ordered plot sequence. Indeed, viewing the Iphigénie en Aulide overture as a dramatic tableaux can help explain some of its more unusual features, such as its use of stark contrast, its irregular, repetitive structure, and the fact it closes with the same material with which it began, Agamemnon’s arioso.

The contrast and juxtaposition of musical material within the overture’s cyclical and repetitive musical frame provide the overture with a narrative that, in a sense, prepares listeners for opera’s main tragic conflicts. As with the Alceste overture, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture does not present a self- contained narrative, but requires the listener to participate in the formation of a narrative through an interpretation of the ordering of the musical material alongside their own personal knowledge of the opera’s subject matter. The Iphigénie en Aulide overture, then, although not host to a plot as such, does have a latent narrative potential; indeed, I believe the overture’s musical imagery and structure encourages the listener to create a narrative that is guided, and to some extent determined, by the musical signposts and events of the overture.

The broad range of musical material and effective use of musical contrast in the Iphigénie en Aulide overture appears to provide the overture with a far greater narrative potential, or to adapt Vera Micznik’s phrase, a greater degree of narrativity, than that of the Alceste overture.76 But is it best to view musical narrative in terms of quantity over quality? Indeed, Micznik’s

76 Vera Micznik, 'Music and Narrative Revisited: Degrees of Narrativity in Beethoven and Mahler', Journal of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 126, No. 2 (2001), p. 193-249. 162 conclusion in her article on musical narrativity that Mahler’s Ninth

Symphony has a higher degree of narrativity than Beethoven’s Sixth

Symphony does not actually tell us very much, as two works were ultimately intended to communicate two very different types of narratives; Mahler’s symphony attempts an epic mode of presentation, whereas Beethoven’s symphony aims at a more pictorial presentation of events. The two modes of presentation are entirely different and, therefore, are not comparable in terms of narrativity. To compare and contrast the Iphigénie en Aulide and Alceste overtures in terms of degrees of narrativity also has the potential to result in misleading conclusions. While the Iphigénie en Aulide overture does explore a far greater range of musical material and exploits musical contrast to help allude to the opera’s more complex dramatic conflicts, the Alceste overture’s more unified emotional and musical structure I believe is intended to mirror the opera’s more focused narrative, a narrative that has very few main characters, actions, and decisions. In short, the two overtures have their own tales to tell; it is not that they have different degrees of narrativity, but that their narratives are of a different type.

As a narrative reading of each of these dramatic overtures is tied to both the subject matter of the opera as well as the interpretation of the music by the listener, I prefer the term narrative potential, rather than narrativity, to describe the ways in which these overtures function. Indeed, by saying that an overture has a narrative potential, the overture is given a wider narrative scope. It suggests it can host a multiplicity of different readings, readings that can be refined through knowledge of the opera and its subject matter.

This expression thus avoids suggesting that the overture depicts a concrete sequence of musico-dramatic events and avoids the underlying assertion that the more information the music conveys, the more interesting its narrative.

163

Neither the Alceste overture nor the Iphigénie en Aulide overtures, however, present the listener with a linear narrative that parallels how the events unravel in the opera. Like the Alceste overture, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture is best viewed as a musical tableau that depicts the opera’s main argument. In effect, these overtures present to the listener the opera’s most

“pregnant moment”, a term devised by Lessing to help explain to artists that dramatic paintings should focus upon the moment that carries the greatest dramatic potential.77 As he states, ‘painting, in her co-existing compositions, can only use one single moment of the action, and must therefore choose the most pregnant, from which what precedes and follows will most easily be apprehended’.78 From the structure and musical material of the Iphigénie en

Aulide overture, I like to think that the overture depicts the scene in which

Iphigénie approaches the altar; I hear the violent cries from the army calling out for sacrifice, I hear the emotional torment of Agamemnon, and I hear

Achilles' heroism as he attempts to save his bride. The use of musical contrast in the overture combined with repetition and close juxtaposition helps to paint this picture and foster a feeling of unease and of impending catastrophe. Although the use of contrast was frequently criticised during the eighteenth century as it clouded music’s meanings, in the overture to

Iphigénie en Aulide it is essential to the depiction of the opera’s argument.

Indeed, the overture employs musical contrast as a narrative device that helps to depict the opera’s main conflicts and argument.79

77 See Gottohld Ephraim Lessing, Werke: Kritische Schriften, Philosophische Schriften (Munich: Winkler-Verlag, 1969), p. 92, translated in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, translated and with an introduction by Victor Lange (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 55. 78 ‘Die Malerei kann in ihren koexistierenden Kompositionen nur einin einzigen Augenblick der Handlung nutzen, und muß daher den prägnantesten wählen, aus welchem das Vorhergehehende und Folgende am begreiflichsten wird’. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburgische Dramaturgie (Hamburg, 1769), p. 92, translated in Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Hamburg Dramaturgy, translated and with an introduction by Victor Lange (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 55. 79 On musical contrast see Lessing’s comments in the introduction, p.29-31. 164

It should be clear by now that the Iphigénie en Aulide overture does not fall into any obvious formal musical category, its structure stemming from the overture’s need to communicate to the listener the main dramatic argument of the opera. In this overture Gluck builds upon the musico-dramatic techniques that he had developed in his Alceste overture to help prepare the listener for the ensuing drama, such as the technique of drawing upon music from the opera to help endow the overture with a tragic resonance. There are, as mentioned above, some significant differences between the two overtures. Despite the fact that both operas have mythological subject matter, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture does not evoke the supernatural soundscape of the Alceste overture. In fact, the Iphigénie en Aulide overture attempts to conceal the opera’s supernatural elements and, instead, situate the listener within the realms of human emotion. This, in part, is a result of the changing attitudes towards tragic drama. Indeed, in this opera Gluck and Du Roullet make a determined effort to minimise the supernatural elements of the plot and to focus the drama more upon human actions and events.80

The differences between the Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide overture are a result of the different subject matter they are intended to introduce. The fact that Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide have fundamentally different plots explains why Gluck had to write two very different overtures and, indeed, why François Arnaud perceived the Iphigénie en Aulide overture to be filled with religious, warlike and pathetic actions and the Alceste overture to evoke moans, sobs and cries.

80 The humanisation of the plot and opera was most probably inspired by Racine’s Iphigénie of 1764, a play that also attempts to minimise the supernatural elements of the drama by including a rather elaborate subplot. In Racine’s version of the play, Iphigénie’s sacrifice is averted, Eriphile taking her place. Eriphile is a secondary character who, as it turns out Eriphile is not only of royal descent, but whose real name is Iphigénie. On Racine’s Iphigénie see, in particular, Nina Ekstein, 'The Destabalization of the Future in Racine's Iphigénie', The French Review, Vol. 66, No. 6 (1993), p. 919, 931, and H. Carrington Lancaster, 'The "Dénouement en Action" of Racine's Iphigénie', Modern Language Notes, Vol. 68, No. 5 (1953), p. 356-359. 165

Chapter Three Either/Or: Tragic/Comic Narratives in the Don Giovanni

Overture

The overture to Mozart’s Don Giovanni is my third example of a “dramatic” overture that attempts to prepare the spectator for the nature and argument of the drama to follow. However, unlike Gluck’s explicitly tragic operas

Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide, operas based directly upon Greek myth, Don

Giovanni is of an entirely different dramatic mould; it is an opera that is invested with comic elements and that was designated by Mozart in his catalogue of works as an opera buffa, a comic opera. While the fast-paced D- major allegro of the overture is in keeping with the Italian opera buffa style, the overture's opening bars seem to tell a different story, the stark minor-key statement conjuring up in the minds of the listener the tragic soundworld associated with Gluck’s Alceste overture. The Don Giovanni overture, then, provides an interesting example of a “dramatic” overture, as it embodies music that appears to be associated with two conflicting dramatic spheres, that of comedy and that of tragedy. I believe that the contrast between the overture’s D-minor opening and the ensuing D major allegro forms the basis of the overture’s musical argument and, moreover, is symptomatic of the conflicting relationship between tragedy and comedy in the opera as a whole.1 Indeed, I believe that Mozart’s Don Giovanni is concerned ultimately

1 There has been much discussion concerning both the tragic and comic nature of Don Giovanni. In particular, see Felicity Baker, 'The figures of hell in the Don Giovanni libretto', in Words About Mozart, ed. Dorothea Link and Judith Nagley (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005), p. 77-106, Thomas Bauman, 'The Three Trials of Don Giovanni', in The Pleasures and Perils of Genius: Mostly Mozart, ed. Peter Ostwald and Leonard S. Zegans (Madison: International Universities Press, 1993), p. 133-144, Liane Curtis, 'The Sexual Politics of Teaching Mozart's Don Giovanni', National Women's Studies Association, Vol. 12, No. 1 (2000), p. 119-142, Robert Donington, 'Don Giovanni Goes to Hell', The Musical Times, Vol. 122, No. 1661 (1981), p. 446-448, Paolo Gallarati, 'Music and Masks in Lorenzo Da Ponte's Mozartian Librettos' translated by Anna Herklotz, Cambridge Opera Journal, Vol. 1, No. 3 (1989), p. 225- 247, Michael F. Robinson, 'The 'Comic' Element in 'Don Giovanni'', in Don Giovanni (English 166

with the irresolvable conflict between Don Giovanni’s comic and frivolous nature (represented, predominantly, by the key of D major and the opera buffa mode) and the moral, sombre, and supernatural world of the Stone Guest

(represented by the key of D minor and the ombra style). In my opinion, this conflict is expounded in the Don Giovanni overture from the very beginning, the overture preparing the listener for interplay of comic and tragic events in the opera.

As with the previous chapters, I will approach the overture from a number of different perspectives in order to obtain a more rounded view of its dramatic nature and narrative design, placing analytical observations alongside hermeneutic and historical strategies to see if one can help illuminate the other. The chapter begins by providing an analysis of the overture’s two main sections: the andante and the allegro. I will look at the formal and thematic structure of these two sections, highlighting and assessing some of the musical connections that exist between the overture and the opera, as well as between the overture/opera and a number of other eighteenth- century works.2 I will then go on to provide an hermeneutic investigation

National Opera Guide), ed. Nicholas John (London: Calder Publications, 1983), p. 7-12, Charles C. Russell, 'Confusion in the Act I Finale of Mozart and Da Ponte's Don Giovanni', The Opera Quarterly, Vol. 14, No. 1 (1997), p. 25-44, Lawrence Schenbeck, 'Leporello, Don Giovanni, and the Picaresque', The Opera Quarterly, Vol. 11, No. 4 (1995), p. 3-16, Nicholas Till, Mozart and the Enlightenment: Truth, Virtue, Beauty in Mozart's Operas (New York: W. W. Norton, 1995), p. 197-228 and Jessica Waldoff, Recognition in Mozart's Operas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 165-183. 2 For a discussion of the overture’s dramatic nature and its relationship to the opera see Constantin Floros, 'Das "Program" in Mozarts Meisterouvertüren', Studien zur Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 26 (1964), 140-186. The writings of Johann Christian Lobe and Richard Wagner also provide some insight into the dramatic nature of the overture and its relation to the opera. See Johann Christian Lobe, 'Das Gehaltvolle in der Musik: Die Ouverture zu Don Juan von Mozart', Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 48 (1846-1847), p. 681-684, concluded in Johann Christian Lobe, 'Das Gehaltvolle in der Musik: Die Ouverture zu Don Juan von Mozart', Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 49 (1846-1847), p. 369-74, 385-9, 417-20 and 441- 5, translated in Johann Christian Lobe, 'The Overture to Mozart's "Don Giovanni"', The Musical Times and Singing Class Circular, Vol. 14, No. 345 (1871), p. 265-267 and Johann Christian Lobe, 'The Overture to Mozart's "Don Giovanni" (concluded)', The Musical Times 167

that looks at the overture in light of its reception history, with particular reference to the “programmatic” interpretations of E. T. A. Hoffmann and

Søren Kierkegaard, to see if their readings of the overture can help with my assessment of the overture’s unusual musical and narrative structure.

Throughout the chapter I consider the tragic merits of the narratives of the overture and the opera, drawing upon George Steiner and Terry Eagleton’s ideas on tragedy to help with my interpretation of the narrative of Mozart’s

Don Giovanni. The chapter concludes with a brief assessment of the overture’s narrative potential, comparing the overture’s narrative to the literary narratives of works such as Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa and

Choderlos de Laclos’s Dangereuses Liaisons, literary works that I believe parallel, in some respects, the story and narrative of Mozart’s Don Giovanni.

Before I begin my narrative analysis, however, I will present in table format a brief analysis of the overture. This "formalist" analysis does not attempt to communicate all the features of the overture, and should be only be used as a guide for my following analysis, which will concentrate more upon the musical narrative of the overture, than on it structural merits. The overture to

Mozart’s Don Giovanni follows a sonata form with slow introduction pattern, the recapitulation occurring almost entirely in the tonic key. A particular point of interest is the fact that second section of the exposition in A major seems to have two beginnings. As the initial move to A major in bar 62 is almost immediately undermined by dissonant and unstable harmonies at 67, at bar 73 the dominant of A major appears once again to prepare for a second passage in A major at bar 77. One aspect that I feel this table fails to do justice to is the modal mixing that happens during the allegro. Indeed, the D minor

and Singing Class Circular, Vol. 15, No. 346 (1871), p. 303-305; and Richard Wagner, 'De l'ouverture', Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, Vol. 8, 10th-17th January (1841), p. 17-19, 28-29 and 33-35. 168

of the andante repeatedly reasserts itself in the allegro, challenging the authority of the major key. I shall explore this interaction in more detail in my analysis.

169

The Opening Andante: The First and “Last” Chord of Don Giovanni

The opening chord of the Don Giovanni overture has an unusual and enigmatic quality. In their recent book on the reception of Don Giovanni,

Lydia Goehr and Daniel Herwitz go as far as to assign the opening chord a symbolic status:

In the history of opera there is perhaps no moment of greater consequence than that of opening of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Though written almost entirely in the buoyant joviality of the major mode, the opera’s first D-minor chord strikes terror as it moves hauntingly toward an irrevocable cadence. Almost immediately revoked by the major mode, the minor opening is destined to return, and so it does.3

For them, the overture’s opening chord does more than set the mood for the opera; it immediately ushers in the operatic drama, framing the narrative and revealing the (musical) goal of the drama to the spectator. As they succinctly put it, ‘the D-minor motif, or the so-called Don Giovanni chord, opens the opera to tell us that it is there also to close it’.4 In musical terms, this is not actually true for, as I will show in more detail later, when the music of the overture returns in the final act, the chord is no longer a D minor triad, but a diminished seventh on D. In addition, the return of opening bars in Act III does not actually constitute the final bars of the opera, the opera actually ending with what could possibly be described as a lieto fine in D major. Be that as it may, Goehr and Herwitz still make two important observations. Firstly, that the opening bars of the overture make a strong impression on the listener, an impression that they argue lasts until the end of the opera; the power of the opening statement leads listeners to expect that this music is significant and will return later in the opera. Secondly, as they understand the near repetition of the overture’s opening bars in Act III to

3 Lydia Goehr and Daniel Herwitz, ed., The Don Giovanni Moment: Essays on the Legacy of an Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), p. 1. 4 Ibid., p. 2. 170

signal the end of the opera, they imply that the lieto fine does not add anything to the narrative; for Goehr and Herwitz, it is the return of the D- minor passage that signals the true ending to the opera’s narrative.

Despite the oversight of the lieto fine, it is clear that of Goehr and Herwitz understand these opening bars make a formidable impression on the listener, and perhaps even have a bearing on their understanding of the opera’s narrative. The following analysis employs three avenues of investigation to try to explain the significance attributed by Goehr and Herwitz to the overture’s opening bars and show how these bars may help furnish the opera with a tragic narrative.

1.) Don Giovanni’s Death Knell: The Opening Chord

The dramatic power that Goehr and Herwitz ascribe to the overture’s opening stems, in part, from the imaginative harmonic structure and impressive orchestration of the opening chord. The chord spans four octaves from a D in the double bass to a d’’’ in the first violins, with the tonic note framing the chord. The third and fifth of the chord are placed in the upper- middle of the texture, and only a small number of instruments are assigned these notes. The accent and weight placed on the tonic note – it is played by the basses, cellos, violas, first violins, horns, trumpets, second oboe, and first flute - provides the chord with a strong, raw and, in my opinion, almost bell- like quality (Ex. 1a).

The bell-like quality I ascribe to the opening chord I believe derives in part from the weight given to octave intervals, but also from the fact that the lower strings, accompanied by the bassoon, hold their note for a beat longer than the rest of the orchestra. Like when a bell is rung, it is the lowest tone that sounds the longest. Could this bell-like effect have been intended as a 171

musical foreshadowing of Don Giovanni’s death knell? Indeed, in the minds of Goehr and Herwitz it is the opening D-minor chord that seals Don

Giovanni’s fate and frames the action of the entire opera.

Example 1a: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Don Giovanni,

Ouvertura, bars 1-4.5

5 All examples, unless otherwise stated, taken from Wolfgang Rehm and Wolfgang Plath, ed., Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1968). Bar numbers are taken from this edition. 172

The powerful resonance of the chord and bell-like quality I also believe is a result of Mozart’s choice of key. The key of D minor enables the strings, and in particular the lower strings, to play open notes, notes that have a far richer and rounded sound as they allow the overtone series to sound in its most pure and unadulterated form. According to Hans Keller, one of the reasons why keys may have been understood to have different characters is because in different keys open notes appear at different degrees of the scale, giving each scale its different sound quality.6 It may have been for this reason that

Beethoven, say, chose to open his ninth symphony on the open notes D and

A, these notes giving the opening bars to this symphony a more natural and raw feel. However, whereas Beethoven avoided using the mediant of the chord in the opening to his symphony, opting instead for modal ambiguity,

Mozart fills out his triad, making the minor third explicit from the very beginning and furnishing his overture not only with a raw and primitive essence, but also with a darker resonance, possibly representative of the more malevolent and demonic world that occupies parts of the opera.

It is perhaps worth pointing out that in the third scene of Jean-Philippe

Rameau’s Pygmalion, Rameau accompanies the awakening of the stone statue with a composing-out of the overtone series starting on E. (Ex. 1b).7 Although the opening bars of Don Giovanni are by no means identical, there is a resemblance to way in which the two chords are orchestrated. In particular, both chords place an emphasis on the tonic note and octave intervals in the lower parts. Rameau uses of the overtone series to represent the primitive and primordial nature of the stone statue’s coming into being is interesting.

6 Hans Keller, 'Key Characteristics', Tempo, Vol. 40 (1956), p. 5-16. 7 Thomas Christensen, Rameau and Musical Thought in the Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 228. On this passage see also Daniel K. L. Chua, Absolute Music and the Construction of Meaning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 99-101. 173

Perhaps Mozart chose the key of D minor and focused upon the tonic note to provide the opening chord of his overture with a similar primitive and primordial resonance? Indeed, as the basses hold the tonic note for an additional beat longer that the rest of the orchestra in the second bar, the overtone series would have resonated and rung out around the theatre/auditorium.

Example 1b: Jean Philippe Rameau, Pygmalion, Act I, scene 3.8

Key character was certainly an important issue during the eighteenth century and, although there is no general consensus between theorists about what each key was thought to represent, it was still deemed to be an important element of musical composition.9 For example, in his The Art of Strict Musical

8 Example taken from Henri Büsser [et al.], ed., Jean-Philippe Rameau: Oeuvres complètes (Paris: A. Durand, 1913). 9 On key character see Rita Steblin, A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries (Epping: Bowker, 1983) and James O. Young, 'Key, Temperament and Musical Expression', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 49, No. 3 (1991), p. 235- 242. 174

Composition (Die Kunst des reinen Satzes in der Musik, 1771-1779), Johann

Philipp Kirnberger states that ‘each key has its characteristic degrees and intervals which give it its own character and personality both in harmony and in melody and which distinguish it from all other keys’.10 Why each key

is perceived to have a different character, though, Kirnberger struggles to

explain:

It is impossible to explain exactly which features differentiate one key from another; but a trained ear perceives it, and, though it is impossible to establish definite rules, a composer sufficiently equipped with reason and sensitivity will always know which key to choose according to the character of what he wants to express.11

Interestingly, one factor which Kirnberger does understand to affect the character of a key is the intervallic structure of its scale, perhaps confirming

Keller’s point above.12

It should be noted that Kirnberger's thesis is based upon the older, tempered

key system, rather than upon the more modern system of equal

temperament. In a tempered system the flatter and sharper keys tend to have

a more dissonant and harsher character (although not to the point that they

10 ‘Jeder Ton hat seine ihm eigenthümliche Sayten und Intervalle, durch welche er so wohl in der Harmonie, als im Gesange, seinen eigenen Charakter, sein eigenes Gespäge bekommt, wodurch er sich von allen unterscheidet’. In Johann Philipp Kirnberger, Die Kunst des reinen Satzes in der Musik (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1988), p. 103, translated in Johann Philipp Kirnberger, The Art of Strict Musical Composition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), p. 121. 11 ‘Es läßt sich seine nicht entwickeln, worin eigentlich das unterscheidende eines jeden Tones bestehe; ein geübtes Ohr aber empfindet es, und ein Tonsetzer der Ueberlegung und Empfindung in gehörigem Maaße hat, wird allemal nach dem Charakter der Sache, die er ausdrücken will, die Tonart zu wählen wißen; ob es gleich nicht möglich ist, bestimmte Regeln darüber zu geben’. In Johann Philipp Kirnberger, Die Kunst des reinen Satzes in der Musik (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1988), p. 103, translated in Johann Philipp Kirnberger, The Art of Strict Musical Composition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), p. 121. 12 For a discussion of Kirnberger’s theory of harmony and harmonic purity see Rita Steblin, A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries (Epping: Bowker, 1983), p. 79-102. 175

would be deemed unpleasant), the intervals between each note of the scale becoming increasingly more irregular. As a result, each key was thought to have a different degree of harmonic purity and, thus, a different character.

The purity levels of related keys Kirnberger believed could also affect the purity level of the home key. For example, the key of D minor would have been considered a particularly pure key because it is has a regular intervallic structure and is related to predominantly pure keys, in this case, F major, A minor, and C major. That said, D minor is also related to the keys of Bb major and G minor, keys that Kirnberger considered impure. The key of D minor, thus, would have been an interesting choice for composers, as it had, at least in theory, the potential to explore both harmonically pure and impure key areas.

It is possible that Mozart may have taken the idea of key character and key

‘purity’ into consideration when writing Don Giovanni, and there is some evidence to suggest that he did choose keys discerningly in his dramatic compositions.13 For instance, Donna Elvira’s two main arias are in the key of

Eb major, a relatively impure key when compared to D major.14 Perhaps this impure key helps characterise her unstable state in the opera?15 As noted earlier, the music for Don Giovanni himself is predominantly in the keys of D and G major, stable keys (according to Kirnberger) that may have been

13 See Alfred Einstein, 'Mozart's Choice of Keys', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 27, No. 4 (1941), p. 415-421. On the key of D minor see Martin Chusid, 'The Significance of D Minor in Mozart's Dramatic Music', in Mozart-Jahrbuch (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1967), p. 117-131. 14 It is interesting to note that Elvira's last aria also exists in an authentic version in D major. The difference in key between the versions could be for a variety of reasons. Could it be that Mozart altered the key to highlight Elvira's vulnerability? Could it be that towards the end of the opera Mozart wished to express Elvira's more confident persona by using the more stable D major, or perhaps it was altered to accommodate the vocal range of a specific singer? 15 Indeed, Joseph Kerman has described Donna Elvira as a broken woman. See Joseph Kerman, 'Reading Don Giovanni', in The Don Giovanni Book: Myths of Seuction an Betrayal, ed. Jonathan Miller (London: Faber & Faber, 1990), p. 112. 176

chosen by Mozart to aid with the portrayal of Don Giovanni as a confident and powerful figure. Significantly, in Don Giovanni’s Fin ch’han dal vino

Mozart opts for the more impure key of Bb major. The choice of key seems to reaffirm the almost manic character of the aria that, in a sense, borders on the edge of control. The impure key in this aria I believe accentuates the feeling of unease that is created in the aria through the quick tempo and descending chromatic lines that repeatedly disrupt the musical texture (see later Ex. 5d).

This does not mean, however, that the keys of Eb and Bb major were always thought of as unstable and the keys of D and G major as stable. Indeed, the character of a key is context dependent; Eb major can only be understood to be unstable when placed in, and contrasted with, say, a D major context.

Apart from the timbral effect of D minor, Mozart may also chosen this key as it was employed by a number of Mozart’s contemporaries to accompany a number of similar dramatic situations. For example, Christoph Willibald

Gluck uses D minor for his Alceste overture (1767), and Antonio Salieri employs D minor to begin his tragic opera Les Danaïdes (1784). D minor also features prominently in both Gluck’s Don Juan of 1763 and Giuseppe

Gazzaniga’s Don Giovanni of 1787, and is used in both cases to accompany the entrance of the Stone Guest. Gazzaniga, however, only uses D minor for the appearance of the Stone Guest and not to accompany the Stone Guest’s vocal line, opting instead for the key of Eb major - a key frequently used in

Italian opera for supernatural scenes.16 By contrast, the entire last scene of

Gluck’s ballet, which witnesses Don Juan’s descent into Hell, is in the key of

D minor. Mozart’s choice of this key, then, for his overture (and, indeed, to accompany the appearance of the Stone Guest later in the final act) may result from a desire to forge a number of narrative and tonal connections

16 See Clive McClelland, Ombra Music in the Eighteenth Century: Context, Style and Signification (PhD Thesis: University of Leeds, 2001), p. 28. 177

between his overture and several other dramatically similar works. By using the same key as these works, Mozart associates his Don Giovanni with a number of tragic and quasi-tragic D-minor works.17 Mozart’s choice of the key of D minor, it seems, has implications for both the sound and nature of the opening chord, as well as how this chord may have been perceived and understood by the listener. The choice of key could, perhaps, even help to explain why Goehr and Herwitz believe the chord to have such a powerful effect on the opera’s narrative.

2.) Tragic Gestures: The Ombra Style

In my view, there is no opening gesture in Mozart’s entire oeuvre that has quite the same effect as the overture’s opening bars. In fact, this is the first of

Mozart’s overtures to have both a slow tempo and a minor key. Some useful comparisons, however, can be made with the openings to some of his instrumental works. For instance, the slow introduction to the “Prague”

Symphony (K. 504) has been thought to share some of the same musical characteristics as the overture’s opening andante. For Wye Jamison

Allanbrook, the Don Giovanni overture’s ‘fantasialike slow introduction was hardly a novelty in itself. Mozart had just supplied the Prague Symphony, K.

504, with a slow introduction resembling this one on almost all counts except for its beginning in a major key’.18 The similarities between the two works, however, are in my opinion superficial and more can be learnt from their musical differences. Indeed, while both works open with a “slow”

17 Some scholars have also argued that the key of D minor held a more personal resonance for Mozart and was a key representative of his strained relationship with his father. See Stuart Feder, 'Mozart in D Minor - or, The Father's Blessing; The Father's Curse', in The Pleasures and Perils of Genius - Mostly Mozart, ed. Peter Ostwald (Madison: International University Press, 1993), Maynard Solomon, Mozart: A Life (New York: Harper Perennial, 1995). Also see Matthew Head, 'Myths of a Sinful Father: Maynard Solomon's 'Mozart'', Music & Letters, Vol. 80, No. 1 (1999), p. 74-85. 18 Why Jamison Allanbrook, Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), p. 198. 178

introduction, the two openings have very different pulses: the “Prague” symphony is in common time with an adagio tempo and the Don Giovanni overture is in alla breve time with an andante marking. In addition, in the

“Prague” symphony fanfare-like gestures accent each beat of the bar, providing the symphony’s strong, martial beat, whereas in the Don Giovanni overture sustained notes and syncopated rhythms are used to cloud any clear sense of pulse. Another significant difference between the two works is that the symphony opens with an octave unison statement, which creates an initial feeling of modal ambiguity, the mediant note F sharp held back until the third bar. Through a lexicon of resources for evading resolution, such as the octave unison opening statement and the incorporation of notes foreign to the key of D major appearing as early as the fourth bar, the slow introduction to the symphony, in a sense, presents the listener with a musical search for the symphony’s home key. The hunt for tonal stability, then, combined with the regular, almost martial pulse provide the opening to the

Prague symphony with a sense of forward motion, a teleological drive. By contrast, the tonality of the Don Giovanni overture is made clear from the beginning; D minor is announced in the first bar and is confirmed by the presentation of the dominant chord, A major, two bars later. This in my opinion gives the overture an entirely different feel to the Prague Symphony.

Even at bar 16 of the Prague symphony where the musical style seems to mirror more closely that the overture, the symphony still appears to have a drive that is lacking in the overture. The use of blocks of repeated rhythmic figures in the overture, such as the .  figure of bars 5-10 and the syncopated violin figure of bars 11-14, I believe helps furnish the opening bars of the overture with a feeling of stasis. The use of blocks of musical ideas, in a way, mirrors the structure of the Alceste overture, which similarly presents the listener with a series of related musical ideas placed side by side.

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The feeling of stasis I ascribe to the opening bars also stems, in part, from the overture’s slow harmonic pulse and the fact that these bars only explore the harmonic space that surrounds the D minor chord. To be sure, the harmonic movement from bar 5 results from the creeping melodic movement of the strings and woodwind that move to and from diatonic and chromatic notes adjacent to those that make up the D minor chord. In a sense, the D minor chord is harmonically expanded. Music’s innate temporal nature is concealed in the andante section of the overture through the use of repeated blocks of motifs and by depriving the passage of any clear harmonic goal or direction.

This provides a stark contrast to the opening bars of the Prague Symphony that have a clearly marked pulse and forward drive. On closer inspection, although similar in some respects, the openings to the Prague Symphony and the Don Giovanni have fundamentally contrasting temporal structures and, thus, radically different effects upon their listeners. To claim that these two works have remarkably similar openings I believe overshadows some of their distinctive musical features.

A better and more fruitful comparison can, perhaps, be made with Mozart’s

Piano Concerto in D minor (K, 466), as this work shares a number of musical characteristics also seen in the overture. For example, the concerto opens with three bars of D minor, with syncopated rhythms in the upper strings.

This creates, at once, a feeling of movement, yet also (harmonic) stasis, paralleling in my mind the opening bars to the Don Giovanni overture that also employs static harmonies alongside syncopated rhythms. Moreover, both works explore surface chromaticism and both open with a similar bass line: D-C#-D in the overture and D-E-C#-D in the piano concerto. In short, both make a point of emphasising the move from the leading note to the tonic note of D minor. A significant difference between the two works, however, is that the concerto lacks the overtly dramatic nature and sublime 180

force of the overture’s opening statement. Indeed, whilst the concerto can certainly be said to explore the shades - the musical texture peppered with semitonal tensions and sighing motifs - its faster tempo causes it to lack the tremendous and sublime force of the overture’s opening bars. It is, then, the tempo of the overture combined with its effective orchestration and harmonic make-up that provide the overture with its dramatic force and its distinctive quality.

One final comparison is worth making with the overture, and that is with

Mozart’s funeral march in C minor for piano (K. 453a), as it also shares some of the overture’s distinctive musical characteristics. This piano miniature was written for Mozart’s pupil Barbara Ployer and, as it was intended to mark the end of her studies with Mozart, was given the title, Marche funebre del Sigr

Maestro Contrapunto. The title suggests that the miniature was intended

“tongue-in-cheek”.19 Despite the work's parodic style, it can still help to shed some light onto the meaning of the stock musical gestures that it shares with the overture to Don Giovanni. Common to both works is a minor key, the use of syncopated rhythms, and dynamically contrasting passages. In addition, the piano miniature has a bass line that is doubled at the octave for almost the entire piece, perhaps paralleling the emphasis on octave intervals in overture's opening bars. The most interesting correspondence, however, is the descending chromatic motif that appears in the right hand at bar 11 of the piano piece and at bar 5 of the overture in the lower strings. As noted in chapter one, a chromatic descent of a fourth was frequently employed by composers as a musical symbol for laments.20 Its incorporation into the funeral march for piano suggests that Mozart was well aware of the

19 For Solomon, the miniature is of a comic nature. See Maynard Solomon, Mozart: A Life (New York: Harper Perennial, 1995), p. 295. 20 See chapter one, page 73. 181

significance of this motif. Although the piano miniature exploits this

“funereal” musical characteristic for comic effect, it does shed some light onto Mozart’s understanding of musical gestures and topoi. Indeed, Mozart's use of the chromatic motif in the overture implies that he wanted the opening to the overture to have a lament-like quality, possibly even a funereal character. Given its grand scale and sombre nature, it is probably safe to assume that Mozart intended the andante of his Don Giovanni overture to have a more serious tone and, perhaps, even hint at the tragic events (and, indeed, the music) of the opera’s finale.

Despite the differences between the aforementioned works, they are all connected - to a greater or lesser extent - by one single musical feature: the use of the ombra style.21 Birgitte Moyer’s describes the ombra style in possibly the most clear and succinct manner:

Ombra music is characterized by strongly marked and regularly progressing rhythmic figures, tight, frequently restless motion, full strong harmony with consistent drive to cadences, and scoring that often includes trombones.22

Clive McClelland’s more detailed study adds alla breve time, a minor key, and a slow-to-moderate tempo to Moyer’s list.23 As McClelland and Moyer observe, ombra music had its origins in the theatre and was originally used to

21 Ombra music is discussed in chapter one with reference to Gluck’s Alceste. See chapter one, p. 64-65. 22 Birgitte Moyer, 'Ombra and Fantasia in Late Eighteenth-Century Theory and Practice', in Convention in Eighteenth-and Nineteenth-Century Music, ed. Wye J. Allanbrook, Janet M. Levy, and William P. Mahrt, (Stuyvesant: Pendragon Press, 1992), p. 302-303. On Ombra music see also Why Jamison Allanbrook, Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), p. 361, n.1, Clive McClelland, Ombra Music in the Eighteenth Century: Context, Style and Signification (PhD Thesis: University of Leeds, 2001) and Leonard G. Ratner, Classic music : expression, form, and style (London: Collier Macmillan, 1980), p. 24. 23 Clive McClelland, Ombra Music in the Eighteenth Century: Context, Style and Signification (PhD Thesis: University of Leeds, 2001), p. 198. 182

accompany scenes of a supernatural nature. However, from the middle of the eighteenth century the style began to overspill its generic boundaries and was employed in other dramatic and operatic contexts. In particular, it was employed in overtures to help establish a sense of the supernatural before the operatic drama begins. The overtures to Rameau’s Zoroastre (1749) and

Gluck’s Alceste (1767) provide early examples of this usage. As McClelland notes:

One place in opera and oratorios where ombra appears with some frequency is in instrumental overtures and introductions. This is explained by the need for composers to establish the right atmosphere before any characters appear or any words are sung; thus the music is in a sense programmatic, with the text providing the programme in retrospect. An opera or oratorio which involves death or the supernatural may open with music which uses the ombra style. The subsequent action confirms the references made in the instrumental music. In some opera, the actual music of the overture returns later on, as in Salieri’s La Grotta di Trofonio and Mozart’s Don Giovanni…This makes explicit the signals that appear in the overture.24

McClelland proposes that the ombra style has the potential to endow an overture with an almost programmatic resonance, implying that, outside of its original stage context, ombra music could function as a musical metaphor for a supernatural event or presence.

It has been generally accepted that the Don Giovanni overture opens in an ombra manner, its minor key, use of syncopation, dotted rhythms, diminished sevenths, Neapolitan 6ths, sfp effects, unusual instrumentation, chromatic lines, and alla breve tempo all indicative of the ombra style.25 From the above

24 Ibid., p. 198. 25 See Why Jamison Allanbrook, Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), p. 197, Clive McClelland, Ombra Music in the Eighteenth Century: Context, Style and Signification (PhD Thesis: University of Leeds, 2001), p. 155-157, and Birgitte Moyer, 'Ombra and Fantasia in Late Eighteenth-Century Theory and Practice', in Convention in Eighteenth-and Nineteenth-Century Music, ed. Wye J. 183

observations and McClelland’s comments, it follows that the use of ombra music in the Don Giovanni overture is likely to have been intended to prepare the listener for the supernatural and marvellous events that are to occur later in the opera. In short, the ombra style is used to place the listener in a state of generic expectation, the listener led to expect from the beginning that the opera will include supernatural, marvellous, and fantastical events and/or characters.

For Tzvetan Todorov, the marvellous genre is one in which supernatural events are nothing out of the ordinary and appear as a part of the constructed literary world. As he states:

In the case of the marvelous, supernatural elements provoke no particular reaction either in the characters or in the implicit reader. It is not an attitude toward the events described which characterizes the marvelous, but the nature of these events.26

For example, in Greek tragic drama, oracular predictions, the force of fate and the intervention of the gods are all taken for granted. In short, they are characters from, and dramatic features of, Greek tragedy and constitute part of its generic profile. For Anis Bawarshi, generic categories can help us to understand the discursive strategies employed in a work; genres guide the way in which we interpret the actions and events of the dramatic narrative.27

In a sense, the ombra music of the Don Giovanni overture aims to situate the

Allanbrook, Janet M. Levy, and William P. Mahrt, (Stuyvesant: Pendragon Press, 1992), p. 294-295. 26 Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1973), p. 54. 27 See Anis Bawarshi, 'The Genre Function', College English, Vol. 62, No. 3 (2000), p. 335-360. On generic expectation see also, in particular, Hans Robert Jauss, Toward and Aesthetic of Reception, translated by Timothy Bahti with an introduction by Paul de Man (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1982), p. 76-109 and René Wellek Austin Warren, Theory of Literature (London: Jonathan Cape, 1966), p. 226-237. On music and genre see Jeffrey Kallberg, Chopin at the Boundaries: Sex, History, and Musical Culture (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1996). 184

listener in the generic realm of the marvellous and prepare them for the ensuing, supernatural drama; it bridges the gap between the real world of the spectator and the marvellous realm of the operatic drama.28 This was certainly the effect intended by Gluck in his Alceste overture and Salieri in his overture to Les Danaïdes, both these operas based in worlds that are occupied by gods, oracles, and demons. Their ombra overtures, thus, perfectly set the scene.

The similarity between Gluck’s Alceste overture and Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture is striking. Both works are in the key of D minor, open with forte D- minor chords, and use syncopated rhythms in the upper strings. There is no doubt that Mozart was familiar with Gluck’s work, although Mozart’s letters, sadly, fail to give us any real insight into what he thought about Gluck’s operatic developments; I believe his music, however, provides some compelling evidence.

Hermann Abert, for instance, has noted the impact Gluck’s Alceste had on

Mozart’s oeuvre, although he claims that the influences are nothing more than ‘purely musical reminiscences’ and that ‘a genuine music drama of the

Gluck pattern Mozart never attempted’.29 Abert’s understanding of the relationship between Gluck and Mozart, however, is clouded by a

Wagnerian perspective of Gluck and a rather naïve view of Mozart. Indeed, as noted in chapter two, Wagner’s revision of Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide does not simply modernise the work, but adapts it so that it conforms to Wagner’s

28 For Peter Kivy, the eighteenth-century overture functions in the same manner as a proscenium arch; it is used to create a smooth transition between the world of opera and the world of the spectators. See Peter Kivy, Osmin's rage: philosophical reflections on opera, drama, and text (Ithaca, N.Y: Cornell University Press, 1999), p. 151-153. 29 Hermann Abert, 'Mozart and Gluck', translated C. B. Oldman, Music & Letters, Vol. 10, No. 3 (1929), p. 258. 185

notions of music drama.30 Gluck’s operas, though, were not as intricately woven as Wagner (and indeed Abert) perceived them to be. While they do have an intricate dramatic structure – the overture, for example, is used to prepare the spectator for the nature of the ensuing drama - they do not operate in the same manner as a Wagnerian music drama.31 Abert’s understanding of Mozart is, in addition, shrouded by a mythological view of the composer. He seems to view Mozart’s operas as works of “Absolute” music that are not host to any extra-musical associations. It is strange that, although Abert admits that there are references to Alceste in Don Giovanni, he does not understand these references to have any kind of extra-musical, narrative significance. It was a commonplace in the eighteenth century, however, for composers to draw upon and adapt musical ideas of their own, as well as from other composers, to help heighten the dramatic effect and impact of their music.32 While it is true that Mozart’s Don Giovanni does not resemble any of Gluck’s operas in its entirety, the nod towards Gluck’s

Alceste in the andante of the overture I think is significant, and is almost certainly intended to refer the listener back to the tragic soundworld of

Alceste.

30 See chapter two, p. 160. 31 Indeed, there is a significant difference between Gluck’s use of reminiscence motifs or ‘sound-similes’ and Wagner’s use of leitmotifs. See A. D. McCredie, 'Leitmotive: Wagner's Points of Departure and their Antecedents', Miscellanea Musicologica, Vol. 14 (1985), p. 1-28. 32 For instance, Die Zauberflöte is weighed down with references to other works in an effort to make the drama more accessible and powerful. For a discussion of musical borrowings in Die Zauberflöte see A. Hyatt King, 'The Melodic Sources and Affinities of "Die Zauberflöte"', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 36, No. 2 (1950), p. 241-258. On musical borrowing see also J. Peter Burkholder, ‘Borrowing’, Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/52918pg16 (accessed July 30, 2008), Jr. Keppler, Philip, 'Some Comments on Musical Quotation', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 42, No. 4 (1956), p. 473-485 and Jan LaRue, 'Significant and Coincidental Resemblance between Classical Themes', The Journal of Musicology, Vol. 18, No. 2 (2001), p. 268-282. 186

As stated in chapter one, the ombra style is employed in the Alceste overture to help create a sense of tragedy and of the supernatural. In a way, the Don

Giovanni overture goes a step further; it employs the ombra style not just to indicate the opera’s supernatural elements, but to directly refer the listener back to Gluck’s Alceste overture and to its tragic subject matter. Gluck’s overture, in essence, becomes a synecdoche for the ombra overture - a standard by which all other dramatic overtures are measured. In short, by the time of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, the ombra overture could be said to function as a generic signal for tragic opera, it implying that the ensuing opera would be in the Gluckian mould and would be of a serious, if not tragic, nature.

As ombra music during the eighteenth century began to be used outside its original dramatic context, employed in non-theatrical genres, such as the symphony and piano sonata - Mozart’s Marcia Funebre and the “Prague”

Symphony being two such examples - it began to take on a wider significance. Indeed, the genre had a particularly profound impact on the

Requiem Mass, and it is worth briefly investigating how the style was employed here so that a more rounded understanding of the role played by ombra music in the late eighteenth century and the overture to Don Giovanni can be obtained. Indeed, the religious overtones of the Don Giovanni overture cannot be ignored.

Several connections can be drawn between Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture and a number of contemporary settings of the Requiem Mass, such as those by François-Joseph Gossec, Johann Michael Haydn, Carl Ditters von

187

Dittersdorf and, indeed, Mozart's own setting.33 Particular to all these settings is a slow-to-moderate tempo, flat, minor key, and the use of a large orchestra, complete with a trombone choir - musical features all attributable to the ombra style. Gossec’s Messe Des Morts of 1760 provides a particularly interesting example because of its innovative orchestration. For example, the trombones are used in a discerning manner and are reserved until the Tuba mirum where they form part of a separate musical ensemble that is distanced from the main orchestra. The trombones are employed in this passage to help heighten the meaning of the religious text by drawing the listener’s attention to the divine and supernatural attributes of the text, the Tuba mirum forming the section of the Mass that is concerned with the Final Judgment.34 The

Requiems of Michael Haydn, Dittersdorf, and Mozart also employ ombra music to help represent the Fear of God and the Final Judgment. In

Dittersdorf’s the effect of the ombra style is intensified through his use of the chromatic fourth motif throughout almost the entire Requiem. This motif provides his Mass with an additional sense of fear and foreboding, the motif referring the listener to the lament topos. The Dies Irae of Mozart’s Requiem has a much closer correspondence than the above examples to the Don

Giovanni overture: both are in the key of D minor, both are orchestrated in a similar fashion, and both begin with a bass line that outlines d-c#-d. The Dies

Irae, like the Tuba Mirum, forms part of the Sequentia and, thus, is again concerned with Divine Judgment.

33 For a history of the Requiem and a discussion of these works see Robert Chase, Dies Irae: a Guide to Requiem Music (Lanham, Madison: Scarecrow, 2003) and Alec Robertson, Requiem: Music of Mourning and Consolation (London: Cassell, 1967). 34 See Robin Gregory, The Trombone: The Instrument and its Music (London: Faber and Faber, 1973), David M. Guion, The trombone: its history and music, 1697-1811 (New York; London: Gordon and Breach, 1988) and Terry Pierce, 'The Trombone in the Eighteenth Century', Journal of the International Trombone Association, Vol. 8 (1980), p. 6-10. 188

The increasingly frequent interpolation of the ombra style in Requiem Masses in the latter half of the eighteenth century, in turn, impacted upon the symbolic and dramatic significance of the ombra style itself. Although it retained its original, imitative supernatural connotations, in this new religious context it also became associated with feelings of religious fear and dread; the ombra style, in effect, becomes ascribed with what Charlton refers to as an ‘iconology of feeling’, a feeling, in the case of the Requiem Mass, of fear of the Final Judgement.35 The dramatic resonance this has for Mozart’s

Don Giovanni hardly needs spelling out. After all, Don Giovanni is an opera centred upon the notion of Divine Judgment. The ombra opening of the Don

Giovanni overture, then, was possibly intended to have a much wider narrative significance than, say, the ombra music that opens Gluck’s Alceste, the Don Giovanni overture not just evoking the supernatural realm of the

Stone Guest, but religious feelings concerning the Final Judgment.

3.) Closed Forms and Cyclical Narratives

The appearance of the overture’s opening andante to accompany the entry of the Stone Guest and Don Giovanni’s descent into Hell in the final act confirms this religious connection. In addition, as it is known that Mozart wrote the overture after the opera, we know that Mozart used material from the final act in the overture, and not material from the overture in the final act.36 The quotation of material from the final scene in the overture, however, is not exact. It seems that when incorporating music into the overture,

Mozart felt that some changes were necessary. For example, it is strange that although Mozart employs a choir of trombones to accompany the arrival of

35 David Charlton, 'Orchestra and Image in the Late Eighteenth Century', Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, Vol. 102 (1975-1976), p. 11. 36 On Mozart’s compositional processes see Daniel Heartz, Mozart's Operas, edited, with contributing essays, by Thomas Bauman (Berkeley; Oxford: University of California Press, 1990), p. 157-177. 189

the Stone Guest in the opera, he omits the trio of trombones from the overture. In Gluck’s Alceste overture, the trombones are crucial in establishing the overture’s eerie and supernatural atmosphere. Similarly, in

Gossec’s Requiem it is the trombones that give the work its dramatic power.

Mozart’s omission of the trombones from his overture, then, seems odd, as a trio of trombones could, no doubt, have intensified the supernatural and religious associations of the andante. Edward Dent argues that the decision to omit trombones from the overture is due to the fact that the choir of trombones emanate from the stage, rather than the orchestra. He claims that

‘the trombones…belong exclusively to the Statue and the devils who are associated with it; they do not come into the overture, although that opens with a foretaste of the Statue’s music. If the Statue is not present in marble, their sounds cannot be heard’.37 This seems a valid assessment, Dent understanding the trombones to have a solely imitative function. But could it also be that Mozart wanted the music of the final act to have a more powerful effect on the listener? The more intense harmonies employed in the final act suggest this might be the case. Indeed, in the opera a diminished chord followed by a dominant seventh chord is used to announce the arrival of the Stone Guest, whereas in the overture the same music opens with a D- minor chord followed by an A major chord without seventh.38

Intriguingly, there are also a number of musical attributes in the overture that are not found in the music of the Act II finale. For example, the woodwind notes that appear at bar 5 of the overture do not appear in the opera’s penultimate scene. In addition, the diatonic bass line of the Act II

37 Edward J. Dent, Mozart's Operas: a critical study (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1960), p. 169. 38 As William Mann puts it, ‘being a skilled man of the theatre, Mozart left the harmonic blow of the statue’s entry until later, and simply started [the overture] with a chill blast of pure D minor, for him a heavily loaded key with dramatic menace’. In William Mann, The Operas of Mozart (London: Book Club Associates, 1977), p. 460. 190

finale is transformed in the overture to form a descending, chromatic tetrachord. This alteration is particularly noteworthy as the chromatic motif plays an important role in the opera, perhaps hinting at the fate that awaits

Don Giovanni. Another significant difference between the music of the finale and the andante of the overture is that the sudden forte, dominant seventh chords that rupture the musical texture of the overture at bars 18 and 20 do not appear in the finale. These chords were possibly added to the overture to help sustain musical interest in passages where in Act II the vocal line had provided the focus. The differences between the overture and the Act II finale are most probably a result of their different narrative functions.

Whereas the music of the Act II finale had to represent the dramatic climax to the opera, the aim of the overture was to usher in the drama and establish the work’s tonal centre. As a result, Mozart does not just quote musical material from the final scene in his overture, but adapts and modifies it to suit its new musical and dramatic context.

Despite the differences between the overture and the finale, the connection between the two is striking. The use of material from the finale in the overture provides the opera with what I understand to be an almost cyclical narrative that frames the action, placing the audience in a state of expectation from the very beginning. To use Todorovian terminology, the overture functions as an ‘announcement’; it reveals to the listener how the opera is to unravel.39 In a sense, the overture functions in the same manner as the opening scenes of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, in which the Witches not only tell

Macbeth of the future that awaits him, but as noted by Todorov forewarn the audience of his tragic end. The overture similarly creates the sense that the outcome of the drama is predetermined; each action and each decision Don

39 Tzvetan Todorov, Genres in Discourse (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 32. 191

Giovanni makes in the opera only serving to push him closer and closer toward his downfall. Indeed, we are led to expect that the music of the opening bars will return.

For Terry Eagleton, however, predetermination does not constitute one of tragedy’s defining elements.40 He does not see the characters of tragedy as mere puppets of the gods, but subject to their own will. As he states:

Fate and freedom are not so separable: Oedipus’s moira or allotted portion in life is woven into his conduct in a way best captured by the Freudian concept of overdetermination - so that while it is undeniably he who acts, there is also an otherness that acts in him. Indeed, it may be that Oedipus’s tragedy is predicted rather than predetermined - that his actions are freely undertaken even though they are foreseen.41

Despite the fact that the focus of Eagleton’s book is tragic drama and tragic literature, his understanding of tragedy is more philosophical than literary.

Indeed, he does not look at tragic drama in terms of plot structure or narrative, but solely from the perspective of the tragic character. In my opinion, however, it is fruitful to understand tragedy, especially with regard to literary-based works, from the perspective of the audience. Indeed, Adrian

Poole is right to note that an important feature of tragedy is the plot, tragedy requiring a closed narrative framework for the events and actions to be understood.42 In short, discourse is just as important as action in establishing a sense of tragedy. While it can be said that during the course of the play

40 Terry Eagleton, Sweet Violence: The Idea of the Tragic (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), p. 101-152. 41 Ibid., p. 109. 42 As Adrian Poole notes, ‘”Real Life” does not speak for itself. It has to be turned into words, stories and plots. It is only when these are lifted out of the unstoppable flow that they hold our protracted attention. Where tragedy’s concerned, there is no absolute reason why they have to be told in the form of drama, performed in a theatre. This is why Aristotle is right to insist that that the poet’s business is to make plots (mythoi) not verses. That’s what we need from tragedy, he says: good plots’. Adrian Poole, Tragedy: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 15. 192

Oedipus makes his own decisions and is subject to his own free will, in the minds of the spectator his demise is anticipated from the moment of the oracle’s decree. This drama’s tragic intensity results from Sophocles’ use of a series of dramatic symbols that hint at how the drama is to unravel. The character of Tiresias, for example, is essential in reinforcing the sense of tragic expectation, his constant references to Oedipus’ future alerting the spectator to how the drama is to unfold. In this respect, spectators not only have the privilege of being several steps ahead of the main protagonist, but are also provided with a narrative vantage point that enables them to view the events of the drama from a tragic and predetermined perspective.

The overtures to Alceste, Iphigénie en Aulide, and Don Giovanni I argue all engage in a kind of oracular discourse that presents to the spectator a musical vision of what is to come. However, unlike the oracles of Greek tragedy, these overtures are not intended for the characters on stage, but the audience alone. The overtures, then, are intended to situate the listener within the generic domain of tragedy, leading them to expect a particular type of narrative. The ombra overture is one way in which a tragic narrative can be established, the ombra style hinting at the opera’s supernatural and otherworldly nature. The overture to Don Giovanni does this and more. By drawing upon music from the opera’s finale, the overture reveals to the listener the fate that awaits Don Giovanni. In addition, by alluding to tragic works such as Gluck’s Alceste, the overture also suggests that the opera will be of a serious and tragic nature. In sum, the andante of the Don Giovanni overture erects a tragic framework for the opera, placing the spectator in a state of tragic expectation that will last for almost the entire opera.

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Don Giovanni’s Buffa Mode: The Overture’s Comic Side

At bar 30, however, our tragic expectations are thwarted by a fast-paced allegro section that seems to rid the music of the supernatural atmosphere of the andante. Indeed, the overture takes a sudden turn and we leave the mythical Trojan shores and head for the contemporary Spanish streets of

Seville. The tempo quickens, the music moves to D major and a new theme is presented in the strings.

The contrast between the andante and the allegro could not be greater and is the result of Mozart’s effective manipulation of musical time. With respect to literature, Todorov claims that ‘the time and space of the supernatural world…are not the time and space of everyday life. Here time seems suspended, it extends what one imagines to be possible’.43 I believe the slow harmonic pulse, exploration of chromatic harmonies, and use of blocks of repeated rhythmic motifs, in a sense, provides the andante of the overture with a similar “supernatural” temporal quality. Indeed, the wandering harmonies of the andante and lack of any clear harmonic goal gives the impression that time is suspended in these opening bars. By contrast, the allegro does precisely the opposite. The tapping rhythms of the accompaniment immediately set the pace. Chromatic voice leading pushes the music forwards, and frequent perfect cadences emphasise the harmonic trajectory of the allegro. The music of the allegro appears to surge forth, which is partly a result of the quicker tempo and harmonic pulse, but also because of the rapidly changing musical texture, one motif quickly replaced by the next. In short, there is never a moment’s rest. The allegro presents music that is forward driven, gleeful, and non-reflective; it is music that has an almost improvisatory quality.

43 Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1973), p.118. 194

1.) The Opening, Chromatic Melody The allegro, for Julian Rushton, ‘begins with bustling accompaniment and sprightly fanfare which are the normal stuff of overtures. The main theme, with its partly chromatic upward thrust, is so original that is has often been taken to portray the protagonist’.44 For Johann Christoph Lobe this opening series of motifs epitomises Don Juan’s love for women: the accompaniment he sees as depicting Don Giovanni tremble as he sets his sights on a beautiful woman; the chromatic thrust portrays the tender emotions that rise within him and the motif at bars 34-35 is representative of his increasingly violent desire (see Ex. 2a).45

The D major key signature, patter rhythms, mocking fanfares, and overly articulated cadences of the allegro are certainly indicative of the music that accompanies Don Giovanni in the opera. Indeed, we need only to look at numbers such as Don Giovanni’s Fin ch'han dal vino and Leporello’s

Madamina, il catalogo è questo (an aria not sung by Don Giovanni but about

Don Giovanni) to locate this style in the opera. The ‘Catalogue’ aria, for instance, is filled with musical ideas and devices that are found also in the overture: both the overture and the aria have a ‘tapping’ quaver accompaniment, share the key of D major, and consist of a series of repeating perfect cadences. In a sense, bars 45-54 of the overture almost prefigure the excessively cadential ‘mille e tre’ of the aria (compare Ex. 2a with Ex. 2b):46

44 Julian Rushton, W. A. Mozart: Don Giovanni (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 9. 45 See Johann Christian Lobe, 'Das Gehaltvolle in der Musik: Die Ouverture zu Don Juan von Mozart', Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 48 (1846-1847), p. 681-684, translated in Johann Christian Lobe, 'The Overture to Mozart's "Don Giovanni"', The Musical Times and Singing Class Circular, Vol. 14, No. 345 (1871), p. 265-267. 46 To avoid lengthy examples, I have only given the vocal/piano score for examples where I do not make specific reference to the orchestration. Examples taken from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Don Giovanni, English version by Edward J. Dent and vocal score by Ernest Roth (New York: Boosey & Hawkes, 1946). 195

Example 2a: Ouvertura, bars 29-40.

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Example 2a: continued, bars 41-53.

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Example 2a: Act I, scene 2, Madamina! Il catalogo è questo, bars 31-40.

In his philosophical work Either/Or: A Fragment of Life, Søren Kierkegaard devotes several paragraphs to a discussion of the various artistic portrayals of the legend of Don Juan. Interestingly, Kierkegaard thought music to be the perfect medium in which to capture Don Juan’s sensuous and frivolous character.47 He believed that music’s immediacy, non-reflective nature, and fleeting existence characterised perfectly Don Giovanni’s constant and insatiable desire. The fast tempo and constantly changing musical texture of the allegro to Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture could easily have been on

Kierkegaard’s mind when he wrote this passage, the allegro of the overture in

47 Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life (London: Penguin Books, 1992), p. 71. On Kierkegaard’s discussion of Don Giovanni see David J. Gouwens, 'Mozart among the Theologians', Modern Theology, Vol. 16, No. 4 (2000), p. 461-474, Ronald Grimsley, 'The Don Juan Theme in Molière and Kierkegaard', Comparative Literature, Vol. 6, No, 4 (1954), p. 316- 334, Daniel Herwitz, 'The Cook, His Wife, the Philosopher, and the Librettist', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 78, No. 1 (1994), p. 48-76 and Sylvia Walsh Utterback, 'Don Juan and the Representation of Spiritual Sensuousness', Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 47, No. 4 (1979), p. 627-644. 198

my opinion driving forward, perhaps capturing the non-reflective and fleeting nature that Kierkegaard attributes to Don Giovanni’s character.48

The allegro, however, is not just indicative of Don Giovanni and his sidekick

Leporello. Indeed, there are a number of passages that refer to several other important characters from the opera as well. Lobe’s attribution of the opening chromatic motif to Don Giovanni, for instance, is not entirely accurate as the motif’s origins actually lie with music associated with the grief-stricken characters of Donna Anna and her fiancé Don Ottavio. To be sure, the motif that opens the allegro of the overture appears in the Act II, scene 7, sextet, the motif appearing in the third phrase of Don Ottavio’s verse. Although the accompaniment is different, the motif has the same rhythmic and pitch content as the motif in the overture (Ex. 2b):

48 For Stephen Rumph there is a distinct difference between the musical language of Don Giovanni and that of the Stone Guest. As he states, ‘where Giovanni’s language is quicksilver, the statue’s is inert and massy’. See Stephen Rumph, 'The Sense of Touch in 'Don Giovanni'', Music & Letters, Vol. 88, No. 4 (2007), p. 561-588. 199

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Another possible allusion to the overture’s opening allegro motif occurs a little later in the sextet, in Donna Anna’s melodic line at bars 58-59. The motif

   ׀ here is somewhat altered: although the rhythm remains the same   the melody now begins on an e§ and descends a semitone before ascending a major third as it had in the overture.

A subtle allusion to the chromatic motif in the overture perhaps also occurs in Donna Anna and Don Ottavio’s Act I duet. The motif here is rhythmically identical, but again the melodic line is altered: it first descends a semitone in

Ottavio’s part, before ascending a minor third (compare Ex. 2a with Ex. 2c).

Although the melody here is altered, partly due to the minor key context of this passage, it is worth noting that a chromatic ascent occurs in the orchestra across the oboe and flute lines, possibly hinting at the characteristic chromatic ascent that occurs in the opening bars of the allegro.

In all the examples, the motif underscores a single emotion: Donna Anna’s grief. In the Act I duet the couple sing of the painful emotions that jostle in their hearts, and in the Act II sextet the motif accompanies Don Ottavio’s words ‘to see your anguish’ and Donna Anna’s complaint that ‘only death,

49 my treasure, can end my pain’.48F The allegro, then, might not solely be representative of the fast-paced, pleasure-seeking music of Don Giovanni, as

Lobe would have it, but also of some of the opera’s darker elements.

49 ‘Pena avrà de’ tuoi martir’ and ‘Sol la morte, o mio tesoro/ Il mio pianto può finir’. All quotes from the libretto are taken from Wolfgang Rehm and Wolfgang Plath, ed., Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1968). Translation by Lionel Salter in John Elliot Gardiner The Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists, Mozart: Don Giovanni, No. 445 870 - 2 (Hamburg: Deutsche Grammophon GmbH, 1995). 201

Example 2c: Act I, scene 3, Fuggi, crudele, fuggi!, bars 146-162.

2.) The Other Characters of the Overture 202

There are three other passages in the overture that are possibly intended to represent some of the other characters in the opera. At bar 56 a passage that consists of a series of descending scales in A major enters the musical texture.

This decorative, yet harmonically simple passage has an almost Handelian quality and mirrors some of the music that is given to the character of Donna

Elvira in the opera. Donna Elvira’s aria Ah, fuggi il traditor! (Act I, scene 10), for instance, is similar in style, the aria having a decorative and ornate quality. The opening bars of her Ah! Chi mi dice mai might also hint at this more antique style, the first violin line functioning almost as an obbligato accompaniment that features dotted figures, octave leaps, and descending semiquaver runs.

Bars 62-66, in my mind, anticipate yet another musical style that also features in the opera. The simple, diatonic melody in thirds, accompanied by a pedal in the horns and violins, is similar to the plain, folk-like music that characterises the peasant characters, in particular Masetto and Zerlina. The music of the third scene that depicts Masetto and Zerlina’s pre-nuptial festivities, for instance, similarly consists of a melody presented in thirds, with simple accompaniment, the first three bars being accompanied by a repeated quaver G in the basses, mirroring the pedal note of the overture.

At bar 77 of the overture, however, a motif appears that is not attributable to a single character, but representative of all the characters that stand in opposition to Don Giovanni in the opera. The motif first appears in octave unison in the woodwind and strings and I feel has an almost jarring effect.

Indeed, after four bars of an E pedal, which is followed by two beats rest, we are led to expect a passage in the key of A major. However, rather than begin with a clearly delineated A major melody, at bar 77 Mozart undermines the presentation of this new motif by outlining the dominant chord once again, 203

and now with the seventh added. The extension of the dominant chord thwarts our expectation of the arrival of A major. The fact that the new unison motif that begins in bar 77 (presented in the woodwind and strings) begins on the seventh of the chord, the note D, heightens the jarring effect I ascribe to this passage, as it creates a dissonance with the E played by the horns and trumpets (Ex. 3a):

Example 3a: Ouvertura, bars 73-80.

The accent placed on the seventh note D and the unison presentation of the theme, in my opinion, creates a sense of discomfort, which does not subside until bar 80 with the arrival of a stable A major chord that fulfils our tonal desire.

For Lobe the motif that begins in bar 77 represents ’the warnings and admonitions of Providence’ that are a consequence of Don Giovanni’s

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behaviour.50 While the tone of the motif maybe suggestive of an authoritative power, I do not see it as associated with the supernatural Commendatore, but with the afflicted human characters in the drama. According to Rushton:

Other glosses, for example, “explaining” the prominent five-note falling motif introduced in the dominant as Justice in pursuit of the rascal, are merely fanciful, and reminiscent of the nineteenth-century habit of composing programmatic overtures, a procedure which there is no likelihood of Mozart’s having contemplated; the adventurous development of this figure could just as well be regarded as lively play, and thus as eminently Giovanni-esque.51

Mozart, however, may well have contemplated these procedures and ideas in his overture. Indeed, Gluck’s overture to Iphigénie en Aulide offers an earlier precedent, the overture pre-empting themes and musical ideas from the opera that are associated with particular characters and events. In addition, the unison motif at bar 77 of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, I believe bears a striking resemblance to two passages in the opera. The first occurrence is in the ballroom scene, as Donna Elvira, Donna Anna, and Don Ottavio unmask.

As each character reveals their true identity (from bar 509), they sing a descending motif that strongly resembles that found at bar 77 of the overture

(compare Ex. 3a with 3b). As the characters chastise Don Giovanni for his trickery, the music also appears to take on a condescending tone.

50 Johann Christian Lobe, 'Das Gehaltvolle in der Musik: Die Ouverture zu Don Juan von Mozart', Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 49 (1846-1847), p. 385-389, translated in Johann Christian Lobe, 'The Overture to Mozart's "Don Giovanni" (concluded)', The Musical Times and Singing Class Circular, Vol. 15, No. 346 (1871), p. 266. 51 Julian Rushton, W. A. Mozart: Don Giovanni (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 9. 205

Example 3b: Act I, finale, bars 505-512.

A possible connection can also be made with the music that ends the Act II sextet. Following the discovery that they have not found Don Giovanni, but

Leporello in disguise, Donna Anna, Don Ottavio, Donna Elvira, Zerlina, and

Masetto all take up the descending motif (Ex 3c):

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Example 3c: Act II, scene 8, Sola, sola, in buio loco, bars 186-191.

In both examples the motif is sung by everyone that Don Giovanni has afflicted in the opera; it is used to represent their unified stance and their opposition to Don Giovanni. As the sextet continues, it is noticeable that

Leporello’s music is always independent of the other characters, it remaining in the buffa mode with which he and Don Giovanni are associated. In short, the unison motif is only indicative of those who oppose Don Giovanni in the opera. Perhaps a parallel can be made between the function of this motif and

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the unison, military music that represents the Greek army in Gluck’s

Iphigénie en Aulide overture. Indeed, both motifs function as a musical representation of a collaborative human force that stands in opposition to the protagonist, pushing them towards his fate. The Don Giovanni overture perhaps also resembles Gluck’s overture in that it is constructed from a series of musical ideas, styles, and emotions that are derived from the opera and that serve to familiarise the audience with the various different characters and conflicts of the opera. Like Gluck’s Alceste overture, the Don Giovanni overture does not necessarily quote material directly from the opera, but instead incorporates a series of sound-similes, groupings of particular musical ideas and/or musical textures that bear a marked similarity to musical passages and ideas in the opera.

3.) The Mixing of Style and Idea in the Allegro Despite the allusions in the overture to several other characters and ideas in the opera, the comic, musical world associated with Don Giovanni seems to subsume the entire allegro. For example, Donna Anna and Don Ottavio’s tormented motif is underscored by a Giovanni-esque, buffa accompaniment, and the unison, judgement motif is repeatedly interrupted by frivolous and impudent violin figures. In a sense, the other musical characters hinted at in the overture appear only as extensions of Don Giovanni’s comic and sensuous persona.

Allanbrook has convincingly argued that Don Giovanni is No-Man, his music constantly borrowing from that of the other characters in the opera.52

In the allegro of the overture, however, it is Don Giovanni’s musical style that

52 Why Jamison Allanbrook, Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), p. 207-224. See also Joseph Kerman, 'Reading Don Giovanni', in The Don Giovanni Book: Myths of Seuction an Betrayal, ed. Jonathan Miller (London: Faber & Faber, 1990), p. 108-125. 208

appears to predominate, the buffa style enveloping the motifs and themes associated with the other characters in opera. In short, the overture suggests that it is not that Don Giovanni is No-Man, but that he is All-Man; his musical style underscores the entire allegro section of the overture and, for that matter, the majority of the music in the opera. Put simply, Don Giovanni is the musical common denominator of both the opera and the overture. As

Bernard Williams says, ‘Giovanni has come to be identified with something as general as the living principle of all the characters, the centre of their vitality’.53 In short, it is Don Giovanni’s sensuous nature that lies at the heart of both the music and the drama.

Interestingly, although these judgemental characters in the opera give the appearance that they are morally superior to the Don in the opera, their actions suggest they are not necessarily that different, with some of their actions being just as questionable. Zerlina, after all, is quite easily seduced, and by the lure of power as much as by Don Giovanni; the male characters appear to be all prone to violence, and there is the question of whether

Donna Anna was seduced, raped, or perhaps neither.54 Leporello is an odd character in this respect as he appears to be constantly manipulated by Don

Giovanni. Although this may generate some degree of sympathy from an audience, I feel his disregard for the other characters in the opera renders him similarly morally suspect.

53 Bernard Williams, 'Don Giovanni as an idea', in W. A. Mozart: Don Giovanni, ed. Julian Rushton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 85. 54 See Felicity Baker, 'The figures of hell in the Don Giovanni libretto', in Words About Mozart, ed. Dorothea and Judith Nagley Link (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005), p. 100. 209

In Calixto Bieito and Bertrand de Billy’s controversial 2002 production of the opera, all the characters are made to occupy the same moral world.55

Interestingly, in the finale to their production, rather than have Don

Giovanni dragged to hell by the Commendatore, he is murdered by the other characters in the opera’s lieto fine, the supposedly moral close to the opera.

This production, in my opinion, highlights the similarities between Don

Giovanni and the other characters in the opera, placing them at the forefront of the production and suggesting to the audience that Don Giovanni may not significantly more evil that the other characters in drama. I mention this interpretation as it explores the complex relationships between the characters in the opera, relationships that I believe are also explored in the overture.

Indeed, the overture does not simply present a series of musical ideas that are to depict each character in the opera in isolation, but a complex web of interacting musical motifs and ideas that are superimposed and juxtaposed with one another in an effort to represent the complex interaction between the characters in the opera.

A purely formal sonata form analysis of the Don Giovanni overture I think would overshadow this aspect of the overture and might also fail to fully appreciate the overture’s harmonic structure, which does not just explore the standard sonata form opposition between the tonic and dominant, but a modal conflict between major and minor. This modal tension, furthermore, does not just stem from the contrast between the andante and the allegro, but also from within the allegro and, in my opinion, is one of the overture’s most interesting aspects. Indeed, during the course of the major-key allegro, the minor key repeatedly asserts itself, disrupting the otherwise light and comic musical texture and challenging the authority of the major key.

55 Calixto Bieto and Betrand de Billy, Mozart: Don Giovanni, No. 809478009214 (Gran Teatre del Liceu: Opus Arte, 2002). 210

Modal Mixing and Chromatic Intrusions

Unlike the andante that starts with an affirmative D minor chord and goes on to explore its minor-key tonality, the allegro is far more harmonically vulnerable with D major being under constant modal and chromatic attack.

In fact, after only two bars of the allegro, a D sharp enters the texture challenging the authority of the D major key signature. Eight bars later a C§ enters in the woodwind, followed shortly by a Bb in the second violin, suggesting a harmonic move back towards the opening key of D minor.

Another minor-key intrusion occurs at bar 67. Here, the musical texture is almost ripped apart by a series of forte, diminished chords that push the music away from the dominant major and towards the dominant minor.56

Minor tonalities continue to contaminate the allegro, with tonal ruptures occurring at bars 87, 133, and 161.

Perhaps the most interesting example of an intrusion on the D major tonality is that which occurs at bar 277 in the coda of the overture (Ex. 4a):

Example 4a: Ouvertura, bars 272-277.

56 The violent intrusion of diminished chords is actually reminiscent of earlier in the overture when forte, woodwind notes were used to interrupt the melodic flow of the andante. 211

At bar 274 a perfect cadence in D-major is presented, followed by triadic, fanfare-like figures for the strings and woodwind. At bar 277, however, a C natural enters the texture, pushing the music towards the subdominant key of G major. The placement of the C§ at the top of the texture provides the overture with a powerful anticlimax, as from this point on the music disintegrates, never to return to D major (at least within the realms of the overture). With the expected final return to D major denied, the music moves towards the dominant of F major, in preparation for Leporello’s opening aria

(Ex. 4b):

Example 4b: Ouvertura, bars 272-277.

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As with both Gluck’s Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide overtures, Mozart does not provide his overture with an affirmative harmonic close and opts instead for a harmonic transition to the opening scene.

For the concert version of the overture, Mozart furnishes the overture, not surprisingly, with a more conclusive ending. However, rather than simply remove the overture’s anticlimactic ending by replacing the D major seventh chord with a D major chord, Mozart decides to retain this passage. In addition, Mozart decides to have the coda of the concert overture, like the operatic version of the overture, to musically disintegrate, leaving it until the last 8 bars of the work to bring about a more conclusive ending in D major

(Ex. 4c). What is most interestingly about the concert version of the overture, though, is that the minor key is hinted at one more time, bbs and c# entering the texture from bar 286.

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Example 4c: Ouvertura (concert version), bars 286-298.

In both the operatic and concert versions of the overture the return to D major is undermined. In the former through the disintegration of musical ideas and the move to F major and in the latter by referring the listener back to the overture's earlier conflict between major and minor modalities. In both versions of the overture the tonal narrative is left 'open', the final cadence in

D major in the concert version tainted by the return of the tonic minor.

Indeed, the minor-key intrusion leaves an indelible imprint on the mind of

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the listener of the modal conflict that lies at the heart of the overture’s musical argument.

Throughout the D-major allegro, the D major tonality is questioned through the use of chromaticism and the resurgence of the tonic minor. Minor inflexions continually rupture the light and comic musical surface of the allegro and remind the listener’s of the overture’s ombra opening, and perhaps hint at the tragic undertones of the drama. The mixing of modes is replayed throughout the opera with D minor (accompanied by diminished sevenths and chromatic motifs) frequently returning to contaminate the buffa texture.

Indeed, in the opera the grief-stricken Donna Anna seems to constantly push the music back to the overture’s opening key of D minor. In fact, D minor accompanies her oath of vengeance in Act I, forms a significant part of her

Act I, scene 3, aria, and is used to abruptly replace Don Ottavio’s D major in the sextet at bar 45 (ex. 2b).57

Donna Anna’s musical and dramatic role in the opera I believe is important, as she constantly reminds the spectator of the opening sequence of events and of the music of the overture’s supernatural and D-minor andante. It does seem that the D-minor chord that opens the overture casts a shadow over the entire opera, contaminating the otherwise light and cheerful music and acting as a constant reminder of the supernatural forces that lurk beneath the comic surface.

57 For a discussion of Mozart’s use of D minor in the opera see Martin Chusid, 'The Significance of D Minor in Mozart's Dramatic Music', in Mozart-Jahrbuch (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1967), p. 87-93, Andrew Steptoe, The Mozart-Da Ponte Operas: The Cultural and Musical Background to Le nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni, and Cosí fan tutte (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), p. 185-207, and David Wyn Jones, 'Music and Action in 'Don Giovanni'', in English National Opera Guide: Don Giovanni, ed. Norman Platt, and Laura Sarti (London: Calder, 1983), p. 13-29. 215

Demonic Undertones: A Conflict of Two Worlds

Both Hoffmann and Kierkegaard agree that the allegro is representative not simply of the comic world associated with Don Giovanni, but host to a far more sinister element as well. For Hoffmann:

The jubilant fanfare in the seventh measure of the Allegro sounded to me like a brazen wantonness; I saw the fiery demons stretch their glowing claws out of the deep night towards people who, joyful in life, were dancing merrily on the thin bridge over the bottomless abyss.58

Kierkegaard seems to follow Hoffmann’s lead and perceives the allegro as unsettling. He describes it ‘as when one skims a stone over the surface of the water, it skips lightly for a time, but as soon as it stops skipping, instantly sinks down into the depths, that is how Don Giovanni dances over the abyss, jubilant in his brief respite’.59 Both these writers perceive something far more malevolent at work in the D-major allegro. Indeed, despite Kierkegaard’s assertion that the music of Don Giovanni depends on immediacy, his description of the overture yields to a more reflective understanding of the music, the music hinting at the drama’s more fatalistic and darker aspects.

Although nineteenth-century interpreters had a penchant for demonic narratives, the unstable tonality, minor-key intrusions, and presence of motifs associated with some of the opera’s afflicted characters in the allegro all seem to back up Hoffmann and Kierkegaard’s interpretations.60

58 Wie ein jauchzender Frevel klang mir die jubelnde Fanfare im siebenten Takte des Allegro; ich sah aus tiefer Nacht feurige Dämonen ihre glühenden Krallen ausstrecken – nach dem Leben froher Menschen, die auf des bodenlosen Abgrunds dünner Decke lustig tanzten’. In E. T. A Hoffmann, Fantasie- und Nachstüke, edited by Walter Müller-Seidel, with notes by Wolfgang Kron (München: Winkler-Verlag, 1967), p. 68, translated in E. T. A Hoffmann, 'Don Giovanni: A Marvellous Adventure which Befell a Travelling Enthusiast', translated by Abram Loft, Musical Quarterly, Vol. 31, No. 4 (1945), p. 505. 59 In Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life (London: Penguin Books, 1992), p. 131. 60 For an illuminating study on how Mozart’s Don Giovanni was received and transformed in the nineteenth century see Lydia Goehr and Daniel Herwitz, ed., The Don Giovanni Moment: Essays on the Legacy of an Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006). Of particular 216

Interestingly, Kierkegaard perceives the opening bars of the overture to depict not simply the supernatural world, but Don Giovanni’s coming into being, his birth and his Creation. Kierkegaard writes:

The overture begins with distinct, deep, serious, uniform tones; then for the first time, infinitely far away, we hear a hint which nevertheless, as though it had come too early, is instantly recalled, until later, again and again, bolder and bolder, louder and louder, one hears that voice which at first slyly and coyly, and yet as though anxiously, gained access but could not force its way through. Thus sometimes in nature one sees the horizon heavy and lowering. Too heavy to support itself, it rests upon the earth and hides everything in its dark night; distinct hollow sounds are heard, yet not in movement but like deep rumbling within itself – then one sees at the furthest bounds of the heavens, far on the horizon, a flash; swiftly it runs along the earth and is gone in the same instant. But soon it returns, it grows stronger; for a moment it lights up the whole heaven with its flame, the next instant the horizon seems darker than ever; but swifter, even more fiery it blazes up; it is as if the darkness itself had lost its calm and was getting into motion. As the eye suspects in this flash a conflagration, so the ear in that dying strain of the violin stroke has a presentiment of all the passion. There is an apprehension in that flash, it is as if in the deep darkness it were born in dread – such is Don Giovanni’s life. There is a dread in him, but this dread is his energy. In the overture we do not have – what we commonly say without realizing what we say – despair. Don Giovanni’s life is not despair; it is the full might of sensuality, which is born in dread, and Don Giovanni is himself this dread, but this dread is precisely the demonic joy of life.61

In Kierkegaard’s opinion the andante represents the birth of Don Giovanni and the demonic within him; it depicts his coming into being and the formation of his uncontrollable sensuality, his ‘demonic joy of life’.

Kierkegaard presents us with a view of Don Giovanni as not just in conflict with the supernatural world, but as part of it. In Kierkegaard’s opinion, Don

interest is Thomas S. Grey’s chapter that looks at demonic interpretations of the opera: ‘The Gothic Libertine: The Shadow of Don Giovanni in Romantic Music and Culture’, p. 75-106. 61 In Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life (London: Penguin Books, 1992), p. 130. 217

Giovanni is not simply an evil character that needs to be punished, but a man that is driven by a demonic and uncontrollable desire that is innate to his very nature, his very being.

According to Todorov, in Fantastic literature desire is frequently linked to the supernatural and is often the cause of the protagonist’s demise. This he claims is particularly evident in the Gothic novel in which desire and the demonic are often entwined. In a sense, the narrative of Mozart’s Don

Giovanni parallels the narratives of many Gothic novels, connecting death to desire and desire to the demonic. In fact, this connection is not that far- fetched, as the gothic novel originated in the middle of the eighteenth century and had become a popular literary genre by the time of Mozart’s Don

Giovanni. 62

Don Giovanni’s demonic nature is, perhaps, crystallized in the overture through the presentation of the descending chromatic motif that appears at bar 5 in the basses (Ex. 1a). Similar chromatic motifs appear in various guises throughout the opera, and examples can be found in the music that follows the Commendatore’s death (Ex. 5a: oboe followed by flute, from bar 190); the following duet for Donna Anna and Don Ottavio (Ex. 5b: oboe an bassoons, bar 201 and then again at 207); Don Giovanni’s Act I, scene 3, duet with

62 On death and desire see Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1973), p. 124-139 and David B. Morris, 'Gothic Sublimity', New Literary History, Vol. 16, No. 2 (1985), p. 299-319. On the origins and nature of the Gothic novel see David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Day (London: Longman, 1996). On “Gothic” opera see Aubrey S. Garlington Jr., '"Gothic" Literature and Dramatic Music in England, 1781-1802', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 15, No. 1 (1962), p. 48-64, Diane Long Hoeveler and Sarah Davies Cordova, 'Gothic Opera in Britain and France: Genre, Nationalism, and Trans-Cultural Angst', Romanticism on the Net, Opera and Nineteenth- Century Literature, Vol. 34-35, May (2004), p. 34-35 and Anne Williams, 'Monstrous Pleasures: Horace Walpole, Opera, and the Conception of the Gothic', Gothic Studies, Vol. 2, No. 1 (2000), p. 104-118. 218

Zerlina (Ex. 5c: first violins bars 58-59 ); the Act I, scene 3, quartet (Ex. 5d:

Donna Anna, bars 40-41 and again at 42-43); Don Giovanni’s aria, Fin ch'han dal vino (Ex. 5e: Don Giovanni’s vocal line accompanied by flute, bars 21-24 and again at 44-46, 48-50, and 52-54); and, perhaps most prominently, in the

Act II, scene 7, sextet (Ex 5f, violins, repeated from bar 76-127).

Example 5a: Act I, scene 1, bars 190-193.

219

Example 5b: Act I, scene 3, Fuggi, crudele, fuggi!, bars 200-207.

Example 5c: Act I, scene 9, Là ci darem la mano, là mi dirai sì, bars 54-59.

220

Example 5d : Act I, scene 12, Non ti fidar, o misera, di quell ribaldocor!, bars 39-44.

221

Example 5e: Act I, scene 15, Fin ch'han al vino, bars 20-29.

In the opera the motif functions as a mysterious and malevolent force that has a musically disruptive effect, imposing itself upon the opera from outside and functioning as if it is alien to the musical texture to which it is attached. The appearance of the motif in Don Giovanni’s duet with Zerlina is particularly unusual, the motif intruding upon the otherwise simple and diatonic folk-like music and acting more in the manner of a musical contaminant, than as part of the duet’s essential musical ingredients. In effect, the motif is a musical figure that exists apart from the musical world of the characters, directing the listener’s attention towards the opera’s more troubled and supernatural aspects and referring them back to the motif's first appearance in the andante of the overture.

222

Example 5f: Act II, scene 7, Sola, Sola, in bujo loco, bars 74-77.

In this sense, the motif can be said to function in a manner similar to that of a fate motif.63 The chromatic fourth motif, as noted above, was a musical symbol that was used in the eighteenth century to represent death. In Don

63 By the latter half of the nineteenth century fate motifs were being used by a number of composers and in a variety of works. On fate motifs see Peter Williams, The "Chromatic Fourth" During Four Centuries of Music (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), p. 196-246. 223

Giovanni, however, the motif appears to have a far more specific dramatic significance. By incorporating the chromatic motif into the overture and by employing it as a recurring, alien musical force in the opera, Mozart provides the motif with an otherworldly, fatalistic significance. In spoken drama, the power and force of fate is often hinted at through the use of symbols, oracles, and dream sequences. In Don Giovanni, however, the force of fate appears to be given a musical body that is possibly intended to represent Don

Giovanni’s demonic desire and hint at his tragic end. In short, the motif ads an additional narrative layer to Da Ponte's text, furnishing the overture and the opera with a tragic trajectory.

In Sweet Violence Eagleton links the demonic to desire, and describes the demonic state as ‘mysterious because it appears without cause. It is an apparently unmotivated malignancy, which delights in destruction for its own sake’.64 For Eagleton, it is the demonic that gives modern tragedy its potency. The demonic is a force that has control over a body, but that cannot be rationally explained or resisted. As he observes, ‘it is hard to quite know why Iago feels so resentful of Othello. The witches of Macbeth reap no obvious profit from driving the protagonist to his doom. This kind of wickedness seems to be autotelic, having its grounds, ends and causes in itself’.65 It is interesting that Eagleton refers to the demonic as ‘a force that has control over the body’ when he understands tragedy as based on free will and not as predetermined. In my view, Macbeth’s demonic drive combined with the oracular foresight provided by the witches gives the play its dramatic and tragic intensity. In Don Giovanni it seems to be the Don’s insatiable and irrational desire for women that drives and controls his

64 Terry Eagleton, Sweet Violence: The Idea of the Tragic (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), p. 253. 65 Ibid., p. 253. 224

actions, leading him to his demise. If we understand the character of Don

Giovanni from this perspective, as controlled by an otherworld force, we can begin to see why Goethe thought the opera to be of a tragic nature.66 I believe the overture plays an important part in a spectator’s opinion of Don

Giovanni and their perception of drama. The fact that the andante is based upon the music that accompanies Don Giovanni’s descent into Hell in the final scene might suggests to a listener (perhaps on first listening only in retrospect) that Don Giovanni’s fate is sealed, predetermined. Indeed, according to Kierkegaard, Don Giovanni’s demonic nature is evident from his incarnation in the overture.

In my view, the darker side to Mozart and Da Ponte’s Don Giovanni is what distinguishes it from previous settings of the Don Juan myth.67 In Carlo

Goldoni’s telling, for example, the supernatural elements of the plot are almost completely dispensed with. At the end of the play Don Juan is not dragged to Hell by a statue that has risen to life, but struck down by a lightning bolt. In effect, Goldoni blurs the boundaries between supernatural and naturally occurring events: is the lightning bolt heavenly retribution or a

(much deserved) chance occurrence? Gazzaniga’s opera (libretto by Giovanni

Bertati) does not dispense with the supernatural elements entirely, but does

66 For Geoffrey Clive the demonic element of Don Giovanni’s character lies in his unwillingness to sleep as a result of his ‘indefatigable loyalty to the sensual principle’. See Geoffrey Clive, 'The Demonic in Mozart', Music & Letters, Vol. 97, No. 1 (1956), p. 1-13. On the demonic in Mozart see also Peter Pesic, 'The Child and Daemon: Mozart and Deep Play', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 25, No. 2/3 (2002), p. 91-107. 67 For a more detailed history of the Don Juan myth and a discussion of various setting of this tale see Nino Pirrotta, 'The Traditions of Don Juan Plays and Comic Operas', Proceedings of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 107 (1980-1981), p. 60-70, Edward Forman, ‘Don Juan before Da Ponte’ in Julian Rushton, W. A. Mozart: Don Giovanni (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 27-44, Beryl Schlossman, 'Disappearing Acts: Style, Seduction and Performance in Dom Juan', Modern Language Notes, Vol. 106, No. 5 (1991), p. 1030-1047, B. Frank Sedwick, 'Mozart's Sources for Don Giovanni', Hispania, Vol. 37, No. 3 (1954) p. 269- 273 and Samuel M. Waxman, 'The Don Juan Legend in Literature', The Journal of American Folklore, Vol. 21, No. 81 (1908), p. 184-204. 225

minimise their presence, the opera focusing upon the story’s more comic elements. Although the Commendatore does feature, his music is by no means as powerful or as intimidating as that given to the Commendatore in

Mozart’s opera. The Don Juan of Gluck and Angiolini, perhaps, comes closest to anticipating the tragic aspects of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. For Charles C.

Russell, Gluck and Angiolini’s Don Juan ‘was not the popular and traditional happy-go-lucky womanizer, but a seducer, murderer, and mocker of divine justice, the horror of whose punishment was intended to serve as a warning, much in the manner of Greek tragedy’.68 Lois Gertsman interestingly also perceives the ballet to have a Greek tragic quality. She understands Gluck’s music to be based, predominantly, on a conflict between two different motifs: a dotted motif representative of the Commandant and a square, descending, graceful theme indicative of Don Juan. According to Gertsman, as the ballet progresses, the music that accompanies Don Giovanni becomes increasingly contaminated by the dotted rhythms of the Commandant.69 Gluck’s opposition and integration of these two distinct motifs, perhaps inspired

Mozart’s use of two contrasting and conflicting modes in his opera to depict the Commendatore and Don Giovanni as well as the modal conflict within the opera. The finale to Gluck’s ballet may also have played a role in

Mozart’s setting of the scene in which the Commendatore takes Don

Giovanni to hell. Indeed, Gluck’s innovative orchestration and effective use of the ombra style provides the final scene with a terrifying musical atmosphere that provides the ballet with a tragic weight that mirrors the

Statue scene in Mozart’s opera. Gluck’s ballet, however, does not have the

68 Charles C. Russell, 'The Libertine Reformed: 'Don Juan' By Gluck and Angiolini', Music & Letters, Vol. 65, No. 1 (1984), p. 21. 69 Lois Gertsman, 'Musical Character Depiction in Gluck's Don Juan', Dance Chronicle, Vol. 1, No. 1 (1977), p. 8-21. On Gluck’s Don Juan see also Bruce Alan Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), p. 282-357 and Sibylle Dahms, 'Some Questions on the Original Version of Gluck and Angiolini's Don Juan', Dance Chronicle, Vol. 30, No. 3 (2007), p. 427-438. 226

narrative complexity and supernatural intensity of Mozart’s opera. For example, the overture to the ballet makes no reference to the supernatural elements in the drama and, thus, the ballet lacks the unsettling tragic atmosphere that I believe is fostered in Mozart’s overture. Indeed, the ominous, otherworldly opening to Mozart’s Don Giovanni not only sets the tone for the ensuing dramatic action, but sits with the listener, and remains with them right up until the opera’s finale.

The complex interaction between the supernatural and the rational as well as the way in which ideas of Christian punishment and judgment mingle with

Greek ideas of fate and tragedy is, in my opinion, what makes the narrative of the overture and opera particularly interesting. Indeed, in Don Giovanni ideas of freedom are placed alongside notions of fate, and the concept of punishment is contrasted with that of suffering. For Felicity Baker, the mixing and interchangeableness of Greek and Christian belief systems is one of the libretto’s defining features.70 As she notes, even in the final sextet,

Christian and pagan worlds collide, the moral ending prefaced by a reference to Proserpine and Pluto. For Baker, the best way to comprehend the movement between these two worlds ‘is to accept that the libretto does not decide between the theological and the folkloric levels, as it does not decide between the Christian and pagan cosmologies whose co-existence is manifest in the poem’.71

The mixing of pagan and Christian ideas that Baker attributes to the libretto is to my mind complicated further by Mozart’s music, which provides an additional narrative layer to the drama. The minor-key intrusions and

70 Felicity Baker, 'The figures of hell in the Don Giovanni libretto', in Words About Mozart, ed. Dorothea and Judith Nagley Link (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005), p. 77-106. 71 Ibid., p. 94. 227

chromatic motifs in both the overture and the opera I think ask the listener to question whether there is some other force present in the drama, perhaps even generating the narrative. Indeed, the motifs undermine the comic elements to the opera, and possibly even ask the spectator to question the motivation behind Don Giovanni’s crimes. Are his crimes the result of an unseen and uncontrollable force, or a natural urge? Are the acts of Don

Giovanni a result of a demonic desire, or daemonic force, the former designating the more Christian notion of an evil force or power, the latter the

Greek idea of a force from within a character that is morally neutral, but can serve both good and bad ends. Is Don Giovanni punished, or is it, in the end, nature?

The conflict between natural desire and the values and etiquette of society was something that many dramatists and philosophers probed during the eighteenth century. By the time of Mozart’s Don Giovanni this conflict had already been touched upon by authors such as Choderlos de Laclos in his Les

Liaisons Dangereuses and Samuel Richardson in his Clarissa.72 Indeed, both these novels involve a conflict between the "natural" desires of the libertine and the supposed rules of polite society. Richardson’s Clarissa is a particularly interesting example as the plot appears structured in a way that

72 For a fuller, historical discussion of the eighteenth-century libertine see Jonathan Miller, ed., The Don Giovanni Book: Myths of Seduction and Betrayal (London: Faber and Faber, 1990). On Clarissa and Les Liaisons Dangereuses see Howard S. Babb, 'Richardson's Narrative Mode in Clarissa', Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, Vol. 16, No. 3 (1976), p. 451-460, Adam Budd, 'Why Clarissa Must Die: Richardson's Tragedy and Editorial Heroism', Eighteenth- Century Life, Vol. 31, No. 3 (2007), p. 1-28, Peter Hynes, 'Curses, Oaths, and Narrative in Richardson's Clarissa', English Literary History, Vol. 56, No. 2 (1989), p. 311-326, William Mead, 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses and Moral 'Usefulness'', PMLA, Vol. 75, No. 5 (1960), p. 563- 570, Nancy K. Miller, 'Female Sexuality and Narrative Structure in La Nouvelle Héloïse and Les Liaisons Dangereuses', Signs, Vol. 1, No. 3 (1976), p. 609-638, William Park, 'Clarissa as Tragedy', Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, Vol. 16, No. 3 (1976), p. 461-471, Katherine M. Rogers, 'Creative Variation: Clarissa and Les Liaisons dangereuses', Comparative Literature, Vol. 38, No. 1 (1986), p. 36-52 and Donald R. Wehrs, 'Irony, Storytelling, and the Conflict of Interpretations in Clarissa', English Literary History, Vol. 53, No. 4 (1986), p. 759-777. 228

mirrors that of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. As Edward Copeland notes,

Richardson’s novel jumps between narrative notions of what he describe as

“Plan” and “No-Plan”. For Copeland, in the novel ‘the borderlines of myth and allegory are not always capable of clear delineation’.73 In short, the events and actions are not always made explicit to the reader, but are hinted at and alluded to through an exchange of letters between the main characters of the novel. As a result, it is difficult to know what has actually taken place and what generates the action: is the novel representative of a battle between good and evil, society and libertinism, or fate and free will?74 In Don Giovanni a similar series of binary oppositions are put into play and I think hinted at in the overture: the otherworldly is pitted against the worldly, ideas concerning moral judgment are placed in conflict with natural impulses and desire, and tragedy is juxtaposed with comedy.

Tragedy or Comedy: Don Giovanni as Dramma Giocoso

The mixing of this list of opposites is what provides the overture with its argument, an argument that parallels the main action of the opera. Indeed, as mentioned earlier, the Don Giovanni overture is based upon the opposition and interaction of two seemingly opposed worlds: the minor-key world of the Commendatore and the major-key world of Don Giovanni. Although

Mozart refers to this work as an opera buffa in his catalogue of works, I do not understand Don Giovanni to be of the same ilk as many other opera buffa; yet neither do I understand it to be an opera seria.75 In my mind, the opera mixes

73 Edward Copeland, 'Allegory and Analogy in Clarissa: The "Plan" and the "No-Plan"', Journal of English Literary History, Vol. 39, No. 2 (1972), p. 265. 74 Howard S. Babb has drawn attention to the use of ambiguity and conflicting binary oppositions in Richardson’s Clarissa. See Howard S. Babb, 'Richardson's Narrative Mode in Clarissa', Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, Vol. 16, No. 3 (1976), p. 451-460. 75 It is, perhaps, worth pointing out at this stage that Da Ponte designated the opera a drama giocoso, a generic designation that implies the drama will involve both serious and comic roles. See Daniel Heartz, 'Goldoni, Don Giovanni and the Dramma Giocoso', The Musical Times, Vol. 120, No. 1642 (1979), p. 993-995 and 997-998. 229

the comic and the serious, and explores a tension between comic and tragic narrative patterns. In this respect, the overture and the opera could be said to exhibit characteristics of tragicomedy.

Verna A. Foster describes tragicomedy as ‘a play in which the tragic and the comic both exist but are formally and emotionally dependent on one another, each modifying and determining the nature of the other so as to produce a mixed, tragicomic response in the audience’, going on to say that it presents

‘an almost painful tension between sympathy and detachment’.76 Although

Forster claims that tragicomedy was not a genre with which eighteenth- century dramatists were concerned, I would argue there is certainly a case for viewing Don Giovanni in this manner. Indeed, feelings of detachment, sympathy, humour, and disgust are all fostered in the opera and are often presented in such close proximity that they may create a feeling of unease in the spectator.77 For example, in the opening scene tragic and comic elements are placed in close juxtaposition. Only moments after the death of the

Commendatore, Leporello brings an element of comedy by impertinently asking who is dead, despite the fact he is already engaged in conversation with Don Giovanni.78 Similarly, in the Act II finale, the use of musical quotations from Figaro and Martín y Soler’s Una Cosa rara immediately alerts the audience to the artificiality of theatre, thus providing the spectator with a

76 Verna A. Foster, The Name and Nature of Tragicomedy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), p. 11 and 21. 77 According to Russell the dramatic tension between comic and tragic narratives is a result of Da Ponte’s wish to write a comic libretto and Mozart’s desire to present the drama in a more serious manner. However, the relationship between the comic and tragic in the opera is more complex. Comedy does not vie with tragedy, but functions as an important part of the plot and is essential in establishing the opera’s main dramatic argument and effect. See Charles C. Russell, 'Confusion in the Act I Finale of Mozart and Da Ponte's Don Giovanni', The Opera Quarterly, Vol. 14, No. 1 (1997), p. 25-44. 78 Peter Pesic has noted that in Don Giovanni moments of dramatic tension are frequently contrasted with or descend into moments of comedy, or, as he terms it, ‘playful abandon’. See Peter Pesic, 'The Child and Daemon: Mozart and Deep Play', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 25, No. 2/3 (2002), p. 91-107. 230

sense of detachment. The use of musical quotation also has the effect of undercutting the dramatic and tragic significance of the arrival of the Stone

Guest as, for a moment, the fourth wall of the theatre becomes readily apparent, the musical quotations making the spectator vividly aware that they are watching a production; in short, they become aware of the world around them. Indeed, whereas tragic drama aims to absorb its audience in the action and emotional situations on stage (it being a genre of hyper- involvement), comedy attempts to under-involve its characters and its audience.79 Mozart’s operatic finale, however, seems to almost feed off the finale’s comic elements; the close juxtaposition of the comic and the tragic does not destabilize the drama, but intensifies it, providing the spectator with a deep-seated feeling of unease and discomfort. The interpolation of comic elements in the finale, in a sense, functions in a similar manner to the

Porter scene in Macbeth, which provides a moment of grotesque comedy that jars sharply with the previous scene which had witnessed Macbeth’s murder of Duncan. In short, the tragic elements become enhanced by the contrast with comedy.

The comparison with Shakespeare is not actually unwarranted as there was an increasing interest in Shakespeare’s work during the latter half of the eighteenth century, and especially with regard to his mixing of tragic and comic elements. Johann Gottfried Herder, for example, praised Shakespeare for stepping outside the confines of Classical tragedy and for presenting a series of seemingly disparate scenes that present drama in a more natural manner.80 As he states:

79 On detachment and involvement see Paolo Gallarati, 'Music and Masks in Lorenzo Da Ponte's Mozartian Librettos' translated by Anna Herklotz, Cambridge Opera Journal, Vol. 1, No. 3 (1989), p. 225-247. 80 See Johann Gottfried Herder, Shakespeare (1773). In Johann Gottfried Herder, Werke: Herder und der Strum und Drang, 1764-1774, edited by Wolfgang Pross (München: Carl Hanser 231

If in Sophocles a single action prevails, then Shakespeare aims at the totality of an event, an occurrence. If in Sophocles’ characters a single tone predominates, then Shakespeare assembles all the characters, estates, and ways of life that are necessary to produce the main melody of his symphony.81

Herder commends Shakespeare for breaking the bounds of Classical drama in an effort to present a truer portrayal of life. In Don Giovanni, Mozart and

Da Ponte similarly mix different styles and characters in an attempt to create a more realistic drama and heighten the effect of the tragic situation.

The fusion of comedy and tragedy forms the basis of the opera and the overture’s conflict. Indeed, the very crux of the opera appears to rest on an odd tragic-comic situation, Don Giovanni being dragged to hell because of his refusal to repent and forgo his frivolous relationship with women. In short, while the powerful tragic penultimate scene appears to extinguish the opera's comic flame, the reason that lies behind it is still comic, thus undermining the possible tragic element. In this chapter I have shown that in the overture the musical drama results not just from the opposition between comedy and tragedy, but also their interaction. Indeed, while the comic allegro is used to depict the sensuous and frivolous world of the opera’s main character, the music of the andante hints at the darker side to the drama and haunts almost the entire allegro section. In effect, the comic plot of Don

Giovanni is placed within a tragic framework, the rational world infused with

Verlag, 1984), p. 526-572, translated in Johann Gottfried Herder, Selected Writings on Aesthetics, translated and edited by Gregory Moore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 291-307. 81 ‘Wenn bei diesem das Eine einer Handlung herrscht: so arbeitet Jener auf das Ganze eines Ereignisses, einer Begebenheit. Wenn bei Jenem Ein Ton der Charktere herrschet, so bei diesem alle Charaktere, Stände und Lebensarten, so viel nur fähig und nötig sind, den Hauptklang seines Concerts zu bilden’. Johann Gottfried Herder, Werke: Herder und der Strum und Drang, 1764-1774, edited by Wolfgang Pross (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1984), p. 536, translated in Johann Gottfried Herder, Selected Writings on Aesthetics, translated and edited by Gregory Moore (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 298-299. 232

irrational characters and supernatural forces. What makes the overture a particularly interesting example of a “dramatic” overture is the way in which the musical argument is constructed so that it closely parallels the opera’s main dramatic conflicts. Indeed, Mozart does not simply present a series of contrasting and conflicting musical images (as Gluck had in his Iphigénie en

Aulide overture), but a dense web of interacting musical ideas that allegorise and, in a sense, epitomise the conflict between Don Giovanni and the world around him. In short, the musical argument of the overture prepares the listener for the dramatic nature of the opera, an opera based upon the fusion of comic and tragic narratives.

233

Chapter Four Tragedy, Trauerspiel and Transcendence: Beethoven’s

Heroic Egmont Overture

The Egmont overture is considered to be emblematic of Beethoven’s so-called

‘heroic’ period.1 The ‘heroic’ works are often interpreted in one of three ways: as political works that are representative of French Revolutionary politics, as musico-philosophical tracts, or as works that break with compositional convention and create new and original musical structures.2 Whilst it certainly fruitful to look at the Egmont overture from these perspectives, it might also be beneficial to approach the work from a narrative perspective, as the overture was originally intended as an introductory piece for Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s play of the same name. Despite the fact that this overture introduces a play and not an opera, I think it bears a striking resemblance to the overtures of Gluck and Mozart studied in this thesis. What distinguishes this overture from the other overtures, however, is that the original dramatic context seems to have been all but forgotten, so that it is normally performed, and to some extent understood, as a concert overture. But the Egmont overture was not intended solely as a programmatic, concert piece and, as noted above, forms part of a corpus of musical material that was written to accompany Goethe’s play; as well as the overture, Beethoven also composed two songs, four entr’actes, and three pieces of incidental music. The aim of this chapter is to look at the overture in its original dramatic context, and to look at how it might seek to

1 On Beethoven’s heroic period see, in particular, Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven's Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior Music Publishing Co., 1987), Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), William Kinderman, Beethoven (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), Stephen Rumph, Beethoven after Napoleon: Political Romanticism in the Late Works (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004) and Maynard Solomon, Beethoven (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998). 2 Contrast the radically different approaches taken by the four authors above. Broyles and Kinderman both view Beethoven’s ‘heroic’ period as defined by a change in his compositional technique, whereas Rumph is more concerned with the political climate in which these works were situated. Burnham’s book, by contrast, hovers between a philosophical and, to a lesser extent, narrative understanding of these works in an attempt to situate them in their cultural, rather than social, context. 234 prepare a spectator for the ensuing action. As a result, I will first explore the perceived relationship between music and words in Beethoven’s oeuvre alongside what we actually know of Beethoven’s understanding of this relationship and whether he may have thought music could add and enhance a literary narrative.3

Only a relatively small number of scholarly works have attempted to discuss the relationship between Goethe’s literary work and Beethoven’s overture, and

there has been only one detailed study of the incidental music.4 Indeed, scholarship has tended to focus upon the work’s heroic elements.

Consequently, the focus of much scholarship has been on the triumphant coda to the overture. The coda, however, makes more sense, in my opinion, when discussed with reference to the play’s tragic plot, as the music for the coda is taken from the incidental music that accompanies the finale of Goethe’s play.

For Maynard Solomon, Beethoven’s heroic works are tied to ideas concerning

tragic drama, Beethoven placing ‘the tragic experience at the core of his heroic

style’.5 In this chapter I want to explore further Solomon’s comment, and look at

3 On the Beethoven myth see Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 3-28, Carl Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, translated J. Bradford Robinson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), p. 75-80, Lydia Goehr, The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: An Essay in the Philosophy of Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 205-242, K. M. Knittel, 'Pilgrimages to Beethoven: Reminiscences by his Contemporaries', Music and Letters, Vol. 84, No. 1 (2003), p. 19-54, Klaus Kropfinger, Wagner and Beethoven: Richard Wagner's Reception of Beethoven, translated by Peter Palmer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 50-67, William S. Newman, 'The Beethoven Mystique in Romantic Art, Literature, and Music', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 69, No. 3 (1983), p. 354-387 and Glenn Stanley, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Beethoven (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 239-305. 4 There are three notable studies that have probed this complex relationship in the overture: Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 112-146, David Hill, 'Goethe's Egmont, Beethoven's Egmont', in Music and Literature in German Romanticism, ed. Siobhan Donovan and Robin Elliott (Rochester: Camden House, 2004), p. 75-86 and Martha Calhoun, 'Music as Subversive Text: Beethoven, Goethe and the Overture to Egmont', Mosaic, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1987), p. 43-56. For a discussion of the incidental music in the play see Matthew Head, 'Beethoven Heroine: A Female Allegory of Music and Authorship in Egmont', 19th- Century Music, Vol. 30, No. 2 (2006), p. 97-132. 5 Maynard Solomon, Beethoven (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), p. 252. 235 whether the tragic narrative of Goethe’s Egmont impinges upon and can enhance our understanding of the structure of Beethoven’s Egmont overture.

As with the overtures previously studied, Beethoven’s Egmont establishes a musical argument through the use of musical contrast, development, and motivic transformation. However, unlike the overtures of Gluck and Mozart,

Beethoven did not have as wide a range of music on which he could draw to help construct a musical argument. Excepting a few allusions and references to particular ideas and musical passages from the play’s incidental music, the overture’s narrative potential appears to stem from the exploitation of conventional musical devices and the use of innovative and unusual musical procedures, both of which are intended to imbue the overture with a musical argument that, in a sense, parallels the drama of Goethe’s play.

A Purely-Music or Programmatic Work?

One of the main difficulties in discussing the Egmont overture is that it seems to occupy a theoretical space that lies somewhere between the purely instrumental and the programmatic work. Programmatic elements to some of Beethoven’s works have proven to be a source of contention for scholars and in some cases have caused the work to be excluded from the academic canon. Beethoven’s

Wellingtons Sieg is one such example, having often been considered to have little aesthetic value. For Albert Einstein it is ‘the lowest point in Beethoven’s work’ and for Charles Rosen it ‘is so frankly a potboiler that shame would have been of very little comfort’.6 For our Beethoven, the father of the modern symphony, it seems that programmatic readings need to be explained as superfluous (as is the case with the symphonies), or else the work is perceived to have a negligible

6 Alfred Einstein, Essays on Music (London: Faber & Faber, 1958), p. 244 and Charles Rosen, The Classical Style (London: Faber and Faber, 1972), p. 401. For a detailed discussion of the continued and problematic reception of this work see Nicholas Cook, 'The Other Beethoven: Heroism, the Canon, and the Works of 1813-14', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 27, No. 1 (2003), p. 3-24 and Nicholas Mathew, 'History Under Erasure: Wellingtons Sieg, the Congress of Vienna, and the Ruination of Beethoven's Heroic Style', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 89, No. 1 (2006), p. 17-61. 236 musical and aesthetic value (as is the case with Wellingtons Sieg). Beethoven’s

Wellingtons Sieg, though, does merit study, maybe not from the perspective of structural and formal developmental procedures, but from a narrative perspective, the work employing well known ideas in a clearly defined structure so that the narrative is made quite clear on first hearing. While some programmatic works may appear to have escaped the persecution of being associated with extra-musical content, the Pastoral Symphony and the Coriolan to name but two examples, I do not believe that their extra-musical content has yet received sufficient analytical attention. Indeed, the Coriolan overture, like the Egmont overture, is more often than not performed as a concert piece, rather than as an introduction to a play, and there has yet to be in my opinion a sufficiently analytical and narrative study of the impact of the titles to the various movements of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony on a listener’s understanding of the work.

A study of the narrative nature of Beethoven’s Egmont overture, then, could shed some light onto how this work functions as both an introductory, theatrical number that is tied to the plot of Goethe’s play and as self-contained concert work of purely instrumental music. The dual function of the overture almost gives it a paradoxical quality that is, perhaps, best exemplified by

Ramon E. Meyer’s article for the Music Educators Journal. In his article Meyer states that in the Egmont overture ‘Beethoven captured the spirit of Goethe’s

Egmont - the dark foreboding, the intense turmoil, and the jubilation of heroic victory - but there is no program and the music tells no story’.7 Meyer’s comments highlight the difficulty in reconciling the dramatic nature of the overture with the inherited Hanslickian notion of Beethoven’s works as works of pure music. In this chapter I want to explore what Meyer means when he says that the overture ‘captures the spirit of Goethe’s Egmont’, but ‘tells no

7 Raymond E. Meyer, 'Standard Works for Orchestra: Beethoven's Egmont Overture', Music Educators Journal, Vol. 71, No. 4 (1984), p. 30. 237 story’. Indeed, it seems that the commonly held view of Beethoven as a composer of “Absolute” music, music that communicates through its structure alone, still casts a shadow over the way in which his music is interpreted,

Meyer’s article symptomatic of the way in which issues concerning the extra- musical elements to Beethoven’s works are swept under the carpet. Through an understanding of the Egmont overture as a narrative work that plays an important part in Goethe’s drama, I hope to achieve a broader understanding of

Beethoven’s thoughts on the relationship between music and words, a relationship that he clearly explores in works such as his sixth and ninth symphonies.

Intriguingly, Donald Francis Tovey, a musicologist who is acclaimed for his rigorous analyses of musical structure, chose not to present formal analyses for

Beethoven’s Egmont and Coriolan overtures for a series of programme notes.8

Although these notes were intended for consumption by the general public, it is interesting that Tovey decides to write a predominantly programmatic description of both these works, rather than one of his characteristic, straightforward, and concise formal analyses. His approach, in my opinion, immediately marks out these works as different and as lying outside the normal corpus of works that can undergo standard musical analysis. Indeed, Tovey categorises these overtures as ‘theatre-music’, generically separating them from the pure and, perhaps, implicitly superior instrumental genres of the string quartet and symphony. Tovey’s programme notes present a weak programmatic mapping of the plays onto the music, concluding his analysis of the Egmont overture with a lengthy quotation from Egmont’s final monologue.

The relevance of this quote to both the overture and his analysis, however, is left unexplained. Tovey appears lost for words; unable to explain the overture’s unusual musical structure he resorts to literary quotation, as if the text of the

8Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis: Illustrative Music (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), p. 43-47. 238 play can somehow explain the overture’s unusual musical structure. Tovey’s focus upon the programmatic aspects clearly shows that he felt these overtures to have an overtly dramatic quality. He does not, however, tie his feeling towards these works with an explanation of how these works function in a narrative manner.

William Kinderman’s discussion of the overture in his biography of Beethoven also highlights some of the complexities that arise when analysing an overture.9

Whilst he does make some attempt to look at how the music relates to Goethe’s drama, his terminology is abstract and technical, failing to give any insight into how the overture functions as a dramatic introduction to the play. Barry

Cooper’s analysis provides a little more detail than Kinderman, but he also is unable to provide details as to the way in which the overture is informed by the play.10 Having discussed the overture’s sonata form structure, Cooper lists a series of motifs that he sees as having a narrative resonance, such as the

‘descending motifs and main theme’, which represent ‘the despair of the people’ and the ‘four, slow solemn chords’ that represent the lament of

Egmont’s death.11 While both Kinderman and Cooper ascribe a narrative resonance to the overture, neither Kinderman nor Cooper explains how the motifs foster a sense of narrative and how they relate to one another. Although the above analyses suggest that the overture has pockets of programmatically resonant music, the fact that they focus their attention predominantly on the overture’s technical musical procedures suggests that the programmatic resonances are to be understood as subsidiary to the overture’s structure. In short, the work is analysed as if it is a purely instrumental piece of music.

9 William Kinderman, Beethoven (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 147-149. 10 Barry Cooper, Beethoven (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 195-197. 11 Ibid., p. 196. 239 The analyses of Tovey, Cooper, and Kinderman’s suggest that there may be a fundamental difficulty in an analysing the Egmont overture, as it is, at once, both a programmatic work and a work that employs procedures that are commonly associated with instrumental genres such as the symphony. In this chapter, my aim is to present an analysis that looks at the overture from the perspective of narrative in an effort to understand how this overture might prepare a spectator for the dramatic events of Goethe’s Egmont. As Beethoven is primarily understood as a composer of instrumental music, this chapter will to first explore what we know about Beethoven’s understanding of words and music, of drama and tragedy, and, in particular, his knowledge of Goethe and

Goethe’s Egmont.

Beethoven’s Literary Library: Goethe and Tragic Drama

To claim that Beethoven’s overture prepares listeners for the argument of

Goethe’s drama suggest that Beethoven had a good understanding of the play and, perhaps, also contemporary drama. In recent times, Beethoven’s engagement with the arts has begun to receive an increasing amount of scholarly attention.12 I think it is important to understand this aspect of his life, as Beethoven’s knowledge of and attitude towards contemporary literary tropes and tragic drama could aid a narrative analysis of the Egmont overture.

The mythology that has enveloped Beethoven since his death has in many ways concealed his cultural persona, so as to present Beethoven as the epitome of true genius, a man not weighed down by the world around him, but a man

12 Several studies have attempted to fill this void and show that Beethoven had a good knowledge of contemporary art and culture. See E. Kerr Borthwick, 'Beethoven and Plutarch', Music and Letters, Vol. 79, No. 2 (1998), p. 268-272, Amanda Glauert, ''Nicht diese Töne': Lessons in Song and Singing from Beethoven's Ninth', Eighteenth-Century Music, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2007), p. 55-70, Lawrence Kramer, 'The Strange Case of Beethoven's Coriolan: Romantic Aesthetics, Modern Subjectivity, and the Cult of Shakespeare', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 79, No. 2 (1995), p. 256-280, Donald W. MacArdle, 'Shakespeare and Beethoven', The Musical Times, Vol. 105, No. 1454 (1964), p. 260-261, Maynard Solomon, Beethoven Essays (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1988) and Maynard Solomon, Beethoven (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998). 240 whose music, as E.T.A. Hoffmann said, represents ‘the realm of the mighty and immeasurable’.13 Basically, by removing Beethoven from his cultural context, we are encouraged to take a view of Beethoven as the founder of pure

instrumental music, music for music’s sake. This chapter attempts to wipe away

some of these mythological cobwebs in an effort to show that Beethoven

actively engaged with contemporary culture, and that a study of the dramatic

nature of the Egmont overture (with reference to ideas about contemporary drama and tragedy) could possibly broaden our understanding of the overture as well as some of Beethoven’s other works that also explore the relationship between music and literary drama.

Anton Schindler’s early biography of Beethoven is partly responsible for the view of Beethoven as set apart from society and culture.14 For example, in his section on Beethoven’s personality, Schindler refers to the composer’s ‘modest’ private library, which contained a ‘meagre’ musical collection.15 Schindler’s comments indirectly suggest that Beethoven took little interest in the literary and musical world that surrounded him. His comments, however, are

13 ‘So öffnet uns auch Beethovens Instrumentalmusik das Reich des Ungeheuren und Unermeßlichen’. See Hoffmann’s review of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in E. T. A Hoffmann, Schriften zur Musik, edited and with notes by Friedrich Schnapp (München: Winkler-Verlag, 1963), p. 36, translated in E. T. A Hoffmann, E. T. A. Hoffmann's Musical Writings: Kreisleriana, The Poet and the Composer, Music Criticism, edited, annotated and introduced by David Charlton, translated by Martyn Clarke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 238. 14 See the revised and expanded edition of Schindler’s biography: Anton Schindler, Biographie von Ludwig van Beethoven (Münster, 1860), translated in Anton Schindler, Beethoven as I knew him: a biography by Anton Felix Schindler, translated by Donald W. MacArdle (London: Faber and Faber, 1966). On the reliability of Schindler’s biography see Joseph Kerman, 'Review: Beethoven as I knew him: A Biography by Anton Felix Schindler: Donald W. MacArdle; Constance S. Jolly', The Musical Times, Vol. 108, No. 1487 (1967), p. 40-41, William S. Newman, 'Yet Another Major Beethoven Forgery By Schindler?', The Journal of Musicology, Vol. 3, No. 4 (1984), p. 397-422 and Peter Stadlen, 'Schindler's Beethoven Forgeries', The Musical Times, Vol. 118, No. 1613 (1977), p. 549-552. Also see Alan Tyson, 'Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838): The History of his Contribution to Beethoven Biography', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 7, No. 3 (1984), p. 209-221. 15 ‘Der bescheidenen Handbibliothek unsers Mesiters ist vorübergehend schon gedacht’ and ‘Sehr dürftig stand es um seine musicalische Bilbliothek’. These comments appear in the revised version of Schindler’s biography, 1860, Anton Schindler, Biographie von Ludwig van Beethoven (Münster, 1860), p. 180 and 182, translated in Anton Schindler, Beethoven as I knew him: a biography by Anton Felix Schindler, translated by Donald W. MacArdle (London: Faber and Faber, 1966), p. 528. 241 somewhat misleading and fail to draw attention to the fact that Beethoven’s library, although small, did contain some of the most important literary works of that time. Indeed, Beethoven was familiar with many modern German poets, had a good knowledge of European poetry and, during his time in Vienna, acquired a familiarity with the works of Homer and Euripides. In a letter to his publishers, Beethoven makes his enthusiasm for literature evident. He requests

‘editions of Goethe’s and Schiller’s complete works’ saying that ‘these two are my favourites, as are also Ossian [and] Homer’.16 Although Beethoven never received the pricey editions from Breitkopf and Härtel, we do know that during his early career he acquired some volumes of Friedrich Schiller’s collected works (including Wilhelm Tell and Die Jungfrau von Orleans), before later owning the entire series. Furthermore, it is known that Beethoven’s library contained some volumes of Johann Joachim Eschenburg’s translations of Shakespeare’s plays, as well as the complete works translated by August Wilhelm Schlegel.

The collection also hosted Homer’s Odysee [sic.], Goethe’s Westöstlicher Divan,

Immanuel Kant’s Naturgeschichte und Theorie des Himmels, Johann Nikolaus

Forkel’s Allegemeine Litteratur der Musik, works by Johann Michael Sailers (a prominent theologian), as well as works by poets such as Augustus von

Kotzebue and Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock.17

The contents of Beethoven’s library show that he had a discerning literary palette, his tastes ranging from Euripides to Goethe and from Shakespeare to

16 ‘Vieleicht können sie mir eine Ausgabe von Göthe’s und Schillers Vollständigen Werken zukommen laβen…Die zwei Dichter sind meine Lieblings Dichter so wie Ossian, [und] Homer’ (letter from Beethoven to Breitkopf and Härtel; Vienna, 16th November, 1801). In Ludwig van Beethoven, Briefwechsel Gesamtausgabe/ Ludwig van Beethoven; im Auftrag des Beethoven-Hauses Bonn; herausgegeben von Sieghard Brandenburg (Munich: G. Henle Verlag, 1996), Vol. 2, p. 77, translated in Ludwig van Beethoven, The letters of Beethoven, collected, translated and edited with an introduction, appendixes, notes and indexes by Emily Anderson (London: Macmillan, 1961), Vol. 1, p. 241. 17 On the content of Beethoven’s library see Albert Leitzmann, ed., Ludwig van Beethoven: Berichte der Zeitgenossen, Briefe, und persönliche Aufzeichnungen (Leipzig, 1921), p. 379-383 and Eveline Bartlitz, ed., Die Beethoven-Sammlung in der Musikabteilung der Deutschen Staatsbibliothek: Verzeichnis (Berlin: Herausgeber, 1970), p. 207-218. 242 Schiller. His library also shows that he had a notable predilection for serious and tragic drama, something which can also be detected in his Tagebuch. In this collection of comments and quotations there are numerous citations from dramatists such as Johann Gottfried Herder and Friedrich Ludwig Zacharias

Werner alongside quotations from Kant’s philosophical writings and Homer’s

Iliad. Most pertinently, there are several quotations that centre on ideas of fate, freedom, tragedy, and free will. For example, Beethoven quotes a passage from

Herder concerned with suffering and guilt: ‘under the tiger’s tooth I heard the sufferer pray. Thanks to you, sublime one, I die in pain but free of guilt’.18 A quotation from the Iliad carries a similar tragic resonance and is of particular interest as it bears scansion marks, suggesting that it may have been intended for a musical setting. It states: ‘but now Fate catches me! Let me not sink into the dust unresisting and inglorious, but first accomplish great things, of which future generations too shall hear’.19 There are several other passages in the

Tagebuch that address the nature of tragedy and that appear to represent

Beethoven’s own personal views on the matter. For instance, in one passage

Beethoven writes: ‘submission, deepest submission to your fate, only this can give you the sacrifices – for this matter of service’.20

The interest in serious, tragic drama and ideas of tragic suffering in Beethoven’s

Tagebuch are also reflected in some of the libretti he considered setting to

18 ‘Unter des Tigers Zahn hört’ ich den/ Leidenden beten:/ “Dank dir[,] höchster, im Schmerz sterb ich, doch/ nicht in der Schuld”’. In Maynard Solomon, Beethovens Tagebuch (Bonn: Beethoven-Haus, 1990), p. 61, translated in Maynard Solomon, Beethoven Essays (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 261. 19 ‘nun aber erhascht mich/ das Schicksal /daß nicht arbeitlos in den Staub ich sinke[,]/ noch ruhmlos[,]/ Nein erst groβes vollendet woven auch /Künftige hören’. In Maynard Solomon, Beethovens Tagebuch (Bonn: Beethoven-Haus, 1990), p. 59, translated in Maynard Solomon, Beethoven Essays (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 259. 20 Ergebenheit, innigste Ergebenheit in dein Schicksal, nur/ diese kann dir die Opfer - - - zu dem Dienstgeschäft/ geben.’ In Maynard Solomon, Beethovens Tagebuch (Bonn: Beethoven-Haus, 1990), p. 39, translated in Maynard Solomon, Beethoven Essays (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 246. 243 music.21 Although Beethoven failed to write an opera after Fidelio, he entertained ideas about writing another operatic work for the rest of his life. We know that Beethoven had considered operatic texts based on Goethe’s Faust and two by Heinrich Joseph von Collin: Bradamante and Macbeth (a revised version of Shakespeare’s play).22 None of these, however, came to fruition. According to

Ferdinand Laban, Heinrich Collin’s biographer, Beethoven deemed Macbeth too gloomy and Bradamante too supernatural.23 Beethoven, it seems, did not have

just a predilection for serious subject matter, but for a certain type of plot.

Indeed, Beethoven rejected supernatural plots in the hope of finding a libretto

that dealt with serious, human situations. In a letter to August von Kotzebue,

Beethoven outlined exactly what he sought in a libretto:

Whether it be romantic, quite serious, heroic, comic or sentimental, in short, whatever you like, I will gladly accept it. I must admit that I should like best of all some grand subject taken from history and especially from the dark ages, for instance, from the time of Attila or the like.24

21 On Beethoven and opera see Emily Anderson, 'Beethoven's Operatic Plans', Journal of the Royal Musical Association, Vol. 88, No. 1 (1961), p. 61-71 and Dyneley Hussey, 'Beethoven as a Composer of Opera', Music and Letters, Vol. 8, No. 2 (1927), p. 243-252. 22 On Beethoven and Shakespeare see Lawrence Kramer, 'The Strange Case of Beethoven's Coriolan: Romantic Aesthetics, Modern Subjectivity, and the Cult of Shakespeare', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 79, No. 2 (1995), p. 256-280, and Donald W. MacArdle, 'Shakespeare and Beethoven', The Musical Times, Vol. 105, No. 1454 (1964), p. 260-261. 23 ‘Einen Macbeth, nach Shakespeare, wollte er gleichfalls für Beethoven dichten, ließ ihn jedoch fallen, weil er “zu düster zu werden drohte.” Sein letzter Versuch, für Beethoven zu arbeiten, liegt in der vollständig beendigten Oper “Bradamante” vor. Beethoven gefiel das Sujet nicht, noch die Behandlung; er verpfändete jedoch sein Wort, auf alle Fälle die Musik dazu su schreiben’. Ferdinand Laban, H. J. Collin. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der neueren deutschen Literatur in Oesterreich. (Vienna, 1879), p. 65. 24 ’Eine oper von ihrem einzig dramatischen Genie zu besizen, möge sie romantish, ganz ernsthaft, heroisch komisch, sentimental Kurzum, wie es ihnen gefalle, werde ich sie mit Vergnügen annehmen, freylich würde mir am liebsten ein Großer Gegenstand aus der Geschichte seyn, und besonders aus den Dunkleren Zeiten z.B. des Attila etc.’ (letter from Beethoven to August von Kotzebue; Vienna, 28th January, 1812). In Ludwig van Beethoven, Briefwechsel Gesamtausgabe/ Ludwig van Beethoven; im Auftrag des Beethoven-Hauses Bonn; herausgegeben von Sieghard Brandenburg (Munich: G. Henle Verlag, 1996), Vol. 2, p. 238, translated in Ludwig van Beethoven, The letters of Beethoven, collected, translated and edited with an introduction, appendixes, notes and indexes by Emily Anderson (London: Macmillan, 1961), Vol. 1, p. 353. 244 Like Goethe, Beethoven wanted to base an opera upon an historical plot that carried an heroic, if not, tragic resonance. Setting the music for Goethe’s Egmont was probably a task that Beethoven took up with relish, the play based upon the conflict that arose as a result of the Spanish occupation of the Netherlands in the sixteenth century, focusing in particular on the figure of Count Egmont, whose execution is believed to have instigated the national uprising that led to the emancipation of the Netherlands from Spanish rule.25 Beethoven naturally took seriously the task of providing the incidental music to Goethe’s Egmont, as

Goethe was a poet that Beethoven held in high respect and the plot to Egmont

clearly reflected his own literary interests and tastes. Moreover, Beethoven

perceived Goethe’s works to be particularly well-suited to musical settings.

Indeed, Friedrich Rochlitz recalls a conversation in which Beethoven compares

the relative merits of Klopstock and Goethe:

He [Klopstock] hops about so from pillar to post; and he always begins altogether too much from top to bottom. Always Maestoso, and in Db major! Is it not so? Yet he is lofty and he uplifts the soul. When I did not understand him then I made my guess and comprehended more or less. If only he did not want to die all the time! Death comes soon enough to all of us. Well, at any rate, what he writes always sounds well. But Goethe – he is alive, and he wants us all to live with him. That is why he can be set to music.26

25 For a discussion of Goethe’s Egmont see Benjamin Bennett, Modern Drama and German Classicism: Renaissance from Lessing to Brecht (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1979), p. 121-187, John M. Ellis, 'Once Again, Egmont's Political Judgement: A Reply', German Life and Letters, Vol. 34, No. 3 (1981), p. 344-349, Irmgard Hobson, 'Oranien and Alba: The Two Political Dialogues in Egmont', Germanic Review, Vol. 50 (1975), p. 7-36, Paul E. Kerry, Enlightenment Thought in the Writings of Goethe (Rochester: Camden House, 2001), p. 53-75, Roger A. Nicholls, 'Egmont and the Vision of Freedom', German Quarterly, Vol. 43 (1970), p. 188-198, George A. Wells, 'Criticism and the Quest for Analogies: Some Recent Discussions of Goethe's Egmont', New German Studies, Vol. 15 (1988-1989), p. 1-15, George A. Wells, 'Critical Issues Concerning Goethe's Egmont', German Life and Letters, Vol. 32, No. 4 (1978-1979), p. 301-307 and Elizabeth M. Wilkinson, 'The Relation of Form and Meaning in Goethe's Egmont', in Goethe: Poet and Thinker, ed. Leonard Ashley Willoughby and Elizabeth M. Wilkinson (London: Arnold, 1962), p. 55-75 26 ‘Er springt so herum; er fängt auch immer gar zu weit von oben herunter an; immer Maestoso! Des dur! Nicht? Uber er ist doch Groß und hebt die Seele. Wo ich ihn nicht verstand, da rieth ich doch – so ungefähr. Wenn er nur nicht immer sterben wollte! Das kömmt so wohl Zeit genug. Nun: wenigstens klingt’s immer gut u.s.w. Uber der Göthe: der lebt, und wir Alle sollen mitleben’. Johann Friedrich Rochlitz, Für Freunde der Tonkunst. (Leipzig: Carl Enobloch, 245 According to Rochlitz, Beethoven understood Goethe’s poetry to be full of life and thought it was possible with Goethe’s work for music to emphasise and enlarge the meaning of the text. In fact, Beethoven had already set several of

Goethe’s poems before coming to write Egmont: Maigesang (sometime before

1796), Marmotte (c.1790-92), Neue Liebe, neues Leben (1798/9, revised in 1809), four settings of Sehnsucht (1807-8), Es war einmal ein König (1809), and Mignon (1809).

From Beethoven’s interest in serious, tragic literature and his particular penchant for the works of Goethe, we can safely assume that his understanding of the play would have not been superficial or trivial.

Goethe’s Egmont and Beethoven’s Overture

Goethe’s Egmont is in five acts and centres upon the life of the noble hero and bon prince, Count Egmont. He is the voice of the people, an attribute that is underlined by the fact that he has fallen in love with Klärchen - a member of the townsfolk. The story focuses upon the tense political feeling that has arisen between the Netherlanders and the Spanish monarchy, which the King believes

(or chooses to believe), is the result of the power held by the native princes, princes such as Egmont and Orange, who have often sided with the

Netherlanders, rather than the monarchy. The King sends Count Alba to execute the princes in an attempt to ‘restore’ peace and warn any rebellious townsfolk of the consequences they may face if they disobey the monarch.

While the other princes and princesses flee, Egmont decides to stay with his people, convinced that the Spanish rule would never turn against him. Egmont decides to meet with Alba and defend both his position and that of his people.

Egmont’s words, however, fall on deaf ears and he is imprisoned and sentenced to execution. On hearing of Egmont’s impending death, Klärchen attempts to round the townsfolk together in an effort to save him. Despite her attempts she finds nobody that is willing to help as the townsfolk all fear for their lives.

1824-32),Vol. 4, p. 356-357, translated in O. G. Sonneck, ed., Beethoven: Impressions by his Contemporaries (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1954), p. 126. 246 Klärchen in a state of despair poisons herself, not only because she has lost the one she loves, but because her people have also lost their leader and protector.

The play, however, does not end with a feeling of tragedy, but with a feeling of victory. Indeed, as Egmont ascends the scaffold, he does so under the impression that his death will cause a revolution that will eventually result in the liberation of his people. As he exclaims upon the scaffold: ‘I die for the liberty I lived for and fought for, and to which I am now a passive sacrifice’.27

Beethoven’s Egmont overture appears to encompass several of the plot’s main dramatic ideas and characters through the employment of a variety of different musical ideas and the manipulation of a sonata form structure. In the following analysis I aim to show that the overture is not just a sonata form movement, but an introductory piece of music that is based upon and, perhaps, even dependent upon the literary and narrative structure of the work it introduces.

As Martha Calhoun states, ‘the Egmont Overture works differently from music with generically “absolute” titles (e.g., Quartet in F major) where the musical structure generates more exclusively musical meanings’.28 In short, the Egmont overture can be understood not only as a concert work, but as a work that is fundamentally dramatic, as a work that attempts to engage directly with ideas of literary drama and tragedy.

Before I begin my analysis, I will outline the basic sonata form structure of the overture so that my analysis is easier to follow. I do not wish, however, for sonata form terminology to overshadow the importance of particular passages or mask the fluidity of the work. Indeed, I believe that in the Egmont overture

27 ‘Auch ich schreite einem ehrenvollen Tode aus diesem Kerker entgegen; ich sterbe für die Freiheit für die ich lebte und focht, und der ich mich jetzt leidend opfre’. In Johann W. Goethe, Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens Münchner Ausgabe: Italien und Weimar: 1786-1790, edited by Norbert Miller und Hartmut Reinhardt (Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1990), p. 329, in Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Egmont: a tragedy in five acts, translated and with an introduction by Charles E. Passage (New York: Frederick Ungar, 1984), p. 102. 28 Martha Calhoun, 'Music as Subversive Text: Beethoven, Goethe and the Overture to Egmont', Mosaic, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1987), p. 44. 247 the introduction, transitional passages, and coda are just as important to the musical narrative as the so-called main themes of a sonata form.

Conflict and Coalescence: Egmont’s Tragic Conflict

The opening bars of Beethoven’s overture immediately set the tone for Goethe’s play. The slow tempo, minor key signature, and sustained-note opening all suggest that the work is of a tragic nature, the overture harking back to the overtures to Gluck’s Alceste and Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Like the Alceste overture, the Egmont overture opens with an opposition between two contrasting musical motifs: a forte sarabande motif for strings, and a soft, lyrical passage for woodwind (see Ex. 1a).

248

249

Example 1a: Ludwig van Beethoven, Musik zu Johann Wolfgang von

Goethes Trauerspiel “Egmont”, Ouvertüre, bars 1-9.29

The opening sarabande rhythm is, no doubt, intended to represent the Spanish presence in the play, the sarabande a dance of supposed Spanish origin that was popular during the eighteenth century.30 The slow tempo, minor key and marcato marking provides an additional narrative layer to the sarabande motif by furnishing it with a feeling of power and foreboding, perhaps intended to

29 All examples taken from Helmut Hell [et al.], ed., Ludwig van Beethoven: Werke (München: Henle, 1998). 30 Wye Jamison Allanbrook and Wendy Hilton have noted the importance of dance rhythms in eighteenth-century music and how they are used to dramatic effect. See Wye Jamison Allanbrook and Wendy Hilton, 'Dance Rhythms in Mozart's Arias', Early Music, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1992), p. 142-149. Also see Wye Jamison Allanbrook, Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) and Leonard G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schirmer Books, 1980), p. 9-30. 250 represent the dominant role played by the Spanish monarchy in Goethe’s drama. The contrapuntal passage that follows, by contrast, is not overbearing or forceful, consisting of a series of sighing figures, marked piano. These lyrical figures are most probably intended to represent the suffering and anguish of the Netherlander community, as exemplified in the opening scene of the play.

The overture’s opening bars, then, do not have the ominous supernatural tone of the overtures to Alceste and Don Giovanni, and present the listener with a musical presentation of the main conflict of the play between the Spanish rule and the Netherlanders. Beethoven clearly perceives the conflict between the

Spanish and the Netherlanders to lie at the play’s dramatic epicentre. In fact, in the sketches for the overture, Beethoven wrote that ‘the thing to remember is the Netherlanders in the end defeat the Spanish’.31 In sum, the main conflict of play is made clear from the very beginning of his overture through the juxtaposition of a powerful Spanish sarabande motif with a series of soft and lyrical sighing figures.

Intriguingly, at bar 15 the stark musical opposition subsides and the two motifs appear to coalesce; the two previously opposed forces are now unified, almost negating the conflict established in the opening bars. At this point in the overture, developmental musical procedures appear to take precedence over the musical narrative. For Ludvig Misch, though, there is a substantial difference between the opening lyrical motif and the motif that appears in the violins at bar 15 (compare motif a and motif b in Ex. 2):32

31 ‘Der Hauptpunkt ist, daß die Niederländer die Spanier zuletzt besiegen’. See Adolf Fecker, Die Entstehung von Beethoven Musik zu Goethes Trauerpsiel Egmont: Eine Abhandlung uber die Skizzen (Hamburg: Wagner, 1978), p. 17. 32 Ludvig Misch, Beethoven Studies (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1953), p. 85-86. 251 ‘motif a’

motif b

Example 2: Ouvertüre, bars 10-17.

Misch’s insistence on the independence of these two motifs (motif a and motif b in the above example) stems from his view of the overture as based upon ‘the dramatic “conflict of two principles” – in the sonata sense – [which] probably coincided from the very beginning with the antithesis Egmont-Alba’.33 Misch dedicates a good portion of his analysis to identifying the differences between these two lyrical motifs, so as to retain his view of the opening bars of overture as based upon a conflict of two principles. Although he is right to identify some

33 Ibid., p. 101. 252 of the differences between the two motifs, such as their different intervallic content, he avoids mentioning their striking similarities. For instance, they are comparable in their contour, both motifs having an overall descending melodic line; they are both constructed from predominantly stepwise movement of either a tone or a semitone; and both motifs are lyrical in nature, having slurred markings and a soft dynamic. Despite Misch’s best efforts to show that these two motifs have fundamentally different melodic and rhythmic constructions, I do not believe the connection between the two motifs can be ignored, even if this does present a problem for a narrative reading of the overture. It seems that in bar 15 Beethoven gives precedence to the musical development of motifs at the expense of the overture’s overall narrative, the union of the two motifs going against the dramatic conflict of the play, which, as Beethoven indicates, is based on the irresolvable opposition between Spanish and Netherland forces.

This passage, however, might make more sense if we explore Goethe’s narrative in a little more detail, as the play is not just centred on the conflict of two nations, but also explores a conflict that exists within the main character,

Egmont. For Irmgard Hobson, the crux of Goethe’s play lies with Egmont’s crisis of conscience.34 Hobson claims that one of the key features of the play is

Egmont’s misguided loyalty; Egmont refuses to believe that the Spanish government would turn against him, causing him to remain loyal to his superiors and his monarch. Indeed, in the play Egmont is not portrayed as an anti-Spanish character, nor is he made out to be a revolutionary figure. For example, in a scene with Klärchen (Act III, scene 2) we see Egmont proudly exhibit his Golden Fleece and in the scene with Orange (Act II, scene 2) we see

Egmont reject Orange’s suggestion of revolution and rebellion on the grounds that it would result in the death of innocent people. His trust and loyalty in the

34 Irmgard Hobson, 'Oranien and Alba: The Two Political Dialogues in Egmont', Germanic Review, Vol. 50 (1975), p. 7-36. 253 Spanish government, however, is what causes his downfall. His unquestioned loyal nature, in effect, becomes his tragic flaw.

Benjamin Bennett offers a similar view of Egmont’s character, persuasively arguing that Goethe’s play is concerned less with the external conflict between the Netherlanders and the Spanish - good versus evil - and more with a conflict within Egmont, the maelstrom of the self, as he terms it.35 In a sense, Bennett’s view of Egmont is not considerably different from that of Hobson’s. For

Bennett, Egmont’s fate is intimately connected to his character. As he states,

‘fate does not merely happen but is determined from within, as the inborn law of one’s being’.36 The drama, for Bennett and Hobson, then, lies not with the external circumstances in which Egmont is placed, but results from a conflict within Egmont; it is Egmont’s misunderstanding of the events and world around him that causes his demise.

While the initial opening bars may have been intended to portray the external conflict between the Spanish and the Netherlanders, the bringing together of the two motifs at bar 15 might suggest that Beethoven had a subtle understanding of Goethe’s play, the coalescence of the motifs representing the conflict that exists within Egmont. Interestingly, for Ernst Oster, the opening 24 bars are unified by a background motif of a descending fourth.37 In his opinion, even the stark opening conflict forms part of a larger, unified structure. The introduction to the overture, then, gets right to the heart of the play’s subject matter, appearing to hint not only at the play’s external dramatic conflict, but also at the more subtle conflict within Egmont’s character.

35 Benjamin Bennett, Modern Drama and German Classicism: Renaissance from Lessing to Brecht (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1979), p. 121-150. 36 Ibid., p. 128. 37 Ernst Oster, 'The Dramatic Character of the Egmont Overture', in Aspects of Schenkerian Theory, ed. David Beach (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), p. 209-222. 254 The Allegro: An Heroic or Melancholic Theme?

At bar 25 the music begins to move in a new direction: the tempo changes to allegro and the time signature to 3/4. This is the beginning of the exposition.

Indeed, a new theme enters the texture at bar 28, although one that bears the imprint of the lyrical motif b of the introduction (Ex. 3):

Example 3: Ouvertüre, bars 25-34.

The sfp markings and fast tempo furnish the theme with an heroic quality that suggests this theme could be indicative of the character of Egmont in the play.

Its descending melodic line and semitone appoggiatura (c’-db’-c’), however, provide a melancholic tone that almost seems to counter this view. In addition, although the theme begins with a dramatic thrust, I feel it soon loses momentum and direction. The dynamic drive that Scott Burnham sees as a defining characteristic of Beethoven’s heroic works seems absent from this allegro passage.38 Indeed, when compared to, say, Leonore’s heroic Act I aria from Beethoven’s Fidelio (Komm, Hoffnung, lass den letzen Stern), the overture’s main theme pales in comparison, as it lacks the same forward-driven quality. In

Leonore’s aria the key is an affirmative E major, the vocal line is virtuosic yet controlled, the horns hint at battle (and foreshadow the opera’s triumphant trumpet call), and the music surges forth with an impressive drive that breaks

38 Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995). In particular Chapter Two: Musical Values, p. 29-65. 255 through the aria’s structural barriers. The allegro of the overture does not have the same energy, build-up, or trajectory of Leonore’s aria; the theme’s opening sfp, which is emphasised by the fact that the basses accompany the theme’s first two notes, provides an initial kinetic energy, but I believe this has the subsequent effect of making the theme appear to lose momentum in the next few bars, the cellos descending into the depths of the bass register. This is compounded by the fact that cello melody is drowned out by the string accompaniment; the violins usurp the melodic line in bars 31-32 only to play a semitonal sighing figure that takes away from the ‘heroic’ feel of the passage and adds to the overall air of melancholy.

Although the opening theme of the allegro may not have the heroic drive of

Leonore’s aria, I think it provides an interesting musical portrait of the character of Egmont. As noted by Bennett, Egmont is not a hero who grapples with his fate, but a rather naive character who believes his (understanding of) fate and of the world around him will lead him to make the right political and moral decisions. It is, however, Egmont’s blind faith in his own beliefs and his own moral values that brings about his catastrophic end. I think Beethoven’s theme characterises this aspect of Egmont’s character; the theme balances an air of courage and conviction with a sense that all is not well, the melancholy aspect of the theme providing a feeling of discomfort. In a sense, the melancholic theme can be thought of as host to an internal musical conflict that parallels the dramatic conflict within Egmont in the play. Unlike the overtures of Gluck and Mozart, in the Egmont overture the musical argument appears to result from not just the juxtaposition and superimposition of contrasting musical elements, but through the creation of a theme that appears to express two conflicting ideas: heroism and melancholy. In a sense, a connection can be made between this theme in the overture and the theme that opens Beethoven’s

Eroica Symphony. In the Eroica, musical conflict results not from an opposition of two musical ideas, but from the unstable nature of the opening theme, the

256 enigmatic C# that occurs at bar 6 challenging the authority of the Eb major tonic key. In short, the unstable quality of these two themes is their defining element and provides the music with a sense of musical conflict and of unease.

Breakthrough: Egmont’s Heroic Motif

At bar 37 the music texture changes once again (Ex. 4). The use of a repeated rhythmic figure and dominant pedal in the basses gives this passage a sense of drive and of forward momentum, possibly suggesting that this passage will function as a transitional passage to a second key area. This section, however, occupies nearly twice as much musical space as the main, melancholic theme that opened the allegro and, as it turns out, does not actually push the harmony in a new direction. Indeed, at bar 59 F minor is emphatically recovered. This passage, in my opinion, is structurally unusual, as it occupies far more space than the main theme and in gestural terms seems to have more in common with music associated with a transitional passage than first section material. This passage can be explained, however, with reference to Beethoven’s compositional techniques and the narrative of Goethe’s play.

motif c

Example 4: Ouvertüre, bars 35-45 (only string section shown).

257 At bar 42 a new rhythmic motif enters the texture: three quavers followed a crotchet, the crotchet each time occurring on the first beat of the bar (motif c).39

Although the motif has no specific melodic identity, the large number of repetitions provides it with a clear rhythmic persona. What I think is particularly interesting about this motif, though, is that it is a motif that appears, in various guises and contexts, in a number of Beethoven’s works and, in particular, works of his so-called heroic period. This four-note rhythmic figure has been given a variety of different names, including the ‘heroic’ motif, the ‘fate’ motif and, the less programmatically inspired, ‘four-note’ motif. For

Michael Broyles, the motif is nothing more than a stylistic borrowing, Broyles noting the appearance of the motif in several French Revolutionary works that pre-date Beethoven’s usage. He draws attention to Cherubini and Mehul’s use of the motif in their French Revolutionary music and, in particular, notes the prevalence of the motif in Cherubini’s overture to Médée. Both these composers we know Beethoven greatly admired, causing Broyles to conclude that the motif is nothing more than an inherited stylistic trait.40 Beethoven’s frequent use of the motif and the prominent position he gives to it in a number of his works, however, suggests that it is more than just a stylistic trait.

The motif’s programmatic associations mentioned above stem from an early anecdote about the first movement to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, which opens with a similar rhythmic figure. In his biography of Beethoven, Schindler claims that on asking the composer the meaning of the opening bars to the Fifth

Symphony, he replied that ‘fate knocks at the door’.41 For Burnett James, ‘the prevalence of the rhythm of the “fate” motif in Beethoven’s music is in no way

39 The motif, in a way, is anticipated by the preceding six bars, the violas and cellos incorporating the motif as part of their overall melodic line. 40 Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven's Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior Music Publishing Co., 1987), p. 121-123. 41 ‘So pocht das Schicksal an die Pfort!’ Anton Schindler, Biographie von Ludwig van Beethoven (Münster, 1840), p. 241, translated in Anton Schindler, Beethoven as I knew him: a biography by Anton Felix Schindler, translated by Donald W. MacArdle (London: Faber and Faber, 1966), p. 147. 258 surprising, because it symbolized for him the kernel of a fundamental conflict’.42 James understands the motif to have a primarily dramatic function, associating the motif with ideas of ‘heroic aspiration’.43 Maynard Solomon, however, asks that caution should be used when looking at the motif as it ‘is never used twice for the same purpose and never in rhetorical contexts remotely similar to those employed in the Fifth Symphony’.44

The use of the motif in the Egmont overture is certainly different from that of the fifth symphony. For a start the motif in the fifth symphony appears in a 2/4 context, whereas in the Egmont overture it is used in 3/4. In addition, the motif is used in the overture as part of a melodic sequence over a dominant pedal on

C, which is accompanied by a crescendo from bar 46.45 The persistent rhythmic repetition of the four-note motif, its melodic incline, and the harmonic tension generated by the dominant pedal furnish this passage with a kinetic energy and drive that was lacking in the previous material; at this point in the overture, the music gains both dynamism and direction. The rhetorical context of the four- note motif in this overture is certainly different from its use in the Fifth

Symphony, where the motif is used, at least at first, as a gestural, static, and omnipotent statement.46 The repetitive, rhythmic structure of this passage in the

Egmont overture makes for quite a contrast, the motif almost articulating the passing of time and giving the listener a distinct sense of temporal awareness. I believe the harmonic pedal adds to this effect as it places the listener in a state

42 Burnett James, Beethoven and Human Destiny (London: Phoenix House, 1960), p. 65. 43 Ibid., p. 64. 44 Maynard Solomon, Beethoven (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), p. 205. 45 James notes that the four-note motif frequently occurs in Beethoven’s works in the key of C minor and it is perhaps worth noting that this was the key Beethoven originally intended for the Egmont overture. See Burnett James, Beethoven and Human Destiny (London: Phoenix House, 1960), p. 65 and for a discussion of Beethoven’s use of C minor see Michael C. Tusa, 'Beethoven's "C-Minor Mood": Some Thoughts on the Structural Implications of Key Choice', Beethoven Forum, Vol. 2 (1993), p. 1-28. 46 Maynard Solomon, Beethoven (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), p. 205. 259 of harmonic expectation; the listener is led to expect a perfect cadence in F minor.47

Susanne Langer has commented upon music’s ability to toy with temporality and present ‘an image of subjective time’.48 For Langer, music is able to communicate experienced time. By this she means the way in which we perceive or feel duration, the way in which time sometimes feels as if it drags, flies by, or even stops. Musical time, she perceives, as having not only duration, but also volume. In the overture, Beethoven contrasts two types of musical time: the more spacious, voluptuous portrayal of time associated with the

melancholic theme, and the clock-ticking, forward-driven temporality of the

passage incorporating the heroic motif.49 Indeed, in this passage it is as if, to use

Susanne Langer’s phrase, the music is used to make time audible.50

This passage in the overture provides a temporal contrast with the musical material that has preceded it. Indeed, unlike the previous material, this passage is forward driven and has a clearly marked goal, the dominant C-major chord pushing the music back into F minor at bar 59. In a sense, it functions in the

47 Susan McClary argues that one way in which music can function as narrative is through its manipulation of harmonic expectation. See Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1991). 48 Susanne K. Langer, Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from Philosophy in a New Key (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Limited, 1953), p. 118. 49 David B. Greene has argued that Beethoven frequently manipulates musical time in his works to achieve dramatic effects. Greene claims that Beethoven toys with ideas of musical preparation, climax and arrival in an effort to produce feelings of conflict, tension, attainment and failure. Although Greene does not focus upon the Egmont overture, this overture may provide another example of where Beethoven exploits and explores different temporal structures to help foster a sense of drama. See David B. Greene, Temporal Processes in Beethoven's Music (New York: Gordon and Breach Science Publishers, 1982). On Beethoven and temporality see also Jonathan Kramer, 'Multiple and Non-Linear Time in Beethoven's Opus 135', Perspectives of New Music, Vol. 11, No. 2 (1973), p. 122-145. 50 Susanne K. Langer, Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from Philosophy in a New Key (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Limited, 1953), p.110. 260 manner of one of Adorno’s ‘Mahlerian breakthroughs’ (Durchbruch).51 For

Adorno, ‘breakthrough’ delimits a moment of musical rupture that pushes the music into a new direction. The rupture, according to Adorno, ‘originates from beyond the music’s intrinsic movement, intervening from outside’.52 In short, breakthrough is a moment in which the music takes a sudden turn and moves in a new direction; it is not expected by the listener and is unprepared. As

James Buhler notes, breakthrough ‘differs from simple interruption in having not just local, but also large-scale formal consequences’.53 This is certainly the effect created by the passage that hosts the four-note motif. Quite unexpectedly the music takes an entirely different direction forging a new musical path. Be that as it may, this passage does not have same musical or narrative function as, say, the trumpet call in Fidelio, which Adorno cites as an early example of musical breakthrough. Indeed, in the 1814 version of Fidelio the trumpet call is used to mark a distinct change between two, distinct world orders.54 By contrast, the heroic motif in the Egmont overture does not represent a new musical world, but a move in a new direction. It is representative of progress, rather than attainment and is used to provide the music with a sense of momentum, the motif, in a sense, surging forth in a search for harmonic stability.

Jerrold Levinson has suggested that one of the reasons why music is perceived to have a narrative capacity is because it appears to communicate a series of

51 Theodor W. Adorno, Mahler: Eine musikalische Physiognomik (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1960), in Theodor W. Adorno, Mahler: a musical physiognomy, translated by Edmund Jephcott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 52 ‘Der Riß erfolgt von drüben, jenseits der eigenen Bewegung der Musik’. Theodor W. Adorno, Mahler: Eine musikalische Physiognomik (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1960), p. 11, translated in Theodor W. Adorno, Mahler: a musical physiognomy, translated by Edmund Jephcott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), p. 5. 53 James Buhler, '"Breakthrough" as Critique of Form: The Finale of Mahler's First Symphony', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1996), p. 129. 54 See Theodor W. Adorno, Mahler: Eine musikalische Physiognomik (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1960), p. 11, translated in Theodor W. Adorno, Mahler: a musical physiognomy, translated by Edmund Jephcott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), p. 5. 261 actions and has a kind of agency.55 As he states, ‘one hears the music doing something, something it is not literally doing’.56 Fred Maus is of a very similar opinion, claiming that

In listening to a piece, it is as though one follows a series of actions that are performed now, before one’s ears, not that merely one learns of what someone…did years ago. And in following the musical actions, it is as though the future of the agent is open - as though what he will do next is not already determined.57

In my opinion, it is not simply that music has agency, but that it can create the illusion of agency and toy with a listener’s perception of time. As I have shown in chapter one, Gluck’s Alceste attempts to suspend the listener’s perception of time through a process of intense absorption, the overture presenting a series of musical pictures that are not derived from one another, but to be understood as if placed side by side. The narrative of Gluck’s Alceste, in my opinion, does not arise from the ordering of these musical images, but stems from their overall relationship to one another. Beethoven’s overture appears to present the listener with a different type of narrative: while the opening statement provides the listener with a pictorial and almost static portrayal of the Spanish-Netherlander conflict, the repeated, ascending statements of the four-note motif furnishes the passage from bar 42 with a sense of agency, creating the illusion that it is the motif that is generating the musical structure, forging its own path and seeking out its own musical goal.

The four-note motif, however, appears to lose its sense of momentum and direction, grinding at bar 56 to a halt, repeatedly asserting a d¨’’. The motif appears to have reached its uppermost limit, resulting in a stark dissonance between the motif’s d¨’’ and the C-pedal in the bass. Despite the motif’s

55 Jerrold Levinson, 'Music as Narrative and Music as Drama', Mind & Language, Vol. 19, No. 4 (2004), p. 428-441. 56 Ibid., p. 430. 57 Fred E. Maus, 'Music as Drama', Music Theory Spectrum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1988), p. 67. 262 repeated attempts, it fails to continue its ascent, the two attempts to overcome the “problematic” Db only serving to accentuate the dissonant, semitone clash and provide the passage with a tortured climax. The four-note motif, it seems, fails to achieve breakthrough and at bar 59 we are thrust back to the melancholic world of the opening of the allegro. The return of melancholy theme, however, differs from its initial presentation and this time has an almost stoic quality; the sfp markings are now replaced by fortissimo markings, woodwind and brass are added to the texture, and timpani provide thundering fortissimo rolls. Despite the stronger presentation of the theme, the failure of the four-note motif to achieve breakthough provides the overture with a sense of dissatisfaction and, as I shall explore in more detail later, helps furnish the overture with a tragic narrative that mirrors the narrative of the play which centres upon Egmont’s repeated and unsuccessful attempts to save his people and, indeed, himself.

After two statements of the melancholic, descending theme, the four-note motif returns once again, but this time accompanied by a tonic pedal. The melodic structure of the motif is also different, the motif ascending by a fourth, rather than descending by a tone (or semitone) as it had in bars 34-46. The ascending contour of the motif and its increased melodic range, combined with the tonic pedal and melodic sequence, give this passage a far more determined trajectory.

Indeed, the motif almost immediately attempts to tackle the Db that had held it back the first time. This time the motif succeeds and goes beyond the Db, ascending to the tonic note, F, a third above. In this passage it seems the motif reaches its melodic goal (see Ex. 5). At bar 74, jubilant music usurps the musical narrative, possibly intended to emphasise the motif’s melodic achievement.

Triadic motifs, an orchestral tutti, sf markings and major key harmonies all heighten the sense of victory. At bar 81 it appears that the overture has reached its programmatic conclusion; breakthrough is achieved; the Netherlanders have defeated the Spanish. There is, however, one problem: while the motif may

263 have achieved its melodic goal, the overture is far from achieving its harmonic goal. Despite the gestural effects that are more indicative of codas and codettas, this triumphant passages actually serves as a harmonic transition to the key of

A¨ major.

Example 5: Ouvertüre, bars 67-78.

For Burnham, ‘the sustained experiential intensity of continuous renewals felt throughout a sonata-form movement in the heroic style can he heard as a

264 metaphor for the stations of a hero’s progress’.58 Applying Burnham’s theory of

Beethoven’s heroic style to the Egmont overture would imply that this jubilant passage is indicative of a station in Egmont’s heroic progress in the play.

Burnham’s understanding of the overture, however, is clouded by his belief that Beethoven’s heroic works have a narrative design that parallels the German

Bildungsroman novel.59 Bildungsroman novels centre upon the intellectual evolution of a character as they learn about the world around them. In short, they portray the main protagonist in a constant state of ‘becoming’, or Bildung.

The problem with Burnham’s thesis is that he subsumes all of Beethoven’s heroic works into this single and overarching literary and narrative framework.

Goethe’s Egmont, though, does not fit this narrative design. Indeed,

Bildungsroman is not a generic designation appropriate for spoken drama, and is more suited to the narrative design of epic novels such as Goethe’s Wilhelm

Meisters Lehrjahre. The narrative of Goethe’s play, moreover, is by no means epic, the entire action of drama occurring in no more than twenty-four hours. In addition, we know that Goethe designated his play a Trauerspiel, a genre that has a much closer link with the determinate and dramatic structure of tragedy, than with the more open-ended, evolving nature of the Bildungsroman. Indeed, the crux of Goethe’s play lies with the fact that Egmont does not grow and learn; it is his inability to change that constitutes his tragic flaw. Because

Burnham’s study of Beethoven’s Egmont overture fails to appreciate the subtleties of Goethe’s drama, his subsequent analysis of the overture does not explore some of what I hear as some of the overture’s more tragic features. In fact, in Burnham analysis a large portion of the overture is not discussed,

58 Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 119. For a critique of Burnham’s book see Michael Spitzer, 'Convergences: Criticism, Analysis and Beethoven Reception', Music Analysis, Vol. 16, No. 3 (1997), p. 369-391. 59 It should be noted that ‘Bildungsroman' was not a term used during the eighteenth century, but works to these works in retrospect in the first-half of the nineteenth century. On the Bildungsroman see, in particular, James Hardin, ed., Reflection and Action: Essays on the Bildungsroman (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1991), Todd Kontje, The German Bildungsroman: History of a National Genre (Columbia: Camden House, 1993), Michael Minden, The German Bildungsroman: Incest and Inheritance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) and Margaret Scholl, The Bildungsdrama of the Age of Goethe (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1976). 265 Burnham being more interested in interpreting the victorious coda. It is only by ignoring these darker elements to the overture, however, that Burnham is albe to locate the Egmont overture within his theory of heroism and Bildungsroman narratives.

Ignoring the tragic elements to this overture, however, I believe distorts our view of what exactly constitutes an ‘heroic’ work and possible even masks what

Beethoven might having been seeking to express in works such as the Egmont overture. In my opinion, this overture hosts a dark and tragic narrative that does not tell a story of a man who overcomes his struggles, but of man who constantly misunderstands his situation and the world around him. Indeed, the passage that occurs at bar 74, although jubilant and heroic in tone, actually hosts an underlying tension. While gesturally the music may suggest victory and closure, by bar 74 the harmony has already begun to move from the tonic key of F minor to the dominant of A¨ major. This passage, then, functions as a transitional passage, the E¨ pedal preparing the listener for the second section and key area of the sonata form. The trajectory of the four-note motif, then, was misguided; the jubilant music of bars 74-81 is not stable, but transitory, the music moving towards a new key area. In sum, the jubilant passage does not represent victory nor closure, but false attainment.

Despite the four-note motif’s heroic and determined trajectory, it once again fails to achieve breakthrough. In my mind, a connection can be made between the four-note motif and the inner force that drives Egmont in the play.

Throughout the play Egmont persistently tries to resolve the increasingly fraught situation between the Netherlanders and the Spanish, but his judgment of the situation is constantly clouded by his own personal values and perspective. As a result, his decisions never serve to temper the dramatic situation, only intensify it, each decision he makes pushing him closer and closer towards his tragic end.

266 Fatal Attraction: Tragedy, Trauerspiel and the Demonic

This element of Egmont’s character - his naivety and supposed lack of political insight - has sparked much criticism concerning the tragic nature of Goethe’s play. Schiller was one of the earliest critics to point out that Egmont never faces any kind of tragic conflict and that his death results from his own irresponsibility rather than from any sort of tragic flaw or dilemma.60 For

Martin Swales, however, Goethe’s Egmont is host to a tragic conflict, but a conflict of which Egmont is actually unaware.61 Swales states that ‘Egmont is impelled by personal motives, by notions of being true to himself, without considering the possibility that there is another kind of integrity which demands he be true to other people’.62 For Swales, throughout the play Egmont takes a very personal approach to the political situation and frequently speaks in subjective terms. As Swales observes, Egmont rejects civil war because he sees it as unnecessary and he does not want to see any more bloodshed.

Similarly, in the scene with Orange, Egmont’s naive understanding of the political situation is made evident from his refusal to believe that the Spanish government would turn against him. It is Egmont’s loyalty to the Spanish government, as Hobson also notes, that clouds his view of the political situation.63 Egmont fails to comprehend that his views and beliefs are not the same as those of everyone else and that his actions do not necessarily represent the best course of action. As Swales states, Egmont is ‘in many ways a simple person, who fails to perceive that his very consistency within himself implies

60 See Friedrich Schiller, ‘Über Egmont, Trauerspiel von Goethe’ in Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Egmont, edited by H. M. Waidson (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960), p. 84-94. The review first appeared in the Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung, Vol. 3, No. 227 (20th September, 1788). For a discussion of the review see David G. John, Images of Goethe through Schiller's Egmont (Montreal & Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press, 1998), Lesley Sharp, 'Schiller and Goethe's 'Egmont'', Modern Language Review, Vol. 77, No. 3 (1982), p. 629-645. 61 Martin W. Swales, 'A Questionable Politician: A Discussion of the Ending to Goethe's Egmont', Modern Language Review, Vol. 66 (1971), p. 832-840. 62 Ibid., p. 835. 63 Irmgard Hobson, 'Oranien and Alba: The Two Political Dialogues in Egmont', Germanic Review, Vol. 50 (1975), p. 7-36. 267 inconsistency with regard to the outside world which has claims upon him’.64

Goethe’s tragedy, then, is a tragedy of character; it is a tragedy of man against the world around him. As Goethe states in his autobiography, Wahrheit und

Dichtung, ‘the personal bravery that distinguishes this hero is the foundation on which his character rests, and the soil from which it sprouts. Recognizing no danger, he is blind to the greatest peril threatening him’.65 For Goethe, it is

Egmont’s blinkered understanding of the situation that forms the dramatic premise of the play. In this respect, a connection can be made between Goethe’s approach to tragedy and character in Egmont and the tragedies of Shakespeare,

in particular Hamlet and Macbeth.66 Indeed, Goethe’s claim that Egmont’s fate stems from his character and inner nature is certainly indicative of a “modern” approach to tragedy. According to Aristotle, the most important element of tragic drama was the action, whereas for Goethe and, indeed, for Friedrich

Schiller, character played an equal if not more important role. As stated in their joint essay, On Epic and Dramatic Poetry:

The topics of epic and tragedy should be purely human, significant and emotional: those characters are best who live on a certain level of culture, where action is dependent on the character himself, where he is active neither morally, nor politically nor mechanically but personally.67

64 Martin W. Swales, 'A Questionable Politician: A Discussion of the Ending to Goethe's Egmont', Modern Language Review, Vol. 66 (1971), p. 836. 65 ‘Die persönalishe Tapferkeit, die den Helden auszeichnet, ist die Base auf der sein ganzes Wesen ruht, der Grund und Boden aus dem es hervorsproßt. Er kennt keine Gefahr, und verblendet sich über die Größte die sich ihm nähert’. In Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens Münchner Ausgabe: Aus meinem Leben: Dichtung und Wahreit, edited by Peter Sprengel (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1985), p. 821, translated in Johann Wolfgang Goethe, From My Life: Poetry and Truth (Part Four: Campaign in France 1792/ Siege of Mainz), translated Robert R. Heitner and Thomas P. Saine, notes by Thomas P. Saine (New York: Suhrkamp Publishers, 1987), p. 597. 66 We know that both Schiller and Goethe were familiar with the works of Shakespeare and in their correspondence they dedicate several discussions to his tragedies. On the impact of Shakespeare’s drama on Goethe and Schiller see Roger Paulin, The Critical Reception of Shakespeare in Germany 1682-1914: Native Literature and Foreign Genius (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 2003). 67 ‘Die Gegenstände des Epos und der Tragödie sollten rein menschlich, bedeutend und pathetisch seyn: die Personen stehen am besten auf einem gewissen Grade der Cultur, wo die Selbstthätigkeit noch auf sich allein angewiesen ist, wo man nicht moralisch, politisch, mechanisch, sondern persönlich wirkt’. In Friedrich Schiller, Schillers Werke, Philosophische 268 In the opinion of Goethe and Schiller, tragic drama should explore the complex relationship/conflict between man and nature. In effect, they are guilty of misreading Greek tragedy, adapting it to suit their own dramatic ideals and beliefs.68 The difference between modern tragedy and that of the ancient

Greeks, however, was something of which Goethe was well aware. In fact, the idea of writing a tragedy in the Greek manner caused him much anxiety, the perceived artistic perfection of the Greek models weighing heavily upon his artistic temperament. In a letter to Schiller, Goethe laments that:

I myself could never succeed in working on any tragic situation without a lively pathological interest. Therefore I avoided them rather than look for them. Should it be another of the privileges of the ancients that the highest pathos was only an aesthetic game with them, whereas with us natural truth must cooperate in order to produce such a work? I do not know myself sufficiently to realize whether I could write a true tragedy, and I am almost afraid that I might destroy myself by the mere attempt.69

It was probably Goethe’s anxiety towards Greek tragedy that led him to designate Egmont a Trauerspiel, rather than give it the more loaded title and dramatic weight of a tragedy.

Schriften, edited Benno von Wiese (Weimar: Hermann Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1987), Vol. 20, p. 57, translated in Johann Wolfgang Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, Correspondence between Goethe and Schiller 1794 -1805, edited and translated by Liselotte Dieckmann (New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 1994), p. 246. The essay, Über epische und dramatische Dichtung, was written in 1797, but was not published until 1827 in Goethe’s journal, Kunst und Altertum. For a discussion of this essay see Richard Littlejohns, 'The Discussion Between Goethe and Schiller on The Epic and Dramatic and its Relevance to Faust', Neophilologus, Vol. 71, No. 3 (1987), p. 388-401. 68 On influence see Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: a Theory of Poetry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973). 69 ‘Ich kann mir den Zustand Ihres Arbeitens recht gut denken. Ohne ein lebhaftes pathologisches Interesse ist es auch mir niemals gelugen irgend eine Tragische Situation zu bearbeiten und ich habe sie daher lieber vermieden als aufgesucht. Sollte es wohl auch einer von den Vorzügen der Alten gewesen sein? daß das höchste pathetische auch nur ästhetisches Spiel bei ihnen gewesen wäre, da bei uns die Naturwahrheit mit wirken muß um ein solches Werk hervorzubringen. Ich kenne mich zwar nicht selbst genug um zu wissen ob ich eine wahre Trägodie schreiben könnte, ich erschrecke aber bloß vor dem Unternehmen und bin beinahe überzeugt daß ich mich durch den bloßen Versuch zerstören könnte’ (letter from Goethe to Schiller; Weimar, 9th December, 1797). In Johann W. Goethe, Briefwechsel zwischen Schiller und Goethe in den Jahren 1794 bis 1805 (Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1990), p. 462, translated in Johann Wolfgang Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, Correspondence between Goethe and Schiller 1794 -1805, edited and translated by Liselotte Dieckmann (New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 1994), p. 241. 269 Trauerspiel is often been mistranslated into English as ‘tragedy’, but the German word actually means ‘mourning play’.70 For Walter Benjamin, Trauerspiel is a dramatic genre distinct from tragedy, with one of the significant differences between the two dramatic types being that in Trauerspiel the role of fate is ambiguous. As a result, Trauerspiel dramas usually focus not upon the life of a single, tragic hero, but a ‘constellations of heroes’,71 going on to say that ‘destiny is not only divided among the characters, it is equally present among the objects’.72 Goethe’s Egmont in my view does not seem to fit neatly into

Benjamin’s definition: although the role of fate is certainly made ambiguous in the play – there are no gods or supernatural forces here – the fate of Goethe’s

Egmont appears to result solely from his own actions.

Goethe’s own distinction between tragedy and Trauerspiel, however, is not as clear cut as that of Benjamin. In fact, in a letter to Schiller, while differentiating between the two, Goethe also implies that the two dramatic genres are, in a way, connected. He writes:

70 On Trauerspiel see ‘Ursprung des deutschen Trauerspiels’ in Walter Benjamin, Gesammelte Schriften, edited by Rolf Tiedemann and Hermann Schweppenhäuser (Frankfurt am Maim: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1974), p. 203-430, translated in Walter Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, translated by John Osborne and with an introduction by George Steiner (London: Verso, 1998). For a discussion of Benjamin’s book see Beatrice Hanssen, 'Portrait of Melancholy (Benjamin, Warburg, Panofsky)', Modern Language Notes, Vol. 114, No. 5 (1999), p. 991-1013 and Lutz P. Koepnick, 'The Spectacle, the Trauerspiel, and the Politics of Resolution: Benjamin Reading the Baroque Reading Weimar', Critical Inquiry, Vol. 22, No. 2 (1996), p. 268-291. On Benjamin, Trauerspiel and music see John Deathridge, Wagner Beyond Good and Evil (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), p. 79-101, and Eli Friedlander, 'On the Musical Gathering of Echoes of the Voice: Walter Benjamin on Opera and the Trauerspiel', The Opera Quarterly, Vol. 21, No. 4 (2005), p. 631-646. 71 ‘Daher kennt das Trauerspiel keinen Helden sondern nur Konstellationen’. Walter Benjamin, Ursprung des deutschen Trauerspiels (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1972), p. 310-311, translated in Walter Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, translated by John Osborne and with an introduction by George Steiner (London: Verso, 1998), p. 132. 72 ‘Ausgeteilt ist das Verhängnis nicht allein unter die Personen, es waltet gleichermaßen in den Dingen’. In Walter Benjamin, Gesammelte Schriften, edited by Rolf Tiedemann and Hermann Schweppenhäuser (Frankfurt am Maim: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1974), p. 311, translated in Walter Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, translated by John Osborne and with an introduction by George Steiner (London: Verso, 1998), p. 132. 270 In Trauerspiel, either fate or the decisive nature of the person (which is the same thing) can and should govern and rule, leading him blindly here or there, never guiding him to his goal but always away from it. The hero must not be master of his reason, reason must not even enter [ancient] tragedy, except in secondary characters to the disadvantage of the hero, etc.73

In his discussions of Trauerspiel, Goethe repeatedly draws comparisons with ancient tragedy, understanding Trauerspiel to be a genre that is not distinct from tragedy, but closely related to it. In a sense, Trauerspiel is a misleading term: it is not representative of a distinct dramatic genre, but a term that explicitly acknowledges a modern approach to writing tragedy. In short, tragedy and

Trauerspiel are one and the same, the word ‘Trauerspiel’ serving only to draw attention to the divide between modern and ancient approaches to tragic drama and the differences between ancient and modern understandings of religion, culture, and drama.74 While Goethe’s Egmont is not a tragedy in the Greek sense, it is still impregnated with ideas of fate, guilt, free will, conflict, character, and providence. As noted above, Egmont’s situation results from an inexplicable, yet connected, series of actions and events that stem from a conflict between his own character and the situation in which he is immersed.

73 ‘Im Trauerspiel kann und soll das Schicksal, oder welches einerlei ist, die entschiedne Natur des Menschen, die ihn blind da oder dort hin führt, waltenn und herrschen, sie muß ihn niemals zu seinem Zweck, sondern inmer von seinem Zweck abführen, der Held darf seines Verstandes nicht mächtig sein, der Verstand darf gar nicht in die Tragödie entrieren als bei Nebenpersonen zur Desavantage des Haupthelden. u.s.w.’ (letter from Goethe to Schiller; Weimar, 23rd April, 1797). In Johann W. Goethe, Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens Münchner Ausgabe: Briefwechsel zwischen Schiller und Goethe in den Jahren 1794 bis 1805, edited by Manfred Betz (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1990), p. 339, translated in Johann Wolfgang Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, Correspondence between Goethe and Schiller 1794 -1805, edited and translated by Liselotte Dieckmann (New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 1994), p. 187. 74 Friedrich Hölderlin’s translations of Euripides works are particularly interesting in this respect as they are not literal translations, but adaptations that radically update Euripides’ tales. In a sense, they convert Euripides’ tragedies into German Trauerspiels. On Hölderlin’s adaptations see M. B. Benn, 'Hölderlin and Sophocles', German Life and Letters, Vol. 12, No. 3 (1959), p. 161-173, R. B. Harrison, Hölderlin and Greek Literature (Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1975) and Charlie Louth, Hölderlin and the Dynamics of Translation (Oxford: Legenda, 1998). 271 According to Blair Hoxby the nature of tragedy begins to change with

Euripides’ dramas, which he argues are not tragedies, but melodramas that are concerned more with mourning than conflict.75 Although Hoxby does not say this outright, in my interpretation he seems to be arguing that Euripides dramas initiate a move towards dramas such as the Trauerspiel, a move towards a more modern approach to tragedy in general.

Goethe’s decision to designate his Egmont a Trauerspiel or ‘mourning’ play, in a way, undermines the work’s narrative trajectory, reducing Egmont’s tragic status to that of a martyr. Indeed, the term overshadows the fact that the play is based upon a fundamental and irresolvable conflict between freedom and fate, man and nature. In a way, the drama of Goethe’s Egmont shares a similar narrative to that of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, which can also be understood as addressing a conflict between man and nature. Indeed, Don Giovanni’s insatiable desire is placed in opposition to the world in which he exists and the characters in it. This is a conflict that Don Giovanni is both unwilling and unable to accept or address. The tragic element of Mozart’s opera stems from the libretto’s mixing of Christian and pagan elements and Mozart’s effective use of chromaticism that are used to suggest that an unknown, otherworldly force is at work. This leads me to question the nature of Don Giovanni’s character and to wonder whether Don Giovanni is not simply an immoral character, but someone who is driven by an uncontrollable desire. Whether this is desire is the result of a demon, daemon, or neither, however, is left open to debate.

In a sense, Egmont is also controlled by a daemonic force, although his daemon does not result in the immoral behaviour of Don Giovanni. Indeed, it is his loyalty and his belief in his own values that cause him to fail to grasp fully the seriousness of his situation, but to view the series of events with rose-tinted

75 Blair Hoxby, 'The Doleful Airs of Euripides: The Origins of Opera and the Spirit of Tragedy Reconsidered', Cambridge Opera Journal, Vol. 17, No. 3 (2005), p. 253-2693 272 spectacles. Interestingly, in his autobiography, Goethe directly addressed the daemonic element to the play:

The daemonic, which plays a role on both sides of this conflict in which the amiable perishes and the hateful triumphs, and also the prospect of a third force arising from this that will fulfil the wishes of the whole people - probably these are what secured for the play (to be sure, not at the outset, but later, and at the right time) the favour which it still enjoys.76

It seems that in Egmont, Goethe adheres closely to the Greek notion of the daemonic as an inner force or power that is devoid of morality and that can act upon both sides of the conflict. According to Peter Eckermann, Goethe once said that ‘the Daemonic is that which cannot be explained by Reason or

Understanding, it lies not in my nature, but I am subject to it’.77 For Goethe, the daemonic seems to represent a mysterious and controlling force that could work to both good and bad ends, its only defining feature being its inexplicability.78 And, as Terry Eagleton notes, it is the irrational and

76 ‘Das Dämonische was von beiden Seiten im Spiel ist, in welchem Konflikt das Liebenswürdige untergeht und das Gehaßte triumphiert, sodann die Aussicht, daß hieraus ein Drittes hervorgehe das dem Wunsch aller Menschen entsprechen werde. Dieses ist es wohl, was dem Stücke, freilich nicht gleich bei seiner Erscheinung, aber doch später und zur rechten Zeit die Gunst verschafft hat, deren es noch jetzt genießt’. In Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens Münchner Ausgabe: Aus meinem Leben: Dichtung und Wahreit, edited by Peter Sprengel (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1985), p. 821, translated in Johann Wolfgang Goethe, From My Life: Poetry and Truth (Part Four: Campaign in France 1792/ Siege of Mainz), translated Robert R. Heitner and Thomas P. Saine, notes by Thomas P. Saine (New York: Suhrkamp Publishers, 1987), p. 598. 77 ‘Das Dämonische, sagte er, ist dasjenige, was durch Verstand und Vernunft nicht aufzulösen ist. In meiner Natur liegt es nicht, aber ich bin ihm unterworfen’ (conversation dated Wednesday 2nd March, 1831). Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens Münchner Ausgabe: Gespräche mit Goethe in den letzen Jahren seines Lebens, edited by Heinz Schlaffer (München: Carl Hanser Verlag, 1986), p. 424, translated in Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Convesations of Goethe with Johann Peter Eckermann, edited by J. K. Moorhead, translated by John Oxenford and with an introduction by Havelock Ellis (London: Da Capa Press, 1930), p. 392. 78 On the demonic see H. B. Nisbet, 'Das Dämonische: On the Logic of Goethe's Demonology', Modern Language Studies, Vol. 7, No. 3 (1971), p. 259-281 and Angus Nicholls, Goethe's Concept of the Daemonic (Columbia: Camden House, 2006). 273 inexplicable character of the demonic [.sic] that gives modern tragedy its power.79

The passage containing the four-note motif in Beethoven’s overture seems to hint at this aspect of the play, functioning as a daemonic force within the overture’s structure; indeed, the passage from bar 37 contrasts sharply with the previous music and has a drive and forward thrust that is yet to be seen in the overture. The fact that this passage bears little similarity, and is of a different temporal nature, to the preceding music, in my opinion, gives the illusion that the four-note motif is of a different (musical) world. Despite the impressive energy of the motif, however, the motif does not achieve breakthrough and the listener is returned to the melancholy theme that opened the allegro. By accentuating the return of the melancholy theme, the passage containing the four-note motif only serves to intensify the overture’s tragic narrative. In this sense, the motif can be considered representative of Egmont’s inner daemon that causes him, despite his best efforts, to repeatedly misunderstand the situation in which he is enveloped.

It is perhaps interesting to note that in Beethoven’s sketches for the work he writes the word ‘diabolus’ at bar 58, the bar in which this “daemonic” motif reaches its initial, tortured climax. For Fecker, the word refers to the tritone interval that is present in some of the passage’s harmonies.80 Cooper, however, provides a more persuasive explanation and argues that the word serves as a reminder to turn the page backwards, rather than forwards, to where the

79 It needs to be pointed out that Terry Eagleton does not differentiate between demon and daemon in his book, and seems to employ the term demon as representative of both. See Terry Eagleton, Sweet Violence: The Idea of the Tragic (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), p. 241-273. 80 Adolf Fecker, Die Entstehung von Beethoven Musik zu Goethes Trauerpsiel Egmont: Eine Abhandlung überber die Skizzen (Hamburg: Wagner, 1978), p. 154-155. 274 sketches for the overture continued.81 While Cooper’s explanation is certainly convincing, the choice and placement of word remains intriguing. Perhaps

Beethoven chose the word ‘diabolus’ because it has a double meaning in this context. Functioning as a pun, the word not only refers to the narrative nature of the passage, but also as a reminder to himself that the sketches continued on the previous page.

The motif’s daemonic potential is probably best exemplified by the music that follows the four-note motif’s second appearance (bars 74-81), where the D¨ that held the motif back earlier in the overture is overcome and followed by a victorious and jubilant passage that is suggestive of a Mahlerian breakthrough.

As noted earlier, though, these jubilant gestures are accompanied by transitory harmonies, the dominant pedal suggesting a move to a new key area and instilling a sense of expectation and perhaps even of unease in the listener. I believe the conflict between melody and harmony furnishes this passage with a sense of tragic irony that, in a way, parallels Egmont’s Act IV confrontation with Alba. Indeed, this scene juxtaposes a politically enlightened speech by

Egmont with the audience’s knowledge that Alba had not invited him to discuss politics, but to have him arrested and executed. In short, at the moment

Egmont is shown to be an heroic figure, the audience is made acutely aware that he is to be executed. The musical conflict that results from the tension between melodic gesture and harmonic movement at this point in the overture mirrors the dramatic conflict between Egmont’s understanding and the actualities of the situation in which he is placed in the fourth act of Goethe’s drama.

81 Barry Cooper, 'The Sketches for Beethoven's Egmont Overture: A Reassessment', in Beethoven's Compositional Process, ed. William Kindermann (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991), p. 122-130.

275 Divine intervention: Klärchen as Freedom

After 8 bars of jubilant music on the dominant of Ab major, the tragic soundworld that opened the overture appears to return. At bar 82, the introductory conflict between the sarabande motif and the lyrical motif is reintroduced, although in a slightly altered form: the key is now Ab major, the time signature 3/4, with the motifs adapted to suit the new major-key context

(Ex. 6).

Example 6: Ouvertüre, bars 79-81.

276 In my interpretation, the return of material from the introduction serves to accentuate the tragic aspects of the musical drama by emphasising the falsity of the preceding victorious passage and by reiterating the conflict between the

Netherlanders and the Spanish and the conflict within Egmont.

The reappearance of material from the introduction at this point in the overture is also structurally unusual, going against what might be normally expected of a sonata form piece. Indeed, the second section does not begin with new material, but adapts material that has already been heard. The use of music from the F minor introduction, I believe undermines the contrast provided by the new key, the appearance of A¨ major tainted by its association with material initially presented in the gloomy key of F minor. The reuse of material from the introduction also helps furnish the overture with a quasi-cyclical structure.

Indeed, the repeated return of particular musical ideas creates the illusion of timelessness, an effect I believe that is heightened by the fact that in the recapitulation this material returns not in the key of F minor, but in the key of

D¨ major. The use of third relations in the Egmont overture, combined with the suspended return of the tonic key in the recapitulation (which I will discuss later), weakens the overall two-key polarity that Rosen understands to lie at heart of sonata form.82 The musical argument of the overture, in short, is not based upon the opposition of two keys, but on an exploration of a number of contrasting key areas that are related to F minor. Interestingly, according to

Timothy L. Jackson, one of the ways composers can construct a musico-tragic narrative is through the use of a ‘reversed’ recapitulation.83 This is a recapitulation where the second theme or group appears before the first theme or group, often displacing or postponing the anticipated return of the tonic key.

He claims that reversed recapitulations have the effect of giving the work a

82 See Charles Rosen, The Classical Style (London: Faber and Faber, 1972) and Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, revised edition (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1988) 83 Timothy L. Jackson, 'The Tragic Reversed Recapitulation in the German Classical Tradition', Journal of Music Theory, Vol. 40, No. 1 (1996), p. 61-111. 277 'broken circularity' and 'incompleteness', as the expected sonata form structure is suppressed.84 Beethoven’s use of third relationships and repetition in the

Egmont overture I think creates a similar effect, the tonic-dominant polarity and resultant teleological drive of the sonata form substituted by a cyclical, non- hierarchical harmonic design.

As well as the difference in key, there is one other significant difference between the repetition of the introductory material in the second section and the music of the introduction. At bar 92 of the second section a new melodic fragment enters the musical texture, replacing the music in which the sarabande and lyrical motifs had previously coalesced in the introduction. The new musical phrase functions as a disruptive force and intrudes upon the musical texture of the overture. The distant key of A major, the unusual orchestration, and the fact that this music contrasts sharply with the preceding music provides this passage with an almost otherworldly and ethereal quality (see Ex. 7):

Example 7: Ouvertüre, bars 92-100 (only woodwind section shown).

A clue to understanding this passage can be found in Beethoven’s incidental music. Both Klärchen’s song, Freudvoll und leidvoll, and the music that accompanies her appearance as Freedom in the final scene are in the sharp keys

84 Ibid., p. 99. 278 of A and D major, paralleling the appearance of this fragment of the overture, which appears first in A major and later in the recapitulation in the key of D major. The orchestration of this passage in the overture also bears a similarity to the incidental music that accompanies the appearance of Freedom in the play, both passages having a strong and characteristic woodwind presence. The connection between the music for Klärchen in the drama and this ‘alien’ major- key passage in the overture, in my view, provides an additional layer to the overture that hints at Egmont’s beloved Klärchen.85

For Matthew Head, Klärchen is an important figure in both Goethe’s drama and

Beethoven’s music.86 As Head states, ’music binds itself to Klärchen articulating her movement from domesticity to androgyny to personification of Liberty’.87

The ethereal passage in the overture appears to hint at this latter incarnation, having an almost dream-like, visionary quality. Indeed, the way in which the motif is introduced into the musical texture combined with its unusual orchestration creates a magical effect that suggests that it is not intended to represent Klärchen’s domestic role in the drama, but her appearance as

Freedom. This passage, then, momentarily removes us from the tragic soundworld of the overture and provides the listener with a foretaste of the music that is to accompany Egmont’s vision in the final scene.

85 Interestingly, according to E. T. A. Hoffmann, the overture focuses upon the relationship between Klärchen and Egmont. See Beethoven, ‘Musik zu Goethes Egmont’ in E. T. A Hoffmann, Schriften zur Musik, edited and with notes by Friedrich Schnapp (München: Winkler- Verlag, 1963), p. 170-178, translated in E. T. A Hoffmann, E. T. A. Hoffmann's Musical Writings: Kreisleriana, The Poet and the Composer, Music Criticism, edited, annotated and introduced by David Charlton, translated by Martyn Clarke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 341-350. Hoffmann’s review originally appeared in Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 15, No. 29 (21st July, 1813), p. 473-481. 86 Matthew Head, 'Beethoven Heroine: A Female Allegory of Music and Authorship in Egmont', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 30, No. 2 (2006), p. 97-132. On Klärchen's role in Goethe’s play drama see also Robert T. Ittner, 'Klärchen in Goethe's Egmont', Journal of English and German Philosophy, Vol. Vol. 62 (1963), p. 252-261. 87 Matthew Head, 'Beethoven Heroine: A Female Allegory of Music and Authorship in Egmont', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 30, No. 2 (2006), p. 112. 279 Interestingly, this visionary motif is followed by triumphant and jubilant music that, once again, suggests a kind of musical breakthrough. Moreover, unlike the previous jubilant music that was accompanied by transitory harmonies, this passage of jubilant music (from bar 104) is underpinned by a tonic pedal, suggesting that this time the victory is not misguided, but genuine. The positioning of this triumphant passage in the overture’s narrative perhaps alludes to the moment in Goethe’s drama when, following Klärchen’s appearance as Freedom, Egmont regains a sense of hope and a renewed vision of the future.

Development, Desperation and a New Vision for the Future

Be that as it may, at bar 116 the jubilant music is replaced by a piano passage that contains passing references to the opening notes of the melancholy theme.

After 12 bars of fragmentary reference to the melancholy theme, the harmony begins to move away from Ab major and becomes increasingly unstable and transitory. Like the jubilant passage brought about by the four-note motif earlier in the overture, the victorious music that follows the visionary motif does not last and a feeling of melancholy returns.

Indeed, from bar 116 it is as if the music disintegrates and the harmony loses its sense of direction. In my mind, bar 116 represents the beginning of the development section. For Rosen, ‘development, in the classical and pre-classical styles, is basically nothing more than intensification’.88 Harmonically, this does seem to be the case, the music intensifying through a series of crushing chords that push the music from A¨ major, through B¨ minor, to C minor. These three modulations, however, do not result from a clearly mapped out chord progression, but from subtle changes in the undulating string accompaniment.

While the development may intensify, it is lacking in forward momentum and direction. Melodically the music consists only of repeated references to the

88 Charles Rosen, The Classical Style (London: Faber and Faber, 1972), p. 50. 280 opening fragment of the melancholic motif (the fragments only undergoing slight alterations to accommodate the slowly changing harmonies). The rather thin orchestration also deprives the passage of energy, perhaps helping to create the illusion that musical time has been suspended. Indeed, like the overture to Gluck’s Alceste and the opening to Mozart’s Don Giovanni overture, I believe the listener’s perception of musical time is manipulated in the development section of the Egmont overture in an effort to furnish the passage with feelings of despair and of loss.

Bar 145 can be said to signal the beginning of the retransition, as a sense of momentum is regained with the reappearance of the four-note motif. As before, the four-note motif acts as a driving force that attempts to set a new musical path. Again, the motif appears to instigate a kind of musical transformation, the music moving from the realms of despair. A possible narrative connection can be made between the overture’s development section and the scene between

Ferdinand and Egmont in Goethe’s play, a scene that Paul E. Kerry describes as the dramatic caesura of the play.89 In this scene, Ferdinand, the son of Alba, befriends Egmont and reassures him of his heroic courage and good character.

According to Kerry, in this dialogue Egmont is reborn. He maintains:

It is the understanding between Egmont and Ferdinand that preserves the flame of future peaceful co-existence, despite the failure of intercultural relations in the drama’s main plot. Their friendship vindicates Egmont’s faith in humanity and serves as a symbol for the possibility of universal brotherhood.90

In his opinion, it is the meeting with Ferdinand that causes Egmont to regain a sense a hope and reconcile himself with his fate. Despite Egmont’s desperate situation, his conversation with Ferdinand fills him with a renewed enthusiasm; it is at this point in the drama that he begins to understand his death as the

89 Paul E. Kerry, Enlightenment Thought in the Writings of Goethe (Rochester: Camden House, 2001), p. 53-75. 90 Ibid., p. 70. 281 spark that will ignite the revolution and eventually win freedom for the

Netherlanders. The four-note motif that appears to arise out of the despairing musical texture of the development is perhaps representative of Egmont’s renewed heroism in this scene; the motif breaking through the unsettling musical texture of the development, pushing the music in a new direction.

However, the four-note motif is accompanied by a version of the melancholic theme, the descending melodic line of which works against the upward trajectory of the four-note motif. By bar 162, the melancholic theme appears to have usurped the musical narrative, the overture returning to the tonic key F minor. Once again, the four-note motif fails to change the musical course of events and the tragic narrative resumes.

The return of the melancholy theme and the key of F minor affirm, in a sense, the tragic narrative of this overture. This is not to say that the return of the minor key in all minor-key sonata forms is indicative of a tragic narrative, but that in this context the sonata form design helps reinforce the narrative, the return of home key confirming that Egmont’s fate is sealed. In a way, the

Egmont overture presents the listener with a series of constant musical disappointments. No matter what course the overture takes, the melancholic theme and the opening conflict appear to be always waiting round the next musical corner. The recapitulation of the previous musical material in narrative terms only serves to emphasis this, and comes not as a welcome climax or renewal, but as a dissatisfying, perhaps even tortuous, return.

Like the overtures to Gluck’s Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide and, indeed, the overture to Mozart’s Don Giovanni, Beethoven’s Egmont overture presents us with an intensifying and quasi-cyclical, non-linear narrative that does not provide the listener with a chronological synopsis of Goethe’s plot, but with a musical picture or tableau of the drama’s main conflict. To my mind, the overture paints a portrait of Egmont as heroic, yet misguided, the overture

282 capturing the fact that Egmont’s efforts to solve the political situation only serve to heighten the tragedy.

The repetition of material in the recapitulation is near exact, although a few alterations and oddities are worth pointing out. Firstly, at bar 200, Beethoven deviates from the statement in the exposition by extending the passage that contains the four-note motif (compare bars 66-74 with bars 200-217). In effect, in the recapitulation the four-note motif is given a more determined drive. Despite the overture’s closed, cyclical structure, and the motif’s numerous failed attempts, it remains a persistent and increasingly powerful force in the overture that appears to constantly challenge the overture's tragic structure, the motif occupying more and more musical space as the overture proceeds. Secondly, as noted earlier, at bar 225 our sonata form expectations are thwarted as the second section occurs in the key of D¨ major and not F minor, thus undermining the standard sonata form tonal hierarchy, furnishing the overture with a non- hierarchic, quasi cyclical structure.91

Surprisingly, the rest of the recapitulation remains in the key of D¨ major and there is no indication made as to whether the music will return to the tonic key of F minor. In fact, at bar 259 a point is reached where thematically the overture’s structure appears to have expired, even though harmonic resolution has not yet been achieved. To fill this thematic void, Beethoven reinforces the cyclical design of the overture by reintroducing the opening conflict between the sarabande motif (motif a) and the lyrical motif (motif b) at bar 259. The lyrical fragments, however, do not carry the same contrapuntal weight as they had earlier in the overture; they have a light and airy feel and are no longer presented in imitation, but consist of a single presentation of the motif with simple accompaniment. Despite the return to the conflict of the opening material, something is different. Although the sarabande statements still occupy

91 See chapter one, p. 91. 283 the higher, dynamic ground, the lyrical motif appears to control the harmonic trajectory of the passage. The most interesting aspect to this passage, however, is that the final statement of the sarabande motif is not followed by a complete statement of the lyrical motif, but by a short melodic fragment and silent pause.

The curtailment of the lyrical motif is most probably an attempt to musically

(and perhaps grotesquely) depict Egmont’s execution, the motif quite literally being severed in two (Ex. 8).92 In his sketches Beethoven wrote that ‘death could be expressed through a rest’ and it is, therefore, safe to assume that this passage was intended to allude to Egmont’s execution.93 Interestingly, this is an event that is only implied in the play, which ends with Egmont’s ascent to the scaffold and not with his execution. In the overture’s final moments, Beethoven makes

Egmont’s death explicit, choosing to extend Goethe’s narrative and render

Egmont’s execution audible.

92 A similar musical effect is found at the end of the fourth movement of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique that also depicts a march to the scaffold. 93 ‘Der Tod könnte ausgedrückt werden durch eine Pause’. Gustave Nottebohm, Zweite Beethoveniana: nachgelassene Aufsätze, ed. E. Mandyczewski (Leipzig: Peters, 1887), p. 526-27. 284

Example 8: Ouvertüre, bars 79-81.

Death and Transfiguration

The sustained woodwind chords that follow the silent pause are suggestive of organ music and have an ethereal essence that anticipates the incidental music that is to accompany Egmont’s vision of Klärchen as Freedom in the play. In a sense, this passage could be thought of as a kind of transfiguration that depicts

Egmont’s ascent to a higher realm following his execution. In fact, in his autobiography, Goethe claimed that out of the conflict a third force will arise

‘that will fulfil the wishes of the whole people’.94 The return of the opening

94 See p. 271. 285 conflict between the sarabande and lyrical motifs at bar 260 and the following quasi-religious passage, perhaps, depict Egmont’s death and transfiguration, an interpretation that is corroborated by the fact that the music that follows is taken from the Victory Symphony that ends the play and that accompanies

Egmont’s vision of the Netherlanders’ future freedom, which he believes will result from his execution-cum-sacrifice.

For Calhoun, this woodwind passage in the overture is a purely dramatic moment that has no bearing upon the overture’s musical structure. As she states, ‘the identity of this passage as “religioso” overpowers its syntactical significance. It is not a smooth transition to the coda – quite the opposite’.95 In terms of the musical texture, this passage is by no means smooth, the music having a timbral quality that sets it apart from any of the other music in the overture. In terms of harmony, however, this passage does play a structural role, as it functions as a dominant preparation for the F major of the coda. In this passage, then, texture and harmony work with and against each other to create a religioso passage that stands out as different from the preceding tragic music, but that also serves to prepare the listener for the remarkably new soundworld of the coda.

An Heroic and/or Tragic Conclusion?

At bar 287 a lively allegro con brio section begins that contrasts sharply with the rest of the music of the overture; this is the beginning of the coda. Its full orchestral texture, major key, 4/4 time signature, martial rhythms and jubilant gestures are all indicative of victorious music (see Ex. 9). In the coda, the tragic tone that has pervaded almost the entire overture is replaced by triumphant music. Excepting the first few bars, the coda is an exact quotation of the Victory

Symphony that accompanies Egmont’s ascent to the scaffold in Goethe’s play,

95 Martha Calhoun, 'Music as Subversive Text: Beethoven, Goethe and the Overture to Egmont', Mosaic, Vol. 20, No. 1 (1987), p. 50. 286 music that is intended to represent his vision of future liberation. In the coda, it seems that breakthrough is finally achieved. The coda, though, does not arise out of the four-note motif, but from Egmont’s death and transfiguration, the religioso passage preparing the way (at least harmonically) for the coda.

The coda to Beethoven’s overture has sparked much scholarly discussion, as it is based entirely on new thematic material, thus “failing” to resolve the conflict expounded in the overture. According to Tovey, in the coda Beethoven looks back to history where Alba supposedly drowned out Egmont’s farewell speech with fanfares.96 While this has a nice programmatic resonance, it does not in my opinion quite ring true. As noted above, the music that constitutes the overture’s coda is taken from the Victory Symphony, music that was intended to contrast with the military music that had accompanied Egmont to the scaffold in the play and represent Egmont’s vision of future liberation. The music of the coda, therefore, would probably have been intended to carry the same dramatic resonance.

96 Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis: Illustrative Music (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), p. 46. 287

288 Given the coda’s association with the Victory Symphony, it is surprising to find that Carl Dahlhaus does not understand the coda as part of the overture’s dramatic narrative, but as an example of where the programme dissolves into the necessities of formal structure.97 In his opinion, to understand the coda as a

Utopian ending to the drama is ‘too reductionist an interpretation to sustain much weight, and the emphasizing of the end - as if it was an ‘outcome’ - is a fundamentally inadequate response to the structure of a drama, and to that of a piece of music that holds a mirror up to a drama’.98 I believe Dahlhaus ignores the narrative significance of the coda because his understanding of the overture is conditioned by his view of Beethoven as a composer of predominantly purely instrumental music. As a result, his analysis strives to rid the music of any programmatic associations and place musical structure at the forefront of the work.

By contrast, James Hepokoski argues that it is not the programme, but the musical structure of the overture that “fails”.99 For Hepokoski, the Egmont

Overture is an example of a nonresolving recapitulation. As he explains:

In a nonresolving recapitulation the composer has crafted this rhetorically recapitulatory revisiting, or new rotation, of previously ordered expositional material to convey the impression that it “fails” to accomplish its additional generic mission of tonal closure. Rare in the decades around 1800, this phenomenon is easy to identify, but the conceptual and interpretive problems swirling around it are numerous and challenging.100

97 Carl Dahlhaus, Ludwig van Beethoven und seine Zeit (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 1987), p. 42-45, translated in Carl Dahlhaus, Ludwig Van Beethoven: Approaches to his Music, translated by Mary Whittall (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), p. 13-16. 98 ‘Die Interpretation ist jedoch zu reduziert, um tragfähig zu sein. Und dieAkzentuierung des Endes - als ware es ein “Resultat” - ist der Struktur eines Dramas - und einer Musik, in der sich ein Drama spiegelt – prinzipiell inadäquat’. Carl Dahlhaus, Ludwig van Beethoven und seine Zeit (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 1987), p. 41-41, translated in Carl Dahlhaus, Ludwig Van Beethoven: Approaches to his Music, translated by Mary Whittall (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), p. 13. 99 James Hepokoski, 'Back and Forth from Egmont: Beethoven, Mozart, and the Nonresolving Recapitulation', Nineteenth-Century Music, Vol. 25, 2/3 (2001), p. 127-154. 100 Ibid., p. 128. 289 As noted earlier, in the Egmont overture the re-presentation of material in the second section of the recapitulation does not occur in the expected key of F, but in the key of Db major. According to Rosen ‘an emphatic and marked return to the tonic at a point no more than three-quarters of the way through a movement is basic in late-eighteenth century style’.101 As Hepokoski points out, ‘Beethoven’s

Egmont falls short of the most basic harmonic feature of a sonata at that time: a sufficient sense of tonal resolution within recapitulatory space’.102 In the Egmont overture, the resolution of the tonic is postponed, going against what Rosen sees as the general trend. Indeed, the anticipated F major is not reached until bar 295. Resolution, it seems, arrives too late, occurring outside the sonata form design. The postponement of the tonic is, in addition, accentuated by the fact that the overture does not resolve into F major at the beginning of the allegro con brio, but after eight bars of dominant preparation. This has the effect of distancing the resolution into F major from the musical events and conflicts of the overture.

The “failure” of the overture to resolve within recapitulatory space, perhaps suggests that the coda does not represent breakthrough, but functions as another example of a failed, possibly even deluded, victory. Indeed, the fact that the coda is based upon thematic and harmonic material that bears no resemblance to the previous material suggests that it does not arise out of the events that have preceded it, but overshadows them. As noted above, even the perfect cadence that occurs towards the beginning of the coda does not occur across a structural boundary.

For Burnham, the coda has an exaggerated nature which he believes creates a feeling of dissatisfaction and unease. In particular, Burnham notes the ‘garish

101 Charles Rosen, The Classical Style (London: Faber and Faber, 1972), p. 51. 102 Ibid., p. 134. 290 treatment’ of the major, mediant note and the piercing effect of the piccolo.103 In his opinion, the coda is imbued with a sense of irony because it over- compensates for the preceding tragic music. Burnham’s view of the overture as ironic is compounded by the fact that at bar 307 disconcerting Ebs and Dbs enter the texture, possibly intended to remind the listener of the overture’s opening minor key. As in the coda to the Don Giovanni overture, chromatic inflexions are employed to undermine the authority of the major mode and to provide an unnerving and unsettling conclusion. Despite its jubilant surface, it seems that the coda to Mozart's Don Giovanni overture might also host a tragic undercurrent, perhaps even a sense of tragic irony. In short, the overture’s finale does present a “satisfactory” conclusion to the musical narrative of the overture an leaves the listener with an unnerving vision Utopia.

Be that as it may, the coda still sounds overwhelmingly jubilant and as Burnham notes ‘it is hard not to hear Beethoven’s coda as a culminating outcome of the overture’.104 It seems that the coda has a double function, representative of both victory and, paradoxically, tragedy. This unusual end to Beethoven’s overture is, perhaps, not so strange given the role the Victory Symphony plays at the end of Goethe’s drama. In his autobiography, Goethe claims that the ending to his play depicts fulfilment of the wishes of all men. In the play, however, Goethe does not present to the spectator this fulfilment in words, but with music. For

Burnham, ‘this is a potentially stunning dramaturgical move, for the tragic emotion associated with Egmont’s execution is immediately subsumed by the music, as by fiat, into one of glorious consummation’.105 David Hill understands the conclusion to Goethe’s play in a much similar manner, claiming that ‘’it is appropriate that while the “real” events on stage present Egmont’s defeat and death, a different medium – music – intervenes to present the case for the

103 Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 129. 104 Ibid., p. 127. 105 Ibid., p. 126. 291 principles for which Egmont stands’.106 For both Burnham and Hill, Beethoven’s music is not representative of the events on stage, but transcends them and portrays a larger victory. In essence, the Victory Symphony represents an ideal realm that transcends the grim reality of the situation.

Goethe’s decision to use music to provide his play with an additional narrative layer is interesting, as for the best part of the play the drama is intensely realistic. Nevertheless, in the final scene Goethe employs music in an effort to depict a higher, spiritual realm. The narrative space that Goethe wished to fill with music was possibly one reason why Beethoven was attracted to the project. In fact, in a conversation with Beethoven, Czerny recalls Beethoven to have once said that ‘Schiller’s poems are very difficult to set to music. The composer must be able to lift himself far above the poet: who can do that in the case of Schiller? In this respect Goethe is much easier’.107 The difference perceived by Beethoven between the works of Goethe and Schiller, in a sense, mirrors the distinction made by Schiller in his essay, On the Naive and

Sentimental (Über Naïve Sentamentalische Dichtung, 1795).108 According to

Schiller, there are two types of dramatic poetry: the naive and the sentimental.

106 David Hill, 'Goethe's Egmont, Beethoven's Egmont', in Music and Literature in German Romanticism, ed. Siobhan Donovan and Robin Elliott (Rochester: Camden House, 2004), p. 80. 107 ‘Schillers Dichtungen sind für die Musik außerst schwierig. Der Tonsetzer muß sich weit über der Dichter zu erheben wissen. Wer kann das bei Schiller? Da ift Göthe viel Leichter’. Quoted in Alexander Wheelock Thayer, Ludwig van Beethovens Leben, edited by Herman Deiters and Hugo Riemann (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1907-1917), Vol. 3, p. 155, translated in Alexander Wheelock Thayer, Thayer’s Life of Beethoven, edited and translated by Elliot Forbes (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1964), p. 471. 108 In Friedrich Schiller, Schillers Werke, Philosophische Schriften, edited Benno von Wiese (Weimar: Hermann Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1987), Vol. 21, p. 278-313, translated in Friedrich Schiller, Friedrich Schiller: On the Naive and Sentimental in Literature, translated with an introduction by Helen Watanabe-O'Kelly (Manchester: Carcanet New Press, 1981). For a discussion of Schiller’s essay and its relationship to music see, in particular, Barbara R. Barry, 'Schiller's (and Berlin's) 'Naive' and 'Sentimental': Propensity and Pitfalls in the Philosophical Categorisation of Artists', in Philosophischer Gedanke und musikalischer Klang: zum Wechselverhältnis von Musik und Philosophie, ed. Christoph Asmuth [et al.] (Frankfurt: Campus, 1999), Isaiah Berlin, Against the current: essays in the history of ideas, edited by Henry Hardy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), p. 287-295 and Bernard Williams, ‘Naïve and Sentimental Opera Lovers’ in Edna and Avishai Margalit, ed., Isaiah Berlin: A Celebration (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), p. 180-192. 292 Naive poetry is realistic, objective, and classical, whereas sentimental poetry is idealist, subjective, and romantic. The premise of Schiller’s argument is that art seeks to represent nature, but is always destined to fail because man is no longer one with nature. As a result, art reveals what is ‘unnatural in us’ and emphasises the divide between man and nature.109 For Schiller, a naive approach to art ignores this schism and presents nature as it is perceived. This approach Schiller believes to be true of the Greeks and, indeed, of Goethe. But as he acknowledges, whereas in the Hellenic world there was ‘no difference between what exists through itself and what exists through art and the human will’, in the modern world, man and nature are divided.110 Thus, in the case of modern naive poets (such as Goethe), their art can never capture nature in its true form, but only as we perceive it and, as a result, cannot have as powerful as an effect on the beholder. In contrast, sentimental literature acknowledges the divide between realistic art and nature and bridges the gap by providing a view of the world as ideal, rather than real. In short, sentimental poetry attempts to return us to, rather than recreate, the unity that once existed between man and nature. As Schiller states, ‘nature makes him one with himself, art separated and divides him, through the ideal he returns to that unity’.111

109 ‘Besonders stark und am allgemeistens äussert sich diese Empfindsamkeit für Natur auf Veranlassung solcher Gegenstände, welche in einer engern Verbindung mit uns stehen, und uns den Rückblick auf uns selbst und die Unnatur in uns näher legen, wie z.B. bey Kindern und kindlichen Völkern’. In Friedrich Schiller, Schillers Werke, Philosophische Schriften, edited Benno von Wiese (Weimar: Hermann Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1987), Vol. 21, p. 415-416, translated in Friedrich Schiller, Friedrich Schiller: On the Naive and Sentimental in Literature, translated with an introduction by Helen Watanabe-O'Kelly (Manchester: Carcanet New Press, 1981), p. 23. 110 ‘Er Scheint, in seiner Liebe für das Objekt, keinen Unterschied zwishchen demjenigen zu machen, was durch sich selbst und dem, was durch die Kunst und durch den menschlichen Willen ist’. In Friedrich Schiller, Schillers Werke, Philosophische Schriften, edited Benno von Wiese (Weimar: Hermann Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1987), p. 429, translated in Friedrich Schiller, Friedrich Schiller: On the Naive and Sentimental in Literature, translated with an introduction by Helen Watanabe-O'Kelly (Manchester: Carcanet New Press, 1981), p. 33. 111 ‘Die Natur macht ihn mit sich Eins, die Kunst trennt und entzweyet ihn, durch das Ideal kehrt er zur Eineheit zurück’. In Friedrich Schiller, Schillers Werke, Philosophische Schriften, edited Benno von Wiese (Weimar: Hermann Bohlaus Nachfolger, 1987), p. 438, translated in Friedrich Schiller, Friedrich Schiller: On the Naive and Sentimental in Literature, translated with an introduction by Helen Watanabe-O'Kelly (Manchester: Carcanet New Press, 1981), p. 40. 293 In Egmont, for the best part of the drama Goethe aims at presenting a realistic series of events, or what Schiller may have called a naive presentation of nature.

In the final scene, however, Goethe lets music expand the dramatic moment and present a more sentimental view of the world. In effect, he uses music to bridge the gap between man and nature, to represent an ideal, transcendental realm. Schiller, however, seems to have misunderstood the role music played in

Goethe’s finale and perceived the musical finale not as a sentimental attempt to present the ideal, but as an unsatisfactory excursion into the world of opera.

Goethe’s operatic excursion, however, I believe is crucial to the overall dramatic effect of the final scene.112

Goethe’s understanding of music has often been devalued, resulting in the musical aspects of his works being sidelined or ignored by scholars. However,

Goethe perceived music as a powerful artistic medium and, like both Herder and Schiller, wrote several opera libretti.113 Goethe’s employment of music in

Egmont, then, I do not believe was a naive attempt to temper the tragic conclusion of the play, but a way in which to effectively portray a vision of an ideal world in which the Netherlanders have their freedom. In fact, as noted by

Head, incidental music is often used in the play to accompany Klärchen’s visions of the future and a more idealistic world.114 In the final scene, though, it is Egmont who is provided with the musical soundtrack; he succumbs to an

112 Perhaps it was not that Schiller failed to understand Goethe’s use of music, but that the music that accompanied the production he reviewed did not have the same dramatic power and effect as that of Beethoven’s. Indeed, it is believed the music was originally set by Philipp Christoph Kayser. The music, however, is now lost so a comparison cannot be made. 113 For a discussion of Goethe’s understanding of music see Bayard Quincy Morgan, 'Goethe's Dramatic Use of Music', PMLA, Vol. 72, No. 1 (1957), p. 104-112, Romain Rolland, Goethe et Beethoven (Paris: Éditions du Sablier, 1930), translated in Romain Rolland, Goethe and Beethoven, translated G. A. Pfister and E. S. Kemp (New York: Benjamine Blom, 1931) and Frederick W. Sternfeld, Goethe and Music: A list of parodies (New York: New York Public Library Bulletin, 1954). On Herder and Schiller’s thoughts on music see F. E. Kirby, 'Herder and Opera', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 15, No. 3 (1962), p. 316-329, A. C. Keys, 'Schiller and Italian Opera', Music & Letters, Vol. 41, No. 3 (1960), p. 223-237 and Rey M. Longyear, 'Schiller and Opera', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 52, No. 2 (1966), p. 171-182. 114 Matthew Head, 'Beethoven Heroine: A Female Allegory of Music and Authorship in Egmont', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 30, No. 2 (2006), 97-132. 294 ideal vision of the future (a vision, incidentally, instigated by Klärchen’s appearance as Freedom). In his vision he perceives the world not as it is, but as it is going to be, his death is not an end, but signals a new beginning. For

Goethe, the ending to the play is not based in reality, but borders on the ideal realm. Goethe perhaps chose music to depict this realm because he understood it to be a powerfully expressive medium not constrained by concrete meanings and specificities. In short, he thought that music was able to express the ineffable.

What I find most interesting about the end to the play is the disjuncture between the visionary, transcendental music of the Victory Symphony and the reality of the events that are about to take place: Egmont’s execution. In a sense, the Victory Symphony could be said to represent the culmination of Egmont’s naivety and misunderstanding, Egmont approaching the scaffold with a deluded notion that his death will cause revolution, a revolution that, incidentally, he had wished to avoid during the course of the play.

Nevertheless, in his final hour Egmont clings to a vision of revolution, almost as if trying to justify and give his death relevance. In short, he has a vision that legitimises his life. This vision, however, is false; his death does not lead to revolution. Indeed, as Act V, scene 1, shows, Klärchen’s attempt to rally the villagers together to save Egmont’s life falls on deaf ears; the townsfolk are too fearful for their own lives (and perhaps also sceptical of Egmont’s political power). Revolution, it seems, is not on the cards, at least within the timescale of

Goethe’s play. (Of course, the Netherlanders do defeat the Spanish in the end).

For Bennett, while there is an element of delusion in the final scene of the play, he also believes Egmont’s vision gains validity as it is ‘a vision of inspired community’.115 Indeed, the vision still carries an element of truth as it is

115 Benjamin Bennett, Modern Drama and German Classicism: Renaissance from Lessing to Brecht (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1979), p. 147. 295 representative of the needs and wants of the community. In short, it is not a personal vision, but one shared by the Netherlander nation. Swales, also, understands the ending to Goethe’s play to have a double function stating that

‘the ending is, at the level of actuality, the apogee of all Egmont’s egocentricity, and at another level – the level behind the actualities of the play which have yielded the stuff of its dramatic action – it is an overwhelmingly ideal image of human energy, of both personal and political freedom’.116 In short, while

Egmont’s death is tragic and his understanding of the situation is ironic, his vision is still palpable. It is a vision in which he and his people believe and it is in this sense that Egmont can be considered to have undergone a kind of transfiguration; he is no longer concerned with own views and beliefs, but those of his people. In sum, the ending to the play has a two-fold effect: on the one hand the ending is tragic as it reaffirms Egmont’s naivety and deluded state of being, whereas, on the other hand, it depicts Egmont’s heroism and represents a vision of the future held by himself and his people. For Bennett, it is in these final moments that Egmont takes on the status of a tragic hero:

Existence itself is constantly heroic, if in most cases inconspicuously so, a constant balancing between centripetal and centrifugal forces, between self-attainment and self-preservation; and the actual hero, the demonic individual, is the one who hurls himself into his dangerous situation with affirmative energy, like a soldier in battle, the figure through whom we are therefore able to see most clearly the true nature of our own existence.117

Despite the fact that Egmont fails to resolve the political situation and walks straight into Alba’s trap, by the end of the play he acquires an heroic status.

Indeed, he does not walk to the scaffold melancholically, but courageously. He

116 Martin W. Swales, 'A Questionable Politician: A Discussion of the Ending to Goethe's Egmont', Modern Language Review, Vol. 66 (1971), p. 839. 117 Benjamin Bennett, Modern Drama and German Classicism: Renaissance from Lessing to Brecht (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1979), p. 136. 296 embraces his fate, or to paraphrase a comment made by Beethoven in a letter to

Franz Wegeler, he grabs his fate by the throat.118

Goethe use of music in the final scene of his play helps foster this sense of delusion. Despite the triumphant fanfares and emphatic jubilant music, the

Victory Symphony only gives the illusion of closure. Goethe exploits music’s abstract nature and inability to speak a precise language to avoid giving his play a clear and concrete ending to his narrative. The ending to Goethe's play, then, is allusive, the Victory Symphony presenting the spectator not with a concrete ending, but with a passage of music that stems from a world outside of the play. In this sense, the symphony can be thought of as having an almost dream-like and fantastic quality. Schiller’s criticism of the ending to Goethe's play as being operatic, inadvertently hits the nail on the head; Goethe inverts

Schiller's negative view of music as being unable to express anything concrete into an effective dramatic device that furnishes the play with an ironic and tragic close.

I believe the interpolation of the Victory Symphony in the coda of the overture is intended to have the same narrative significance. However, as the music here is not used to accompany the conflicting on-stage action, but exists within its own, closed dramatic framework, a different musico-narrative procedure had to be employed for the same effect to be achieved. As a result, in the overture (and unlike the play), Beethoven makes Egmont’s execution explicit through the use of a severed melodic motif and silent pause. By presenting a musical vision of

Egmont’s death, Beethoven creates an audible and narrative disjuncture between the musical events before and after the coda. As a result, he is able to ascribe to his coda the same subtle and ironic ending Goethe provides to his

118 ‘Ich will dem Schicksal in den Rachen griefen, ganz nieder beugen soll es mich gewiß nicht’ (letter to Franz Wegeler dated Vienna, 1801). In Ludwig van Beethoven, Briefwechsel Gesamtausgabe/ Ludwig van Beethoven; im Auftrag des Beethoven-Hauses Bonn; herausgegeben von Sieghard Brandenburg (Munich: G. Henle Verlag, 1996), Vol. 1, p.89 (translation mine). 297 play. Indeed, the coda sounds distanced and separated from the rest of the overture; it bears little or no relationship to the preceding music and does not appear to arise from the preceding conflict. The F major conclusion "fails" to resolve the preceding musico-tragic conflict. The coda, then, bears a similarity to the jubilant and triumphant passages that occur earlier in the overture which fuse elements of closure with conflict or transition. In short, the coda harbours a paradoxical musical tension that parallels the closing scene of Goethe’s play.119

Classical Disturbances: Beethoven’s Tragic Period

In his book on the Classical style, Rosen claims that symmetry and resolution are key features of the style. Referring to the closing moments of a Classical work, he states:

This firm area of final stability is an essential part of the classical style, as vital to it as the dramatic tension that precedes it, its proportions are vital, too, and they are demanded by the articulated nature of the form and required for the balance and symmetry central to the expression.120

Beethoven’s Egmont overture, however, does not sit well with Rosen’s view of the Classical style and it is probably for this reason that he chooses not to discuss this work in his book, even though he does discuss a number of other overtures. In my opinion, the Egmont overture goes against Rosen’s thesis, as it is not balanced and not host to an affirmative ending, the coda being tinged with a sense of irony and feeling of discomfort. Indeed, Beethoven’s Egmont

119 Interestingly, Head notes a similar moment of transfiguration in Klarchen’s song, Die Trommel gerühret, the music moving from the darker key of F minor, to the more jubilant F major. For Head, this transition represents a moment of ‘overcoming’; Klärchen breaks through the restraints of her gender and takes on a more masculine, heroic vision and pictures herself as a soldier on the battlefield. This, however, as Head notes, is pure fantasy. In a sense, the coda of the overture not only prefigures the ending to Goethe’s play, but Klärchen’s Die Trommel gerühret, which serves to intensify the relationship between Klärchen and Egmont. This goes someway to explaining, perhaps, Hoffmann’s claim that the overture is based upon the character of Klärchen and her love of Egmont. On Die Trommel gerühret see Matthew Head, 'Beethoven Heroine: A Female Allegory of Music and Authorship in Egmont', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 30, No. 2 (2006), p. 97-132. 120 Charles Rosen, The Classical Style (London: Faber and Faber, 1972), p. 74. 298 overture leaves me with the same sense of unease that I experience during the final sextet of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, a feeling that, although on the surface harmony has been restored, an underlying tension still remains: does Don

Giovanni’s punishment fit the crime?

I believe Rosen’s view of the so-called Classical style as concerned with balance and clarity conceals some of the darker and more troubling elements to many

Classical works. For Harold Mah, the Enlightenment was not a period of uniformity, balance, and consistency, as it has often been perceived to be, but filled with inconsistencies and host to ‘different phantasies of identity weaving together and tearing apart, projected forth by desires and aspirations only to be undone by their own contradictions, conflicting notions, of selfhood, and intense cultural and political conflict’.121 According to Mah, many writings of the eighteenth century actively embrace contradiction and inconsistency. In this chapter I hope to have shown that this aspect to the Enlightenment may also be evident in works such as Goethe’s Egmont and, indeed, Beethoven’s Egmont overture.

The tragic nature of Beethoven’s Egmont overture and its unnerving conclusion asks us to refine our understanding of Beethoven’s heroic period. Indeed, the

Egmont overture in my opinion is not host to a linear narrative that traces the development of a hero, but a more pictorial narrative that presents a portrait of the inner conflict of Goethe’s tragic hero. As with the overtures of Gluck and

Mozart, Beethoven’s overture does not tell a story in the literary sense, but presents a musical argument that encourages listener to form a narrative from the musical signposts of the opera alongside their knowledge of Goethe’s play.

Two things, however, differentiate Beethoven’s overture from the overtures previously studied. Firstly, Beethoven’s overture, at particular moments

121 Harold Mah, Enlightenment Phantasies: Cultural Identity in France and Germany, 1750-1914 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003), p. 12. 299 appears to have a sense of agency, the four-note motif creating the illusion that it is actively driving the music forward, forging a new musical path. Whereas

Gluck’s overtures to Alceste and Iphigénie en Aulide were weighed down by an unbearable sense of tragedy that seemed to almost suspend time, the passages in Beethoven’s Egmont that host the four-note motif are forward-driven, working against the otherwise cyclical and tragic structure of the overture. The powerful and disruptive force of the four-note motif I see as indicative of both

Goethe and Beethoven’s attitudes towards fate, which they perceive not as a condition that should be blindly accepted, but one that must be heroically embraced, if not directly challenged. The second significant difference between the Egmont overture and the other overtures studied in this thesis is that

Beethoven’s overture appears to reveal to the spectator the ending to the play, possibly weakening the overall tragic effect of the overture and the effect it has on the play. Whereas Gluck and Mozart had used their overtures to help establish tragic frameworks for their operas, the overture placing the spectator in a state of tragic expectation, Beethoven undermines this effect through his use of a triumphant coda (ironic or not). The affirmative F major coda suggests to the listener that all will end well and that the tragic situation will be resolved.

The fact that the coda is actually used in the play to accompany Egmont’s ascent to the scaffold, however, jars with this expectation and perhaps even intensifies the tragic and ironic close of the play. Nevertheless, I believe there is a fundamental tension between the narrative of the Egmont overture and the narrative of the play, the overture seeming to say too much. Beethoven’s

Egmont overture seems to make explicit some of the difficulties and vexations that arise when writing a “dramatic” overture. Indeed, the problem of what an overture should and should not say was something of which Beethoven was keenly aware; the four overtures to Fidelio testament to the fact that Beethoven was constantly wrestling with ideas of what an overture should and should not express, and what it should and should not seek to prepare.122

122 On Beethoven’s Leonora overture see Alan Tyson, 'The Problem of Beethoven's "First" Leonore 300 Finally, it is worth mentioning that the coda to Beethoven’s Egmont, as

Burnham quite rightly notes, provides the work with an affirmative ending and, as a result, appears to be ascribed with a complete and closed musical narrative structure. It is probably for this reason that the overture has been adopted into the concert repertory. In addition, as the overture’s narrative appears to stem predominantly from the exploitation and manipulation of conventional musical devices, this overture has the potential to function not just as an introductory piece, but as a self-contained musical work as well. In this respect, the Egmont overture can be said to prepare the ground for the development of the concert overture; works that were not intended as introductory pieces, but as self-contained musical works that are attached to an explicit dramatic narrative. Berlioz’s Le Roi Lear overture and Mendelssohn’s

Hebrides Overture are two such examples.

The theatrical context of the Egmont overture, however, should not be forgotten, as knowledge of Goethe’s play (and to some extent Beethoven’s incidental music) provides us with a different way in which to understand and listen to the overture. While it is certainly useful to look at the Egmont overture from a formalist perspective, it is also interesting to look at the overture in terms of its dramatic function and possible narrative potential. Programmatic readings of

Beethoven’s overtures, then, do not necessarily trivialise our appreciation of the works and can actually aid with our understanding of their musical structures and the musical techniques and devices that are employed. In short, narrative readings of works such as the Egmont overture can help us to understand how and, perhaps, even why, Beethoven placed ‘the tragic experience at the core of his heroic style’.123

Overture', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 28, No. 2 (1975), p. 292-334, Alan Tyson, 'Yet Another "Leonore" Overture', Music and Letters, Vol. 58, No. 2 (1977), p. 192-203 and Basil Deane, 'The French Operatic Overture from Grétry to Berlioz', Proceedings of the Royal Music Association, Vol. 99, No.1 (1972), p. 77. 123 Maynard Solomon, Beethoven (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), p. 252. 301 Conclusions The Implications of a Narrative Study of Overtures

This thesis has explored the narrative nature of what I term the “dramatic” overture and explored some of the possible connections between the musical narrative of the overture and the narrative of the opera or play it introduces. I have argued that the “dramatic” overture functions allegorically; it presents the listener with a musical argument that is intended to reveal not only the nature of the ensuing drama, but its fundamental conflict; or to use Gluck’s phrase, its argomento. In effect, I claim that the overture prepares the listener by presenting in musical terms the kernel of the ensuing drama’s narrative. While my conclusion may appear to be nothing more than a free translation of the comments concerning the overture in the preface to Gluck’s Alceste, I have shown some of the ways in which an overture might prepare a listener for the drama that follows and also how music is able to function as part of that drama and in a narrative manner.

To claim that an overture prepares a listener for the argument of the drama to follow, is to suggest that music has the capacity to effectively communicate a narrative to its listener. In this thesis I have shown that through the interpolation of musical ideas from the opera or incidental music, the manipulation of formal procedures and expectations, and the use of conventional musical devices, operatic gestures, and musical topoi, an overture can be given what I term a ‘narrative potential’. Put simply, I argue that the thematic, gestural, and formal structure of an overture provides the listener with a series of musico-narrative signposts that can be used to form a narrative.

In particular, I have shown that viewing overtures from a dramatic and tragic perspective can help illuminate some of their more unusual musical features. In essence, I understand these overtures to function in a similar manner to 302

“programmatic” works, the extra-musical element - the plot of the drama they introduce - forming an important part of the way in which they are to be read and perhaps also understood. Indeed, listeners would probably have been familiar with the plots of the dramas these overtures were to introduce, thus having a narrative framework on which to base their interpretations. This may seem a bold claim as it calls out for a re-evaluation of the relationship not only between words and music in the eighteenth century, but also of the way in which we perceive music to function. But as I have shown, the relationship between music and words and music and drama was a hot topic of discussion for both composers and theorists, music’s expressive capabilities being experimented with in works such as the overture and addressed by eminent philosophers such as Diderot and Lessing.

The main focus of thesis has been to look at the way in which conventional musical devices, musical topoi, and formal procedures are manipulated in these overtures to help establish a musical argument that, in a way, can be translated into a narrative. In particular, I have drawn attention to the fact that these overtures frequently employ musical motifs, harmonic patterns, and orchestral timbres from the works they introduce to help instil in the overture a narrative resonance. For example, in chapter one I noted how Gluck effectively employs ombra music in his Alceste overture to provide it with a supernatural resonance, and in chapter three I looked at how Mozart draws upon musical material from the opera’s penultimate scene to provide his overture with an overbearing and fearful tone. In short, I argue that the overture is provided with meaning and a sense of narrative through the interpolation of musical ideas and motifs already associated with specific dramatic ideas and events in the opera. This, of course, implies that to some extent the narrative of overture may only become clear after the opera or play.

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The motifs and harmonic patterns, however, also serve another important narrative function: they familiarise the listener with some of the musical ideas and textures that are to occur later in the drama, helping furnish the opera with a tragic sense of temporality. In a way, the anticipatory musical ideas function in a manner similar to the nineteenth-century reminiscence motif. Indeed, these motifs are used to anticipate some of the more important musical ideas and characters from the works they introduce, and perhaps even hint at how the drama is to unravel. The narrative function I ascribe to these motifs can be said to mirror the function of prologues, visions, and oracles in Greek tragedy; they are musico-narrative devices that exist not only in the time of the performance, but across time, helping to provide the drama with a tragic, temporal framework. Intriguingly, these motifs and musical ideas rarely directly quote passages from the opera and only allude to music from the opera or play. As a result, they are not necessarily associated with single, specific events or character traits, as is the reminiscence motif, but used to evoke some of the drama’s main soundscapes and, in some cases, provide a portrait of some of the main characters in the drama. In my mind, these groupings of musical motifs and ideas, these ‘sound-similes’ establish a series of aural bridges between the music of the overture and the music of the ensuing opera (or incidental music) that intimately connects the overture to the opera.

Apart from highlighting a possible developmental strand in the history of the overture, I have used the overture in this thesis as a crucible in which to explore ideas of music as narrative and, in particular, the idea of music as tragedy. In addition, I have explored the question of just what music can express and shown that whereas music’s ability to communicate specificities is limited, it does have the power to express complex and conflicting arguments through the use of superimposition, juxtaposition, and developmental procedures. Over the course of four chapters I have observed how small-scale repetition, quotation, 304

and the subtle use of ‘sound-similes’ can help foster a tragic temporality and provide both the overture and opera with a tragic framework. In this respect, this thesis provides a contribution to the theoretical study of introductory pieces of music in general; a study that has the potential to range from analyses of eighteenth-century “dramatic” overtures to the music that accompanies a film’s opening credits. Indeed, there is no reason why the ideas put forward in thesis cannot also be applied to the overtures of Salieri and Cherubini, and perhaps even to comic and pictorial overtures. Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte, for instance, like the overture to Don Giovanni, incorporates musical ideas from the opera in its overture. Although not a tragic opera, the overture to Die Zauberflöte could be susceptible to a similar type of analysis that looks at the relationship between the overture and the opera alongside an exploration of whether the overture is used to furnish the opera with a magical, comic narrative framework. The narrative approach that I have developed in this thesis could perhaps also provide a starting point for an evaluation of the dramatic function and narrative potential of some nineteenth- and twentieth-century works as well, such as the overtures to Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischütz and

Euryanthe, the preludes to Wagner’s operas, and possibly even the music that opens films such as Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Although this may seem like a large claim, the way in which these introductory pieces function is not all that different. In each case, the opening piece of music has the potential to realise three narrative functions. Firstly, the music can be used to anticipate the mood of the drama. Secondly, the introductory piece can be employed to place spectators in a state of generic expectation, encouraging them to interpret the ensuing narrative in a particular manner. As noted in chapter three, the powerful and tragic opening to the Don Giovanni overture prepares the listener for the serious and gloomy nature of parts of the drama, and perhaps even persuades the listener to interpret the following narrative from a tragic perspective and question whether Don Giovanni is not simply a villainous 305

character, but a tragic hero who is the victim of an irrational and uncontrollable daemonic desire. Thirdly, these introductory pieces can be used to familiarise the spectator with some of the more important musical ideas from the drama, imbuing the motifs and musical ideas in the drama with a sense of history and importance, while also asking the listener to draw a connection with the original musico-dramatic context of these motifs and ideas in the overture.

Overtures, then, in my opinion can and do play an important, if not crucial, part in how the narrative of the ensuing drama is interpreted by the listener/spectator.

The analytical approach taken in this thesis and some of the observations made could have syntactical and synchronic implications not just for the history and analysis of the overture, but possibly for the eighteenth-century symphony as well. Indeed, this thesis has shown the importance of paying close attention to musical techniques and devices such as orchestration, instrumental texture, contrast, and small-scale repetition, techniques rarely understood as integral elements of much eighteenth-century music. I hope to have highlighted their importance and shown that eighteenth-century composers were not only concerned with formal structure, but with ideas of surface texture and musical drama. Consequently, there may be a case for studying Haydn’s Sturm und

Drang symphonies with this in mind, as they frequently employ ombra music, operatic gestures, and musical topoi, as well as incorporate some of the same musical and structural ideas found in the tragic overtures explored in this thesis.1 A narrative analysis of eighteenth-century instrumental music, in short, could help with our understanding of these works and has the potential to draw out musical features in other works and genres that have been previously ignored or overlooked.

1 Several of these symphonies are, in fact, thought to have originated as dramatic overtures. See p. 6. 306

It was noted above that the overtures studied in this thesis function in a similar manner to “programmatic” pieces of music, the narrative of the opera or play informing both the musical structure of the overture and our resultant interpretation of it. This thesis, then, could also provide a platform for the study of concert overtures and symphonic poems. In a sense, Beethoven’s Egmont overture bridges the gap between the “dramatic” overture and the early concert overture, this overture, although intended as an introduction to Goethe’s play, being a work that is more often performed as a stand-alone concert work. The

Egmont overture, perhaps, even signals a change in the way that overtures were being perceived and understood at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

Unlike the other overtures studied in this thesis, this overture does not flow smoothly into the opening scene, but provides an affirmative close that hints at the ending of the play and provides the overture with a complete and closed narrative. In my view, Beethoven’s overture says too much and highlights a growing difficulty in the writing of “dramatic” overtures. In a sense, this overture marks the beginning of the end for this type of overture. Indeed,

Berlioz omits the overture from his opera Les Troyens and Richard Strauss provides only a few introductory bars for his opera Salome. The fact that Verdi and Wagner begin their respective Rigoletto and Tristan und Isolde with preludes rather than overtures might also be symptomatic of the “overture problem”, a problem that Beethoven posed in his Egmont overture and wrestled with in his four overtures to Fidelio. To be sure, Beethoven wrote a total of four overtures for Fidelio, the first and last attempt being significantly different works. A study of these four overture and their different narratives would certainly be a worthwhile pursuit, and might help shed some light onto the difficulties with which Beethoven grappled when writing an overture for his opera.

While the affirmative ending to Beethoven’s Egmont overture may render it less suitable for the stage, the overture suggesting that all will end well, the coda 307

does enable the work to function effectively in the concert hall, the overture having a complete and satisfying musical narrative. It is probably for this reason that the Egmont overture proves to be such a well-liked concert piece and why it can be thought of as bridging the gap between the “dramatic” overture and the concert overture.

Despite their generic designation, concert overtures were not intended as introductions to larger-scale works. In a way, the concert overture retains what was interesting about the “dramatic” overture, but removes the problem of what an overture should and should not try to say, dispensing altogether with the overture’s introductory function. It is, however, worth pointing out that a large number of what we understand to be concert overtures were originally intended as introductions to plays or larger works. For instance, nearly all of

Beethoven’s overtures were actually intended as dramatic introductions to larger-scale works: the Prometheus overture was intended to introduce a ballet and Die Ruinen von Athen, König Stephan and Die Weihe des Hauses were all introductions to stage works with accompanying incidental music.

Mendelssohn’s Ruy Blas and Liszt’s Hamlet overtures were similarly also intended to introduce plays; even Liszt's symphonic poem Les Préludes was written as an introduction to his large-scale choral work Les Quatre Elémens.

It was with Hector Berlioz and Felix Mendelssohn that the narrative possibilities of the concert overture began to be fully explored. Berlioz’s concert overtures are particularly interesting as several of his overtures are based upon tragic, literary narratives and seem to employ some of the musical devices and techniques used in the tragic overture tradition established by Gluck, Mozart, and Beethoven. Berlioz’s concert overture Le Roi Lear overture of 1831 perhaps most effectively exemplifies this connection. According to Donald Francis

Tovey, ‘we shall only misunderstand Berlioz’s King Lear Overture so long as we 308

try to connect it with Shakespeare’s Lear at all’.2 I believe, however, that an understanding of the dramatic nature of the literary work can provide us with an interesting way in which to listen to the overture and can perhaps even aid with our understanding of the overture’s structure. Tovey’s difficulty in reading Berlioz’s overture in my opinion results from the fact that he appears to only understand narrative in a linear sense, and I have to agree with him that applying to the overture a linear narrative that parallels the sequence of events in Shakespeare’s play would ultimately be a pointless pursuit. Indeed, music does not function in the same narrative manner as a literary narrative.

However, there is no reason why an overture need present to the listener the entirety of the action. In fact, as I have shown in this thesis, a “dramatic” overture is more likely to express the kernel of the dramatic conflict, rather than synopsis of the opera or play. In the case of Berlioz’s Roi Lear, I hear the overture as depicting Lear’s tragic descent into madness. An analysis of this overture from a musico-tragic narrative perspective may help us to understand some its more unusual features, such as its extensive introductory passage, cyclical design, and turbulent coda.

The relationship between the eighteenth-century tragic, "dramatic" overture and the concert overtures of Mendelssohn is more complex, as many of his overtures are not based on tragic literary tales, but comic and pictorial scenes

(the Ruy Blas overture is a notable exception). His overtures, however, do seem to employ some of the same musical techniques described in this thesis. I think it would be worth exploring the relationship between the concert overtures of

Mendelssohn and the “dramatic” overtures of Gluck, Mozart, and Beethoven to see if and how he adapts the musical techniques and devices they employ in

2 Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis: Illustrative Music (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), p. 83. 309

their overtures to achieve entirely new and radically different dramatic and narrative effects in his concert overtures.

An underlying question that is begged by the observations offered in this thesis is whether it would be possible to write a history of the overture, and indeed why such a history has not yet been undertaken. I believe a possible reason for this desideratum is that such a history cannot be written without tying it, even just a little, to a range of other histories, including those of the symphony, opera, theatre, and tragedy, not to mention theories of drama and of narrative.

A history of the overture, thus, would necessarily involve a variety of different interpretative strategies and a balance would have to be struck between analysing the musical structure of the works and more hermeneutic approaches that attempt to view these works from an historical and cultural perspective. In this thesis I have tried to analyse four overtures from a number of different perspectives, attempting to balance the various approaches I have taken to highlight not just a developmental strand in the overture’s history, but more importantly how introductory works can aid a spectator’s understanding of the ensuing drama, as well my own ideas of drama, narrative, and indeed music as narrative and music as tragic narrative.

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