Gluck (Part II) In the first installment of his two-part biography of Gluck (Berlioz on Music, #9), Berlioz related his overwhelming early experiences of Gluck’s music and summa- rized Gluck’s beginnings as a composer of Italian operas, most of little merit— with the notable exception of an aria from Telemaco (1765), which he lovingly and evocatively described. He then told of Gluck’s coming to maturity with his great operatic reform; of the rivalry between Gluck and Piccini; and of Gluck’s force of character in defending his music in performance. Continuing the biog- raphy, Berlioz now reviews Gluck’s French operas beginning with Iphigénie en Aulide (1774). He briefly evokes the popular Orphée (1774), then dwells on the French version of Alceste (1776) and on some unfortunate changes from the Italian libretto. With Armide (1777) he is especially interested in the line “Our general calls you back,” whose extraordinary effect is due in part, he concedes, to additions by French arrangers. He also speaks of Gluck’s masterpiece, Iphigénie en Tauride (analyzed separately in an extensive article: see website and #17); of Écho et Narcisse, his last opera; and finally, of the breadth of Gluck’s genius, capable of improvising French verse. In sum, Berlioz considers Gluck a great musical poet who, through an infusion of poetry into music, began the art’s emancipation from custom and routine. z June 8, 1834 Gazette musicale de Paris 02_9780199391950_c02.indd 1 21-01-2015 16:41:42 2 Berlioz on Music It was at about this time that du Roullet, the bailiff stationed in Vienna,1 brought the French poem Iphigenia in Aulis to Gluck’s attention.2 The idea of setting the final part to music had been suggested by Racine himself, and apart from a few lines of recitative that could well have been preserved just as they had been imagined by our great poet (and that were disfigured merely so du Roullet might play his part as arranger), we may say that the scenes were beautifully organized and ripe for great musical developments. The composer saw at a glance everything he could do with such a subject. He took it on and set it to music, though without knowing when it might be performed and without even seeking the slightest commitment from the Paris Opéra. Only after finishing his work did Gluck have a French friend of his contact the director of the Royal Academy of Music to propose mounting Iphigenia. Once the difficult negotiation was concluded to the satisfaction of both par- ties, the German composer came to France. Although he eventually met with brilliant success in the capital of the civilized world, his initial experiences were cruelly disappointing, as he had to confront some truly vile and ignoble plots. The partisans of Rameau, sworn foes of the admirers of Lully, joined forces with them to bring down the “Barbarian from the North,” and in this they were seconded by all the auxiliary fanatics that the partisans of Italian comic opera could assemble. It took nothing less than a direct order from Queen Marie Antoinette, who in Germany had been a pupil of Sir Willibald and maintained the most affectionate admiration for her teacher, to oblige the director of the Opéra to keep his word. After an almost unbelievable number of rehearsals necessitated by the per- formers’ insufficiencies and the upsetting of their routines, Iphigenia appeared. Its success was immense. The overture had to be played a second time. The triumphal chorus in the first act, the quartet, the trio, Clytemnestre’s swoon, the duet of Achille and Iphigénie, the religious hymns of sacrifice were all wildly applauded. I can understand such responses better than anyone, recall- ing, as I do, how my heart raced only some eight years ago at the opening measures of this opera now so utterly forgotten.3 Of all the works that Gluck 1. Berlioz gives du Roullet his title of bailli, an officer appointed by and thus loyal to the king rather than to local interests. 2. From the next sentence it is clear that Berlioz is referring to Racine’s play Iphigénie, which was of course written in verse. 3. The opera was performed on February 23, 1824, with Mme. Branchu as Clytemnestre and Dérivis as Agamemon (CM). 02_9780199391950_c02.indd 2 21-01-2015 16:41:43 Gluck (Part II) 3 composed for the French stage, Iphigenia in Aulis is the one that borrows least from his Italian scores. The only parts that he did not write especially for the Opéra are the introduction to the overture, derived from the aria in Telemaco “Ah! chi di voi m’addita,” and the famous chorus “Que de grâces!” based on a cavatina from La Clemenza di Tito, “Al mio spirto.”4 The dance numbers that we know differ from those in the printed score and are infinitely superior in every way. It appears that Gluck wrote them for a reprise of Iphigenia in which the conclusion was also changed. Orphée, with a style and shape more in keeping with Italian habits, recon- ciled its composer with the dilettanti for a while, but Alceste came along and destroyed those benefits of Orphée, and the opposition gathered new strength when this lugubrious drama appeared, on April 23, 1776. Du Roullet, the great arranger of the period, worked together with the composer to effect great changes from the original Italian version. These were not all felicitous. Here are the main ones: The lovely aria “Non, ce n’est point un sacrifice” was composed, words and music, for the French opera.5 On the other hand, the authors felt obliged to delete a really curious number in the Italian Alceste. It is a sort of measured recitative sung by Admète’s wife upon entering the underworld. “Chi mi parla! . che rispondo! . ah, che veggo! ah, che spav- ento! . ove fuggo! . ove m’ascondo! . ardo . gelo . manco . moro . e in tanta pena . il . vigor . mi resta . appena . per dolermi . e per . tremar.”6 The voice is accompanied pianissimo by muted strings on a sinister rhythm maintained insistently from beginning to end, like a muffled rustling that from the depths of Tartarus comes to freeze Alceste with terror. Each of the exclamations—“Qui me parle! . que vois-je! . où fuir! . je brûle . je gèle . je meurs, etc.” is followed by a syncopated chord in the lowest register of the oboes, bassoons, and clarinets; the effect is strange and lugubrious, and wondrous in that setting. Executed by a great actress and a fine orchestra, the piece would be frightening. I can’t understand why Gluck failed to include it in his French score. Still more puzzling is that he allowed his arranger to 4. gives the following references from : “Ah, who among you points to me,” “What CM GSW grace!” and “To my mind,” respectively. The aria from Telemaco is in Act I, sc. 6–7; the cava- tina from La Clemenza di Tito is in Act II, sc. 14; its theme is used for the “famous chorus” from Act I, sc. 4–5, “Que d’attraits. Que de grâces.” 5. “No, it is no sacrifice.” Act I, sc. 5. 6. “Who speaks to me . how do I answer . ah, what do I see . ah, what terror . where do I flee . where do I hide . I burn . I freeze . I grow weak . I die . and in such pain . I . barely have . the strength . to lament . to . tremble.” Act II, sc. 2. 02_9780199391950_c02.indd 3 21-01-2015 16:41:43 4 Berlioz on Music disarrange the beautiful flow of the great aria that ends the first act. Alceste hurls her challenge to the gods of the underworld; what she gets in response is a fearsome cry in the horns and trombones. This idea strikes me as beautiful in the French aria; in the original it is sublime. The Italian word ombre,7 stretch- ing over two long notes, gives the voice time to swell and at the same time gives extra saliency to the response of the gods, represented by the brasses;*8 the singing comes to a halt just when the orchestra starts. The same thing occurs with the second word, larve.9 Placed a fifth higher than the first,10 it gives rise to a frightening orchestral roar, the likes of which I am unaware of anywhere in opera. In the French translation, rather than the two words “ombre! . larve! . .,” which would have been fine with the mere addition of an “s”, we have “divinités du Styx.”11 Consequently, instead of a smooth vocal phrase uttered complete in a single measure, the change produces five insipid repetitions of the same note for the five syllables “di-vi-ni-tés du Styx,” while the word “Styx” is thrown into the following measure at the very time when the instrumental cry covers it entirely. Besides, since the meaning is not complete in the measure where the voice sings alone, the orchestra gives the impression of starting up too soon, responding to an unfinished challenge. The rhymester was no doubt unable to get the two words “ombres, larves” to fit into his verse and, rather than provide a literal translation in prose, which would have worked perfectly, he profaned, marred, and disfigured the most stunning inspiration in tragic music. But oh, how important it was, that poetry by Monsieur du Roullet! The first performance of Alceste found little response, the audience not grasping even the hundredth part of the work’s beauties. Its reception seemed tantamount to failure.