Music without frontiers

From afar, we watch a ship sailing into the wind. We ask how this can be, since according to the laws of physics, it should be impossible. Watching the ship’s movements from closer by, we see that it isn’t moving in a straight line, but is tacking back and forth. By catching the wind in its sails from another direction each time, it can follow an apparently impossible course.

Looking at the course steered by Christoph Willibald Gluck (1714-1787), we see a similar phenomenon. Gluck is known as the great opera reformer of the 18th century. He piloted the genre out of the marshes of complicated storylines and vocal acrobatics, towards the open waters of clear narratives and emotional depths. The opera Iphigénie en Tauride is commonly considered the high point. The closing work of a career, the ultimate synthesis of Italian and French opera combined with the narrative character of German song, a turning point in the direction of romantic opera: just some of the many descriptions employed. Iphigénie en Tauride is the last of Gluck’s so-called reform operas, a term which implies that the composer single-handedly prepared the genre for the future.

The above descriptions might give the impression that this reform progressed in a straight line, with a clear starting point (criticism of opera of the time), a direct path and a clear destination (a reformed opera). The reality is – is it ever otherwise? – less straightforward, and therefore all the more fascinating.

An international perspective

Christoph Willibald Gluck’s reform operas date from the period between 1762, when he composed Orfeo ed Euridice, and 1779, the year that Iphigénie en Tauride premiered. In between, we also have Alceste (1767), Iphigénie en Aulide (1774) and Armide (1777). In the same period, Gluck also composed operas that could not be classified as ‘reform operas’. Il trionfo di Clelia (1763), Telemaco (1765), Il Prologo (1767) and his last (and unsuccessful) opera Écho et Narcisse (1779) are a few examples. The way to reform was thus a meandering one, containing side roads and alternative routes. Gluck wished to create a new kind of opera, but continued simultaneously to produce works in a more traditional idiom.

To understand all this, we must briefly follow Gluck’s life path. He was from Germany, but grew up in Bohemia. His first real job was as organist in Prague, from where he soon moved to Vienna. Through the composer Giovanni Battista Sammartini, he came into contact with Italian opera and got the chance to compose several works for the opera houses of Milan and Venice. During his eight years in Italy, he undoubtedly moved in the better circles, since in Milan he maintained contact with the city governor, Prince Georg Christian von Lobkowitz. He accompanied Lobkowitz on his travels and so came to Paris, where he met Jean-Philippe Rameau, and then London, where Georg Friedrich Händel was composing. According to history, the first contact with Händel was problematic, but they would ultimately even work together.

Those familiar with his work will experience more than one déjà-entendu during Iphigénie en Tauride. Gluck reused a lot of music from his earlier operas and ballets, a common practice at the time

On these travels, Gluck eagerly acquainted himself with local opera cultures and absorbed, among other things, the peculiarities of French tragédie lyrique. Back in Vienna (from 1750), with a broader palate at his disposal, he could respond perfectly to any demand for French operas. French was spoken at court and French culture was followed with interest. French elements crept into the Italian operas he composed for Vienna, such as lengthier dance scenes and a greater attention to narrative development. Gluck’s trajectory was therefore determined not only by aesthetic ideals or a great drive for innovation, but also by the realities of his situation. The laws of supply and demand, the tastes of the Viennese and Parisian public, the success or failure of previous operas: these were all factors that influenced the direction. In Vienna, enthusiasm for the French influence in Italian operas seemed limited. He was successful, but his works were not imitated by other composers. The success of his reform operas is particularly linked to the Académie Royale in Paris, an opera house (and a public) that identified with his ideals.

Renewal with an eye on the past

What Gluck sought in his operas – and this may appear paradoxical for an innovator – was a return to the origins of the opera genre. (In a 1931 article, musicologist Edgar Istel likened Gluck to a Janus head, looking both forwards and backwards simultaneously). Renaissance thought focused much attention on the great stories of the past, on classical mythology . With Orfeo ed Euridice, he laid a clear link back to Monteverdi and the birthplace of opera, but classical tales and Greek tragedies are a constant throughout his entire oeuvre. The attraction of these stories lies in their universal character. They not only belong to our collective memory, they also translate to the here and now. This was so in Gluck’s time, and it seems that, in Rafael R. Villalobos’ staging, it still applies today.

With his choice of mythological subjects, Gluck enrols firmly in a tradition. In the music too, the road to renewal runs close by the (recent) past. Those familiar with his work will, during Iphigénie en Tauride, experience more than one déjà-entendu moment. Gluck freely repurposed music from his earlier operas and ballets, a common practice at the time. Certainly, with a composer who can look back on a prolific career and a diverse oeuvre, such a working method produces a sense of synthesis. The perfect example is Johann Sebastian Bach’s Hohe Messe, a parody mass in which old and new music by Bach sits comfortably side by side. Perhaps, when composing Iphigénie en Tauride, Gluck saw an opportunity to give a second life (or in the case of the aria ‘Je t’implore et je tremble’, a third life) to music that particularly pleased him, after Antigone and Telemaco.

Even the famous storm-overture, which immediately sets the tone for the emotional roller coaster boarded by the audience, together with Iphigenia, Thoas, Orestes and Pylades, is recycled. The curtain rises on the opéra-comique L’île de Merlin (1758) with the same storm – though in Iphigénie en Tauride, Gluck heightens dramatic tension by allowing the first exclamations from Iphigenia and the chorus to resound during the orchestral overture. What in L’île de Merlin was simply creating atmosphere, takes on a deeper psychological significance when Iphigenia exclaims: ‘It will calm down again. But alas, deep in my heart the storm rages on.’

Clear and ...

The reusage of existing music also has consequences for the collaboration between librettist and composer. The libretto for Iphigénie en Tauride was written by the young poet, Nicolas-François Guillard (1752-1814). He took over the task from Marie François Louis Gand Leblanc du Roullet (1716-1786), who had previously written the libretto for Iphigéne en Aulide. For Gluck, working with a much younger librettist had the advantage that he – a prominent composer – might influence the concrete construction of the text. He could have the text modified to fit the structure of the music he was reusing. However, during the libretto’s composition, Gluck was above all committed to the manner in which the characters experience their tragic fate, and how the opera’s great arc of tension could be maintained until the very end. For key moments in the story, he had in mind certain sorts of music for which the libretto had to be adapted. One example that we know of, from an exchange of letters with the librettist, is the way Thoas enters, in the fourth and last act: ‘I would also like Thoas in the fourth act to enter raging, with a ”tirade-aria”, and that all verses are so written that they may be sung without recitative, until the catastrophe, because that would make the denouement exceptionally powerful, and all the actors and chorus provide a dynamic with a great effect.’

Virtuoso displays are rare, the text is always intelligible and – especially – the dramatic action is central

Gluck sought a musical storytelling that closely matched the characters’ emotions and allowed the audience to sense their feelings. He had to break free of the customs of baroque Italian opera, where stereotypical characters and ready-made affects were the norm. He made (inspired by the French monologue) the recitatives more melodic and differentiated. In the dialogues between Orestes and Pylades, one notices how each of the friends has his own recitation style. This is logical, since each reacts in a totally different manner to the tragic lot that awaits them. The recitatives are also provided with continuous orchestral support. As a result, the orchestra plays from beginning to end, thereby contributing to the drama’s continuity.

Recitatives become more arioso, and arias less exuberant. One major criticism of Italian opera was that the virtuosity of the soloists had become more important than the storyline. This manifested itself in prolonged da capo-arias (in A-B-A form), where the first part of the aria was repeated, but now richly ornamented with trills, furious flurries of notes and assorted vocal acrobatics with which singers might enthuse their audience. This belcanto drew all attention to the unique qualities of the actors on stage, but their characters remained in the shadows. In Iphigénie en Aulide, Gluck avoided da capo-arias, which again – as in the French tradition – benefited continuity. Because he was reusing older material, da capo-arias do still surface in Iphigénie en Tauride, but part A repeats are limited and do not disturb the dramatic action.

Virtuosic display is therefore hard to find, the text is always comprehensible and – especially – the dramatic action is central. For the same reason Gluck chooses a storyline without too many detours. No need for intrigues between secondary characters nor for convoluted subplots. At centre is the impossible situation that Iphigenia, Orestes and Pylades find themselves in. In addition, Thoas plays an interesting role as someone who, through his own anxiety and impotence, chooses bloody retribution, fired up by the Scythians, one of the roles naturally assigned to the chorus. The chorus also embodies the priestesses who attend Iphigenia, the Furies who visit Orestes in his dream, Thoas’s guards and the Greeks accompanying Orestes and Pylades. In these capacities, the chorus not only comments on proceedings, but extends the emotional world of the principal characters.

… layered

Because the music is sometimes recycled, the dramatic action takes centre stage and the plot remains comprehensible, does not mean that the opera is simple or straightforward. On the one hand, the story has a number of interesting twists, as when Orestes says to himself: ‘This is how you died in Aulis, Iphigenia, my sweet sister’. The moment when he draws the parallel between his own lot and that of Iphigenia, is also the moment when she realises that she is face to face with her brother. The heart-wrenching discussion between Orestes and Pylades over which of them will be saved, touches emotional depths that call for a challenging musical and dramatic impact.

Throughout the opera, the music provides an additional layer of meaning on various levels.

The clearest example is the storm that begins the opera, and which symbolises the mental torments of the lead characters. This tempestuous music is again heard when Iphigenia dreams that the earth is shaking beneath her father’s palace, or when Thoas describes his fears: ‘It is as if the earth opens under my feet and Hell is ready to swallow me up.’ When, through the chorus, the local populace calls for Orestes and Pylades to be sacrificed, Gluck amplifies their tribal chants with percussion instruments. In these cases, the music supports and strengthens the action, but there are also moments when the music allows us to read between the lines. When Orestes, in the second act, collapses and then falls asleep, we hear him sing ‘le calme rentre dans mon coeur’ (‘calm returns to my heart’). However, that calm is not peace of mind but pure exhaustion. The agitation and guilt feelings for murdering his own mother are always there. We hear this in the violas which, with agitated, repeated tones, throw the calm of the music off balance.

Gluck wished to compose music without boundaries, which does away with ‘the ridiculous distinctions between national styles’. Which is also why Gluck’s operas continue to inspire in 2024

Twenty years after Gluck’s death, the German poet, composer and journalist Christian Schubart wrote: ‘He belonged to no single school and founded no tradition’. That is true in the sense that not all his operas can be placed in the same category – they are not all reform operas – and because his work was not adopted as a model by following generations. However, that does not mean that Gluck occupies a stand-alone page in the history of music. His influence extends from Mozart to Berlioz to Wagner, composers with such a strong individuality that we cannot speak of a real school. Neither was that what Gluck strove for. He simply wished to compose music without boundaries: music that belonged to all nations and which – as he wrote in a 1773 letter – does away with ‘the ridiculous distinction between national styles’. Which is also why Gluck’s operas continue to inspire in 2024. Today, when nationalistic and identitarian thinking is once again gaining ground in various parts of the world, Gluck offers us – as a bridge between cultures – a view of how things could be otherwise. And at a time when our world might once again go up in flames, Iphigénie en Taurid offers a timeless tale on how huge international conflicts affect the lives of individuals. With Gluck, the goddess Diana as deus ex machina appears on the scene. In the real world, it’s up to us.