It may seem strange
in our urtext-minded age that
Gluck’s most famous opera is still generally
known in a hybrid version, the excuse
being that the original Vienna edition
(in Italian) is more succinctly dramatic,
and so deserves to be followed in the
main, but that some of the extra music
added for Paris in 1774 (notably the
"Dance of the Blessed Spirits"
with its famous flute solo) is too good
to lose. The hybrid had its origins
in Berlioz, whose 1859 version became
standard in the late 19th
and early 20th centuries,
but even those who today return to the
Gluck original often pick and choose
among versions. Another major difference
is that the original had a castrato
Orpheus and the Paris version a high
tenor; it was Berlioz who assigned the
part to a contralto.
Here, then, is a fairly
rare opportunity to here the Paris version
unadulterated, played by an expert band
of period instruments whose open sonorities
at the beginning of the overture are
a joy to hear. Particularly effective
are the braying sounds from the brass
at the beginning of Act 2, showing that
Gluck could be quite as powerful and
original as Berlioz, even without Berlioz
to help him out.
However, the news is
not all so good. It quickly becomes
evident that this is another of those
period groups for whom actual long-term
musical phrasing is a romantic accretion,
to be substituted with a heavily regular
ONE two three, ONE
two three. This can be got used to,
up to a point, especially when the orchestra
is in an accompanying role.
And then there is the
question of tempi. At 85:43, the Paris
version, though considerably more extended
than the Vienna one, is made to appear
so short as almost to require the opera
to be presented in a double bill. Timings
are fairly useless when different versions
are used, but for what it’s worth Pierre
Monteux’s 1957 recording (the conductor’s
interesting conception ruined by Risë
Stevens’s blowsy Orpheus) takes 130:21.
He appears to be basically following
the Berlioz version, translated back
into Italian; comparing the librettos
of the two sets there doesn’t appear
to be that much difference in
the actual music included except
that Monteux doesn’t give the final
aria of Act 1 (probably not by Gluck)
but does give the Act 3 pantomime,
all 18:32 of it, which was written for
Paris, but in 1776 and so is not included
in this "pure" 1774 version.
So having accounted for a fifteen minutes’
difference or thereabouts with extra
music on the Monteux, the remaining
30 minutes would seem to be a matter
of tempi. I haven’t reinvestigated exactly
what Furtwängler played at La Scala
in 1951, presumably some form of Berlioz
with cuts, but he took 108 minutes over
it.
Blowing the cobwebs
away or taking the substance out of
the music? The "Dance of the Blessed
Spirits" is almost unrecognizable
at times, played at about double the
tempo of the Fritz Reiner performance
I got to know the piece by. Gluck’s
marking is "Lent et trés
doux", which is not the same as
"Trés lent et doux",
but to my ears this is Allegretto. At
the close of Act Two Orpheus is conducted
towards Eurydice to the strains of a
courtly minuet and the aria we used
to know as "What is life without
thee?" gambols along amiably and
elegantly. The idea that Orpheus should
sound at least a wee bit sorry
at having had his wife die for the second
time is evidently considered another
cobweb to be blown away.
For better or worse,
the result is a perfect counterpart
to the French art of Watteau or Fragonard,
all very calm with the emotions stylised
and set in a frame, and very rococo
with its frills and fripperies. In the
air "Quel nouveau ciel" Orpheus
is borne on the delicately hued orchestral
backdrop like a cherub on a puffy white
cloud.
Into this conception
the mellifluous tenor of Jean-Paul Fouchécourt
fits perfectly. Unfazed by the highest
writing or by the abundant virtuosity
required in the first act aria, his
is a beautifully considered, restrained
neo-classical assumption (allowing a
touch more emotion in the recitatives
than in the arias), just about as far
removed as anything can be from the
deeply felt, emotional interpretations
of the Ferrier-Baker tradition. Suzie
Le Blanc’s Amour matches him well but
Catherine Dubosc, whose curriculum shows
her not to be an early music specialist
like the others, offers a more conventional
operatic style.
This is, after all,
the French version, and it can only
be salutary to be made to think again
about a work we might think we know
well. Given the interpretative viewpoint
it is carried through with consistency,
style and a great deal of thought. The
trouble is that, having duly thought
about it all, I remain perplexed.
Gluck’s aim in his
"Reform Opera" was to revive
the ideals of classical tragedy, to
remove the frills of operatic convention
and replace them with straightforward,
direct emotions. Or so we have always
been told, and such discerning admirers
as Berlioz and Brahms believed he had
succeeded. The first edition of Grove
stated that "He grasped the idea
that the mission of music was not merely
to afford gratification to the senses,
and he proved that the expression of
moral qualities is within her reach…
He aimed at depicting historic or legendary
characters and antique social life,
and in this work of genius he put into
the mouth of each of his heroes accents
suited to their sentiments, and to the
spirit of the times in which they lived….
All his French operas show him to have
been a noble musician, a true poet,
and a deep thinker". In the early
20th Century Stanford wrote
that "He had assimilated all the
vital points of Greek tragedy … Opera,
instead of being a mere mannequin
to show off the airs and graces
of the performers, became a living entity
in which the language, the action, the
scenery, and the music went to make
an artistic whole" (Stanford/Forsyth:
A History of Music, MacMillan 1916).
Romantic twaddle? If
it is, the uncomfortable feeling remains
that in the days of the Ferriers and
the Furtwänglers (not together,
alas) this opera provided an altogether
deeper experience. What we get here
is a nice little performance of a nice
little opera, and if you think this
is really no more than a nice little
opera then it’ll suit you fine. For
me, the baby’s gone out with the bathwater.
The sound is excellent
and there is a complete libretto with
translation – not something to be taken
for granted with Naxos who more usually
provide just a synopsis. However, certain
other features of the production require
comment. Having listed individually
every member of the orchestra and chorus,
it seems odd not to tell us who sings
the part of the Ombre Heureuse.
I’ve never encountered an operatic recording
with so few tracks – just two for the
Third Act, the first lasting 17:03 and
containing all sorts of airs and duets,
notably "J’ai perdu mon Euridice",
which the listener might wish to have
indexed. One doesn’t make too much of
short playing time at the Naxos price
but, while respecting the purity of
the 1774 version, might we not have
had the 1776 Pantomime as an appendix?
Christopher Howell
see also
review by Robert Hugill
Jean-Paul Gouchécourt (Orphée,
tenor), Catherine Dubosc (Euridice, soprano),
Suzie Le Blanc (Amour, soprano), Opera Lafayette
Orchestra and Chorus/Ryan Brown 
