Arts & Events

On Monday evening, April 27, John Eliot Gardiner’s English Baroque Soloists and Monteverdi Choir gave their only performance at Davies Hall of Claudio Monteverdi’s epochal opera L’Orfeo, favola in musica. This seminal work, first performed at the Gonzaga court in Mantua in 1607, won for Monteverdi the sobriquet “the father of opera.” While his Orfeo was not totally unprecedented, having been preceded by several works by the Florentine Camerata, whose composers Jacopo Peri and Giulio Caccini attempted a hypothetical approximation of ancient Greek music-drama, Monteverdi’s Orfeo none the less set opera on its future course by giving infinitely expressive voice to gli affeti (the affections or emotions). With Orfeo, Monteverdi achieved a dramatic unity of text and music, in which emotional “key” words expressing the joy and anguish of lovers, anger, despair, etc., were both clearly enunciated in the declamatory singing and given heightened emphasis in the melodic structure of the music, thereby creating a “passionate musical speech.” 

The tale of Orpheus and Eurydice is one of the world’s great, albeit tragic, love stories. In Monteverdi’s Orfeo, set to a libretto by Alessandro Striggi, the opera opens with a brilliant toccata with muted trumpets playing a fanfare above a droning bass. After three repeats, this martial and “masculine” music gives way to a “feminine” string ritornello, ushering in an allegorical prologue sung by a soprano representing “La Musica.” As the embodiment of music, Francesca Aspromonte sang of her ability to calm and/or arouse the passions. In strophic song, she also lauded the legendary powers of Orpheus (Orfeo), who, with his beautiful voice and elegant playing of the lyre, could hold even the wild beasts in thrall to his music.  

In a concert performance without sets or costumes, John Eliot Gardiner’s English Baroque Soloists gave us a semi-staged interpretation of Orfeo by having various singers dance to the instrumental music, make dramatic entrances and exits through the wings, and either step forward from the massed choir or modestly retreat among the choristers. After the prologue by La Musica, a shepherd stepped forward to announce that today is the happy wedding day of Orfeo, who, after years of pining away for his beloved Eurydice (Euridice in Italian), has at last won her love. Amid general rejoicing, singers dance to celebrate this joyful day. Various nymphs and shepherds join their voices in honoring these nuptials.  

Orfeo, sung here by tenor Andrew Tortise, begins a hymnal arioso addressed at first to the sun-god, his father, divine Apollo, then addressed in more direct recitative style to his beloved Euridice. Musically, this shift from the more formal arioso to the more natural recitative vividly demonstrates Orfeo’s musical virtuosity, in which, himself a demi-god, he acknowledges the sacral homage to the divine while honoring as well the down-to-earth immediacy of the human. Euridice, beautifully sung by soprano Mariana Flores, responds with a lovely recitative pledging her complete devotion to her love for Orfeo. More choral singing and general dancing bring Act I of Orfeo to a joyful close. 

As Act II begins, Orfeo and his shepherd friends reminisce about the wooded hills where they often lingered. Orfeo then sings a great strophic aria, “Vi ricorda, o boschi ombrosi” (“Do you recall, oh shady woods”), in which he vividly contrasts his newly won marital bliss to his earlier years of sorrows, “when the stones to my plaints made piteous response.” Orfeo’s present joy may momentarily dominate this aria, but an underlying evocation of mournful sadness points backwards to his past sufferings and also forwards in hinting at what tragedy may lie ahead.  

Sure enough, a messenger named Silvia soon arrives with fateful news. Beautifully sung by soprano Francesca Aspromonte, (who does double duty as La Musica and Silvia), the messenger hesitates to pierce Orfeo’s heart with the words she must tell. Singing in a minor key with touches of mournful chromaticism, Silvia begins her tale slowly, reluctantly: “La tua bella Euridice …” (“Your beautiful Eur-idice…”); but her voice breaks off with a notated rest. She cannot finish the sentence. The opera’s action and Orfeo’s life are suspended in the balance. After a pause, she resumes: “La tua diletta sposa…” (“Your beloved spouse…”); but again she hesitates, until finally completing the sentence with the fateful words, “è morta” (“is dead”).  

There follows a stunned silence, eventually broken by Orfeo’s wretched cry “Oimè!” (“Woe is me!”). At last Silvia tells in full what happened, how Euridice, picking wild flowers with her bridesmaids, was bitten by a venomous snake and died within minutes, expiring in Silvia’ arms. Monteverdi’s expressive vocal line sinks dejectedly on Silvia’s final notes.  

Now Orfeo, barely able to realize what has happened, sings his plaintive recitative, which begins, “Tu se’ morta, se’ morta mia vita, ed io respiro?” (“You are dead, dead is my life, and I still breathe?”). Orfeo can’t come to grips with what has occurred. He begins anew: “Tu se’ da mi partita per mai più, mai più, non tornare, ed io rimango?” (“You have gone from me, never more, never more, to return, and I remain?”). Orfeo is still stunned.  

Yet after a brief pause, he rallies his spirits with a resounding, “No,” rejecting his momentarily powerless state of despair. “If my songs have any power,” he now declares, “I’ll descend to the deepest abysses and, having softened the heart of the King of Shades, I’ll bring you back with me to see again the stars.” The lowest note here is on the word “abissi” (“abysses”), and the highest note is on the word “stelle” (“stars”). Finally, he moves towards the end of this recitative by declaring that if malign fate denies him success in this venture, he’ll remain with Euridice in the company of death, ending here on a precipitous low note. With a last look around him, Orfeo addresses a farewell to earth, sky, and sun, then begins his journey beneath the earth to Hades.  

As Orfeo, tenor Andrew Tortise sang most movingly in this great piece of music, which conductor John Eliot Gardiner, a leading Baroque specialist, faithfully honored with all its suggestive pauses and rest notes, which figure like catches in the throat of a man on the brink of tears. This is music of incredible poignancy, full of alternating despair and brave resolve. 

As Act III opens, Orfeo is escorted on the way to Hades by the allegorical figure of Hope (“La Speranza”), whom he thanks for her solace and guidance. Sung by Mariana Flores, (who does double duty by singing both Euridice and Hope), the soprano informs Orfeo that she can accompany him no further, for they have reached the swampy shore of the river Styx, on whose opposite shore lies the realm of Hades. There, Hope declares, it is engraved in stone, “Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate” (“Abandon all hope ye who enter here”). Left alone, Orfeo is confronted by Charon (Caronte in Italian), who, sung by full-throated bass Gianluca Buratto, chal lenges Orfeo for daring to come where no mortal may venture. Now Orfeo begins one of this opera’s most revealing passages, an aria that illustrates Monteverdi’s deeply held convictions about the power of music. 

In the strophic aria, Possente spirto,” (“Mighty spirit”), Orfeo addresses him self to Caronte and seeks by means of his song to persuade the boatman to allow him to cross the Styx. In the first four strophes, each followed by elaborate instrumental ritornellos, Orfeo musters all the arts and artifices of his musical knowledge, employing ever greater virtuosic ornamentation as he proceeds. Each strophe becomes ever more florid. However, in the fifth strophe, Orfeo begins to shift to a more direct and less formalized style of musical address.  

Now addressing Caronte directly, yet still employing elements of vocal and instrumental ornamentation, Orfeo assures Caronte he need not fear him, since his only weapons are his voice and his fingers upon the lyre. Caronte replies in blunt fashion, acknowledging that impressed though he may be by Orfeo’s musical song (canto) and plea (pianto), he is forbidden the luxury of pity. Orfeo then shifts musical styles quite dramatically and unleashes a passionate recitative wherein he eschews the vocal ornamentation of the earlier strophes and now sings simply, directly, and powerfully from the heart. With this effort, he succeeds, for Caronte either falls asleep or, more likely, feigns to fall asleep so he can’t be blamed by Pluto for letting Orfeo cross the Styx. If we have listened well, we understand that Monteverdi has presented this aria as an object lesson demonstrating that no matter how great a singer’s (or a composer’s) virtuosity in handling florid coloratura, the simple, direct, unembellished yet heartfelt expression of deep human emotion is by far the best way of moving listeners and involving their sympathy and empathy for the protagonists. 

Seizing the moment, Orfeo jumps into Caronte‘s boat and rows himself across the Styx. Act IV takes place at the court of Hades where Plutone (Pluto) and Proserpina (Persephone) reign. Sung by mezzo-soprano Francesca Boncompagni, Proserpina beseeches her royal consort to take pity on Orfeo, whose beautiful laments have moved her heart. Plutone, admirably sung by bass Gianluca Buratto (who does double duty as both Caronte and Plutone), defers to his beloved wife, while admonishing her not to neglect the duties of the marriage bed. Plutone makes a public proclamation that Orfeo may lead Euridice out of Hades and back up to earth provided, however, that Orfeo avoid looking at Euridice until they have left Hades and reached the land warmed by the sun. Various spirits and choruses of the dead praise the generosity of Plutone. 

Orfeo, followed by Euridice, begins his journey upward out of Hades. As he goes, he sings of the powers of his lyre, which will be celebrated forever among the constellations of the firmament. With his lyre, Orfeo proudly proclaims, he has softened every hardened heart even in the realm of Tartarus. Suddenly, however, a strange noise is heard. Frightened, Orfeo thinks aloud it may be the Furies taking up arms against him. At that, Orfeo turns around and checks to see if Euridice is still faithfully following him. The luminous splendor of his beloved’s eyes momentarily enthralls him. However, before his own eyes Euridice begins to fade away, as if dissolving in a mist that arises from the depths of Hades. Addressing Orfeo, Euridice laments that, “through excess of love you lose me.” She adds that she loses the power to enjoy either light or life, and, worst of all, she loses her beloved Orfeo. At that, she disappears from view; and a chorus of spirits sings that, “Orfeo conquered Hades and then was conquered by his emotions. Worthy of eternal glory only is he who has victory over himself.” Thus ends Act IV of Monteverdi’s Orfeo. 

There remains only a brief Act V, which begins with Orfeo roaming disconsolately the countryside of Thrace, bemoaning in ever greater intensity his unhappy fate. At one point, the last syllable of his lament is echoed back to him by the hills. This echo is repeated several times. But Orfeo is incensed that all it gives back to him is the last syllable. He wants to wallow in the totality of his laments. 

Totally self-centered, as he has been thus far throughout the opera, Orfeo angrily demands that the totality of his laments be echoed back to him. In Orfeo’s encounter with Echo, Monteverdi suggests an analogy with the mythical Narcissus, who saw his reflection in the waters of a stream and fell in love with his own image. Yet Monteverdi and librettist Striggio give a twist to the legend of Narcissus. Here, encountering the echo of his own voice, Orfeo begins to realize that up till now he has been incredibly self-centered. Most of his singing has revolved around his pride in his musical virtuosity, his initial suffering in wooing the reluctant Euridice, his joys in ultimately winning the love of Euridice, and his utter despair at losing Euridice twice, once on his wedding day and a second time in the realm of Hades. Now, suddenly, hearing his own voice echoed in the hills, Orfeo looks outside himself and thinks of Euridice. This woman, he declares, was a paragon of virtue, embodying the most alluring physical beauty in a soul equally beautiful and pure. Never, he declares, will he submit to love with any less worthy woman than the peerless Euridice.  

At this point, Orfeo’s father, the sun-god Apollo, sung here by tenor Nicholas Mulroy, descends from the clouds and gives his son a few choice words of advice. “Do not be a slave to your passions,’ he admonishes. “Far too greatly did you delight in your happy fortune, now too greatly do you bewail your hard and bitter lot.” When asked by Orfeo whether he may yet again see his beloved Euridice, Apollo assures him that he may cherish her fair features in the swirling firmament. Encouraged by this divine reassurance, Orfeo accepts Apollo’s offer to raise up Orfeo himself to the heavens.  

A final hymn of apotheosis is then sung by Apollo, Orfeo, and a chorus of nymphs and shepherds. Among these latter are tenors Krystian Adam, Nicholas Mulroy, and Gareth Treseder, countertenor James Hall, and bass David Shipley. Thus, Monteverdi’s Orfeo comes to a happy end in spite of all the sorrow that has tragically intervened. In this semi-staged performance of Monteverdi’s Orfeo, John Eliot Gardiner’s English Baroque Soloists and gifted Monteverdi Choir have offered us a remarkably moving interpretation of this masterpiece that stands out like a beacon at the very birth of opera.