Since I have some reservations to make,
I should like to start by saying that
I put this on without great enthusiasm,
supposing that primitive sound and old-fashioned
performance practices would make it
advisable to hear one act at a time.
Instead, I listened to the whole opera
without a break, and really enjoyed
it far more than the "authentic"
Naxos recording of the "pure"
French version which came my way recently
- review.
Here, then, is another
piece of Met history. Following Toscanini’s
performances with Louise Homer in 1914,
Orfeo ed Euridice was not heard
again there until 1938 when Bodanzky
revived it with Kerstin Thorborg. Further
performances followed in 1939. After
Bodanzky’s death that year the young
Erich Leinsdorf took over the German
repertoire at the Met and consequently
was at the helm for the present 1940
live broadcast. A year later the production
was repeated for four performances directed
by Bruno Walter, with whom Thorborg
had already sung the role in Vienna
and Salzburg. No Walter performance
has come down to us, so our knowledge
of Thorborg’s celebrated interpretation
depends on the 1940 revival under Leinsdorf.
It can be appreciated in sound which
is mostly firm and clear and is really
as good as we have a right to expect
for this sort of thing.
Bodanzky was a notable
cutter and adapter (he wrote his own
recitatives for Fidelio) and,
though Richard Caniell refers to Leinsdorf’s
version of the score I should have thought
it more likely that the young conductor
was simply briefed to play Bodanzky’s
score as it stood; certainly, the omission
of the overture and the foreshortening
of the first scene of Act Three sound
more like Bodanzky ideas than Leinsdorf
ones. When a conductor of Walter’s experience
arrived a year later it was another
matter and he opened out these cuts.
On the other hand,
there is no reason to doubt that the
shape of the music on this occasion
was Leinsdorf’s own. He takes a powerfully
tragic view from the outset, with slowish
tempi which are nevertheless propelled
forward inevitably by a purposeful rhythmic
tread. When he lets fly in the Dance
of the Furies the result is fearsome
indeed. Caniell is pretty rude about
this aspect of Leinsdorf’s treatment
of the score but I must say I found
it exciting. Here and in the Chaconne
the conductor’s clear textures and sizzling
articulation seem a blueprint for many
of today’s "authentic" performances
and, while an "original instruments"
conductor today would probably take
the Dance of the Blessed Spirits faster
(Ryan Brown certainly does on the Naxos
issue I mentioned above), the cool detailing
of Leinsdorf’s response nonetheless
seems closer to our own day than to
his. My reservation, and this is where
Leinsdorf still today divides opinion,
is that while I was certainly gripped,
my involvement remained intellectual
rather than emotional, presumably because
Leinsdorf’s own involvement was so.
No doubt Bruno Walter infused the work
with greater humanity, and if we can
only guess at the results, maybe the
audiences at La Scala heard something
along the same lines, Gluck’s classical
world illuminated by a romantic Claudian
glow, when Furtwängler conducted
the opera there in 1951, with Fedora
Barbieri and Hilde Gueden, a recording
of which has survived and was
recently reviewed for the site by
my colleague Jonathan Woolf.
Kerstin Thorborg was
the Orfeo of her generation,
only too briefly succeeded by the short-lived
Kathleen Ferrier. Her powerful, dark
voice carries chest resonances which
mean that at times she can almost seem
a male alto, while at others she takes
on a more feminine hue. It is a stately,
dignified interpretation with a notably
clearer enunciation of the words than
any of the other singers here provide
– though in comparison with a native
Italian like Barbieri she is perhaps
too careful, and her "Rs"
are decidedly Teutonic. Barbieri is
much more overtly passionate. While
Thorborg seems to fit admirably with
Leinsdorf’s interpretation, a suggestion
that she might have wished something
different comes with her 1933 recording
(in German) of the opera’s most famous
aria. Here the conductor allows a slower
tempo, about the same as the famous
Ferrier recording in English; Leinsdorf
is not as fast as Stiedry in Ferrier’s
Glyndebourne recording, a tempo which
Ferrier didn’t like at all, but he keeps
things moving pretty purposefully. With
this framework, Thorborg offers in 1933
a much more intimate, withdrawn and
obviously heartfelt reading. But the
sheer size of the Met, as well as the
conductor, may have contributed to her
more "public" manner in 1940.
The other parts in
this opera do not have a lot to do;
Novotna is an attractive Euridice, Marita
Farell a soubrettish Amore. Chorus and
orchestra are a good deal more precise
than they tended to be in Europe in
those days. The broadcast announcements
at the beginning and end of each act
have been preserved and the set is completed
by a quite long interview with Thorborg
and some Wagner extracts. The date of
the interview is not known, and nor
is the interviewer, though from the
sound of her voice and the reference
to a number of her colleagues in the
past tense it must have been post-1962
(Thorborg died in 1970). The Wagner
extracts show her wonderfully even voice,
rich and gleaming in every register,
her exemplary technical control and
her fine musicianship. They also suggest,
and the interview confirms, that she
may have been a most professional singer
and a considerate, hardworking colleague,
but perhaps not aflame with inspiration,
especially when inspiration is signally
lacking in Karl Riedel’s accompaniments.
With an inspiring presence on the rostrum
it was no doubt another story, and she
was by all accounts a striking presence
and a fine actor.
One or two aspects
of production call for comment. Firstly,
it was reprehensible indeed not to name
the conductors and orchestras of the
1933 Gluck and the Wagner extracts (I
have reinstated them after an Internet
search). Secondly, while Richard Caniell
refers to the considerable research
which took place to trace the version
of the score and libretto used, obviously
those concerned did not look at the
libretto which accompanies the Monteux
performance with Risë Stevens which,
though recorded in Rome, actually documents
the 1955 Met revival. Had they done
so, they would not have needed to label
CD1 track 6 lamely as "Ritornello"
when Thorborg can be heard to sing "Restar
vogl’io" with perfect clarity,
nor to call track 14 "Si les doux
accords de ta lyre" when Marita
Farell’s Italian, though poor, is not
so bad you could mistake it for
French, or doubt that she is singing
"Se il dolce suon de la tua lira",
nor to exchange "Vivr’Amore"
for "Divo Amore". Above all,
they need not have given up the ghost
at track 33, providing "E’ quest’asilo
ameno e grato" from another source,
when the words "Questo asilo di
placide calme" can be heard without
any difficulty. Textual variations between
the Leinsdorf and Monteux versions are
in fact minimal in the first two acts,
more substantial in the third; it would
appear that the Met was still using
the same material in 1955, plus Walter’s
reinstatements.
The origin of all this
confusion lies in the fact that, while
Jonathan Wearn and Professor Hugh MacDonald,
on behalf of Guild, have correctly taken
into account the three primary sources
– the Italian version (Vienna 1762),
the French version (Paris 1774) and
Berlioz’s conflation of the two (Paris
1859) – they seem not to have borne
in mind that most performances up to
the mid-20th Century used
neither of these but the so-called "Ricordi
version", or something like it,
which was basically the Berlioz version
back-translated into Italian. This was
necessary because Gluck added new music
for the French version, and revised
other parts, so Calzabigi’s Italian
libretto cannot e sung "straight"
to the French version. Track 33 is a
good example of this, since "E’
quest’asilo ameno e grato" is a
literal translation of the French "Cet
asile, aimable et tranquille",
which is in its turn a free rendering
of "Questo asilo di placide calme".
So a range of variants grew up which
basically accepted the Berlioz as their
musical text, but fiddled around with
the Italian words. Furtwängler’s
performance is musically more or less
the same as Leinsdorf’s (with the Overture
reinstated and some variations towards
the end), but often substitutes a different
sung text.
Lastly, Guild claim
that "Che farò senza Euridice?"
is sung by Euridice herself, an unlikely
state of affairs.
In spite of my comments,
if you don’t mind 1940 sound and want
an austerely tragic, but vital, view
of this opera, this issue is a good
deal more than a collector’s piece.
Christopher Howell
see also review
from Jonathan Woolf
Kerstin Thorborg (mezzo), Berlin State Opera
Orchestra/Frieder Weissman (Gluck), RCA Victor
Symphony Orchestra/Karl Riedel (Wagner) 
