Christoph Willibald GLUCK (1714-1787)
Orphée et Eurydice, opera in four acts (1762 rev. 1774, the Berlioz version, 1866)
Marianne Crebassa (mezzo-soprano) - Orphée, Helene Guilmette (soprano) - Eurydice, Lea Desandre (mezzo-soprano) - Amour
Chorus and Orchestra of Ensemble Pygmalion/Raphaël Pichon
Aurélien Bory (stage direction)
rec. live, 16 and 18 October 2018, Opéra Comique, Paris
NAXOS DVD 2.110638 [99 mins]
The story of Orpheus and Eurydice, how he lost her and journeyed to the underworld to retrieve her, only to lose her again at the moment of success, has been the basis for many operas. As I write, English National Opera has four different versions running, and two days before playing this DVD I was there to see and hear Birtwistle’s Mask of Orpheus. It has been an enormous contrast to turn from that sprawling and frankly rather monstrous work to Gluck’s opera. The story here is pared down to its bare bones, and is far closer to the traditional version, as unforgettably told by Virgil (in the fourth book of the Georgics, if you care to look it up). At the beginning, Eurydice is already dead, and, though she obviously appears in the underworld and has a small part, as does Amour (Cupid), the interest of the work is overwhelmingly in the emotional life of Orphée. This was the first of Gluck’s reform operas, in which dramatic rather than display considerations were intended to be uppermost.
With this work, the question of which version is being performed is unusually important. Gluck first wrote it in 1762 for Vienna, with a castrato in the lead role. He revised it considerably for Paris in 1774, having the libretto translated into French, rewriting the solo role for the kind of high tenor known as a haut-contre, revising the orchestration and writing new recitatives and additional ballets. In the nineteenth century, changes of pitch made the tenor version impractical. Berlioz rewrote the solo part for a mezzo-soprano or contralto. He also restored the key structure of the 1762 version while retaining most, though not all, of the additional material from 1774. Although both 1762 and 1774 have their advocates and recordings of both are available, the mainstream view, with which I concur, is to go for the Berlioz version, though often this is also modified, for example by adding in the passages which he cut and translating it back into Italian. There is chart of the three main versions, with their differences noted, in Patricia Howard’s useful book on the opera.
Here we have what is basically the Berlioz version in French. However, the conductor Raphaël Pichon has made some changes to it. Noting that Berlioz himself was quite critical of both the overture and the finale, he has replaced the overture with the Larghetto from Gluck’s ballet Don Juan, which there immediately precedes the Dance of the Furies, which Gluck had already lifted for his Orpheus opera. This works well. More controversial is Pichon’s total omission of the ending, in which Amour restores Eurydice to life and the three of them have a trio, Tendre amour, followed by ballets. Whatever you may think of this reversal of the traditional story, the fact remains that it was part of the original conception of the work, and Berlioz retained it, though with cuts and modifications. Pichon also uses instruments of the period of the work’s composition, rather than the nineteenth century ones Berlioz specified. The bravura aria for Orphée at the end of Act I, Amour, viens rendre à mon âme, which Gluck added for Paris, is retained. It has always been controversial, as it features display of a kind contrary to the reform ideals. Berlioz retained it, though he deplored it and had Saint-Saëns orchestrate it, because he thought it spurious and wanted it replaced by an aria from Echo et Narcisse. Pichon divides the work into four Acts rather than three, which is significant only in that these are the points where the audience applauds. The fact that all concerned are native French speakers is a distinct asset.
Any production stands or falls by the performance of the lead role of Orphée. Here it is the mezzo Marianne Crebassa, a rising star. She is superb. She immediately impresses by her dignified bearing and natural air of authority. She can also convey grief by being very still. Her voice has a lovely tone, with just enough vibrato to give it warmth but not a trace of a wobble, and she has all the technique you could wish for. Her performance of Amour, viens rendre à mon âme is as dazzling as you could want, but, more importantly, her renderings of Quel nouveau ciel and J’ai perdu mon Eurydice are expressive and moving.
Of the other two soloists, Hélène Guilmette as Eurydice carries off the only real soprano role in the work well, though one cannot help feeling that Gluck was not really interested in her. However, her importunings during the attempted return are finely done. Lea Desandre, the Amour, is a former ballet dancer and combines a striking appearance with an attractive voice. She is allowed to appear in the last scene but not to sing, which is a shame.
Raphaël Pichon conducts his own chorus and orchestra, Ensemble Pygmalion. The chorus is very good. The orchestra of period instruments is vigorous. I heard some sour notes from the wind in the first Act but not subsequently, and emphatically not in the Dance of the Blessed Spirits, where the solo flautist played splendidly and indeed had the spotlight on her for part of the piece. (There was no actual dance.) She deserves a credit. The trombones sounded a bit raucous, but that may be part of the period authenticity.
The staging opens with a most attractive pastoral backdrop taken from Corot. Eurydice, dressed in a white robe, is already onstage, motionless. It is then rather a shock when Orphée and the chorus come on in modern dress. I do wish directors would get over the idea that modern dress is bold and provocative, or timeless and exciting, or whatever they think it is. It has become one of the dreariest clichés in both operas and plays, particularly those with a mythical or legendary setting. However, much of the rest is admirable, with an imaginative use of reflections. In Amour’s first appearance, she is within a large wheel, which is rocked from side to side, then once rotated completely. The underworld is represented as a bare dark stage with a central pool of light in which the chorus lie on the floor. The Furies are a proper team of three dancers, with strange and sinister movements. The attempted return is presented very simply, and is all the more powerful for it.
No complaints about the recording or picture quality. I have noted that applause is included. The booklet has some good articles, a synopsis and an interview with the director and the producer. The DVD offers subtitles in five languages. The English one is adequate but minimal, with the occasional mistake (écumant is foaming at the mouth or slavering, not slathering, which is spreading thickly).
There are several other DVDs of this opera in French, including one from Chicago which is released almost simultaneously with this one. There is an older one by John Eliot Gardiner with Magdalena Kožená as Orphée, with what seems an eccentric staging, one from La Scala featuring Juan Diego Flórez, again with eccentric staging, and Pina Bausch’s celebrated version from the Palais Garnier, with Maria Riccarda Wesseling and an alternate cast of dancers. This last was a particular inspiration for Aurélien Bory here. I have seen none of these others, but I can confidently say that anyone who chooses this version will find much to enjoy.
Stephen Barber
