Karl Klauser

POETRY and Music, gracious twin-sisters sent from Heaven to comfort suffering humanity, are seldom intimately united in the history of Art; it may even be affirmed that the story of their evolution presents a picture of ceaseless struggle in which the one is ever striving for mastery over the other. Although these sister-arts (neither of which can claim the right of primogeniture) at the time of the highest development of Greek art displayed in united action an inconceivable power which has never since been attained, they were compelled after a brief period, with the rise of sophistic philosophy, to descend from that lofty position. While language and music were developed as separate arts it was indeed possible for them individually to reach a state of perfection, but the efficiency subsequently attained by united strength and harmonious coalescence was then impossible.

In like manner in the Middle Ages poetry and music strove for supremacy. After the solemn melodies of St. Gregory, linked so closely with the words, had comforted, inspired and sustained the Western World in a time of her deepest abasement, song, which had been hitherto for one voice, developed into polyphony, and with this mighty advance in music the friendly relations between these arts was once more disturbed. In the joy at overcoming difficulties which part-music offered the composers as well as the singers, the former completely lost sight of their duty toward the words, and were so utterly indifferent to the text of vocal work that they did not hesitate to use in the same piece two poems upon quite different subjects, yes, even in different languages, and in so doing argued, and not without reason, that in the intricacy of the vocal parts the words would scarcely be heard.

At the appearance of the modern opera in the year 1600, the struggle of the two sister-arts was especially severe. Even as proposed by its founders, who saw in it a revival of the antique drama, poets and composers, during the first decades, were eager to coÖperate. When, however, the passion for the opera was no longer confined to the circle of the aristocracy, when special buildings had been erected to which the public could gain access for a consideration (the "Cassiano" in Venice, in 1637, being the first), the noble simplicity striven for by those lovers of antiquity came to an end. The popular craving for the spectacular and the desire for music which was pleasing to the ear strongly affected the further growth of the opera. In Italy, which country in the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries set the fashion for all Europe in operatic and musical matters, the public was especially enthusiastic over strong, well-trained voices. No matter how high the point of perfection reached by the art of singing, the singers, male and female, received but one-sided recognition. Soon these obtained undisputed control of the opera; in order to please the taste of the masses, directors, even poets and composers felt obliged to surrender. For them only was the libretto arranged, and in order to satisfy their vanity did the composer tax his imagination. In vain did truly artistic men—among them the Venetian composer Benedetto Marcello with his satire "Il teatro alla moda" (1720)—raise their voices against "the mighty abuse of music at the cost of the sister-arts," their warning words fell unheeded. It was reserved for a German, after a desperate struggle, to put an end to the nuisance of the singers' sovereignty and to give once more to the opera a truly artistic significance, and this German was Gluck.

Christoph Wilibald Gluck was born on the 2d of July, 1714, at Weidenwang, a village of the Caprische Obersalz. He was the son of a forester, and in childhood had occasion to steel himself bodily and mentally for the warfare which in later years was waged against the power of fashion and prejudice. When an old man, the master in friendly converse loved to recall those early days when he and his brother followed their father barefoot to the forest. Dreaming in the shadows of the woods, listening to the rustling of the tree-tops and the songs of birds, unconsciously a sense of music was awakened in the boy; there was no indication of any special gift, however, and indeed, had such been shown, under the circumstances it would hardly have been encouraged, for the father was extremely practical and governed the education of his children accordingly. The desire to give them a better education than was possible in the vicinity of Weidenwang may have occasioned his moving to Bohemia in 1722 and entering the service, first of Prince Kindsky and then of Prince Lobwitz. Mention may also be made here of a third office held by him upon the Bohemian possessions of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, in whose service he died in 1747.

In the schools of the little towns of Kamitz and Eisenberg, which henceforth became the homes of the family of Gluck, the young Christoph found his first inspiration, for in all Catholic countries the scholars were obliged to take part in the musical part of the service and received not only the necessary vocal instruction, but instrumental as well; and it is said the boy played both violin and violoncello with passable skill. Beyond this, the schooling was so superficial that his father placed him, in 1726, at the Jesuit College at Kommatau (Bohemia). That the Jesuits are most thorough in their instruction is well known; but whether the blind obedience and abject slavery exacted of the scholars in the name of "a true Church" is calculated to develop mind and character successfully, seems doubtful. Gluck's strength of character through life shows that the pernicious influence of the Jesuitical teaching had no serious effect upon his nature. Among the advantages derived from his sojourn in Kommatau, the instruction received upon the piano and organ is of the greatest importance.

Yet violin and violoncello were still his favorite instruments; they were his comfort and support during years of study and wandering, for from his slender income the father could but partially pay for his son's maintenance. This did not deter Gluck, in 1732, from bravely taking his staff in hand and turning his steps toward Prague that he might be better informed both in music and science. Whether he then contemplated becoming a musician or composer is uncertain; we simply know that in order to make his living he taught the violoncello and singing, and that in church celebrations, notably in those of the Tein Church, under the leadership of the celebrated composer Czernohorsky, he played in the orchestra. In his leisure hours and upon the numerous festival days of the Catholics he did not hesitate to wander to the neighboring villages and by his dance-music and his singing to earn a piece of money or a meal. Toward the end of his sojourn at Prague, however (1736), he had made such strides in music that he ventured his productions in larger cities and before cultured audiences. By his rendering of violoncello music he succeeded in attracting attention in the circles of the aristocracy, and the princely family of Lobkowitz showed him special favor. Under the protection of the influential and enthusiastic prince, Gluck boldly ventured to express a wish to devote himself exclusively to music, and the same year, encouraged by his patron, that he might better accomplish his end he went to Vienna, then the fountain-head of musical activity, where J. J. Fux, Conti and Caldara, musicians of European fame, were at work together.

Unfortunately there are no reliable accounts of Gluck's first stay in Vienna and the nature of his study there, but without doubt his part in the musical life corresponded with the peculiar kind of training he had previously received. An important fact remarked by A. L. Marx ("Gluck und die Oper," I., 20) is that up to this time Gluck had held aloof from the piano, "that curious instrument which is unsatisfactory in every tone, and in melody suffers by comparison with every other, which is yet the blessed parent of creative phantasies and lends itself to rich and ever-varying expression ... which is capable of presenting various melodies simultaneously, grouping independent voices and producing dramatic effect with them; in a word, the only proper polyphonic auxiliary to the dramatic in music." While for all the great masters of the century, for Bach as for Handel, for Mozart as for Beethoven, the piano was the basis of musical education, the lever of their creative power, Gluck confined himself almost exclusively to vocal music and stringed instruments, a significant fact which explains the merits as well as defects in the master's later activity. The freedom and perfect ease with which the aforesaid musicians overcame the difficulties of counterpoint, we miss in Gluck's music, even at the time of maturity; and if it be urged that his musical plans for reform did not allow a development of the art of counterpoint, it may be remarked how little of it he showed in his church compositions. True, he has given us but one work of this kind, which appeared in Paris and later in Leipsic, a "De profundis" which seems, with its frequent but never quite complete examples of polyphony, a convincing proof that Gluck was not wholly familiar with polyphonic expression.

Under these circumstances it may be inferred that Gluck was ill-content in a city where, as chief Kapellmeister at the Court, the greatest master of counterpoint of his time, J. J. Fux, had absolute control of all musical matters. The attraction toward Italy, in which direction the glance of every ambitious musician was turned, must have been, in his case, peculiarly strong, and he therefore received with joy the invitation of Lombardy's Prince Melzi (who had grown to know and prize him in Lobkowitz House) to follow him to Milan, as chamber-musician. This city, as the residence of Sammartini, one of the most celebrated masters of harmony in Italy, afforded him excellent opportunity to make good the defects in his musical education and to become fully acquainted with the secrets of dramatic composition. Giovanni Battista Sammartini (born about 1700, died about 1770) held the position of organist at several churches; he began his career as opera-composer, but subsequently turned his attention to instrumental music and gained high praise from his contemporaries for chamber and orchestral compositions which might rank as forerunners of the quartets and symphonies of Haydn. Under him Gluck studied fully four years, when he ventured bravely before the public, well equipped with the opera "Artaxerxes" (1741), text by Metastasio. The success of this must have been pronounced, as the master, but twenty-eight years of age, immediately received commissions for opera compositions from Milan as well as from other cities of Italy. We know the "Artaxerxes" mainly by hearsay, as the score, together with scores of the operas written later for Milan—"Demofoonte" (1742), "Siface" (1743) and "FÉdre" (1743)—was burned in a theatre fire. In his "Studies for Musicians," J. F. Reichardt tells us that "in 'Artaxerxes' Gluck endeavored to depart as much as possible from the broad, well-trodden road of the Italian composers of his time, and to write music more nearly approaching harmonious expression, to which he later owed his imperishable reputation and which, so to speak, he had himself created." In spite of this and similar opinions it is highly improbable that these first works of Gluck exhibited his individuality, for had they done so it would still be apparent when making comparison with the works of his contemporaneous rivals; it is all the more improbable as, for a number of years, he adapted his style to the prevalent taste, and did not materially depart from the stereotyped form of Italian opera.

GLUCK'S BIRTHPLACE IN WEIDENWANG,
Near the Bohemian frontier.

The position in the musical world secured by Gluck through his first opera, is shown by the fact that he received an order from London for an opera for the Haymarket Theatre. In Paris, where he stopped on the way to England, he may have had a presentiment that here was to be the field of his future activity; in the absence of any detailed account of his stay in the city, we may assume that here he became familiar with the grand opera as created by Lully and perfected by Rameau, which in its nature was infinitely nearer his ideal—distinctly seen later—than the Italian opera. It cannot be said, however, that these first Parisian impressions had an immediate effect on Gluck's artistic methods and mode of expression, inasmuch as his opera "La Caduta dei Giganti," written for London and brought out in the year 1746, was in the prescribed Italian vein. But from the initiated, the "lion's claws" were not hidden. In his "History of Arts," Burney says of an aria: "It is of very peculiar creation but much too monotonous," and of the instrumentation "It is original but drowns the melody;" finally "One wishes the melodies were somewhat more graceful and had more artistic repose." In these criticisms we read between the lines that the composer of "The Overthrow of the Titans" already betrayed his individuality.

Gluck had little reason to be satisfied with his success in London; his opera was given but five times, and though his "Artamene," written for Cremona three years before, was somewhat more popular, this could hardly compensate for the failure of his more recent work. He had no cause to regret his journey to London, however, for here, as in Paris, he gained impressions which materially extended his artistic horizon and were of utmost importance to his development; here, also, he made the acquaintance of Handel and his works. We know that the personal relations of the two masters were friendly, but Handel does not appear to have felt deep sympathy for his younger brother in the art. How could he, who a few years before had broken forever with the opera in order to turn to oratorio, which was better suited to his artistic nature, be other than indifferent to the attempt of this youth to establish the success of the opera? And how could it escape the great master of polyphony that Gluck stood in this art far below him? Handel's terse word that "Gluck understood about as much of counterpoint as his (Handel's) cook," was certainly not intended for publicity, yet it shows so definitely the relations of the masters at this time that it should not be omitted from Gluck's biography. Further than this, we should not consider them opponents in any way. Gluck treated the associate thirty years his senior with utmost deference, and the latter from his experience advised him, in a kindly manner, how to work as opera-composer in order to win the approval of Englishmen.

Thus far, we have made as complete a review as possible of the factors instrumental in Gluck's development, and shall dwell briefly on the following years, in which he was obliged to reconcile the suggestions received in foreign countries before they brought about a proper revolution in his methods. Gluck proved effectually the truth of the word "chi va piano, va sano," for though the oratorios of Handel with their wonderful choruses filled with dramatic fire exerted a powerful influence over him, there was need of a lengthy process of assimilation before his own choruses could shape themselves after these models.

From London Gluck went to Hamburg, where the conductor Mingotti had arrived with an Italian troupe. He does not appear to have contemplated taking an active part,[4] for in the summer of the same year (1747) we find him in Dresden, where Mingotti's troupe had in the meantime arrived, presenting with them his opera "Le Nozze d' Ercole e d' Ebe" (The Wedding of Hercules and Hebe) in celebration of the union of the Princess Anna and the Electoral Prince of Bavaria. The fact that this opera was presented in the palace theatre at Pillnitz, near Dresden, and that court favor was shown the composer, gave rise to the erroneous statement, repeated by different biographers, that Gluck, at this time, was appointed Kapellmeister at the Dresden court. Such an appointment was denied him, if for no other reason than because, at the time, the celebrated Hasse was undisputed leader there, and Gluck was not a man to occupy an inferior position. In this opera he seems to have made no unusual exertion; the composition (which until recently was wholly unknown, having been discovered but a few years ago by FÜrstenau in the Dresden archives) was quite in the prevalent style of Italian opera, even though certain features were indicative of the coming reform.

CHRISTOPH WILLIBALD GLUCK.

From an oil portrait by J. S. Duplessis, Paris, 1776, Gluck being then in his sixty-second year. The painting is now in the Imperial picture gallery, at Vienna.

From Dresden Gluck turned, for the second time, to the music-loving empire city on the Danube (1748). He had left it a scholar, but returned a master, and as such was recognized and honored in all the circles of Vienna. He found a zealous patron in the Prince of Hildburghausen, the favorite of Maria Theresa, through whose intercession he soon obtained an order for the composition of an opera to be given on the birthday of the Empress. This opera was the "Semiramide riconosciuta," by Metastasio, a Viennese court poet then at the height of his fame. It is needless to say that we look in vain for the least indication of a change in Gluck's style, as it was in Metastasio's librettos that the type of the older opera intended almost exclusively for vocalists was most pronounced, and in setting these to music it was necessary to conform to the prevalent fashion.

Gluck retained this style, also, in his following works, which need be merely mentioned: the perfected serenade "Tetide" (1749), given in the theatre of Castle Charlottesburg at Copenhagen at a birthday fÊte for the Crown Prince, afterward King Christian VII.; also the operas written for Rome and Naples, "Telemachus" (1749) and "La Clemenza di Tito" (1751) by Metastasio, both noteworthy, in that Gluck, later, availed himself of several of their numbers in the masterpieces of his Parisian epoch. These were followed by a long list of similar works, for Gluck displayed, even then, a restless activity, though in 1750 he married, and with his Marianna, a daughter of the rich Venetian merchant Pergin, experienced all the joy of a happy marriage which remained undisturbed till his death. Two impulses in the next decade of Gluck's activity deserve special mention; one was his eager interest in literature. "Gifted by nature with as great a love for literature as for music," says his biographer Anton Schmidt, "he now worked with incessant energy in this province as well. Though somewhat late, he applied himself to a thorough study of Latin and French and to poetry. He made the acquaintance of the most distinguished men of science, that through intercourse with them and in the companionship of good books he might cultivate the ideas which had so long been ingrafted in his nature concerning the mighty influence of music and its close connection with poetry, of which at this time but few had even dreamed."—"C. W. Ritter von Gluck," p. 79.

The second was his acquaintance with the French comic opera, which until the year 1752 had been given only on the improvised stage; a new era began for this when in the same year a troupe of Italian bouffe singers arrived in Paris and was received with enthusiastic interest by the public. For the first time scenes from daily life appropriately staged were enacted upon the operatic stage in place of the customary frigid representation of a mythological character. All this was to the extreme disgust of the conservative, but to the unbounded delight of the progressive who, with the representative of philosophic enlightenment J. J. Rousseau, anticipated for art and life a healthy return from artificial to natural conditions. In the bitter struggle between these parties, a struggle to which the appearance of the opera-bouffe gave rise, progress was victorious. The most competent poets and composers of France did not hesitate to follow the lead of Italy, and while from the modest "Intermezzo" they developed the "Opera comique," they showed the world that owing to her artistic nature France, above all other nations, was best fitted to represent this new style of art. In view of the influence which France had exerted over the intellectual life of Europe since the time of Louis XIV., it was quite natural that the neighboring nations should wish to share in the new acquisition. From 1755 therefore, the comic opera, which originated in Paris, was invariably performed in Vienna as well. Meanwhile, in most cases the librettos were satisfactory and the composition was confided to local musicians, among whom Gluck took first rank, having been Kapellmeister since 1754. His works of this kind which are preserved to us as "Airs nouveaux" to the respective librettos, consist of songs with simple piano accompaniment in light French style. One of these operettas, Lemonnier's "Cadi dupÉ," became a great favorite throughout Germany under the title of "Der betrogene Cadi," and when given again but a short while ago in the opera house at Berlin, it maintained, in spite of its hundred years, its original crispness and popularity. Gluck's French operettas may be regarded as occasional works, as incidental to his masterpieces. They are not to be lightly esteemed, however, for they virtually served to bring his ideas of reform to a focus and to prepare him for the war which he subsequently declared against the older Italian opera.

The beginning of this war coincided with the acquaintance made by Gluck, about 1760, of Raniero di Calzabigi, counsellor of the chamber-of-accounts for the Netherlands in Vienna (the Netherlands were then under Austrian government), and the author of many excellent dramatic works. In him Gluck found a friend who shared his convictions that the Italian opera needed depth and improvement, that it could not accomplish its end in the form which Metastasio had given it. Calzabigi declared himself ready to assist the master in working out his plans, and the fruit of their efforts was the opera "Orfeo ed Euridice" (Orpheus and Euridice), which was first given Oct. 5, 1762, in the Imperial Theatre at Vienna. This excited enthusiastic applause, but was received with disfavor and astonishment as well, for many of the hearers accustomed to the former style of the Italian opera, were far more confused than edified by music based chiefly upon dramatic truth. Gluck had given unusual attention to the artists of this opera; as he later told the English composer Burney, it cost him ceaseless effort during the rehearsals, to direct the singers, dancers and orchestra to his satisfaction. "Very probable," as Marx remarks, "for they were obliged to do what had never been before required—deny themselves their special skill and inclination in order to lose themselves wholly and unconditionally in the rÔle they had assumed. It had been the custom to adapt the rÔles and the entire so-called drama to the habits and the wishes of the singers." ("Gluck und die Oper," I. 300).

Gluck's energetic determination, however, overcame these difficulties. As a director, he could rank with Handel in force, energy and insight. His contemporary, the contrabass KÄmppfer, describes him as "a veritable tyrant who becomes enraged at the slightest failure and yields to vehement expressions of anger. Twenty, thirty repetitions do not suffice for the practised musicians of the chapel, among whom are certain virtuosos; they must produce the ensemble effect. He is so brusque that they often refuse to obey, and only by the persuasion of the Emperor, 'You know it is his way, he means it not unkindly,' are they induced to play under him. They always require double pay; those who have been accustomed to receive one ducat, when Gluck directs receive two. No fortissimo can be strong enough and no pianissimo weak enough for him at certain times. Yet it is quite curious how every emotion, the wild, the gentle and the sad is expressed in look and gesture." It is natural that even the most indolent was unable to resist the inspiring influence of such a leader, and even the bearer of the title-rÔle, the male alto singer, Guadagni, willingly submitted to the master, and after each rehearsal was more disposed to agree with his ideas. The final success of the work was therefore established and actually after the fifth representation the last remnant of opposition disappeared and applause was unanimous. After the triumph gained by this first effort in the new direction, retraction for Gluck would naturally be supposed to be impossible. Yet he allowed five years to elapse which he filled with works of lesser worth, among others an opera by Metastasio, "Ezio," brought out in 1763, before he again appeared upon the battle-ground. This time he was armed with the opera "Alceste," given for the first time Dec. 16, 1767, in Vienna. In writing this work, after years of reserve, the master, in whose character prudence and extreme deliberation were marvellously balanced by courage and self-confidence, followed the French motto, "Reculer pour mieux sauter" ("look before you leap"); with a mighty bound he cleared the chasm between the old opera and that which agreed with his ideal, and that all doubt regarding his intention might be dispelled, his "Alceste" appeared with a preface which may be regarded as Gluck's confession of faith, and as such deserves special mention. This was addressed to the Grand Duke of Tuscany and the most important parts are as follows:—"In setting the opera of 'Alceste' to music I have resolved to avoid all those abuses which have crept into Italian opera through the mistaken vanity of singers and the unwise compliance of composers, and which have rendered it wearisome and ridiculous, instead of being, as it once was, the grandest and most imposing stage of modern times. I have endeavored to reduce music to its proper function, that of seconding poetry by enforcing the expression of sentiment and the interest of the situation, without interrupting the action or weakening it by superfluous ornament (raffreddata con degli inutili ornamenti). My idea is that the relation of music to poetry is much the same as that of harmonious coloring and well-disposed light and shade to an accurate drawing, which animate the figures without altering their outlines. I have therefore been very careful never to interrupt a singer in the heat of a dialogue in order to introduce a tedious ritornelle, nor to stop him in the middle of a piece either for the purpose of displaying the flexibility of his voice on some favorable vowel, or that the orchestra may give him time to take breath before a long-sustained note. Furthermore, I have not thought it right to hurry through the second part of a song if the words happened to be the most important of the whole, in order to repeat the first part regularly four times over; or to finish the air where the sense is complete in order to allow the singer to exhibit his power of varying the passage at pleasure. In fact, my object has been to put an end to abuses against which good taste and good sense have long protested in vain.

"My idea is that the overture should indicate the subject and prepare the spectators for the character of the piece they are about to see; that the instruments ought to be introduced in proportion to the degree of interest and passion in the words; and that it is necessary, above all, to avoid making too great a disparity between the recitative and the air of a dialogue, in order not to break the sense of a period or awkwardly interrupt the movement and animation of a scene. I have also felt that my chief endeavor should be to attain a grand simplicity (una bella simplicitÀ), and consequently I have avoided making a parade of difficulties at the cost of clearness. I have set no value on novelty as such, unless naturally suggested by the situation and suited to the expression; in fact there is no rule which I have not felt bound to sacrifice for the sake of effect."

As may be readily imagined, the freedom of this artistic manifesto created great commotion. How could the majority of music-lovers listen with indifference to the statement that its favorite, the Italian opera, was "absurd and wearisome"? And why should not the professional musicians be horrified that one of their number set forth the "Violation of the Rules of Composition" as allowable, nay, even as desirable? As far as the effect of the opera itself was concerned, "Alceste" met with the same reception as that accorded its predecessor, "Orpheus." Though Gluck and Calzabigi had done their best, the new opera found but little favor. Well might an enthusiastic admirer of Gluck, Sonnenfels, in his "Letters on the Vienna Stage," exclaim: "I find myself in the land of wonders. A serious opera without eunuchs, music without solfeggios, or rather, throat sounds, an Italian poem without cheap wit or bluster. With this threefold wonder the theatre nearest the Hofburg is re-opened." The great majority of music-lovers remained cold, at least at the first representations of "Alceste," and scoffers remarked that "if any tears were shed they were purely from exhaustion." There is no doubt but that this reserved attitude was assumed especially toward the poetry, which suffered from a certain monotony, inasmuch as it presented but one actor, if, indeed, his decision to die may be regarded as an act! The authors of "Alceste" were not ignorant of this weakness of the libretto, and in a third work they set themselves the task of portraying the conflict of man with man. This they tried to carry out in the opera "Paride ed Helena" (Paris and Helen), which appeared the following year (1769), but this time they deceived themselves in the selection of the text; since there is no real climax—the catastrophe of the destruction of Troy, brought about by the capture of Helen, being merely suggested at the conclusion through Athena, who appears as goddess ex machina—the whole poem dwindles into a commonplace love-story. The embellishments, conflicts, a sacrificial feast, etc., could not compensate for the lack of a dramatic nucleus, and Gluck was obliged to see this work, with which he had taken infinite pains, disappear from the stage.

The dissatisfaction of the master was still further increased by the scornful attitude assumed by his critics with regard to his efforts for reform. In North Germany especially, the appearance of "Alceste" and of its defiant preface gave the signal to break the staff over the head of the audacious disturber of the peace. One of the most prominent Berlin critics, Frederick Nicolai, did not hesitate to assert that "Alceste" had no merit, though he had only heard several numbers of the opera at a rehearsal. This attitude of competent judges induced Gluck in 1770 to come before the world with a new manifesto, the dedication of "Paris and Helen," to the Duke of Braganza. This was not a whit less forcible than was his first dedication, and was chiefly directed toward his critics. It ran as follows:—

"Whereas I dedicate this work to Your Highness, I am less concerned to find a patron than a judge. Only a mind above the prejudice of custom, a sufficient knowledge of the sublime teaching of art, a taste formed by great ideals as well as by the unvarying principles of the true and beautiful, are what I seek in my MÆcenas and find united in Your Highness. Only in the hope of finding imitators did I resolve to bring out the music of 'Alceste,' and flattered myself that men would follow eagerly the path which I had opened in order to suppress the abuses which had crept into Italian opera and impaired its worth. I am convinced, however, that my hopes were vain. Smatterers, would-be judges of poetry and music, a class of people which is unfortunately very large and is always a thousand times more detrimental to the progress of art than is ignorance, threaten to be the death of their own presumption. Because of imperfectly studied, poorly conducted and still more poorly performed rehearsals it has been unjustly condemned, and the effect which the opera might produce upon the stage has been judged by its effect in a room. Is not this the sagacity of that Greek city which had miscalculated the effect of statues near at hand that were intended for tall pillars? Any one of these eccentric music-lovers whose soul is only in his ear will find many of my arias too rough, many passages too hard or imperfectly prepared, but he does not consider that in accordance with the situation, an aria or passage requires just this lofty expression and that thus the happiest contrasts are obtained. A pedant in harmony will detect carelessness and occasionally a false start, and consider himself justified in condemning both as unpardonable sins against the rules of harmony, whereupon many will agree in pronouncing this music exaggerated, barbarous and wild.

"The other artists fare no better in this respect, sentence is passed with quite as little justice and insight, and Your Highness will readily divine the reason, since the more one strives for perfection and truth the more necessary become the attributes of accuracy and justice. The qualities which distinguished Raphael from all other painters are possessed by few. Slight change of line may not destroy the resemblance in a caricature, but it may entirely disfigure the appearance of a lovely countenance. In music I will cite but one example, the aria from the opera Orpheus, 'Che farÒ senza Euridice.' Should one make the least change in the movement or manner of expression it would become simply an ordinary air for puppet-shows. In a piece of this kind the effect of the scene may be utterly destroyed by a more or less sustained note, an increase of tone, carelessness in tempo, a trill, a passage, etc., etc. When it is a question of carrying out the theme according to the principles laid down by me, the presence of the composer is as necessary as the sun to the creations of nature. He is the soul and the life, without whom all is in disorder and confusion, but he must be prepared to meet all obstacles even as we would meet men who, because they have eyes and ears, without regard to the structure of these organs, feel called upon to pronounce judgment upon the fine arts, simply because they have eyes and ears, for hastily to pass sentence upon things which he least understands, is a common failing of man. Nay, one of the greatest philosophers of this century recently dared to write a dissertation on music which he published as oracular with the superscription, 'Sogni di Ciechi e Fole di Romanzi' (Dreams of the Blind and Stories of Romance).

"Your Highness must already have read the drama 'Paris' and remarked that it does not offer to the composer those intense passions and tragic situations which in the 'Alceste' stir the souls of the spectators and afford opportunity for strong emotion. In this music you would as little expect the same strength and force as in a picture painted in broad daylight you would demand the same strong effects of light and shade and the same sharp contrasts which the artist can employ only on a subject painted in a subdued light. 'Alceste' treats of a wife who is about to lose her husband, to save whom she courageously conjures up the spirits of the nether world in the blackest shadows of night in a dark wood, and who, even in her last death-struggle trembles for the fate of her children and forces herself to part from an idolized husband. In 'Paris,' on the contrary, the question is of a loving youth who has to contend with the reserve of a truly noble but arrogant wife, a reserve which, by means of the arts of inventive passion, he finally conquers. I have therefore taken pains to think of an interchange of colors which I find in the various characters of the Phrygian and Spartan races, while I have contrasted the rude and stubborn disposition of the one with the tender, gentle disposition of the other. Hence I believe that the song which in my opera wholly takes the place of declamation, must imitate in the Helen the native rudeness of her race; I have thought, also, that because I sought to sustain this character in the music, I should not be blamed if I occasionally descended to the trivial. If one really wishes to follow the truth he must never forget that according to the measure of the subject in question even the supreme beauties of melody and harmony, if employed in the wrong places, may become faults and imperfections. I expect from my 'Paris' no better success than from my 'Alceste' as far as effecting the desired change in style of composition is concerned; yet all the long-foreseen hindrances shall not deter me from making new efforts toward the accomplishment of my good aim. If I but win the approval of Your Highness, with contented mind I may assure myself: Tolle Siparium; sufficit mihi unus Plato pro cuncto populo."

GLUCK.

From a pencil drawing of bust by the sculptor Houdon; probably a study for the statue in the Paris Opera House. See page 237.

With the appearance of this second declaration of war the attacks of criticism against Gluck became more numerous and violent, and it must have been the master's earnest wish to find a place for his activity which should be less under the musical influence of Italy than was Germany. Such a place was Paris, whose artistic conditions were the more favorable for Gluck's plans of reform in that the representatives in philosophy and belles-lettres set the standard in musical matters also, and with cultured people their opinion went much farther than that of the exceedingly conservative professional musicians. What attractive conditions for a composer who, at war with tradition, assigned to poetry the first place in the opera, while music should be but its servant!

Gluck did not hesitate to seize the opportunity, in 1772, of becoming more intimate with the Bailli du Rollet, a man fond of literature, highly cultivated, and enthusiastic over his music. Gluck had known him in Rome and now met him again as AttachÉ of the French Embassy in Vienna. A closer acquaintance with du Rollet gave the composer the means of carrying into effect his plan of going to Paris. Without regard to his former co-worker, Calzabigi—Gluck's relations with the latter may well have been changed since the failure of "Paris and Helen"—the master bound himself to du Rollet, who agreed to prepare, with his help, Racine's "IphigÉnie in Aulis," and to bring about the performance of the work in the great Parisian Opera. The difficulties which arose from the business transactions with the directors of the Grand Opera were entirely overcome by an emphatic word from one of Gluck's former pupils, Marie Antoinette, who had been placed, in the meantime, upon the French throne, and in the autumn of 1773 Gluck was able to leave Vienna for Paris.

In Paris the German master was received with open arms by the court as well as by leaders in the literary circles. The protection of the former was of special consequence to Gluck, as he was to have infinitely greater trouble with the singers and musicians than he had experienced in Vienna. Even at the first rehearsals of his opera he was convinced that the principal actors of the "AcadÉmie royale de musique" (Royal Academy of Music), which was the official name of the Grand Opera, left much to be desired in singing, pronunciation, acting and all else. The dancers, who, until within a few years, had always entered with masks, entirely lacked the ability to assist the action by their pantomime as Gluck desired. The chorus was accustomed to march up and down in rank and file, the men on one side and the women on the other, and then to stand immovable. The orchestra finally reached the extreme height of laziness and lawlessness; in cold weather the entire company played in gloves, and the only way the leader could achieve any kind of ensemble was to beat the time loudly on his desk. And now Gluck made short work of the belligerents. To the singer who assumed the rÔle of Iphigenia and in a rehearsal refused to follow instructions he said: "Voyez-vous, Mademoiselle, je suis ici pour faire exÉcuter IphigÉnie; si vous voulez chanter, rien de mieux; si vous ne le voulez pas, À votre aise. J'irai voir la reine et je lui dirai, il m'est impossible de faire jouer mon opÉra. Puis je monterai dans ma voiture et je reprendrai la route de Vienne." ("Mademoiselle, I am here to bring out Iphigenia: if you will sing, nothing can be better; if not, very well, I will go to the Queen and will say: It is impossible to have my opera performed; then I will take my seat in my carriage and return to Vienna.") Certainly the majority of the coÖperators would have been glad to get rid of the master in this way, but knowing the court to be on his side, there was nothing to do but submit.

The day of the representation of "IphigÉnie" (19 April, 1774) was anticipated with excitement by all Paris. In literary circles—the so-called bureaux d'esprit (offices of wit)—there were arguments for and against Gluck. In the first place here was a composer who had spoken the apparently paradoxical words which were nevertheless true: "When I compose operas I try, first of all, to forget that I am a musician," and in these circles there was violent opposition to the extremely self-confident reformer. Baron Grimm, a subtle critic and known as the patron of young Mozart during his second sojourn in Paris, thus describes, in a most graphic way, the ruling sentiments: "For two weeks Paris has been thinking and dreaming nothing but music. Music is the subject of all our debates, of all conversation; it is the life of all our suppers, and it would be simply ridiculous to show interest in anything else. To a political question the reply is a melody, to a moral reflection, the ritornelle of an aria; if one tries to excite interest in Racine or Voltaire he is reminded of the effect produced by the orchestra in the recitative of Agamemnon. Need I say that it is Gluck's 'IphigÉnie' which has excited such a furore? A furore all the more tremendous because of the difference of opinion and the fanaticism of parties. One party swears that no other gods than Lully and Rameau shall be recognized; another believes only in the melodious revelations of Jomelli, Piccini and Sacchini; a third will hear of no other composer than Gluck, who has found the only true dramatic music drawn from the eternal fount of harmony, from the most intimate union of mind and soul; a music that belongs to no land, but which he has genially appropriated to our language."

It goes without saying that opinions differed even upon the evening of the first representation, but upon the second, applause was unanimous, or, as Grimm expresses it, "IphigÉnie" was applauded "aux nues" (to the clouds). The series of successful representations was interrupted by the death of Louis XV., in consequence of which the theatre was closed for thirty-four days. This interruption was, however, employed in studying the "Orpheus," which meanwhile had been translated into French by Moline. Gluck had to make several important changes in the music, for the Academy of Music had no eunuchs among its members (the French public never having found pleasure in such singers), and the master was obliged to transpose for the tenor the title-rÔle written for alto. Although by the substitution of the brilliant tenor for the melancholy alto the part of "Orpheus" lost something of its charm, "OrphÉe et Euridice" still had a success which far exceeded that of "IphigÉnie." It was a special joy to Gluck that J. J. Rousseau, who had been one of his partisans, soon after the appearance of "IphigÉnie" became one of his enthusiastic admirers. The philosopher of Geneva affirmed that the music of "Orpheus" had reconciled him to existence, and the reproach cast upon Gluck's music, that it was lacking in melody—a reproach, by the way, which no musical innovator, up to the present day, has been spared—he met with the words: "I believe that melody proceeds from every pore." Besides this, after Gluck had taught him better, Rousseau did not hesitate—and this does him honor—to publicly acknowledge that he had made a serious mistake in stating that the French language was unsuitable to set to music.

It would lead us too far to enter into the reasons given by Rousseau in his "Lettre sur la musique franÇaise" (Essay upon French music) in support of his former opinion. In the main he accused the French language—and justly—of being devoid of all accent (destituÉe de tout accent) and concluded that Gluck's efforts to bring about a reform in French opera had no chance of success. But he did not know or did not consider that language without accent to a German is quite incomprehensible, that a German composer cannot do otherwise than satisfy his inborn love of accent in the use of a language that is foreign to him. While Gluck thus breathed a vital element into French song, a need felt by the French themselves, but which they did not know how to meet, he won the warmest recognition of all truly musically-gifted Frenchmen and that of the French-Swiss Rousseau among them.

Results of such importance could not be affected by the fact that two of Gluck's earlier works, the operetta "L'arbre enchantÉ" (The Enchanted Tree) and the opera ballet "La CythÈre assiÉgÉe" (Cythera Besieged), when performed in Paris the following year (1775), found but a lukewarm welcome. The master had left Paris before the representation of the latter work, not to rest on his laurels, but to begin at once the composition of two new operas, "Roland" and "Armide," both by Quinault, which, with the French adaptation of "Alceste," were intended for representation in Paris the following year. In the midst of his work, however, he was surprised by the news that, at the instigation of his opponents, the directors of the Grand Opera had called to Paris the famous opera-composer Nicola Piccini, and had likewise confided to him the composition of "Roland." In a violent rage Gluck destroyed what music of "Roland" was already completed and wrote an angry letter to his co-laborer du Rollet, who was then tarrying in Paris, in which, without denying his respect for the talent of his rival, he accused his opponents of treachery and overwhelmed their spokesman, the author Marmontel, with bitter ridicule. This letter, which du Rollet had printed in the periodical "L'annÉe littÉraire," gave the signal for a literary war, which in matters of art has never been surpassed in bitterness except, perhaps, at the appearance of Richard Wagner. A vivid picture of this is given in the collection of newspaper reports, brochures, eulogies and satires (which appeared in Naples in 1781 and in German translation in 1823) called forth by Gluck's opera-reforms, and entitled "MÉmoires pour servir À l'histoire de la rÉvolution opÉrÉe dans la musique par M. le Chevalier Gluck." (Memoirs: a Contribution to the History of the Revolution brought about in Music by M. le Chevalier Gluck.)

When, at the beginning of the year 1776, Gluck returned in order to rehearse "Alceste," he found the cultured people divided into two parties under the names "Gluckists" and "Piccinists," drawn up in line of battle. Again, as in 1752, at the appearance of the Italian bouffe-singers there were formed in the theatre the King's party and the Queen's party; for the king, though not in the least musical, thought it his duty to defend the older opera, while the queen with unwavering fidelity remained true to her countryman and former instructor. At the head of the Gluckists stood the AbbÉ Arnaud and Suard, the proprietor of the "Journal de Paris," while for Piccini, who had arrived in Paris before Gluck, stood Marmontel and the editor of the noted paper "Mercure de France," Laharpe. At the first representation of "Alceste" victory for the Piccinists seemed assured, so utterly did the opera fail, the last act being actually hissed. But, as frequently upon former occasions, the public altered its opinion with each successive performance and bestowed ever richer applause upon the "Alceste" in the thirty-eight consecutive representations. Gluck's fame rose still higher, however, with the presentation of "Armide" (Sept. 23, 1777), in consequence of which his bust was placed near those of Lully, Rameau and Quinault in the foyer of the Grand Opera.

And what were the personal relations of the two masters whose adherents fought so bitterly? Fairly friendly, as among fellow-artists, after they had become acquainted at a banquet which Berton, one of the directors of the Grand Opera, had happily given in their honor. Later, they had occasion to put this friendly feeling into action; when Piccini's "Roland" was being studied and at a rehearsal the composer was thrown into the utmost confusion, being unused to conducting and unfamiliar with the French language, Gluck, who happened to be present, rushed impulsively into the orchestra, threw aside wig and coat and led with such tremendous energy that everything ran smoothly; he also joined most cordially in the applause given his rival upon the appearance of "Roland" in January, 1778. Piccini, on the other hand, when he heard of Gluck's death, expressed his regard for the departed by starting a subscription for the establishment of a yearly concert to be given upon the anniversary of Gluck's death at which nothing but his compositions should be given. The friendly relations of the rivals had another severe test. After Gluck had found a new co-laborer in the poet Guillard, and had gone to Vienna with the text of "IphigÉnie in Tauris" to set it to music, the directors of the Grand Opera, as in the case of "Roland," were again speculating on the Parisians' love of sensation and induced Piccini also to compose an "IphigÉnie in Tauris," which should appear before that of Gluck. This time, however, our master did not propose to relinquish his rights; toward the end of the year 1778 he returned to Paris, and with the aid of the queen so carried his point that the supposed warfare "man to man" ceased and his work gained the precedence. His "Kampf ums Recht" (Fight for the Right) was crowned with brilliant success; not only did those who were co-operating in the production of "IphigÉnie" show themselves well-disposed and even enthusiastic in their task, but at the first performance of this work (May 18, 1779) the effect upon its hearers was magical. The ideal of all earnest friends of the opera seemed attained in the "IphigÉnie in Tauris," and even the cautious Grimm, overcome by the impressions of this representation, wrote: "I know not if what we have heard be a melody. Perhaps it is something much better; I forget the opera and find myself in a Greek tragedy."

After this memorable evening it could no longer be doubted that the war between the Gluckists and Piccinists was over; that the German master had been victorious. True, the "IphigÉnie in Tauris" of Piccini, given about a year later (January, 1781), was also extremely successful, but when the experiment was made, soon after, of producing alternately the operas of the two masters, after slight hesitation, the public decided by a large majority—as is shown by the receipts—in Gluck's favor.[5]

Unfortunately Gluck's Parisian activity closed with a failure. The last opera which he produced there, Baron von Tschudi's "Echo and Narcissus" (autumn of 1779) was coldly received, and after a few representations disappeared from the repertoire. From the fact that in this the master lavished his skill on a dull, dramatically ineffective text, we may conclude that he owed more to chance than to his literary ability in finding such an excellent text for "IphigÉnie in Tauris." Even his follower, C. M. von Weber, was quite doubtful in regard to the dramatic effect of a text, as is proved in his choice of "Euryanthe." In this same year Gluck left Paris and never returned. In possession of a considerable fortune and loaded with honors he passed the last years of his life in Vienna in comfort and ease. Owing to an iron constitution he recovered from a severe illness the following year and his adherents in Paris did not relinquish the hope of seeing the master again in their midst, but this they were forced to do when, in 1784, Gluck had a stroke of paralysis. It is true he recovered from this, but a second stroke, three years later, put an end to his life. In his death the whole artistic world shared the heavy loss sustained by art. Vienna in particular honored the memory of her celebrated citizen with grand funeral services, when his "De profundis" came to light, as well as other treasures of his mind to which he had devoted his constant and most loving care.

After what has been said concerning the progress of Gluck's development, stress need hardly be laid upon the fact that, in reviewing his work, poetry no less than music must be considered. In the first place we cannot refuse the poet of "Orpheus," Raniero Calzabigi, the honor of having had a considerable share in the reform effected by our master. In view of the then prevailing indifference of the opera-lovers to the text, we cannot be surprised that the credit of the opera-reform was attributed to Gluck, whose name entirely eclipsed that of his co-laborer. That Gluck himself, however, is not accountable for this mistake, is proved by his letter sent to the "Mercure de France" in Feb., 1773, in which he says: "I should bitterly reproach myself were I to consent to having attributed to me this new kind of Italian opera, the success of which has justified the experiment. To Calzabigi, rather, belongs the special credit, and if my music proves effectual I must thank him who has put me in a position to draw freely from the well-springs of my art." Due allowance should be made for Calzabigi's own statement, as this was published after Gluck had parted from his first co-worker in the inconsiderate way already mentioned, and the latter had every reason to be incensed with him. In a letter addressed to the "Mercure" (June 25, 1784), he says, among other things, that he had convinced Gluck that musical expression should be based upon an expressive rendering of the libretto, that he had begged him to banish from his music all ornate passages, cadenzas and ritornelles, and Gluck had yielded. We may confidently assent to his closing words: "I hope you will concede from this exposÉ that if Gluck is the author of dramatic music he has by no means created it out of nothing. It was I who gave him the material, or, if you will, the chaos; the honor of this creation should, therefore, be shared equally between us." Finally, the following words from Gluck's preface to "Alceste" are sufficient proof that Calzabigi's claims were just. "By a lucky chance I happened upon the very libretto in which the celebrated author had developed a new plan for the musical drama," a statement which only through an inconceivable blunder could have been given the interpretation "the celebrated author of 'Alceste,' Herr von Calzabigi, carried out my plan for a lyric drama" attributed to Gluck by Anton Schmid and his numerous followers.

Let us now consider Gluck's works, beginning with "Orpheus." Even in this first opera we find the libretto as well as music at the extreme limit of his departure from the old forms. The break with the old opera is a complete one; it seems to be the opinion of successive generations by whom the "Orpheus" has been considered Gluck's most sympathetic work, that it would have been impossible to reach a greater climax. The action is of the most extreme simplicity; to the myths transmitted from Virgil and Ovid the operatic poet makes no material addition. In the first act we hear the lamentations of Orpheus and his companions at the loss of the beloved; whereupon Amor (Cupid) appears, to bring the singer the consoling word that Euridice can be restored to him provided he possesses not only courage to descend to Hades, but the moral strength to refrain from looking at his love until they shall have again reached the upper world. The second act is laid in Hades and begins with the dances and songs of the furies. To the entreaty of Orpheus to abate their wrath, they answer with a horribly inexorable "No!" At length, however, they are unable to resist his supplication and open to him the door of Hades. The scene now changes to a charming region of the Elysian Fields, enlivened by the song of the departed spirits and later of Euridice herself. The prayer of Orpheus to the shades that his wife may be restored to him is not unheeded; she is brought to him, he seizes her hand and without looking at her, leads her away. The beginning of the third act represents the tragic conflict of the lovers. Euridice, who knows nothing of Cupid's injunction, is in despair that Orpheus stubbornly refuses to regard her or to make reply to her words of soft entreaty; but finally his power of resistance fails, he turns toward his wife to embrace her, whereupon she sinks back lifeless, now apparently irrevocably lost. Once again, however, the gods have compassion, and at the moment in which Orpheus, in desperation, is about to end his life, Cupid again appears, and satisfied with the fidelity of Orpheus pardons the false step and leads the lovers to the upper world to unite them there forever.

Judging from his own words, the simplicity of the action did not deter the composer from employing extensively all aids to his art. In order to do full justice to his music we must remember his great successor who, much more richly endowed and filled with a spirit of a new time, far surpassed him as a musician—Mozart, who in this case could confirm the old saying: "Let well enough alone." Still more, if we look backward and contrast the greatest representative of the older Italian opera, Handel, with Gluck, we are astonished at the progress made by opera-music through the former. The old-fashioned ornate music of Handel has disappeared; true expression has gained the supremacy, although it never reigns at the expense of the melody which is almost inexhaustible and in its grace betrays in every measure the country whence it came. The celebrated aria "Che farÒ senza Euridice" is an example of Gluck's power to harmonize the greatest nobility of sentiment with the insinuating charm of melody. A sharp characterization corresponding to modern emotion is of course excluded here, and one of Gluck's French critics is not incorrect in his assertion that one can sing to the aforesaid air "J'ai trouvÉ mon Euridice" as well as "J'ai perdu mon Euridice." (I have found my Euridice as well as I have lost my Euridice.)

In the part of Euridice and in the duet of husband and wife, Gluck's power of musical delineation is even greater, but most impressive are the choruses in which the influence of the Handel oratorios is unmistakable. The chorus of the furies forbidding Orpheus the entrance to Hades is one of the most affecting, most impressive in the entire province of dramatic music, and serves to heighten the restful effect of the graceful ballet of a chorus of blessed spirits led by a flute solo, which immediately follows. Here the effect produced by the orchestra must not be overlooked, neither the modest means of this orchestra, which in the "Dance of the Furies" consists merely of a string quartette, two horns, oboe and flageolet.

As regards the music, the "Alceste" is more admirable than the "Orpheus," in that the uniformity of the libretto has put the skill of the composer to the more severe test. Even J. J. Rousseau averred that he knew of no opera in which the expression of the passions was more uniform than in "Alceste "; that all revolved about the two conditions of the soul, love and fear, and to describe these two sensations over and over again without monotony, required the composer's utmost skill. Rousseau makes also the just criticism that in the last act, where a climax is most needed to hold the listeners to the end, the interest flags. In point of fact the action of the "Alceste" is more feeble than that of "Orpheus." In agreement with Gluck, Calzabigi has preserved in his poetry the entire strength and simplicity of his prototype, the "Alceste" of Euripides; even the element of the unexpected which appears in "Orpheus" is not here employed. Admetus, King of Thessaly, is dangerously ill; his death is hourly expected. Apollo, who once, when driven from Olympus, found favor with the King, wishes to express his gratitude and causes his oracle to proclaim that if another person will voluntarily die for him, Admetus shall live. While the people, horrified, take flight, Alceste declares herself ready to sacrifice her life for her beloved husband. She dies, but Apollo (not Hercules, as in Euripides) appears at the same instant, rescues her from death and restores her to her family and people.

In his "Alceste" Gluck has exercised all his talent as composer in order to give the most intense musical expression to the evangel of devoted, self-sacrificing love. Naturally, it is to the noble, touching figure of the queen, wife and mother that he devotes the greatest love and care. Courageously she faces death with the words of the famous aria, "Ombre, larve, compagne di morte"; and the tenderest mother speaks in her when in parting from her children she makes her last petition: "Venite sovente alia mia tomba ornatela di fiori."

Further, the choruses in "Alceste" are overpowering in effect, which fact indicates a step in advance of "Orpheus" in so far that here the orchestra conduces infinitely more to the portrayal of the situation. Even in the first mentioned arias of "Alceste" the instruments, especially the trumpets, are employed in the most telling manner. Still more stirring is the orchestral action following the decree of the oracle, in the chorus "Fuggiamo!" Scarcely have the words of the gods died away when the basses are heard, in dull, sustained tones, descriptive of the murmur of the multitude. The murmuring grows louder and individual cries are heard until finally the entire mass of orchestra and chorus unites in the cry: "Let us away!" The full power of the Gluck orchestra, however, is revealed in the chorus of the gods of death which is sung upon one key by the basses, while the melody is sustained by the instruments. As an orchestral piece of the highest, most imperishable worth the sacrificial march in the first act deserves special mention. In this the melody, sustained simply by stringed instruments and low flutes, is quite different in character from ordinary marches and cannot fail to produce upon the mind of the hearers the mood corresponding to the high religious action.

Of "Paris and Helen" the reader knows already that, in spite of the sanguine hopes of the composer, the work was decidedly rejected by the public. He will remember also that Gluck, in this case, was not disposed to recognize the "vox populi" as the "vox dei," as he gave vent to indignation at his failure in the dedication of the work to the Duke of Braganza. Later, however, he must have acknowledged the justice of the judgment pronounced by the Viennese public, proved, if in no other way, by the fact that he did not consider "Paris" suitable to appear at the Paris Opera with "Orpheus" and "Alceste." Still, this almost unknown opera has its significance in the resumÉ of the master's development. In his endeavor to draw a sharp contrast between the principal figures—the effeminate Phrygian and the pure, true Spartan maid—Gluck has gained perceptibly in this direction of his art, and in the vocal as well as in the orchestral parts the peculiarity of each distinct nation is expressed. This is apparent even in the overture, which is more nearly related to the drama than in the case of Gluck's former operas, in that certain of its motives are repeated in the course of the action.

The overture to "Paris and Helen" may serve as a bridge from those works to which Gluck had given his whole creative strength and in which he had, so to speak, surpassed himself, to the works of the Parisian period, which is commonly regarded as the master's third period, though incorrectly, for in point of fact, Gluck's activity is divided into but two sections: the time before and the time after his acquaintance with Calzabigi. This is not saying that Gluck, in the presence of a drama as important as "IphigÉnie in Aulis," the first real drama which he undertook to set to music, took, as it were, new impetus in order to outdo himself if possible for the sake of the Paris public whose judgment he so thoroughly respected. This is demonstrated in the overture to the aforesaid opera which, corresponding to this sort of ideal prologue, transports us to a higher sphere, in which we are prepared for the drama. "Here, as in the overture to 'Don Juan,'" says Richard Wagner, "it is the struggle or at least the juxtaposition of two adverse elements which determines the movement of the piece. Even in the action of 'IphigÉnie' these two elements appear. The army of Greek heroes is assembled for the purpose of a great mutual undertaking; inspired by the thought of this alone, all other human interest disappears before that of the masses. Opposed to this is the interest attaching to the preservation of a human life, the rescue of a tender maiden. With what characteristic perspicuity and truth has Gluck almost personified these contrasts! In what lofty proportion has he measured them and made such contrast that by this juxtaposition alone is the opposition, and in consequence the movement given! By the ponderousness of the principal motive advancing solemnly, the mass of the people united in one interest is recognized, while immediately in the succeeding theme the interest in the suffering, frail creature fills us with compassion. The repetition of this single contrast throughout the composition gives us the great idea of the Greek tragedy, filling us alternately with fear and pity. Thus we attain to the lofty, excited state which prepares us for a drama the highest meaning of which it reveals to us at the outset and so leads us to understand, according to this meaning, the action which immediately follows."

In his treatment of the subject-matter of "IphigÉnie in Aulis," Gluck's co-worker, du Rollet, has closely followed Racine's tragedy of the same name, even as the latter followed the drama of Euripides. The army of the Greeks has embarked for Troy in order to avenge the insult to their country by the capture of Helen. In the harbor of Aulis the warriors are detained by a tedious calm because their leader, Agamemnon, has killed a stag sacred to Diana and called down upon himself the vengeance of the goddess. Kalchas, the high priest, inquires of the oracle what may be done to propitiate Diana and receives the terrifying answer that naught but a human sacrifice, even the daughter of the king, Iphigenia, can in any wise appease her wrath. At these words, paternal affection, pride, love of country and military glory wage a fearful battle in the heart of the king, who becomes still more desperate when his wife, Clytemnestra, appears at the camp with her daughter who is to be forthwith united in marriage to the hero Achilles. The murmurs of the warriors clamoring for the sacrifice and the repeated warning of Kalchas reveal the frightful truth to the unsuspecting one; but Iphigenia declares herself ready to obey the gods. She kneels at the altar and is about to receive her death-blow, when Achilles with his Thessalonian warriors hastens, by force of arms, to save his bride from sacrificial death. Kalchas, however, steps between the combatants and tells them that their zeal has already appeased the anger of the goddess; the altar is destroyed by lightning, a favorable wind arises and amidst gay dancing and songs of great rejoicing the reunion of the lovers is celebrated.

(Only in the conclusion does du Rollet differ from Racine and the latter from Euripides, on whose account Diana herself saves Iphigenia by taking her to Tauris enveloped in a cloud. Racine brings about the dÉnouement through Eriphile, who loves Achilles, and recognizing the hopelessness of her love, offers herself a willing victim.)

This material offered the musician the richest opportunity to describe various conditions of the soul, as well as to satisfy the desire for pomp and show inherent to grand opera. The rejoicing at the appearance of the queen and the bridal couple, and also after the rescue of Iphigenia; the encounter of the Greek and Thessalonian warriors; the solemnity of the sacrificial rites are all illustrated in most glowing colors by the music. The dances are distinguished by greater brilliancy than those of Gluck's former operas, aided by a richer instrumentation—besides the string quartette two each of the flute, oboe, horn and flageolet. A passecaille in the third scene of the second act is so charming in effect that even Gluck's most bitter enemy, Professor Forkel, was obliged to give it his approval. But the master appears most admirable where the libretto allows him to display his skill as a dramatic author, chiefly in the ensemble pieces in which essentially different characters are united, as in the mighty ruler Agamemnon, the loving Clytemnestra wildly incensed by the loss of her daughter, the suffering Iphigenia ready for any sacrifice, and the youthful hero Achilles impelled by impetuous strength. Later composers surpassing Gluck as regards skill in counterpoint may have excelled him in fineness of distinction, but for truth, sincerity and strength of conviction there is nothing greater to be found in the entire realm of operatic literature than the love-duet of Iphigenia and Achilles in the first act, "Ne doutez jamais de ma flamme!" than Clytemnestra's outburst of despair in the words "Etouffez des soupirs trop indignes de vous"; than the scene of Agamemnon in the second act, "O, dieux, que vais-je faire? C'est ta fille," in which the remorse of the unhappy father is vividly portrayed; than the trio, in the same act, of Iphigenia, the mother and Achilles, in which the mild, forgiving spirit of the maiden contrasts effectively with the passionate ebullition of her partners. In relation to this trio we must agree with Marx's assertion that "Gluck had no need of the perfected art of later time, nay, its possession might have confused him and led him far astray. The characters of Gluck's conception needed nothing other than what was already at hand. As well clothe Raphael's chaste madonnas with the splendid garments of Veronese as to adorn Gluck's character with later ornamental art." ("Gluck und die Oper," II. 93.)

When Gluck brought out "Armide" he was sixty-three years old. He was exceedingly daring in this venture, for he had closely followed the libretto of Quinault and therefore ran the risk of being compared to Lully by many who still adhered to him in Paris, and also of seeing the "Armide" of the older master preferred to his. In the flush of his egotism, however, he believed he had no reason to fear this comparison; besides, it was a fascinating thing to lose himself for once in the romance of the Middle Ages, for up to this time he had set to music only subjects from ancient mythology of gods and heroes. At first Gluck seems to have intended to make no unusual exertion; the overture to "Armide" is none other than the one written for "Telemachus" and subsequently used in the festival play "Le feste d'Apollo;" the aria of Hatred, "Plus on connait l'amour," is an imitation of the Jupiter aria in "Philemon and Baucis," and the main features in the conspiracy-scene in the second act (Hidraot and Armide) are likewise taken from "Telemachus." In the course of the work, however, the novelty of the material and the opportunity for musical description allows greater and finally the greatest display of power, and this opera becomes well worthy to rank among his strongest works.

Quinault used as material for this libretto an episode from Tasso's "Jerusalem Redeemed." Armide, the Queen of Damascus, is an enchantress, and with the help of her genius Hidraot, has beguiled into her net a number of the crusaders who had started with Gottfried von Bouillon for the Holy Land. The captured knights are to be delivered over to the king of Egypt—when Renaud appears and releases them from the hands of the guards. "Un seul guerrier!" cry Armide and her train filled with astonishment and rage, these words followed by a chorus of irresistible power, "Poursuivons jusqu'au trÉpas l'ennemi." In the second act Armide and Hidraot proceed to summon the demons in the awful words mysteriously rendered by the orchestra, "Esprits de haine et de rage, demons obÉissez-nous!" Here the scene changes to a charming landscape, Renaud appears, and in sharp contrast to the preceding movement a lovely idyl led by the flute is rendered by the orchestra. Ensnared by the charm of the region, the knight sinks into slumber, but Armide approaches to take her revenge. In her magnificent monologue "Enfin il est en ma puissance," she believes herself near the goal, but the beauty of the sleeping hero transforms her hate to love and she becomes inspired with the single wish that she may chain him to her. In the third act she seeks to overcome the passion and again evokes the demons of hate, this time entreating them to free her from her love. "Venez, venez, haine implacable!" Hatred appears also, with his followers (avec sa suite) but is powerless to heal the love-wounds inflicted upon Armide. Her attempt to awaken responsive love in Renaud's breast, after having chosen an enchanted island in the ocean for a dwelling-place for both, forms the subject-matter in the fourth act, the music of which, though dramatically insignificant, is nevertheless fully calculated to disprove the assertion made by Gluck's opponents, that he lacked a sense of the grace and beauty of true melody. In the last act we see Renaud in Armide's arms entranced by her witchery. The dances executed at her command, among them the Chaconne (which at that time was indispensable to the French opera), have bewildered him, robbed him of his senses and his knightly power, when two messengers—Ubalde and the Danish Knight—appear, having been sent by the army of crusaders to his rescue. At the imperious word "Notre gÉnÉral vous rappelle!" he summons all his strength and frees himself from Armide's arms, but she, torn with remorse and anger causes the abode of their brief happiness to disappear in flames.

In his "Armide" Gluck made great concessions to gratify the love of the spectacular and the craving for the sensual of the opera-loving public; in the main, however, this opera owes its chief success to the earnestness with which the master performed his task as a dramatist. As an instance of the way in which he obtained the best dramatic effects in "Armide," at the time of the representations in Paris, Gluck begged the famous singer, LarrivÉe, to undertake the part of the Danish Knight, though he acknowledged it a slight part for his talent. "But," he added, "it contains one passage which will be sufficient compensation." He did not say too much, for the words "Notre gÉnÉral vous rappelle," rendered with tremendous effect by LarrivÉe, called forth a storm of applause at every representation.

After this "Ride into the Land of Romance" Gluck returned again to the antique and created his last opera, "IphigÉnie in Tauris," which takes first rank among his masterpieces. If in "Armide" he had dealt rather too much with externalities, in "IphigÉnie in Tauris" he kept even more strictly than before within the prescribed limits of the drama, scorning that embellishment which had been added to the opera in order to distinguish it from the drama. His co-worker, in this case, was the young poet Guillard, who had framed the text of this his initial work after the tragedy of Guimond de la Touche, adding nothing, but on the contrary, discarding, with dramatic savoir faire, all which was not suitable to set to music. The opera does not begin with an overture, but with a short orchestral prelude which describes at first the peaceful, then the stormy sea. When the curtain rises we see the ship sail by, which bears Orestes and Pylades. After the storm—which is a masterly piece of orchestration—has subsided, Iphigenia tells her dream to her companions. In her father's palace she has seen her mother murdered by the hand of her brother Orestes, while by a supernatural power she seems compelled to murder him. Sorely oppressed by the remembrance of this dream she beseeches Diana with the touching words "O, toi, qui prolongeas mes jours" that she who once saved her life may now take back her gift. In the meantime the Scythian inhabitants of Tauris have imprisoned the Greeks cast upon the shore, and Thoas, the ruler of the land, condemns them to be offered upon the altar of Diana, and Iphigenia the priestess of the gods, to perform the sacrifice.

In the second act we see the two friends as prisoners in the temple. To Orestes' outbursts of despair Pylades replies in the touching aria "Unis dÈs la plus tendre enfance." In vain! He is powerless to banish the frightful memories of Orestes, who is plunged again into despair at the separation from his friend. His words, "Le calme rentre dans mon coeur," are only a self-delusion, his real state of mind being betrayed by the feverish movement in sixteenths of the bass-viol. Not even in sleep can he find peace, for scarcely has he closed his eyes when the Eumenides appear and terrify the murderer with their cries of revenge,—and here, for the first time, the trombones are introduced. After their frightful song "Vengeons et la nature et les dieux en courroux" and the succeeding words "Il a tuÉ sa mÈre," given pianissimo by the entire chorus and the orchestra, Iphigenia appears, questions the stranger and learns from him the terrible fate of her parent, and that Orestes himself is no longer among the living. The second act closes with a funeral celebration in honor of her brother's memory, during which the priestess mourns her loss in the aria, "O, malheureuse IphigÉnie!"

One of the most beautiful and ennobling scenes of the opera is that of the third act, in which the friends contend as to which shall be sacrificed for the other, for to only one of the prisoners does the cruel Thoas, moved by Iphigenia's prayers, grant life and the permission to return to Greece. As Orestes threatens to take his own life in case he is not made the victim, Pylades yields, only with the intention of effecting his friend's release, however, immediately upon his own deliverance. This aria in praise of friendship, "DivinitÉ des grandes Âmes, amitiÉ," is characterized at first by sweet simplicity, but at the words "Je vais sauver Oreste," the music becomes so grand—especially at the sudden introduction of the kettle-drums and trumpets, which have not been used in the entire act—as to produce an irresistible effect upon the audience.

In the fourth act Iphigenia entreats Diana, in the words "Je t'implore et je tremble, DÉesse implacable," to spare her the frightful task of sacrificing the young stranger, but her supplications are unheeded. As she seizes the sacrificial knife with which she is to stab Orestes to the heart, the latter half-involuntarily exclaims: "Ainsi tu pÉris en Aulide, IphigÉnie, o, ma soeur!" The ensuing scene of recognition in which all the composer's depth of feeling, all the passion of his heart are embodied, is of most intense theatrical effect. Now follow, one after another, the most thrilling scenes. The brother and sister resolve to escape, but are surprised by Thoas, who insists upon the sacrifice—when Pylades appears with his faithful Greeks, slays the barbarian, and amid songs of rejoicing the curtain falls for the last time.

We have already stated that "IphigÉnie in Tauris" was the only one of Gluck's operas which was fully appreciated by the public at its first representation. How is this remarkable fact to be explained? First of all we should say, without hesitation, by the impressive force of the material which is qualified to move and thrill the hearts of men in all ages, and to which has been given a form exactly suited to the operatic stage. Secondly, by the music, in which Gluck has adhered more strictly than in his previous works to his principle of according the first place to the libretto, for its very subordination to the text heightens rather than lessens the effect. Concerning the general character of this music, it is noticeable that the lyric element, which in the course of his reform Gluck sacrificed more and more to the dramatic, appears again in the sad "IphigÉnie." In the choruses as well as in the arias, some of which, as we have seen, date from his Italian period, the lyric element is undeniable, while in the recitatives Gluck the dramatist is revealed in all his power. This beautiful symmetry of the forces governing the drama, the well-balanced alternation of the passive mood and the excitement called forth by the action, together give that solemnity to the music of "IphigÉnie in Tauris" which fills the soul of the listener, even to the present time, and have given it the precedence of Gluck's creations.

Applause, honors and material reward for his work fell to Gluck's lot in richer measure than to any musician of his time. On the other hand he endured all those affronts seldom spared the pioneer artist who is true to his convictions. It must have grieved him especially to encounter only ill-will and crude misconception from the majority of his countrymen. Nearly all North Germany refused to recognize his works, following the example of Berlin, which, thanks to Frederick the Great, had now achieved a leading position in artistic and scientific matters. Frederick the Great himself saw in the Dresden kapellmeister, Hasse, the foremost representative of the opera, and asserted that Gluck knew nothing of singing and understood nothing of great operatic style. His sister, Princess Amelia, who had made a thorough study of composition under Kirnberger, upon becoming familiar with the "IphigÉnie in Aulis" sent the following verdict to her teacher: "Herr Gluck, according to my opinion, will never rank as a skilled composer. In the first place, he has no inventive faculty, secondly his melody is miserable, and thirdly there is no accent, no expression, everything has a tiresome sameness. Finally and in general the whole opera is very poor, but it is the latest craze and has numerous supporters."

Portrait of Gluck, made during his stay in Paris by Aug. de St. Aubin. From a delicate engraving on copper.