Program Notes for "Haydn's Orfeo"
Written by Michael Ruhling, HIP Research Fellow
Questions about the program notes or pre-concert lectures? Email Michael

Synopsis
Notes

L’anima del filosofo, ossia Orfeo ed Euridice
Dramma per musica
Composed 1791
Music by Joseph Haydn
Libretto by Carlo Francesco Badini

Dramatis personae
Creon, King of Thebes (Creonte, bass)
Euridice (soprano), daughter of Creon, in love with Orpheus but promised to Aristaeus (Arideo)
Orpheus (Orfeo, tenor), the “Thracian musician,” in love with Euridice
A Sibyl (Genio, soprano), guide to Orpheus through the Underworld
Pluto (bass), god of the Underworld
Various solos and choruses: followers of Aristaeus, Cupids, messengers, young men and
maidens, unburied dead, Furies, Pluto’s ministers, Bacchantes.

Synopsis
Musical and dramatic characteristics of many of the movements named in the synopsis are discussed in the “Notes” following the synopsis.

Overture
The slow, imitative introduction in c minor suggests the tragic nature of the plot.  After a change to c major and an allegro tempo, Haydn features each family of instruments—strings, winds, brass/timpani—at various times in the overture, making it a colorful and vibrant opening.

Act I
The vibrancy of the overture raises the curtain to reveal Euridice, who has escaped from Aristaeus, to whom she has been promised by her father King Creon.  She is lost in a gloomy forest on a mountain, near a crude altar.  As she sings of her reason being clouded by the “vapor” of distress and dismal thoughts (recit. “Sventurata, che foi?”), a chorus urges her to run from the forest (chorus “Ferma, ferma il piede”).  A group of wild shepherds—followers of Aristaeus—surround Euridice and capture her for sacrifice.  She questions what they want, and takes solace at the thought of death relieving her from her broken heart, because her complaints of unrequited love for Orpheus have only been “scattered on the breeze,” as had Philomel’s sad songs (recit.-aria “Che chiedete da me?— Filomena abbandonata”).  The chorus cries out for Orpheus, who appears just as Euridice is being tied to the altar.  Orpheus asks for his lyre and begins to sing to the “enemies of reason,” asking for Euridice’s release, and of the torment he experiences at the thought of losing her (recit.-aria “Rendete a questo seno— Cara speme”).  Finally the fanatical, barbaric shepherds are charmed into releasing Euridice by the “power of music” (chorus “O poter dell’armonia”).  At Creon’s palace, the king’s worries about his missing daughter are quelled by a servant’s recounting of her rescue by Orpheus, and he is convinced to allow Euridice to marry Orpheus despite his promise to Aristaeus.  He reflects on the struggle between reason and emotion, concluding that we are, unfortunately, governed by the latter (aria “Il pensier sta negli oggetti”).  Creon goes to Orpheus and Euridice and announces his willingness to allow them to marry because “hearts are joined in heaven,” and the act concludes with a beautiful love duet (“Come il foco allo splendore”). 

Act II
Orpheus and Euridice are in an idyllic spot surrounded by Cupids, all singing of nuptial delight (chorus “Finché circola il vigore”).  The lovers hear a loud noise, and Orpheus goes to investigate. Aristaeus and his followers enter to capture Euridice, and as she tries to run from them a snake bites her on the foot.  Feeling the effects of the poison, Euridice cries for Orpheus, and realizing she is dying, dedicates her dying thought to her husband (recit.-cavatina “Dov’è, dov’è l’amato bene— Del mio core”).  Orpheus returns, and seeing his dead bride he begins to lament, saying that henceforth his lyre will only weep (recit.-aria “Dov’è quell’alma audace— In un mar d’acerbe pene”).  Creon is told of Euridice’s death, and that Aristaeus has waged war against Creon for breaking his promise.  Creon calls for the sound of trumpets to “arouse the fury of champions” to avenge his beloved daughter (aria “Mai non sia inulto”). 

Act III
Mourners sing a hymn by Euridice’s grave, recalling some of the imagery the lovers sang of earlier, but now shrouded in death and despair (chorus “Ah, sposo infelice”). Orpheus and Creon follow them; Creon expresses concern for Orpheus, whose loss of “hope for love’s delight” has affected his mind (aria “Chi spira e non spera”).  Orpheus goes to the cave of the Sibyl (Genio) to ask her where Euridice has gone (recit. “Venerata Sibilla”).  The Sibyl gives Orpheus a torch (of reason?) to light his way into the Stygian realm, urging him to anchor himself with philosophy, thus allowing reason to control his passions (aria “Al tuo seno fortunate”).  Orpheus steels himself for the journey to the Underworld, vowing constancy even though the “sun should turn to ice” and darken the sky (recit. “Costanza a me si chiedi?”), and a chorus praises justice (chorus “La giustizia in cor regina”) as Orpheus and the Sibyl set off for the realm of the dead. 

Act IV
Orpheus and the Sibyl begin their journey to the Underworld, passing through scenes of languish and torture (chorus of unburied souls “Infelici ombre dolente”; chorus of Furies “Urli orrendi, disperati”).  As they arrive at Pluto’s gates, Orpheus pleads with Pluto to “feel pity for love,” pleas which are endorsed by Pluto’s own ministers (recit.-men’s chorus “O signor, che all’ombre imperi—Trionfi oggi pietà”).  Pluto agrees to allow Orpheus to enter Elysium and lead his beloved out (recit. “O della reggia mia”).  The Sibyl and the joy-filled Orpheus enter the blissful Elysian fields (Intermezzo), but as Euridice approaches, limping from the snakebite, Orpheus is warned by the a chorus of souls and the Sibyl to control his passion and not look upon Euridice until they cross back into the sunlight, or she will be lost forever (chorus “Son finite le tue pene”).  Euridice asks where her husband is, and as he turns to look into her lovely eyes and face, describing how his singing and lyre playing allowed him to enter Pluto’s realm (recit. “Dov’è ‘l dolce amato sposo—O sempiterni dei!”), the Sibyl and Euridice disappear.  Orpheus is left on Lethe’s shores, in utter misery and tormented by spectres (recit.-aria “Perduto un’altra volta—Mi sento languire”).  The scene changes to a seashore, where Orpheus is alone, weeping.  A group of Bacchantes approach, urging him to join them and drink from the cup of pleasure and love (chorus “Bevi, bevi in questa tazza”).  Orpheus drinks their poisonous potion and dies.  The Bacchantes celebrate the death of the Thracian singer, declaring that we are destined to seek refuge on “the island of delight” (chorus “Andiamo amiche, andiamo”), but their reveling is interrupted by a storm, wherein the Furies “rend their breasts,” and all are washed out to sea.

Notes

Within days of Haydn’s arrival in London on New Year’s Day 1791 he dispatched a letter to Prince Anton Esterházy to inform him that “The new libretto which I am to compose is entitled Orfeo. . . .”  The commission Haydn received to write the opera L’anima del filosofo, ossia Orfeo ed Euridice (The Soul of Philosophy, or Orpheus and Euridice) on a libretto by Carlo Francesco Badini ensured that his name would be placed alongside Peri, Monteverdi, Gluck and others, in the important history of operas based on the mythical Thracian musician Orpheus, whose fateful love of Euridice compelled him to enter the Underworld and charm Pluto with his skillful lyre playing, moving poetry and golden voice.  The opera was to open in May 1791 at the King’s Theatre, but because of a series of clerical misfortunes, permission for the performances was denied.  Haydn was never to see his last opera staged; it received its first complete performance only about sixty years ago.  Unlike some of the 17th and 18th century Orpheus operas, the Haydn-Badini Orpheus ends tragically, with the distressed Orpheus drinking poison after Euridice’s soul disappeared back into the Underworld because of the hero’s inability to control his passion for her.  In this regard, it more closely adheres to Ovid’s telling of the Greek myth in Metamorphoses. 

Opera is among the most “conventionalized” art forms in that it requires the audience to be privy to the meaning of a vast array of musical, textual and visual signs in order to fully grasp what is being communicated.  A brief discussion of a few of these textual and musical signs might serve to enhance the dramatic effect of this work for us, especially as it will be presented in a concert format, without acting, costumes or sets. 

The Haydn-Badini Orfeo is very much a product for an “Enlightened” 1790s London. The abundance of choruses reflects the influence of the oratorios of Handel and the operas of Gluck.  And the unusual title The Soul of Philosophy clued the would-be audience into the libretto’s Enlightenment—one might even say Freemason—metaphorical content.  All of the characters take their turns to wax philosophic about the guiding “light” of reason and the “dark” pitfalls of unchecked passion and superstition.  Thus, L’anima del filosofo possesses a kinship to Mozart’s The Magic Flute, composed at the same time, but in the arena of the elevated opera seria (Italian serious opera) rather than the more plebian Singspiel (German comic opera) genre. Our very first image is of Euridice in a gloomy forest, the realm of Aristaeus and his savage shepherds, frustrated by the dismal thoughts clouding her mind, and the horrible vapor around her which blocks out the sun, “befuddling reason.”  Ignorance, fear and superstition are overwhelming her, blocking the “daylight” of reason.  She comments that the murkiness of her state of mind is made worse by the “madness” of her love, which we deduce is of the unrequited variety, for Orpheus.  So at the outset is planted the idea that intense passions cloud our intellect, thereby endangering our prospects of living by the light of reason. The band of Aristaeus’s wild shepherds that abduct Euridice for sacrifice are guided only by the savagery of unchecked passion, and so personify the unenlightened.  Notice that the shepherds do not sing—have no words of their own—but are only described by others and thus when staged they only mime.  Orpheus appears with his lyre, and through his art, his creative ordering of thought and passion, he brings order to the situation at hand.  Philosophy, then, trumps desire in this scene because, as the following chorus relates, music is “the language of gods.” Creon later reflects on the human struggle with passion, observing, “We are governed by affections and yet claim to be free” (aria “Il pensier sta negli oggetti”).  When Orpheus seeks the aid of the Sibyl to enter the Underworld (as Virgil aided Dante), she presents him with a torch (the torch of Enlightenment?) and warns him, “groans and tears will not help you, . . . seek the calm of philosophy.  You shall see her again if you can control your passions.”  As he later explains to Euridice, Orpheus secures permission from Pluto to enter the Elysian fields through “my sweet singing and the music of this lyre,” in the same way he had overcome the savage shepherds.  But, as Creon earlier observed, we are not free from our passions, and so despite being urged to control his desires and not look upon Euridice, Orpheus has a moment of weakness, and loses her forever.  Orpheus has lost the battle between passion and reason.  So Orpheus’s lyre and voice served a similar purpose as Tamino’s flute in The Magic Flute:  the creative ordering that results in music is metaphor for reason (philosophy).  But unlike Tamino, Orpheus loses his lyre—it is not mentioned again after Euridice returns to the Underworld—because of his inability to control his passion at that crucial moment, and so the Bacchantes hold sway in the final scene (at least for a while), and are given the honor of singing “the Thracian singer is dead.”

Haydn’s choice of instruments and voices in L’anima del filosofo relies upon conventions to communicate the various aspects of the drama in much the same way as had Handel, as demonstrated in the dramatic pieces we have heard and considered earlier this season.  All of the solo roles follow 18th century conventions:  Euridice, the heroine, is a soprano, and the hero Orpheus is a tenor (Handel would have made it a tenor or castrato role).  The Sibyl is also a soprano, but she only sings in recitative style except for one aria “Al tuo seno fortunate” in Act III (a coloratura tour-de-force!).   The father-figure Creon and god Pluto are bass roles, with Pluto being sung by the deep basso profundo, thus distinguishing his supernatural greatness as compared to Creon.  Even chorus voice selection usefully serves dramatic imagery: messengers, followers of Aristaeus and ministers of Pluto are sung by men, and the youthful Cupids and seductive Bacchantes are represented by women. 

But it is not just the choice of voice type that tells the story, it is also the many ways Haydn, and his predecessors and contemporaries, used the voices to communicate the words and offer the audience a peek inside the minds and hearts of the characters.  For example, conflicting or varying emotions within a character often reveal themselves in two-part arias, one part smooth and steady and the second full of vocal acrobatics.  Euridice’s first aria “Filomena abbandonata” begins softly and sadly, explaining that her complaints, like the legendary Philomel’s, fall only on the breeze and so receive no sympathy, but the thought of this only increases the cruelty (crudeltà) of her fate, thus Euridice’s singing becomes quick, angular, and one might say vocally cruel.  Not long after Euridice’s aria, Orpheus, seeing Euridice tied to the altar, calmly and woefully casts his own feelings of distress into the air in “Cara speme,” but unlike Euridice’s (and Philomel’s) complaints, Orpheus’s sorrows are echoed back by the moaning of the water, roaring of the wind and the forests moved to pity, and so his music becomes enlivened by these echoes (risuonar).   The Sibyl’s only aria “Al tuo seno fortunate” (Act III) relies on a similar structure but a more subtle character change.  She begins with a sturdy march in an attempt to gird Orpheus for the coming challenges, emphasizing the need for constancy (costanza) through long melismatic passagework, but in the middle of these coloratura fireworks her character becomes more mysterious and staid as she reminds Orpheus that “He who sees and governs all . . . is hidden by a sacred veil” (sacro velo).  Her return to the marshal character and text at the end of her aria carries into the next chorus “La giustizia in cor regina” (May justice reign forever). The older, wiser Creon is not given such an aria construction.  His three arias each remain more stable, without such obvious character changes.  “Il pensier sta negli oggeti” (Act I) and “Chi spira e non spera” (Act III) each calmly contemplate one of life’s lessons—the former emotional captivity and the latter the detriment of losing hope of love—and in the bellicose “Mai non sia inulato” Creon prepares himself and his soldiers for war with Aristaeus.  This bombastic conclusion to Act II is very different from the end of Act I, where Orpheus and Euridice, following the rescue, sing the duet “Come in foco allo splendore” expressing their love for one-another.  Similar in structure to many 18th century love duets, this is designed to impress upon us the image of two individuals growing closer and closer, finally joining as one.  Both characters are given their own complete verses of text to similar music, then instead of full verses they trade single lines back-and-forth, then finally sing the same text together, here “Sento il nettare di Giove che piovendo in sen mi sta” (I feel Jove’s nectar pouring into my breast) and later “Né la sorte, né la morte l’amor mio cangiar potrà” (Neither fate nor death can change my love for you).  Haydn highlights this joining, and the couple’s excitement, by increasing the tempo at that point of agreement, and by making it a refrain for the remainder of the duet.

While changes in tempo and vocal style help to convey the emotional content of the arias and the duet, several of the choruses rely upon characteristic dance music for conveying dramatic essence.  Already mentioned is the march-like chorus “La giustizia in cor regina,” praising the rule of justice following the Sibyl’s aria in Act III.  Recall that in the first concert of the season we observed that Handel used the duple-metered, skipping gavotte rhythms for the joyful celebratory arias of Semele and Iphis.  Haydn also used the gavotte for celebration as Orpheus and the Sibyl enter the Elysian fields to an instrumental “arrival” Intermezzo followed by a chorus of Elysium’s inhabitants singing “Son finite le tue pene” (Your sorrows are at an end).  A celebration of a more bitter nature occurs near the end of the opera as the Bacchantes sing “Andiamo, amiche, andiamo” (Come, friends, come) after announcing “Morto è il trachio cantore.” (The Thracian singer is dead).  But this is sung to the rhythm and simple harmony of a rustic contredanse (country dance), perhaps suggesting that the Bacchantes here have more in common with Aristaeus’s savage shepherds from Act I than with the more refined spirits in the Elysian fields. 

Haydn’s instrumental choices, too, stem from conventional dramatic associations and therefore often add additional scenic specificity and emotional depth to the opera.  His core orchestra is typical of late Classical music:  four-part strings play almost constantly, a wind harmonie ensemble consisting of two oboes, two bassoons and two horns add color at carefully-selected moments, and the harpsichord plays continuo, particularly for the recitatives that abound in this opera.  Other winds (and timpani) would be added or substituted at specific times for specific reasons. Much of the action is described by the vocalists using recitativo secco (dry), accompanied only by a cello and the harpsichord, or, in the case of more emotionally charged active texts, recitativo accompagnato (accompanied) with strings (and sometimes winds) added, playing either emphatically accented or sweetly sustained chords depending on the emotion at hand.  Euridice’s first accompanied recitative “Sventurata, che foi” brilliantly exemplifies both the intensity of her frustration, with harsh accents, and the pensiveness within her clouded mind, with soft, sustained harmony.  Strings are also used most effectively, and conventionally, to convey Euridice’s gradual decent towards death after being bitten by the snake (Act II).  In the recitative “Dov’è, dov’è l’amato bene” fragmented string melodies intersperse with Euridice’s fragmented sentences, mimicking her short, erratic breathing, and in the following cavatina “Del mio core” a lugubrious “boom-chick” string accompaniment imitates her weakening heartbeat.  Winds help create the sorrow of this entire scene, with oboes and bassoons playing falling “sigh” motives during the recitative, and the somber sound of two English horns and low natural horns encircling her failing heartbeat in the cavatina.   Another clever though not uncommon dramatic use of the strings deserving comment occurs in Act I as we are introduced to Orpheus.  After coming upon Euridice being bound by the wild shepherds, Orpheus begins to sing his accompanied recitative “Rendete a questo seno” (Return to these arms) to the shepherds, accompanied by his harp.  Beneath the harp, strings play a soft pizzicato (plucked rather than bowed) accompaniment, imitating the plucking of the harp.  This pizzicato string gesture was often used in 18th century opera to signify diegetic music, that is, someone singing within the drama, being heard by the characters as singing.  This stems from the plucked strings’ imitation of the strumming of a harp, or lute, or guitar, as though the character were serenading another character.  Many Mozart operas (Idomeneo, Abduction from the Seraglio, Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni) use this same gesture.  As Orpheus turns away from the shepherds and begins singing his aria “Cara speme” directly to Euridice, the same string accompaniment continues, but now bowed rather than plucked.  We are left to decide for ourselves whether or not diegesis is still implied, whether or not Orpheus “serenades” Euridice or speaks to her. 

Haydn’s choices for using the winds, either the core harmonie group of 2 oboes, 2 bassoons and 2 horns or by substituting or adding others, also has a direct effect on our understanding of the drama.  Even without seeing a set design, Haydn places us in an outdoor, wooded environment, among mountains in the very first scene, by relying heavily on the core wind group.  In the instrumental introduction string figures are echoed by the “outdoor” oboe and horn calls (leading to Euridice’s opening recitative), and the following chorus “Ferma, ferma il piede” contains many woodwind chords.  The mountain setting becomes most strongly evident during Orpheus’s aria “Cara speme,” as his words are echoed off the mountainside by the wind ensemble.   A preponderance of the harmonie instruments help to set the other two outdoor scenes as well:  the chorus of Cupids, Orpheus and Euridice sing about the pleasures of marriage (“Finché circola il vigore”) in an “idyllic spot” at the beginning Act II, accompanied by oboe and horns, and Orpheus and the Sibyl enter the Elysian fields in Act IV to an Intermezzo and chorus of spirits (“Son finite le tue pene”) highlighting the harmonie winds. 

Alterations to the core wind ensemble were carefully planned by Haydn, and usually relied upon conventions of topical associations in much the same manner as his use of the harmonie winds described above.  Following convention, brief flute solos in Euridice’s aria “Filomena abbandonata” represent the breeze (air) on which Philomel’s (and her own) complaints had been spread upon, and in Creon’s Act I aria “il pensier sta negli oggetti” the flute is the tethered bird trying in vain to fly, just as we seek to be free from the leash of our passions.  Trumpets and timpani call Creon’s men to battle in “Mai non sia inulato” at the end of Act II, help the Sibyl prepare Orpheus to heroically face his impending Underworld trials in “Al tuo seno fortunate” (Act III), and celebrate the triumphs of justice (Act III chorus “La giustizia in cor regina”) and pity (Act IV chorus of Pluto’s ministers “Trionfi oggi pietà”).  Trombones were rarely used in 18th century operas, but when they did appear they either signaled supernatural settings (because of their traditional use in sacred music), such as the Underworld or hell, or their snarly sound enhanced a violent, stormy atmosphere.  Two alto trombones play twice in Act IV, each time effectively intensifying the rage of the demonic Furies:  unison trombones compliment the Furies’ frightful descriptions of afterlife torture in the chorus “Urli orrendi, disperati,” and in the intense final scene trombones, trumpets, timpani, and all of the other winds and strings rise up in a storm, overwhelming the Bacchantes who scream of their breasts being torn apart by a hundred Furies!

Undoubtedly, Haydn was cognizant that the magnificent sound of the trombones combined with all of other instruments would do more to generate such an extraordinary ending than any dramatic conventions attached to specific instruments.  Indeed, there are many moments in the opera where just the tone of the instruments seemed to be Haydn’s motivation for their use. As mentioned above, the gloomy atmosphere surrounding Euridice’s death was generated in large part by oboes and bassoons playing “sighs” in “Dov’è, dov’è l’amato bene,” and somber English horns (replacing the oboes) combined with natural horns to give rise to an even graver tone in the following cavatina “Del mio core.”  This doleful sound continues as Orpheus laments Eurdice’s death in the aria “In un mar d’acerbe pene,” with two soft clarinets instead of English horns joining the middle and low winds, and our ears focused on the dark clarinet tone as one plays in unison with Orpheus singing “Questi son lugubri avanzi, spoglie infauste, ch’io rimiro” (These are only the sad remains, an ill-fated shell that is before me).  Haydn also calls upon solo winds for another very subtle but ingenious dramatic effect.  In the all-important love duet that ends Act I (“Come in foco allo splendore”), both Orpheus and Euridice end their solo verses with the text “Il mio cor dal tuo bel core mai diviso non sarà” (My heart from your dear heart will never be divided). A bassoon plays a light-hearted solo as Orpheus sings this line, and in the next verse a flute plays the same solo over the same line sung by Euridice. Haydn here identifies the bassoon with Orpheus’s sentiment and the flute with Euridice’s.  (In the last part of The Creation Haydn made a similar gesture, with bassoon and violin 1 mirroring Adam and Eve.)  In the next act as Orpheus looks for Euridice after investigating the loud noise (and Euridice’s death; Orpheus’s recit. “Dov’é quell’alma audice”), a similar flute solo is heard after he sings “il mio ben, l’idolo mio” (my dear, my idol) and bassoon following “Cara Euridice” (Beloved Euridice).  While these solos do not exactly repeat the solo melody from the earlier duet, their melodic contours are similar, and this similarity coupled with the specific tones of the flute and bassoon solos act as a referential “reminiscence” of the duet.  Solo flute and bassoon have a similar effect as they figure prominently in Orpheus’s Act IV recitative “Perduto un’altra volta ho ‘l core del mio cor, l’anima mia” (I have again lost the heart of my heart, my soul), sung when he awakens on Lethe’s shore after losing Euridice the second and final time. 

To be sure, there are many other details of instrumentation, rhythm, melody, tempo, and other musical aspects that serve to make this opera such a remarkable drama.  But it is my hope that the characteristics discussed here will offer you some insight into the great care and skill with which Haydn and other 18th century composers balanced operatic conventions and their own creative impulses to enliven, enrich and communicate the stories only partially told by the words of the librettist.  Perhaps you will be able to see the drama of L’anima del filosofo unfold in front of you, even in the concert hall. 

We encourage you to use these notes as a reference. If you do so for any publication, please cite Michael E. Ruhling and the Handel and Haydn Society as a source.

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