Monteverdi and Early Opera

Early Opera Comparisons:
Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo, L’incoronazione di Poppea and George Frideric Handel’s Ariodante

The idea that opera was a direct invention of the Florentine Cameratas is an over-simplification of the truly organic process that occurred over several decades spanning the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century. Birthing a new genre of artistic expression involved a large collection of individuals from a vast cross section of education and experience. Exchanging ideas, insults and snuffboxes, several academies or salons, comprised of intellectuals, poets, musicians, friends of nobility, and learned men functioned as brain gardens producing ideas for new modes of courtly entertainment and artistic expression. Looking to the past—into the classical Greek literature, especially the writings of Aristotle and Plato, these “learned societies” interpreted the ancient literature often incorrectly, but always with interesting results. An appetite for things classic was not limited to the musical or dramatic arts, indeed practitioners of all arts consulted the classical literature for special knowledge.
“Being good citizens of the late Renaissance, these Camerata men were dedicated to the exploration of the Greco-Roman classical heritage.” It was from this fertile soil of artistic thought that neoclassicism came to be a driving force in Italy during the late Renaissance. “The goal of all Italian art in the wake of the Counter-Reformation was to create an immediate emotional impact on the audience. The polyphonic technique Palestrina had so eloquently defended was increasingly perceived as an antiquated, exhausted style, a music that appealed more to the intellect than to the emotions.”
The intermedi are often credited as the forerunners of opera; these intermedi contained musical interludes, which eased the transition between scenes, creating a diversion while the next play was situated. The interludes did not always have a plot, but were often thematically pastoral reflecting a veneration of rural life and mythological subjects. The terms stile rappresentativo and stile recitative were used interchangeably during this period and both referred to a style of singing that spans that of the modern conceptions of recitative and aria; only later would these distinctions solidify into their present mutually exclusive state. The stile recitative can be found in the works of Jacopo Corsi, Guilio Caccini and Jacopo Peri, a small but highly influential group of Florentine court musicians who were focused less on the intellectual aspects of court entertainments than on their practical application. “Certainly Bardi’s Camerata and other Florentine academies (such as the Accademia degli Alterati) provided a Humanist framework within which to explore the use of music in the Classical theatre. But Corsi and his colleagues rode roughshod over the niceties of theoretical speculation in favor of immediate solutions to practical problems: no lengthy treatises emerged from Corsi’s group…”
According to Tim Carter, the Bardi Camerata had lost most of its influence after about 1580 and Emilio dei Cavalieri, a Roman aristocrat with expertise in theatre and in musical composition essentially replaced Count Bardi as head of artistic activities at the Medici court. According to Carter, “Bardi’s star was on the wane in Florence after the squabbles of the 1589 festivities…,” and as a close friend of Duke Ferdinand de Medici, Cavalieri was a natural choice for the position. Setting a contentious precedent, Cavalieri staked an early claim to inventing fully sung dramas in the forward to La rapprensentatione di Anima, et di Corpo novamente posta in musica dal signor Emilio del Cavaliere per recitar cantando, but his emphasis was on the genre and not specifically the singing style. It would have been unseemly for a nobleman of Cavalieri’s position to openly debate with the likes of Peri or Caccini, but there is evidence of behind the scenes posturing in the form of letters sent by Cavalieri (by 1600 he had returned to Rome) to the secretary of the Grand-Duke. During the preparations for another large festival at court in 1600, a dispute arose between court composers Jacopo Peri and Guilio Caccini and in a bold, and apparently habitual strategy, Caccini seized an opportunity to promote his career. Perhaps his intention was to garner prestige for what was obviously a significant development in musical drama but either way he insisted on writing some of the music for Peri’s Euridice using the excuse that his pupils (who were performing in the opera) could only sing music written by him. “Yet his having disrupted the artistic unity of the work we consider as the first real opera, and having imposed on Peri the same kind of artistic promiscuity (most usual at the time) to which Il rapimento was being subjected, was not enough for Cacinni, who swiftly proceeded to claim exclusive authorship for his own profit.” It is probable that the nature of court society led to a commixture of musical styles during these years but the significance of Peri’s work is undeniable if for no other reason than its obvious influence on Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo.
Most early Italian operas were based on metamorphic Ovidian fables and not on obvious tragic Greek myths such as Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides or even the Roman Oedipus, Electra, and Antigone. This may have been the result of a general reluctance to invoke tragic emotions on stage as most of the heroic characters in these pastoral plays were seen as metaphors for rulers of the court. In light of this fact, it is no surprise that the original catastrophic endings of such fables were often changed in order to comply with the idea of the lieto fine or happy ending—usually leading to an apotheosis, or transformation of the lead character to a fully divine state. “The spatial, temporal or idealized detachment from the spectator reduces the incongruity of sung speech and confers upon the characters in question a greatly amplified mobility and magnificence.” The use of elaborate machines served to elevate the characters to sublimity and to distance the audience from the action thus enhancing the aspect of fantasy and helping to avoid any major infringement upon verisimilitude.
Various scholars from Nino Pirrotta to Ellen Rosand either emphasize or downplay the similarities between Peri’s Euridice and Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo. It is beyond the scope of this paper to discuss the details of those comparisons; however, there are some obvious connections between these works that should be noted. Both operas follow the classical form, derived from Aristotle’s Poetics, of five acts and a prologue; both describe the story of Orpheus legendary Greek singer and the emotional high point of both operas is Orpheus’ prayer to Charon for the release of Euridice. One major difference between the two is in the placement of this turning point in the story. In L’Orfeo this event occurs midway through the drama creating an energetic apex in Act III with the aria “Possente spirto,” from here the energy of the opera tapers until act 5.
A crucial element in the buildup to “Possente spirto” occurs in Act II with Orfeo’s reaction to the news of Euridice’s death. In contrast to Peri’s opera the first response to the news of Euridice’s death does not come from Orfeo. Creating dramatic tension, Monteverdi prolongs the expected response of the lead character with a duet by two shepherds who have overheard the messenger. Reeling, the first shepherd exclaims with a highly expressive passage repeating the first words of the messenger “Ahi Casa acerbo!” Following this exclamation, one more howling repeat of the messenger’s words resounds from a second tenor shepherd.
Tu Se Morta begins with the gloomy G minor emanations of an organal and chitarrone. Orfeo enters on a Bb, substantiating the minor chord on the words: “Tu Se’ Morta” (You are dead.) The tempo is slow, drawing out time; his sadness is palpable, but contained, even slightly submerged. Compared to that of the shepherds whose dissonant melody evoked a feeling of intense grief the legendary singer has a focused intensity that transforms the initial feeling of despair into that of resolute determination. Building on an ascending bass progression, Orfeo sings a D note on the word “tu…” (You…) then drops a minor sixth to F-sharp on the words “…se’ da me partita” (…have departed from me,) a melodic reference to Euridice’s descent into the underworld. The first peak of the aria occurs on Orfeo’s denial of the idea that he will never see Euridice again in mm.100. Descending gradually over the next two measures the lowest notes in the song, two middle C’s, coincide with the word abissi—word painting at its most intentional indicating the deep abyss of emotion that Orfeo feels and secondly indicating his impending journey to retrieve Euridice. The emotional and musical peak of Orfeo’s lament occurs in mm.106 when Orfeo declares that he will show the stars to his love once again. On the EMI classics recording , Nigel Rogers singing the part of Orfeo adds a spectacular ascending ornamentation creating an absolute zenith from which the music descends. Another strong plateau, only a little lower in register, takes place a few measures later on the words “Rimmarrò teco in compagnia di morte,” (I shall remain with you in the company of death.) The ebb and flow of the melody occurs naturally—a contour that relates to speech, but clearly displays arioso melody and coloratura style. Immediately following the final chords of Tu Se Morta, a sudden outburst erupts from the chorus: Ahi, caso acerbo (Oh bitter event!). In the first phrase, Monteverdi creates dissonance between the five vocal parts on the word acerbo, pairing a musical discord with harsh phonetics; it is as if the words flash brightly in the air, the musical dissonance serving to emphasize the meaning of the chorus’ exclamation! The music evokes deep feeling, but it never overcomes the words nor does the musical thought diverge from the textual one. Monteverdi’s madrigal writing creates an ideal balance between the libretto and the harmonic trusses that support it; sentiment never overpowers the main characters, but sometimes threatens to overcome the supporting characters. As a metaphor for nobility, Monteverdi’s Orfeo displays a reserve and poise that mirrors the expected behavior of sovereigns. Reacting very differently, the characters around him create a contrast of affections, the tension that results heightens the dramatic force of the opera.
Financial issues, in part due to the inconsistent arrival of his salary, beset Monteverdi’s life at the court in Mantua. Bringing matters to a head the death of Duke Vincenzo Gonzaga in 1612 left the estate financially unsteady and in the hands of Vincenzo’s oldest son Francesco. After a quarrel with the new Duke Monteverdi was summarily fired. Although Francesco immediately regretted the dismissal, Monteverdi was likely relieved by his sudden freedom and in any case was not interested in returning. “Any chance of rapprochement was destroyed by Francesco’s sudden death in an epidemic later that year. Monteverdi must have been concerned about his and his sons’ future, yet it is difficult not to imagine that he saw his dismissal as at least a partial blessing, liberating him from the morass of drudgery, overwork, and broken promise that attended so much of his time serving the Gonzagas.” Shortly thereafter Monteverdi was awarded the position of maestro di cappella at St. Mark’s basilica in Venice, a highly sought-after musical post that had been previously held by such imminent musicians as Adrian Willaert and Gioseffo Zarlino. A letter sent to the Gonzagas in 1620 by Monteverdi is one of the most well known correspondences between the artist and his employers and establishes Monteverdi as a bit of an eccentric who was finally receiving the type of admiration he had been denied at Mantua.
Working for St. Marks diverted Monteverdi’s attention to from opera to other musical genres and after the performances of L’Orfeo in Mantua, only a few entertainments of this type were seen in Italy until the first public opera house, the Teatro S. Cassiano, opened in Venice in 1637. Although there was a brief stirring of opera style in Rome, Stefano Landi’s La mort d’Orfeo, Filippo Vitali’s Aretusa and Domenico Mazzocchi’s La catena d’Adone, all performed between 1607 and 1630 , according to Tim Carter, “…these few examples were scarcely enough to foster a continuing tradition.” If the genre of opera lay semi-dormant during this period, experimentation in many other forms of entertainment did not. “The creators of operatic plots tried to broaden the range of their themes and diversify their means of expression.”
Free of the dominating Gonzagas, Monteverdi found new creative powers in Venice and collaborating with the librettist Giovanni Francesco Busennello, a well-known member of the Accademi degli Incogniti wrote one of his finest and perhaps last works: L’Incoronazione di Poppea. Fueled by a Venetian intellectual movement that represented a humanistic backlash against the rule of the Catholic Church and its various centers of power throughout Italy, the academies in Venice at the time (particularly the Camerata Incogniti) were opposed to Rome’s influence over society. Venetians saw themselves as an extension of the classical Roman republic and were intensely proud of their civil government and impressive population of 140,000. Although Venice was a bustling metropolis the Teatro S. Cassiano opened its doors to the public at a time when most commoners were unable to afford the cost of attendance; the majority of early Venetian opera patrons were wealthy aristocrats and first class citizens. Because opera had moved into the public theatre, there was a heretofore-unwarranted onus to turn a profit. The subject matter for operas not only had to be sensational, but also needed to be relevant to a new type of audience.
The events in L’incoronazione di Poppea reflect (with some significant changes) the historical accounts of the rule of Nero, arguably one of the most maniacal Roman emperors, during the decline of the Roman Empire. Even though the opera ends with the triumph of amore in the marriage of Nerone and Poppea, Ringer argues that the Venetians would have been very aware of the historical facts surrounding this story and its truly terrible ending. “The majority of the Venetian audience, however, could be counted on to know their Tacitus and Roman history. They could have easily filled in the gaps left by Busenello with the knowledge that shortly after the events of the opera, Nero kicked the pregnant Poppea to death during an argument and only a few years later killed himself…”
The three-act opera opens with music sung or recited by three celestial beings: Fortune, Virtue and Love. Both Fortune and Virtue are revealed as self-serving and shallow, they argue with each other for dominance over the affairs of humanity. The third aria originally sung by a boy castrato, “evinces greater musical and rhetorical self-control….Such casting perfectly underscores the irony of his superhuman power and childlike persona: this child rules the world.” From the outset, the actions of the characters reveal contradictions in their traditional roles as protagonists.
Monteverdi introduces the two main characters in Poppea, Nerone, the emperor and his lover Poppea in an alba or dawn song. Immediately the dialogue between Nerone and Poppea is intriguing due in part to the proximity of range. Written for a castrati-soprano (Nerone) female-soprano (Poppea) the curious overlap of these vocal shades creates an otherworldly effect. “Monteverdi is not ignoring the real-life sexual identity of his castrati performers; he is capitalizing on it. The use of castrati in Poppea reveals a psychological depth and sense of performative irony seldom encountered in operatic literature.” The constant repetition of Poppea’s A notes, mm.26, 31 and 32 evoke a numbing quality, like a constant buzzing, the music conveys a sense of overpowering sensual manipulation The first emphatic and emotional peak in the music occurs in mm.38-53 when Nerone concedes that he must repudiate his wife Ottavia in order for their illicit love to become public. Poppea interrupts Nerone several times in the first half of the piece (mm.43-44 and 47-48,) effectively asserting her subtle control over him and allowing Monteverdi to create a musical dialogue between the two melodic lines. A sinfonia from the continuo changes the mood at mm.59 after Poppea sings a descending farewell melody. Nerone, now amorously stirred, rejoins with a wavering sigh of love “in un sospir, sospir che vien…” in mm.69. Nerone’s melodic range has been building since the beginning of the aria and here it reaches its highest point, suggesting Poppea’s complete manipulation has aroused him once again. After another short sinfonia break, Poppea’s melody bursts forth in highly ornamented arioso at mm.95. “Signor, sempre mi vedi sempre sempre, sempre mi vedi…” (My lord, though you bestow on me you glances, on me your glances yet you never can see me.” Here Poppea, successful maintaining her enchantment of Nerone reminds him that their secret love is not enough for her: she needs public recognition. Lightly ornamented and nimble Poppea’s melody demonstrates a clever management of the situation; she is a supremely talented woman, but her talents lie in the art of subterfuge and manipulation. Ironically, Nerone praises the gods for blessing him with such an enchanting woman and Poppea responds with an intoxicating dissonance in mm.130-131 on the words “Che di voce si amara a un solo accento….” (It is such a bitter word that from one hint of it….) Using dissonance, Monteverdi makes the “bitterness” palpable; even though the Nerone and Poppea may exhibit loathsome characteristics, their humanity is undeniable and they are fully deluded by their own desires. Monteverdi closes the piece with a musical dialogue; a quick exchange of repeating entreaties by the lovers almost ad naseum until Nerone at last breaks free of Poppea’s spell and says a final farewell.
The differences between Orfeo and Poppea are also revealed in the relative size of their orchestras. L’Orfeo was a court entertainment and a large orchestra is specified in the manuscripts, even split in stereophonic manner between both sides of the stage. In contrast, Poppea has very few indications of orchestration and the vocal line is simply supplied with a bass line accompaniment. This reduction of orchestration is due in part to the reality of urban opera’s budget limitations, these constraints must have taken into account the rising cost of star vocalists. From the beginning singers functioned as the direct link between composer and audience and therefore their importance was an inherent trait of opera from the beginning. As the genre grew so did its reliance on the prima donna as the central focus.
The importance placed on specific singers in Venetian opera can be deduced from the amounts of money that performers were paid in relation to the commissions that opera’s composers received. According to Ellen Rosand in her book on seventeenth-century Venetian opera, Cavalli was paid large sums due to his reputation: “He received 400 ducats from Faustini for Antioco (1658) and Elena (1659), and 450 ducats ten years later for Eliogabalo. Other composers were paid considerably less. Ziani, for example, earned only 50 ducats for Annibale in Capua in 1660, even though this was his fifth opera for Faustini….In 1666 a salary of 300 scudi (or 450 ducats, exactly Cavalli’s fee) was considered standard for an average female singer, but most singers salaries were higher.”
In the opera season spanning 1734-35, at Convent Garden Theatre in London, George Fredric Handel employed Cecelia Young, a popular operatic luminary, and several other native singers for the performances of Ariodante. Previously Handel had used a predominantly Italian cast for his operas however, budget constraints, and possibly the need for innovation in light of the stiff competition from Kings Theater led him to use a largely English cast. “In this season, he employed for the first time more native than Italian singers, surely (and perhaps exclusively) in order to save money.” Another particularity of this opera was the fact that Handel did not borrow music from his previous works. His recent trip to Italy probably spurred creativity and kept him knowledgeable about the latest Neapolitan styles, but according to Richard Taruskin, it was Handel’s unique compositional techniques—the composing out of counterpoint in the orchestra specifically—in the genre of opera seria that set him apart from the Italian composers. “…he affirms his German organist’s heritage after all, for all his Italian sojourning and acclimatizing. And by making his music more interesting in its own right than that of his Italian contemporaries, he gave performers correspondingly less room to maneuver and dominate the show.”
In the aria Scherza Infida, the hero Ariodante believing that he has been betrayed by his lover Ginevra, vows to kill himself and return as a ghost to haunt her. Handel employs the ubiquitous Da Capo structure, a spare string arrangement, bassoons and a violone to create a dark and foreboding musical landscape. An exchange between the violins and bassoons in the opening measures establishes a strong sense of integration in the accompaniment. Syncopation in the first violins gives accent to a pulsing rhythmic figure in the lower instruments starting in mm.7; the dirge-like effect is rich and subtle setting up the entrance of the vocal at mm.19 and establishing the ritornello harmony that divides the A and B sections. Underlining the idea that this infidelity is a lamentable sport, the opening line “Scherza infida” begins on an ascending double-trill figure in the middle of the soloist’s range. Echoing the vocal line in mm.8 a slightly altered rhythm in the strings reveals a close kinship between the voice and the orchestration—this tight integration is impossible to indicate in the open improvisatory style of Venetian or Florentine basso continuo. Here Handel leaves nothing to chance; by exerting complete control over the music, he fixes the forward momentum, and as Taruskin has observed, reigns in the prima donna.
The short B section begins in a closely related major key echoing the feeling of determination heard in “Tu Se Morta” and through the course of 21 measures turns back on itself, a masterfully written harmonic progression that propels the music toward the inexorable return of the primary G minor theme: the sport of infidelity.
In the Archkiv Produktion recording, Anne Sofie von Otter sings the part of Ariodante with excellent control and poise. Otter has a modern vibrato, but the text is still clearly articulated; the short coloratura at mm.47 is well controlled and the subdued power of her vocal tone is an ideal match for the character. Building strength in the changing disposition of the B section Otter builds to the final cadence and then, slightly muted in the Da Capo, maintains a softly rippling tone that offers hints of stile recitative; an excellent performance.
“Ever since opera opened its doors to a paying public—a public that had to be lured—it has been a prima-donna circus with a lively transsexual sideshow, associated from the very beginning with the carnival season and its roaring tourist trade. Uncanny, nature-defying vocalism easily compensated for the courtly accoutrements—the sumptuous sets, the intricate choruses and ballets, the rich orchestras—that the early commercial opera theaters could not afford. Never mind the noble union of all the arts: what the great Russian basso Fyodor Chaliapin called 'educated screaming' is the only bait that public opera has ever really needed, and its attraction has never waned."
Sparse and unadorned, the early style of Monteverdi’s basso continuo is in my opinion an ideal method for presenting a dramatic text through music. Free of the strict delineation of aria vs. recitative and sung with a predominantly straight vocal tone the music of early opera produces a sense of clarity and simple beauty. Early composers sought to provoke the affections of their audiences—to stimulate personal feelings through a more ambiguous alternation of recitative and arioso styles. When the genre became public, urban and subject to the inexorable laws of commercialization it suffered from the demands of sensationalism. Ever more technical and virtuosic arias crisply interspersed between recitative caused the subject matter to suffer during the late seventeenth century; however, the greater control granted composers through compositional emphasis would ultimately give rise to the idea of the abstract musical masterpiece and the romantic notion of genius. Whether or not the aesthetic reorientation that took place in opera during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was a positive or negative factor my money is with Monteverdi and his basso continuo improvisatory band. Give me a chittarone, violone, and some non-vibrato vocal inflection and leave me be.



Bibliography
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Portland Oregon: Amadeus Press, 1992.
Bianconi, Lorenzo. Music in the Seventeenth Century. English
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Fenlon, Iain. The Cambridge Companion to Monteverdi. Eds. John
Whenham, Richard Wistreich. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Chapter 9, “Music in Monteverdi’s Venice.” Pages 163-178.
Lang, Paul Henry. George Fredric Handel. Toronto: Canada General
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Lippman, Edward. A History of Western Musical Aesthetics. Lincoln
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“Monteverdi and the problems of Opera.” Pages 235-253, 421-422.
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Media
Monteverdi (L’) Orfeo. EMI Classics, 1993. Compact Disc Audio
Recording.
Handel Ariodante. Archiv Produktion, 1999. Compact Disc Audio
Recording.