Dido & Aeneas
Conductor's Notes
When the question arose as to what should follow Il sogno di Scipione for our second production, it did not take a great deal of effort to settle on Dido and Aeneas. Here was an underperformed masterpiece that required an intimate venue for maximum impact, and I knew that we would have no trouble assembling a first-rate cast and design team for it. But what to choose as a companion piece for Dido was another question altogether. It too had to benefit from our intimate theater and be scored for a chamber orchestra, but in addition it somehow had to relate to the Purcell. After rejecting dozens of possibilities, I finally came upon Les Malheurs d'Orphée - and the better acquainted I became with the score, the more convinced I was that it would be the ideal mate for Dido.
On a superficial level, Orphée and Dido have much in common. They both have their roots in antiquity: the Orpheus myth dating to the dawn of Western civilization; the story of the forsaken Dido first laid down by Virgil in the decades immediately preceding the common era. Both of the leading male characters are demigods, Orpheus being the son of Apollo and Aeneas the son of Venus. And perhaps most significantly, in the versions of the stories as set by Milhaud and Purcell, the protagonists die not of natural causes but of grief. Upon losing their respective loves, Orpheus and Dido simply give up the will to live, and with it, their lives. Both operas are therefore stories of people undone not by their worst traits but by their best: their capacity to love deeply.
Purcell and Milhaud approach their themes in ways that say more about the ages in which they lived than about the myths themselves. In the Purcell, Fate is ever-present. Nearly every character sings of it, from Belinda's assertion to Dido that "Fate your wishes does allow" on the first page, to Dido's rejection of her suitor "Fate forbids what you pursue," to his smooth response "Aeneas has no Fate but you," to Dido's final words "Remember me, but ah! forget my Fate." If Fate (like its latter-day incarnation, faith) does not provide comfort, it at least offers an explanation of why bad things happen to good people.
But in the nearly 250 years separating Purcell from Milhaud, world events undermined our perception of both fate and faith. Written in the shadow of the First World War, Les Malheurs d'Orphée gives no such explanation of human loss and suffering. When Orphée loses his power to heal, it is for no apparent reason, and the blameless Eurydice dies. Eurydice's sisters arrive to avenge her death, even though Orphée, too, is totally blameless. Orphée goes mad and eventually expires, though he has only tried to help his beloved, the villagers, and the animals. No reason for any of this is offered. The world is a cruel, unjust place, and humans (as well as demigods) are impotent in the face of such massive injustice.
Where can modern man find solace in such a world? As many have recently discovered, music can take on a much greater significance in difficult times, providing entertainment for those in need of distraction and catharsis for those in need of release. Les Malheurs d'Orphée was originally commissioned by a woman who was fully aware of the importance of art in secular times: Princesse Edmond de Polignac, née Winnaretta Singer. Singer, the sewing machine heiress, was one of history's greatest patrons, responsible for many of the cornerstones of early 20th-century music, including Stravinsky's Renard, Szymanowski's Stabat Mater, Ravel's Chansons Mad�casses, de Falla's El retablo de maese Pedro, and hosts of others. Without her aid, many composers would have been unable to survive.
Thinking of Singer, I would like to take this opportunity to offer my heartfelt thanks to our own generous donors, who have enabled Henry Street Chamber Opera to survive in these difficult times. Perhaps life is not so bleak after all; fate may be unreasonable, but humans can sometimes be unreasonably good. - Neal Goren
Director's Notes
Is there such a thing as too much love? In their own ways, both Les Malheurs d'Orphée and Dido and Aeneas explore that question, situating themselves at the battlefront between passionate abandon and community responsibility. The first of these widely differing works was written in the 1920's (following the devastating events of the Great War) at the suggestion of Parisian salon society, and eventually premiered at the Opera de la Monnaie, Bruxelles. Dido was written in the mid-1680's and probably received its premiere at court before King Charles II, though its first recognized performance occurred at a genteel school for girls in London. Both works take "classical" themes and treat them with considerable freedom, according to the composers' individual artistic needs and social intentions.
Toward the end of the 17th century, it was fashionable to retell classic stories in a manner based only very loosely on their sources. Purcell's opera is a setting of a text by Nahum Tate, and adheres completely to that fashion. As such, only fragments of Virgil's original story, as told in the Aeneid, remain: Dido, queen of Carthage, and her fascination for the journeying Trojan hero, Aeneas. On his way to establish what will become Rome, he is "distracted" by Dido. For her part, she is torn between her position as head of state and her personal feelings toward the bold visitor. Encouraged by her confidantes and subjects to reply to his advances, Dido submits to love.
As in Orphée, not everyone is happy with the couple's happiness. Malevolent forces plot Dido's downfall by sending a false Mercury to remind Aeneas that his purpose in life is not to be found in Carthage but on Italian soil. Acquiescing, he announces that he must leave; the sailors prepare his departure. But Dido is furious. And even though Aeneas then agrees, against the will of the gods, to stay, it is too late. To have thought of leaving Dido is betrayal enough; she rejects him and prepares to assume her fate alone, begging only that she be remembered as she is laid in earth. Her great love, unlike Orphée's, cannot save her from her fate. It spares only her beloved. - Laurence Dale