For the past two weeks, our music history class has been discussing the evolution of opera, and five key operas were recommended as must-watch works. I’ve decided to spend Thanksgiving watching all of them in full as a way to both relax and review—especially since I know next to nothing about opera. Consider this a total beginner’s journey. Today was day one!
I started with Orfeo ed Euridice (1762) by Gluck, a Bohemian composer based in Vienna. This opera was Gluck’s first major reform of Italian opera and marks the second significant reform in opera history (the first being around 1700 by Metastasio, which is a bit too early to dive into here).
[Timeline context: Mozart was born in 1756 and died in 1791. His famous operas premiered as follows: The Marriage of Figaro (1786), Don Giovanni (1787), and The Magic Flute (1791).]
Orfeo ed Euridice is Gluck’s most famous opera, and its final act’s intense struggles influenced many later masterpieces, such as Mozart’s The Magic Flute, Beethoven’s Fidelio, and the first part of Wagner’s Ring Cycle. Before Gluck’s reforms, Italian opera primarily catered to royalty and aristocrats, so overtures (Sinfonia) often served as background music while audiences settled into their seats and were often unrelated to the opera itself. Vocalists dominated, with plenty of flashy, virtuosic embellishments that often muddled the meaning of the music—singers would even add ornaments mid-word to show off their skills! Composers, in contrast, were relatively low on the hierarchy.
As travel, trade, and the economy developed, opera became more accessible to the public and absorbed elements from French opera, creating the need for reform.
Italian opera generally falls into three categories:
This reform focused solely on opera seria.
The story is a classic tale: Orfeo loses his beloved Euridice and ventures into the underworld to rescue her. To succeed, he must endure threats and temptations but cannot look at her or explain why he must not. As they ascend, Euridice grows increasingly distraught, questioning Orfeo’s love. She refuses to leave the underworld, believing a life without love is worse than death. In a moment of desperation, Orfeo turns to embrace her, breaking the gods’ rule. Euridice dies in his arms. Overwhelmed by grief, Orfeo resolves to join her in death so she will not be alone. At the last moment, Amor (the god of love) intervenes, resurrecting Euridice, and the story ends with a happy reunion.
There’s a fantastic version available on Bilibili with English subtitles. The choreography is stunning, especially the Act II duet and Act III shadow dance. (The inclusion of ballet reflects French opera’s influence.) However, the ending in this production adds some modern twists—originally, it’s a straightforward happy ending.
Maybe because I’ve been thinking a lot about love and happy endings vs. bittersweet ones lately, this opera left me deeply shaken. Act II, Scene 1, in particular, was unforgettable—the music was epic and impossibly romantic (this is 1762!) and paired with breathtaking choreography. Together with the drama, the otherwise simple story became so rich and moving.
Returning to the age-old question: What is tragedy? In Western traditions, tragedy often centers on heroes—individuals who have done everything within their power, yet still fail. A tragic protagonist is not a "failure." Before Amor’s intervention, this story is a tragedy. Love may endure trials and temptations, but the internal struggles of love—like Euridice’s fear of Orfeo’s apathy and Orfeo’s pain at being unable to explain—are beyond human control. To triumph over them requires not just effort but luck, or as theists might say, divine intervention.
True love is celebrated across cultures and times precisely because it demands both heroic qualities (courage, resilience, skill) and an extraordinary stroke of fortune—or divine grace. It’s rare, fleeting, and the ultimate earthly blessing.
