Gli amori d'Apollo e di Dafne

Opera in a Prologue and Three Acts • Edition by Federico Agostinelli
Libretto by Giovanni Francesco Busenello

Apollo / Titone - Mario Zeffiri, Tenor
Dafne - Marianna Pizzolato, Mezzo-soprano
Aurora / Venere / Itaton - Marisa Martins, Mezzo-soprano
Cefalo / Pan - Agustín Prunell-Friend, Tenor
Filena / Procri / 1ª Musa - Assumpta Mateu, Soprano
Alfesibeo / Peneo / Sonno / 2º Pastore - Carlo Lepore, Bass
Cirilla / Morfeo / 1º Pastore - José Ferrero, Tenor
Amore - Soledad Cardoso, Soprano
Giove / Panto - Ugo Guagliardo, Bass
2ª Musa / 1ª Ninfa - Fabiola Masino, Soprano
3ª Musa / 2ª Ninfa - Luisa Maesso, Mezzo-soprano

Basso continuo:
Anna Bigliardi, Harpsichord • Francisco de Borja Mariño, Organ
Reyes Gómez Benito, Harp • David Ethève, Cello
José Fernando Rodrigues, Double Bass • Tania Seoane Rodriguez, Bassoon
Iván Sánchez, Trombone

Orquesta Joven de la Sinfónica de Galicia
Alberto Zedda

First staged at the Teatro S. Cassiano in Venice in 1640, Gli Amori d'Apollo e di Dafne (The Loves of Apollo and Daphne) was Francesco Cavalli's second opera and signalled the start of his partnership with librettist Giovanni Francesco Busenello, author of Monteverdi's L'incoronazione di Poppea). Cavalli would go on to set Busenello's words to music in Didone (1641), Statira (1656) and La prosperità infelice di Giulio Cesare dittatore, the music for which is now lost.

Gli Amori d'Apollo e di Dafne belongs to that early phase of opera in which the majority of plots were drawn from classical mythology, and the nature of the new musical genre was still in the process of being defined. Its authors' incredible creative imagination is given free rein here, not yet trammelled by the dramatic and musical clichés that before long would bring conformity to the opera world. Within twenty years operas would contain none of the noble declamati so central in Gli Amori to the rôles of Giove (Zeus) and Peneo (Peneus), nor the wonderful ariosos that punctuate Apollo's lengthy speeches, nor the dramatic episodes of such originality and creative freedom that they defy classification, Procris's lament at the end of Act One being one of the most intense and moving examples in the history of music. Aurora, Daphne, Amore (Cupid) and Cefalo (Cephalus) are given long, unexpectedly asymmetrical phrases in which their words flow and take on magical nuances of light and shade; this kind of writing would soon be replaced by shorter, more regular ariettas, easily memorised by audiences.

The mythological world of gods and demigods was often seen as an almost uniquely suitable setting for dramatic works whose characters expressed themselves by singing rather than speaking. In this masterpiece the characters seem to have conferred their supernatural, almost magical nature on the opera itself, with its wonderful fusion of word and music, human and divine, the dreamworld (as referred to in the prologue) and the physical, sensual world (as in Apollo's lament after Daphne's transformation into a laurel tree, Ohimè, che miro (Act III, Scene 3). Comic relief, meanwhile, is provided in the shape of the elderly female Cirilla, a travesti rôle sung, as was usual at the time, by a male voice exaggeratedly forced into its upper falsetto range.

There are various contrasting strands to the complex plot of the opera: first there is the central story of Daphne who, to escape Apollo's lust, is turned into a laurel tree by her father, the river-god Peneus. Alongside this is the story of Aurora who is deceiving her elderly husband, Titone (Tithonus), having been seduced by the charms of the mortal Cephalus. There are also a number of scenes for secondary characters whose earthly humanity acts as a counterbalance to the divine / semidivine nature of the main protagonists. One such scene is a lament for Procris, Cephalus's abandoned wife; others introduce figures who have nothing to do with the two central story-lines, such as the learned Alphesibeus and old Cirilla who, in a moralising vein, call on us to reflect upon the fragility of Man and the unpredictability of his fate.

The only surviving musical source for Gli Amori di Apollo e di Dafne is a manuscript copy held in the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana in Venice. Four scenes are missing from this copy - the final two scenes from both Act I and Act II - but it is impossible to know whether these have been lost or whether they were never set to music. Like all opera manuscripts of the period, this one provides only the vocal parts and the bass line, with some figuring given here and there. Other instrumental lines (sometimes two, in the treble clef - sometimes four, two in the treble clef, one in the alto and one in the tenor), none of which indicates any specific instrument, appear in the sinfonias, balli and ritornellos. In line with the aesthetic and technical dictates of most approaches to performance practice today, and based on my reading of the manuscript version, I have written some new instrumental parts for my edition of Gli Amori (used for this recording). These work in dialogue with the vocal line and appear mainly in the arias, but also in some of the ariosos and more expressive recitatives. They were composed in the style of the day, and I think it is legitimate to say that they could have been written by Cavalli himself or perhaps, more modestly, by one of his trusted collaborators. I have suggested a specific instrument for each part (and for those given in the manuscript), thereby creating a chamber ensemble which includes woodwind and brass, as well as strings. These are, however, purely suggestions, and the orchestral material is written in such a way as to enable conductors to choose different instrumental combinations to suit their own ideas, or the players available. Indeed each melodic line was composed with a strict eye on the technical limits of authentic instruments, meaning that the score can be performed, in accordance with seventeenth-century practice, "con ogni sorta d'istromenti" (on all kinds of instruments), ancient or modern, including the original ensemble, which would have comprised only two violins and two violas. As can be heard here, Alberto Zedda's great musical sensitivity and experience have enabled him to take full advantage of this flexibility.

Finally, as far as the text is concerned, a few cuts have been made for this recording: in the longer recitative sections and in those arias for which the libretto indicated the repetition of a number of different verses to the same music.

Federico Agostinelli

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The Musical Baroque: Beyond Historicism

Various historical techniques and practices have been revived over the years in order to return the early-Baroque repertoire to a position of prominence and these have led musicians to re-create a musical context for which no direct tradition any longer exists. At the beginning of this process it was right that, where possible, historicist criteria were applied, so as to find the least arbitrary starting-point. Now, however, it is essential that we move away from the learned but restrictive bounds of historicism and seek out a freer interpretation of Baroque music, one more in tune with the sensibilities of today's audiences, as we would with music from any other period.

If we follow the most intransigent line of argument through to its logical conclusion, we would have to conclude that symphonies performed by the Berlin or Vienna Philharmonic, or sonatas played on a Steinway, sounding so different from the way they would have done to contemporary audiences, give a false and diminished impression of Mozart and Beethoven. In fact, however, the power of a Steinway can convey the great energy and the longing for the infinite of Beethoven's Hammerklavier Sonata, Op. 106, written for an instrument whose subsequent transformation was inspired by that composer's prophetic genius.

A faithful reconstruction of the seventeenth-century operatic world is both illusory and pointless: even if such a thing were achievable, there is no reason to believe it would please modern audiences, who have acquired many more layers of musical knowledge and new insights into interpretation. The same is true for the visual aspect of opera. It is equally unlikely that the innovative stage machinery of the great engineer and designer Giacomo Torelli (1608-78), and its seemingly miraculous transformations of paper backdrops and wings badly lit by guttering candles could compete with modern cinematographic wizardry when it comes to thrilling audiences in conjuring up heavenly bodies, enchanted woodlands, fantastic mythological creatures, and so on.

The manuscripts that survive of early-seventeenth-century operas are all that remain of scores that were never fully realised, and often contained only the vocal parts and the accompanying bass line. Three-, four- and five-part instrumental realisations are only to be found in ritornellos and sinfonias, and even then no particular instruments are specified, as such details were seen as secondary or complementary, and therefore not part of the composer's remit. Judging these manuscripts by the same standards as we do today's orchestral scores, as authoritative reference works, is a mistake, and can result in performances that sound over-academic in comparison with those that follow the thinking of, among others, composer and musician Agostino Agazzari, author of an influential treatise entitled Del Sonare sopra 'l Basso con tutti li stromenti e dell'uso loro nel Conserto (On Playing Upon the Thoroughbass with All the Instruments and Their Use in an Ensemble; Domenico Falcini, Siena, 1607).

Such manuscripts are "open texts", therefore, like the scores of much twentieth-century avant-garde aleatory music (to which the revolutionary and innovative early-Baroque is, surprisingly, related) which require the performer to intervene and exercise choice in deciphering and integrating the symbols of indeterminate notation. We must then revisit them, keeping a musicologically open mind about the contribution of fantasy and creativity anticipated by the composer, and making every effort to understand his wishes. Wishes that were summed up as follows by Emilio de' Cavalieri: "and Signor Emilio would commend changing the instruments employed so as to suit the affects of the recitatives" (preface to his Rappresentazione di anima e di corpo, 1600), and exemplified by Monteverdi in Orfeo (1609), the Eighth Book of Madrigals (Madrigali guerrieri e amorosi) and the Selva morale e spirituale, as well as colourfully set forth in his letters to Alessandro Striggio and Ferdinando Gonzaga. The description Monteverdi gives of the ideal orchestration for portraying the sea, the wind, heaven and earth in a planned but never completed Intermedio for the Mantovan court is most illuminating in this respect.

The way we hear sound today would be unrecognisable to post-Renaissance man, surrounded by a silence only ever disturbed by the sounds of nature and of other living beings: we therefore have to think carefully about how best to present the Baroque repertoire in modern concert halls and theatres.

Vocal accompaniment was conditioned by the considerable intonation problems present in ensembles made up of instruments constructed with no reference to a pitch standard: the prevalence of strings and flutes was in part due to the ability of these instruments to adapt to the intonation of both continuo and voices.

There is little point in arguing over preferences for original or modern instruments, specialist ensembles or mainstream orchestras. The use of period instruments does not in itself automatically make a performance "authentic" - the essence of authenticity is primarily to be found elsewhere. Modern reconstructions designed to play in equal temperament and with an extended compass, have, in any case, profoundly altered original Baroque instrumental technique. Players of modern instruments who understand the sound production of their Baroque equivalents as well as the basic principles of contemporary performance practice can achieve results just as valid as those of a good player of a reconstructed period instrument.

In Baroque vocal music, everything has to work around the voice: the instruments can play only a secondary rôle and must always allow any textual nuances to shine through. The composer, so imprecise when specifying instrumentation, is absolutely rigorous about detailing vocal movement and range, the cornerstones of the composition. The singers must be able to draw out of the text the light and shade that make it live and breathe; they must be able to master the prosody of the language, and bring strength and dramatic weight to the words where necessary, expressing their full evocative value and symbolism. Decisions about instrumental accompaniment and, more generally, the methodology of textual reconstruction, are determined by any vocal problems and the solutions chosen.

An editor's quest for authenticity when adding instrumental parts to a score containing only vocal and bass lines should take as its starting-point not tonal subtleties but the structural characteristics of the quite numerous examples that have survived over the centuries. In most cases these are fragments in contrapuntal-imitative style that therefore progress horizontally rather than vertically (harmonically). Musicians might have improvised on these in dialogue with the voice, or read them from parts notated during rehearsals, in concert with the conductor on the harpsichord and with the cello, viol or viola da gamba that in turn would have supported the basso continuo.

These days only a few backward-looking zealots limit the use of melodic instruments to the rare moments where they are actually specified in a manuscript. On the whole current performance practice places more emphasis on the number, nature and scope of such interventions, rather than on their advisability per se. The focus of research has shifted to areas such as the choice of performers; structural and dramatic problems arising from the text (cuts, deletions, parodies, borrowings from other works, etc.); the addition or repetition of ritornellos and sinfonias; transpositions; or choosing a particular "authentic" version when several may exist, reflecting later amendments, or alterations made for revivals in changed circumstances.

In the minefield of taste and the unknown, philological and historiographical concerns have to go hand in hand with the common sense of musicologists and working musicians. Rather than attempting to improve existing works, editors should focus on finding the best way of translating them for new audiences who are rediscovering them in such a different world. Sometimes answers that seem far-removed from the letter of the manuscript are those that best capture its spirit, that are the most faithful to the original intentions, and the closest to the miracle of creation.