L'Orfeo

Sinopsis

Prologue
It is I, Music!

After the solemn opening toccata announces the beginning of the spectacle, the curtain rises. The first figure to appear is neither Orpheus, nor a god, nor an epic narrator—it is Music personified. Her presence not only introduces the action but justifies it. With majesty she declares: It is I, Music, who with sweet accents can soothe troubled hearts and kindle the coldest ones with love or noble anger.

Music is the true protagonist of this story, and in this prologue lies the poetic essence of the entire work. Aware of her ethical and cosmic power, Music proclaims the tale of Orpheus, the symbol of art that triumphs over chaos. In the final stanza she commands nature to be still: Let not even the little birds move upon the branches, nor let the murmuring of the river be heard upon its banks. Music is also silence, and through a moment of theatrical suspension, the audience surrenders to her power. It is a moment of theatrical wisdom—a wink to the audience and an affirmation of the performative power of sound. Only after that absolute silence does the drama begin.

Act I
Let us sing, shepherds, with sweet accents!

In the fields of Thrace, shepherds and nymphs prepare for the wedding. A bucolic landscape opens in celebration of the imminent union of Orpheus and Eurydice. As symbols of pure love, the shepherds invoke Hymen—the divinity who presides over marriage—to bless the couple. Amid songs, dances, and pastoral airs, the lovers pledge themselves to each other in an atmosphere of collective joy. The countryside resounds with festive music, a wish for eternal happiness.

For the first time our hero appears, singing a luminous hymn of love in which he invokes the Sun—symbol of Apollo, his father—and blesses his present bliss. The way his song is written gives the melody a noble ambiguity between joy and melancholy. From the outset, Monteverdi suggests that Orpheus’s happiness already carries within it the seed of his loss.

Act II
Have you ever seen a lover happier than I?

In the meadows—the wedding celebration: once melancholic, Orpheus has become a joyful lover. Transfigured by love, he himself animates the celebration with his song and dance. Surrounded by nymphs and shepherds, he calls upon the forests—witnesses to his former sorrow—to remember the man who once wandered through their shadows as the most miserable of mortals; those same trees now look on, astonished, at an Orpheus transformed by Eurydice’s loving gaze.

But fate, ever envious of hearts too happy, interrupts the joy. Silvia, Eurydice’s companion and messenger, rushes across the scene like an omen. Her account, bare and cutting, pierces the air like a wound. The pastoral joy fades into confusion. Orpheus remains alone; his once radiant voice breaks into lament, and the song that once celebrated life now sinks into unfathomable grief.

Act III
“He who enters the city of affliction must abandon all hope.”

At the Styx—Orpheus descends to the Underworld: Determined to defy the limits of existence, Orpheus ventures into Hades guided by Hope. At the river Styx, he is stopped by Charon, the implacable ferryman who guards the passage between the world of the living and that of the dead.

Orpheus carries no weapon and utters no spell; he has only his voice and his lyre. He then begins one of the most celebrated moments in all of opera history, Possente spirto, where every word is a plea, every note a supplication of love. In his song, Orpheus displays a virtuosity that transcends technique—the vocal ornaments seem to arise from the trembling of the soul itself, a sonic translation of emotion.

Yet the ferryman remains unmoved. The laws of the underworld are unbreakable. Exhausted, Orpheus continues to sing until Charon falls into sleep. Then, in silence, he takes the boat and crosses the black waters. He has not convinced the guardian, but he has moved the cosmos itself: his music does not conquer the gods, but it cracks the order of the universe.

Act IV
Ah! What vision, so sweet and so bitter!

In the Underworld—Proserpina intercedes before Pluto: Now in the heart of Hades, among wandering souls, Orpheus’s lament resounds like a prayer never before heard in that place. Moved by such fidelity, Proserpina intercedes before her husband. Pluto, stern, grants the impossible: Eurydice may return to the world of the living, but Orpheus must not look upon her until they reach the light of the sun.

Thus begins the ascent—a landscape of absolute tension. Silences are heavy with anguish; each step becomes contained music. Eurydice follows Orpheus in silence, invisible to him, while he breathes with growing anxiety. Doubt consumes him; he fears the god has deceived him, that behind him there is nothing but an empty echo. At last, unable to resist, he turns. Eurydice is there, alive… for one immeasurable instant. As their eyes meet, she vanishes, drawn once more into the realm of shadows. Orpheus would rather renounce the world of the living to remain by her side, but the gods forbid such total sacrifice.

Act V
Do you not yet know that here below there is no eternal joy?

In the fields of Thrace—Apollo consoles Orpheus: Back in the fields, Orpheus is a broken man. His lyre lies silent in his hands. The landscape, once radiant, now mirrors the darkness within him. The shepherds murmur his tragedy; the nymphs weep his fate. In his despair, Orpheus’s song becomes a prayer without direction, an echo lost in nothingness.

Then, in a turn of divine compassion, Apollo —his father— descends. He reminds Orpheus that no mortal may hope for eternal happiness on earth. He offers instead the possibility of consolation: to ascend to the heavens and gaze, from the sphere of the stars, upon Eurydice’s reflection. Orpheus accepts. His final ascent, in serene and luminous music, closes the cycle. Sorrow transforms into redemption. There is no longer tragedy, but transfiguration. Orpheus becomes a constellation; his song, the very substance of the firmament. Thus the fable ends—not with the hero’s death, but with the apotheosis of Music, that force capable of reconciling opposites, of uniting passion and reason, life and death, sound and silence.