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Updated: May 19, 2025
Singers left or pleaded some excuse at the last moment; rival composers produced opera after opera in hope of eclipsing him; critics, for and against, entered into a protracted war of words and wit; and finally Gluck's opponents, under the lead of Madame Du Barry, brought in the Italian Piccini, with the avowed intention of obliterating Gluck's fame.
Yet he held so consistently before him his ideal of dramatic truth, that his music has survived all changes of taste and fashion, and still delights connoisseurs as fully as on the day it was produced. 'Paride ed Elena, Gluck's next great work, shows his genius under a more lyrical aspect.
One of the most accomplished of historians and critics, Oulibischeff, sums up the place of Cherubini in musical art in these words: "If on the one hand Gluck's calm and plastic grandeur, and on the other the tender and voluptuous charm of the melodies of Piccini and Zacchini, had suited the circumstances of a state of society sunk in luxury and nourished with classical exhibitions, this could not satisfy a society shaken to the very foundations of its faith and organization.
The gold was all melted, and its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in he saw meeting his glance from beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp eyes of his old friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in his life.
The orchestra is said to be good and numerous, so my favorite style of composition can be well given there I mean choruses, and I am very glad to hear that the French place so much value on this class of music. In Paris they are accustomed to hear nothing but Gluck's choruses. Only place confidence in me; I shall strive with all my might to do honor to the name of Mozart.
The gold was all melted, and its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw meeting his glance from beneath the gold the red nose and sharp eyes of his old friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in his life.
The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but at the instant, the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with a shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the corner at the further end of the room.
He stooped and plucked a lily that grew beside Gluck's feet. Three drops of dew were on its white leaves. These the dwarf shook into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. "Cast these into the river," he said, "and go down the other side of the mountains into the Treasure Valley." Then he disappeared. Gluck stood on the brink of the Golden River, and cast the three drops of dew into the stream.
The most insignificant writer in France is better known to him than Lessing or Winklemann; and while he is perfectly familiar with the composers of Italy, be has blundered into depreciation of Gluck's inspired music.
"If you will be truly obliging you always are, you know and conduct me to the one on three legs in the middle of the room, I will play you an air from Gluck's 'Orfeo, which I am sure you will enjoy.... Oh yes I can do without any music-books because I have played it before, not infrequently...." "I meant to set upon." In fact, Mrs.
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