deepest grief, while a troop of shepherds and
maidens bring flowers to adorn it. His despairing cry of 'Eurydice'
breaks passionately upon their mournful chorus, and the whole scene,
though drawn in simple lines, is instinct with genuine pathos. When the
rustic mourners have laid their gifts upon the tomb and departed,
Orpheus calls upon the shade of his lost wife in an air of exquisite
beauty, broken by expressive recitative. He declares his resolution of
following her to the underworld, when Eros enters and tells him of the
condition which the gods impose on him if he should attempt to rescue
Eurydice from the shades. Left to himself, Orpheus discusses the
question of the rescue in a recitative of great intrinsic power, which
shows at a glance how far Gluck had already distanced his predecessors
in variety and dramatic strength. The second act takes place in the
underworld. The chorus of Furies is both picturesque and effective, and
the barking of Cerberus which sounds through it is a touch, which though
its _naivete_ may provoke a smile, is characteristic of Gluck's
strenuous struggle for realism. Orpheus appears and pleads his cause in
accents of touching entreaty. Time after time his pathetic song is
broken by a sternly decisive 'No,' but in the end he triumphs, and the
Furies grant him passage. The next scene is in the Elysian fields.
After an introduction of charming grace, the spirits of the blessed are
discovered disporting themselves after their kind. Orpheus appears, lost
in wonder at the magical beauty of all around him. Here again is a
remarkable instance of Gluck's pictorial power. Simple as are the means
he employs, the effect is extraordinary. The murmuring of streams, the
singing of birds, and the placid beauty of the landscape are depicted
with a touch which, if light, is infallibly sure. Then follows the
famous scene in which Orpheus, forbidden to look at the face of his
beloved, tries to find her by touch and instinct among the crowd of
happy spirits who pass him by. At last she approaches, and he clasps her
in his arms, while a chorus of perfect beauty bids him farewell as he
leads her in triumph to the world above. The third act shows the two
wandering in a cavern on their way to the light of day. Eurydice is
grieved that her husband should never look into her eyes, and her faith
is growing cold. After a scene in which passionate beauty goes side by
side with strange relapses into conventionality, Or