er, and he
rarely shows that inclination to drop back into the old conventional
style, which occasionally mars the beauty of 'Orfeo.' Gluck wrote a
preface to the published score of 'Alceste,' which is one of the most
interesting documents in the history of music. It proves
conclusively--not that any proof is necessary--that the composer had
thought long and seriously about the scope of his art, and that the
reforms which he introduced were a deliberate attempt to reconstruct
opera upon a new basis of ideal beauty. If he sometimes failed to act up
to his own theories, it must be remembered in what school he had been
trained, and how difficult must have been the attempt to cast off in a
moment the style which had been habitual to him for so many years.

When 'Alceste' was produced in Paris in 1776, Gluck made some
alterations in the score, some of which were scarcely improvements. In
his later years he became so completely identified with the French
school that the later version is now the more familiar.

The opera opens before the palace at Pherae, where the people are
gathered to pray Heaven to spare the life of Admetus, who lies at the
point of death. Alcestis appears, and, after an air of great dignity and
beauty, bids the people follow her to the temple, there to renew their
supplications. The next scene shows the temple of Apollo. The high
priest and the people make passionate appeal to the god for the life of
their king, and the oracle replies that Admetus must perish, if no other
will die in his place. The people, seized with terror, fly from the
place, and Alcestis, left alone, determines to give up her own life for
that of her husband. The high priest accepts her devotion, and in the
famous air 'Divinites du Styx,' she offers herself a willing sacrifice
to the gods below. In the original version the second act opened with a
scene in a gloomy forest, in which Alcestis interviews the spirits of
Death, and, after renewing her vow, obtains leave to return and bid
farewell to her husband. The music of this scene is exceedingly
impressive, and intrinsically it must have been one of the finest in the
opera, but it does not advance the action in the least, and its omission
sensibly increases the tragic effect of the drama. In the later version
the act begins with the rejoicings of the people at the recovery of
Admetus. Alcestis appears, and after vainly endeavouring to conceal her
anguish from the eyes of Admetus is f