Christoph Willibald Gluck

Paul Riley traces the wandering existence of a cosmopolitan composer who made it his life's work and ambition to rip up opera's rulebook

- Paul Riley

Bavarian by birth; Bohemian by upbringing; and acquiring extra musical polish in Italy, where the Milan-based Sammartini kept a watchful (if informal) eye on him, Christoph Willibald Gluck was the ultimate cosmopolitan. An inquisitive go-between straddling the operatic gulf between Italy and France, he later proclaimed that he’d established ‘a universal language of music for all nations… abolishing the ridiculous distinction between national styles in music’. Abolished? Or, more properly, reconciled? Thereby hangs a tale as nuanced as that of his greater claim to fame as a trailblazing pioneer of operatic reform – a case of ‘back to the future’, if ever there was one.

Musically inclined from a young age, Gluck had no wish to follow in his father’s footsteps as forester or water bailiff. Barely into his teens, he jumped ship and decamped to Prague, where the city’s flourishing musical life only served to confirm him in his ambitions. Vivaldi was one visitor who impressed him and, via Vienna, in 1737 Gluck fetched up in Milan where he could experience what Italian music had to offer at first hand. Officially in the employ of Prince Melzi, he honed his skills in instrumental composition. Opera, however, was the prize for anyone out to cut a dash, and with Artaserse, premiered in 1741, he staked his claim.

It was a bold choice. The story, about the ancient Persian king, was a popular one, and the Italian poet Metastasio’s much-plundered text attracted composers including Vinci, JC Bach and Thomas Arne – indeed, it would still be going strong into the 19th century, by which time the libretto had notched up nearly 100 settings. A bold decision, but a piquant one too. Metastasio, a mainstay of Gluck’s output over the next couple of decades, was no fan, describing the composer’s