Dido and Aeneas

Between the beginning of opera in Italy around 1600 and the brilliant dramas created by Handel over a hundred years later, Dido and Aeneas by Henry Purcell (1659-1695) must be accorded a unique position. It is hyperbole to claim that we would have had no Baroque opera in English had Purcell not lived. But it is nevertheless true that his example shines like a beacon for later composers exploring that same terra incognita of vocal drama in English. Some critics argue that Dido and Aeneas does not show Purcell’s best work. Perhaps. Yet its place in the canon, its dramatic concision, and its seminal position in music history provide a luster that cannot be so easily dulled.
After 300 years, we still do not have all the answers for how Dido and Aeneas emerged as the first opera in English. We can date its completion (spring 1689) simply by virtue of surviving copies of the playbill. Purcell’s manuscripts have disappeared, probably forever. The music we hear tonight is based on careful reconstructions from printed sheet music dated 1750 and later—fully sixty years after the premiere. The premiere, and the composer’s intended performance forces, was given by an amateur, albeit highly talented group of “young gentlewomen.” That phrase leaves open the question of who took the role of Aeneas (probably a pant’s role), as well as the bass and tenor parts of the chorus.
In terms of dramatic power, few works can rival Dido. Conceived as a three-act “semi-opera” (a loose alternation between recitative, chorus, and dance) occupying less than one hour, the dramatic shape crystallizes around Dido herself, Queen of Carthage. Her burgeoning love for Aeneas and subsequent despair at his broken pledge provide both the general arc of the opera and its expressive highpoints. Aeneas, by contrast, is a marginal figure in the stage action. His one moment of genuine pathos comes at the end of Act II when he accepts the gods’ command to depart and continue his fated mission to found Rome, a second Troy, on the Lavinian shores. At his expense, Purcell and librettist Nahum Tate—perhaps with an eye toward the setting of the first performance—elevate Dido and her faithful companion Belinda far above all others.
Additionally, the sorceress, witches, and witches chorus in Act II provide a touch of the supernatural and levity that nicely distract us from the weighty human story. But the clear emotional crux, which serves as catharsis, is Dido’s famous Act III lament “When I am in laid in earth.” The ground bass form, of which this aria serves as crowning instance, had been around for many years before Purcell; there are beautiful settings by Italian and French composers (e.g., Cavalli and Lully). In its outline form, the ground bass involves a repeated bass progression. In this case, Purcell outlines the falling motion from tonic G to dominant D. He elaborates the motion by filling in each step chromatically (G, F-sharp, F natural, E natural, E-flat, D), thereby wringing out the maximum amount of sorrowful yearning. At the same time, Dido’s vocal line actually ascends away from the relentless downward pull of the bass. Purcell also beautifully frames the lament with a short recitative and a seamless continuation into the opera’s final chorus. Tate’s libretto delays the emotional punch until very late in the action, just minutes from the final curtain. Purcell rises to that challenge with an aria of unequaled power and raw pathos, an aria that has become one of the defining moments of the entire Baroque era in music.
It’s no accident that Dido and Aeneas, as a whole, has become a staple in the repertory. The pace of action is fast, almost dizzyingly so. We are inexorably pulled along in a continuous state of astonishment, which comes to a grinding halt at the lament and final chorus. As listeners, we enjoy the lovers’ courtship, the brilliant commentary by Belinda and the chorus, and a brush with the spirit world. But we wait with bated breath for that astonishing lament, which more often than not ends up taking that very breath from our lips.

(c) Jason Stell