I promised to share some of my Marie Antoinette and/or Henry VIII research, and, since I finally got around to organizing my sloppy notes, here is the first!

Music is one of my favorite things (when I was a kid, I told everyone I was going to be an opera singer when I grew up–until I discovered I have a terrible singing voice!). So, I always love reading about composers and court music, of which both the 1780s and the 1520s had a plethora. Marie Antoinette and Henry VIII were both musical in their own ways (the portrait is MA at the spinet), and both enjoyed the finest instructors and performers. More about England later–this week we’re in France, in the middle of the last showdown between Marie Antoinette and Madame du Barry.

The man caught in the middle was Christoph Willibald Gluck (1714-1787), one of the most important opera composers of the day. Born in Bavaria, his first position was in a Milan orchestra, where he received lessons from Giovanni Battista Sammartini. His first opera, Artaserse, premiered on December 26, 1741 to some success, and he traveled to London, Saxony, and Copenhagen before settling in Vienna in 1753. He became Kapellmeister to Empress Maria Theresa, and instructor to her children, including Archduchess Antoine (who seems to have been more enthusiastic than really talented!).

Gluck advocated the reform of opera, wanting to eliminate all that was “undramatic.” He insisted on focusing on human drama and passions, making the words and music of equal importance, doing away with folderol like mannered ballets. His best-known opera, Orfeo ed Euridice, had its first performance on October 5, 1762, with the famous castrato Guadagni in the title role.

In the 1770s, Gluck’s Viennese career was slipping a bit, so he was happy to accept an invitation from his former pupil to come to France. In 1774, he signed a contract to perform six works at the Paris Opera. The first, Iphigenie en Aulide, was to premier in April, and it sparked a war. Gluck knew his new style wouldn’t catch on right away with the French, stating “There will be considerable opposition because it will run counter to national prejudices against which reason is no defense.” But somehow the music got mixed up with Court factions! Louis XV’s mistress, Madame du Barry (who detested Dauphine Marie Antoinette and her snooty Viennese ways!) and her supporters brought in the more conventional Italian composer Piccinni. It was the Gluckists vs. the Piccinnists!

It didn’t much help that Gluck refused to coddle tempermental French stars. To Sophie Arnould, the Iphigenie, who wanted more fancy arias for herself, he snapped, “”To sing great arias, you have to know how to sing.”

But in the end the Gluckists triumphed. The premier on April 19, 1774 was packed–even du Barry couldn’t stay away. Mari Antoinette came with her husband, the comte and comtesse de Provence (her brother and sister-in-law), the duchesses de Chartres and de Bourbon, and the princesse de Lamballe. The opera started at 5:30 p.m. and ran even longer than the usual five and a half hours because of the copious applause. Even Rousseau left the theater in tears.

The run of Iphigenie didn’t last long. At the end of April, Louis XV fell ill with smallpox and died. Gluck’s patron was now Queen, and she saw to it he spent several years traveling between Vienna and Paris. He sponsored many patrons in his turn, including Salieri.

I once saw a performance of Orfeo, blessedly NOT five hours long (more like three), and really enjoyed it. Great singing, but sadly no Gluckist/Piccinnist throwdown in the audience. What’s some of your favorite music? Which side in the G/P battle would you have been on?

Well, it has been a busy week at chez McCabe! I finished the Muse book and sent it off into the cold, cold world (aka the UK Harlequin office). I started an Intro to Samba class. Not yet ready for America’s Ballroom Challenge, but I do have a nifty new pair of t-strap dance shoes, and I’m going to samba roll those holiday pounds away! And I’m following Cara’s Shakespearean example and auditioning for a local production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream this afternoon. I’m a bit nervous. In high school and college I did some theater, but not much since. I do have some experience with Midsummer. Granted, I was seven years old and my one line was “Peas-blossom”. But I think it should count. We have to present a prepared monologue (I’m doing Titania’s “These are the forgeries of jealousy”) and read from the script. I would love to play Titania, but would be more than happy with “third fairy from the right.” Oh, and tomorrow night I’m having an Oscar party and still don’t know what food to serve. Wish me luck!

In between dancing and reciting Shakespeare (often at the same time), I’ve been reading essayist Adam Gopnick’s Through the Children’s Gate: A Home in New York, the follow-up to his very entertaining Paris to the Moon. Gopnick riffs on art, food, mortality, family, post-9/11 New York life–and imaginary friends. In the chapter “Bumping Into Mr. Ravioli,” he discusses his three-year-old daughter Olivia’s imaginary friend (hereafter IF), the fabulously named Charlie Ravioli, and how he reflects modern urban life. Ravioli does seem a very New York-ish kind of IF. He lives in an apartment at “Madison and Lexington,” and never has time to meet with Olivia. She leaves messages for him on her toy cell phone, until they happen to “bump into each other” and “hop into a taxi” to “grab a coffee.” Ravioli also has an assistant who tells Olivia he is very busy, and a wife named Kweeda, who sadly dies of that dreaded urban disease Bitterosity (also prone to strike writers, I hear). Olivia also announces to her father that “Ravioli read your book. He didn’t like it much.” Everyone is a critic.

A famous set of literary IFs belonged to the Brontes, of course. A different set-up from the Ravioli gig, the young Brontes had a whole invented universe with their lands of Angria, Gondal, and Gaaldine. What sort of IFs would, say, little Jane Austen have? Young Thomas Hardy? Wee George Eliot? Small Virginia Woolfe (I might be scared of that one!)?

My own IFs were sadly mundane. A man named Bill, his wife Lila, their daughter Eve, and a Scottie dog named Mr. Scott. Their main purpose was to accompany me to the grocery store when I went there with my mother, so I could say “Bill and Lila think we should get Lucky Charms instead of whole wheat bran flakes.” Never worked. And they never did anything so dashing as hop into taxis, either. I think they worked in a library or something.

Anyway, the whole idea of IFs just seemed to tie into what I’ve been doing lately, writing and theater. With every book I feel like I create a whole new crew of Bills and Lilas (though hopefully more interesting!), who seem so real to me as we imagine new adventures together. I don’t usually argue with them in the cereal aisle, but they have been responsible for more than one missed highway exit. I sometimes tend to get caught up in plotting while driving, so if you see a red Toyota with a short brunette at the wheel coming at you, get out of the way!

What kind of IF did you have, or do your children have now? Did your imaginary worlds as a child make you more of a reader/writer? Any ideas on those IFs of famous people? Or suggestions for my Oscar party???

Happy weekend! Hope we can hop into a taxi and grab a coffee soon, even if only in our imagination.