Elektra

Composer : Richard Strauss
Librettist : Hugo Hofmannstahl von
Opera Year : 1908

ELEKTRA

After the huge success of his opera Salome Strauss was keen to find another subject in a similar vein, and Sophocles’ play of grief and revenge provided all the same ingredients: a familiar story from an ancient source, an emotionally charged female lead, a grotesque dysfunctional family, a calm and determined male hero, and a bloody conclusion. This time the strong and confident male is her brother, rather than a love object, but Elektra’s attraction to Oreste is no less sexual than Salome’s to Jokanaan: both stories are perfect for re-telling through the eyes of a post-Freudian dramatist. Hugo von Hofmannsthal had presented his stage adaptation of the play in 1903; Strauss saw its potential immediately and asked him for a libretto. Their collaboration lasted until Hofmannsthal’s death in 1929 and produced many of Strauss’s other best operas: Der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, Die Frau ohne Schatten, Die ägyptische Helena and Arabella.

The back-story and its consequences had been dealt with before on the operatic stage, most notably by Gluck in his two Iphigénie operas. It can be confusing when moving from one operatic setting to another as various versions of the ancient stories were told by different Greek playwrights, with widely varying denouements for some characters. (Elektra also appears in Mozart’s Idomeneo, but as part of an entirely different story.)

Elektra’s father Agamemnon is forced by the gods to sacrifice his youngest daughter Iphigenia in return for fair winds to sail for battle in Troy. In Gluck’s operas she is rescued at the last moment by Diana and later re-united with her brother Orestes, but even if that were so no humans are aware of it at this stage - her mother Klytemnestra takes a new lover and together they kill Agamemnon in revenge.

Telling the story from Elektra’s perspective moves the emphasis from action to psychology. Although she has almost no involvement in the physical drama, its emotional effect on her is immense, as is that of her upon the other characters. Strauss writes his largest ever role for a dramatic soprano, arguably the most difficult in the entire repertoire; for many years a large number of cuts were made. The other two lead female roles are also amongst the most demanding for their voice types: the mother is a dramatic mezzo requiring a ravaged and malevolent quality right across a 2 octave range G sharp - G sharp, and the sister a lyric yet still big-delivery soprano, akin to Sieglinde in comparison to Elektra’s Brunnhilde. The two lead male roles, though very much smaller, are nevertheless challenging and rewarding: Orestes is a rich and stoic baritone with 2 octaves G flat - G flat, and Aegisthus an oily character tenor in the tradition of Loge, Mime and Herod.

The opera begins a few years after Agamemnon’s death. Klytemnestra has installed her new lover in the palace and Elektra, consumed by impotent longing for vengeance, is kept in the courtyard and not welcome inside. Apart from the first scene-setting ensemble she is on stage throughout the single act of an hour and 40 minutes, which takes the form of a series of dialogues between her and each of the other characters. There are no large-scale ensembles or crowd scenes; the chorus is only heard from off stage near the end. The music is constructed using Wagner’s leitmotif technique; a detailed and very readable analysis is available in the first volume of Norman del Mar’s study on Strauss’s work. The main theme, from which many other are developed, opens the opera in a massive declamation - the theme representing Elektra’s father Agamemnon.

It’s worth saying a few words about the orchestra - Strauss was no stranger to large orchestras by this point, but this one reaches the peak: 20 woodwinds, 20 brass, 2 timpanists and a fair amount of percussion, 2 harps and 62 strings. It’s not just the sheer numbers that make this score unique - in an unprecedented step Strauss asks for one quarter of the violinists to switch to the viola, using the standard proportions only for a few sections of the opera. He also uses 4 Wagner tubas, most familiar from the Ring cycle, and 2 basset horns - a kind of large clarinet with a more than 3 octave range down to F below the bass clef, little used since Mozart’s Requiem and La Clemenza di Tito (Vitellia's aria "Non più di fiori" has an obbligato). The instrument became a regular feature of Strauss’s later operas, but nowhere else does he use a pair. This unusual emphasis on the middle register creates a dark-hued and claustrophobic sound in many scenes, rather like an ensemble having more mezzos than anything else.

The opera opens with a group of four gossiping maids with their overseer filling water jugs from the well. Elektra appears but runs away when she sees them. The four swap stories of Elektra’s violence and insults with a mixture of annoyance, horror and pity as their overseer listens in silence. A younger maid appears and remonstrates with them: they are speaking about a royal princess. The overseer orders her inside, but she stands her ground and tells them they are not fit to breathe the same air as Elektra, and should be hanged for their disrespect. This provokes the overseer to join in - she says they have done nothing to deserve the curses Elektra heaps upon them and their children, or her contemptuous refusal to eat with them when she was first banished from the palace. The other four maids agree, and the fifth is dragged indoors for a beating.

Elektra re-emerges, relieved to be alone. It is an act of much greater violence that concerns her. She sings to her father at the hour of his murder, as she has done every day since. It’s an enormous aria lasting 9 minutes, laid out like the exposition of some huge symphonic movement with all her themes ready for future development, some distraught, some tender, some gruesomely vengeful. Many of Elektra’s themes are harmonically ambiguous, built from pitches that imply more than one key, creating harsh dissonance in contrast with the strong and heroic themes for Agamemnon. The final music of the aria is in a lumbering rhythm as she swears to him she will dance in triumph when he is avenged.

Her surviving sister Chrysothemis appears, catching her off guard. Doing her best to ignore Elektra’s erratic behaviour she warns her that Klytemnestra and Aegisthus are planning to lock her in a dark tower. Elektra pours scorn on this idea, but Chysothemis knows it’s true - she’s listened to them through a door. Elektra is enraged and forbids her to open any doors of the palace, just to wait for retribution as she does. This is too much for Chrysothemis. She wants to live a woman’s life, to marry and bear children, but Elektra’s hatred has effectively made prisoners of the two sisters since their mother dare not let them leave. Her aria is the first sustained piece of harmonious music in the opera: she begs Elektra to realise there is no hope of change. Watching the serving women raising their families in contrast to her own lonely existence is unbearable. To Elektra’s disgust she bursts into tears, but approaching noises from within the palace distract them and Chrysothemis again warns her sister: their mother has dreamt of their brother Orestes and should be avoided at all costs. So Elektra decides that this day she would like to speak with her mother. Chrysothemis can’t cope with this idea, and leaves.

A crescendo of clattering and whipping brings Klytemnestra staggering into the courtyard leaning on her confidante and her train-bearer, heavy with jewellery, charms and precious stones, and looking pale, bloated and exhausted. Her themes are even more dissonant and harmonically disjointed than Elektra’s, their mutual hatred depicted in music that displays their close family tie. Instead of speaking directly to Elektra she keeps her distance and asks her cronies and the gods what she has done to deserve such a daughter and such decrepitude. Elektra flatters her - she is god-like too. Klytemnestra is suspicious, and her aids agree, so Elektra tells her she’s being poisoned by their words, which immediately works: Klytemnestra turns on them, accusing them of speaking only as directed by her lover Aegisthus. Her language is infused with imagery of sickness and decay, and she hears in Elektra’s voice that which she craves most - a doctor. She sends her two women (tiny roles, but great acting opportunities of toadying servility) back indoors, and approaches her daughter for one of the greatest confrontation scenes in all opera.

Mysterious and elegant music on tubas, flute and harps accompanies Klytemnestra’s confession that she isn’t sleeping peacefully. Elektra shows great interest when she asks how to stop her dreams - the charms, stones and jewels aren’t working and the correct rites need to be known. In graphic detail Klytemnestra describes her nightly sufferings, slowly working herself into a frenzied panic. She would happily butcher the whole of creation to find the right sacrificial victim and end this nocturnal torture. The solution is simple - Elektra knows the perfect victim and enjoys a protracted guessing game with her mother, gradually revealing it is a woman and the offering must be made by a man (not Aegisthus - a real man!). Before she works it out, Elektra brings up the subject of Orestes. Klytemnestra is evasive, then says he has lost his mind despite money being sent for his care. Elektra accuses her of being scared of him and sending money to have him killed, and when Klytemnestra says she has no need to be scared in her fortified palace but just needs the identity of a sacrifice to cure her, it is Elektra’s moment: the sacrifice will be Klytemnestra herself. She will flee from Orestes screaming for mercy but Elektra will watch as she is hunted down and slaughtered, ending her nightmares as the living rejoice.

Mother and daughter glare at each other venomously but Klytemnestra’s mood changes suddenly when her confidante scurries on and whispers in her ear. Overjoyed, she calls for lights and more maids rush out to assist - there is wild glee in her eyes and she eagerly re-enters the palace leaving Elektra dumbfounded. The reason is soon revealed, when Chrysothemis runs out ‘howling like a wounded animal’ - news has been received of Orestes’ death. Elektra refuses to believe it, and Chrysothemis collapses in despair.

An arrogant young servant (the first male voice to be heard) rushes out, falls over the two sisters, and gives them an earful of abuse. He needs a horse to get the good news to Aegisthus, and an old servant, slow to respond, gets an earful too before a thunder of hooves fades off. The energy of this argument revitalises Elektra: she still has the axe that Klytemnestra used to kill their father, buried in the courtyard for Orestes to kill the murderers. As he cannot use it now she and Chrysothemis must do it themselves, that night as the victims sleep. With music that echoes Chrysothemis’ aria, Elektra praises her sister’s strength: her virgin and restful nights have kept her body lean and fit, unlike Elektra’s, withered through grief. She promises to prepare her for her wedding, to bathe and anoint her ready for her marriage bed, once she has helped avenge their father’s death. Chrysothemis is horrified by the idea, and runs off leaving Elektra to curse her and dig for the axe.

During her frantic search she becomes aware of a third male figure silently watching her from the gateway. Quiet, solemn brass chords are heard against her frenetic scratching at the ground. He assumes she is a servant and a bitter exchange ensues - he tells her he has come to see Klytemnestra with an eyewitness account of Orestes’ death, trampled by his own horse. She tells him his life is a thousand times less worthy than Orestes’, and refuses to answer his questions. When she says who she is he is appalled at her appearance; she rejects his sympathy and tries to send him away. He tells her Orestes is alive, and not to betray his secret arrival. Still she fails to recognise him: only the faithful servants who enter and kiss his feet know that he is her brother Orestes.

Elektra’s reaction is depicted in an orchestral outburst of searingly dissonant yet achingly lyrical lines. Very slowly it subsides and leads into the most tender and extended aria of the opera. She is at first rapturous, then ashamed of her dishevelled state, and finally frightened to see him trembling, steeling himself for the task ahead. The gods require a son to avenge his father’s murder. Elektra’s delighted C major eulogy is interrupted by Orestes’ guardian reprimanding them for making so much noise - speed and stealth are needed as for a short while there are no men in the house. Orestes and his guardian are welcomed into the palace by Klytemnestra’s confidante whilst a maid places a torch at the door (reprise of the cheerful music that accompanied Klytemnestra’s calling for lights when she heard of O’s death) leaving Elektra alone hiding in the shadows.

Hushed and extremely virtuosic music on ‘cellos and basses depicts her suspense, interrupted with frustration when she realises she hasn’t given him the axe. Klytemnestra’s off-stage screams bring Chrysothemis, the first four maids and six other serving women rushing on from their quarters in an ensemble of confusion. They want to help but Elektra blocks the palace door; the 4th maid spots Aegisthus heading home and they all run back to their quarters in fear of punishment.

Aegisthus’ unsuspecting grumblings at not being met properly are almost light relief - all is as normal again. Elektra brings him the torch, and as in the earlier conversation with her mother she relishes the confusion she causes by speaking politely to him. She ushers him to meet his guests in an elegant minuet rhythm, his irritation at her behaviour distracting him from his mistrust. So he walks straight into a death-trap: as he wails ”Can no-one hear me?”, her triumph is complete: “Agamemnon hears you!”

The women rush on again - this time for joy. Chrysothemis tells of the killings in a radiant E major, and of how Agamemnon’s former supporters have turned on his enemies in a frenzy of blood and embraces: an off-stage 8-part mixed chorus cheers Orestes’ name. Elektra hears, but cannot join the celebration. She experiences the joyful music as emanating from herself but her limbs are too heavy to move. In the rhythm of the dance she promised for her father the two sisters’ thoughts combine in the closest the opera gets to a true duet, until Chrysothemis cannot bear being separated from Orestes any longer and leaves. With superhuman effort Elektra throws her limbs about in the manner of the Dionysian Maenads or Bacchantes; the dance melody is heavy and laboured, clambering up almost 3 octaves. When Chrysothemis reappears Elektra tells her to be silent and dance as she does, but after only a few more steps she collapses lifeless. Chrysothemis calls for Orestes, unaware that the same laws that dictate the avenging of a father’s murder also forbid the killing of a parent: her calls are unanswered as he is now being torn to pieces by the Furies.

Cast:
Elektra Soprano
Klytemnestra Mezzo-Soprano
Chrysothemis Soprano
Aegisthus Tenor
Orestes Baritone

1st Maid Alto
2nd Maid Mezzo-Soprano
3rd Maid Mezzo-Soprano
4th Maid Soprano
5th Maid Soprano
Overseer Soprano
Klytemnestra’s Confidante Soprano
Klytemnestra’s Trainbearer Soprano
Young Servant Tenor
Old Servant Bass
Orestes’ Guardian Bass
6 other maids: 2Sop/2 Mezzo/2 Alto
Off-stage 8-part mixed chorus

Andrew Sparling