Libretto of Salvatore Vigano's Prometheus -

[Katharine Kanter]

Readers of Dansomanie may be in luck.

This may - I'm not sure, but it MAY - be the first translation into English of Salvatore Vigano's own libretto for "The Creatures of Prometheus" for which Beethoven wrote the score. The libretto appears to have been published for the first time, in full, in Prof. Stefano Tomassini's

"Prometeo - libretto del ballo, con i testi della polemica"

published at Turin in 1999, by Ed. Legenda (e-mail: legenda@tin.it)

The libretto was taken by Prof. Tomassini from microfiches held at the British Museum of a collection put together by Mme. Arturo Toscannini in the USA, a half-century ago.

Here is Act One. The rest will follow, as and when time permits. I'm not entirely happy with the translation and will accordingly try to improve upon it in the coming weeks.

NB: One hopes that someone who actually knows how to choreograph (RARA AVIS), will seize upon the thing and USE IT. ON STAGE.

And the music.... well, well, well !



PROMETHEUS


Libretto by Salvatore Vigano

Version for La Scala
In the spring of 1813

To the music of Beethoven



ACT ONE


A broad valley in the mountainous chain of the Colchid, that stretches to the Caspian Sea

Prometheus, the Arts, Human beings, amongst whom Eon and Linus, Athena

Prometheus contemplates the human race, and seeing how coarse, frail, feeble, lacking in all discernment and reason, lesser even than the brute beasts is Man, he sorrows, groans, and bends his great mind as to how Man may best be raised up above all other living creatures.

As he does so, there appears a straggling throng of men and women in whom nothing save their shape and appearance would suggest that which will, one day, make mortal man approach to the divine nature. Prometheus steps amongst them and ingeniously attempts to draw their attention, but faced with such automatons, his efforts are fruitless: as yet, their mind is capable of nothing. What, then, does Prometheus resolve ? He calls upon the Arts, first and eternal amongst those who teach and uphold society, and implores them to light in the bosom of those wretched beings, their own desire and love. Whereupon, blinded by the fresh and dazzling light of the stately Goddesses, the human cattle flee, frightened out of their wits, into the caves.

Eon, in her haste to escape the Arts, hides behind the first rock she finds. Linus too, would flee, but Prometheus seizes him, being the one who, by delicacy of feature and harmony of form, would seem to be the most apt to his designs. At that moment, he catches sight of beauteous Eon as well, and gently drawing her towards him, presents both savages to the Arts, using flattery and caresses to allay their disquiet, and inspire in them trust and confidence.

Intending to begin his work here, Prometheus observes the chorus of the Arts, and seeing that man will be unable to take in at a single stroke, all their teachings, he chooses those he deems most needful, viz., Agriculture and Architecture, and together with the Arts, sets to teaching his pupils, but all in vain. Linus, espying an apple in Eon’s hand given her by Agriculture, in a fit of jealousy seizes it, while Eon hurls herself upon him. Drawn by their cries, the other humans run up to join the fray, and within instants, fury and bloodshed erupt. In strife one sees the play of passions – the ferocity and bullying of the strong, the cunning of the weak, the fear of the oppressed, the thirst for revenge of the vanquished and the victors’ swollen pride.

And now hear how wretched was Man, who first being
coarse as a child, was by my doing alone
given to possess intellect and reason

(…) Man saw, but perceived not,
He listened, but heard not,
And vainly, like the form of dreams, ever confused all things.

(Translated from the Cesarotti version of Aeschylos’ Prometheus, as it appears in Vigano’s original)

Sisters to tranquillity, the Arts, on seeing so cruel a sight, fly to the mountain tops. Prometheus attempts to dispel the fray, but the madmen will not desist until the weakest are fallen beneath the blows of the stronger, or have fled into the forest, pursued by the most ferocious.

In horror, Prometheus is about to leave off his sublime enterprise, but moved by the groans of the wounded and the suffering of the oppressed strewn about the field, he calls upon Athena, still in hope of attaining his objective.

The Goddess, hearing his fervent prayer, promptly descends from the Gods’ dwelling place, and offers Prometheus everything in Heaven such as may serve to bring man to that state of perfection, that the wonderful arrangement of his constitution would merit.

But the generous Titan, although endowed with sagacity and foresight, never having seen the eternal reign, knows not what to ask of the Goddess in order to attain the objective so devoutly intended, and asks that she carry him to the skies, that he may there examine and choose that most suited to his intent. Athena grants his wish, and bears him heavenward.


End of Act One

[Katharine Kanter]

PROMETHEUS


Libretto by Salvatore Vigano

Version for La Scala
In the spring of 1813

To the music of Beethoven



ACT TWO


A Sea of Clouds

Prometheus, Athena

As they float through the clouds, one catches glimpses of Prometheus and Athena on their voyage through the region of the Winds. The Goddess shews the son of Iapetos countless worlds swimming in the vasty heavens, and has him bend his gaze on the boundless grandeur of creation. Athena keeps his spirits steadfast, in the face of prodigies so varied and so infinite, and on reaching the Equator, arrests their journey to shew Prometheus yet other marvels.

In the East rises the Star, messenger of the day: Titon drives away the shadows of the Night, followed by Lucifer ‘on a steed of dark fire’, and soon thereafter the Dawn, casting flowers from her scented basket.

Little by little, the light floods the horizon, and fair Dawn resplendent in her rosy chariot announces the Sun.

Preceded by the Hours, there advances that Divinity who is father to Light, ‘great Minister of Nature’, seated on a shining chariot drawn by prancing steeds.

Hard on the heels of the majestic cortege comes the Year, that soars on wings and knots the ends of a many-coloured arc, itself borne aloft by the Seasons, as the twelve months follow in their train.

As the luminous Divinity approaches, his rays strike Prometheus’ bosom, lighting there a thirst for glory, and an unknown force that makes him greater than himself, and that leads his mind to ever-clearer and grander ideas. Upon which, it comes to him that the precious gift that he must bring mortal man is the celestial fire, through which, man will be raised as much above the beasts, as he now grovels below them. Awaiting the instant that Phoebus’ coach-and-four pass overhead, Prometheus puts out his hand to seize a spark of fire. Springing to his aid in that instant of need, Athena breaks her lance’s stave in two and gives him part, which, having but touched the fiery wheels, bursts into flame from the celestial fire.

Zeus, having seen the great theft, seethes with contempt. A flash of lightning signals the divine revenge: murky darkness swirls about the Sun’s coach, Athena vanishes, while wretched Prometheus is flung to earth amidst howling whirlwind and screeching storm.


End of Act Two

[haydn]

Merci Katharine, dès que j'aurais un peu de temps, je traduirai ce texte en français.

Pour les non-anglophones, il s'agit du livret - présumé perdu - du seul ballet composé par Beethoven, les Créatures de Prométhée (Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus). Une partie de la musique de ce ballet a été récupérée par Beethoven pour fournir le matériau thématique du finale de la Symphonie Héroïque.

[Katharine Kanter]

PROMETHEUS


Libretto by Salvatore Vigano

Version for La Scala
In the spring of 1813

To the music of Beethoven



ACT THREE


A pleasant grove

Eon, Linus, Prometheus, Cupids, and throngs of mortals


Eon and Linus, dreading the thunderclaps and rushing winds, run to hide beneath the leafy trees. Near lifeless, Prometheus lies upon the ground, but as he fell, the red-hot stave gave off countless sparks that now flicker over the earth. From each there springs up tiny Cupids, and each bears a torch.

The moment the Cupids appear, the warring elements fall silent, and the heavens become serene. The winged infants frolic from one tree to the next, and coming upon the startled Eon, pluck flowers and playfully toss them at her head. In a passion of rage she tramples upon them. Linus finds Prometheus, glances at him with cool indifference, and walks by. Shortly though, as the cheerful Cupids swing their torches through the airs, the two savages become aware of the pounding of their heart, the senses quicken, the mind begins to perceive, and the eye rejoices for the first time in the beauties of nature. Eon gathers up the very flowers that she would have trod upon, brings them to Linus, and both wonder at their beauty and fragrance, and then compare the flowers to each other, whilst in each bosom is born a new longing that brings them closer in a wave of inexplicable delight. But the sight of Prometheus, lying half-dead in the dust, causes them to feel an unknown disquiet, that swiftly turns to pity, and both come now to his aid.

Prometheus recovers consciousness to find the two savages – now rather less savage – tending to him. Beside himself with wonder and contentment, he presses them to his bosom as a father to a child, blessing the happy presentiment that had made him steal the eternal quickening spark.

Linus and Eon, however, gaze on Prometheus’ majestic countenance, and finding themselves abject by comparison, feel shame and fall to the ground before him like supplicants, begging him to defend them and lead them out of their wretched condition. Throngs of mortals, touched themselves by the celestial fire dotted about the forest by the Cupids in their revels, join in their prayer, become aware of the same feelings as Linus and Eon, and for the first time, find that they can make use of reason. Exultant at so unexpected and prodigious an outcome, the far-seeing Titan fondly embraces the mortals, and foresees the future grandeur and nobility of the human race. Thinking only of how to speedily bring his great work to accomplishment, without further delay he leads the regenerated mortals on to acquire Virtue.


End of Act Three

[Katharine Kanter]

ACT FOUR


Vulcan’s forge

Vulcan, Cyclops, Cupid, Mercury, Jove


As

“Sospira e suda all’opera Vulcano
Per rinfrescar l’aspre saëtte a Giove”

(Petrarch, sonnet 41,

“Vulcan groans and sweats at his labours,
for sharpen Jove’ thunderbolts he must”)

and as he furbishes the shield, Cupid enters the paternal forge: the lame Deity promptly leaves off his work, and takes the dear child in his arms. Frightened by Vulcan’s wiry beard and rough kiss, that leave a trail of cinders on his cheek, Cupid tears free and bursts into tears. To quiet him, Vulcan gives him a fine gleaming bow, but Cupid throws it to the ground in disdain, and mocks his father. In his eagerness to placate the boy, Vulcan would do whatever he please. The saucy child asks for one of his father’s sharpest arrows (Oh, wretched mortals ! Beware ! Love goes armed to strike to the heart !)

Vulcan presents him with a sheath of quivering arrows, but the clever archer finds the flaw in each, discarding one after the other. Stung by the child’s mockery, the divine blacksmith selects a finely-tempered arrow, but craves a kiss in exchange. Cupid so promises, but the moment the arrow is placed into his hand, he flees. Hastening to escape his father’s pursuit, he leaps into the blazing furnace. The desperate Vulcan seizes his great tongs to pull the child from the flames, but in vain. “Woe is me”, cries the loving father, tearing at his hair, “the flames may have devoured him !” “Ah no ! Look here, good old man, for you know not your immortal offspring’s power; see his soot-streaked face and how, bold and quite unharmed, he makes sport of your terrors and aims at you the very arrows that you so thoughtlessly placed into his hands!”


As Cupid flies from Etna’s forge, Mercury appears, and orders Vulcan to search for Prometheus and close him in stocks of adamant to the Caucasus, to punish his great crime. Vulcan distrusts the divine messenger, who takes offence. Of a sudden, there appears Jove; he chides Vulcan for his disobedience and ratifies the irrevocable decree, carved into stone by Mercury with his caduceus, in letters of fire:

The perfidious Titan
Who stole the heavenly fire,
Shall, nailed to the cliff,
Expiate his folly.

Vulcan bows to the supreme command, and sets to forging the instruments for the great torment. Winds howl in the bowels of Etna and gusts of flame rise, the cave rings to the sound of Cyclops’ hammer-on-anvil, until the sooty host, bearing the stocks of Aeolus, the chains of Bellona, and the adamantine nails, set out to slake Jove’ revenge.


End of Act Four

[Katharine Kanter]

ACT FIVE


The Temple of Virtue

Virtue, Justice, Concord, Prudence etc. The Genii, the Muses, the Graces, Mars, Prometheus, Eon, Linus, throngs of mortals, Cupid, and finally, Vulcan with the Cyclops

Prometheus leads the mortals to the holy shrine, and begs the Goddess to shower her gifts upon them. Ever well-disposed to the earnest supplicant, Virtue orders the Muses who favour every noble enterprise, and the Graces who are the source of all refinement, to teach mankind. And soon one finds the happy mortals at the foot of Euterpe, inventor of Music, before Terpsychore, mistress of the dance, before Calliope, Urania or another of the divine sisters, in accordance with the talent peculiar to each man, and that guides his actions.

From afar, Eon is seen at the distaff spinning with her dewy fingers the milky strands of wool. The Graces seek her out, while hidden in their midst, Cupid steals upon Eon, breaks the yarn she has spun, and the moment she stoops to collect the fallen spindle, pierces her with an arrow. Eon cries out in pain at the unexpected hurt; within an instant, the poison in which the arrowhead is steeped reaches the maid’s heart, there to light an unknown ardour that both sears and delights. But who will be the object of such tender solicitude ? As Linus appears, Cupid points the youth out to Eon, at whose sight the maid feels both pleasure and torment, a presentiment of happiness, and a desire to please. But the cruel youth, enchanted by the harmony created by the cither at his touch, pays no attention to the maid’s doings, intent as he is, on bringing forth new tones from the strings. Eon breaks out weeping; Cupid surrounds her with the Graces, who gather up her tears in a veil, and cast them on Linus’ heart. What power in the tears of beauty ! The youth puts away the cither, his heart beats faster, he sighs, and throws himself at the feet of the delicate maid, asking that she take pity on his sufferings. Proud of his trick, Cupid shews Prometheus the enamoured pair.

The wise Titan, well aware of the woe that follows in the train of passion, flies into a fury, and, alongside Faith, Modesty, Prudence and the other divine companions, orders Cupid to quit the sacred precinct.

Cupid makes sport of Prometheus’ words, and makes as though to wound him. Upon which Prometheus wrests away Cupid’s arrows, seizes him by the wings, and would maltreat him but Linus and Eon go on bended knee and plead for the boy, while declaring their mutual flame. Hymen appears amongst the Virtues; Cupid hides beneath the mantle of Concord, and Prometheus, seeing that matrimony will form the most solid base of society, unites the two in the sacred bond. The Graces, the Muses, Mortals, the Virtues, the Genii and the God of valour and courage, celebrate the union with gay dances.

Suddenly, hideous sooty creatures erupt from beneath the earth, and disrupt the joyful proceedings. The Cyclops, led by Vulcan, are come to fulfil Jove’s decree. They throw themselves upon the wretched Prometheus, bind him about in chains, and drag him to the Caucasus. Dismayed at the awful sight, the Mortals beg Mars to lead them to destroy the cruel ruffians, and set their benefactor free. But Virtue inveighs against mad choler, and tells the World that mortals may not rise up against the Divine will, nor are there means to placate the Divinity’s rage other than prayer and sacrifice. In sorrowful submission, the mortals set about the sacred rites, and, in company with the chorus of the Virtues and Muses, walk to the foot of the mountain that is fatal witness to Prometheus’ dreadful torments.




End of Act Five

[Katharine Kanter]

BEING THE SIXTH AND FINAL, ACT


Mount Caucasus

Mercury, Vulcan, Cyclops, Prometheus, mortals amongst whom appear Eon and Linus, the Virtues, the Muses, then Hercules, and finally Minerva, Hygia, Jove, Juno, the other major Gods, and Immortality.

At Mercury’s command, the Cyclops, led by Vulcan, throw the wretched Prometheus upon the slopes of Caucasus, bind him to the rocks, close him hand-and-foot in chains, and cleave his bosom with a great adamantine nail. Thunderclaps herald the eagle, minister to Jove’s fury, who circles slowly downwards to tear at the Titan’s bosom with his great beak, and devour the Titan’s liver as it grows.

To one side, with the Virtues, the Muses and the Genii in their wake, there files by the train of downcast mortals, who offer sacrifice to Almighty Jove; to the other, appears Hercules, returning triumphant from his celebrated labours. The sorrow expressed by so many halts the Hero in his progress, as the Virtues, the Genii and the Muses crowd about him. Having once learnt of the reason for their grief, he burns to right the wrong, and resolves to free the oppressed Titan, though he counsels the mortals to carry on with their supplications, and to propitiate Jove with libations and sacrifice.

In the twinkling of an eye, Hercules springs to the mountain peak, slays the voracious bird of prey, and breaks the illustrious victim’s chains. The grateful mortals clamber up the slopes to throng about Prometheus and Hercules, rejoicing with the one, and proffering their thanks to the other. The Virtues, the Muses, the Genii all take part in the moving event. All life though, seems to have left Prometheus; his bosom lacerated, he lies spent by the ferocity of the struggle. Full of pity, the mortals bear him down the slope to the plain; each tries to tend to him and restore him to his spirits. Death seems certain, and his wandering gaze seeks one last ray of light ...

But Minerva will not abandon him. She descends on a cloud with beneficent Hygia, Goddess of Health, and announces that Jove, for love of his glorious son Hercules, has pardoned the celestial thief Prometheus. With flowering rush and ambrosia, she swiftly brings Prometheus to himself. Hercules leads him to his chariot, the vault of the skies open, and in a flash of brilliant light, Olympus is seen. The son of Iapetos raises his palms heavenwards and gives thanks to the God of Thunder. Alighting from her starry abode, Immortality crowns Prometheus with ever-fresh amaranth, the Numi applaud the reward showered upon the best of the Titans while the mortals express their heart’s boundless joy at Jove’s mercy, and at the reward so richly merited by their benefactor.


END OF ACT SIX

[Katharine Kanter]

A few pages from Carlo Ritorni’s

“Comments on the life and choreodramatic works of Salvatore Vigano, and on choreography and coryphées (1838)”

Ritorni’s book may be consulted at the Library of the Paris Opera.

On Vigano’s “Prometeo”, the Version presented at La Scala


Published at Milan, 1838

VII.

If, as I have said above, Horace suggests that in choosing the subject of a poem, one take events from the history of one’s fatherland, then let us praise the choice made by Vigano, who, in his ‘Prometheus’, shews us our common fatherland, the earth, the origin of all society.

Here have we the theme of themes, the vastest, the most ancient, and if one may say so, the most elemental. That is how it should be viewed in the light of mythology, the which is, poetically, an image of history; while to contemplate the origin of society from such a perspective is one most suited to the great and solemn genre of choreographic drama.

The use that [Vigano] has made of the fable in his Prometheus is quite unlike that made by Quinault [Philippe Quinault, Paris 1635-1688] in choosing his arguments, that he [Quinault] took from mythological accounts of prodigies, the which, in our own day, will surely be counted neither credible, nor agreeable. But here [in Vigano’s Prometheus] one finds them intrinsic to the subject, itself a fable, and not an intrigue of the fable in history. The fable is both founded upon, and draws its fruit and its delight, from allegory, while allegory in turn, draws it from morality.

I consider myself most fortunate to have seen with mine own eye the Prometheus, of which the populace, and those who are far-off, had conceived a false notion: viz. that it was a spectacle of [stage] machinery and an illustrious new world. To the contrary, whatever was material in this spectacle, was, as one might have expected, but an imperfect imitation, while the moral [aspect of the] spectacle, in other words, a sublime and astonishing expression of poetical ideas and dramatic situations, shone forth as the work’s true worth. Word had gone out that Vigano was preparing a ballet, its argument being the creation of the world, and that it would begin with the great vortex of Chaos, whence there emerged the sun and the terrestrial globe; and so it was that many were disappointed, once the curtain had gone up, to find a stage with so little apparent magnificence. But to the eye of those who would better judge the magnificence of a spectacle, an equivalent delightful counter-position is given by a scene of wild countryside that has never known the plough, strewn with stone cast from the cliffs behind; while, stretched out on the barren earth, one perceives a gaggle of men who resemble nothing so much as wild beasts, having not yet developed in them the light of reason.

Whenever I have had occasion thereafter, to go down to the fields and watch a herd of cattle grazing, as they lie disorderly about, I cannot but think of Vigano’s men, some sitting, some stretched out in various foolish clumsy postures, set the one against another, without recognising each other nor even taking the slightest interest in one’s fellow man, or for that matter, oneself.

Upstage, in the background, on the mountain flank (and how cunning a contrast, in a poetic framework !) one espied the chorus of the Virtues, the Arts, the Muses, a sage academy, grouped round Prometheus. The latter looks down with compassion upon the mortals, points the Arts out to them, and intends to make them capable of reason, and to become like himself, a demi-God. In the meantime, the men get up and move away, wandering hither and thither without any especial direction in mind, scarcely swerving if they come up against him, and retaining, in all their gestures, the character and disposition they had shewn whilst they were still. The Titan steps towards them, and explains to the one or the other some very simple thing through gestures, but the effect is no greater, than had he questioned a beast.

Prometheus calls upon the Gods for assistance, at whose majestic appearance the brutes flee in a savage access of fear, and cower in their caves. Two of their number, who, once they have acquired reason, will become the main [characters ?] by name of Eone and Lino, do not flee quite so far, and hide amongst the rocks, the latter being not quite agile enough, so that Prometheus seizes him up, and then finds the whereabouts of Eone. To quell their fears, he strokes them.

Then amongst the arts, he calls upon the most essential and the first, viz., Architecture and Agriculture. He points out the tools in the latter’s hands, shews the poor brutes what those things be, and to what use they may be put, and brings them an apple, as proof of the results of cultivating the earth. Although the pair fail to grasp his explanation, they do see the effect; thus the apple given to Eone, and that he fondly admired, was stolen by the stronger Lino, while the former strives to get it back. Others are drawn to the fight, and fling themselves into the fray, flailing about they know not why. The apple rides from hand to hand, as the stronger wrest it from the weakers’ grasp.

The spectator was at leisure to admire, as though in a painter’s studio, a thousand varied gestures practised by those savage athletes, a fore-shortening, a criss-crossing of many layers, and a counter-posing of figures, such as one may see in the very finest paintings: the scene changed with each beat [of the score], taking upon fresh configurations within a new framework.

But what made the work’s value, was that character not of men who had become ferocious on account of blind rage, or of savages, but of true beasts void of all reason, fighting with horrid savagery, using their hands instead of claws, biting others to the blood, knowing neither the how or the why, here dragging one along by his ragged hair, there trampling upon those who had fallen, whilst the women, being frail, were the most hard done by.

In the end, though, as their very fury expired and weakened, and as the protagonists yielded or dispersed, as the few who were strong triumphed over the many who were weak, one who was taller than the others stepped in to dissolve the fray, followed by another near as tall as a giant, and who, having uprooted a plant, passed over the heads of the fierce with that plant, and cleaned the field over which were strewn pitiful corpses. The apple, having come to rest in the hand of a woman, who leapt about with it in a savage paroxysm of joy, was seized by him, and carried off aloft.

I have told of this battle in far more detail than would otherwise have suited, albeit with far less expression [than it had in reality], because I have had to make do with quantity, in the stead of quality. This was the swiftest of scenes, flitting by in the space of a mere four bars, but the impression upon the spectator was very great, like that of the most exquisite inventions of Vigano, and amongst the most sublime representations that one could hope to see upon a stage.

Faced with so atrocious a sight, and one that Prometheus had attempted to oppose, the Gods flee in horror, and return to the mountain peak (where from the outset, Vigano had had them tarry….). The Titan, sorely moved by the bloodshed, perceiving that his humane intention had been in vain, calls upon the celestial might, and invokes Athena, who without more ado descends in her chariot from the skies, and hovers suspended for a moment. She alights upon the earth to put out her hand to Prometheus, who sets one foot alone upon the chariot, the other leg and arm being picturesquely extended into the air. Whilst he seems to rest but very lightly upon those two points, the stage machinery, invisibly, raises him securely up, and in the twinkling of an eye, has him to fly diagonally upwards the full width of the vast stage, to the public’s great astonishment and delight […]…


Ritorni continues:

Each Act of this dance has beauties peculiar to it, all of the most sublime poetic type, and of philosophical relevance, but this duet is where Vigano has shewn himself to be a poet supreme in invention; rather than verse, his pantomime was more poetical than any one before, and spoke to the sound of music that too was very like to speech (altrettanto vocale)

VIII

To be sure, this choreodrama has lost nothing by being expressed in pantomime, rather than in verse. The spectacle proper to it, the vastness, the distance between the public and the actors, and the action that most often, is carried by groups of figures rather than isolated ones: the effect of the whole is such, that not only does the subject prove to be well-suited to a mute language, but indeed, requires it.

In all events, half the fable would preclude all use of speech, since, until such time as man acquire reason, he has no need of speech; and those who intended to make a play out of Vigano’s programme, acted absurdly, for to do so, one would need players [dancers] who, up to halfway through it, were able to represent the thing through pantomime, a twofold skill that that no-one has yet mastered. Which is why it was indeed better to make of the entire drama a dumb show, since for the most part it had to be so, at each dénouement.

Prometheus confers with the allegorical deities in dumb show, and the same is true of all that is seen in the Second Act, and of the deeds of the Daemons and the Cyclops. Hercules’ triumphal march is a dumb show, and so is the deep sorrow felt by those who come to observe Prometheus’ torments. Finally, in respect of man himself, once he have acquired reason, one would be at pains to convince the public, should man, all of a sudden, master speech ! Whereas, to shew the public how man, through practice, did learn little by little to give a name to each thing, would be far more tiresome, than if it be shewn in pantomime.

[Katharine Kanter]

Carlo Ritorni's work on Vigano was intended, it seems, as a defence and illustration of Vigano's concept of the ballet as a dramatic art form in the direct line of Noverre. He spars with his contemporaries who contended that the the classical dance would never be more than a 'divertissement'.


Here is a particularly interesting quote from Ritorni (page 38)


“There are certain theatrical themes, precisely those that deal with the greatest subjects, where not a family, but an entire nation, do appear, the which cannot be enclosed within the usual limits of the drama.

“That intention is better rendered by action without speech (mut’azione), because so many interlocutors cannot all speak at once, for if they all did speak, it would be confusion such that no man could make himself understood, while to let but a few to speak, would be mean-spirited. As for the chorus that speaks, and may the Greeks forgive me, neither does this truly meet with the approval of reason, for never would so many express the self-same notions, in the self-same words.”

[haydn]

Je n'ai pas eu le temps encore de m'occuper de traduire l'argument des Créatures de Prométhée.

Pour ceux qui voudraient en savoir un peu plus au sujet de ce ballet de Beethoven, sur un argument de Salvatore Vigano, ils peuvent cliquer ICI


Ce lien les conduira vers la page ad hoc du site http://www.lvbeethoven.com (en français).

[haydn]

Le danseur et chorégraphe Salvatore Vigano, auteur de l'argument des Créatures de Prométhée.


Source : http://www.lospecchiodellemuse.com

[Katharine Kanter]

M. Cyprien Katsaris, pianiste français comme son nom ne l'indique pas, a enregistré la version 1801 du Prométhée de Beethoven, transcription pour piano faite par le compositeur lui-même

Cette transcription ne semble être consultable par contre, que à la Beethoven Haus à Bonn.

L'enregistrement est en vente au FNAC.

[haydn]

Il existe aussi plusieurs enregistrements complets de la version pour orchestre des Créatures de Prométhée, les trois qui figurent ci-dessous sont couramment disponibles dans le commerce :