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The Prophetess, or
the History of Dioclesian, enjoyed
a huge and resounding success on ots
first season, which took place in 1690
at the Dorset Garden Theatre in
Salisbury Court, London. Revived time
and time again over the years, it was
last heard of at Covent Garden in 1784
until modern performances belatedly
helped to re-establish Purcell's
reputation as a composer of dramatic
music. Founded on one of the old heroic
plays of Fletcher and Massinger, Dioclesian
(as the musical version is known)
represented the kind of artistic
collaboration that was common in the
Restoration theatre, ever partial to the
possibilities of a fantastic marriage of
drama, music, and scenic effect helped
out by machinery, dances, animals, and
sometimes even birds. The "alerations
and additions, after the manner of an
opera" were the work of Thomas
Betterton, an actor and writer whom
Charles II had sent to Paris in order to
study the techniques of opera
production. Betetrton was evidently
impressed by what he saw of French
display and opulence, for he grew to
favor an English adaptation of the
French opéra-ballet perfected by
Lully; and a contemporary account of his
production tells us that it was "set out
with costly scenes, machines, and
clothes, the vocal and instrumental
music done by Mr. Purcell, and dances by
Mr. Priest: it gratified the expectation
of court and city, and got the author
great reputation."
The ballet-master was none other than
Josiah Priest for whom Purcell had
written Dido and Aeneas the year
before. While little is known of his
choreography apart from the names of the
dances, it offered and audience eager
for spectacular effects a shapely sister
art to that of the scenic designers. And
since the high point of the last act is
a masque, whose form and content derived
from traditions tightly entwined with
the dance, it is only reasonable to
expect the passepieds, minuets,
galliards, and canaries serving as
mobile interludes between set songs and
choruses. Both Betterton and Purcell
however realized that the substance of
the evening's entertainment lay in the
text and the music, and to this end
Betterton trimmed the original play here
and there (but without changing the
plot) and added verses for the songs,
choruses, and final masque. Taking over
at this point not only Betterton's
reach-me-down verses, but in addition
the entire paraphernalia of preludes,
ritornels, dances, and symphonies,
Purcell set to work in the hope of
making musical sense of an uncommonly
variegated collection of artistic
ingredients. That he did so with
enthusiastic humility is testimony
enough to his integrity as a dramatic
composer, which shines through every
èhrase of the central portion of his
letter to Charles, Duke of Somerset:
"Musick and Poetry have ever been
acknowledg'd Sisters, which walking hand
in hand, support each other; As Poetry
is the harmony of Words, so Musick is
that of Notes: and as Poetry is a Rise
above Prose and Oratory, so is Musick
the exaltation of Poetry. Both of them
may excel apart, but sure they are most
excellent when they are joyn'd because
nothing is then wanting to either of
their Perfections: for thus they appear
like Wot and Beauty in the same Person.
Poetry and Painting heve arrived to
their perfection in our own Country:
Musick is yet but in its Nonage, a
forward Child, which gives hope of what
it may be hereafter in England,
when the Masters of it shall find more
Encouragement."
Purcell's encouragement came from the
crowds who flocked to see and hear Dioclesian,
and from the demands of the musical
populace for songs, instrumental music,
and even full scores. There were enough
subscribers to make it worth while for
Purcell to have a full score engraved,
and although its bulk succeded even his
expectations (two printers contributing
towards the work involved), its
publication in 1691 counted as a major
event. At last the connoisseurs were
able to see for themselves how Purcell
had contrived to weld together this
straggling succession of pieces "after
the manner of an opera": by means of a
cunning balance of tonalities, and a
logical centering of them on the key of
C major, he had been able to lend unity
and shape to the most unprepossessing
farrago ever offered to a serious
composer.
The two characters celebrated in title
and sub-title are both Roman, as is the
scene of the original play. Delphia, the
prophetess, is endowed with supernatural
powers which she uses to control the
destinies of four of the principal
actors. Diocles (later called by the
royal form of his name, Dioclesian) has
shown great prowess in hunting and
shooting, but little interest in the
sweeter conquests of the alcove.
Nevertheless, he is engaged to be
married to Drusilla, niece of Delphia.
Since the prophetess is understandably
concerned about a close relative
marrying a common soldier, she
prophesies that Diocles will one day be
proclaimed emperor, when he has slain a
giant boar. This event takes place in a
spendidly heroic scene which is followed
by the customary jubilation and
rejoicing. But Dioclesian, like the
apprentice who has to marry his master's
daughter, now finds himself entangled
with Aurelia, sister of the late
emperor, with the important difference
that Aurelia's attractions are such as
to eclipse almost completely the charms
of Drusilla. The prophetess, angered by
this unseemly jilting of an innocent
niece, now lends a sympathetic ear to a
handsome warrior named Maximinian,
nephew of Dioclesian. Maximinian's mind
is unfortunately racked by love and
jealousy: love for Aurelia, and jealousy
of Dioclesian's new-found power of
office.
This is clearly a cue for the wielding
of magical powers, and so effectively do
Delphia's spells achieve their aim that
the proud emperor is brought to his
knees, aurelia returns to Maximinian,
and Drusilla to Dioclesian. Love has
enjoyed his first triumph! and now it is
the turn of Mars. At the head of a huge
army, Dioclesian (aided, of course, by
the propitiated Delphia) defeats the
Persians in a gigantic battle, at the
end of which he resigns his crown to
Maximinian and vows to spend the rest of
his days in peace and quiet with
Drusilla. Still Maximinian is not
satisfied, and the chip on his shoulder
prompts him to an attempt on
Dioclesian's life, an attempt which is
neatly foiled by the ever-watchful
Delphia.
At this point the masque in honor of
Dioclesian and Drusilla, a final triumph
of Love in a sylvan setting, begins with
a vigorous prelude leading into Cupid's
calling forth the various characters. A
brief solo and duet serve to prepare
everybody for the pièce de
résistance, an elaborately
engineered appearance of four
magnificient palaces and a spacious
garden, solemn music playing all the
time. Songs, dialogues, trios, choruses,
and dances succeed each other in
brilliant and breathtaking succession,
the dithyrambic acclaim of Bacchus
adding a more earthy touch to the
idealized sentiments expressed by the
rustics. And to end all, the finale, as
well as being sung and played, is danced
by everyone on the stage and in the four
palaces, to "the glory of almighty
Love."
Notes by (BG-682 or
BGS-70682) Denis Stevens,
Professor of Music, Columbia
University
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