Act I
Although "Madama Butterfly" is in two acts, the division of the second act into two parts by the fall of the curtain, there also being an instrumental introduction to part second, practically gives the opera three acts.
Act I. There is a prelude, based on a Japanese theme. This theme runs through the greater part of the act. It is employed as a background and as a connecting link, with the result that it imparts much exotic tone colour to the scenes. The prelude passes over into the first act without a break.
Lieutenant B.F. Pinkerton, U.S.N., is on the point of contracting a "Japanese marriage" with Cio-Cio-San, whom her friends call Butterfly. At the rise of the curtain Pinkerton is looking over a little house on a hill facing the harbour. This house he has leased and is about to occupy with his Japanese wife. Goro, the nakodo or marriage broker, who has arranged the match, also has found the house for him and is showing him over it, enjoying the American's surprise at the clever contrivances found in Japanese house construction. Three Japanese servants are in the house, one of whom is Suzuki, Butterfly's faithful maid.
Sharpless, the American Consul at Nagasaki, arrives. In the chat which follows between the two men it becomes apparent that Sharpless looks upon the step Pinkerton is about to take with disfavour. He argues that what may be a mere matter of pastime to the American Naval lieutenant, may have been taken seriously by the Japanese girl and, if so, may prove a matter of life or death with her. Pinkerton on the other hand laughs off his friend's fears and, having poured out drinks for both, recklessly pledges his real American wife of the future. Further discussion is interrupted by the arrival of the bride with her relatives and friends.
After greetings have been exchanged, the Consul on conversing with Butterfly becomes thoroughly convinced that he was correct in cautioning Pinkerton. For he discovers that she is not contemplating the usual Japanese marriage of arrangement, but, actually being in love with Pinkerton, is taking it with complete seriousness. She has even gone to the extent, as she confides to Pinkerton, of secretly renouncing her religious faith, the faith of her forefathers, and embracing his, before entering on her new life with him. This step, when discovered by her relatives, means that she has cut herself loose from all her old associations and belongings, and entrusts herself and her future entirely to her husband.
Minor officials whose duty it is to see that the marriage contract, even though it be a "Japanese marriage," is signed with proper ceremony, arrive. In the midst of drinking and merry-making on the part of all who have come to the wedding, they are startled by fierce imprecations from a distance and gradually drawing nearer. A weird figure, shouting and cursing wildly, appears upon the scene. It is Butterfly's uncle, the Bonze (Japanese priest). He has discovered her renunciation of faith, now calls down curses upon her head for it, and insists that all her relatives, even her immediate family, renounce her. Pinkerton enraged at the disturbance turns them out of the house. The air shakes with their imprecations as they depart. Butterfly is weeping bitterly, but Pinkerton soon is enabled to comfort her. The act closes with a passionate love scene.
The Japanese theme, which I have spoken of as forming the introduction to the act, besides, the background to the greater part of it, in fact up to the scene with the Bonze, never becomes monotonous because it is interrupted by several other musical episodes. Such are the short theme to which Pinkerton sings "Tutto è pronto" (All is ready), and the skippy little theme when Goro tells Pinkerton about those who will be present at the ceremony. When Pinkerton sings, "The whole world over, on business or pleasure the Yankee travels," a motif based on the "Star-Spangled Banner," is heard for the first time.
In the duet between Pinkerton and Sharpless, which Pinkerton begins with the words, "Amore o grillo" (Love or fancy), Sharpless's serious argument and its suggestion of the possibility of Butterfly's genuine love for Pinkerton are well brought out in the music. When Butterfly and her party arrive, her voice soars above those of the others to the strains of the same theme which occurs as a climax to the love duet at the end of the act and which, in the course of the opera, is heard on other occasions so intimately associated with herself and her emotions that it may be regarded as a motif, expressing the love she has conceived for Pinkerton.
Full of feeling is the music of her confession to Pinkerton that she has renounced the faith of her forefathers, in order to be a fit wife for the man she loves:--"Ieri son salita" (Hear what I would tell you). An episode, brief but of great charm, is the chorus "Kami! O Kami! Let's drink to the newly married couple." Then comes the interruption of the cheerful scene by the appearance of the Bonze, which forms a dramatic contrast.
It is customary with Puccini to create "atmosphere" of time and place through the medium of the early scenes of his operas. It is only necessary to recall the opening episodes in the first acts of "La Bohème" and "Tosca." He has done the same thing in "Madam Butterfly," by the employment of the Japanese theme already referred to, and by the crowded episodes attending the arrival of Butterfly and the performance of the ceremony. These episodes are full of action and colour, and distinctly Japanese in the impression they make. Moreover, they afford the only opportunity throughout the entire opera to employ the chorus upon the open stage. It is heard again in the second act, but only behind the scenes and humming in order to give the effect of distance.
The love scene between Pinkerton and Butterfly is extended. From its beginning, "Viene la sera" (Evening is falling),
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to the end, its interest never flags. It is full of beautiful melody charged with sentiment and passion, yet varied with lighter passages, like Butterfly's "I am like the moon's little goddess"; "I used to think if anyone should want me"; and the exquisite, "Vogliatemi bene" (Ah, love me a little). There is a beautiful melody for Pinkerton, "Love, what fear holds you trembling." The climax of the love duet is reached in two impassioned phrases:--"Dolce notte! Quante stelle" (Night of rapture, stars unnumbered),
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and "Oh! Quanti occhi fisi, attenti" (Oh, kindly heavens).
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Act II. Part I. Three years have elapsed. It is a long time since Pinkerton has left Butterfly with the promise to return to her "when the robins nest." When the curtain rises, after an introduction, in which another Japanese theme is employed, Suzuki, although convinced that Pinkerton has deserted her mistress, is praying for his return. Butterfly is full of faith and trust. In chiding her devoted maid for doubting that Pinkerton will return, she draws in language and song a vivid picture of his home-coming and of their mutual joy therein:--"Un bel dì vedremo" (Some day he'll come).
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In point of fact, Pinkerton really is returning to Nagasaki, but with no idea of resuming relations with his Japanese wife. Indeed, before leaving America he has written to Sharpless asking him to let Butterfly know that he is married to an American wife, who will join him in Nagasaki. Sharpless calls upon Butterfly, and attempts to deliver his message, but is unable to do so because of the emotions aroused in Butterfly by the very sight of a letter from Pinkerton. It throws her into a transport of joy because, unable immediately to grasp its contents, she believes that in writing he has remembered her, and must be returning to her. Sharpless endeavours to make the true situation clear to her, but is interrupted by a visit from Yamadori, a wealthy Japanese suitor, whom Goro urges Butterfly to marry. For the money left by Pinkerton with his little Japanese wife has dwindled almost to nothing, and poverty stares her in the face. But she will not hear of an alliance with Yamadori. She protests that she is already married to Pinkerton, and will await his return.
When Yamadori has gone, Sharpless makes one more effort to open her eyes to the truth. They have a duet, "Ora a noi" (Now at last), in which he again produces the letter, and attempts to persuade her that Pinkerton has been faithless to her and has forgotten her. Her only reply is to fetch in her baby boy, born since Pinkerton's departure. Her argument is, that when the boy's father hears what a fine son is waiting for him in Japan, he will hasten back. She sings to Trouble, as the little boy is called:--"Sai cos'ebbe cuore" (Do you hear, my sweet one, what that bad man is saying). Sharpless makes a final effort to disillusion her, but in vain. If Pinkerton does not come back, there are two things, she says, she can do--return to her old life and sing for people, or die. She sings a touching little lullaby to her baby boy, Suzuki twice interrupting her with the pathetically voiced exclamation, "Poor Madam Butterfly!"
A salute of cannon from the harbour announces the arrival of a man-of-war. Looking through the telescope, Butterfly and Suzuki discover that it is Pinkerton's ship, the "Abraham Lincoln." Now Butterfly is convinced that Sharpless is wrong. Her faith is about to be rewarded. The man she loves is returning to her. The home must be decorated and made cheerful and attractive to greet him. She and Suzuki distribute cherry blossoms wherever their effect will be most charming. The music accompanying this is the enchanting duet of the flowers, "Scuoti quella fronda di ciliegio" (Shake that cherry tree till every flower). Most effective is the phrase, "Gettiamo a mani piene mammole e tuberose" (In handfuls let us scatter violets and white roses.)
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Butterfly adorns herself and the baby boy. Then with her fingers she pierces three holes in the paper wall of the dwelling. She, Suzuki, and the baby peer through these, watching for Pinkerton's arrival. Night falls. Suzuki and the boy drop off to sleep. Butterfly rigid, motionless, waits and watches, her faith still unshaken, for the return of the man who has forsaken her. The pathos of the scene is profound; the music, with the hum of voices, borne upon the night from the distant harbour, exquisite.
Act II. Part II. When the curtain rises, night has passed, dawn is breaking. Suzuki and the baby are fast asleep, but Butterfly still is watching. Again Puccini employs a Japanese melody (the "vigil" theme).
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When Suzuki awakes, she persuades the poor little "wife" to go upstairs to rest, which Butterfly does only upon Suzuki's promise to awaken her as soon as Pinkerton arrives. Pinkerton and Sharpless appear. Suzuki at first is full of joyful surprise, which, however, soon gives way to consternation, when she learns the truth. Pinkerton himself, seeing about him the proofs of Butterfly's complete loyalty to him, realizes the heartlessness of his own conduct. There is a dramatic trio for Pinkerton, Sharpless, and Suzuki. Pinkerton, who cannot bear to face the situation, rushes away, leaving it to Sharpless to settle matters as best he can.
Butterfly has become aware that people are below. Suzuki tries to prevent her coming down, but she appears radiantly happy, for she expects to find her husband. The pathos of the scene in which she learns the truth is difficult to describe. But she does not burst into lamentations. With a gentleness which has been characteristic of her throughout, she bears the blow. She even expresses the wish to Kate, Pinkerton's real wife, that she may experience all happiness, and sends word to Pinkerton that, if he will come for his son in half an hour, he can have him.
Sharpless and Mrs. Pinkerton withdraw. In a scene of tragic power, Butterfly mortally wounds herself with her father's sword, the blade of which bears the inscription, "To die with honour when one can no longer live with honour," drags herself across the floor to where the boy is playing with his toys and waving a little American flag, and expires just as Pinkerton enters to take away the son whom thus she gives up to him.
From examples that already have been given of modern Italian opera, it is clear that "atmosphere," local colour, and character delineation are typical features of the art of Italy's lyric stage as it flourishes today. In "Madama Butterfly" we have exotic tone colour to a degree that has been approached but not equalled by Verdi in "Aïda." Certain brief scenes in Verdi's opera are Egyptian in tone colour. In "Madama Butterfly" Japanese themes are used in extenso, and although the thrilling climaxes in the work are distinctively Italian, the Japanese under-current, dramatic and musical, always is felt. In that respect compare "Madama Butterfly" with a typical old Italian opera like "Lucia di Lammermoor" the scene of which is laid in Scotland, but in which there is nothing Scotch save the costumes--no "atmosphere," no local colour. These things are taken seriously by modern Italian composers, who do not ignore melody, yet also appreciate the value of an eloquent instrumental support to the voice score; whereas the older Italian opera composers were content to distribute melody with a lavish hand and took little else into account.
In character delineation in the opera Butterfly dominates. She is a sweet, trusting, pathetic little creature--traits expressed in the music as clearly as in the drama. The sturdy devotion of Suzuki is, if possible, brought out in an even stronger light in the opera than in the drama, and Sharpless is admirably drawn. Pinkerton, of course, cannot be made sympathetic. All that can be expected of him is that he be a tenor, and sing the beautiful music allotted to him in the first act with tender and passionate expression.
The use of the "Star-Spangled Banner" motif as a personal theme for Pinkerton, always has had a disagreeable effect upon me, and from now on should be objected to by all Americans. Some one in authority, a manager like Gatti-Casazza, or Ricordi & Co.'s American representatives, should call Puccini's attention to the fact that his employment of the National Anthem of the United States of America in "Madama Butterfly" is highly objectionable and might, in time, become offensive; although no offence was meant by him.
I "did" the first night of David Belasco's play "Madam Butterfly" for the New York Herald. The production occurred at the Herald Square Theatre, Broadway and Thirty-fifth Street, New York, March 5, 1900, with Blanche Bates as Butterfly. It was given with "Naughty Anthony," a farce-comedy also by Belasco, which had been a failure. The tragedy had been constructed with great rapidity from John Luther Long's story, but its success was even swifter. At the Duke of York's Theatre, London, it was seen by Francis Nielsen, stage manager of Covent Garden, who immediately sent word to Puccini urging him to come from Milan to London to see a play which, in his hands, might well become a successful opera. Puccini came at once, with the result that he created a work which has done its full share toward making the modern Italian lyric stage as flourishing as all unprejudiced critics concede it to be.
The Milan production of "Madama Butterfly" was an utter failure. The audience hooted, the prima donna was in tears. The only person behind the scenes not disconcerted was the composer, whose faith in his work was so soon to be justified.
LA FANCIULLA DEL WEST
(THE GIRL OF THE GOLDEN WEST)
Opera in three acts by Puccini; words by C. Zangarini and G. Civini, after the play by David Belasco. Produced, Metropolitan Opera House, New York, December 10, 1910, with Destinn, Mattfeld, Caruso, Amato, Reiss, Didur, Dinh-Gilly, Pini-Corsi, and De Segurola.
CHARACTERS
MINNIE Soprano JACK RANCE, sheriff Baritone DICK JOHNSON (Ramerrez) Tenor NICK, bartender at the "Polka" Tenor ASHBY, Wells-Fargo agent Bass SONORA } Baritone TRIM } Tenor SID } Baritone HANDSOME } Miners Baritone HARRY } Tenor JOE } Tenor HAPPY } Baritone LARKENS } Bass BILLY JACKRABBIT, an Indian redskin Bass WOWKLE, Billy's squaw Mezzo-Soprano JAKE WALLACE, a travelling camp minstrel Baritone JOSÉ CASTRO, a greaser from Ramerrez's gang Bass A POSTILLION Tenor MEN OF THE CAMP
Time--1849-1850, the days of the gold fever.
Place--A mining-camp at the foot of the Cloudy Mountains, California.
Successful in producing "atmosphere" in "La Bohème," "Tosca," and "Madama Butterfly," Puccini has utterly failed in his effort to do so in his "Girl of the Golden West." Based upon an American play, the scene laid in America and given in America for the first time on any stage, the opera has not been, the more's the pity, a success.
In the first act, laid in the "Polka" bar-room, after a scene of considerable length for the miners (intended, no doubt, to create "atmosphere") there is an episode between Rance and Minnie, in which it develops that Rance wants to marry her, but that she does not care for him. Johnson comes in. He and Minnie have met but once before, but have been strongly attracted to each other. She asks him to visit her in her cabin, where they will be undisturbed by the crowd, which has gone off to hunt for Ramerrez, head of a band of outlaws, reported to be in the vicinity but which soon may be back.
The scene of the second act is Minnie's cabin, which consists of a room and loft. After a brief scene for Billy and Wowkle, Minnie comes in. Through night and a blizzard Johnson makes his way up the mountainside. There is a love scene--then noises outside. People are approaching. Not wishing to be found with Johnson, Minnie forces him to hide. Rance and others, who are on the trail of Ramerrez and hope to catch or kill him any moment, come in to warn her that Johnson is Ramerrez. When they have gone, and Johnson acknowledges that he is the outlaw, Minnie denounces him and sends him out into the blizzard. There is a shot. Johnson, sorely wounded, staggers into the cabin. A knock at the door. Rance's voice. With Minnie's aid the wounded man reaches the loft where he collapses.
Rance enters, expecting to find Johnson. He is almost persuaded by Minnie that the fugitive is not there, when, through the loose timbers of the loft, a drop of blood falls on his hand. Minnie proposes that they play cards--Johnson to live, or she to marry the sheriff. They play. She cheats, and wins.
The third act is laid in the forest. Johnson, who has recovered and left Minnie's cabin, is caught, and is to be hung. But at the critical moment Minnie arrives, and her pleading moves the men to spare him, in spite of Rance's protests. They leave to begin a new life elsewhere.
In the score there is much recitative. It is not interesting in itself, nor is it made so by the insufficiently varied instrumental accompaniment. For the action of the play is too vigorous to find expression by means of the Debussyan manner that predominates in the orchestra. The most genuinely inspired musical number is Johnson's solo in the last act, when it seems certain that he is about to be executed.--"Ch'ella mi creda libero e lontano" (Let her believe that I have gained my freedom).
LA RONDINE
THE SWALLOW
The opera begins in Paris during the Second Empire. Magda, the heroine, is a demi-mondaine living under the protection of the rich banker Rambaldo. Satisfied with the luxuries he lavishes upon her, she longs for true affection, and is unable to stifle the remembrance of her first love, a poor young student. She meets Ruggero, who like her earlier love, is young and poor, and a student. At Bouilliers, the rendezvous of the gay life of Paris, Ruggero declares his love for Magda. They leave Paris for Nice, where they hope to lead an idyllic existence.
Ruggero looks forward to a life of perfect happiness. He writes to his parents asking their consent to his marriage with Magda. The reply is that if she is virtuous and honourable, she will be received with open arms. Magda now considers herself (like Violetta in "La Traviata") unworthy of Ruggero's love and lest she shall bring dishonour upon the man she loves, she parts with him. Other principal rôles are Lisetta and Prunia, and there are numerous second parts requiring first-rate artists.
In the second act of "La Rondine" is a quartet which, it is said, Puccini believes will rival that at the end of the third act in "La Bohème." "I have let my pen run," he is reported to have said, "and no other method suffices to obtain good results, in my opinion. No matter what marvellous technical effects may be worked up by lengthy meditation, I believe in heart in preference to head."
The opera was produced in March, 1917, in Monte Carlo, and during the summer of the same year, in Buenos Aires. Puccini intended to compose it with dialogue as a genuine opéra comique, but finally substituted recitative. The work is said to approach opéra comique in style. Reports regarding its success vary.
After the first Italian performance, San Carlo Theatre, Naples, February 26, 1918, Puccini, according to report, decided to revise "La Rondine." Revision, as in the case of "Madama Butterfly," may make a great success of it.
ONE-ACT OPERAS
Three one-act operas by Puccini have been composed for performance at one sitting. They are "Suor Angelica" (Sister Angelica), "Il Tabarro" (The Cloak), and "Gianni Schicchi." The motifs of these operas are sentiment, tragedy, and humour.
The scene of "Suor Angelica" is laid within the walls of a mountain convent, whither she has retired to expiate an unfortunate past. Her first contact with the outer world is through a visit from an aunt, who needs her signature to a document. Timidly she asks about the tiny mite, whom she was constrained to abandon before she entered the convent. Harshly the aunt replies that the child is dead. Sister Angelica decides to make an end to her life amid the flowers she loves. Dying, she appeals for pardon for her act of self-destruction. The doors of the convent church open, and a dazzling light pours forth revealing the Virgin Mary on the threshold surrounded by angels, who, intoning a sweet chorus, bear the poor, penitent, and weary soul to eternal peace. This little work is entirely for female voices.
The libretto of "Il Tabarro" is tragic. The great scene is between a husband and his wife. The husband has killed her lover, whose body he shows to his unfaithful wife, lifting from the ground the cloak (il tabarro) under which it is hidden.
The scene of "Il Tabarro" is laid on the deck of a Seine barge at sunset, when the day's work is over, and after dark. The husband is Michele, the wife Giorgetta, the lover, Luigi, and there are two other bargemen. These latter go off after the day's work. Luigi lingers in the cabin. He persuades Giorgetta that, when all is quiet on the barge, and it will be safe for him to return to her, she shall strike a match as a signal. He then goes.
Michele has suspected his wife. He reminds her of their early love, when he sheltered her under his cloak. Giorgetta, however, receives these reminiscences coldly, feigns weariness, and retires to the cabin.
It has grown dark. Michele lights his pipe. Luigi, thinking it is Giorgetta's signal, clambers up the side of the barge, where he is seized and choked to death by Michele, who takes his cloak and covers the corpse with it.
Giorgetta has heard sounds of a struggle. She comes on deck in alarm, but is somewhat reassured, when she sees Michele sitting alone and quietly smoking. Still somewhat nervous, however, she endeavours to atone for her frigidity toward him, but a short time before, by "making up" to him, telling him, among other things, that she well recalls their early love and wishes she could again find shelter in the folds of his big cloak. For reply, he raises the cloak, and lets her see Luigi's corpse.
I have read another synopsis of this plot, in which Michele forces his wife's face close to that of her dead lover. At the same moment, one of the other bargemen, whose wife also had betrayed him, returns brandishing the bloody knife, with which he has slain her. The simpler version surely is more dramatic than the one of cumulative horrors.
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When the action of "Gianni Schicchi" opens one Donati has been dead for two hours. His relations are thinking of the will. A young man of the house hands it to his mother [Transcriber's Note: should be 'aunt'] but exacts the promise that he shall marry the daughter of neighbour Schicchi. When the will is read, it is found that Donati has left his all to charity. Schicchi is called in, and consulted. He plans a ruse. So far only those in the room know of Donati's demise. The corpse is hidden. Schicchi gets into bed, and, when the Doctor calls, imitates the dead man's voice and pretends he wants to sleep. The lawyer is sent for. Schicchi dictates a new will--in favour of himself, and becomes the heir, in spite of the anger of the others.
Riccardo Zandonai
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI
FRANCESCA OF RIMINI
Opera in four acts, by Riccardo Zandonai; words by Tito Ricordi, after the drama of the same title by Gabriele d'Annunzio. English version from Arthur Symons's translation of the drama. Produced, Reggio Theatre, Turin, February 1, 1914. Covent Garden Theatre, London, July 16, 1914. Metropolitan Opera House, New York, December 22, 1916, with Alda (Francesca), Martinelli (Paolo), and Amato (Giovanni).
CHARACTERS
GIOVANNI, the lame } sons of { Baritone PAOLO, the beautiful } Malatesta da { Tenor MALATESTINO, the one-eyed } Verrucchio { Tenor OSTASIO, son of Guido Minore da Polenta Baritone SER TOLDO BERARDENGO, a notary Tenor A JESTER Bass A BOWMAN Tenor TOWER WARDEN Baritone FRANCESCA, daughter of Guido and sister of Ostasio Soprano SAMARITANA, sister of Francesca and Ostasio Soprano BIANCOFIORE } { Soprano GARSENDA } women of Francesca { Soprano ALTICHIARA } { Mezzo-Soprano DONELLA Mezzo-Soprano SMARADI, a slave Contralto
Bowmen, archers, and musicians.
Time--Thirteenth century.
Place--First act, Ravenna, then Rimini.
A pretentious but not wholly successful score based upon a somewhat diffuse drama--such is the net impression made by Zandonai's opera "Francesca da Rimini." The story of Francesca and Paolo is one of the world's immortal tales of passion, and an opera set to it should be inspired beyond almost any other. But as W.J. Henderson wrote in the New York Sun the day after the production of Zandonai's work in New York, "In all human probability the full measure of 'love insatiable' was never taken in music but once, and we cannot expect a second 'Tristan und Isolde' so soon."
Act I. The scene is a court in the house of the Polentani, in Ravenna, adjacent to a garden, whose bright colours are seen through a pierced marble screen. A colloquy between Francesca's brother Ostasio and the notary Ser Toldo Berardengo informs us that for reasons of state, Francesca is to be married to that one of the three sons of Malatesta da Verrucchio, who although named Giovanni, is known as Gianciotto, the Lamester, because of his deformity and ugliness. As Francesca surely would refuse to marry Gianciotto, a plot has been formed by which she is introduced to his handsome younger brother Paolo, with whom, under the impression that he is her destined bridegroom, she falls deeply in love at first sight, a passion that is fully reciprocated by him, although they have only beheld each other, and not yet exchanged a word.
Such is the procedure of the first act. When Francesca and Paolo behold each other through the marble screen, which divides the court from the garden, in which Paolo stands amid brightly coloured flowers, the orchestra intones a phrase which may properly be called the love motif.
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The act is largely lyric in its musical effect. Much charm is given to it by the quartette of women who attend upon Francesca. Almost at the outset the composer creates what might be called the necessary love mood, by a playful scene between Francesca's women and a strolling jester, who chants for them the story of "Tristan und Isolde." The setting of the scene is most picturesque. In fact everything in this act tends to create "atmosphere," and were the rest of the opera as successful, it would be one of the finest works of its kind to have come out of modern Italy.
Act II. The scene is the interior of a round tower in the fortified castle of the Malatestas. The summit of the tower is crowned with engines of war and arms. There are heavy cross-bows, ballistas, a catapult, and other mediæval machinery of battle. The castle is a stronghold of the Guelfs. In the distance, beyond the city of Rimini, are seen the battlements of the highest Ghibelline Tower. A narrow fortified window looks out on the Adriatic.
Soon after the act opens, an attack takes place. The battle rages. Amid all this distracting, and therefore futile tumult, occurs the first meeting between Francesca and Paolo, since the marriage into which she was tricked. Their love is obvious enough. Paolo despairingly seeks death, to which Francesca also exposes herself by remaining on the platform of the tower during the combat. The relation between these two principal characters of the opera is clearly enough set forth, and the impression made by it would be forcible, were not attention distracted by the fiercely raging mediæval combat.
The Malatestas are victorious. The attacking foes are driven off. Gianciotto comes upon the platform and brings news to Paolo of his election as Captain of the people and Commune of Florence, for which city Paolo departs.
Act III. The scene is the beautiful apartment of Francesca, where, from an old tome, she is reading to her women the story of Lancelot and Guenevere. This episode has somewhat of the same charm as that which pervaded portions of the first act. Especially is this true, when to the accompaniment of archaic instruments, the women sing their measures in praise of spring, "Marzo è giunto, e Febbraio gito se n'è col ghiado" (March comes, and February goes with the wind today).
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The women dance and sing, until on a whispered word from her slave, Francesca dismisses them. Paolo has returned. The greeting from her to him is simple enough: "Benvenuto, signore mio cognato" (Welcome my lord and kinsman), but the music is charged with deeper significance.
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Even more pronounced is the meaning in the musical phrase at Francesca's words, "Paolo, datemi pace" (Paolo, give me peace).
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Together they read the story which Francesca had begun reading to her women. Their heads come close together over the book. Their white faces bend over it until their cheeks almost touch; and when in the ancient love tale, the queen and her lover kiss, Francesca's and Paolo's lips meet and linger in an ecstasy of passion.
Act IV. This act is divided into two parts. The scene of the first part is an octagonal hall of gray stone. A grated door leads to a subterranean prison. Cries of a prisoner from there have disturbed Francesca. When she complains of this to the youngest brother of Gianciotto, Malatestino, he goes down into the prison and kills the captive. The introduction to this act is, appropriately enough, based on an abrupt phrase.
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Malatestino is desperately in love with Francesca, urges his suit upon her, and even hints that he would go to the length of poisoning Gianciotto. Francesca repulses him. Out of revenge he excites the jealousy of Gianciotto by arousing his suspicions of Paolo and Francesca, pointing out especially that Paolo has returned from Florence much sooner than his duties there would justify him in doing.
The scene of part two is laid in Francesca's chamber. It is night. Four waxen torches burn in iron candlesticks. Francesca is lying on the bed. From her sleep she is roused by a wild dream that harm has come to Paolo. Her women try to comfort her. After an exchange of gentle and affectionate phrases, she dismisses them.
A light knocking at the door, and Paolo's voice calling, "Francesca!" She flings open the door and throws herself into the arms of her lover. There is an interchange of impassioned phrases. Then a violent shock is heard at the door, followed by the voice of Gianciotto, demanding admission. Paolo spies a trap door in the floor of the apartment, pulls the bolt, and bids Francesca open the door of the room for her husband, while he escapes.
Gianciotto rushes into the room. Paolo's cloak has caught in the bolt of the trap door. He is still standing head and shoulders above the level of the floor. Seizing him by the hair, the Lamester forces him to come up. Paolo unsheathes his dagger. Gianciotto draws his sword, thrusts at Paolo. Francesca throws herself between the two men, receives the thrust of her husband's sword full in the breast, and falls into Paolo's arms. Mad with rage, her deformed husband with another deadly thrust pierces his brother's side. Paolo and Francesca fall at full length to the floor. With a painful effort, Gianciotto breaks his bloodstained sword over his knee.
Where the drama is lyric in character, and where it concentrates upon the hot-blooded love story, a tradition in the Malatesta family, and narrated by a Malatesta to Dante, who, as is well known, used it in his "Inferno," the music is eloquent. Where, however, the action becomes diffuse, and attention is drawn to subsidiary incidents, as is far too often the case, interest in the music flags. With great benefit to the score at least a third of the libretto could be sacrificed.
* * * * *
Riccardo Zandonai was born at Sacco. He studied with Gianferrai and at the Rossini Conservatory. "Conchita," another opera by him, Milan, 1912, was produced in this country in Chicago and New York in 1913.
Franco Leoni
L'ORACOLO
THE SAGE
Opera in one act by Franco Leoni, words by Camillo Zanoni, adapted from the play, "The Cat and the Cherub," by Chester Bailey Fernald. Produced, Covent Garden Theatre, London, June 28, 1905. Metropolitan Opera House, New York, February 4, 1915, with Scotti, as Chim-Fen; Didur, as Win-She; Botta, as Win-San-Lui; and Bori, as Ah-Joe.
CHARACTERS
WIN-SHE, a wise man, called the Sage Baritone CHIM-FEN, an opium den proprietor Baritone WIN-SAN-LUI, son of Win-She Tenor HU-TSIN, a rich merchant Bass HU-CHI, a child, son of Hu-Tsin AH-JOE, niece of Hu-Tsin Soprano HUA-QUI, nurse of Hu-Chi Contralto
Four opium fiends, a policeman, an opium maniac, a soothsayer, distant voices, four vendors, Chinese men, women, and children.
Time--The present.
Place--Chinatown, San Francisco.
Chim-Fen is about to close up his opium den. A man half crazed by the drug comes up its steps and slinks away.
Out of the house of the merchant Hu-Tsin comes Hua-Qui, the nurse of Hu-Tsin's son, Hu-Chi. Chim-Fen wants to marry the merchant's daughter Ah-Joe. The nurse is in league with him. She brings him a fan, upon which Ah-Joe's lover, San-Lui, son of the sage, Win-She, has written an avowal of love. Hua-Qui is jealous, because Chim-Fen is in love with Ah-Joe. Her jealousy annoys him. He threatens her and drives her away.
Four gamblers, drunk with opium, emerge from the den. Chim-Fen looks after them with contempt. It is now very early in the morning of New Year's Day. Win-She comes along. Chim-Fen greets him obsequiously and is admonished by the sage to mend his vile ways.
San-Lui sings a serenade to Ah-Joe, who comes out on her balcony to hear him. People pass by, street venders cry their wares. Ah-Joe withdraws into the house, San-Lui goes his way. When Hu-Tsin, the rich merchant, comes out, he is accosted by Chim-Fen, who asks for the promise of Ah-Joe's hand. Hu-Tsin spurns the proposal.
A fortune-teller comes upon the scene. Chim-Fen has his fortune told. "A vile past, a future possessed of the devil. Wash you of your slime." When Chim-Fen threatens the fortune-teller, the crowd, which has gathered, hoots him and repeats the words of the fortune-teller amid howls and jeers.
Hu-Tsin, with Ah-Joe, Hua-Qui, and the baby boy come into the street, where Win-She, gathering a group of worshippers about him, bids San-Lui prevent the crowd from creating a disturbance, then, with all the people kneeling, intones a prayer, from which he finally passes into a trance. When he comes out of it, he says that he has seen two souls, one aspiring toward Nirvana, the other engulfed in the inferno. He also has witnessed the grief of a father at the killing of a hope. At this Hu-Tsin shows alarm for the safety of Hu-Chi, and the people join in lamentations, but Win-She prophesies, "Hu-Chi is safe."
Along comes the procession of the dragon. In watching this Hua-Qui neglects her charge. Utilizing this opportunity Chim-Fen seizes the child and carries him off into his cellar. When Hu-Tsin discovers the loss and has berated the nurse, he offers to give the hand of Ah-Joe in marriage to the finder of his son. This is just what Chim-Fen expected. San-Lui, however, immediately takes up the search, in spite of Ah-Joe's protests, for the girl fears that some harm will come to him.
San-Lui starts towards Chim-Fen's den. Hua-Qui tries to warn him, by telling him how the opium dealer deceived her and is seeking the hand of Ah-Joe, in order to obtain Hu-Tsin's money. San-Lui, however, compels Chim-Fen to descend with him to the cellar, where he finds and is about to rescue Hu-Chi, when Chim-Fen kills him with a hatchet. San-Lui staggers up the steps to the street, calls Ah-Joe's name, and falls dead. She wails over his body, a crowd gathers, and Hu-Tsin is horror-stricken to find that the man who has been slain at his door is San-Lui.
Win-She, the father of San-Lui, tells the merchant to wait; the death of San-Lui will be avenged. Immediately Win-She goes over to the opium den, hears the child's cry in the cellar, finds Hu-Chi and restores him to his father. He then goes to the door of the opium den, calls Chim-Fen, who comes out, apparently filled with indignation against the murderer of Win-She's son, whom he says he would like to throttle with his own hands. From the merchant's house there is heard every now and then the voice of Ah-Joe, who has lost her reason through grief, and is calling her lover's name.
The two men seat themselves on a bench near the opium den. Win-She speaks calmly, quietly, and unperceived by Chim-Fen, draws a knife, and plunges it into the villain's back. Chim-Fen not dying at once, Win-She quietly winds the man's own pigtail around his neck and proceeds slowly and gradually to strangle him, meanwhile disclosing his knowledge of the murder, but without raising his voice, propping up Chim-Fen against some cases, and speaking so quietly, that a policeman, who saunters by, thinks two Chinamen are in conversation, and turns the corner without realizing that anything is wrong. Win-She now goes his way. Chim-Fen's body falls to the ground.
It will have been observed that many incidents are crowded into this one act, but that the main features of the drama, the villainy of Chim-Fen, and the calm clairvoyance of Win-She are never lost sight of.
The music consists mainly of descriptive and dramatic phrases, with but little attempt to give the score definite Chinese colouring. Ah-Joe's song on her balcony to the silvery dawn is the most tuneful passage in the opera. Scotti, whose Chim-Fen is a performance of sinister power, Didur (Win-She), and Bori (Ah-Joe) were in the Metropolitan production.
* * * * *
Franco Leoni was born at Milan, October 24, 1864. He studied under Ponchielli at the Conservatory in his native city. Other works by him are "Rip Van Winkle," "Raggio di Luna," and "Ib and Little Christina."
Italo Montemezzi
L'AMORE DEI TRE RE
THE LOVE OF THREE KINGS
Opera in three acts, by Italo Montemezzi; words by Sem Benelli, from his tragedy ("tragic poem") of the same title, English version, by Mrs. R.H. Elkin. Produced, La Scala, Milan, April 10, 1913; Metropolitan Opera House, New York, January 2, 1914, with Didur (Archibaldo), Amato (Manfredo), Ferrari-Fontana (Avito), Bori (Fiora). Covent Garden Theatre, London, May 27, 1914. Théâtre des Champs Elysées, Paris, April 25, 1914. In the Milan production Luisa Villani was Fiora, and Ferrari-Fontana Avito.
CHARACTERS
ARCHIBALDO, King of Altura Bass MANFREDO, son of Archibaldo Baritone AVITO, a former prince of Altura Tenor FLAMINIO, a castle guard Tenor FIORA, wife of Manfredo Soprano
A youth, a boy child (voice behind the scenes), a voice behind the scenes, a handmaiden, a young girl, an old woman, other people of Altura.
Time--The tenth century.
Place--A remote castle of Italy, forty years after a Barbarian invasion, led by Archibaldo.
This opera is justly considered one of the finest products of modern Italian genius. Based upon a powerful tragedy, by Sem Benelli, one of the foremost of living playwrights in Italy, it is a combination of terse, swiftly moving drama with a score which vividly depicts events progressing fatefully toward an inevitable human cataclysm. While there is little or no set melody in Montemezzi's score, nevertheless it is melodious--a succession of musical phrases that clothe the words, the thought behind them, their significance, their most subtle suggestion, in the weft and woof of expressive music. It is a mediæval tapestry, the colours of which have not faded, but still glow with their original depth and opulence. Of the many scores that have come out of Italy since the death of Verdi, "L'Amore dei Tre Re" is one of the most eloquent.
Act I. The scene is a spacious hall open to a terrace. A lantern employed as a signal sheds its reddish light dimly through the gloom before dawn.
From the left enters Archibaldo. He is old with flowing white hair and beard, and he is blind. He is led in by his guide Flaminio, who is in the dress of the castle guard. As if he saw, the old blind king points to the door of a chamber across the hall and bids Flaminio look and tell him if it is quite shut. It is slightly open. Archibaldo in a low voice orders him to shut it, but make no noise, then, hastily changing his mind, to leave it as it is.
In the setting of the scene, in the gloom penetrated only by the glow of the red lantern, in the costumes of the men, in the actions of the old king, who cannot see but whose sense of hearing is weirdly acute, and in the subtle suggestion of suspicion that all is not well, indicated in his restlessness, the very opening of this opera immediately casts a spell of the uncanny over the hearer. This is enhanced by the groping character of the theme which accompanies the entrance of Archibaldo with his guide, depicting the searching footsteps of the blind old man.
[Music]
There is mention of Fiora, the wife of Archibaldo's son, Manfredo, who is in the north, laying siege to an enemy stronghold. There also is mention of Avito, a prince of Altura, to whom Fiora was betrothed before Archibaldo humbled Italy, but whose marriage to Manfredo, notwithstanding her previous betrothal, was one of the conditions of peace. Presumably--as is to be gathered from the brief colloquy--Archibaldo has come into the hall to watch with Flaminio for the possible return of Manfredo, but the restlessness of the old king, his commands regarding the door opposite, and even certain inferences to be drawn from what he says, lead to the conclusion that he suspects his son's wife and Avito. It is also clear--subtly conveyed, without being stated in so many words--that Flaminio, though in the service of Archibaldo, is faithful to Avito, like himself a native of the country, which Archibaldo has conquered.
When Flaminio reminds Archibaldo that Avito was to have wedded Fiora, the blind king bids his guide look out into the valley for any sign of Manfredo's approach. "Nessuno, mio signore! Tutto è pace!" is Flaminio's reply. (No one, my lord! All is quiet!)
[Music]
Archibaldo, recalling his younger years, tells eloquently of his conquest of Italy, apostrophizing the ravishing beauty of the country, when it first met his gaze, before he descended the mountains from which he beheld it. He then bids Flaminio put out the lantern, since Manfredo comes not. Flaminio obeys then, as there is heard in the distance the sound of a rustic flute, he urges upon Archibaldo that they go. It is nearly dawn, the flute appears to have been a signal which Flaminio understands. He is obviously uneasy, as he leads Archibaldo out of the hall.
Avito and Fiora come out of her room. The woman's hair hangs in disorder around her face, her slender figure is draped in a very fine ivory-white garment. The very quiet that prevails fills Avito with apprehension. It is the woman, confident through love, that seeks to reassure him. "Dammi le labbra, e tanta ti darò di questa pace!" (Give me thy lips, and I will give thee of this peace).
[Music]
For the moment Avito is reassured. There is a brief but passionate love scene. Then Avito perceives that the lantern has been extinguished. He is sure someone has been there, and they are spied upon. Once more Fiora tries to give him confidence. Then she herself hears someone approaching. Avito escapes from the terrace into the dim daylight. The door on the left opens and Archibaldo appears alone. He calls "Fiora! Fiora! Fiora!"
Concealing every movement from the old man's ears, she endeavours to glide back to her chamber. But he hears her.
"I hear thee breathing! Thou'rt breathless and excited! O Fiora, say, with whom hast thou been speaking?"
Deliberately she lies to him. She has been speaking to no one. His keen sense tells him that she lies. For when she sought to escape from him, he heard her "gliding thro' the shadows like a snowy wing."
Flaminio comes hurrying in. The gleam of armoured men has been seen in the distance. Manfredo is returning. His trumpet is sounded. Even now he is upon the battlement and embraced by his father. Longing for his wife, Fiora, has led him for a time to forsake the siege. Fiora greets him, but with no more than a semblance of kindness. With cunning, she taunts Archibaldo by telling Manfredo that she had come out upon the terrace at dawn to watch for him, the truth of which assertion Archibaldo can affirm, for he found her there. As they go to their chamber, the old man, troubled, suspecting, fearing, thanks God that he is blind.
Act II. The scene is a circular terrace on the high castle walls. A single staircase leads up to the battlements. It is afternoon. The sky is covered with changing, fleeting clouds. Trumpet blasts are heard from the valley. From the left comes Manfredo with his arms around Fiora. He pleads with her for her love. As a last boon before he departs he asks her that she will mount the stairway and, as he departs down the valley, wave to him with her scarf. Sincerely moved to pity by his plea, a request so simple and yet seemingly meaning so much to him, she promises that this shall be done. He bids her farewell, kisses her, and rushes off to lead his men back to the siege.
Fiora tries to shake off the sensation of her husband's embrace. She ascends to the battlemented wall. A handmaid brings her an inlaid casket, from which she draws forth a long white scarf. The orchestra graphically depicts the departure of Manfredo at the head of his cavalcade.
[Music]
Fiora sees the horsemen disappear in the valley. As she waves the veil, her hand drops wearily each time. Avito comes. He tells her it is to say farewell. At first, still touched by the pity which she has felt for her husband, Fiora restrains her passionate longing for her lover, once or twice waves the scarf, tries to do so again, lets her arms drop, her head droop, then, coming down the steps, falls into his arms open to receive her, and they kiss each other as if dying of love. "Come tremi, diletto" (How thou art trembling, beloved!) whispers Fiora.
[Music]
"Guarda in sù! Siamo in cielo!" (Look up! We are in heaven!) responds Avito.
[Music]
But the avenger is nigh. He is old, he is blind, but he knows. Avito is about to throw himself upon him with his drawn dagger, but is stopped by a gesture from Flaminio, who has followed the king. Avito goes. But Archibaldo has heard his footsteps. The king orders Flaminio to leave him with Fiora. Flaminio bids him listen to the sound of horses' hoofs in the valley. Manfredo is returning. Fiora senses that her husband has suddenly missed the waving of the scarf. Archibaldo orders Flaminio to go meet the prince.
The old king bluntly accuses Fiora of having been with her lover. Cowering on a stone bench that runs around the wall, she denies it. Archibaldo seizes her. Rearing like a serpent, Fiora, losing all fear, in the almost certainty of death at the hands of the powerful old man, who holds her, boldly vaunts her lover to him. Archibaldo demands his name, that he and his son may be avenged upon him. She refuses to divulge it. He seizes her by the throat, again demands the name, and when she again refuses to betray her lover, throttles her to death. Manfredo arrives. Briefly the old man tells him of Fiora's guilt. Yet Manfredo cannot hate her. He is moved to pity by the great love of which her heart was capable, though it was not for him. He goes out slowly, while Archibaldo hoists the slender body of the dead woman across his chest, and follows him.
Act III. The crypt of the castle, where Fiora lies upon her bier with white flowers all about her, and tapers at her head and feet. Around her, people of her country, young and old, make their moan, while from within the chapel voices of a choir are heard.
Out of the darkness comes Avito. The others depart in order that he may be alone with his beloved dead, for he too is of their country, and they know. "Fiora! Fiora!--È silenzio!" (Fiora! Fiora!--Silence surrounds us) are his first words, as he gazes upon her.
[Music: Fiora, Fiora! È silenzio.]
Then, desperately, he throws himself beside her and presses his lips on hers. A sudden chill, as of approaching death, passes through him. He rises, takes a few tottering steps toward the exit.
Like a shadow, Manfredo approaches. He has come to seize his wife's lover, whose name his father could not wring from her, but whom at last they have caught. He recognizes Avito. Then it was he whom she adored.
"What do you want?" asks Avito. "Can you not see that I can scarcely speak?"
Scarcely speak? He might as well be dead. Upon Fiora's lips Archibaldo has spread a virulent poison, knowing well that her lover would come into the crypt to kiss her, and in that very act would drain the poison from her lips and die. Thus would they track him.
With his last breath, Avito tells that she loved him as the life that they took from her, aye, even more. Despite the avowal, Manfredo cannot hate him; but rather is he moved to wonder at the vast love Fiora was capable of bestowing, yet not upon himself.
Avito is dead. Manfredo, too, throws himself upon Fiora's corpse, and from her lips draws in what remains of the poison, quivers, while death slowly creeps through his veins, then enters eternal darkness, as Archibaldo gropes his way into the crypt.
The blind king approaches the bier, feels a body lying by it, believes he has caught Fiora's lover, only to find that the corpse is that of his son.
Such is the love of three kings;--of Archibaldo for his son, of Avito for the woman who loved him, of Manfredo for the woman who loved him not.
Or, if deeper meaning is looked for in Sem Benelli's powerful tragedy, the three kings are in love with Italy, represented by Fiora, who hates and scorns the conqueror of her country, Archibaldo; coldly turns aside from Manfredo, his son and heir apparent with whose hand he sought to bribe her; hotly loves, and dies for a prince of her own people, Avito. Tragic is the outcome of the conqueror's effort to win and rule over an unwilling people. Truly, he is blind.
* * * * *
Italo Montemezzi was born in 1875, in Verona. A choral work by him, "Cantico dei Cantici," was produced at the Milan Conservatory, 1900. Besides "L'Amore dei Tre Re," he has composed the operas "Giovanni Gallurese," Turin, 1905, and "Hélléra," Turin, 1909.
Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari
Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari was born in Venice, January 12, 1876, the son of August Wolf, a German painter, and an Italian mother. At first self-taught in music, he studied later with Rheinberger in Munich. From 1902-09 he was director of the conservatory Licio Benedetto Marcello. He composed, to words by Dante, the oratorio "La Vita Nuova." His operas, "Le Donne Curiose," "Il Segreto di Susanna," and "L'Amore Medico," are works of the utmost delicacy. They had not, however, been able to hold their own on the operatic stage of English-speaking countries. This may explain the composer's plunge into so exaggerated, and "manufactured" a blood and thunder work as "The Jewels of the Madonna." In American opera this has held its own in the repertoire of the Chicago Opera Company. It has at least some substance, some approach to passion, even if this appears worked up when compared with such spontaneous productions as "Cavalleria Rusticana" and "I Pagliacci," which it obviously seeks to outdo in sordidness and brutality.
The failure of Wolf-Ferrari's other operas to hold the stage in English-speaking countries disappointed many, who regarded him as next to Puccini, the most promising contemporary Italian composer of opera. The trouble is that the plots of his librettos are mere sketches, and his scores delicate to the point of tenuity, so that even with good casts, they are futile attempts to re-invoke the Spirit of Mozart behind the mask of a half-suppressed modern orchestra.
I GIOJELLI DELLA MADONNA
(THE JEWELS OF THE MADONNA)
Opera in three acts by Wolf-Ferrari; plot by the composer, versification by C. Zangarini and E. Golisciani. Produced in German (Der Schmuck der Madonna), at the Kurfuersten Oper, Berlin, December 23, 1911. Covent Garden Theatre, London, March 30, 1912. Auditorium Theatre, Chicago, January 16, 1912; Metropolitan Opera House, New York, March 5, 1912, both the Chicago and New York productions by the Chicago Opera Company, conducted by Cleofonte Campanini, with Carolina White, Louis Bérat, Bassi, and Sammares.
CHARACTERS
GENNARO, in love with Maliella Tenor MALIELLA, in love with Rafaele Soprano RAFAELE, leader of the Camorrists Baritone CARMELA, Gennaro's mother Mezzo-Soprano BIASO Tenor CICCILLO Tenor STELLA Soprano CONCETTA Soprano SERENA Soprano ROCCO Bass
Grazia, a dancer; Totonno, vendors, monks, populace.
Time--The present.
Place--Naples.
Act I. A small square in Naples, near the sea. Carmela's house, Gennaro's smithy, an inn, and the little hut of Biaso, the scribe, among many other details. "It is the gorgeous afternoon of the festival of the Madonna, and the square swarms with a noisy crowd, rejoicing and celebrating the event with that strange mixture of carnival and superstition so characteristic of Southern Italy." This describes most aptly the gay, crowded scene, and the character of the music with which the opera opens. It is quite kaleidoscopic in its constant shifting of interest. At last many in the crowd follow a band, which has crossed the square.
Gennaro in his blacksmith's shop is seen giving the finishing touches to a candelabra on which he has been working. He places it on the anvil, as on an altar, kneels before it, and sings a prayer to the Madonna--"Madonna, con sospiri" (Madonna, tears and sighing).
Maliella rushes out of the house pursued by Carmela. She is a restless, wilful girl, possessed of the desire to get away from the restraint of the household and throw herself into the life of the city, however evil--a potential Carmen, from whom opportunity has as yet been withheld. Striking an attitude of bravado, and in spite of Gennaro's protests, she voices her rebellious thoughts in the "Canzone di Cannetella,"--"Diceva Cannetella vedendosi inserata" (Thus sang poor Cannetella, who yearned and sighed for her freedom).
A crowd gathers to hear her. From the direction of the sea comes the chorus of the approaching Camorrists. Maliella and the crowd dance wildly. When Carmela reappears with a pitcher of water on her head, the wayward girl is dashing along the quay screaming and laughing.
Carmela tells her son the brief story of Maliella. Gennaro languished, when an infant. Carmela vowed to the Madonna to seek an infant girl of sin begotten, and adopt her. "In the open street I found her, and you recovered." There is a touching duet for mother and son, in which Carmela bids him go and pray to the Madonna, and Gennaro asks for her blessing, before he leaves to do so. Carmela then goes into the house.
Maliella runs in. The Camorrists, Rafaele in the van, are in pursuit of her. Rafaele, the leader of the band, is a handsome, flashy blackguard. When he advances to seize and kiss her, she draws a dagger-like hat pin. Laughing, he throws off his coat, like a duellist, grasps and holds her tightly. She stabs his hand, making it bleed, then throws away the skewer. Angry at first, he laughs disdainfully, then passionately kisses the wound. While the other Camorrists buy flowers from a passing flower girl and make a carpet of them, Rafaele picks up the hat pin, kneels before Maliella, and hands it to her. Maliella slowly replaces it in her hair, and then Rafaele, her arms being uplifted, sticks a flower she had previously refused, on her breast, where she permits it to remain. A few moments later she plucks it out and throws it away. Rafaele picks it up, and carefully replaces it in his buttonhole. A little later he goes to the inn, looks in her direction, and raises his filled glass to her, just at the moment, when, although her back is toward him, a subtle influence compels her to turn and look at him.
Tolling of bells, discharge of mortars, cheers of populace, announce the approach of the procession of Madonna. While hymns to the Virgin are chanted, Rafaele pours words of passion into Maliella's ears. The image of the Virgin, bedecked with sparkling jewels--the jewels of the Madonna--is borne past. Rafaele asseverates that for the love of Maliella he would even rob the sacred image of the jewels and bedeck her with them. The superstitious girl is terrified.
Gennaro, who returns at that moment, warns her against Rafaele as "the most notorious blackguard in this quarter," at the same time he orders her into the house. Rafaele's mocking laugh infuriates him. The men seem about to fight. Just then the procession returns, and they are obliged to kneel. Rafaele's looks, however, follow Maliella, who is very deliberately moving toward the house, her eyes constantly turning in the Camorrist's direction. He tosses her the flower she has previously despised. She picks it up, puts it between her lips, and flies indoors.
Act II. The garden of Carmela's house. On the left wall a wooden staircase. Under this is a gap in the back wall shut in by a railing. It is late evening.
Carmela, having cleared the table, goes into the house. Gennaro starts in to warn Maliella. She says she will have freedom, rushes up the staircase to her room, where she is seen putting her things together, while she hums, "E ndringhete, ndranghete" (I long for mirth and folly).
She descends with her bundle and is ready to leave. Gennaro pleads with her. As if lost in a reverie, with eyes half-closed, she recalls how Rafaele offered to steal the jewels of the Madonna for her. Gennaro, at first shocked at the sacrilege in the mere suggestion, appears to yield gradually to a desperate intention. He bars the way to Maliella, locks the gate, and stands facing her. Laughing derisively, she reascends the stairs.
Her laugh still ringing in his ears, no longer master of himself, he goes to a cupboard under the stairs, takes out a box, opens it by the light of the lamp at the table, selects from its contents several skeleton keys and files, wraps them in a piece of leather, which he hides under his coat, takes a look at Maliella's window, crosses himself, and sneaks out.
From the direction of the sea a chorus of men's voices is heard. Rafaele appears at the gate with his Camorrist friends. To the accompaniment of their mandolins and guitars he sings to Maliella a lively waltzlike serenade. The girl, in a white wrapper, a light scarlet shawl over her shoulders descends to the garden. There is a love duet--"in a torrent of passion," according to the libretto, but not so torrential in the score:--"T'amo, sì, t'amo" (I love you, I love you), for Maliella; "Stringimi forte" (Cling fast to me) for Rafaele; "Oh! strette ardenti" (Rapture enthralling) for both. She promises that on the morrow she will join him. Then Rafaele's comrades signal that someone approaches.
Left to herself, she sees in the moonlight Gennaro's open tool box. As if in answer to her presentiment of what it signifies, he appears with a bundle wrapped in red damask. He is too distracted by his purpose to question her presence in the garden at so late an hour and so lightly clad. Throwing back the folds of the damask, he spreads out on the table, for Maliella, the jewels of the Madonna.
Maliella, in an ecstacy, half mystic, half sensual, and seemingly visioning in Gennaro the image of the man who promised her the jewels, Rafaele, who has set every chord of evil passion in her nature vibrating--no longer repulses Gennaro, but, when, at the foot of a blossoming orange tree, he seizes her, yields herself to his embrace;--a scene described in the Italian libretto with a realism that leaves no doubt as to its meaning.
Act III. A haunt of the Camorrists on the outskirts of Naples. On the left wall is a rough fresco of the Madonna, whose image was borne in procession the previous day. In front of it is a sort of altar.
The Camorrists gather. They are men and women, all the latter of doubtful character. There is singing with dancing--the "Apache," the "Tarantella." Stella, Concetta, Serena, and Grazia, the dancer, are the principal women. They do not anticipate Maliella's expected arrival with much pleasure. When Rafaele comes in, they ask him what he admires in her. In his answer, "Non sapete ... di Maliella" (know you not of Maliella), he tells them her chief charm is that he will be the first man to whom she has yielded herself.
In the midst of an uproar of shouting and dancing, while Rafaele, standing on a table, cracks a whip, Maliella rushes in. In an agony she cries out that, in a trance, she gave herself up to Gennaro. The women laugh derisively at Rafaele, who has just sung of her as being inviolable to all but himself. There is not a touch of mysticism about Rafaele. That she should have confused Gennaro with him, and so have yielded herself to the young blacksmith, does not appeal to him at all. For him she is a plucked rose to be left to wither. Furiously he rejects her, flings her to the ground. The jewels of the Madonna fall from her cloak. They are readily recognized; for they are depicted in the rough fresco on the wall.
Gennaro, who has followed her to the haunt of the Camorrists, enters. He is half mad. Maliella, laughing hysterically, flings the jewels at his feet, shrieking that he stole them for her. The crowd, as superstitious as it is criminal, recoils from both intruders. The women fall to their knees. Rafaele curses the girl. At his command, the band disperses. Maliella goes out to drown herself in the sea. "Madonna dei dolor! Miserere!" (Madonna of our pain, have pity), prays Gennaro. His thoughts revert to his mother. "Deh non piangere, O Mamma mia" (Ah! Weep not, beloved mother mine). Among the débris he finds a knife and plunges it into his heart.
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"Le Donne Curiose" (Inquisitive Women), words by Luigi Sagana, after a comedy by Goldoni, was produced at the Hofoper, Munich, November 27, 1903, in German. It was given for the first time in Italian at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, January 3, 1912.
Several Venetian gentlemen, including Ottavio, the father of Rosaura, who is betrothed to Florindo, have formed a club, to which women are not admitted. The latter immediately have visions of forbidden pleasures being indulged in by the men at the club. By various intrigues the women manage to obtain a set of keys, and enter the club, only to find the men enjoying themselves harmlessly at dinner. All ends in laughter and dancing.
The principal characters are Ottavio, a rich Italian (Bass); Beatrice, his wife (Mezzo-Soprano); Rosaura, his daughter (Soprano); Florindo, betrothed to Rosaura (Tenor); Pantalone, a Venetian merchant (Buffo-Baritone); his friends, Lelio (Baritone), and Leandro (Tenor); Colombina, Rosaura's maid (Soprano); Eleanora, wife to Lelio (Soprano); Arlecchino; servant to Pantalone (Buffo-Bass). There are servants, gondoliers, and men and women of the populace. The action is laid in Venice in the middle of the eighteenth century. There are three acts:
Act I, in the Friendship Club, and later in Ottavio's home; Act II, in Lelio's home; Act III, a street in Venice near the Grand Canal, and later in the club.
In the music the club's motto, "Bandie xe le Done" (No Women Admitted) is repeated often enough to pass for a motif. The most melodious vocal passage is the duet for Rosaura and Florindo in Act II, "Il cor nel contento" (My heart, how it leaps in rejoicing). In the first scene of Act III a beautiful effect is produced by the composer's use of the Venetian barcarolle, "La Biondina in Gondoletta," which often, in the earlier days of Rossini's Opera, "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," was introduced by prima donnas in the lesson scene.
In the Metropolitan production Farrar was Rosaura, Jadlowker Florindo, and Scotti Lelio. Toscanini conducted. The rôles of Colombina and Arlecchino (Harlequin) are survivals of old Italian comedy, which Goldoni still retained in some of his plays.
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"Il Segreto di Susanna" (The Secret of Suzanne), the scene a drawing-room in Piedmont, time 1840, is in one act. Countess Suzanne (Soprano) smokes cigarettes. The aroma left by the smoke leads Count Gil (Baritone) to suspect his wife of entertaining a lover. He discovers her secret--and all is well. The third character, a servant, Sante, is an acting part.--A musical trifle, at the Hofoper, Munich, November 4, 1909; Metropolitan Opera House, New York, by the Chicago Opera Company, March 14, 1911, with Carolina White and Sammarco; Constanzi Theatre, Rome, November 27, 1911. The "book" is by Enrico Golisciani, from the French.
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"L'Amore Medico," Metropolitan Opera House, March 25, 1914, is another typical bit of Wolf-Ferrari musical bric-a-brac--slight, charming, and quite unable to hold its own in the hurly-burly of modern verismo. A girl is lovesick. Her father, who does not want her ever to leave him, thinks her ailment physical, and vainly summons four noted physicians. Then the clever maid brings in the girl's lover disguised as a doctor. He diagnoses the case as love-hallucination, and suggests as a remedy a mock marriage, with himself as bridegroom. The father consents, and an actual marriage takes place.
The scene of "L'Amore Medico" (Doctor Cupid), words by Golisciani after Molière's "L'Amour Médecin," is a villa near Paris, about 1665 (Louis XIV). The characters are Arnolfo, a rich, elderly landowner (Bass); Lucinda, his daughter (Soprano); Clitandro, a young cavalier, (Tenor); Drs. Tomes (Bass); Desfonandres (Bass); Macroton (Baritone); Bahis (Tenor); Lisetta, Lucinda's maid (Soprano); Notary (Bass). There also are servants, peasants and peasant girls, musicians, dancing girls, etc. The work is in two acts, the scene of the first the villa garden; of the second a handsome interior of the villa. The original production, in German, was at the Dresden Royal Opera House, December 4, 1913.
Umberto Giordano
Umberto Giordano was born at Foggia, August 26, 1867. Paolo Serrão was his teacher in music at the Naples Conservatory. With a one-act opera, "Marina," he competed for the Sonzogno prize, which Mascagni won with "Cavalleria Rusticana." "Marina," however, secured for him a commission for the three-act opera, "Mala Vita," Rome, 1892. Then followed the operas which have been noticed above.
MADAME SANS-GÊNE
Opera in four acts by Umberto Giordano, words by Renato Simoni after the play by Victorien Sardou and E. Moreau. Produced, for the first time on any stage, Metropolitan Opera House, New York January 25, 1915, with Farrar as Catherine, and Amato as Napoleon.
CHARACTERS
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE Baritone LEFEBVRE, sergeant of the National Guards, later a Marshal of France and Duke of Danzig Tenor FOUCHÉ, officer of the National Guards, later Minister of Police Baritone COUNT DE NEIPPERG Tenor VINAIGRE, drummer boy Tenor DESPRÉAUX, dancing master Tenor GELSOMINO, page Baritone LEROY, tailor Baritone DE BRIGODE, chamberlain Baritone ROUSTAN, head of the Mamelukes Baritone CATHERINE HUEBSCHER, "Madame Sans-Gêne," laundress; later Duchess of Danzig Soprano TOINETTE } { Soprano JULIA } laundresses { Soprano LA ROSSA } { Soprano QUEEN CAROLINE } sisters of { Soprano PRINCESS ELISA } NAPOLEON { Soprano LADY DE BÜLOW, matron of honour to the Empress Soprano
Maturino, Constant (valet to Napoleon), the voice of the Empress, citizens, shopkeepers, villagers, soldiers, ladies of the court, officials, diplomats, academicians, hunters, pages, and two Mamelukes.
Time--August 10, 1792; and September, 1811.
Place--Paris.
"Madame Sans-Gêne" is an opera that maintains itself in the repertoire largely because of the play that underlies it. The title rôle is delightful. It has been among the successes of several clever actresses, including Ellen Terry, to whose Catherine Henry Irving was the Napoleon. Its creator in the opera was Geraldine Farrar, to whose vivacity in interesting the character, far more than to the musical merit of the work itself, is due the fact that the opera has not dropped out of the repertoire. In point of fact the same composer's "André Chénier" is of greater musical interest, but the leading character does not offer the same scope for acting, which accounts for its having dropped almost entirely out of the repertoire in America.
In "Madame Sans-Gêne," Catherine (in the Italian libretto Caterina) is a laundress. The first act opens in her laundry in Paris during the French Revolution. The nickname of Madame Sans-Gêne, usually translated Madame Free-and-Easy, is given her because of her vivacity, originality, straightforwardness in speech, and charm.
Discharge of cannon and other sounds indicate that fighting is going on in the streets. Three women employed by Catherine are at work in the laundry. Catherine comes in from the street. She tells of her adventures with a lot of rough soldiers. She does this amazingly, but her experience has cured her of her curiosity to see what is going on outside. There is a scene between Catherine and Fouché, a time-server, waiting to observe how matters go, before he decides whether to cast his fortunes with the Royalists or the people. They gossip about a Corsican officer, who owes Catherine for laundry, but is so poor he has been obliged to pawn his watch for bread. Nevertheless, the good-hearted, lively Madame Sans-Gêne continues to do his laundry work for him, and trusts to the future for the bill.
Catherine is left alone. Rifle shots are heard. Count Neipperg, a wounded Austrian officer of the Queen's suite, comes in and asks to be hidden. Although she is of the people, Catherine hides him in her own room. His pursuers enter. It chances they are led by Catherine's betrothed, Sergeant Lefebvre. For a while Catherine diverts the squad from its purpose by offering wine. Lefebvre uncorks the bottle, meanwhile giving a lively description of the sacking of the Tuilleries. There is a scene of affection between him and Catherine. He notices that his hands are black with powder and, intending to wash them in Catherine's room, becomes violently suspicious on finding the door locked. He wrenches the key from her, unlocks the door, enters the room. Catherine, expecting every moment to hear him despatching the wounded man stops up her ears. Lefebvre comes out quietly. He tells her the man in her room is dead. As she is not at all excited, but merely surprised, he knows that he has no cause to suspect that the wounded man is her lover. He will help her to save him. Catherine throws herself into his arms. There are sounds of drums and of marching and shouting in the street. Lefebvre leads out his squad.
Like most modern composers who do not possess the gift for sustained melody, Giordano would make up for it by great skill in the handling of his orchestra and constant depiction of the varying phases of the action. There is considerable opportunity for a display of this talent in the first act of "Madame Sans-Gêne," and the composer has furnished a musical background, in which the colours are laid on in short, quick, and crisp strokes. "The Marseillaise" is introduced as soldiers and mob surge past Catherine's laundry.
Act II. The drawing-room of the Château de Compiègne. The Empire has been established. Lefebvre is a Marshal and has been created Duke of Danzig. Catherine is his duchess. She scandalizes the court with her frequent breaches of etiquette.
When the act opens Despréaux, the dancing master, Gelsomino, the valet, and Leroy, the ladies' tailor, are engaged in passing criticisms upon her. She enters, is as unconventional as ever, and amusingly awkward, when she tries on the court train, or is being taught by Despréaux how to deport herself, when she receives the Emperor's sisters, whom she is expecting. Lefebvre comes in like a thunder cloud. Napoleon, he tells her, has heard how she has scandalized the court by her conduct and has intimated that he wishes him to divorce her. There is a charming scene--perhaps the most melodious in the opera--between the couple who love each other sincerely. Neipperg, who now is Austrian Ambassador, comes upon the scene to bid his old friends good-bye. Napoleon suspects that there is an intrigue between him and the Empress, and has had him recalled. Fouché, Minister of Police, announces Napoleon's sisters--Queen Carolina and Princess Elisa. Catherine's court train bothers her. She is unrestrained in her language. The royal ladies and their suite at first laugh contemptuously, then as Catherine, in her resentment, recalls to Carolina that King Murat, her husband, once was a waiter in a tavern, the scene becomes one of growing mutual recrimination, until, to the measures of "The Marseillaise," Catherine begins to recount her services to Napoleon's army as Cantinière. Enraged, the royal ladies and their suite leave. De Brigode, the court chamberlain, summons Catherine to the presence of the Emperor. Not at all disconcerted, she salutes in military fashion the men who have remained behind, and follows De Brigode.
Act III. Cabinet of the Emperor. There is a brief scene between Napoleon and his sisters, to whom he announces that there is to be a hunt at dawn, at which he desires their presence. They withdraw; Catherine is announced.
Napoleon brusquely attacks her for her behaviour. She recalls his own humble origin, tells of her services to the army, and of the wound in the arm she received on the battlefield, maintains that his sisters in insulting her also insulted his army, and, as a climax draws out a bit of yellow paper--a laundry bill he still owes her, for he was the impecunious young lieutenant mentioned in the first act. With much chicness she even tells him that, when she delivered his laundry, she tried to attract his attention, but he was always too absorbed in study to take notice of her, and make love to her.
The Emperor is charmed. He kisses the scar left by the wound on her arm. Catherine, bowing, exclaims, "The Emperor owes me nothing more!"
Catherine is about to go, Napoleon ordering for her the escort of an officer, when Neipperg is apprehended, as he is approaching the Empress's door. Infuriated, Napoleon tears the string of medals from the Ambassador's breast and appears about to strike him in the face with it. Neipperg draws his sword. Officers rush in. Napoleon orders that he be shot ere dawn, and that Fouché and Lefebvre have charge of the execution.
Act IV. The scene is the same, but it is far into the night. The candles are burning low, the fire is dying out, Catherine and Lefebvre have a brief scene in which they deplore that they are powerless to prevent Neipperg's execution. Catherine cannot even inform the Empress and possibly obtain her intervention, for her door, at Napoleon's command, is guarded by Roustan.
But Napoleon, when he comes in, is sufficiently impressed by Catherine's faith in the Empress's loyalty to put it to the test. At his direction, she knocks at the Empress's door, and pretending to be her Matron of Honour, Mme. de Bülow, says, "Majesty, Neipperg is here." The Empress passes out a letter. "Give this to him--and my farewell." Napoleon takes the letter, breaks the seal. The letter is to the Empress's father, the Emperor of Austria, whom she asks to entertain Neipperg in Vienna as his assiduity troubles her and the Emperor. Napoleon orders Fouché to restore Neipperg's sword and let him depart.
"As for your divorce," he says to Lefebvre, with a savage look, "My wish is this"--playfully he tweaks Catherine by the ear. "Hold her for ever true. Give thanks to heaven for giving her to you."
Hunting-horns and the chorus of hunters are heard outside.
ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
"André Chénier" was produced at La Scala, Milan, March 23, 1896. It was given in London, in English, April 26, 1903. Long before that, November 13, 1896, New York heard it at the Academy of Music, under Mapleson. It had a single performance, under the management of Oscar Hammerstein, at the Manhattan Opera House in 1908, and eight years later was given by, and endured through the season of, the Boston-National Opera Company, both in Boston and on tour.
Historical as a character though André Chénier be, Giordano's librettist, Luigi Illica, has turned his life into fiction. Chénier was a poet, dreamer, and patriot. Born at Constantinople, he went to Paris for his education. Later he became a participant in and victim of the French Revolution.
CHARACTERS
ANDRÉ CHÉNIER Tenor CHARLES GÉRARD Baritone COUNTESS DE COIGNY Soprano MADELEINE, her daughter Soprano BERSI, her maid Mezzo-Soprano ROUCHER Bass MATHIEU Baritone MADELON Soprano FLÉVILLE Tenor THE ABBÉ Tenor SCHMIDT, jailer at St. Lazare Bass A SPY Tenor [Transcriber's Note: "Tenor" missing in original]
Guests at ball, servants, pages, peasants, soldiers of the Republic, masqueraders, judges, jurymen, prisoners, mob, etc.
Time--Just prior to and during the French Revolution.
Place--Paris.
Act I. Ballroom in a château. Gérard, a servant, but also a revolutionist, is secretly in love with Madeleine, the Countess's daughter. Among the guests at a ball is André Chénier, a poet with revolutionary tendencies. Madeleine asks him to improvise a poem on love. Instead, he sings of the wrongs of the poor. Gérard appears with a crowd of ragged men and women, but at the Countess's command servants force the intruders out. Chénier and Madeleine, the latter weary of the routine of fashion, have been attracted to each other.
Act II. Café Hottot in Paris, several years later. Chénier has offended the Revolutionists by denouncing Robespierre. A spy is watching Bersi, Madeleine's old nurse, and sees her hand Chénier a letter. It is from Madeleine. She loves him. She is dogged by spies, begs him come to her aid, and arranges a meeting.
Robespierre passes, followed by a mob. Gérard, now high in favour, seeks to possess Madeleine, who comes to meet the poet. They are about to flee, when Gérard, notified by the spy, interposes. Chénier and Gérard fight with swords. Gérard is wounded. The lovers escape.
Act III. Revolutionary Tribunal. The crowd sings the "Carmagnole." Chénier has been captured. Gérard writes the indictment for his rival. Madeleine pleads for her lover, finally promising to give herself to Gérard if Chénier is spared. Gérard, moved by the girl's love, agrees to save Chénier if he can. At the trial he declares that the indictment against Chénier is false. But the mob, thirsting for more blood, demands the poet's death.
Act IV. Prison of Lazare at midnight. Madeleine enters to Chénier with Gérard. She has bribed the jailer to allow her to substitute for another woman prisoner. If she cannot live for her lover, she can, at least, die with him. Together she and Chénier go to the scaffold.
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Two other operas by Giordano have been heard in America--"Fedora," after Sardou, Metropolitan Opera House, December 16, 1906, with Cavalieri and Caruso; and "Siberia," Manhattan Opera House, February 5, 1908. They have not lasted.
Modern Italian Opera
ERO E LEANDRO
Opera in three acts by Luigi Mancinelli; libretto by Arrigo Boïto. First produced in America at the Metropolitan Opera House, March 10, 1899, with the composer conducting and the following cast: Hero, Mme. Eames; Leandro, Saléza, and Plançon as Ariofarno.
In the first act the lovers meet at a festival. Leandro, victor in the Aphrodisian games both as a swordsman and cytharist, is crowned by Hero. He sings two odes borrowed from Anacreon. Ariofarno, the archon, loves Hero. When he seeks to turn her from her sacred mission as priestess of Aphrodite she spurns his love. She invokes an omen from a sea shell, on the altar of the goddess, and hears in it rushing waters and the surging sea, that will eventually turn her romance to tragedy. When she kneels before the statue of Apollo and pleads to know her fate, Ariofarno, concealed, answers: "Death."
The second act takes place in the temple of Aphrodite. The archon claims that he has been warned by the oracle to reinstate a service in a town by the sea. He consecrates Hero to the duty of giving warning of approaching storms, so that the raging waters may be appeased by priestly ritual. He offers to release her from this task if she will return his love. When she again spurns him, Leandro attempts to attack him. For this, the young man is banished to the shores of Asia, while Hero sadly pledges herself to the new service.
In the third act Leandro has performed his famous swimming feat. The lovers sing their ecstasy. Meanwhile a storm arises unobserved. The trumpet that should have been sounded by Hero is sounded from the vaults beneath the tower. Leandro throws himself into the Hellespont while Ariofarno and his priests chide Hero for her neglect as they discover its cause. A thunderbolt shatters a portion of the tower wall and Leandro's body is disclosed. Hero falls dying to the ground, while the archon rages.
CONCHITA
Opera in four acts by Riccardo Zandonai; text by Vaucaire and Zangarini, based on Pierre Louÿs's "La Femme et le Pantin" (The Woman and the Puppet). Produced, Milan, 1911.
CHARACTERS
CONCHITA Soprano MATEO Tenor CONCHITA'S MOTHER Mezzo-Soprano RUFINA Mezzo-Soprano ESTELLA Mezzo-Soprano THE SUPERINTENDENT Mezzo-Soprano THE INSPECTOR Bass GARCIA, Dance Hall Proprietor Bass TONIO, waiter Bass
Various characters in a cigar factory, a dance hall, and a street. Distant voices.
Time--The Present.
Place--Seville.
Act I. In a cigar factory. Among the visitors Conchita, one of the cigar girls, recognizes Mateo, a wealthy Spaniard, who rescued her from the forced attentions of a policeman. She invites Mateo to her home. The girl's mother, delighted that her daughter has attracted a wealthy man, goes out to make some purchases. Love scene for Mateo and Conchita. The mother returns, and, unseen by Conchita, Mateo gives her money. When Mateo leaves, and Conchita discovers he has given her mother money, she is furious and vows never to see Mateo again, because she thinks he has endeavoured to purchase her love. In her anger she leaves her home.
Act II. A dance hall, where Conchita earns a living by her risqué dances. Mateo, who finds her after a long search, is astounded. He begs her to go away with him. She refuses, and executes a most daring dance for a group of visitors. Mateo, watching her from outside, and wild with jealousy, breaks through the window. Conchita, angry at first, takes from him the key to a little house he owns and tells him that, if he comes at midnight, she will open her lattice to him as to a mysterious lover.
Act III. A street in Seville. Mateo stands before the house. But instead of admitting him, when he pleads his love, she turns and calls, as if to someone within, "Morenito!"--the name of a man he saw her dancing with at the dance hall. Mateo tries to break into the house. Conchita taunts him. He staggers away.
Act IV. Mateo is desperate. Conchita comes to his home and says she certainly expected him to kill himself for love of her. Enraged, he seizes her. She tries to stab him. He beats her without mercy. At last--and it seems about time--Conchita now sees how desperately he must love her. She declares that she has loved him all the time. He takes her, radiant, into his arms.
CRISTOFORO COLOMBO
Opera in three acts and an epilogue, by Alberto Franchetti, text by Luigi Illica. Produced, Genoa, 1892; in revised version, same year, at La Scala, Milan. Metropolitan Opera House, Philadelphia, November 20, 1913, with Titta Ruffo.
CHARACTERS
CRISTOFORO COLOMBO Baritone QUEEN ISABELLA OF SPAIN Soprano DON FERNANDO GUEVARA, Captain of the Royal Guards Tenor DON ROLDANO XIMENES, Spanish Knight Bass MATHEOS, Foreman of the Crew Tenor ANACOANA, Indian Queen Mezzo-Soprano IGUAMOTA, her daughter Soprano BOBADILLA, False Messenger of the King of Spain Bass
Time--Before, during, and soon after Columbus's voyage of discovery.
Place--Spain and America.
In act first, on the square in Salamanca, Colombo learns that the council has rejected his plans. In the convent of San Stefano Queen Isabella is praying. Colombo tells her of the council's acts. She promises him the ships. In act second, on the Santa Maria, the sailors mutiny. At the critical moment Colombo points to a distant shore. In act three, Roldano, an enemy to Colombo, has slain an Indian king. The Indian queen, Anacoana, pretends to love her husband's slayer, hoping for opportunity to avenge his death. But an Indian uprising is quelled and Bobadilla, a false messenger arriving from Spain, announces that Colombo has been deposed from authority, and Roldano been made viceroy in his stead.
The epilogue shows the royal tombs of Spain. Colombo--the librettist here stretching historical license--learning that Queen Isabella has died and is buried here, expires upon her tomb.
CRISPINO E LA COMARE
(THE COBBLER AND THE FAIRY)
Opera "Bouffe" in three acts by Luigi and Federico Ricci; text by Francesco Maria Piave. Produced, Venice, 1850.
CHARACTERS
CRISPINO, a cobbler Baritone ANNETTA, his wife, a ballad singer Soprano COUNT DEL FIORE Tenor FABRIZIO, a physician Bass MIRABOLANO, an apothecary Tenor DON ASDRUBALE, a miser Bass LA COMARE, a fairy Mezzo-Soprano BORTOLO, a mason Bass LISETTA, ward of DON ASDRUBALE Soprano
Doctors, Scholars, Citizens.
Place--Venice.
Time--Seventeenth Century.
Act I. Crispino, the cobbler, and Annetta, his wife, the ballad singer, are in sore straits. Don Asdrubale, their landlord, who is a miser, is about to put them out for non-payment of rent, but hints that if Annetta will respond to his suit he may reconsider. Crispino, in desperation, runs away, and is followed by Annetta. He is about to drown himself in a well when a fairy appears to him. She predicts that he will be a famous doctor. Crispino and Annetta rejoice.
Act II. Crispino nails up a physician's sign. The neighbours rail, but soon a mason is brought in severely hurt, and, though the doctors fail to bring him around, Crispino cures him.
Act III. Crispino, overbearing since his good fortune, has built a fine house. He ignores former friends and even is unkind to Annetta. He even berates the Fairy. Suddenly he is in a cavern. The Fairy's head has turned into a skull. She has become Death. Humbled, he begs for another glimpse of Annetta and the children. He awakes to find himself with them and to hear a joyous song from Annetta.
LORELEY
Alfred Catalani's "Loreley" was presented by the Chicago Opera Company for the first time in New York, at the Lexington Theatre, on Thursday evening, February 13, 1919, with Anna Fitziu, Florence Macbeth, Virgilio Lazzari, Alessandro Dolci, and Giacomo Rimini. The librettists are Messrs. D'Ormeville and Zanardini.
The legendary siren who sits combing her hair on a rock in the traditional manner, is in this opera the reincarnated spirit of a young orphan, who has been jilted by her fiancé, Walter, Lord of Oberwessel. When the faithless young man is about to marry another beautiful maiden, Anna, Loreley casts her spell upon him, and Anna, too, is thrown over. Walter follows Loreley to a watery grave, and Anna dies of grief.
FEDORA
Opera in three acts, by Umberto Giordano; text, after the Sardou drama, by Colautti. Produced, Milan, 1898.
CHARACTERS
PRINCESS FEDORA Soprano COUNT LORIS Tenor COUNTESS OLGA Soprano DE SIRIEX, a diplomat Baritone GRECH, a police officer Bass DMITRI, a groom Contralto CYRIL, a coachman Baritone BOROV, a doctor Baritone BARON ROUVEL Baritone
Time--Present.
Place--Paris and Switzerland.
Act I. Home of Count Vladimir, St. Petersburg. While the beautiful Princess Fedora awaits the coming of her betrothed, Count Vladimir, he is brought in, by De Siriex, mortally wounded. Suspicion for the murder falls upon Count Loris. Fedora takes a Byzantine jewelled cross from her breast and swears by it to avenge her betrothed.
Act II. Salon of Fedora in Paris. Loris is entertained by her. She uses all her arts of fascination in hope of securing proof of his guilt. He falls desperately in love with her, and she succeeds in drawing from him a confession of the murder. Grech, a police officer, plans to take Loris after all the guests have left. Then, however, Loris tells her further that he killed the Count because he betrayed his young wife and brought about her untimely death. Fedora, who herself has fallen in love with Loris, now takes him into her arms. But the trap is ready to be sprung. She is, however, able to escape with him.
Act III. Switzerland. Loris and Fedora are married. Loris's footsteps, however, are followed by a spy. Fedora learns that because of Loris's act his brother has been thrown into prison and has died there. Loris's mother has died of shock. He discovers that it was Fedora who set the secret service on his track. He is about to kill her when, in despair, she swallows poison. Loris now pleads with her to live, but it is too late. She dies in his arms.
GERMANIA
Opera in a prologue, two acts and an epilogue, by Alberto Franchetti; text by Luigi Illica. Produced, Milan, March 11, 1902; in this country, January 22, 1910.
CHARACTERS
FREDERICK LOEWE, member of the brotherhood Tenor CARL WORMS, member of the brotherhood Baritone GIOVANNI PALM, member of the brotherhood Bass CRISOGONO, member of the brotherhood Baritone STAPPS, Protestant priest Bass RICKE, a Nuremberg maiden Soprano JANE, her sister Mezzo-Soprano LENA ARMUTH, a peasant woman Mezzo-Soprano JEBBEL, her nephew Soprano LUIGI LÜTZOW, an officer Bass CARLO KÖRNER, an officer Tenor PETERS, a herdsman Bass SIGNORA HEDVIGE Mezzo-Soprano CHIEF OF POLICE Bass
Time--Napoleonic Wars.
Place--Germany.
Prologue. An Old Mill near Nuremberg. Students under Palm are shipping out in grain-bags literature directed against the invader--Napoleon. Ricke tells Worms, whose mistress she has been, that her sweetheart, the poet Loewe, will soon return, and that she must confess to him her guilty secret. Worms dissuades her. Loewe arrives and is joyously welcomed by his comrades. The police break in, arrest Palm, and take him off to be executed.
Act I. A Hut in the Black Forest. Seven years are supposed to have passed. Loewe, his aged mother, and Ricke and Jane have found refuge here from the victorious troops of Napoleon. Worms is thought to be dead. Loewe is to be married to Ricke. But suddenly the voice of Worms is heard in the forest. Loewe joyously meets his old friend, who, however, is much disconcerted at the sight of Ricke, and goes away. Ricke flees from her husband, who concludes that she has fled with Worms.
Act II. Secret Cellar at Koenigsberg. Worms and others plot to overthrow Napoleon. Loewe challenges Worms to a duel. Worms, penitent, asks Loewe to kill him. But the preparations are stayed by Queen Louise. She declares they should be fighting against Napoleon, not against each other.
Epilogue. Battlefield of Leipzig. Napoleon has been defeated. The great field is strewn with dead and dying. Among the latter, Ricke, still loving Loewe, finds him. He asks her to forgive Worms, who lies dead. She forgives the dead man, then lies down beside her dying husband. Distant view of the retreat of Napoleon's shattered legions.
Modern French Opera
The contemporaries and successors of Bizet wrote many charming operas that for years have given pleasure to large audiences. French opera has had generous representation in New York. Offenbach's "Tales of Hoffmann," Delibes's "Lakmé," Saint-Saëns's "Samson et Dalila," Massenet's "Manon" are among the most distinguished works of this school.
"Les Contes d'Hoffmann"; a fanciful opera in four acts; words by MM. Michel Carré and Jules Barbier; posthumous music by Jacques Offenbach, produced at the Opéra Comique on February 10, 1881. "Les Contes d'Hoffmann" had been played thirty years before, on March 31, 1851, at the Odéon, in the shape of a comedy. Such as it was designed to be, the work offers an excellent frame for the music, bringing on the stage in their fantastic form three of the prettiest tales of the German story-teller, connected with each other in an ingenious fashion, with the contrasts which present themselves. Lyrical adaptation therefore appeared quite natural and it was done with much taste. Offenbach had almost entirely finished its music when death came to surprise him. At the same time he had not put his score into orchestral form and it was Ernest Girard who was charged with finishing this and writing the instrumentation, which it was easy to perceive at hearing it, Girard being a musician taught differently from the author of the "Belle Hélène" and "Orphée aux Enfers." It is right to say that several passages of the Contes d'Hoffmann were welcome and testify to a real effort by the composer. If to that be added the interest that the libretto offers and the excellence of an interpretation entrusted to Mlle. Adèle Isaac (Stella, Olympia, Antonia), to MM. Talazac (Hoffmann), Taskin (Lindorf, Coppélius, Dr. Miracle), Belhomme (Crespel), Grivot (Andrès, Cochenille, Frantz), Gourdon (Spalanzani), Collin (Wilhelm), Mlles. Marguerite Ugalde (Nicklausse), Molé (the nurse), one will understand the success which greeted the work. The Contes d'Hoffmann was reproduced in 1893 at the Renaissance, during the transient directorship of M. Détroyat, who gave to this theatre the title of Théâtre Lyrique.
LAKMÉ
Opera in three acts by Delibes; libretto by Gille and Gondinet.
Lakmé is the daughter of Nilakantha, a fanatical Brahmin priest. While he nurses his hatred of the British invader, his daughter strolls in her garden, singing duets with her slave Mallika. An English officer, one Gerald, breaks through the bambou fence that surrounds Nilakantha's retreat, in a ruined temple in the depths of an Indian forest. He courts Lakmé who immediately returns his love. Nilakantha seeing the broken fence at once suspects an English invader. In act two the old man disguised as a beggar is armed with a dagger. Lakmé is disguised as a street singer. Together they search for the profaner of the sacred spot at a market. It is here that she sings the famous Bell Song. Gerald recognizes Lakmé as Nilakantha recognizes the disturber of his peace. A dagger thrust lays Gerald low. Lakmé and her slave carry him to a hut hidden in the forest. During his convalescence the time passes pleasantly. The lovers sing duets and exchange vows of undying love. But Frederick, a brother officer and a slave to duty, informs Gerald that he must march with his regiment. Lakmé makes the best of the situation by eating a poisonous flower which brings about her death.
The story is based by Gondinet and Gille upon "Le Mariage de Loti." Ellen, Rose, and Mrs. Benson, Englishwomen, hover in the background of the romance. But their parts are of negligible importance, and in fact when Miss Van Zandt and a French Company first gave the opera in London they were omitted altogether, some said wisely. The opera was first presented in Paris at the Opéra Comique with Miss Van Zandt. It was first sung in New York by the American Opera Company at the Academy of Music, March 1, 1886. The first Lakmé to be heard in New York was Pauline L'Allemand, the second Adelina Patti, this time in 1890 and at the Metropolitan Opera House. Mme. Sembrich and Luisa Tetrazzini sang it later.
SAMSON ET DALILA
Opera in three acts and four scenes. Music by Saint-Saëns; text by Ferdinand Lemaire. Produced: Weimar, December 2, 1877.
CHARACTERS
DALILA Mezzo-Soprano SAMSON Tenor HIGH PRIEST OF DAGON Baritone ABIMELECH, satrap of Gaza Bass AN OLD HEBREW Bass THE PHILISTINES' WAR MESSENGER Tenor
Place--Gaza.
Time--1136 B.C.
Act I. Before the curtain rises we hear of the Philistines at Gaza forcing the Israelites to work. When the curtain is raised we see in the background the temple of Dagon, god of the Philistines. With the lamentations of the Jews is mixed the bitter scorn of Abimelech. But Samson has not yet expressed a hope of conquering. His drink-inspired songs agitate his fellow countrymen so much that it now amounts to an insurrection. Samson slays Abimelech with the sword he has snatched from him and Israel's champion starts out to complete the work. Dagon's high priest may curse, the Philistines are not able to offer resistance to the onslaught of the enemy. Already the Hebrews are rejoicing and gratefully praise God when there appear the Philistines' most seductive maidens, Dalila at their head, to do homage to the victorious Samson. Of what use is the warning of an old Hebrew? The memory of the love which she gave him when "the sun laughed, the spring awoke and kissed the ground," the sight of her ensnaring beauty, the tempting dances ensnare the champion anew.
Act II. The beautiful seductress tarries in the house of her victim. Yes, her victim. She had never loved the enemy of her country. She hates him since he left her. And so the exhortation of the high priest to revenge is not needed. Samson has never yet told her on what his superhuman strength depends. Now the champion comes, torn by irresolute reproaches. He is only going to say farewell to her. Her allurements in vain entice him, he does not disclose his secret. But he will not suffer her scorn and derision; overcome, he pushes her into the chamber of love. And there destiny is fulfilled. Dalila's cry of triumph summons the Philistines. Deprived of his hair, the betrayed champion is overcome.
Act III. In a dungeon the blinded giant languishes. But more tormenting than the corporal disgrace or the laments of his companions are the reproaches in his own breast. Now the doors rattle. Beadles come in to drag him to the Philistines' celebration of their victory--(change of scene). In Dagon's temple the Philistine people are rejoicing. Bitter scorn is poured forth on Samson whom the high priest insultingly invites to sing a love-song to Dalila. The false woman herself mocks the powerless man. But Samson prays to his God. Only once again may he have strength. And while the intoxication of the festival seizes on everybody, he lets himself be led between the two pillars which support the temple. He clasps them. A terrible crash--the fragments of the temple with a roar bury the Philistine people and their conqueror.
LE ROI D'YS
Opera by Lalo, produced at the Opéra Comique in 1888, and given in London in 1901. The story is founded upon a Breton legend. Margared and Rozenn, daughters of the King of Ys, love Mylio. But the warrior has only eyes for Rozenn. In revenge Margared betrays her father's city to Karnac, a defeated enemy. To him she gives the keys of the sluices which stand between the town and the sea. When the town and all its inhabitants are about to be swept away, the girl in remorse throws herself into the sea. St. Corentin, patron saint of Ys, accepts her sacrifice and the sea abates.
GRISÉLIDIS
Massenet's "Grisélidis," a lyric tale in three acts and a prologue, poem by Armand Silvestre and Eugène Morand based on the "Mystery" in free verse by the same authors, produced at the Comédie-Française, Paris, May 15, 1891, was given for the first time in America, January 19, 1910, at the Manhattan Opera House, New York. The story of the patient Griselda has been handed down to posterity by Boccaccio in the Decameron, 10th day, 10th novel, and by Chaucer, who learned it, he said from Petrarch at Padua, and then put it into the mouth of the Clerk of Oxenforde.
The old ballad of "Patient Grissell" begins thus:
A noble marquess As he did ride a-hunting, Hard by a forest side, A fair and comely maiden, As she did sit a-spinning, His gentle eye espied.
Most fair and lovely And was of comely grace was she, Although in simple attire, She sang most sweetly, With pleasant voice melodiously, Which set the lord's heart on fire.
An English drama, "Patient Grissel," was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1599. The word "Grizel," the proverbial type of a meek and patient wife, crept into the English language through this story. Chaucer wrote:
No wedded man so hardy be tassaille His wyves patience, in hope to fynde Grisildes, for in certain he shall fail.
Several operas on this subject were written before Massenet's, but the ballet "Griseldis: Les Cinq Sens" by Adam (Paris, 1848), has another story. So too has Flotow's comic opera, "Griselda, l'esclave du Camoens."
Silvestre and Morand represented Griselda as tempted by Satan in person that he might win a wager made with the marquis. When the "Mystery" was given in 1891 the cast included Miss Bartet as Griseldis; Coquelin cadet as Le Diable; Silvain as the Marquis de Saluce and A. Lambert, fils, as Alain. It was played at fifty-one consecutive performances. According to Mr. Destranges, Bizet wrote music for a "Grisélidis" with a libretto by Sardou, but most of this was destroyed. Only one air is extant, that is the air sung by Micaela in "Carmen." According to the same authority Massenet's score lay "En magasin" for nearly ten years. Thus the music antedated that of "Thaïs" (1894), "La Navarraise" (1894), "Sapho" (1897), "Cendrillon" (1899), and it was not performed until 1901.
"Grisélidis" was produced at the Opéra Comique, Paris, November 20, 1901, with Lucienne Bréval, Lucien Fugère, Messrs. Maréchal and Dufranne. André Messager conducted. On November 23, 1901, the opera drew the largest receipts known thus far in the history of the Opéra Comique--9538 francs.
Mr. Philip Hale tells the story of the opera as follows:
"The scene is in Provence and in the fourteenth century. The Marquis of Saluzzo, strolling about in his domains, met Griselda, a shepherdess, and he loved her at first sight. Her heart was pure; her hair was ebon black; her eyes shone with celestial light. He married her and the boy Loÿs was born to them. The happy days came to an end, for the Marquis was called to the war against the Saracens. Before he set out, he confided to the prior his grief at leaving Griselda. The prior was a Job's comforter: 'Let my lord look out for the devil! When husbands are far away, Satan tempts their wives.' The Marquis protests for he knew the purity of Griselda; but as he protested he heard a mocking laugh, and he saw at the window an ape-like apparition. It was the devil all in green. The Marquis would drive him away, but the devil proposed a wager: he bet that he would tempt Griselda to her fall, while the Marquis was absent. The Marquis confidently took up the wager, and gave the devil his ring as a pledge. The devil of these librettists had a wife who nagged her spouse, and he in revenge sought to make other husbands unhappy. He began to lay snares for Griselda; he appeared in the disguise of a Byzantine Jew, who came to the castle, leading as a captive, his own wife, Fiamina, and he presented her: 'This slave belongs to the Marquis. He bids you to receive her, to put her in your place, to serve her, to obey her in all things. Here is his ring.' Griselda meekly bowed her head. The devil said to himself that Griselda would now surely seek vengeance on her cruel lord. He brought Alain by a spell to the castle garden at night--Alain, who had so fondly loved Griselda. She met him in an odorous and lonely walk. He threw himself at her feet and made hot love. Griselda thought of her husband who had wounded her to the quick, and was about to throw herself into Alain's arms, when her little child appeared. Griselda repulsed Alain, and the devil in his rage bore away the boy, Loÿs. The devil came again, this time as a corsair, who told her that the pirate chief was enamoured of her beauty; she would regain the child if she would only yield; she would see him if she would go to the vessel. She ran to the ship, but lo! the Marquis, home from the East. And then the devil, in another disguise, spoke foully of Griselda's behaviour, and the Marquis was about to believe him, but he saw Griselda and his suspicions faded away. The devil in the capital of a column declared that Loÿs belonged to him. Foolish devil, who did not heed the patron saint before whom the Marquis and Griselda were kneeling. The cross on the altar was bathed in light; the triptych opened; there, at the feet of St. Agnes, was little Loÿs asleep.
"The opera begins with a prologue which is not to be found in the version played at the Comédie-Française in 1891. The prologue acquaints us with the hope of the shepherd Alain that he may win Griselda: with the Marquis meeting Griselda as he returns from the chase, his sudden passion for her, his decision to take the young peasant as his wife, the despair of Alain. This prologue, with a fine use of themes that are used in the opera as typical, is described as one of the finest works of Massenet, and even his enemies among the ultra-moderns admit that the instrumentation is prodigiously skilful and truly poetic.
"The first act pictures the oratory of Griselda, and ends with the departure of the Marquis.
"The second act passes before the château, on a terrace adorned with three orange trees, with the sea glittering in the distance. It is preceded by an entr'acte of an idyllic nature. It is in this act that the devil and his wife enter disguised, the former as a slave merchant, the latter as an odalisque. In this act the devil, up to his old tricks, orders the flowers to pour madding perfumes into the air that they may aid in the fall of Griselda. And in this act Alain again woos his beloved, and the devil almost wins his wager.
"The third act is in Griselda's oratory. At the end, when Loÿs is discovered at the feet of St. Agnes, the retainers rush in and all intone the 'Magnificat' and through a window the devil is seen in a hermitage, wearing cloak and hood.
"The passages that have excited the warmest praise are the prologue, Griselda's scene in the first act, 'L'Oiseau qui pars à tire-d'aile,' and the quiet ending of the act after the tumult of the departure to the East; in the second act, the prelude, the song, 'Il partit au printemps,' the invocation, and the duet; in the third act, a song from the Marquis, and the final and mystic scene."
THAÏS
"Thaïs," a lyric comedy in three acts and seven scenes, libretto by M. Louis Gallet, taken from the novel by M. Anatole France which bears the same title; music by Massenet; produced at the Opéra on March 16, 1894. It had been, I think, more than sixty years since the Opéra had applied the designation of "lyric comedy" to a work produced on its stage, which is a little too exclusively solemn. As a matter of fact there is no question in Thaïs of one of those powerful and passionate dramas, rich in incidents and majestic dramatic strokes, or one of those subjects profoundly pathetic like those of "Les Huguenots," "La Juive," or "Le Prophète." One could extract from the intimate and mystic novel of "Thaïs" only a unity and simplicity of action without circumlocutions or complications, developing between two important persons and leaving all the others in a sort of discreet shadow, the latter serving only to emphasize the scenic movement and to give to the work the necessary life, color, and variety.
The librettist had the idea of writing his libretto in prose, rhymed, if not entirely in blank verse, in a measured prose to which, in a too long article reviewing it, he gave the name of "poésie mélique." This explanation left the public indifferent, the essential for them being that the libretto be good and interesting and that it prove useful to the musician. The action of "Thaïs" takes place at the end of the fourth century. The first act shows us in a corner of the Theban plain on the banks of the Nile a refuge of cenobites. The good fathers are finishing a modest repast at their common table. One place near them remains empty, that of their comrade Athanaël (Paphnuce in the novel) who has gone to Alexandria. Soon he comes back, still greatly scandalized at the sensation caused in the great city by the presence of a shameless courtesan, the famous actress and dancer, Thaïs, who seems to have turned the sceptical and light heads of its inhabitants. Now in his younger days Athanaël had known this Thaïs, and in Alexandria too, which he left to consecrate himself to the Lord and to take the robe of a religious.
Athanaël is haunted by the memory of Thaïs. He dreams that it would be a pious and meritorious act to snatch her from her unworthy profession and from a life of debauchery which dishonours her and of which she does not even seem to be conscious. He goes to bed and sleeps under the impress of this thought, which does not cease to confront him, so much so that he sees her in a dream on the stage of the theatre of Alexandria, representing the Loves of Venus. He can refrain no longer and on awaking he goes to find her again, firmly resolved to do everything to bring about her conversion.
Arrived at Alexandria, Athanaël meets an old friend, the beau Nicias, to whom he makes himself known and who is the lover of Thaïs for a day longer because he has purchased her love for a week which is about to end. Athanaël confides his scheme to Nicias who receives him like a brother and makes him put on clothes which will permit him to attend a fête and banquet which he is to give that very night in honour of Thaïs. Soon he finds himself in the presence of the courtesan who laughs at him at his first words and who engages him to come to see her at her house if he expects to convert her. He does not fail to accept this invitation and once in Thaïs's house tells her to be ashamed of her disorderly life and with eloquent words reveals to her the heavenly joys and the felicities of religion. Thaïs is very much impressed; she is on the point of yielding to his advice when afar off in a song are heard the voices of her companions in pleasure. Then she repels the monk, who, without being discouraged, goes away, saying to her: "At thy threshold until daylight I will await thy coming."
In fact here we find him at night seated on the front steps of Thaïs's house. Time has done its work and a few hours have sufficed for the young woman to be touched by grace. She goes out of her house, having exchanged her rich garments for a rough woollen dress, finds the monk, and begs him to lead her to a convent. The conversion is accomplished.
But Athanaël has deceived himself. It was not love of God but it was jealousy that dictated his course without his being aware of it. When he has returned to the Thebaid after having conducted Thaïs to a convent and thinks he has found peace again, he perceives with horror that he loves her madly. His thoughts without ceasing turn to her and in a new dream, a cruel dream, he seems to see Thaïs, sanctified and purified by remorse and prayer, on the point of dying in the convent where she took refuge. On awaking, under the impression of this sinister vision, he hurries to the convent where Thaïs in fact is near to breathing her last breath. But he does not wish that she die; and while she, in ecstasy, is only thinking of heaven and of her purification, he wants to snatch her from death and only talks to her of his love. The scene is strange and of real power. Thaïs dies at last and Athanaël falls stricken down beside her.
This subject, half mystic, half psychological, was it really a favourable one for theatrical action? Was it even treated in such a way as to mitigate the defects it might present in this connection? We may doubt it. Nevertheless M. Massenet has written on this libretto of "Thaïs" a score which, if it does not present the firm unity of those of "Manon" and of "Werther," certainly does not lack either inspiration or colour or originality and in which moreover are found in all their force and all their expansion the astonishing technical qualities of a master to whom nothing in his art is foreign. All the music of the first act, which shows us the retreat of the cenobites, is of a sober and severe colour, with which will be contrasted the movement and the gracefulness of the scene at the house of Nicias. There should be noted the peaceful chorus of monks, the entrance of Athanaël, the fine phrase which follows his dream: "Toi qui mis la pitié dans nos âmes," and the very curious effect of the scene where he goes away again from his companions to return to Alexandria. In the second act the kind of invocation placed in the mouth of the same Athanaël: "Voilà donc la terrible cité," written on a powerful rhythm, is followed by a charming quartette, a passage with an emphasis full of grace and the end of which especially is delightful. I would indicate again in this act the rapid and kindly dialogue of Nicias and of Thaïs: "Nous nous sommes aimés une longue semaine," which seems to conceal under its apparent indifference a sort of sting of melancholy. I pass over the air of Thaïs: "Dis-moi que je suis belle," an air of bravado solely destined to display the finish of a singer, to which I much prefer the whole scene that follows, which is only a long duet in which Athanaël tries to convert Thaïs. The severe and stern accents of the monk put in opposition to the raillery and the voluptuous outbreaks (buoyancy) of the courtesan produce a striking contrast which the composer has known how to place in relief with a rare felicity and a real power. The symphonic intermezzo which, under the name of "Méditation," separates this act from the following, is nothing but an adorable violin solo, supported by the harps and the development of which, on the taking up again of the first motif by the violin, brings about the entrance of an invisible chorus, the effect of which is purely exquisite. The curtain then rises on the scene in which Thaïs, who has put on a rough woollen dress, goes to seek the monk to flee with him. Here there is a duet in complete contrast with the preceding. Athanaël wants Thaïs to destroy and burn whatever may preserve the memory of her past. She obeys, demanding favour only for a little statue of Eros: "L'amour est un vertu rare." It is a sort of invocation to the purity of love, written, if one may say so, in a sentiment of chaste melancholy and entirely impressed with gracefulness and poetry. But what should be praised above all is the final scene, that of the death of Thaïs. This scene, truly pathetic and powerful, has been treated by the composer with a talent of the first order and an incontestable superiority. There again he knew wonderfully well how to seize the contrast between the pious thoughts of Thaïs, who at the moment of quitting life begins to perceive eternal happiness, and the powerless rage of Athanaël, who, devoured by an impious love, reveals to her, without her understanding or comprehending it, all the ardour of a passion that death alone can extinguish in him. The touching phrases of Thaïs, the despairing accents of Athanaël, interrupted by the desolate chants of the nuns, companions of the dying woman, provoke in the hearer a poignant and sincere emotion. That is one of the finest pages we owe to the pen of M. Massenet. We must point out especially the return of the beautiful violin phrase which constitutes the foundation of the intermezzo of the second act.
The work has been very well played by Mlle. Sybil Sanderson (Thaïs), M. Delmas (Athanaël), M. Alvarez (Nicias), Mmes. Héglon and Marcy, and M. Delpouget.
MANON
Opera in five acts by Massenet; words by Henri Meilhac and Philippe Gille, after the story by Abbé Prévost. Produced Opéra Comique, Paris, January 19, 1884; Théâtre de la Monnaie, Brussels, March 15, 1884. In English, by the Carl Rosa Company, Liverpool, January 17, 1885; and at Drury Lane, London, May 7, 1885, with Marie Roze, Barton McGuckin, and Ludwig. In French, Covent Garden, May 14, 1894. Carcano Theatre, Milan, October 19, 1893. Academy of Music, New York, December 23, 1885, with Minnie Hauck (Manon), Giannini (Des Grieux), and Del Puente (Lescaut); Metropolitan Opera House, January 16, 1895, with Sibyl Sanderson and Jean de Reszke.
CHARACTERS
CHEVALIER DES GRIEUX Tenor COUNT DES GRIEUX, his father Bass LESCAUT, of the Royal Guard, cousin to Manon Baritone GUILLOT DE MORFONTAINE, Minister of Finance, an old beau Bass DE BRÉTIGNY, a nobleman Baritone MANON Soprano POUSSETTE, JAVOTTE, ROSETTE, actresses Sopranos
Students, innkeeper, a sergeant, a soldier, gamblers, merchants and their wives, croupiers, sharpers, guards, travellers, ladies, gentlemen, porters, postilions, an attendant at the Monastery of St. Sulpice, the people.
Time--1821.
Place--Amiens, Paris, Havre.
Act I. Courtyard of the inn at Amiens. Guillot and De Brétigny, who have just arrived with the actresses Poussette, Javotte, and Rosette, are shouting for the innkeeper. Townspeople crowd about the entrance to the inn. They descry a coach approaching. Lescaut, who has alighted from it, enters followed by two guardsmen. Other travellers appear amid much commotion, amusement, and shouting on the part of the townspeople. He is awaiting his cousin Manon, whom he is to conduct to a convent school, and who presently appears and gives a sample of her character, which is a mixture of demureness and vivacity, of serious affection and meretricious preferment, in her opening song, "Je suis encore tout étourdie" (A simple maiden fresh from home), in which she tells how, having left home for the first time to travel to Amiens, she sometimes wept and sometimes laughed. It is a chic little song.
Lescaut goes out to find her luggage. From the balcony of the inn the old roué Guillot sees her. She is not shocked, but laughs at his hints that he is rich and can give her whatever she wants. De Brétigny, who, accompanied by the actresses, comes out on the balcony in search of Guillot, also is much struck with her beauty. Guillot, before withdrawing with the others from the balcony, softly calls down to her that his carriage is at her disposal, if she will but enter it and await him. Lescaut returns but at the same time his two guardsmen come after him. They want him to join with them in gambling and drinking. He pretends to Manon that he is obliged to go to his armoury for a short time. Before leaving her, however, he warns her to be careful of her actions. "Regardez-moi bien dans les yeux" (Now give good heed to what I say).
Left alone, Manon expresses admiration for the jewels and finery worn by the actresses. She wishes such gems and dresses might belong to her. The Chevalier des Grieux, young, handsome, ardent, comes upon the scene. He loves Manon at first sight. Nor does she long remain unimpressed by the wooing of the Chevalier. Beginning with his words, "If I knew but your name," and her reply, "I am called Manon," the music soon becomes an impassioned love duet. To him she is an "enchantress." As for her--"À vous ma vie et mon âme" (To you my life and my soul).
Manon sees Guillot's postilion, who has been told by his master to take his orders from Manon. She communicates to Des Grieux that they will run away to Paris in Guillot's conveyance. "Nous vivrons à Paris" ('Tis to Paris we go), they shout in glad triumph, and are off. There is much confusion when the escape is discovered. Ridicule is heaped upon Guillot. For is it not in his carriage, in which the old roué hoped to find Manon awaiting him, that she has driven off with her young lover!
Act II. The apartment of Des Grieux and Manon, Rue Vivienne, Paris. Des Grieux is writing at his desk. Discovering Manon looking over his shoulder, he reads her what he has written--a letter to his father extolling her charms and asking permission to marry her.
The scene is interrupted by knocking and voices without. The maid servant announces that two guardsmen demand admission. She whispers to Manon, "One of them loves you--the nobleman, who lives near here." The pair are Lescaut and De Brétigny, the latter masquerading as a soldier in Lescaut's regiment. Lescaut scents more profit for himself and for his cousin Manon in a liaison between her and the wealthy nobleman than in her relations with Des Grieux. Purposely he is gruff and demands "yes" or "no" to his question as to whether or not Des Grieux intends to marry the girl. Des Grieux shows the letter he is about to despatch to his father. Apparently everything is satisfactory. But De Brétigny manages to convey to Manon the information that the Chevalier's father is incensed at his son's mode of life, and has arranged to have him carried off that night. If she will keep quiet about it, he (De Brétigny) will provide for her handsomely and surround her with the wealth and luxury she craves. She protests that she loves Des Grieux--but is careful not to warn him of the impending abduction.
Lescaut and the nobleman depart, after Lescaut, sly fellow, has blessed his "children," as he calls Manon and Des Grieux. Shortly afterwards the latter goes out to despatch the letter to his father. Manon, approaching the table, which is laid for supper, sings the charming air, "Adieu, nôtre petite table" (Farewell, dear little table). This is followed by the exquisite air with harp accompaniment, "Le Rève de Manon" (A vision of Manon), which is sung by Des Grieux, who has re-entered and describes her as he saw her in a dream.
There is a disturbance outside. Manon knows that the men who will bear away her lover have arrived. She loves Des Grieux, but luxury means more to her than love. An effort is made by her to dissuade the Chevalier from going outside to see who is there--but it is a half-hearted attempt. He goes. The noise of a struggle is heard. Manon, "overcome with grief," exclaims, "He has gone."
Act III. Scene I. The Cours de la Reine, Paris, on the day of a popular fête. Stalls of traders are among the trees. There is a pavilion for dancing. After some lively preliminary episodes between the three actresses and Guillot, De Brétigny enters with Manon. She sings a clever "Gavotte." It begins, "Obéissons, quand leur voix appelle" (List to the voice of Youth when it calleth).
The Count des Grieux, father of the Chevalier, comes upon the scene. From a conversation between him and De Brétigny, which Manon overhears, she learns that the Chevalier is about to enter the seminary of St. Sulpice and intends to take holy orders. After a duet between Manon and the Count, who retires, the girl enters her chair, and bids the wondering Lescaut to have her conveyed to the seminary.
Scene II. Parlour in the Seminary of St. Sulpice. Nuns and visitors, who have just attended religious service, are praising the sermon delivered by Des Grieux, who enters a little later attired in the garb of an abbé. The ladies withdraw, leaving Des Grieux with his father, who has come in unobserved, and now vainly endeavours to dissuade his son from taking holy orders. Left alone, Des Grieux cannot banish Manon from his thoughts. "Ah! fuyez douce image" (Ah! depart, image fair), he sings, then slowly goes out.
Almost as if in answer to his soliloquy, the woman whose image he cannot put away enters the parlour. From the chapel chanting is heard. Summoned by the porter of the seminary, Des Grieux comes back. He protests to Manon that she has been faithless and that he shall not turn from the peace of mind he has sought in religious retreat.
Gradually, however, he yields to the pleading of the woman he loves. "N'est-ce plus ma main que cette main presse?... Ah! regarde-moi! N'est-ce plus Manon?" ("Is it no longer my hand, your own now presses?... Ah! look upon me! Am I no longer Manon?") The religious chanting continues, but now only as a background to an impassioned love duet--"Ah! Viens, Manon, je t'aime!" (Ah, Manon, Manon! I love thee.)
Act IV. A fashionable gambling house in Paris. Play is going on. Guillot, Lescaut, Poussette, Javotte, and Rosette are of the company. Later Manon and Des Grieux come in. Manon, who has run through her lover's money, counsels the Chevalier to stake what he has left on the game. Des Grieux plays in amazing luck against Guillot and gathers in winning after winning. "Faites vos jeux, Messieurs," cry the croupiers, while Manon joyously sings, "Ce bruit de l'or, ce rire, et ces éclats joyeux" (Music of gold, of laughter, and clash of joyous sounds). The upshot of it all, however, is that Guillot accuses the Chevalier of cheating, and after an angry scene goes out. Very soon afterwards, the police, whom Guillot has summoned, break in. Upon Guillot's accusation they arrest Manon and the Chevalier. "Ô douleur, l'avenir nous sépare" (Oh despair! Our lives are divided for ever), sings Manon, her accents of grief being echoed by those of her lover.
Act V, originally given as a second scene to the fourth act. A lonely spot on the road to Havre. Des Grieux has been freed through the intercession of his father. Manon, however, with other women of her class, has been condemned to deportation to the French colony of Louisiana. Des Grieux and Lescaut are waiting for the prisoners to pass under an escort of soldiers. Des Grieux hopes to release Manon by attacking the convoy, but Lescaut restrains him. The guardsman finds little difficulty in bribing the sergeant to permit Manon, who already is nearly dead from exhaustion, to remain behind with Des Grieux, between whom the rest of the opera is a dolorous duet, ending in Manon's death. Even while dying her dual nature asserts itself. Feebly opening her eyes, almost at the last, she imagines she sees jewels and exclaims, "Oh! what lovely gems!" She turns to Des Grieux: "I love thee! Take thou this kiss. 'Tis my farewell for ever." It is, of course, this dual nature which makes the character drawn by Abbé Prévost so interesting.
* * * * *
"Manon" by Massenet is one of the popular operas in the modern repertoire. Its music has charm, and the leading character, in which Miss Farrar appears with such distinction, is both a good singing and a good acting rôle, a valuable asset to a prima donna. I have an autograph letter of Massenet's written, presumably to Sibyl Sanderson, half an hour before the curtain rose on the première of "Manon," January 19, 1884. In it he writes that within that brief space of time they will know whether their hopes are to be confirmed, or their illusions dissipated. In New York, eleven years later, Miss Sanderson failed to make any impression in the rôle.
The beauty of Massenet's score is responsible for the fact that audiences are not troubled over the legal absurdity in the sentence of deportation pronounced upon Manon for being a courtesan and a gambler's accomplice. In the story she also is a thief.
The last act is original with the librettists. In the story the final scene is laid in Louisiana (see Puccini's Manon Lescaut). The effective scene in the convent of St. Sulpice was overlooked by Puccini, as it also was by Scribe, who wrote the libretto for Auber's "Manon." This latter work survives in the laughing song, "L'Éclat de Rire," which Patti introduced in the lesson scene in "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," and which Galli-Curci has revived for the same purpose.
LE CID
"Le Cid"; opera in four acts and ten scenes; the poem by MM. d'Ennery, Louis Gallet, and Édouard Blau; music by Massenet; produced at the Opéra on November 30, 1885. The authors of the libretto of "Le Cid" declared at the start of it that they had been inspired by Guillen de Castro and by Corneille. The sole masterpiece of Corneille which is built about a sort of psychological analysis of the character of Chimène and of the continual conflict of the two feelings which divide her heart, in fact would not have given them sufficient action; on the other hand they would not have been able to find in it the pretext for adornments, for sumptuousness, for the rich stage setting which the French opera house has been accustomed for two centuries to offer to its public.
This is the way the opera is arranged: First act, first scene: at the house of the Comte de Gormas; scene between Chimène and the Infanta. Second scene: entering the cathedral of Burgos. Rodrigo is armed as a knight by the King. The King tells Don Diego that he names him governor of the Infanta. Quarrel of Don Diego and Don Gormas. Scene of Don Diego and Don Rodrigo: "Rodrigue, as-tu du coeur?" Second act, third scene: A street in Burgos at night. Stanzas by Rodrigo: "Percé jusques au fond du coeur." Rodrigo knocks at the door of Don Gormas: "À moi, comte, deux mots!" Provocation; duel; death of Don Gormas. Chimène discovers that Rodrigo is the slayer of her father. Fourth scene: The public square in Burgos. A popular festival. Ballet. Chimène arrives to ask the King for justice. Don Diego defends his son. A Moorish courier arrives to declare war on the King on the part of his master. The King orders Rodrigo to go and fight the infidels. Third act, fifth scene: The chamber of Chimène: "Pleurez, pleurez, mes yeux, et fondez-vous en eau." Scene of Chimène and Rodrigo. Sixth scene: the camp of Rodrigo. Seventh scene: Rodrigo's tent. The vision. St. James appears to him. Eighth scene: the camp. The battle. Defeat of the Moors. Fourth act, ninth scene: The palace of the Kings at Granada. Rodrigo is believed to be dead. Chimène mourns for him: "Éclate ô mon amour, tu n'as plus rien à craindre." Tenth scene: A courtyard in the palace. Rodrigo comes back as a conqueror. Chimène forgives him. The end.
DON QUICHOTTE
Opera in five acts by Jules Massenet; text by Henri Cain, after the play by Jacques Le Lorrain, based on the romance of Cervantes. Produced, Monte Carlo, 1910.
CHARACTERS
LA BELLE DULCINÉE Contralto DON QUICHOTTE Bass SANCHO Baritone PEDRO, burlesquer Soprano GARCIAS, burlesquer Soprano RODRIGUEZ Tenor JUAN Tenor TWO VALETS Baritone
TENEBRUN, chief, and other bandits, friends of Dulcinée, and others.
Time--The Middle Ages.
Place--Spain.
Act I. Square in front of the house of Dulcinée, whose beauty people praise in song. Into the midst of the throng ride Don Quichotte and his comical companion, Sancho. Night and moonlight. Don Quichotte serenades Dulcinée, arousing the jealousy of Juan, a lover of the professional beauty, who now appears and prevents a duel. She is amused by the avowals of Don Quichotte, and promises to become his beloved if he will recover a necklace stolen from her by brigands.