Act V. When Gounod revised "Faust" for the Grand Opéra, Paris, the

traditions of that house demanded a more elaborate ballet than the

dance in the kermis scene afforded. Consequently the authors reached

beyond the love story of _Faust_ and _Marguerite_ into the second part

of Goethe's drama and utilized the legendary revels of Walpurgis Night

(eve of May 1st) on the Brocken, the highest point of the Hartz

mountains. Here _Faust_ meets the courtesans of antiquity--Laïs,

Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Phryne. "Les Nubiennes," "Cléopatra et la

Coupe d'Or" (Cleopatra and the Goblet of Gold), "Les Troyennes" (The

Troyan Women), "Variation," and "Dance de Phryne" are the dances in

this ballet. More frequently than not the scene is omitted. To connect

it with the main story, there comes to _Faust_, in the midst of the

revels, a vision of _Marguerite_. Around her neck he beholds a red

line, "like the cut of an axe." He commands _Méphistophélès_ to take

him to her.

They find her in prison, condemned to death for killing her child.

There is an impassioned duet for _Faust_ and _Marguerite_. He begs her

to make her escape with him. But her mind is wandering. In snatches of

melody from preceding scenes, she recalls the episode at the kermis,

the night in the garden. She sees _Méphistophélès_, senses his

identity with the arch-fiend. There is a superb trio, in which

_Marguerite_ ecstatically calls upon angels to intervene and save

her--"Anges purs! Anges radieux!" (Angels pure, radiant, bright).

[Music]

The voices mount higher and higher, _Marguerite's_ soaring to a

splendid climax. She dies.

"Condemned!" cries _Méphistophélès_.

"Saved," chant ethereal voices.

The rear wall of the prison opens. Angels are seen bearing

_Marguerite_ heavenward. _Faust_ falls on his knees in prayer.

_Méphistophélès_ turns away, "barred by the shining sword of an

archangel."

During the ten years that elapsed between the productions at the

Théâtre Lyrique and the Grand Opéra, "Faust" had only thirty-seven

performances. Within eight years (1887) after it was introduced to the

Grand Opéra, it had 1000 performances there. From 1901-1910 it was

given nearly 3000 times in Germany. After the score had been declined

by several publishers, it was brought out by Choudens, who paid Gounod

10,000 francs ($2000) for it, and made a fortune out of the venture.

For the English rights the composer is said to have received only £40

($200) and then only upon the insistence of Chorley, the author of the

English version.

ROMÉO ET JULIETTE

ROMEO AND JULIET

Opera in five acts, by Gounod; words by Barbier and Carré,

after the tragedy by Shakespeare. Produced Paris, Théâtre

Lyrique, April 27, 1867; January, 1873, taken over by the

Opéra Comique; Grand Opéra, November 28, 1888. London,

Covent Garden, in Italian, July 11, 1867. New York, Academy

of Music, November 15, 1867, with Minnie Hauck as _Juliet_;

Metropolitan Opera House, December 14, 1891, with Eames

(_Juliet_), Jean de Reszke (_Romeo_), Édouard de Reszke

(_Friar Lawrence_). Chicago, December 15, 1916, with

Muratore as _Romeo_ and Galli-Curci as _Juliet_.

CHARACTERS

THE DUKE OF VERONA _Bass_

COUNT PARIS _Baritone_

COUNT CAPULET _Bass_

JULIET, his daughter _Soprano_

GERTRUDE, her nurse _Mezzo-Soprano_

TYBALT, Capulet's nephew _Tenor_

ROMEO, a Montague _Tenor_

MERCUTIO _Baritone_

BENVOLIO, Romeo's page _Soprano_

GREGORY, a Capulet retainer _Baritone_

FRIAR LAWRENCE _Bass_

Nobles and ladies of Verona, citizens, soldiers, monks, and

pages.

_Time_--14th Century.

_Place_--Verona.

Having gone to Goethe for "Faust," Gounod's librettists, Barbier and

Carré, went to Shakespeare for "Roméo et Juliette," which, like

"Faust," reached the Paris Grand Opéra by way of the Théâtre Lyrique.

Mme. Miolan-Carvalho, the original _Marguerite_, also created

_Juliette_.

"Roméo et Juliette" has been esteemed more highly in France than

elsewhere. In America, save for performances in New Orleans, it was

only during the Grau régime at the Metropolitan Opera House, when it

was given in French with casts familiar with the traditions of the

Grand Opéra, that it can be said regularly to have held a place in the

repertoire. Eames is remembered as a singularly beautiful _Juliette_,

vocally and personally; Capoul, Jean de Reszke, and Saléza, as

_Roméos_; Édouard de Reszke as _Frère Laurent_.

Nicolini, who became Adelina Patti's second husband, sang _Roméo_ at

the Grand Opéra to her _Juliette_. She was then the Marquise de Caux,

her marriage to the Marquis having been brought about by the Empress

Eugénie. But that this marriage was not to last long, and that the

_Romeo_ and _Juliet_ were as much in love with each other in actual

life as on the stage, was revealed one night to a Grand Opéra

audience, when, during the balcony scene, prima donna and tenor--so

the record says--imprinted twenty-nine real kisses on each other's

lips.

The libretto is in five acts and follows closely, often even to the

text, Shakespeare's tragedy. There is a prologue in which the

characters and chorus briefly rehearse the story that is to unfold

itself.

Act I. The grand hall in the palace of the Capulets. A fête is in

progress. The chorus sings gay measures. _Tybalt_ speaks to _Paris_ of

_Juliet_, who at that moment appears with her father. _Capulet_ bids

the guests welcome and to be of good cheer--"Soyez les bienvenus,

amis" (Be ye welcome, friends), and "Allons! jeunes gens! Allons!

belles dames!" (Bestir ye, young nobles! And ye, too, fair ladies!).

_Romeo_, _Mercutio_, _Benvolio_, and half-a-dozen followers come

masked. Despite the deadly feud between the two houses, they,

Montagues, have ventured to come as maskers to the fête of the

Capulets. _Mercutio_ sings of Queen Mab, a number as gossamerlike in

the opera as the monologue is in the play; hardly ever sung as it

should be, because the rôle of _Mercutio_ rarely is assigned to a

baritone capable of doing justice to the airy measures of "Mab, la

reine des mensonges" (Mab, Queen Mab, the fairies' midwife).

The Montagues withdraw to another part of the palace. _Juliet_ returns

with _Gertrude_, her nurse. Full of high spirits, she sings the

graceful and animated waltz, "Dans ce rêve, qui m'enivre"

[Transcriber's Note: correct title is 'Je veux vivre dans le rêve']

(Fair is the tender dream of youth).

[Music]

The nurse is called away. _Romeo_, wandering in, meets _Juliet_.

Their love, as in the play, is instantaneous. _Romeo_ addresses her in

passionate accents, "Ange adorable" (Angel! adored one). His

addresses, _Juliet's_ replies, make a charming duo.

Upon the re-entry of _Tybalt_, _Romeo_, who had removed his mask,

again adjusts it. But _Tybalt_ suspects who he is, and from the

utterance of his suspicions, _Juliet_ learns that the handsome youth,

to whom her heart has gone out, is none other than _Romeo_, scion of

the Montagues, the sworn enemies of her house. The fiery _Tybalt_ is

for attacking _Romeo_ and his followers then and there. But old

_Capulet_, respecting the laws of hospitality, orders that the fête

proceed.

Act II. The garden of the Capulets. The window of _Juliet's_

apartment, and the balcony, upon which it gives. _Romeo's_ page,

_Stephano_, a character introduced by the librettists, holds a ladder

by which _Romeo_ ascends to the balcony. _Stephano_ leaves, bearing

the ladder with him.

_Romeo_ sings, "Ah! lève-toi, soleil" (Ah! fairest dawn arise). The

window opens, _Juliet_ comes out upon the balcony. _Romeo_ conceals

himself. From her soliloquy he learns that, although he is a Montague,

she loves him. He discloses his presence. The interchange of pledges

is exquisite. Lest the sweetness of so much love music become too

cloying, the librettists interrupt it with an episode. The Capulet

retainer, _Gregory_, and servants of the house, suspecting that an

intruder is in the garden, for they have seen _Stephano_ speeding

away, search unsuccessfully and depart.

The nurse calls. _Juliet_ re-enters her apartment. _Romeo_ sings, "Ô

nuit divine" (Oh, night divine). _Juliet_ again steals out upon the

balcony. "Ah! je te l'ai dit, je t'adore!" (Ah, I have told you that I

adore you), sings _Romeo_. There is a beautiful duet, "Ah! ne fuis

pas encore!" (Ah, do not flee again). A brief farewell. The curtain

falls upon the "balcony scene."

Act III, Part I. _Friar Lawrence's_ cell. Here takes place the wedding

of _Romeo_ and _Juliet_, the good friar hoping that their union may

lead to peace between the two great Veronese houses of Montague and

Capulet. There are in this part of the act _Friar Lawrence's_ prayer,

"Dieu, qui fis l'homme à ton image" (God, who made man in Thine

image); a trio, in which the friar chants the rubric, and the pair

respond; and an effective final quartet for _Juliet_, _Gertrude_,

_Romeo_, and _Friar Lawrence_.

Part II. A street near _Capulet's_ house. _Stephano_, having vainly

sought _Romeo_, and thinking he still may be in concealment in

_Capulet's_ garden, sings a ditty likely to rouse the temper of the

Capulet household, and bring its retainers into the street, thus

affording _Romeo_ a chance to get away. The ditty is "Que fais-tu,

blanche tourterelle" (Gentle dove, why art thou clinging?). _Gregory_

and _Stephano_ draw and fight. The scene develops, as in the play.

Friends of the two rival houses appear. _Mercutio_ fights _Tybalt_ and

is slain, and is avenged by _Romeo_, who kills _Tybalt_, _Juliet's_

kinsman, and, in consequence, is banished from Verona by the _Duke_.

[Illustration: Photo copyright, 1916, by Victor Georg

Galli-Curci as Juliette in "Roméo et Juliette"]

Act IV. It is the room of _Juliet_, to which _Romeo_ has found access,

in order to bid her farewell, before he goes into exile. The lingering

_adieux_, the impassioned accents in which the despair of parting is

expressed--these find eloquent utterance in the music. There is the

duet, "Nuit d'hyménée, Ô douce nuit d'amour" (Night hymeneal, sweetest

night of love). _Romeo_ hears the lark, sure sign of approaching day,

but _Juliet_ protests. "Non, non, ce n'est pas le jour" (No, no! 'Tis

not yet the day). Yet the parting time cannot be put off longer.

_Romeo:_ "Ah! reste! reste encore dans mes bras enlacés" (Ah! rest!

rest once more within mine entwining arms); then both, "Il faut

partir, hélas" (Now we must part, alas).

Hardly has _Romeo_ gone when _Gertrude_ runs in to warn _Juliet_ that

her father is approaching with _Friar Lawrence_. _Tybalt's_ dying

wish, whispered into old _Capulet's_ ear, was that the marriage

between _Juliet_ and the noble whom _Capulet_ has chosen for her

husband, _Count Paris_, be speeded. _Juliet's_ father comes to bid her

prepare for the marriage. Neither she, the friar, nor the nurse dare

tell _Capulet_ of her secret nuptials with _Romeo_. This gives

significance to the quartet, "Ne crains rien" (I fear no more).

_Capulet_ withdraws, leaving, as he supposes, _Friar Lawrence_ to

explain to _Juliet_ the details of the ceremony. It is then the friar,

in the dramatic, "Buvez donc ce breuvage" (Drink then of this

philtre), gives her the potion, upon drinking which she shall appear

as dead.

The scene changes to the grand hall of the palace. Guests arrive for

the nuptials. There is occasion for the ballet, so essential for a

production at the Grand Opéra. _Juliet_ drains the vial, falls as if

dead.

Act V. The tomb of the Capulets. _Romeo_, having heard in his exile

that his beloved is no more, breaks into the tomb. She, recovering

from the effects of the philtre, finds him dying, plunges a dagger

into her breast, and expires with him.

In the music there is an effective prelude. _Romeo_, on entering the

tomb, sings, "Ô ma femme! ô ma bien aimée" (O wife, dearly beloved).

_Juliet_, not yet aware that _Romeo_ has taken poison, and _Romeo_

forgetting for the moment that death's cold hand already is reaching

out for him, they sing, "Viens fuyons au bout du monde" (Come, let us

fly to the ends of the earth). Then _Romeo_ begins to feel the effect

of the poison, and tells _Juliet_ what he has done. "Console-toi,

pauvre âme" (Console thyself, sad heart). But _Juliet_ will not live

without him, and while he, in his wandering mind, hears the lark, as

at their last parting, she stabs herself.

* * * * *

As "Roméo et Juliette" contains much beautiful music, people may

wonder why it lags so far behind "Faust" in popularity. One reason is

that, in the layout of the libretto the authors deliberately sought to

furnish Gounod with another "Faust," and so challenged comparison.

Even _Stephano_, a character of their creation, was intended to give

the same balance to the cast that _Siebel_ does to that of "Faust." In

a performance of Shakespeare's play it is possible to act the scene of

parting without making it too much the duplication of the balcony

scene, which it appears to be in the opera. The "balcony scene" is an

obvious attempt to create another "garden scene." But in "Faust," what

would be the too long-drawn-out sweetness of too much love music is

overcome, in the most natural manner, by the brilliant "Jewel Song,"

and by _Méphistophélès's_ sinister invocation of the flowers. In

"Roméo et Juliette," on the other hand, the interruption afforded by

_Gregory_ and the chorus is too artificial not to be merely

disturbing.

It should be said again, however, that French audiences regard the

work with far more favour than we do. "In France," says Storck, in his

_Opernbuch_, "the work, perhaps not unjustly, is regarded as Gounod's

best achievement, and has correspondingly numerous performances."

Ambroise Thomas

MIGNON

Opera in three acts by Ambroise Thomas, words, based on

Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister," by Barbier and Carré. Produced,

Opéra Comique, Paris, November 17, 1866. London, Drury Lane,

July 5, 1870. New York, Academy of Music, November 22, 1871,

with Nilsson, Duval (_Filina_), Mlle. Ronconi (_Frederick_)

and Capoul; Metropolitan Opera House, October 21, 1883, with

Nilsson, Capoul, and Scalchi (_Frederick_).

CHARACTERS

MIGNON, stolen in childhood from

an Italian castle _Mezzo-Soprano_

PHILINE, an actress _Soprano_

FRÉDÉRIC, a young nobleman _Buffo Tenor or Contralto_

WILHELM, a student on his travels _Tenor_

LAERTES, an actor _Tenor_

LOTHARIO _Bass_

GIARNO, a gypsy _Bass_

ANTONIO, a servant _Bass_

Townspeople, gypsies, actors and actresses, servants, etc.

_Time_--Late 18th Century.

_Place_--Acts I and II, Germany. Act III, Italy.

Notwithstanding the popularity of two airs in "Mignon"--"Connais-tu le

pays?" and the "Polonaise"--the opera is given here but infrequently.

It is a work of delicate texture; of charm rather than passion; with a

story that is, perhaps, too ingenuous to appeal to the sophisticated

audience of the modern opera house. Moreover the "Connais-tu le pays"

was at one time done to death here, both by concert singers and

amateurs. Italian composers are fortunate in having written music so

difficult technically that none but the most accomplished singers can

risk it.

The early performances of "Mignon" in this country were in Italian,

and were more successful than the later revivals in French, by which

time the opera had become somewhat passé. From these early impressions

we are accustomed to call _Philine_ by her Italian equivalent of

_Filina_. _Frédéric_, since Trebelli appeared in the rôle in London,

has become a contralto instead of a buffo tenor part. The "Rondo

Gavotte" in Act II, composed for her by Thomas, has since then been a

fixture in the score. She appeared in the rôle at the Metropolitan

Opera House, December 5, 1883, with Nilsson and Capoul.

Act I. Courtyard of a German inn. Chorus of townspeople and

travellers. _Lothario_, a wandering minstrel, sings, accompanying

himself on his harp, "Fugitif et tremblant" (A lonely wanderer).

_Filina_ and _Laertes_, on the way with their troupe to give a

theatrical performance in a neighbouring castle, appear on a balcony.

_Mignon_ is sleeping on straw in the back of a gypsy cart. _Giarno_,

chief of the gypsy band, rouses her. She refuses to dance. He

threatens her with a stick. _Lothario_ and _Wilhelm_ protect her.

_Mignon_ divides a bouquet of wild flowers between them.

_Laertes_, who has come down from the balcony, engages _Wilhelm_ in

conversation. _Filina_ joins them. _Wilhelm_ is greatly impressed with

her blonde beauty. He does not protest when _Laertes_ takes from him

the wild flowers he has received from _Mignon_ and hands them to

_Filina_.

When _Filina_ and _Laertes_ have gone, there is a scene between

_Wilhelm_ and _Mignon_. The girl tells him of dim memories of her

childhood--the land from which she was abducted. It is at this point

she sings "Connais-tu le pays" (Knowest thou the land). _Wilhelm_

decides to purchase her freedom, and enters the inn with _Giarno_ to

conclude the negotiations. _Lothario_, who is about to wander on, has

been attracted to her, and, before leaving, bids her farewell. They

have the charming duet, "Légères hirondelles" (O swallows, lightly

gliding). There is a scene for _Filina_ and _Frédéric_, a booby, who

is in love with her. _Filina_ is after better game. She is setting her

cap for _Wilhelm_. _Lothario_ wishes to take _Mignon_ with him. But

_Wilhelm_ fears for her safety with the old man, whose mind sometimes

appears to wander. Moreover _Mignon_ ardently desires to remain in the

service of _Wilhelm_ who has freed her from bondage to the gypsies,

and, when _Wilhelm_ declines to let her go with _Lothario_, is

enraptured, until she sees her wild flowers in _Filina's_ hand. For

already she is passionately in love with _Wilhelm_, and jealous when

_Filina_ invites him to attend the theatricals at the castle.

_Wilhelm_ waves adieu to _Filina_, as she drives away. _Lothario_,

pensive, remains seated. _Mignon's_ gaze is directed toward _Wilhelm_.

Act II. _Filina's_ boudoir at the castle. The actress sings of her

pleasure in these elegant surroundings and of _Wilhelm_. _Laertes_ is

heard without, singing a madrigal to _Filina_, "Belle, ayez pitié de

nous" (Fair one, pity take on us).

He ushers in _Wilhelm_ and _Mignon_, then withdraws. _Mignon_,

pretending to fall asleep, watches _Wilhelm_ and _Filina_. While

_Wilhelm_ hands to the actress various toilet accessories, they sing a

graceful duet, "Je crois entendre les doux compliments" (Pray, let me

hear now the sweetest of phrases). Meanwhile _Mignon's_ heart is

tormented with jealousy. When _Wilhelm_ and _Filina_ leave the boudoir

the girl dons one of _Filina's_ costumes, seats herself at the mirror

and puts on rouge and other cosmetics, as she has seen _Filina_ do. In

a spirit of abandon she sings a "Styrienne," "Je connais un pauvre

enfant" (A gypsy lad I well do know). She then withdraws into an

adjoining room. _Frédéric_ enters the boudoir in search of _Filina_.

He sings the gavotte, "Me voici dans son boudoir" (Here am I in her

boudoir). _Wilhelm_ comes in, in search of _Mignon_. The men meet.

There is an exchange of jealous accusations. They are about to fight,

when _Mignon_ rushes between them. _Frédéric_ recognizes _Filina's_

costume on her, and goes off laughing. _Wilhelm_, realizing the

awkward situation that may arise from the girl's following him about,

tells her they must part. "Adieu, Mignon, courage" (Farewell, Mignon,

have courage). She bids him a sad farewell. _Filina_ re-enters. Her

sarcastic references to _Mignon's_ attire wound the girl to the quick.

When _Wilhelm_ leads out the actress on his arm, _Mignon_ exclaims:

"That woman! I loathe her!"

The second scene of this act is laid in the castle park. _Mignon_,

driven to distraction, is about to throw herself into the lake, when

she hears the strains of a harp. _Lothario_, who has wandered into the

park, is playing. There is an exchange of affection, almost paternal

on his part, almost filial on hers, in their duet, "As-tu souffert?

As-tu pleureé?" (Hast thou known sorrow? Hast thou wept?). _Mignon_

hears applause and acclaim from the conservatory for _Filina's_

acting. In jealous rage she cries out that she wishes the building

might be struck by lightning and destroyed by fire; then runs off and

disappears among the trees. _Lothario_ vaguely repeats her words.

"'Fire,' she said! Ah, 'fire! fire!'" Through the trees he wanders off

in the direction of the conservatory, just as its doors are thrown

open and the guests and actors issue forth.

They have been playing "A Midsummer Night's Dream," and _Filina_,

flushed with success, sings the brilliant "Polonaise," "Je suis

Titania" (Behold Titania, fair and gay). _Mignon_ appears. _Wilhelm_,

who has sadly missed her, greets her with so much joy that _Filina_

sends her into the conservatory in search of the wild flowers given to

_Wilhelm_ the day before. Soon after _Mignon_ has entered the

conservatory it is seen to be in flames. _Lothario_, obedient to her

jealous wish, has set it on fire. At the risk of his life _Wilhelm_

rushes into the burning building and reappears with _Mignon's_

fainting form in his arms. He places her on a grassy bank. Her hand

still holds a bunch of withered flowers.

Act III. Gallery in an Italian castle, to which _Wilhelm_ has brought

_Mignon_ and _Lothario_. _Mignon_ has been dangerously ill. A boating

chorus is heard from the direction of a lake below. _Lothario_,

standing by the door of _Mignon's_ sick-room, sings a lullaby, "De son

coeur j'ai calmé la fièvre" (I've soothed the throbbing of her

aching heart). _Wilhelm_ tells _Lothario_ that they are in the

Cipriani castle, which he intends to buy for _Mignon_. At the name of

the castle _Lothario_ is strangely agitated.

_Wilhelm_ has heard _Mignon_ utter his own name in her aberrations

during her illness. He sings, "Elle ne croyait pas" (She does not

know). When she enters the gallery from her sick-room and looks out on

the landscape, she is haunted by memories. There is a duet for

_Mignon_ and _Wilhelm_, "Je suis heureuse, l'air m'enivre" (Now I

rejoice, life reawakens). _Filina's_ voice is heard outside. The girl

is violently agitated. But _Wilhelm_ reassures her.

In the scenes that follow, _Lothario_, his reason restored by being

again in familiar surroundings, recognizes in the place his own castle

and in _Mignon_ his daughter, whose loss had unsettled his mind and

sent him, in minstrel's disguise, wandering in search of her. The

opera closes with a trio for _Mignon_, _Wilhelm_, and _Lothario_. In

it is heard the refrain of "Connais-tu le pays."

* * * * *

"Hamlet," the words by Barbier and Carré, based on Shakespeare's

tragedy, is another opera by Ambroise Thomas. It ranks high in France,

where it was produced at the Grand Opéra, March 9, 1868, with Nilsson

as _Ophelia_ and Faure in the title rôle; but outside of France it

never secured any approach to the popularity that "Mignon" at one time

enjoyed. It was produced in London, in Italian, as "Amleto," Covent

Garden, June 19, 1869, with Nilsson and Santley. In America, where it

was produced in the Academy of Music, March 22, 1872, with Nilsson,

Cary, Brignoli, Barré, and Jamet, it has met the fate of practically

all operas in which the principal character is a baritone--esteem from

musicians, but indifference on the part of the public. It was revived

in 1892 for Lasalle, and by the Chicago Opera Company for Ruffo.

The opera contains in Act I, a love duet for _Hamlet_ and _Ophelia_,

and the scene between _Hamlet_ and his father's _Ghost_; in Act II,

the scene with the players, with a drinking song for _Hamlet_; in Act

III, the soliloquy, "To be or not to be," and the scene between

_Hamlet_ and the _Queen_; in Act IV, _Ophelia's_ mad scene and suicide

by drowning; in Act V, the scene in the graveyard, with a totally

different ending to the opera from that to the play. _Hamlet_ voices a

touching song to _Ophelia's_ memory; then, stung by the _Ghost's_

reproachful look, stabs the _King_, as whose successor he is

proclaimed by the people.

Following is the distribution of voices: _Hamlet_, baritone;

_Claudius_, King of Denmark, bass; _Laertes_, Polonius's son, tenor;

_Ghost_ of the dead King, bass; _Polonius_, bass; _Gertrude_, Queen of

Denmark, Hamlet's mother, mezzo-soprano; and _Ophelia_, Polonius's

daughter, soprano.

* * * * *

Ambroise Thomas was born at Metz, August 5, 1811; died at Paris,

February 12, 1896. He studied at the Paris Conservatory, where, in

1832, he won the grand prix de Rome. In 1871 he became director of the

Conservatory, being considered Auber's immediate successor, although

the post was held for a few days by the communist Salvador Daniel, who

was killed in battle, May 23d.

Georges Bizet

CARMEN

Opera in four acts by Georges Bizet; words by Henri Meilhac

and Ludovic Halévy, founded on the novel by Prosper Mérimée.

Produced, Opéra Comique, Paris, March 3, 1875, the title

rôle being created by Galli-Marié. Her Majesty's Theatre,

London, in Italian, June 22, 1878; same theatre, February 5,

1879, in English; same theatre, November 8, 1886, in French,

with Galli-Marié. Minnie Hauck, who created _Carmen_, in

London, also created the rôle in America, October 23, 1879,

at the Academy of Music, New York, with Campanini (_Don

José_), Del Puente (_Escamillo_), and Mme. Sinico

(_Micaela_). The first New Orleans _Carmen_, January 14,

1881, was Mme. Ambré. Calvé made her New York début as

_Carmen_ at the Metropolitan Opera House, December 20, 1893,

with Jean de Reszke (_Don José_), and Eames (_Micaela_).

Bressler-Gianoli, and afterwards Calvé, sang the rôle at the

Manhattan Opera House. Farrar made her first appearance as

_Carmen_ at the Metropolitan Opera House, November 19,

1914. Campanini, Jean de Reszke, and Caruso are the most

famous _Don Josés_ who have appeared in this country; but

the rôle also has been admirably interpreted by Saléza and

Dalmorès. No singer has approached Emma Eames as _Micaela_;

nor has any interpreter of _Escamillo_ equalled Del Puente,

who had the range and quality of voice and buoyancy of

action which the rôle requires. Galassi, Campanari, Plançon,

and Amato should be mentioned as other interpreters of the

rôle.

February 13, 1912, Mary Garden appeared as _Carmen_ at the

Metropolitan Opera House, with the Chicago Opera Company.

"Carmen" is an opera of world-wide popularity, and as highly

esteemed by musicians as by the public.

CHARACTERS

DON JOSÉ, a corporal of dragoons _Tenor_

ESCAMILLO, a toreador _Baritone_

EL DANCAIRO } smugglers { _Baritone_

EL REMENDADO } { _Tenor_

ZUNIGA, a captain _Bass_

MORALES, an officer _Bass_

MICAELA, a peasant girl _Soprano_

FRASQUITA } gypsies, { _Mezzo-Soprano_

MERCEDES } friends of Carmen { _Mezzo-Soprano_

CARMEN, a cigarette girl and gypsy _Soprano_

Innkeeper, guide, officers, dragoons, boys, cigarette girls,

gypsies, smugglers, etc.

_Time_--About 1820.

_Place_--Seville, Spain.

[Illustration: Photo by White

Calvé as Carmen with Sparkes as Frasquita and Braslau as Mercedes]

Act I. A square in Seville. On the right the gate of a cigarette

factory. At the back, facing the audience, is a practicable bridge

from one side of the stage to the other, and reached from the stage by

a winding staircase on the right beyond the factory gate. The bridge

also is practicable underneath. People from a higher level of the city

can cross it and descend by the stairway to the square. Others can

pass under it. In front, on the left, is a guard-house. Above it three

steps lead to a covered passage. In a rack, close to the door, are the

lances of the dragoons of Almanza, with their little red and yellow

flags.

_Morales_ and soldiers are near the guard-house. People are coming and

going. There is a brisk chorus, "Sur la place" (O'er this square).

_Micaela_ comes forward, as if looking for someone.

"And for whom are you looking?" _Morales_ asks of the pretty girl, who

shyly has approached the soldiers lounging outside the guard-house.

"I am looking for a corporal," she answers.

"I am one," _Morales_ says, gallantly.

"But not _the_ one. His name is José."

The soldiers, scenting amusement in trying to flirt with a pretty

creature, whose innocence is as apparent as her charm, urge her to

remain until _Don José_ comes at change of guard. But, saying she will

return then, she runs away like a frightened deer, past the cigarette

factory, across the square, and down one of the side streets.

A fascinating little march for fifes and trumpets is heard, at first

in the distance, then gradually nearer.

The change of guard arrives, preceded by a band of street lads,

imitating the step of the dragoons. After the lads come _Captain

Zuniga_ and _Corporal José_; then dragoons, armed with lances. The

ceremony of changing guard is gone through with, to the accompaniment

of a chorus of gamins and grown-up spectators. It is a lively scene.

"It must have been Micaela," says _Don José_, when they tell him of

the girl with tresses of fair hair and dress of blue, who was looking

for him. "Nor do I mind saying," he adds, "that I love her." And

indeed, although there are some sprightly girls in the crowd that have

gathered in the square to see the guard changed, he has no eyes for

them, but, straddling a chair out in the open, busies himself trying

to join the links of a small chain that has come apart.

The bell of the cigarette factory strikes the work hour, and the

cigarette girls push their way through the crowd, stopping to make

eyes at the soldiers and young men, or lingering to laugh and chat,

before passing through the factory gates.

A shout goes up:

"Carmen!"

A girl, dark as a gypsy and lithe as a panther, darts across the

bridge and down the steps into the square, the crowd parting and

making way for her.

"Love you?" she cries insolently to the men who press around her and

ply her with their attentions. "Perhaps tomorrow. Anyhow not today."

Then, a dangerous fire kindling in her eyes, she sways slowly to and

fro to the rhythm of a "Habanera," singing the while, "L'amour est un

oiseau rebelle," etc.

"Love is a gypsy boy, 'tis true,

He ever was and ever will be free;

Love you not me, then I love you,

Yet, if I love you, beware of me!"

[Music]

Often she glances toward _José_, often dances so close to him that she

almost touches him, and by subtle inflections in her voice seeks to

attract his attention. But he seems unaware of her presence. Indeed

if, thinking of _Micaela_, he has steeled himself against the gypsy,

in whose every glance, step, and song lurks peril, the handsome

dragoon could not be busying himself more obstinately with the broken

chain in his hand.

"Yet, if I love you, beware of me!"

Tearing from her bodice a blood-red cassia flower, she flings it at

him point blank. He springs to his feet, as if he would rush at her.

But he meets her look, and stops where he stands. Then, with a toss of

the head and a mocking laugh, she runs into the factory, followed by

the other girls, while the crowd, having had its sport, disperses.

The librettists have constructed an admirable scene. The composer has

taken full advantage of it. The "Habanera" establishes _Carmen_ in the

minds of the audience--the gypsy girl, passionate yet fickle, quick to

love and quick to tire. Hers the dash of fatalism that flirts with

death.

At _José's_ feet lies the cassia flower thrown by _Carmen_, the glance

of whose dark eyes had checked him. Hesitatingly, yet as if in spite

of himself, he stoops and picks it up, presses it to his nostrils and

draws in its subtle perfume in a long breath. Then, still as if

involuntarily, or as if a magic spell lies in its odour, he thrusts

the flower under his blouse and over his heart.

He no more than has concealed it there, when _Micaela_ again enters

the square and hurries to him with joyful exclamations. She brings him

tidings from home, and some money from his mother's savings, with

which to eke out his small pay. They have a charming duet, "Ma mère,

je la vois, je revois mon village" (My home in yonder valley, my

mother, lov'd, again I'll see).

It is evident that _Micaela's_ coming gives him a welcome change of

thought, and that, although she cannot remain long, her sweet, pure

presence has for the time being lifted the spell the gypsy has cast

over him. For, when _Micaela_ has gone, _José_ grasps the flower under

his blouse, evidently intending to draw it out and cast it away.

[Illustration: Copyright photo by A. Dupont

Caruso as Don José in "Carmen"]

[Illustration: Copyright photo by Mishkin

Caruso as Don José in "Carmen"]

Just then, however, there are cries of terror from the cigarette

factory and, in a moment, the square is filled with screaming girls,

soldiers, and others. From the excited utterances of the cigarette

girls it is learned that there has been a quarrel between _Carmen_ and

another girl, and that _Carmen_ has wounded the latter with a

knife. _Zuniga_ promptly orders _José_ to take two dragoons with him

into the factory and arrest her. None abashed, and smirking, she comes

out with them. When the captain begins questioning her, she answers

with a gay "Tra la la, tra la la," pitching her voice on a higher note

after each question with an indescribable effect of mockery, that

makes her dark beauty the more fascinating.

Losing patience, the officer orders her hands tied behind her back,

while he makes out the warrant for her imprisonment. The soldiers

having driven away the crowd, _Don José_ is left to guard _Carmen_.

Pacing up and down the square, he appears to be avoiding her. But she,

as if speaking to herself, or thinking aloud, and casting furtive

glances at him, tells of a handsome young dragoon with whom she has

fallen in love.

"He is not a captain, nor even a lieutenant--only a corporal. But he

will do what I ask--because he is in love with me!"

"I?--I love you?" _José_ pauses beside her.

With a coquettish toss of the head and a significant glance she asks,

"Where is the flower I threw at you? What have you done with it?"

Then, softly, she sings another, alluring melody in typical Spanish

dance measure, a "Seguidilla," "Près des remparts de Séville."

"Near by the ramparts of Seville,

Is the inn of my friend, Lillas Pastia,

There I'll dance the gay Seguidilla--

And the dance with my lover I'll share."

[Music]

"Carmen!" cries _José_, "you have bewitched me...."

"Near by the ramparts of Seville.... And the dance with my lover I'll

share!" she murmurs insinuatingly, and at the same time she holds back

her bound wrists toward him. Quickly he undoes the knot, but leaves

the rope about her wrists so that she still appears to be a captive,

when the captain comes from the guard-house with the warrant. He is

followed by the soldiers, and the crowd, drawn by curiosity to see

_Carmen_ led off to prison, again fills the square.

_José_ places her between two dragoons, and the party starts for the

bridge. When they reach the steps, _Carmen_ quickly draws her hands

free of the rope, shoves the soldiers aside, and, before they know

what has happened, dashes up to the bridge and across it, tossing the

rope down into the square as she disappears from sight, while the

crowd, hindering pursuit by blocking the steps, jeers at the

discomfited soldiers.

Act II. The tavern of Lillas Pastia. Benches right and left. Towards

the end of a dinner. The table is in confusion.

_Frasquita_, _Mercedes_, and _Morales_ are with _Carmen_; also other

officers, gypsies, etc. The officers are smoking. Two gypsies in a

corner play the guitar and two others dance. _Carmen_ looks at them.

_Morales_ speaks to her; she does not listen to him, but suddenly

rises and sings, "Les tringles des sistres tintaient" (Ah, when of gay

guitars the sound).

_Frasquita_ and _Mercedes_ join in the "Tra la la la" of the refrain.

While Carmen clicks the castanets, the dance, in which she and others

have joined the two gypsies, becomes more rapid and violent. With the

last notes _Carmen_ drops on a seat.

The refrain, "Tra la la la," with its rising inflection, is a most

characteristic and effective bit.

[Music]

There are shouts outside, "Long live the torero! Long live Escamillo!"

The famous bullfighter, the victor of the bull ring at Granada, is

approaching. He sings the famous "Couplets du Toréador," a rousing

song with refrain and chorus. "Votre toast je peux vous le rendre" (To

your toast I drink with pleasure) begins the number. The refrain, with

chorus, is "Toréador, en garde" (Toreador, e'er watchful be).

[Music]

_Escamillo's_ debonair manner, his glittering uniform, his reputation

for prowess, make him a brilliant and striking figure. He is much

struck with _Carmen_. She is impressed by him. But her fancy still is

for the handsome dragoon, who has been under arrest since he allowed

her to escape, and only that day has been freed. The _Toreador_,

followed by the crowd, which includes _Morales_, departs.

It is late. The tavern keeper closes the shutters and leaves the room.

_Carmen_, _Frasquita_, and _Mercedes_ are quickly joined by the

smugglers, _El Dancairo_ and _El Remendado_. The men need the aid of

the three girls in wheedling the coast-guard, and possibly others,

into neglect of duty. Their sentiments, "En matière de tromperie,"

etc. [Transcriber's Note: Correct lyrics are 'Quand il s'agit de

tromperie'] (When it comes to a matter of cheating ... let women in on

the deal), are expressed in a quintet that is full of spontaneous

merriment--in fact, nowhere in "Carmen," not even in the most dramatic

passages, is the music forced.

The men want the girls to depart with them at once. _Carmen_ wishes to

await _José_. The men suggest that she win him over to become one of

their band. Not a bad idea, she thinks. They leave it to her to carry

out the plan.

Even now _José_ is heard singing, as he approaches the tavern, "Halte

là! Qui va là? Dragon d'Alcala!" (Halt there! Who goes there? Dragoon

of Alcala!). He comes in. Soon she has made him jealous by telling him

that she was obliged to dance for _Morales_ and the officers. But now

she will dance for him.

She begins to dance. His eyes are fastened on her. From the distant

barracks a bugle call is heard. It is the "retreat," the summons to

quarters. The dance, the bugle call, which comes nearer, passes by and

into the distance, the lithe, swaying figure, the wholly obsessed look

of _José_--these are details of a remarkably effective scene. _José_

starts to obey the summons to quarters. _Carmen_ taunts him with

placing duty above his love for her. He draws from his breast the

flower she gave him, and, showing it to her in proof of his passion,

sings the pathetic air, "La fleur que tu m'avais jetée" (The flower

that once to me you gave).

[Music]

Despite her lure, he hesitates to become a deserter and follow her to

the mountains. But at that moment _Morales_, thinking to find _Carmen_

alone, bursts open the tavern door. There is an angry scene between

_Morales_ and _José_. They draw their sabres. The whole band of

smugglers comes in at _Carmen's_ call. _El Dancairo_ and _El

Remandado_ cover _Morales_ with their pistols, and lead him off.

"And you? Will you now come with us?" asks _Carmen_ of _Don José_.

[Illustration: Copyright photo by Dupont

Calvé as Carmen]

[Illustration: Copyright photo by Mishkin

Amato as Escamillo in "Carmen"]

He, a corporal who has drawn his sabre against an officer, an act of

insubordination for which severe punishment awaits him, is ready now

to follow his temptress to the mountains.

Act III. A rocky and picturesque spot among rocks on a mountain. At

the rising of the curtain there is complete solitude. After a few

moments a smuggler appears on the summit of a rock, then two, then the

whole band, descending and scrambling down the mass of rocks. Among

them are _Carmen_, _Don José_, _El Dancairo_, _El Remendado_,

_Frasquita_, and _Mercedes_.

The opening chorus has a peculiarly attractive lilt.

_Don José_ is unhappy. _Carmen's_ absorbing passion for him has been

of brief duration. A creature of impulse, she is fickle and wayward.

_Don José_, a soldier bred, but now a deserter, is ill at ease among

the smugglers, and finds cause to reproach himself for sacrificing

everything to a fierce and capricious beauty, in whose veins courses

the blood of a lawless race. Yet he still loves her to distraction,

and is insanely jealous of her. She gives him ample cause for

jealousy. It is quite apparent that the impression made upon her by

_Escamillo_, the dashing toreador and victor in many bullfights, is

deepening. _Escamillo_ has been caught in the lure of her dangerous

beauty, but he doesn't annoy her by sulking in her presence, like _Don

José_, but goes on adding to his laurels by winning fresh victories in

the bull ring.

Now that _Don José_ is more than usually morose, she says, with a

sarcastic inflection in her voice:

"If you don't like our mode of life here, why don't you leave?"

"And go far from you! Carmen! If you say that again, it will be your

death!" He half draws his knife from his belt.

With a shrug of her shoulders _Carmen_ replies: "What matter--I shall

die as fate wills." And, indeed, she plays with fate as with men's

hearts. For whatever else this gypsy may be, she is fearless.

While _Don José_ wanders moodily about the camp, she joins _Frasquita_

and _Mercedes_, who are telling their fortunes by cards. The

superstitious creatures are merry because the cards favour them.

_Carmen_ takes the pack and draws.

"Spades!--A grave!" she mutters darkly, and for a moment it seems as

if she is drawing back from a shadow that has crossed her path. But

the bravado of the fatalist does not long desert her.

"What matters it?" she calls to the two girls. "If you are to die, try

the cards a hundred times, they will fall the same--spades, a grave!"

Then, glancing in the direction where _Don José_ stood, she adds, in a

low voice, "First I, then he!"

The "Card Trio," "Mêlons! Coupons!" (Shuffle! Throw!) is a brilliant

passage of the score, broken in upon by _Carmen's_ fatalistic

soliloquy.

A moment later, when the leader of the smugglers announces that it is

an opportune time to attempt to convey their contraband through the

mountain pass, she is all on the alert and aids in making ready for

the departure. _Don José_ is posted behind a screen of rocks above the

camp, to guard against a surprise from the rear, while the smugglers

make their way through the pass.

Unseen by him, a guide comes out on the rocks, and, making a gesture

in the direction of the camp, hastily withdraws. Into this wild

passage of nature, where desperate characters but a few moments before

were encamped, and where _Carmen_ had darkly hinted at fate, as

foretold by the stars, there descends _Micaela_, the emblem of

sweetness and purity in this tragedy of the passions. She is seeking

_Don José_, in hopes of reclaiming him. Her romance, "Je dis que rien

ne m'épouvante" (I try not to own that I tremble), is characterized

by Mr. Upton as "the most effective and beautiful number in the whole

work." The introduction for horns is an exquisite passage, and the

expectations it awakens are fully met by the melodious measures of the

romance.

[Music]

Having looked about her, and failing to find _Don José_, she

withdraws. Meanwhile _Don José_, from the place where he stands guard,

has caught sight of a man approaching the camp. A shot rings out. It

is _Don José_ who has fired at the man coming up the defile. He is

about to fire again, but the nonchalant manner in which the stranger

comes on, and, waving his hat, calls out, "An inch lower and it would

have been all over with me!" causes him to lower his gun and advance

to meet him.

"I am Escamillo and I am here to see Carmen," he says gaily. "She had

a lover here, a dragoon, who deserted from his troop for her. She

adored him, but that, I understand, is all over with now. The loves of

Carmen never last long."

"Slowly, my friend," replies _Don José_. "Before any one can take our

gypsy girls away, he must pay the price."

"So, so. And what is it?"

"It is paid with the knife," grimly answers _José_, as he draws his

blade.

"Ah," laughs the _Toreador_, "then you are the dragoon of whom Carmen

has wearied. I am in luck to have met you so soon."

He, too, draws. The knives clash, as the men, the one a soldier, the

other a bullfighter, skilfully thrust and parry. But _Don José's_ is

the better weapon, for, as he catches one of _Escamillo's_ thrusts on

his blade, the _Toreador's_ knife snaps short. It would be a fatal

mishap for _Escamillo_, did not at that moment the gypsies and

smugglers, recalled by the shot, hurry in and separate the combatants.

Unruffled by his misadventure, especially as his ardent glances meet

an answering gleam in _Carmen's_ eyes, the _Toreador_ invites the

entire band to the coming bullfight in Seville, in which he is to

figure. With a glad shout they assent.

"Don't be angry, dragoon," he adds tauntingly. "We may meet again."

For answer _Don José_ seeks to rush at him, but some of the smugglers

hold him back, while the _Toreador_ leisurely goes his way.

The smugglers make ready to depart again. One of them, however, spies

_Micaela_. She is led down. _Don José_ is reluctant to comply with her

pleas to go away with her. The fact that _Carmen_ urges him to do what

the girl says only arouses his jealousy. But when at last _Micaela_

tells him that his mother is dying of a broken heart for him, he makes

ready to go.

In the distance _Escamillo_ is heard singing:

"Toreador, on guard e'er be!

Thou shalt read, in her dark eyes,

Hopes of victory.

Her love is the prize!"

_Carmen_ listens, as if enraptured, and starts to run after him. _Don

José_ with bared knife bars the way; then leaves with _Micaela_.

Act IV. A square in Seville. At the back the entrance to the arena. It

is the day of the bullfight. The square is animated. Watersellers,

others with oranges, fans, and other articles. Chorus. Ballet.

Gay the crowd that fills the square outside the arena where the

bullfights are held. It cheers the first strains of music heard as

the festival procession approaches, and it shouts and applauds as the

various divisions go by and pass into the arena: "The Aguacil on

horseback!"--"The chulos with their pretty little flags!"--"Look! The

bandilleros, all clad in green and spangles, and waving the crimson

cloths!"--"The picadors with the pointed lances!"--"The cuadrilla of

toreros!"--"Now! Vivo, vivo! Escamillo!" And a great shout goes up, as

the _Toreador_ enters, with _Carmen_ on his arm.

There is a brief but beautiful duet for _Escamillo_ and _Carmen_, "Si

tu m'aimes, Carmen" (If you love me, Carmen), before he goes into the

building to make ready for the bullfight, while she waits to be joined

by some of the smugglers and gypsies, whom _Escamillo_ has invited to

be witnesses, with her, of his prowess.

As the Alcalde crosses the square and enters the arena, and the crowd

pours in after him, one of the gypsy girls from the smugglers' band

whispers to _Carmen_:

"If you value your life, Carmen, don't stay here. He is lurking in the

crowd and watching you."

"He?--José?--I am no coward.--I fear no one.--If he is here, we will

have it over with now," she answers, defiantly, motioning to the girl

to pass on into the arena into which the square is rapidly emptying

itself. _Carmen_ lingers until she is the only one left, then, with a

shrug of contempt, turns to enter--but finds herself facing _Don

José_, who has slunk out from one of the side streets to intercept

her.

"I was told you were here. I was even warned to leave here, because my

life was in danger. If the hour has come, well, so be it. But, live or

die, yours I shall never be again."

Her speech is abrupt, rapid, but there is no tremor of fear in her

voice.

_Don José_ is pale and haggard. His eyes are hollow, but they glow

with a dangerous light. His plight has passed from the pitiable to the

desperate stage.

"Carmen," he says hoarsely, "leave with me. Begin life over again with

me under another sky. I will adore you so, it will make you love me."

"You never can make me love you again. No one can _make_ me do

anything. Free I was born, free I die."

The band in the arena strikes up a fanfare. There are loud vivos for

_Escamillo_. _Carmen_ starts to rush for the entrance. Driven to the

fury of despair, his knife drawn, as it had been when he barred her

way in the smugglers' camp, _Don José_ confronts her. He laughs

grimly.

"The man for whom they are shouting--he is the one for whom you have

deserted me!"

"Let me pass!" is her defiant answer.

"That you may tell him how you have spurned me, and laugh with him

over my misery!"

Again the crowd in the arena shouts: "Victory! Victory! Vivo, vivo,

Escamillo, the toreador of Granada!"

A cry of triumph escapes _Carmen_.

"You love him!" hisses _Don José_.

"Yes, I love him! If I must die for it, I love him! Victory for

Escamillo, victory! I go to the victor of the arena!"

She makes a dash for the entrance. Somehow she manages to get past the

desperate man who has stood between her and the gates. She reaches the

steps, her foot already touches the landing above them, when he

overtakes her, and madly plunges his knife into her back. With a

shriek heard above the shouts of the crowd within, she staggers,

falls, and rolls lifeless down the steps into the square.

The doors of the arena swing open. Acclaiming the prowess of

_Escamillo_, out pours the crowd, suddenly to halt, hushed and

horror-stricken, at the body of a woman dead at the foot of the

steps.

"I am your prisoner," says _Don José_ to an officer. "I killed her."

Then, throwing himself over the body, he cries:

"Carmen!--Carmen! I love you!--Speak to me!--I adore you!"

* * * * *

At its production at the Opéra Comique, "Carmen" was a failure. In

view of the world-wide popularity the work was to achieve, that

failure has become historic. It had, however, one lamentable result.

Bizet, utterly depressed and discouraged, died exactly three months

after the production, and before he could have had so much as an

inkling of the success "Carmen" was to obtain. It was not until four

months after his death that the opera, produced in Vienna, celebrated

its first triumph. Then came Brussels, London, New York. At last, in

1883, "Carmen" was brought back to Paris for what Pierre Berton calls

"the brilliant reparation." But Bizet, mortally wounded in his pride

as an artist, had died disconsolate. The "reparation" was to the

public, not to him.

Whoever will take the trouble to read extracts from the reviews in the

Paris press of the first performance of "Carmen" will find that the

score of this opera, so full of well-rounded, individual, and

distinctive melodies--ensemble, concerted, and solo--was considered

too Wagnerian. More than one trace of this curious attitude toward an

opera, in which the melodies, or tunes, if you choose so to call them,

crowd upon each other almost as closely as in "Il Trovatore," and

certainly are as numerous as in "Aïda," still can be found in the

article on "Carmen" in the _Dictionnaire des Opéras_, one of the most

unsatisfactory essays in that work. Nor, speaking with the authority

of Berton, who saw the second performance, was the failure due to

defects in the cast. He speaks of Galli-Marié (_Carmen_), Chapuis

(_Micaela_), Lherie (_Don José_), and Bouhy (_Escamillo_), as "equal

to their tasks ... an admirable quartet."

America has had its _Carmen_ periods. Minnie Hauck established an

individuality in the rôle, which remained potent until the appearance

in this country of Calvé. When Grau wanted to fill the house, all he

had to do was to announce Calvé as _Carmen_. She so dominated the

character with her beauty, charm, _diablerie_, and vocal art that,

after she left the Metropolitan Opera House, it became impossible to

revive the opera there with success, until Farrar made her appearance

in it, November 19, 1914, with Alda as _Micaela_, Caruso as _Don

José_, and Amato as _Escamillo_.

A season or two before Oscar Hammerstein gave "Carmen" at the

Manhattan Opera House, a French company, which was on its last legs

when it struck New York, appeared in a performance of "Carmen" at the

Casino, and the next day went into bankruptcy. The _Carmen_ was

Bressler-Gianoli. Her interpretation brought out the coarse fibre in

the character, and was so much the opposite of Calvé's, that it was

interesting by contrast. It seemed that had the company been able to

survive, "Carmen" could have been featured in its repertoire, by

reason of Bressler-Gianoli's grasp of the character as Mérimée had

drawn it in his novel, where _Carmen_ is of a much coarser personality

than in the opera. The day after the performance I went to see

Heinrich Conried, then director of the Metropolitan Opera House, and

told him of the impression she had made, but he did not engage her.

The _Carmen_ of Bressler-Gianoli (with Dalmorès, Trentini, Ancona, and

Gilibert) was one of the principal successes of the Manhattan Opera

House. It was first given December 14, 1906, and scored the record for

the season with nineteen performances, "Aïda" coming next with twelve,

and "Rigoletto" with eleven.

Mary Garden's _Carmen_ is distinctive and highly individualized on the

acting side. It lacks however the lusciousness of voice, the vocal

lure, that a singer must lavish upon the rôle to make it a complete

success.

One of the curiosities of opera in America was the appearance at the

Metropolitan Opera House, November 25, 1885, of Lilli Lehmann as

_Carmen_.

A word is due Bizet's authors for the admirable libretto they have

made from Mérimée's novel. The character of _Carmen_ is, of course,

the creation of the novelist. But in his book the _Toreador_ is not

introduced until almost the very end, and is but one of a succession

of lovers whom _Carmen_ has had since she ensnared _Don José_. In the

opera the _Toreador_ is made a principal character, and figures

prominently from the second act on. _Micaela_, so essential for

contrast in the opera, both as regards plot and music, is a creation

of the librettists. But their master-stroke is the placing of the

scene of the murder just outside the arena where the bullfight is in

progress, and in having _Carmen_ killed by _Don José_ at the moment

_Escamillo_ is acclaimed victor by the crowd within. In the book he

slays her on a lonely road outside the city of Cordova the day after

the bullfight.

LES PÊCHEURS DE PERLES

THE PEARL FISHERS

Besides "Carmen," Bizet was the composer of "Les Pêcheurs de Perles"

(The Pearl Fishers) and "Djamileh."

"Les Pêcheurs de Perles," the words by Carré and Cormon, is in three

acts. It was produced at the Théâtre Lyrique, Paris, September 29,

1863. London saw it under the title of "Leila," April 22, 1887, at

Covent Garden; as "Pescatori di Perle," May 18, 1899. The New York

production was at the Metropolitan Opera House, January 11, 1896,

with Calvé; and November 13, 1916, with Caruso. The scene is Ceylon,

the period barbaric.

The first act shows a company of pearl fishers on the coast. They

choose _Zurga_ as chief. He and his friend _Nadir_, in the duet, "Au

fond du temple saint" (In the depths of the temple), recall their

former rivalry for the hand of the beautiful priestess, _Leila_, and

how they swore never to see her again.

Now approaches a veiled priestess who comes annually to pray for the

success of the pearl fishers. She prays to Brahma. _Nadir_ recognizes

_Leila_. His love for her at once revives. She goes into the temple.

He sings "Je crois entendre encore" (I hear as in a dream). When she

returns and again invokes the aid of Brahma, she manages to convey to

_Nadir_ the knowledge that she has recognized and still loves him.

In the second act, in a ruined temple, the high priest, _Nourabad_,

warns her, on pain of death, to be faithful to her religious vows.

_Leila_ tells him he need have no fear. She never breaks a promise.

The necklace she wears was given her by a fugitive, whose hiding place

she refused to reveal, although the daggers of his pursuers were

pointed at her heart. She had promised not to betray him. Her solo,

"Comme autrefois," etc. (A fugitive one day), is followed by the

retirement of the priest, and the entrance of _Nadir_. There is an

impassioned love duet, the effect of which is heightened by a raging

storm without: "Ton coeur n'a pas compris" (You have not

understood). _Nourabad_, returning unexpectedly, overhears the lovers,

and summons the people. _Zurga_, as chief and judge, desires to be

merciful for the sake of his friend. But _Nourabad_ tears the veil

from _Leila_. It is the woman _Nadir_ has sworn never to see--the

woman _Zurga_ also loves. Enraged, he passes sentence of death upon

them.

In the third act, the camp of _Zurga_, _Leila_ expresses her

willingness to die, but pleads for _Nadir_, "Pour moi je ne crains

rien" (I have no fear). _Zurga_ is implacable, until he recognizes the

necklace she wears as one he had given many years before to the girl

who refused when he was a fugitive to deliver him up to his enemies.

The scene changes to the place of execution, where has been erected a

funeral pyre. Just as the guilty lovers are to be led to their death,

a distant glow is seen. _Zurga_ cries out that the camp is on fire.

The people rush away to fight the flames. _Zurga_ tells _Leila_ and

_Nadir_ that he set fire to the camp. He then unfastens their chains

and bids them flee. Terzet: "Ô lumière sainte" (O sacred light).

From a hiding place _Nourabad_ has witnessed the scene. When the

people return, he denounces _Zurga's_ act in setting fire to the camp

and permitting _Leila_ and _Nadir_ to escape. _Zurga_ is compelled to

mount the pyre. A deep glow indicates that the forest is ablaze. The

people prostrate themselves to Brahma, whose wrath they fear.

_Leila_ is for soprano, _Nadir_ tenor, _Zurga_ baritone, _Nourabad_

bass.

In the performance with Calvé only two acts were given. The rest of

the program consisted of "La Navarraise," by Massenet.

DJAMILEH

"Djamileh," produced at the Opéra Comique, is in one act, words by

Louis Gallet, based on Alfred de Musset's poem, "Namouna." The scene

is Cairo, the time mediæval.

_Djamileh_, a beautiful slave, is in love with her master, _Prince

Haroun_, a Turkish nobleman, who is tired of her and is about to sell

her. She persuades his secretary, _Splendiano_, who is in love with

her, to aid her in regaining her master's affections. She will marry

_Splendiano_ if she fails.

Accordingly, with the secretary's aid, when the slave dealer arrives,

she is, in disguise, among the slaves offered to _Haroun_. She dances.

_Haroun_ is entranced, and immediately buys her. When she discloses

her identity, and pleads that her ruse was prompted by her love for

him, he receives her back into his affections.

_Djamileh_ is for mezzo-soprano, the men's rôles for tenor. Besides

the dance, there are a duet for the men, "Que l'esclave soit brune ou

blonde" (Let the slave be dark or fair); a trio, "Je voyais au loin la

mer s'étendre" (The distant sea have I beheld extending); and the

chorus, "Quelle est cette belle" (Who is the charmer).

Italian Opera Since Verdi

Chief among Italian opera composers of the present day are Puccini,

Mascagni, and Leoncavallo. Others are Giordano, Wolf-Ferrari,

Zandonai, Montemezzi, and Leoni.

Modern Italian opera differs from Italian opera, old style, largely

through the devotion of the moderns to effects of realism--the Italian

_verismo_, of which we hear so much. These effects of realism are

produced largely by an orchestral accompaniment that constantly adapts

itself descriptively to what is said and done on the stage. At not

infrequent intervals, however, when a strongly emotional situation

demands sustained expression, the restless play of orchestral

depiction and the brief exchange of vocal phrases merge into eloquent

melody for voice with significant instrumental accompaniment. Thus

beautiful vocal melody, fluently sung, remains, in spite of all

tendency toward the much vaunted effect of _verismo_, the heart and

soul, as ever, of Italian opera.

Much difference, however, exists between the character of the melody

in the modern and the old Italian opera. Speaking, of course, in

general terms, the old style Italian operatic melody is sharply

defined in outline and rhythm, whereas the melody of modern Italian

opera, resting upon a more complicated accompaniment, is subject in a

much greater degree to rhythmic and harmonic changes. Since, however,

that is little more than saying that the later style of Italian opera

is more modern than the older, I will add, what seems to me the most

characteristic difference in their idioms. Italian melody, old style,

derives much of its character from the dotted note, with the

necessarily marked acceleration of the next note, as, for example, in

"Ah! non giunge" ("La Sonnambula"), an air which is typical of the

melodious measures of Italian opera of the first sixty or seventy

years of the last century; and that, too, whether the emotion to be

expressed is ecstasy, as in "Ah! non giunge," above; grief, as in

_Edgardo's_ last aria in "Lucia di Lammermoor,"--"Tu che a Dio

spiegasti l'ali" (Thou has [Transcriber's Note: should be 'hast']

spread thy wings to Heaven), the spirit of festive greeting as in the

chorus from the previous act of the same opera, or passionate love as

in _Elvira's_ and _Ernani's_ duet; "Ah morir potessi adesso."

It does not occur as frequently in Rossini as in Bellini and

Donizetti, while Verdi, as he approaches his ripest period, discards

it with growing frequency. I am also aware that the dotted note is

found in abundance in the music of all civilized countries.

Nevertheless it is from its prominence in the melodic phrase, the

impetus imparted by it, and the sharp reiterated rhythmic beat which

it usually calls for, that Italian melody of the last century, up to

about 1870, derives much of its energy, swing, and passion. It is, in

fact, idiomatic.

Wholly different is the idiom of modern Italian music. It consists of

the sudden stressing of the melody at a vital point by means of the

triolet--the triplet, as we call it. An excellent example is the love

motif for _Nedda_ in "I Pagliacci," by Leoncavallo.

[Music]

If the dotted note is peculiarly adapted to the careless rapture with

which the earlier Italian composers lavished melody after melody upon

their scores, the triolet suits the more laboured efforts of the

modern Italian muse.

Another effect typical of modern Italian opera is the use of the

foreign note--that is, the sudden employment of a note strange to the

key of the composition. This probably is done for the sake of giving

piquancy to a melody that otherwise might be considered commonplace.

_Turiddu's_ drinking song in "Cavalleria Rusticana" is a good example.

[Music]

In orderly harmonic progression the first tone in the bass of the

second bar would be F-sharp, instead of F-natural, which is a note

foreign to the key. This example is quoted in Ferdinand Pfohl's

_Modern Opera_, in which he says of the triolet and its use in the

opera of modern Italy, that its peculiarly energetic sweep, powerful

suspense, and quickening, fiery heart-beat lend themselves amazingly

to the art of _verismo_.

Pietro Mascagni

(1863- )

Pietro Mascagni was born in Leghorn, Italy, December 7, 1863. His

father was a baker. The elder Mascagni, ambitious for his boy, wanted

him to study law. The son himself preferred music, and studied

surreptitiously. An uncle, who sympathized with his aims, helped him

financially. After the uncle's death a nobleman, Count Florestan, sent

him to the Milan Conservatory. There he came under the instruction and

influence of Ponchielli.

After two years' study at the conservatory he began a wandering life,

officiating for the next five years as conductor of opera companies,

most of which disbanded unexpectedly and impecuniously. He eked out a

meagre income, being compelled at one time to subsist on a plate of

macaroni a day. His finances were not greatly improved when he settled

in Cerignola, where he directed a school for orchestra players and

taught pianoforte and theory.

He was married and in most straitened circumstances when he composed

"Cavalleria Rusticana" and sent it off to the publisher Sonzogno, who

had offered a prize for a one-act opera. It received the award.

May 17, 1890, at the Constanzi Theatre, Rome, it had its first

performance. Before the representation had progressed very far, the

half-filled house was in a state of excitement and enthusiasm

bordering on hysteria. The production of "Cavalleria Rusticana"

remains one of the sensational events in the history of opera. It made

Mascagni famous in a night. Everywhere it was given--and it was given

everywhere--it made the same sensational success. Its vogue was so

great, it "took" so rapidly, that it was said to have infected the

public with "Mascagnitis."

In "'Cavalleria Rusticana' music and text work in wonderful harmony in

the swift and gloomy tragedy." Nothing Mascagni has composed since has

come within hailing distance of it. The list of his operas is a fairly

long one. Most of them have been complete failures. In America, "Iris"

has, since its production, been the subject of occasional revival.

"Lodoletta," brought out by Gatti-Casazza at the Metropolitan Opera

House in 1918, had the advantage of a cast that included Caruso and

Farrar. "Isabeau" had its first performance in the United States of

America, in Chicago by the Chicago Opera Company under the direction

of Cleofante Campanini in 1917, and was given by the same organization

in New York in 1918. (See p. 625.)

With Mascagni's opera, "Le Maschere" (The Maskers), which was produced

in 1901, the curious experiment was made of having the first night

occur simultaneously in six Italian cities. It was a failure in all,

save Rome, where it survived for a short time.

Of the unfortunate results of Mascagni's American visit in 1902 not

much need be said. A "scratch" company was gotten together for him.

With this he gave poor performances at the Metropolitan Opera House,

of "Cavalleria Rusticana," "Zanetto," and "Iris." The tour ended in

lawsuits and failure. "Zanetto," which is orchestrated only for string

band and a harp, was brought out with "Cavalleria Rusticana" in a

double bill, October 8, 1902; "Iris," October 16th.

CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA

RUSTIC CHIVALRY

Opera, in one act, by Mascagni; words by Giovanni

Targioni-Toggetti and G. Menasci, the libretto being founded

on a story by Giovanni Verga. Produced, Constanzi Theatre,

Rome, May 17, 1890. London, Shaftesbury Theatre, October 19,

1891. Covent Garden, May 16, 1892. America: Philadelphia,

Grand Opera House, September 9, 1891, under the direction of

Gustav Hinrichs, with Selma Kronold (_Santuzza_), Miss

Campbell (_Lola_), Jeannie Teal (_Lucia_), Guille

(_Turiddu_), Del Puente (_Alfio_). Chicago, September 30,

1891, with Minnie Hauck as _Santuzza_. New York, October 1,

1891, at an afternoon "dress rehearsal" at the Casino, under

the direction of Rudolph Aronson, with Laura Bellini

(_Santuzza_), Grace Golden (_Lola_), Helen von Doenhof

(_Lucia_), Charles Bassett (_Turiddu_), William Pruette

(_Alfio_), Gustav Kerker, conductor, Heinrich Conried, stage

manager. Evening of same day, at the Lenox Lyceum, under the

direction of Oscar Hammerstein, with Mme. Janouschoffsky

(_Santuzza_), Mrs. Pemberton Hincks (_Lola_), Mrs. Jennie

Bohner (_Lucia_), Payne Clarke (_Turiddu_), Herman Gerold

(_Alfio_), Adolph Neuendorff, conductor. Metropolitan Opera

House, December 30, 1891, with Eames as _Santuzza_; November

29, 1893, with Calvé (début) as _Santuzza_.

CHARACTERS

TURIDDU, a young soldier _Tenor_

ALFIO, the village teamster _Baritone_

LOLA, his wife _Mezzo-Soprano_

MAMMA LUCIA, Turiddu's mother _Contralto_

SANTUZZA, a village girl _Soprano_

Villagers, peasants, boys.

_Time_--The present, on Easter day.

_Place_--A village in Sicily.

"Cavalleria Rusticana" in its original form is a short story, compact

and tense, by Giovanni Verga. From it was made the stage tragedy, in

which Eleonora Duse displayed her great powers as an actress. It is a

drama of swift action and intense emotion; of passion, betrayal, and

retribution. Much has been made of the rôle played by the "book" in

contributing to the success of the opera. It is a first-rate

libretto--one of the best ever put forth. It inspired the composer to

what so far has remained his only significant achievement. But only in

that respect is it responsible for the success of "Cavalleria

Rusticana" as an opera. The hot blood of the story courses through the

music of Mascagni, who in his score also has quieter passages, that

make the cries of passion the more poignant. Like practically every

enduring success, that of "Cavalleria Rusticana" rests upon merit.

From beginning to end it is an inspiration. In it, in 1890, Mascagni,

at the age of twenty-one, "found himself," and ever since has been

trying, unsuccessfully, to find himself again.

The prelude contains three passages of significance in the development

of the story. The first of these is the phrase of the despairing

_Santuzza_, in which she cries out to _Turiddu_ that, despite his

betrayal and desertion of her, she still loves and pardons him. The

second is the melody of the duet between _Santuzza_ and _Turiddu_, in

which she implores him to remain with her and not to follow _Lola_

into the church. The third is the air in Sicilian style, the

"Siciliana," which, as part of the prelude, _Turiddu_ sings behind the

curtain, in the manner of a serenade to _Lola_, "O Lola, bianca come

fior di spino" (O Lola, fair as a smiling flower).

With the end of the "Siciliana" the curtain rises. It discloses a

public square in a Sicilian village. On one side, in the background,

is a church, on the other _Mamma Lucia's_ wineshop and dwelling. It is

Easter morning. Peasants, men, women, and children cross or move about

the stage. The church bells ring, the church doors swing open, people

enter. A chorus, in which, mingled with gladness over the mild beauty

of the day, there also is the lilt of religious ecstasy, follows. Like

a refrain the women voice and repeat "Gli aranci olezzano sui verdi

margini" (Sweet is the air with the blossoms of oranges). They intone

"La Vergine serena allietasi del Salvator" (The Holy Mother mild, in

ecstasy fondles the child), and sing of "Tempo è si mormori," etc.

(Murmurs of tender song tell of a joyful world). The men, meanwhile,

pay a tribute to the industry and charm of woman. Those who have not

entered the church, go off singing. Their voices die away in the

distance.

_Santuzza_, sad of mien, approaches _Mamma Lucia's_ house, just as her

false lover's mother comes out. There is a brief colloquy between the

two women. _Santuzza_ asks for _Turiddu_. His mother answers that he

has gone to Francofonte to fetch some wine. _Santuzza_ tells her that

he was seen during the night in the village. The girl's evident

distress touches _Mamma Lucia_. She bids her enter the house.

"I may not step across your threshold," exclaims _Santuzza_. "I cannot

pass it, I, most unhappy outcast! Excommunicated!"

_Mamma Lucia_ may have her suspicions of _Santuzza's_ plight. "What of

my son?" she asks. "What have you to tell me?"

But at that moment the cracking of a whip and the jingling of bells

are heard from off stage. _Alfio_, the teamster, comes upon the scene.

He is accompanied by the villagers. Cheerfully he sings the praises of

a teamster's life, also of _Lola's_, his wife's, beauty. The villagers

join him in chorus, "Il cavallo scalpita" (Gayly moves the tramping

horse).

_Alfio_ asks _Mamma Lucia_ if she still has on hand some of her fine

old wine. She tells him it has given out. _Turiddu_ has gone away to

buy a fresh supply of it.

"No," says _Alfio_. "He is here. I saw him this morning standing not

far from my cottage."

_Mamma Lucia_ is about to express great surprise. _Santuzza_ is quick

to check her.

[Illustration: Gadski as Santuzza in "Cavalleria Rusticana"]

_Alfio_ goes his way. A choir in the church intones the "Regina

Coeli." The people in the square join in the "Allelujas." Then they

kneel and, led by _Santuzza's_ voice, sing the Resurrection hymn,

"Inneggiamo, il Signor non è morto" (Let us sing of the Lord now

victorious). The "Allelujas" resound in the church, which all, save

_Mamma Lucia_ and _Santuzza_, enter.

_Mamma Lucia_ asks the girl why she signalled her to remain silent

when _Alfio_ spoke of _Turiddu's_ presence in the village. "Voi lo

sapete" (Now you shall know), exclaims _Santuzza_, and in one of the

most impassioned numbers of the score, pours into the ears of her

lover's mother the story of her betrayal. Before _Turiddu_ left to

serve his time in the army, he and _Lola_ were in love with each

other. But, tiring of awaiting his return, the fickle _Lola_ married

_Alfio_. _Turiddu_, after he had come back, made love to _Santuzza_

and betrayed her; now, lured by _Lola_, he has taken advantage of

_Alfio's_ frequent absences, and has gone back to his first love.

_Mamma Lucia_ pities the girl, who begs that she go into church and

pray for her.

_Turiddu_ comes, a handsome fellow. _Santuzza_ upbraids him for

pretending to have gone away, when instead he has surreptitiously been

visiting _Lola_. It is a scene of vehemence. But when _Turiddu_

intimates that his life would be in danger were _Alfio_ to know of his

visits to _Lola_, the girl is terrified. "Battimi, insultami, t'amo e

perdono" (Beat me, insult me, I still love and forgive you).

Such is her mood--despairing, yet relenting. But _Lola's_ voice is

heard off stage. Her song is carefree, a key to her character, which

is fickle and selfish, with a touch of the cruel. "Fior di giaggiolo"

(Bright flower, so glowing) runs her song. Heard off stage, it yet

conveys in its melody, its pauses, and inflections, a quick sketch in

music of the heartless coquette, who, to gratify a whim, has stolen

_Turiddu_ from _Santuzza_. She mocks the girl, then enters the

church. Only a few minutes has she been on the stage, but Mascagni has

let us know all about her.

A highly dramatic scene, one of the most impassioned outbursts of the

score, occurs at this point. _Turiddu_ turns to follow _Lola_ into the

church. _Santuzza_ begs him to stay. "No, no, Turiddu, rimani, rimani,

ancora--Abbandonarmi dunque tu vuoi?" (No, no, Turiddu! Remain with me

now and forever! Love me again! How can you forsake me?).

[Music]

A highly dramatic phrase, already heard in the prelude, occurs at "La

tua Santuzza piange e t'implora" (Lo! here thy Santuzza, weeping,

implores thee).

_Turiddu_ repulses her. She clings to him. He loosens her hold and

casts her from him to the ground. When she rises, he has followed

_Lola_ into the church.

But the avenger is nigh. Before _Santuzza_ has time to think, _Alfio_

comes upon the scene. He is looking for _Lola_. To him in the fewest

possible words, and in the white voice of suppressed passion,

_Santuzza_ tells him that his wife has been unfaithful with _Turiddu_.

In the brevity of its recitatives, the tense summing up in melody of

each dramatic situation as it develops in the inexorably swift

unfolding of the tragic story, lies the strength of "Cavalleria

Rusticana."

_Santuzza_ and _Alfio_ leave. The square is empty. But the action goes

on in the orchestra. For the intermezzo--the famous intermezzo--which

follows, recapitulates, in its forty-eight bars, what has gone before,

and foreshadows the tragedy that is impending. There is no restating

here of leading motives. The effect is accomplished by means of terse,

vibrant melodic progression. It is melody and yet it is drama. Therein

lies its merit. For no piece of serious music can achieve the

world-wide popularity of this intermezzo and not possess merit.

[Music]

Mr. Krehbiel, in _A Second Book of Operas_, gives an instance of its

unexampled appeal to the multitude. A burlesque on this opera was

staged in Vienna. The author of the burlesque thought it would be a

great joke to have the intermezzo played on a hand-organ. Up to that

point the audience had been hilarious. But with the first wheezy tone

of the grinder the people settled down to silent attention, and, when

the end came, burst into applause. Even the hand-organ could not rob

the intermezzo of its charm for the public!

What is to follow in the opera is quickly accomplished. The people

come out of church. _Turiddu_, in high spirits, because he is with

_Lola_ and because _Santuzza_ no longer is hanging around to reproach

him, invites his friends over to his mother's wineshop. Their glasses

are filled. _Turiddu_ dashes off a drinking song, "Viva, il vino

spumeggiante" (Hail! the ruby wine now flowing).

The theme of this song will be found quoted on p. 609.

_Alfio_ joins them. _Turiddu_ offers him wine. He refuses it. The

women leave, taking _Lola_ with them. In a brief exchange of words

_Alfio_ gives the challenge. In Sicilian fashion the two men embrace,

and _Turiddu_, in token of acceptance, bites _Alfio's_ ear. _Alfio_

goes off in the direction of the place where they are to test their

skill with the stiletto.

_Turiddu_ calls for _Mamma Lucia_. He is going away, he tells her. At

home the wine cup passes too freely. He must leave. If he should not

come back she must be like a kindly mother to _Santuzza_--"_Santa_,

whom I have promised to lead to the altar."

"Un bacio, mamma! Un altro bacio!--Addio!" (One kiss, one kiss, my

mother. And yet another. Farewell!)

He goes. _Mamma Lucia_ wanders aimlessly to the back of the stage. She

is weeping. _Santuzza_ comes on, throws her arms around the poor

woman's neck. People crowd upon the scene. All is suppressed

excitement. There is a murmur of distant voices. A woman is heard

calling from afar: "They have murdered neighbour Turiddu!"

Several women enter hastily. One of them, the one whose voice was

heard in the distance, repeats, but now in a shriek, "Hanno ammazzato

compare Turiddu!"--(They have murdered neighbour Turiddu!)

_Santuzza_ falls in a swoon. The fainting form of _Mamma Lucia_ is

supported by some of the women.

"Cala rapidamente la tela" (The curtain falls rapidly).

A tragedy of Sicily, hot in the blood, is over.

When "Cavalleria Rusticana" was produced, no Italian opera had

achieved such a triumph since "Aïda"--a period of nearly twenty years.

It was hoped that Mascagni would prove to be Verdi's successor, a hope

which, needless to say, has not been fulfilled.

To "Cavalleria Rusticana," however, we owe the succession of short

operas, usually founded on debased and sordid material, in which other

composers have paid Mascagni the doubtful compliment of imitation in

hopes of achieving similar success. Of all these, "Pagliacci," by

Leoncavallo, is the only one that has shared the vogue of the Mascagni

opera. The two make a remarkably effective double bill.

L'AMICO FRITZ

FRIEND FRITZ

Opera in three acts, by Pietro Mascagni; text by Suaratoni

[Transcriber's Note: later editions have P. Suardon (N.

Daspuro)], from the story by Erckmann-Chatrian. Produced,

Rome, 1891. Philadelphia, by Gustav Hinrichs, June 8, 1892.

New York, Metropolitan Opera House, with Calvé as _Suzel_,

January 10, 1894.

CHARACTERS

FRITZ KOBUS, a rich bachelor _Tenor_

DAVID, a Rabbi _Baritone_

FREDERICO } friends of Fritz { _Tenor_

HANEGO } { _Tenor_

SUZEL, a farmer's daughter _Soprano_

BEPPE, a gypsy _Soprano_

CATERINA, a housekeeper _Contralto_

_Time_--The present.

_Place_--Alsace.

Act I. _Fritz Kobus_, a well-to-do landowner and confirmed bachelor,

receives felicitations on his fortieth birthday. He invites his

friends to dine with him. Among the guests is _Suzel_, his tenant's

daughter, who presents him with a nosegay, and sits beside him. Never

before has he realized her charm. _Rabbi David_, a confirmed

matchmaker, wagers with the protesting _Fritz_ that he will soon be

married.

Act II. _Friend Fritz_ is visiting _Suzel's_ father. The charming girl

mounts a ladder in the garden, picks cherries, and throws them down to

_Fritz_, who is charmed. When _Rabbi David_ appears and tells him that

he has found a suitable husband for _Suzel_, _Fritz_ cannot help

revealing his own feelings.

Act III. At home again _Fritz_ finds no peace. _David_ tells him

_Suzel's_ marriage has been decided on. _Fritz_ loses his temper; says

he will forbid the bans. _Suzel_, pale and sad, comes in with a basket

of fruit. When her wedding is mentioned she bursts into tears. That

gives _Fritz_ his chance which he improves. _David_ wins his wager,

one of _Fritz's_ vineyards, which he promptly bestows upon _Suzel_ as

a dowry.

The duet of the cherries in the second act is the principal musical

number in the opera.

IRIS

Opera in three acts, by Mascagni. Words by Luigi Illica.

Produced, Constanzi Theatre, Rome, November 22, 1898;

revised version, La Scala, Milan, 1899. Philadelphia,

October 14, 1902, and Metropolitan Opera House, New York,

October 16, 1902, under the composer's direction (Marie

Farneti, as _Iris_); Metropolitan Opera House, 1908, with

Eames (_Iris_), Caruso (_Osaka_), Scotti, and Journet; April

3, 1915, Bori, Botta, and Scotti.

CHARACTERS

IL CIECO, the blind man _Bass_

IRIS, his daughter _Soprano_

OSAKA _Tenor_

KYOTO, a _takiomati_ _Baritone_

Ragpickers, shopkeepers, geishas, _mousmés_ (laundry girls),

_samurai_, citizens, strolling players, three women

representing Beauty, Death, and the Vampire; a young girl.

_Time_--Nineteenth century.

_Place_--Japan.

[Illustration: Copyright photo by White

Bori as Iris]

Act I. The home of _Iris_ near the city. The hour is before dawn. The

music depicts the passage from night into day. It rises to a crashing

climax--the instrumentation including tamtams, cymbals, drums, and

bells--while voices reiterate, "Calore! Luce! Amor!" (Warmth! Light!

Love!). In warmth and light there are love and life. A naturalistic

philosophy, to which this opening gives the key, runs through "Iris."

Fujiyama glows in the early morning light, as _Iris_, who loves only

her blind father, comes to the door of her cottage. She has dreamed

that monsters sought to injure her doll, asleep under a rosebush. With

the coming of the sun the monsters have fled. _Mousmés_ come to the

bank of the stream and sing prettily over their work.

_Iris_ is young and beautiful. She is desired by _Osaka_, a wealthy

rake. _Kyoto_, keeper of a questionable resort, plots to obtain her

for him. He comes to her cottage with a marionette show. While _Iris_

is intent upon the performance, three geisha girls, representing

Beauty, Death, and the Vampire, dance about her. They conceal her from

view by spreading their skirts. She is seized and carried off.

_Osaka_, by leaving money for the blind old father, makes the

abduction legal. When _Il Cieco_ returns, he is led to believe that

his daughter has gone voluntarily to the Yoshiwara. In a rage he

starts out to find her.

Act II. Interior of the "Green House" in the Yoshiwara. _Iris_

awakens. At first she thinks it is an awakening after death. But death

brings paradise, while she is unhappy. _Osaka_, who has placed jewels

beside her, comes to woo, but vainly seeks to arouse her passions. In

her purity she remains unconscious of the significance of his words

and caresses. His brilliant attire leads her to mistake him for Tor,

the sun god, but he tells her he is Pleasure. That frightens her. For,

as she narrates to him, one day, in the temple, a priest told her that

pleasure and death were one.

_Osaka_ wearies of her innocence and leaves her. But _Kyoto_, wishing

to lure him back, attires her in transparent garments and places her

upon a balcony. The crowd in the street cries out in amazement over

her beauty. Again _Osaka_ wishes to buy her. She hears her father's

voice. Joyously she makes her presence known to him. He, ignorant of

her abduction and believing her a voluntary inmate of the "Green

House," takes a handful of mud from the street, flings it at her, and

curses her. In terror, she leaps from a window into the sewer below.

Act III. Ragpickers and scavengers are dragging the sewer before

daylight. In song they mock the moon. A flash of light from the mystic

mountain awakens what is like an answering gleam in the muck. They

discover and drag out the body of _Iris_. They begin to strip her of

her jewels. She shows signs of life. The sordid men and women flee.

The rosy light from Fujiyama spreads over the sky. Warmth and light

come once more. _Iris_ regains consciousness. Spirit voices whisper of

earthly existence and its selfish aspirations typified by the knavery

of _Kyoto_, the lust of _Osaka_, the desire of _Iris's_ father, _Il

Cieco_, for the comforts of life through her ministrations.

Enough strength comes back to her for her to acclaim the sanctity of

the sun. In its warmth and light--the expression of Nature's love--she

sinks, as if to be absorbed by Nature, into the blossoming field that

spreads about her. Again, as in the beginning, there is the choired

tribute to warmth, light, love--the sun!

Partly sordid, partly ethereal in its exposition, the significance of

this story has escaped Mascagni, save in the climax of the opening

allegory of the work. Elsewhere he employs instruments associated by

us with Oriental music, but the spirit of the Orient is lacking. In a

score requiring subtlety of invention, skill in instrumentation, and,

in general, the gift for poetic expression in music, these qualities

are not. The scene of the _mousmés_ in the first act with _Iris's_

song to the flowers of her garden, "In pure stille" ([Transcriber's

Note: translation left blank in original; should probably be 'In pure

droplets']); the vague, yet unmistakable hum of Japanese melody in the

opening of Act II; and her narrative in the scene with _Osaka_ in the

same act, "Un dì al tempio" (One day at the temple)--these, with the

hymn to the sun, are about the only passages that require mention.

LODOLETTA

Opera in three acts, by Mascagni. Words by Gioacchino

Forzano, after Ouida's novel, _Two Little Wooden Shoes_.

Produced, Rome, April 30, 1917. Metropolitan Opera House,

New York, January 12, 1918, with Farrar (later in the

season, Florence Easton) as _Lodoletta_, Caruso (_Flammen_),

Amato (_Giannotto_), and Didur (_Antonio_).

CHARACTERS

LODOLETTA _Soprano_

FLAMMEN _Tenor_

FRANZ _Bass_

GIANNOTTO _Baritone_

ANTONIO _Bass_

A MAD WOMAN _Mezzo-Soprano_

VANNARD _Mezzo-Soprano_

MAUD _Soprano_

A VOICE _Tenor_

A letter carrier, an old violinist.

_Time_--Second empire.

_Place_--A Dutch village.

_Lodoletta_, a young girl, who lives in a little Dutch village, is a

foundling, who has been brought up by old _Antonio_. He discovered her

as an infant in a basket of flowers at the lakeside. When she has

grown up to be sixteen, she is eager for a pair of red wooden shoes,

but _Antonio_ cannot afford to buy them. _Flammen_, a painter from

Paris, offers him a gold piece for a roadside Madonna he owns.

_Antonio_ takes it, and with it buys the shoes for _Lodoletta_. Soon

afterwards the old man is killed by a fall from a tree. _Lodoletta_ is

left alone in the world.

_Flammen_, who has conceived a deep affection for her, persuades her

to be his model. This makes the villagers regard her with suspicion.

She begs him to go. He returns to Paris, only to find that absence

makes him fonder of the girl than ever. He returns to the village.

_Lodoletta_ has disappeared. His efforts to find her fail. On New

Year's his friends gather at his villa to celebrate, and make him

forget his love affair in gayety. The celebration is at its height,

when _Lodoletta_, who, in her turn, has been searching for _Flammen_,

reaches the garden. She has wandered far and is almost exhausted, but

has found _Flammen's_ house at last. She thinks he is expecting her,

because the villa is so brilliantly illuminated. But, when she looks

through the window upon the gay scene, she falls, cold, exhausted, and

disillusioned, in the snow just as midnight sounds. _Flammen's_ party

of friends depart, singing merrily. As he turns back toward the house

he discovers a pair of little red wooden shoes. They are sadly worn.

But he recognizes them. He looks for _Lodoletta_, only to find her

frozen to death in the snow.

It may be that "Lodoletta's" success at its production in Rome was

genuine. Whatever acclaim it has received at the Metropolitan Opera

House is due to the fine cast with which it has been presented. There

is little spontaneity in the score. A spirit of youthfulness is

supposed to pervade the first act, but the composer's efforts are so

apparent that the result is childish rather than youthful. Moreover,

as Henry T. Finck writes in the N.Y. _Evening Post_, "Lodoletta" seems

to have revived some of the dramatic inconsistencies of the

old-fashioned kind of Italian opera. For instance, in the last act,

the scene is laid outside _Flammen's_ villa in Paris on New Year's

eve--it is zero weather to all appearances, although there is an

intermittent snowstorm--but _Flammen_ and _Franz_, and later all his

guests, come out without wraps, and stay for quite awhile. Later

_Lodoletta_, well wrapped (though in rags), appears, and is quickly

frozen to death.

The scene of the first act is laid in the village in April.

_Lodoletta's_ cottage is seen and the shrine with the picture of the

Madonna. It is in order to copy or obtain this that _Flammen_ comes

from Paris. In the background is the tree which _Antonio_ climbs and

from which, while he is plucking blossom-laden branches for the spring

festival, he falls and is killed--a great relief, the character is so

dull. There is much running in and out, and singing by boys and girls

in this act. The music allotted to them is pretty without being

extraordinarily fetching. An interchange of phrases between _Flammen_

and _Lodoletta_ offers opportunity for high notes to the tenor, but

there is small dramatic significance in the music.

In the second act the stage setting is the same, except that the

season is autumn. There is a song for _Lodoletta_, and, as in Act I,

episodes for her and the children, who exclaim delightedly when they

see the picture _Flammen_ has been painting, "È Lodoletta viva, com'è

bella" (See! Lodoletta, and so pretty!). But there is little progress

made in this act. Much of it has the effect of repetition.

In the third act one sees the exterior of _Flammen's_ villa, and

through the open gates of the courtyard Paris in the midst of New

Year's gayety. The merriment within the villa is suggested by music

and silhouetted figures against the windows. Some of the guests dash

out, throw confetti, and indulge in other pranks, which, intended to

be bright and lively, only seem silly. As in the previous acts, the

sustained measures for _Lodoletta_ and for _Flammen_, while intended

to be dramatic, lack that quality--one which cannot be dispensed with

in opera. "The spectacle of _Flammen_, in full evening dress and

without a hat, singing on his doorstep in a snowstorm, would tickle

the funny bone of any but an operatic audience," writes Grenville

Vernon in the N.Y. _Tribune_.

ISABEAU

With Rosa Raisa in the title rôle, the Chicago Opera Company produced

Mascagni's "Isabeau" at the Auditorium, Chicago, November 12, 1918.

The company repeated it at the Lexington Theatre, New York, February

13, 1918, also with Rosa Raisa as _Isabeau_. The opera had its first

performances on any stage at Buenos Aires, June 2, 1911. The libretto,

based upon the story of Lady Godiva, is in three acts, and is the work

of Luigi Illica. The opera has made so little impression that I

restrict myself to giving the story.

In Illica's version of the Godiva story, the heroine, _Isabeau_, is as

renowned for her aversion to marriage as for her beauty. Her father,

_King Raimondo_, eager to find for her a husband, arranges a

tournament of love, at which she is to award her hand as prize to the

knight who wins her favour. She rejects them all. For this obstinacy

and because she intercedes in a quarrel, _Raimondo_ dooms her to ride

unclad through the town at high noon of the same day. At the urging of

the populace he modifies his sentence, but only so far as to announce

that, while she rides, no one shall remain in the streets or look out

of the windows. The order is disobeyed only by a simpleton, a country

lout named _Folco_. Dazed by _Isabeau's_ beauty, he strews flowers for

her as she comes riding along. For this the people demand that he

suffer the full penalty for violation of the order, which is the loss

of eyesight and life. _Isabeau_, horrified by _Folco's_ act, visits

him in prison. Her revulsion turns to love. She decides to inform her

father that she is ready to marry. But the _Chancellor_ incites the

populace to carry out the death sentence. _Isabeau_ commits suicide.

When "Isabeau" had its American production in Chicago, more than

twenty-seven years had elapsed since the first performance of

"Cavalleria Rusticana." A long list of operas by Mascagni lies

between. But he still remains a one-opera man, that opera, however, a

masterpiece.

Ruggiero Leoncavallo

(1858- )

Leoncavallo, born March 8, 1858, at Naples, is a dramatic composer, a

pianist, and a man of letters. He is the composer of the successful

opera "Pagliacci," has made concert tours as a pianoforte virtuoso, is

his own librettist, and has received the degree of Doctor of Letters

from the University of Bologna.

He studied at the Naples Conservatory. His first opera, "Tommaso

Chatterton," was a failure, but was successfully revived in 1896, in

Rome. An admirer of Wagner and personally encouraged by him, he wrote

and set to music a trilogy, "Crepusculum" (Twilight): I. "I Medici";

II. "Gerolamo Savonarola"; III. "Cesare Borgia." The performing rights

to Part I were acquired by the Ricordi publishing house, but, no

preparations being made for its production, he set off again on his

travels as a pianist; officiating also as a répétiteur for opera

singers, among them Maurel, in Paris, where he remained several years.

His friendship with that singer bore unexpected fruit. Despairing of

ever seeing "I Medici" performed, and inspired by the success of

"Cavalleria Rusticana," Leoncavallo wrote and composed "Pagliacci,"

and sent it to Ricordi's rival, the music publisher Sonzogno. The

latter accepted "Pagliacci" immediately after reading the libretto.

Maurel then not only threw his influence in favour of the work, but

even offered to create the rôle of _Tonio_; and in that character he

was in the original cast (1892). "I Medici" was now produced (La

Scala, Milan, 1893), but failed of success. Later operas by

Leoncavallo, "La Bohème" (La Fenice Theatre, Venice, 1897) and "Zaza"

(Milan, 1900), fared somewhat better, and the latter is played both in

Italy and Germany. But "Roland of Berlin," commissioned by the German

Emperor and performed December 13, 1904, was a complete failure. In

fact Leoncavallo's name is so identified with "Pagliacci" that, like

Mascagni, he may be called a one-opera composer.

PAGLIACCI

CLOWNS

Opera in two acts, words and music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo.

Produced, Teatro dal Verme, Milan, May 17, 1892. Grand Opera

House, New York, June 15, 1893, under the direction of

Gustav Hinrichs, with Selma Kronold (_Nedda_), Montegriffo

(_Canio_), and Campanari (_Tonio_). Metropolitan Opera

House, December 11, 1893, with Melba as _Nedda_, De Lucia as

_Canio_, and Ancona as _Tonio_.

CHARACTERS

CANIO (in the play _Pagliaccio_), head of a

troupe of strolling players _Tenor_

NEDDA (in the play _Columbine_),

wife of _Canio_ _Soprano_

TONIO (in the play _Taddeo_, a clown) _Baritone_

BEPPE (in the play _Harlequin_) _Tenor_

SILVIO, a villager _Baritone_

Villagers.

_Time_--The Feast of the Assumption, about 1865-70.

_Place_--Montalto, in Calabria.

"Pagliacci" opens with a prologue. There is an instrumental

introduction. Then _Tonio_ pokes his head through the curtains,--"Si

può? Signore, Signori" (By your leave, Ladies and Gentlemen),--comes

out, and sings. The prologue rehearses, or at least hints at, the

story of the opera, and does so in musical phrases, which we shall

hear again as the work progresses--the bustle of the players as they

make ready for the performance; _Canio's_ lament that he must be merry

before his audiences, though his heart be breaking; part of the

love-making music between _Nedda_ and _Silvio_; and the theme of the

intermezzo, to the broad measures of which _Tonio_ sings, "E voi,

piuttosto che le nostre povere gabbane" (Ah, think then, sweet people,

when you behold us clad in our motley).

[Music]

The prologue, in spite of ancient prototypes, was a bold stroke on the

part of Leoncavallo, and, as the result proved, a successful one.

Besides its effectiveness in the opera, it has made a good concert

number. Moreover, it is quite unlikely that without it Maurel would

have offered to play _Tonio_ at the production of the work in Milan.

Act I. The edge of the village of Montalto, Calabria. People are

celebrating the Feast of the Assumption. In the background is the tent

of the strolling players. These players, _Canio_, _Nedda_, _Tonio_,

and _Beppe_, in the costume of their characters in the play they are

to enact, are parading through the village.

The opening chorus, "Son qua" (They're here), proclaims the innocent

joy with which the village hails the arrival of the players. The

beating of a drum, the blare of a trumpet are heard. The players,

having finished their parade through the village, are returning to

their tent. _Beppe_, in his _Harlequin_ costume, enters leading a

donkey drawing a gaudily painted cart, in which _Nedda_ is reclining.

Behind her, in his _Pagliaccio_ costume, is _Canio_, beating the big

drum and blowing the trumpet. _Tonio_, dressed as _Taddeo_, the clown,

brings up the rear. The scene is full of life and gayety.

Men, women, and boys, singing sometimes in separate groups, sometimes

together, form the chorus. The rising inflection in their oft-repeated

greeting to _Canio_ as "il principe sei dei Pagliacci" (the prince of

Pagliaccios), adds materially to the lilt of joy in their greeting to

the players whose coming performance they evidently regard as the

climax to the festival.

_Canio_ addresses the crowd. At seven o'clock the play will begin.

They will witness the troubles of poor _Pagliaccio_, and the vengeance

he wreaked on the _Clown_, a treacherous fellow. 'Twill be a strange

combination of love and of hate.

Again the crowd acclaims its joy at the prospect of seeing the players

on the stage behind the flaps of the tent.

_Tonio_ comes forward to help _Nedda_ out of the cart. _Canio_ boxes

his ears, and lifts _Nedda_ down himself. _Tonio_, jeered at by the

women and boys, angrily shakes his fists at the youngsters, and goes

off muttering that _Canio_ will have to pay high for what he has done.

_Beppe_ leads off the donkey with the cart, comes back, and throws

down his whip in front of the tent. A villager asks _Canio_ to drink

at the tavern. _Beppe_ joins them. _Canio_ calls to _Tonio_. Is he

coming with them? _Tonio_ replies that he must stay behind to groom

the donkey. A villager suggests that _Tonio_ is remaining in order to

make love to _Nedda_. _Canio_ takes the intended humour of this sally

rather grimly. He says that in the play, when he interferes with

_Tonio's_ love-making, he lays himself open to a beating. But in real

life--let any one, who would try to rob him of _Nedda's_ love, beware.

The emphasis with which he speaks causes comment.

"What can he mean?" asks _Nedda_ in an aside.

"Surely you don't suspect her?" question the villagers of _Canio_.

Of course not, protests _Canio_, and kisses _Nedda_ on the forehead.

[Illustration: Copyright photo by Dupont

Caruso as Canio in "I Pagliacci"]

[Illustration: Copyright photo by Dupont

Farrar as Nedda in "I Pagliacci"]

Just then the bagpipers from a neighbouring village are heard

approaching. The musicians, followed by the people of their village,

arrive to join in the festival. All are made welcome, and the

villagers, save a few who are waiting for _Canio_ and _Beppe_, go off

down the road toward the village. The church bells ring. The villagers

sing the pretty chorus, "Din, don--suona vespero" (Ding, dong--the

vespers bell). _Canio_ nods good-bye to _Nedda_. He and _Beppe_ go

toward the village.

_Nedda_ is alone. _Canio's_ words and manner worry her. "How fierce he

looked and watched me!--Heavens, if he should suspect me!" But the

birds are singing, the birds, whose voices her mother understood. Her

thoughts go back to her childhood. She sings, "Oh! che volo d'augelli"

(Ah, ye beautiful song-birds), which leads up to her vivacious

_ballatella_, "Stridono lassù, liberamente" (Forever flying through

the boundless sky).

_Tonio_ comes on from behind the theatre. He makes violent love to

_Nedda_. The more passionately the clown pleads, the more she mocks

him, and the more angry he grows. He seeks forcibly to grasp and kiss

her. She backs away from him. Spying the whip where _Beppe_ threw it

down, she seizes it, and with it strikes _Tonio_ across the face.

Infuriated, he threatens, as he leaves her, that he will yet be

avenged on her.

A man leans over the wall. He calls in a low voice, "Nedda!"

"Silvio!" she cries. "At this hour ... what madness!"

He assures her that it is safe for them to meet. He has just left

_Canio_ drinking at the tavern. She cautions him that, if he had been

a few moments earlier, his presence would have been discovered by

_Tonio_. He laughs at the suggestion of danger from a clown.

_Silvio_ has come to secure the promise of the woman he loves, and who

has pledged her love to him, that she will run away with him from her

husband after the performance that night. She does not consent at

once, not because of any moral scruples, but because she is afraid.

After a little persuasion, however, she yields. The scene reaches its

climax in an impassioned love duet, "E allor perchè, di', tu m'hai

stregato" (Why hast thou taught me Love's magic story). The lovers

prepare to separate, but agree not to do so until after the play, when

they are to meet and elope.

The jealous and vengeful _Tonio_ has overheard them, and has run to

the tavern to bring back _Canio_. He comes just in time to hear

_Nedda_ call after _Silvio_, who has climbed the wall, "Tonight, love,

and forever I am thine."

_Canio_, with drawn dagger, makes a rush to overtake and slay the man,

who was with his wife. _Nedda_ places herself between him and the

wall, but he thrusts her violently aside, leaps the wall, and starts

in pursuit. "May Heaven protect him now," prays _Nedda_ for her lover,

while _Tonio_ chuckles.

The fugitive has been too swift for _Canio_. The latter returns.

"His name!" he demands of _Nedda_, for he does not know who her lover

is. _Nedda_ refuses to give it. _Silvio_ is safe! What matter what

happens to her. _Canio_ rushes at her to kill her. _Tonio_ and _Beppe_

restrain him. _Tonio_ whispers to him to wait. _Nedda's_ lover surely

will be at the play. A look, or gesture from her will betray him. Then

_Canio_ can wreak vengeance. _Canio_ thinks well of _Tonio's_ ruse.

_Nedda_ escapes into the theatre.

It is time to prepare for the performance. _Beppe_ and _Tonio_ retire

to do so.

_Canio's_ grief over his betrayal by _Nedda_ finds expression in one

of the most famous numbers in modern Italian opera, "Vesti la giubba"

(Now don the motley), with its tragic "Ridi, Pagliaccio" (Laugh thou,

Pagliaccio), as _Canio_ goes toward the tent, and enters it. It is

the old and ever effective story of the buffoon who must laugh, and

make others laugh, while his heart is breaking.

[Music]

Act II. The scene is the same as that of the preceding act. _Tonio_

with the big drum takes his position at the left angle of the theatre.

_Beppe_ places benches for the spectators, who begin to assemble,

while _Tonio_ beats the drum. _Silvio_ arrives and nods to friends.

_Nedda_, dressed as _Columbine_, goes about with a plate and collects

money. As she approaches _Silvio_, she pauses to speak a few words of

warning to him, then goes on, and re-enters the theatre with _Beppe_.

The brisk chorus becomes more insistent that the play begin. Most of

the women are seated. Others stand with the men on slightly rising

ground.

A bell rings loudly. The curtain of the tent theatre on the stage

rises. The mimic scene represents a small room with two side doors and

a practicable window at the back. _Nedda_, as _Columbine_, is walking

about expectantly and anxiously. Her husband, _Pagliaccio_, has gone

away till morning. _Taddeo_ is at the market. She awaits her lover,

_Arlecchino_ (_Harlequin_). A dainty minuet forms the musical

background.

A guitar is heard outside. _Columbine_ runs to the window with signs

of love and impatience. _Harlequin_, outside, sings his pretty

serenade to his _Columbine_, "O Colombina, il tenero" (O Columbine,

unbar to me thy lattice high).

The ditty over, she returns to the front of the mimic stage, seats

herself, back to the door, through which _Tonio_, as _Taddeo_, a

basket on his arm, now enters. He makes exaggerated love to

_Columbine_, who, disgusted with his advances, goes to the window,

opens it, and signals. _Beppe_, as _Harlequin_, enters by the window.

He makes light of _Taddeo_, whom he takes by the ear and turns out of

the room, to the accompaniment of a few kicks. All the while the

minuet has tripped its pretty measure and the mimic audience has found

plenty to amuse it.

_Harlequin_ has brought a bottle of wine, also a phial with a

sleeping-potion, which she is to give her husband, when opportunity

offers, so that, while he sleeps, she and _Harlequin_ may fly

together. Love appears to prosper, till, suddenly, _Taddeo_ bursts in.

_Columbine's_ husband, _Pagliaccio_, is approaching. He suspects her,

and is stamping with anger. "Pour the philtre in his wine, love!"

admonishes _Harlequin_, and hurriedly gets out through the window.

_Columbine_ calls after him, just as _Canio_, in the character of

_Pagliaccio_, appears in the door, "Tonight, love, and forever, I am

thine!"--the same words _Canio_ heard his wife call after her lover a

few hours before.

_Columbine_ parries _Pagliaccio's_ questions. He has returned too

early. He has been drinking. No one was with her, save the harmless

_Taddeo_, who has become alarmed and has sought safety in the closet.

From within, _Taddeo_ expostulates with _Pagliaccio_. His wife is

true, her pious lips would ne'er deceive her husband. The audience

laughs.

But now it no longer is _Pagliaccio_, it is _Canio_, who calls out

threateningly, not to _Columbine_, but to _Nedda_, "His name!"

"Pagliaccio! Pagliaccio!" protests _Nedda_, still trying to keep in

the play. "No!" cries out her husband--in a passage dramatically

almost as effective as "Ridi, Pagliaccio!"--"I am _Pagliaccio_ no

more! I am a man again, with anguish deep and human!" The audience

thinks his intensity is wonderful acting--all save _Silvio_, who shows

signs of anxiety.

"Thou had'st my love," concludes _Canio_, "but now thou hast my hate

and scorn."

"If you doubt me," argues _Nedda_, "why not let me leave you?"

"And go to your lover!--His name! Declare it!"

Still desperately striving to keep in the play, and avert the

inevitable, _Nedda_, as if she were _Columbine_, sings a chic gavotte,

"Suvvia, così terribile" (I never knew, my dear, that you were such a

tragic fellow).

[Music]

She ends with a laugh, but stops short, at the fury in _Canio's_ look,

as he takes a knife from the table.

"His name!"

"No!"--Save her lover she will, at whatever cost to herself.

The audience is beginning to suspect that this is no longer acting.

The women draw back frightened, overturning the benches. _Silvio_ is

trying to push his way through to the stage.

_Nedda_ makes a dash to escape into the audience. _Canio_ pursues and

catches up with her.

"Take that--and--that!" (He stabs her in the back.) "Di morte negli

spasimi lo dirai" (In the last death agony, thou'lt call his name).

"Soccorso ... Silvio!" (Help! Help!--Silvio!)

A voice from the audience cries, "Nedda!" A man has nearly reached the

spot where she lies dead. _Canio_ turns savagely, leaps at him. A

steel blade flashes. _Silvio_ falls dead beside _Nedda_.

"Gesummaria!" shriek the women; "Ridi _Pagliaccio_!" sob the

instruments of the orchestra. _Canio_ stands stupefied. The knife

falls from his hand:

"La commedia è finita" (The comedy is ended).

There are plays and stories in which, as in "Pagliacci," the drama on

a mimic stage suddenly becomes real life, so that the tragedy of the

play changes to the life-tragedy of one or more of the characters.

"Yorick's Love," in which I saw Lawrence Barrett act, and of which I

wrote a review for _Harper's Weekly_, was adapted by William D.

Howells from "Drama Nuevo" by Estébanez, which is at least fifty years

older than "Pagliacci." In it the actor _Yorick_ really murders the

actor, whom in character, he is supposed to kill in the play. In the

plot, as in real life, this actor had won away the love of _Yorick's_

wife, before whose eyes he is slain by the wronged husband. About

1883, I should say, I wrote a story, "A Performance of Othello," for a

periodical published by students of Columbia University, in which the

player of _Othello_, impelled by jealousy, actually kills his wife,

who is the _Desdemona_, and then, as in the play, slays himself. Yet,

although the _motif_ is an old one, this did not prevent Catulle

Mendès, who himself had been charged with plagiarizing, in "La Femme

de Tabarin," Paul Ferrier's earlier play, "Tabarin," from accusing

Leoncavallo of plagiarizing "Pagliacci" from "La Femme de Tabarin,"

and from instituting legal proceedings to enjoin the performance of

the opera in Brussels. Thereupon Leoncavallo, in a letter to his

publisher, stated that during his childhood at Montalto a jealous

player killed his wife after a performance, that his father was the

judge at the criminal's trial--circumstances which so impressed the

occurrence on his mind that he was led to adapt the episode for his

opera. Catulle Mendès accepted the explanation and withdrew his suit.

There has been some discussion regarding the correct translation of

"Pagliacci." It is best rendered as "Clowns," although it only is

necessary to read in Italian cyclopedias the definition of

_Pagliaccio_ to appreciate Philip Hale's caution that the character is

not a clown in the restricted circus sense. Originally the word,

which is the same as the French _paillasse_, signified a bed of straw,

then was extended to include an upholstered under-mattress, and

finally was applied to the buffoon in the old Italian comedy, whose

costume generally was striped like the ticking or stuff, of which the

covering of a mattress is made.

The play on the mimic stage in "Pagliacci" is, in fact, one of the

_Harlequin_ comedies that has been acted for centuries by strolling

players in Italy. But for the tragedy that intervenes in the opera,

_Pagliaccio's_ ruse in returning before he was expected, in order to

surprise his wife, _Columbina_, with _Arlecchino_, would have been

punished by his being buffetted about the room and ejected. For "the

reward of _Pagliaccio's_ most adroit stratagems is to be boxed on the

ears and kicked."

Hence the poignancy of "Ridi, Pagliaccio!"

Giacomo Puccini

(1858- )

This composer, born in Lucca, Italy, June 22, 1858, first studied

music in his native place as a private pupil of Angeloni. Later, at

the Royal Conservatory, Milan, he came under the instruction of

Ponchielli, composer of "La Gioconda," whose influence upon modern

Italian opera, both as a preceptor and a composer, is regarded as

greater than that of any other musician.

Puccini himself is considered the most important figure in the

operatic world of Italy today, the successor of Verdi, if there is

any. For while Mascagni and Leoncavallo each has one sensationally

successful short opera to his credit, neither has shown himself

capable of the sustained effort required to create a score vital

enough to maintain the interest of an audience throughout three or

four acts, a criticism I consider applicable even to Mascagni's

"Lodoletta," notwithstanding its production and repetitions at the

Metropolitan Opera House, New York, which I believe largely due to

unusual conditions produced by the European war. Puccini, on the other

hand, is represented in the repertoire of the modern opera house by

four large works: "Manon Lescaut" (1870), "La Bohème" (1896), "Tosca"

(1900), and "Madama Butterfly" (1904). His early two-act opera, "Le

Villi" (The Willis, Dal Verme Theatre, Milan, 1884), and his three-act

opera, "La Fanciulla del West" (The Girl of the Golden West), 1910,

have been much less successful; his "Edgar" (La Scala, Milan, 1889),

is not heard outside of Italy. And his opera, "La Rondine," has not at

this writing been produced here, and probably will not be until after

the war, the full score being the property of a publishing house in

Vienna, which, because of the war, has not been able to send copies of

it to the people in several countries to whom the performing rights

had been sold.

LE VILLI

"Le Villi" (The Willis), signifying the ghosts of maidens deserted by

their lovers, is the title of a two-act opera by Puccini, words by

Ferdinando Fortuna, produced May 31, 1884, Dal Verme Theatre, Milan,

after it had been rejected in a prize competition at the Milan

Conservatory, but revised by the composer with the aid of Boïto. It is

Puccini's first work for the lyric stage. When produced at the Dal

Verme Theatre, it was in one act, the composer later extending it to

two, in which form it was brought out at the Reggio Theatre, Turin,

December 26, 1884; Metropolitan Opera House, N.Y., December 17, 1908,

with Alda (_Anna_), Bonci (_Robert_), Amato (_Wulf_).

Of the principal characters _Wulf_ is a mountaineer of the Black

Forest; _Anna_, his daughter; _Robert_, her lover. After the betrothal

feast, _Robert_, obliged to depart upon a journey, swears to _Anna_

that he will be faithful to her. In the second act, however, we find

him indulging in wild orgies in Mayence and squandering money on an

evil woman. In the second part of this act he returns to the Black

Forest a broken-down man. The Willis dance about him. From _Wulf's_

hut he hears funeral music. _Anna's_ ghost now is one of the wild

dancers. While he appeals to her, they whirl about him. He falls dead.

The chorus sings "Hosanna" in derision of his belated plea for

forgiveness.

Most expressive in the score is the wild dance of the Willis, who

"have a character of their own, entirely distinct from that of other

operatic spectres" (Streatfield). The prelude to the second act,

"L'Abbandono," also is effective. Attractive in the first act are the

betrothal scene, a prayer, and a waltz. "Le Villi," however, has not

been a success outside of Italy.

"Manon Lescaut," on the other hand, has met with success elsewhere.

Between it and "Le Villi" Puccini produced another opera, "Edgar,"

Milan, La Scala, 1889, but unknown outside of the composer's native

country.

MANON LESCAUT

Opera in four acts, by Puccini. Produced at Turin, February

1, 1893. Covent Garden, London, May 14, 1894. Grand Opera

House, Philadelphia, in English, August 29, 1894; Wallack's

Theatre, New York, May 27, 1898, by the Milan Royal Italian

Opera Company of La Scala; Metropolitan Opera House, New

York, January 18, 1907, with Caruso, Cavalieri, and Scotti.

The libretto, founded on Abbé Prévost's novel, is by

Puccini, assisted by a committee of friends. The composer

himself directed the production at the Metropolitan Opera

House.

CHARACTERS

MANON LESCAUT _Soprano_

LESCAUT, sergeant of the King's Guards _Baritone_

CHEVALIER DES GRIEUX _Tenor_

GERONTE DE RAVOIR, Treasurer-General _Bass_

EDMUND, a student _Tenor_

_Time_--Second half of eighteenth century.

_Place_--Amiens, Paris, Havre, Louisiana.

Act I plays in front of an inn at Amiens. _Edmund_ has a solo with

chorus for students and girls. _Lescaut_, _Geronte_, and _Manon_

arrive in a diligence. _Lescaut_ is taking his sister to a convent to

complete her education, but finding her to be greatly admired by the

wealthy _Geronte_, is quite willing to play a negative part and let

the old satyr plot with the landlord to abduct _Manon_. _Des Grieux_,

however, has seen her. "Donna non vidi mai simile a questa" (Never did

I behold so fair a maiden), he sings in praise of her beauty.

[Music]

With her too it is love at first sight. When she rejoins him, as she

had promised to, they have a love duet. "Vedete! Io son fedele alla

parola mia" (Behold me! I have been faithful to my promise), she

sings. _Edmund_, who has overheard _Geronte's_ plot to abduct _Manon_,

informs _Des Grieux_, who has little trouble in inducing the girl to

elope with him. They drive off in the carriage _Geronte_ had ordered.

_Lescaut_, who has been carousing with the students, hints that, as

_Des Grieux_ is not wealthy and _Manon_ loves luxury, he will soon be

able to persuade her to desert her lover for the rich Treasurer-General.

Such, indeed, is the case, and in Act II, she is found ensconced in

luxurious apartments in _Geronte's_ house in Paris. But to _Lescaut_,

who prides himself on having brought the business with her wealthy

admirer to a successful conclusion, she complains that "in quelle

trine morbide"--in those silken curtains--there's a chill that freezes

her. "O mia dimora umile, tu mi ritorni innanzi" (My little humble

dwelling, I see you there before me). She left _Des Grieux_ for wealth

and the luxuries it can bring--"Tell me, does not this gown suit me to

perfection?" she asks _Lescaut_--and yet she longs for her handsome

young lover.

_Geronte_ sends singers to entertain her. They sing a madrigal, "Sulla

vetta tu del monte erri, O Clori" (Speed o'er the summit of the

mountain, gentle Chloe).

[Music]

Then a dancing master enters. _Manon_, _Lescaut_, _Geronte_, and old

beaus and abbés, who have come in with _Geronte_, form for the dance,

and a lesson in the minuet begins.

[Music]

_Lescaut_ hurries off to inform _Des Grieux_, who has made money in

gambling, where he can find _Manon_. When the lesson is over and all

have gone, her lover appears at the door. At first he reproaches her,

but soon is won by her beauty. There is an impassioned love duet,

"Vieni! Colle tue braccia stringi Manon che t'ama" (Oh, come love! In

your arms enfold Manon, who loves you).

_Geronte_ surprises them, pretends to approve of their affection, but

really sends for the police. _Lescaut_ urges them to make a

precipitate escape. _Manon_, however, now loath to leave the luxuries

_Geronte_ has lavished on her, insists on gathering up her jewels in

order to take them with her. The delay is fatal. The police arrive.

She is arrested on the charge made by _Geronte_ that she is an

abandoned woman.

Her sentence is banishment, with other women of loose character, to

the then French possession of Louisiana. The journey to Havre for

embarkation is represented by an intermezzo in the score, and an

extract from Abbé Prévost's story in the libretto. The theme of the

"Intermezzo," a striking composition, is as follows:

[Music]

Act III. The scene is laid in a square near the harbour at Havre. _Des

Grieux_ and _Lescaut_ attempt to free _Manon_ from imprisonment, but

are foiled. There is much hubbub. Then the roll is called of the

women, who are to be transported. As they step forward, the crowd

comments upon their looks. This, together with _Des Grieux's_ plea to

the captain of the ship to be taken along with _Manon_, no matter how

lowly the capacity in which he may be required to serve on board, make

a dramatic scene.

Act IV. "A vast plain on the borders of the territory of New Orleans.

The country is bare and undulating, the horizon is far distant, the

sky is overcast. Night falls." Thus the libretto. The score is a long,

sad duet between _Des Grieux_ and _Manon_. _Manon_ dies of exhaustion.

_Des Grieux_ falls senseless upon her body.

LA BOHÈME

THE BOHEMIANS

Opera in four acts by Puccini; words by Giuseppe Giacosa and

Luigi Illica, founded on Henri Murger's book, _La Vie de

Bohème_. Produced, Teatro Reggio, Turin, February 1, 1896.

Manchester, England, in English, as "The Bohemians," April

22, 1897. Covent Garden, London, in English, October 2,

1897; in Italian, July 1, 1899. San Francisco, March, 1898,

and Wallack's Theatre, New York, May 16, 1898, by a

second-rate travelling organization, which called itself The

Milan Royal Italian Opera Company of La Scala; American

Theatre, New York, in English, by Henry W. Savage's Castle

Square Opera Company, November 20, 1898; Metropolitan Opera

House, New York, in Italian, December 18, 1901.

CHARACTERS

RUDOLPH, a poet _Tenor_

MARCEL, a painter _Baritone_

COLLINE, a philosopher _Bass_

SCHAUNARD, a musician _Baritone_

BENOIT, a landlord _Bass_

ALCINDORO, a state councillor and

follower of _Musetta_ _Bass_

PARPIGNOL, an itinerant toy vender _Tenor_

CUSTOM-HOUSE SERGEANT _Bass_

MUSETTA, a grisette _Soprano_

MIMI, a maker of embroidery _Soprano_

Students, work girls, citizens, shopkeepers, street venders,

soldiers, waiters, boys, girls, etc.

_Time_--About 1830.

_Place_--Latin Quarter, Paris.

"La Bohème" is considered by many Puccini's finest score. There is

little to choose, however, between it, "Tosca," and "Madama

Butterfly." Each deals successfully with its subject. It chances that,

as "La Bohème" is laid in the Quartier Latin, the students' quarter of

Paris, where gayety and pathos touch elbows, it laughs as well as

weeps. Authors and composers who can tear passion to tatters are more

numerous than those who have the light touch of high comedy. The

latter, a distinguished gift, confers distinction upon many passages

in the score of "La Bohème," which anon sparkles with merriment, anon

is eloquent of love, anon is stressed by despair.

Act I. The garret in the Latin Quarter, where live the inseparable

quartet--_Rudolph_, poet; _Marcel_, painter; _Colline_, philosopher;

_Schaunard_, musician, who defy hunger with cheerfulness and play

pranks upon the landlord of their meagre lodging, when he importunes

them for his rent.

When the act opens, _Rudolph_ is at a table writing, and _Marcel_ is

at work on a painting, "The Passage of the Red Sea." He remarks that,

owing to lack of fuel for the garret stove, the Red Sea is rather

cold.

"Questo mar rosso" (This Red Sea), runs the duet, in the course of

which _Rudolph_ says that he will sacrifice the manuscript of his

tragedy to the needs of the stove. They tear up the first act, throw

it into the stove, and light it. _Colline_ comes in with a bundle of

books he has vainly been attempting to pawn. Another act of the

tragedy goes into the fire, by which they warm themselves, still

hungry.

[Illustration: Copyright photo by Dupont

Farrar as Mimi in "La Bohème"]

[Illustration: Photo by Hall

Café Momus Scene, "La Bohème," Act II

Mimi (Rennyson), Musette (Joel), Rudolph (Sheehan)]

But relief is nigh. Two boys enter. They bring provisions and fuel.

After them comes _Schaunard_. He tosses money on the table. The

boys leave. In vain _Schaunard_ tries to tell his friends the

ludicrous details of his three-days' musical engagement to an

eccentric Englishman. It is enough for them that it has yielded fuel

and food, and that some money is left over for the immediate future.

Between their noise in stoking the stove and unpacking the provisions,

_Schaunard_ cannot make himself heard.

_Rudolph_ locks the door. Then all go to the table and pour out wine.

It is Christmas eve. _Schaunard_ suggests that, when they have emptied

their glasses, they repair to their favourite resort, the Café Momus,

and dine. Agreed. Just then there is a knock. It is _Benoit_, their

landlord, for the rent. They let him in and invite him to drink with

them. The sight of the money on the table reassures him. He joins

them. The wine loosens his tongue. He boasts of his conquests of women

at shady resorts. The four friends feign indignation. What! He, a

married man, engaged in such disreputable proceedings! They seize him,

lift him to his feet, and eject him, locking the door after him.

The money on the table was earned by _Schaunard_, but, according to

their custom, they divide it. Now, off for the Café Momus--that is,

all but _Rudolph_, who will join them soon--when he has finished an

article he has to write for a new journal, the _Beaver_. He stands on

the landing with a lighted candle to aid the others in making their

way down the rickety stairs.

With little that can be designated as set melody, there nevertheless

has not been a dull moment in the music of these scenes. It has been

brisk, merry and sparkling, in keeping with the careless gayety of the

four dwellers in the garret.

Re-entering the room, and closing the door after him, _Rudolph_ clears

a space on the table for pens and paper, then sits down to write.

Ideas are slow in coming. Moreover, at that moment, there is a timid

knock at the door.

"Who's there?" he calls.

It is a woman's voice that says, hesitatingly, "Excuse me, my candle

has gone out."

_Rudolph_ runs to the door, and opens it. On the threshold stands a

frail, appealingly attractive young woman. She has in one hand an

extinguished candle, in the other a key. _Rudolph_ bids her come in.

She crosses the threshold. A woman of haunting sweetness in aspect and

manner has entered Bohemia.

She lights her candle by his, but, as she is about to leave, the

draught again extinguishes it. _Rudolph's_ candle also is blown out,

as he hastens to relight hers. The room is dark, save for the

moonlight that, over the snow-clad roofs of Paris, steals in through

the garret window. _Mimi_ exclaims that she has dropped the key to the

door of her room. They search for it. He finds it but slips it into

his pocket. Guided by _Mimi's_ voice and movements, he approaches. As

she stoops, his hand meets hers. He clasps it.

"Che gelida manina" (How cold your hand), he exclaims with tender

solicitude. "Let me warm it into life." He then tells her who he is,

in what has become known as the "Racconto di Rodolfo" (Rudolph's

Narrative), which, from the gentle and solicitous phrase, "Che gelida

manina," followed by the proud exclamation, "Sono un poeta" (I am a

poet), leads up to an eloquent avowal of his dreams and fancies. Then

comes the girl's charming "Mi chiamano Mimi" (They call me Mimi), in

which she tells of her work and how the flowers she embroiders for a

living transport her from her narrow room out into the broad fields

and meadows. "Mi chiamano Mimi" is as follows:--

[Music]

Her frailty, which one can see is caused by consumption in its early

stages, makes her beauty the more appealing to _Rudolph_.

His friends call him from the street below. Their voices draw _Mimi_

to the window. In the moonlight she appears even lovelier to

_Rudolph_. "O soave fanciulla" (Thou beauteous maiden), he exclaims,

as he takes her to his arms. This is the beginning of the love duet,

which, though it be sung in a garret, is as impassioned as any that,

in opera, has echoed through the corridors of palaces, or the moonlit

colonnades of forests by historic rivers. The theme is quoted here in

the key, in which it occurs, like a premonition, a little earlier in

the act.

[Music]

The theme of the love duet is used by the composer several times in

the course of the opera, and always in association with _Mimi_.

Especially in the last act does it recur with poignant effect.

Act II. A meeting of streets, where they form a square, with shops of

all sorts, and the Café Momus. The square is filled with a happy

Christmas eve crowd. Somewhat aloof from this are _Rudolph_ and

_Mimi_. _Colline_ stands near the shop of a clothes dealer.

_Schaunard_ is haggling with a tinsmith over the price of a horn.

_Marcel_ is chaffing the girls who jostle against him in the crowd.

There are street venders crying their wares; citizens, students, and

work girls, passing to and fro and calling to each other; people at

the café giving orders--a merry whirl, depicted in the music by

snatches of chorus, bits of recitative, and an instrumental

accompaniment that runs through the scene like a many-coloured thread,

and holds the pattern together.

_Rudolph_ and _Mimi_ enter a bonnet shop. The animation outside

continues. When the two lovers come out of the shop, _Mimi_ is wearing

a new bonnet trimmed with roses. She looks about.

"What is it?" _Rudolph_ asks suspiciously.

"Are you jealous?" asks _Mimi_.

"The man in love is always jealous."

_Rudolph's_ friends are at a table outside the café. _Rudolph_ joins

them with _Mimi_. He introduces her to them as one who will make their

party complete, for he "will play the poet, while she's the muse

incarnate."

_Parpignol_, the toy vender, crosses the square and goes off, followed

by children, whose mothers try to restrain them. The toy vender is

heard crying his wares in the distance. The quartet of Bohemians, now

a quintet through the accession of _Mimi_, order eatables and wine.

Shopwomen, who are going away, look down one of the streets, and

exclaim over someone whom they see approaching.

"'Tis Musetta! My, she is gorgeous!--Some stammering old dotard is

with her."

_Musetta_ and _Marcel_ have loved, quarrelled, and parted. She has

recently put up with the aged but wealthy _Alcindoro de Mittoneaux_,

who, when she comes upon the square, is out of breath trying to keep

up with her.

Despite _Musetta's_ and _Marcel's_ attempt to appear indifferent to

each other's presence, it is plain that they are not so. _Musetta_ has

a chic waltz song, "Quando me'n vo soletta per la via" (As through the

streets I wander onward merrily), one of the best-known numbers of the

score, which she deliberately sings at _Marcel_, to make him aware,

without arousing her aged gallant's suspicions, that she still loves

him.

[Music]

Feigning that a shoe hurts her, she makes the ridiculous _Alcindoro_

unlatch and remove it, and trot off with it to the cobbler's. She and

_Marcel_ then embrace, and she joins the five friends at their table,

and the expensive supper ordered by _Alcindoro_ is served to them with

their own.

The military tattoo is heard approaching from the distance. There is

great confusion in the square. A waiter brings the bill for the

Bohemians' order. _Schaunard_ looks in vain for his purse. _Musetta_

comes to the rescue. "Make one bill of the two orders. The gentleman

who was with me will pay it."

The patrol enters, headed by a drum major. _Musetta_, being without

her shoe, cannot walk, so _Marcel_ and _Colline_ lift her between them

to their shoulders, and carry her through the crowd, which, sensing

the humour of the situation, gives her an ovation, then swirls around

_Alcindoro_, whose foolish, senile figure, appearing from the

direction of the cobbler's shop with a pair of shoes for _Musetta_, it

greets with jeers. For his gay ladybird has fled with her friends from

the _Quartier_, and left him to pay all the bills.

Act III. A gate to the city of Paris on the Orleans road. A toll house

at the gate. To the left a tavern, from which, as a signboard hangs

_Marcel's_ picture of the Red Sea. Several plane trees. It is

February. Snow is on the ground. The hour is that of dawn. Scavengers,

milk women, truckmen, peasants with produce, are waiting to be

admitted to the city. Custom-house officers are seated, asleep, around

a brazier. Sounds of revelry are heard from the tavern. These,

together with characteristic phrases, when the gate is opened and

people enter, enliven the first scene.

Into the small square comes _Mimi_ from the Rue d'Enfer, which leads

from the Latin Quarter. She looks pale, distressed, and frailer than

ever. A cough racks her. Now and then she leans against one of the

bare, gaunt plane trees for support.

A message from her brings _Marcel_ out of the tavern. He tells her he

finds it more lucrative to paint signboards than pictures. _Musetta_

gives music lessons. _Rudolph_ is with them. Will not _Mimi_ join

them? She weeps, and tells him that _Rudolph_ is so jealous of her she

fears they must part. When _Rudolph_, having missed _Marcel_, comes

out to look for him, _Mimi_ hides behind a plane tree, from where she

hears her lover tell his friend that he wishes to give her up because

of their frequent quarrels. "Mimi è una civetta" (Mimi is a heartless

creature) is the burden of his song. Her violent coughing reveals her

presence. They decide to part--not angrily, but regretfully: "Addio,

senza rancor" (Farewell, then, I wish you well), sings _Mimi_.

[Music]

Meanwhile _Marcel_, who has re-entered the tavern, has caught

_Musetta_ flirting with a stranger. This starts a quarrel, which

brings them out into the street. Thus the music becomes a quartet:

"Addio, dolce svegliare" (Farewell, sweet love), sing _Rudolph_ and

_Mimi_, while _Marcel_ and _Musetta_ upbraid each other. The

temperamental difference between the two women, _Mimi_ gentle and

melancholy, _Musetta_ aggressive and disputatious, and the difference

in the effect upon the two men, are admirably brought out by the

composer. "Viper!" "Toad!" _Marcel_ and _Musetta_ call out to each

other, as they separate; while the frail _Mimi_ sighs, "Ah! that our

winter night might last forever," and she and _Rudolph_ sing, "Our

time for parting's when the roses blow."

Act IV. The scene is again the attic of the four Bohemians. _Rudolph_

is longing for _Mimi_, of whom he has heard nothing, _Marcel_ for

_Musetta_, who, having left him, is indulging in one of her gay

intermezzos with one of her wealthy patrons. "Ah, Mimi, tu più" (Ah,

Mimi, fickle-hearted), sings _Rudolph_, as he gazes at the little pink

bonnet he bought her at the milliner's shop Christmas eve. _Schaunard_

thrusts the water bottle into _Colline's_ hat as if the latter were a

champagne cooler. The four friends seek to forget sorrow and poverty

in assuming mock dignities and then indulging in a frolic about the

attic. When the fun is at its height, the door opens and _Musetta_

enters. She announces that _Mimi_ is dying and, as a last request, has

asked to be brought back to the attic, where she had been so happy

with _Rudolph_. He rushes out to get her, and supports her feeble and

faltering footsteps to the cot, on which he gently lowers her.

She coughs; her hands are very cold. _Rudolph_ takes them in his to

warm them. _Musetta_ hands her earrings to _Marcel_, and bids him go

out and sell them quickly, then buy a tonic for the dying girl. There

is no coffee, no wine. _Colline_ takes off his overcoat, and, having

apostrophized it in the "Song of the Coat," goes out to sell it, so as

to be able to replenish the larder. _Musetta_ runs off to get her muff

for _Mimi_, her hands are still so cold.

_Rudolph_ and the dying girl are now alone. This tragic moment, when

their love revives too late, finds expression, at once passionate and

exquisite, in the music. The phrases "How cold your hand," "They call

me Mimi," from the love scene in the first act, recur like mournful

memories.

_Mimi_ whispers of incidents from early in their love. "Te lo

rammenti" (Ah! do you remember).

[Music]

_Musetta_ and the others return. There are tender touches in the good

offices they would render the dying girl. They are aware before

_Rudolph_ that she is beyond aid. In their faces he reads what has

happened. With a cry, "Mimi! Mimi!" he falls sobbing upon her lifeless

form. _Musetta_ kneels weeping at the foot of the bed. _Schaunard_,

overcome, sinks back into a chair. _Colline_ stands dazed at the

suddenness of the catastrophe. _Marcel_ turns away to hide his

emotion.

Mi chiamano Mimi!