respect to the dead man. Frank and the monk, however, after a little
consultation, put a little plan of theirs into operation, and approach
Tigrana. "Would that I were the object of your grief," says Frank. "One
tear of yours is worth a thousand pearls." The monk then comes out with
some rather plainer speaking, and deliberately bribes the erstwhile
gipsy with some jewels if she will do their bidding. Tigrana very
readily falls into the trap and the soldiers are recalled. The monk
now calls on Tigrana to speak out, and prove that Edgar was a traitor
to his country. She hesitates for a moment, but finally acknowledges
that the accusation is true. In righteous anger the soldiers rush to
the hearse and drag the body away, but the armour is found to be merely
the empty pieces and no body is encased therein. Fidelia and her father
now come on, and the fraud is disclosed to them. "Yes," cries the monk,
throwing back his cowl, "for Edgar lives." Fidelia, at first stunned
by the joyful discovery that her lover lives, throws herself into his
arms, and Tigrana is spurned by the soldiers. With an exclamation, "I
am redeemed, only love is the real truth," Edgar leads Fidelia towards
the castle. Like a tiger cat, Tigrana follows them, and with a savage
leap stabs Fidelia, who dies instantly. Edgar and Frank turn and seize
the murderess, and the soldiers, with a bloodthirsty cry, hale her off
to instant execution. With a cry of despair Edgar falls senseless
across Fidelia's body.
[Illustration: PUCCINI IN HIS MILAN HOUSE
_Specially photographed by Adolfo Ermini, Milan_]
Notwithstanding many serious shortcomings, _Edgar_, as a lyric drama,
contains much that is sincere and appropriate. It was not a success on
its first representation, and the blame was laid for the most part on
the libretto. Seeing, however, in the history of opera how many a worse
book has passed muster, it is a little curious that Puccini's second
work should have been so completely laid on the shelf. It is not the
lack of dramatic qualities that make the story of _Edgar_ a poor one;
it is rather that the story, as a play, does not contain enough of
characterisation to really retain the interest. In spite of the weak
third act, with its supposed dead body, and the hero in disguise, the
music of this section, both from its wealth of melody, its treatment,
and above all its powerful expressive qualities, stands as the best in
the work. A finer or more moving scene than that of Fidelia's farewell
is hardly to be found in the whole range of what may be termed modern
opera. Taken as it stands _Edgar_ proved that Puccini had emphatically
progressed beyond his achievement of _Le Villi_. Amid the sweet
notes of love there come strong and virile expressions of anger, tumult
and indignation, but the main theme is kept clearly to the front with
all that force that stands as the leading characteristic of Italian
opera, old or new--definite and direct vocal expression.
Puccini himself had, and still has by all accounts, a very warm
affection for this _Edgar_ of his; and it is not at all unlikely that a
revised version may be seen in the near future. Indeed, as it stands,
it might very well be permitted the test of a revival.
VI
"MANON"
Auber was the first opera-composer to be attracted by the Abbé
Prévost's famous romance _Manon Lescaut_. It is one of those vivid
stories of love and passion which have ever made an appeal to those
in search of a theme for musical expression. As drama it has a very
close connection with life in general, and its human interest has that
full flesh-and-blood quality which gives it a certain quick vitality.
Sad and sordid it may be; but the story of the wayward Manon, as
fascinating a black sheep as ever graced the pages of fiction--or
history--is one which is likely to remain in the common stock of tales
which provides novelists with material for practically all time.
[Illustration: PUCCINI'S MANUSCRIPT SCORES, FROM THE SECOND ACT OF
"TOSCA"]
The chief romances of the Abbé are the _Mémoires d'un Homme de
Qualité_, _Cleveland_, and _Doyen de Killerine_ (the two latter, by
the way, books which show the result of his sojourn in England). While
these exhibit certain well-marked qualities, they are completely
cast into the shade by _Manon Lescaut_, his masterpiece, and one
of the greatest novels of the eighteenth century, while, from its
characterisation, it may be pointed to as the father of the modern
novel. The Chevalier des Grieux is an embodiment of the saying "Love
first and the rest nowhere," and it is curious that the Abbé made a
French translation of Dryden's once famous play on the same theme,
_All for Love_. Manon, as a creation, is a triumph, one of the most
remarkable heroines in fiction, springing red-hot as it were from the
imagination of the wandering scholar who brought her into existence.
It is all the more extraordinary that the novel which at once makes an
appeal by its interest and sincerity, but which repays study as a work
of art, should have been a sort of appendix to his first work.
Some years after Auber's opera had been laid on the shelf--it never
attained to any great popularity--Massenet, a notable "modern" French
composer, found by means of its story the expression of quite the
best that was in him. Since _Carmen_ modern French opera has no such
masterpiece of its kind to show. Massenet's _Manon_ was produced
in 1884, and in the fulness of time Puccini turned to the same
story, and after planning his own _scenario_, commissioned Domenico
Oliva--dramatic critic of the _Journal d'Italia_ of Rome, and author of
a play _Robespierre_ which had attained no little success--to write the
"book." This was afterwards so drastically altered and remodelled by
Puccini, in consultation with Ricordi, the publisher, that in justice
to Oliva, his name as the author of the libretto was removed from the
published score.
It was produced in 1893 at the Regio Theatre, Turin, on the 1st of
February, conducted by Alexander Pomé, and cast as follows:
_Manon_ FERRANI.
_The Dancing Master_ CERESOLI.
_Des Grieux_ CREMONINI.
_Lescaut_ MORO.
_Geronte_ POLONINI.
_Edmund_ RASSINI.
For a new work by a composer whose reputation at that time, much to the
wonderment of native judges and musicians, had not traversed beyond
Italy, its production in England was remarkably quick. It was given
the next year, on May 14, 1894, at Covent Garden with the following
cast, comprising a special company of Italian singers brought together
by Messrs. Ricordi, of which the exceptionally fresh chorus appears to
have been the chief point of excellence:
_Manon_ OLGHINA.
_Des Grieux_ BEDUSCHI.
_Lescaut_ PINI-CORSI.
_Geronte_ ARIMONDI.
and A. Seppilli was the conductor. The occasion was interesting in more
than one way. The season under Sir Augustus Harris began on the very
unusual day--a Whit-Monday. The opera house had been renovated entirely
and re-upholstered, with new seats and curtains, and glittered fresh
in all the glories of paint and gilding. Tradition has it that this
was the only time in forty years--since the building of the present
house in fact--had a broom ever been known to go into every corner. Yet
another point makes this opening of the season memorable. It began with
this new opera of Puccini's, and then gave Verdi's _Falstaff_ the same
week.
Without making an "odious" comparison it is obvious that reference
should be made to Massenet's work and the differences between that and
Puccini's opera briefly touched upon.
In both versions certain departures are made, so far as the story
goes, from the original tale. Let us first examine Massenet's book.
This opens in the courtyard of an inn at Amiens to which Lescaut, a
soldier who is evidently given to loose living, brings his pretty
little sister Manon _en route_ for the convent school to which she is
destined. She meets with the handsome Chevalier des Grieux, and easily
falls in love with him. The quiet life of schoolroom and convent does
not make a very strong appeal to the high-spirited girl, and she very
quickly decides to run away to Paris, and give her brother the slip.
At first honourable intentions as to the pretty and confiding Manon's
future seem to weigh with the lover, but in the second act we find
them installed in the customary _ménage à deux_, Des Grieux's father
having declined to give his consent to a marriage. Thus almost at
the beginning Fate seems to be against Manon, and she accepts only
too easily the situation and--drifts. Des Grieux's "sinews of war"
being anything but opulent, it is easy to understand why the offers
of the aristocrat De Bretigny are too tempting for Manon to refuse.
To him she transfers her affections, and we next see her established
at Cours-la-Reine, the fêted and admired mistress of Bretigny. But
during the ball she hears that her former lover has renounced the world
with its pomps and vanities and is preparing to take orders. With
that instinct known as the truly feminine, Manon immediately makes up
her mind that she wants Des Grieux back again; and after a strenuous
scene at the seminary of S. Sulpice we find, in the third act, that
Des Grieux has thrown his good resolutions to the winds and is again
with his charmer. Manon by this time has become rather more than a
fragile butterfly from whose wings the bloom has been brushed. She is
now running a gambling den, with the help, apparently, of one of her
numerous admirers. Des Grieux and this person come to loggerheads,
and the latter informs the police of the nature of the gaming house,
and Manon is ignominiously dragged off to the lock-up. The last scene
shows us Manon being taken by road to Havre, from whence she is to be
shipped, in company with other undesirables, to the New Continent. Des
Grieux sees her, and begs the warder to allow him an interview. Worn
out by remorse and weakened by her former life, Manon, now reduced to
the last stage of infirmity, dies peacefully in her lover's arms.
Puccini's librettists follow a different plan, and the _Manon_ of the
Italian composer is a species of impressionistic scenes more or less
loosely strung together, which, while they demand perhaps a knowledge
of the story for their full appreciation--and to opera goers the story
is, of course, quite familiar--exhibit that quality of conjuring
up the atmosphere not so much of the actual place and characters,
but of the spirit which underlies the pathetic tragedy. In short,
Puccini's _Manon_--music and story, for it is impossible to separate
them--exhibits that skilful picturing of the theme which is even more
apparent in the subsequent work, _La Bohème_.
In Puccini's opera we find after the meeting of Manon and Des Grieux at
the inn at Amiens that the gay young lady is installed as the mistress
of Geronte, and rather less stress, perhaps, is laid on the part her
rascally brother plays in the transaction. By giving the final scene
in America, whither Des Grieux follows the ruined girl, Puccini's
librettists follow the Abbe's original story rather more closely.
Other actual differences will be noted by following the plan, as in
the previous chapters, of giving a more or less detailed story of the
opera, with plot and music side-by-side.
Puccini begins his _Manon_ with a short, bustling, vivacious prelude
which continues for some twenty bars or so after the rise of the
curtain, which discloses, as in Massenet's first act, the exterior
of an inn at Amiens, with a crowd of citizens, students and girls,
strolling about the square and the avenue. One of the students, Edmund,
sings of the beautiful night dear to lovers and poets, and the band
of his merry companions cut his vapourings short with laughter and
jest. Presently the work-girls come down, and Edmund sings to two of
them a graceful, lively fantasy of youth and love, which is afterwards
taken up by the chorus of students. In characteristic fashion, the
citizens join in, and we get one of those solidly written but vivacious
choruses, a form which Puccini handles so well and dexterously, with
similar splendour of technic to the immortal Leipsic Cantor, keeping
each part clear and effective. Des Grieux comes on and laughingly asks
some of the girls whether among them is to be found the one his heart
dreams of. The chorus continues in its gay spirit of song, dance and
laughter until the sound of a postillion's horn calls their attention
to the arrival of the coach from Arras. An orchestral passage repeating
the brisk theme of the opening prelude leads up to the entry of the
diligence, from which Lescaut and Geronte di Lavoir descend, the latter
assisting Manon to alight. While the travellers give their orders to
the landlord, Des Grieux catches sight of Manon, and is attracted by
her face and figure. The crowd has dispersed and the students settle
down to cards, and then Des Grieux speaks to the girl. In a pretty
little musical dialogue, which Puccini always expresses so dramatically
and with a sort of naturalness that may be called colloquial, the pair
make each other's acquaintance, and, like the conventional action
of writing of letters on the stage, the result is arrived at in the
twinkling of an eye. Manon is called off by her brother's voice, and
Des Grieux has his first love song, a tender impassioned melody full
of great charm and lyrical strength. Edmund and the other students
then chaff him as to the fair charmer good fortune has sent him,
and Des Grieux makes his escape to think over his conquest. Another
typical number, a duet in chorus between the students and the girls
in a quick valse time, is broken by the arrival of Geronte and the
brother, from whose dialogue we learn the sister is destined for a
convent, and that the brother is not at all sorry to be quit of
his responsibility in the matter of looking after her. Geronte di
Lavoir, the elderly and lecherous nobleman, appears to be a chance
acquaintance, who has met with Lescaut and his sister while travelling
in the coach. The carelessness of Lescaut and his evidently mercenary
nature fits in only too readily with Geronte's desires, for he is
immediately attracted to the artless little girl from the country and
lays his evil plans. Darkness falls on the scene. Lescaut is attracted
to the card-players, and joins them quickly in the hopes of adding to
his store of wealth, and Geronte bargains with the innkeeper for a
post-chaise and some swift horses, giving instructions that a lady will
want to pop off very quickly to Paris in a short time. Edmund overhears
this little plot, and discloses it to his friend Des Grieux. A short
characteristic orchestral passage with a changing unrestful rhythm
leads up to Manon's entrance. With a _naïveté_ expressed in the music
she sings, she comes to Des Grieux and tells him that she has kept her
thoughtless promise. In a beautifully phrased impassioned passage Des
Grieux urgently presses his suit. Manon, who continues to hang back a
little, is overcome, and when an interruption from her brother, on whom
the effects of wine is beginning to tell, startles them out of their
ecstatic rapture, she attempts to return to the inn. But Des Grieux
takes her away, and tells her of the plot of the old reprobate to
abduct her, and urges her to escape with himself.
Edmund now tells Geronte of the escape of his prize, and that
disappointed old _roué_ tries to rouse the brother from his lethargy.
Lescaut decides that pursuit is worthless, and suggests following the
pair to Paris, whither he is sure they have gone. Geronte stifles his
fury and goes in to supper, while the students join in with a merry
chorus, laughing at the old man's discomfiture as the act ends.
A few bars of a light tripping measure against a slight accompaniment
of pizzicato chords from the strings opens the second act, the scene
of which shows Manon installed in Geronte's luxurious house in Paris.
Manon's toilette is being finished off by the perruquier, and the
detached remarks and inquiries for the various articles necessary are
musically "popped in" with a skilful hand. The brother comes in, and
while the finishing process is still proceeding, he congratulates his
sister on the transference of her affections from the penniless Des
Grieux to the rich old nobleman. Manon, however, is by no means "off"
with the old love, and in a tender little melody she sings of the
humble dwelling where she and her lover passed a blissful time. Like
so many of Puccini's melodies it begins by a reiteration of a single
note, which gradually spreads itself into a lyrical flow. This works up
into an expressive little duet, in which Manon longs for Des Grieux's
return, and Lescaut promises to make him a successful gamester in order
to gather in the necessary funds.
Some singers now arrive, and Manon explains that Geronte is a composer,
and likes to air his art for her delectation. A mezzo soprano then
begins a tuneful madrigal of a pastoral character, pleasantly
melodious but which hardly gives the idea, in full, of a certain
stilted artificiality which is the peculiar flavour of the period.
The other female voices join in a three-part chorus. Manon is rather
bored with their music, and directs her brother to give them some money
to get rid of them. The brother then departs to find Des Grieux, and
Geronte and his friends arrive to a dainty little orchestral measure of
the character of a minuet, with its fanciful little trills and twirls,
but with its syncopated bass to preserve the idea of movement and
progress. The dancing-master gives some hints in deportment to Manon,
and the chorus of Abbés and other friends of Geronte's murmur their
admiration at her graces. In a spirited little number Manon, who has
politely told the company not to interrupt her lesson, sings to Geronte
of the pleasure she is experiencing in her present life, and with
characteristic skill the chorus is worked into the scheme as part of
the musical fabric, and not merely as a decorative background.
After the departure of Geronte and his guests, Des Grieux, who has been
told of Manon's whereabouts by the brother, comes in. The scene between
them is musically full of emotional force, Des Grieux expressing
his loneliness and despair at Manon's flight, while Manon deplores
her weakness and assures him of her love in spite of all that the
present situation entails. The highly dramatic duet works up to a fine
intensity, and at the end their voices blend in a clever climax of a
kind--a few strenuous reiterated notes in unison taking an upward leap
at the finish--so characteristic of the composer. Their happiness is
short lived, for Geronte comes in and puts them to confusion. After
cajoling him into something like sweet reasonableness, Manon thinks
the little affair will blow over. But her truly feminine desire for a
compromise, a gentle slipping over of things, is not to be fulfilled.
Des Grieux, when they are once more alone, tells Manon that her present
life is impossible, that she must give it all up and fly with him.
He has a fine broad melody when Manon tries to return to her plan of
letting things go on as they are. Manon is moved by his intensity, and
begs once again for forgiveness, and agrees to wholly give her heart to
him. Lescaut now rushes in breathless to acquaint Des Grieux and his
sister that Geronte has put the police on their track. The scene works
up into a clever trio of quick movement, Manon imperilling herself
and her companion by her desire to carry off as much spoil as she can
lay hands on. Geronte, attended by a sergeant and two men, block the
entrance, and Manon in her surprise and agitation drops her cloak,
and the jewels roll to the floor. With this effective finish--Manon
being arrested, as we may suppose, in this instance for larceny, and
the grimness of the situation intensified by the rascally brother's
double-dealing in the matter being hinted at--the act closes, Des
Grieux being held back from rescuing his beloved, and uttering a cry of
despair.
Before the third act comes a characteristic orchestral interlude,
in which the Wagnerian plan of continuing the story by means of a
symphonic tone poem is employed with individuality by Puccini.
This intermezzo deals with two main ideas or phases, first the
imprisonment of Manon, and secondly the sad journey to Havre, the port
whence the _filles de joie_--how intensely sad is the irony of the
description!--are to be taken over seas. To the score is appended a
quotation from the Abbé Prévost's story, giving the clue to the strain
of passion that comes in the music of this number, and blends skilfully
with the sadness and the sense of movement which are its leading
flavours, so to speak.
Des Grieux says in the story, "How I love her! My passion is so ardent
that I feel I am the most unhappy creature alive. What have I not
tried in Paris to obtain her release. I have implored the aid of the
powerful. I have knocked at every door as a suppliant. I have even
resorted to force. All has been in vain. Only one thing remains for me,
and that is to follow her--go where she may--even unto the end of the
world."
The scene of the third act shows the square near the harbour at Havre,
with the sea and a ship in the distance. To the left is the barracks
serving as a temporary prison, and at the gate a sentinel keeps guard.
Des Grieux and the brother have evidently been keeping their vigil
all through the night, and dawn is about to break. Very poignant and
striking is the fevered agitation shown in the dialogue passages which
open the scene. The brother has done his best to arrange for a rescue
when his unhappy sister shall be brought forth and marched on board.
The sentinel who now comes on duty has been bribed, and Des Grieux is
able to hold a conversation with Manon through the barred window. As
the night passes into day, the all too short interview ends, and Des
Grieux gives some final instructions to Manon. But the plans for the
rescue fail, and Lescaut comes back to tell Des Grieux of their failure
as the clamour of citizens and soldiers is heard. After a spirited
snatch of chorus, the roll on the drums gives the signal for the gate
of the barracks to open, out of which the women, in chains, pass out to
the ship. The chorus in some telling little abrupt phrases pass remarks
as the various names are read out, and the vivacious comments and rough
laughter heighten the effect of sadness as Manon and Des Grieux snatch
their last farewell. Manon hangs behind a little, only to be roughly
pushed on by a sergeant. Then it is that Des Grieux's despair gets the
upper hand. "Kill me," he cries, "or take me along with you as your
meanest servant." The captain is touched by his devotion, and in the
bluff, good-natured fashion of the sailor, agrees to take Des Grieux.
In the fourth act the death of Manon puts an end to this sad but
very human tragedy. The music is one long duet, full of the highest
emotional expression, and musically reaches to the highest heights
of pure tragedy. The scene shows us a desolate dreary plain on the
outskirts of New Orleans. Manon and Des Grieux by their dress and
manner show the destitution of their circumstances. "Lean all your
weight on me, love," murmurs Des Grieux, as he supports his companion,
worn out by fatigue and privation. Manon suffers from thirst, and Des
Grieux, who can find no water in this arid waste, goes out to search
farther afield. Memories of the life that is past now come to torture
poor Manon, and when Des Grieux comes in again he finds her hopelessly
distraught and at the point of death. Very touchingly does the music
Manon sings picture the ebbing life, the faltering breath, the approach
of the end; and, with a long, low phrase on one note, Manon, whose last
words are that her love for Des Grieux will never pass although her
sins will be cleansed away, sinks peacefully in her long last sleep.
Bursting into tears Des Grieux falls senseless over her body.