THE STANDARD OPERAGLASS

CHARLES ANNESLEY

BALLO IN MASCHERA
or
GUSTAVUS THE THIRD

Grand historic Opera in five acts by Auber

Text by Scribe

     This opera has had a curious fate, its historical background having excited resistance and given rise to scruples. The murder of a king was not thought a fit subject for an opera, and so the libretto was altered and spoilt.
     The Italians simply changed the names and the scene of action; Verdi composed a new opera from the same matter and succeeded admirably; nevertheless Auber’s composition is preferred in Germany, Scribe’s libretto being by far the better, while the music is original and vivacious, as well as full of pleasant harmony and fine instrumentation.
     The scene is laid in Stockholm in the year 1792. Gustavus the Third, King of Sweden, loves the wife of his friend and counsellor Ankarström., and is loved in return, both struggling vainly against this sinful passion. Ankarström has detected a plot against the King’s life, and, warning him, asks that the traitor be punished, but ‘Gustavus refuses to listen, trusting in his people and in his friend’s fidelity. His minister Kaulbart desires him to condemn a sorceress named Arvedson, who is said to be able at will, by means of certain herbs and potions, to cause persons to love or hate each other. The King refuses to banish the woman unheard and decides to visit her. Ankarström tries to dissuade, but the King insists, and accordingly goes to Arvedson in disguise. During the witch’s conjuration, Malwina, his lady-love, appears, who seeks help from the sorceress against her forbidden passion. The concealed King hears Arvedson tell her to go at midnight and gather a herb which grows on the graves of criminals, and, triumphant in his knowledge of Malwina’s confessed love, Gustavus decides to follow her there.
     When she has gone he mockingly orders the witch to tell him his fortune, and hears from her that he shall be killed by the man who first tenders him his hand. Just then Ankarström, who comes to protect the King against his enemy, enters, and they shake hands.
     In the third act Malwina meets the King on the dismal spot to which she had been directed, but Ankarström, whose watchful fidelity never suffers him to be far from the King, and who is utterly ignorant of the deception being practised upon him, saves the lovers from further guilt. After a severe conflict with himself, Gustavus consents to fly in his friend’s cloak, Ankarström having pledged his honor not to ask the veiled lady’s secret, and to conduct her safely back to the city. This plan is frustrated by the conspirators, who rush in and are about to attack the Count. Malwina throws herself between him and the combatants, and the husband then recognizes in the King’s companion his own wife. Full of indignation, he turns from her and joins the conspirators, promising to be one of them.
     He swears to kill his unhappy wife, but not until another has first fallen.
     In the fourth act the conspirators have a meeting in Ankarström’s house, where they decide to murder the King. The lots being east, the duty to strike the deathblow falls on Ankarström, and Malwina herself draws the fatal paper. At this moment an invitation to a masked ball is brought by the King’s page Oscar, and the conspirators resolve to take advantage of this opportunity for the execution of their design.
     In the last act the King, happy to know Malwina safe from discovery, resolves to sacrifice his love to honor and friendship. He is about to give Ankarström the proof of his friendship, by naming him Governor of Finland, and the minister is to depart with his wife on the morning after the ball. Meanwhile the King is warned, by a missive from an unknown hand, not to appear at the ball, but he disregards it. He meets Malwina at the ball. His page, thinking to do the King a service, has betrayed his mask to Ankarström. Malwina warns the prince, but in vain, for, while he presents her with the paper which is to send her and her husband to their own beloved country, Ankarström shoots him through the heart. Gustavus dies, pardoning his murderer.

BALLO IN MASCHERA

A Lyric Drama in five acts by Verdi

Text by F. M. Piave

     Auber’s success with the opera of the same name inspired Verdi to try his hand at it. He ordered his friend Piave to write the libretto for him, and in 1854 the opera was handed to the San Carlo Theatre in Naples, but was refused on the ground that the murder of a king must not be represented on the stage. Then Verdi laid the scene in Boston, and in this shape the opera was performed in Rome on Feb. 17, 1859, and met with great success.
     From this time it conquered the stages of Europe, all but one, Auber’s widow having stipu­lated that no opera rival to that of her husband’s was to be given in Paris. The Ballo in Maschera was revived in Dresden in October, 1897, after having lain buried for over fifteen years ; its success showed that it is still full of vitality. The music is exceedingly fresh and characteristic; indeed it surpasses both Trovatore and Rigoletto in beauty and originality. Verdi has scarcely ever written anything finer than the ensemble at the end of the second act, and the delightful quartetto “Is it a jest or madness, that comes now from her lips?”
     The libretto may be explained shortly, as it is almost identical with Auber’s Masked Ball.
     Count Richard, Governor of Boston, is adored by the people, but hated by the noblemen, who resolve upon his death. He loves Amelia, the wife of his secretary and best friend René, who in vain tries to warn him of the plots of his enemies, but who faithfully watches over his safety.
     An old sorceress of negro blood, Ulrica, is to be banished by the decree of the high judge, but Richard’s page Oscar speaks in her favor, and the Count decides to see her himself and test her tricks. He invites his lords to accompany him to the sibyl’s dwelling, and orders Oscar to bring him a fisherman’s disguise. His enemies Samuel and Tom follow him.
     The second act shows Ulrica in her cottage, seated at a table, conjuring Satan. A crowd of people are around her, amongst them Richard in disguise. A sailor, Sylvan, advances first to hear his fate, and while Ulrica is prophesying that better days await him, Richard slips a roll of gold with a scroll into Sylvan’s pocket and so makes the witch’s words true. Sylvan, searching in his pockets, finds the gold and reads the inscription on the scroll: “Richard to his dear officer Sylvan,” and all break out into loud praises of the clever sibyl.
     A short while after a servant announces Amelia, and the sorceress, driving the crowd away, ushers her in, while Richard conceals himself. He listens with delight to the confession of her sinful love for himself, against which she asks for a draught which might enable her to banish it from her heart. Ulrica advises her to pluck at midnight a magic herb which grows in the field where the criminals are executed. Amelia shudders, but promises to do as she is bidden, while Richard secretly vows to follow and protect her. Amelia departs, and the people flock in again. Richard is the first to ask what is his fate. The sibyl reluctantly tells him that his life is to be destroyed by the first person who shall touch his hand on this very day. Richard vainly offers his hand to the bystanders, they all recoil from him, when suddenly his friend René comes in, and heartily shakes Rich­ard’s outstretched hand. This seems to break the spell, for everybody knows René to be the Count’s dearest friend, and now believes the oracle to be false. Nevertheless Ulrica, who only now recognizes the Count, warns him once more against his enemies, but he laughs at her, and shows the sorceress the verdict of her banishment, which, however, he has cancelled. Full of gratitude, Ulrica joins in the universal song of praise sung by the people to their faithful leader.
     The third act opens on the ghostly field where Amelia is to look for the magic herb. She is frozen with horror, believing that she sees a ghost rise before her; Richard now turns up, and breaks out into passionate words, entreating her to acknowledge her love for him. She does so, but implores him at the same time not to approach her, and to remain true to his friend. While they speak René surprises them. He has followed Richard to save him from his enemies, who are waiting to kill him. Richard wraps himself in his friend’s cloak, after having taken René’s promise to lead the veiled lady to the gates of the town without trying to look at her. René swears, but fate wills it otherwise, for hardly has Richard departed when the conspirators throng in, and, enraged at finding only the friend, try to tear the veil off the lady’s face. René guards her with his sword, but Amelia, springing between the assailers, lets fall her veil, and reveals her face to her husband and to the astonished men, thereby bringing shame and bitter mockery on them both. René, believing himself betrayed by wife and friend, asks the conspirators to meet him in his own house on the following morning, and swears to avenge the sup posed treachery.
     In the fourth act, in his own house, René bids his wife prepare herself for death. He disbelieves in her protest of innocence, but at last, touched by her misery, be allows her to take a last farewell of her son. When she is gone he resolves rather to kill the seducer than his poor weak wife. When the conspirators enter he astonishes them by his knowledge of their dark designs, but they wonder still more when he offers to join them in their evil purpose. As they do not agree who it shall be that is to kill Richard, René makes his wife draw the lot from a Vase on the table. The chosen one is her own husband. At this moment Oscar enters with an invitation to a masked ball from the court. René accepts, and the conspirators decide to seize the opportunity to put their foe to death. They are to wear blue dominoes with red ribbons; their password is “death.”
     The next scene shows a richly decorated ballroom. René Vainly tries to find out the Count’s disguise, until it is betrayed to him by the page, who believes that René wants to have some fun with his master. Amelia, waylaying Richard, implores him to fly, and when he disbelieves her warnings shows him her face. When he recognizas her he tenderly takes her hand, and tells her that he too has resolved to conquer his passion, and that he is sending her away to England with her husband. They are taking a last farewell, but, alas, fate overtakes Richard in the shape of René, who runs his dagger through him. The crowd tries to arrest the murderer, but the dying Count waves them back and with his last breath tells his unhappy friend that his wife is innocent. Drawing forth a document and handing it to René, the unfortunate man reads the Count’s order to send them to their native country. Richard pardons his misguided friend and dies with a blessing on his beloved country.

THE BARBER OF BAGDAD

Comic Opera in two acts by PETER CORNELIUS

     It was a long time before this charming little opera took its place amongst so many fellow operas much less entitled to notice. The composer had died 15 years previously, without having gained the success he so fully deserved as poet as well as composer.
     Liszt, the great redeemer of many a tried genius, brought the opera upon the stage on the 15th of December, 1858, in Weimar.
     But the Intendant Dingelstedt was against him; the opera proved an entire failure, though it was meant more as demonstration against Liszt than against the opera. Liszt, tired of these disgraceful intrigues, quitted Weimar, only to return there from time to time in private. With his abdication, Weimar’s glorious time was passed. In 1889 at last the Barber of Bagdad took its rightful place after many years of oblivion.
     Munich, Mannheim and Vienna came first, and, the music having been enthusiastically ap­plauded, Dresden followed the good example in October, 1890. The music is full of sweet melody, the composition masterfully set. Its comic parts are not quite natural, but the lyric is al­most classical, and the text, written by the com­poser himself, though lacking in action, shows that Cornelius was a true poet as well as a true musician.
     The scene takes place in Bagdad, in the house of a wealthy young Mussulman called Nurredin. He is lying on a couch, surrounded by his ser­vants, who think him dying. But it is only the flame of love which devours his strength and deprives him of all energy. As soon as Bostana, an old relative and companion of his lady-love, appears, in order to tell him that Margiana, his adored, is willing to receive him, Nurredin forgets his illness and only longs for the promised interview. The ensuing duet be-tween him and Bostana, wherein she gives in­struction about time and hour of the rendez- vous, is delightfully fresh and piquant.
     Nurredin has neglected his personal ap­pearance during his malady his first wish is for a barber, who is speedily sent to him by Bos­tana. This old worthy, Abul Hassan Ali Ebe Bekar, the barber, makes him desperate by his vain prattle. Having solemnly saluted Nurredin, he warns him not to leave the house to­day, as his horoscope tells him that his life is in danger. The young man not heeding him, Abul Hassan begins to enumerate all his talents as astrologer, philologer, philosopher, etc.; in short, he is everything and knows everything. When Nurredin orders him to begin his shaving he relates the fate of his six brothers, who all died before him and always of love. At last Nurredin’s patience giving way, he calls his ser­vants in to throw the old dotard out of doors. But Abul drives them all back, and Nurredin tries to pacify him with flattery, and finally succeeds.
     Now Abul is curious, as all barbers are, and having heard Nurredin’s sighs he determines to find out all about the young man’s love. This scene is most ludicrous, when Abul sings his air “Margiana,” which name he has heard from Nurredin’s lips, and the latter is in despair at being left with only one side of his head shaved. This great work done at last, Abul wants to accompany the young lover to the house of the Cadi Baba Mustapha, Margiana’s father. Nur­redin again summons his servants, who begin to surround Abul, pretending to doctor him. Nur­redin escapes, but Abul. after having shaken of! the servants, runs after him.
     The second act takes place in the Cadi’s house.
     Margiana is full of sweet anticipation, while her father, who has already chosen a husband for his daughter in the person of an old friend of his youth, shows her a large trunk full of gifts from the old bridegroom. Margiana ad­mires them obediently. A musical scene of sur-passing beauty follows, where we hear the call of the Muezzin summoning the faithful to prayer. It is also the sign for Nurredin to appear. The Cadi hurries to the Mosque, and Bostana introduces the lover. Here ensues a charming love-duet, accompanied, originally enough, by a song from the old barber, who watches before the house. Suddenly they are interrupted by cries of alarm, and with dismay they learn from Bostana that the Cadi has re­turned to punish a slave who has broken a precious vase.
     Nurredin, unable to escape unobserved, is hidden in the big trunk. Meanwhile Abul, having heard the slave’s cries, and mistaking them for Nurredin’s, summons the latter’s ser­vants and breaks into the Cadi’s house to avenge his young friend, whom he believes to be mur­dered. Bostana angrily bids him carry away the trunk, signifying to him whom she has hidden in it, but the Cadi intervenes, believing the ser­vants to be thieves who want to rob his daugh­ter’s treasure. The rumor of the murder grad­ually penetrates the whole town; its inhabitants gather before the house, and the appointed wailing women mingle their doleful lamenta­tions with the general uproar. At last the Calif himself appears in order to settle the quarrel.
     The Cadi accuses the barber of theft, while Abul calls the Cadi a murderer. To throw light upon the matter the Calif orders the trunk to be opened, which is done with great hesitation by Margiana. When the lid gives way, Nurredin is lying in it in a deep swoon. All are terrified, believing him to be murdered, but Abul, ca­ressing him, declares that his heart still throbs. The Calif bids the barber show his art, and Abul wakens Nurredin by the love-song to Margiana. The young man revives, and the truth dawns upon the deceived father’s mind. The Calif, a very humane and clement prince, feels great sym­pathy with the beautiful young couple, and advises the Cadi to let his daughter have her treas­ure, because he had told them himself that it was Margiana’s treasure, kept hidden in the trunk.
     The Cadi consents, while the Calif bids the funny barber come to his palace to entertain him with his stories, and invites all present to the wedding of the betrothed pair, to the great satisfaction of the people, who sing their Salaam Alëikum in praise of their prince — a brilliant finale, full of energy and melody.

IL BARBIERE DI SEVIGLIA

Comic Opera in two acts by Rossini

     This opera may be called a miracle of Ros­sini’ a creation, as it not only is his best work but was written by him in a fortnight, a per­formance nearly incredible, for the music is so finely worked out, and so elegant, that the opera has grown to be a favorite with all nations.
     The subject, taken from Beaumarchais’s witty trilogy of “Figaros,” had ere this ent inspira­tion to more than one composer; ozart’s “Figaro,” though done before the “ Barbiere,” is in a certain sense the continuation of Rossini’s opera.
     The Barbiere had the peculiar misfortune to experience an utter reverse on the occasion of its first representation. It was composed for the Duke Cesarini, proprietor of the Argentina Theatre in Rome, and the cabals and intrigues of Paesiello’s partisans (who had composed the same subject) turned the balance in Rossini’s disfavor. But on the second evening good taste prevailed, and since then the opera has been a universal favorite.
     Beaumarchais’s tale was worked out anew by the Roman poet Sterbini; in our opera it runs as follows: Count Almaviva is enamored of Rosina, the ward of Doctor Bartolo. She is most jealously guarded by the old man, who wishes to make her his own wife. In vain the Count serenades her; she does not appear, and he must needs in­vent some other means of attaining his object. Making the acquaintance of the lighthearted and cunnin barber Figaro, the latter advises him to get trance into Bartolo’s house in the guise of a soldier possessing a billet of quarter­ing for is lodgings. Rosina herself has not failed to ear the sweet love-songs of the Count, known her only under the simple name of Lindoro and with southern passion, and the ligbthea edness which characterizes all the persons w o figure in this opera, but which is not to be mistaken for frivolity, Rosina loves her nice lover, and is willing to be his own. Figaro has told her of Almaviva’s love, and in return she gives him a note, which she has written in secret. But the old Doctor is a sly fox, he has seen the inky little finger, and deter­mines to keep his eyes open.
     When the Count appears in the guise of a half-drunken dragoon the Doctor sends Rosina away, and tries to put the soldier out of the house, pretending to have a license against all billets. The Count resists and, while Bartolo seeks for his license, makes love to Rosina, but after the Doctor’s return there arises such an uproar that all the neighbors and finally the guards appear, who counsel the Count to retire for a time.
     In the second act the Count gains entrance to Bartolo’s house as a singing-master who is deputed to give a lesson instead of the fever-stricken Basilio. Of course the music lesson is turned into a love lesson.
     When all seems to be going well the real Maestro, Basilio, enters and all but frustrates their plans. With gold and promises Figaro bribes him to retreat, and the lovers agree to flee on the coming night.
     Almost at the last moment the cunning of Bartolo hinders the projected elopement. lie shows a letter, which Rosina has written, and makes Rosina believe that her lover, whom she only knows as Lindoro, in concert with Figaro is betraying her to the Count. Great is her joy when she detects that Lindoro and Count Alma-viva are one and the same person, and that he loves her as truly as ever. They bribe the old notary who has been sent for by Bartolo to ar­range his own (Bartolo’s) wedding with Rosina. Bartolo signs the contract of marriage, with Figaro as witness, and detects too late that he has been duped, and that he has himself united the lovers. At last he submits with pretty good grace to the inevitable, and contents himself with Rosina’s dowry, which the Count gener­ously transfers to him.

The Bartered Bride

BENVENUTO CELLINI

Opera in three acts by Hector Berlioz

Text by de Wailly and Barbier, translated into German by Peter Cornelius

This opera by the spirited French musician has had a singular fate. Composed more than forty years ago, it never had in France the success it merited; a “succès d’estime” was the only result. Liszt, who was the saviour of many a talented struggler, was the first to recognize the genius of the French composer. He brought the opera out upon the stage at Weimar, but without much success. Berlioz was not under­stood by the public. Devrient, in Carhsruhe, tried a similar experiment and failed, and so the opera was almost forgotten, until Germany, remembering the duty owed to genius, of whatever nationality it may be, placed it upon the stage in Dresden, on the 4th of November, 1888, under the leadership of one of the ablest of modern interpreters of music, Director Schuch. Its representation was a triumph. Though Berlioz can in nowise be compared with Wagner, whose music is much more realistic and sensual, Wagner may nevertheless be said to have opened a path for Berlioz’s style, which, though melodious, differs widely from that of the easy-flowing Italian school, being more serious, as well as more difficult for the musical novice to understand. This explains why Berlioz’s compatriots esteemed but never liked him; he was too scientific. To-day our ears and un­derstanding are better prepared for striking in­tervals and complicated orchestration, which latter is the most brilliant feature in the opera.
     Indeed the instrumentation is simply perfect, the choruses are masterpieces of originality, life and melody, and the rhythm, with its syncopes, is so remarkable that one is more than justified in calling the style unique; it is Berlioz and no other.
     The text is far less good than the music, though the hero, whose life Goethe found worthy of description in the 24th and 25th volume of his works, might well interest. The libretto is by no means strictly historical, and suffers from improbabilities which can only be excused in an opera.
     The tale is laid in Rome in the year 1532, under Pope Clement VII., and comprises the events of three days, Monday hefore Shrove-tide, Shrove-Tuesday and Ash-Wednesday. Benvenuto Cellini, the Tuscan goldsmith, has been called to Rome by the Pope, in order to em­bellish the city with his masterpieces. He loves Teresa, the daughter of the old papal treasurer Balducci, and the love is mutual. At the same time another suitor, Fieramosca, the Pope’s sculptor, is favored by her father. Old Bal­ducci grumbles in the first scene at the Pope’s predilection for Cellini, declaring that such an excellent sculptor as Fieramosca ought to suffice. lie goes for a walk, and Cellini finds Teresa alone. To save her from Fieramosca he plans an elopement, selecting the close of the Carni­val as the time best suited for carrying out their design. The rendezvous is to be the Piazza di Colon na, where he will wait for her, disguised as a monk in white, accompanied by a Capuchin, his pupil Ascanio. Unhappily the rival Fieramosca has entered unseen, and over­heard all. The ensuing terzetto is a master­piece. While the lovers are bidding each other farewell Balducci returns; and Cellini has scarcely time to hide behind the window-curtain before he enters. The father is surprised to find his daughter still up, and Teresa, seeking for an excuse to send him away, feigns to be frightened by a thief in her chamber. There Balducci finds the hapless Fieramosea hidden, and Cellini meanwhile escapes. Balducci and his daughter calling for help, all the female servants and women of the neighborhood appear armed with brooms and wooden spoons. They fall upon the hapless lover, and finally force him to escape through the window.
     In the second act we find Cellini in a tavern with his pupils and friends. They have no money left to pay for their wine, when Ascanio brings gold from the Pope, which, however, he only delivers after Cellini has given a solemn promise to finish at once the statue of Perseus he is engaged upon. Great is the general wrath when they find the money consists of but a paltry sum, and they resolve to avenge themselves on the avaricious treasurer, Balducci, by personat­ing him in the theatre. Fieramosca, who has again been eavesdropping, turns for help to his friend Pompeo, a bravo. And they decide to outwit Cellini, by adopting the same costumes as he and his pupil.
     The scene changes ; we see the Piazza di Colonna and the theatre in which the panto­mime of King Midas is acted. Balducci, who is there with his daughter among the spectators, recognizes in the snoring King a portrait of himself, and furiously advances to grapple with him. Cellini profits by the ensuing tumult to approach Teresa, but at the same time Fiera­mosca comes up with Pompeo, and Teresa can­not discern which is the true lover, owing to the masks. A fight ensues, in which Cellini stabs Pompeo. He is arrested, and Teresa flies with the Capuchin Ascanio to Cellini’s atelier. The enraged people are about to lynch the murderer, when three cannon shots are fired announcing that it is Ash-Wednesday; the lights are extin­guished, and Cellini escapes in the darkness.
     The third act represents Cellini’s atelier with the workmen in it. Teresa, not finding her lover, is in great distress. Ascanio consoles her, and when the Miserere of the Penitents is heard both join in the prayer to the Holy Virgin.
     Suddenly Cellini rushes in, and, embracing Teresa, relates that he fled the night before into a house. A procession of penitent monks passing by in the morning he joined them, as their white cowls were similar to his own disguise. He decides to escape at once to Florence with Teresa, but is already pursued by Balducci, who appears with Fieramosea and insists on his daughter’s returning and marrying the latter. At this moment the Cardinal Salviati steps in to look for the statue. He is highly indignant that Cellini, thoughtless like all artists, has not kept his promise. Hearing him, moreover, accused by Balducci, he threatens severe punish­ment, and finally declares that Perseus shall be cast by another. Cellini, in the pride of genius and full of rage, seizes a hammer, and, sur­rounded by his workmen, declares that he will rather destroy his work than see it finished by another.
     The Cardinal, overcome by fear of the loss, changes his tactics, and, in compliance with Cellini’s request, promises him full pardon and Teresa’s hand if he finishes Perseus in an hour’s time, as Cellini offers to do. Should he fail in his gigantic task, his life will be forfeit.
     All set to work at once; even Fieramosca, at the Cardinal’s request, assists. More and more metal is demanded; Cellini sacrifices all his masterpieces in gold and silver. At last the casting is completed, Cellini breaks the mould, and the statue of Perseus shines faultlessly forth, a wonder of art, a thing of glory, bringing im­mortality to its maker. All present bend before the greatness of genius, and Fieramosca, the rival in art and love, is the first to kiss and em­brace Cellini, who obtains full pardon and the hand of Teresa, along with her father’s blessing.

BY ORDER OF HIS HIGHNESS
(AUF HOHEN BEFEHL)

Comic Opera in three acts by Carl Reincke

Text by the composer after RIERL’s novel : “Ovidius at Court”

     Reinecke of Leipzig is known both as excellent pianist and composer of no ordinary talent. The Dresden theatre has been one of the first to put the new opera upon its boards, and with re­gard to the music the expectations entertained have been fully realized.
     It is true music, melodious and beautiful. Reinecke’s musical language, free, untrammeled and suggestive, only assumes decided form in the character of a song, or when several voices are united. The instrumentation is very interesting, and the popular melody remarkably well characterized.
     So he introduces, for instance, the well-known popular song “Kein Feuer, keine Kohle” (no fire, no coal can burn) with the most exquisite variations.
     The libretto is not as perfect as the music, be­ing rather improbable.
     A little German residential capital of the last century forms the background to the picture.
     Franz, the son of the organist Ignaz Laemml, introduces himself to Dal Segno, the celebrated Italian singing-master, as the Bohemian singer Howora. He obtains lessons from the capricious old man, who, however, fails to recognize in him the long-absent son of his old enemy. Cornelia, Dal Segno’s daughter, however, is not so slow in recognizing the friend of her childhood, who loves her and has all her love, as we presently learn. Franz has only taken the name of Ho­wora in order to get into favor with the maiden’s father, an endeavor in which he easily succeeds, owing to his musical talents.
     Meanwhile the Prince is determined to have an opera composed from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. He has chosen Pyramus and Thisbe, but, as the Princess is of a very gay disposition, a request is made that the tragedy have a happy solution, a whim which puts old pedantic Laemml quite out of sorts.
     In the second act Louis, one of the princely lackeys, brings a large cracknel and huge paper-cornet of sweets for Cornelia, whom he courts, and whose favor he hopes in this way to win.
     When he is gone, Dal Segno’s sister Julia, lady’s maid to the Princess, enters with birth­day-presents for her niece Cornelia, and, among the things which attract her attention, sees the cracknel, beside which she finds a note from her own faithless lover Louis. Filled with right­eous indignation, she takes it away.
     Cornelia, stepping out to admire her birthday-presents, meets Franz, and, after a tender scene, the young man tells his lady-love that he has been fortunate enough to invent for his father a happy issue to the tragedy of Pyramus and Thisbe, and that they may now hope the best from the grateful old master.
     Meanwhile good old Laemml himself appears to ask his old enemy Pal Segno to give singing­lessons to his dear son. The Italian teacher is very rude and ungracious, Laemml’s blood rises also, and a fierce quarrel ensues, which is inter­rupted by the arrival of the Prince. Having heard their complaints, he decides that the quarrel is to be settled by a singing competition in which Howora, Pal Segno’s new and greatly praised pupil, and Franz, Laemml’s son, are to contest for the laurels. Both masters are con­tent, and decide on a duet for tenor and soprano. This is a happy choice, and Franz, who, with Cornelia, has heard everything, causes his lady-love to disguise herself, in order to play the part of Franz, while he decides to appear as Howora.
     In the third act the Princess receives old Laeminl, who comes to tell her that he has com­plied with her wishes as to the happy issue of the tale, and confides to her his son’s secret that Franz and Howora are one and the same person. The gracious Princess promises her assistance, and Laemml leaves her very happy, dancing and merry-making with the Prince’s fool.
     In the evening Louis finds Julia attired in Cornelia’s dress, and believing her to be her niece he places a ring on her finger, and once more pledges his faith to his old love.
     The two singers perform their duet so perfectly that Laeminl, uncertain who will obtain the prize, begs for a solo. Each one then sings a popular song (Yolkslied), and all agree that Howora has triumphed. The happy victor is crowned with the laurels. But the Princess, touched by the sweet voice of the other singer, puts a rose wreath on his brow. When the cap is taken off Dal Segno perceives that the pre­tended Franz has the curls of his own daughter. Howora being presented to him as Laemml’s son, he can do no other than yield. He em­braces old Laemml and gives his benediction to the lovers.

LA BOHÈME

Opera in four acts by Giacomo Puccini

Text by G. Giacosa and L. Illica

     This charming opera was first presented at the Regio Theatre, Turin February 1, 1896, and has been widely popular ever since. The material was gathered from Mürger’s novel “Vie de Bohème,” and the music, which is thoroughly Italian in character, is full of life and vigor, interspersed here and there with rare touches of sweetness and grace.
     The scene is laid in the Quartier Latin of Paris in the year 1830, and the first act opens in a bare attic studio where Marcel, an artist, and his friend Rudolph, a poet, are seen hud­dled over a small stove, endeavoring to keep themselves warm by burning the numerous manuscripts of the good-natured poet. They are shortly joined by their friends Colline, a philosopher, and Schaunard, a musician. These four Bohemians form an inseparable quartet, who live, love, and work together in perfect harmony. They live entirely by their wits, spending their money freely when they have it, and cheerfully submitting to misfortune when she sees fit to frown upon them. Greatly to the surprise of his friends, Schaunard produces a pocket full of gold, with which they immediately purchase the much needed fuel, and a sumptuous feast. Their appetites not yet being appeased they decide to visit a nearby café to continue their meal, but Rudolph who has an important manuscript to finish, remains behind, promising to join them presently. He is interrupted in his work by a knock at the door, and Mimi, a beautiful flower girl who rooms below, enters to beg the loan of a candle. Her refined features and graceful figure appeal to the artistic sense of Rudolph, who immediately falls in love with her and induces her to accompany him to the Café Momus, where his friends are dining. In the midst of their jolly meal, Mademoiselle Musetta, a pretty and coquettish damsel, enters in company with a pompous old gentleman named Alcindoro, and they seat themselves at an adjoining table. It so happens that Musetta is an old time love of Marcel’s, and on seeing him she declares that the shoes she has on are pinching, and begs her dignified escort to go out and purchase a larger pair. As soon as he disappears, Musetta joins the merry Bohemians, and leaving both bills for poor old Alcindoro to pay they take their departure.
     After a time Mimi and Musetta become dissatisfied with their Bohemian lovers on aecount of their poverty, as their chief ambition in life is to wear fine clothes and ride in broughams. They therefore leave them to seek the luxuries offered elsewhere. Their hearts, however, still yearn for their old lovers and the delightful little suppers of the Quartier Latin.
     Rudolph and Marcel lead lonely and dejected lives after the departure of their sweethearts, and secretly long for the return of the old happy days. Some months after, while in the studio discussing the virtues of their respective loves, Musetta suddenly rushes in upon them in a state of great agitation, exclaiming that the deserted Mimi is below, half starved and dying. Rudolph runs madly down the stairs, and bringing up the unconscious girl in his arms, lays her tenderly upon the couch, and pours forth the love of his heart in her willing ear, swearing that never shall they be parted again. Soothed by his words of love, Mimi falls into a deep and peaceful sleep. The others, in the meantime, have brought food and medicine for the patient, and Rudolph going softly to the bedside to awaken her, finds that she has passed away. With an agonizing cry he falls sobbing on her lifeless body, while his sorrowful friends, dazed at the suddenness of the catastrophe, gather in pitying silence around them.

BORIS GODOUNOV

A Russian Tragic Opera, in a prologue and four
acts. Music by M. P. Moussorgsky

Libretto founded on Pushkin and Karamzin’s great
historical drama of the same name, written by
the composer

     The first performance of this work was at Petrograd, in 1874. The scene is in Moscow, partly on the frontiers of Poland, between 1598 and 1605, the time of the usurper, Boris Godounov. The music is characteristically Slavic.
     In the prologue a vast concourse of people is seen in the interior of a monastery near Moscow, where Boris Godounov, although voices are whispering against him, is proclaimed czar of Russia. Boris, being appointed guardian of the minor children of Czar Ivan the Terrible, has caused the young heir to the throne, Dmitri, to be foully murdered, in order to become ruler himself. His coronation at the Kremlin is celebrated with great rejoicing on the part of the people.
     Act I is in a cell of the Monastery of the Miracle, where the pious monk, Pimen, is laboriously writing a history of Russia. This he does with the fervid desire to tell the unvarnished truth, so that "he may not be ashamed" when God himself reads it. There is with him in the cell a youth named Gregory, his features, his age and his general appearance presenting a great resemblance to the murdered Dmitri. The monk Pimen comments on this and tells the youth the circumstances of Dmitri’s death and also other facts in connection with it. Gregory is much struck with the tale. Later on Gregory, disguised, escapes over the Russian border, being in great danger of arrest by the guards of Boris Godounov, as he is pursued for having escaped from the monastery with the intention of personating the vanished heir to the throne, Dmitri. Warrants are out for Gregory’s apprehension, but he escapes.
     In the second act the apartments at the Kremlin are seen, with the son, Feodor, and the daughter, Xenia, of the usurper. The latter enters, caresses his children, and then sits down to brood over his cares and fears. A war with Poland is threatening, and a party of his own nobles are plotting a rebellion. Prince Shouisky enters, seeking audience with the czar, who grants it reluctantly. Shonisky then tells about the rising of a pretender against Boris, and the latter in his fears and doubts asks Shouisky whether he really carried out the order to put Dmitri out of the way. Prince Shouisky relates all the grewsome details of the death of Dmitri, and convinces the usurper that he speaks the truth. But at the same time he gives the czar facts about the danger threatening from the pretender (Gregory), who has obtained the support of the Poles and is on the point of enforcing his claims. Boris is harried by the torments of his conscience and fears.
     The third act opens in the apartments of Marina Mnichek in Poland, where a Jesuit priest influences her to use all her charms to beguile Dmitri (Gregory), to help in the plot of unseating Boris, and to seize the supreme power for the Polish pretender to the Russian throne. Dmitri overhears the plans of the Polish nobles. Marina later inflames Gregory’s ambition that he may become a pliant tool in the hands of the Polish plotters. It is resolved. to march, with a Polish army, to Moscow, oust Boris, and crown Gregory (as the false Dmitri) instead.
     The last act takes us to Krom, where there is a rebellion of the peasants against the usurping czar and his adherents. Gregory (Dmitri) comes on the scene with a body of troops sup-porting him, and they acclaim him ruler of Russia. Meanwhile in the Kremlin a council of the nobles is in deliberation as to how to defeat the pretender and crush the uprising of the people. Shouisky enters and brings dreary news about Boris, who is haunted by spectres. While still reporting this Boris comes in, under the complete spell of visions. Voices are whispering to him : "Thou art a murderer!" Boris recovers, but soon after an old monk begs for an audience, and the monk historian, Pimen, enters, and relates the story of a miracle in which Dmitri appeared to an old shepherd. At the end of the tale Boris loses his senses, but comes once more to himself, and gives tearful advice to his son and heir, when he expires.

THE BOHEMIAN GIRL

Opera in three acts. Music by M. W. Balfe

Text by Alfred Bunn founded on "The Gypsy," by
St. Georges and Marzillier

     This English sentimental opera, one of the earliest successful ones, was originally produced in London, 1843. The romantic plot has its scene laid in Hungary, the time being the 18th century. This operatic work is one of the most tuneful, although florid in style.
     Count Arnheim, the imperial governor of Pressburg, Hungary, in the first act has in his palace assembled a vast number of nobles, retainers and servants for the chase. Not far away, on the banks of the Danube, a statue of the emperor is being unveiled with impressive ceremonies, the Austrian flag being raised. Count Arnheim and his nephew, Florestan, enter, and Arline, his little daughter, is being affectionately greeted by him. They all leave together, and the ‘place before the castle is empty, when Thaddeus, a Polish nobleman in exile, rushes forth, and perceiving the statue of the emperor, he becomes aware that he is still in danger of discovery and death, and looks about for means of disguising himself. A wandering band of gypsies opportunely puts in an appearance, and their leader, Devilshoof, is spoken to by Thaddeus, who implores his help. He promises Thaddeus immediate assistance, puts him in gypsy garb, and makes him join the baud. The pursuing soldiery are thrown off the right track, and the Pole goes off with the gypsies. Meanwhile Arline and her attendant have been attacked by some wild beast that was being pursued by the Count’s huntsmen, and a fear is entertained that she may have been killed. Florestan has fled from the onslaught of the quarry, and Thaddeus, coming upon him in the deep woods, and hearing the latter’s tale, wrests the weapon from. his grasp, and hastens to the defense of the child. While everybody is still searching for the Count’s little daughter, Thaddeus returns with her in safety. In recognition of his services the father thanks him and invites him to a banquet at the castle. Thaddeus, being urged, finally accepts. During the meal a toast is being drunk to the emperor, but the Pole haughtily declines to do so, splashing the contents of his goblet at the statue of the monarch. Count Arnheim, remembers that Thaddeus is the savior of little Arline, forgives him, throws him a purse of gold for his reward, and bids him begone. The nobles present are about to seize the hot-headed Pole, when Devilshoof comes on the scene, threatening those who wish to harm the man he has taken under his protection.
     Devilshoof, thereupon, himself is overpowered and cast into a dungeon, while Thaddeus is permitted to leave unharmed. But a short while after the word comes that Arline, left for a few moments to herself in her room, has vanished, and on search being made it is seen that the gypsy chief has escaped from his cell. He is seen by his pursuers climbing a steep mountain path, holding the girl in his arms. He eludes the retainers of the Count, by fleeing into the woods across a fallen tree trunk, and casting it behind him down the chasm.
     Twelve years are supposed to have elapsed, and Arline is next seen asleep in the tent of the gypsy queen, Thaddeus guarding them, while the band are off on a nocturnal venture. Florestan, nephew of the Count, is robbed by the gypsies when returning from a drinking bout, and is despoiled of all his valuables. Count Arnheim is still mourning his daughter for ost or dead, never having been able in all that time to trace her. The gypsy queen, however, has Florestan summoned before her, and returns all his stolen property to him, save a gem-encrusted locket, Devilshoof having secreted that without her knowledge. There follows a scene in which Thaddeus declares liis love for Arline, the latter having now become a very lovely young woman. They exchange vows, and he tells her of the adventure years before, when he rescued her from death, but he does not disclose her real identity. Then, at fair time, in Pressburg, Count Arnheim and his nephew are accidentally observing a group of gypsies, and Florestan falls in love with Arline’s beauty. Later on he makes advances to her, but the girl spurns him. The gypsy queen artfully praises her for her independence of spirit, and adorns her with the locket as a reward. Florestan, angered at his being repulsed, causes the arrest of both Arline and Thaddeus, who had vigorously interfered with Florestan’s pretensions.
     In the justice hall of his palace is the Count, indulging in sad reminiscences of his vanished child. Just then Arline is brought before him on the charge of theft. The girl only now sees through the perfidy of the gypsy queen who, out of revenge for the preference shown by Thaddeus for Arline, instead of herself, has resorted to the ruse of decking her rival in stolen jewels. Arline too late discovers that she had no defense to make against the accusation, and in despair tries to stab herself. The Count stops her hand, and in doing so sees the tell-tale scar upon his daughter’s wrist. Thaddeus, having just recovered his liberty, impressively confirms the girl’s own story, and he and Devilshoof disappear during a scene of general rejoicing.
     The third and last act shows Arline in the great hall of her father’s palace, awaiting the guests to whom her father wants to introduce her. Florestan and her father join her, and Florestan once more asks her hand in marriage. But Arline rejects him, treasuring in her heart Thaddeus as her lover, even refusing her father when the latter seconds his nephew’s suit. Thaddeus and Devilshoof enter the castle surreptitiously, and urge her to follow them and again join the gypsy band. Arline regretfully recalls all the happiness she enjoyed while roving with the gypsies, but she delays her decision so long that guests are approaching. Devilshoof takes flight, and Thaddeus is forced to hide. Meanwhile the gypsy queen has clandestinely followed these two, being still ani-mated with vengeful feelings because of being seamed by Thaddeus, and now enters the castle and announces to Count Arnheim that his daughter is concealing a lover in her chamber. The angry father charges his daughter with this when Thaddeus steps forth from hiding and boldly confesses his passion for Arline. The Count orders him to leave instantly, but Arline threatens to follow him; and when it is later proven that Thaddeus himself comes of noble family, and can show his patent of nobility, the father relents. The marriage takes place with great solemnity. The gypsy queen, however, thirsting for revenge and having been so far baffled in all her schemes, hires an assassin from amongst her band, to murder Thaddeus. Devilshoof, though, succeeds in turning aside the weapon, so that the queen herself becomes the victim of her own murderous plot.