THE STANDARD OPERAGLASS

CHARLES ANNESLEY

LA DAME BLANCHE

Comic Opera in three acts by BOIELDIEU

Text by SCRIBE

     Boieldieu is for the French almost what Mozart was for the German. This opera espe­cially may be called classic, so deliberate and careful is its execution.
     The “Lady in White” is the chef-d’oeuvre of all comic operas in French, as Mozart’s Figaro is in German. The success of this opera, whose composer and whose poet were equally liked arid esteemed in Paris, was enormous, and since then it has never lost its attraction.
     The scene is laid in Scotland, the subject be­ing taken from Walter Scott’s romance “The Monastery.”
     George Brown, the hero of the opera, a young lieutenant in English service, visits Scotland. He is hospitably received by a tenant of the late Count Avenel, who has been dead for some years. When he arrives the baptism of the tenant’s youngest child is just being celebrated and seeing that they lack a godfather he good. naturedly consents to take the vacant place.
     Seeing the old castle of the Avenels he asks for its history, and the young wife Jenny tells him that, according to the traditions of the place, it is haunted by a ghost, as is the case in almost every old castle. This apparition is called the “White Lady,” but, unlike other ghosts, she is good, protecting her sex against fickle men. All the people around believe firmly in her and pretend to have seen her themselves. In the castle there exists a statue which bears the name of this benevolent genius, and in it the old Lord has hidden treasures. His steward Gaveston, a rogue, who has taken away the only son of the Count in the child’s earliest days, brings the castle with all its acres to public sale, hoping to gain it for himself.
     He has a charming ward, named Anna. It is she who sometimes plays the part of the White Lady. She has summoned the young tenant Dickson, who is sincerely devoted to her, into the castle, and the young man, though full of fear, yet dare not disobey the ghostly commands.
     George Brown, thirsting for a good adventure, and disbelieving in the ghost-story, declares that he will go in Dickson’s place.
     In the second act George, who has found en­trance into the castle, calls for the White Lady, who appears in the shape of Anna. She believes that Dickson is before her, and she reveals her secret to him, imploring his help against her false guardian Gaveston, who means to rob the true and only heir of his property. She knows that the missing son of the Avenels is living, and she has given a promise to the dying Countess to defend his rights against the rapacious Gaveston. George gives his hand to the pretended ghost in token of fidelity, and the warm and soft hand which clasps his awakes tender feelings in him. On the following morning Dickson and his wife Jenny are full of cu­riosity about George’s visit, but he does not breathe a word of his secret.
     The sale of the castle, as previously announced, is to begin, and Dickson has been empowered beforehand by all the neighboring farmers to bid the highest price, in order not to let it fall into the hands of the hateful Gaveston. They bid higher and higher, but at length Dickson stops, unable to go farther. Gaveston feels assured of his triumph, when George Brown, recalling his vow to the White Lady, advances boldly, bidding one thousand pounds more. Anna is beside him, in the shape of the spectre, and George obediently bids on, till the castle is his for the price of three hundred thousand pounds. Gaveston, in a perfect fury, swears to avenge himself on the adventurer, who is to pay the sum in the afternoon. Should he prove unable to do so, he shall be put into prison. George, who firmly believes in the help of his genius, is quietly confident, and meanwhile makes an inspection of the castle. Wandering through the vast rooms, dim recollections arise in him, and hearing the minstrel’s song of the Avenels, he all at once remembers and finishes the romance, which he heard in his childhood.
     The afternoon comes, and with it McIrton, the justice of peace. He wants the money, and George begs to await the White Lady, who promised her help. Anna appears, bringing the treasure of the Avenels hidden in the statue, and with them some documents which prove the just claims of Edwin Count Avenel. This long-lost Count she recognizes in George Brown, whose identity with the playmate of her youth she had found out the night before. Gaveston approaches full of wrath to tear aside the ghost’s white veil, and sees his own ward, Anna.
     The happy owner of castle and country holds firm to the promise which he gave the White Lady and offers hand and heart to the faithful Anna, who has loved him from her childhood.

IL DEMONIO

Fantastic Opera in three acts by Anton Rubinstein

Text after the Russian of Alfred Offermann

     This opera of the great Russian musician has an entirely national character. The great features of Rubinstein’s work are most fertile imagination and an immense power of expression, which, however, sometimes almost passes the permitted bounds, although the forms are perfectly mastered, and the fanciful subject is well calculated to afford it room for play. It is taken from the celebrated poem of Lermontoff, and it treats of the devices by which Satan seeks to ensnare the immortal souls on earth.
     The plot is laid in Grusia, in the Caucasus.
     The first scene represents a wild and lonely country ; in the raging storm voices are beard of good and bad spirits alternately. The Arch Fiend appears, weary of everything, even of his power. He curses the world; in vain he is warned by the Angel of Light to cease his strife against Heaven; the Demon’s only satisfaction lies in opposition to and battle with all that is living and good.
     He sees Tamara, daughter of Prince Gudal, who expects her bridegroom, the Prince of Sinodal, and, full of admiration for her loveliness, he wooes her. Tamara, frightened, calls her companions, and they all return to the castle, but the words of the stranger, whom she has recognized, by the halo of light surrounding him, as a being from a higher world, vibrate in her ears: “Queen of my love, thou shalt be the Empress of Worlds.”
     The following scene shows Prince Sinodal, encamping for the night with his suite; the roughness of the way has delayed his coming to Tamara. Near the camp is a chapel, erected in memory of one of his ancestors, who was slain there by a ruffian, and the Prince’s old servant admonishes him to pray for his soul. To his destruction, he postpones it till morning, for during his sleep the Demon brings up his enemies, the Tartars, and the Prince’s caravan is robbed, and he himself killed.
     In the second act Tamara stands ready to receive her bridegroom, whose coming has been announced to her by a messenger.
     Tamara’s thoughts are with the stranger, though against her will, when an escort brings the dead body of Sinodal. While the poor bride is giving vent to her sorrow, and her father seeks to comfort her by offering religious consolation, she again hears the voice of the Demon, whispering soft seductions to her. At last she feels that her strength is failing before a supernatural power, and so she begs her father to let her enter a monastery. After offering many objections, he finally consents, for in truth his thoughts are only of avenging his children.
     In the third act the Demon, who really loves Tamara, and regrets his wickedness, seeks to see her. The Angel of Light denies him the entrance, which, however, he finally forces. Passionately he invokes Tamara’s pity and her love, and she, rent by unutterable feelings, implores Heaven’s aid, but her strength gives way, and the Demon embraces and kisses her. At this moment the Angel of Light appears, and Tamara is about to hasten to him, when, with a loud cry, she sinks down lifeless. Satan has lost; despairing and cursing all, he vanishes and a thunderbolt destroys the cloister, from amid the ruins of which the Angels bear the poor love-tortured Tamara to Heaven.

DJAMILEH

A romantic Opera in one act by Georges Bizet

Text by Louis Gallet

German Translation by Ludwig Hartmann

     Djamileh was composed before Carmen, and was given in Paris in 1872. But after the years of war and bloodshed its sweetness was out of place, and so it was forgotten, until it was revived again in Germany. Though the text is meagre, the opera had great success on the stages of Berlin, Leipsic, Vienna and Dresden, and so its publisher, Paul Choudens in Paris, was right when he remarked, years ago, to a German critic, “l’Allemagne un jour comprendra les beautés de Djamileh.”
     There is no more exquisite music than the romance of the boatsmen on the Nile, sung with closed lips at the opening of the first scene, and the ravishing dance of the Almée, an invention of Arabic origin, is so original, so wild and melancholy, and yet so sweet, that it enchants every musical ear. The plot is very simple and meagre.
     Harun, a rich young Turk, has enjoyed life to its very dregs. He gives dinners, plays at dice, he keeps women, but his heart remains cold and empty; be disbelieves in love, and only cares for absolute freedom in all his actions, but withal his life seems shallow and devoid of interest. Every month he engages a new female slave, with whom he idles away his days, but at the end of this time she is discarded. His antipathy to love partly arises from the knowledge of his father’s unhappy married life.
     At the opening of the scene Harun lies on a couch, smoking, too lazy to move a finger, and lulled into dreams by the boatmen’s songs. At last he rouses himself from his lethargy, and tells his secretary and former tutor, Splendiano, of his visions. The latter is looking over his master’s s accounts, and now tells him dryly that if he continues his style of living he will be ruined before the end of the year. This scarcely moves the young man, to whom a year seems a long way off; he also takes it coolly when Splendiano remarks that the latest favorite’s month is up, and that Djamileh is to leave towards evening, to make room for another beauty. Harun carelessly charges his servant to look out for another slave. When Splendiano sees that Djamileh’s unusual beauty has failed to impress his master, he owns to a tender feeling for her himself, and asks permission to win the girl. Harun readily grants this request; but when he sees Djamileh enter with sad and dejected looks he tenderly inquires what ails her. She sings him a strange and melancholy “Ghasel” about a girl’s love for a hero, and lie easily guesses her secret. In order to console her, he presents her with a beautiful necklace, and grants her her freedom, at which she brightens visibly, but refuses it. Harun, however, has no idea of losing either heart or liberty, and when some friends visit him he turns from her, to join them in a game, leaving her unveiled, and exposed to their insolent stares and admiration. Djamileh, covered with confusion, begins to weep, at which Splendiano interposes, trying to console her by the offer of his hand. Scornfully repulsed by her, he reveals to her the cruel play of his master, and her approaching dismissal, and drives her almost to despair. But. she resolves to show her love to her master before she leaves him, and for this purpose entreats Splendiano to let her disguise herself and personate the new slave; promising to be his if her plans should fail, hut vowing to herself to choose death rather than leave her beloved master. The evening approaches, and with it the slave-dealer with a whole bevy of beautiful young girls. Harun turns from them indifferently, ordering Splendiano to choose for him, but the slave-dealer insists upon showing up the pearl of his flock, a young Almée, who dances the most weird and passionate figures until she sinks back exhausted. She is selected, but Splendiano gives 200 zechines to the dealer, who consents to let her change her clothes with Djamileh. When the latter re-enters Harun’s room veiled, ‘he is astonished to find her so shy and sad. In vain he tries to caress her, she escapes him, but, sud­denly unveiling herself, he recognizes her. With wild and passionate entreaty, she begs him to let her be a slave again, as she prefers his presence to freedom and fortune. At first he hesitates, but true love conquers, and he takes her in his arms. He has found his heart at last, and owns that love is stronger and better than any other charm.

LE DOMINO NOIR

Comic Opera in three acts by Auber

Text by Scribe

     This is one of the most charming comic operas which were ever written by this master. Graceful archness and elegance of style are its characteristics, and these lose nothing from the presence of a gay and easy temper which makes itself felt throughout. The same may be said of the libretto.
     The plot is well worked out and entertaining. The scene is laid in Madrid in our century.
     The Queen of Spain gives a masked ball, at which our heroine Angela is present, accompanied by her companion Brigitta. There she is seen by Horatio di Massarena, a young nobleman, who had met her a year before at one of these balls and fell in love with her, without knowing her.
     This time he detains her, but is again unable to discover her real name, and, confessing his love for her, he receives the answer that she can be no more than a friend to him. Massarena detains her so long that the clock strikes the midnight hour as Angela prepares to seek her companion. Massarena confesses to having removed Brigitta under some pretext, and Angela, in despair, cries out that she is lost. She is, in reality, member of a convent, and destined to be Lady Abbess, though she has not yet taken the vows. She is very highly connected, and has secretly helped Massarena to advance in his career as a diplomatist. Great is her anxiety to return to her convent after midnight, but she declines all escort, and walking alone through the streets she comes by chance into the house of Count Juliano, a gentleman of somewhat uncertain character, and Massarena’ s friend. Juliano is just giving a supper to his gay friends, and Angela bribes his housekeeper, Claudia, to keep her for the night. She appears before the guests disguised as an Arragonian waiting-maid, and charms them all, and particularly Massarena, with her grace and coquetry. But as the young gentlemen begin to be insolent, she disappears, feeling herself in danger of being recognized. Massarena, discovering in her the charming black domino, is very unhappy to see her in such company. Meanwhile Angela succeeds in getting the keys of the convent from Gil-Perez, the porter, who had also left his post, seduced by his love of gormandizing, and had come to pay court to Claudia. Angela troubles his conscience, and frightens him with her black mask, and flies. When she has gone, the housekeeper confesses that her pretended Arragonian was a stranger, by all appearance a noble lady, who sought refuge in Juliano’s house.
     In the third act Angela reaches the convent, but not without having had some more adventures. Through Brigitta’s cleverness her absence has not been discovered. At length the day has come when she is to be made Lady Abbess, and she is arrayed in the attire suited to her future high office, when Massarena is announced to her. He comes to ask to be relieved from a marriage with Ursula, Lord Elf ort’s daughter, who is destined for him, and who is also an inmate of the convent, but whom he cannot love. Notwithstanding her disguise, he recognizes his beloved domino, who, happily for both, is released by the Queen from her high mission and permitted to choose a husband. Of course, it is no other than the happy Massarena; while Ursula is consoled by being made Lady Abbess, a position which well suits her ambitious temper.

DON CARLOS

Opera in four acts by Verdi

Text by Mery and Camilla du Locle

     This opera is one of the first of Verdi’s. It was half forgotten, when being suddenly recalled to the stage it met with considerable success. The music is fine and highly dramatic in many parts.
     The scene of action lies in Spain. Don Carlos, Crown Prince of Spain, comes to the convent of St. Just, where his grandfather, the Emperor Charles the Fifth, has just been buried. Carlos bewails his separation from his stepmother, Elizabeth of Valois, whom he loves with a sinful passion. His friend, the Marquis Posa, reminds him of his duty, and induces him to leave Spain for Flanders, where an unhappy nation sighs under the cruel rule of King Philip’s governors. Carlos has an interview with the Queen, but, beside himself with grief, he again declares his love, though having resolved only to ask for her intervention with the King on behalf of his mission to Flanders. Elizabeth asks him to think of duty and dismisses him. Just then her jealous husband enters, and finding her lady of honor, Countess Aremberg, absent, banishes the latter from Spain. King Philip favors Posa with his particular confidence, though the latter is secretly the friend of Carlos, who is ever at variance with his wicked father. Posa uses his influence with the King for the good of the people, and Philip, putting entire confidence in him, orders him to watch his wife.
     The second act represents a fête in the royal gardens at Madrid, where Carlos mistakes the Princess Eboli for the Queen and betrays his unhappy love. The Princess, loving Carlos herself, and having nurtured hopes of her love being responded to, takes vengeance. She possesses herself of a casket in which the Queen keeps Carlos’s portrait, a love-token from her maiden years, and surrenders it to Philip. The King, though conscious of his wife’s innocence, is more than ever jealous of his son, and seeks for an occasion to put him out of the way. It is soon found, when Carlos defies him at an antodafé of heretics. Posa himself is obliged to deprive Carlos of his sword, and the latter is imprisoned. The King has an interview with the Grand Inquisitor, who demands the death of Don Carlos, asserting him to be a traitor to his country. As Philip demurs, the priest asks Posa’s life as the more dangerous of the two. The King, who never loved a human being except Posa, the pure-hearted Knight, yields to the power of the Church.
     In the following scene Elizabeth, searching for her casket, is accused of infidelity by her husband. The Princess Eboli, seeing the trouble her mischievous jealousy has brought upon her innocent mistress, penitently confesses her fault and is banished from court. In the last scene of the third act Carlos is visited by Posa, who explains to him that he has only imprisoned him in order to save him, and that he has announced to the King that it was himself, Posa, who excited rebellion in Flanders. While they speak, Posa is shot by an arquebusier of the royal guard; Philip enters the cell to present his sword to Carlos, but the son turns from his father with loathing, and explains his friend’s pious fraud. While Philip bewails the loss of the best man in Spain, loud acelamations are heard from the people, who, hearing that their prince is in danger, desire to see him.
     In the last act the Queen, who promised Posa to watch over Carlos, meets him once more in the convent of St. Just. They are surprised by the King, who approaches, accompanied by the Grand Inquisitor, and into his hands the unhappy Carlos is at last delivered.

DON JUAN

Opera in two acts by Mozart

Text by da Ponte

     Don Juan is Mozart’s most beautiful opera; we may even say that it is the greatest work of this kind which was ever written by a German musician. The text, too, written by Mozart’s friend, is far above the level of ordinary opera texts.
     The hero, spoilt by fortune and blasé is ever growing more reckless. He even dares to attack the virtue of Donna Anna, one of the first ladies of a city in Spain, of which her father, an old Spanish grandee, also noble and as strict in virtue as Don Juan is oversatiated and frivolous, is governor. The old father, coming forward to help his beloved daughter, with drawn dagger attacks Don Juan, who, compelled to defend himself, has the misfortune to stab his assailant.
     Donna Anna, a lady not only noble and virtuous but proud and high-spirited, vows to avenge her father’s death. Though betrothed to a nobleman named Octavio, she will never know any peace until her father, of whose death she feels herself the innocent cause, is avenged. Her only hope is death, and in that she offers the liveliest contrast to her betrothed, who shows himself a gentleman of good temper and qualities, but of a mind too weak for his lady’s high-flown courage and truly tragic character. Though Octavio wants to avenge Donna Anna’s father, he would do it only to please her. His one aim is marriage with her. Her passionate feelings he does not understand.
     Don Juan, pursued not only by Donna Anna but also by his own neglected bride, Donna Elvira, tries to forget himself in debauches and extravagances. His servant Leporello, in every manner the real counterpart of his master, is his aider and abettor. A more witty, a more amusing figure does not exist. His fine sarcasm brings Don Juan’s character into bold relief; they complement and explain each other.
     But Don Juan, passing from one extravagance to another, sinks deeper; everything he tries begins to fail him, and his doom approaches. He begins to amuse himself with Zerlina, the young bride of a peasant named Masetto, but each time when he seems all but successful in his aim of seducing the little coquette, his enemies, who have united themselves against him, interfere and present a new foe in the person of the bridegroom, the plump and rustic Masetto. At last Don Juan is obliged to take refuge from the hatred of his pursuers. His flight brings him to the grave of the dead governor, in whose memory a life-size statue has been erected in his own park. Excited to the highest pitch and almost beside himself, Don Juan even mocks the dead; he invites him to a supper. The statue moves its head in acceptance of the dread­ful invitation of the murderer.
     Towards evening Donna Elvira comes to see him, willing to pardon everything if only her lover will repent. She fears for him and for his fate, she does not ask for his love, but only for the repentance of his follies, but all is in vain. The half-drunken Don Juan laughs at her, and so she leaves him alone. Then the ghostly guest, the statue of the governor, enters. He too tries to move his host’s conscience; he fain would save him in the last hour. Don Juan remains deaf to those warnings of a better self, and so he incurs his doom. The statue vanishes, the earth opens, and the demons of hell devour Don Juan and his splendid palace.

DON PASQUALE

Comic Opera in three acts by Donizetti

Text done after Ser Marcantonio
by Salvatore Gammerano

     This opera, one of Donizetti’s last compositions, is a little jewel of the modern Italian kind. Its music is sparkling with wit and grace, and may rank among the best comic operas, of which we have not too many. The reason why it does not occupy the place on the German stage which is due to its undoubted merit is the somewhat deficient German translation of the text book, and the very small frame in which it plays, without any of the dramatic pomp and decoration the people are wont to see in our times, and finally it does not occupy a whole evening, and must needs have a ballet to fill it up. The four persons acting in the play have excellent parts for good singers, as Donizetti thoroughly knew how to treat the human voice.
     The wealthy old bachelor Don Pasquale desires to marry his only nephew to a rich and noble lady, but, finding a hindrance in Ernesto’s love for another, decides to punish his head­strong nephew by entering himself into marriage and thus disinheriting Ernesto.
     His physician Malatesta, Ernesto’s friend, pretends to have discovered a suitable partner for him in the person of his (Malatesta’s) sister, an “ingénue,” educated in a convent and utterly ignorant of the ways of the world.
     Don Pasquale maliciously communicates his intentions to the young widow Norina, telling her to distrust Malatesta. The latter, however, has been beforehand with him, and easily persuades Norina to play the part of his (Malatesta’s) sister, and to endeavor, by the beauty of her person and the modesty of her demeanor, to gain the old man’s affections. Should she succeed in doing so, Don Pasquale and Norina are to go through a mock form of marriage — a notary, in the person of a cousin named Carlo, has already been gained for the purpose — after which Norina, by her obstinacy, extravagance, capriciousness and coquetry, is to make the old man repent of his infatuation and ready to comply with their wishes.
     Urged on by her love for Ernesto, Norina consents to play the part assigned to her, and the charming simplicity of her manners, her modesty and loveliness so captivate the old man that he falls into the trap and makes her an offer of his hand. The marriage takes place, and one witness failing to appear, Ernesto, who happens to be near, and who is aware of the plot, is requested to take his place. Besides appointing Norina heiress of half his wealth, Don Pasquale at once makes her absolute mistress of his fortune. Having succeeded in attaining her aim, Norina throws aside her mask, and by her self-willedness, prodigality and waywardness drives her would-be husband to despair. She squanders his money, visits the theatre on the very day of their marriage, ignoring the presence of her husband in such a manner that he wishes himself in his grave, or rid of the termagant who has destroyed the peace of his life. The climax is reached on his discovering among the accounts, all giving proof of his wife’s reckless extravagance, a billet-doux, pleading for a clandestine meeting in his own garden. Malatesta is summoned, and cannot help feeling remorse on beholding the wan and haggard appearance of his friend. He recommends prudence, advises Don Pasquale to assist, himself unseen, at the proposed interview, and then to drive the guilty wife from the house. The jealous husband, though frankly confessing the folly he had committed in taking so young a wife, at first refuses to listen to Malatesta’s counsel, and determines to surprise the lovers and have them brought before the judge. Finally, however, he suffers himself to be dissuaded and leaves the matter in Malatesta’s hands.
     In the last scene the lovers meet, but Ernesto escapes on his uncle’s approach, who is sorely disappointed at having to listen to the bitter reproaches of his supposed wife, instead of being able to turn her out of doors.
     Meanwhile Malatesta arrives, summons Ernesto, and in his uncle’s name gives his (Don Pasquale’s) consent to Ernesto’s marriage with Norina, promising her a splendid dowry.
     Don Pasquale’s wife, true to the part she has undertaken to play, of course opposes this arrangement, and Don Pasquale, too happy to be able to thwart his wife, hastens to give his consent, telling Ernesto to fetch his bride. His dismay on discovering that his own wife, whom he has only known under the name of Sophronia, and his nephew’s bride are one and the same person may be easily imagined. His rage and disappointment are, however, somewhat diminished by the reflection that he will no longer have to suffer from the Whims of the young wife, who had inveigled him into the ill-assorted marriage, and he at length consents, giving the happy couple his blessing.

DONNA DIANA

Comic Opera in three acts by E. von Reznicek

Text after a free translation of Moreto’s comedy of the same name

     Many are the authors who have dramatized this old but ever young and fresh comedy, but yet none have so nearly reached the ideal as this young composer. His manner of interweaving Spanish national airs is particularly successful, because they tinge the piece with peculiar local coloring.
     The Spanish melodies are chosen with exuisite elegance and skill.
     Reznicek’s manner of composing is thoroughly modern; he has learnt much from Wagner and Liszt and not least from Verdi’s “Falstaff”; nevertheless he is always original, fresh and so amusing, so sparkling with wit and genius, that I am tempted to call Donna Diana the modern comic opera par excellence. Sometimes the orchestra is almost too rich for Moreto’s playful subject, but this is also quite modern, and besides it offers coloristic surprises very rare in comic operas.
     In the. first act the. waltz is particularly charming; in the second the ballet music and Floretta’s song (im Volkston) are so beautiful that once heard they can never be forgotten. The bolero-rhythm and the three-eight measure are typical of the Spanish style, which flows through almost all the songs and recitations, giving sparkling piquancy to the opera. In the last act, where love conquers intrigue and gaiety, the music reaches its culminating point.
     The scene is laid in Don Diego’s palace at Barcelona at the time of Catalonia’s independence.
     Don Cesar, Prince of Urgel, is resting in Diego’s hall, after having won the first prize in a tournament. lie muses sadly on Donna Diana’s coldness, which all his victories fail to overcome. Perrin, the clown, takes pity on him, and, after having won his confidence, gives him the ad vice to return coldness for coldness. Don Cesar promises to try this cure, though it seems hard to hide his deep love. Floretta, Donna Diana’s foster-sister, enters to announce the issue of the tournament. She fain would flirt with Perrin, to whom she is sincerely attached, but he turns a cold shoulder to her, and lets her depart in a rage, though he is over head and ears in love with the pretty damsel. The next scene opens on a brilliant crowd, all welcoming the Count Sovereign of Barcelona and his daughter Donna Diana. The Count accosts them graciously, and making sign to the three gallant Princes, Don Cesar of Urgel, Don Louis of Bearne and Gaston Count de Foie, they advance to receive their laurels on bended knee from the fair hands of the Princess, who crowns Cesar with a golden wreath, while the two other princes each win a silver prize. When the ceremony is ended, Don Diego turns to his daughter, beseeching her to give an heir to the country by selecting a husband, but Diana declares that, though she is willing to bend to her father’s will, love seems to poison her, and marriage is death. Gaston and Louis, nothing daunted, determine to try their luck even against the fair lady’s will, and while the father prays to God, to soften his daughter’s heart, Cesar’s courage sinks ever lower, though Perrin encourages him to begin the farce at once. Donna Diana alone is cool and calm; inwardly resolved to keep her hand and heart free, she is deeply envied by her two cousins, Fenisa and Laura, who would gladly choose one of the gallant warriors. Perrin now advises the Princes to try their wit and gallantry on the Princess, and Don Diego consenting to his daughter’s wish, that she need only suffer their courtship for a short time, she coolly accepts this proposal. Gaston begins to plead his cause, declaring that he will not leave Barcelona without a bride, and Louis follows his example; both are greatly admired and applauded by the assistants, only Diana finds their compliments ridiculous and their wit shallow. Cesar, without a word, retires to the background, and when asked by the Princess why he does not compete with his rivals answers “Because I will not love, nor ever wish to be loved; I only woo you to show you my regard.” Greatly mortified, Diana resolves to punish such pride by subjugating him to her charms.
     In the second act a fancy ball is going on in the Prince’s gardens. Each of the ladies has a bunch of different colored ribbons, and decides to get the man she loves for her own. Diana now explains that each knight is to choose a color which entitles him to own the lady who wears the same colors as long as the masquerade lasts. Don Louis, choosing green, gets Donna Laura; Don Gaston, wearing red, is chosen by Fenisa; Perrin, loudly asserting that, abhorring love, he chooses the obscure color black, wins Flotetta; and Don Cesar, choosing white, finds himself Donna Diana’s champion. She takes his arm, and soon her beauty so in-flames him that, forgetting good advice and pru­dence, he throws himself at her feet, confessing his love. Triumphant, but mockingly, she turns from him, and thereby suddenly recalls his pride, in a bantering tone he asks her if she really believed that his love making, to which duty compelled him for the evening, was true? Hot with wrath and shame at being so easily duped, she bids him leave her, and when alone resolves to have her revenge. She calls Perrin to fetch her cousins, and charges him to let Cesar know that he can hear her sing in the gardens. Then she is adorned with the most bewitching garments, and, surrounded by her attendants, begins to play and sing most sweetly as soon as she hears Don Cesar’s steps. The latter would have succumbed to the temptation if he had not been warned by Perrin not to listen to the siren. So they philander in the grounds, admiring the plants, and to all appearance deaf to beauty and song. Impatiently Diana signs Floretta to let Cesar know that he is in the presence of his Princess, at which our hero, like one awaking from a dream, turns, and bowing to the Princess, and excusing himself gravely, disappears, leaving Diana almost despairing.
     In the third act Perrin gives vent to his happy feelings about his love for Floretta, and about the Princess, whose state of mind he guesses. He is delighted to see his scheme successful, and sings a merry air, which is heard by Diana. Behind the scene Don Louis is heard, singing a serenade to Donna Laura, with whom he has fallen in love, and on the other side Don Gaston sings Fenisa’s praise, so that poor Diana, sinking back on a sofa, is all at once surrounded by loving couples, who shamelessly carry on their courting before her very eyes, and then retire, casting mischievous glances at their disgusted mistress. Diana, who sees Cesar approaching, determines to try a last expedient, in order to bumble his pride. Coolly she explains to him that she has resolved to yield to her father’s wish, and to bestow her hand on Prince Louis. For a moment Cesar stands petrified, but his guardian angel, in the guise of Perrin, whispers, from behind the screen, to hold out, and not to believe in woman’s wiles. So he controls himself once more, and congratu­lates her, wishing the same courtesy from the Princess, because, as he calmly adds, he has got betrothed to Donna Laura.
     That is the last stroke for Diana; her pride is humbled to the dust. All her reserve vanishes, when her secret love for the hero, which she has not even owned to herself, is in danger. She altogether breaks down, and so she is found by her father, who enters, loudly acknowledging Don Louis as his son-in-law, and sanctioning Don Cesar’s choice of Donna Laura. But Cesar begs to receive his bride from Diana’s own hands, at which the latter rising slowly, asks her father if he is still willing to leave to her alone the selection of a husband. Don Diego granting this, she answers: “Then I choose him who conquered pride through pride.” “And who may this happy mortal be?” says Cesar. “ You ask? It’s you, my tyrant,” she replies, and with these words sinks into her lover’s open arms.

LES DRAGONS DE VILLARS
(THE BELL OF THE HERMIT)

Comic Opera in three acts

by Louis Aimé Maillart

Text after the French by G. Ernst

     Maillart, who studied under Halévy in Paris, and received the Roman prize (prix de Rome) in the year 1841, composed six operas, all of which are now almost forgotten with the single exception of “Les Dragons de Villars” (in 1856), which found favor in Germany by virtue of its wit and grace.
     The music sparkles with French charm and gaiety of the most exquisite kind and. these are the merits by which this unpretentious opera has kept its place by the side of its grander and more pompous sisters.
     The tale is clever and amusing.
     The scene is laid in a French mountain village near the frontier of Savoy, towards the close of the war in the Cevennes, in 1704.
     In the first act peasant women in the service of Thibaut, a rich country Squire, are collecting fruit. Georgette, Thibaut’s young wife, con­trols their work. In compliance with a general request she treats them to a favorite Provençal song, in which a young girl, forgetting her first vows made to a young soldier, gives her hand to another suitor. She is interrupted by the sound of trumpets. Thibaut, hurrying up in great distress, asks the women to hide themselves at once, because soldiers are marching into the village. He conceals his own wife in the pigeon-house. A detachment of dragoons arrives, and Belamy, their corporal, asks for food and wine at Thibant’s house. He learns that there is nothing to be had, and in particular that all the women have fled, fearing the unprincipled soldiers of King Louis XIV., sent to persecute the poor Huguenots or Camisards, who are hiding in the mountains — further that the “Dragons de Villars” are said to be an especially wild and dissolute set.
     Belamy is greatly disgusted, and, after having had his dinner and a sleep in Thibaut’s own bed, decides to march on. The Squire gladly offers to accompany the soldiers to St. Gratien’s grotto, near the hermitage, where they have orders to search for the Huguenot refugees.
     While Belany is sleeping, Thibaut calls his servant Silvain and scolds him because, though his best servant, he has now repeatedly been absent over-long on his errands ; finally orders him to saddle the mules.
     Stammering, Silvain owns that they have gone astray in the mountains, but that he is sure of their being found in due tine. While Thibaut expresses his fear that they may be stolen by the fugitives, Rose Friquet, an orphan girl, brings the mules, riding on the back of one of them. Thibaut loads her with reproaches, but Silvain thanks her warmly, and though she mockingly repudiates his thanks, he discovers that she has taken the mules in order not to let the provost into Silvain’s secret. The fact is that Silvain carries food every day to the refugees, and Rose Friquet, the poor goat-keeper, who is despised and supposed to be wicked and malicious, protects him in her poor way, because he once intercepted a stone which was meant for her head.
     While the soldiers are dining, Belamy, who has found Georgette’s bonnet, demands an explanation.
     Thibaut, confused, finds a pretext for going out, but Rose betrays to Belamy first the wine-cellar and then Georgette’s hiding-place. The young wife cries for help, and Rose runs in to fetch Thibaut. Belamy is delighted with the pretty Georgette, but she tells him, rather anxiously, that all the wives of the village must needs remain entirely true to their husbands, for the hermit of St. Gratien, though dead for two hundred years, is keeping rigid watch, and betrays every case of infidelity by ringing a little bell, which is heard far and wide.
     Belamy is somewhat desirous to try the experiment with Georgette, and asks her to accompany him to the hermitage instead of her husband.
     After having found the other women in the village, the soldiers, to Thibaut’s great vexation, decide to stay and amuse themselves. Silvain rejoices, and, after a secret sign from Rose, resolves to warn the refugees in the evening.
     In the second act Rose and Silvain meet near St. Gratien. Rose, after telling him that all the paths are occupied by sentries, promises to show him a way for the refugees, which she and her goat alone knows. Silvain, thanking her warmly, endeavors to induce her to care more for her outward appearance, praising her pretty features. Rose is delighted to hear for the first time that she is pretty, and the duet ensuing is one of the most charming things in the opera. Silvain promises to be her friend henceforth, and then leaves, in order to seek the Camisards. After this Thibaut appears, seeking his wife, whom he has seen going away with Belamy. Finding Rose, he imagines he has mistaken her for his wife, but she laughingly corrects him, and he proceeds to search for Georgette. Belamy now comes and courts Thibaut’s wife. But Rose, seeing them, resolves to free the path for the others. No sooner has Belamy tried to snatch a kiss from his companion, than Rose draws the rope of the hermit’s bell, and she repeats the proceeding, until Georgette takes flight, while Thibaut rushes up at the sound of the bell. Belamy reassures him, intimating that the bell may have rung for Rose (though it never rings for girls), and accompanies him to the village. But he soon returns to look for the supposed hermit, who has played him this trick, and finds Rose instead, who does not perceive him. To his great surprise, Silvain comes up with the whole troop of refugees, leading the aged clergyman who had been a father to them in his childhood. Silvain presents Rose to them as their deliverer, and vows to make her his wife. Rose leads them to the secret path, while Silvain returns to the village, leaving Belamy triumphant at his discovery.
     In the third act we find the people, on the following morning, speaking of nothing but Silvain’s wedding with Rose and of the hermit’s bell. Nobody knows who has been the culprit, but Thibaut slily calculates that the hermit has rung beforehand, when Rose, the bride, kissed the dragoon. Having learned that the soldiers had been commanded to saddle their horses in the midst of the dancing, the night before, and that Belamy, sure of his prey, has come back, he believes that Rose has betrayed the poor Camisards in order to win the price set on their heads, and this opinion he now communicates to Silvain.
     To keep Behamy away from Georgette, the sly Squire has conducted him to the winecellar, and the officer, now half drunk, admits having had a rendezvous with Rose. When Thibaut has retired, Belamy again kisses Georgette, and, lo, the bell does not ring this time!
     Meanwhile Rose comes down the hill, neatly clad, and glowing with joy and pride, and Georgette, disregarding Thibaut’s reproofs, offers her the wedding garland. The whole village is assembled to see the wedding, but Silvain appears with dark brow, and when Rose radiantly greets him, he pushes her back fiercely, believing that she betrayed the refugees, who are, as he has heard, caught. Rose is too proud to defend herself, but when Georgette tries to console her she silently draws from her bosom a paper containing the information that the refugees have safely crossed the frontier. Great is Silvain ‘s shame, and heartfelt his repentance. Suddenly Belamy enters, beside himself with rage, for his prey has escaped, and he has host his patent as lieutenant, together with the remuneration of 200 pistoles, and he at once orders Silvain to be shot. But Rose bravely defends her lover, threateniug to reveal the dragoon’s neglect of duty. When, therefore, Belamy’s superior appears to hear the important news of which the messenger told him, his corporal is only able to stammer out that nothing in particular has happened, and so, after all, Georgette is saved from discovery, and Rose becomes Silvain’s happy bride.

THE DUSK OF THE GODS

Third day of the Nibelungen Ring by Wagner

     This is the end of the great and beautiful tragedy, and really it may be called both a sublime and grand conclusion, which unites once again all the dramatic and musical elements of the whole, and presents to us a picture the more interesting and touching, as it is now purely human. The Gods who, though filled with passions and faults like mortals, never can be for us living persons, fall into the background and human beings, full of high aspirations, take their places. The long and terrible conflict between the power of gold and that of love is at last fought out, and love conquers.
     In the Dusk of the Gods we see again the curse which lies on gold, and the sacred benediction of true love. Can there be anything more noble, more touching, than Brüunhilde’s mourning for Siegfried and the grand sacrifice of herself in expiation of her error?
     The third day opens with a prelude, in which we see three Norns, weaving world’s fate. When the cord breaks, they fly; the dawn of another world is upon them.
     In the first act Siegfried bids Brünuhilde farewell. His active soul thirsts for deeds, and Brüunhilde, having taught him all she knows, does not detain him. He gives her the fatal ring in token of remembrance, confiding her to the care of Loge. Then we are transported to the Gibichung’s ball on the Rhine. Gunther and his sister Gutrune sit there, together with their gloomy half-brother Hagen. The latter advises his brother to marry, telling him of the beautiful woman guarded by the flames. When he has sufficiently excited Gunther’s longing, he suggests that, as Siegfried is the only one able to gain Brüunhilde, Gunther should attach him to his person by giving him Gutrune as wife. This is to he achieved by a draught which has the power of causing oblivion. Whoever drinks it forgets that ever a woman has existed beside the one who has tended the potion. Hagen well knows of Siegfried’s union with Brüunhilde, but Gunther and Gutrune are both ignorant of it.
     Siegfried arrives and is heartily welcomed. All turns out as Hagen has foretold. By the fatal potion Siegfried falls passionately in love with Gutrune, so that he completely forgets Brünnhilde. lie swears blood brothership to Gunther; and promises to win Brünnhilde for him. Then the two depart on their errand.
     Meanwhile the Walkyrie Waltraute comes to Brünnhilde and beseeches her to render Siegfried’s ring to the Rhine daughters, in order to save the Gods from destruction. Brünnhilde refuses to part with the token of her husband’s love, and hardly has Waltraute departed than fate overtakes her in the person of Siegfried, who ventures through the flames in Gunther’s shape. She vainly struggles against him, he snatches the ring from her, and so she is conquered. Siegfried holds vigil through the night, his sword separating him and the woman he wooed, and in the early dawn he leads her away to her bridegroom, who takes Siegfried’s place unawares.
     In the second act Alberich appears to Hagen. He tells his son of the story of the ring and bids him kill Siegfried and recover the stolen treasure for its owner. Siegfried appears, announcing Gunther’s and Brüunhilde’s arrival. The bridal pair is received by all their men, hut the joy is soon damped by Brünnhilde recognizing in the bridegroom of Gutrune her own husband. Siegfried does not know her, but she discovers her ring on his hand, and asserting that Gunther won it from her, this hero is obliged to acknowledge the shameful rôle he played. Though Siegfried swears that his sword Northung guarded him from any contact with Gunther’s bride, Brünnhilde responds in a most startling manner, and both swear on Hagen’s spear that it may pierce them should their words prove false. All this makes a dreadful impression on the weak mind of Gunther.
     When Siegfried has withdrawn in high spirits with his bride Gutrune, Hagen, hoping to gain the ring, offers to avenge Brünnhilde on the faithless Siegfried. Brüunhilde, in her deadly wrath, betrays to him the only vulnerable spot beneath Siegfried’s shoulder. Gunther consents reluctantly to their schemes.
     The third act opens with a scene on the Rhine. The Rhine daughters try to persuade Siegfried to render them the ring. He is about to throw it into the water, when they warn him of the evil which will befall him should he refuse their request. This awakens his pride, and, laughing, lie turns from them, he, the fearless hero. His fellow hunters overtake him, and while he relates to them the story of his life, Hagen mixes a herb with his wine which enables him to remember all he has forgotten. Hagen then treacherously drives his spear into Siegfried’s back, killing him. He dies with Brüunhilde’s praise on his lips. The funeral march which here follows is one of the most beautiful ever written. When the dead hero is brought to the Gibichung’s hall, Gutrune bewails him loudly. A dispute arises between Hagen and Gunther about the ring, which ends by Hagen slaying Gunther. But, lo, when Hagen tries to strip the ring off the dead hand, the fingers close themselves, and the hand raises itself, bearing testimony against the murderer. Brünnhilde appears to mourn for the dead; she drives away Gutrune, who sees too late that, under the influence of the fatal draught, Siegfried forgot his lawful wife, whom she now recognizes in Brünnhilde. The latter, taking a long farewelh of her dead husband, orders a funeral pile to be erected. As soon as Siegfried’s body is placed on it she lights it with a firebrand, and when it is in full blaze she mounts her faithful steed, leaping with it into the flames.
     When the fire sinks, the Rhine daughters are seen to snatch the ring, which is now purified from its curse by Brüunhilde’s death.
     Hagen, trying to wrench it from them, is drawn into the waves and so dies.
     A dusky light, like that of a new dawn, spreads over heaven, and through a mist, Walhalla, with all the Gods sleeping peacefully, may be perceived.

DALILA

French Opéra-biblique in three acts by C. Saint-Saëns

Text by Ferdinand Lemaire

     Dalila is probably the masterpiece of the composer, the music being rich and varied, and eminently dramatic in its composition. The score contains some perfect melodies, the duet between Samson and Dalila ranking among the finest love scenes ever written.
     The opera opens in the city of Gaza, in Palestine, where Samson is discovered trying to revive the courage of the disheartened Hebrew soldiers.
     Abimelech, Satrap of Gaza, appears on the scene with a throng of Philistines, but they are quickly dispersed, and the Satrap himself is slain by Samson. The High Priest of Dagon, on discovering the dead body of Abimelech, calls on his followers to avenge the murder, but all in vain. Finding that Samson is not to be captured by force, the wily priest devises a more cunning mode of attack. He seeks the assistance of the beautiful Dalila, and persuades her to exert her charms upon his enemy. Her graces prove so seductive that Samson half succumbs, in spite of the warnings of the Hebrews.
     The scene of the second act is in the valley of Soreck, where Dalila and the High Priest are found conspiring to deliver Samson to the Phi­listines, by means of the blandishments of the enchantress. Samson, yielding to her continued entreaties, tells her that his strength lies in his hair. Soothing him to sleep, she shaves off his locks and puts out his eyes. He is then easily captured and put in prison, where we find him in the third act, shorn and blind, meekly turning a hand-mill, and sorrowfully listening to the rebukes of his fellow Hebrew captives, for his weakness in yielding to the love of a woman.
     The last scene is the temple of Dagon, where the Philistines are celebrating their victory and praising Dalila for her cleverness. Samson is led in by a youth, and is hailed with shouts of derision by his enemies, who scoff, him for being enticed by a woman’s wiles. Samson, overwhelmed with grief, remains silent, his lips moving in prayer. The High Priest, determined upon his death, pours a deadly poison into a cup of wine, and commands Dalila to serve it to the blind hero, who, while pretending to approach the shrine, whispers to the youth to guide him to the pillars of the temple. This being done, he prays aloud to the God of Israel to renew his strength for just one instant. The prayer is granted, and seizing the pillars he overturns them, the temple collapsing amid the shrieks and cries of the terrified Philistines.

DAMNATION OF FAUST

Dramatic legend in four acts by Hector Berlioz

Text by Berlioz, Gerard and Gandonniere

     This remarkable opera, while deviating from Goethe’s poem, is well worthy of being placed beside the original drama. The orchestral composition is probably unsurpassed in its weirdness and passion, and the opera as a whole ranks among the noblest examples of dramatic music. It was first presented in Paris in 1846.
     The scene opens with Faust wandering alone in the fields of Hungary, singing to the awakening spring. The sight of the merry soldiers and peasants sends him home sad and melan­choly, where we find him in the second act preparing a dose of poison to end his sufferings. The sweet strains of religious music in the distance stays his hand, and while in meditation, Mephistopheles suddenly appears, and persuades him to accompany him to the Inn of Auerbach in Leipsic. Faust soon tires of the vulgar songs of the students, and Mephistopheles wafts him away to the beautiful banks of the River Elbe, where the enchanting voices of sylphs and fairies soothe him to sleep, only to dream and long for his love, Marguerite.
     In the third act Mephistopheles takes Faust secretly to Marguerite’s chamber, where Faust pours forth his love in a song of such deep passion that the mother and friends of Marguerite are awakened, and come knocking at the door. The demon drags Faust away unseen, and the unhappy girl is left alone and defenceless.
     At the opening of the fourth act Marguerite is in her chamber weeping and yearning for Faust, who has meanwhile retreated to a cavern in the forest, where he is bemoaning his separa­tion from his love. Mephistopheles again visits him, and, working on his sympathy, persuades. him to sign an oath to enter his service on the morrow, promising as a reward to conduct him immediately to Marguerite. Mounting two black steeds, they rush wildly through space, and after passing among witches and hideous mon­sters arrive in hell, where Faust is received with shouts of satanic joy by the demons.
     In the epilogue which follows, the unhappy and repentant Marguerite is pardoned by the Almighty and ascends with the virgins to the Kingdom of Heaven.

DÉJANIRE

Tragic Grand Opern by C. C. Saint-Saëns

Text by Louis Gallet and the composer

     This opera saw its first production at Monte Carlo, in 1911. The book is based on early Greek mythology.
     In the first act the scene is placed upon a colonnade in front of the palace of Hercules, with the Acropolis visible in the distance. The followers of Hercules are lauding the valiant deeds of their hero, who is a son of Zeus and of Alkmene. Among his achievements they speak of his conquering Eurytus, the tyrant, and of his bringing back with him the latter’s. daughter, Iole. lole appears, weeping at her lot and that of her women, the Oechalians. Philoctetes and Hercules enter, Hercules speaking of the hatred borne for him by Juno, and of the criminal passion he has for Iole. He begs his friend Philoctetes to convey a message of love to Iole and to appease the wrath of his legitimate wife, Dejanira, who is awaiting his return to her in Calydon. Then Phenice, sent by Dejanira, tells him that his wife wishes to meet him at the foot of the Acropolis, but Hercules declines to do this, and bids Dejanira return to Calydon. Phenice, who is a seeress, prophesies great evil, has visions of horrible events and sees rising flames. Then she rushes away in terror. Philoctetes discharges his mission, confessing the love Hercules hears to Iole, who scorns it, and the two instead avow an undying affection for each other. Dej anira on being told by Phenice that her husband commands her to go back to Calydon, is seized by convulsive jealousy, and goes to the palace to demand justice from Hercules. She recounts to a circle of admiring Aetolian women all the wonderful exploits divine Hercules has performed to win her. She deplores the fact that now her husband is proving faithless, and relates how Hercules and Nessus, the Centaur, met and how the latter was wounded mortally. In a transport of rage she finally disappears within the palace.
     When the curtain rises on Act II Dejanira meets Iole. The two women silently appraise each other, and Dej anira boasts that she will take the sweetheart of her husband to Calydon with her, chained to the spokes of her chariot. Hercules enters, furious at his wife’s conduct. Dejanira flees. But Hercules follows her, exacting her promise that she will obey his order. A fierce conjugal quarrel ensues, the wife denouncing the husband’s errant fancies. Hercules sends for Iole and tells her of his love. He is answered that she cannot command her feelings, and when Philoctetes comes in, he is watched closely by Hercules who suspects him. Philoctetes and Iole confess their mutual love to Hercules, and Hercules replies by casting his follower into prison.
     In Act III Dej anira is recounting the incidents prior to the death of Nessus, and especially how the latter made her a gift of his robe with the injunction that if donned this robe would infallibly work a renewal of love in the wearer. Iole enters, casts herself at the feet of Dejanira, and implores her assistance in trying to effect a union of herself and Philoctetes. Dejanira softens and promises her aid. Hercules surprises Iole, and forces her to submit to him by threatening her with the shameful death of Philoctetes. She yields. Later Dejanira gives the shirt of Nessus to Iole, instructing her to present it to Hercules as a token of love. Iole consents, unwitting of the true significance of the matter. Phenice predicts evil to come from it all.
     In the fourth and last act the scene is enacted before a temple of Jove, and Hercules, preparing sacrifices in honor of his nuptials with Iole, plays the lyre and sings of the joys of love. Iole comes with her companion women and bears the fatal gift, the garment of Nessus. Dejanira, having understood the meaning of this gift to be a renewal of her husband’s affection for herself, is unobserved among the crowd of sightseers. Hercules dons the garment, and then leads Iole to the epithalamian throne. He gives the signal for the commencement of the sacrifices, scattering incense in the tripod, and calling upon his father, Jove, to descend in the rays of the setting sun and thus light the altar fire. As he, however, is pouring out the libation, he drops the cup, and grasping his bosom, cries out in sudden, intolerable torture : "The fire burns my flesh!" The ill-omened shirt is torn off his body, but Hercules is dying. Dejanira, now repentant, deplores her own fate and that of her truant husband. Hercules in agony mounts the altar and begs Jove to deliver him from his misery. A thunderbolt flashes out of a clear sky, and the fuel on the altar flames. Thick smoke obscures the whole scene, and when it clears off Hercules is seen seated on high among the gods, his mortal part consumed by fire.

LA DOLORES

Grand Opera in three acts by Juan Breton

text from a tale by Salares

     "La Dolores" was first sung in Madrid, in 1895.
     The popular waitress at the tavern kept by Gaspara in the Spanish town of Catalayud, is named Dolores. She has a host of admirers. One of them is the wealthy Patrizio whom Celemino, another one, advises to forget her, since she for the moment loves Melchior, a barber. Soldiers enter the inn, and their commander, Sergeant Rojas, at once falls in love with her. Gaspara’s son, the priest Lazaro, secretly is likewise infatuated with Dolores. Meichior comes in and tells Dolores that he is about to marry another girl. Dolores threatens him with revenge. Patrizio enters with a merry chorus, the Rondalla, in which every participant imitates a musical instrument. The Jota (a favorite dance of Aragon) is being performed, all the dancers improvising couplets to accompany the measure. Meichior’s mocking song impugns the honor of Dolores, who curses him.
     The second act takes place in the yard of the tavern. Lazaro sings of his hopeless love for Dolores, when Patrizio enters with gifts for Dolores, and later bullfighters come, and Rojas boasts of his skill. Meichior asserts he is the favored lover of Dolores; she denies his claim, but secretly she makes an appointment with him. Lazaro enters, avows to Dolores his passion, and clasps her in his arms. Celemino roughly jests, and the two men fight. People are hurrying off for the bullfight. Rojas is almost killed by the enraged bull, when Lazaro, the priest, rushes in and stabs the raging beast to death. There is great applause and Dolores promises her love to Lazaro.
     The third act takes place at a room at the inn. Lazaro, the priest, is chanting the litany and Gaspara, his mother, retires for the night. Dolores whispers to Lazaro not to come to her that night, and Celemino tells Lazaro about Melchior’s boast. Dolores invites both Rojas and Patrizio to her room and speaks of her fear of Melchior. She tells Gaspara that her son is in love with her, and the mother is horrified and bids him leave the house. Meichior enters and insults Dolores grossly. Suddenly Lazaro rushes into the chamber and seizes Melchior. Both fall out of the window. Melehior is killed by the fall, but Lazaro is merely injured. Patrizio and others rush in, and Dolores accuses herself before them all of having caused Melchior’s death, but Lazaro takes the gnilt of it upon himself.

LE DONNE CURIOSE

A Comic Opera in three acts by E. Wolf-Ferrari

the text is by Luigi Sugana based on a comedy by Carlo Goldoni

     The first production was at Munich, 1903. The scene is Venice, in the eighteenth century.
     The curtain rises showing the quarters of a fashionable social club, where a number of Venetian gentlemen are quietly amusing themselves. Women are excluded from the clubhouse by the strict rules of its members. This fact is even proclaimed by a sign over the entrance door, reading : "No women admitted." The wives of the club members are aware of this prohibition and are chafing at it. For some time their dissatisfaction has found vent in gossip among themselves and in all sorts of surmises as to the mysteries of the club. They are unable to credit the statement of their husbands that no secret doings occur at the club, but suspect the most dreadful things. The plain truth is that nothing more reprehensible is indulged in there than the playing of chess and the giving of dinners, and that the presence of women is only forbidden to allow the men to be among themselves now and then. Thus, Pantalone issues an invitation to a score of his friends for a dinner, and instructs his servant to attend to all the details.
     In the next scene there is shown a room in Ottavio’s house, where his wife, Beatrice, his daughter, Rosaura, and Lelio’s wife, Eleonora, are intensely interested in a discussion as to what there is concealed within the walls of this awful club that is the bugbear of all the women. Each fair one indulges in a guess. Columbine, the maid, swears that the club members are really only combined to uncover buried treasure. Arleechino, Columbine’s good friend, surmises a lot of ridiculous things. Ottavio, who opportunely drops in on the confabulation, is made to undergo a rigid cross-examination, but is unable to reveal anything of value. As the last one Florindo, the young cavalier who is the favored suitor of Rosaura, the daughter of the house, is made to appear before this dread court of investigation. He is so hard pressed by mistress and maid that at last he cannot help betraying the password of the club,— “Here’s to friendship.”
     In the second act Eleonora, in a room in Lelio’s house, gets hold of her husband’s breeches, and searches in the pockets for the keys of the clubhouse. But Lelio, a stern man who disapproves even of the indulgence of this connubial prerogative, surprises his wife at this examination. He mercilessly covers her with confusion, and then he leaves for the club. There is a change of scene to Ottavio’s house, where one learns from Rosaura and Columbine that the password has been discovered. Columbine now proves her skill by changing the keys in her master’s coat for others of similar pattern, and thus possesses herself of the keys to the clubhouse. Next, she elaborately plans to put on male attire and then proceed on her way to the club. This the other ladies also do, setting forth on their travels with all the delicious anticipation of unheard-of adventures. Even Rosaura, first forbidden by her mother to join on the plea of being yet too young for "such things," manages to have Florindo, her suitor, lend her his keys, and she also is on the way to that terrible den of infamy, as they suspect it to be.
     The third act first shows the street outside the clubhouse, where a great confusion of missing or wrong keys takes place. Eleonora drops her own key, stolen from her husband’s pockets. Then Columbine, although armed with the right key, meets Pantalone, who forces her to deliver it up. Then one and all of the legitimate owners of the keys, to wit, the club members, on arriving at the door, discover that their keys have been stolen. Pantalone, though this thing seems weird to him, nevertheless lets them in with his own key. Florindo detects Rosaura in the throng and tears off her mask. Thus, one by one, despite the cunning of the wives and sweethearts, the men find their way into the clubhouse. And then the women, although somewhat ashamed of the part they have played, appear once more on the square, and at last, by bribing Arleechino, are admitted to the clubhouse.
     The concluding scene takes place in the dining-room of the clubhouse. There is in the rear a door having semi-transparent glass panes in its upper portion. And one by one, with much shoving and screaming, the curious wives are permitted to peep through the glass at the interior of the handsome hall. But they are enormously disappointed, for there is nothing more sensational to see than a body of men peaceably eating a good dinner amid occasional bursts of laughter. But the women are so eager to see the supposed mysteries hidden from them so far that they tumble over each other, and burst open the door, breaking into the room amongst the merry diners. A good dinner, however, predisposes to leniency and good nature, and so the over curious wives are forgiven, and the women are at last easy in their minds about the real nature of this much-suspected club. There is a dance in which all join. Arlecchino weds his Columbine, and Florindo his Rosaura, and the world goes wagging on.

DON QUICHOTTE

Comic Opera in five acts by Jules Massenet

The text based on the famous tale by Cervantes

     This work was first seen in Monte Carlo, 1910. The scene of the opera is Spain.
     Act I. It is a gay holiday. On a public square before the house of Dulcinea are assembled a number of her admirers, among them Don Quichotte with his squire, Sancho Panza at whose appearance there is great laughter. When Don Quichotte ventures to serenade his mistress, Juan, another of the damsel’s suitors, provokes a quarrel. Dulcinea herself prevents a duel, being only highly amused at the gaunt knight’s antics. But to encourage him she says he may think of her as much as he pleases if he will first restore to her the precious necklace stolen by robbers.
     Act II. Don Quichotte with his squire on the road seeking adventures, the master on his sorry mare Rosinante, the other on his donkey. Sancho is making fun of his master’s achievements. He scatters a herd of swine, and next fights windmills, being caught by one of the wings and east about in the air.
     Act III. A mountain scene. Brigands are encountered, and Sancho uses the better part of valor. But the Don defies his assailants, ending as their captive. While waiting for the death stroke, he keeps on repeating the name of Dulcinea. The robbers are impressed with his courage and constancy, and end by turning over to him Dulcinea’s necklace.
     Act IV. A festival at the house of Dulcinea. She tires of the meaningless gallantries of her wooers, when Don Quichotte and Sancho enter and restore her necklace. She embraces and thanks him. He renews his declaration of love to her, but she admits that she is not fit to be a cavalier’s wife. Nevertheless, Don Quichotte affirms his undying affection.
     Act V. This passes in a forest, where the noble-hearted knight is dying. As a priceless legacy the knight leaves to his faithful servant an island — “the most beautiful island there is,” The Island of Dreams.