Opera Books
THE OPERA
EDITED BY
ALBERT HILLERY BERGH
VOLUME II.
1909
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Gounod.
To be the composer of Faust is in itself
sufficient to establish a claim upon the sympathy and gratitude of many
thousands, as well as to enjoy the indisputable right of occupying a
niche by the side of the greatest and most original composers of the
century.
There are but few creative musicians whose individuality is so
striking that it leaves its impress, not only upon their own
productions, but upon those of their contemporaries. The genius of great
composers is reflected, their mode of thought copied, and even their
mannerisms are reproduced by numberless admirers and conscious or
unconscious imitators. This was the case with Wagner and Verdi, and so
it has been with Gounod. A higher tribute of praise it is, indeed,
impossible to offer.
Two elements have in their turn exercised their sway over Gounod,
and both have helped to impart to his music, either separately or
jointly, certain of those characteristics familiar to all who have
studied his works—religion and love. The mysticism and sensuous
tenderness that pervade his compositions, whether sacred or secular, are
evidently the reflex of a mind imbued with loftly aspirations, swayed at
one moment by worldly tendencies, but returning with renewed intensity
towards the pursuit of the ideal. Something of
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the same spirit may be discerned in the musical personality of Liszt,
another great artist, and both Liszt and Gounod exhibit in their widely
different works the dual ascendancy of divine and human love.
“Das Ewig Weibliche zieht uns hinan,” the words with which Goethe
terminates the second part of his “Faust,” are singularly applicable to
the composer, whose greatest work is founded upon the immortal poet’s
tragedy, and who has been especially successful in his treatment of the
sentimental portions thereof. The sensuous nature of his music is
noticeable even in his religious compositions, of which it does not
constitute the least charm.
Charles François Gounod was born in Paris on June 17, 1818. From
his earliest age he displayed exceptional musical aptitude, and showed
signs of an undoubted vocation for the career in which he was destined
so conspicuously to shine. In her Life of Gounod Mdlle. de Bovet
relates the following anecdotes of his childhood: “At the age of two, in
the gardens of Passy, where he was taken for exercise, he would say,
‘That dog barks in Sol,’ and the neighbors used to call him le petit
musician. He liked to repeat what he said one day in that far
distant childhood. He had been listening to the different cries of the
street venders. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed suddenly, ‘that woman cries out a Do
that weeps.’ The two notes with which she hawked her carrots and
cabbages actually formed the minor third—C, E flat. The baby, scarcely
out of his leading-strings, already felt the mournful character of this
combination.”
When about seven years of age he was taken to hear
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Weber’s Freisekütz, or rather the mutilated version of this
masterpiece by Castil-Blaze known under the name of Robin des Bois.
The impression produced upon his youthful mind by Weber’s beautiful
melodies appears to have been very great. A few years later, when a
schoolboy, he heard Rossini’s Otello interpreted by Malibran and
Rubini, and the Italian “maestro’s” florid strains seem to have struck
him in an equal degree. His enthusiasm, however, reached its highest
pitch when he became acquainted with Don Giovanni. He was ever
after an ardent devotee at the shrine of Mozart.
Having had the misfortune to lose his father at an early age,
Gounod was brought up under the care of his mother. His first studies in
composition were pursued under Reicha, one of the most celebrated
theorists of the time; and having completed his general education at the
college of St. Louis, he entered the classes of the Conservatoire in
1836, receiving instruction in counterpoint from Halévy, and in
composition from Lesueur. In 1839 he obtained the Grand Prix de Rome,
and soon afterwards left for Italy. During his sojourn in Rome, Gounod
devoted himself largely to the study of religious music, and spent a
great portion of his time in perusing the works of Palestrina and Bach.
Whilst residing at the famous Villa Médicis, he made the
acquaintance of Fanny Hensel, the sister of Mendelssohn, in whose
correspondence may be found several interesting details concerning the
future composer of Faust.
In 1843 we find Gounod in Vienna, where a Requiem of his
composition attracted some attention. On his return
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to Paris he vainly endeavored to find a publisher for some songs he had
composed while at Rome. When we hear that these included Le Vallom,
Le Soir, Jésus de Nazareth, and Le Printemps—that is to say,
some of the most beautiful inspirations that have emanated from his
brain—it becomes difficult to account for the obtuseness of the
publishers.
Discouraged in this quarter, Gounod devoted his attention once more
to religious music, and accepted the post of organist to the chapel of
the Missions Etrangères. He even entertained the idea of entering into
holy orders. Happily this was not to be. The name of Gounod was becoming
known in musical circles, and through the influence of Mine. Viardot,
the celebrated singer, sister of Malibran, the young composer was
commissioned to write the music of an opera to a book by Emile Augier,
for the Académie Nationale. This, his first contribution to the lyric
stage, was Sapho, which was brought out in 1851, without, however,
achieving much more than a succès d’estime. It was revived in a
curtailed form seven years later, and finally, remodelled and enlarged,
was reproduced in 1884.
Notwithstanding its failure to attract the public, Sapho
commanded the approbation of many competent judges, among whom we find
no less a musician than Berlioz, who thus expressed himself upon the
composer’s merits: “M. Gounod is a young musician endowed with precious
qualities, whose tendencies are noble and elevated, and whom one should
encourage and honor, all the more so as our musical epoch is so corrupt.”
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The year after the production of Sapho, Gounod married a
daughter of Zimmermann, a well-known musician and professor. His next
venture was at the Théâtre Français, for which he wrote incidental music
to Ulysse, a tragedy by Ponsard. A detail to note is that the
orchestra was conducted by Offenbach. Although the music to this was
universally praised, it did not suffice to save the piece from dire
failure. La Nonne San glante, a five-act opera, founded upon a
novel by Monk Lewis, produced in 1854, was even less successful than
Sapho. At the same time, the press was sufficiently favorable, and
Gounod’s reputation, though awaiting its final consecration, was at any
rate on the increase.
The Messe de Ste. Cécile, produced in 1855, furnishes
perhaps the most typical example of his genius in religious composition.
Pagnerre, Gounod’s biograhper, very rightly considers this as occupying
the same position in regard to his religious compositions as Faust
does among his dramatic works.
About this time Gounod happily made the acquaintance of Jules
Barbier, a young man who had already made his mark as a poet and
dramatist. He had suggested Faust to Meyerbeer as the subject of
an opera. Meyerbeer indignantly refused, as be regarded it as nothing
less than sacrilege to put Goethe’s masterpiece on the stage.
Gounod, on the other hand, bad for a long time the idea of writing
an opera with Faust as a subject. Indeed, the story of Gounod’s
great work goes back to his student days in Italy.
Here we can definitely trace the influence of environment
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upon his mind, coupled with that full appreciation of the beautiful in
Nature which only the painter can attain to. It was during his first
visit to Naples that the conception of the Faust music came to
him. In his own vivid words: “The beauty of the night in such a climate
and at that season is well-nigh unimaginable. The vault of heaven
literally quivers with stars like an ocean with waves of light, so full
does infinite space appear of twinkling, tremulous luminaries. During my
fortnight’s stay I often sat listening to the eloquent silence of these
phosphorescent nights. I would perch myself on some steep rock, and stay
for hours gazing out on the horizon, rolling a big stone down the
precipitous slope from time to time, to hear it bound and bound till it
struck the sea below and raised a ruffle of foam. Now and again a
solitary night-bird uttered its mournful note, and made me think of
those weird precipices whose horror Weber has rendered with such
marvellous power in that immortal incantation scene in Der Freischütz.
It was during one of these nocturnal rambles that the first idea for
the Walpurgis Night in Goethe’s Faust struck me. I never parted
with the score; I carried it about with me everywhere, and jotted down
in stray notes any idea which I thought might be useful whenever I made
an attempt to use the subject for an opera. This I did not attempt until
seventeen years afterwards.”
This long delay must be regarded as most fortunate—not merely that
the composer’s ideas should have time to germinate, grow and reach full
fruition, but because it was only then that the right man was found to
join forces with him. We have already seen that, as with
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Gounod so with Jules Barbier, to write and compose a Faust opera
was a long-cherished project. Barbier’s friend, Michael Carré, was asked
to collaborate in the libretto. His part, however, in it would seem to
have been small and unimportant, for Carré had already written Faust
et Marguerite, which had been performed at the Gymnase. This work
seems to have been a very feeble affair. It merely turned Goethe’s great
poem into a weak comedy, flavored to suit the taste of the audience it
drew.
The three set to work—Carré half -heartedly, and with little faith
in ultimate success, Gounod and Barbier with that determination which
overcomes all difficulties. But the writing of the opera was perhaps
less laborious, and certainly less discouraging, than the weary round of
interviews with managers. Carré’s pessimism seemed justified, when
Roqueplan pronounced the plot “out of date,” while his successor at the
Imperial Academy of Music dismissed it with the verdict, “Cela manquait
de pompe.”*
If only the authors had introduced a military procession, all would have
been well! At length a manager was’ found in Monsieur Carvalho, of the
Théâtre Lyrique, who looked with favor on their work. But this only
proved the beginning of another series of difficulties and
discouragements. A Faust was being played at the “Porte St.
Martin,” and this entailed another year’s waiting.
To this delay, however, we owe the existence of Le Médecin
malgré lui, an operatic version of Molière’s comedy, which was
produced on January 15, 1858. Carvalho had commissioned Barbier and
Gounod to write
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this, and so somewhat pacified them ‘during the delay. When at last
Faust was put in rehearsal, Madame Carvalho insisted upon
undertaking the part of Marguerite, much to the dismay of all concerned,
for her voice was unkindly described about this time as a “thin, shrill
soprano, as slender as her person, cut in two by three or four pasty
notes; a regular bird-pipe!”
But in the end not only did Madame Carvalho justify her
claim, but then and afterwards proved herself to be a consummate
artiste, and by her great technical skill succeeded in overcoming, or at
least concealing, all natural deficiencies. It was by her creation of
Marguerite that Madame Carvalho showed herself to be a superior
primadonna.
Many were the long, heated discussions which ensued between manager
and authors. Monsieur Carvalho, capricious, and full of ingenious but
fanciful ideas, would have chopped and altered the opera past all
recognition, had not Barbier and Gounod fought resolutely for their work
Carré more often than not went over to the enemy, making his confreres’
task much harder. The fiercest battle raged over the Garden scene, and
if Carvalbo had had his way the opera would have ended with the
traditional ensemble of Italian opera.
On March 19, 1859, the first performance took place at the Théâtre
Lyrique. Poor Barbier was prostrated with nervous collapse, and could
not attend. The verdict of musical critics was distinctly equivocal, a
perfect storm of discussion being raised, and Gounod’s hopes of real
success grew very faint. Scudo, the musical reviewer of the Revue des
Deux Mondes, concluded
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a long and conscientious critique with these words:
“Whatever may be the ultimate success of Faust, this opera
cannot fail to extend and enhance Monsieur Gounod’s reputation. We are
disposed to believe that, owing to all the qualities we have enumerated,
not less than through penury and lack of fundamental ideas—that is to
say, melody—he is possibly destined to fill in contemporary art the part
of a Cherubini, with special and more modern characteristics.”
The verdict of the public also was a doubtful and hesitating one.
The receipts of the box office fluctuated, and there were times when
shipwreck seemed imminent. But the opera reached its fifty-seventh
performance, and appeared likely to win the final approbation of the
people, at any rate, when Monsieur Carvalho failed and his theatre was
closed.
On the other hand, it must not be forgotten that there was a
“helping hand,” and that this came, not from France, but from England.
In the columns of the Athenœum Mr. Chorley not only again drew
public attention to the exceptional powers of Gounod, but from his own
knowledge spoke in such glowing terms of Faust that a
widely-spread desire to hear the work was aroused, and it was mainly
through his writings that the opera was produced in that country. “This
deserves,” said the Musical Times, “to be recorded, and we are
glad to have the opportunity of mentioning one of the many instances of
Mr. Chorley’s intelligent and thoroughly impartial criticism.”
The managers of the Opéra Comique would have nothing to do with
Faust. At this critical juncture came a friend in need in Monsieur
Choudens, and his
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faith in the authors and their opera is deserving of highest praise. It
was he who had pluckily undertaken to publish the score when all the
others had refused to take the risks of publication. Choudens had only
just set up in business as a music publisher, lie gave the authors
10,000 francs for the score, his entire capital; and then, when the
performances had come to an end, he took the matter up and arranged
performances of’ the opera, with Madame Carvaiho as Marguerite, through
Europe. Everywhere but in France it met with triumphant success.
Choudens’ venture met with the reward it deserved. Few investments—at
least, in music—have brought such a magnificent return. In the course of
thirty years he gained nearly 3,000,000 francs; thus, his investment
brought him in 1,000 per cent. per annum.
Only one great city rejected Faust. Rome, at the time, still
under the Papal Government, could not admit the representation of his
Satanic Majesty upon the stage. Whether this was due to extreme respect
for the great personage in question was not explained; but an impresario
in the Eternal City, anxious to secure the opera for his theatre, and at
the same time wishing to defer to the sensitiveness of the rulers of the
Church, wrote to Gounod to ask if he could not alter the character of
Mephistopheles, so as to make him “per essempio un medico.” After a
triumphal progress through Germany, Italy, Belgium, etc., once again
Gounod and his masterpiece returned to Paris.
Carvalho had passed from failure to success, and it was under his
management again, at the new Théâtre Lyrique, that Faust
reappeared just ten years after its
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first presentation. The cast included Colin as Faust, Faure, unsurpassed
as Mephistopheles, and Christine Nilsson as an ideal Marguerite; and
there were 321 consecutive performances. New ballet music was added in
1869, and the four hundredth performance on the Paris stage took place
at the Académie on November 4, 1887.
In 1870, after having his two houses destroyed in Paris during the
Siege, and losing all his money in the whirlpool of war, Gounod went to
England, accompanied by his wife and two children. He appeared at the
Philharmonic Concerts (1871), at the Oratorio Concerts, and at the
Crystal Palace. He founded what was known as the “Royal Albert Hall
Choir,” and the first concert was given in May, 1872, and attended by
Queen Victoria. For this occasion a thanksgiving Te Deum was
specially composed by Gounod. He also wrote some beautiful motets and
part-songs especially for this choir.
Gounod’s stay in England was far from a happy one. He was
unfortunate in his choice of friends. He alienated the sympathy and lost
the assistance of leading musicians by his unhappy predilection for
newspaper controversies, and by becoming involved in sundry private and
professional feuds. On the other hand, the few who really got to
understand him spoke of him, both as a man and as a musician, in terms
of unqualified praise. He endeared himself to all whom he met by his
genuine kindness and charming simplicity.
After five years’ stay in England he returned to France quite
broken down in health and spirits, but his wondrous pen was not quite
idle in England, in spite
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of the many disturbing events of his stay there. The contemplation of
his country’s sorrows inspired that sad but singularly beautiful
lamentation Gallia. It was composed for the opening of the
International Exhibition, and performed at the Albert Hall in 1871. None
can listen unmoved to this outpouring of a Frenchman’s sorrow for his
country, when at the very moment of performance the Commune was a still
smoking ruin.
Among other works, written at this time, mention must be made of
the justly popular setting of the beautiful sacred song, There is a
Green Hill Far Away, composed during Gounod’s stay in Blackheath. It
was suggested to him on hearing a little girl recite the words of the
hymn, and he was so struck with them that he at once set them to music.
This song was first sung in public by Santley at a Philharmonic concert
under the composer’s direction.
Gounod made up his mind to return to Paris in 1875. His first
occupation there was to rewrite the opera Polyeucte in five acts
from memory, the manuscript having been lost; but this opera was not a
success. For the next few years he devoted himself to the composition of
great sacred works. The first of these, The Redemption, sketched
in 1867, but not finished till 1881, was performed under the composer’s
direction at the Birmingham Festival of 1882, and in Paris on April 3,
1884. The second, Mors et Vita, was produced at the Birmingham
Festival of 1885, and in Paris on May 22, 1886.
During the last two or three years of his life Gounod was in
impaired health. He was urged to rest from his labors, but could not be
persuaded to do so. Like his
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favorite composer, Mozart, death overtook him while engaged in writing a
Requiem. He was going over the score of this with a pupil, when he was
struck down with paralysis of the brain, and died on October 18, 1893,
aged seventy-five.
He was honored with a state funeral in Paris, and the procession
was brilliant in the extreme. It was headed by a body of police, after
which followed cavalry, infantry, and artillery. In the procession were
gathered together many of the most, brilliant artistic, literary, and
scientific men of France. Gounod left a son (Jean Gounod) who married
the daughter of the decorative painter, Gallard, and a daughter, who
married the Baron Pierre de Lassus in 1886.
A monument has been erected in honor of Gounod in Paris. The
monument has been placed in the Parc Monceau, and was unveiled on Oct.
18, 1903, the tenth anniversary of Gounod’s death. The function was
under the presidency of Ernest Reyer, the composer. The sculptor,
Antonin Mercié, has placed Gounod’s bust on the top of a tall column, in
front of which are three female figures representing Marguerite,
Mireille, and Juliet. A Cupid standing with one hand on the keyboard of
an organ is placed at the base of the column.
In summing up the qualifications of a great composer—and as such
there can be no doubt that Gounod must be reckoned—it is evidently
better to dwell upon that which he has actually achieved than upon what
he may have left undone.
The composer of Faust has imprinted his mark in an
unmistakable manner upon his epoch. He has struck a note that had not
previously been heard, and
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if he has perhaps reiterated this note somewhat too frequently, thereby
attenuating its effect, the credit of having been the first to employ it
must not be refused to him.
Adoiphe Jullien judges him severely when he says that the more he
has had occasion to hear and study his works, the more convinced he has
become that Gounod possesses the genius of assimilation. According to
him, the greatness of Gounod’s talent is derived through the study of
the works of all the masters, and especially of those of Bach, Handel,
Schumann, and Berlioz. That Gounod has studied the works of his
predecessors and profited thereby is evident, but this has been the case
with all musicians. Something more is required to compose a work such as
Faust; that something which is the appanage of but few composers,
and which is known as “individuality.”
Arthur Pougin, in his Supplement to Fétis’ “Dietionnaire des
Musiciens,” thus describes the genius of Gounod: “Musically and as
regards the theatre, M. Gounod is more spiritualistic than materialistic,
more of a poet than a painter, more elegiac and more nervous than truly
pathetic. It is perhaps this that has caused people to say that he
lacked dramatic feeling; those who have expressed themselves thus have
been mistaken, for it is not the dramatic feeling—that is to say, la
perception passionée—which Gounod occasionally wants, but rather the
temperament. At the same time, the author of Faust, Roméo, Le Médecin
Malgré Lui, remains a true poet, an inspired creator, an artist of
the first rank and of high order.”
The essence of Gounod’s genius is contained in Faust.
{335} Although he composed many works of
great merit, yet he was never inspired to a similar degree. He may have
abused certain formulas, and employed the same devices ad nauseam,
but at any rate he can claim them as his own. It is not his fault if
his imitators have reproduced his mannerisms to so great an extent.
Ernest Reyer once remarked that everyone nowadays wrote music in
the style of Gounod. “So far,” added the witty Academician, “it is still
that of Gounod himself that I prefer.”
Opera in four acts by Gounod. Libretto by Barbier
and Carré.
Characters: Doctor Faust; Mephistopheles; Valentine; Siebel;
Wagner; Margaret; Dame Martha; students, soldiers, burgesses, village
maidens and youths, demons and angels.
Place, Germany. Time, Middle Ages. First produced at Paris in 1859.
In the opening scene Faust is discovered alone in the silence of
his study. He doubts the beneficence of the Creator, and cursing his own
existence, the dreams of love and ambition and all human aspirations,
calls upon Satan. His invocation is answered. Mephistopheles appears,
costumed as a cavalier of the period. He pretends to be piqued by
Faust’s want of faith in his powers, and challenges the doctor to give
him a chance of showing them. He offers him riches and power, but Faust
chooses the gift of youth. Mephistopheles informs him that he can easily
endow him with youth, and a compact is made whereby the fiend promises
to serve
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Faust faithfully during his lifetime, and that when it is terminated
their positions shall be reversed, and the master shall become the
slave. Mephistopheles then gives Faust in a vision a forecast of the
pleasures in store for him. In a humble dwelling, by the side of a
spinning-wheel at which she is placidly working, is seated Margaret, a
simple village girl. Faust, who is now transformed from a decrepit old
man to a young, ardent lover, is enraptured at the sight of Margaret,
and Mephistopheles promises him that he shall meet her that very day.
In the second act the scene has changed to the exterior of a tavern.
A motley crowd is assembled before it, composed of burgesses, village
lads and maidens, students and soldiers. Among them are Valentine, the
brother of Margaret, who is about to start for the wars, Wagner, a pupil
of Faust, and Siebel, a suitor to Margaret. Mephistopheles enters into
conversation with the people, and gives proof of his demoniacal nature
by drawing wine from a cask painted on the tavern sign. He angers the
men, who attack him with their swords. But they are unable to harm him,
as he is protected by his supernatural power. They drive him away,
however, by lifting against him the hilts of their swords, which have
the forms of crosses. After this Valentine and his friends retire, and
Mephistopheles returns to Faust, to whom he gives the promise that he
shall soon behold the maiden of the vision. Siebel also returns, and
stands at one side, waiting for the entrance of Margaret.
Margaret at length appears on her way home from the church. She is
simply and modestly dressed, and
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is charmingly graceful. Mephistopheles urges Faust to accost her, while
he prevents Siebel from speaking to her by constantly placing himself
between the two. Faust meanwhile boldly speaks to Margaret, compliments
her beauty, and offers her his arm. With a few artless words and a
courtesy Margaret rejects both his compliments and his proffered
protection, and passes on her way. Faust, who seems to have expected an
easy conquest, is disappointed, but recovers hope when Mephistopheles,
as they retire in the direction that Margaret has taken, assures him
that he will soon overcome her scruples.
In the third act a casket of jewels is left in Margaret’s garden by
Mephistopheles, and the young girl innocently opens the casket and decks
herself with the glittering stones. While she is thus engaged Dame
Martha, a neighbor, enters and surprises her. Margaret tells her the
incident of the meeting with Faust, and the old woman comes to the
conclusion that Faust is a rich nobleman, and that the jewels have been
sent to Margaret by him. Alarmed, Margaret is about to remove the
ornaments when Faust and Mephistopheles enter. The latter enters upon a
violent flirtation with Dame Martha, and gives Faust the opportunity to
win Margaret’s love, lie succeeds so well in this attempt that when they
are about to leave the garden he overhears Margaret’s confession of her
sudden love for the handsome stranger, made in an impassioned soliloquy
on her balcony. Faust immediately returns to the house, and the curtain
falls upon the devil’s laugh of fiendish mockery.
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In the fourth act some time is supposed to have elapsed since
Margaret’s first interview with Faust. She is seated dejectedly by her
spinning-wheel, awaiting the return of Faust, as she cannot believe that
her lover has abandoned her. Siebel, her rejected lover, enters, and
offers to revenge her upon her seducer, but she declares her faith in
Faust, and will not listen to Siebel. In her loneliness the girl turns
to the only source of consolation open to her. She enters the church,
but there she is pursued by the haunting thoughts of the past, and is
taunted by the voice of Mephistopheles, who crushes her spirit with
threats of divine vengeance. Valentine, her brother, now returns from
the wars, and finding that Margaret has fallen bitterly reproaches’ her.
He is attacked by Faust, who has suddenly entered, and Valentine falls
in a duel, killed by the hand of his sister’s betrayer.
The opening scene of the fifth act is that of an orgy to which
Mephistopheles has conducted Faust for the purpose of stifling the last
scruples of conscience. Amid the revelry into which Faust has plunged
himself a voice reaches his ear. Its well-known accents, enfeebled by
distance, cause a thrill of regret. Faust utters the name of Margaret,
and a pale phantom appears, in whose livid features he recognizes’ the
face of his wretched mistress. A prey to the wildest remorse, Faust
insists upon being conducted to Margaret by Mephistopheles, whom he
forcibly drags along with him, while he forces his way sword in hand
through the hosts of demons and infernal monsters that beset him.
With this prelude we are introduced to the last scene
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of the opera. Margaret is in prison, driven to frenzy by the excess of
her sufferings, which culminated in the murder of her brother by the man
for whom she sacrificed all. In her madness she has destroyed her child,
and in her dungeon awaits the execution of the sentence ‘of death.
Mephistopheles contrives to steal the keys from a sleeping jailor, and
Faust enters the cell where his victim lies sleeping during a brief
respite from the illusions of her tortured mind. Faust calls her name,
and she awakes, to hail him as her deliverer, whom she is ready to
receive with all the trust of former days. But as Faust presses her to
go with him at once, as time is flying, be sees that his words are
unheeded, and that he is speaking to one whose distracted mind is wholly
absorbed by its hallucinations.
Mephistopheles now appears, and urges them to go, as the day is
dawning, and it will soon be too late to effect the escape of the
prisoner. Margaret’s excitement increases at the sight of the bated
fiend, to whom she ascribes her misfortunes, and kneeling in an ecstacy
of religious zeal she calls upon heaven and its angels to forgive,
protect and receive her. A noise is heard as of some one approaching.
Faust again urges her to escape. But a gleam of memory flashes upon her;
she recognizes in him her brother’s murderer. Shrinking wildly from his
touch, she sinks upon the ground and dies. Mephistopheles, by his
mocking exclamations, proclaims her accursed, but a choir of angels,
singing as the curtain falls, announces her salvation owing to her
trustful appeal to heaven.
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Opera in two acts with an intermezzo by Gounod.
Libretto by Barbier and Carré.
Characters: Jupiter; Vulcan; Mercury; Philémon, Baucis; people.
Place, ancient Greece. Time, legendary. First produced at Paris in
1860.
In the first act Jupiter comes to Philémon’s hut, accompanied by
Vulcan, to seek refuge from a storm, which the god himself has caused.
He has come to earth to verify Mercury’s tale of the people’s wickedness,
and finds the news only too true. He is received with discourtesy by the
people, and is glad to meet with a kindly welcome at Philémon’s door.
This worthy old man lives in poverty, but in perfect content with
his wife Baucis, to whom he has been united in bonds of love for sixty
long years. Jupiter, seeing at once that the old couple form an
exception to the evil rule, resolves to spare them, and to punish only
the wicked. The gods partake of the kind old people’s simple meal, and
Jupiter, changing the milk into wine, is recognized by Bancis, who is
much awed by the discovery. But Jupiter reassures her and promises to
grant her only wish, which is to be young again with her husband, and to
live the same life over again. The god sends them to sleep, and then
begins the intermezzo.
Phrygians are seen reposing after a festival. Bacchantes rush in,
and the wild orgies begin afresh. The divine is mocked and pleasure is
praised as the only god. Vulcan comes, sent by Jupiter to warn them, but
as they only laugh at him, mocking Olympus and the
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gods, Jupiter himself appears to punish the sinners. An awful tempest
arises, bringing everything to rack and ruin.
In the second act Philémon’s hut is changed into a palace. He
awakes to find himself and his wife young again. Jupiter, seeing Baucis’
beauty, orders Vulcan to keep Philémon and she apart, while he courts
her. Baucis, though determined to remain faithful to Philé mon, feels
nevertheless flattered at the god’s condescension, and dares not refuse
him a kiss. Philémon, appearing on the threshold, sees it, and violently
reproaches her and his guest, and though Baucis hints who the latter is,
the husband does not feel in the least inclined to share his wife’s
love, even with a god.
The first quarrel takes place between the couple, and Vulcan
hearing it consoles himself with the reflection that he is not the only
one to whom a fickle wife causes sorrow. Philémon bitterly curses
Jupiter’s gift, he wishes his wrinkles back, and with them his peace of
mind. Throwing down Jupiter’s statue, he leaves his wife to the god.
Baucis, replacing the image, which happily is made of bronze and is
unbroken, sorely repents her behavior towards her beloved husband.
Jupiter finds her weeping and praying that the gods may turn their wrath
upon herself alone.
The god promises to pardon both, if she is willing to listen to his
love. She agrees to the bargain on the condition, namely, that Jupiter
shall grant her a favor. He consents, and she entreats him to make her
old again. Philémon, listening behind the door, rushes forward to
embrace the true wife, and joins his entreaties to hers. Jupiter, seeing
himself caught, would fain be angry,
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but their love conquers his wrath, lie does not recall his gift, but,
giving them his benediction, he promises never more to cross their
happiness.
Opera in three acts by Gounod. Libretto by Barbier
and Carré.
Characters: King Soliman; Adoniram, the Queen of Sheba; first,
second and third workmen; Djinns, courtiers and slaves.
Place, Judea. Time, about 1000 B. C. First produced at Paris in
1862.
The works which earned for Solomon (in the libretto called Soliman)
the surname of “the Wise,” are supposed in reality to have been
conceived and executed by a mysterious being called Adoniram, who
exhibits a profound contempt for all earthly greatness, and especially
for the King, whom he treats as the son of a shepherd. Adoniram himself
is said to be descended from a divine race, the “Sons of the Fire.”
Yielding to the love urged by Soliman, the Queen has promised to
marry him, and gives him a ring. Upon seeing Adoniram, however, she
regrets the engagement. His power alarms even the King himself when, at
the desire of the Queen to behold his army of workmen gathered together,
Adoniram, by sorcerer’s signs, collects them together from every point
in the city.
The Queen is obliged to be present at the consummation of a great
work, the casting of the “sea of brass,” which is to crown the glory of
the master-workman or
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cause him to lose the fruit of his labors. Through the treachery of
three workmen, to whom Adoniram had refused to disclose the master’s
password, the experiment fails.
Crushed by this misfortune, Adoniram loses all courage on hearing
that Soliman loves the Queen. But the Queen, learning that Adoniram is
of royal birth, makes an avowal of her love for him, notwithstanding the
oath which binds her to the King. With the assistance of the Djinns the
work of Adoniram has been successfully completed during the night and
his glory is restored. But the three treacherous workmen have discovered
his secret interviews with the Queen, and inform Soliman, who promises
them the password as a reward. Soliman decrees that Adoniram must die.
The Queen, to recover her token, fills the King’s cup with an enchanted
drink, and while he is under its influence steals the ring. But in her
subsequent flight from Jerusalem she is overtaken by the vengeance of
the King. Adoniram, uttering a last protestation of his love for her,
expires with her name on his lips.
Opera in five acts by Gounod. Libretto by Carré,
from the story of F. Mistral.
Characters: Raimondo, a wealthy farmer; Vincenzo, a basket-mender;
Urias, a herdsman; Mirella; Tavena; Vincenzina.
Place, France. Time, Middle Ages. First produced at Paris in 1864.
A company of village maidens surround Mirella, a daughter of
Raimondo, a wealthy farmer, and in song
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celebrate her love for Vinceuzo, a basket-maker, who is handsome, but
poor. Tavena, known as a witch, descants upon the improbability of the
match coming off, but when Vincenzo appears, he and Mirella exchange
vows of everlasting love.
The next meeting of Vincenzo and Mirella takes place in the Arena
of Arles. Here their happiness is disturbed by the appearance of Urias,
a herdsman who aspires to Mirella’s hand, but who, notwithstanding that
he has obtained Raimondo’s sanction of his suit, receives no
encouragement from Mirella. Vincenzo’s father, accompanied by Vincenzina,
presses upon Raimondo his son’s suit. Obdurate, the farmer refuses to
listen to him, and hard words on the part of each and the resolve of
Urias to have revenge close the scene.
Urias appears in the beginning of the next act, armed with a weapon
shaped like a trident. In a secluded spot he attacks Vincenzo and leaves
him for dead. Tavena discovers Vincenzo and nurses him tenderly.
Mirella determines to invoke heaven’s aid for the recovery of her lover
at the church of Ste. Marie. While on her way to the church her brain
becomes affected. Nevertheless she arrives at her destination, and the
last act shows us the portico of the church. Vincenzo enters, followed
by Mirella, who falls unconscious into his arms. The pilgrims are
chanting, reason momentarily asserts her sway, and Mirella knows her
lover. Pointing heavenward she indicates that there they will be
reunited. Mirella dies. The church scene disappears, and is succeeded by
the apotheosis of the saints in glory, the lovers receiving their
blessing.
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Opera in five acts by Gounod. Libretto by Carré and
Barbier.
Characters: The Duke of Verona; Capulet; Tybalt, nephew of Capulet;
Gregory; Paris; Romeo; Mercutio; Benvolio; Stephano; Friar Lawrence;
Gertrude, the nurse; Giulietta; ladies and nobles of Verona; citizens,
soldiers, monks, pages and retainers of both houses.
Place, Verona. Time, Thirteenth Century. First produced at Paris in
1867.
The first act opens with a fete at the house of Capulet.
Notwithstanding her betrothal to Paris, Capulet’s daughter Giulietta,
upon meeting Romeo, falls in love with him. He passionately returns her
love. The hot-tempered Tybait tries to provoke a quarrel with Romeo, but
they are parted by Capulet himself, and the act ends with the resumption
of the festivities.
The second act is devoted to the balcony scene, in which Romeo and
Giulietta make their vows of love to each other, interrupted by the
appearance on the scene of Gregory, accompanied by his retainers.
The third act is composed of two scenes, the first of which is laid
in Father Lawrence’s cell, where the lovers are secretly married. In the
second scene the pranks of Stephano, Romeo’s page, involve all the young
men in a general quarrel, in which Mercutio is killed by Tybalt, who in
turn is slain by Romeo. The latter is banished by Capulet, but vows that
he will see Ginlietta again at all risks.
The fourth act also consists of two scenes. The first
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is laid in Giulietta’s chamber, and is filled by a duet between the
lovers. Romeo leaves her at dawn, and immediately after Capulet appears
with Father Lawrence and announces that the marriage with Paris must
take place at once. Giulietta implores help of Father Lawrence, and he
gives her a sleeping potion. The following scene is that of the wedding
festivities, wherein Giulietta falls insensible from the effects of the
potion.
The opera ends. with the scene of the tomb of the Capulets. Romeo
enters, and, believing that Giulietta is dead, takes poison. Gulietta,
reviving from the affects of the sleeping-draught, finds him dying,
stabs herself with a dagger, and expires in his arms.
Opera in four acts by Gounod. Libretto by Poirson
and Gallet, adapted from the romance by de Vigny.
Characters: Louis XIII; Cardinal Richelieu; Cinq-Mars; Fontrailles;
an Emissary of the King of Poland; Princess Marie de Gonzague; Marion
Delorme; Father Joseph; De Thou; ladies and gentlemen of the court.
Place, France. Time, Seventeenth Century. First produced at Paris
in 1877.
The curtain rises upon the chateau of the mother of Cinq-Mars, who
has been summoned to court by the all-powerful Cardinal. The assembled
guests are heard discussing whether the favor of the king or minister
should be courted. Among the visitors is De Thou, the most intimate
friend of Cinq-Mars, who charges him with being the lover of the
Princess Marie de Gonzague,
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also present as a guest. Cinq-Mars admits the charge, and laments his
departure. Wondering what destiny awaits him he opens a book at random,
intending to receive the first words which meet his eye as prophetical.
Undaunted by a sinister passage he exclaims, “To live or die, what
matters!” At this moment Father Joseph, the Cardinal’s emissary, enters
to inform Marie that she is to marry the King of Poland. Cinq-Mars
obtains from Marie the promise of a secret interview before they part.
The second act introduces us to the Court of Louis XIII, and opens
with a scene for Marion Delorme, and the nobles who sing her praises,
only to hear from the lady that the Cardinal contemplates exiling both
her and her companion Ninon d’Enclos. One of the courtiers, Fontrailles,
thereupon expresses his idea of what Paris would be without such fair
attractions. Taking advantage of their chagrin, Marion suggests revolt
against the Cardinal, and invites her friend to a fête at which the
project can be discussed. Meanwhile the Cardinal bids Cinq-Mars resign
his pretensions to the lady’s hand, although the King has given his
royal approval. Cinq-Mars asks by what right the Cardinal thus decrees,
and declares that he will not obey. The next scene is laid at the house
of Marion Delorme, where Cinq-Mars delivers a spirited harangue against
the Cardinal. His friend De Thou warns him to retire, but without avail.
In the third act the lovers determine to marry before separating.
The proceedings, however, have been witnessed by Father Joseph, who
gloats over the fate that is in store for Cinq-Mars. At this moment
music is
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heard behind the scenes, and presently the King enters, and begs a
favorable answer for the envoy of the King of Poland. Marie is at a loss
how to act. The catastrophe approaches. When the curtain rises for the
last time it does so upon the prison where Cinq-Mars and De Thou, under
sentence of death, are confined. Marie brings tidings of a project for
their deliverance, which is to be attempted on the morrow. That day
never comes, for they are summoned to meet their doom, and the curtain
falls as they are led away to execution.
Opera in five acts by Gounod. Libretto by Carré and
Barbier, founded on Corneille’s tragedy.
Characters: Félix, Pro-Consul of Armenia; Polyeucte, an Armenian
Prince; Sévère; Néarque the Christian; Albin, the High Priest; Pauline;
Stratonice; soldiers, priests, servants and citizens.
Place, Armenia. Time, Third Century. First produced at Paris in
1878.
Félix, Pro-Consul of Armenia, has a daughter Pauline who was at one
time sought in marriage by the Roman general Sévère. Circumstances
divided them, and Pauline gave her heart to Polyeucte, an Armenian
Prince. At the opening of the opera the Christian faith is being
propagated in Mytilene, and Polyeucte has listened with a willing ear to
the teachings of the new creed. Naturally the converts are subjected to
persecution, and a massacre is anticipated when Sévère, who is
approaching Mytilene after a successful campaign, enters in triumph.
{349}This is the state of affairs at the
rising of the curtain, when we see Pauline’s chamber, with its private
altar, covered with household gods. Pauline and her servants, Stratonice
at their head, are in the room, while the mistress of the house
meditates before the altar. In response to Stratonice the Lady Pauline
explains her apparent melancholy by reference to a dream presaging evil.
She says that she has seen Polyeucte bowing before Christian altars, and
subsequently destroyed by the wrath of Jupiter.
Polyeucte enters, looking sad and depressed. :His wife, demanding
the reason, learns that certain Christians are doomed to death on the
morrow. Pauline attempts to justify the sacrifice. Polyeucte so strongly
manifests his sympathy with the victims that her worst fears are
realized, and she makes a passionate appeal to him. Polycucte reassures
her, and speaks of the coming of Sévère, in whose honor the Christians
are to perish. Pauline has believed Sévère to be dead, and explains to
her husband the relations in which they formerly stood. Polyeucte,
however, has no fear of the meeting.
The next act takes place in a public square in Mytilene. An
enthusiastic crowd awaits the approach of Sévère, who is welcomed by
Félix. Sévère assures the Governor that he has brought with him fond
remembrances, but Pauline at once reveals the actual situation by
introducing Polyeucte as her husband. Sévère is struck by the blow, and
those present notice his agitation.
The rising curtain next discloses a garden and the temple of Vesta.
Sévère appears. dispising his glory
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because he cannot lay it at the feet of Pauline. He observes her
approach and stands aside. The heroine enters, kneels and prays. In the
course of her prayer she reveals that she has wedded Polyeucte in
obedience to her father’s wishes. This is overheard by Sévère. When she
rises he confronts her, and reproaches her with having accepted “a
detested spouse.” This she denies, and once more the lovelorn warrior
falls into despair, while she demands why he has returned to trouble her.
Sévère invokes the goddess to witness their past love, and calls upon
his companion to carry her prayers to the temple of Vesta. Pauline
accepts the challenge, praying that the broken heart of Sévère may be
healed, and that he himself may become the savior of her husband. To the
astonished exclamation of the soldier she replies that the life of
Polyeucte is in danger, and that she looks to him to save him. Another
appeal follows, this time with instant success.
The interview ended, Pauline retires into the temple, but Sévère
remains outside, again concealing himself as Polyeucte enters,
accompanied by the Christian Néarque. Seeing Pauline in the temple, the
Prince is disposed to linger, but Néarque urges him to go, and Sévère
hears their conversation. The scene changes to a retired spot amid trees
and rocks. In this act Polyeucte becomes a Christian.
The third act opens in a hail of the palace, where Polyeucte,
Félix, Sévère and Albin, the High-priest of Jupiter, are discovered.
They begin to discourse about the Christians, Félix calling for
vengeance upon them. Sévère protests. On this Félix bids them all to
repair to the temple of Jupiter, but Sévère warns him that
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noble heads may have to fall. Félix replies that the believers are all
the dregs of the people, but Sévère answers that he himself has
witnessed the baptism of one the equal of any present. The Governor
demands the convert’s name, and not obtaining it declares that he will
condemn the whole family to death should they turn from the orthodox
creed. Sévère urges Polyeucte to guard his own life for the sake of
those whom he loves, but the convert professes himself willing to die.
In the fourth act Polyeucte is seen in prison, still adhering to
his new faith.
In the fifth and last act Polyeucte and Pauline appear in the Arena,
where the lion’s den is opened by an official, and the curtain falls.
Opera in four acts by Gounod. Libretto by d’Ennery
and Brésil.
Characters: Manoël Diaz, a Spanish soldier; Ben-Saïd; Ramire IT,
King of Oviedo; Hadjar, brother to Ben-Saïd; Xaïma; Hermosa; Arabs,
Spanish soldiers, Moors, citizens, etc.
Place, Spain. Time, Eighth Century. First produced at Paris in
1881.
The first scene represents a square in Oviedo. Manoël Diaz, a
Spanish soldier, is about to be married to Xaïma, when a troop of Arabs,
commanded by Ben-Saïd, an ambassador from the Caliph of Cordova, comes
to demand from Ramire II, King of Oviedo, the tribute of Zamora,
consisting of twenty maidens. Among those on whom the lot of captivity
falls is the
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young bride, Xaïma, whose charms at once excite the admiration of
Ben-Saïd.
The second act transpires in the suburbs of Cordova. While the
Moorish soldiers are celebrating the anniversary of the battle of Zamora
an Arab soldier, Had-jar, the brother of Ben-Saïd, protects from their
in-suits Hermosa, a mad woman, one of the Spanish prisoners who belongs
to Ben-Saïd. Manoël, who has followed Xaïma to Oviedo, disguised as a
Barbary soldier, is recognized by Hadjar, whose life he has formerly
saved on the field of battle. Informed of the loves of Manoël and Xaïma,
the grateful Hadjar promises his preserver to ransom his stolen bride.
At the sale of the captives, however, Ben-Saïd, whose admiration for
Xaïma has gradually increased, outbids all competitors, and carries her
off to his harem.
The first scene in the third act represents the palace of Ben-Saïd.
The Arab tries in vain to win Xaïma’s love. Hadjar enters with Don
Manoël, whom he introduces to his brother as his preserver, and on whose
account he asks the freedom of the captive. Ben-Saïd, on his refusal of
the request, is insulted and provoked by Don Manoël, who is easily
disarmed, and is about to pay for his temerity with his life when Xaïma
enters. At her solicitation Ben-Saïd spares Manoël, but only on
condition that he leave at once. Left to herself Xaïma is in despair,
when she is joined by Hermosa, who, after a long scene, in which she
relates how her husband was killed during the massacre at the burning of
Zamora, gradually recovers her reason, and recognizes her daughter in
the captive.
In the fourth act the gardens of Ben-Saïd’s palace
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are seen. Manoël has scaled the wails to see Xaïma for the last time.
They resolve to die together, and he is about to strike her to the heart,
and afterwards to kill himself, when Hermosa appears, snatches the
weapon from him and conceals it in her bosom. The lovers left alone are
surprised by Ben-Saïd, who orders Manoël to be taken captive and
escorted back to Oviedo. He is removed, and the Arab renews his
importunities to his captive. Hermosa interrupts him, and entreats him
to restore her child to her. The chief, still considering her mad,
treats her as such, when with a renewal of reason she draws from her
bosom the weapon she had snatched from Manoël, and plunges it into the
heart of Ben-Said. She is seized by the soldiers who enter, but is saved
once more by Hadjar, who acquits her of blame on the score of madness.
The opera ends with the restoration to Manoël of the bride for whom he
strove so long and valiantly.
* Lacking in pomp.
Last updated February 09, 2007