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The Opera Goer’s
COMPLETE GUIDE

LEO MELITZ

Copyright 1908, 1911, 1921

SUPPLEMENT

APHRODITE

Music drama in five acts and seven scenes. Music by Camille Erlanger. Text by Louis de Gramont, after the romance of Pierre Louys.
     CAST: Demetrios—Tenor. Timon—Baritone. Philodemos—Second Tenor. The High Priest—Lyric Bass. Callides—Lyric Bass. The Jailer—Bass. Chrysis— Dramatic Soprano. Bacchis—Mezzo-Soprano. Myrto— Soprano. Rhodis—Mezzo-Soprano. Chimairis—Mezzo-Soprano. Young men, courtesans, philosophers, sailors, temple-guards, dancers, merchants. Time, Greek occupation of Alexandria. Place, Alexandria. First performance, Opéra Comique, Paris, 1906.
     After a short prelude, Suggesting the sea and its mystery, the certain rises upon the quay at Alexandria. It is twilight; a crowd comes and goes: made up of marketmen, merchants, beggars, rich young men, courtesans, sailors, and philosophers, all talking together in groups, or plying their various trades. Some have stopped to listen to Rhodis and Myrto, two flute-players, who accompany with their instruments the posture dances of Theano, sister of Rhodis. Women’s voices are heard calling (Chorus: "Eros! Eros!"), and the musicians take up the song (Duet, Rhodis, Myrto: "Eros, pallid Eros"), to the delight of the crowd. Theano speaks softly to Myrto, while Rhodis collects coins from the bystanders. The courtesans discuss the banquet to be given in the house of Bacchis, during the festival of Aphrodite. Myrto and Rhodis depart with arms interlaced. There is a stir in the crowd, as the rich sculptor Demetrios enters with an air of boredom. Several women try to engage him in conversation, but he pointedly ignores them. The courtesans gossip about Queen Berenice, said to be the model for his statue of Aphrodite. Demetrios passes to the end of the quay, dreamily looking out over the sea. Chimairis, a withered old fortune-teller, comes forward, and is quickly surrounded by customers. She looks at several palms, complaining that all say the same thing, pleasure, garlands, jewels, feasting, handsome young lovers, or rich old ones. They laugh, telling her this is her "bad-tempered day," and run off gaily. Chimairis shrugs her shoulders, and Demetrios asks her to read his future. She hesitates, then tells him that all his happiness is in the past; his hand is filled with blood, that of two women, and at last, his own. He scoffs at this, and sings musingly of his statue, which is his life, his world (Demetrios: "Since I modeled the divine Aphrodite"). Receiving money from him, Chimairis goes out. Chrysis is seen in the distance. With the eye of an artist, Demetrios notes her grace and suppleness as she comes toward him, passing by without looking at him, to the end of the quay. She stands a moment in deep thought, then turns back. Demetrios addresses her, asking her name. Is she seeking her husband, he asks. She laughs oddly. "I have no husband," she says; then tells him she is called Chrysis, because of her golden hair. She coquettes with him (Chrysis: "Thinkest thou that thou art in Aphrodite’s garden?") by turns leading him on and drawing back, until he becomes infatuated, and seizes her violently. She tells him she is not to be won by force. He declares that he is weary of love, and she replies that she is equally weary of gold. Only three things does she desire: a mirror, a comb, a necklace. "That is simple enough," Demetrios says eagerly. Possibly, but will he swear that he will get them for her, by an oath that cannot be broken. Rashly, he swears by Aphrodite. She then tells him that the mirror belongs to Bacchis, the courtesan; it is said that Sappho has looked into it. Bacchis has an odd hiding place for it, near the altar in the temple of Aphrodite. (Chrysis: "Bacchis, the courtesan has a silver mirror.") Demetrios must steal it. "What! Steal for you?" he cries indignantly. Chrysis continues imperturbably, "The wife of the high priest has an ivory comb. I desire it. You must kill her." Demetrios is appalled. "And the necklace?" he says sarcastically. "It adorns the neck of Aphrodite’s statue," is the calm reply. Demetrios is enraged by these extraordinary demands, and refuses them, but Chrysis quietly assures him she will surely have these little presents. (Chrysis: "Speak not thus! The three gifts are mine.") She inflames his ardor with every possible seduction, eluding him when he tries to embrace her, but when he promises her the necklace, she offers her lips, then quickly leaves him, looking back to remind him of his promises.
     ACT II. The temple of Aphrodite. A colossal statue of the goddess is adorned with a magnificent necklace of pearls. Staircases are on each side of the altar. The curtain rises on an empty stage. It is moonlight. The temple-guards, eunuchs, enter with torches, searching for possible marauders. As their departing footsteps die away, Demetrios enters by a secret entrance, looking wildly about him. (Demetrios: "Chrysis! Chrysis! This woman’s name.") He declares that the very audacity of the girl’s requests had made him consider them. The first two crimes are accomplished; now he will attempt the third. The moonlight seems to caress the statue. (Demetrios: "Aphrodite, ‘tis thou!") He begs forgiveness of the goddess, saying that his love is hers alone, and cursing his insane passion for Chrysis. He kneels before the statue, and rising, caresses it.
     Day dawns, and with it comes the sound of voices chanting. The festival of Aphrodite has begun. (Chorus off-stage.) Demetrios hastily conceals himself as a proces— sion headed by the high priest, followed by courtesans and dancers carrying garlands, doves, and jewels, enters the temple. (Chorus: "Hail to thee, Aphrodite divine.") They group themselves before the altar, prostrating themselves one by one, and leave their offerings on the altar steps, or in baskets held out by the priestesses. Myrto and Rhodis come forward hand in hand, bearing twin turtle doves, and at last Chrysis herself appears. The other courtesans assert that as a stranger she has no right there, but the high priest rebukes them. Chrysis sings of the symbolic rites of Aphrodite, and dedicates to her her mirror, and her comb of copper, and, after a pause, her necklace. (Chrysis: "To the goddess of night.") "What askest thou in return?" says the high priest. "Nothing," replies the girl, retiring with a low obeisance. The priest prostrates himself before the altar, and the procession slowly moves toward the gardens, the doors of the temple closing behind it. Demetrios comes from his hiding place (Demetrios: "I, who thought myself cured,’), saying that the sight of Chrysis has made him long for her love more than ever. Seizing the necklace, he hides it under his robe and flees.
     ACT III. The house of Bacchis. A marvellous banquet is in progress. Bacchis is attended by her favorite slave Corinna. Dancers and musicians enliven the scene. (Chorus: "Bacchis ! To Bacchis!") Timon is trying to arouse Chrysis from a pensive mood! (Timon: "How sweet it is to recline"), but she shakes her head listlessly. The banqueters drink to their hostess. (Chrysis: "I am distrait.") Six mulatto women enter, with a flamingo held high on a dish. The guests acclaim Bacchis, who laughingly tells them that Corinna is their real hostess; the banquet is given for her. Her six sisters stand apart grumbling. (Sextette: "Yes, our sister, always petted.") The banquet becomes an orgy. Theano is seen in a dagger dance (Bacchis: "Here is the little dancer") to a flute accompaniment, removing her garments as she proceeds. The guests applaud loudly. At last, in a frenzy of exhaustion, Theano throws herself on a couch. Mousarion plies her with wine, the others guests holding her by the hands and feet, and forcing it down, with shrieks of laughter. Bacchis demands her mirror, which cannot be found. (Chrysis: "Rhodope’s mirror.") Chrysis narrowly watches as Selene, the maid, returns without it. Bacchis is furious, and the six sisters volubly accuse Corinna of the theft. (Sextette: "Yes, ‘tis Corinna.") The young slave falls fainting at the feet of Bacchis, who sentences her to be crucified. The mulatto women procure hammer and nails, and Corinna is dragged forth. Timon and Callides protest, but Bacchis is relentless, and drives the nails herself. Chrysis standing apart triumphs. (Chrysis: "O triumph! O joy unspeakable!") Corinna dies in agony; Timon covers her face, closing the staring eyes. Day dawns. Curtain.
     ACT IV. Studio of Demetrios, with statues in groups. A broad couch, magnificent hangings. It is dawn. The prelude expresses the longing of Demetrios, his remorse, and the coming of day. Demetrios, at work on a statue is completely absorbed. In the street people are shouting that Aphrodite’s necklace has been stolen, and the wife of the high priest murdered. (Demetrios: "These rumors, this excitement in the city.") Demetrios is overcome with shame (Demetrios: "Ah, vainly I labor.") He can think only of Chrysis, whose promise he has not yet claimed. Quietly, she enters. He tells her he has done her bidding. "That I know !" is her reply. (Chrysis: "This night at Bacchis’ house I knew.") She has come to give herself to him, not, she tells him, with the wiles of a courtesan, but in the purity and innocence of her girlhood. She throws aside her mantle. Demetrios extols her beauty (Denietrios: "Odelicate loveliness"), giving her the mirror, the comb, and the necklace. There is a long embrace (Demetrios: "The joys of passion"; Chrysis: "I am the Rose of Sharon"), and they sink into each other’s arms. The increasing tumult of the crowd comes to them from without. (Chrysis: "Oh, my Demetrios.") Demetrios now begins to realise the full extent of his infamy (Demetrios "I am no longer the haughty sculptor"), and beseeches Chrysis to leave him. (Chrysis: "What, must I go?") Becoming more and more excited he pushes her out of the room, declaring he hates her for what she has made of him. Chrysis laughs gaily (Chrysis: "Nay, do not lie"), saying that since he has committed these crimes for her it is now her turn for a sacrifice, swearing first by Aphrodite, and then by Jehovah, that she will do whatever he asks. In a sort of exaltation, he demands that she show herself in public, wearing the necklace of Aphrodite, carrying the mirror, and with the ivory comb in her hair. He points implacably to the door. Gazing at him fixedly, she takes her mantle, and goes quickly out. As she disappears, Demetrios bursts into a wild fit of laughter, and throws himself on the couch.
     ACT V. The Pharos of Alexandria. It is surrounded by a vast crowd,’ all talking of the sensations of the preceding day and night; the crucifixion of Corinna, the murder of Touni, the high priestess, the sacrilege in the temple. Chrysis appears, arrayed in a scarlet mantle. Talking half to herself, she tells Myrto and Rhodis they will soon see a sight they have never dreamed of. Observing their amazement she puts her finger on her lip, to ensure their secrecy. The two girls look at one another in perplexity. A clamor is heard in the distance, as of people running with shouts of anger. Chrysis enters the Pharos, dosing the door after her. The temple-guards and the priestesses of Aphrodite rush in, dishevelled and covered with dust. (Chorus: "Abomination ! The tem-plc is profaned.") Chrysis appears on the outer gallery of the Pharos, clad in a tunic. She has the mirror in her hand, the ivory comb in her hair, and the necklace clasped around her neck. Slowly she mounts the circular way around the tower, as the people supplicate the goddess for forgiveness. (Chorus: "Grace, 0 goddess.") A storm arises, and in the glare of the lightning Chrysis is still seen mounting to the summit of the tower. The crowd believes that a miracle has taken place, and that Aphrodite herself stands before them. At the summit Chrysis stands motionless. (Chrysis: "I am the immortal goddess ;" Chorus: "Glory to thee.") Presently the crowd gazing intently recognise Chrysis. Filled with furious anger at her temerity, they storm the bronze doors of the Pharos. (Chorus: "Death ! Death!") They force them, and rush in with shouts of vengeance. As the leaders appear on the gallery Chrysis is seen still standing immovable, and as they approach to take her the curtain falls.
     Change of scene. A prison, with a barred window and door. Through the latter a hall is seen. Chrysis is seated on the bed in an attitude of dejection, awaiting Demetrios, who has promised to visit her. He comes not, and the jailer appears with a draught, which he tells her is hemlock, bidding her drink it and pass into oblivion. She is fortunate, he says, to have so easy a death, instead of crucifixion, or being torn by wild bulls, or with hooks, or by the hands of the crowd. She calmly swallows the draught, the jailer instructing her that when her limbs grow heavy, she must lie down upon the couch, and all will soon he over. He leaves her, wishing her a brave end. The plaintive voices of Rhodis and Myrto are heard singing (Duet; Rhodis, Myrto: "When for thee comes the final test.") Chrysis, hearing their voices stands on the couch, and gazes through the window, bidding them adieu. She falls back, with a last cry, "Demetrios !" Her lover enters with the jailer, who, seeing his agitation, goes out. Demetrios gazes sadly at her, remembering Chimairis’s prediction. He sees before him a vision of the enraged goddess, and falls to the ground, dead. (Demetrios: "I brought thee love; death was my greeting"). Curtain.
     Change of scene. The garden of Hermanubis. A ruined temple in the morning light. Sombre evergreen trees stand like sentinels before an open sepulchre. After a strange funereal prelude, Myrto and Rhodis carry in the body of Chrysis (Duet, Myrto, Rhodis: "With neither torch nor funeral car"), laying it down beside the tomb for a moment. Then they lay it within the sepulchre, which is filled with flowers, and the curtain slowly falls.

ARIANE ET BARBE BLEUE
(Ariana and Bluebeard)

Fairy tale in three acts. Music by Paul Dukas. Text by Maurice Maeterlinck, based upon the old fairy tale of Bluebeard.
     CAST: Barbe Bleue (Bluebeard)—Bass. Ariane—Mezzo-Soprano. The Nurse—Contralto. Selysette—MezzoSoprano. Ygraine — Soprano. Mélsande — Soprano. Bellangère—Soprano. Alladine—Dumb rôle. An old peasant—Bass. Second and third peasants—Tenor and Bass. Chorus of peasants, and negroes. Place and time, legendary. First performance, Opéra Comique, Paris, May, 1907.
     ACT I. After a short and mysterious prelude, the great ball of Bluebeard’s casthe is disclosed. It has a wide door at the rear, flanked by smaller doors, and a staircase in the centre. A semi-circular gallery, lighted by high windows runs around the hall. It is evening, with lights burning and windows open. Outside is heard the murmur of an excited crowd, at times almost menacing, and finally breaking into a shout of "Death to him !" The peasants are talking among themselves of the coming of Ariane, Barbe Bleue’s new wife, commenting upon her beautiful sad face, and sweet smile. Must she be allowed to disappear mysteriously, like the giant’s other wives? They fear to storm the castle, lest death lurk within. They plan to burn it down—perhaps; but courage fails. As they gaze aifrighted, the windows close, and Ariane enters the hall with her nurse, through a side door. They hear the ominous murmurs of the crowd. "Listen !" says the nurse, "The peasants wish to save us. Let us open the door, now we are alone. It appears this wicked man has already killed five wives." "They are not dead," replies Ariane, dreamily. "There is some mystery, and since Barbe Bleue loves me, I shall be able to find it out. The first step is to disobey him, since he has threatened us. He has given me these keys to unlock his jewel vaults. The six silver ones, I can use, but the gold one is forbidden. That is the only important one ! I shall throw the others away." As she speaks, she flings them, clattering, to the marble floor. The nurse reminds her that the jewels may be worth seeing. "Look at them, if you choose," cries Ariane, "I am more concerned with the forbidden door; the others will tell us naught of the mystery."
     After much fumbling, the nurse opens the first door, and a stream of amethysts, fashioned into all sorts of jewelry rushes forth. The nurse, trembling with excitement, tries to pick them up. Ariane looks on indifferently, and commands her to open the second door, which discloses a rain of sapphires. The music expresses the sound of the falling jewels, which the nurse, babbling with delight, gathers into her mantle. The third door brings forth pearls, the fourth emeralds, the fifth rubies, which the nurse cries out fearfully are like blood, and the sixth door glittering diamonds.
     Ariane, enchanted, decks herself with these (Ariane: "Oh, my brilliant diamonds"), declaring that they are like light. She rushes to the window, and as she eagerly gazes out, the rain, which has been falling, suddenly ceases, and she beholds a beautiful rainbow. "Now for the seventh door," she cries, exultingly, while the terrified nurse begs her to pause and reflect. "Hide yourself, then," says Ariane, "I shall open the seventh door !" She turns the key with decision, and as the door swings open, from within comes a hollow chant, in muffled women’s voices. Ariane pauses a moment, listening. (Subterranean chant: "The five daughters of Orlamonde.") "Oh !" cries the nurse, "It is the other women." The song swells in volume, as the nurse pleads in vain with Ariane to close the door. They try to close the other six doors, but without success.
     The nurse, now beside herself with terror, spreads her mantle over her face to keep out the sound of the chant. "I hear footsteps," cries Ariane, and Barbe Bleue enters. He silently contemplates the two women. "You, too," he says bitterly. "I above all," is Ariane’s brave reply. "I thought you were stronger and wiser than the others," he continues. "How long have they been there?" she demands. "Some a few days, some a few months, the first a year." Barbe Bleue goes on to say that Ariane has now irrevocably lost the happiness which might have been hers, but he will pardon her if she goes no further. "I will perhaps pardon you when I know all," is her reply.
     Barbe Bleue seizes her roughly by the arm, and as she shrieks loudly, the crowd without throw stones through the windows. The nurse, hastening to the great door, removes the bars, and the furious peasants rush in. Barbe Bleue draws his sword, but Ariane fearlessly advances towards the peasants. "What do you desire?" she asks calmly. "He has done me no harm." They retire abashed, and having closed the door behind them Ariane slowly comes toward her husband, who gazes silently at his sword point, as the curtain falls.
     ACT II. Prelude. A dark subterranean cavern, with heavy pillars supporting the roof, and a long narrow hallway at one side. Ariane and the nurse come cautiously down a staircase at the back of the hallway. The clanging of a door is heard behind them. The nurse is utterly despairing. "Onward, onward," cries Ariane. "He is beaten, and knows it not. We shall now penetrate the mystery."
     Bearing a lamp, she leads the way, peering eagerly into the darkness. "Come, nurse," she says, "let us see what is here, and if the others are still living." There is a timid stir in the darkness. "Who are you?" demands Ariane. Advancing, she perceives the indistinct forms of five women. "Oh, they are here," she calls back, exultingly, and the nurse hastens forward. The women are trembling. Ariane runs to them and embraces them warmly, while the nurse looks on with apprehension. "Oh, they are alive, and so sweet," declares the girl. (Ariane: "Ah, I have found you.") She looks anxiously at them, to see if they have been harmed in any way. "No," they assure her, "but we are afraid." "Oh, how lovely I shall make you look, when we get to the light," Ariane continues.
     The nurse brings the lamp and the five women are found to be dishevelled and in rags, blinking pitifully as the light strikes them. Ariane is filled with compassion. They regard her silently at first, but answer when she asks their names, and how long they have been in the cavern. Selysette, it appears, has been there for more than a year, the others for shorter periods, so Barbe Bleue has told the truth. The poor prisoners look with admiration at their deliverer, and tell her mournfully how they have prayed and sung, and wept, waiting, waiting forever, it seemed to them. "Why did you not try to get out ?" asks Ariane. "It was forbidden," they reply, surprised. They repeat their names in order. The longhaired one is Méisande, the one with the great eyes, Bellangère, the little one hiding behind the pillar is Alladine, who speaks no tongue known to them. Alladine runs sobbing to Ariane, who is plainly astonished that the women have made no effort to free themselves. (Ariane: "Do you mean to live always in terror?")
     She sings to them of light and of a beautiful garden, with birds singing in the glorious spring-time; of the great sea with its mighty waves. As she ends, the water dripping from the roof extinguishes her lamp. The nurse shrieks with terror, and even Ariane is disconcerted. The five prisoners reassure her, pointing out that at the back of the cavern it is lighter. "Where does the light come from?" cries Ariane. She hurries forward to reconnoitre, and finds that above the rocks in the rear are great shutters. "Yes, but behind them is the sea. We have heard it beating against them," say the others in terror. Ariane declares it is light instead, and tries to open the shutters. She finds behind them glass which has been painted black, and calling for a stone she breaks through it. Eagerly gazing through, the women see a wondrous star. Ariane, overcome with joy continues to break the glass (Ariane "See ! This pane, and then that"), still singing triumphantly of the light. Trembling with emotion, the women crowd around her, mounting the rocks to look out. The light of day floods the cavern, the sea is heard booming without, the birds are carolling, and a flock of sheep go by, their bells jangling softly. Gazing eagerly forth, the women see different things: one the sea, another the sky, a third the trees alone. Filled with delighted curiosity they observe a. peasant at whom Selysette excitedly waves her long hair. He piously crosses himself. The village clock strikes noon. The women look at each other in compassion, noticing their rags and dishevelled hair; they comfort Alladine, who has begun to cry.
     Ariane urges instant departure, before they are discovered. She forces her way through the aperture she has made, and, mounting a staircase disappears. The others follow, singing their strange chant. They emerge in a beautiful garden, flooded with sunshine and bright with flowers, and express their joy and relief in graceful gestures as the lovely music surges about them and the curtain falls.
     ACT III. A short prelude, expressive of a new order of things. Scene, the same as in Act I. The jewels are still scattered about; it is night, and the room is softly lighted. Great chests, filled with costly raiment and ornaments stand about. The five women are posing before mirrors, arraying themselves in splendor, and arranging their hair, while Ariane advises and suggests. The music is now gay and happy. All are willing to remain for the present in the castle, for Barbe Bleue has departed, they know not where. They cannot depart in any case, for the moats are filled with water, and the bridges are gone. The peasants are standing guard.
     Ariane amuses the five women with bright chatter, admiring their charms, and showing them how to accentuate them. Alladine’s love for bright colours of discordant shades is gently checked. In a charming scene, each of the women chooses appropriate jewels for her adornment. (Ariane: "How will you use these lovely gems?")
     The nurse hurries in, proclaiming Barbe Bleue’s approach. (Nurse: "He has returned, he is here.") She mounts the staircase, to see what is happening without. The five women rush about shrieking, in search of a hiding place, gathering at last at a window in the gallery to gaze forth. Barbe Bleue advances, surrounded by huge blacks, with drawn swords. Terrified, all crowd around Ariane. The peasants charge the blacks, and drive them back, seizing Barbe Bleue, who is wounded and falls unconscious. They bind him hand and foot and bring him into the castle, as the five women wail in chorus that the peasants are drunk, and as much to be feared as the giant. Ariane opens the door, however (Chorus: "Open, open"), and the peasants stand on the threshold, in uncertainty. Their clothes are torn and disordered from the combat; they are impressed by Ariane’s majesty of demeanor. The oncoming crowd, at first inclined to disrespect, become silent when they behold her, and the leader, an old peasant, removing his cap, humbly asks if they may enter. Barbe Bleue is laid on a couch, and delivered to Ariane. She thanks the peasants for their fealty, and enquires if any have been wounded; then, bidding them farewell, she shuts the door. The other women have fallen on their knees in abject terror, during the colloquy with the peasants. Ariane examines Barbe Bleue’s wounds, which are trifling; the others rise, and crowding around him pityingly busy themselves with his comfort. Alladine kneels beside him, weeping. They find his bonds too tight, so Ariane cuts them with a dagger, despite the protestations of the nurse. Barbe Bleue sits up, stretches himself, and looks about him in silence. He rises to his feet, gazing at his wounded hand. Ariane gently kisses him on the forehead, bidding him adieu. He tries to detain her, but she steadily moves forward, followed by the nurse. Selysette asks her whither she is going. "Far from here," is the firm response. She asks each of the women in turn to accompany her, but all refuse, preferring their servitude. (Ariane: "The moon stars shine upon our way.") Alladine runs to her and throws herself into her arms, with tears. Ariane bids them all farewell, wishing them happiness, and departs, with the nurse. Barbe Bleue, desiring the unattainable, gazes wistfully after her as do the others, and the curtain falls.

CENDRILLON
(Cinderella)

Fairy tale in four acts. Music by Massenet. Text by Henry Cain, after Perrault’s story.
     CAST: Cendrillon (Cinderella)—Soprano. Madame de la Haltière—Mezzo-soprano, or Contralto. Prince Charming—Falcon. The Fairy—Light Soprano. Noëmia— Soprano. Dorothea—Mezzo-soprano. Pandoiphe—Bass, or Baritone. The King—Baritone. The Dean of the Faculty—Tenor. The Master of Ceremonies—Baritone. The Prime Minister—Bass, or Baritone. Six sprites, servants, courtiers, ballet of fairies, the king’s herald. Place and time legendary; about the eighteenth century. First performance, Opéa Comique, Paris, 1899.
     ACT I. Short prelude, descriptive of legendary times. The house of Madame de Ia Haltière. A great room with a fireplace, servants running to and fro, trying to carry out conflicting orders. "Heavens, what a woman !" is their cry, but they stop short, dismayed, as Pandolphe enters. He smiles, ruefully (Pandolphe: "Go on, it’s only !"), telling them not to trouble. They inform him that their master suits them, but their mistress, "La, la !" quite another story. Pandolphe is amused. "Why," he says to himself, "did I marry the creature?" (Pandolphe: "To the husband should the power belong!") "The new wife has turned my house upside down, and ill-treats my beloved daughter. And her airs, good heavens ! But some day I will be master !" As he speaks, the servants announce their mistress, who enters with her two proud daughters. (Mine. de Ia Haltière: "Make yourselves beautiful to-night.") She tells them they are to see the king to-night, and instructs them as to their behaviour. "A ball is like a battlefield," she declares. "Hold yourselves straight, and don’t fidget !" She puts them through the minuet, with great ceremony. (Mine. de la H: "Take a graceful attitude.") The servants, who are still rushing about, bring in dressmakers, tailors, and hairdressers, who gorgeously array the two girls, and then depart. In the midst of their toilette, their mother starts convulsively, looking so strange that all gaze apprehensively at her. Pandolphe appears, handsomely attired; the three women make scornful comments upon his promptness. "And has he nothing to say about our fine raiment?" angrily demands his wife. "Certainly she is mad," he says gleefully to himself. "She will have to be shut up somewhere before long. How delightful !" They hurry off to the ball (Pandolphe: "My poor Lucette, I go!"), chattering about their approaching triumphs, while the servants comment on their ugly faces.
     Enter Cinderella sadly. (Cinderella: "How happy are my sisters!") Her sisters go to balls, and enjoy themselves in idleness, while she must always work. She is the little cricket, she supposes, whose place is by the hearth; they are butterflies fluttering in the sunshine. Sitting beside the fire, she falls asleep. The music grows soft and sweet, and the fairy godmother enters. (The Fairy: "Dear little child.") She calls on the goblins, sprites, and will-o’-the-wisps to appear. (The six sprites: "What is your will?") She tells them to make Cendrillon always happy and beautiful. (The Fairy: "Make her a robe of magic tissue." (Chorus of fairies: "All the little birds."). She appoints one to be her coachman, another hostler, another to make a love philtre, another to act as page, the rest to be postilions. When all is ready, she awakens Cendrillon, and informs her that she is to go to the ball. "But how can I in this dress ?" asks the puzzled girl. "Look at it !" cries the fairy, and with delight Cendrillon sees her lovely robe. Overjoyed, she dances about, and admires the pretty little fairies and her fine carriage. The fairy godmother warns her to leave the ballroom exactly at midnight, and gives her a magic glass slipper, so that her stepmother and stepsister will not recognise her. In wild excitement, with all the fairies dancing around her, Cendrillon hurries away.
     ACT II. The king’s palace. The ballroom and the palace gardens are brilliantly illuminated. There is a short prelude, and at the rising of the curtain Prince Charming, the king’s only son, is listening to the music of the lute, which does not amuse him. The master of ceremonies, followed by the courtiers, advances, uttering empty compliments and bowing obsequiously. The prince does not even notice them, and there is a murmur of disappointment, as the courtiers depart. A company of learned men now approach, but the pursuit of culture has no interest for the prince; he will not even listen. A group of statesmen receive the same treatment. Shrugging their shoulders, they leave the royal presence. Sighing, the prince deplores his unhappy lot. (Prince Charming: "Go, leave me to my boredom.") He longs to find a, woman whom he can love with all his heart, but none pleases him. The King enters in pomp, with his court (The King: "My son, you must obey"), and announces that the daughters of the greatest nobles of his kingdom are to pass in procession before the prince, and from among them he must choose his bride. They enter, richly arrayed (Chorus: "Make a choice ! Take thy bride !"), and with great ceremony bow before the prince. At the end of the procession Madame de la Haltière appears, with her two daughters, accompanied by the dean of the faculty, the master of ceremonies and the prime minister. The wretched Pandolphe stands apart. (Septette: "We are in his presence.") Madame and her daughters dance a stately minuet with the three officials. The two girls are nervous and frightened, and forget their steps. In the midst of the confusion, Cendrillon appears. The prince regards her with delight, and there is a general stir in the ballroom. (Chorus: "Behold the wondrous beauty!") The stepmother and her daughters are furious, but thanks to the magic slipper do not recognise Cendrillon. All bow before her as to the future queen. Pandolphe is lost in admiration. The prince addresses Cendrillon with rapture (Prince: "O lovely dream, which comes to me alone"), asking her name. Cendrillon replies modestly, "To you I am the Unknown." (Cendrillon: "You have said I am a dream"; Duet, Cendrillon, the Prince: "I should lose thee.") The prince, more and more enamoured, declares his passion, and Cendrillon’s shy glances show that it is returned. In the height of their ecstatic happiness the clock strikes twelve. Cinderella hastily departs, leaving the prince bewildered, but the ball continues as the curtain falls.
     ACT III. Same as Act I. Enter Cendrillon, out of breath, and excited. (Cendrillon: "At last I have arrived!") She tells of her hurried flight through the palace gardens, the terror she felt as she passed the ghostly marble statues in the moonlight, and how at last she had lost the precious glass slipper. Piteously, she calls upon her fairy godmother to help her, for indeed, indeed, she avows, she has done her best. The carillon sounds. Cendrillon is reassured, and laughs aloud at her fears; then, observing her familiar surroundings, contrasts this miserable state with her triumph at the ball. Hearing her parents approaching, she hides within the bedroom.
     The four enter quarrelling. Pandolphe insists that the Fair Unknown is beautiful; the others can see nothing in her. (Quartette: " ’Tis true, ’tis true!") The stepmother, indeed, is quite abusive, and declares the prince was quite right to send the baggage about her business. Pandolphe tries to protest, but is quelled when his wife begins to boast of her ancestry. (Mine. de Ia H.: "When one has more than twenty quarterings.") The daughters uphold her, but Pandolphe says dolefully he would not mind obscurity, if it brought peace. Cendrillon enters. "What is the matter, dear father," she asks gently. Her calm enrages the excited women, who all tell the story of the ball at once. (Terzette: "An unknown, an int rig-ante.") Pandolphe cannot get in a single word. Cendrillon inquires what the prince said when the Unknown suddenly vanished. "He said that his eyes must have deceived him at first; the Unknown was ugly enough to be hung," is the glib reply. Cendrillon turns pale, and swoons. Pandolphe orders the three women out. They retort with insults, and in wild hysterics rush from the room. Pandolphe tries to soothe his child (Pandolphe, Recitative: "My poor beloved child"; Duet, Pandolphe, Cendrillon: "Come, let us leave this town"), saying that they will go away to the country, and be happy once more. Cendrillon is enchanted. They will gather flowers, and listen to the nightingale, and all sorrow will be forgotten ! Kissing her tenderly, Pandolphe departs. Cendrillon, alone, muses upon all that has happened (Cendrillon: "Alone I will depart, dear father"), mourning over the prince’s doubt of her. She has dreamt of love, but now awakening, she bids farewell to all she is leaving behind: her turtle-doves, the palm branch blessed by the priest, the big armchair, in which as a child, she sat on her mother’s knee. Weeping, she calls upon her mother. Thunder and lightning now begin, and Cendrillon departs through the storm.
     The scene changes to the home of the fairies, a beautiful meadow, full of flowers; the sea in the distance. It is night. (Chorus of sprites: "Ah, fugitive shapes!") Enter three sprites in haste (Terzette: "But yonder, back there in the darkness!") ; they tell the others they have seen a mortal child. The fairy godmother, who is perched in the oak-tree, adds to their news that there is another mortal also, a beautiful youth; that the two are lovers, but cannot see each other. (The Fairy: "Let them not see each other.") Prince Charming and Cendrillon wander side by side, in the meadow, separated only by a hedge of flowers, each invisible to the other; nor can they see the fairies. They kneel before the oak. (Duet, the Prince, Cendrillon: "A poor soul in deep distress": "You who can see all.") The prince tells of his lost happiness, and Cendrillon begs the fairy to restore it to him. While they are pleading, they recognise each other’s voices, but still are invisible as before. The fairy, appearing to them, amid the oak branches, waves her wand, and the ban is removed. Fairies surround them, singing, and lulled by their voices, they fall into a magic slumber (Chorus of sprites: "Sleep, dream").
     ACT IV. Cendrillon’s terrace. Short prelude, telling of peace and contentment. Pandolphe is bending over Cendrillon, who sleeps. He had found her beside a brook, insensible, and since then she has been in a deep stupor. Suddenly she awakens, bewildered. Her father reassures her, saying that she has talked in her long sleep of the ball and of Prince Charming, and of an enchanted oak and a glass slipper. "Then I have been dreaming all these things ?" says the girl in wonder. "Undoubtedly, my child, for they never happened!" is the reply. Voices of young girls are heard in the distance (Chorus: "Open thy door and thy window"), greeting the spring. Joyously they call to Cendrillon, who answers (Cendrillon: "Spring returns!"). Passing by, the girls go off, singing. The stepmother approaches, and seizing Cendrillon’s hand, Pandolphe takes to flight. Madame de Ia Haltière, as usual, rushes in tumultously, followed by a rabble of servants (Mine. de Ia H.: "Come here; go back"). She announces that the king has sent to all lands for princesses of high degree to please Prince Charming (Mine. de la H.: "Learn, that to-day the order of our king"), but that after he has seen them all, she and her daughters will appear, and one of them will surely capture his fancy. As the king’s herald is heard approaching, she makes a deep curtsey, then hurries out, pushing the poor servants to right and left in her haste. The herald announces that the prince will receive that day the princesses, who are to try on a glass slipper which the Fair Unknown had dropped in her flight.
     Change of scene: the Court of Honour, high noon. (Chorus: "Hurrah, Hurrah, the cortège advances.") The princesses appear in procession and pass before the prince (Chorus: "All hail! All hail !"). The prince is sad and distrait (The prince: "Placed in its case, on a cushion of flowers"); his eyes are fixed upon the glass slipper, or else closed in indifference. The fairy’s voice is heard without. (Chorus: "Enchantment, Oh wonder.") She bids the prince look up, and lo! and behold Cendrillon stands before him. She speaks to him gently, and the fairy puts her hand in his. The fairy slipper fits her alone. Pandolphe joyfully embraces his daughter, and her stepmother, not to be outdone, greets her effusively, as "My daughter, my adored Lucette !" Pandolphe, addressing the crowd declares that allis now happily ended, and asks their congratulations. (Chorus: "The play is ended!")

DER ROSENCAVALIER
(The Knight of the Rose)

Lyric drama in three acts. Music by Richard Strauss. Text by Hugo von Hoffinansthal.
     CAST. The Princess von Werdenberg—Soprano. Octavian, a youth familiarly known as "Quin-Quin"—Mezzo-Soprano. Sophie—Soprano. Marianne—Soprano. Annina—Contralto. Baron von Lerchenau—Bass. Herr von Faninal—Baritone. Valzacchi—Tenor. Time, the eighteenth century, under Maria Theresa. Place, Vienna. First performance, Dresden, January, 1911.
     ACT I. The bedroom of the Princess von Werdenberg. Her husband, the Field-Marshal, being absent she is entertaining Octavian, a youth of seventeen. They have just rung for breakfast, which is brought in by a little negro boy. They sing a love duet, and to waltz measure Octavian contrasts the privations of a soldier on the field with their luxurious surroundings. He would not change for all the honours of a Field-Marshal! Baron von Lerchenau, a cousin of the Princess, is now announced. He is a middle-aged roué, with an evil tongue, and it would never do for him to see Octavian. The latter hides behind a screen, and dresses himself as a chambermaid, emerging demurely, to the great appreciation of the Baron, who almost forgets what he is saying to the Princess. His mission is to find some relative who will be the bearer of the silver rose, his betrothal token, to the fair Sophie von Faninal. She is the daughter of an army sutler, who has been made a noble. The Baron thinks marriage with her a descent in the social scale. Still, she has money, and that is the main thing. The Princess, the Baron, and Octavian as the chambermaid, join in a merry terzette on the subject of the approaching marriage.
     The Princess now receives callers; and protegés, who ask for alms. The dressmaker presents herself, asking questions incessantly. Valzacchi and Annina, two scandal-mongers, who gather news for their disreputable newspaper, "The Black Times," manage to gain admittance. While the Princess is in the hands of the hairdresser, she is amused by a flute-player and a singer. The Baron’s attendants, a scoundrelly lot, come in, with the notary, to make the final money arrangements for the betrothal. The Baron quarrels hotly with the notary, and the singer to drown their angry voices sings louder and louder, until he almost bursts. The two scandal-mongers impudently assure the Baron that they will take excellent care of Sophie in the "Black Times."
     The Baron having departed in a fury, the Princess plaintively sings of her unhappy fate, married to an old man, whom she does not love. Octavian assures her of his undying affection, but she cynically speaks of the passing of time. "To-day, or to-morrow or the next day, he will forget." And since it is only a matter of time, why not send the boy with the silver rose to Sophie? She has read often in legends of the results of sending handsome messengers on a love-errand, but nevertheless, he shall go! She bids him farewell. Curtain.
     ACT II. The house of Herr von Faninal. Like all "beggars on horseback," he is greatly set up by his new honours. Languidly, he awaits the coming of the messenger with the silver rose. Sophie and Marianne, beautifully dressed, are with him. Octavian, to his amusement, is preceded by a flourish of trumpets, and a regiment of footmen. He sings of the silver rose, which he gracefully presents to Sophie. She is unspoiled by all her grandeur, and replies simply. The Baron bustles in, and seeing that Sophie is charming vulgarly embraces her, to Octavian’s dismay, and breaks into a charming waltz song, with rather questionable words, which make the women blush. His attendants suddenly appear, preceded by a crowd of frightened maid-servants, to whom, following their master’s example, they have been making rude advances. As the Baron and Sophie’s father depart to arrange the details of the marriage contract, Sophie lingers with Octavian, who tells her he loves her, and cannot bear to think that she is to marry the Baron. He says he will think of some plan to break off the match, but the ever present scandalmongers overhear him, and inform the Baron. A quarrel follows, and the Baron is unable to see why any girl should not be charmed to marry him. It takes a sword thrust from Octavian to convince him to the contrary. The Baron shouts for help, and all ‘the servants rush in. Sophie’s father is determined to have the match take place, as it will complete his aggrandisement, he thinks; and Octavian sorrowfully departs. The Baron now soothes his wounded feelings in wine, and becomes as brave as a lion. He drunkenly sings the "Leiblied," with variations, and his joy is complete when’ he receives a letter from the Princess’s supposed chambermaid, saying she will meet him the following night. This gives him an excuse to encore himself in the "Leiblied."
     ACT III. A questionable hotel. Supper for two is laid on a table decorated lavishly with candles. Valzacchi and Annina are bustling about, making preparations. Their plan is to station spies everywhere so that everything the Baron says or does can be heard and seen. Octavian has been helping them, but goes out, presently returning with the Baron. He looks very attractive in his maid’s costume, and the Baron is delighted. When the latter enters the room he makes a dash for the table and extinguishes most of the candles. "Such extravagance !" he declares. Octavian is not responsive to his overtures at first, and when the Baron tries to embrace him, a head appears from a trap door in the floor. The Baron is mystified by this and also by the fact that Octavian seems to him to resemble the youth who bore the silver rose to Sophie. Yet he is sure he is not drunk—not yet, at least. The mystery increases when Annina appears, how he cannot determine, as a deserted wife. She points to her four children who crowd around the Baron, calling him "Papa." The Baron tries to make his escape, but is intercepted by the chief of police, who asks him to explain his presence in a bedroom with a young woman. He declares it is perfectly proper; the girl is his betrothed. Faninal enters just in time to hear an uncomplimentary remark of the exasperated Baron, who finds he has lost his wig. Faninal falls in a swoon, and the Baron hopes he can escape, but Octavian, after a whispered conversation with the chief of police is divesting himself of the chambermaid disguise behind the bed-curtains, and handing the articles of apparel, one by one to that functionary, who receives them with due solemnity.
     The Princess now makes her appearance, and takes in the whole situation. The Baron declares he has done nothing to prevent his marriage with Sophie, and is indignant because Faninal, now his natural self,does not agree with him. The Princess tells him a few home truths, and to add to his discomfiture, servants bring in huge bills for the expense incurred by the inn on his account, including an impossible number of candles. He hurries away, lest any further misfortune befall him, and the Princess, in a charming scene, joins the hands of the young pair, who, singing an ecstatic love duet, depart with her. 3ophie has forgotten her handkerchief, and the little negro page comes back to find it. The curtain falls.

ELEKTRA

Tragedy in one act. Music by Richard Strauss. Text by Hugo von Hoffsmansthal.
     CAST. Clytemnestra—Mezzo-Soprano. Elektra—Soprano. Chrysothemis—Soprano. Aegisthus—Tenor. Orestes—Baritone. The Foster-father of Orestes—Bass. The Confidant—Soprano. The Train-bearer—Soprano. Two servants—Tenor and Bass. The Housekeeper—Soprano. Five Servants—Two Sopranos, Two Mezzo-Sopranos, and an Alto. Men and Women servants. Time, shortly after the Trojan War. Place, the King’s Palace at Mycene. First performance, Dresden, 1909.
     ACT I. The inner court, back of the palace of Clytemnestra, near the servants’ quarters. Servants gossiping at the well, as they draw water. One of them asks: "Where is Elektra ?" "This is the hour in which she mourns for her father," is the reply. Elektra, as they speak is creeping along by the wall. As they go up to her she shrinks back, like a frightened wild beast, into the shadow of the wall, her arm held before her for protection. The maids nudge each other. "Did you see that?" says one. "Yes, she is nothing but an animal. Now, she will lie there and groan." "Better not go near her." They tell each other the strange things the girl says, and how when they remonstrate with her, her only answer is to howl like an animal. Once she had cried out "A vulture is tearing my breast !" Why the Queen should permit such a creature to roam about unchecked, they cannot see. She should be shut up, and would be if they had any say in the matter. Some of the younger servants pity her, saying that she has had a terrible sorrow, and see how she is treated, fed from a bowl, like a dog, and beaten so cruelly. "She is a king’s daughter," says one little maid, excitedly. "I would serve her if I could. i would bathe her poor torn feet, and wipe them with my hair." "Stuff and nonsense !" says the Housekeeper. "Go in, to your work !" "All the same," persists the girl, "if she is mad, no one can look her in the eyes, without fear. She is royal, after all, and I, for one long for the day when she will be avenged."
     "Go in, I tell you," says the Housekeeper. "Do you think we will have this mad creature at table with us when she spits in our faces, and calls us everything she can think of that is horrible."
     The others continue to talk of Elektra’s constant prayer that the blood of her father shall be wiped from the floor, and that the foul blot upon his name be wiped out also. Even the children born in the palace are tainted with blood, she continually declares. "Was not that what she kept saying?" asks the Housekeeper, and all the servants in chorus, cry out "Yes, Yes! That and more." "Oh, oh, they are killing me," cries the little maid, who is being whipped for her defence of the unfortunate princess. Elektra herself now appears (Elektra: "Alone, ah, all alone!") wildly lamenting the murder of her father Agamemnon by his wife Clytemnestra, and her paramour, Aegisthus. She shrieks aloud: "Agamemnon! Agamemnon !" imploring him to return to her. "This is the hour," she says, "when they struck thee in thy bath, and the blood, the blood, gushed forth! But thou shalt return, and avenge thyself ! Thou wilt return in kingly strength, not as the pale shadow that I have seen in the twilight. All those that loved thee shall give thee their strength, thy horses and dogs, that went with thee to the chase, and thy three children, thy son Orestes, and thy two daughters. I shall skip and dance like a shadow, for all the world to see, that men may say ‘This was a king!’ Agamemnon ! Agamemnon !" She has worked herself into a frenzy of hatred, and desire for revenge, when Chrysothemis, her younger sister calls softly "Elektra !" She starts, then asks her what she desires. Let her say it quickly, and depart. Chrysothemis is frightened, and shields herself with her hands. "What do you desire, daughter of Clytemnestra ?" cries Elektra going up to her. "They are plotting," says the girl trembling. "Those two?" contemptuously. "Yes, to shut you up in a tower, ne’er more to see the light of day." Elektra laughs horribly. "Yes, I beard them," persists the girl; "I listened at the door." "There is no need of that," declares Elektra. "The very walls speak of carnage ! But sit down by my side and implore the gods with me for the death of these wretches." "Nay," says Chrysothemis, "I am not like you. I cannot remain quiet, but must wander here and there, hearing voices call me, but seeing nothing. My eyes are blinded with tears and my voice fails me. Oh, my sister !" "Yes?" sharply. "It is you who bring this torment," goes on Chrysothemis. "But for you they might let us go free. I am a woman, I desire to live and to love; to hold a child in my arms, and shield it with my body. Canst thou not see?" "Always the body," says Elektra, but Chrysothemis does not heed. "Mercy !" she cries. "Let these things rest ! Our brother comes not; there is no word from him. We shall grow old, as other women do without having lived. I am a woman, I desire the life of a woman." She bursts into tears. "Howl, then," is Elektra’s contemptuous answer. "I hear running. Something evil is afoot." "Clytemnestra has dreamed," cries Chrysothemis, "and her dream was of Orestes. She shrieked in her sleep. Fear has made her an evil thing. Go, or she will kill thee !" "I will speak to her to-day," declares Elektra, quietly.
     A torchlight procession is seen, with overdriven animals, and every sign of cruelty. Clytemnestra appears in the window, pallid, and bloated of countenance, and wearing a purple robe which ill becomes her. She is supported by her confidant, and leans upon an ivory cane, set with jewels. Her trainbearer, dark-skinned, and dressed in yellow, with thin lips and a sinuous motion, like a serpent, stands close behind. The Queen wears many jewels and amulets, which clank as she moves. Her eyelids are so thick and heavy, that she can scarcely hold them up. Elektra stands proudly before her. "What do you desire?" shrieks the queen. "Oh, why are you free to torment me? You would blast me with your glance. Why must I suffer you? Tell mc, 0 gods?" Elektra craftily flatters her. "Art not thou among the gods, being thyself a goddess ?" she says. Clytemnestra suspects a ruse, and turns to her maids. "She mocks you !" is their verdict. "She reads my thoughts," says the queen, "but hers are always a mystery." Elektra speaks in her ear:
     "This vermin hanging to thee keeps thee from thinking." "I will speak with her alone," cries the perplexed Clytemnestra. She comes with her maid to the door. They try to keep her from going to Elektra, but she becomes furious (Clytemnestra: "You two, be silent!"), telling them they are sucking her blood like vampires, and are creatures of Aegisthus. She desires the truth alone, but where shail she seek it. "I will speak with my daughter. Leave me with her," she commands. The two women slowly go in. It is dark in the court.
     "What shall I do to keep me from evil dreams," says the wretched queen. "Do you dream, then?" "Yes, even in waking. These amulets are worn to keep away evil dreams. Canst thou, too, help me in this?" "I, my mother?" says Elektra, evenly. "Yes, thou art wise; speak a few words. I toss restlessly at night upon my bed, and am in terror. Or else I dream of horrors, and wake to find that night still lingers, and the torches burn beside me. But this must end, when blood flows again—the right blood." "How strange," says Elektra monotonously. "The right blood," the queen continues, "When it flows, I shall sleep." Elektra, with her eyes fixed on her mother, slowly repeats her last words, with deep meaning. "But what blood is this?" asks the queen. "What beast shall furnish it?" Elektra laughs. "An impure beast," she declares. "Then, a prisoner?" "No." "And what drugs must be used?" says the queen. "Very powerful ones," Elektra intimates, covertly smiling. Playing upon Clytemnestra’s credulity, Elektra tells her that the victim is to be a woman, "one who has mated," and the slayer a man who belongs to their house. The time and place she knows not, nor does it matter. She suddenly accuses her mother of having plotted Orestes’ death lest be should kill her. She sees fear in her eyes; by this she knows Orestes lives. Clytemnestra denies everything and hysterically threatens Elektra, because, knowing the remedy for her sleeplessness, she will not disclose it. (Clytemnestra: "Of those without I have no fear") Elektra, who has been standing in the shadow, springs toward the queen, speaking in a sort of trance. (Elektra: "Who must bleed? Thine own throat!") She graphically describes the queen’s death, which she sees before her as in a vision; always gazing steadily at her mother, who stands panting with terror. Lights shine into the court, and the confidant, hurrying in, whispers in the queen’s ear. She listens dully at first, then with excitement. Servants crowd into the Court, and the light falls upon their interested and excited faces. Clytemnestra looks threateningly toward Elektra, then almost runs into the house, the servants hastening after her. "What is this news ?" muses Elektra. "Oh, why does nothing tell me what gave this woman such joy !" Chrysothemis rushes in, crying "Orestes is dead !" Elektra, deep in thought, waves her aside. She repeats her words, saying it is known to all but his sisters. "It is not true," declares Elektra, quietly, and Chrysothemis falls on the ground, in despair. "Do not believe this," says Elektra, roughly shaking her sister. "Well, I saw the men who brought the tidings." "It is not true," her sister continues to repeat. "Oh, he is dead," Chrysothemis laments, "dragged by his horses, which trampled him to death." The two girls fall down upon the doorsill, and are almost stumbled over by a servant, who orders a horse to be saddled immediately. A message is to be sent in haste to Aegisthus. "We must do it then," says Elektra. "I ?" asks Chrysothemis, timidly. "Yes, we two." "When?" "To-day; or better still, to-night." "What must we do, sister?" "That which our brother would have done; since he cannot be here to do it." "Oh, what is it F" cries Chrysothemis. "You and I," says Elektra slowly, "must kill this man and this woman." "Our mother ?" asks Chrysothemis, trembling. "Yes, and that other. And we must not fail. How shall we do it?" "How can we with these weak hands?" "I can accomplish it," declares Elektra, calmly. "The axe, with which our father." "It is you who have kept it," the cowardly Chrysothemis quickly reminds her. "Yes, for our brother. But now we must do it." "Sister, will you kill Aegisthus?" inquires the younger girl, in terror. "Either one first. What does it matter?" "I am afraid !" cries Chrysothemis. "No one watches at the door. I will go alone," Elektra plans quietly. "If I need thee—" Chrysothemis protests, not wishing to be implicated in the deed. Elektra seizes her and by sheer force of will endeavours to inflame her sister’s more sluggish intelligence. She flatters her, working upon her physical emotions. (Elektra: "So strong art thou.") She describes her strong supple body, so full of life and beauty, and the vigour of womanhood. She will be a sister to her more than ever before, and prepare her for her bridal, and for the coming of a child. Chrysothemis cries out in anguish, and Elektra reminds her that first she must help her with her purpose. She embraces her sister, who weakly says: "Count not upon it," and flees in terror of Elektra. "I hate thee !" calls Elektra after her. "I will go alone." She crawls along by the wall of the palace, keeping in shadow, and listening. She stops, then resumes her progress.
     Orestes appears, and his outline is seen in the dim light. He conies forward; Elektra sees him, and his eyes rest upon her. "What seekest thou, O stranger," she says. "I perform a task. Leave me alone !" "I am waiting," declares Orestes. "Are you a servant here?" "Yes, I serve," answers Elektra, significantly. "Begone !" "I have an errand, and await a signal," declares Orestes. "The Master is not here," persists Elektra. "Why should she want you ?" "My errand is with the Queen," the young man continues. "I bring her proofs of the death of Orestes." Elektra, almost distraught by this news, denounces him. Why should he live, she cries passionately, when one so much more needed is gone? "Speak not of him," is Orestes’ reply and he asks her who she is. In the same exaltation, she tells him she is of the blood of Agamemnon and Orestes; she is Elektra. He cannot believe it, and bitterly laments over her changed looks, wildly calling her by name. She is terrible to behold, he cries out. "Yes," she says, "but my sister Chrysothemis within is fair to look upon, and awaits a lover." He whispers in her ear, "Orestes lives." She looks at him in excitement. He swears it by the body of his father. "Who, then are you?" demands the girl. The old servant interrupts them, kneeling with others who follow him, before Orestes and kissing his robe. Elektra trembles violently. "Who are you?" she says again. "The dogs knew me," answers Orestes, softly, "but my sister knows me not !" The girl pronounces his name in a sort of muffled shriek, and falls into a frenzy of joy, as she examines him feature by feature, hungrily. He embraces her, but she draws back in shame. This is not the Elektra he knew, beautiful and desirable, but the shadow of his sister, a creature consecrate to hate, and lost to all that means womanliness. Why does he tremble? she asks. "Because of the path I must take," he declares; "but the gods will strengthen me." "Ah," she tells him, "action is the rest of the soul, a soft couch bringing relief. Happy a thousand times will he be who brings this relief about, and those who see his work, or have a part in it." The foster-father of Orestes comes to call him, cautioning silence. Orestes arises, and goes in.
     Elektra hides within the shadow waiting, with the impatience of an animal. All she regrets is that she has not given Orestes the axe. A faint cry is heard within. "Strike, strike," shrieks Elektra, in a demoniac joy. A louder cry is heard in the palace, and a crowd of women servants rush out, with Chrysothemis, saying apprehensively that strangers are in the palace, the door is locked, and the queen is screaming horribly. "Assassins," cries one, in terror. "There is Elektra," says another. "Speak, speak, Elektra !" "No, no, we must seek aid."
     "Open the door, Elektra." The girl stands before it, and will allow no one to pass. "Here is Aegisthus," calls a maid, and the frightened servants run to hide themselves. Aegisthus calls loudly for torches, but no one responds. Elektra takes the torch from before the door and runs forward to meet him, bowing almost to the ground. She joyfully leads the way. Aegisthus asks her if Orestes is really dead. "The proofs are sure," she answers laconically. "And you, why do you hold the torch so unsteadily, why does your voice tremble?" "Because," says Elektra, "I am wise, and go with the majority now." She dances about him, then bows again. Aegisthus wonders at the darkness, but Elektra keeps his attention, and he enters the house. There is a sudden tumult within, and he appears at a window, tearing aside the curtain, and calling for help. "Agamemnon hears thee," cries Elektra, joyfully. He is dragged away, but again struggles to the window; then disappears. Elektra’s face expresses exultant hate; she can hardly breathe. The servants pour out of the house pell-mell, Chrysothemis crying out that Orestes has delivered them. All call his name aloud, and the cry is taken up within the palace also. (Chrysothemis: "Come, he is in the hall.") Chrysothemis describes the scene within and the frightful wounds of the slain. There is a tumult throughout the palace. "Hearest thou? Hearest thou?" cries Chrysothemis. "Do I not," says Elektra. "All that thou hearest comes from within me. I must lead them in the dance, yet I am rooted to this spot." She rises, with an effort. "We are in the hands of the gods," she says solemnly. The two sisters rejoice each according to her nature. Chrysothemis’s thoughts are upon love and freedom; Elektra’s upon the fulfilment of a great purpose, which had its roots in the eternal justice. "Yes, love kills," she declares, "but we cannot live without it." In the peculiar exaltation, which always characterises her, Elektra begins to dance, with strange steps. Chrysothemis calls to her, but she bids her be silent. The servants come curiously to behold her. "I bear the burden of happiness," she cries, exultant, then suddenly falls to the ground. "Orestes! Orestes!" calls Chrysothemis, wildly beating upon the door. There is a silence, and the curtain falls.

THE GIRL OF THE GOLDEN WEST
(La Fanciulla del West)

Opera in three acts. Music by Giacomo Puccini. Italian text by Guelfo Civinini and Carlo Zangarini from the drama by David Belasco. English text by R. H. Elkin.
     CAST. Minnie—Soprano. Jack Rance, Sheriff—Baritone. Dick Johnson (Ramerrez)—Tenor. Nick, Bartender—Tenor. Ashby, Express Agent—Bass. Sonora—Baritone. Trin, Sid, Handsome, Harry, Joe, Happy, Larkens, all Miners—Three Baritones, Three Tenors and a Bass. Billy Jackrabbit, an Indian—Bass. Wowkle, his Squaw—Mezzo-Soprano. Jake Wallace, a travelling minstrel—Baritone. Jose Castro, a Mexican—Bass. Postilion—Tenor. Miners, etc. Time, Gold Fever Era, 1849-50. Place, California, near the Cloudy Mountains. First production, Metropolitan Opera House, New York, 1910.
     ACT I. Scene, "The Polka", a miner’s saloon and dance-hall. Through a door at the rear there is a view of the mountains. It is sunset, but dark indoors. In the gloom, Jack Rance, the Sheriff, sits smoking. A mournful song arises from the camp. Nick, the bartender, appears, and lights the lamps and candles. The scene immediately becomes more lively. Miners troop in, calling for drinks. With rude horse-play they sing and dance together, to the tune of "Dooda-dooda-day." A game of cards is begun. Other miners enter, and, throwing down their saddles in a corner, crowd around the card table or call for food and drink. They look with rough sympathy at Larkens, who is wretchedly homesick, a feeling they themselves understand. Rance asks for Minnie. Trin, soon "cleaned out" at the faro table, throws down his cards, and leaves. Billy Jackrabbit craftily filches some cigars from the bar. Nick tells each of the miners that Minnie likes him best, to their great joy. In the distance Jake Wallace is heard singing a song of home (Jake: "I am thinking of my folks"), to a banjo accompaniment. The miners applaud, and join in the song with their rough voices, the chorus increasing in volume as more and more come in to listen. Larkens, completely overcome, begins to sob (Larkens: "I’ve had enough"). Sonora takes up a collection for Larkens among the boys, and he departs joyfully for home. The faro game continues; Sid, found cheating, is threatened with hanging, hut Rance suggests that a worse punishment will be to placard him with a card, and turn him loose, hanging him if he takes it off. This is done, and the cheat is kicked out of the "The Polka" by the miners. Ashby,the Wells Fargo Express Agent, enters, calling for whiskey, and tells Rance he will soon catch the road agent Ramerrez, being hot on his trail. The miners drink a toast to Minnie. "Soon to be Mrs. Rance," declares the Sheriff. Sonora scoffs at this, calling Rance a "yellow-faced old Chinaman." Rance accuses him of being drunk, and draws his pistol. After a scuffle, Sonora fires on the Sheriff, but Minnie, entering, seizes the pistol. The miners greet her warmly. She affectionately scolds Sonora; the others stand up for him. Joe brings a bunch of flowers, and all the others some little gift. As she greets the Sheriff, Sonora pays his account in gold-dust; Ashby commenting on the folly of keeping so much gold at "The Polka," with road agents abroad.
      Minnie quietly takes a Bible from the counter, and the men gather around her. She asks them questions, and they in return ask the meaning of certain words, sometimes with facetious comments, which she overlooks, speaking with simple sincerity of goodness and love. Billy sidles in, and drinks the heeltaps of the liquor in the glasses. He is already half drunk. Minnie inquires if he has married Wowkle, and he replies, "No, it is too late; got ‘urn baby !" She feels in his pockets, and finds the cigars, which she restores, and sends the Indian off. The mail carrier arrives. Ashby asks him if he knows a certain Nina Micheltorena. Minnie interposes, declaring that Nina is a hussy. Ashby tells Rance she is the betrayer of Ramerrez.
     The miners have gradually been leaving, and at last Rance and Minnie are alone. Rance begins to make love to her, but she repulses him, drawing her pistol. He tells her he loves her, and will have her although he is married. (Rance, Minnie: "When I left my little home"; Minnie: "Down home in Soledad") She replies that she will love no one until she is sure she has found the right man. Nick comes in, saying a man outside wants whiskey and water. "Tell him we drink our whiskey straight at ‘The Polka’ but will curl his hair for him," returns Minnie. Nick brings in the stranger, who is annoyed by this retort. When Minnie sees him she treats him with marked politeness and favour. He says he is Dick Johnson of Sacramento. Rance, becoming jealous, insults him. Minnie talks with him apart, recalling a former meeting when he had offered her a spray of jasmine. Rance angrily calls in the miners to make Johnson explain his business. Minnie vouches for him. Johnson invites Minnie to dance. She is shy, but finally accepts. The miners cheer them, and mark time by stamping their feet and clapping their hands. Castro, a Greaser, is brought in bound, and is about to be strung up, when he offers to show the men Ramerrez’s hiding place. He manages to get in a word with Johnson, concerning a certain signal, and the miners all join in the hunt, leaving Minnie with Johnson, and Nick, who is closing up the place.
     As they talk together, Johnson speaks of a kiss, and the girl says simply that she has yet to give the first kiss of love to any man. She lives alone in a little hillside cabin, and is happy. It is strange, she goes on naïvely, but in Johnson she finds something that helps her and makes her happy. He explains her feeling as love, and assures her that his feeling toward her is the same. She comments on the fact that the miners’ gold is in her keeping, and she would give her life to protect that for which they have worked and struggled so hard ! Many of them are toiling for the comfort of the families they have left at home, and they are often desperately homesick. Johnson suddenly declares he must go, and Minnie invites him to come and see her later at her cabin. She speaks sadly of her ignorance and her desire to learn, calling herself in disgust "a good-for-nothing." Johnson replies impulsively that she has the face of an angel. He hastily departs, and Minnie stands dreamily in the middle of the room, repeating: "He said—the face of an angel !" Curtain.
     ACT II. Minnie’s cabin, one hour later. Wowkle, the squaw, sits on the floor with her pappoose, which she is singing to sleep. (Wowkle: "Grant, 0 Sun-God, grant thy protection!") Billy enters, and squatting beside her announces that Minnie says they must marry; he bargains with her as to the price. Minnie comes in wearing a red cloak. The table is set for one, but Minnie tells the squaw to put on another place. Wowkle is greatly surprised, and still more so when the girl puts roses in her hair, and with great difficulty struggles into a pair of tight white slippers. To this magnificence she adds scent on her handkerchief, and a pair of gloves, anxiously asking the squaw if this is too much dress. Johnson knocks, and is about to embrace Minnie as he enters, when he sees the squaw. He apologises, but at intervals repeats the attempt, but Minnie repulses him each time. She tells him of her life (Minnie: "You’ve no notion how exciting"), of her rides among the mountains, and how she teaches, the miners; "her boys," she calls them. She offers him food, and he promises to send her some books. She likes love-stories she declares, hut does not understand them altogether. He tries to embrace her again, but she escapes, warning him. She sends Wowkle home. As the squaw opens the door, it is seen that a heavy snow-storm has begun. The wind rises in great gusts. Johnson again begs a kiss, and Minnie with a sudden impulse throws herself into his arms. As the storm increases the door blows open and snow drifts in. Johnson gazes out, and gives a start. She tells him all her simple heart, and he bids her a hurried farewell. The snow has drifted against the door and he cannot leave. "It is Destiny," asserts Minnie. (Duet, Minnie and Johnson: "Ah, how good to live and die.") He declares passionately that he will never leave her. She gives him her bed, and after undressing lies down before the fire herself, first saying her prayers. As she bids him good night, a call is heard: the miners coming to warn her of Ramerrez. She hides Johnson behind the bed curtains as the miners come in. Rance tells her that Johnson, whom she danced with, is the road agent, Ramerrez, but she cannot believe it. They have tracked him to her cabin. "Who told you he is Ramerrez ?" asks Minnie. "Nina Micheltorena, who gave us this picture of her lover," replies Rance. "He is not here !" cries the girl, and they bid her good night.
     Contemptuously, she orders Johnson to come out. He tells her the men are right, but asks her pity (Johnson: "Let me just say one word"), declaring that it had been his purpose to begin life anew, having been awakened to good by her love. Weeping, she tells him he has betrayed her trust, and robbed her of her first kiss. "Go !" she says sternly, and he obeys. A pistol shot follows, and the sound of a fall. Minnie opens the door and helps Johnson in. He resists (Johnson: "Don’t shut the door"). She drags him up a ladder into the garret chamber. As she returns, loud knocking is heard, and she admits Rance, who has come to arrest Johnson as Ramerrez. She denies that he is there, and tells him to look thoroughly to convince himself. He seizes her in his arms, and she threatens him with a bottle. As he stands underneath the loft a drop of blood falls on his hand. Minnie hastily says she must have scratched him, but he looks up and another drop is seen.
     Overjoyed, Rance starts toward the ladder, but Johnson comes down, half fainting. Rance sneeringly asks him if he is still anxious for that game of poker. Johnson faints, and Minnie declares she will play instead. "We are three of a kind," she alleges, "one no better than an-other." The stakes are to be her freedom and Johnson’s, against her marriage with Rance, and Johnson’s surrender. They begin to play with feverish haste, deciding upon the best two hands out of three. Minnie wheedles Rance, and pretends she is faint. While he is looking for whiskey to revive her, she stacks the cards, from her stocking, and thus wins the game. Rance, in a rage gets up and goes out. Minnie, laughing wildly, throws her arms around her lover. Curtain.
     ACT III. The Great California Forest, at early dawn. Rance is seated in a clearing, near the fire. He is pale and his clothes are torn. Nick and Ashby, accompany him, and Nick says he wishes none of them had ever seen Johnson. "And to think she is nursing him," adds Rance, "while we sit here in the cold." Men are heard shouting, and Ashby dashes off on horseback. A band of miners come running in, yelling with the indescribable excitement of a man hunt. Hurrying across the stage they disappear, and Rance gloats over the coming capture (Rance: " ‘Tis your turn now!"), which means his revenge. Other miners come hurrying in. A savage yell of triumph is heard in the distance. "Come on, boys," shout the miners. Sonora arrives on horseback, and all crowd around him for news. He tells them the bandit when taken was like a wolf set upon by dogs. Billy appears with a rope, for which he is trying to find a convenient branch. "Billy is the best at a noose," declare the miners, laugh-ing triumphantly. (Chorus: "The very finest hanging."). Nick gives Billy money not to make the noose until he gives the sign.
     Johnson is brought in by a troop of horsemen, pale and scratched, with torn and disordered dress; one shoulder is bare. The horses are methodically tied and the men fall into groups; six with drawn pistols are stationed on each side of Johnson, who stands in the centre, bound. Rance puffs cigar smoke in his face, with bitter insults. Johnson stands motionless, but defiant, as the miners close in around him with insulting epithets, making their accusations, which he denies, one by one. He has been a thief, he says, but not a murderer. They tell him they know he was planning to rob "The Polka," and take their hard-earned gold. Instead, he had robbed them of Minnie, whom they loved. Now, they will teach him to dance ! They hustle him roughly to the tree picked out by Billy. (Johnson: "At least spare me your mocking.") He asks to be allowed to speak. "What cheek !" is their answer, "Let him speak from the branch." Sonora overrules them, saying this is not fair. Johnson begs that Minnie shall not know how he met his death. (Johnson: "Let her believe that I have gained my freedom.") Rance, at this, strikes him in the face; but the miners demur. Johnson advances quietly to the tree, where Billy waits with the noose. Rance stands apart with folded arms.
      A cry is heard and the sound of a galloping horse. All quickly turn, crying: "It’s Minnie !" Rance rushes forward, demanding that the hanging proceed at once. Minnie appears on horseback, with hair flying in the wind, and a pistol held between her teeth. Dismounting, she runs swiftly toward the group of men surrounding Johnson. Rance, in a rage, repeats his order. Minnie throws herself before Johnson, protecting him with her pistol. Rance commands the miners to drag her away, but no one stirs. (Rance: "Drag her away from there.") The crowd presses round them in excitement. "Let’s hang him." "Stop it," is the cry. Sonora calls upon two men who have seized Minnie to let her go. All draw back; Rance, pale, and with set teeth, sits down beside the fire. Minnie pleads with her boys for Johnson’s life (Minnie: "Was ever one of you that said ‘Stop it!’"), reminding them of her loving care when they were sick. She claims Johnson’s life and freedom as a guerdon for all she has done. She will be answerable for him, she says. Sonora asserts that they are heart-broken, because Johnson has robbed them of her. He relents, but the others are obdurate. She coaxes them, reminding each of some past benefit. At last all are cajoled into forgiveness, and Minnie throws down her pistol. The miners are almost in tears, and fear they will be ridiculed for letting Johnson go when they return to camp. Johnson kneels before Minnie, kissing the hem of her dress. Sonora, speaking for the others, bids her farewell. (Sonora: "Oh, girl, your words must come from God.") She goes off with her lover, leaving the miners dejected and sorrowful. (Minnie: "Good-bye, beloved country; good-bye, my California!"; Chorus: "You’ll never come again.") Curtain.

GRISELIDIS
(Patient Griselda)

Lyric drama in three acts, with a prologue. Music by Massenet. Poem by Armand Silvestre and Eugène Morand, based upon an old story.
     CAST: Grisélidis—Lyric soprano. Fiamina—Soprano. Bertrada—Soprano. Loys, a little child, son of Grisélidis. The Devil—Baritone. Alain—Tenor. The Prior— Baritone. The Marquis—Baritone. Gondebaud—Bari-tone or Bass. Men-at-arms, spirits, voices of the night, angelic voices, servants, etc. Time, the fourteenth century. Place, Provence.
     PROLOGUE. A short prelude, describing the peace of the forest and the song of birds. Scene, a forest in Provence. It is evening. The shepherd Alain, lost in thought, is seated on the ground. He is in an ecstasy of joy over his love for Grisélidis. (Alain: "Open before me, 0 gates of Paradise.") The prior and Gondebaud, a retainer of the Marquis, enter, talking earnestly. They ask Alain if he has seen the Marquis, who has gone hunting. "No," he answers, "but he must surely pass this way." They decide to wait and during their conversation say what a pity it is that the Marquis does not marry. "He has not seen the right woman," declares Gondebaud. "If he were to see Grisélidis, he would surely marry her," says the lovesick Alain, impulsively, desirous of praising his beauteous lady-love. He describes her in glowing words. (Alain: "To see Grisélidis is to know.") Blue eyes and golden hair, fair as a lily, and best of all, with the charm and sweetness of a pure and gentle heart. The Marquis is seen coming towards them, but looking far into the depths of the forest, as if he saw a vision. (Marquis: "Behold, an angel passes by.") Grisélidis emerges from the wood, her golden locks touched by the sunset light. "She looks like Saint Genevieve," exclaims the prior. The Marquis, half believing it to be a miracle, falls on his knees, (Marquis: "Thou who bearest heaven’s peace"), and as she approaches, asks if she will be his bride. Grisélidis, with great simplicity accepts him, saying that since his will is one with the will of God, it must be right for her to do so. (Grisélidis: "Since heaven’s will with thine accords.") The Marquis kisses her reverently, saying the Prior will lead her to the castle the next day. The Prior takes her away, and Alain, heartbroken, sings a song of farewell. (Alain: "Close before mine eyes, oh, gates of Heaven.") Curtain.
     ACT I. The oratory of Grisélidis. Bertrada, her serving woman sits alone, spinning (Bcrtrada: "In Avignon, the land of love"). Gondebaud comes in, reproving her for singing love songs, when there is so much else to be thought of. (Gondebaud: "Hush, these songs of love have had their day.") The Marquis, it appears, is going to a far country to fight the Saracens. He enters, bidding Bertrada take the news to her mistress. He commends Grisélidis and her babe to the Prior’s care. The latter declares she shall not even leave the castle during his absence. (Marquis: "Wouldst thou make a prisoner of Grisélidis ?") "No," cries the Marquis," she shall be free to go whither she will, and to do what pleases her." The Prior asserts that to trust a woman thus is to tempt God, but the Marquis is confident of her purity, faithfulness and obedience. "Still, there is a devil," persists the Prior. "Certainly, but were he here, I would repeat my words !" "He is here," cries the Devil, suddenly appearing. The Prior is terrified, but the Marquis asks the new comer if he is indeed the Foul Fiend. "Yes," he replies, "but such a nice devil !" (Devil: "I’ve played the devil upon the earth.") How he does enjoy stirring up a pretty little scandal, and then, there are always husbands to be deceived ! "Not all of them," says the Marquis. "Yes, all," insists the Devil, blandly. "You have invoked me, and now I shall make you lose that wager I heard you making." He mockingly repeats the Marquis’s confident boasts, in the very tone he had used. "Begone !" cries the Marquis, exasperated. "You are beginning to doubt, already," jeers the Fiend, with a grin. "But give me a pledge of some kind." The Marquis solemnly gives him his signet ring, and laughing derisively at their defiance (Marquis, Prior: "We defy your power.") the Devil leaps out of the window.
     Dismissing the Prior, the Marquis sits alone (Marquis: "A brave soldier thinks naught") thinking of his coming separation from his wife and little son. "Will she indeed be true, this beauteous Grisélidis?" Looking up, he sees her by his side. (Grisélidis: "Pardon, my lord and my master.") The Marquis speaks tenderly of his love for her. She is free, he says, to go where she will during his absence. She assures him that life will mean little without him, and to reassure himself, he bids her repeat her conjugal vows. (Grisélidis: "Before the sun of heaven.") She declares her undying love, and promises obedience. The trumpet sounds a warning. Bertrada brings the child to take leave of his father (Marquis: "The sweetness of kisses"). He bids Grisélidis farewell, as Gonde-baud comes to summon him, and they depart for the war. (Flourish of trumpets.) Grisélidis at the window, watches the cavalcade out of sight. Bertrada begins to read the story of Ulysses and the faithful Penelope, and the curtain falls.
     ACT II. After a graceful and idyllic entr’acte, the terrace of the castle comes into view, a blue sea in the distance. The Devil stands waiting with a bouquet. (Devil: "Far from one’s wife, what peace there is.") He gets on very well with himself he declares, whereas near one’s wife there is always quarrelling and jealousy. "Yes, when the cat’s away—" "But she is not away," declares Fiamina, appearing. "And what may you be doing?" "Thinking of you, dearest wife," says the Devil. "And dancing around like that? Stuff ! You are planning mischief." "Oh, no, not I," he asserts. "Yes, you are, I saw your nose quiver !" They call each other names, and finally come to blows. (Fiamina, the Devil: "You scoundrel ! You wanton!") At last he acknowledges that he really has some work on hand, as the supply of souls is running short. He is to tempt a certain Mar-quise. "What? Then I’ll help you !" cries Fiamina, joyfully. They kiss and make up (Fiamina, Devil: "My heart ! My soul !"), then hide as Grisélidis comes sadly from the castle (Grisélidis: "The sea") mourning her husband’s absence. (Angelus) Bertrada brings in Loys, whom his mother teaches to pray for his father’s safety (Grisélidis: "Dear Lord, I pray thee"). The women sing within the castle (Chorus: "Hail Mary, full of grace").
     Bertrada returns, announcing that two strangers wish to see Grisélidis. "Let them enter," she says, and Bertrada departs with Loys. The scene is full of peace and beauty, soon to be disturbed, alas ! "Be clever," whispers the Devil to Fiamina. "Of course !" she answers. Grisélidis greets them courteously, and they respond (Fiamina, Devil: "Thanks for the courtesy"). They tell her they have travelled far and seen many countries. The Devil says that he is in sooth a slave-dealer, and bears a message from the Marquis. "Have you a token from him?" asks Grisélidis. "Naturally ! Here is his signet ring." They show the ring which the Marquis gave to the Devil as a pledge. They go on to say that he has bought Fiamina, as his slave, and is so enamoured of her that he now wishes Grisélidis to obey her, and to give her the wedding ring, and whatever else she desires in the castle (Fiamina, Devil: "When we saw the Marquis"). When he returns, Fiamina will be his bride. Grisélidis is indignant at first, but remembering that she promised to obey gives up the ring, and goes in search of her son. The two devils talk the conversation over, saying that perhaps they had better go with what they have, since the ring will fetch a good price, and surely Grisélidis will not be so simple as to fall into their trap altogether. "Better wait and see," concludes the Devil. "Besides, she must be tempted further. With love this time. I have it ! Alain the Shepherd. He is quite a poet." They plan that Fiamina shall take her place as Marquise, and dance together, laughing uproariously. Fiamina runs off.
     Night has now fallen, and the Devil, making cabalistic signs in the air, calls around him the voices of the night (Voices. "From woodland depths"). Spirits appear, whom he orders to spread abroad evil fancies and amorous thoughts (Devil: "You, who within you bear"). Brought thither by the spirits, Alain appears in the garden. The moon rises, giving an air of fantasy to the scene. (Alain: "Behold a bird that the cold breath of winter.") Grisélidis, led by strange influences descends the staircase. (Grisélidis: "Sleep has deserted me.") Alain speaks pathetically of his sorrow at losing her, and she tries to comfort him (Grisélidis: "With happiness again I see thee"), saying she will always remember him. He had sworn, he declares, never to see her more, and bids her farewell. "Stay !" she cries. He looks at her dumbly (Alain, Grisélidis: "List to my words"), then speaks of his lost faith, in his disappointment at losing her. "Had you loved me truly, faith would not have fled," she replies. "You know that I am now a wife and must maintain my husband’s honour." He tries to embrace her, but she moves away, then, half fainting falls into his arms. (Duet, Alain, Grisélidis: "In all my being.") The Devil stands near, gloating; but Alain, coming to himself, rushes away. Grisélidis calls to him, and the Devil suddenly snatches the child who has toddled in, from beside her, and vanishes. Grisélidis calls wildly for assistance, then prays to God to bring back the boy. Servants come forth with torches, calling "Loys ! Loys !" The Devil is heard far off laughing derisively. Curtain.
     ACT III. Oratory of Grisélidis. She is anxiously leaning from the window (Voices: "Loys ! Loys!"), having prayed all night for the return of the child. (Grisélidis: "Mine eyelids burn with tears.") She now prays fervently to St. Agnes for his recovery. Opening the triptych, she finds it empty. The image has disappeared. Bertrada hurries in, saying that an old man is waiting without, who declares that he knows who has the child. "And I know he is the Devil," she asserts bluntly. The Devil enters in the guise of an old man, and offers to tell Grisélidis who the thief is. "Speak," she commands. "He is an admirer of the lovely eyes of the Marquisc." "Oh ! Oh !" wails Grisélidis in anguish, and the Devil smiles gleefully. "The Eves are not all dead yet !" he chuckles to himself. "He will return the child for a kiss; just an airy trifle !" he goes on. Grisélidis is in agony, but the Devil says that since her husband has deserted her for another she can now retaliate. "God will know !" answers Grisélidis piously. "The old excuse," says the Devil to himself with a grin. "It often spoils my plans." Aloud he replies indifferently, "Of course the man may prefer to carry him off, or even string him up to the mast of his ship." He laughs. "But hurry, hurry !" Grisé-lidis takes a dagger from the case of arms on the wall, and sprinkles herself with holy water. The Devil winces, as if touched by flame. "Oh, oh !" he cries. "How that stings and burns!" Grisélidis after praying in an ecstasy of faith departs. "She will go !" declares the Fiend sagaciously. "But I must say, my Lady Grisélidis has given me more trouble than any other woman I ever tempted!"
     As he makes this reflection, the Marquis enters, unarmed and bareheaded. "Ah, the Marquis ! More trouble !" grumbles the Devil. "How still it is here," says the Marquis. "No one will speak to me. Where are my wife and child? Holà !" he shouts. "Sir, I greet you," answers the Devil politely, "though we have never met. Whom are you seeking?" "The Marquise." "Oh, then you are a friend of the late Marquis. Poor man, since lie is dead the Marquise has every excuse for—" "You lie !" declares the Marquis. "Oh, no, not at all. Look out of the window. There she goes to meet her lover !" "Oh, shameful," groans the Marquis. "Yes, quite so, but it is true ! Why not kill her with this?" He hands a dagger to the Marquis, who, as he takes it sees his own signet ring on the hand of the stranger. "It is the Devil !" he exclaims. "Kill them both !" suggests the Fiend, caj olingly, and departs. "He lies !" cries the Marquis. "And yet, should I not go? No, no ! The guilt is mine. (Marquis: "In the fate which overcomes thee.") I invoked the fiend through a foolish boast, and brought about this sorrow." (Marquis: "And my heart forever faithful.") Grisélidis approaches. "Griséidis ! Grisélidis !" he cries in anguish. She stands motionless on the threshold. "Am I still your wife ?" she asks. "That rests with you !" answers the Marquis. "What prompts the question ?" "Thou hast sent another woman to take my place," she informs him. "It is a lie," he asserts, astonished, " swear that I have never desired any but thee for my wife. In return, lie tells her what the Devil has charged against her, and she swears also that she has been true. He kneels before her, confessing that he had invoked the Devil, before his departure, and that the Fiend’s lies have brought sorrow upon them. Grisélidis throws herself into his arms. (Grisélidis: "Oh, my master"; Marquis: "As on the river s bank.")
     The Devil enters, regarding them with interest. "Here is the Fiend," cries the Marquis. "Know, Sirrah, that my wife still has my heart." "Ask her where the child is," says the Devil, quietly. "He is stolen," Grisélidis confesses. "Oh, God !" exclaims the Marquis, and the Devil, with a triumphant laugh, wishes them happiness, and vanishes. (Duet, Grisélidis, Marquis: "Ah, cruel hour, alas!") The Marquis calls for his arms, but they have disappeared from the wall. He implores the aid of God, and kneels with his wife before the altar. (Duet: "Oh, Holy Cross, Immortal Flame.") The cross above it is transformed into a sword of flame. The Marquis seizes it in exaltation. (Marquis: "Now, by this cross.") He swears that he wrn recover his son, and Grisélidis calls once more upon St. Agnes. Amid thunder-claps and lightning, the candles on the altar suddenly flame forth. A strange light fills the chapel, and as the doors of the triptych slowly open, St. Agnes is seen within, with Loys by her side. The servants and retainers stand spell-bound upon the threshold of the chapel. (Chorus: "Magnificat anima mca".) The Marquis with gratitude takes the child, giving him to his mother who embraces him tenderly. "The Evil Spirit is vanquished !" they cry in thankfulness and exultation. Curtain.

KONIGSKINDER
(Children of Kings)

A Fairy Opera in three acts. Music by Engelbert Humperdinck. Text by Ernst Rosmer.
     CAST: The King’s Son—Tenor. The Goose-girl—Soprano. The Fiddler—Baritone. The Witch—Contralto. The Wood-cutter—Bass. The Broom-Maker—Tenor. Two Children—Sopranos. The Councillor—Baritone. The Inn-keeper—Bass. The Inn-keeper’s Daughter— Mezzo-Soprano. The Tailor—Tenor. The StableMaid—Contralto. Two Gate-keepers—Baritones. Citizens, Councillors and their wives, Burghers and their wives, craftsmen, musicians, youths, maidens and children. Time, the days of legend. Place, Hellabrunn, and the forest in its vicinity. First performance, Metropolitan Op era House, New York, 1910.
     ACT I. A forest glade, with a mountain seen in the dis-tance. The Witch’s Hut to the left, with a yellow cat sunning itself, and a raven hopping about. There is an overgrown garden; and a drinking fountain, made from a tree trunk, has formed a little pool, wherein geese are paddling. The marks of their feet are in the soft mud. To the right is a great linden tree, beneath which lies the Goose-girl. She wears a ragged brown dress, and a red kerchief over her hair, a few golden locks of which fall over her forehead. She has hung a wreath of flowers on a branch, and is singing to herself. The Witch shouts to her out of the window, asking where she has left her geese. The girl laughs, calling to them, and the Witch sharply bids her come in and bake. "It is so dark in there, grandmother," says the girl. "You will never be a real witch’s child," the old woman grumbles, "loving the sun and air as you do!" The Goose-girl, mourning that her lily which she loves is drooping, slowly enters the hut, and returns with a large copper kettle and a key. She bends down, looking at herself in the fountain, and smiling at her reflection. The Witch angrily orders her to get to work. She scours the kettle with sand. (Goose-Girl: "Grandmother, how long have I lived, out here in the wood with you?") She questions the Witch about herself. (Witch: "Were you not so stupid"), and is crossly told that while she is making the bread she must not talk or sing, for magic is afoot. The Goose-Girl mixes the bread, and kneads it, putting a mysterious powder into the dough. Then she asks the Witch what is to be seen out in the great world. She will go herself to see, she thinks. The Witch informs her that she has placed spells all about to keep her from leaving, so she had better be careful. The maiden swings the bread three times around her head saying: "Who eats of this shall the loveliest see, As he desires them, things shall be." The Witch warns her that the bread she has made will kill anyone who eats it. The Goose-Girl begs her not to harm anyone, and she goes in, muttering. (Goose-Girl: "Linden beloved.") Soon the Witch comes out with a basket and goes to gather herbs for her magic arts.
     The Goose-girl, happy in being alone, feeds the birds, and puts the flower wreath on her head; then stops up the trough, so that she can see herself in the water, "Oh, I am pretty! Oh, I am pretty!" she cries joyfully, calling the geese to come and look at her. As they surround her, a branch is heard snapping in the forest. The Goose-Girl is frightened. (Goose-Girl: "The wind blew in the trees.") She steals a glance at her reflection, and the King’s Son comes behind her, smiling. He wears hunting dress and has great, burning eyes; he carries a bundle tied to a stick, and a sword by his side. "I bid thee good day!" he says, politely. The girl is more frightened than ever, and jumps off the trough. "Have you no word of cheer for me?" cries the youth. "Is this a man?" asks the girl, shyly. "From head to foot," is the firm reply. "I have never seen one before. What ought I to say?" she stammers. The King’s Son tells her she has red lips, but he fears the truth does not fall from Them (King’s Son: "Maiden, how came thy lips so red?"). She assures him that no one has ever come there but the sun in summer and the snow in. winter (Goose-Girl: "No one comes to the magic wood"). He answers that he has not come from the wood, but from the mountain, and is tired and hungry. "Is that a sword?" she asks, curiously. "Yes, but as yet untried," is the response. "Are you then a mighty one?" demands the girl. "Why, that is what my mother said, a great lady! You are only a beggar-maid, but," as she looks into his eyes, "oh, how lovely?" He stares at her with mute admiration, then asks her for a ‘drink from the fountain. She shows him how to get one, and they drink alternately. "It tastes much better so," declares the King’s Son simply. The Goose-Girl is dazed as if in a dream. She asks him to rest beneath the linden-tree, and he insists that she must sit beside him. (The King’s Son: "Is this a riddle that I read?") He tells her of his home across the river where he has served a great king. "And what is a King?" "Why, that is hard to tell you! Wait though, what do you do for your geese?" "I watch over them to keep them from danger, and sometimes I have to beat them." "That is what a king does, only with people instead of geese," declares the youth. "Then, are you the king?" asks the girl naïvely. He explains as well as he can, the ofilce of a king, how in spite of his power and luxury he is hedged about with bonds that he cannot break, and his only freedom is in the hunt. He knows, for he is a King’s son. (The King’s Son: "As kings, young boys are only useless.") With the wind blowing against his cheek, happiness comes to him. "King’s child!" he cries impetuously, "Can you understand a fool like this." "I would go with him," says the Goose-Girl. "And without fear?" "No, for I love you," she says simply. He takes her in his arms. "Then you will be my little may-blossom?" he asks with deep tenderness. (The King’s Son: "Wilt thou my little may-blossom be?")
     He kisses her, and her heart thrills with joy. Clasped in each other’s embrace they are silent. The Goose-Girl’s wreath falls upon the ground and he picks it up. She tries to take it from him, but it breaks. The Goose-Girl is filled with shame, but the King’s Son puts the broken wreath into his tunic. He takes from his bundle a crown of gold, but the Goose-Girl refuses to wear it (Goose-Girl: "I have no wish thy crown to wear"), saying it seems like a chain to her. The King’s Son throws it down upon the grass (The King’s Son: "There mayst thou rest"), once more begging her to go with him. She gives him her hand, and they run toward the wood. A wind blows in strong gusts. The geese crowd around the Goose-Girl in terror. "What makes thine eyes open so wide?" demands the youth. "The magic wood," breathes the Goose-Girl. "It would keep me here." "That must be magic!" says her lover. "But if thou fail’st me I will never return!" (The King’s Son: "Fear is but weakness.") He upbraids her. (The King’s Son: "King’s blood and beggar’s blood.") The poor girl tells him it is plain he no longer loves her, and with a last wild outburst he rushes into the wood.
     The Goose-Girl flings herself upon the ground, weeping, and pushing away the geese, which crowd around her. (Goose-Girl: "Go, from me you have him taken.") "Oh, were I only a King’s child!" she cries miserably. The Witch is heard calling. "The crown! she will beat me if she finds it," gasps the Goose-Girl. She hangs it around the grey goose’s neck, bidding her hide it. The goose runs off, and the girl hastily bathes her eyes. The Witch enters with her basket. "What have you been doing?" she says severely, "And why do you hold your hand before your eyes. And why are your cheeks so white and your lips so red?" "I am afraid, grandmother," says the girl in a low voice, "and I have been eating fruit." The Witch catching hold of her feels her heart beating fast. "Grandmother, I have seen a man," she confesses. "What!" cries the Witch. "Whence came he?" "Down from the mountain," answers the Goose-Girl. "No man has ever climbed it before, declares the Witch. "You must be locked up after this!" "No, no," the girl sobs passionately. "Let me go away!" "Go, indeed," storms her grandmother, "Want to be married, do you? Well, you’ll stay here instead!" The Fiddler is heard singing behind the scenes (Fiddler: "A fool went forth one day"). "More people," angrily cries the Witch. "Go in at once." She pushes the Goose-Girl in, and following her, closes the door behind her with a bang. The Fiddler appears, with his fiddle over his shoulder. "Come on, Brother Woodcutter and Brother Broom-maker," he shouts. "Here is the Witch’s den!" "The devil take it and you!" is the Woodcutter’s uncivil reply. "Not so much noise," cautions the Broom-maker. "Let’s wake the Witch up," suggests the Fiddler. "What, the wood-wife, the wise woman " cry the others. "All hail to the hell-hag," says the Fiddler defiantly, but the Broom-maker knocks softly on the door, and asks if those within will buy a broom. They knock more loudly but no one answers. "Witchwoman!" calls the Fiddler. With a bang the old Witch opens the door, and stands leaning on her crutch, surveying them maliciously. All take to flight but the Fiddler, who addresses her with derision. (Fiddler: "Thy lovely red eyes.") "You think you are wondrous witty," responds the Witch. "Come, speak up," calls the Fiddler to the Woodcutter and the Broom-maker. "I have opened the way."
     Clearing their throats they endeavour to inform the Witch that they have been sent by the Councillors of Hellabrunn to consult her on an important matter. They stammer and stutter over their story, and the Witch, growing impatient, appeals to the Fiddler, who can at least speak out. "The truth is, the burghers desire a king to rule over them," he replies. "One of the most royal blood, a real king’s child." The Goose-Girl looks eagerly out of the window, and the Fiddler stares curiously at her. She puts her finger on her lip. He runs off behind the hut. "What does he mean?" demands the Witch, "You really want chains, then?" "It must be settled, somehow," says the Woodcutter. "Very well, then," the Witch announces. "To-morrow, when you are all arrayed in your best, the first person that enters the town gate, after the clock strikes noon, be he dressed richly or poorly, will be your king." She goes in and slams the door.
     The three men quarrel fiercely over the money they are to receive from the burghers; the Fiddler drives the others off, and begins to walk up and down in front of the hut. "Well, why don’t you go back to Hellabrunn?" cries the Witch looking out of the window. "I am setting a trap for a golden bird," he replies. She shakes her fist, and goes in. "Hey, traderaray!" sings the Fiddler, as she drags the Goose-Girl out, speaking kindly enough, but giving her sly cuffs. "You peeped out the window," she says beneath her breath. "Why should not she reign over a kingdom?" asks the Fiddler. "She is pretty enough! Who are you?" he continues. "Only the Goose-Girl," she says trembling. "Where is your mother?" "I have only a grandmother, and there she stands!" The Fiddler looks from one to the other, and laughs loudly. "She cannot hold you here," he declares. The Goose-Girl, sobbing, tells her pitiful little story. The King’s Son had come to that very meadow, and had spoken of maying, and now he is gone. (Goose-Girl: "I cannot go.") "Let us seek him!" says the Fiddler. At these words the Witch flies into a passion. "Yes, a fine couple," she shrieks. "The King’s Son and the beggar-girl. Your father and mother were food for the hangman. A fine bride you will make!" The Fiddler protects the Goose-Girl, saying that in spite of the Witch’s words, he knows that "the Child of Kings is the Beggar-Maid."
     The Girl bids the grey goose bring back her crown (Goose-Girl: "Thou grey one, thou wise one"). She rushes at the Witch. "Release me!" she demands. "Never!" shrieks the Witch. "To prove thyself of the royal race, the Witch’s wiles alone thou must face," chants the Fiddler. The Goose-Girl seizes the crown from the goose, and takes it to the Fiddler. "Dare everything!" he advises. The Goose-Girl puts the crown on her head, first removing her kerchief. Her beautiful golden hair falls about her like a robe. Kneeling down, she lifts the crown toward the sky. (Goose-Girl: "Father, Mother, here will I kneel!") A star falls from the heavens, and touching the drooping lily, causes it to open. The GooseGirl, with a cry of joy, puts on the crown, and stands on her feet. "I am free! I am free!" she declares, and rushes into the wood, followed by the geese. (Fiddler: "Hey, Traderaray.") He follows the Goose-Girl, and the Witch shakes her fist after them, and then breaks the beautiful lily. Curtain.
     ACT II. A square in Hellahrunn. Inn, with tables and benches outside, on the right. An orator’s pulpit on the left, and in the background the town-gate; closed, and guarded by two Gate-keepers. The Innkeeper’s daughter is seated in the foreground, making a wreath. Music in the distance. The stable-maid enters. "Gay is the life of a town," she says, "such excitement is seldom seen." "Yes, you have been hob-nobbing with the men, I suppose," replies the Innkeeper’s daughter. "Well, no great harm in that," declares the girl. "Men who have been drinking are none too shy." The other girl throws a handful of fir-cones in her face, and she goes off whimpering. "Stuck-up, painted thing," she grumbles to the Bar-maid. The King’s Son enters, and stands before the gate, as if listening. "You are going to welcome his Majesty, I daresay," says the Stable-maid, impudently. "Why not?" is the reply of the Innkeeper’s daughter. "With a kiss?" "Go back to your low friends. What is rude in them is not a sin for a King." "Well said!" chimes in the King’s Son. The Innkeeper’s daughter looks at him scornfully "Who is this fellow?" she whispers to the Stable-maid. "One who slept with the pigs last night," she replies. "He’s not bad looking," admits the Innkeeper’s daughter. "Get me some yarn!" "You like him, don’t you," mutters the Stable-maid, departing. The King’s Son sits down beside the Innkeeper’s daughter, who orders food for him. He declines, but says he would like some bread and water. "Such food is only for poor people," she asserts. "And are you highly born?" he asks simply. "Well, we have always worn good clothes," she declares. The Bar-maid brings the food, but the King’s Son cannot eat the greasy pork. He tastes the wine, and likes it even less. "That’s what one gets for feeding gutter cats!" the girl says indignantly, then relenting takes him to a secluded bench, under the linden tree. She makes love to him, but his thoughts are on the Goose-Girl, and he is distrait. In a fury, she boxes his ears, driving him away. The Stable-maid maliciously offers her the yarn, which she throws in the face of the King’s Son. "Take that and choke!" she cries angrily, and rushes into the house. The King’s Son ruefully rubs his cheek, and the Stable-maid laughs with the Bar-maid over the incident. (The King’s Son: "Ah me, it’s hard to beg for bread.") He decides to leave Hellabrunn, but a doubt springs up in his heart. He feels in his doublet, and finds the wreath, as if fresh picked. It seems to say to him "Stay." (The King’s Son: "Must these tender flowers say it?") "I was a craven to think of going," he muses. "Poverty brings fear. I must conquer it." As he runs toward the inn, he hears the murmur of a crowd. The gate-keepers are with difficulty keeping the people back with their spears. They make gruff comments upon the crowd’s unmannerliness.
     "A dance! A dance 1" cry the young people, gaily. The pipes sound merrily, as the dance begins. The maids grumble at the extra work, and the constant watching of the innkeeper. The King’s Son applies to the latter for work, but is only offered the place ‘of swineherd. He hesitates, but finally accepts. (The King’s Son: "I have made a complete mistake.") He sits beneath the linden-tree. (King’s Son: "Let the dew-drops from thy branches"), and falls into a deep reverie. The people cheer the Woodcutter and the Broom-maker. The last-named has thirteen children who trail behind him like steps of stairs, each with a broom. (Children: "Ra, Ra Roach, we travel in a coach.") The Broom-maker bids them keep their eyes open, so that when the King comes they can each sell him a broom. (Broom-maker: "When the bells are striking noon"; Children: "Buy a broom!") The Innkeeper calls the Woodcutter, and the Broom-maker. The former throws down gold on the table to settle an old score. The Innkeeper waves him aside, and while his back is turned to order wine t