Bob’s
World of
J. Massenet

Reviews — The New York Times

From the New York Times - August 16, 1908

Fascinating Legend Revived in Massenet's Coming Opera
"Le Jongleur de Notre Dame" Tells the Quaint
Fourteenth Century
Story of the "King of Jugglers," as He Was
Called, a Role
Which Will Be Sung This Season by Mary Garden.

     Did you ever hear of a little juggler who lived in the neighborhood of Paris many, many years ago and who won such favor in the eyes of the Holy Virgin that she performed a special miracle to show her appreciation of his adoration? Did you ever hear of this juggler, Jean, who lived in Cluny some time in the fourteenth century, in the days when mediaeval architecture was quite the most modern art of building? If you have never heard of these things then it is really and truly your duty to read of them, for they are marvels of which no man should be ignorant. And the story is the story of "Le Jongleur de Notre Dame," the opera by Massenet, which is to be performed for the first time in America this year by the Hammerstein company at the Manhattan Opera House.
     To begin at the beginning is not possible, for nobody knows where Jean the juggler was born or how he was reared, or, for that matter, how he came to be a trickster at all. Except, of course, that he was fond of liberty, and in no way could he have so much liberty as by roaming about and exhibiting his whole pack of tricks, singing his songs, and dancing his dances, all for a most trifling compensation.
                                                        A Scene in Cluny.
     It was the first of May in mediaeval Cluny, and all the people were gathered in the public square celebrating and tending to their marketing. A statue of the Virgin looked placidly on from the front of the abbey, which was quite the most important place in the whole township. The sellers were all at their stalls, busily bargaining, and a continual throng of men and women, of high and low degree, passed through the square. There were knights with their ladies, all gayly bedight; and peasants, wearing the quaintest of costumes; and many good plump citizens with their wives. And, of course, there were sweethearts and monks, for, according to the old story books, these were always to be found everywhere.
     Now, while they were all bargaining and calling out their wares, including indulgences for sinners, there came on the air the sound of a vielle. Of course that meant that there was a juggler coming, and the crowd was in the ideal mood for just some such entertainment.
     And so Jean entered, heralded by his own music.
     "Room for the King of Jugglers," he cried. But he didn't look in the least like a King, for he was thin and poorly clad, and had altogether a sad and dejected appearance for a bold, gay wanderer. So the heartless crowd murmured with disapprobation, for he was not as they had hoped and expected.
     Instead of the emaciated juggler, scarce more than a boy, they had looked for some rough and ribald fellow.
     "His Majesty, King of Famine!" retorted one of the men, in reply to Jean's own self-introduction. And some of the people laughed at the cruel remark.
     But Jean was not discouraged. Again calling the attention of all the people, he introduced himself and began a dance. But he interrupted the dance to pass around a cup, which came back to him practically empty.
     Poor little Jean! He was actually hungry, and the crowd wouldn't listen to him. "They must listen to me," he said to himself, and he repeated aloud all the list of the different sorts of entertainment he could furnish. He offered to do jugglery, sorcery, or dance. Alas! he danced but heavily, and they did not even want to look at his old tricks. Then he offered to sing songs of religion and mythology and heroism. But the people would have none of them. Instead they all cried for a drinking song.
     "Give us `The Credo of the Drunkard,' " shouted one group. And others wanted other songs. Then Jean himself proposed the "Hallelujah of Wine."
     Yet, before beginning to sing, he turned to the statue of the Holy Virgin, joining his hands, and asked her forgiveness for singing a sacrilegious song. "I am hungry," he explained, as naïvely as a child. "And if my heart is Christian, why is my appetite so pagan?"
     No sooner had he finished the song, which was really a very sacrilegious song indeed, than the door of the abbey opened violently and the Prior appeared on the steps. The people who a moment before had been shouting a mock hallelujah at the end of every verse, were terrified by the presence of the holy man in his wrath. They all fled but Jean, and he had to take the blame for all the rest.
                                                          The Prior Lectures.
     The Prior did not spare harsh words on the juggler who profaned the Virgin and Child at the very door of the convent. He would not listen to Jean's plea for mercy and pity, but threatened him with hell and damnation till the poor fellow literally fell down in his terror, and, dragging himself toward the Virgin, begged for her pardon and wept. The sight of these tears of contrition moved the Prior to a kindlier mood, and he proposed that, then and there, Jean should change his costume for the cloak and cowl and become a brother friar.
     But Jean had been free too long! Even while telling the Virgin of his love and devotion, he pleaded the hardship of giving up his old mistress, Liberty, while still in his youth. Also, in his quaint and simple manner, he loved his balls and hoops, all the instruments of his trade. And he would surely have gone off again into the wide world, doing his tricks and half earning, half begging a few pennies, if his pagan stomach had not led his Christian heart to the abode of holiness.
     For, just at the crucial moment, who should appear on the scene but Brother Boniface, the cook of the abbey, mounted on a donkey. And the donkey had more to carry than merely his load of human flesh. He carried two baskets - one of flowers for the Virgin and one of the finest meats and wines for the friars. Moreover, Boniface took all the good provisions one by one from the baskets, and descanted charmingly of their respective virtues.
     Even while they stood thus discoursing the breakfast bell rang from the interior of the abbey, and the voices of the monks in the refectory could be heard reciting the Benedicte.
     It may be that a bit of a smile played on the face of the wise and indulgent Prior, whose heart was as sound as his religion and decidedly in the right place.
                                                          Jean in the Abbey.
     And Jean? With all those temptations, how could he remember Liberty or regret forsaking her? How could he resist his hunger and those fascinating odors? In an ecstasy of anticipation and with his hands beatifically joined for was not the good Virgin responsible for this, too? - he followed the others into the abbey.
     Even then, before entering, he made a humble genuflection to the holy image. Once he hesitated - only once. He stole back for his juggler's outfit and secretly carried it with him into the convent.
                                                            * * * * * * *
     In the convent Jean had more ease and luxury than he had ever dreamed of. In fact, he began to get positively fat. Yet he was not entirely happy.
     For Jean had two great sorrows. In the first place, he did not understand a word of Latin, and he could not conceive of the Virgin as able or willing to listen to prayers and praise in the common French dialect. In the second place, he could do nothing in her honor.
     When the other monks chid him with laziness, Jean protested that he knew nothing but jugglery. Then they each offered to teach him their different arts - music, poetry, sculpture, and painting.
     Where did Jean find enlightenment? From Boniface, the cook of the convent, to be sure; for Boniface was the humblest of the monks, and yet believed that his work in the kitchen was quite as worthy as the artistic employments of the others. It was Boniface who told Jean that the Virgin understood French as well as Latin; it was Boniface who told him not to envy the proud ones.
                                                             * * * * * * *
     The painter monk was in the chapel of the abbey taking a well-satisfied look at his painting of the Virgin. In the distance could be heard the monks singing their hymns to the Mother of Christ.
     What was the surprise of the painter monk to see Jean enter all alone, wearing his monkish garments, but carrying his vielle and his whole juggling outfit - stepping on tiptoes and anxiously glancing about to be sure he escaped observation. No wonder the monk hid behind a column to watch developments!
    "Adorable mother of Jesus.
     "Sovereign of light.
     "Here am I alone before you-
     "Trembling, my heart filled with love and trouble.
     "I fall on my knees-
     "Oh, heed my prayer.
     "Alas! poor Jean is nothing but a mere juggler.
     "Yet, let him, in his humble manner,
     "Work under thy eyes, O Virgin, in thy honor."
     These were the words that Jean spoke, approaching the altar. Taking off his gown and cowl, he donned the vest of his juggler days, spread his carpet, and, seizing his vielle, drew from it the very same tones that formerly announced his arrival at the square at Cluny.
                                                         Before the Virgin.
     Now, Jean was honest and wanted the Virgin to have full measure. To go through his performance again recalled all his old habits; he even unconsciously passed his cup around to imaginary spectators before he caught himself and apologized to the Virgin. Then, to begin his labor or love, he sang to the Virgin an old pastoral romantic ballad.
     Naturally enough the painter monk had gone for the Prior, who arrived with Boniface. Stationed so that Jean could not see them, they watched the proceedings, and the scandalized Prior was held back from throwing himself on Jean only by the good-hearted cook.
     Jean, having finished his song, proposed to the Virgin that she might choose between jugglery and sorcery. He suggested that he might evoke griffins and flying devils, and then, begging her pardon, explained that he had the exaggerating habit.
     Finally Jean determined to dance as a means of finishing the performance in fitting style. And dance he did, with a vim - an old country dance, with taps of feet and cries at intervals. And he danced faster and faster, until entirely out of breath, he fell at the feet of the Virgin and prostrated himself in a prolonged adoration.
     At this sight the fury of the monks knew no bounds. They prepared to throw themselves on the juggler, sacrilegious one, as they thought. But, even as they prepared to seize him, Boniface stopped them, with a gesture toward the statue of the Holy Mother.
     Miraculous to relate - the picture was animated! A look of infinite gentleness seemed to be hovering on the edge of the eyelids; a smile seemed to be awakening about the mouth.
     More wondrous still, the white hand of the Virgin was seen to extend itself toward the juggler with a material gesture. Her delicate forehead bent low as with love. Then could be heard the voices of angels chanting "Glory to Jean."
     The Prior, awestruck and followed by the monks, approached Jean, who was still lost in prayer and kneeling at the feet of the sacred Virgin. Fearful of being surprised, the juggler arose to beg forgiveness of the Prior - and to find himself hailed as a saint!
     But Jean himself had seen - nothing. Then the Prior, generous at heart, prayed the Virgin to reveal herself to Jean.
                                                       The Miraculous Altar.
     At that moment the altar, hitherto unlighted, was illumined with a great and mystic brightness. Detaching itself from the hands of the Virgin, the holy nimbus sparkled above the head of Jean. And he fainted - in the arms of the Prior.
     "Light - happiness - I die," he murmured.
     Jean was wrapt in a glorious haze of happiness. Lifting himself, he said, in all simplicity and tenderness, "At last I understand Latin."
     Angel voices chanted yet again, and, mysteriously, bluebells and lilies rained within the walls of that ancient chapel, while the wondering monks recited their litanies.
     The Virgin could be seen slowly mounting to heaven; and in Paradise, seated, surrounded by the holy ones.
     "The Virgin beckons me with her hand," sighed the juggler.
     Then, after a pause, "I am here," as if answering the call of his own name from the throne of God.
     And the voices of angels and the voices of the monks chorused a devout "Amen."
                                                             * * * * * * *
     To one familiar with the works of Massenet no words are needed to picture the fascination that such a libretto as this book by Maurice Lena must have had for him. Always devoted to the mystic, the religious, the mythologic, the pathetic, and the quaint, here he found united many of the sentiments he loved.
     "Le Jongleur de Notre Dame" is one of the most recent works of the composer, now a man over 60 years of age. Mary Garden, who sang the title rôle of his "Thaïs" last season, is to play the rôle of the Juggler. When performed in Europe the rôle has always been intrusted to a tenor, which makes the American production a novelty, even from the Continental standpoint.

Last updated December 29, 2006