Stars of the Opera Part 16

MADAME b.u.t.tERFLY

Beauty of plot and great music are to an opera what fair features and a n.o.ble soul are to woman. "Madame b.u.t.terfly" possesses these attributes, and has consequently won that instant success which only true beauty, in either art or nature, calls forth.

Very seldom is the story of an opera so intensely thrilling that the original author is borne in mind; but it may be stated as a fact that no one applauds Giacomo Puccini's splendid music without also thinking "All Hail!" to John Luther Long, who wrote this strangely tender tragedy.

Distinctly unique as a grand opera setting is the Land of Cherry-blossoms. Never before have the higher harmonies been blended in with embroidered kimonas and chrysanthemum screens. The innovation is delightful, however; refreshing, uplifting, enlarging. By means of great music we are enabled to understand great emotion in the Little Land.

In this opera the hero is the villain, if one may so express it. He is also an American; a lieutenant in the U. S. Navy, and from first to last he seems blandly unconscious of his villainy. This is distressing morally, but musically one could wish it no different. As the rainbow-mist rises out of the whirlpool, so the beautiful in art is most often evolved from a maelstrom of sin and tragedy.

A flowered veranda to a tiny house, a lilac-garden that overlooks a far, fair view of Nagasaki, the bright blue bay and azure sky--this is the opening scene of Puccini's opera.

The brief orchestral prelude is a pretty piece of fugue work, four-voiced and accurately constructed. A fugue is unusual in grand opera, but Puccini has a purpose in everything, and his music is essentially descriptive. The opening conversation in this opera concerns the construction of the tiny villa, and as a fugue is the one music-form suggestive of rules and measurements--a secure foundation and precise superstructure--it is clear that this bit of musical masonry, with its themes overlapping but carefully joined, is intended to represent the house.

On the stage the dainty dwelling is glowingly described by Goro, a j.a.panese marriage-broker; very obsequious in manners, but characterized in the orchestra by a most energetic, business-like theme that follows him around like a shadow.

A wedding of his arranging is soon to take place, and this house has been rented for the honeymoon. The bridegroom, Lieutenant Pinkerton, of the U. S. Navy, is viewing the abode for the first time. He wears a handsome uniform, and serves the opera as tenor, hero, lover, villain--all in one.

Goro makes him acquainted also with the house-servant, Susuki, a solemn-faced, saffron-colored maiden, whose name means "Gentle-breeze-of-the-morning." Pinkerton prefers to call her "Scare-crow."

The first invited guest to arrive is the U. S. Consul. A sympathetic and genuinely tender theme announces this character's approach. Always listen to the orchestra if you would know the real nature of these people of the play. In grand opera, as in real life, _words_ very often conceal thought; but by the power of music the listener is endowed with a temporary sense of omniscience; he can read the hearts and motives of the creatures he observes.

It being still early, Pinkerton and the Consul seat themselves while the hero explains this marriage he is entering upon. But first he orders a "whisky and soda."

There is apparently no translation for this barroom barbarism, so the English words are used, and their effect is noticeably jarring. No critic has failed to remark this surprising debut of fire-water on the lyric stage! There is charm and poetry in the Italian wine-gla.s.s, and we have grown accustomed to see that mingled with melody--but the American whisky-bottle stands remote from music as a pig from Paradise. Puccini seems to realize this, for he accompanies the obnoxious word with a discord!

There is nothing discordant, however, in Pinkerton's description of his bride--the lovely lady b.u.t.terfly--"dainty in stature--quaint little figure--seems to have stepped down, straight from a screen."

The music here is delicate and frail, like an exquisite tracery of gold lacquer.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Copyright by Aime Dupont.

Miss Farrar as "Madame b.u.t.terfly"]

He intends to marry this j.a.panese bride in j.a.panese fashion, thereby making the tie unbinding in America--a slip-knot adjustment that she, poor thing, is unaware of.

The Consul remonstrates with Pinkerton over his "easy-going gospel" of free love, but this light-hearted villain will not listen. He holds up his gla.s.s instead, and to a buried accompaniment of the "Star-spangled Banner," he proposes a toast to America--and also to the day on which he shall wed in _real_ marriage a _real_ wife of his own nationality.

With this atrocious toast scarcely uttered, poor little trusting b.u.t.terfly is heard in the distance with her bridesmaids, singing as they approach. A delirium of joy breathes through this song, which is a weird succession of Oriental intervals, strange as an opium dream. As the harmonies grow firmer, b.u.t.terfly's voice rings out above the others, while in the orchestra the conductor with his baton slowly unearths, like a buried diamond, the great love-theme of the opera. It beams forth in sultry splendor, a cl.u.s.ter of chords with imprisoned tones that flash forth unlooked-for harmonies.

At last she enters--this j.a.panese heroine, her brilliant draperies as bright as her name. Her maidens all carry huge paper parasols and fluttering fans--a merry group of girls, filled with varied emotions of timidity, envy, curiosity, and fun. They courtesy, and smile, and sing, and sigh, and lower their eyes with knowing charm.

Throughout this scene it is interesting to note the different themes and their consistent use. A phrase of the opening fugue invariably appears whenever the _house_ is mentioned; still another architectural motif protrudes into prominence every time the town Nagasaki is referred to.

Susuki has a theme of her own; so has the Consul. When the relations of the bride troop in, we recognize the fact that they, too, have a theme; we learned it when Goro, some time back, was enumerating the expected guests.

This theme now a.s.serts itself in the orchestra as the grotesque company a.s.sembles. There is nothing great about this melody: it is a mincing, thin-bodied affair, but disports itself with much confidence during its little hour of importance; it shoves out every other theme from the orchestra and demands undivided attention. But at last the director's stick chases it out of the enclosure.

The guests in the meantime have been gossiping among themselves, disparaging the bride, criticizing the groom--and partaking of his refreshments.

All flats and sharps and accidentals are suddenly dropt from the score when the official registrar reads in monotone voice, and plain C major, the simple marriage form.

The ceremony is soon over, but the guests linger on. Pinkerton plies them with wine, but makes little headway in hurrying the festivities to an end. He has grown heartily tired of these new relations, and longs to see them go, but, instead of any one leaving, another one suddenly arrives, an absent uncle, who plunges amongst them in a frenzy of wrath and excitement. He has learned at the American Mission that b.u.t.terfly, without telling her family, has changed her religion and cast off the faith of her fathers.

Cries of horror, moans, and execrations follow this announcement.

b.u.t.terfly is denounced by her family--abjured and disowned. She cowers before them, distressed, but not utterly crushed, for love remains to console her.

The tragic theme of the opera; a gruesome sequence of minor thirds, takes this opportunity to stalk into the orchestra and reconnoiter, like an undertaker looking over the premises before he is really needed. This theme has active work to do later on, but as yet does not seem very terrifying.

When the relations and guests are gone, b.u.t.terfly is soon persuaded to forget the "stupid tribe."

Evening has come; there is a twilight tinge to the music; it is "_dolce_," "_expressione_," and "_rallentando_."

Puccini is a master of modulations. He employs large, full harmonies, soul-a.s.serting, all-engulfing chords, that feel their way from one key to another, and burst forth in new glory with every transition. This persistent progress through varying keys has an effect of leading the listener through different rooms in some palatial edifice. In the hands of a great composer, each key of the scale unlocks a new vista in the enchanted palace of music.

Behind a screen on the veranda, b.u.t.terfly changes her chromatic kimona to one of white silk. She emerges with garments all soft and fluttering, like the trembling white wings of a night-moth.

Pinkerton leads her into the garden, and there, under the spell of the silent stars, they sing of love and of the glorious mystic night, with its gentle breeze that pa.s.ses like a benediction over the bending lilacs. Fire-flies (cleverly imitated) hover in the air and flicker faintly, like candles in a distant chancel. The conductor waving his wand, like a priest the swinging censor, evokes a wreathing mist of music that enwraps the lovers in a drapery of dreams.

Melodies and harmonies rise into being and pa.s.s away like phantoms floating by, until at last the great love-theme of the opera once again is flashed upon us. The _diamond_, scarce revealed before, is now in its proper setting. It is displayed in solemn glory by the dignitary at the desk, who, with upraised, swaying hands, holds aloft this precious theme, as a priest does the sacred emblem.

Act II. pictures the interior of b.u.t.terfly's house.

There is desolation in the home; the orchestra tells us this, for the tragic theme possesses the instruments, creeping around among them, serpent-like, and enfolding them in its coils.

The rising curtain reveals Susuki kneeling before a shrine; she is praying that Pinkerton may return.

Three times have the dragon-kites swelled in the breeze and the peach trees flushed into bloom since the day he sailed away.

Her prayer abounds in strange and uncouth harmonies that wail themselves into silence. When the incantation is finished, an orchestral phrase of keen despair and tortured hope accompanies b.u.t.terfly as she asks: "How soon shall we be starving?"

Susuki counts over the few remaining yen, and expresses doubt about Pinkerton's return. Again that same theme of anguish pierces the air like a knife as b.u.t.terfly shrieks out: "Silence!" She will not listen to doubt. She insists that he will return, and she fondly adds, "he will call me again his tiny child-wife, his little b.u.t.terfly!"

With this memory there is a momentary return of the great Love-theme in the orchestra; tender and fleeting, like a smile on the face of the dying.

b.u.t.terfly sings of the radiant hour, some day, when they shall see "in the distance a little thread of smoke," and then "a trim, white vessel,"

flying the American flag!

The music of this aria has a confident ring and a forward swing, like a great ship nearing sh.o.r.e. Large and splendid is the final climax:

"He will return--I know!"

A familiar theme in the orchestra heralds the approach of the U. S.

Consul. He brings a letter from Pinkerton which he wishes b.u.t.terfly to hear, but j.a.panese politeness interferes for some time. He must first accept tea and wine, a pipe to smoke, and a cushion to sit on. He is questioned about his health and the health of his honorable ancestors.

His own "Augustness" is profusely welcomed.

Scarcely have these formalities been accomplished when another visitor arrives--a pompous personage, accompanied by servants who bring presents and flowers. He comes to persuade Madame b.u.t.terfly that her husband's absence amounts to a divorce, and that he, Prince Yamadori, should be accepted as Pinkerton's successor.

This energetic wooer, lemon-faced and almond-eyed, imparts to the music a spicy flavor, grotesque and j.a.panese. His brief, breezy phrases have a turn and tang that belongs entirely to the Land of Nippon; staccato suggestions of chop-sticks and Oolong.