The Standard Operaglass Part 37

With this opera Goldmark has entered a novel way in composing. He has renounced all sensational effects and has produced an opera, which is full of charming melodies, but which lacks the high dramatic verve to which we are accustomed from this composer; there are however remarkably fine pieces in the whole, the best of them being Dot's dancing song in the second act, the quintette at the end of {373} it, and the prelude in the third act, into which Goldmark has interwoven the popular song "Weisst Du, wie viel Sternlein stehen."

The story is soon told, as everybody is supposed to know its contents from d.i.c.kens' famous fairy-tale. That it is less pretty than the original, is not Mr. Willner's fault, who did his best to endue it with dramatic strength, and to make it more effective, an elevation to which the tale never aspired, its poetic simplicity being its great charm.

The scene is laid in an English village.

The cricket, a little fairy, lives with a postilion John and his wife Dot. They are a happy couple, the only thing wanting to their complete happiness being children, and even this ardent wish Dot knows will be fulfilled before long.

A young doll-maker May visits Dot to unburden her heavy heart. The young girl is to marry her old and rich employer Tackleton, in order to save her foster-father from want, but she cannot forget her old sweetheart, a sailor named Eduard, who left her years ago, never to come back. Dot tries to console her, and gives her food for her old father. When May has taken leave, Dot's husband John enters, bringing a strange guest with him.

It is Eduard, who has however so disguised himself, that n.o.body recognizes him. Dot receives him hospitably, and while he follows her in another room, a very lively scene ensues, all the village people flocking in to receive their letters and parcels at John's hands.

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In the second act John rests from his labour in his garden, while Dot, who finds her husband, who is considerably older than herself, somewhat too self-confident and phlegmatic, tries to make him appreciate her more by arousing his jealousy. While they thus talk and jest May enters, followed by her old suitor, who has already chosen the wedding-ring for her. Eduard listens to his wooing with ill concealed anxiety, and Tackleton, not pleased to find a stranger in his friend's house, gruffly asks his name. The strange sailor tells him, that he left his father and his sweetheart to seek his fortune elsewhere, and that he has come back rich and independent, only to find his father dead and his sweetheart lost to him. His voice moves May strangely, but Tackleton wants to see his riches. Eduard shows them some fine jewels, which so delight Dot, that she begins to adorn herself with them and to dance about the room. Eduard presents her with a beautiful cross, and seizes the opportunity to reveal to her his ident.i.ty, entreating her not to betray him. Then he turns to May, begging her to chose one of the trinkets, but Tackleton interferes, saying that his promised bride does not need any jewels from strange people. Dot is greatly embarra.s.sed, and Tackleton, mistaking her agitation, believes, that she has fallen in love with the sailor, and insinuates as much to her husband, whom he invites to have a gla.s.s of beer with him.

This unusual generosity on the part of the avaricious old man excites the clever little wife's {375} suspicion. May having withdrawn, she greets the friend of her youth with great ostentation (knowing herself secretly watched by John and Tackleton), and promises to help him to regain his sweetheart. John and his friend, who suddenly return, see them together, and poor old John gets wildly jealous. But when he is alone, he falls asleep and the faithful cricket prophetically shows him his wife fast asleep in a dream, while a little boy in miniature postilion's dress plays merrily in the background.

In the third act Dot adorns May with the bridal wreath, but the girl is in a very sad mood. All at once she hears the sailor sing; Dot steals away, and May vividly reminded of her old love by the song, decides to refuse old Tackleton at the last moment, and to remain true to Eduard until the end of her life. The sailor, hearing her resolve, rushes in tearing off his false grey beard, and catches May, who at last recognizes him, in his arms. Meanwhile Tackleton arrives gorgeously attired; he brings a necklace of false pearls and invites May to drive with him to the wedding ceremony in the church at once. A whole chorus of people interrupt this scene however; they greet him, saying they are his wedding guests, exciting the miser's wrath. At last May, who had retired to put on her bridal attire, re-appears, but instead of taking Tackleton's arm she walks up to Eduard, who courteously thanking the old lover for the carriage standing at the door, suddenly disappears with May. The {376} chorus detains the furious old Tackleton until the lovers are well out of the way.

Meanwhile Dot has explained her behaviour to John, and whispering her sweet secret into his ear, makes him the happiest man on earth.--The cricket, the good fairy of the house, chirps sweetly and the last scene shows once more a picture of faithfulness and love.

THE EVANGELIMANN.

A Musical Drama in two acts.

With Text and Music by WILHELM KIENZL.

The author has learnt a great deal since the days, in which he composed Urvasi. His music has become more original and more independant of great models. The new opera, while not so poetical is eminently touching and true; the text, founded on fact, runs smoothly and is cleverly done, the verses being well adapted to the music. Like Verga's Cavalleria the subject is such as to be impressive even without music.

It is necessary to explain the t.i.tle of this opera, which signifies a man who goes about reciting biblical verse after the fashion of street singers. This means of earning a livelihood is unknown in Germany, but forms a speciality in Austria.

The music of the first act puts one in mind of the Meistersingers; as a whole it is very captivating, fresh and drastic, especially during the nine-pin scene. The orchestra predominates, but there are truly poetic airs, which will linger as much in {377} the heart as in the ear of the hearer. Such is: "O sweet days of my youth," and in the last act: "Blessed are they who are persecuted," from Christ's Sermon on the Mount. Another charming bit of music is the children's waltz, in which the composer has paraphrased one of Lanner's well-known waltz-motives.

The first scene is laid in the village of St. Othmar in Austria, or rather in the court of the convent of the Benedictines of that place.

Mathias, a young clerk of the convent has an interview with Martha, the niece and ward of Frederic Engel, the rich warden of the convent.

John, Mathias' elder brother and the village-schoolmaster sees them together. Being in love with the girl himself he warns her uncle of his brother's courtship and excites his wrath against the lovers, so that Engel, coming across the young people, gruffly tells Mathias, that he has already chosen a rich bridegroom for his ward. In vain, the lovers beseech the old man's pity, for his anger only waxes stronger, and he goes so far, as to discharge Mathias, warning him to leave the place altogether. Martha left alone bemourns her guardian's hardness, and John, thinking to profit by the occasion approaches her and asks for her hand. But he is so decidedly rejected by Martha, that he swears to have his revenge.

Meanwhile the evening approaches, and the country-folk come to the inn next to the convent, to play their game of ninepins.--During this very animated scene Mathias finds Magdalen, his sweetheart's friend, whom he entreats to take a message {378} to Martha, asking her to meet him at eleven o'clock in the bower near the skittleground for a last farewell.

John hears this and when night sets in and the gates of the convent are closed, he remains outside alone, hiding behind the barn-floor. When the clock strikes eleven Martha and Mathias approach the bower. They swear to remain true to each other, come what may. Their tender words excite John's jealousy to the utmost, and while the lovers are engrossed with their sorrow and make plans for the future, he sets fire to the barn-floor. Soon the flames leap up to the sky, but the lovers are oblivious of everything, till they hear the watchman's cry of fire.

Mathias persuades Martha to hide herself; so he is found alone on the place and seized by the crowd and brought before the warden. Engel at once jumps to the conclusion, that he has been the incendiary, to revenge himself for Engel's hard-heartedness, and despite his protestations of innocence Mathias is put in chains and carried away, while Martha, who comes out from her hiding-place falls back in a swoon after proclaiming his innocence.

The second act takes place thirty years later in Vienna. Magdalen sits under a lime-tree in the court of an old house and muses sadly over days gone by. After long, lonely years she has found the school-master John sick unto death, and now finds comfort in nursing him. Nothing has ever been heard of Mathias again, and she wonders sadly what has become of him. Children throng into the court, they dance around the lime-tree, while an {379} old organ-grinder plays pretty waltz-tunes to their steps.--While they are dancing, an Evangelimann comes into the court. He reads and sings to the children the verses from Christ's Sermon on the Mount, and teaches them to repeat the melody. When they are able to sing it faultlessly, he faintly asks for a drink of water, which Magdalen brings him. She asks him, whence he comes, and when he tells her, that his father's house stood in St. Othmar, she recognizes in him her old friend Mathias. Then he relates his sad story, how he lay imprisoned for twenty years, the real incendiary having never been discovered. When he was set free, he returned home, only to find that his bride had drowned herself. All his efforts to earn a livelihood were fruitless; n.o.body would employ the convict, until he was at last obliged to become an Evangelimann, and wandered from place to place, preaching the gospel to the poor, and getting such small bounties they could afford to give.--Exhausted by hunger and overcome by sad remembrances Mathias sinks down on the bench half fainting, but is revived by bread and broth brought to him by Magdalen, who earnestly entreats him to return soon, and to bring comfort to the sick man she is nursing.

The last scene takes place a day later in John's sick-room. He is lying on a couch, a prey to bitter thoughts and pangs of conscience, when his brother's voice reaches his ear from below, and dimly awakens sweet memories in him. He bids Magdalen to fetch the singer, and when the latter enters, he feels so {380} drawn to him without recognizing his brother, that he begs leave, to unburden his soul to him.

Mathias soon recognizing his brother is about to fold him in his arms, but John despairingly shrinks from him, while confessing his guilt in broken words and beseeching his forgiveness. The unfortunate Mathias, whose life has been so utterly ruined by his brother, battles fiercely with his natural feelings. But when he sees the wretched John on his knees before him, so broken down and exhausted he finally forgives him.

With a last faint gasp of thanks John falls back and dies, while Magdalen prays "And forgive us our trespa.s.ses, as we forgive those that trespa.s.s against us." Outside the children's voices are heard once more: "Blessed are they, that are persecuted for righteousness' sake; for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."

ODYSSEUS' RETURN.

A Musical Tragedy in three acts with a Prelude by AUGUST BUNGERT.

A musical drama of the highest interest, one which may be considered equal to Wagner's great Nibelung series, has been created at last.

"Odysseus' Return" is the third of four parts of a cyclus, called the Odyssey, and its success since its first representation in Dresden on December 12th 1896 has been so absolute, that one may hope to hear the other parts before long. It must be admitted here, that this is due partly to {381} its splendid rendering under Schuch's genial conductorship, and to the interpreters of the two princ.i.p.al roles in the drama. Frau Wittich as Penelope is the very incarnation of womanliness and queenliness, and no singer could be a truer and n.o.bler Odysseus than Karl Scheidemantel. Whosoever had the advantage of hearing these two great singers in these roles, must for ever identify them with the grand characters of ancient Greece.

Bungert is happy in having found a subject so n.o.ble and so sympathetic, and his music does full justice to these sentiments.

The orchestration is simple in character, sometimes of cla.s.sic naivete, and though the composer keeps to measures without caesura (dest.i.tute of rythm) which are peculiar to Wagner, he differs from him inasmuch as the orchestra is always merely the accompaniment of the voice and never drowns it.

All the characters are most life-like, and they thrill with those never changing emotions, which are the same to-day as they were a thousand years ago.

The plot treats of Homer's Odyssey with a poetic licence.

In the Prelude Pallas Athene appears, conveying the impression of a statue and forthwith producing the right frame of mind in the hearer, by the original song of thirty measures all in c.--After her disappearance Penelope's suitors a.s.semble and form a plot to destroy Telemachus, the queen's son, of whom they are afraid. Hyperion, Telemachus' intimate friend tries to frustrate their plans, but in {382} vain. When left alone he reproaches himself bitterly for his treachery to his friend and decides to warn him. Hyperion too is in love with the queen, but he is at the same time deeply attached to her n.o.ble son, who at this juncture is seen arriving in a vessel, in which he is setting out in quest of his father Odysseus.--Hyperion entreats Telemachus to let him accompany him on this dangerous voyage, but the latter begs him to remain with his lonely mother and embarks after taking a tender leave of Hyperion.

Then the scenery changes. The first act takes place in a bay of the isle of Ithaca, in which Odysseus has landed after many years of fruitless wandering. He has fallen asleep near a grotto, which is the abode of nymphs; beside him lie the gifts of the Phaeaces. On the heights the hut of old Eumaeus, Odysseus' steward is seen. He sits on a bench beside the aged Laertes, Odysseus' father, awaiting his master.

Shepherds, dancing and frolicking past him laugh and mock at the faithful servant's belief in Odysseus' return.

By and by Odysseus half awakes from the deep slumber, into which the G.o.ds have thrown him; the whole country seems to be enveloped in mist and he does not recognize it, although the songs of the peasants fill him with thoughts of his youth and his home. Dreamily he sinks back on his couch, while Pallas appears attired in beggar's garb, which she throws off and is seen clad fantastically in the costume of a royal shepherdess. She {383} waves her hand, and the mist clears away when the whole country is seen bathed in moonlight and Odysseus opening his eyes recognizes mount Neriton and his own beloved island. Blinded with tears he kisses the sacred soil, and returns thanks to the G.o.ds, who have at last led him back to his home.

Suddenly he hears Eumaeus' voice, and finding the beggar's cloak, which the G.o.ddess has left him, he wraps himself in it, and hides his weapons and the treasures of the Phaeaces in the grotto. Eumaeus loudly bewails Penelope's fate, and curses the wicked suitors. At the same time the sound of oars is heard and Telemachus' vessel pa.s.ses by, pursued by the suitors. Eumaeus, too weak to render aid, continues to wail, when suddenly Odysseus rises up before him saying; "The G.o.ds will conquer." The old man, not recognizing his king continues to accuse the Fates, and tells the stranger, how badly things have fared since the king's absence.--"And Penelope, my friend?" asks Odysseus.

"Penelope is faithful," answers the servant. Then "Be it known to you friend, that Oydsseus will return" quoth the stranger. Struck by a dim foreboding of the truth Eumaeus promises to lead the stranger into the queen's palace this very night.

While they converse, Telemachus calls upon Eumaeus for help, and when the vessels come into sight the prince is seen fighting against his pursuers. He slays one of them, but their number far exceeds that of his own followers. Odysseus, who has {384} vainly looked for the boat which the suitors have stolen, throws his club at them, and springs into his son's vessel just in time to rescue the lad, whose sword has been broken, but who continues to fight, nothing daunted. Odysseus kills some of his foes and pushes their vessel far off, after which they escape, while the father carries his fainting son on sh.o.r.e. At this moment Eumaeus recognizes his mighty guest. Telemachus still half unconscious, calls for another sword. When he at last opens his eyes he stares in wonder at the mysterious stranger whom he deems a G.o.d in beggar's garb. Eumaeus informs him, that the stranger brings news of their long lost king, which fills the son's heart with joy. At this point the low songs of the nymphs are heard, welcoming the hero to Ithaca while Laertes, slowly descending from the heights, prophesies Odysseus' return as one in a dream. Odysseus can hardly restrain his tears at seeing his father looking so old and so woebegone. He meets him humbly, and all their voices mingle in a chorus of triumph and welcome, while Odysseus stepping forward, vows that he will annihilate the suitors.

The second act opens in Penelope's room.

She sits at her loom, looking out over the far stretching sea and bewailing her lot. Behind the scene the evoes and drunken cries of the suitors are heard and with bitter tears she prays to the G.o.ds to help her, and to protect her son, whom she knows to be on the treacherous waves.--Suddenly {385} Hyperion rushes in and prostrating himself at her feet offers her a bunch of orange blossoms, and pays homage to her in sentimental poetic language. Penelope quietly congratulates him on having escaped from the nets of his paramour Despoina and the lover, taking this as a favourable sign, breaks out into pa.s.sionate words, but is at once checked by the queen. He then reveals to her the shameful plot of the suitors, and Penelope becomes speechless with horror.

Before she recovers her selfpossession the suitors rush into the apartment, insolently reminding her of her promise to choose one of them, as soon as the garment, which she has been weaving for so many years for Laertes shall be completed, and wildly upbraiding her with undoing her work during the night Penelope tries to hold them in check, but they only grow more shameless, and at last Antinous tries to embrace her. Quick as thought she draws her dagger, and when it is wrenched from her she s.n.a.t.c.hes his own sword and directs it against him. But Eurymachus, another suitor comes forward, and attacking Hyperion, pierces him with his sword, then turns to the queen, swearing to kill Telemachus as well, should she not yield to their demands. The queen wavers, when renewed acclamations are heard, and Telemachus enters with Eumaeus and Odysseus, the latter still wearing his disguise. The mother rushes forward to embrace her son, but he is seized by the suitors who peremptorily require the queen's oath. "Save thy son o queen", says {386} the stranger, and Penelope at last swears to give her hand to him who shall be victorious in the contest held on Apollo's festival on the following day. Thereupon the suitors promise to protect Telemachus and retire leaving mother and son together.

Not until then does Telemachus recognize in the prostrate form his friend Hyperion, who dying tells him, that he has betrayed his friend and loved his mother. Terrified though he is the tender-hearted youth forgives him and entreats his mother to do the same. But the queen stands as one turned to stone not heeding the stranger, who likewise bids her say a word to the man, who is dying for her, and who is now in his last moments raving of his unholy love. Telemachus at last seizes his friend's hand and closes his dim eyes with a kiss, while the queen, with a last despairing cry for Odysseus sinks back senseless and is carried away by her son and her nurse Eurycleia.--Left alone, Odysseus remains a prey to doubt and jealousy.--When Penelope recovering hears the news of her lost husband, Odysseus promises her the speedy return of the latter, answering her excited questions with: "I know him as I know myself." The queen fears he will be too late, and when the stranger insinuates to her that the king will perhaps kill the suitors whom he has discovered in the queen's apartments and cunningly asks, wether she wants their protection, her long pent up rage against her pursuers finds vent in a terrible cry for vengeance {387} and for the annihilation of all her enemies, and falling on her knees before the beggar she beseeches him to hasten Odysseus' return. The latter, being at last sure of his wife's faithfullness, rea.s.sures her and tells her to confide in the G.o.ds.

The third act opens with Apollo's festival. The statue of the G.o.d is carried before the people, adorned with roses and ivy. The suitors banquet in the palace, while the true master sits aloof on the steps of the temple and is mocked at by the crowd, however remains quiet, only invoking the G.o.d to direct his fate.--Trumpets announce the arrival of the queen, who is loudly hailed by the crowd. She carries her husband's own bow, and promises to marry whomsoever shall succeed in bending it, and in shooting the arrow through a series of twelve rings.--Telemachus is the first to try his luck, hoping to redeem his beloved mother. But alas, his strength fails him, and he has to hand the bow on to the suitors, who so goad and taunt him, that the boy draws his sword. But they are stronger, Telemachus stumbles and the beggar catches him in his arms, and unfolds his mantle to protect him whispering: "Telemachus my son, I am thy father." The youth sinks on his knees, but Odysseus enjoins silence upon him and warns him to be ready for battle.

Meanwhile the boy is derided by the crowd, and the queen bitterly disappointed turns to the beggar whispering: "Thy words old man were false!" But Odysseus replies: "The G.o.ds will prove {388} victorious", and kisses the queen's hand so fervently, that she stares at him as one in a trance, until he, recovering himself, kisses it again in due humility. Her eyes once more grow dim, and she leaves the grounds in dull despair. During this time the bow has pa.s.sed from hand to hand, but none can bend it, and the augur Theoclymenus, who hears Jupiter's thunder and sees the ravens fly over the temple prophesies their destruction.

Eurymachus at last proposes to throw the bow into the fire, when the beggar advances and asks leave to try his strength at bending it, which, though indignantly refused by the suitors, is immediately granted by Telemachus, who owns the bow. Odysseus bends it and shoots through all the rings.

During this scene Pallas appears in the air, holding her shield aloft.

Horror seizes the wooers, when they recognize the mighty arm, which alone can bend the bow, and Odysseus, flinging his cloak from him and standing erect in his shining armour, slays his enemies aided by his son and those of his servants who have remained true to him and to their queen. The latter, walking slowly over the peristyle all at once sees Odysseus and recognizes her lord, who folds her to his heart.