Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

The second act opens with a pretty national festival, in which the youths and maidens, adorned with wild carnations wend their way in couples to Ljora (love's-bridge in the people's mouth), from whence they drop their flowers into the foaming water. If they chance to be carried out to sea together, the lovers will be united, if not, woe to them, for love and friendship will die an untimely death.--Godila tries to offer his carnations to Helga, but she dextrously avoids him, and succeeds in having a short interview with Erhard, with whom she is to take flight on a ship, whose arrival is just announced. Erhard goes off to prepare everything, and a few minutes afterwards Helga comes out of the house in a travelling dress. But Godila, who has promised Wandrup to watch over his daughter, detains her.

Wild with love and jealousy he strains her to his breast and drags her towards the Ljora-bridge. Helga vainly struggles against the madman, but Ingrid, who has witnessed the whole occurence, waves her white kerchief in the direction of the ship, and calls back Erhard, who is just in time to spring on the bridge, when its railing gives way, and Godila, who has let Helga fall at the approach of his enemy, is precipitated into the waves. Erhard tries to save him, but is prevented by Ingrid, who intimates that all efforts would be useless. Helga in a swoon is carried to the House, when Wandrup, {152} seeing his child wounded and apparently lifeless, calls Godila, and hears with horror that his body has been found dashed to pieces on the rocks. Now the father's wrath turns against Erhard, in whom he sees Godila's murderer, but Ingrid, stepping forth, relates how the catastrophe happened, and how Godila seemed to be punished by heaven for his attack on Helga. Everybody is touched by poor despised Ingrid's unselfishness, she even pleads for Helga's union with Erhard, nobly renouncing her own claims on his love and gratitude. Wandrup relents and the happy lovers go on the Ljora-bridge, whence their carnations float out to sea side by side. The ship's departure is signalled, and all accompany the lovers on board. Only Ingrid remains. Her strength of mind has forsaken her; a prey to wild despair she resolves to destroy herself. Taking a last look at Erhard's gift, the little medallion-picture, she is surprised by Wandrup, who recognizes in it his own dead love. "She is thy mother too Ingrid", he cries out. "My mother, she, and Erhard my brother!"--This is too much for Ingrid; with an incoherent cry she rushes on the bridge intending to throw herself over. But Wandrup beseechingly stretches out his arms, crying "Ingrid, stay, live for thy father". At first the unhappy girl shrinks back, but seeing the old man's yearning love she sinks on her knees, then slowly rising, she returns to her father, who folds her in loving embrace.

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IPHIGENIA IN AULIS.

Grand Opera in three acts by GLUCK.

Text of the original rearranged by R. WAGNER.

This opera, though it does not stand from the point of view of the artist on the same level with Iphigenia in Tauris, deserves nevertheless to be represented on every good stage. It may be called the first part of the tragedy, and Iphigenia in Tauris very beautifully completes it. The music is sure to be highly relished by a cultivated hearer, characterized as it is by a simplicity which often rises into grandeur and nobility of utterance.

The first scene represents Agamemnon rent by a conflict between his duty and his fatherly love; the former of which demands the sacrifice of his daughter, for only then will a favorable wind conduct the Greeks safely to Ilion. Kalchas, the High-priest of Artemis, appears to announce her dreadful sentence. Alone with the King, Kalchas vainly tries to induce the unhappy father to consent to the sacrifice.

Meanwhile Iphigenia, who has not received Agamemnon's message, which ought to have prevented her undertaking the fatal journey, arrives with her mother Klytemnestra. They are received with joy by the people. Agamemnon secretly informs his spouse, that Achilles, Iphigenia's betrothed, has proved unworthy of her, and that she is to return to Argos at once.--Iphigenia gives way to her feelings. Achilles appears, the lovers are soon reconciled and prepare to celebrate their nuptials.

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In the second act Iphigenia is adorned for her wedding and Achilles comes to lead her to the altar, when Arkas, Agamemnon's messenger, informs them that death awaits Iphigenia.

Klytemnestra in despair appeals to Achilles and the bridegroom swears to protect Iphigenia. She alone is resigned in the belief, that it is her father's will that she should face this dreadful duty. Achilles reproaches Agamemnon wildly and leaves the unhappy father a prey to mental torture. At last he decides to send Arkas at once to Mykene with mother and daughter and to hide them there, until the wrath of the goddess be appeased. But it is too late.

In the third act the people assemble before the Royal tent and with much shouting and noise demand the sacrifice. Achilles in vain implores Iphigenia to follow him. She is ready to be sacrificed, while he determines to kill anyone, who dares touch his bride. Klytemnestra then tries everything in her power to save her. She offers herself in her daughter's stead and finding it of no avail at last sinks down in a swoon. The daughter, having bade her an eternal farewell, with quiet dignity allows herself to be led to the altar. When her mother awakes, she rages in impotent fury; then she hears the people's hymn to the goddess, and rushes out to die with her child.--The scene changes.--The High-priest at the altar of Artemis is ready to pierce the innocent victim. A great tumult arises, Achilles with his native Thessalians makes his way through {155} the crowd, in order to save Iphigenia, who loudly invokes the help of the goddess. But at this moment a loud thunder-peal arrests the contending parties, and when the mist, which has blinded all, has passed, Artemis herself is seen in a cloud with Iphigenia kneeling before her.

The goddess announces that it is Iphigenia's high mind, which she demands and not her blood, she wishes to take her into a foreign land, where she may be her priestess and atone for the sins of the blood of Atreus.

A wind favorable to the fleet has risen, and the people filled with gratitude and admiration behold the vanishing cloud and praise the goddess.

IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.

Opera in four acts by GLUCK.

Text by GUILLARD.

Gluck's Iphigenia stands highest among his dramatic compositions. It is eminently classic and so harmoniously finished, that Herder called its music sacred.

The libretto is excellent. It follows pretty exactly the Greek original.

Iphigenia, King Agamemnon's daughter, who has been saved by the goddess Diana (or Artemis) from death at the altar of Aulis, has been carried in a cloud to Tauris, where she is compelled to be High-priestess in the temple of the barbarous Scythians. There we find her, after having performed her cruel service for fifteen years.--Human {156} sacrifices are required, but more than once she has saved a poor stranger from this awful lot.

Iphigenia is much troubled by a dream, in which she saw her father deadly wounded by her mother and herself about to kill her brother Orestes. She bewails her fate, in having at the behest of Thoas, King of the Scythians, to sacrifice two strangers, who have been thrown on his shores. Orestes and his friend Pylades, for these are the strangers, are led to death, loaded with chains.

Iphigenia, hearing that they are her countrymen, resolves to save at least one of them, in order to send him home to her sister Electra. She does not know her brother Orestes, who having slain his mother, has fled, pursued by the furies, but an inner voice makes her choose him as a messenger to Greece. A lively dispute arises between the two friends; at last Orestes prevails upon Iphigenia to spare his friend, by threatening to destroy himself with his own hands, his life being a burden to him. Iphigenia reluctantly complies with his request, giving the message for her sister to Pylades.

In the third act Iphigenia vainly tries to steel her heart against her victim. At last she seizes the knife, but Orestes' cry: "So you also were pierced by the sacrificial steel, O my sister Iphigenia!" arrests her; the knife falls from her hands, and there ensues a touching scene of recognition.

Meanwhile Thoas, who has heard that one of the strangers was about to depart, enters the temple with his body-guard, and though Iphigenia tells {157} him, that Orestes is her brother and entreats him so spare Agamemnon's son, Thoas determines to sacrifice him and his sister Iphigenia as well. But his evil designs are frustrated by Pylades, who, returning with several of his countrymen, stabs the King of Tauris. The goddess Diana herself appears and helping the Greeks in their fight, gains for them the victory. Diana declares herself appeased by Orestes' repentance and allows him to return to Mykene with his sister, his friend and all his followers.

JOSEPH IN EGYPT.

Opera in three acts by ETIENNE HENRY MEHUL.

Text after ALEXANDER DUVAL.

This opera, which has almost disappeared from the French stage, is still esteemed in Germany and always will be so, because, though clad in the simplest garb, and almost without any external outfit, its music is grand, noble and classic; it equals the operas of Gluck, whose influence may be traced, but it is free from all imitation. Here we have true music, and the deep strain of patriarchal piety so touching in the Biblical recital finds grand expression.

Joseph, the son of Jacob, who was sold by his brothers, has by his wisdom saved Egypt from threatening famine; he resides as governor in Memphis under the name of Cleophas. But though much honored by the King and all the people, he never ceases to long for his old father, whose favorite child he was.

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Driven from Palestine by this same famine, Jacob's sons are sent to Egypt to ask for food and hospitality. They are tormented by pangs of conscience, which Simeon is hardly able to conceal, when they are received by the governor, who at once recognized them. Seeing their sorrow and repentance, he pities them, and promises to receive them all hospitably. He does not reveal himself but goes to meet his youngest brother Benjamin and his blind father, whose mourning for his lost son has not been diminished by the long years. Joseph induces his father and brother to partake in the honors, which the people render to him. The whole family is received in the governor's palace, where Simeon consumed by grief and conscience-stricken at last confesses to his father the selling of Joseph. Full of horror Jacob curses and disowns his ten sons. But Joseph intervenes. Making himself known, he grants full pardon and entreats his father to do the same.

The old man yields, and together they praise God's providence and omnipotence.

IRRLICHT.

(WILL-O'-THE WISP.)

Opera in one act by KARL GRAMANN.

Text by KURT GEUCKE.

With "Irrlicht" the composer takes a step towards verisme; both, subject and music are terribly realistic, though without the last shade of triviality. The music is often of brilliant dramatic effect, {159} and the fantastic text, well matching the music, is as rich in thrilling facts as any modern Italian opera. Indeed this seems to be by far the best opera, which the highly gifted composer has written.

The scene is laid on a pilot's station on the coast of Normandy. A pilot-boat has been built and is to be baptized with the usual ceremonies. Tournaud, an old ship-captain expects his daughter Gervaise back from a stay in Paris. He worships her, and when she arrives, he is almost beside himself with joy and pride. But Gervaise is pale and sad, and hardly listens to gay Marion, who tells her of the coming festival.--Meanwhile all the fisher-people from far and near assemble to participate in the baptism, and André, who is to be captain of the boat, is about to choose a god-mother amongst the fair maidens around, when he sees Gervaise coming out of the house, where she has exchanged her travelling garb for a national-dress. Forgotten are all the village-lasses, and André chooses Gervaise, who reluctantly consents to baptize the boat, and is consequently received very ungraciously by the maidens and their elders. She blesses the boat which sails off among the cheers of the crowd with the simple words: "God bless thee". André, who loves Gervaise with strong and everlasting affection turns to her full of hope. He is gently but firmly rebuked, and sadly leaves her, while Gervaise is left to her own sad memories, which carry her back to the short happy time, when she was loved and won and alas {160} forsaken by a stranger of high position. Marion, who loves André hopelessly, vainly tries to brighten up her companion. They are all frightened by the news of a ship being in danger at sea. A violent storm has arisen, and when Maire Grisard, the builder of the yacht pronounces her name "Irrlicht," Gervaise starts with a wild cry. The ship is seen battling with the waves, while André rushes in to bring Gervaise a telegraphic dispatch from Paris. It tells her, that her child is at death's door. Tournaud, catching the paper, in a moment guesses the whole tragedy of his daughter's life. In his shame and wrath he curses her, but all her thoughts are centered on the ship, on which the count, her child's father is struggling against death. She implores André to save him, but he is deaf to her entreaties. Then she rushes off to ring the alarm-bell, but nobody dares to risk his life in the storm. At last, seeing all her efforts vain, she looses a boat, and drives out alone into night and perdition. As soon as André perceives her danger, he follows her. At this moment a flash of lightning which is followed by a deafening crash shows the Yacht rising out of the waves for the last time, and then plunging down into a watery grave forever.--The whole assembly sink on their knees in fervent prayer, which is so far granted, that André brings back Gervaise unhurt. She is but in a deep swoon, and her father, deeply touched, pardons her. When she opens her eyes, and shudderingly understands that her sacrifice was fruitless, she takes a little {161} flask of poison from her bosom and slowly empties it. Then, taking a last farewell of the home of her childhood and of her early love, she recommends Marion to André's care. By this time the poison has begun to take effect and the poor girl, thinking that in the waving willow branches she sees the form of her lover, beckoning to her, sighs "I come beloved" and sinks back dead.

LA JUIVE (THE JEWESS).

Grand Opera in five acts by HALÉVY.

Text by EUGENE SCRIBE.

This opera created a great sensation when it first appeared on the stage of the Grand Opera at Paris in the year 1835, and it has never lost its attraction. It was one of the first grand operas to which brilliant mise en scène, gorgeous decorations etc., added success.

Halévy's great talent lies in orchestration, which is here rich and effective; his style, half French, half Italian, is full of beautiful effects of a high order.

The libretto is one of the best which was ever written by the dexterous and fertile Scribe.

The scene of action is laid in Constance, in the year 1414 during the Council.

In the first act the opening of the Council is celebrated with great pomp.

The Catholics, having gained a victory over the Hussites, Huss is to be burnt, and the Jews, equally disliked, are oppressed and put down still {162} more than before. All the shops are closed, only Eleazar, a rich Jewish jeweller has kept his open, and is therefore about to be imprisoned and put to death, when Cardinal de Brogni intervenes, and saves the Jew and his daughter Recha from the people's fury. The Cardinal has a secret liking for Eleazar, though he once banished him from Rome. He hopes to gain news from him of his daughter, who was lost in early childhood. But Eleazar hates the Cardinal bitterly. When the mob is dispersed, Prince Leopold, the Imperial Commander-in-Chief, approaches Recha. Under the assumed name of Samuel he has gained her affections, and she begs him to be present at a religious feast, which is to take place that evening at her father's house. The act closes with a splendid procession of the Emperor and all his dignitaries. Ruggiero, the chief judge in Constance seeing the hated Jew and his daughter amongst the spectators, is about to seize them once more, when Prince Leopold steps between and delivers them, to Recha's great astonishment.

In the second act we are introduced to a great assembly of Jews, men and women, assisting at a religious ceremony. Samuel is there with them. The holy act is however interrupted by the Emperor's niece, Princess Eudora, who comes to purchase a golden chain, which once belonged to the Emperor Constantin, and which she destines for her bride-groom, Prince Leopold. Eleazar is to bring it himself on the following day. Samuel overhearing {163} this is full of trouble. When the assembly is broken up and all have gone, he returns once more to Recha, and finding her alone, confesses that he is a Christian. Love prevails over Recha's filial devotion, and she consents to fly with her lover, but they are surprised by Eleazar. Hearing of Samuel's falseness, he first swears vengeance, but, mollified by his daughter's entreaties, he only bids him marry Recha. Samuel refuses and has to leave, the father cursing him, Recha bewailing her lover's falseness.

In the third act we assist at the Imperial banquet. Eleazar brings the chain, and is accompanied by Recha, who at once recognizes in Eudora's bridegroom, her lover, Samuel. She denounces the traitor, accusing him of living in unlawful wedlock with a Jewess, a crime, which is punishable by death.

Leopold (alias Samuel) is outlawed, the Cardinal Brogni pronounces the anathema upon all three, and they are put into prison.

In the fourth act Eudora visits Recha in prison, and by her prayers not only overcomes Recha's hate, but persuades her to save Leopold by declaring him innocent. Recha, in her noblemindedness, pardons Leopold and Eudora, and resolves to die, alone.

Meanwhile the Cardinal has an interview with Eleazar, who tells him that he knows the Jew, who once saved the Cardinal's little daughter from the flames. Brogni vainly entreats him to reveal {164} the name. He promises to save Recha, should Eleazar be willing to abjure his faith, but the latter remains firm, fully prepared to die.

In the fifth act we hear the clamors of the people who furiously demand the Jew's death.

Ruggiero announces to father and daughter the verdict of death by fire. Leopold is set free through Recha's testimony. When in view of the funeral pile, Eleazar asks Recha, if she would prefer to live in joy and splendor and to accept the Christian faith, but she firmly answers in the negative. Then she is led on to death, and she is just plunged into the glowing furnace, when Eleazar, pointing to her, informs the Cardinal, that the poor victim is his long-lost daughter; then Eleazar follows Recha into the flames, while Brogni falls back senseless.

JUNKER HEINZ (SIR HARRY).

Opera in three acts by KARL VON PERFALL.

Text after Hertz's poem: Henri of Suabia by FRANZ GRANDOUR.

This opera composed recently by the Superintendent of the Royal Opera in Munich, has made its way to the most renowned stages in Germany, which proves that the composition is not a common one.

Indeed, though it is not composed in the large style to which we are now accustomed from hearing so much of Wagner, the music is interesting, particularly so, because it is entirely original and free from reminiscenses.--There are some little {165} masterpieces in it, which deserve to become popular on account of their freshness; wit and humor however are not the composer's "forte" and so the first act, in which the vagabonds present themselves, is by far the least interesting.

The libretto is very well done; it has made free use of Hertz's pretty poem.

The scene is laid in the beginning of the 11th century. The first act lands us near Esslingen in Suabia, the two following near Speier.

Three swindlers concoct a plot to acquire wealth by robbing the Emperor's daughter. To this end, one of them, Marudas, a former clerk, has forged a document, in which the Emperor of Byzantium asks for the hand of Agnes, daughter of Conrad, Emperor of Germany, who just approaching with his wife Gisela, is received with acclamation by the citizens of Esslingen. Soon after, the three vagabonds appear in decent clothes, crying for help; they pretend to have been attacked and robbed by brigands. Boccanera, the most insolent of them wears a bloody bandage round his head. The document is presented to the Emperor, who turns gladly to his wife and tells her of the flattering offer of the Greek Prince. After he has ordered that the ambassador be taken good care of, the Emperor is left alone with his wife. She tenderly asks him why he always seems so sorrowful and gloomy, and after a first evasive answer, he confides to his faithful wife what oppresses him.

Twenty years ago he gave orders to kill a {166} little infant, the son of his deadliest enemy, Count of Calw, his astronomer Crusius having prophesied, that this child would wed the Emperor's daughter and reign after him. The remembrance of this cruelty now torments him, but Gisela consoles her husband, hoping and praying that God will pardon the repentant sinner. During this intercourse, a young man comes up, entreating the Emperor to read a document, which was given to the youth by his dying uncle and destined for the Emperor. As Conrad reads it, he learns that this youth is the child, he would have had killed years ago and who was carried to the forester-house and brought up there. The Emperor and his wife thank Heaven that they have been spared so dreadful a sin, but Conrad, afraid of the prophesy, determines to send the young man, who is called Junker Heinz, away. He gives him a document, in which he orders Count Gerold, governor of Speier, to give his daughter to the three ambassadors of the Emperor of Byzantium.

In the second act we see Agnes, the Emperor's daughter, working and singing with her damsels. She is well guarded by old Hiltrudis, but the worthy lady is obliged to leave for some days and departs with many exhortations. Hardly has she gone, than all the working-material disappears, and the maidens begin to sing and frolic. The appearance of Junker Heinz frightens them away. Heinz, who has ridden long, thinks to take a little rest, now that he sees the towers of Speier before {167} him. He stretches himself on a mossy bank and is soon asleep.--Shortly afterwards the Princess Agnes peeps about with her companion Bertha. She is highly pleased with the appearance of the strange hunter, and seeing him asleep, she gazes at him, until she insensibly falls in love with him. Observing the document which the stranger has in his keeping, she takes and reads it, and disgusted with its contents throws it into the fountain, quickly fetching another parchment which was once given to her by her father, and which contains both permission to wish for something and her father's promise to grant her wish.

When Heinz awakes, and finds the loveliest of the maidens beside him, he falls as deeply in love as the young lady, but their tender interview is soon interrupted by the blowing of hunter's horns.

In the third act Count Gerold, who has come with a suite, to accompany the Princess on a hunt, is presented with the Emperor's document by Heinz, who cannot read and who is wholly ignorant of the change which Agnes has made. Though greatly astonished at the Emperor's command to wed Agnes to the bringer of his letter, Count Gerold is accustomed to obey, and Heinz, who first refuses compliance with the strange command, at once acquiesces, when he sees that his lady-love and the Princess are one and the same person. About to go to church, they are detained by the Emperor, who scornfully charges Heinz with fraud.

But when Count Gerold presents the document, {168} his scorn turns on Agnes and he orders her to a convent. Heinz fervently entreats the Emperor to pardon Agnes, and takes a tender farewell of her. On the point of departing for ever, he sees the three ambassadors, whom he recognizes and loudly denounces as robbers and swindlers. Boccanera is obliged to own that his wound came from Junker Heinz, who caught him stealing sheep. They are led to prison, while the Emperor, grateful to Heinz for his daughter's delivery from robbers, gives her to him and makes Heinz Duke of Suabia, persuaded that it is useless to fight against that which the stars have prophesied.

A KING AGAINST HIS WILL.

(DER KONIG WIDER WILLEN.)

Comic Opera in three acts by EMANUEL CHABRIER.

Text after a comedy written by ANCELOT, from EMILE DE NAJAC and PAUL BURANI.

The composer has recently become known in Germany by his opera Gwendoline, performed at Leipsic a short time ago. His latest opera, "A King against his will", was represented on the Royal Opera in Dresden, April 26th 1890, and through its wit, grace and originality won great applause.--Indeed, though not quite free from "raffinement", its melodies are exquisitely interesting and lovely. Minka's Bohemian song, her duet with De Nangis, her lover, as well as the duet between the King and Alexina are master-pieces, and the {169} national coloring in the song of the Polish bodyguard is characteristic enough.

The libretto is most amusing, though the plot is complicated. The scene is laid at Cracow in the year 1574.--Its subject is derived from a historical fact. Henry de Valois has been elected King of Poland, through the machinations of his ambitious mother, Catarina di Medici, to whom it has been prophesied, that all her sons should be crowned.

The gay Frenchman most reluctantly accepts the honor, but the delight of his new Polish subjects at having him, is not greater than his own enchantment with his new Kingdom.

The first act shows the new King surrounded by French noblemen, gay and thoughtless like himself; but watching all his movements by orders of his mother, who fears his escape. By chance the King hears from a young bondwoman Minka, who loves De Nangis, his friend, and wishes to save him a price, that a plot had been formed by the Polish noblemen, who do not yet know him personally, and he at once decides to join the conspiracy against his own person.--Knowing his secretary, Fritelli to be one of the conspirators, he declares that he is acquainted with their proceedings and threatens him with death, should he not silently submit to all his orders.--The frightened Italian promises to lead him into the house of Lasky, the principal conspirator, where he intends to appear as De Nangis. But before this, in order to prevent discovery he {170} assembles his guard and suite, and in their presence accuses his favorite De Nangis with treachery, and has him safely locked up in apparent deep disgrace.

The second act opens with a festival at Lasky's, under cover of which the King is to be arrested and sent over the frontier. Now the King, being a total stranger to the whole assembly, excepting Fritelli, presents himself as De Nangis and swears to dethrone his fickle friend, the King, this very night. But meanwhile De Nangis, who, warned by Minka's song, has escaped from his confinement through the window, comes up, and is at once presented by the pretended De Nangis as King Henry. The true De Nangis complying with the jest, at once issues his Kingly orders, threatening to punish his antagonists and proclaiming his intention to make the frightened Minka his Queen. He is again confined by the conspirators, who, finding him so dangerous, resolve to kill him. This is entirely against King Henry's will, and he at once revokes his oath, proclaiming himself to be the true King and offering himself, if need shall be as their victim. But he is not believed; the only person, who knows him, Fritelli, disowns him, and Alexina, the secretary's wife, a former sweetheart of the King in Venice, to whom he has just made love again under his assumed name, declares, that he is De Nangis.--Henry is even appointed by lot to inflict the death-stroke on the unfortunate King. Determined to destroy himself rather than let his friend suffer, he opens the door to De Nangis' {171} prison, but the bird has again flown. Minka, though despairing of ever belonging to one so highborn has found means to liberate him, and is now ready to suffer for her interference. She is however protected by Henry, who once more swears to force the King from the country.

The third act takes place in the environs of Crakow, where preparations are made for the King's entry. No one knows who is to be crowned, Henry de Valois or the Arch-Duke of Austria, the pretender supported by the Polish nobles, but Fritelli coming up assures the innkeeper, that it is to be the Arch-Duke. Meanwhile the King enters in hot haste asking for horses, in order to take himself away as quickly as possible. Unfortunately there is only one horse left and no driver, but the King orders this to be got ready, and declares that he will drive himself. During his absence Alexina and Minka, who have proceeded to the spot, are full of pity for the unfortunate King, as well as for his friend De Nangis. Alexina resolves to put on servant's clothes, in order to save the fugitive, and to drive herself. Of course Henry is enchanted when recognizing his fair driver and both set about to depart.

Minka, left alone, bewails her fate and wants to stab herself, whereupon De Nangis suddenly appears in search for the King. At the sight of him, Minka quickly dries her tears, being assured that her lover is true to her. Fritelli however, who at first had rejoiced to see his wife's admirer depart, {172} is greatly dismayed at hearing that his fair wife was the servant-driver. He madly rushes after them, to arrest the fugitives. But the faithful guard is already on the King's track, and together with his Cavaliers, brings them back in triumph.

Finding that, whether her will or no, he must abide by his lot, and hearing further, that the Arch-Duke has renounced his pretentions to the crown of Poland, the King at last submits. He unites the faithful lovers, De Nangis and Minka, sends Fritelli as Ambassador to Venice accompanied by his wife Alexina, and all hail Henry de Valois as King of Poland.

LOHENGRIN.

Romantic Opera in three acts by RICHARD WAGNER.

This is the most popular of all Wagner's operas. No need to say more about its music, which is so generally known and admired, that every child in Germany knows the graceful aria, where Lohengrin dismisses the swan, the superb bridal chorus etc.

Wagner again took his material from the old legend, which tells us of the mystical knight Lohengrin, (Veron of Percifal), Keeper of the "Holy Grail".

The scene is laid near Antwerp, where "Heinrich der Vogler," King of Germany, is just levying troops amongst his vassals of Brabant, to repulse the Hungarian invaders. The King finds the people {173} in a state of great commotion, for Count Frederick Telramund accuses Elsa of Brabant, of having killed her young brother Godfrey, heir to the Duke of Brabant, who died a short time ago, leaving his children to the care of Telramund. Elsa was to be Telramund's wife, but he wedded Ortrud of Friesland and now claims the deserted Duchy of Brabant.

As Elsa declares her innocence, not knowing what has become of her brother, who was taken from her during her sleep, the King resolves to decide by a tourney in which the whole matter shall be left to the judgment of God. Telramund, sure of his rights, is willing to fight with any champion, who may defend Elsa. All the noblemen of Brabant refuse to do so, and even the King, though struck by Elsa's innocent appearance, does not want to oppose his valiant and trustworthy warrior.

Elsa alone is calm, she trusts in the help of the heavenly knight, who has appeared to her in a dream, and publicly declares her intention of offering to her defender the crown and her hand. While she prays, there arrives a knight in silver armor; a swan draws his boat. He lands, Elsa recognizes the knight of her dream and he at once offers to fight for the accused maiden on two conditions, first that she shall become his wife, and second, that she never will ask for his name and his descent.

Elsa solemnly promises and the combat {174} begins. The strange knight is victorious, and Telramund, whose life the stranger spares is with his wife Ortrud outlawed.

The latter is a sorceress; she has deceived her husband, who really believes in the murder of Godfrey, while as a matter of fact she has abducted the child. In the second act we see her at the door of the Ducal palace, where preparations for the wedding are already being made. She plans vengeance. Her husband, full of remorse and feeling that his wife has led him on to a shameful deed, curses her as the cause of his dishonor. She derides him and rouses his pride by calling him a coward. Then she pacifies him with the assurance, that she will induce Elsa to break her promise and ask for the name of her husband, being sure, that then all the power of this mysterious champion will vanish.

When Elsa steps on the balcony to confide her happiness to the stars, she hears her name spoken in accents so sad, that her tender heart is moved. Ortrud bewails her lot, invoking Elsa's pity. The Princess opens her door, urging the false woman to share her palace and her fortune. Ortrud at once tries to sow distrust in Elsa's innocent heart.

As the morning dawns, a rich procession of men and women throng to the Münster, where Elsa is to be united to her protector. Telramund tries vainly to accuse the stranger; he is pushed back and silenced. As Elsa is about to enter the church, Ortrud steps forward, claiming the right of {175} precedence. Elsa, frightened, repents too late having protected her. Ortrud upbraids her with not even having asked her husband's name and descent. All are taken aback, but Elsa defends her husband, winning everybody by her quiet dignity.

She turns to Lohengrin for protection, but, alas, the venom rankles in her heart.

When they are all returning from church, Telramund once more steps forth, accusing Lohengrin and demanding from the King to know the stranger's name. Lohengrin declares that his name may not be told, excepting his wife asks. Elsa is in great trouble, but once more her love conquers, and she does not put the fatal question.

But in the third act, when the two lovers are alone she knows no rest. Although her husband asks her to trust him, she fears that he may once leave her as mysteriously, as he came, and at last she cannot refrain from asking the luckless question. From this moment all happiness is lost to her. Telramund enters to slay his enemy, but Lohengrin, taking his sword, kills him with one stroke. Then he leads Elsa before the King and loudly announces his secret. He tells the astounded hearers, that he is the Keeper of the Holy-Grail. Sacred and invulnerable to the villain, a defender of right and virtue, he may stay with mankind as long as his name is unknown. But now he is obliged to reveal it. He is Lohengrin, son of Percival, King of the Grail, and is now compelled to leave his wife and return to his home. The swan appears, from whose neck {176} Lohengrin takes a golden ring, giving it to Elsa together with his sword and golden horn.

Just as Lohengrin is about to depart Ortrud appears, triumphantly declaring, that it was she, who changed young Godfrey into a swan, and that Lohengrin would have freed him too, had Elsa not mistrusted her husband.--Lohengrin, hearing this, sends a fervent prayer to Heaven and loosening the swan's golden chain, the animal dips under water and in his stead rises Godfrey, the lawful heir of Brabant. A white dove descends to draw the boat in which Lohengrin glides away and Elsa falls senseless in her brother's arm.

LORLE.

Opera in three acts by ALBAN FOERSTER.

Text by HANS HEINRICH SCHEFSKY.

With this opera its composer has made a lucky hit; it stands far higher than the "Maidens of Schilda", by dint of the charming subject, founded on Auerbach's wonderful village-story: Die Frau Professorin. This romance is so universally known and admired all over Germany, that it ensures the success of the opera. The music is exceedingly well adapted to the subject; its best parts are the "Lieder" (songs) which are often exquisitely sweet, harmonious and refined. They realize Foerster's prominent strength, and nowhere could they be better placed than in this sweet and touching story.

Though the libretto is not very carefully written, it is better than the average performances of this {177} kind, and with poetical intuition Schefsky has refrained from the temptation, to make it turn out well, as Charlotte Birch-Pfeiffer has done in her play of L'orle, which is a weak counterpart of Auerbach's village-tragedy.

The first representation of the opera took place in Dresden on June 18th of 1891; it won the success it truly deserves.

The first act which is laid in a village of the Black Forest, represents the square before the house of the wealthy Lindenhost. He wishes his only daughter Lorle to marry a well to do young peasant, named Balder, who loved her from her childhood. But Lorle rejects him, having lost her heart to a painter, who had stayed in her father's house, and who had taken her as a model for a picture of the Madonna, which adorns the altar of the village church. Lorle's friend Bärbele guesses her secret, and advises her to consult fate, by wreathing secretly a garland of blue-bells and reed grass. This wreath she is to throw into the branches of an oak calling aloud the name of her lover. If the garland is stopped by the boughs, her wishes are fulfilled, if it falls back into the girl's hands, she must give up hope for the year.

Both maidens resolve to try their fate on the very same night, which happens to be St. John's (midsummer-night) the true night for the working of the charm.

Meanwhile the Hussars arrive, to carry away the newly enlisted peasants. The sergeant willingly {178} permits a last dance, and all join in it heartily, but when the hour of parting comes the frightened Balder hides in an empty barrel. Unfortunately his officer happens to choose this one barrel for himself, deeming it filled with wine. When it is laid on the car, the missing recruit is promptly apprehended.

The scene changes now to one of sylvan solitude, through which two wanderers are sauntering. They are artists, and one of them, Reinhardt, is attracted to the spot by his longing for the sweet village-flower, whom he has not forgotten in the whirl of the great world. Already he sees the windows of his sweet-heart glimmer through the trees, when suddenly light footsteps cause the friends to hide behind a large oak-tree. The two maidens who appear are Lorle and Bärbele. The former prays fervently, then throwing her garland she shyly calls her lover's name Reinhardt. The latter stepping from behind the tree skillfully catches the wreath--and the maiden. This moment decides upon their fates; Reinhardt passionately declares his love, while Walter amuses himself with pretty Bärbele, whose naïve coquetry pleases him mightily.

The following act introduces us to Reinhardt's studio in a German residence. A year has gone by since he wooed and won his bride; alas, he is already tired of her. The siren Maria countess of Matran, with whom he was enamoured years ago and whose portrait he has just finished, has again completely bewitched him.

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In vain Lorle adorns herself in her bridal attire at the anniversary of their wedding; the infatuated husband has no eye for her loveliness, and roughly pushes her from him. Left alone the poor young wife gives vent to her feelings in an exquisite sigh of longing for her native country. "Hätt' ich verlassen nie dich, meine Haiden." (Would I had never left thee, o my heath.)

A visit from her dear Bärbele somewhat consoles her and delights Walter, the faithful house-friend. Balder, Lorle's old play mate, still recruit, also comes in and gladdens her by a bunch of heath-flowers. But hardly have they enjoyed their meeting, when the prince is announced, who desires to have a look at the countess' portrait. The rustic pair are hastily hidden behind the easel, and Lorle receives his Royal Highness with artless gracefullness, presenting him with the flowers she has just received. Her husband is on thorns, but the prince affably accepts the gift and invites her to a festival, which is to take place in the evening. Then he looks at the picture, expressing some disappointment about its execution, which so vexes the sensitive artist that he roughly pushes the picture from the easel thereby revealing the two innocents behind it. Great is his wrath at his wife's imprudence, while the prince exits with the countess, unable to repress a smile at the unexpected event.

There now ensues a very piquant musical intermezzo, well making up for the missing overture. The rising curtain reveals a brilliant court {180} festival. Reinhardt has chosen the countess for his shepherdess, while Lorle, standing a moment alone and heart-sore, is suddenly chosen by the Prince as queen of the fête. After a charming gavotte the guests disperse in the various rooms. Only the countess stays behind with Reinhardt and so enthralls him, that he forgets honor and wife, and falls at her feet, stammering words of love and passion. Unfortunately Lorle witnesses the scene; she staggers forward, charging her husband with treason. The guests rush to her aid, but this last stroke is too much for the poor young heart, she sinks down in a dead faint.

The closing act takes place a year later. Walter and Bärbele are married, and only Lorle's sad fate mars their happiness. Lorle has returned to her father's home broken-hearted, and this grief for his only child has changed the old man sadly.

Again it is midsummernight, and the father is directing his tottering steps to the old oak, when he is arrested by a solitary wanderer, whom sorrow and remorse have also aged considerably. With disgust and loathing he recognizes his child's faithless husband, who comes to crave pardon from the wife he so deeply wronged. Alas, he only comes, to see her die.

Lorle's feeble steps are also guided by her friends to the old oak, her favorite resting-place. There she finds her last wish granted; it is to see Reinhardt once more, before she dies and to pardon him. The luckless husband rushes to her feet {181} and tries vainly to restrain the fast-ebbing life. With the grateful sigh "he loves me", she sinks dead into his arms, while a sweet and solemn choir in praise of St. John's night concludes the tragedy.

LOVE'S BATTLE.

(DER LIEBESKAMPF.)

Opera in two acts.

Music and Text by ERIK MEYER-HELMUND.

This young composer, whose first opera was brought on the stage in Dresden in the spring of 1892, has been known for several years to the musical world by his most charming and effective songs. That he has talent, even genius is a fact which this opera again demonstrates, but the "making" is somewhat too easy not to say negligent, and it reminds us of Mascagni, whose laurels are an inducement to all our young genius' to "go and do likewise". Even the plot with its Corsican scenery has a strong resemblance to Cavalleria Rusticana. Its brevity, both acts last but fifty minutes, is a decided advantage, for the easy-flowing melodies, which come quite naturally to the composer cannot fail to attract the public, without being able to tire them.--One of the most delightful, a really exquisite piece of music is the duet between Giulietta and Giovanni.

The text, which is likewise written by the musician himself, has a very simple plot.--

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Pietro, a sailor returns from a long voyage, only to find his promised bride Maritana the wife of another.--

After having waited three years for his return, she fell into dire distress, which was still augmented by the report, that Pietro's ship "Elena" had been wrecked and her lover drowned. An innkeeper Arrigo came to her aid, and not only rescued her from misery, but also adopted her child, the offspring of Maritana's love for Pietro, after which she promised him her hand in gratitude.

Not long after their marriage the "Elena" returns with Pietro, who never doubts his sweetheart's constancy. Great is his dismay, when he hears from Arrigo and his father, that Maritana is lost to him. Pietro endeavours to persuade Maritana to fly with him, but the young wife, although conscious of her affections for him, denies that she ever loved him.

The second act begins with the wedding festival of Giovanni and Giulietta, Arrigo's niece. After the charming love-duet above mentioned, Pietro once more offers his love to Maritana, but in vain.

In the midst of the turmoil of frolic, in which Pietro seems one of the wildest and gayest, Arrigo takes him aside, whispering: "There is no room here for both of us, unless you leave Maritana in peace. Quit this place; there are more girls in the world to suit you."--Pietro promises, and in his passion he at once turns to the bride Giulietta, whom he embraces.--Of course her bridegroom {183} Giovanni is not willing to put up with this piece of folly; a violent quarrel ensues, in which the men rush upon Pietro with daggers drawn.

Maritana, willing to sacrifice herself in a quarrel, for which she feels herself alone responsible, rushes between the combatants. Then Pietro, fully awake to her love, but seeing that she is lost to him, quickly ascends a rock and calling out "O Sea eternal, I am thine, farewell Maritana, we shall meet in Heaven" he precipitates himself into the waves, while Maritana falls back in a faint.

LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR.

Tragic Opera in three acts by GAETANO DONIZETTI.

Text from Scott's romance by SALVATORE CAMMERANO.

This opera is Donizetti's master-piece and except his "Figlia del reggimento" and "Lucrezia Borgia" is the only one of his fifty operas, which is still given on all stages abroad. The chief parts, those of Lucia and Edgardo, offer plenty of scope for the display of brilliant talent and Lucia in particular is a tragic heroine of the first rank.

In the libretto there is not much left of Scott's fine romance. Edgardo, the noble lover is most sentimental, and generally English characteristics have had to give place to Italian coloring.

Henry Ashton, Lord of Lammermoor has discovered that his sister Lucia loves his mortal enemy, Sir Edgardo of Ravenswood. He confides {184} to Lucia's tutor, Raymond, that he is lost, if Lucia does not marry another suitor of his (her brother's) choice.

Lucia and Edgardo meet in the park. Edgardo tells her, that he is about to leave Scotland for France in the service of his country. He wishes to be reconciled to his enemy, Lord Ashton, for though the latter has done him all kinds of evil, though he has slain his father and burnt his castle, Edgardo is willing to sacrifice his oath of vengeance to his love for Lucia. But the lady, full of evil forebodings, entreats him to wait and swears eternal fidelity to him. After having bound himself by a solemn oath, he leaves her half-distracted with grief.

In the second act Lord Ashton shows a forged letter to his sister, which goes to prove that her lover is false. Her brother now presses her more and more to wed his friend Arthur, Lord Bucklaw, declaring, that he and his party are lost and that Arthur alone can save him from the executioner's axe. At last when even her tutor Raymond beseeches her to forget Edgardo and, like the others, believes him to be faithless, Lucia consents to the sacrifice. The wedding takes place in great haste, but just as Lucia has finished signing the marriage-contract, Edgardo enters to claim her as his own.

With grief and unbounded passion he now sees in his bride a traitress, and tearing his ring of betrothal from her finger, he throws it at her feet.

Henry, Arthur and Raymond order the raving {185} lover to leave the castle and the act closes in the midst of confusion and despair.

The third act opens with Raymond's announcement that Lucia has lost her reason and has killed her husband in the bridal room. Lucia herself enters to confirm his awful news; she is still in bridal attire and in her demented condition believes that Arthur will presently appear for the nuptial ceremony. Everybody is full of pity for her, and her brother repents his harshness, too late, alas!--Lucia is fast dying and Eliza leads her away amid the lamentations of all present.

Edgardo, hearing of these things, while wandering amid the tombs of his ancestors, resolves to see Lucia once more. When dying she asks for him, but he comes too late. The funeral-bells toll, and he stabs himself, praying to be united to his bride in heaven.

LUCREZIA BORGIA.

A tragic Opera in three acts by DONIZETTI.

Text by FELICE ROMANI after Victor Hugo's drama.

Donizetti's Lucrezia was one of the first tragic operas to command great success, notwithstanding its dreadful theme and its light music, which is half French, half Italian. It is in some respects the predecessor of Verdi's operas, Rigoletto, Trovatore etc., which have till now held their own in many theatres because the subject is interesting and the music may well entertain us for an evening, {186} though its value often lies only in the striking harmonies. The libretto cannot inspire us with feelings of particular pleasure, the heroine, whose part is by far the best and most interesting, being the celebrated murderess and poisoner Lucrezia Borgia. At the same time she gives evidence in her dealings with her son Gennaro of possessing a very tender and motherly heart, and the songs, in which she pours out her love for him are really fine as well as touching.

Lucrezia, wife of Don Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara, goes to Venice in disguise, to see the son of her first marriage, Gennaro. In his earliest youth he was given to a fisherman, who brought him up as his own son.--Gennaro feels himself attracted towards the strange and beautiful woman, who visits him, but hearing from his companions, who recognize and charge her with all sorts of crimes, that she is Lucrezia Borgia, he abhors her. Don Alfonso, not knowing the existence of this son of an early marriage, is jealous, and when Gennaro comes to Ferrara and in order to prove his hatred of the Borgias, tears off Lucrezia's name and scutcheon from the palace-gates, Rustighello, the Duke's confidant is ordered to imprison him. Lucrezia, hearing from her servant Gubella of the outrage to her name and honor complains to the Duke, who promises immediate punishment of the malefactor.

Gennaro enters, and terror-stricken Lucrezia recognizes her son. Vainly does she implore the {187} Duke to spare the youth. With exquisite cruelty he forces her to hand the poisoned golden cup to the culprit herself, and, departing, bids her accompany her prisoner to the door. This order gives her an opportunity to administer an antidote by which she saves Gennaro's life, and she implores him to fly. But Gennaro does not immediately follow her advice, being induced by his friend Orsini to assist at a grand festival at Prince Negroni's.