THE OPERA A Sketch of the Development of Opera. With full Descriptions of allWorks in the Modern Repertory. BY R. A. STREATFEILD WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND _THIRD EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED_ LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE INTRODUCTION vii I. THE BEGINNINGS OF OPERA 1 PERI--MONTEVERDE--CAVALLI--CESTI--CAMBERT--LULLI--PURCELL--KEISER--SCARLATTI--HANDEL II. THE REFORMS OF GLUCK 19 III. OPERA BUFFA, OPERA COMIQUE, AND SINGSPIEL 40 PERGOLESI--ROUSSEAU--MONSIGNY--GRÉTRY--CIMAROSA--HILLER IV. MOZART 52 V. THE CLOSE OF THE CLASSICAL PERIOD 74 MÉHUL--CHERUBINI--SPONTINI--BEETHOVEN--BOIELDIEU VI. WEBER AND THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL 87 WEBER--SPOHR--MARSCHNER--KREUTZER--LORTZING--NICOLAI--FLOTOW--MENDELSSOHN--SCHUBERT--SCHUMANN VII. ROSSINI, DONIZETTI, AND BELLINI 106 VIII. MEYERBEER AND FRENCH OPERA 126 HÉROLD--MEYERBEER--BERLIOZ--HALÉVY--AUBER IX. WAGNER'S EARLY WORKS 151 X. WAGNER'S LATER WORKS 176 XL. MODERN FRANCE 214 GOUNOD--THOMAS--BIZET--SAINT SAËNS--REYER---MASSENET--BRUNEAU--CHARPENTIER--DEBUSSY XII. MODERN ITALY 262 VERDI--BOITO--PONCHIELLI--PUCCINI--MASCAGNI--LEONCAVALLO--GIORDANO XIII. MODERN GERMAN AND SLAVONIC OPERA 302 CORNELIUS--GOETZ---GOLDMARK--HUMPERDINCK--STRAUSS--SMETANA--GLINKA--PADEREWSKI XIV. ENGLISH OPERA 323 BALFE--WALLACE--BENEDICT--GORING THOMAS--MACKENZIE--STANFORD--SULLIVAN--SMYTH INDEX OF OPERAS 351 INDEX OF COMPOSERS 361 INTRODUCTION If Music be, among the arts, 'Heaven's youngest-teemed star', thelatest of the art-forms she herself has brought forth isunquestionably Opera. Three hundred years does not at first seem avery short time, but it is not long when it covers the whole period ofthe inception, development, and what certainly looks like thedecadence, of an important branch of man's artistic industry. The artof painting has taken at least twice as long to develop; yet the threecenturies from Monteverde to Debussy cover as great a distance as thatwhich separates Cimabue from Degas. In operatic history, revolutions, which in other arts have not been accomplished in several generations, have got themselves completed, and indeed almost forgotten, in thecourse of a few years. Twenty-five years ago, for example, Wagner'smaturer works were regarded, by the more charitable of those who didnot admire them, as intelligible only to the few enthusiasts who haddevoted years of study to the unravelling of their mysteries; theworld in general looked askance at the 'Wagnerians', as they werecalled, and professed to consider the shyly-confessed admiration ofthe amateurs as a mere affectation. In that time we have seen thetables turned, and now there is no more certain way for a manager tosecure a full house than by announcing one of these very works. Aneven shorter period covers the latest Italian renaissance of music, the feverish excitement into which the public was thrown by one of itsmost blatant productions, and the collapse of a set of composers whowere at one time hailed as regenerators of their country's art. But though artistic conditions in opera change quickly and continually, though reputations are made and lost in a few years, and the realreformers of music themselves alter their style and methods so radicallythat the earlier compositions of a Gluck, a Wagner, or a Verdi presentscarcely any point of resemblance to those later masterpieces by whicheach of these is immortalised, yet the attitude of audiences towardsopera in general changes curiously little from century to century; andplenty of modern parallels might be found, in London and elsewhere, tothe story which tells of the delay in producing 'Don Giovanni' onaccount of the extraordinary vogue of Martini's 'Una Cosa Rara', a workwhich only survives because a certain tune from it is brought into thesupper-scene in Mozart's opera. There is a good deal of fascination, and some truth, in the theorythat different nations enjoy opera in different ways. According tothis, the Italians consider it solely in relation to their sensuousemotions; the French, as producing a titillating sensation more orless akin to the pleasures of the table; the Spaniards, mainly as avehicle for dancing; the Germans, as an intellectual pleasure; and theEnglish, as an expensive but not unprofitable way of demonstratingfinancial prosperity. The Italian might be said to hear through whatis euphemistically called his heart, the Frenchman through his palate, the Spaniard through his toes, the German through his brain, and theEnglishman through his purse. But in truth this does not represent thecase at all fairly. For, to take only modern instances, Italy, onwhose congenial soil 'Cavalleria Rusticana' and the productions itsuggested met with such extraordinary success, saw also in 'Falstaff'the wittiest and most brilliant musical comedy since 'DieMeistersinger', and in 'Madama Butterfly' a lyric of infinitedelicacy, free from any suggestion of unworthy emotion. Among recentFrench operas, works of tragic import, treated with all the intricacyof the most advanced modern schools, have been received with fargreater favour than have been shown to works of the lighter classwhich we associate with the genius of the French nation; and of lateyears the vogue of such works as 'Louise' or 'Pelléas et Mélisande'shows that the taste for music without any special form has conqueredthe very nation in which form has generally ranked highest. InGermany, on the other hand, some of the greatest successes with thepublic at large have been won by productions which seem to touch thelowest imaginable point of artistic imbecility; and theever-increasing interest in musical drama that is manifested yearafter year by London audiences shows that higher motives than thosereferred to weigh even with Englishmen. The theory above mentionedwill not hold water, for there are, as a matter of fact, only two waysof looking at opera: either as a means, whether expensive or not, ofpassing an evening with a very little intellectual trouble, somesocial _éclat_, and a certain amount of pleasure, or as a form of art, making serious and justifiable claims on the attention of rationalpeople. These claims of opera are perhaps more widely recognised inEngland than they were some years ago; but there are still a certainnumber of persons, and among them not a few musical people, whohesitate to give opera a place beside what is usually called'abstract' music. Music's highest dignity is, no doubt, reached whenit is self-sufficient, when its powers are exerted upon its owncreations, entirely without dependence upon predetermined emotionscalling for illustration, and when the interest of the composition aswell as the material is conveyed exclusively in terms of music. Butthe function of music in expressing those sides of human emotion whichlie too deep for verbal utterance, a function of which the gradualrecognition led on to the invention of opera, is one that cannot beslighted or ignored; in it lies a power of appeal to feeling that nowords can reach, and a very wonderful definiteness in conveying exactshades of emotional sensation. Not that it can of itself suggest thedirection in which the emotions are to be worked upon; but thisdirection once given from outside, whether by a 'programme' read bythe listener or by the action and accessories of the stage, the forceof feeling can be conveyed with overwhelming power, and the wholegamut of emotion, from the subtlest hint or foreshadowing to the furyof inevitable passion, is at the command of him who knows how to wieldthe means by which expression is carried to the hearer's mind. And inthis fact--for a fact it is--lies the completest justification ofopera as an art-form. The old-fashioned criticism of opera as such, based on the indisputable fact that, however excited people may be, they do not in real life express themselves in song, but inunmodulated speech, is not now very often heard. With the revival inEngland of the dramatic instinct, the conventions of stage declamationare readily accepted, and if it be conceded that the characters in adrama may be allowed to speak blank verse, it is hardly more than astep further to permit the action to be carried on by means of vocalutterance in music. Until latterly, however, English people, thoughtaking pleasure in the opera, went to it rather to hear particularsingers than to enjoy the work as a whole, or with any considerationfor its dramatic significance. We should not expect a stern anduncompromising nature like Carlyle's to regard the opera as anythingmore than a trivial amusement, and that such was his attitude towardsit appears from his letters; but it is curious to see that a man ofsuch strongly pronounced dramatic tastes as Edward FitzGerald, thoughdevoted to the opera in his own way, yet took what can only be calleda superficial view of its possibilities. The Englishman who said of the opera, 'At the first act I wasenchanted; the second I could just bear; and at the third I ran away', is a fair illustration of an attitude common in the eighteenthcentury; and in France things were not much better, even in days whenstage magnificence reached a point hardly surpassed in history. LaBruyère's 'Je ne sais comment l'opéra avec une musique si parfaite, etune dépense toute royale, a pu réussir à m'ennuyer', shows how littlehe had realised the fatiguing effect of theatrical splendour toopersistently displayed. St. Evrémond finds juster cause for his boredstate of mind in the triviality of the subject-matter of operas, andhis words are worth quoting at some length: 'La langueur ordinaire oùje tombe aux opéras, vient de ce que je n'en ai jamais vu qui ne m'aitparu méprisable dans la disposition du sujet, et dans les vers. Or, c'est vainement que l'oreille est flattée, et que les yeux sontcharmés, si l'esprit ne se trouve pas satisfait; mon âmed'intelligence avec mon esprit plus qu'avec mes sens, forme unerésistance aux impressions qu'elle peut recevoir, ou pour le moinselle manque d'y prêter un consentement agréable, sans lequel lesobjets les plus voluptueux même ne sauraient me donner un grandplaisir. Une sottise chargée de musique, de danses, de machines, dedécorations, est une sottise magnifique; c'est un vilain fonds sous debeaux dehors, où je pénètre avec beaucoup de désagrément. ' The cant phrase in use in FitzGerald's days, 'the lyric stage', mighthave conveyed a hint of the truth to a man who cared for the forms ofliterature as well as its essence. For, in its highest development, opera is most nearly akin to lyrical utterances in poetry, and the mostimportant musical revolution of the present century has been in thedirection of increasing, not diminishing, the lyrical quality ofoperatic work. The Elizabethan writers--not only the dramatists, but theauthors of romances--interspersed their blank verse or their prosenarration with short lyrical poems, just as in the days of Mozart theairs and concerted pieces in an opera were connected by wastes ofrecitative that were most aptly called 'dry'; and as it was left to amodern poet to tell, in a series of lyrics succeeding one anotherwithout interval, a dramatic story such as that of _Maud_, so was it amodern composer who carried to completion, in 'Tristan und Isolde', thedramatic expression of passion at the highest point of lyricalutterance. It is no more unnatural for the raptures of Wagner's lovers, or the swan-song of ecstasy, to be sung, than for the young man whosecharacter Tennyson assumes, to utter himself in measured verse, sometimes of highly complex structure. The two works differ not in kind, but in degree of intensity, and to those whose ears are open to theappeal of music, the power of expression in such a case as this isgreater beyond all comparison than that of poetry, whether declaimed ormerely read. That so many people recognise the rational nature of operain the present day is in great measure due to Wagner, since whosereforms the conventional and often idiotic libretti of former times haveentirely disappeared. In spite of the sneers of the professedanti-Wagnerians, which were based as often as not upon some ineptitudeon the part of the translator, not upon any inherent defect in theoriginal, the plots invented by Wagner have won for themselves anacceptance that may be called world-wide. And whatever be the verdict onhis own plots, there can be no question as to the superiority of theaverage libretto since his day. No composer dare face the public of thepresent day with one of the pointless, vapid sets of rhymes, strungtogether with intervals of bald recitative, that pleased ourforefathers, and equally inconceivable is the re-setting of librettithat have served before, in the manner of the eighteenth centurycomposers, a prodigious number of whom employed one specially admired'book' by Metastasio. Unfortunately those who take an intelligent interest in opera do noteven yet form a working majority of the operatic audience in anycountry. While the supporters of orchestral, choral, or chamber musicconsist wholly of persons, who, whatever their degree of musicalculture, take a serious view of the art so far as they can appreciateit, and therefore are unhampered by the necessity of considering thewishes of those who care nothing whatever about the music they perform. In connection with every operatic enterprise the question arises of howto cater for a great class who attend operatic performances for anyother reason rather than that of musical enjoyment, yet without whosepecuniary support the undertaking must needs fail at once. Nor is itonly in England that the position is difficult. In countries where theopera enjoys a Government subsidy, the influences that make against trueart are as many and as strong as they are elsewhere. The taste of theIntendant in a German town, or that of the ladies of his family, may beon such a level that the public of the town, over the operaticarrangement of which he presides, may very well be compelled to hearendless repetitions of flashy operas that have long passed out of everyrespectable repertory; and in other countries the Government officialwithin whose jurisdiction the opera falls may, and very often does, enforce the engagement of some musically incompetent prima donna in whomhe, or some scheming friend, takes a particular interest. The moral conditions of the operatic stage are no doubt far moresatisfactory than they were, and in England the general deodorisation ofthe theatre has not been unfelt in opera; but even without the unworthymotives which too often drew the bucks and the dandies of a past day tothe opera-house, the influence of the unintelligent part of theaudience upon the performers is far from good in an artistic sense. Itis this which fosters that mental condition with which all who areacquainted with the operatic world are only too familiar. Now, just asin the days when Marcello wrote his _Teatro alla moda_, there isscarcely a singer who does not hold, and extremely few who do notexpress, the opinion that all the rest of the profession is in leagueagainst them; and by this supposition, as well as by many othercircumstances, an atmosphere is created which is wholly antagonistic tothe attainment of artistic perfection. All honour is due to the purelyartistic singers who have reached their position without intrigue, andwhose influence on their colleagues is the best stimulus to wholesomeendeavour. It is beyond question that the greater the proportion ofintelligent hearers in any audience or set of subscribers, the higherwill the standard be, not only in vocalisation, but in that combinationwhich makes the artist as distinguished from the mere singer. For everyreason, too, it is desirable that opera should be given, as a generalrule, in the language of the country in which the performance takesplace, and although the system of giving each work with its own originalwords is an ideally perfect one for trained hearers, yet thedifficulties in the way of its realisation, and the absurdities thatresult from such expedients as a mixture of two or more languages in thesame piece, render it practically inexpedient for ordinary operaticundertakings. The recognition of English as a possible medium of vocalexpression may be slow, but it is certainly making progress, and in thelast seasons at Covent Garden it was occasionally employed even beforethe fashionable subscribers, who may be presumed to have tolerated it, since they did not manifest any disapproval of its use. Since the firstedition of this book was published, the Utopian idea, as it then seemed, of a national opera for London has advanced considerably towardsrealisation, and it is certain that when it is set on foot, the Englishlanguage alone will be employed. While opera is habitually performed in a foreign language, or, if inEnglish, by those who have not the art of making their wordsintelligible, there will always be a demand for books that tell thestory more clearly than is to be found in the doggerel translations ofthe libretti, unless audiences return with one accord to the attitude ofthe amateurs of former days, who paid not the slightest attention to theplot of the piece, provided only that their favourite singers weretaking part. Very often in that classic period the performers themselvesknew nothing and cared less about the dramatic meaning of the works inwhich they appeared, and a venerable anecdote is current concerning acertain supper party, the guests at which had all identified themselveswith one or other of the principal parts in 'Il Trovatore'. A questionbeing asked as to the plot of the then popular piece, it was found thatnot one of the company had the vaguest notion what it was all about. The old lady who, during the church scene in 'Faust', asked hergrand-daughter, in a spirit of humble inquiry, what the relationship wasbetween the two persons on the stage, is no figment of a diseasedimagination; the thing actually happened not long ago, and one is leftto wonder what impression the preceding scenes had made upon the hearer. Of books that profess to tell the stories of the most popular operasthere is no lack, but, as a rule, the plots are related in a 'bald andunconvincing' style, that leaves much to be desired, and sometimes in aconfused way that necessitates a visit to the opera itself in order toclear up the explanation. There are useful dictionaries, too, notablythe excellent 'Opern-Handbuch' of Dr Riemann, which gives the names anddates of production of every opera of any note; but the German scientistdoes not always condescend to the detailed narration of the stories, though he gives the sources from which they may have been derived. MrStreatfeild has hit upon the happy idea of combining the merestory-telling part of his task with a survey of the history of operafrom its beginning early in the seventeenth century to the present day. In the course of this historical narrative, the plots of all operas thatmade a great mark in the past, or that have any chance of being revivedin the present, are related clearly and succinctly, and with a rare anddelightful absence of prejudice. The author finds much to praise inevery school; he is neither impatient of old opera nor intolerant ofnew developments which have yet to prove their value; and he makes usfeel that he is not only an enthusiastic lover of opera as a whole, buta cultivated musician. The historical plan adopted, in contradistinctionto the arrangement by which the operas are grouped under their titles inalphabetical order, involves perhaps a little extra trouble to thecasual reader; but by the aid of the index, any opera concerning whichthe casual reader desires to be informed can be found in its properplace, and the chief facts regarding its origin and production are giventhere as well as the story of its action. J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND _June 1907_ THE OPERA CHAPTER I THE BEGINNINGS OF OPERA PERI--MONTEVERDE--CAVALLI--CESTI--CAMBERT--LULLI--PURCELL--KEISER--SCARLATTI--HANDEL The early history of many forms of art is wrapped in obscurity. Even inmusic, the youngest of the arts, the precise origin of many moderndevelopments is largely a matter of conjecture. The history of opera, fortunately for the historian, is an exception to the rule. All thecircumstances which combine to produce the idea of opera are known tous, and every detail of its genesis is established beyond thepossibility of doubt. The invention of opera partook largely of the nature of an accident. Late in the sixteenth century a few Florentine amateurs, fired with theenthusiasm for Greek art which was at that time the ruling passion ofevery cultivated spirit in Italy, set themselves the task ofreconstructing the conditions of the Athenian drama. The result of theirlabours, regarded as an attempted revival of the lost glories of Greektragedy, was a complete failure; but, unknown to themselves, theyproduced the germ of that art-form which, as years passed on, wasdestined, in their own country at least, to reign alone in theaffections of the people, and to take the place, so far as the alteredconditions permitted, of the national drama which they had fondly hopedto recreate. The foundations of the new art-form rested upon the theory that thedrama of the Greeks was throughout declaimed to a musical accompaniment. The reformers, therefore, dismissed spoken dialogue from their drama, and employed in its place a species of free declamation or recitative, which they called _musica parlante_. The first work in which the newstyle of composition was used was the 'Dafne' of Jacopo Peri, which wasprivately performed in 1597. No trace of this work survives, nor of themusical dramas by Emilio del Cavaliere and Vincenzo Galilei to which theclosing years of the sixteenth century gave birth. But it is best toregard these privately performed works merely as experiments, and todate the actual foundation of opera from the year 1600, when a publicperformance of Peri's 'Euridice' was given at Florence in honour of themarriage of Maria de' Medici and Henry IV. Of France. A few years latera printed edition of this work was published at Venice, a copy of whichis now in the library of the British Museum, and in recent times it hasbeen reprinted, so that those who are curious in these matters can studythis protoplasmic opera at their leisure. Expect for a few bars ofinsignificant chorus, the whole work consists of the accompaniedrecitative, which was the invention of these Florentine reformers. Thevoices are accompanied by a violin, _chitarone_ (a large guitar), _liragrande_, _liuto grosso_, and _gravicembalo_ or harpsichord, which filledin the harmonies indicated by the figured bass. The instrumentalportions of the work are poor and thin, and the chief beauty lies in thevocal part, which is often really pathetic and expressive. Perievidently tried to give musical form to the ordinary inflections of thehuman voice, how successfully may be seen in the Lament of Orpheus whichMr. Morton Latham has reprinted in his 'Renaissance of Music, ' Theoriginal edition of 'Euridice' contains an interesting preface, in whichthe composer sets forth the theory upon which he worked, and the aimswhich he had in view. It is too long to be reprinted here, but should beread by all interested in the early history of opera. With the production of 'Euridice' the history of opera may be said tobegin; but if the new art-form had depended only upon the efforts ofPeri and his friends, it must soon have languished and died. With alltheir enthusiasm, the little band of Florentines had too slight anacquaintance with the science of music to give proper effect to theideas which they originated. Peri built the ship, but it was reservedfor the genius of Claudio Monteverde to launch it upon a wider oceanthan his predecessor could have dreamed of. Monteverde had been trainedin the polyphonic school of Palestrina, but his genius had neveracquiesced in the rules and restrictions in which the older mastersdelighted. He was a poor contrapuntist, and his madrigals are chieflyinteresting as a proof of how ill the novel harmonies of which he wasthe discoverer accorded with the severe purity of the older school Butin the new art he found the field his genius required. What had beenweakness and license in the madrigal became strength and beauty in theopera. The new wine was put into new bottles, and both were preserved. Monteverde produced his 'Arianna' in 1607, and his 'Orfeo' in 1608, andwith these two works started opera upon the path of development whichwas to culminate in the works of Wagner. 'Arianna, ' which, according toMarco da Gagliano, himself a rival composer of high ability, 'visiblymoved all the theatre to tears, ' is lost to us save for a fewquotations; but 'Orfeo' is in existence, and has recently been reprintedin Germany. A glance at the score shows what a gulf separates this workfrom Peri's treatment of the same story. Monteverde, with his orchestraof thirty-nine instruments--brass, wood, and strings complete--his richand brilliant harmonies, sounding so strangely beautiful to earsaccustomed only to the severity of the polyphonic school, and hisdelicious and affecting melodies, sometimes rising almost to the dignityof an aria, must have seemed something more than human to the eagerVenetians as they listened for the first time to music as rich in colouras the gleaming marbles of the Cà d'Oro or the radiant canvases ofTitian and Giorgione. The success of Monteverde had its natural result. He soon had pupilsand imitators by the score. The Venetians speedily discovered that theyhad an inherent taste for opera, and the musicians of the day delightedto cater for it. Monteverde's most famous pupil was Cavalli, to whom maywith some certainty be attributed an innovation which was destined toaffect the future of opera very deeply. In his time, to quote Mr. Latham's 'Renaissance of Music, ' 'the _musica parlante_ of the earliestdays of opera was broken up into recitative, which was less eloquent, and aria, which was more ornamental. The first appearance of this changeis to be found in Cavalli's operas, in which certain rhythmicalmovements called "arias" which are quite distinct from the _musicaparlante_, make their appearance. The music assigned by Monteverde toOrpheus when he is leading Eurydice back from the Shades is undoubtedlyan air, but the situation is one to which an air is appropriate, and_musica parlante_ would be inappropriate. If the drama had been a playto be spoken and not sung, there would not have been any incongruity inallotting a song to Orpheus, to enable Eurydice to trace him through thedark abodes of Hades. But the arias of Cavalli are not confined to suchspecial situations, and recur frequently, ' Cavalli had the true Venetianlove of colour. In his hands the orchestra began to assume a newimportance. His attempts to give musical expression to the sights andsounds of nature--the murmur of the sea, the rippling of the brook andthe tempestuous fury of the winds--mark an interesting step in thehistory of orchestral development. With Marcantonio Cesti appearsanother innovation of scarcely less importance to the history of operathan the invention of the aria itself--the _da capo_ or the repetitionof the first part of the aria in its entirety after the conclusion ofthe second part. However much the _da capo_ may have contributed to thesettlement of form in composition, it must be admitted that it struck atthe root of all real dramatic effect, and in process of time degradedopera to the level of a concert. Cesti was a pupil of Carissimi, who isfamous chiefly for his sacred works, and from him he learnt to prefermere musical beauty to dramatic truth. Those of his operas which remainto us show a far greater command of orchestral and vocal resource thanMonteverde or Cavalli could boast, but so far as real expression andsincerity are concerned, they are inferior to the less cultured effortsof the earlier musicians. It would be idle to attempt an enumeration ofthe Venetian composers of the seventeenth century and their works. Someidea of the musical activity which prevailed may be gathered from thefact that while the first public theatre was opened in 1637, before theclose of the century there were no less than eleven theatres in the citydevoted to the performance of opera alone. Meanwhile the enthusiasm for the new art-form spread through the citiesof Italy. According to an extant letter of Salvator Rosa's, opera was infull swing in Rome during the Carnival of 1652. The first opera ofProvenzale, the founder of the Neapolitan school, was produced in 1658. Bologna, Milan, Parma, and other cities soon followed suit. France, too, was not behindhand, but there the development of the art soon deservedthe name a new school of opera, distinct in many important particularsfrom its parent in Italy. The French nobles who saw the performance ofPeri's 'Euridice' at the marriage of Henry IV. May have carried backtales of its splendour and beauty to their own country, but Paris wasnot as yet ripe for opera. Not until 1647 did the French Court make theacquaintance of the new art which was afterwards to win some of its mostbrilliant triumphs in their city. In that year a performance of Peri's'Euridice' (which, in spite of newer developments, had not lost itspopularity) was given in Paris under the patronage of Cadinal Mazarin. This was followed by Cavalli's 'Serse, ' conducted by the composerhimself. These performances quickened the latent genius of the Frenchpeople, and Robert Cambert, the founder of their school, hastened toproduce operas, which, though bearing traces of Italian influence, werenevertheless distinctively French in manner and method. His works, twoof which are known to us, 'Pomone' and 'Les Peines et les Plaisirs del'Amour, ' were to a certain extent a development of the masques whichhad been popular in Paris for many years. They are pastoral andallegorical in subject, and are often merely a vehicle for fulsomeadulation of the 'Roi Soleil. ' But in construction they are operas pureand simple. There is no spoken dialogue, and the music is continuousfrom first to last. Cambert's operas were very successful, and inconjunction with his librettist Perrin he received a charter from theKing in 1669, giving him the sole right of establishing opera-houses inthe kingdom. Quarrels, however, ensued. Cambert and Perrin separated. The charter was revoked, or rather granted to a new-comer, GiovanniBattista Lulli, and Cambert, in disgrace, retired to England, where hedied. Lulli (1633-1687) left Italy too young to be much influenced bythe developments of opera in that country, and was besides too good aman of business to allow his artistic instinct to interfere with hischance of success. He found Cambert's operas popular in Paris, andinstead of attempting any radical reforms, he adhered to the form whichhe found ready made, only developing the orchestra to an extent whichwas then unknown, and adding dignity and passion to the airs andrecitatives. Lulli's industry was extraordinary. During the space offourteen years he wrote no fewer than twenty operas, conceived upon agrand scale, and produced with great magnificence. His treatment ofrecitative is perhaps his strongest point, for in spite of the beauty ofone or two isolated songs, such as the famous 'Bois épais' in 'Amadis'and Charon's wonderful air in 'Alceste, ' his melodic gift was not great, and his choral writing is generally of the most unpretentiousdescription. But his recitative is always solid and dignified, and oftenimpassioned and pathetic. Music, too, owes him a great debt for hisinvention of what is known as the French form of overture, consistingof a prelude, fugue, and dance movement, which was afterwards carried tothe highest conceivable pitch of perfection by Handel. Meanwhile an offshoot of the French school, transplanted to the banks ofthe Thames, had blossomed into a brief but brilliant life under thefostering care of the greatest musical genius our island has everproduced, Henry Purcell. Charles II. Was not a profound musician, but heknew what sort of music he liked, and on one point his mind was madeup--that he did not like the music of the elderly composers who hadsurvived the Protectorate, and came forward at his restoration to claimthe posts which they had held at his father's court. ChristopherGibbons, Child, and other relics of the dead polyphonic school werequietly dismissed to provincial organ-lofts, and Pelham Humphreys, themost promising of the 'Children of the Chapel Royal, ' was sent over toParis to learn all that was newest in music at the feet of Lulli. Humphreys came back, in the words of Pepys, 'an absolute Monsieur, ' fullof the latest theories concerning opera and music generally, and with asublime contempt for the efforts of his stay-at-home colleagues. His ownmusic shows the French influence very strongly, and in that of his pupilHenry Purcell (1658-1695) it may also be perceived, although colouredand transmuted by the intensely English character of Purcell's owngenius. For many years it was supposed that Purcell's first and, strictly speaking, his only opera, 'Dido and Æneas, ' was written by himat the age of seventeen and produced in 1675. Mr. Barclay Squire has nowproved that it was not produced until much later, but this scarcelylessens the wonder of it, for Purcell can never have seen an operaperformed, and his acquaintance with the new art-form must have beenbased upon Pelham Humphrey's account of the performances which he hadseen in Paris. Possibly, too, he may have had opportunities of studyingthe engraved scores of some of Lulli's operas, which, considering theclose intercourse between the courts of France and England, may havefound their way across the Channel. 'Dido and Æneas' is now universallyspoken of as the first English opera. Masques had been popular from thetime of Queen Elizabeth onwards, which the greatest living poets andmusicians had not disdained to produce, and Sir William Davenant hadgiven performances of musical dramas 'after the manner of the Ancients'during the closing years of the Commonwealth, but it is probable thatspoken dialogue occurred in all these entertainments, as it certainlydid in Locke's 'Psyche, ' Banister's 'Circe, ' in fact, in all thedramatic works of this period which were wrongly described as operas. In'Dido and Æneas, ' on the contrary, the music is continuous throughout. Airs and recitatives, choruses and instrumental pieces succeed eachother, as in the operas of the Italian and French schools. 'Dido andÆneas' was written for performance at a young ladies' school kept byone Josias Priest in Leicester Fields and afterwards at Chelsea. Thelibretto was the work of Nahum Tate, the Poet Laureate of the time. Theopera is in three short acts, and Virgil's version of the story isfollowed pretty closely save for the intrusion of a sorceress and achorus of witches who have sworn Dido's destruction and send a messengerto Æneas, disguised as Mercury, to hasten his departure. Dido's deathsong, which is followed by a chorus of mourning Cupids, is one of themost pathetic scenes ever written, and illustrates in a forcible mannerPurcell's beautiful and ingenious use of a ground-bass. The gloomychromatic passage constantly repeated by the bass instruments, withever-varying harmonies in the violins, paints such a picture of theblank despair of a broken heart as Wagner himself, with his immenseorchestral resources, never surpassed. In the general construction ofhis opera Purcell followed the French model, but his treatment ofrecitative is bolder and more various than that of Lulli, while as amelodist he is incomparably superior. Purcell never repeated theexperiment of 'Dido and Æneas. ' Musical taste in England was presumablynot cultivated enough to appreciate a work of so advanced a style. Atany rate, for the rest of his life, Purcell wrote nothing for thetheatre but incidental music. Much of this, notably the scores of 'Timonof Athens, ' 'Bonduca, ' and 'King Arthur, ' is wonderfully beautiful, butin all of these works the spoken dialogue forms the basis of the piece, and the music is merely an adjunct, often with little reference to themain interest of the play. In 'King Arthur' occurs the famous 'FrostScene, ' the close resemblance of which to the 'Choeur de Peuples desClimats Glacés' in Lulli's 'Isis' would alone make it certain thatPurcell was a careful student of the French school of opera. Opera did not take long to cross the Alps, and early in the seventeenthcentury the works of Italian composers found a warm welcome at thecourts of southern Germany. But Germany was not as yet ripe for anational opera. During the first half of the century there are recordsof one or two isolated attempts to found a school of German opera, butthe iron heel of the Thirty Years' War was on the neck of the country, and art struggled in vain against overwhelming odds. The first Germanopera, strictly so called, was the 'Dafne' of Heinrich Schütz, the wordsof which were a translation of the libretto already used by Peri. Ofthis work, which was produced in 1627, all trace has been lost. 'Seelewig, ' by Sigmund Staden, which is described as a 'Gesangweis aufitalienische Art gesetzet, ' was printed at Nuremberg in 1644, but thereis no record of its ever having been performed. To Hamburg belongs thehonour of establishing German opera upon a permanent basis. There, in1678, some years before the production of Purcell's 'Dido and Æneas, ' anopera-house was opened with a performance of a Singspiel entitled 'Dererschaffene, gefallene und aufgerichtete Mensch, ' the music of which wascomposed by Johannn Theile. Three other works, all of them secular, were produced in the same year. The new form of entertainment speedilybecame popular among the rich burghers of the Free City, and composerswere easily found to cater for their taste. For many years Hamburg was the only German town where opera found apermanent home, but there the musical activity must have beenremarkable. Reinhard Keiser (1673-1739), the composer whose name standsfor what was best in the school, is said alone to have produced no fewerthan a hundred and sixteen operas. Nearly all of these works havedisappeared, and those that remain are for the most part disfigured bythe barbarous mixture of Italian and German which was fashionable atHamburg and in London too at that time. The singers were possibly forthe most part Italians, who insisted upon singing their airs in theirnative language, though they had no objection to using German for therecitatives, in which there was no opportunity for vocal display. Keiser's music lacks the suavity of the Italian school, but hisrecitatives are vigorous and powerful, and seem to foreshadow thetriumphs which the German school was afterwards to win in declamatorymusic. The earliest operas of Handel (1685-1759) were written forHamburg, and in the one of them which Fate has preserved for us, 'Almira' (1704), we see the Hamburg school at its finest. In spite ofthe ludicrous mixture of German and Italian there is a good deal ofdramatic power in the music, and the airs show how early Handel'swonderful gift of melody had developed. The chorus has very little todo, but a delightful feature of the work is to be found in the series ofbeautiful dance-tunes lavishly scattered throughout it. One of these, aSarabande, was afterwards worked up into the famous air, 'Lascia ch' iopianga, ' in 'Rinaldo. ' When the new Hamburg Opera-House was opened in1874, it was inaugurated by a performance of 'Almira, ' which gavemusicians a unique opportunity of realising to some extent what operawas like at the beginning of the eighteenth century. In 1706 Handel leftHamburg for the purpose of prosecuting his studies in Italy. There hefound the world at the feet of Alessandro Scarlatti (1659-1725), acomposer whose importance to the history of opera can scarcely beover-estimated. He is said, like Cesti, to have been a pupil ofCarissimi, though, as the latter died in 1674, at the age of seventy, hecannot have done much more than lay the foundation of his pupil'sgreatness. The invention of the _da capo_ is generally attributed toScarlatti, wrongly, as has already been shown, since it appears inCesti's opera 'La Dori, ' which was performed in 1663. But it seemsalmost certain that Scarlatti was the first to use accompaniedrecitative, a powerful means of dramatic expression in the hands of allwho followed him, while his genius advanced the science ofinstrumentation to a point hitherto unknown. Nevertheless, Scarlatti's efforts were almost exclusively addressed tothe development of the musical rather than the dramatic side of opera, and he is largely responsible for the strait-jacket of convention inwhich opera was confined during the greater part of the eighteenthcentury, in fact until it was released by the genius of Gluck. Handel's conquest of Italy was speedy and decisive. 'Rodrigo, ' producedat Florence in 1707, made him famous, and 'Agrippina' (Venice, 1708)raised him almost to the rank of a god. At every pause in theperformance the theatre rang with shouts of 'Viva il caro Sassone, ' andthe opera had an unbroken run of twenty-seven nights, a thing till thenunheard of. It did not take Handel long to learn all that Italy couldteach him. With his inexhaustible fertility of melody and his completecommand of every musical resource then known, he only needed to have hisGerman vigour tempered by Italian suppleness and grace to stand forth asthe foremost operatic composer of the age. His Italian training and histheatrical experience gave him a thorough knowledge of the capabilitiesof the human voice, and the practical common-sense which was always oneof his most striking characteristics prevented him from ever treating itfrom the merely instrumental point of view, a pitfall into which many ofthe great composers have fallen. He left Italy for London in 1710, andproduced his 'Rinaldo' at the Queen's Theatre in the Haymarket thefollowing year. It was put upon the stage with unexampled magnificence, and its success was prodigious. 'Rinaldo' was quickly followed by suchsuccession of masterpieces as put the ancient glories of the Italianstage to shame. Most of them were produced at the Haymarket Theatre, either under Handel's own management or under the auspices of a companyknown as the Royal Academy of Music. Handel's success made him manyenemies, and he was throughout his career the object of innumerableplots on the part of disappointed and envious rivals. The most active ofthese was Buononcini, himself a composer of no mean ability, thougheclipsed by the genius of Handel. Buononcini's machinations were so farsuccessful--though he himself was compelled to leave England in disgracefor different reasons--that in 1741, after the production of his'Deidamia, ' Handel succumbed to bankruptcy and a severe attack ofparalysis. After this he wrote no more for the stage, but devotedhimself to the production of those oratorios which have made his namefamous wherever the English language is spoken. In spite of their transcendent beauties, the form of Handel's operas haslong banished them from the stage. Handel, with all his genius, was notone of the great revolutionists of the history of music. He was contentto bring existing forms to the highest possible point of perfection, without seeking to embark upon new oceans of discovery. Opera in his dayconsisted of a string of airs connected by recitative, with anoccasional duet, and a chorus to bring down the curtain at the end ofthe work. The airs were, as a rule, fully accompanied. Strings, hautboys, and bassoons formed the groundwork of the orchestra. Ifdistinctive colouring or sonority were required, the composer usedflutes, horns, harps, and trumpets, while to gain an effect of a specialnature, he would call in the assistance of lutes and mandolins, orarchaic instruments such as the viola da gamba, violetta marina, cornetto and theorbo. The _recitativo secco_ was accompanied by theharpsichord, at which the composer himself presided. The _recitativostromentato_, or accompanied recitative, was only used to emphasisesituations of special importance. Handel's incomparable genius infusedso much dramatic power into this meagre form, that even now the truthand sincerity of his songs charm us no less than their extraordinarymelodic beauty. But it is easy to see that in the hands of composersless richly endowed, this form was fated to degenerate into a mereconcert upon the stage. The science of vocalisation was cultivated tosuch a pitch of perfection that composers were tempted, and evencompelled, to consult the tastes of singers rather than dramatic truth. Handel's successors, such as Porpora and Hasse, without a tithe of hisgenius, used such talent as they possessed merely to exhibit the vocaldexterity of popular singers in the most agreeable light. The favouriteform of entertainment in these degraded times was the pasticcio, ahybrid production composed of a selection of songs from various popularoperas, often by three or four different composers, strung togetherregardless of rhyme or reason. Even in Handel's lifetime the olderschool of opera was tottering to its fall. Only the man was needed whoshould sweep the mass of insincerity from the stage and replace it bythe purer ideal which had been the guiding spirit of Peri andMonteverde. CHAPTER II THE REFORMS OF GLUCK The death of Lulli left French opera established upon a sure foundation. The form which he perfected seemed, with all its faults, to commenditself to the genius of the nation, and for many years a succession ofhis followers and imitators, such as Campra and Destouches, continued toproduce works which differed little in scope and execution from themodel he had established. The French drama of the seventeenth centuryhad reached such a high point of development that its influence over thesister art was all-powerful. The composers of the French court willinglysacrificed musical to declamatory interest, and thus, while they steeredclear of the mere tunefulness which was the rock on which Italiancomposers made shipwreck, they fell into the opposite extreme and wroteworks which seem to us arid and jejune. Paris at this time was curiouslyisolated from the world of music, and it is strange to find how littlethe development of Italian opera affected the French school. Marais(1650-1718) was more alive to Southern influences than most of hiscontemporaries, and in his treatment of the aria there is a perceptibleapproach to Italian methods; but Rameau (1683-1764) brought back Frenchopera once more to its distinctive national style. Though he followedthe general lines of Lulli's school, he brought to bear upon it a richersense of beauty and a completer musical organisation than Lulli everpossessed. In his treatment of declamation pure and simple, he wasperhaps Lulli's inferior, but in all other respects he showed a decidedadvance upon his predecessor. He infused new life into the monotonousharmony and well-worn modulations which had done duty for so many years. His rhythms were novel and suggestive, and the originality and resourceof his orchestration opened the eyes of Frenchmen to new worlds ofbeauty and expression. Not the least important part of Rameau's work layin the influence which his music exerted upon the genius of the man towhom the regeneration of opera is mainly due. Christoph Willibald Gluck(1714-1787) was the son of a forester. Such musical education as hereceived he acquired in Italy, and his earlier works are written in theItalian style which was fashionable at the time. There are fewindications in his youthful operas of the power which was destined laterto work such changes in the world of opera. He was at firstwhole-hearted in his devotion to the school of Porpora, Hasse and theothers who did so much to degrade Italian opera. 'Artaserse, ' his firstwork, was produced in 1741, the year in which Handel bade farewell forever to the stage. It was successful, and was promptly followed byothers no less fortunate. In 1745 Gluck visited England where heproduced 'La Caduta de' Giganti, ' a work which excited the contempt ofHandel. In the following year he produced 'Piramo e Tisbe, ' a pasticcio, which failed completely. Its production, however, was by no means labourlost, if it be true, as the story goes, that it was by its means thatGluck's eyes were opened to the degradation to which opera had beenreduced. It was about this time that Gluck first heard Rameau's music, and the power and simplicity of it compared with the empty sensuousnessof Italian opera, must have materially strengthened him in the desire todo something to reform and purify his art. Yet, in spite of goodresolutions, Gluck's progress was slow. In 1755 he settled at Vienna, and there, under the shadow of the court, he produced a series of worksin which the attempt to realise dramatic truth is often distinctlyperceptible, though the composer had as yet not mastered the means forits attainment. But in 1762 came 'Orfeo ed Euridice, ' a work whichplaced Gluck at the head of all living operatic composers, and laid thefoundation of the modern school of opera. The libretto of 'Orfeo' was by Calzabigi, a prominent man of letters, but it seems probable that Gluck's own share in it was not a small one. The careful study which he had given to the proper conditions of operawas not likely to exclude so important a question as that of theconstruction and diction of the libretto, and the poem of 'Orfeo' showsso marked an inclination to break away from the conventionality and shamsentiment of the time that we can confidently attribute much of itsoriginality to the influence of the composer himself. The opening sceneshows the tomb of Eurydice erected in a grassy valley. Orpheus standsbeside it plunged in the deepest grief, while a troop of shepherds andmaidens bring flowers to adorn it. His despairing cry of 'Eurydice'breaks passionately upon their mournful chorus, and the whole scene, though drawn in simple lines, is instinct with genuine pathos. When therustic mourners have laid their gifts upon the tomb and departed, Orpheus calls upon the shade of his lost wife in an air of exquisitebeauty, broken by expressive recitative. He declares his resolution offollowing her to the underworld, when Eros enters and tells him of thecondition which the gods impose on him if he should attempt to rescueEurydice from the shades. Left to himself, Orpheus discusses thequestion of the rescue in a recitative of great intrinsic power, whichshows at a glance how far Gluck had already distanced his predecessorsin variety and dramatic strength. The second act takes place in theunderworld. The chorus of Furies is both picturesque and effective, andthe barking of Cerberus which sounds through it is a touch, which thoughits _naïveté_ may provoke a smile, is characteristic of Gluck'sstrenuous struggle for realism. Orpheus appears and pleads his cause inaccents of touching entreaty. Time after time his pathetic song isbroken by a sternly decisive 'No, ' but in the end he triumphs, and theFuries grant him passage. The next scene is in the Elysian fields. After an introduction of charming grace, the spirits of the blessed arediscovered disporting themselves after their kind. Orpheus appears, lostin wonder at the magical beauty of all around him. Here again is aremarkable instance of Gluck's pictorial power. Simple as are the meanshe employs, the effect is extraordinary. The murmuring of streams, thesinging of birds, and the placid beauty of the landscape are depictedwith a touch which, if light, is infallibly sure. Then follows thefamous scene in which Orpheus, forbidden to look at the face of hisbeloved, tries to find her by touch and instinct among the crowd ofhappy spirits who pass him by. At last she approaches, and he clasps herin his arms, while a chorus of perfect beauty bids him farewell as heleads her in triumph to the world above. The third act shows the twowandering in a cavern on their way to the light of day. Eurydice isgrieved that her husband should never look into her eyes, and her faithis growing cold. After a scene in which passionate beauty goes side byside with strange relapses into conventionality, Orpheus gives way toher prayers and reproaches, and turns to embrace her. In a moment shesinks back lifeless, and he pours forth his despair in the immortalstrains of 'Che farò senza Euridice. ' Eros then appears, and tells himthat the gods have had pity upon his sorrow. He transports him to theTemple of Love, where Eurydice, restored to life, is awaiting him, andthe opera ends with conventional rejoicings. Beautiful as 'Orfeo' is--and the best proof of its enduring beauty isthat, after nearly a hundred and fifty years of change and development, it has lost none of its power to charm--we must not be blind to the factthat it is a strange combination of strength and weakness. Stricklyspeaking, Gluck was by no means a first-rate musician, and in 1762 hehad not mastered his new gospel of sincerity and truth so fully as todisguise the poverty of his technical equipment. Much of the orchestralpart of the work is weak and thin. Berlioz even went so far as todescribe the overture as _une niaiserie incroyable_, and the vocal partsometimes shows the influence of the empty formulas from which Gluck wastrying to escape. Throughout the opera there are unmistakable traces ofRameau's influence, indeed it is plain that Gluck frankly took Rameau's'Castor et Pollux' as his model when he sat down to compose 'Orfeo. ' Theplot of the earlier work, the rescue of Pollux by Castor from theinfernal regions, has of course much in common with that of 'Orfeo' andit is obvious that Gluck took many hints from Rameau's musical treatmentof the various scenes which the two works have in common. In spite, however, of occasional weaknesses, 'Orfeo' is a work ofconsummate loveliness. Compared to the tortured complexity of our modernoperas, it stands in its dignified simplicity like the Parthenon besidethe bewildering beauty of a Gothic cathedral; and its truth and grandeurare perhaps the more conspicuous because allied to one of those classicstories which even in Gluck's time had become almost synonymous withemptiness and formality. Five years elapsed between the production of 'Orfeo' and of Gluck's nextgreat opera, 'Alceste'; but that these years were not wasted is provedby the great advance which is perceptible in the score of the laterwork. The libretto of 'Alceste' is in many ways superior to that of'Orfeo, ' and Gluck's share of the work shows an incontestableimprovement upon anything he had yet done. His touch is firmer, and herarely shows that inclination to drop back into the old conventionalstyle, which occasionally mars the beauty of 'Orfeo. ' Gluck wrote apreface to the published score of 'Alceste, ' which is one of the mostinteresting documents in the history of music. It provesconclusively--not that any proof is necessary--that the composer hadthought long and seriously about the scope of his art, and that thereforms which he introduced were a deliberate attempt to reconstructopera upon a new basis of ideal beauty. If he sometimes failed to act upto his own theories, it must be remembered in what school he had beentrained, and how difficult must have been the attempt to cast off in amoment the style which had been habitual to him for so many years. When 'Alceste' was produced in Paris in 1776, Gluck made somealterations in the score, some of which were scarcely improvements. Inhis later years he became so completely identified with the Frenchschool that the later version is now the more familiar. The opera opens before the palace at Pheræ, where the people aregathered to pray Heaven to spare the life of Admetus, who lies at thepoint of death. Alcestis appears, and, after an air of great dignity andbeauty, bids the people follow her to the temple, there to renew theirsupplications. The next scene shows the temple of Apollo. The highpriest and the people make passionate appeal to the god for the life oftheir king, and the oracle replies that Admetus must perish, if no otherwill die in his place. The people, seized with terror, fly from theplace, and Alcestis, left alone, determines to give up her own life forthat of her husband. The high priest accepts her devotion, and in thefamous air 'Divinités du Styx, ' she offers herself a willing sacrificeto the gods below. In the original version the second act opened with ascene in a gloomy forest, in which Alcestis interviews the spirits ofDeath, and, after renewing her vow, obtains leave to return and bidfarewell to her husband. The music of this scene is exceedinglyimpressive, and intrinsically it must have been one of the finest in theopera, but it does not advance the action in the least, and its omissionsensibly increases the tragic effect of the drama. In the later versionthe act begins with the rejoicings of the people at the recovery ofAdmetus. Alcestis appears, and after vainly endeavouring to conceal heranguish from the eyes of Admetus is forced to admit that she is thevictim whose death is to restore him to life. Admetus passionatelyrefuses the sacrifice, and declares that he will rather die with herthan allow her to immolate herself on his account. He rushes wildly intothe palace, and Alcestis bids farewell to life in an air ofextraordinary pathos and beauty. The third act opens with thelamentations of the people for their departed queen. Hercules, releasedfor a moment from his labours, enters and asks for Admetus. He ishorrified at the news of the calamity which has befallen his friend, andannounces his resolve of rescuing Alcestis from the clutches of Death. Meanwhile Alcestis has reached the portals of the underworld, and isabout to surrender herself to the powers of Hell. Admetus, who has notyet given up hope of persuading her to relinquish her purpose, appears, and pleads passionately with her to leave him to his doom. His prayersare vain, and Alcestis is tearing herself for the last time from hisarms, when Hercules rushes in. After a short struggle he defeats thepowers of Death and restores Alcestis to her husband. The character ofHercules did not appear in the earlier version of the opera, and in factwas not introduced until after Gluck had left Paris, a few days afterthe production of 'Alceste. ' Most of the music allotted to him isprobably not by Gluck at all, but seems to have been written by Gossec, who was at that time one of the rising musicians in Paris. The close ofthe opera is certainly inferior to the earlier parts, but theintroduction of Hercules is a great improvement upon the originalversion of the last act, in which the rescue of Alcestis is effected byApollo. The French librettist did not treat the episode cleverly, andindeed all the last scene is terribly prosaic, and lacking in poeticalatmosphere. To see how the appearance of the lusty hero in the halls ofwoe can heighten the tragic interest by the sheer force of contrast, wemust turn to the 'Alcestis' of Euripides, where the death of Alcestisand the strange conflict of Hercules with Death is treated with justthat touch of mystery and unearthliness which is absent from thelibretto which Gluck was called upon to set. Of the music of 'Alceste, 'its passion and intensity, it is impossible to speak too highly. It haspages of miraculous power, in which the deepest tragedy and the mostpoignant pathos are depicted with unfaltering certainty. It is strangeto think by what simple means Gluck scaled the loftiest heights. Compared with our modern orchestra the poverty of the resources uponwhich he depended seems almost ludicrous. Even in the vocal part of'Alceste' he was so careful to avoid anything like the sensuous beautyof the Italian style, that sometimes he fell into the opposite extremeand wrote merely arid rhetoric. Yet he held so consistently before himhis ideal of dramatic truth, that his music has survived all changes oftaste and fashion, and still delights connoisseurs as fully as on theday it was produced. 'Paride ed Elena, ' Gluck's next great work, showshis genius under a more lyrical aspect. Here he gives freer reign to theromanticism which he had designedly checked in 'Alceste, ' and much ofthe music seems in a measure to anticipate the new influences whichMozart was afterwards to infuse into German music. Unfortunately thelibretto of 'Paride ed Elena, ' though possessing great poetical merit, is monotonous and deficient in incident, so that the opera has never wonthe success which it deserves, and is now almost completely forgotten. The admiration for the French school of opera which had been aroused inGluck by hearing the works of Rameau was not by any means a passingfancy. His music proves that the French school had more influence uponhis development than the Italian, so it was only natural that he shouldwish to have an opportunity of introducing his works to Paris. Thatopportunity came in 1774, when, after weary months of intrigue anddisappointment, his 'Iphigéne en Aulide' was produced at the AcadémieRoyale de Musique. After that time Gluck wrote all his greatest worksfor the French stage, and became so completely identified with thecountry of his adoption, that nowadays we are far more apt to think ofhim as a French than as a German composer. 'Iphigénie en Aulide' isfounded upon Racine's play, which in its turn had been derived from thetragedy of Euripides. The scene of the opera is laid at Aulis, where theGreek fleet is prevented by contrary winds from starting for Troy. Diana, who has been unwittingly insulted by Agamemnon, demands a humansacrifice, and Iphigenia, the guiltless daughter of Agamemnon, has beennamed by the high priest Calchas as the victim. Iphigenia and her motherClytemnestra are on their way to join the fleet at Aulis, and Agamemnonhas sent a despairing message to bid them return home, hoping thus toavoid the necessity of sacrificing his child. Meanwhile the Greek hosts, impatient of delay, clamour for the victim, and are only appeased by theassurance of Calchas that the sacrifice shall take place that very day. Left alone with Agamemnon, Calchas entreats him to submit to the will ofthe gods. Agamemnon, torn by conflicting emotions, at first refuses, butafterwards, relying upon the message which he has sent to his wife anddaughter, promises that if Iphigenia sets foot in Aulis he will give herup to death. He has hardly spoken the words when shouts of joy announcethe arrival of Clytemnestra and Iphigenia. The message has miscarried, and they are already in the camp. As a last resource Agamemnon now tellsClytemnestra that Achilles, the lover of her daughter, is false, hopingthat this will drive her from the camp. Clytemnestra calls uponIphigenia to thrust her betrayer from her bosom, and Iphigenia repliesso heroically that it seems as though Agamemnon's plot to save hisdaughter's life might actually succeed. Unfortunately Achilles himselfappears, and, after a scene of reproach and recrimination, succeeds indispelling Iphigenia's doubts and winning her to completereconciliation. The second act begins with the rejoicings over the marriage ofIphigenia. The general joy is turned to lamentation by the discovery ofAgamemnon's vow and the impending doom of Iphigenia. Clytemnestrapassionately entreats Achilles to save her daughter, which he promisesto do, though Iphigenia professes herself ready to obey her father. Inthe following scene Achilles meets Agamemnon, and, after a longaltercation, swears to defend Iphigenia with the last drop of his blood. He rushes off, and Agamemnon is left in anguish to weigh his love forhis daughter against his dread of the angry gods, Love triumphs and hesends Areas, his attendant, to bid Clytemnestra fly with Iphigenia hometo Mycenae. In the third act the Greeks are angrily demanding their victim. Achillesprays Iphigenia to fly with him, but she is constant to her idea ofduty, and bids him a pathetic farewell. Achilles, however, is not to bepersuaded, and in an access of noble rage swears to slay the priest uponthe steps of the altar rather than submit to the sacrifice of his love. After another farewell scene with her mother Iphigenia is led off, whileClytemnestra, seeing in imagination her daughter under the knife of thepriest, bursts forth into passionate blasphemy. Achilles and hisThessalian followers rush in to save Iphigenia, and for a time thecontest rages fiercely, but eighteenth-century convention steps in. Calchas stops the combat, saying that the gods are at length appeased;Iphigenia is restored to Achilles, and the opera ends with generalrejoicings. 'Iphigénie en Aulide' gave Gluck a finer opportunity than he had yethad. The canvas is broader than in 'Alceste' or 'Orfeo, ' and theemotions are more varied. The human interest, too, is more evenlysustained, and the supernatural element, which played so important apart in the two earlier works, is almost entirely absent. Nevertheless, fine as much of the music is, the restraint which Gluck exercised overhimself is too plainly perceptible, and the result is that many of thescenes are stiff and frigid. There is scarcely a trace of the delightfullyricism which rushes through 'Paride ed Elena' like a flood ofresistless delight. Gluck had set his ideal of perfect declamatory truthfirmly before him, and he resisted every temptation to swerve into thepaths of mere musical beauty. He had not yet learnt how to combine thetwo styles. He had not yet grasped the fact that in the noblest musictruth and beauty are one and the same thing. In 'Armide, ' produced in 1777, he made another step forward. Thelibretto was the same as that used by Lulli nearly a hundred yearsbefore. The legend, already immortalised by Tasso, was strangelydifferent from the classical stories which had hitherto inspired hisgreatest works. The opening scene strikes the note of romanticism whichechoes through the whole opera. Armida, a princess deeply versed inmagic arts, laments that one knight, and one only, in the army of theCrusaders has proved blind to her charms. All the rest are at her feet, but Rinaldo alone is obdurate. She has had a boding dream, moreover, inwhich Rinaldo has vanquished her, and all the consolations of hermaidens cannot restore her peace of mind. Hidraot, her uncle, entreatsher to choose a husband, but she declares that she will bestow her handupon no one but the conqueror of Rinaldo. While the chorus iscelebrating her charms, Arontes, a Paynim warrior, enters bleeding andwounded, and tells how the prowess of a single knight has robbed him ofhis captives. Armida at once recognises the hand of the recalcitrantRinaldo, and the act ends with her vows of vengeance against theinvincible hero. The second act shows Rinaldo in quest of adventures which may win himthe favour of Godfrey of Bouillon, whose wrath he has incurred. Armida'senchantments lead him to her magic gardens, where, amidst scenes ofvoluptuous beauty, he yields to the fascinations of the place, lays downhis arms, and sinks into sleep. Armida rushes in, dagger in hand, butthe sight of the sleeping hero is too potent for her, and overcome bypassion, she bids the spirits of the air transport them to the bounds ofthe universe. In the third act we find that Rinaldo has rejected thelove of the enchantress. Armida is inconsolable; she is ashamed of herweakness, and will not listen to the well-meaning consolations of herattendants. She calls upon the spirit of Hate, but when he appears sherejects his aid, and still clings desperately to her fatal passion. Thefourth act, which is entirely superfluous, is devoted to the adventuresin the enchanted garden of Ubaldo and a Danish knight, two Crusaders whohave set forth with the intention of rescuing Rinaldo from the clutchesof the sorceress. The fifth act takes place in Armida's palace. Rinaldo's proud spirit has at length been subdued, and he is completelythe slave of the enchantress. The duet between the lovers is of the mostbewitching loveliness, and much of it curiously anticipates the romanticelement which was to burst forth in a future generation. Armida tearsherself from Rinaldo's arms, and leaves him to be entertained by aballet of spirits, while she transacts some business with the powersbelow. Ubaldo and the Danish knight now burst in, and soon bring Rinaldoto a proper frame of mind. He takes a polite farewell of Armida, who invain attempts to prevent his going, and is walked off by his twoMentors. Left alone, Armida calls on her demons to destroy the palace, and the opera ends in wild confusion and tumult. To say that 'Armide' recalls the romantic grace of 'Paride ed Elena, ' isbut half the truth. The lyrical grace of the earlier work is as it wereconcentrated and condensed in a series of pictures which for voluptuousbeauty surpass anything that had been written before Gluck's day. Against the background formed by the magical splendour of the enchantedgarden, the figure of Armida stands out in striking relief. The mingledpride and passion of the imperious princess are drawn with wonderfulart. Even while her passion brings her to the feet of her conqueror, herhaughty spirit rebels against her fate. Such weaknesses as the operacontains are principally attributable to the libretto, which isill-constructed, and cold and formal in diction. Rinaldo is rather acolourless person, and the other characters are for the most part merelylay-figures, though the grim figure of Hate is drawn with extraordinarypower. But upon Armida the composer concentrated the full lens of hisgenius, and for her he wrote music which satisfies every requirement ofdramatic truth, without losing touch of the lyrical beauty andpersuasive passion which breathes life into soulless clay. In 'Iphigénie en Tauride, ' the last of his great works, which wasproduced in 1778, Gluck reached his highest point. Here he seems for thefirst time thoroughly to fuse and combine the two elements which are forever at war in his earlier operas, musical beauty and dramatic truth. Throughout the score of 'Iphigénie en Tauride' the declamation is asvivid and true as in 'Alceste, ' while the intrinsic loveliness of themusic yields not a jot to the passion-charged strains of 'Armide. ' Theoverture paints the gradual awakening of a tempest, and when the stormis at its height the curtain rises upon the temple of Diana at Tauris, where Iphigenia, snatched by the goddess from the knife of theexecutioner at Aulis, has been placed as high priestess. The priestessesin chorus beseech the gods to be propitious, and when the fury of thestorm is allayed, Iphigenia recounts her dream of Agamemnon's death, andlaments the woes of her house. She calls upon Diana to put an end to herlife, which already has lasted too long. Thoas, the king of the country, now enters, alarmed by the outcries of the priestesses. He is a prey tosuperstitious fears, and willingly listens to the advice of hisfollowers, that the gods can only be appeased by human blood. A messageis now brought that two young strangers have been cast upon therock-bound coast, and Thoas at once decides that they shall be thevictims. Orestes and Pylades are now brought in. They refuse to makethemselves known, and are bidden to prepare for death, while the actcloses with the savage delight of the Scythians. The second act is in the prison. Orestes bewails his destiny, andrefuses the consolation which Pylades offers in a noble and famous song. Pylades is torn from his friend's arms by the officers of the guard, andOrestes, left to himself, after a paroxysm of madness sinks to sleepupon the prison floor. His eyes are closed, but his brain is a prey tofrightful visions. The Furies surround him with horrible cries andmenaces, singing a chorus of indescribable weirdness. Lastly, the shadeof the murdered Clytemnestra passes before him, and he awakes with ashriek to find his cell empty save for the mournful form of Iphigenia, who has come to question the stranger as to his origin and the purposeof his visit to Tauris. In broken accents he tells her--what is new toher ears--the tale of the murder of Agamemnon, and the vengeance takenupon Clytemnestra by himself; adding, in order to conceal his ownidentity, that Orestes is also dead, and that Electra is the soleremnant of the house of Atreus. Iphigenia bursts into a passionatelament, and the act ends with her offering a solemn libation to theshade of her brother. In the third act Iphigenia resolves to free one of the victims, and tosend him with a message to Electra. A sentiment which she cannot explainbids her choose Orestes, but the latter refuses to save his life at theexpense of that of his friend. A contention arises between the two, which is only decided by Orestes swearing to take his own life ifPylades is sacrificed. The precious scroll is thereupon entrusted toPylades, who departs, vowing to return and save his friend. In the fourth act Iphigenia is a prey to conflicting emotions. Amysterious sympathy forbids her to slay the prisoner, yet she tries tosteel her heart for the performance of her terrible task, and calls uponDiana to aid her. Orestes is brought on by the priestesses, and whileurging Iphigenia to deal the blow, blesses her for the pity which staysher hand. Just as the knife is about to descend, the dying words ofOrestes, 'Was it thus thou didst perish in Aulis, Iphigenia my sister?'bring about the inevitable recognition, and the brother and sister rushinto each other's arms. But Thoas has yet to be reckoned with. He isfurious at the interruption of the sacrifice, and is about to executesummary vengeance upon both Iphigenia and Orestes, when Pylades returnswith an army of Greek youths--whence he obtained them is notexplained--and despatches the tyrant in the nick of time. The operaends with the appearance of Pallas Athene, the patroness of Argos, whobids Orestes and his sister return to Greece, carrying with them theimage of Diana, too long disgraced by the barbarous rites of theScythians. 'Echo et Narcisse, ' an opera cast in a somewhat lighter mould, which wasproduced in 1779, seems to have failed to please, and 'Iphigénie enTauride' may be safely taken as the climax of Gluck's career. It is thehappiest example of his peculiar power, and shows more convincingly thanany of its predecessors where the secret of his greatness really lay. Hewas the first composer who treated an opera as an integral whole. He wasinferior to many of his predecessors, notably to Handel, in musicalscience, and even in power of characterisation. But while their workswere often hardly more than strings of detached scenes from which theairs might often be dissociated without much loss of effect, his operaswere constructed upon a principle of dramatic unity which forbade onelink to be taken from the chain without injuring the continuity of thewhole. In purely technical matters, too, his reforms were far-reachingand important. He was first to make the overture in some sort areflection of the drama which it preceded, and he used orchestraleffects as a means of expressing the passion of his characters in a waythat had not been dreamed of before. He dismissed the harpsichord fromthe orchestra, and strengthened his band with clarinets, an instrumentunknown to Handel. His banishment of _recitativo secco_, and hisrestoration of the chorus to its proper place in the drama, wereinnovations of vast importance to the history of opera, but the chiefstrength of the influence which he exerted upon subsequent music lay inhis power of suffusing each of his operas in an atmosphere special toitself. CHAPTER III OPERA BUFFA, OPÉRA COMIQUE, AND SINGSPIEL PERGOLESI--ROUSSEAU--MONSIGNY--GRÉTRY-- CIMAROSA--HILLER While Gluck was altering the course of musical history in Vienna, another revolution, less grand in scope and more gradually accomplished, but scarcely less important in its results, was being effected in Italy. This was the development of opera buffa, a form of art which wasdestined, in Italy at any rate, to become a serious rival to the olderinstitution of opera seria, and, in the hands of Mozart, to producemasterpieces such as the world had certainly not known before his day, nor is ever likely to see surpassed. There is some uncertainty about theactual origin of opera buffa. A musical comedy by Vergilio Mazzocchi andMario Marazzoli, entitled 'Chi sofre speri, ' was produced in Florenceunder the patronage of Cardinal Barberini as early as 1639. The poetMilton was present at this performance, and refers to it in one of his_Epistolae Familiares_. In 1657 a theatre was actually built in Florencefor the performance of musical comedies. For some reason, however, itdid not prove a success, and after a few years was compelled to closeits doors. After these first experiments there seems to have been noattempt made to resuscitate opera buffa until the rise of the Neapolitanschool in the following century. The genesis of the southern branch ofopera buffa may with certainty be traced to the intermezzi, or musicalinterludes, which were introduced into the course of operas and dramas, probably with the object of relieving the mental strain induced by theeffort of following a long serious performance. The popularity of theseintermezzi throws a curious light upon the character of Italianaudiences at that time. We should think it strange if an audiencenowadays refused to sit through 'Hamlet' unless it were diversified byoccasional scenes from 'Box and Cox. ' As time went on, the proportionsand general character of these intermezzi acquired greater importance, but it was not until the eighteenth century was well advanced that oneof them was promoted to the rank of an independent opera, and, insteadof being performed in scraps between the acts of a tragedy, was givenfor the first time as a separate work. This honour was accorded toPergolesi's 'La Serva Padrona, ' in 1734, and the great success which itmet with everywhere soon caused numberless imitations to spring up, sothat in a few years opera buffa in Italy was launched upon a career oftriumph. Founded as it was in avowed imitation of the tragedy of the Greeks, opera had never deigned to touch modern life at any point. For a longtime the subjects of Italian operas were taken solely from classicallegend, and though in time librettists were compelled to have recourseto the medieval romances, they never ventured out of an antiquity moreor less remote. Thus it is easy to conceive the delight of themusic-loving people of Naples when they found that the opera which theyadored could be enjoyed in combination with a mirthful and even farcicalstory, interpreted by characters who might have stepped out of one oftheir own market-places. But, apart from the freedom and variety of thesubjects with which it dealt, the development of opera buffa gave riseto an art-form which is of the utmost importance to the history ofopera--the concerted finale. Nicolo Logroscino (1700-1763) seems to havebeen the first composer who conceived the idea of working up the end ofan act to a musical climax by bringing all his characters together andblending their voices into a musical texture of some elaboration. Logroscino wrote only in the Neapolitan dialect, and his works hadlittle success beyond the limits of his own province; but his inventionwas quickly adopted by all writers of opera buffa, and soon became animportant factor in the development of the art. Later composerselaborated his idea by extending the finale to more than one movement, and by varying the key-colour. Finally, but not until after many years, it was introduced into opera seria, when it gave birth to the idea ofelaborate trios and quartets, which were afterwards to play so importanta part in its development. Logroscino's reputation was chiefly local, but the works of Pergolesi (1710-1736) and Jomelli (1714-1774) made theNeapolitan school famous throughout Europe. Both these composers are nowbest known by their sacred works, but during their lives their operasattained an extraordinary degree of popularity. Both succeeded equallyin comedy and tragedy, but Jomelli's operas are now forgotten, whilePergolesi is known only by his delightful intermezzo 'La Serva Padrona, 'This diverting little piece tells of the schemes of the chambermaid, Serpina, to win the hand of her master, Pandolfo. She is helped byScapin, the valet, who, disguised as a captain, makes violent love toher, and piques the old gentleman into proposing, almost against hiswill. 'La Serva Padrona' made the tour of Europe, and was receivedeverywhere with tumultuous applause. In Paris it was performed in 1750, and may be said at once to have founded the school of French opéracomique. Rousseau extolled its beauty as a protest against the ariddeclamation of the school of Lulli, and it was the subject of one of thebitterest dissensions ever known in the history of music. But the'Guerre des Bouffons, ' as the struggle was called, proved one thing, which had already been satisfactorily decided in Italy, namely, thatthere was plenty of room in the world for serious and comic opera at thesame time. There had been a kind of opéra comique in France for many years, aspecies of musical pantomime which was very popular at the fairs of St. Laurent and St. Gervais. This form of entertainment scarcely camewithin the province of art, but it served as a starting-point for thehistory of opéra comique, which was afterwards so brilliant. The successof the Italian company which performed the comic operas of Pergolesi, Jomelli, and others, fired the French composers to emulation, and in1753 the first French opéra comique, in the strict sense of the word, 'Le Devin du Village, ' by the great Rousseau, was performed at theAcadémie de Musique. Musically the work is feeble and characterless, butthe contrast which it offered to the stiff and serious works of thetragic composers made it popular. Whatever its faults may be, it issimple and natural, and its tender little melodies fell pleasantly uponears too well accustomed to the pomposities of Rameau and his school. Atfirst lovers of opéra comique in Paris had to subsist chiefly upontranslations from the Italian; but in 1755 'Ninette à la Cour, ' a daintylittle work written by a Neapolitan composer, Duni, to a Frenchlibretto, gained a great success. Soon afterwards, Monsigny, a composerwho may well be called the father of opéra comique, produced his firstwork, and started upon a career of success which extended into the nextcentury. The early days of opéra comique in Paris were distracted by the jealousyexisting between the French and Italian schools, but in 1762 peace wasmade between the rival factions, and by process of fusion the two becameone. With the opening of the new Théâtre de l'Opéra Comique--the SalleFavart, as it was then called--there began a new and brilliant periodfor the history of French art. It is a significant fact, and one whichgoes far to prove how closely the foundation of opéra comique wasconnected with a revolt against the boredom of grand opera, that themost successful composers in the new _genre_ were those who wereactually innocent of any musical training whatsoever. Monsigny(1729-1817) is a particularly striking instance of natural geniustriumphing in spite of a defective education. Nothing can exceed thethinness and poverty of his scores, or their lack of all real musicalinterest; yet, by the sureness of his natural instinct for the stage, hesucceeded in writing music which still moves us as much by its brilliantgaiety as by its tender pathos. 'Le Déserteur, ' his most famous work, isa touching little story of a soldier who deserts in a fit of jealousy, and is condemned to be shot, but is saved by his sweetheart, who begshis pardon from the king. Much of the music is almost childish in its_naïveté_, but there is real pathos in the famous air 'Adieu, Louise, 'and some of the lighter scenes in the opera are touched off veryhappily. The musical education of Grétry (1741-1831) was perhaps more elaboratethan that of Monsigny, but it fell very far short of profundity. Hismusic excels in grace and humour, and he rarely treated serious subjectswith success. Such works as 'Le Tableau Parlant, ' 'Les Deux Avares, ' and'L'Amant Jaloux' are models of lightness and brilliancy, whatever may bethought of their musicianship. 'Richard Coeur de Lion' is the oneinstance of Grétry having successfully attempted a loftier theme, andit remains his masterpiece. The scene is laid at the castle ofDürrenstein in Austria, where Richard lies imprisoned, and deals withthe efforts of his faithful minstrel Blondel to rescue him. In this workGrétry adapted his style to his subject with wonderful versatility. Muchof the music is noble and dignified in style, and Blondel's air inparticular, 'O Richard, O mon roi, ' has a masculine vigour which israrely found in the composer's work. But as a rule Grétry is happiest inhis delicate little pastorals and fantastic comedies, and, for all theirslightness, his works bear the test of revival better than those of manyof his more learned contemporaries. Philidor (1726-1797) was almost morefamous as a chess-player than as a composer. He had the advantage of asound musical education under Campra, one of the predecessors of Rameau, and his music has far more solid qualities than that of Grétry orMonsigny. His treatment of the orchestra, too, was more scientific thanthat of his contemporaries, but he had little gift of melody, and he wasdeficient in dramatic instinct. He often visited England, and ended bydying in London. One of the best of his works, 'Tom Jones, ' was writtenupon an English subject. Philidor was popular in his day, but his workshave rarely been heard by the present generation. With Grétry the first period of opéra comique may be said to close;indeed, the taste of French audiences had begun to change some yearsbefore the close of the eighteenth century. The mighty wave of theRevolution swept away the idle gallantries of the sham pastoral, whileOssian newly discovered and Shakespeare newly translated opened the eyesof cultivated Frenchmen to the possibilities of poetry and romance. Atthe same time, the works of Haydn and Mozart, which had already crossedthe frontier, disturbed preconceived notions about the limits oforchestral colouring, and made the thin little scores of Grétry and hiscontemporaries seem doubly jejune. The change in public taste wasgradual, but none the less certain. The opening years of the nineteenthcentury saw a singular evolution, if not revolution, in the history ofopéra comique. Meanwhile opera in Italy was pursuing its triumphant course. Theintroduction of the finale brought the two great divisions of opera intocloser connection, and most of the great composers of this periodsucceeded as well in opera buffa as in opera seria. The impetus given tothe progress of the art by the brilliant Neapolitan school was ablysustained by such composers as Nicolo Piccinni (1728-1800), a composerwho is now known principally to fame as the unsuccessful rival broughtforward by the Italian party in Paris in the year 1776 in the vain hopeof crushing Gluck. Piccinni sinks into insignificance by the side ofGluck, but he was nevertheless an able composer, and certainly theleading representative of the Italian school at the time. He did much todevelop the concerted finale, which before his day had been used withcaution, not to say timidity, and was so constant in his devotion tothe loftiest ideal of art that he died in poverty and starvation. Cimarosa (1749-1801) is the brightest name of the next generation. Heshone particularly in comedy. His 'Gli Orazi e Curiazi, ' which moved hiscontemporaries to tears, is now forgotten, but 'Il Matrimonio Segreto'still delights us with its racy humour and delicate melody. The story issimplicity itself, but the situations are amusing in themselves, and areled up to with no little adroitness, Paolino, a young lawyer, hassecretly married Carolina, the daughter of Geronimo, a rich andavaricious merchant. In order to smooth away the difficulties which mustarise when the inevitable discovery of the marriage takes place, hetries to secure a rich friend of his own, Count Robinson, for Geronimo'sother daughter, Elisetta. Unfortunately Robinson prefers Carolina, andproposes himself as son-in-law to Geronimo, who is of course delightedthat his daughter should have secured so unexceptionable a _parti_, while the horrified Paolino discovers to his great dissatisfaction thatthe elderly Fidalma, Geronimo's sister, has cast languishing eyes uponhimself. There is nothing for the young couple but flight, butunfortunately as they are making their escape they are discovered, andtheir secret is soon extorted. Geronimo's wrath is tremendous, but inthe end matters are satisfactorily arranged, and the amiable Robinsonafter all expresses himself content with the charms of Elisetta. 'IlMatrimonio Segreto' was produced at Vienna in 1792, and proved so verymuch to the taste of the Emperor Leopold, who was present at theperformance, that he gave all the singers and musicians a magnificentsupper, and then insisted upon their performing the opera again frombeginning to end. Cimarosa was a prolific writer, the number of hisoperas reaching the formidable total of seventy-six; but, save for 'IlMatrimonio Segreto, ' they have all been consigned to oblivion. Althoughhe was born only seven years before Mozart, and actually survived himfor ten years, he belongs entirely to the earlier school of opera buffa. His talent is thoroughly Italian, untouched by German influence, and heexcels in portraying the gay superficiality of the Italian characterwithout attempting to dive far below the surface. Even more prolific than Cimarosa was Paisiello (1741-1815), a composerwhose works, though immensely popular in their day, did not possessindividuality enough to defy the ravages of time. Paisiello deserves tobe remembered as the first man to write an opera on the tale of 'IlBarbiere di Siviglia. ' This work, though coldly received when it wasfirst performed, ended by establishing so firm a hold upon theaffections of the Italian public, that when Rossini tried to produce hisopera on the same subject, the Romans refused to give it a hearing. Paer (1771-1839) belongs chronologically to the next generation, butmusically he has more in common with Paisiello than with Rossini. Hisprincipal claim to immortality rests upon the fact that a performanceof his opera 'Eleonora' inspired Beethoven with the idea of writing'Fidelio'; but although his serious efforts are comparatively worthless, many of his comic operas are exceedingly bright and attractive. 'LeMaître de Chapelle, ' which was written to a French libretto, is stillperformed with tolerable frequency in Paris. It is hardly likely that the whirligig of time will ever bring Paisielloand his contemporaries into popularity again in England, but in Italythere has been of late years a remarkable revival of interest in theworks of the eighteenth century. Some years ago the Argentina Theatre inRome devoted its winter season almost entirely to reproductions of theworks of this school. Many of these old-world little operas, whose verynames had been forgotten, were received most cordially, some ofthem--Paisiello's 'Scuffiara raggiratrice, ' for instance--with genuineenthusiasm. Wars and rumours of wars stunted musical development of all kinds inGermany during the earlier years of the eighteenth century. After thedeath of Keiser in 1739, the glory departed from Hamburg, and operaseems to have lain under a cloud until the advent of Johann Adam Hiller(1728-1804), the inventor of the Singspiel. Miller's Singspiele werevaudevilles of a simple and humorous description interspersed withmusic, occasionally concerted numbers of a very simple description, butmore often songs derived directly from the traditions of the GermanLied. These operettas were very popular, as the frequent editions ofthem which were called for, prove. Yet, in spite of their success, itwas felt by many of the composers who imitated him that the combinationof dialogue and music was inartistic, and Johann Friedrich Reichardt(1752-1814) attempted to solve the difficulty by relegating the music toa merely incidental position and conducting all the action of the pieceby means of the dialogue. Nevertheless the older form of the Singspielretained its popularity, and, although founded upon incorrect æstheticprinciples--for no art, however ingenious, can fuse the convention ofspeech and the convention of song into an harmonious whole--was themeans in later times of giving to the world, in 'Die Zauberflöte' and'Fidelio, ' nobler music than had yet been consecrated to the service ofthe stage. CHAPTER IV MOZART Although Mozart's (1756-1791) earliest years were passed at Salzburg, the musical influences which surrounded his cradle were mainly Italian. Salzburg imitated Vienna, and Vienna, in spite of Gluck, was stillItalian in its sympathies, so far at any rate as opera seria wasconcerned. Mozart wrote his first opera, 'La Finta Semplice, ' forVienna, when he was twelve years old. It would have been performed in1768 but for the intrigues of jealous rivals and the knavery of animpresario. It was not actually produced until the following year, whenthe Archbishop of Salzburg arranged a performance of it in his own cityto console his little _protégé_ for his disappointment at Vienna. It isof course an extraordinary work when the composer's age is taken intoaccount, but intrinsically differs little from the thousand and onecomic operas of the period, Mozart's first German opera, 'Bastien undBastienne, ' though written after 'La Finta Semplice, ' was performedbefore it. It was given in 1768 in a private theatre belonging to Dr. Anton Meszmer, a rich Viennese bourgeois. It follows the lines ofMiller's Singspiele closely, but shows more originality, especially inthe orchestration, than 'La Finta Semplice. ' The plot of the little workis an imitation of Rousseau's 'Devin du Village, ' telling of thequarrels of a rustic couple, and their reconciliation through the goodoffices of a travelling conjurer. It was significant that the Italianand German schools should be respectively represented in the two infantworks of the man who was afterwards to fuse the special beauties of eachin works of immortal loveliness. Mozart's next four operas were, for themost part, hastily written--'Mitridate, Re di Ponto' (1770) and 'LucioSilla' (1775) for Milan, "La Finta Giardiniera' (1775) for Munich, and'Il Re Pastore' (1775) for Salzburg. They adhere pretty closely to theconventional forms of the day, and, in spite of the beauty of many ofthe airs, can scarcely be said to contain much evidence of Mozart'sincomparable genius. In 1778 the young composer visited Paris, where hestayed for several months. This period may be looked upon as theturning-point in his operatic career. In Paris he heard the operas ofGluck and Grétry, besides those of the Italian composers, such asPiccinni and Sacchini, whose best works were written for the Frenchstage. He studied their scores carefully, and from them he learnt theprinciples of orchestration, which he was afterwards to turn to suchaccount in 'Don Giovanni' and 'Die Zauberflöte, ' The result of hisstudies was plainly visible in the first work which he produced afterhis return to Germany, 'Idomeneo. ' This was written for the CourtTheatre at Munich, and was performed for the first time on the 29th ofJanuary, 1781. The libretto, by the Abbé Giambattista Varesco, wasmodelled upon an earlier French work which had already been set to musicby Campra. Idomeneo, King of Crete, on his way home from the siege ofTroy, is overtaken by a terrific storm. In despair of his life, he vowsthat, should he reach the shore alive, he will sacrifice the first humanbeing he meets to Neptune. This proves to be his son Idamante, who hasbeen reigning in his stead during his absence. When he finds out who thevictim is--for at first he does not recognise him--he tries to evadehis vow by sending Idamante away to foreign lands. Electra the daughterof Agamemnon, driven from her country after the murder of her mother, has taken refuge in Crete, and Idomeneo bids his son return with her toArgos, and ascend the throne of the Atreidæ. Idamante loves Ilia, thedaughter of Priam, who has been sent to Crete some time before as aprisoner from Troy, and is loved by her in return. Nevertheless he bowsto his father's will, and is preparing to embark with Electra, when astorm arises, and a frightful sea monster issues from the waves andproceeds to devastate the land. The terror-stricken people demand thatthe victim shall be produced, and Idomeneo is compelled to confess thathe has doomed his son to destruction. All are overcome with horror, butthe priests begin to prepare for the sacrifice. Suddenly cries of joyare heard, and Idamante, who has slain the monster single-handed, isbrought in by the priests and people. He is ready to die, and his fatheris preparing to strike the fatal blow, when Ilia rushes in and entreatsto be allowed to die in his place. The lovers are still pleadinganxiously with each other when a subterranean noise is heard, the statueof Neptune rocks, and a solemn voice pronounces the will of the gods inmajestic accents. Idomeneo is to renounce the throne, and Idamante is tomarry Ilia and reign in his stead. Every one except Electra is vastlyrelieved, and the opera ends with dances and rejoicings. The music of 'Idomeneo' is cast for the most part in Italian form, though the influence of Gluck is obvious in many points, particularly inthe scene of the oracle. Here we find Mozart in his maturity for thefirst time; he has become a man, and put away childish things. In twopoints 'Idomeneo' is superior to any opera that had previously beenwritten--in the concerted music (the choruses as well as the trios andquartets), and in the instrumentation. The chorus is promoted from thepart which it usually plays in Gluck, that of a passive spectator. Itjoins in the drama, and takes an active part in the development of theplot, and the music which it is called upon to sing is often finer andmore truly dramatic than that allotted to the solo singers. But thechorus had already been used effectively by Gluck and other composers;it is in his solo concerted music that Mozart forges ahead of allpossible rivals. The power which he shows of contrasting the conflictingemotions of his characters in elaborate concerted movements wassomething really new to the stage. The one quartet in Handel's'Radamisto' and the one trio in his 'Alcina, ' magnificent as they are, are too exceptional in their occurrence to be quoted as instances, whilethe attempts of Rameau and his followers to impose dramatic significanceinto their concerted music, though technically interesting, do butfaintly foreshadow the glory of Mozart. The orchestration of 'Idomeneo, 'too, is something of the nature of a revelation. At Munich, Mozart hadat his disposal an excellent and well-trained band, and this may go farto explain the elaborate care which he bestowed upon the instrumentalside of his opera. The colouring of the score is sublime in conceptionand brilliant in detail. Even now it well repays the closest and mostintimate study. 'Idomeneo' is practically the foundation of all modernorchestration. Mozart's next work was very different both in scope and execution. Ithas already been pointed out that the two first works which thecomposer, as a child, wrote for the stage, followed respectively theItalian and German models. Similarly, he signalised his arrival at thefull maturity of his powers by producing an Italian and Germanmasterpiece side by side. 'Die Entführung aus dem Serail' was writtenfor the Court Theatre at Vienna, in response to a special command of theEmperor Joseph II. It was produced on July 13, 1782. The originallibretto was the work of C. F. Bretzner, but Mozart introduced so manyalterations and improvements into the fabric of the story that, as itstands, much of it is practically his own work. The Pasha Selim has carried off a Christian damsel named Constanze, whomhe keeps in close confinement in his seraglio, in the hope that she mayconsent to be his wife. Belmont, Constanze's lover, has traced her tothe Pasha's country house with the assistance of Pedrillo, a formerservant of his own, now the Pasha's slave and chief gardener. Belmont'sattempts to enter the house are frustrated by Osmin, the surlymajor-domo. At last, however, through the good offices of Pedrillo, hecontrives to gain admission in the character of an architect. Osmin hasa special motive for disliking Pedrillo, who has forestalled him in theaffections of Blondchen, Constanze's maid; nevertheless he is beguiledby the wily servant into a drinking bout, and quieted with a harmlessnarcotic. This gives the lovers an opportunity for an interview, inwhich the details of their flight are arranged. The next night they maketheir escape. Belmont gets off safely with Constanze, but Pedrillo andBlondchen are seen by Osmin before they are clear of the house. The hueand cry is raised, and both couples are caught and brought back. Theyare all condemned to death, but the soft-hearted Pasha is so muchovercome by their fidelity and self-sacrifice that he pardons them andsends them away in happiness. Much of 'Die Entführung' is so thoroughly and characteristicallyGerman, that at first sight it may be thought surprising that it shouldhave succeeded so well in a city like Vienna, which was inclined to lookupon the Singspiel as a barbarian product of Northern Germany. But thereis a reason for this, and it is one which goes to the root of the wholequestion of comic opera. Mozart saw that Italian comic operas oftensucceeded in spite of miserable libretti, because the entire interestwas concentrated upon the music, and all the rest was forgotten. TheGerman Singspiel writers made the mistake of letting their music be, forthe most part, purely incidental, and conducting all the dramatic partof their plots by dialogue. Mozart borrowed the underlying idea of theopera buffa, applied it to the form of the Singspiel, which he keptintact, and produced a work which succeeded in revolutionising thehistory of German opera. But, apart from the question of form, the musicof 'Die Entführung' is in itself fine enough to be the foundation evenof so imposing a structure as modern German music. The orchestral forcesat Mozart's disposal were on a smaller scale than at Munich; but thoughless elaborate than that of 'Idomeneo, ' the score of 'Die Entführung' isfull of the tenderest and purest imagination. But the real importance ofthe work lies in the vivid power of characterisation, which Mozart herereveals for the first time in full maturity. It is by the extraordinarydevelopment of this quality that he transcends all other writers forthe stage before or since. It is no exaggeration to say that Mozart'smusic reveals the inmost soul of the characters of his opera as plainlyas if they were discussed upon a printed page. In his later works theopportunities given him of proving this magical power were more frequentand better. The libretto of 'Die Entführung' is a poor affair at best, but, considering the materials with which he had to work, Mozart neveraccomplished truer or more delicate work than in the music of Belmontand Constanze, of Pedrillo, and greatest of all, of Osmin. In 1786 Mozart wrote the music to a foolish little one-act comedyentitled 'Der Schauspieldirektor, ' describing the struggles of two rivalsingers for an engagement. A sparkling overture and a genuinely comictrio are the best numbers of the score; but the libretto gave Mozartlittle opportunity of exercising his peculiar talents. Since hisoriginal production various attempts have been made to fit 'DerSchauspieldirektor' with new and more effective libretti, but in no casehas its performance attained any real success. For the sake of completeness it may be well to mention the existence ofa comic opera entitled 'L'Oie du Caïre, ' which is an exceedingly clevercombination of the fragments left by Mozart of two unfinished operas, 'L'Oca del Cairo' and 'Lo Sposo Deluso, ' fitted to a new and originallibretto by the late M. Victor Wilder. In its modern form, this littleopera, in which a lover is introduced into his mistress's garden insidean enormous goose, has been successfully performed both in France andEngland. Not even the success of 'Die Entführung' could permanently establishGerman opera in Vienna. The musical sympathies of the aristocracy wereentirely Italian, and Mozart had to bow to expediency. His next work, 'Le Nozze de Figaro' (1786), was written to an adaptation ofBeaumarchais's famous comedy 'Le Mariage de Figaro, ' which had beenproduced in Paris a few years before. Da Ponte, the librettist, wiselyomitted all the political references, which contributed so much to thepopularity of the original play, and left only a bustling comedy ofintrigue, not perhaps very moral in tendency, but full of amusingincident and unflagging in spirit. It speaks volumes for the ingenuityof the librettist that though the imbroglio is often exceedinglycomplicated, no one feels the least difficulty in following every detailof it on the stage, though it is by no means easy to give a clear andcomprehensive account of all the ramifications of the plot. The scene is laid at the country-house of Count Almaviva. Figaro, theCount's valet, and Susanna, the Countess's maid, are to be married thatday; but Figaro, who is well aware that the Count has a penchant for his_fiancée_, is on his guard against machinations in that quarter. Enterthe page Cherubino, an ardent youth who is devotedly attached to hismistress. He has been caught by the Count flirting with Barberina, thegardener's daughter, and promptly dismissed from his service, and nowhe comes to Susanna to entreat her to intercede for him with theCountess. While the two are talking they hear the Count approaching, andSusanna hastily hides Cherubino behind a large arm-chair. The Countcomes to offer Susanna a dowry if she will consent to meet him thatevening, but she will have nothing to say to him. Basilio, themusic-master, now enters, and the Count has only just time to slipbehind Cherubino's arm-chair, while the page creeps round to the frontof it, and is covered by Susanna with a cloak. Basilio, while repeatingthe Count's proposals, refers to Cherubino's passion for the Countess. This arouses the Count, who comes forward in a fury, orders theimmediate dismissal of the page, and by the merest accident discoversthe unlucky youth ensconced in the arm-chair. As Cherubino has heardevery word of the interview, the first thing to do is to get him out ofthe way. The Count therefore presents him with a commission in his ownregiment, and bids him pack off to Seville post-haste. Figaro nowappears with all the villagers in holiday attire to ask the Count tohonour his marriage by giving the bride away. The Count cannot refuse, but postpones the ceremony for a few hours in the hope of gaining timeto prosecute his suit. Meanwhile the Countess, Susanna, and Figaro arematuring a plot of their own to discomfit the Count and bring him backto the feet of his wife. Figaro writes an anonymous letter to the Count, telling him that the Countess has made an assignation with a strangerfor that evening in the garden, hoping by this means to arouse hisjealousy and divert his mind from the wedding. He assures him also ofSusanna's intention to keep her appointment in the garden, intendingthat Cherubino, who has been allowed to put off his departure, shall bedressed up as a girl and take Susanna's place at the interview. The pagecomes to the Countess's room to be dressed, when suddenly theconspirators hear the Count approaching. Cherubino is hastily locked inan inner room, while Susanna slips Into an alcove. While the Count isplying his wife with angry questions, Cherubino clumsily knocks over achair. The Count hears the noise, and quickly jumps to the conclusionthat the page is hiding in the inner room. The Countess denieseverything and refuses to give up the key, whereupon the Count drags heroff with him to get an axe to break in the door. Meanwhile Susannaliberates Cherubino, and takes his place in the inner room, while thelatter escapes by jumping down into the garden. When the Count finallyopens the door and discovers only Susanna within, his rage is turned tomortification, and he is forced to sue for pardon. The Countess istriumphant, but a change is given to the position of affairs by theappearance of Antonio, the gardener, who comes to complain that hisflowers have been destroyed by someone jumping on them from the window. The Count's jealous fears are returning, but Figaro allays them bydeclaring that he is the culprit, and that he made his escape by thewindow in order to avoid the Count's anger. Antonio then produces apaper which he found dropped among the flowers. This proves to beCherubino's commission. Once more the secret is nearly out, but Figarosaves the situation by declaring that the page gave it to him to get theseal affixed. The Countess and Susanna are beginning to congratulatethemselves on their escape, when another diversion is created by theentrance of Marcellina, the Countess's old duenna, and Bartolo, herex-guardian. Marcellina has received a promise in writing from Figarothat he will marry her if he fails to pay a sum of money which he owesher by a certain date, and she comes to claim her bridegroom. The Countis delighted at this new development, and promises Marcellina that sheshall get her rights. The second act (according to the original arrangement) is mainly devotedto clearing up the various difficulties. Figaro turns out to be thelong-lost son of Marcellina and Bartolo, so the great impediment to hismarriage is effectually removed, and by the happy plan of a disguise theCountess takes Susanna's place at the assignation, and receives theardent declarations of her husband. When the Count discovers his mistakehe is thoroughly ashamed of himself, and his vows of amendment bring thepiece to a happy conclusion. It seems hardly possible to write critically of the music of 'Le Nozzedi Figaro, ' Mozart had in a superabundant degree that power which ischaracteristic of our greatest novelists, of infusing the breath of lifeinto his characters. We rise from seeing a performance of 'Le Nozze, 'with no consciousness of the art employed, but with a feeling of havingassisted in an actual scene in real life. It is not until afterwardsthat the knowledge is forced upon us that this convincing presentment ofnature is the result of a combination of the purest inspiration ofgenius with the highest development of art. Mozart knew everything thatwas to be known about music, and 'Le Nozze di Figaro, ' in spite of itssupreme and unapproachable beauty, is really only the legitimate outcomeof two centuries of steady development. Perhaps the most strikingfeature of the work is the absolute consistency of the whole. In spiteof the art with which the composer has Individualised his characters, there is no clashing between the different types of music allotted toeach. As for the music itself, if the exuberant youthfulness of 'DieEntführung' has been toned down to a serener flow of courtliness, we arecompensated for the loss by the absence of the mere _bravura_ whichdisfigures many of the airs in the earlier work. The dominantcharacteristic of the music is that wise and tender sympathy with thefollies and frailties of mankind, which moves us with a deeper pathosthan the most terrific tragedy ever penned. It is perhaps the highestachievement of the all-embracing genius of Mozart that he made anartificial comedy of intrigue, which is trivial when it is not squalid, into one of the great music dramas of the world. Mozart's next work, 'Don Giovanni' (October 29, 1787), was written forPrague, a city which had always shown him more real appreciation thanVienna. It was adapted by Da Ponte from a Spanish tale which had alreadybeen utilised by Molière. Although, so far as incident goes, it is notperhaps an ideal libretto, it certainly contains many of the elements ofsuccess. The characters are strongly marked and distinct, and thesupernatural part of the story, which appealed particularly to Mozart'simagination and indeed determined him to undertake the opera, is managedwith consummate skill. Don Giovanni, a licentious Spanish nobleman, who is attracted by thecharms of Donna Anna, the daughter of the Commandant of Seville, breaksinto her palace under cover of night, in the hope of making her his own. She resists him and calls for help. In the struggle which ensues theCommandant is killed by Don Giovanni, who escapes unrecognised. DonnaElvira, his deserted wife, has pursued him to Seville, but he employshis servant Leporello to occupy her attention while he pays court toZerlina, a peasant girl, who is about to marry an honest clodhoppernamed Masetto. Donna Anna now recognises Don Giovanni as her father'sassassin, and communicates her discovery to her lover, Don Ottavio;Elvira joins them, and the three vow vengeance against the libertine. Don Giovanni gives a ball in honour of Zerlina's marriage, and in thecourse of the festivities seizes an opportunity of trying to seduce her. He is only stopped by the interference of Anna, Elvira, and Ottavio, whohave made their way into his palace in masks and dominoes. In the nextact the vengeance of the three conspirators appears to hang fire alittle, for Don Giovanni is still pursuing his vicious courses, andemploying Leporello to beguile the too trustful Elvira. After variousescapades he finds himself before the statue of the murdered Commandant. He jokingly invites his old antagonist to sup with him, an invitationwhich the statue, to his intense surprise, hastens to accept. Leporelloand his master return to prepare for the entertainment of the evening. When the merriment is at its height, a heavy step is heard in thecorridor, and the marble man enters. Don Giovanni is still undaunted, and even when his terrible visitor offers him the choice betweenrepentance and damnation, yields not a jot of his pride and insolence. Finally the statue grasps him by the hand and drags him down, amidflames and earthquakes, to eternal torment. The taste of Mozart's time would not permit the drama to finish here. All the other characters have to assemble once more. Leporello givesthem an animated description of his master's destruction, and theyproceed to draw a most edifying moral from the doom of the sinner. Themusic to this finale is of matchless beauty and interest, but modernsentiment will not hear of so grievous an anti-climax, and the opera nowusually ends with Don Giovanni's disappearance. The music of 'Don Giovanni' has so often been discussed, that briefreference to its more salient features will be all that is necessary. Gounod has written of it: 'The score of "Don Giovanni" has influencedmy life like a revelation. It stands in my thoughts as an incarnation ofdramatic and musical impeccability, ' and lesser men will be content toecho his words. The plot is less dramatically coherent than that of 'LeNozze di Figaro, ' but it ranges over a far wider gamut of human feeling. From the comic rascality of Leporello to the unearthly terrors of theclosing scene is a vast step, but Mozart is equally at home in both. Hisincomparable art of characterisation is here displayed in even moreconsummate perfection than in the earlier work. The masterly way inwhich he differentiates the natures of his three soprani--Anna, a typeof noble purity; Elvira, a loving and long-suffering woman, alternatingbetween jealous indignation and voluptuous tenderness; and Zerlina, amodel of rustic coquetry--may especially be remarked, but all thecharacters are treated with the same profound knowledge of life andhuman nature. Even in his most complicated concerted pieces he neverloses grip of the idiosyncrasies of his characters, and in the mostpiteous and tragic situations he never relinquishes for a moment hispure ideal of intrinsic musical beauty. If there be such a thing asimmortality for any work of art, it must surely be conceded to 'DonGiovanni. ' 'Così fan tutte, ' his next work, was produced at Vienna in January, 1790. It has never been so successful as its two predecessors, chieflyon account of its libretto, which, though a brisk little comedy ofintrigue, is almost too slight to bear a musical setting. The plotturns upon a wager laid by two young officers with an old cynic of theiracquaintance to prove the constancy of their respective sweethearts. After a touching leave-taking they return disguised as Albanians andproceed to make violent love each one to the other's _fiancée_. Theladies at first resist the ardent strangers, but end by giving way, andthe last scene shows their repentance and humiliation when they discoverthat the too attractive foreigners are their own lovers after all. Thereis much delightful music in the work, and it is greatly to be regrettedthat it should have been so completely cast into the shade by 'Le Nozzedi Figaro, ' Mozart's next opera, 'La Clemenza di Tito, ' was hastily written, whilehe was suffering from the illness which in the end proved fatal. Thelibretto was an adaptation of an earlier work by Metastasio. Cold andformal, and almost totally devoid of dramatic interest, it naturallyfailed to inspire the composer. The form in which it was cast compelledhim to return to the conventions of opera seria, from which he had longescaped, and altogether, as an able critic remarked at the time, thework might rather be taken for the first attempt of budding talent thanfor the product of a mature mind. The story deals with the plotting ofVitellia, the daughter of the deposed Vitellius, to overthrow theEmperor Titus. She persuades her lover Sextus to conspire against hisfriend, and he succeeds in setting the Capitol on fire. Titus, however, escapes by means of a disguise, and not only pardons all theconspirators, but rewards Vitellia with his hand. The opera was producedat Prague on the 6th of September, 1791, and the cold reception which itexperienced did much to embitter the closing years of Mozart's life. 'Die Zauberflöte, ' his last work, was written before 'La Clemenza diTito, ' though not actually produced until September 30, 1791. Thelibretto, which was the work of Emanuel Schikaneder, is surely the mostextraordinary that ever mortal composer was called upon to set. At the opening of the opera, the Prince Tamino rushes in, pursued by amonstrous serpent, and sinks exhausted on the steps of a temple, fromwhich three ladies issue in the nick of time and despatch the serpentwith their silver spears. They give Tamino a portrait of Pamina, thedaughter of their mistress, the Queen of Night, which immediatelyinspires him with passionate devotion. He is informed that Pamina hasbeen stolen by Sarastro, the high-priest of Isis, and imprisoned by himin his palace. He vows to rescue her, and for that purpose is presentedby the ladies with a magic flute, which will keep him safe in everydanger, while Papageno, a bird-catcher, who has been assigned to him ascompanion, receives a glockenspiel. Three genii are summoned to guidethem, and the two champions thereupon proceed to Sarastro's palace. Tamino is refused admittance by the doorkeeper, but Papageno in someunexplained way contrives to get in, and persuades Pamina to escape withhim. They fly, but are recaptured by Monostatos, a Moor, who has beenappointed to keep watch over Pamina. Sarastro now appears, condemnsMonostatos to the bastinado, and decrees that the two lovers shallundergo a period of probation in the sanctuary. In the second act theordeal of silence is imposed upon Tamino. Pamina cannot understand hisapparent coldness, and is inclined to listen to the counsels of hermother, who tries to induce her to murder Sarastro. The priest, however, convinces her of his beneficent intentions. The lovers go through theordeals of fire and water successfully, and are happily married. TheQueen of Night and her dark kingdom perish everlastingly, and the reignof peace and wisdom is universally established. The humours of Papagenoin his search for a wife have nothing to do with the principal interestof the plot, but they serve as an acceptable contrast to the moreserious scenes of the opera. The libretto of the 'Die Zauberflöte' is usually spoken of as the climaxof conceivable inanity, but the explanation of many of its absurditiesseems to lie in the fact that it is an allegorical illustration of thestruggles and final triumph of Freemasonry. Both Mozart and Schikanederwere Freemasons, and 'Die Zauberflöte' is in a sense a manifesto oftheir belief. Freemasonry in the opera is represented by the mysteriesof Isis, over which the high-priest Sarastro presides. The Queen ofNight is Maria Theresa, a sworn opponent of Freemasonry, who interdictedits practice throughout her dominions, and broke up the Lodges witharmed force. Tamino may be intended for the Emperor Joseph II. , who, though not a Freemason himself as his father was, openly protected thebrotherhood; and we may look upon Pamina as the representative of theAustrian people. The name of Monostatos seems to be connected withmonasticism, and may be intended to typify the clerical party, which, though outwardly on friendly terms with Freemasonry, seems in reality tohave been bent upon its destruction. Papageno and his wife Papagena areexcellent representatives of the light-hearted and pleasure-lovingpopulation of Vienna. It is difficult to make any explanation fit thestory very perfectly, but the suggestion of Freemasonry is enough toacquit Mozart of having allied his music to mere balderdash; while, behind the Masonic business, the discerning hearer will have nodifficulty in distinguishing the shadowy outlines of another and a farnobler allegory, the ascent of the human soul, purified by suffering andlove, to the highest wisdom. It was this, no doubt, that compelledGoethe's often expressed admiration, and even tempted him to write asequel to Schikaneder's libretto. 'Die Zauberflöte' is in form aSingsgiel--that is to say, the music is interspersed with spokendialogue--but there the resemblance to Hiller's creations ceases. Fromthe magnificent fugue in the overture to the majestic choral finale, themusic is an astonishing combination of divinely beautiful melody withmarvels of contrapuntal skill. Perhaps the most surprising part of 'DieZauberflöte' is the extraordinary ease and certainty with which Mozartmanipulates what is practically a new form of art. Nursed as he had beenin the traditions of Italian opera, it would not have been strange if hehad not been able to shake off the influences of his youth. Yet 'DieZauberflöte' owes but little to any Italian predecessor. It is German tothe core. We may be able to point to passages which are a development ofsomething occurring in the composer's earlier works, such as 'DieEntführung, ' but there is hardly anything in the score of 'DieZauberflöte' which suggests an external influence. Its position in theworld of music is ably summarised by Jahn: 'If in his Italian operasMozart assimilated the traditions of a long period of development and insome sense put the finishing stroke to it, with "Die Zauberflöte" hetreads on the threshold of the future, and unlocks for his country thesacred treasure of national art. ' Of Mozart's work as a whole, it is impossible to speak save in termswhich seem exaggerated. His influence upon subsequent composers cannotbe over-estimated. Without him, Rossini and modern Italian opera, Weberand modern German, Gounod and modern French, would have been impossible. It may be conceded that the form of his operas, with the alternation ofairs, concerted pieces and _recitativo secco_, may conceivably strikethe ears of the uneducated as old-fashioned, but the feelings ofmusicians may best be summed up in the word of Gounod: 'O Mozart, divinMozart! Qu'il faut peu te comprendre pour ne pas t'adorer! Toi, lavérité constante! Toi, la beauté parfaite! Toi, le charme inépuisable!Toi, toujours profond et toujours limpide! Toi, l'humanité complète etla simplicité de l'enfant! Toi, qui as tout ressenti, et tout exprimédans une langue musicale qu'on n'a jamais surpassée et qu'on nesurpassera jamais. ' CHAPTER V THE CLOSE OF THE CLASSICAL PERIOD MÉHUL--CHERUBINI--SPONTINI--BEETHOVEN--BOIELDIEU Mozart and Gluck, each in his respective sphere, carried opera to apoint which seemed scarcely to admit of further development. But beforethe advent of Weber and the romantic revolution there was a vast amountof good work done by a lesser order of musicians, who worked on thelines laid down by their great predecessors, and did much to familiarisethe world with the new beauties of their masters' work. The history ofart often repeats itself in this way. First comes the genius burningwith celestial fire. He sweeps away the time-worn formulas, and foundshis new art upon their ruins. Then follows the crowd of disciples, menof talent and imagination, though without the crowning impulse thatmoves the world. They repeat and amplify their leader's maxims, untilthe world, which at first had stood aghast at teaching so novel, in timegrows accustomed to it, and finally accepts it without question. Nextcomes the final stage, when what has been caviare to one generation isbecome the daily bread of the next. The innovations of the master, caught up and reproduced by his disciples, in the third generationbecome the conventional formulas of the art, and the world is ripe oncemore for a revolution! Deeply as Gluck's work affected the history of music, his immediatedisciples were few. Salieri (1750-1825), an Italian by birth, waschiefly associated with the Viennese court, but wrote his best work, 'Les Danaïdes, ' for Paris. He caught the trick of Gluck's grand stylecleverly, but was hardly more than an imitator. Sacchini (1734-1786) hada more original vein, though he too was essentially a composer of thesecond class. He was not actually a pupil of Gluck, though his laterworks, written for the Paris stage, show the influence of the composerof 'Alceste' very strongly. The greatest of Gluck's immediatefollowers--the greatest, because he imbibed the principles of hismaster's art without slavishly reproducing his form--was Méhul(1763-1817), a composer who is so little known in England that it isdifficult to speak of him in terms which shall not sound exaggerated tothose who are not familiar with his works. How highly he is ranked byFrench critics may be gathered from the fact that when 'Israel in Egypt'was performed for the first time in Paris some years ago, M. JulienTiersot, one of the sanest and most clear-headed of contemporary writerson music, gave it as his opinion that Handel's work was less conspicuousfor the qualities of dignity and sonority than Méhul's 'Joseph. 'Englishmen can scarcely be expected to echo this opinion, but as to theintrinsic greatness of Méhul's work there cannot be any question. Hewas far more of a scientific musician than Gluck, and his scores havenothing of his master's jejuneness. His melody, too, is dignified andexpressive, but he is sensibly inferior to Gluck in what may be calleddramatic instinct, and this, coupled with the fact that the libretti ofhis operas are almost uniformly uninteresting, whereas Gluck's are drawnfrom the immortal legends of the past, is perhaps enough to explain whythe one has been taken and the other left. Méhul's last and greatestwork, 'Joseph, ' is still performed in France and Germany, though ournational prejudices forbid the hope that it can ever be heard in thiscountry except in a mutilated concert version. The opera follows theBiblical story closely, and Méhul has reproduced the large simplicity ofthe Old Testament with rare felicity. From the magnificent opening air, 'Champs paternels, ' to the sonorous final chorus, the work is rich inbeauty of a very high order. Of his other serious works few haveremained in the current repertory, chiefly owing to their stupidlibretti, for there is not one of them that does not contain music ofrare excellence. 'Stratonice, ' a dignified setting of the pathetic oldstory of the prince who loves his father's betrothed, deserves to liveif only for the sake of the noble air, 'Versez tous vos chagrins, ' amasterpiece of sublime tenderness as fine as anything in Gluck. 'Uthal, 'a work upon an Ossianic legend, has recently been revived with successin Germany. It embodies a curious experiment in orchestration, theviolins being entirely absent from the score. The composer's idea, nodoubt, was to represent by this means the grey colouring and mistyatmosphere of the scene in which his opera was laid, but the originalityof the idea scarcely atones for the monotony in which it resulted. Although his genius was naturally of a serious and dignified cast, Méhulwrote many works in a lighter vein, partly no doubt in emulation ofGrétry, the prince of opéra comique. Méhul's comic operas are oftendeficient in sparkle, but their musical force and the enchantingmelodies with which they are begemmed have kept them alive, and severalof them--'Une Folie, ' for instance, and 'Le Trésor Supposé'--have beenperformed in Germany during the last decade, while 'L'Irato, ' abrilliant imitation of Italian opera buffa, has recently been given atBrussels with great success. Although born in Florence and educated in the traditions of theNeapolitan school, Cherubini (1760-1842) belongs by right to the Frenchschool. His 'Lodoiska, ' which was produced in Paris in 1791, establishedhis reputation; and 'Les Deux Journées' (1800), known in England as 'TheWater-Carrier, ' placed him, in the estimation of Beethoven, at the headof all living composers of opera. Posterity has scarcely endorsedBeethoven's dictum, but it is impossible to ignore the beauty ofCherubini's work. The solidity of his concerted pieces and thepicturesqueness of his orchestration go far to explain the enthusiasmwhich his works aroused in a society which as yet knew little, ifanything, of Mozart. Cherubini's finest works suffer from a frigidityand formality strangely in contrast with the grace of Grétry or themelody of Méhul, but the infinite resources of his musicianship makeamends for lack of inspiration, and 'Les Deux Journées' may still belistened to with pleasure, if not with enthusiasm. The scene of theopera is laid in Paris, under the rule of Cardinal Mazarin, who has beendefied by Armand, the hero of the story. The gates of Paris are strictlyguarded, and every precaution is taken to prevent Armand's escape; buthe is saved by Mikeli, a water-carrier, whose son he had oncebefriended, and who now repays the favour by conveying him out of Parisin his empty water-cart. Armand escapes to a village near Paris, but iscaptured by the Cardinal's troops while protecting his wife Constance, who has followed him, from the insults of two soldiers. In the end apardon arrives from the Queen, and all ends happily. In spite of theserious and even tragic cast of the plot, the use of spoken dialoguecompels us to class 'Les Deux Journées' as an opéra comique; and thesame rule applies to 'Médée, ' Cherubini's finest work, an opera whichfor dignity of thought and grandeur of expression deserves to rank highamong the productions of the period. Lesueur (1763-1837) may fitly bementioned by the side of Méhul and Cherubini. His opera 'Les Bardes, 'though now forgotten, has qualities of undeniable excellence. Its faultsas well as its beauties are those of the period which produced it. It isdeclamatory rather than lyrical, and decorative rather than dramatic, but in the midst of its conventions and formality there is much that istrue as well as picturesque. During the closing years of the eighteenth and at the beginning of thenineteenth century the activity of the French school of opera is inremarkable contrast with the stagnation which prevailed in Italy andGermany. Italy, a slave to the facile graces of the Neapolitan school, still awaited the composer who should strike off her chains and renewthe youth of her national art; while Germany, among the crowds ofimitators who clung to the skirts of Mozart's mantle, could not produceone worthy to follow in his steps. Yet though French opera embodied thefinest thought and aspiration of the day, it is only just to observethat the impetus which impelled her composers upon new paths of progresscame largely from external sources. It is curious to note how large ashare foreigners have had in building up the fabric of French opera. Lulli, Gluck, and Cherubini in turn devoted their genius to its service. They were followed by Spontini (1774-1851), who in spite of chauvinisticprejudice, became, on the production of 'La Vestale' in 1807, the mostpopular composer of the day. Spontini's training was Neapolitan, but hisfirst visit to Paris showed him that there was no place upon the Frenchstage for the trivialities which still delighted Italian audiences. Hedevoted himself to careful study, and his one-act opera 'Milton, ' thefirst-fruits of his musicianship, showed a remarkable advance upon hisyouthful efforts. Spontini professed an adoration for Mozart whichbordered upon idolatry, but his music shows rather the influence ofGluck. He is the last of what may be called the classical school ofoperatic composers, and he shows little trace of the romanticism whichwas beginning to lay its hand upon music. He was accused during hislifetime of overloading his operas with orchestration, and of writingmusic which it was impossible to sing--accusations which sound strangelyfamiliar to those who are old enough to remember the reception of Wagnerin the seventies and eighties. His scores would not sound very elaboratenowadays, nor do his melodies appear unusually tortuous or exacting, buthe insisted upon violent contrasts from his singers as well as from hisorchestra, and the great length of his operas, a point in which heanticipated Meyerbeer and Wagner, probably reduced to exhaustion theartists who were trained on Gluck and Mozart. 'La Vestale' was followedin 1809 by 'Fernand Cortez, ' and in 1819 by 'Olympie, ' both of whichwere extremely successful, the latter in a revised form which wasproduced at Berlin in 1821. Spontini's operas are now no longerperformed, but the influence which his music exercised upon men sodifferent as Wagner and Meyerbeer makes his name important in thehistory of opera. Although Paris was the nursery of all that was best in opera at thisperiod, to Germany belongs the credit of producing the one work datingfrom the beginning of the nineteenth century which deserves to rank withthe masterpieces of the previous generation--Beethoven's 'Fidelio. 'Beethoven's (1770-1827) one contribution to the lyric stage was writtenin 1804 and 1805, and was produced at Vienna in the latter year, duringthe French occupation. The libretto is a translation from the French, and the story had already formed the basis of more than one opera;indeed, it was a performance of Paer's 'Eleonora' which originally ledBeethoven to think of writing his work. Simple as it is, the plot hastrue nobility of design, and the purity of its motive contrastsfavourably with the tendency of the vast majority of lyric dramas. Florestan, a Spanish nobleman, has fallen into the power of hisbitterest enemy, Pizarro, the governor of a state prison near Madrid. There the unfortunate Florestan is confined in a loathsome dungeonwithout light or air, dependent upon the mercy of Pizarro for the merestcrust of bread. Leonore, the unhappy prisoner's wife, has discovered hisplace of confinement, and, in the hope of rescuing him, disguisesherself in male attire and hires herself as servant to Rocco, the headgaoler, under the name of Fidelio. In this condition she has to endurethe advances of Marcelline, the daughter of Rocco, who neglects herlover Jaquino for the sake of the attractive new-comer. Before Leonorehas had time to mature her plans, news comes to the prison of theapproaching visit of the Minister Fernando on a tour of inspection. Pizarro's only chance of escaping the detection of his crime is to putan end to Florestan's existence, and he orders Rocco to dig a grave inthe prisoner's cell. Leonore obtains leave to help the gaoler in histask, and together they descend to the dungeon, where the unfortunateFlorestan is lying in a half inanimate condition. When their task isfinished Pizarro himself comes down, and is on the point of stabbingFlorestan, when Leonore throws herself between him and his victim, apistol in her hand, and threatens the assassin with instant death if headvance a step. At that moment a flourish of trumpets announces thearrival of Fernando. Pizarro is forced to hurry off to receive hisguest, and the husband and wife rush into each other's arms. The closingscene shows the discomfiture and disgrace of Pizarro, and therestoration of Florestan to his lost honours and dignity. The form of 'Fidelio, ' like that of "Die Zauberflöte, " is that of theSingspiel. In the earlier and lighter portions of the work theconstruction of the drama does not differ materially from that of thegenerality of Singspiele, but in the more tragic scenes the spokendialogue is employed with novel and extraordinary force. So far fromsuggesting any feeling of anti-climax, the sudden relapse into agitatedspeech often gives an effect more thrilling than any musiccould command. At two points in the drama this is especiallyremarkable--firstly, in the prison quartet, after the flourish oftrumpets, when Jaquino comes in breathless haste to announce the arrivalof the Minister; and secondly, in the brief dialogue between the husbandand wife which separates the quartet from the following duet. Leonore'sfamous words, 'Nichts, nichts, mein Florestan, ' in particular, ifspoken with a proper sense of their exquisite truth and beauty, sum upthe passionate devotion of the true-hearted wife, and her overflowinghappiness at the realisation of her dearest hopes, in a manner which forgenuine pathos can scarcely be paralleled upon the operatic stage. It is hardly necessary to point out to the student of opera the steadyinfluence which Mozart's music exercised upon Beethoven's development. Yet although Beethoven learnt much from the composer of 'Don Giovanni, 'there is a great deal in 'Fidelio' with which Mozart had nothing to do. The attitude of Beethoven towards opera--to go no deeper than questionsof form--was radically different from that of Mozart. Beethoven's talentwas essentially symphonic rather than dramatic, and magnificent as'Fidelio' is, it has many passages in which it is impossible to avoidfeeling that the composer is forcing his talent into an unfamiliar ifnot uncongenial channel. This is especially noticeable in the concertedpieces, in which Beethoven sometimes seems to forget all about opera, characters, dramatic situation and everything else in the sheer delightof writing music. No one with an ounce of musical taste in hiscomposition would wish the canon-quartet, the two trios or the twofinales, to take a few instances at random, any shorter or lessdeveloped than they are, but one can imagine how Mozart would havesmiled at the lack of dramatic feeling displayed in their construction. 'Fidelio, ' as has already been said, is the only opera produced inGermany at this period which is deserving of special mention. Mozart'ssuccess had raised up a crop of imitators, of whom the most meritoriouswere Süssmayer, his own pupil; Winter, who had the audacity to write asequel to 'Die Zauberflöte'; Weigl, the composer of the popular'Schweizerfamilie' the Abbé Vogler, who, though now known chiefly by hisorgan music, was a prolific writer for the stage; and Dittersdorf, awriter of genuine humour, whose spirited Singspiel, 'Doktor undApotheker, ' carried on the traditions of Hiller successfully. But thoughthe lighter school of opera in Germany produced nothing of importance, upon the more congenial soil of France opéra comique, in the hands of aschool of earnest and gifted composers, was acquiring a musicaldistinction which it was far from possessing in the days of Grétry andMonsigny. Strictly speaking, the operas of Méhul and Cherubini should beranked as opéras comiques, by reason of the spoken dialogue which takesthe place of the recitative; but the high seriousness which continuallyanimates the music of these masters makes it impossible to class theirworks with operas so different in aim and execution as those of Grétry. Of the many writers of opéra comique at the beginning of this century, it will be enough to mention two of the most prominent, Nicolo andBoieldieu. Nicolo Isouard (1777-1818), to give him his full name, shoneless by musical science or dramatic instinct than by a delicate andpathetic grace which endeared his music to the hearts of hiscontemporaries. He had little originality, and his facility oftendescends to commonplace, but much of the music in 'Joconde' and'Cendrillon' lives by grace of its inimitable tenderness and charm. Nicolo is the Greuze of music. Boieldieu (1775-1834) stands upon a verydifferent plane. Although he worked within restricted limits, hisoriginality and resource place him among the great masters of Frenchmusic. His earlier works are, for the most, light and delicate trifles;but in 'Jean de Paris' (1812) and 'La Dame Blanche' (1825), to name onlytwo of his many successful works, he shows real solidity of style and nolittle command of musical invention, combined with the delicate melodyand pathetic grace which rarely deserted him. The real strength anddistinction of 'La Dame Blanche' have sufficed to keep it alive untilthe present day, although it has never, in spite of the Scottish originof the libretto, won in this country a tithe of the popularity which itenjoys in France. The story is a combination of incidents taken fromScott's 'Monastery' and 'Guy Mannering. ' The Laird of Avenel, who wasobliged to fly from Scotland after the battle of Culloden, entrusted hisestates to his steward Gaveston. Many years having passed withouttidings of the absentee, Gaveston determines to put the castle and landsup for sale. He has sedulously fostered a tradition which is currentamong the villagers, that the castle is haunted by a White Lady, hopingby this means to deter any of the neighbouring farmers from competingwith him for the estate. The day before the sale takes place, Dickson, one of the farmers, is summoned to the castle by Anna, an orphan girlwho had been befriended by the Laird. Dickson is too superstitious toventure, but his place is taken by George Brown, a young soldier, whoarrived at the village that day. George has an interview with the WhiteLady, who is of course Anna in disguise. She recognises George as theman whose life she saved after a battle, and knowing him to be therightful heir of Avenel, promises to help him in recovering hisproperty. She has discovered that treasure is concealed in a statue ofthe White Lady, and with this she empowers George to buy back hisancestral lands and castle. Gaveston is outbidden at the sale, andGeorge weds Anna. Boieldieu's music has much melodic beauty, though itstenderness is apt to degenerate into sentimentality. In its originalform the opera would nowadays be unbearably tiresome, and only ajudicious shortening of the interminable duets and trios can make themtolerable to a modern audience. In spite of much that is conventionaland old-fashioned, the alternate vigour and grace of 'La Dame Blanche'and the genuine musical interest of the score make it the mostfavourable specimen of this period of French opéra comique. It is thelast offspring of the older school. After Boieldieu's time the influenceof Rossini became paramount, and opéra comique, unable to resist a spellso formidable, began to lose its distinctively national characteristics. CHAPTER VI WEBER AND THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL WEBER--SPOHR--MARSCHNER--KREUTZER--LORTZING--NICOLAI--FLOTOW--MENDELSSOHN--SCHUBERT--SCHUMANN Although, for the sake of convenience, it is customary to speak of Weberas the founder of the romantic school in music, it must not be imaginedthat the new school sprang into being at the production of 'DerFreischütz. ' For many years the subtle influence of the romantic schoolin literature--the circle which gathered round Tieck, Fichte, and theSchlegels--had been felt in music. We have seen how the voluptuousdelights of Armida's garden affected even the stately muse of Gluck; andin the generation which succeeded him, though opera still followedclassic lines of form, in subject and treatment it was tinged with theprismatic colours of romance. Méhul's curious experiments inorchestration, and the solemn splendour of Mozart's Egyptian mysteries, alike show the influence of the romantic spirit as surely as theweirdest piece of _diablerie_ ever devised by Weber or his followers. Yet though intimations of the approaching change had for long beenperceptible to the discerning eye, it was not until the days of Weberthat the classical forms and methods which had ruled the world of operasince the days of Gluck gave way before the newer and more vivid passionof romance. Even then it must not be forgotten that the romantic schooldiffered from the classic more in view of life and treatment of subjectthan in actual subject itself. The word romance conjures up weirdvisions of the supernatural or glowing pictures of chivalry; butalthough it is true that Weber and his followers loved best to treat ofsuch themes as these, they had by no means been excluded from therepertory of their classical predecessors. The supernatural terrors of'Der Freischütz' must not make us forget the terrific finale to 'DonGiovanni, ' nor can the most glowing picture from 'Euryanthe' erasememories of Rinaldo and the Crusaders in 'Armide. ' The romanticmovement, however, as interpreted by Weber, aimed definitely at certainthings, which had not previously come within the scope of music, thoughfor many years they had been the common property of art and literature. The romantic movement was primarily a revolt against the tyranny of manand his emotions. It claimed a wider stage and an ampler air. Nature wasnot henceforth to be merely the background against which man played hispart. The beauty of landscape, the glory of the setting sun, thesplendour of the sea, the mystery of the forest--all these the romanticmovement taught men to regard not merely as the accessories of a scenein which man was the predominant figure, but as subjects in themselvesworthy of artistic treatment. The genius of Weber (1786-1826) was acurious compound of two differing types. In essence it was thoroughlyGerman--sane in inspiration, and drawing its strength from the homelyold Volkslieder, so dear to every true German heart. Yet over this solidfoundation there soared an imagination surely more delicate and etherealthan has ever been allotted to mortal musician before or since, by theaid of which Weber was enabled to treat all subjects beneath heaven withequal success. He is equally at home in the eerie horrors of the Wolf'sGlen, in the moonlit revels of Oberon, and in the knightly pomp andcircumstance of the Provençal court. Weber's early years were a continual struggle against defeat anddisappointment. His musical education was somewhat superficial, and hisfirst works, 'Sylvana' and 'Peter Schmoll, ' gave little promise of hislater glory. 'Abu Hassan, ' a one-act comic opera, which was produced in1811, at Munich, was his first real success. Slight as the story is, itis by no means unamusing, and the music, which is a piece of thedaintiest filagree-work imaginable, has helped to keep the little workalive to the present day. Such plot as there is describes the shifts ofHassan and Fatima, his wife, to avoid paying their creditors, who areunduly pressing in their demands. Finally they both pretend to be dead, and by this means excite the regret of their master and mistress, theSultan and Sultana, a regret which takes the practical form ofreleasing them from their embarrassments. In 'Der Freischütz' Weber was at last in his true element. The plot ofthe opera is founded upon an old forest legend of a demon who persuadeshuntsmen to sell their souls in exchange for magic bullets which nevermiss their mark. Caspar, who is a ranger in the service of PrinceOttokar of Bohemia, had sold himself to the demon Samiel. The day isapproaching when his soul will become forfeit to the powers of evil, unless he can bring a fresh victim in his place. He looks around him fora possible substitute, and his choice falls upon Max, another ranger, who had been unlucky in the preliminary contest for the post of chiefhuntsman, and is only too ready to listen to Caspar's promise ofunerring bullets. Max loves Agathe, the daughter of Kuno, the retiringhuntsman, and unless he can secure the vacant post, he has little hopeof being able to marry her. He agrees eagerly to Caspar's proposal, andpromises to meet him at midnight in the haunted Wolf's Glen, there to gothrough the ceremony of casting the magic bullets. Meanwhile Agathe isoppressed by forebodings of coming evil. The fall of an old pictureseems to her a presage of woe, and her lively cousin Aennchen can dolittle to console her. The appearance of Max on his way to the Wolf'sGlen, cheers her but little. He too has been troubled by strangevisions, and as the moment of the rendezvous approaches his couragebegins to fail. Nevertheless he betakes himself to the Glen, and there, amidst scenes of the wildest supernatural horror, the bullets are castin the presence of the terrible Samiel himself. Six of them are for Max, to be used by him in the approaching contest, while the seventh will beat the disposal of the demon. In the third act Agathe is discoveredpreparing for her wedding. She has dreamed that, in the shape of a dove, she was shot by Max, and she cannot shake off a sense of approachingtrouble. Her melancholy is not dissipated by the discovery that, insteadof a bridal crown, a funeral wreath has been prepared for her; however, to console herself, she determines to wear a wreath of sacred roses, which had been given her by the hermit of the forest. The last sceneshows the shooting contest on which the future of Max and Agathedepends. Max makes six shots in succession, all of which hit the mark. At last, at the Prince's command, he fires at a dove which is flyingpast. Agathe falls with a shriek, but is protected by her wreath, whileSamiel directs the bullet to Caspar's heart. At the sight of hisassociate's fate Max is stricken with remorse, and tells the story ofhis unholy compact. The Prince is about to banish him from his service, when the hermit appears and intercedes for the unfortunate youth. ThePrince is mollified, and it is decided that Max shall have a year'sprobation, after which he shall be permitted to take the post of chiefhuntsman and marry Agathe. 'Der Freischütz' is, upon the whole, the most thoroughly characteristicof Weber's works. The famous passage for the horns, with which theoverture opens, strikes the note of mystery and romance which echoesthrough the work. The overture itself is a notable example of that newbeauty which Weber infused into the time-honoured form. If he was notactually the first--for Beethoven had already written his 'Leonore'overtures--to make the overture a picture in brief of the incidents ofthe opera, he developed the idea with so much picturesque power andimagination that the preludes to his operas remain the envy and despairof modern theatrical composers. The inspiration of 'Der Freischütz' isdrawn so directly from the German Volkslied, that at its productionWeber was roundly accused of plagiarism by many critics. Time has shownthe folly of such charges. 'Der Freischütz' is German to the core, andevery page of it bears the impress of German inspiration, but theglamour of Weber's genius transmuted the rough material he employed intoa fabric of the richest art. Of the imaginative power of such scenes asthe famous incantation it is unnecessary to speak. It introduced a newelement into music, and one which was destined to have an almostimmeasurable influence upon modern music. Weber's power ofcharacterisation was remarkable, as shown particularly in the musicassigned to Agathe and Aennchen, but in this respect he was certainlyinferior to some of his predecessors, notably to Mozart. But inimaginative power and in the minute knowledge of orchestral detail, which enabled him to translate his conceptions into music, he has neverbeen surpassed among writers for the stage. Modern opera, if we mayspeak in general terms, may be said to date from the production of 'DerFreischütz. ' Operatic composers are too often dogged by a fate which seems to compelthem to wed their noblest inspirations to libretti of incorrigibledulness, and Weber was even more unfortunate in this respect than hisbrethren of the craft. After 'Der Freischütz, ' the libretti which hetook in hand were of the most unworthy description, and even his geniushas not been able to give them immortality. 'Euryanthe' was the work ofHelmine von Chezy, the authoress of 'Rosamunde, ' for which Schubertwrote his entrancing incidental music. Weber was probably attracted bythe romantic elements of the story, the chivalry of mediæval France, themarches and processions, the pomp and glitter of the court, andoverlooked the weak points of the plot. To tell the truth, much of thelibretto of 'Euryanthe' borders upon the incomprehensible. The mainoutline of the story is as follows. At a festival given by the King ofFrance, Count Adolar praises the beauty and virtue of his betrothedEuryanthe, and Lysiart, who also loves her, offers to wager all hepossesses that he will contrive to gain her love. Adolar accepts thechallenge, and Lysiart departs for Nevers, where Euryanthe is living. The second act discovers Euryanthe and Eglantine, an outcast damsel whomshe has befriended. Eglantine secretly loves Adolar, but extracts apromise from Lysiart, who has arrived at Nevers, that he will marryher. In return for this she gives him a ring belonging to Euryanthe, which she has stolen, and tells him a secret relating to a mysteriousEmma, a sister of Adolar, which Euryanthe has incautiously revealed toher. Armed with these Lysiart returns to the court, and quicklypersuades Adolar and the King that he has won Euryanthe's affection. Noone listens to her denials; she is condemned to death, and Adolar'slands and titles are given to Lysiart. Euryanthe is led into the desertto be killed by Adolar. On the way he is attacked by a serpent, which hekills, though not before Euryanthe has proved her devotion by offeringto die in her lover's place. Adolar then leaves Euryanthe to perish, declaring that he has not the heart to kill her. She is found in a dyingcondition by the King, whom she speedily convinces of her innocence. Meanwhile Adolar has returned to Nevers, to encounter the bridalprocession of Eglantine and Lysiart. Eglantine confesses that she helpedto ruin Euryanthe in the hope of winning Adolar, and is promptly stabbedby Lysiart. Everything being satisfactorily cleared up, Euryantheconveniently awakes from a trance into which she had fallen, and thelovers are finally united. Puerile as the libretto is, it inspired Weberwith some of the finest music he ever wrote. The spectacular portions ofthe opera are animated by the true spirit of chivalry, while all that isconnected with the incomprehensible Emma and her secret is unspeakablyeerie. The characters of the drama are such veritable puppets, that noexpenditure of talent could make them interesting; but the resemblancebetween the general scheme of the plot of 'Euryanthe' and that of'Lohengrin' should not be passed over, nor the remarkable way in whichWeber had anticipated some of Wagner's most brilliant triumphs, notablyin the characters of Eglantine and Lysiart, who often seem curiously toforeshadow Ortrud and Telramund, and in the finale to the second act, inwhich the single voice of Euryanthe, like that of Elisabeth in'Tannhäuser, ' is contrasted with the male chorus. Weber's last opera, 'Oberon, ' is one of the few works written in recenttimes by a foreign composer of the first rank for the English stage. Thelibretto, which was the work of Planché, is founded upon an old Frenchromance, 'Huon of Bordeaux, ' and though by no means a model of lucidity, it contains many scenes both powerful and picturesque, which must havecaptivated the imagination of a musician so impressionable as Weber. Theopera opens in fairyland, where a bevy of fairies is watching theslumbers of Oberon. The fairy king has quarrelled with Titania, and hasvowed never to be reconciled to her until he shall find two loversconstant to each other through trial and temptation. Puck, who has beendespatched to search for such a pair, enters with the news that Sir Huonof Bordeaux, who had accidentally slain the son of Charlemagne, has beencommanded, in expiation of his crime, to journey to Bagdad, to claim theCaliph's daughter as his bride, and slay the man who sits at his righthand. Oberon forthwith throws Huon into a deep sleep, and in a visionshows him Rezia, the daughter of the Caliph, of whom the ardent knightinstantly becomes enamoured. He then conveys him to the banks of theTigris, and giving him a magic horn, starts him upon his dangerousenterprise. In the Caliph's palace Huon fights with Babekan, Rezia'ssuitor, rescues the maiden, and with the aid of the magic horn carriesher off from the palace, while his esquire Sherasmin performs the samekind office for Fatima, Rezia's attendant. On their way home theyencounter a terrific storm, raised by the power of Oberon to try theirconstancy. They are ship-wrecked, and Rezia is carried off by pirates toTunis, whilst Huon is left for dead upon the beach. At Tunis moretroubles are in store for the hapless pair. Huon, who has beentransported by the fairies across the sea, finds his way into the houseof the Emir, where Rezia is in slavery. There he is unlucky enough towin the favour of Roshana, the Emir's wife, and before he can escapefrom her embraces he is discovered by the Emir himself, and condemned tobe burned alive. Rezia proclaims herself his wife, and she also iscondemned to the stake; but at this crisis Oberon intervenes. The lovershave been tried enough, and their constancy is rewarded. They aretransported to the court of Charlemagne, where a royal welcome awaitsthem. Although written for England, 'Oberon' has never achieved muchpopularity in this, or indeed in any country. The fairy music isexquisite throughout, but the human interest of the story is after allslight, and Weber, on whom the hand of death was heavy as he wrote thescore, failed to infuse much individuality into his characters. 'Oberon'was his last work, and he died in London soon after it was produced. During the last few years of his life he had been engaged in a desultoryway upon the composition of a comic opera, 'Die drei Pintos, ' foundedupon a Spanish subject. He left this in an unfinished state, but sometime after his death it was found that the manuscript sketches and notesfor the work were on a scale sufficiently elaborate to give a properidea of what the composer's intentions with regard to the work reallywere. The work of arrangement was entrusted to Herr G. Mahler, and underhis auspices 'Die drei Pintos' was actually produced, though with littlesuccess. At the present time the only opera of Weber which can truthfully be saidto belong to the current repertory is 'Der Freischütz, ' and even this israrely performed out of Germany. The small amount of favour which'Euryanthe' and 'Oberon' enjoy is due, as has been already pointed out, chiefly to the weakness of their libretti, yet it seems strange that theman to whom the whole tendency of modern opera is due should hold sosmall a place in our affections. The changes which Weber and hisfollowers effected, though less drastic, were in their results fully asimportant as those of Gluck. In the orchestra as well as on the stagehe introduced a new spirit, a new point of view. What modern music owesto him may be summed up in a word. Without Weber, Wagner would have beenimpossible. Louis Spohr (1784-1859) is now almost forgotten as an operatic composer, but at one time his popularity was only second to that of Weber. Manycompetent critics have constantly affirmed that a day will come whenSpohr's operas, now neglected, will return to favour once more; butyears pass, and there seems no sign of a revival of interest in hiswork. Yet he has a certain importance in the history of opera; for, sofar as chronology is concerned, he ought perhaps to be termed thefounder of the romantic school rather than Weber, since his 'Faust' wasproduced in 1818, and 'Der Freischütz' did not appear until 1821. Butthe question seems to turn not so much upon whether Spohr or Weber werefirst in the field, as whether Spohr is actually a romantic composer atall. If the subjects which he treated were all that need be taken intoaccount, the matter could easily be decided. No composer ever dealt morefreely in the supernatural than Spohr. His operas are peopled withelves, ghosts, and goblins. Ruined castles, midnight assassins, anddistressed damsels greet us on every page. But if we go somewhat deeper, we find that the real qualities of romanticism are strangely absent fromhis music. His form differs little from that of his classicalpredecessors, and his orchestration is curiously arid and unsuggestive;in a word, the breath of imagination rarely animates his pages. Yet theworkmanship of his operas is so admirable, and his vein of melody is sodelicate and refined, that it is difficult to help thinking that Spohrhas been unjustly neglected. His 'Faust, ' which has nothing to do withGoethe's drama, was popular in England fifty years ago; and 'Jessonda, 'which contains the best of his music, is still occasionally performed inGermany. The rest of his works, with the exception of a few scatteredairs, such as 'Rose softly blooming, ' from 'Zemire und Azor, ' seem to becompletely forgotten. Heinrich Marschner (1796-1861), though not a pupil of Weber, wasstrongly influenced by his music, and carried on the traditions of theromantic school worthily and well. He was a man of vivid imagination, and revelled in uncanny legends of the supernatural. His works areperformed with tolerable frequency in Germany, and still please byreason of their inexhaustible flow of melody and their brilliant andelaborate orchestration. 'Hans Heiling, ' his masterpiece, is foundedupon a sombre old legend of the Erzgebirge. The king of the gnomes hasseen and loved a Saxon maiden, Anna by name, and to win her heart heleaves his palace in the bowels of the earth and masquerades as avillage schoolmaster under the name of Hans Heiling. Anna is flatteredby his attentions, and promises to be his wife; but she soon tires ofher gloomy lover, and ends by openly admitting her preference for thehunter Conrad. Her resolution to break with Hans is confirmed by anapparition of the queen of the gnomes, Hans Heiling's mother, surroundedby her attendant sprites, who warns her under fearful penalties toforswear the love of an immortal. Hans Heiling is furious at the perfidyof Anna, and vows terrible vengeance upon her and Conrad, which he isabout to put into execution with the aid of his gnomes. At the lastmoment, however, his mother appears, and persuades him to relinquish allhopes of earthly love and to return with her to their subterranean home. There is much in this strange story which suggests the legend of theFlying Dutchman, and, bearing in mind the admiration which in his earlydays Wagner felt for the works of Marschner, it is interesting to tracein 'Hans Heiling' the source of much that is familiar to us in the scoreof 'Der Fliegende Holländer. ' Of Marschner's other operas, the mostfamiliar are 'Templer und Jüdin, ' founded upon Sir Walter Scott's'Ivanhoe, ' a fine work, suffering from a confused and disconnectedlibretto; and 'Der Vampyr, ' a tale of unmitigated gloom and horror. Weber and Marschner show the German romantic school at its best; for thelesser men, such as Hoffmann and Lindpaintner, did little but reproducethe salient features of their predecessors more or less faithfully. Theromantic school is principally associated with the sombre dramas, inwhich the taste of that time delighted; but there was another side tothe movement which must not be neglected. The Singspiel, established byHiller and perfected by Mozart, had languished during the early yearsof the century, or rather had fallen into the hands of composers whowere entirely unable to do justice to its possibilities. The romanticmovement touched it into new life, and a school arose which contrived bydint of graceful melody and ingenious orchestral device to invest withreal musical interest the simple stories in which the Germanmiddle-class delights. The most successful of these composers wereKreutzer and Lortzing. Conradin Kreutzer (1782-1849) was a prolific composer, but the only oneof his operas which can honestly be said to have survived to our timesis 'Das Nachtlager von Granada. ' This tells the tale of an adventurewhich befell the Prince Regent of Spain. While hunting in the mountainshe falls in with Gabriela, a pretty peasant maiden who is in deepdistress. She confides to him that her affairs of the heart have goneawry. Her lover, Gomez the shepherd, is too poor to marry, and herfather wishes her to accept the Croesus of the village, a man whom shedetests. The handsome huntsman--for such she supposes him tobe--promises to intercede for her with his patron the Prince, and whenher friends and relations, a band of arrant smugglers and thieves, appear, he tries to buy their consent to her union with Gomez by meansof a gold chain which he happens to be wearing. The sight of so muchwealth arouses the cupidity of the knaves, and they at once brew a plotto murder the huntsman in his sleep. Luckily Gabriela overhears theirscheming, and puts the Prince upon his guard. The assassins find himprepared for their assault, and ready to defend himself to the lastdrop of blood. Fortunately matters do not come to a climax. A body ofthe Prince's attendants arrive in time to prevent any bloodshed, and theopera ends with the discomfiture of the villains and the happysettlement of Gabriela's love affairs. Kreutzer's music is for the mostpart slight, and occasionally borders upon the trivial, but severalscenes are treated in the true romantic spirit, and some of theconcerted pieces are admirably written. Lortzing (1803-1852) was a moregifted musician than Kreutzer, and several of his operas are stillexceedingly popular in Germany. The scene of 'Czar und Zimmermann, 'which is fairly well known in England as 'Peter the Shipwright, ' is laidat Saardam, where Peter the Great is working in a shipyard under thename of Michaelhoff. There is another Russian employed in the same yard, a deserter named Peter Ivanhoff, and the very slight incidents uponwhich the action of the opera hinges arise from the mistakes of ablundering burgomaster who confuses the identity of the two men. Themusic is exceedingly bright and tuneful, and much of it is capitallywritten. Scarcely less popular in Germany than 'Czar und Zimmermann' is'Der Wildschütz' (The Poacher), a bustling comedy of intrigue anddisguise, which owes its name to the mistake of a foolish old villageschoolmaster, who fancies that he has shot a stag in the baronialpreserves. The chief incidents in the piece arise from the humours of avivacious baroness, who disguises herself as a servant in order to makethe acquaintance of her _fiancé_, unknown to him. The music of 'DerWildschütz' is no less bright and unpretentious than that of 'Czar undZimmermann'; in fact, these two works may be taken as good specimens ofLortzing's engaging talent. His strongest points are a clever knack oftreating the voices contrapuntally in concerted pieces, and a humoroustrick of orchestration, two features with which English audiences havebecome pleasantly familiar in Sir Arthur Sullivan's operettas, whichworks indeed owe not a little to the influence of Lortzing and Kreutzer. Inferior even to the slightest of the minor composers of the romanticschool was Flotow, whose 'Martha' nevertheless has survived to our time, while hundreds of works far superior in every way have perishedirretrievably. Flotow (1812-1883) was a German by birth, but his musicis merely a feeble imitation of the popular Italianisms of the day. 'Martha' tells the story of a freakish English lady who, with her maid, disguises herself as a servant and goes to the hiring fair at Richmond. There they fall in with an honest farmer of the neighbourhood namedPlunket, and his friend Lionel, who promptly engage them. The twocouples soon fall in love with each other, but various hindrances arisewhich serve to prolong the story into four weary acts. Flotow had acertain gift of melody, and the music of 'Martha' has the merit of arather trivial tunefulness, but the score is absolutely devoid of anyreal musical interest, and the fact that performances of such a work as'Martha' are still possible in London gives an unfortunate impression ofthe standard of musical taste prevailing in England. Otto Nicolai(1810-1849) began by imitating Italian music, but in 'Die lustigenWeiber von Windsor, ' a capital adaptation of Shakespeare's 'Merry Wivesof Windsor, ' which was only produced a few months before his death, hereturned to the type of comic opera which was popular at that time inGermany. He was an excellent musician, and the captivating melody ofthis genial little work is supplemented by excellent concerted writingand thoroughly sound orchestration. To this period belong the operas written by three composers who in otherbranches of music have won immortality, although their dramatic workshave failed to win lasting favour. Mendelssohn's (1809-1847) boyish opera 'Die Hochzeit des Camacho' is tooinexperienced a work to need more than a passing word, and hisLiederspiel 'Heimkehr aus der Fremde' is little more than a collectionof songs; but the finale to his unfinished 'Lorelei' shows that hepossessed genuine dramatic power, and it must be a matter for regretthat his difficulties in fixing on a libretto prevented his givinganything to the permanent repertory of the stage. Schubert (1797-1828) wrote many works for the stage--romantic operaslike 'Fierrabras' and 'Alfonso und Estrella, ' operettas like 'Derhäusliche Krieg, ' and farces like 'Die Zwillingsbrüder. ' Most of themwere saddled by inane libretti, and though occasionally revived byenthusiastic admirers of the composer, only prove that Schubert's talentwas essentially not dramatic, however interesting his music may be tomusicians. Schumann's (1810-1856) one contribution to the history of opera, 'Genoveva, ' is decidedly more important, and indeed it seems possiblethat after many years of neglect it may at last take a place in themodern repertory. It is founded upon a tragedy by Hebbel, and tells ofthe passion of Golo for Genoveva, the wife of his patron Siegfried, hisplot to compromise her, and the final triumph of the constant wife. Themusic cannot be said to be undramatic; on the contrary, Schumann oftenrealises the situations with considerable success: but he had littlepower of characterisation, and all the characters sing very much thesame kind of music. This gives a feeling of monotony to the score, whichis hardly dispelled even by the many beauties with which it is adorned. Nevertheless 'Genoveva' has been revived in several German towns of lateyears, and its music has always met with much applause fromconnoisseurs, though it is never likely to be generally popular. CHAPTER VII ROSSINI, DONIZETTI, AND BELLINI While Weber was reconstructing opera in Germany and laying thefoundations upon which the vast structure of modern lyrical drama wasafterwards reared by the composers of our own day, reforms, or at anyrate innovations, were being introduced into Italian opera by a musicianscarcely less gifted even than the founder of the romantic schoolhimself. Rossini (1792-1868) owed but little of his fame to instructionor study. As soon as he had been assured by his master that he knewenough of the grammar of music to write an opera, he relinquished hisstudies once for all, and started life as a composer. In this perhaps heshowed his wisdom, for his natural gifts were of such a nature as couldscarcely have been enhanced by erudition, and the mission which he soamply fulfilled in freeing his national art from eighteenth-centuryconvention was certainly not one which depended upon a profoundknowledge of counterpoint. Nature had fortunately endowed him withprecisely the equipment necessary for the man who was to reform Italianopera. The school of Paisiello, notwithstanding its many merits, hadseveral grievous weaknesses, of which the most prominent wereuniformity of melodic type, nerveless and conventional orchestration, and intolerable prolixity. Rossini brought to his task a vein of melodyas inexhaustible in inspiration as it was novel in form, a naturalinstinct for instrumental colour, and a firm conviction that brevity wasthe soul of wit. He leapt into fame with 'Tancredi, ' which was producedin 1813 and established his reputation as a composer of opera seria. Inopera buffa, a field in which his talents shone even more brilliantly, his earliest success was made with 'L'Italiana in Algeri' (1813), whichwas followed in 1815 by the world-famous 'Barbiere di Siviglia. ' Thiswas originally produced in Rome under the name of 'Almaviva, ' andstrangely enough, proved an emphatic failure. For this, however, themusic was scarcely responsible. The people of Rome were at that timedevotees of the music of Paisiello, and resented the impertinence of theupstart Rossini in venturing to borrow a subject which had already beentreated by the older master. 'Il Barbiere' soon recovered from the shockof its unfriendly reception, and is now one of the very few of Rossini'sworks which have survived to the present day. The story is bright andamusing and the music brilliant and exhilarating, but it is to be fearedthat the real explanation of the continued success of the little operalies in the opportunity which it offers to the prima donna ofintroducing her favourite _cheval de bataille_ in the lesson scene. Thescene of the opera is laid at Seville. Count Almaviva has fallen inlove with Rosina, a fascinating damsel, whose guardian, Bartolo, keepsher under lock and key, in the hope of persuading her to marry himself. Figaro, a ubiquitous barber, who is in everybody's confidence, takes theCount under his protection, and contrives to smuggle him into the housein the disguise of a drunken soldier. Unfortunately this scheme isfrustrated by the arrival of the guard, who arrest the refractory heroand carry him off to gaol. In the second act the Count succeeds ingetting into the house as a music-master, but in order to gain thesuspicious Bartolo's confidence he has to show him one of Rosina'sletters to himself, pretending that it was given him by a mistress ofAlmaviva. Bartolo is delighted with the news of the Count's infidelityand hastens to tell the scandal to Rosina, whose jealousy anddisappointment nearly bring Almaviva's deep-laid schemes to destruction. Happily he finds an opportunity of persuading her of his constancy whileher guardian's back is turned, and induces her to elope before Bartolohas discovered the fraud practised upon him. The music is a delightfulexample of Rossini in his gayest and merriest mood. It sparkles with witand fancy, and is happily free from those concessions to the vanity oridiosyncrasy of individual singers which do so much to render his musictedious to modern ears. Of Rossini's lighter works, 'Il Barbiere' iscertainly the most popular, though, musically speaking, it is perhapsnot superior to 'La Gazza Ladra, ' which, however, is saddled with anidiotic libretto. None of his tragic operas except 'Guillaume Tell, 'which belongs to a later period, have retained their hold upon theaffections of the public. Nevertheless there is so much excellent musicin the best of them, that it would not be strange if the course of timeshould bring them once more into favour, provided always that singerswere forthcoming capable of singing the elaborate _fioriture_ with whichthey abound. Perhaps the finest of the serious operas of Rossini'sItalian period is 'Semiramide' a work which is especially interesting asa proof of the strong influence which Mozart exercised upon him. Theplot is a Babylonian version of the story of Agamemnon, telling of thevengeance taken by Arsaces, the son of Ninus and Semiramis, upon hisguilty mother, who, with the help of her paramour Assur, had slain herhusband. Much of the music is exceedingly powerful, notably that whichaccompanies the apparition of the ghost of Ninus (although this isevidently inspired by 'Don Giovanni'), and the passionate scene in whichthe conscience-stricken Assur pours forth his soul in tempest. Morethoroughly Italian in type is 'Mosé in Egitto, ' a curious thougheffective version of the Biblical story, which is still occasionallyperformed as an oratorio in this country, a proceeding which naturallygives little idea of its real merits. In 1833 it was actually givenunder the proper conditions, as a sacred opera, strengthened by agenerous infusion of Handel's 'Israel in Egypt, ' under the direction ofMr. Rophino Lacy. It would be an idle task to give even the names ofRossini's many operas. Suffice it to say that between 1810 and 1828 heproduced upwards of forty distinct works. In 1829 came his last andgreatest work, 'Guillaume Tell, ' which was written for the Grand Opérain Paris. The libretto was the work of many hands, and Rossini's ownshare in it was not a small one. It follows Schiller with tolerablecloseness. In the first act Tell saves the life of Leuthold, who isbeing pursued by Gessler's soldiers; and Melchthal, the patriarch of thevillage, is put to death on a charge of insubordination. His son Arnoldloves Matilda, the sister of Gessler, and hesitates between love andduty. Finally, however, he joins Tell, who assembles the men of thethree forest cantons, and binds them with an oath to exterminate theiroppressors or perish in the attempt. In the third act comes the famousarchery scene. Tell refuses to bow to Gessler's hat, and is condemned toshoot the apple from his son's head. This he successfully accomplishes, but the presence of a second arrow in his quiver arouses Gessler'ssuspicions. Tell confesses that had he killed his son, the second arrowwould have despatched the tyrant, and is at once thrown into prison. Inthe last act we find Arnold raising a band of followers and himselfaccomplishing the rescue of Tell; Gessler is slain, and Matilda isunited to her lover. 'Guillaume Tell' is not only indisputably Rossini's finest work, but italso give convincing proof of the plasticity of the composer's genius. Accustomed as he had been for many years to turning out Italian operasby the score--graceful trifles enough, but too often flimsy andconventional--it says much for the character of the man that, when theoccasion arrived, he could attack such a subject as that of Tell withthe proper seriousness and reserve. He took what was best in the styleand tradition of French opera and welded it to the thoroughly Italianfabric with which he was familiar. He put aside the excessiveornamentation with which his earlier works had been overladen, andtreated the voices with a simplicity and dignity thoroughly in keepingwith the subject. The choral and instrumental parts of the opera areparticularly important; the latter especially have a colour and varietywhich may be considered to have had a large share in forming the tastefor delicate orchestral effects for which modern French composers arefamous. 'Guillaume Tell' was to have been the first of a series of fiveoperas written for the Paris Opera by special arrangement with thegovernment of Charles X. The revolution of 1830 put an end to thisscheme, and a few years later, finding himself displaced by Meyerbeer inthe affections of the fickle Parisian public, Rossini made up his mindto write no more for the stage. He lived for nearly forty years afterthe production of 'Guillaume Tell, ' but preferred a life of ease andleisure to entering the lists once more as a candidate for fame. Whatthe world lost by this decision, it is difficult to say; but if weremember the extraordinary development which took place in the style andmethods of Wagner and Verdi, we cannot think without regret of thecomposer of 'Guillaume Tell' making up his mind while still a young manto abandon the stage for ever. Nevertheless, although much of his musicsoon became old-fashioned, Rossini's work was not unimportant. Theinvention of the cabaletta, or quick movement, following the cavatina orslow movement, must be ascribed to him, an innovation which has affectedthe form of opera, German and French, as well as Italian, throughoutthis century. Even more important was the change which he introducedinto the manner of singing _fioriture_ or florid music. Before his daysingers had been accustomed to introduce cadenzas of their own, to agreat extent when they liked. Rossini insisted upon their singingnothing but what was set down for them. Naturally he was compelled towrite cadenzas for them as elaborate and effective as those which theyhad been in the habit of improvising, so that much of his Italian musicsounds empty and meaningless to our ears. But he introduced the thinedge of the wedge, and although even to the days of Jenny Lind singerswere occasionally permitted to interpolate cadenzas of their own, theold tradition that an opera was merely an opportunity for the display ofindividual vanity was doomed. The music of Donizetti (1798-1848) is now paying the price of a longcareer of popularity by enduring a season of neglect. His tragic operas, which were the delight of opera-goers in the fifties and sixties, soundcold and thin to modern ears. There is far more genuine life in hislighter works, many of which still delight us by their unaffectedtunefulness and vivacity. Donizetti had little musical education, andhis spirit rebelled so strongly against the rules of counterpoint thathe preferred to go into the army rather than to devote himself to churchmusic. His first opera, 'Enrico di Borgogna, ' was produced in 1818, andfor the next five-and-twenty years he worked assiduously, producing inall no fewer than sixty-five operas. 'Lucia di Lammermoor' (1835), which was for many years one of the mostpopular works in the Covent Garden repertory, has now sunk to the levelof a mere prima donna's opera, to be revived once or twice a year inorder to give a popular singer an opportunity for vocal display. Yetthere are passages in it of considerable dramatic power, and many of themelodies are fresh and expressive. The plot is founded upon 'The Brideof Lammermoor, ' but it is Scott's tragic romance seen through veryItalian spectacles indeed. Henry Ashton has promised the hand of hissister Lucy to Lord Arthur Bucklaw, hoping by means of this marriage torecruit the fallen fortunes of his house. Lucy loves Edgar Ravenswood, the hereditary foe of her family, and vows to be true to him while he isaway on an embassy in France. During his absence Ashton contrives tointercept Ravenswood's letters to his sister, and finally produces aforged paper, which Lucy accepts as the proof of her lover's infidelity. She yields to the pressure of her brother's entreaties, and consents tomarry Lord Arthur. No sooner has she set her name to the contract thanthe door opens and Edgar appears. Confronted with the proof of Lucy'sinconstancy, he curses the house of Lammermoor and rushes away. Ashtonfollows him, and, after a stormy interview, challenges him to mortalcombat. Meanwhile, on her bridal night Lucy has lost her reason and inher frenzy stabbed her unfortunate bridegroom. On coming once more toher senses, she puts an end to her own life; while Edgar, on hearing ofthe tragedy, betakes himself to the tombs of his ancestors and therecommits suicide. Much of the music suffers from the conventionality towhich Donizetti was a slave, notably the ridiculous mad scene, adelightfully suave melody ending with an elaborate cadenza dividedbetween the voice and flute; but there are passages of real power, suchas the fine sextet in the contract scene, and the gloomy air in whichthe hero calls upon the spirits of his forefathers. Less sombre than 'Lucia, ' and quite as tuneful, is 'Lucrezia Borgia, 'once a prime favourite at Covent Garden, but now rarely heard. LucreziaBorgia, the wife of Alfonso of Ferrara, has recognised Gennaro, a youngVenetian, as an illegitimate son of her own, and watches over him withtender interest, though she will not disclose the real relation in whichthey stand to one another. Gennaro, taunted by his friends with being avictim of Lucrezia's fascinations, publicly insults her, and isthereupon condemned to death by the Duke, who is glad of the opportunityof taking vengeance upon the man whom he believes to be his wife'sparamour. Gennaro is poisoned in the presence of his mother, who, however, directly the Duke's back is turned, gives him an antidote whichrestores him to health. In the last act Lucrezia takes comprehensivevengeance upon the friends of Gennaro, whose taunts still rankle in herbosom, by poisoning all the wine at a supper party. UnfortunatelyGennaro happens to be present, and as this time he refuses to take anantidote, even though Lucrezia reveals herself as his mother, he expiresin her arms. There is little attempt at dramatic significance in the music of'Lucrezia Borgia, ' but the score bubbles over with delicious and whollyinappropriate melodies. Occasionally, as in the final scene, there is atouch of pathos, and sometimes some rather effective concerted music;but, for the most part, Donizetti was content to write his charmingtunes, and to leave all expression to the singers. The orchestration ofhis Italian operas is primitive in the extreme, and amply justifiesWagner's taunt about the 'big guitar. ' In works written for foreigntheatres Donizetti took more pains, and 'La Favorite, ' produced in Parisin 1840, is in many ways the strongest of his tragic works. The story ismore than usually repulsive. Fernando, a novice at the convent of St. James of Compostella, is about to take monastic vows, when he catchessight of a fair penitent, and bids farewell to the Church in order tofollow her to court. She turns out to be Leonora, the mistress of theKing, for whose _beaux yeux_ the latter is prepared to repudiate theQueen and to brave all the terrors of Rome. Fernando finds Leonoraready to reciprocate his passion, and by her means he obtains acommission in the army. He returns covered with glory, and is rewardedby the King, who has discovered his connection with Leonora, with thehand of his cast-off mistress. After the marriage ceremony is over, Fernando hears for the first time of Leonora's past. He flies to theconvent for consolation, followed by his unfortunate wife, who dies inhis arms after she has obtained forgiveness. 'La Favorite' is morecarefully written than was Donizetti's wont, and some of the concertedmusic is really dramatic. There is a tradition that the last act, whichwas an after-thought, was written in an incredibly short space of time, but it is significant that the beautiful romanza 'Spirto gentil, ' towhich the act and indeed the whole opera owes most of its popularity, was transferred from an earlier and unperformed work, 'Le Duc d'Albe. 'It would be waste of time to describe the plots of any other seriousworks by this composer. Many of them, such as 'Betly, ' 'Linda diChamonix, ' and 'Anna Bolena, ' were successful when produced; butDonizetti aimed merely at satisfying the prevailing taste of the day, and when a new generation sprang up with different sympathies from thatwhich had preceded it, the operas which had seemed the most secure ofpopularity were soon consigned to oblivion. It is a significant factthat Donizetti's lighter works have stood the test of time moresuccessfully than his more serious efforts. Though the grandiose airsand sham tragedy of 'Lucia' have long since ceased to impress us, we canstill take pleasure in the unaffected gaiety of 'La Fille du Régiment'and 'Don Pasquale. ' These and many similar works were written _currentecalamo_, and though their intrinsic musical interest is of course veryslight, they are totally free from the ponderous affectations of thecomposer's serious operas. Here we see Donizetti at his best, becausehere he writes according to the natural dictates of his imagination, notin accordance with the foolish or depraved taste of fashionableconnoisseurs. The scene of 'La Fille du Régiment' is laid in the Tyrol, where Tonio, apeasant, has had the good fortune to save the life of Marie, thevivandière of a French regiment. Many years before the opening of thestory, Marie had been found upon the battle-field by Sergeant Sulpice, and adopted by the regiment whose name she bears. The regiment, as abody, has the right of disposing of her hand in marriage, and when Toniopresses his claim, which is not disallowed by the heroine, it is decidedthat he shall be allowed to marry her if he will consent to join theregiment. Everything goes well, when a local grandee in the shape of theMarchioness Berkenfeld suddenly appears, identifies Marie as her nieceby means of a letter which was found upon her by the Sergeant, andcarries her off to her castle hard by, leaving the unfortunate Tonio tothe bitterest reflections. In the second act Marie is at the castle ofBerkenfeld though by no means at ease in her unaccustomed surroundings. Her efforts to imbibe the principles of etiquette are pleasantlyinterrupted by the unexpected arrival of the regiment, with Tonio now asColonel at its head. But even his promotion will not soften theMarchioness's heart. She discloses the fact that she is in realityMarie's mother, and adjures her by her filial respect to give up thethought of her low-born lover. Marie consents in an agony of grief. Thelovers part with many tears, and at the psychological moment theMarchioness relents, and all ends happily. Even slighter in scope is 'Don Pasquale, ' a brilliant trifle, writtenfor the Théâtre des Italiens in Paris, and there sung for the first timein 1843, by Grisi, Mario, Tamburini, and Lablache. The story turns upona trick played by Ernesto and Norina, two young lovers, upon the uncleand guardian of the former, Don Pasquale. Ernesto will not marry toplease his uncle, so the old gentleman determines to marry himself. Norina is introduced to Don Pasquale as his sister by a certain Dr. Malatesta, a friend of Ernesto, and the amorous old gentleman at oncesuccumbs to her charms. No sooner is the marriage contract signed thanNorina, acting upon her instructions, launches forth upon a career ofunexampled shrewishness, extravagance, and flirtation. Her poor oldlover is distracted by her wild vagaries, and in the end is only toothankful to hand her over bag and baggage to his nephew, who generouslyconsents to relieve his uncle of his unlucky bargain. The music of 'L'Elisir d'Amore' is not inferior to that of 'DonPasquale' in sparkle and brilliancy, but the plot is tame and childishcompared to the bustle and intrigue of the latter work. It turns upon asham love potion sold by a travelling quack to Nemorino, a country loutwho is in love with Adina, the local beauty. Adina is divided betweenthe attractions of Nemorino and those of the Sergeant Belcore, who isquartered in the village. In order to get money to pay for the potionNemorino joins the army, and this proof of his devotion has soconvincing an effect upon the affections of Adina that she discards thesoldier and bestows her hand upon Nemorino. To this silly plot is alliedsome of the most delightful music Donizetti ever wrote. Fresh, graceful, and occasionally tender, it forms the happiest contrast to the grandiosenonsense which the composer was in the habit of turning out to suit thevitiated taste of the day, and is a convincing proof that if he had beenpermitted to exercise his talent in a congenial sphere, Donizetti wouldbe entitled to rank with the most successful followers of Cimarosa andPaisiello, instead of being degraded to the rank of a mere purveyor tothe manufacturers of barrel-organs. Different as was the talent of Bellini (1802-1835) from that ofDonizetti, his fate has been the same. After holding the ear of Europefor many years, he has fallen at the present time completely into thebackground, and outside the frontiers of Italy his works are rarelyheard. Bellini had no pretensions to dramatic power. His genius waspurely elegiac in tone, and he relied entirely for the effect which heintended to produce upon the luscious beauty of his melodies, intowhich, it must be admitted, the great singers of his time contrived toinfuse a surprising amount of dramatic force. The story of 'La Sonnambula' is rather foolish, but it suited Bellini'sidyllic style, and the work is perhaps the happiest example of his_naïf_ charm. Amina, a rustic damsel, betrothed to Elvino, is aconfirmed somnambulist, and her nocturnal peregrinations have given thevillage in which she dwells the reputation of being haunted by aspectre. One night, Amina, while walking in her sleep, enters thechamber in the inn where Rodolfo, the young lord of the village, happensto be located. There she is discovered by Lisa, the landlady, to thescandal of the neighbourhood and the shame of her lover Elvino, whocasts her from him and at once makes over his affections to thelandlady. Amina's sorrow and despair make her more restless than ever, and the following night she is seen walking out of a window of the millin which she lives, and crossing the stream by a frail bridge whichtotters beneath her weight. Providence guards her steps, and she reachessolid earth in safety, where Elvino is waiting to receive her, fullyconvinced of her innocence. Bellini's music is quite the reverse ofdramatic, but the melodies throughout 'La Sonnambula' are graceful andtender, and in the closing scene he rises to real pathos. In 'Norma' Bellini had the advantage of treating a libretto of greatpower and beauty, the work of the poet Romani, a tragedy which, both insentiment and diction, contrasts very strongly with the ungrammaticalbalderdash which composers are so often called upon to set to music. Norma, the high priestess of the Druids, forgetting her faith and thetraditions of her race, has secretly wedded Pollio, a Roman general, andborne him two children. In spite of the sacrifices which she has madefor his sake, he proves faithless, and seduces Adalgisa, one of thevirgins of the temple, who has consented to abandon her people and hercountry and to fly with him to Rome. Before leaving her home, Adalgisa, ignorant of the connection between Norma and Pollio, reveals her secretto the priestess, and begs for absolution from her vows. At the news ofher husband's faithlessness Norma's fury breaks forth, and herindignation is equalled by that of Adalgisa, who is furious at findingherself the mere plaything of a profligate. Pollio, maddened by passion, endeavours to tear Adalgisa from the altar of the temple, but is checkedby Norma, who strikes the sacred shield and calls the Druids to arms. Pollio, now a prisoner, is brought before her for judgment, and shegives him a last choice, to renounce Adalgisa or to die. He refuses togive up his love, whereupon Norma, in a passion of self-sacrifice, tearsthe sacred wreath from her own brow and declares herself the guilty one. Pollio is touched by her magnanimity, and together they ascend thefuneral pyre, in its flames to be cleansed from earthly sin. It would be too much to assert that Bellini has risen to the level ofthis noble subject, but parts of his score have a fervour and a dignitywhich might scarcely have been expected from the composer of 'LaSonnambula. ' We may smile now at the trio between Pollio and his twovictims, in which the extremes of fury and indignation are expressed bya lilting tune in 9-8 time, but it is impossible to deny the truth andbeauty of Norma's farewell to her children, and in several other scenesthere are evidences of real dramatic feeling, if not of the power toexpress it. It is important to remember, in discussing the works ofBellini and the other composers of his school, that in their day the artof singing was cultivated to a far higher pitch of perfection than isnow the case. Consequently the composer felt that he had done his dutyif, even in situations of the most tragic import, he provided hisexecutant with a broad, even melody. Into this the consummate art of thesinger could infuse every gradation of feeling. The composer presented ablank canvas, upon which the artist painted the required picture. Unlike that of 'Norma, ' the libretto of 'I Puritani, ' Bellini's lastopera, is a dull and confused affair. The scene is laid in England, apparently at the time of the Civil War, but the history and chronologythroughout are of the vaguest description. Queen Henrietta Maria isimprisoned in the fortress of Plymouth, under the guardianship of LordWalton, the Parliamentary leader, whose daughter Elvira loves LordArthur Talbot, a young Cavalier, Elvira's tears and entreaties have sofar softened her stern parent that Arthur is to be admitted into thecastle in order that the nuptials may be celebrated. He takes advantageof the situation to effect the escape of the Queen, disguising her inElvira's bridal veil. When his treachery is discovered Arthur is at onceproscribed, and Elvira, believing him to be faithless, loses her reason. Later in the opera Arthur contrives to meet Elvira and explains hisconduct satisfactorily, but their interview is cut short by a party ofPuritans, who arrest him. He is condemned to be shot on the spot, but, before the sentence can be carried out, a messenger arrives with thenews of the king's defeat and the pardon of Arthur. Elvira, whoseinsanity has throughout been of an eminently harmless description, atonce recovers her reason, and everything ends happily. 'I Puritani' is in some respects Bellini's best work. Foolish as thelibretto is, the bitterest opponent of Italian _cantilena_ couldscarcely refuse to acknowledge the pathetic beauty of many of the songs. It is a matter for regret, as well as for some surprise, that Bellini'sworks should now be entirely banished from the Covent Garden repertory, while so many inferior operas are still retained. In an age of fustianand balderdash, Bellini stood apart, a tender and pathetic figure, withno pretensions to science, but gifted with a command of melody ascopious, unaffected, and sincere as has ever fallen to the lot of acomposer for the stage. The other Italian writers of this period may be briefly dismissed, since they did little but reproduce the salient features of their morefamous contemporaries in a diluted form. Mercadante (1797-1870) lived toan advanced age, and wrote many operas, comic and serious, of which themost successful was 'Il Giuramento, ' a gloomy story of love and revenge, treated with a certain power of the conventional order, and a good dealof facile melody. Pacini (1796-1867) is principally known by his'Saffo, ' an imitation of Rossini, which achieved a great success. Vaccai(1790-1848) also imitated Rossini, but his 'Giulietta e Romeo' hasintrinsic merits, which are not to be despised. After the days of Rossini, opera buffa fell upon evil days. Although themost famous musicians of the day did not disdain occasionally to followin the footsteps of Cimarosa, for the most part the task of purveyinglight operas for the smaller theatres of Italy fell into the hands ofsecond and third rate composers. Donizetti, as we have seen, enrichedthe repertory of opera buffa with several masterpieces of gay andbrilliant vivacity, but few of the lighter works of his contemporariesdeserve permanent record. The brothers Ricci, Luigi (1805-1859) and Federico (1809-1877), wrotemany operas, both singly and in collaboration, but 'Crispino e laComare' is the only one of their works which won anything like aEuropean reputation. The story is a happy combination of farce and_féerie_. Crispino, a half-starved cobbler, is about to throw himselfinto a well, when La Comare, a fairy, rises from it and bids himdesist. She gives him a purse of gold, and orders him to set up as adoctor, telling him that when he goes to visit a patient he must look tosee whether she is standing by the bedside. If she is not there, thesick man will recover. Crispino follows her directions, and speedilybecomes famous, but success turns his head, and he is only brought backto his senses by a strange dream, in which the fairy takes him down to asubterranean cavern where the lamp of each man's life is burning and hesees his own on the point of expiring. After this uncomfortable visionhe is thankful to find himself still in the bosom of his family, and theopera ends with his vows of amendment. The music is brilliant andsparkling, and altogether the little opera is one of the best specimensof opera buffa produced in Italy after the time of Rossini. The othermen who devoted themselves to opera buffa during this period my bebriefly dismissed. Carlo Pedrotti (1817-1893), whose comic opera 'Tuttiin Maschera, ' after a brilliant career in Italy, was successfullyproduced in Paris, and Antonio Cagnoni (1828-1896), were perhaps thebest of them. A version of the latter's 'Papa Martin' was performed inLondon in 1875, under the name of 'The Porter of Havre. ' CHAPTER VIII MEYERBEER AND FRENCH OPERA HÉROLD--MEYERBEER--BERLIOZ--HALÉVY--AUBER The romantic movement was essentially German in its origin, but itsinfluence was not bounded by the Rhine. As early as 1824 Weber's'Freischütz' was performed in Paris, followed a few years later by'Oberon' and 'Euryanthe. ' French musicians, always susceptible toexternal influences, could not but acknowledge the fascination of theromantic school, and the works of Hérold (1791-1833) show how powerfullythe new leaven had acted. But Weber was not the only foreigner at thistime who helped to shape the destiny of French music. The spell ofRossini was too potent for the plastic Gauls to resist, and to hisinfluence may be traced the most salient features of the school of opéracomique which is best represented by Auber. Hérold, though dividedbetween the camps of Germany and Italy, had individuality enough towrite music which was independent of either. Yet it is significantthat his last two works--the only two, in fact, which havesurvived--represent with singular completeness the two influences whichaffected French music most potently during his day. 'Zampa' has beencalled a French 'Don Giovanni, ' but the music owes far more to Weberthan to Mozart, while the fantastic and absurd incidents of the plothave little of the supernatural terror of Mozart's opera. Zampa is afamous pirate, who, after having dissipated his fortune and made Italy, generally speaking, too hot to hold him, has taken to the high seas inself-defence. In his early days he had seduced a girl named AliceManfredi, who after his desertion found a home in the house of aSicilian merchant named Lugano. There she died, and there Lugano causeda statue to be set up in her honour. When the story of the opera begins, Lugano is a prisoner in the hands of the redoubtable Zampa. The piratehimself comes to Sicily to obtain his prisoner's ransom, bringingdirections to Lugano's daughter Camilla to pay him whatever he may ask. Zampa at once falls a victim to the _beaux yeux_ of Camilla, and demandsher hand as the price of her father's safety. Camilla loves Alfonso, aSicilian officer, but is prepared to sacrifice herself to save herfather. At the marriage feast, Zampa, recognising the statue of thebetrayed Alice, jokingly puts his ring upon her finger, whichimmediately closes upon it. The opera ends by the statue claiming Zampaas her own, snatching him from the arms of Camilla, and descending withhim into the abyss. It would be in vain to look in Hérold's score for an echo of the passionand variety of Mozart, but much of the music of 'Zampa' is picturesqueand effective. Hérold's tunes sound very conventional after Weber, butthere is a good deal of skill in the way they are presented. Hisorchestration is of course closely modelled on that of his Germanprototype, and if it is impossible to say much for his originality, wecan at any rate admire his taste in choosing a model. 'Le Pré aux Clercs' is more popular at the present moment than 'Zampa, 'though it is far inferior in musical interest. If 'Zampa' showed theinfluence of Weber, 'Le Pré aux Clercs' is redolent of Rossini. Theoverture, with its hollow ring of gaiety, strikes the note of Italianismwhich echoes throughout the opera. The plot is full of intrigues andconspiracies, and is decidedly confusing. Mergy, a young Bernesegentleman, aspires to the hand of Isabelle, who is one of the Queen ofNavarre's maids of honour. The Queen favours their love, but the Kingwishes Isabelle to marry Comminges, a favourite of his own. The youngcouple gain their point, and are married secretly in the chapel of thePré aux Clercs, but only at the expense of as much plotting and as manydisguises as would furnish the stock-in-trade of half-a-dozen detectiveromances. French music, as has often been pointed out, owes much to foreigninfluence, but very few of the strangers to whom the doors of Parisianopera-houses were opened left a deeper impression upon the music oftheir adopted country than Meyerbeer (1791-1864). Giacomo Meyerbeer, togive him the name by which he is now best known, underwent the sameinfluence as Hérold. As a youth he was intimate with Weber, and hisfirst visit to Italy introduced him to Rossini, whose brilliant style heimitated successfully in a series of Italian works which are nowcompletely forgotten. From Italy Meyerbeer came to Paris, and thereidentified himself with the French school so fully that he is nowregarded with complete propriety as a French composer pure and simple. Meyerbeer's music is thoroughly eclectic in type. He was a carefulstudent of contemporary music, and the various phases through which hepassed during the different stages of his career left their impress uponhis style. It says much for the power of his individuality that he wasable to weld such different elements into something approaching anharmonious whole. Had he done more than he did, he would have been agenius; as it is, he remains a man of exceptional talent, whoseinfluence on the history of modern music is still important, though hisown compositions are now slightly superannuated. 'Robert le Diable, ' thefirst work of his third or French period, was produced in 1831. Thelibretto, which, like those of all the composer's French operas, was byEugène Scribe, is a strange tissue of absurdities, though from themerely scenic point of view it may be thought fairly effective. Robert, Duke of Normandy, the son of the Duchess Bertha by a fiend who donnedthe shape of man to prosecute his amour, arrives in Sicily to competefor the hand of the Princess Isabella, which is to be awarded as theprize at a magnificent tournament. Robert's daredevil gallantry andextravagance soon earn him the sobriquet of 'Le Diable, ' and he puts thecoping-stone to his folly by gambling away all his possessions at asingle sitting, even to his horse and the armour on his back. Robert hasan _âme damnée_ in the shape of a knight named Bertram, to whose maligninfluence most of his crimes and follies are due. Bertram is in realityhis demon-father, whose every effort is directed to making athorough-paced villain of his son, so that he may have the pleasure ofenjoying his society for all eternity. In strong contrast to thefiendish malevolence of Bertram stands the gentle figure of Alice, Robert's foster-sister, who has followed him from Normandy with amessage from his dead mother. Isabella supplies Robert with a freshhorse and arms; nevertheless he is beguiled away from Palermo by sometrickery of Bertram's, and fails to put in an appearance at thetournament. The only means, therefore, left to him of obtaining the handof Isabella is to visit the tomb of his mother, and there to pluck amagic branch of cypress, which will enable him to defeat his rivals. Thecypress grows in a deserted convent haunted by the spectres ofprofligate nuns, and there, amidst infernal orgies, Robert plucks thebranch of power. By its aid he sends the guards of the Princess into adeep sleep, and is only prevented by her passionate entreaties fromcarrying her off by force. Yielding to her prayers, he breaks thebranch, and his magic power at once deserts him. He seeks sanctuary fromhis enemies in the cathedral, and there the last and fiercest strifefor the possession of his soul is waged between the powers of good andevil. On the one hand is Bertram, whose term of power on earth expiresat midnight. He has now discovered himself as Robert's father, andproduces an infernal compact of union which he entreats his son to sign. On the other is Alice, pleading and affectionate, bearing the last wordsof Robert's dead mother, warning him against the fiend who had seducedher. While Robert is hesitating between the two, midnight strikes, andBertram sinks with thunder into the pit. The scene changes, and aglimpse is given of the interior of the cathedral, where the marriage ofRobert and Isabella is being celebrated. 'Robert le Diable' was an immense success when first produced. Theglitter and tinsel of the story suited Meyerbeer's showy style, andbesides, even when the merely trivial and conventional had been putaside, there remains a fair proportion of the score which has claims todramatic power. The triumph of 'Robert' militated against the success of'Les Huguenots' (1836), which was at first rather coldly received. Before long, however, it rivalled the earlier work in popularity, and isnow generally looked upon as Meyerbeer's masterpiece. The librettocertainly compares favourably with the fatuities of 'Robert le Diable. ' Marguerite de Valois, the beautiful Queen of Navarre, who is anxious toreconcile the bitterly hostile parties of Catholics and Huguenots, persuades the Comte de Saint Bris, a prominent Catholic, to allow hisdaughter Valentine to marry Raoul de Nangis, a young Huguenot noble. Valentine is already betrothed to the gallant and amorous Comte deNevers, but she pays him a nocturnal visit in his own palace, andinduces him to release her from her engagement. During her interviewwith Nevers she is perceived by Raoul, and recognised as a lady whom helately rescued from insult and has loved passionately ever since. In hiseyes there is only one possible construction to be put upon her presencein Nevers' palace, and he hastens to dismiss her from his mind. Immediately upon his decision comes a message from the Queen bidding himhasten to her palace in Touraine upon important affairs of state. Whenhe arrives she unfolds her plan, and he, knowing Valentine only bysight, not by name, gladly consents. When, in the presence of theassembled nobles, he recognises in his destined bride the presumedmistress of Nevers, he casts her from him, and vows to prefer death tosuch intolerable disgrace. The scene of the next act is in the Pré aux Clercs, in the outskirts ofParis. Valentine, who is to be married that night to Nevers, obtainsleave to pass some hours in prayer in a chapel. While she is there sheoverhears the details of a plot devised by Saint Bris for theassassination of Raoul, in order to avenge the affront put upon himselfand his daughter. Valentine contrives to warn Marcel, Raoul's oldservant, of this, and he assembles his Huguenot comrades hard by, whorush in at the first clash of steel and join the combat. The fight isinterrupted by the entrance of the Queen. When she finds out who are theprincipal combatants, she reproves them sharply and tells Raoul the realstory of Valentine's visit to Nevers. The act ends with the marriagefestivities, while Raoul is torn by an agony of love and remorse. In the next act Raoul contrives to gain admittance to Nevers' house, andthere has an interview with Valentine. They are interrupted by theentrance of Saint Bris and his followers, whereupon Valentine concealsRaoul behind the arras. From his place of concealment he hears SaintBris unfold the plan of the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, which is tobe carried out that night. The conspirators swear a solemn oath toexterminate the Huguenots, and their daggers are consecrated byattendant priests. Nevers alone refuses to take part in the butchery. When they all have left, Raoul comes out of his hiding-place, and inspite of the prayers and protestations of Valentine, leaps from thewindow at the sound of the fatal tocsin, and hastens to join hisfriends. In the last act, which is rarely performed in England, Raoulfirst warns Henry of Navarre and the Huguenot nobles, assembled at theHôtel de Sens, of the massacre, and then joins the _mélée_ in thestreets. Valentine has followed him, and after vainly endeavouring tomake him don the white scarf which is worn that night by all Catholics, she throws in her lot with his, and dies in his arms, after they havebeen solemnly joined in wedlock by the wounded and dying Marcel. 'Les Huguenots' shows Meyerbeer at his best Even Wagner, his bitterestenemy, admitted the dramatic power of the great duet in the fourth act, and several other scenes are scarcely inferior to it in sustainedinspiration. The opera is marred as a whole by Meyerbeer's invincibleself-consciousness. He seldom had the courage to give his genius fullplay. He never lost sight of his audience, and wrote what he thoughtwould be effective rather than what he knew was right. Thus his finestmoments are marred by lapses from sincerity into the commonplaceconventionality of the day. Yet the dignity and power of 'Les Huguenots'are undeniable, and it is unfortunate that its excessive length shouldprevent it from ever being heard in its entirety. In 'Le Prophète' Meyerbeer chose a subject which, if less rich indramatic possibility than that of 'Les Huguenots, ' has a far deeperpsychological interest. Unfortunately, Scribe, with all his cleverness, was quite the worst man in the world to deal with the story of John ofLeyden. In the libretto which he constructed for Meyerbeer's benefit thepsychological interest is conspicuous only by its absence, and thecharacter of the young leader of the Anabaptists is degraded to thelevel of the merest puppet. John, an innkeeper of Leyden, loves Bertha, a village maiden who dwells near Dordrecht. Unfortunately, her liegelord, the Count of Oberthal, has designs upon the girl himself, andrefuses his consent to the marriage. Bertha escapes from his clutchesand flies to the protection of her lover, but Oberthal secures theperson of Fidès, John's old mother, and by threats of putting her todeath, compels him to give up Bertha. Wild with rage against the viceand lawlessness of the nobles, John joins the ranks of the Anabaptists, a revolutionary sect pledged to the destruction of the powers that be. Their leaders recognise him as a prophet promised by Heaven, and he isinstalled as their chief. The Anabaptists lay siege to Munster, whichfalls into their hands, and in the cathedral John is solemnly proclaimedthe Son of God. During the ceremony he is recognised by Fidès, who, believing him to have been slain by the false prophet, has followed thearmy to Munster in hopes of revenge. She rushes forward to claim herson, but John pretends not to know her. To admit an earthly relationshipwould be to prejudice his position with the populace, and he compels herto confess that she is mistaken. The coronation ends with John'striumph, while the hapless Fidès is carried off to be immured in adungeon. John visits her in her cell, and obtains her pardon bypromising to renounce his deceitful splendour and to fly with her. Laterhe discovers that a plot against himself has been hatched by some of theAnabaptist leaders, and he destroys himself and them by blowing up thepalace of Munster. Meyerbeer's music, fine as much of it is, sufferschiefly from the character of the libretto. The latter is merely astring of conventionally effective scenes, and the music could hardlyfail to be disjointed and scrappy. Meyerbeer had little or no feelingfor characterisation, so that the opportunities for really dramaticeffect which lay in the character of John of Leyden have been almostentirely neglected. Once only, in the famous cantique 'Roi du Ciel, ' didthe composer catch an echo of the prophetic rapture which animated theyouthful enthusiast. Meyerbeer's besetting sin, his constant search forthe merely effective, is even more pronounced in 'Le Prophète' than in'Les Huguenots. ' The coronation scene has nothing of the largesimplicity necessary for the proper manipulation of a mass of sound. Thecanvas is crowded with insignificant and confusing detail, and thegeneral effect is finicking and invertebrate rather than solid anddignified. Meyerbeer was constantly at work upon his last opera, 'L'Africaine, 'from 1838 until 1864, and his death found him still engaged inretouching the score. It was produced in 1865. With a musician ofMeyerbeer's known eclecticism, it might be supposed that a work of whichthe composition extended over so long a period would exhibit thestrangest conglomeration of styles and influences. Curiously enough, 'L'Africaine' is the most consistent of Meyerbeer's works. This isprobably due to the fact that in it the personal element is throughoutoutweighed by the picturesque, and the exotic fascination of the storygoes far to cover its defects. Vasco da Gama, the famous discoverer, is the betrothed lover of a maidennamed Inez, the daughter of Don Diego, a Portuguese grandee. When theopera opens he is still at sea, and has not been heard of for years. DonPedro, the President of the Council, takes advantage of his absence topress his own suit for the hand of Inez, and obtains the King's sanctionto his marriage on the ground that Vasco must have been lost at sea. Atthis moment the long-lost hero returns, accompanied by two swarthyslaves, Selika and Nelusko, whom he has brought home from a distant islein the Indian Ocean. He recounts the wonders of the place, and entreatsthe government to send out a pioneer expedition to win an empire acrossthe sea. His suggestions are rejected, and he himself, through themachinations of Don Pedro, is cast into prison. There he is tended bySelika, who loves her gentle captor passionately, and has need of allher regal authority--for in the distant island she was a queen--toprevent the jealous Nelusko from slaying him in his sleep. Inez nowcomes to the prison to announce to Vasco that she has purchased hisliberty at the price of giving her hand to Don Pedro. In the next act, Don Pedro, who has stolen a march on Vasco, is on his way to the Africanisland, taking with him Inez and Selika. The steering of the vessel isentrusted to Nelusko. Vasco da Gama, who has fitted out a vessel at hisown expense, overtakes Don Pedro in mid-ocean, and generously warns hisrival of the treachery of Nelusko, who is steering the vessel upon therocks of his native shore. Don Pedro's only reply is to order Vasco tobe tied to the mast and shot, but before the sentence can be carried outthe vessel strikes upon the rocks, and the aborigines swarm over thesides. Selika, once more a queen, saves the lives of Vasco and Inez fromthe angry natives. In the next act the nuptials of Selika and Vasco areon the point of being celebrated with great pomp, when the hero, who hasthroughout the opera wavered between the two women who love him, finallymakes up his mind in favour of Inez. Selika thereupon magnanimouslydespatches them home in Vasco's ship, and poisons herself with thefragrance of the deadly manchineel tree. The characters of'L'Africaine, ' with the possible exception of Selika and Nelusko, arethe merest shadows, but the music, though less popular as a rule thanthat of 'Les Huguenots, ' or even 'Le Prophète, ' is undoubtedlyMeyerbeer's finest effort. In his old age Meyerbeer seems to have lookedback to the days of his Italian period, and thus, though occasionallyconventional in form, the melodies of 'L'Africaine' have a dignity andserenity which are rarely present in the scores of his French period. There is, too, a laudable absence of that ceaseless striving aftereffect which mars so much of Meyerbeer's best work. Besides the great works already discussed, Meyerbeer wrote two works forthe Opéra Comique, 'L'Étoile du Nord' and 'Le Pardon de Ploërmel. 'Meyerbeer was far too clever a man to undertake anything he could notcarry through successfully, and in these operas he caught the trick ofFrench opéra comique very happily. 'L'Étoile du Nord' deals with the fortunes of Peter the Great, who, whenthe opera opens, is working as a shipwright at a dockyard in Finland. Hewins the heart of Catherine, a Cossack maiden, who has taken up herquarters there as a kind of vivandière. Catherine is a girl ofremarkable spirit, and after repulsing an incursion of Calmuck Tartarssingle-handed, goes off to the wars in the disguise of a recruit, inorder to enable her brother to stay at home and marry Prascovia, thedaughter of the innkeeper. The next act takes place in the Russian camp. Catherine, whose soldiering has turned out a great success, is told offto act as sentry outside the tent occupied by two distinguished officerswho have just arrived. To her amazement she recognises them as Peter andhis friend Danilowitz, a former pastry-cook, now raised by the Czar tothe rank of General. Catherine's surprise and pleasure turn toindignation when she sees her lover consoling himself for her absencewith the charms of a couple of pretty vivandières, and when her seniorofficer reprimands her for eavesdropping, she bestows upon him a soundbox on the ears. For this misdemeanour she is condemned to be shot, butshe contrives to make her escape, first sending a letter to Peterblaming him for his inconstancy, and putting in his hand the details ofa conspiracy against his person which she has been fortunate enough todiscover. Peter's anguish at the loss of his loved one is accentuated bythe nobility of her conduct. At first it is supposed that Catherine isdead, but by the exertions of Danilowitz she is at length discovered, though in a lamentable plight, for her troubles have cost her herreason. She is restored to sanity by the simple method of reconstructingthe scene of the Finnish dockyard in which she first made Peter'sacquaintance, and peopling it with the familiar forms of the workmen. Among the latter are Peter and Danilowitz, in their old dresses oflabourer and pastry-cook, and, to crown all, two flutes are producedupon which Peter and her brother play a tune known to her fromchildhood. The last charm proves effectual, and all ends happily. The lighter parts of 'L'Étoile du Nord' are delightfully arch andvivacious, and much of the concerted music is gay and brilliant. Theweak point of the opera is to be found in the tendency from whichMeyerbeer was never safe, to drop into mere pretentiousness when hemeant to be most impressive. In some of the choruses in the camp scenethere is a great pretence at elaboration, with very scanty results, andthe closing scena, which is foolish and wearisome, is an unfortunateconcession to the vanity of the prima donna. But on the whole 'L'Étoiledu Nord' is one of Meyerbeer's most attractive works, besides being anextraordinary example of his inexhaustible versatility. 'Le Pardon de Ploërmel, ' known in Italy and England as 'Dinorah, ' showsMeyerbeer in a pastoral and idyllic vein. The story is extremely sillyin itself, and most of the incidents take place before the curtainrises. The overture is a long piece of programme music, which issupposed to depict the bridal procession of Hoel and Dinorah, two Bretonpeasants, to the church where they are to be married. Suddenly athunderstorm breaks over their heads and disperses the procession, whilea flash of lightning reduces Dinorah's homestead to ashes. Hoel, indespair at the ruin of his hopes, betakes himself to the villagesorcerer, who promises to tell him the secret of the hidden treasure ofthe local gnomes or Korriganes if he will undergo a year of trial in aremote part of the country. On hearing that Hoel has abandoned herDinorah becomes insane, and spends her time in roving through the woodswith her pet goat in search of her lover. The overture is a picturesquepiece of writing enough, though much of it would be entirely meaninglesswithout its programme. When the opera opens, Hoel has returned from hisprobation in possession of the important secret. His first care is tofind some one to do the dirty work of finding the treasure, for theoracle has declared that the first man who shall lay hands upon it willdie. His choice falls upon Corentin, a country lout, whom he persuadesto accompany him to the gorge where the treasure lies hidden. Corentinis not so stupid as he seems, and, suspecting something underhand, hepersuades the mad Dinorah to go down into the ravine in his place. Dinorah consents, but while she is crossing a rustic bridge, preparatoryto the descent, it is struck by lightning, and she tumbles into theabyss. She is saved by Hoel in some inexplicable way, and, still moreinexplicably, regains her reason. The music is bright and tuneful, andthe reaper's and hunter's songs (which are introduced for no apparentreason) are delightful; but the libretto is so impossibly foolish thatthe opera has fallen into disrepute, although the brilliant music of theheroine should make it a favourite rôle with competent singers. Meyerbeer was extravagantly praised during his lifetime; he is now asbitterly decried. The truth seems to lie, as usual, between the twoextremes. He was an unusually clever man, with a strong instinct for thetheatre. He took immense pains with his operas, often rewriting theentire score; but his efforts were directed less towards idealperfection than to what would be most effective, so that there is ahollowness and a superficiality about his best work which we cannotignore, even while we admit the ingenuity of the means employed. Hisinfluence upon modern opera has been extensive. He was the real founderof the school of melodramatic opera which is now so popular. Violentcontrasts with him do duty for the subtle characterisation of the oldermasters. His heroes rant and storm, and his heroines shriek and rave, but of real feeling, and even of real expression, there is little in hisscores. The career of Hector Berlioz (1803-1869) was in striking contrast tothat Meyerbeer. While Meyerbeer was earning the plaudits of crowdedtheatres throughout the length and breadth of Europe, Berlioz sat alone, brooding over the vast conceptions to which it taxed even his giganticgenius to give musical shape. Even now the balance has scarcely beenrestored. Though Meyerbeer's popularity is on the wane, the operas ofBerlioz are still known for the most part only to students. Before theBerlioz cycle at Carlsruhe in 1893, 'La Prise de Troie' had never beenperformed on any stage, and though the French master's symphonic worksnow enjoy considerable popularity, his dramatic works are still lookedat askance by managers. There is a reason for this other than thehardness of our hearts. Berlioz was essentially a symphonic writer. Hehad little patience with the conventions of the stage, and his attemptsto blend the dramatic and symphonic elements, as in 'Les Troyens, ' canscarcely be termed a success. Yet much may be pardoned for the sake ofthe noble music which lies enshrined in his works. 'Benvenuto Cellini'and 'Béatrice et Bénédict, ' which were thought too advanced for thetaste of their day, are now perhaps a trifle old-fashioned for ourtimes. The first is a picturesque story of Rome in Carnival time. Theinterest centres in the casting of the sculptor's mighty Perseus, whichwins him the hand of the fair Teresa. The Carnival scenes are gay andbrilliant, but the form of the work belongs to a bygone age, and it isscarcely possible that a revival of it would meet with wide acceptance. 'Béatrice et Bénédict' is a graceful setting of Shakespeare's 'Much Adoabout Nothing. ' It is a work of the utmost delicacy and refinement. Though humour is not absent from the score, the prevailing impression isone of romantic charm, passing even to melancholy. Very different is thedouble drama 'Les Troyens. ' Here Berlioz drew his inspiration directlyfrom Gluck, and the result is a work of large simplicity and austeregrandeur, which it is not too much to hope will some day take its placein the world's repertory side by side with the masterpieces of Wagner. The first part, 'La Prise de Troie, ' describes the manner in which thecity of Priam fell into the hands of the Greeks. The drama is dominatedby the form of the sad virgin Cassandra. In vain she warns her people oftheir doom. They persist in dragging up the wooden horse from thesea-beach, where it was left by the Greeks. The climax of the last actis terrific. Æneas, warned by the ghost of Hector of the approachingdoom of Troy, escapes; but the rest of the Trojans fall victims to theswords of the Greeks in a scene of indescribable carnage and terror. Cassandra and the Trojan women, driven to take shelter in the temple ofCybele, slay themselves rather than fall into the hands of theircaptors. 'La Prise de Troie' is perhaps epic rather than dramatic, butas a whole it leaves an impression of severe and spacious grandeur, which can only be paralleled in the finest inspirations of Gluck. Inthe second division of the work, 'Les Troyens à Carthage, ' humaninterest is paramount. Berlioz was an enthusiastic student of Virgil, and he follows the tragic tale of the Æneid closely. The appearance ofÆneas at Carthage, the love of Dido, the summons of Mercury, Æneas'departure and the passion and death of Dido, are depicted in a series ofscenes of such picturesqueness and power, such languor and pathos, assurely cannot be matched outside the finest pages of Wagner. A time willcertainly come when this great work, informed throughout with apassionate yearning for the loftiest ideal of art, will receive therecognition which is its due. Of late indeed there have been signs of arevival of interest in Berlioz's mighty drama, and the recentperformances of 'Les Troyens' in Paris and Brussels have opened the eyesof many musicians to its manifold beauties. Some years ago theexperiment was made of adapting Berlioz's cantata, 'La Damnation deFaust, ' for stage purposes. The work is of course hopelessly undramatic, but the beauty of the music and the opportunities that it affords forelaborate spectacular effects have combined to win the work a certainmeasure of success, especially in Italy where Gounod's 'Faust' has neverwon the popularity that it enjoys north of the Alps. 'La Damnation deFaust' is hardly more than a string of incidents, with only the mostshadowy semblance of connection, but several of the scenes are effectiveenough on the stage, notably that in Faust's study with the march ofHungarian warriors in the distance, the exquisite dance of sylphs andthe ride to the abyss. Nevertheless, when the success of curiosity isover, the work is hardly likely to retain its place in the repertory. Unperformed as he was, Berlioz of course could not be expected to founda school; but Meyerbeer's success soon raised him up a host ofimitators. Halévy (1799-1862) drew his inspiration in part from Héroldand Weber; but 'La Juive, ' the work by which he is best known, owes muchto Meyerbeer, whose 'Robert le Diable' had taken the world of music inParis by storm a few years before the production of Halévy's work. Inturn Halévy reacted upon Meyerbeer. Many passages in 'Les Huguenots'reflect the sober dignity of 'La Juive'; indeed, it is too oftenforgotten that the production of Halévy's opera preceded its more famouscontemporary by a full year. The scene of 'La Juive' is laid in Constance, in the fifteenth century. Leopold, a Prince of the Empire, in the disguise of a young Israelite, has won the heart of Rachel, the daughter of the rich Jew Eleazar. Whenthe latter discovers the true nationality of his prospective son-in-lawhe forbids him his house, but Rachel consents, like another Jessica, tofly with her lover. Later she discovers that Leopold is a Prince, andbetrothed to the Princess Eudoxia. Her jealousy breaks forth, and sheaccuses him of having seduced her--a crime which in those days waspunishable by death. Rachel, Leopold, and Eleazar are all thrown intoprison. There Rachel relents, and retracts her accusation. Leopold isaccordingly released, but the Jew and his daughter are condemned to beimmersed in a cauldron of boiling oil. There is a rather meaninglessunderplot which results in a confession made by Eleazar on the scaffold, that Rachel is not a Jewess at all, but the daughter of a Cardinal whohas taken a friendly interest in her fortunes throughout the drama. Halévy's music is characterised by dignity and sobriety, but it rarelyrises to passion. He represents to a certain extent a reaction towardsthe pre-Rossinian school of opera, but, to be frank, most of 'La Juive'is exceedingly long-winded and dull. Besides his serious operas, Halévywrote works of a lighter cast, which enjoyed popularity in their time. But the prince of opéra comique at this time was Auber (1782-1871). Auber began his career as a musician comparatively late in life, but _enrevanche_ age seemed powerless to check his unflagging industry. Hislast work, 'Le Rêve d'Amour, ' was produced in the composer'seighty-eighth year. Auber is a superficial Rossini. He borrowed from theItalian master his wit and gaiety; he could not catch an echo of histenderness and passion. Auber has never been so popular in England asabroad, and the only two works of his which are now performed in thiscountry--'Fra Diavolo' and 'Masaniello'--represent him, curiouslyenough, at his best and worst respectively. The scene of 'Fra Diavolo'is laid at a village inn in Italy. Lord and Lady Rocburg, theconventional travelling English couple, arrive in great perturbation, been stopped by brigands and plundered of some of their property. At theinn they fall in with a distinguished personage calling himself theMarquis di San Marco, who is none other than the famous brigand chiefFra Diavolo. He makes violent love to the silly Englishwoman, and soonobtains her confidence. Meanwhile Lorenzo, the captain of a body ofcarabineers, who loves the innkeeper's daughter Zerlina, has hurried offafter the brigands. He comes up with them and kills twenty, besidesgetting back Lady Rocburg's stolen jewels. Fra Diavolo is furious at theloss of his comrades, and vows vengeance on Lorenzo. That night heconceals himself in Zerlina's room, and, when all is still, admits twoof his followers into the house. Their nocturnal schemes are frustratedby the return of Lorenzo and his soldiers, who have been out in searchof the brigand chief. Fra Diavolo is discovered, but pretends thatZerlina has given him an assignation. Lorenzo is furious at thisaccusation, and challenges the brigand to a duel. Before this comes off, however, Fra Diavolo's identity is discovered, and he is captured byLorenzo and his band. 'Fra Diavolo' shows Auber in his happiest vein. The music is gay and tuneful, without dropping into commonplace; therhythms are brilliant and varied, and the orchestration neat andappropriate. 'La Muette de Portici, ' which is known in the Italian version as'Masaniello, ' was written for the Grand Opéra. Here Auber vainlyendeavoured to suit his style to its more august surroundings. Theresult is entirely unsatisfactory; the more serious parts of the workare pretentious and dull, and the pretty little tunes, which thecomposer could not keep out of his head, sound absurdly out of place ina serious drama. Fenella, the dumb girl of Portici, has been seduced byAlfonso, the son of the Spanish Viceroy of Naples. She escapes from theconfinement to which she had been subjected, and denounces him on theday of his marriage to the Spanish princess Elvira. Masaniello, herbrother, maddened by her wrongs, stirs up a revolt among the people, andoverturns the Spanish rule. He contrives to save the lives of Elvira andAlfonso, but this generous act costs him his life, and in despairFenella leaps into the stream of boiling lava from an eruption ofVesuvius. The part of Fenella gives an opportunity of distinction to aclever pantomimist, and has been associated with the names of manyfamous dancers; but the music of the opera throughout is one of theleast favourable examples of Auber's skill. Auber had many imitators, among whom perhaps the most successful was Adolphe Adam (1803-1856), whose 'Châlet' and 'Postillon de Longjumeau' are still occasionallyperformed. They reproduce the style of Auber with tolerable fidelity, but have no value as original work. The only other composer of thisperiod who deserves to be mentioned is Félicien David (1810-1876). His'Lalla Rookh, ' a setting of Moore's story, though vastly inferior to hissymphonic poem 'Le Désert, ' is a work of distinction and charm. ToDavid belongs the credit of opening the eyes of musicians to thepossibilities of Oriental colour. Operas upon Eastern subjects havenever been very popular in England, but in France many of them have beensuccessful. 'Le Désert' founded the school, of which 'Les Pêcheurs dePerles, ' 'Djamileh, ' 'Le Roi de Lahore, ' and 'Lakmé' are well-knownrepresentatives. The career of the other musicians--many in number--ofthis facile and thoughtless epoch may be summed up in a few words. Theywere one and all imitators; Clapisson (1808-1866), Grisar (1808-1869), and Maillart (1817-1871), clung to the skirts of Auber; Niedermeyer(1802-1861), threw in his lot with Halévy. So far as they succeeded inreproducing the external and superficial features of the music of theirprototypes, they enjoyed a brief day of popularity. But with the firstchange of public taste they lapsed into oblivion, and their worksnowadays sound far more old-fashioned than those of the generation whichpreceded them. CHAPTER IX WAGNER'S EARLY WORKS Richard Wagner (1813-1883) is by far the most important figure in thehistory of modern opera. With regard to the intrinsic beauty of hisworks, and the artistic value of the theories upon which they areconstructed, there have been, and still are, two opinions; but his mostbigoted opponents can scarcely refuse to acknowledge the extent of theinfluence which he has had upon contemporary and subsequent music--aninfluence, in fact, which places him by the side of Monteverde and Gluckamong the great revolutionists of musical history. As in their case, theimportance of his work rests upon the fact that, although to a certainextent an assimilation and development of the methods of hispredecessors, it embodied a deliberate revolt against existing musicalconditions. From one point of view Wagner's revolt is even more important than thatof either of his forerunners, for they were men who, having failed towin success under the existing conditions of music, revolted--so tospeak--in self-preservation, while he was an accomplished musician, andthe author of a successful work written in strict accordance with thecanons of art which then obtained. Had Wagner pleased, there wasnothing to hinder his writing a succession of 'Rienzis, ' and ending hisdays, like Spontini, rich and ennobled. To his eternal honour herejected the prospect, and chose the strait and narrow way which led, through poverty and disgrace, to immortality. In spite of theacknowledged success of 'Rienzi, ' Wagner's enemies were never tired ofrepeating that, like Monteverde, he had invented a new system because hecould not manipulate the old. It seems hardly possible to us thatmusicians could ever have been found to deny that the composer of 'DieMeistersinger' was a consummate master of counterpoint. Fortunately thediscovery of his Symphony in C finally put an end to all doubts relativeto the thoroughness of Wagner's musical education. In this work, whichwas written at the age of eighteen, the composer showed a mastery of thesymphonic form which many of his detractors might have envied. The factis, that Wagner was a man of a singularly flexible habit of mind. He wasa careful student of both ancient and modern music, and a study of hisworks shows us that, so far from despising what had been done by hispredecessors, he greedily assimilated all that was best in theirproductions, only rejecting the narrow conventions in which so many ofthem had contentedly acquiesced. His music is the logical development ofthat of Gluck and Weber, purified by a closer study of the principles ofdeclamation, and enriched by a command of orchestral resource of whichthey had never dreamed. Wagner's first opera, 'Die Feen, ' was written in 1833, when thecomposer was twenty years old. Wagner always wrote his own libretti, even in those days. The story of 'Die Feen' was taken from one ofGozzi's fairy-tales, 'La Donna Serpente. ' Wagner himself, in his'Communication to my Friends, ' written in 1851, has given us a _résume_of the plot: 'A fairy, who renounces immortality for the sake of a humanlover, can only become a mortal through the fulfilment of certain hardconditions, the non-compliance wherewith on the part of her earthlyswain threatens her with the direst penalties; her lover fails in thetest, which consists in this, that, however evil and repulsive she mayappear to him (in the metamorphosis which she has to undergo), he shallnot reject her in his unbelief. In Gozzi's tale the fairy is changedinto a snake; the remorseful lover frees her from the spell by kissingthe snake, and thus wins her for his wife. I altered this dénouement bychanging the fairy into a stone, and then releasing her from the spellby her lover's passionate song; while the lover, instead of beingallowed to carry off his bride into his own country, is himself admittedby the fairy king to the immortal bliss of fairyland, together with hisfairy wife. ' When Wagner wrote 'Die Feen' he was under the spell of Weber, whoseinfluence is perceptible in every page of the score. Marschner, too, whose 'Vampyr' and 'Templer und Jüdin' had been recently produced atLeipzig, which was then Wagner's headquarters, also appealed verystrongly to the young musician's plastic temperament. 'Die Feen'consequently has little claim to originality, but the work isnevertheless interesting to those who desire to trace the master'sdevelopment _ab ovo_. Both in the melodies and rhythms employed it ispossible to trace the germs of what afterwards became strongely markedcharacteristics. Wagner himself never saw 'Die Feen' performed. In 1833he could not persuade any German manager to produce it, and, in thechanges which soon came over his musical sympathies, 'Die Feen' was laidupon the shelf and probably forgotten. It was not until 1888, five yearsafter the composer's death, that the general enthusiasm for everythingconnected with Wagner induced the authorities at Munich to produce it. Since then it has been performed with comparative frequency, and formeda part of the cycles of Wagner's works which were given in 1894 and1895. Wagner's next work was of a very different nature. 'DasLiebesverbot' was a frank imitation of the Italian school. He himselfconfesses that 'if any one should compare this score with that of "DieFeen" he would find it difficult to understand how such a completechange in my tendencies could have been brought about in so short atime. ' The incident which turned his thoughts into this new channel wasa performance of Bellini's 'Capuletti e Montecchi, ' in which MadameSchroeder-Devrient sang the part of Romeo. This remarkable womanexercised in those days an almost hypnotic influence upon Wagner, andthe beauty and force of this particular impersonation impressed him sovividly that he relinquished his admiration of Weber and the Teutonicschool and plunged headlong into the meretricious sensuousness of Italy. The libretto of 'Das Liebesverbot' is founded upon Shakespeare's'Measure for Measure, ' It was performed for the first and only time atMagdeburg in 1836, and failed completely; but it is only just to saythat its failure seems to have been due more to insufficient rehearsalthan to the weakness of the score. After the success of 'Die Feen' atMunich, it naturally occurred to the authorities there to reviveWagner's one other juvenile opera. The score of 'Das Liebesverbot' wasaccordingly unearthed, and the parts were allotted. The first rehearsal, however, decided its fate. The opera was so ludicrous and unblushing animitation of Donizetti and Bellini, that the artists could scarcely singfor laughter. Herr Vogl, the eminent tenor, and one or two others werestill in favour of giving it as a curiosity, but in the end it wasthought better to drop it altogether, less on account of the music thanbecause of the licentious character of the libretto. 'Rienzi, ' the next in order of Wagner's operas, was written on the linesof French opera. Wagner hoped to see it performed in Paris, andthroughout the score he kept the methods of Meyerbeer and Spontiniconsistently in his mind's eye. There is very little attempt atcharacterisation, but the opportunities for spectacular display are manyand various. In later years Meyerbeer paid Wagner the compliment ofsaying that the libretto of 'Rienzi' was the best he had ever read. 'Rienzi' was produced at Dresden in 1842. The opera opens at night. The scene is laid in a street near the LateranChurch in Rome. Orsini, a Roman nobleman, and his friends are attemptingto abduct Irene, the sister of Rienzi, a Papal notary. They aredisturbed by the entrance of Colonna, another Roman noble, and hisadherents. The two ruffians quarrel over the unfortunate girl; theirfollowers eagerly join in the fray; and in a moment, as it seems, thequiet street is alive with the _cliquetis_ of steel and the flash ofsword-blades. Adriano, Colonna's son, loves Irene, and when he discoverswho the trembling victim of patrician lust really is, he hastens toprotect her. The tumult soon attracts a crowd to the spot. Last comesRienzi, indignant at the insult offered to his sister, and bent uponrevenge. Adriano, torn by conflicting emotions, decides to throw in hislot with Rienzi, and the act ends with the appointment of the latter tothe post of Tribune--- he refuses the title of King--and the marshallingof the plebeians against the recreant aristocracy. The arms of thepeople carry the day, and in the second act the nobles appear at theCapitol to sue for pardon. Rienzi, though warned of their treachery byAdriano, accepts their promise of submission. During the festivitieswhich celebrate the reconciliation Orsini attempts to assassinateRienzi, who is only saved by the steel breastplate which he wearsbeneath his robes. For this outrage the nobles are condemned to death. Adriano begs for his father's life, and Rienzi weakly relents, andgrants his prayer on condition of the nobles taking an oath ofsubmission. In the third act the struggle between the nobles and the people advancesanother stage. The nobles have once more broken their oath, and aredrawn up in battle array at the gates of Rome. Rienzi marshals hisforces and prepares to march forth against them. In vain Adriano pleadsonce more for pardon. The fortune of war goes in favour of theplebeians. The nobles are routed, Colonna is slain, and the scene closesas Adriano vows vengeance over his father's body upon his murderer. In the fourth act the tide has turned against Rienzi. The citizenssuspect him of treachery to their cause. Adriano joins the ranks ofmalcontents, and does all in his power to fire them to vengeance. Rienziappears, and is at once surrounded by the conspirators, but in a speechof noble patriotism he convinces them of their mistakes, and wins themonce more to allegiance. Suddenly the doors of the Lateran Church arethrown open; the Papal Legate appears, and reads aloud the Bull ofRienzi's excommunication. Horror-stricken at the awful sentence, theTribune's friends forsake him and fly, all save Irene, who, deaf to thewild entreaties of Adriano, clings to her brother in passionatedevotion. In the fifth act, Rienzi, after a last vain attempt to arouse thepatriotism of the people, seeks refuge in the Capitol, which is fired bythe enraged mob. The Tribune and Irene perish in the flames, togetherwith Adriano, whose love for Irene proves stronger than death. Wagner himself has described the frame of mind in which he began to workat 'Rienzi': "To do something grand, to write an opera for whoseproduction only the most exceptional means should suffice. .. This iswhat resolved me to resume, and carry out with all my might, my formerplan of 'Rienzi. ' In the preparation of this text I took no thought foranything but the writing of an effective operatic libretto. " In thelight of this confession, it is best to look upon 'Rienzi' merely as abrilliant exercise in the Grand Opéra manner. Much of the music is showyand effective; there is a masculine vigour about the melodies, and theconcerted pieces are skilfully treated, but, except to the student ofWagner's development, its intrinsic value is very small. Appropriately enough, the idea of writing an opera upon the legend ofthe Flying Dutchman first occurred to Wagner during his passage fromRiga to London in the year 1839. The voyage was long and stormy, and thetempestuous weather which he encountered, together with the fantastictales which he heard from the lips of the sailors, made so deep animpression upon his mind, that he determined to make his experiences thegroundwork of an opera dealing with the fortunes of the 'Wandering Jewof the Ocean. ' When he was in Paris, the stress of poverty compelled himto treat the sketch, which he had made for a libretto, as a marketableasset. This he sold to a now forgotten composer named Dietsch, who wrotean opera upon the subject, which failed completely. The disappearance ofthis work left Wagner's hands free once more, and some years later hereturned _con amore_ to his original idea. 'Der Fliegende Holländer' wasproduced at Dresden in 1843. The legend of the Flying Dutchman is, of course, an old one. The idea ofthe world-wearied wanderer driven from shore to shore in the vain searchfor peace and rest dates from Homer. Heine was the first to introducethe motive of the sinner's redemption through the love of a faithfulwoman, which was still further elaborated by Wagner, and really formsthe basis of his drama. The opera opens in storm and tempest. The shipof Daland, a Norwegian mariner, has just cast anchor at a wild andrugged spot upon the coast not far from his own home, where his daughterSenta is awaiting him. He can do nothing but wait for fair weather, andgoes below, leaving his steersman to keep watch. The lad drops asleep, singing of his home, and through the darkness the gloomy vessel of theDutchman is seen approaching with its blood-red sails. The Dutchmananchors his ship close to the Norwegian barque, and steps ashore. Sevenyears have passed since he last set foot upon earth, and he comes oncemore in search of a true woman who will sacrifice herself for hissalvation, for this alone can free him from the curse under which hesuffers. But hope of mortal aid is dead within his breast. In wild andbroken accents he tells of his passionate longing for death, and callsupon the Judgment Day to put an end to his pilgrimage. 'Annihilation bemy lot, ' he cries in his madness, and from the depths of the blackvessel the weird crew echoes his despairing cry. Daland issues from hisown vessel and gives the stranger a hearty greeting. The name of Sentaarrests the Dutchman's attention, and after a short colloquy and aglimpse of the untold wealth which crams the coffers of the Dutchman, the old miser consents to give his daughter to the stranger. The windmeanwhile has shifted, and the two captains hasten their departure forthe port. In the second act we are at Daland's house. Mary, the old housekeeper, and a bevy of chattering girls are spinning by the fireside, whileSenta, lost in gloomy reverie, sits apart gazing at a mysterious pictureon the wall, the portrait of a pale man clad in black, the hero of themysterious legend of the Flying Dutchman. The girls rally Senta upon herabstraction, and as a reply to their idle prattle she sings them theballad of the doomed mariner. Throughout the song her enthusiasm hasbeen waxing, and at its close, like one inspired, she cries aloud thatshe will be the woman to save him, that through her the accursed wretchshall find eternal peace. Erik, her betrothed lover, who enters toannounce the approach of Daland, hears her wild words, and in vainreminds her of vows and promises made long ago. When Daland brings theDutchman in, and Senta sees before her the hero of her romance, theliving embodiment of the mysterious picture, she gazes spell-bound atthe weird stranger, and seems scarcely to hear her father's hastyrecommendation of the new suitor's pretensions. Left alone with theDutchman, Senta rapturously vows her life to his salvation, and thescene ends with the plighting of their troth. In the last act we are once more on the seashore. The Dutch andNorwegian vessels are moored side by side, but while the crew of thelatter is feasting and making merry, the former is gloomy and silent asthe grave. A troop of damsels runs on with baskets of food and wine;they join with the Norwegian sailors in calling upon the Dutchmen tocome out and share their festivities, but not a sound proceeds from thephantom vessel. Suddenly the weird mariners appear upon the deck, andwhile blue flames hover upon the spars and masts of their fated vessel, they sing an uncanny song taunting their captain with his failure as alover. The Norwegian sailors in terror hurry below, the girls beat ahasty retreat, and silence descends once more upon the two vessels. Senta issues from Daland's house, followed by Erik. In spite of hisimportunity, her steadfast purpose remains unmoved; but the Dutchmanoverhears Erik's passionate appeal and, believing Senta to be untrue tohimself, rushes on board his ship and hastily puts out to sea. Senta'scourage rises to the occasion. Though the Dutchman has cast her off, she remains true to her vows. She hastens to the edge of the cliff hardby, and with a wild cry hurls herself into the sea. Her solemn act ofrenunciation fulfils the promise of her lips. The gloomy vessel of theDutchman, its mission accomplished, sinks into the waves, while theforms of Senta and the Dutchman transfigured with unearthly light areseen rising from the bosom of the ocean. The music of 'Der Fliegende Holländer' may be looked at from two pointsof view. As a link in the chain of Wagner's artistic development, it isof the highest interest. In it we see the germs of those theories whichwere afterwards to effect so formidable a revolution in the world ofopera. In 'Der Fliegende Holländer' Wagner first puts to the proof the_Leit-Motiv_, or guiding theme, the use of which forms, as it were, thebase upon which the entire structure of his later works rests. In thoseearly days he employed it with timidity, it is true, and with but ahalf-hearted appreciation of the poetical effect which it commands; butfrom that day forth each of his works shows a more complete command ofits resources, and a subtler instinct as to its employment. Theintrinsic musical interest of 'Der Fliegende Holländer' is unequal. Wagner had made great strides since the days of 'Rienzi, ' but he hadstill a vast amount to unlearn. Side by side with passages of vitalforce and persuasive beauty there are dreary wastes of commonplace andthe most arid conventionality. The strange mixture of styles whichprevails in 'Der Fliegende Holländer' makes it in some ways even lesssatisfactory as a work of art than 'Rienzi, ' which at any rate has themerit of homogeneity. Wagner is most happily inspired by the sea. Theoverture, as fresh and picturesque a piece of tone-painting as anythinghe ever wrote, is familiar to all concert-goers, and the opening of thefirst act is no less original. But perhaps the most striking part of theopera, certainly the most characteristic, is the opening of the thirdact, with its chain of choruses between the girls and the sailors. Agreat deal of 'Der Fliegende Holländer' might have been written by anyoperatic composer of the time, but this scene bears upon it thehall-mark of genius. If 'Der Fliegende Holländer' proved that the descriptive side ofWagner's genius had developed more rapidly than the psychological, thebalance was promptly re-established in 'Tannhäuser, ' his next work. Muchof the music is picturesque and effective, even in the lowest sense, butits strength lies in the extraordinary power which the composer displaysof individualising his characters--a power of which in 'Der FliegendeHolländer' there was scarcely a suggestion. So far as mere form is concerned, 'Tannhäuser' (1845) is far freer fromthe conventionalities of the Italian school than 'Der FliegendeHolländer, ' but this would not have availed much if Wagner'sconstructive powers had not matured in so remarkable a way. It wouldhave been useless to sweep away the old conventions if he had hadnothing to set in their place. Apart from the strictly musical side ofthe question, Wagner had in 'Tannhäuser' a story of far deeper humaninterest than the weird legend of the Dutchman, the tale which nevergrows old of the struggle of good and evil for a human soul, the tale ofa remorseful sinner won from the powers of hell by the might of a purewoman's love. There is a legend which tells that when the gods and goddesses fled fromtheir palace on Olympus before the advance of Christianity, Venus betookherself to the North, and established her court in the bowels of theearth, beneath the hill of Hörselberg in Thuringia. There we find theminstrel Tannhäuser at the opening of the opera. He has left the worldabove, its strifes and its duties, for the wicked delights of the grottoof Venus. There he lies in the embraces of the siren goddess, while lifepasses in a ceaseless orgy of sinful pleasure. But the poet wearies ofhis amorous captivity, and would fain return to the earth once more. Invain the goddess pleads, in vain she calls up new scenes of ravishingdelight, he still prays to be gone. Finally he calls on the sainted nameof Mary, and Venus with her nymphs, grotto, palace and all, sink intothe earth with a thunder-clap, while Tannhäuser, when he comes to hissenses once more, finds himself kneeling upon the green grass on theslope of a sequestered valley, lulled by the tinkling bells of the flockand the piping of a shepherd from a rock hard by. The pious chant ofpilgrims, passing on their way to Rome, wakens his slumberingconscience, and bids him expiate his guilt by a life of abstinence andhumiliation. His meditations are interrupted by the appearance of theLandgrave of Thuringia, his liege lord, who is hunting with Wolfram vonEschinbach, Walther von der Vogelweide, and other minstrel-knights ofthe Wartburg; but his newly awakened sense of remorse forbids him toreturn with them to the castle, until Wolfram breathes the name of theLandgrave's niece Elisabeth, the saintly maiden who has drooped andpined since Tannhäuser disappeared from the singing contests at theWartburg. The thought of human love touches his heart with warmsympathy, and he gladly hastens to the castle with his newly foundfriends. In the second act we are at the Wartburg, in the Hall of Song in whichthose tournaments of minstrelsy were held, for which the castle wascelebrated in the middle ages. Elisabeth enters, bringing a greeting tothe hall, whose threshold she has not crossed since Tannhäuser'smysterious departure. Her joyous tones have scarcely ceased whenTannhäuser, led by Wolfram, appears and falls at the feet of theyouthful Princess. Her pure spirit cannot conceive aught of dishonour inhis absence, and she welcomes him back to her heart with girlish trust. Now the guests assemble and, marshalled in order, take their places forthe singers' tourney. The Landgrave announces the subject of thecontest--the power Of love--and more than hints that the hand ofElisabeth is to be the victor's prize. The singers in turn take theirharps and pour forth their improvisations; Wolfram sings of the chasteideal which he worships from afar, Walther of the pure fount of virtuefrom which he draws his inspiration, and the warrior Biterolf praisesthe chivalrous passion of the soldier. Each in turn is interrupted by Tannhäuser, who, with ever-growingvehemence, scoffs at the pale raptures of his friends. A kind of madnesspossesses him, and as the hymns in praise of love recall to his memorythe amorous orgies of the Venusberg, he gradually loses allself-control, and ends by bursting out with a wild hymn in praise of thegoddess herself. The horror-stricken women rush from the hall, and themen, sword in hand, prepare to execute summary justice upon theself-convicted sinner; but Elisabeth dashes in before the points oftheir swords, and in broken accents begs pardon for her recreant loverin the name of the Saviour of them all. Touched by her agonised pleadingthe angry knights let fall their weapons, while Tannhäuser, as hismadness slips from him and he realises all that he has lost, fallsrepentant and prostrate upon the earth. The Landgrave bids him hasten toRome, where alone he may find pardon for a sin so heinous. Far below inthe valley a band of young pilgrims is passing, and the sound of theirsolemn hymn rises to the castle windows; the pious strains put new lifeinto the despairing Tannhäuser, and crying 'To Rome, to Rome, ' hestaggers from the hall. The scene of the third act is the same as that of the first, a woodedvalley beneath the towers of the Wartburg; but the fresh beauty ofspring has given place to the tender melancholy of autumn. No tidings ofthe pilgrim have reached the castle, and Elisabeth waits on in patienthope, praying that her lost lover may be given back to her arms free andforgiven. While she pours forth her agony at the foot of a rustic cross, the faithful Wolfram watches silently hard by. Suddenly the distantchant of the pilgrims is heard. Elisabeth rises from her knees in anagony of suspense. As the pilgrims file past one by one, she eagerlyscans their faces, but Tannhäuser is not among them. With the failure ofher hopes she feels that the last link which binds her to earth isbroken. Committing her soul to the Virgin, she takes her way slowly backto the castle, the hand of death already heavy upon her, after biddingfarewell to Wolfram in a passage which, though not a word is spoken, isperhaps more poignantly pathetic than anything Wagner ever wrote. Aloneamid the gathering shades of evening, Wolfram sings the exquisite songto the evening star which is the most famous passage in the opera. Thelast strains have scarcely died away when a gloomy figure slowly entersupon the path lately trodden by the rejoicing pilgrims. It is Tannhäuserreturning from Rome, disappointed and despairing. His pilgrimage hasavailed him nothing. The Pope bade him hope for no pardon for his sintill the staff which he held in his hand should put forth leaves andblossom. With these awful words ringing in his ears, Tannhäuser hasretraced his weary steps. He has had enough of earth, and thinks only ofreturning to the embraces of Venus. In response to his cries Venusappears, in the midst of a wild whirl of nymphs and sirens. In vainWolfram urges and appeals; Tannhäuser will not yield his purpose. Hebreaks from his friend, and is rushing to meet the extended arms of thegoddess, when Wolfram adjures him once more by the sainted memory ofElisabeth. At the sound of that sinless name Venus and her unhallowedcrew sink with a wild shriek into the earth. The morning breaks, and thesolemn hymn of the procession bearing the corpse of Elisabeth soundssweetly through the forest. As the bier is carried forward Tannhäusersinks lifeless by the dead body of his departed saint, while a band ofyoung pilgrims comes swiftly in, bearing the Pope's staff, which has putforth leaves and blossomed--the symbol of redemption and pardon for therepentant sinner. It will generally be admitted that the story of 'Tannhäuser' is bettersuited for dramatic purposes than that of 'Der Fliegende Holländer, 'apart from the lofty symbolism which gives it so deeply human aninterest. This would go far to account for the manifest superiority ofthe later work, but throughout the score it is easy to note the enhancedpower and certainty of the composer in dealing even with the lessinteresting parts of the story. Much of 'Tannhäuser' is conventional, but it nevertheless shows a great advance on 'Der Fliegende Holländer, 'in the disposal of the scenes as much as in the mere treatment of thevoices. But in the orchestra the advance is even more manifest. Theguiding theme, which in 'Der Fliegende Holländer' only makes fitful andtimid appearances, is used with greater boldness, and with increasedknowledge of its effect. Wagner had as yet, it is true, but littleconception of the importance which this flexible instrument would assumein his later works; but such passages as the orchestral introduction tothe third act, and Tannhäuser's narration, give a foretaste of what thecomposer was afterwards to achieve by this means. So far as orchestralcolour is concerned, too, the score of Tannhäuser is deeply interestingto the student of Wagner's development. Here we find Wagner for thefirst time consistently associating a certain instrument or group ofinstruments with one of the characters, as, for instance, the tromboneswith the pilgrims, and the wood-wind with Elisabeth. This plan--which isin a certain sense the outcome of the guiding theme system--he wasafterwards to develop elaborately. It had of course been employedbefore, notably by Gluck, but Wagner with characteristic boldnesscarried it at once to a point of which his predecessor can scarcely havedreamed. As an illustration, the opening of the third act may be quoted, in which Elisabeth is represented by the wood-wind--by the clarinets andbassoons in the hour of her deep affliction and abasement, and by theflutes and hautboys when her soul has finally cast off all the trammelsof earth--and Wolfram by the violoncello. The feelings of the two are soexquisitely portrayed by the orchestra, that the scene would be easilycomprehensible if it were carried on--as indeed much of it is--withoutany words at all. 'Lohengrin' (1850) was the first of Wagner's operas which won generalacceptance, and still remains the most popular. The story lacks the deephuman interest of 'Tannhäuser, ' but it has both power andpicturesqueness, while the prominence of the love-interest, which in theearlier work is thrust into the background, is sufficient to explain thepreference given to it. Elsa of Brabant is charged by Frederick ofTelramund, at the instigation of his wife Ortrud, with the murder of herbrother Godfrey, who has disappeared. King Henry the Fowler, who isjudging the case, allows Elsa a champion; but the signal trumpets havesounded twice, and no one comes forward to do battle on her behalf. Suddenly there appears, in a distant bend of the river Scheldt, a boatdrawn by a swan, in which is standing a knight clad in silver armour. Amidst the greatest excitement the knight gradually approaches, andfinally disembarks beneath the shadow of the king's oak. He is acceptedby Elsa as her champion and lover on the condition that she shall neverattempt to ask his name. If she should violate her promise, Lohengrin--for it is he--must return at once to his father's kingdom. Telramund is worsted in the fight, having no power to fight againstLohengrin's sacred sword, and the act ends with rejoicings over theapproaching marriage of Lohengrin and Elsa. In the second act it is night; Telramund and Ortrud are crouching uponthe steps of the Minster, opposite the palace, plotting revenge. Suddenly Elsa steps out upon the balcony of the Kemenate, or women'squarters, and breathes out the tale of her happiness to the breezes ofnight. Ortrud accosts her with affected humility, and soon succeeds inestablishing herself once more in the good graces of the credulousdamsel. She passes into the Kemenate with Elsa, first promising to useher magic powers so as to secure for ever for Elsa the love of herunknown lord. Elsa rejects the offer with scorn, but it is evident thatthe suggestion has sown the first seeds of doubt in her foolish heart. As the day dawns the nobles assemble at the Minster gate, and soon thelong bridal procession begins to issue from the Kemenate. But beforeElsa has had time to set foot upon the Minster steps, Ortrud dashesforward and claims precedence, taunting the hapless bride with ignoranceof her bridegroom's name and rank. Elsa has scarcely time to reply inpassionate vindication of her love, when the King and Lohengrin approachfrom the Pallas, the quarters of the knights. Lohengrin soothes theterror of his bride, and the procession starts once more. Once more itis interrupted. Telramund appears upon the threshold of the cathedraland publicly accuses Lohengrin of sorcery. The King, however, will notharbour a suspicion of his spotless knight. Telramund is thrust aside, though not before he has had time to whisper fresh doubts and suspicionsto the shuddering Elsa, and the procession files slowly into theMinster. A solemn bridal march opens the next act, while the maids of honourconduct Elsa and Lohengrin to the bridal chamber. There, after a lovescene of enchanting beauty, her doubts break forth once more. 'How isshe to know, ' she cries, 'that the swan will not come some day asmysteriously as before and take her beloved from her arms?' In vainLohengrin tries to soothe her; she will not be appeased, and in frenziedexcitement puts to him the fatal question, 'Who art thou?' At thatmoment the door is burst open, and Telramund rushes in followed by fourknights with swords drawn. Lohengrin lifts his sacred sword, and thefalse knight falls dead at his feet. The last scene takes us back to thebanks of the Scheldt. Before the assembled army Lohengrin answers Elsa'squestion. He is the son of Parsifal, the lord of Monsalvat, the keeperof the Holy Grail. His mission is to succour the distressed, but hismystic power vanishes if the secret of its origin be known. Even as hespeaks the swan appears once more, drawing the boat which is to bear himaway. Lohengrin bids a last farewell to the weeping Elsa, and turns oncemore to the river. Now is the moment of Ortrud's triumph. She rushesforward and proclaims that the swan is none other than Godfrey, Elsa'sbrother, imprisoned in this shape by her magic arts. But Lohengrin'spower is not exhausted; he kneels upon the river bank, and in answer tohis prayer the white dove of the Grail wheels down from the sky, releases the swan, and, while Elsa clasps her restored brother to herbreast, bears Lohengrin swiftly away over the waters of the Scheldt. The interest of 'Lohengrin' lies rather in the subtle treatment of thecharacters than in the intrinsic beauty of the story itself. Lohengrin'slove for Elsa, and his apparent intention of settling in Brabant forlife, seem scarcely consistent with his duties as knight of the Grail, and, save for their mutual love, neither hero nor heroine have muchclaim upon our sympathies. But the grouping of the characters isadmirable; the truculent witch Ortrud is a fine foil to the ingenuousElsa, and Lohengrin's spotless knighthood is cast into brilliant reliefby the dastardly treachery of Telramund. The story of 'Lohengrin' lacksthe deep human interest of 'Tannhäuser, ' and the music never reaches theheights to which the earlier work sometimes soars. But in both respects'Lohengrin' has the merit of homogeneity; the libretto is laid out by amaster hand, and the music, though occasionally monotonous in rhythm, has none of those strange relapses into conventionality which mar thebeauty of 'Tannhäuser. ' Musically 'Lohengrin' marks the culminatingpoint of Wagner's earlier manner. All the links with the Italian schoolare broken save one, the concerted finale. Here alone he adheres to theold tradition of cavatina and cabaletta--the slow movement followed bythe quick. The aria in set form has completely disappeared, while theorchestra, though still often used merely as an accompaniment, is neverdegraded, as occasionally happens in 'Tannhäuser, ' to the rank of a 'bigguitar. ' The opening notes of 'Lohengrin' indeed prove incontestably theincreased power and facility with which Wagner had learnt to wield hisorchestra since the days of 'Tannhäuser. ' The prelude to 'Lohengrin'--amighty web of sound woven of one single theme--is, besides being amiracle of contrapuntal ingenuity, one of the most poetical of Wagner'smany exquisite conceptions. In it he depicts the bringing to earth bythe hands of angels of the Holy Grail, the vessel in which Joseph ofArimathea caught the last drops of Christ's blood upon the cross. Withthe opening chords we seem to see the clear blue expanse of heavenspread before us in spotless radiance. As the Grail motive sounds forthe first time _pianissimo_ in the topmost register of the violins, atiny white cloud, scarcely perceptible at first, but increasing everymoment, forms in the zenith. Ever descending as the music graduallyincreases in volume, the cloud resolves itself into a choir of angelsclad in white, the bearers of the sacred cup. Nearer and still nearerthey come, until, as the Grail motive reaches a passionate _fortissimo_, they touch the earth, and deliver the Holy Grail to the band of faithfulmen who are consecrated to be its earthly champions. Their missionaccomplished the angels swiftly return. As they soar up, the musicgrows fainter. Soon they appear once more only as a snowy cloud on thebosom of the blue. The Grail motive fades away into faint chords, andthe heaven is left once more in cloudless radiance. A noticeable point in the score of 'Lohengrin' is the furtherdevelopment of the beautiful idea which appears in 'Tannhäuser, ' ofassociating a certain instrument or group of instruments with oneparticular character. The idea itself, it may be noticed in passing, dates from the time of Bach, who used the strings of the orchestra toaccompany the words of Christ in the Matthew Passion, much as the oldItalian painters surrounded his head with a halo. In 'Lohengrin' Wagnerused this beautiful idea more systematically than in 'Tannhäuser';Lohengrin's utterances are almost always accompanied by the strings ofthe orchestra, while the wood-wind is specially devoted to Elsa. Thisplan emphasises very happily the contrast, which is the root of thewhole drama, between spiritual and earthly love, typified in the personsof Lohengrin and Elsa, which the poem symbolises in allegorical fashion. CHAPTER X WAGNER'S LATER WORKS The attempt to divide the life and work of a composer into fixed periodsis generally an elusive and unsatisfactory experiment, but to this rulethe case of Wagner is an exception. His musical career falls naturallyinto two distinct divisions, and the works of these two periods differso materially in scope and execution that the veriest tyro in musicalmatters cannot fail to grasp their divergencies. In the years whichelapsed between the composition of 'Lohengrin' and 'Das Rheingold, 'Wagner's theories upon the proper treatment of lyrical drama developedin a surprising manner. Throughout his earlier works the guiding themeis used with increasing frequency, it is true, so that in 'Lohengrin'its employment adds materially to the poetical interest of the score;but in 'Das Rheingold' we are in a different world. Here the guidingtheme is the pivot upon which the entire work turns. The occasional useof some characteristic musical phrase to illustrate the recurrence of aspecial personality or phase of thought has given way to a deliberatesystem in which not only each of the characters in the drama, but alsotheir thoughts, feelings, and aspirations are represented by a distinctmusical equivalent. These guiding themes are by no means the mere labelsthat hostile critics of Wagner would have us believe. They are subject, as much as the characters and sentiments which they represent, toorganic change and development. By this means every incident in theprogress of the drama, the growth of each sentiment or passion, the playof thought and feeling, all find a close equivalent in the texture ofthe music, and the connection between music and drama is advanced to anintimacy which certainly could not be realised by any other means. The difference in style between 'Lohengrin' and 'Das Rheingold' is sovery marked that it is only natural to look for some explanation of thesudden change other than the natural development of the composer'sgenius. Wagner's social position at this point in his career may havereacted to a certain extent upon his music. An exile from his country, his works tabooed in every theatre, he might well be pardoned if he feltthat all chance of a career as a popular composer was over for him, anddecided for the future to write for himself alone. This may explain thecomplete renunciation of the past which appears in 'Das Rheingold, ' thetotal severance from the Italian tradition which lingers in the pages of'Lohengrin, ' and the brilliant unfolding of a new scheme of lyric dramaplanned upon a scale of unexampled magnificence and elaboration. Intimately as Wagner's theory of the proper scope of music drama isconnected with the system of guiding themes which he elaborated, itneed hardly be said that he was very far from being the first torecognise the importance of their use in music. There are severalinstances of guiding themes in Bach. Beethoven, too, and even Grétryused them occasionally with admirable effect. But before Wagner's daythey had been employed with caution, not to say timidity. He was thefirst to realise their full poetic possibility. 'Das Rheingold, ' the first work in which Wagner put his matured musicalequipment to the proof, is the first division of a gigantic tetralogy, 'Der Ring des Nibelungen, ' The composition of this mighty work extendedover a long period of years. It was often interrupted, and as oftenrecommenced. In its completed form it was performed for the first timeat the opening of the Festspielhaus at Bayreuth in 1876, but the firsttwo divisions of the work, 'Das Rheingold' and 'Die Walküre, ' hadalready been given at Munich, in 1869 and 1870 respectively. It will bemost convenient in this place to treat 'Der Ring des Nibelungen' as acomplete work, although 'Tristan und Isolde' and 'Die Meistersinger'were written and performed before 'Siegfried' and 'Götterdämmerung. ' Wagner took the main incidents of his drama from the old Norse sagas, principally from the two Eddas, but in many minor points his tale variesfrom that of the original authorities. Nevertheless he grasped thespirit of the myth so fully, that his version of the Nibelung storyyields in harmony and beauty to that of none of his predecessors. Thereis one point about the Norse mythology which is of the utmost importanceto the proper comprehension of 'Der Ring des Nibelungen. ' The gods ofTeutonic legend are not immortal. In the Edda the death of the gods isoften mentioned, and distinct reference is made to their inevitabledownfall. Behind Valhalla towers the gigantic figure of Fate, whosereign is eternal. The gods rule for a limited time, subject to itsdecrees. This ever-present idea of inexorable doom is the guiding ideaof Wagner's great tragedy. Against the inevitable the gods plot andscheme in vain. The opening scene of 'Das Rheingold' is in the depths of the Rhine. There, upon the summit of a rock, lies the mysterious treasure of theRhine, the Rhine-gold, guarded night and day by the three Rhine-maidensWellgunde, Woglinde, and Flosshilde, who circle round the rock in anundulating dance, joyous and light-hearted 'like troutlets in a pool. 'Alberich, the prince of the Nibelungs, the strange dwarf-people whodwell in the bowels of the earth, now appears. Clumsily he courts themaidens, trying unsuccessfully to catch first one, then another. Suddenly the rays of the rising sun touch the treasure on the rock andlight it into brilliant splendour. The maidens, in delight at itsbeauty, incautiously reveal the secret of the Rhine-gold to theinquisitive dwarf. The possessor of it, should he forge it into a ring, will become the ruler of the world. But, to that end, he must renouncethe delights of love for ever. Alberich, fired with the lust of power, hastily climbs the rock, tears away the shining treasure, and plungeswith it into the abyss, amidst the cries of the maidens, who vainlyendeavour to pursue him. The scene now changes, the waves graduallygiving place to clouds and vapour, which in turn disclose a loftymountainous region at the foot of which is a grassy plateau. Here liethe sleeping forms of Wotan, the king of the gods, and Fricka, his wife. Behind them, upon a neighbouring mountain, rise the towers of Valhalla, Wotan's new palace, built for him by the giants Fafner and Fasolt inorder to ensure him in his sovereignty of the world. In exchange fortheir labours Wotan has promised to give them Freia, the goddess of loveand beauty, but he hopes by the ingenuity of Loge, the fire-god, toescape the fulfilment of his share of the contract. While Fricka isupbraiding him for his rash promise Freia enters, pursued by the giants, who come to claim their reward. Wotan refuses to let Freia go, and Frohand Donner come to the protection of their sister. The giants areprepared to fight for their rights, but the entrance of Loge fortunatelyeffects a diversion. He has searched throughout the world for somethingto offer to the giants instead of the beautiful goddess, but has onlybrought back the news of Alberich's treasure-trove, and his forswearingof love in order to rule the world. The lust of power now invades theminds of the giants, and they agree to take the treasure in place ofFreia, if Wotan and Loge can succeed in stealing it from Alberich. Onthis quest therefore the two gods descended through a cleft in the earthto Nibelheim, the abode of the Nibelungs. There they find Alberich, byvirtue of his magic gold, lording it over his fellow-dwarfs. He hascompelled his brother Mime, the cleverest smith of them all, to fashionhim a Tarnhelm, or helmet of invisibility, and the latter complainspeevishly to the gods of the overbearing mastery which Alberich hasestablished in Nibelheim. When Alberich appears, Wotan and Logecunningly beguile him to exhibit the powers of his new treasures. Theconfiding dwarf, in order to display the quality of the Tarnhelm, firstchanges himself into a snake and then into a toad. While he is in theshape of the latter, Wotan sets his foot upon him, Loge snatches theTarnhelm from his head, and together they bind him and carry him off tothe upper air. When he has conveyed his prisoner in safety to themountain-top, Wotan bids him summon the dwarfs to bring up his treasuresfrom Nibelheim. Alberich reluctantly obeys. His treasure is torn fromhim, his Tarnhelm, and last of all the ring with which he hoped to rulethe world. Bereft of all, he utters a terrible curse upon the ring, vowing that it shall bring ruin and death upon every one who wears it, until it returns to its original possessor. The giants now appear toclaim their reward. They too insist upon taking the whole treasure. Wotan refuses to give up the ring until warned by the goddess Erda, themother of the Fates, who rises from her subterranean cavern, that tokeep it means ruin. The ring passes to the giants, and the curse at oncebegins to work. Fafner slays Fasolt in a quarrel for the gold, andcarries off the treasure alone. Throughout this scene the clouds havebeen gathering round the mountain-top. Donner, the god of thunder, nowascends a cliff, and strikes the rock with his hammer. Thunder rolls andlightning flashes, the dark clouds are dispelled, revealing a rainbowbridge thrown across the chasm, over which the gods solemnly march toValhalla, while from far below rise the despairing cries of theRhine-maidens lamenting their lost treasure. 'Das Rheingold' is conspicuous among the later works of Wagner for itsbrevity and concentration. Although it embraces four scenes, the musicis continuous throughout, and the whole makes but one act. Wagner's aimseems to have been to set forth in a series of brilliant pictures themedium in which his mighty drama was to unfold itself. Human interest ofcourse there is none, but the supernatural machinery is complete. Thedenizens of the world are grouped in four divisions--the gods in heaven, the giants on the earth, the dwarfs beneath, and the water-sprites inthe bosom of the Rhine. 'Das Rheingold' has a freshness and an open-airfeeling which are eminently suitable to the prologue of a work whichdeals so much with the vast forces of nature as Wagner's colossal drama. There is little scope in it for the delicate psychology which enrichesthe later divisions of the tetralogy, but, on the other hand, Wagnerhas reproduced the 'large utterance of the early gods' with exquisiteart. Musically it can hardly rank with its successors, partly no doubtbecause the plot has not their absorbing interest, partly also because'Das Rheingold' is the first work in which Wagner consciously worked inaccordance with his theory of guiding themes, and consequently he hadnot as yet gained that complete mastery of his elaborate material whichhe afterwards attained. Yet some of the musical pictures in 'DasRheingold' would be difficult to match throughout the glowing gallery of'Der Ring des Nibelungen, ' such as the beautiful opening scene in thedepths of the Rhine, and the magnificent march to Valhalla with which itcloses. Before the opening of 'Die Walküre, ' the next work of the series, muchhas happened. Wotan has begotten the nine Valkyries (_Walküren_, orchoosers of the slain), whose mission is to bring up dead heroes fromthe battle-field to dwell in Valhalla, and, if need be, help to defendit. He determines, too, since he may not possess the ring himself, tobeget a hero of the race of men who shall win it from Fafner (who haschanged himself into a dragon in order to guard the treasure moresecurely), and so prevent it falling into the hands of an enemy of thegods. For this purpose he descends to earth and, under the name ofVolse, unites himself with a mortal woman, who bears him the Volsungtwins, Siegmund and Sieglinde. Bound by his oath to Fafner, Wotan maynot openly assist Siegmund in the enterprise, but he dwells with him onthe earth, and trains him in all manly exercises. Sieglinde is carriedoff by enemies and given as wife to Hunding, and Siegmund returning oneday from the chase finds his father gone, and nothing but an emptywolf-skin left in the hut. Alone he has to wage continual war with theenemies who surround him. One day, in defending a woman from wrong, heis overpowered by numbers, and losing his sword, has to fly for hislife. With this 'Die Walküre' opens. A violent storm is raging whenSiegmund reaches Hunding's hut. Exhausted by fatigue, he throws himselfdown by the hearth, and is soon fast asleep. Sieglinde entering offershim food and drink. Soon Hunding appears, and, after hearing his guest'sname and history, discovers in him a mortal foe. Nevertheless the rightsof hospitality are sacred. He offers Siegmund shelter for the night, butbids him be ready at dawn to fight for his life. Left alone, Siegmundmuses in the dying firelight on the promise made him by his father, thatat the hour of his direst need he should find a sword. His reverie isinterrupted by the entrance of Sieglinde, who has drugged Hunding'snight draught, and now urges Siegmund to flee. Each has read in theother's eyes the sympathy which is akin to love, and Siegmund refuses toleave her. Thereupon she tells him of a visit paid to the house upon theday of her marriage to Hunding by a mysterious stranger, who thrust asword into the stem of the mighty ash-tree which supports the roof, promising it to him who could pull it out. Siegmund draws the sword(which he greets with the name of Nothung) in triumph from the tree, andthe brother and sister, now united by a yet closer tie, fall into eachother's arms as the curtain falls. The scene of the next act is laid in a wild, mountainous region. Wotanhas summoned his favourite daughter, the Valkyrie Brünnhilde, anddirects her to protect Siegmund in the fight with Hunding which is soonto take place. Brünnhilde departs with her wild Valkyrie cry, and Frickaappears in a car drawn by two rams. She is the protectress of marriagerites, and come to complain of Siegmund's unlawful act in carrying offSieglinde. A long altercation ensues between the pair. In the end Frickais triumphant. She extorts an oath from Wotan that he will not protectSiegmund, and departs satisfied. Brünnhilde again appears, and anotherinterminable scene follows between her and Wotan. The father of the godsis weighed down by the sense of approaching annihilation. He nowrealises that the consequences of his lawless lust of power arebeginning to work his ruin. He tells Brünnhilde the whole story ot hisschemes to avert destruction by the help of Siegmund and the Valkyries, ending by commanding her, under dreadful penalties, to leave the Volsunghero to his fate. Siegmund and Sieglinde now appear, flying from thevengeful Hunding. Sieglinde's strength is almost spent, and she sinksexhausted in a death-like swoon. While Siegmund is tenderly watchingover her, Brünnhilde advances. She tells Siegmund of his approachingdoom, and bids him prepare for the delights of Valhalla. He refuses toleave Sieglinde, and, rather than that they should be separated, he isready to plunge his sword into both their hearts. His noble words meltBrünnhilde's purpose, and, in defiance of Wotan's commands, she promisesto protect him. Hunding's horn is now heard in the distance, andSiegmund leaves Sieglinde still unconscious and rushes to the encounter. Amid the gathering storm-clouds the two men meet upon a rocky ridge. Brünnhilde protects Siegmund with her shield, but just as he is about todeal Hunding a fatal blow, Wotan appears in thunder and lightning andthrusts his spear between the combatants. Siegmund's sword is shiveredto fragments upon it, and Hunding strikes him dead. Brünnhilde hastilycollects the splinters of the sword, and escapes with Sieglinde upon herhorse, while Hunding falls dead before a contemptuous wave of Wotan'shand. The third act shows a rocky mountain-top in storm and tempest. One byone the Valkyries appear riding on their horses through the drivingclouds. Last comes Brünnhilde, with the terrified and despairingSieglinde. Sieglinde wishes to die, but Brünnhilde entreats her to livefor the sake of her child that is to be, and giving her the splinteredfragments of Siegmund's sword, bids her escape to the forest, whereFafner watches over his treasure. The voice of the wrathful Wotan is nowheard in the distance. He appears, indignant at Brünnhilde'sdisobedience, dismisses the other Valkyries, and tells Brünnhilde whather punishment is to be. She is to be banished from the sisterhood ofValkyries, and Valhalla is to know her no more. Thrown into a deepsleep, she shall lie upon the mountain-top, to be the bride of the firstman who finds and wakens her. Brünnhilde pleads passionately for amitigation of the cruel sentence, or at least that a circle of fireshall be drawn around her resting-place, so that none but a hero ofvalour and determination can hope to win her. Moved by her entreaties, Wotan consents. He kisses her fondly to sleep, and lays her gently upona mossy couch, covered with her shield. Then he strikes the earth withhis spear, calling on the fire-god Loge. Tongues of fire spring uparound them, and leaving her encircled with a rampart of flame, hepasses from the mountain-top with the words, 'Let him who fears myspear-point never dare to pass through the fire. ' With 'Die Walküre' the human interest of 'Der Ring des Nibelungen'begins, and with it Wagner rises to greater heights than he could hopeto reach in 'Das Rheingold. ' In picturesque force and variety 'DieWalküre' does not yield to its predecessors, while the passion andbeauty of the immortal tale of the Volsungs lifts it dramatically into adifferent world. 'Die Walküre' is the most generally popular of the fourworks which make up Wagner's great tetralogy, for the inordinate lengthof some of the scenes in the second act is amply atoned for by theimmortal beauties of the first and third. Twenty years ago Wagner'senemies used to make capital out of the incestuous union of Siegmundand Sieglinde, but it is difficult to believe in the sincerity of theirvirtuous indignation. No sane person would conceivably attempt to judgethe personages of the Edda by a modern code of ethics; nor could any onewith even a smattering of the details of Greek mythology affect toregard such a union as extraordinary, given the environment in which thecharacters of Wagner's drama move. It may be noted in passing that 'DieWalküre' is the latest of Wagner's works in which the traces of hisearlier manner are still perceptible. For the most part, as in all hislater works, the score is one vast many-coloured web of guiding themes, 'a mighty maze, but not without a plan!' Here and there, however, occurpassages, such as the Spring Song in the first act and the solemn melodywhich pervades Brünnhilde's interview with Siegmund in the second, which, beautiful in themselves as they are, seem reminiscent of earlierand simpler days, and scarcely harmonise with the colour scheme of therest of the work. With 'Siegfried' the drama advances another stage. Many years haveelapsed since the tragic close of 'Die Walküre. ' Sieglinde draggedherself to the forest, and there died in giving birth to a son, Siegfried, who has been brought up by the dwarf Mime in the hope thatwhen grown to manhood the boy may slay the dragon and win for him theNibelung treasure. The drama opens in Mime's hut in the depths of theforest. The dwarf is engaged in forging a sword for Siegfried, complaining the while that the ungrateful boy always dashes the swordswhich he makes to pieces upon the anvil as though they were toys. Siegfried now comes in, blithe and boisterous, and treats Mime's newsword like its predecessors, blaming the unfortunate smith for hisincompetence. Mime reproaches Siegfried for his ingratitude, remindinghim of the care with which he nursed him in childish days. Siegfriedcannot believe that Mime is his father, and in a fit of passion forcesthe dwarf to tell him the real story of his birth. Mime at lengthreluctantly produces the fragments of Siegmund's sword, and Siegfried, bidding him forge it anew, rushes out once more into the forest. Thedwarf is settling down to his task, when his solitude is disturbed bythe advent of a mysterious stranger. It is Wotan, disguised as awanderer, who has visited the earth to watch over the offspring of hisVolsung son, and to see how events are shaping themselves with regard tothe Nibelung treasure. The scene between him and Mime is exceedinglylong, and, though of the highest musical interest and beauty, does verylittle to advance the plot. The god and the dwarf ask each other aseries of riddles, each staking his head upon the result. Mime breaksdown at the question, 'Who is to forge the sword Nothung anew?' Wotantells him the answer, 'He who knows not fear, ' and departs with thecontemptuous reminder that the dwarf has forfeited his head to thefearless hero. Siegfried now returns, and is very angry when he findsthat Mime has not yet forged the sword. The frightened dwarf confessesthat the task is beyond his powers, and finding that Siegfried does notknow what fear is, tells him to forge his sword for himself. Siegfriedthen proceeds to business. He files the pieces to dust and melts them ina melting-pot, singing a wild song as he fans the flames with a hugebellows. Next he pours the melted steel into a mould and plunges it intowater to cool, heats it red-hot in the furnace, and lastly hammers it onthe anvil. When all is finished he brandishes the sword, and, to themingled terror and delight of Mime, with one mighty stroke cleaves theanvil in twain. The next act shows a glen in the gloomy forest close to Fafner's lair. Alberich is watching in the darkness, in the vain hope of finding anopportunity of recovering his lost treasure. Wotan appears, and tauntshim with his impotence, telling him meanwhile of Siegfried's speedyarrival. Mime and Siegfried soon appear. The dwarf tries to excite thefeeling of fear in Siegfried's bosom by a blood-curdling description ofthe terrible dragon, but finding it useless, leaves Siegfried at themouth of Fafner's cave and retires into the brake. Left alone, Siegfriedyields to the fascination of the summer woods. Round him, as he liesbeneath a giant linden-tree, the singing of birds and the murmur of theforest blend in a mysterious symphony. His thoughts fly back to his deadmother and his lonely childhood. But his reverie is interrupted by theawakening of Fafner, who resents his intrusion. Siegfried boldly attackshis terrible foe, and soon puts an end to him. As he draws his swordfrom the dragon's heart, a rush of blood wets his hand. He feels itburn, and involuntarily puts his hand to his lips. Forthwith, by virtueof the magic power of the blood, he understands the song of the birds, and as he listens he hears the warning voice of one of them in thelinden-tree telling him of the Tarnhelm and the ring. Armed with thesehe comes forth from the dragon's cave to find Mime, who has come tooffer him a draught from his drinking-horn after his labours. But thedragon's blood enables him to read the thoughts in the dwarf's heartunder his blandishing words. The draught is poisoned, and Mime hopes byslaying Siegfried to gain the Nibelung hoard. With one blow of his swordSiegfried slays the treacherous dwarf, and, guided by his friendly bird, hastens away to the rock where Brünnhilde lies within the flamingrampart awaiting the hero who shall release her. The third act represents a wild landscape at the foot of Brünnhilde'srock. Wotan once more summons Erda, and bids her prophesy concerning thedoom of the gods. She knows nothing of the future, and Wotan professeshimself resigned to hand over his sovereignty to the youthful Siegfried, who shall deliver the world from Alberich's curse. Erda sinks once moreinto her cavern, and Siegfried appears, led by the faithful bird. Wotanattempts to bar his passage, but Siegfried will brook no interference, and he shivers Wotan's spear (the emblem of the older rule of the gods)with a blow of his sword. Gaily singing, he passes up through the fire, and finds Brünnhilde asleep upon her rock. Love teaches him the fearwhich he could not learn from Fafner. He awakens the sleeper, and wouldclasp her in his arms, but Brünnhilde, who fell asleep a goddess, knowsnot that she has awaked a woman. She flies from him, but his passionmelts her, and, her godhead slipping from her, she yields to hisembrace. 'Siegfried, ' as has been happily observed, is the scherzo of the greatNibelung symphony. After the sin and sorrow of 'Die Walküre' the changeto the free life of the forest and the boyish innocence of the youthfulhero is doubly refreshing. 'Siegfried' is steeped in the spirit ofyouth. There breathes through it the freshness of the early world. Wagner loved it best of his works. He called it 'the most beautiful ofmy life's dreams. ' Though less stirring in incident than 'Die Walküre, 'it is certainly more sustained in power. It is singularly free fromthose lapses into musical aridity which occasionally mar the beauty ofthe earlier work. If the poem from time to time sinks to an inferiorlevel, the music is instinct with so much resource and beauty that therecan be no question of dulness. In 'Siegfried, ' in fact, Wagner's geniusreaches its zenith. In power, picturesqueness, and command of orchestralcolour and resource, he never surpassed such scenes as the opening ofthe third act, or Siegfried's scaling of Brünnhilde's rock. It is worthwhile remarking that an interval of twelve years elapsed between thecomposition of the second and third acts of 'Siegfried. ' In 1857, although 'Der Ring des Nibelungen' was well advanced towards completion, Wagner's courage give way. The possibility of seeing his great workperformed seemed so terribly remote, that he decided for the time beingto abandon it and begin on a work of more practicable dimensions. In1869 King Ludwig of Bavaria induced him to return to the attack, andwith what delight he did so may easily be imagined. At first sight itseems strange that there should be such complete harmony between theparts of the work, which were written at such different times. Theexplanation of course lies in the firm fabric of guiding themes, whichis the sure foundation upon which the score of 'Siegfried' is built. HadWagner trusted merely to the casual inspiration of the moment, it ispossible that the new work would have harmonised but ill with the old;as it was, he had but to gather up the broken threads of his unfinishedwork to find himself once more under the same inspiration as before. Histheory still held good; his materials were the same; he had but to workunder the same conditions to produce work of the same quality as before. In 'Götterdämmerung' we leave the cool forest once more for the hauntsof men, and exchange the sinless purity of youth for envy, malice, andall uncharitableness. The prologue takes us once more to the summit ofBrünnhilde's rock. There, in the dim grey of early dawn, sit the threeNorns, unravelling from their thread of gold the secrets of thepresent, past, and future. As the morning dawns the thread snaps, andthey hurry away. In the broadening light of day Siegfried and Brünnhildeappear. The Valkyrie has enriched her husband from her store of hiddenwisdom, and now sends him forth in quest of new adventures. She giveshim her shield and Grane, her horse, and he in turn gives her his ring, as a pledge of his love and constancy. He hastens down the side of themountain, and the note of his horn sounds fainter and fainter as hetakes his way across the Rhine. The first act shows the hall of the castle of the Gibichungs near theRhine. Here dwell Gunther and his sister Gutrune, and their half-brotherHagen, whose father was the Nibelung Alberich. Hagen knows the story ofthe ring, and that its present possessor is Siegfried, and he devises acrafty scheme for getting Siegfried into his power. Gunther is stillunmarried, and, fired by Hagen's tale of the sleeping Valkyrie upon therock of fire, yearns to have Brünnhilde for his wife. Hagen thereforeproposes that Gutrune should be given to Siegfried, and that the latter, who is the only hero capable of passing through the fire, should inreturn win Brünnhilde for Gunther. In the nick of time Siegfriedarrives. Hagen brews him a magic potion, by virtue of which he forgetsall his former life, and his previous love for Brünnhilde is swallowedup in a burning passion for Gutrune. He quickly agrees to Hagen'sproposal, and assuming the form of Gunther by means of the Tarnhelm, hedeparts once more for Brünnhilde's rock. Meanwhile Brünnhilde sits atthe entrance to her cave upon the fire-girt cliff, musing uponSiegfried's ring. Suddenly she hears the old well-known Valkyrie war-cryechoing down from the clouds. It is her sister Waltraute, who comes totell her of the gloom that reigns in Valhalla, and to entreat her togive up the ring once more to the Rhine-maidens, that the curse may beremoved and that the gods may not perish. Brünnhilde, however, treasuresthe symbol of Siegfried's love more than the glory of heaven, andrefuses to give it up. She defies the gods, and Waltraute takes her waysadly back to Valhalla. Now Siegfried's horn sounds in the distance farbelow. Brünnhilde hurries to meet him, and is horrified to see, not herbeloved hero, but a stranger appear upon the edge of the rocky platform. The disguised Siegfried announces himself as Gunther, and after astruggle overcomes Brünnhilde's resistance and robs her of the ring. This reduces her to submission; he bids her enter her chamber andfollows her, first drawing his sword, which is to lie between them, aproof of his fidelity to his friend. The second act begins with the appearance of Alberich, who comes toincite his son Hagen to further efforts to regain the ring. Siegfriedappears, and announces the speedy arrival of Gunther and Brünnhilde. Hagen thereupon collects the vassals, and tells them the news of theirlord's approaching marriage, which is received with unbounded delight. Brünnhilde's horror and amazement at finding Siegfried in the hall ofthe Gibichungs, wedded to Gutrune and with the ring so lately torn fromher upon his finger, are profound. She accuses him of treachery, declaring that she is his real wife. Siegfried, for whom the past is ablank, protests his innocence, declaring that he has dealt righteouslywith Gunther and not laid hands upon his wife. Brünnhilde, however, convinces Gunther of Siegfried's deceit, and together with Hagen theyagree upon his destruction. The scene of the third act is laid in a forest on the banks of theRhine. The three Rhine-maidens are disporting themselves in the riverwhile they lament the loss of their beautiful treasure. Siegfried, whohas strayed from his companions in the chase, now appears, and they beghim for the ring upon his finger, at first with playful banter, andafterwards in sober earnest, warning him that if he does not give itback to them he will perish that very day. He laughs at their womanlywiles, and they vanish as his comrades appear. After the midday halt, Siegfried tells Gunther and his vassals the story of his life. In themidst of his tale Hagen gives him a potion which restores his fadedmemory. He tells the whole story of his discovery of Brünnhilde, and hismarriage with her, to the horror of Gunther. At the close of his taletwo ravens, the birds of Wotan, fly over his head. He turns to look atthem, and Hagen plunges his spear into his back. The vassals, in silentgrief, raise the dead body upon their shields, and carry it back to thecastle through the moonlit forest, to the immortal strains of theFuneral March. At the castle Gutrune is anxiously waiting for news of her husband. Hagen tells her that he has been slain by a boar. The corpse is broughtin and set down in the middle of the hall, amidst the wild lamentationsof the widowed Gutrune. Hagen claims the ring, and stabs Gunther, whotries to prevent his taking it; but as he grasps at it, Siegfried's handis raised threateningly, and Hagen sinks back abashed. Brünnhilde nowcomes in, sorrowful but calm. She understands the whole story ofSiegfried's unwitting treachery, and has pardoned him in his death. Shethrusts the weeping Gutrune aside, claiming for herself the sole rightof a wife's tears. The vassals build a funeral pyre, and place the bodyof Siegfried upon it. Brünnhilde takes the ring from his finger, andwith her own hand fires the wood. She then leaps upon her horse Grane, and with one bound rides into the towering flames. The Rhine, which hasoverflowed its banks, now invades the hall. Hagen dashes into the floodin search of the ring, but the Rhine-maidens have been before him. Flosshilde, who has rescued the ring from the ashes of the pyre, holdsit exultantly aloft, while Wellgunde and Woglinde drag Hagen down to thedepths. Meanwhile a ruddy glow has overspread the heavens behind. Valhalla is burning, and the gods in calm resignation await their finalannihilation. The old order yields, giving place to the new. Theancient heaven, sapped by the lust of gold, has crumbled, and a newworld, founded upon self-sacrificing love, rises from its ashes to usherin the era of freedom. 'Götterdämmerung' is prevented by its portentous length from everbecoming popular to the same extent as Wagner's other works, but itcontains some of the noblest music he ever wrote. The final scene, forsublimity of conception and grandeur of execution, remains unequalled inthe whole series of his writings. It fitly gathers together the manythreads of that vast fabric, 'Der Ring des Nibelungen. ' Saint Saëns saysof it that 'from the elevation of the last act of "Götterdämmerung, " thewhole work appears, in its almost supernatural grandeur, like the chainof the Alps seen from the summit of Mont Blanc. ' The literature of 'Der Ring des Nibelungen' is already very large, andnot a year passes without some addition to the long catalogue of worksdealing with Wagner's mighty drama. Readers desirous of studying thetetralogy more closely, whether from its literary, ethical, or musicalside, must refer to one or more of the many handbooks devoted to itselucidation for criticism on a more elaborate scale than is possiblewithin the narrow limits of such a work as the present. It has already been related how Wagner broke off, when midway through'Der Ring des Nibelungen, ' and devoted himself to the composition of awork of more conventional dimensions. The latter was 'Tristan undIsolde. ' Produced as it was in 1865, four years before 'Das Rheingold, 'it was the first of Wagner's later works actually to see the light. Round its devoted head, therefore, the war of controversy raged morefiercely than in the case of any of Wagner's subsequent works. Thosedays are long past, and 'Tristan' is now universally accepted as a workof supreme musical loveliness, although the lack of exciting incident inthe story must always prevent the _profanum vulgus_ from sharing themusician's rapture over the deathless beauties of the score. Isolde, the daughter of the King of Ireland, is sought in marriage byMarke, the King of Cornwall, and Tristan, his nephew, has been sent tobring the princess to England. Before the beginning of the drama Tristanhad slain Morold, Isolde's lover, and sent his head to Ireland in placeof the tribute due from Cornwall. He himself had been wounded in thefight, and when washed by the tide upon the shores of Ireland, had beentended by Isolde. To conceal his identity he assumed the name ofTantris, but Isolde had recognised him by a notch in his sword, whichcorresponded with a splinter which she had found imbedded in Morold'shead. Finding the murderer of her lover in her power, her first impulsehad been to slay him, but as she lifted the sword she found that lovehad conquered hate, and she let Tristan depart unscathed. When hereturned as the ambassador of his uncle, her love changed to indignationthat he who had won her heart should dare to woo her for another. Thescene of the first act is laid on board the vessel which is conveyingher to Cornwall. She vows never to become the bride of Marke, andopening a casket of magic vials, bids Brangäne, her attendant, pour onewhich contains a deadly poison into a goblet. Then she summons Tristanfrom his place at the helm, and bids him share the draught with her. Tristan gladly obeys, for he loves Isolde passionately, and prefersdeath to a life of hopeless yearning. But Brangäne has substituted alove philtre for the poison, and the lovers, instead of the pangs ofdeath, feel themselves over-mastered by an irresistible wave of passion. As the shouts of the sailors announce the arrival of the ship, Tristanand Isolde meet in a long embrace. The second act is practically one vast love duet. Isolde is waiting inthe castle garden, listening to the distant horns of the King'shunting-party, and longing for the approach of night, when she may meether lover. In spite of the entreaties of Brangäne, she extinguishes thetorch which is to be the signal to Tristan, and soon she is in his arms. In a tender embrace they sink down among the flowers of the garden, murmuring their passion in strains of enchanting loveliness. Brangäne'swarning voice falls upon unheeding ears. The King, followed by hisattendants, rushes in, and overwhelmed with sorrow and shame, reproacheshis nephew for his treachery. Tristan can only answer by calling uponIsolde to follow him to death, whereupon Melot, one of the King's men, rushes forward, crying treason, and stabs him in the breast. In the last act Tristan is lying wounded and unconscious in his castlein Brittany, tended by Kurwenal, his faithful squire. He is roused bythe news of Isolde's approach, and as her ship comes in sight he risesfrom his couch and in wild delirium tears the bandages from his wounds. Isolde rushes in in time to receive his parting sigh. As she bends overhis lifeless body, another ship is seen approaching. It is the King, come not to chide but to pardon. Kurwenal, however, does not know this, and defends his master's castle with the last drop of his blood, dyingat last at Tristan's feet, while Isolde chants her death-song over thefallen hero in strains of celestial loveliness. 'Tristan und Isolde' is the 'Romeo and Juliet' of music. Never has thepoetry and tragedy of love been set to music of such resistless beauty. But love, though the guiding theme of the work, is not the only passionthat reigns in its pages. The haughty splendour of Isolde's injuredpride in the first act, the beautiful devotion of the faithful Kurwenal, and the blank despair of the dying Tristan, in the third, are depictedwith a magical touch. Some years ago it was the fashion, among the more uncompromisingadherents of Wagner, to speak of 'Tristan und Isolde' as the completestexposition of their master's theories, because the chorus tookpractically no share in the development of the drama. Many musicians, on the other hand, have felt Wagner's wilful avoidance of thepossibilities of choral effect to detract seriously from the musicalinterest of the opera, and for that reason have found 'Tristan undIsolde' less satisfying as a work of art than 'Parsifal' or 'DieMeistersinger, ' in which the chorus takes its proper place. It isscarcely necessary to point out that, opera being in the first instancefounded upon pure convention, there is nothing more illogical in thejudicious employment of the chorus than in the substitution of song forspeech, which is the essence of the art-form. Wagner's one comic opera was born under a lucky star. Most of his operashad to wait many years for production, but the kindly care of Ludwig ofBavaria secured the performance of 'Die Meistersinger' a few monthsafter the last note had been written. Unlike many of his othermasterpieces, too, 'Die Meistersinger' (1868) was a success from thefirst. There were critics, it is true, who thought the opera 'amonstrous caterwauling, ' but it had not to wait long for generalappreciation, and performances in Berlin, Vienna, and Dresden soonfollowed the initial one at Munich. The scene of 'Die Meistersinger' is laid in sixteenth-century Nuremberg. Walther von Stolzing, a young Franconian knight, loves Eva, the daughterof Pogner the goldsmith; but Pogner has made up his mind that Eva shallmarry none but a Mastersinger, that is to say, a member of the guilddevoted to the cultivation of music and poetry, for which the town wasfamous. Eva, on the contrary, is determined to marry no one but Walther, and tells him so in a stolen interview after service in St Catherine'sChurch. It remains therefore for Walther to qualify as a master, andDavid, the apprentice of Hans Sachs the cobbler, the most popular man inNuremberg, is bidden by his sweetheart Magdalena, Eva's servant, toinstruct the young knight in the hundred and one rules which beset thesinger's art. The list of technicalities which David rattles off fillsWalther with dismay, and he makes up his mind to trust to his nativeinspiration. The Mastersingers now assemble, and Pogner announces thatEva's hand is to be the prize of the singing contest next day. Walthernow steps forward as a candidate for admission to the guild. First hemust sing a trial song, and Beckmesser, the malicious little ape of atown-clerk, is appointed marker, to sit in a curtained box and note downupon a slate every violation of the rules of singing which may occur inthe candidate's song. Walther sings from his heart of love and spring. The untutored loveliness of his song fills the hide-bound Mastersingerswith dismay, and Beckmesser's slate is soon covered. Walther, angry anddefeated, rushes out in despair, and the assembly breaks up inconfusion. Only the genial Hans Sachs finds truth and beauty in thesong, and cautions his colleagues against hasty judgment. The scene of the second act is laid at a delightfully picturesquestreet-corner. Sachs is musing before his shop-door when Eva comes tofind out how Walther had fared before the Mastersingers. Hans tells herof his discomfiture, and, by purposely belittling Walther's claims tomusicianship, discovers what he had before suspected, that she loves theyoung knight. Sachs loves Eva himself, but finding out the state of heraffections, nobly determines to help her to win the man of her heart. Walther now comes to meet his love, and, full of resentment against theMasters, proposes an elopement. Eva readily agrees, but Sachs, who hasoverheard them, frustrates the scheme by opening his window and throwinga strong light upon the street by which they would have to pass. Beckmesser, lute in hand, now comes down the street and begins aserenade under Eva's window. Sachs drowns his feeble piping with a lustycarol, hammering away meanwhile at a pair of shoes which he must finishthat night for Beckmesser to wear on the morrow. Beckmesser is indespair. Finally they come to an arrangement. Beckmesser shall sing hissong, and Sachs shall act as 'marker, ' noting every technical blunder inthe words and tune with a stroke of his hammer. The result is such a dinas disturbs the slumbers of the neighbours. David, the apprentice, comesout and recognises his sweetheart Magdalena at Eva's window. He scents arival in Beckmesser, and begins lustily to cudgel the unfortunatemusician. Soon the street fills with townsfolk and apprentices, allcrying and shouting together. Eva and Walther, under cover of theuproar, are making their escape, when Sachs, who has been on the watch, steps out and stops them. He bids Eva go home, and takes Walther withhim into the house. Suddenly the watchman's horn is heard in thedistance. Every one rushes off, and the street is left to the quietmoonlight and the quaint old watchman, who paces up the street solemnlyproclaiming the eleventh hour. In the third act we find Sachs alone in his room, reading an ancienttome, and brooding over the follies of mankind. David interrupts himwith congratulations on his birthday, and sings a choral in his honour. Walther now appears, full of a wonderful dream he has had. Sachs makeshim sing it, and writes down the words on a piece of paper. After theyhave gone out, Beckmesser creeps in, very lame and sore after hiscudgelling. He finds the paper and appropriates it. Sachs comes in anddiscovers the theft, but tells Beckmesser he may keep the poem. Thelatter is overjoyed at getting hold of a new song, as he supposes, bySachs, and hurries off to learn it in time for the contest. Eva nowcomes in under the pretence of something being amiss with one of hershoes, and, while Sachs is setting it right, Walther sings her the lastverse of his dream-song. The scene culminates in an exquisite quintet inwhich David and Magdalena join, after which they all go off to thefestivities in a meadow outside the town. There, after much dancing andmerry-making, the singing contest comes off. Beckmesser tries to singWalther's words to the melody of his own serenade, the result beingsuch indescribable balderdash that the assembled populace hoots himdown, and he rushes off in confusion, Walther's turn then comes, and hesings his song with such success that the prize is awarded to him withacclamation. He wins his bride, but he will have nothing to say to theMastersingers and their pedantry, until Hans Sachs has shown him that inthem lies the future of German art. Although it contains comic and even farcical scenes, 'Die Meistersinger'is in fact not so much a comedy as a satire, with a vein of wise andtender sentiment running through it. It has also to a certain extent theinterest of autobiography. It is not difficult to read in the story ofWalther's struggles against the prejudice and pedantry of theMastersingers a suggestion of Wagner's own life-history, and ifBeckmesser represents the narrow malice of critics who are themselvescomposers--and these were always Wagner's bitterest enemies--Sachs maystand for the enlightened public, which was the first to appreciate thenobility of the composer's aim. It is not surprising that 'DieMeistersinger' was one of the first of Wagner's mature works to wingeneral appreciation. The exquisite songs, some of them easilydetachable from their context, scattered lavishly throughout the work, together with the important share of the music allotted to the chorus, constitute a striking contrast to 'Tristan und Isolde' or 'Der Ring desNibelungen. ' It has been suggested that this was due to ahalf-unconscious desire on Wagner's part to write music which shouldappeal more to the popular ear than was possible in 'Tristan undIsolde. ' One of the most striking features of the opera is the masterywith which Wagner has caught and reproduced the atmosphere ofsixteenth-century Nuremberg without sacrificing a jot of the absolutemodernity of his style. 'Die Meistersinger' yields to none of thecomposer's work in the complexity and elaboration of the score--indeed, the prelude may be quoted as a specimen of Wagner's command of all thesecrets of polyphony at its strongest and greatest. 'Parsifal, ' Wagner's last and in the opinion of many his greatest work, was produced in 1882 at the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth. The name by whichthe composer designated his work, _Bühnenweihfestspiel_ which may betranslated 'Sacred Festival Drama, ' sufficiently indicates its solemnimport, and indeed both in subject and treatment it stands remote fromordinary theatrical standards. The subject of 'Parsifal' is drawn fromthe legends of the Holy Grail, which had already furnished Wagner withthe tale of 'Lohengrin. ' Titurel, the earthly keeper of the Holy Grail, has built the castle of Monsalvat, and there established a community ofstainless knights to guard the sacred chalice, who in their office aremiraculously sustained by its life-giving power. Growing old, he hasdelegated his headship to his son Amfortas. Near to the castle ofMonsalvat dwells the magician Klingsor, who, having in vain solicitedentry to that pure company, is now devoted to the destruction of theknights. He has transformed the desert into a garden of wickedloveliness, peopled by beautiful sirens, through whose charms many ofthe knights have already fallen from their state of good. LastlyAmfortas, sallying forth in the pride of his heart to subdue thesorcerer, armed with the sacred spear that clove the Saviour's side, hassuccumbed to the charms of the beauteous Kundry, a strange being overwhom Klingsor exercises an hypnotic power. He has lost the spear, andfurther has sustained a grievous wound from its point dealt by Klingsor, which no balm or balsam can heal. The first scene opens in a cool woodland glade near the castle ofMonsalvat, where Gurnemanz, one of the knights, and two young esquiresof the Grail are sleeping. Their earnest converse is interrupted byKundry, who flies in with a healing medicine for the wounded King, whichshe has brought from Arabia. This strange woman is that Herodias wholaughed at our Saviour upon the Cross, and thenceforth was condemned towander through the world under a curse of laughter, praying only for thegift of tears to release her weary soul. Klingsor has gained a magicpower over her, and, to use the language of modern theosophy, can summonher astral shape at will to be the queen of his enchanted garden, leaving her body stark and lifeless; but when not in his power sheserves the ministers of the Grail in a wild, petulant, yet not whollyunloving manner. Gurnemanz tells the young esquires the story of theGrail, and together they repeat the prophecy which promises relief totheir suffering King:-- Wise through pity, The sinless fool. Look thou for him Whom I have chosen. Their words are interrupted by loud cries from without, and severalknights and esquires rush in, dragging with them Parsifal, who has slainone of the sacred swans with his bow and arrow. Gurnemanz protectsParsifal from their violence, and seeing that the youth, who has livedall his life in the woods, is as innocent as a child, leads him up tothe castle of the Grail, in the hope that he may turn out to be thesinless fool of the prophecy. In the vast hall of the Grail the knightsassemble, and fulfil the mystic rites of the love-feast. Amfortas, theone sinner in that chaste community, pleads to be allowed to forgo histask of uncovering the Grail, the source to him of heartburning remorseand anguish; but Titurel, speaking from the tomb where he lies betweenlife and death, sustained only by the miraculous power of the Grail, urges his son to the duty. Amfortas uncovers the Grail, which isillumined with unearthly light, and the solemn ceremony closes in peaceand brotherly love. Parsifal, who has watched the whole scene from theside, feels a strange pang of sympathy at Amfortas's passionate cry, butas yet he does not understand what it means. He is not yet 'wisethrough pity, ' and Gurnemanz, disappointed, turns him from the templedoor. In the second act we are in Klingsor's magic castle. The sorcerer, knowing of the approach of Parsifal, summons Kundry to her task, andwith many sighs she has to submit to her master. Parsifal vanquishes theknights who guard the castle, and enters the enchanted garden, awilderness of tropical flowers, vast in size and garish in colour. Therehe is saluted by troops of lovely maidens, who play around him untildismissed by a voice sounding from a network of flowers hard by. Parsifal turns and sees Kundry, now a woman of exquisite loveliness, advancing towards him. She tells him of his dead mother, and drawing himtowards her, presses upon his lips the first kiss of love. The touch ofdefilement wakens him to a sense of human frailty. The woundedAmfortas's cry becomes plain to him. He starts to his feet, throbbingwith compassion for a world of sin. No thought of sensual pleasure moveshim. He puts Kundry from him, and her endearments move him but to pityand horror. Kundry in her discomfiture cries to Klingsor. He appears onthe castle steps, brandishing the sacred spear. He hurls it at Parsifal, but it stops in the air over the boy's head. He seizes it and with itmakes the sacred sign of the Cross. With a crash the enchanted gardenand castle fall into ruin. The ground is strewn with withered flowers, among which Kundry lies prostrate, and all that a moment before wasbright with exotic beauty now lies a bare and desert waste. Many years have passed before the third act opens. Evil days have fallenupon the brotherhood of the Grail. Amfortas, in his craving for therelease of death, has ceased to uncover the Grail. Robbed of theirmiraculous nourishment, the knights are sunk in dejection. Titurel isdead, and Gurnemanz dwells in a little hermitage in a remote part of theGrail domain. There one morning he finds the body of Kundry cold andstiff. He chafes her to life once more, and is surprised to see in herface and gestures a new and strange humility. A warrior now approachesclad in black armour. It is Parsifal returned at length after long andweary wanderings. Gurnemanz recognises the spear which he carries, andsalutes its bearer as the new guardian of the Grail. He pours water fromthe sacred spring upon Parsifal's head, saluting him in token ofanointment, while Kundry washes his feet and wipes them with her hair. The first act of Parsifal in his new office is to baptize the regenerateKundry, redeemed at length by love from her perpetual curse. Bowing herhead upon the earth, she weeps tears of repentant joy. The three nowproceed to the temple, where the knights are gathered for Titurel'sburial. Amfortas still obstinately refuses to uncover the Grail, andcalls upon the knights to slay him. Parsifal heals his wound with atouch of the sacred spear, and taking his place, unveils the sacredchalice, and kneels before it in silent prayer. Once more a sacred glowillumines the Grail, and while Parsifal gently waves the mystic cup fromside to side, in token of benediction alike to the pardoned Amfortasand the ransomed Kundry, a snowy dove flies down from above, and hoversover his anointed head. It would be in vain to attempt to treat, within the restricted limits ofthese pages, of the manifold beauties of 'Parsifal, ' musical, poetical, and scenical. Many books have already been devoted to it alone, and tothese the reader must be referred for a subtler analysis of thisextraordinary work. It is difficult to compare 'Parsifal' with any ofWagner's previous works. By reason of its subject it stands apart, andperformed as it is at Bayreuth and there, save for sacrilegious NewYork, alone, with the utmost splendour of mounting, interpreted byartists devoted heart and soul to its cause, and listened to by anaudience of the elect assembled from the four corners of the earth, 'Parsifal, ' so to speak, is as yet surrounded by a halo of almostunearthly splendour. It is difficult to apply to it the ordinary canonsof criticism. One thing however, may safely be said, that it standsalone among works written for theatrical performance by reason of itsabsolute modernity coupled with a mystic fervour such as music has notknown since the days of Palestrina. Of Wagner's work as a whole it is as yet too early to speak withcertainty. The beauty of his works, and the value of the system uponwhich they are founded, must still be to a certain extent a matter ofindividual taste. One thing, at any rate, may safely be said: he hasaltered the whole course of modern opera. It is inconceivable that awork should now be written without traces more or less important of themusical system founded and developed by Richard Wagner. CHAPTER XI MODERN FRANCE GOUNOD--THOMAS--BIZET--SAINTSAËNS--REYER--MASSENET--BRUNEAU--CHARPENTIER--DEBUSSY If one were set upon paradox, it would not be far from the truth to saythat up to the middle of the nineteenth century the most famous Frenchcomposers had been either German or Italian. Certainly if Lulli, Gluck, Rossini and Meyerbeer--to name only a few of the distinguished alienswho settled in Paris--had never existed, French opera of the present daywould be a very different thing from what it actually is. Yet in spiteof the strangely diverse personalities of the men who had most influencein shaping its destiny, modern French opera is an entity remarkable forcompleteness and homogeneity, fully alive to tendencies the mostadvanced, yet firmly founded upon the solid traditions of the past. Gounod (1818-1893) was trained in the school of Meyerbeer, but his ownsympathies drew him rather towards the serene perfection of Mozart. Thepure influence of that mighty master, combined with the strange minglingof sensuousness and mysticism which was the distinguishing trait of hisown character, produced a musical personality of high intrinsicinterest, and historically of great importance to the development ofmusic. If not the actual founder of modern French opera, Gounod is atleast the source of its most pronounced characteristics. His first opera, 'Sapho' (1851), a graceful version of the immortalstory of the Lesbian poetess's love and death, has never been reallypopular, but it is interesting as containing the germs of much thatafterwards became characteristic in Gounod's style. In the final sceneof Sappho's suicide, the young composer surpassed himself, and struck anote of sensuous melancholy which was new to French opera. 'La NonneSanglante' (1854), his next work, was a failure; but in 'Le Médecinmalgré lui' (1858), an operatic version of Molière's comedy, he scored asuccess. This is a charming little work, instinct with a delicateflavour of antiquity, but lacking in comic power. It has often beenplayed in England as 'The Mock Doctor. ' Sganarelle is a drunkenwoodcutter, who is in the habit of beating his wife Martine. She is onthe look-out for a chance of paying him back in his own coin. Twoservants of Géronte, the Croesus of the neighbourhood, appear in searchof a doctor to cure their master's daughter Lucinde, who pretends to bedumb in order to avoid a marriage she dislikes. Martine sends them tothe place where her husband is at work, telling them that they will findhim an able doctor. She adds that he has one peculiarity, namely, thathe will not own to his profession unless he is soundly thrashed. Underthe convincing arguments of the two men, Sganarelle admits that he is adoctor, and follows them to their master's house. Léandre, Lucinde'slover, persuades Sganarelle to smuggle him into the house as anapothecary. The two young people with Sganarelle's help contrive anelopement, but when the marriage is discovered, Géronte visits his wrathupon the mock doctor, and is only pacified by the news that Léandre hasjust inherited a fortune. The year 1859 saw the production of 'Faust, ' the opera with whichGounod's name is principally associated. The libretto, by MM. Barbierand Carré does not of course claim to represent Goethe's play in anyway. The authors had little pretension to literary skill, but they knewtheir business thoroughly. They fastened upon the episode of Gretchen, and threw all the rest overboard. The result was a well-constructed andthoroughly comprehensible libretto, with plenty of love-making andfloods of cheap sentiment, but as different in atmosphere and suggestionfrom Goethe's mighty drama as could well be imagined. The first act shows us Faust as an old man, sitting in his study wearyand disappointed. He is about to end his troubles and uncertainty indeath, when an Easter hymn sung in the distance by a chorus of villagersseems to bid him stay his hand. With a quick revulsion of feeling hecalls on the powers below, and, rather to his surprise, Mephistophelespromptly appears. In exchange for his soul, the devil offers him youth, beauty, and love, and, as an earnest of what is to come, shows him avision of the gentle Margaret sitting at her spinning wheel. Faust isenraptured, hastily signs the contract, and hurries away with hisattendant fiend. The next act is taken up with a Kermesse in the market-place of acountry town. Valentine, the brother of Margaret, departs for the wars, after confiding his sister to the care of his friend Siebel. During apause in the dances Faust salutes Margaret for the first time as shereturns from church. The third act takes place in Margaret's garden. Faust and Mephistopheles enter secretly, and deposit a casket of jewelsupon the doorstep. Margaret, woman-like, is won by their beauty, andcannot resist putting them on. Faust finds her thus adorned, and wooesher passionately, while Mephistopheles undertakes to keep Dame Martha, her companion, out of the way. The act ends by Margaret yielding toFaust's prayers and entreaties. In the fourth act Margaret is leftdisconsolate. Faust has deserted her, and Valentine comes home to findhis sister's love-affair the scandal of the town. He fights a duel withFaust, whom he finds lurking under his sister's window, and dies cursingMargaret with his last breath. During this act occurs the church scene, which is sometimes performed after Valentine's death and sometimesbefore it. Margaret is kneeling in the shadowy minster, striving topray, but the voice of conscience stifles her half-formed utterances. InGounod's libretto, the intangible reproaches which Margaret addressesto herself are materialised in the form of Mephistopheles, a proceedingwhich is both meaningless and inartistic, though perhaps dramaticallyunavoidable. In the, ' last act, after a short scene on the Brocken and aconventional ballet, which are rarely performed in England, we are takento the prison where Margaret lies condemned to death for the murder ofher child. Faust is introduced by the aid of Mephistopheles, and triesto persuade her to fly with him. Weak and wandering though she is, sherefuses, and dies to the chant of an angelic choir, while Faust isdragged down to the abyss by Mephistopheles. Gounod's music strugglesnobly with the tawdriness and sentimentality of the libretto. A gooddeal of the first and last acts is commonplace and conventional, but theother three contain beauties of a high order. The life and gaiety of theKermesse scene in the second act, the sonorous dignity of Valentine'sinvocation of the cross, and the tender grace of Faust's salutation--thelast a passage which might have been written by Mozart--are too familiarto need more than a passing reference. In the fourth act also there ismuch noble music. Gounod may be forgiven even for the soldiers' chorus, in consideration of the masculine vigour of the duel terzetto--apurified reminiscence of Meyerbeer--and the impressive church scene. Butthe most characteristic part of the work is, after all, the love musicin the third act. The dreamy languor which pervades the scene, thecloying sweetness of the harmonies, the melting beauty of theorchestration, all combine to produce an effect; which was at that timeentirely new to opera, and had no little share in forming the modernschool. With all his admiration of Mozart, Gounod possessed little ofhis idol's genius for characterisation. The types in 'Faust' do notstand out clearly. Margaret, for instance, is merely a sentimentalschool-girl; she has none of the girlish freshness and innocence ofGoethe's Gretchen, and Mephistopheles is much more of a tavern bullythan a fallen angel. Yet with all its faults 'Faust' remains a work of ahigh order of beauty. Every page of the score tells of a striving aftera lofty ideal, and though as regards actual form Gounod made no attemptto break new ground, the aim and atmosphere of 'Faust, ' no less than thedetails of its construction, contrast so strongly with the conventionalItalianism of the day, that it may well be regarded as the inaugurationof a new era in French music. 'Faust' marks the zenith of Gounod's career. After 1859 he was contentfor the most part merely to repeat the ideas already expressed in his_chef-d'oevre_, while in form his later works show a distinctlyretrograde movement. He seems to have known nothing of the inwardimpulse of development which led Wagner and Verdi from strength tostrength. Philémon et Baucis' (1860) is a charming modernisation of a classicallegend. Jupiter and Vulcan, visiting earth for the purpose of punishingthe impiety of the Phrygians, are driven by a storm to take refuge inthe cottage of an aged couple, Philémon and Baucis. Pleased with thehospitable treatment which he receives at their hands, and touched bythe mutual affection of the old people, which time has done nothing toimpair, Jupiter restores their lost youth to them. This leads todangerous complications. The rejuvenated Baucis is so exceedinglyattractive that Jupiter himself falls a victim to her charms, andPhilémon becomes jealous and quarrelsome. Baucis finally persuadesJupiter to promise her whatever she wishes, and having extorted the oathcompels him to return to Olympus, leaving Philémon and herself to enjoyanother lifetime of uninterrupted happiness. 'Philémon et Baucis'adheres strictly to the conventional lines of opéra comique, and haslittle beyond its tuneful grace and delicate orchestration to recommendit. Nevertheless it is a charming trifle, and has survived many ofGounod's more pretentious works. 'La Reine de Saba' (1862) and 'LaColombe' (1866) are now forgotten, but 'Mireille' (1864), one of thecomposer's most delightful works, still enjoys a high degree ofpopularity. The story, which is founded upon Mistral's Provençal romance'Miréio, ' is transparently simple. Vincent, a young basket-maker, lovesthe fair Mireille, who is the daughter of a rich farmer named Raymond. Raymond will have nothing to say to so humble a suitor, and favours thepretensions of Ourrias, a herdsman. While making a pilgrimage to achurch in the desert of Crau, Mireille has a sunstroke, and her life isdespaired of. In an access of grief and remorse her father promises torevoke his dismissal of Vincent, whereupon Mireille speedily recoversand is united to her lover. Gounod's music seems to have borrowed thewarm colouring of the Provençal poet's romance. 'Mireille' glows withthe life and sunlight of the south. There is little attempt at dramaticforce in it, and the one scene in which the note of pathos is attemptedis perhaps the least successful in the whole opera. But the lighterportions of the work are irresistible. 'Mireille' has much of the charmof Daudet's Provençal stories, the charm of warmth and colour, independent of subject. More than one version of the opera exists. Thatwhich is now most usually played is in three acts. In the first versionof the work there is a curious scene, in which Ourrias is drowned by aspectral ferryman in the waters of the Rhone, but this is now rarelyperformed. In 1869 was produced 'Roméo et Juliette, ' an opera which, in theestimation of the majority of Gounod's admirers, ranks next to 'Faust'in the catalogue of his works. The libretto, apart from one or twoconcessions to operatic convention, is a fair piece of work, and at anyrate compares favourably with the parodies of Shakespeare which so oftendo duty for libretti. The opening scene shows the ball in Capulet'shouse and the first meeting of the lovers. The second act is the balconyscene. The third includes the marriage of Romeo and Juliet in FriarLaurence's cell, with the duels in the streets of Verona, the death ofMercutio, and the banishment of Romeo. The fourth act opens with theparting of the lovers in Juliet's chamber, and ends with Friar Laurencegiving Juliet the potion. The last act, after an elaborate orchestralmovement describing the sleep of Juliet, takes place in the tomb of theCapulets. MM. Barbier and Carré could not resist an opportunity ofimproving upon Shakespeare, and prolonged Romeo's death agony, in orderto enable him to join in a final duet with Juliet. The composer of the third act of 'Faust' could hardly fail to beattracted by 'Romeo and Juliet. ' Nevertheless Gounod was too pronounceda mannerist to do justice to Shakespeare's immortal love-story. He is, of all modern composers, the one whose method varies least, andthroughout 'Roméo et Juliette' he does little more than repeal in anattenuated form the ideas already used in 'Faust. ' Yet there arepassages in the opera which stand out in salient contrast to themonotony of the whole, such as the exquisite setting of Juliet's speechin the balcony scene, beginning-- 'Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, ' which conveys something more than an echo of the virginal innocence andcomplete self-abandonment of Shakespeare's lines, or the morecommonplace but still beautiful passage at the close of the act;suggested by Romeo's line-- 'Sleep dwell upon thine eyes. ' The duel scene is vigorous and effective, and the song allotted toRomeo's page--an impertinent insertion of the librettists--isintrinsically delightful. It is typical of the musician that he shouldput forth his full powers in the chamber duet, while he actually omitsthe potion scene altogether, which is the legitimate climax of the act. In the original version of the opera there was a commonplace cavatinaallotted to Juliet at this point, set to words which had but a remoteconnection with Shakespeare's immortal lines, but it was so completelyunworthy of the situation that it was usually omitted, and when theopera was revised for production at the Grand Opéra in 1888, Gounodthought it wiser to end the act with the Friar's discourse to Juliet, rather than attempt once more to do justice to a scene which he knew tobe beyond his powers. The last act is perhaps the weakest part of theopera. MM. Barbier and Carré's version of Shakespeare's magnificentpoetry is certainly not inspiring; but in any case it is difficult tobelieve that Gounod's suave talent could have done justice to thepiteous tragedy of that terrible scene. Gounod's last three operas didnot add to his reputation. 'Cinq Mars' (1877) made little impressionwhen it was first produced, but it has recently been performed by theCarl Rosa Company in English with some success. The libretto is a poorone. It deals in conventional fashion with the conspiracy of Cinq Marsagainst Richelieu, but the incidents are not well arranged and thecharacters are the merest shadows. Much of the music is tuneful andattractive, though cast in a stiff and old-fashioned form, and themasquemusic in the second act is as fresh and melodious as anythingGounod ever wrote. In 'Polyeucte' (1878) he attempted a style of severesimplicity in fancied keeping with Corneille's tragedy. There are somenoble pages in the work, but as a whole it is distressingly dull, and'Le Tribut de Zamora' (1881) was also an emphatic failure. Gounod's later works, as has already been pointed out, show a distinctfalling off from the standard attained in 'Faust, ' as regards form aswell as in ideas. As he grew older he showed a stronger inclination toreturn to obsolete models. 'Le Tribut de Zamora' reproduces the type ofopera which was popular in the days of Meyerbeer. It is cut up into airsand recitatives, and the accompaniment is sedulously subordinated to thevoices. Without desiring to discredit the beauties of 'Mireille' or'Roméo et Juliette, ' one cannot help thinking that it would have beenbetter for Gounod's reputation if he had written nothing for the stageafter 'Faust. ' Very soon after its production Gounod's masterpiece began to exert apotent influence upon his contemporaries. One of the first Frenchcomposers to admit its power was Ambroise Thomas (1811-1896). Thomas wasan older man than Gounod, and had already written much for the stagewithout achieving any very decisive success. He was a man of plasticmind, and was too apt to reproduce in his own music the form and eventhe ideas which happened to be popular at the time he wrote. Most of hisearly works are redolent of Auber or Halévy. Gounod's influence actedupon him like a charm, and in 'Mignon' (1866) he produced a work which, if not strictly original, has an element of personality too distinctiveto be ignored. If we can dismiss all thoughts of Goethe and his 'Wilhelm Meister' fromour minds, it will be possible to pronounce MM. Barbier and Carré'slibretto a creditable piece of work. Mignon is a child who was stolen ininfancy by a band of gipsies. She travels with them from town to town, dancing in the streets to the delight of the crowd. One day in a Germancity she refuses to dance, and Jarno the gipsy chief threatens her withhis whip. Wilhelm Meister, who happens to be passing, saves her from abeating, and, pitying the half-starved child, buys her from the gipsies. Among the spectators of this scene are Laertes, the manager of a troupeof strolling players, and Philine, his leading lady. Philine is anaccomplished coquette, and determines to subjugate Wilhelm. In this sheeasily succeeds, and he joins the company as poet, proceeding with themto the Castle of Rosenberg, where a grand performance of 'A MidsummerNight's Dream' is to be given. Mignon, at her earnest request, accompanies him, disguised as a page. While at the castle Mignon isdistracted by Wilhelm's infatuation for Philine, and when Wilhelm, prompted by Philine, tries to dismiss her, she puts on her old gipsyclothes and rushes away. Outside the walls of the castle she meets withan old half-witted harper, Lothario, who soothes the passion of hergrief. In a moment of jealous fury at the thought of Philine she uttersa wish that the castle were in flames. Lothario hears her words andproves his devotion by setting fire to the theatre while the performanceis in progress. Mignon had been sent by Philine to fetch her bouquetfrom the green-room. The fire breaks out while the unfortunate girl isin the building, and she is given up for lost, but is saved by Wilhelm. The last act takes place in Italy. Mignon's devotion has won Willielm'sheart, and the opera ends by the discovery that she is the long-lostdaughter of Lothario, who is actually the Count of Cipriani, but afterthe disappearance of his daughter had lost his reason, and wanderedforth in the guise of a harper to search for her. The score of 'Mignon'reveals the hand of a sensitive and refined artist upon every page. Ithas no claims to greatness, and few to real originality, but it is fullof graceful melody, and is put together with a complete knowledge ofstage effect. Thomas's 'Hamlet' (1868) is accepted as a masterpiece in Paris, wherethe absurdities of the libretto are either ignored or condoned. InEngland Shakespeare's tragedy is fortunately so familiar that such aridiculous parody of it as MM. Barbier and Carré's libretto has not beenfound endurable. Much of Thomas's music is grandiose rather than grand, but in the less exacting scenes there is not a little of the plaintivecharm of 'Mignon, ' Ophelia's mad scene, which occupies most of the lastact, is dramatically ludicrous, but the music is brilliant andcaptivating, and the ghost scene, earlier in the opera, is powerful andeffective. Thomas employs several charming old Scandinavian tunes in thecourse of the work, which give a clever tinge of local colour to thescore. With Bizet (1838-1875), the influence of Wagner is felt in French musicfor the first time. 'Les Pêcheurs de Perles' (1863), his first work, follows traditional models pretty closely for the most part, and thoughcontaining music of charm and originality, does not, of course, represent Bizet's genius in its most characteristic aspects. It tellsthe story of the love of two Cingalese pearl-fishers for the priestessLeila. There are only three characters in the piece, and very littleincident. The score owes a good deal to Félicien David's 'Le Désert, 'but there is a dramatic force about several scenes which foreshadows thepower and variety of 'Carmen. ' 'La Jolie Fille de Perth' (1867), is to agreat extent a tribute to the powerful influence of Verdi. It is atuneful and effective work, but cannot be called an advance on 'LesPêcheurs de Perles, ' In 'Djamileh' (1872), we find the real Bizet forthe first time. The story tells of the salvation of a world-weariedyouth, who is won back to life by the love and devotion of his slave. Itis a clever study in Oriental colour, but has little dramatic value, though it was thought very advanced at the time of its production. In1875, the year of Bizet's death, 'Carmen' was produced. The libretto isfounded upon Mérimée's famous novel. Carmen, a sensual and passionategipsy girl, is arrested for stabbing one of her comrades in a cigarettemanufactory at Seville. She exercises all her powers of fascination uponthe soldier, José by name, who is told off to guard her, and succeeds inpersuading him to connive at her escape. For this offence he isimprisoned for a month, but Carmen contrives to communicate with him ingaol, and at the expiration of his sentence he meets her once more in aninn at the outskirts of the town. The passionate animalism of the gipsycompletely captivates him, and forgetting Micaëla, the country damsel towhom he is betrothed, he yields himself entirely to Carmen'sfascinations. He quarrels with one of his officers about her, and toescape punishment flies with Carmen to join a band of smugglers in themountains. Carmen's capricious affection for José soon dies out, and shetransfers her allegiance to the bull-fighter Escamillo, who follows herto the smugglers' lair, and is nearly killed by the infuriated José. Micaëla also finds her way up to the camp, and persuades José to go homewith her and tend the last moments of his dying mother. The last acttakes place outside the Plaza de Toros at Seville. José has returned toplead once more with Carmen, but her love has grown cold and she rejectshim disdainfully. After a scene of bitter recrimination he kills her, while the shouts of the people inside the arena acclaim the triumph ofEscamillo. 'Carmen' was coldly received at first. Its passionate forcewas miscalled brutality, and the suspicion of German influence whichBizet's clever use of guiding themes excited, was in itself enough toalienate the sympathies of the average Frenchman in the early seventies. Since its production 'Carmen' has gradually advanced in generalestimation, and is now one of the most popular operas in the modernrepertory. It is unnecessary to do more than allude to its manybeauties, the nervous energy of the more declamatory parts, thebrilliant and expressive orchestration, the extraordinarily clever useof Spanish rhythms, and the finished musicianship displayed upon everypage of the score. The catalogue of Bizet's works is completed by 'DonProcopio, ' an imitation of Italian opera buffa dating from his studentdays in Rome. It was unearthed and produced at Monte Carlo in 1906. Itis a bright and lively little work, but has no pretensions to originalvalue. Bizet's early death deprived the French school of one of itsbrightest ornaments. To him is largely due the development of opéracomique which has taken place within the last twenty years, adevelopment which has taken it almost to the confines of grand opera. Jacques Offenbach (1819-1880), though German by birth, may fitly bementioned here, since the greater part of his life was spent in Paris, and his music was more typically French than that of any of his Gallicrivals. His innumerable opéras bouffes scarcely come within the scope ofthis work, but his posthumous opéra comique, 'Les Contes d'Hoffman(1881), is decidedly more ambitious in scope, and still holds the stageby virtue of its piquant melody and clever musicianship. In Germany, where 'Les Contes d' Hoffmann' is still very popular under the name of'Hoffmann's Erzählungen, ' it is usually performed in a revised version, which differs considerably from the French original as regards plot anddialogue, though the music is practically the same. Hoffmann, the famousstory-teller, is the hero of the opera, which, after a prologue in atypically German beer-cellar, follows his adventures through threescenes, each founded upon one of his famous tales. In the first we seehim fascinated by the mechanical doll Olympia, in the second he is atthe feet of the Venetian courtesan Giulietta, while in the third weassist at his futile endeavours to save the youthful singer Antonia fromthe clutches of the mysterious Dr. Miracle. The career of César Franck (1822-1890), offers a striking contrast tothat of his famous contemporary Gounod. Fame came betimes to Gounod. While he was still a young man his reputation was European. He wrote hismasterpiece at forty, and lived on its success for the remaining thirtyyears of his life. Since his death his fame has sadly shrunk, and even'Faust' is beginning to 'date' unmistakably. The name of César Franck, on the other hand, until his death was hardly known beyond a narrowcircle of pupils, but during the last fifteen years his reputation hasadvanced by leaps and bounds. At the present moment there is hardly amusician in Paris who would not call him the greatest Frenchcomposer--he was a Belgian by birth, but what of that?--of thenineteenth century. His fame was won in the concert-room rather than inthe theatre, but the day may yet come when his 'Hulda' will be afamiliar work to opera-goers. It was produced in 1894 at Monte Carlo, but, in spite of the deep impression which it created, has not yet beenheard in Paris. The action passes in Norway in the times of the Vikings. Hulda is carried off by a band of marauders, whose chief she iscompelled to wed. She loves Eyolf, another Viking, and persuades him tomurder her husband. After a time he proves faithless to her, whereuponshe kills him and throws herself into the sea. This gloomy tale isillustrated by music of extraordinary power and beauty. Although Franckonly avails himself of guiding themes to a limited extent, in mastery ofthe polyphonic style his work will compare with Wagner's most elaboratescores. In fact, the opulence of orchestral resource and the virility ofinspiration displayed in 'Hulda' strikingly recall the beauties of'Tristan und Isolde. ' 'Ghiselle, ' a work left unfinished by the composerand completed by several of his pupils, was produced in 1896 at MonteCarlo. Although by no means upon the same level as 'Hulda, ' 'Ghiselle'also contains much fine music, and will doubtless be heard of again. Léo Delibes (1836-1891) made no pretensions to the dignity and solidityof César Franck's style. He shone principally in ballet-music, but'Lakmé' (1883), his best-known opera, is a work of much charm andtenderness. It tells the story of a Hindoo damsel who loves an Englishofficer. Her father, a priest, discovering the state of her affections, tries to assassinate the Englishman, but Lakmé saves his life, andconveys him to a place of concealment in the jungle. There she find thathis heart is set upon a beautiful English 'miss, ' and, in despair, poisons herself with the flowers of the Datura. Delibes's music neverrises to passion, but it is unfailingly tender and graceful, and isscored with consummate dexterity. He has a pretty feeling too for localcolour, and the scene in Lakmé's garden is full of a dreamy sensuouscharm. 'Le Roi l'a dit' (1873) is a dainty little work upon an oldFrench subject, as graceful and fragile as a piece of Sèvres porcelain. 'Kassya, ' which the composer left unfinished, was orchestrated byMassenet, and produced in 1893. In this work Delibes attempted a tragicstory to which his delicate talent was ill suited, and the operaachieved little success. Delibes is a typically French musician. Slightas his works often are, the exquisite skill of the workmanship savesthem from triviality. He made no pretensions to advanced views, andthough he occasionally trifles with guiding themes, the interest of hisworks rests almost entirely upon his dainty vein of melody and thefinish of his orchestration. With Delibes may be classed Ferdinand Poise (1828-1892), a composer whomade a speciality of operas founded upon the comedies of Molière and hiscontemporaries, and Ernest Guiraud (18371892), whose 'Piccolino' (1876)is one of the daintiest of modern comic operas. His 'Frédégonde, 'produced in Paris in 1895, proved emphatically that his talent did notlie in the direction of grand opera. Edouard Lalo (1823-1892), acomposer of no little charm and resource, owes his fame chiefly to 'LeRoi d'Ys, ' which was successfully produced at the Opéra Comique in 1888, and was played in London in 1901. It is a gloomy story, founded upon aBreton legend. Margared and Rozenn, the two daughters of the King of Ys, both love the warrior Mylio, but Mylio's heart is given to Rozenn. Theslighted Margared in revenge betrays her father's city to Karnac, thedefeated enemy of her country, giving him the keys of the sluices whichprotect the town from the sea. Karnac opens the sluices and the tiderushes in. The town and its people are on the point of beingoverwhelmed, when Margared, stricken by remorse, throws herself into thewaters. St. Corentin, the patron saint of Ys, accepts the sacrifice, andthe sea retires. 'Le Roi d'Ys' is an excellent specimen of the kind ofopera which French composers of the second rank used to write before thesun of Wagner dawned upon their horizon. It is redolent of Meyerbeer andGounod, and though some of the scenes are not without vigour, it isimpossible to avoid feeling that in 'Le Roi d'Ys' Lalo was forcing agraceful and delicate talent into an uncongenial groove. He is at hisbest in the lighter parts of the work, such as the pretty scene ofRozenn's wedding, which is perfectly charming. Emmanuel Chabrier(1842-1894), after writing a comic opera of thoroughly Gallic _verve_and grace, 'Le Roi malgré lui, ' announced himself as a staunch adherentof Wagner in the interesting but unequal 'Gwendoline, ' which wasperformed at Brussels in 1886. Benjamin Godard (1849-1895), one of themost prolific of modern composers, won no theatrical success until theproduction of 'La Vivandière' (1895), an attractive work constructedupon conventional lines, in which the banality of the material employedis often redeemed by clever treatment. Emile Paladilhe won a brilliantsuccess in 1886 with 'Patrie, ' and among other meritorious composers ofwhat may be called the pre-Wagnerian type are Victorin Joncières(1839-1903) and Thodéore Dubois. Of living French composers Camille Saint Saëns is the unquestioned head, but he is known to fame principally by his successes in theconcert-room. Many of his operas achieved only _succès d'estime_, thoughnot one of them is without beauty of a high order. Over 'La PrincesseJaune' (1872) and 'Le Timbre d' Argent' (1877) there is no need tolinger. 'Samson et Dalila, ' his first work of importance, was producedat Weimar in 1877, but, in spite of its success there and in otherGerman towns, did not find its way on to a Parisian stage until 1890. The libretto follows the Biblical narrative with tolerable fidelity. Inthe first act, Samson rouses the Israelites to arms, kills thePhilistine leader and disperses their army. In the second he visitsDalila in the Vale of Sorek, tells her the secret of his strength, andis betrayed into the hands of the Philistines. The third act showsSamson, blind and in chains, grinding at a mill. The scene afterwardschanges to the temple of Dagon, where a magnificent festival is inprogress. Samson is summoned to make sport for the Philistine lords, andthe act ends with the destruction of the temple, and the massacre of thePhilistines. Saint Saëns is the Proteus of modern music, and his scoresgenerally reveal the traces of many opposing influences. The earlierscenes of 'Samson et Dalila' are conceived in the spirit of oratorio, and the choral writing, which is unusually solid and dignified, oftenrecalls the massive style of Handel. In the second act he exhausts theresources of modern passion and colour, and in the Philistine revels ofthe third act he makes brilliant and judicious use of Oriental rhythmsand intervals. Guiding themes are used in the opera, but not to anyimportant extent, and the construction of the score owes very little toWagner. Yet though the main outlines of the work adhere somewhat closelyto a type which is now no longer popular, there is little fear of'Samson et Dalila' becoming old-fashioned. The exquisite melody withwhich it overflows, combined with the inimitable art of theorchestration, make it one of the most important and attractive works ofthe modern French school. 'Étienne Marcel' (1879) and 'Proserpine'(1887) must be classed among Saint Saëns's failures, but 'Henry VIII. 'is a work of high interest, which, though produced so long ago as 1883, is still popular in Paris. The action of the piece begins at the timewhen Henry is first smitten with the charms of Anne Boleyn, who for hissake neglects her former admirer, Don Gomez, the Spanish Ambassador. Negotiations regarding the King's divorce with Catherine of Aragon areset on foot, and, when the Pope refuses to sanction it, Henry proclaimsEngland independent of the Roman Church, amidst the acclamations of thepeople. In the last act Anne is queen. Catherine, who is at the point ofdeath, has in her possession a compromising letter from Anne to DonGomez. Henry is devoured by jealousy, and comes, accompanied by DonGomez, to try to obtain possession of the incriminating document. Annecomes also for the same purpose. This is the strongest scene in theopera. Henry, in order to incite Catherine to revenge, speaks to Anne inhis tenderest tones, but the divorced queen rises to the occasion. Praying for strength to resist the temptation, she throws the letterinto the fire and falls down dead. Saint Saëns has treated this scene with uncommon variety and force, andindeed the whole opera is a masterly piece of writing. He uses guidingthemes with more freedom than in 'Samson et Dalila, ' but the generaloutline of 'Henry VIII. ' is certainly not Wagnerian in type. The samemay be said of 'Ascanio, ' a work produced in 1890, with only partialsuccess. 'Phryné, ' which was given at the Opéra Comique in 1893, is on amuch less elaborate scale. It is a musicianly little work, but in formfollows the traditions of the older school of opéra comique with almostexaggerated fidelity. 'Les Barbares' (1901), a story of the Teutonicinvasion of Gaul, did not enhance the composer's reputation. The plotis of a well-worn kind. Marcomir, the leader of the barbarian invaders, is subjugated by the charms of the priestess Floria, who, after therequisite amount of hesitation, falls duly into his arms. FinallyMarcomir is stabbed by Livia, whose husband he had killed in battle. Saint Saëns's music is admirable from the point of view of workmanship, but it is singularly devoid of anything like inspiration. 'Les Barbares'was received with all the respect due to a work from the pen of theleading musician of modern France, but it would be useless to pretendthat it is likely to keep its place in the current repertory. 'Hélène' (1904) is a more favourable example of Saint Saëns's many-sidedtalent. The libretto, which is the work of the composer himself, dealswith the flight of Helen and Paris from Sparta, and the greater part ofthe one act of which the opera consists is devoted to an impassionedduet between the lovers. The apparitions of Venus and Pallas, the oneurging Helen upon her purposed flight, the other dissuading her from it, give variety to the action, but the work as a whole lacks dramaticintensity, though it rises to a climax of some power. Saint Saëns'smusic is interesting and musicianly from first to last. Like Berlioz inhis 'Prise de Troie' he has plainly gone to Gluck for his inspiration, and in its sobriety and breadth of design no less than in its classicdignity of melody and orchestration, his music often recalls the styleof the mighty composer of 'Alceste. ' Saint Saëns's latest opera, 'L'Ancêtre' (1906), has not added materiallyto his reputation. It is a gloomy and, to tell the truth, somewhatconventional story of a Corsican vendetta. The instrumental part of thework is treated in masterly fashion, but the opera as a whole met withlittle favour at its production at Monte Carlo, and it has not beenperformed elsewhere. Saint Saëns's theory of opera has been to combine song, declamation, andsymphony in equal proportions, and thus, though he has written workswhich cannot fail to charm, he seems often to have fallen foul of bothcamps in the world of music. The Wagnerians object to the set form ofhis works, and the reactionaries condemn the prominence which he oftengives to the declamatory and symphonic portions of his score. He is bynature a thorough eclectic, and his works possess a deep interest formusicians, but it may be doubted whether, in opera at any rate, a moremasterful personality is not necessary to produce work of reallypermanent value. To Ernest Reyer success came late. The beauties of his early works, 'Érostrate' (1852) and 'La Statue' (1861), were well known to musicians;but not until the production of 'Sigurd' in 1884 did he gain the ear ofthe public. Sigurd is the same person as Siegfried, and the plot ofReyer's opera is drawn from the same source as that of 'Götterdämmerung. 'Hilda, the youthful sister of Gunther, the king of the Burgundians, loves the hero Sigurd, and at the instigation of her nurse gives him amagic potion, which brings him to her feet. Sigurd, Gunther, and Hagenthen swear fealty to each other and start for Iceland, whereBrunehild lies asleep upon a lofty rock, surrounded by a circleof fire. There Sigurd, to earn the hand of Hilda, passes throughthe flames and wins Brunehild for Gunther. His face is closely hidden byhis visor, and Brunehild in all innocence accepts Gunther as hersaviour, and gives herself to him. The secret is afterwards disclosed byHilda in a fit of jealous rage, whereupon Brunehild releases Sigurd fromthe enchantment of the potion. He recognises her as the bride ordainedfor him by the gods, but before he can taste his new-found happiness heis treacherously slain by Hagen, while by a mysterious sympathyBrunehild dies from the same stroke that has killed her lover. Althoughnot produced until 1884, 'Sigurd' was written long before the firstperformance of 'Götterdämmerung, ' but in any case no suspicion ofplagiarism can attach to Reyer's choice of Wagner's subject. There isvery little except the subject common to the two works. 'Sigurd' is awork of no little power and beauty, but it is conceived upon a totallydifferent plan from that followed in Wagner's later works. Reyer usesguiding themes, often with admirable effect, but they do not form thefoundation of his system. Vigorous and brilliant as his orchestralwriting is, it is generally kept in subservience to the voices, andthough in the more declamatory parts of the opera he writes with theutmost freedom, he has a lurking affection for four-bar rhythm, and manyof the songs are conveniently detachable from the score. 'Sigurd' isanimated throughout by a loftiness of design worthy of the sincerestpraise. Reyer's melodic inspiration is not always of the highest, but herarely sinks below a standard of dignified efficiency. In 'Salammbô, ' asetting of Flaubert's famous romance which was produced at Brussels in1890, he did not repeat the success of 'Sigurd. ' 'Salammbô' is puttogether in a workmanlike way, but there is little genuine inspirationin the score. The local colour is not very effectively managed, andaltogether the work is lacking in those qualities of brilliancy andpicturesqueness which Flaubert's Carthaginian story seems to demand. Reyer and Saint Saëns both show traces of the influence of Wagner, butthough guiding themes are often employed with excellent effect in theirworks, the general outlines of their operas remain very much inaccordance with the form handed down by Meyerbeer. Massenet, on theother hand, has drunk more deeply at the Bayreuth fountain. His earlycomic operas, 'La Grand' Tante' (1867) and 'Don César de Bazan' (1872)are purely French in inspiration, and even 'Le Roi de Lahore' (1877), his first great success, does not show any very important traces ofGerman influence. Its success was largely due to the brilliant spectacleof the Indian Paradise in the third act. The score is rich in sensuousmelody of the type which we associate principally with the name ofGounod, and the subtle beauties of the orchestration bear witness to thehand of a master. In 'Hérodiade' (1881) the influence of Wagner becomes more noticeable, though it hardly amounts to more than an occasional trifling withguiding themes. The libretto is a version of the Biblical story of St. John the Baptist, considerably doctored to suit Parisian taste. When'Hérodiade' was performed in London in 1904, under the title of'Salome, ' the names of some of the characters were altered and the sceneof the story was transferred to Ethiopia, in order to satisfy theconscientious scruples of the Lord Chamberlain. Thus according to thenewest version of Massenet's opera 'Jean' is a mysteriousprophet--presumably a species of Mahdi--who makes his appearance at thecourt of Moriame, King of Ethiopia. He denounces the sins of QueenHesatoade in no measured terms, but the latter cannot induce her husbandto avenge her wrongs, since Moriame dare not venture for politicalreasons to proceed to extreme measures against so popular a character asJean. Jean has an ardent disciple in Salome, a young lady whose positionin Ethiopian society is not very clearly defined by the librettist, though in the end she turns out to be Hesatoade's long-lost daughter. Jean's regard for Salome is purely Platonic, but Moriame loves herpassionately, and when he finds out that Jean is his rival he promptlyorders him to prison where he is put to death after a passionate scenewith Salome, who kills herself in despair. Massenet has taken fulladvantage of the passionate and voluptuous scenes of the libretto, whichlend themselves well to his peculiar style. In certain scenes histreatment of guiding themes reaches an almost symphonic level, and theopera is throughout a singularly favourable specimen of his earliermanner. He has recently revised the score, and added a scene between theQueen and a Chaldean soothsayer, which is one of the most powerful inthe opera. 'Manon, ' which was first performed in 1884, shows perhaps no advance inthe matter of form upon 'Hérodiade, ' but the subject of the opera is soadmirably suited to Massenet's tender and delicate talent that itremains one of his most completely successful works. The Abbé Prévost'sfamous romance had already been treated operatically by Auber, but his'Manon Lescaut' was never really a success, and had been laid upon theshelf many years before Massenet took the story in hand. The action of Massenet's opera begins in the courtyard of an inn atAmiens, where the Chevalier des Grieux happens to fall in with ManonLescaut, who is being sent to a convent under the charge of her brother, a bibulous guardsman. Manon does not at all like the prospect of conventlife, and eagerly agrees to Des Grieux's proposal to elope with him toParis. The next act shows them in an apartment in Paris. Des Grieux hastried in vain to obtain his father's consent to his marriage, and thecapricious Manon, finding that the modest style of their _ménage_hardly agrees with her ideas of comfort, listens to the advances made toher by a nobleman named Brétigny, and ends by conniving at a scheme, planned by the elder Des Grieux, for carrying off his son from hisquestionable surroundings. In the next act Manon is the mistress ofBrétigny, feted and admired by all. During an entertainment atCours-la-Reine, she overhears a conversation between Brétigny and theCount des Grieux, and learns from the latter that his son is a novice atSaint Sulpice. Seized by a sudden return of her old love, she hastensaway to the seminary, and after a passionate interview persuades DesGrieux to come back once more to her arms. In the next act Manonbeguiles Des Grieux to a gambling-house, where he quarrels with Guillot, one of her numerous admirers. The latter revenges himself by denouncingthe place to the police, who effect a successful raid upon it and carryoff Manon to St. Lazare. The last scene takes place upon the road toHavre. Manon, who is condemned to transportation, is passing by with agang of criminals. Lescaut persuades the sergeant in charge to allow heran interview with Des Grieux. She is already exhausted by ill-treatmentand fatigue, and dies in his arms. Massenet's dainty score reproducesthe spirit of the eighteenth century with rare felicity. A note ofgenuine passion, too, is not wanting, and an ingenious use of guidingthemes binds the score together into a harmonious whole. A novelty inits arrangement is the plan of an orchestral accompaniment to thedialogue. Æsthetically this is perhaps hardly defensible, but in severalscenes--notably that of Cours-la-Reine, in which Manon's agitatedinterview with the Count stands out in forcible relief against thegraceful background formed by a minuet heard in the distance--the resultis completely successful. 'Le Cid' (1885) and 'Le Mage' (1891), twoworks produced at the Paris Opera, may be passed over as comparativefailures, but 'Esclarmonde' (1889) marks an important stage inMassenet's career. The libretto is drawn from an old French romance. Esclarmonde, the Princess of Byzantium, who is a powerful enchantress, loves Roland, the French knight, and commands her minion spirits toguide him to a distant island, whither she transports herself everynight to enjoy his company. He betrays the secret of their love, andthereby loses Esclarmonde, but by his victory in a tournament atByzantium he regains her once more. Massenet's music is a happy combination of Wagner's elaborate system ofguiding themes with the sensuous beauty of which he himself possessesthe secret. As regards the plan of 'Esclarmonde' his indebtedness toWagner was so patent, that Parisian critics christened him 'Mlle. Wagner, ' but nevertheless he succeeded in preserving his ownindividuality distinct from German influence. No one could mistake'Esclarmonde' for the work of a German; in melodic structure andorchestral colouring it is French to the core. 'Werther' was written in 1886, though not actually produced until 1892, when it was given for the first time at Vienna. The plot of Goethe'sfamous novel is a rather slight foundation for a libretto, but theauthors did their work neatly and successfully. In the first act Werthersees Charlotte cutting bread and butter for her little brothers andsisters, and falls in love with her. In the second, Charlotte, nowmarried to Albert, finding that she cannot forget Werther and hispassion, sends him from her side. He departs in despair, meditatingsuicide. In the last act Charlotte is still brooding over the forbiddenlove, and will not be comforted by the artless prattle of her sisterSophie. Werther suddenly returns, and after a passionate and tearfulscene, extorts from Charlotte the confession that she loves him. He thenborrows Albert's pistols, and shoots himself in his lodgings, whereCharlotte finds him, and he breathes his last sigh in her arms. Thoughin tone and sentiment more akin to 'Manon, ' in form 'Werther' resembles'Esclarmonde. ' It is constructed upon a basis of guiding themes, whichare often employed with consummate skill. The uniform melancholy of thestory makes the music slightly monotonous, and though the score cannotfail to delight musicians, it has hardly colour or variety enough to begenerally popular. 'Le Portrait de Manon, ' a delicate little sketch inone act, and 'Thaïs, ' a clever setting of Anatole France's beautifulromance, both produced in 1894, will not be likely to add much toMassenet's reputation. 'La Navarraise, ' produced during the same year inLondon, was apparently an attempt to imitate the melodramaticextravagance of Mascagni. The action takes place under the walls ofBilbao during the Carlist war. Anita loves Araquil, a Spanish soldier, but his father will not permit the marriage because of her poverty. Seeing that a reward is offered for the head of the Carlist general, Anita goes forth like a second Judith, trusting to her charms to winadmittance to the hostile camp. She wins her reward, but Araquil, who isbrought in from a battle mortally wounded, knowing the price at which itwas won, thrusts her from him, and she sinks a gibbering maniac upon hiscorpse. There is little in Massenet's score but firing of cannons andbeating of drums. The musical interest centres in a charming duet in theopening scene, and a delicious instrumental nocturne. The action of thepiece is breathless and vivid, and the music scarcely pretends to domore than furnish a suitable accompaniment to it. Of late years Massenethas confined himself principally to works of slight calibre, which havebeen on the whole more successful than many of his earlier and moreambitious efforts. 'Sapho' (1897), an operatic version of Daudet'sfamous novel, and 'Cendrillon' (1899), a charming fantasia on the oldtheme of Cinderella, both succeeded in hitting Parisian taste. No lessfortunate was 'Grisélidis' (1901), a quasi-mediæval musical comedy, founded upon the legend of Patient Grizel, and touching the verge ofpantomime in the characters of a comic Devil and his shrewish spouse. OfMassenet's later works none has been more successful than 'Le Jongleurde Notre Dame' (1902), which, besides winning the favour of Paris, hasbeen performed at Covent Garden and in many German towns with muchsuccess. Here we find Massenet in a very different vein from that of'Manon, ' or indeed any of his earlier works. The voluptuous passion ofhis accustomed style is exchanged for the mystic raptures ofmonasticism. Cupid has doffed his bow and arrows and donned theconventual cowl. 'Le Jongleur' is an operatic version of one of theprettiest stories in Anatole France's 'Etui de Nacre. ' Jean the juggleris persuaded by the Prior of the Abbey of Cluny to give up his godlesslife and turn monk. He enters the monastery, but ere long is distressedto find that while his brethren prove their devotion to the BlessedVirgin by their skill in the arts of painting, music and the like, hecan give no outward sign of the faith that is in him. At last hebethinks him of his old craft. He steals into the chapel and performsbefore the image of Our Lady the homely antics which in old daysdelighted the country people at many a village fair. He is discovered bythe Prior, who is preparing to denounce the sacrilege when the imagecomes to life and bends down to bless the poor juggler who has sunkexhausted on the steps of the altar. The Prior bows in awe before thismanifestation of divine graciousness and the juggler dies in the odourof sanctity. Massenet's music catches the spirit of the story withadmirable art. As regards melodic invention it is rather thin, but theworkmanship is beyond praise. The opening scene at the village fair isappropriately bright and gay, but the best music comes in the second actwhere the monks are gathered together in the convent hall, each busiedover his particular task. Here occurs the gem of the work, the Legend ofthe Sage-bush, which is sung to the juggler-monk by his good friend theconvent cook. Rarely has Massenet written anything more delightful thanthis exquisite song, so fresh in its artful simplicity, so fragrant withthe charm of mediæval monasticism. Mention must be made, for the sake of completeness, of the performanceat Nice in 1903 of Massenet's thirty--year--old oratorio, 'MarieMagdeleine, ' in the guise of a 'drame lyrique. ' French taste, it needhardly be said, is very different from English with regard to whatshould and should not be placed upon the stage, but once granted thepermissibility of making Jesus Christ the protagonist of an opera, thereis comparatively little in 'Marie Magdeleine' to offend religioussusceptibilities. The work is divided into four scenes: a palm-girt welloutside the city of Magdala, the house of Mary and Martha, Golgotha, andthe garden of Joseph of Arimathea, where occurs what a noted Frenchcritic in writing about the first performance described as 'l'apparitiontrès réussie de Jésus. ' In 'Chérubin' (1905) Massenet returned to his more familiar manner. Thestory pursues the adventures of Beaumarchais's too fascinating pageafter his disappearance from the scene of 'Le Mariage de Figaro. ' Whatthese adventures are it is needless to detail, save that they embrace agood deal of duelling and even more love-making. Massenet's music is aslight as a feather. It ripples along in the daintiest fashion, sparklingwith wit and gaiety, and if it leaves no very definite impression oforiginality, its craftsmanship is perfection itself. 'Ariane' (1906) isa far more serious affair. It is a return to the grander manner of'Hérodiade' and 'Le Cid, ' and proves conclusively that the musician'shand has not lost its cunning. Catulle Mendès's libretto is a cleverembroidery of the world-old tale of Ariadne and Theseus, the figure ofthe gentle Ariadne being happily contrasted with that of the fiery andpassionate Phædra, who succeeds her sister in the affections of thefickle Theseus. The death of Phædra, who is crushed by a statue ofAdonis which she had insulted, is followed by a curious and strikingscene in Hades, whither Ariadne descends in order to bring her sisterback to the world of life. The opera, according to tradition, ends withthe flight of Theseus and Phædra, while the deserted Ariadne finds deathin the arms of the sirens, who tempt her to seek eternal rest in thedepths of the sea. Massenet's music is conspicuous for anything ratherthan novelty of invention or treatment, but though he is content totread well-worn paths, he does so with all his old grace and distinctionof manner, and many of the scenes in 'Ariane' are treated with anuncommon degree of spirit and energy. Massenet's latest work, 'Thérèse' (1907), is a return to the breathless, palpitating style of 'La Navarraise. ' It is a story of the revolution, high-strung and emotional. Thérèse is the wife of the Girondin Thorel, who has bought the castle of Clerval, in the hope of eventuallyrestoring it to its former owner, Armand de Clerval. Armand returns indisguise, on his way to join the Royalists in Vendée. He and Thérèsewere boy-and-girl lovers in old days, and their old passion revives. Armand entreats her to fly with him, which after the usual conflict ofemotions she consents to do. But meanwhile Thorel, who has been amiablyharbouring the émigré, is arrested and dragged to the scaffold. Thisbrings about a change in Thérèse's feelings. She sends Armand about hisbusiness and throws in her lot with Thorel, defying the mob andpresumably sharing her husband's fate. Massenet's music is to a certainextent thrust into the background by the exciting incidents of the plot. The cries of the crowd, the songs of the soldiers and the roll of thedrums leave but little space for musical development. Still 'Thérèse'contains many passages of charming melody and grace, though it willcertainly not rank among the composer's masterpieces, Massenet is one ofthe most interesting of modern French musicians. On the one hand, hetraces his musical descent from Gounod, whose sensuous charm he hasinherited to the full; on the other he has proved himself moresusceptible to the influence of Wagner than any other French composerof his generation. The combination is extremely piquant, and it saysmuch for Massenet's individuality that he has contrived to blend suchdiffering elements into a fabric of undeniable beauty. Alfred Bruneau is a composer whose works have excited perhaps morediscussion than those of any living French composer. By critics whopretend to advanced views he has been greeted as the rightful successorof Wagner, while the conservative party in music have not hesitated tostigmatise him as a wearisome impostor. 'Kérim' (1887), his first work, passed almost unnoticed. 'Le Rêve, ' an adaptation of Zola's novel, wasproduced in 1891 at the Opéra Comique, and in the same year wasperformed in London. The scene is laid in a French cathedral city. Theperiod is that of the present day. Angélique, the adopted child of a couple of old embroiderers, is adreamer of dreams. All day she pores over the lives of the saints untilthe legends of their miracles and martyrdoms become living realities toher mind, and she hears their voices speaking to her in the silence ofher chamber. She falls in love with a man who is at work upon thestained glass of the Cathedral windows. This turns out to be the son ofthe Bishop. The course of their love does not run smooth. The Bishop, inspite of the protestations of his son, refuses his consent to theirmarriage. Angélique pines away, and is lying at the point of death whenthe Bishop relents, and with a kiss of reconciliation restores her tolife. She is married to her lover, but in the porch of the Cathedraldies from excess of happiness. The entire work is rigorouslyconstructed upon Wagner's system of representative themes. Each act runsits course uninterruptedly without anything approaching a set piece. Twovoices are rarely heard together, and then only in unison. So farBruneau faithfully follows the system of Wagner. Where he differs fromhis master is in the result of his efforts; he has nothing of Wagner'sfeeling for melodic beauty, nothing of his mastery of orchestralresource, and very little of his musical skill. The melodies in 'LeRêve'--save for an old French _chanson_, which is the gem of thework--are for the most part arid and inexpressive. Bruneau handles theorchestra like an amateur, and his attempts at polyphony are merelyridiculous. Yet in spite of all this, the vocal portions of the workfollow the inflections of the human voice so faithfully as to convey afeeling of sincerity. Ugly and monotonous as much of 'Le Rêve' is, themusic is alive. In its strange language it speaks with the accent oftruth. Here at any rate are none of the worn-out formulas which havedone duty for so many generations. In defence of Bruneau's work it maybe urged that his dreary and featureless orchestration, so whollylacking in colour and relief, may convey to some minds the cool greyatmosphere of the quiet old Cathedral town, and that much of theharshness and discordance of his score is, at all events, in keepingwith the iron tyranny of the Bishop. 'Le Rêve' at any rate was not awork to be passed over in silence: it was intended to create discussion, and discussion it certainly created. In 'L'Attaque du Moulin' (1893), another adaptation of Zola, Bruneau sethimself a very different task. The contrast between the placid Cathedralclose and the bloody terrors of the Franco-Prussian war was of the moststartling description. 'L'Attaque du Moulin' opens with the festivitiesattendant upon the betrothal of Françoise, the miller's daughter, toDominique, a young Fleming, who has taken up his quarters in thevillage. In the midst of the merry-making comes a drummer, who announcesthe declaration of war, and summons all the able-bodied men of thevillage to the frontier. In the second act, the dogs of war are loose. The French have been holding the mill against a detachment of Germansall day, but as night approaches they fall back upon the main body. Dominique, who is a famous marksman, has been helping to defend hisfuture father-in-law's property. Scarcely have the French retired when adivision of Germans appears in the courtyard of the mill. The captainnotices that Dominique's hands are black with powder, and finding that, though a foreigner, he has been fighting for the French in defiance ofthe rules of war, orders him to be shot. By the help of Françoise, Dominique kills the sentinel who has been set to watch him, and escapesinto the forest; but the German captain, suspecting that the miller andhis daughter have had a hand in his escape, orders the old man to beshot in Dominique's place. Dominique creeps back in the grey dawn fromthe forest, and Françoise, torn by conflicting emotions, knows notwhether she should wish him to stay and face his sentence or escapeonce more and leave her father to his fate. The miller determines tosacrifice himself for his daughter's lover, and by pretending that hissentence has been revoked induces Dominique to depart. The old man isshot by the Germans just as the French rush in triumphant with Dominiqueat their head. 'L'Attaque du Moulin' was received with more general favour than 'LeRêve. ' In it Bruneau shows an inclination to relax the stern principlesof his former creed. The action is often interrupted by solos and duetsof a type which approaches the conventional, though for the most partthe opera follows the Wagnerian system. The result of this mixture ofstyles is unsatisfactory. 'L'Attaque du Moulin' has not the austeresincerity of 'Le Rêve, ' and the attempts to bid for popular favour arenot nearly popular enough to catch the general ear. Bruneau has littlemelodic inspiration, and when he tries to be tuneful he generally endsin being merely commonplace. The orchestral part of the opera, too, isfar less satisfactory than in 'Le Rêve. ' There, as has already beenpointed out, the monotony and lack of colour were to a certain extent inkeeping with the character of the work, but in 'L'Attaque du Moulin, 'where all should be colour and variety, the dull and featurelessorchestration is a serious blot. 'Messidor' (1897) and 'L'Ouragan'(1901) had very much the same reception as the composer's earlieroperas. The compact little phalanx of his admirers greeted them withenthusiasm, but the general public remained cold. 'Messidor, ' writtento a prose libretto by Zola, is a curious mixture of socialism andsymbolism. The foundation of the plot is a legend of the gold-bearingriver Ariège, which is said to spring from a vast subterraneancathedral, where the infant Christ sits on his mother's lap playing withthe sand which falls from his hands in streams of gold. Intertwined withthis strange story is a tale of the conflict between a capitalist andthe villagers whom his gold-sifting machinery has ruined. There are somefine moments in the drama, but the allegorical element which plays solarge a part in it makes neither for perspicacity nor for popularity. 'L'Ouragan' is a gloomy story of love, jealousy, and revenge. The sceneis laid among the fisher-folk of a wild coast--presumablyBrittany--where the passions of the inhabitants seem to rival thetempests of their storm-beaten shores in power and intensity. Itcontains music finely imagined and finely wrought, and it is impossiblenot to feel that if Bruneau's sheer power of invention were commensuratewith his earnestness and dramatic feeling he would rank very high amongcontemporary composers. In 'L'Enfant Roi' (1905), a 'comédie lyrique'dealing with _bourgeois_ life in modern Paris, which plainly owed a gooddeal to Charpentier's 'Louise, ' the composer essayed a lighter stylewith no very conspicuous success, but his latest work, 'Naïs Micoulin'(1907), a Provençal tale of passion, revenge and devotion seems tocontain more of the elements of lasting success. Bruneau's later works can hardly be said to have fulfilled the promiseof 'Le Rêve, ' but they unquestionably show a fuller command of theresources of his art. He is a singular and striking figure in the worldof modern music, and it is impossible to believe that he has spoken hislast word as yet. His career will be watched with interest by all whoare interested in the development of opera. Of the younger men the most prominent are Vincent d'Indy, GustaveCharpentier, and Claude Debussy. Vincent d'Indy's 'Fervaal' was producedat Brussels in 1897 and was given in Paris shortly afterwards. It is astory of the Cevennes in heroic times, somewhat in the Wagnerian manner, and the music is defiantly Wagnerian from first to last Clever as'Fervaal' unquestionably is, it is valuable less as a work of art thanas an indication of the real bent of the composer's talent. The dramaticparts of the opera suggest nothing but a brilliant exercise in theWagnerian style, but in the lyrica scenes, such as the last act in itsentirety, there are evidences of an individuality of conspicuous powerand originality. 'L'Étranger' (1903) hardly bore out the promise of'Fervaal, ' in spite of much clever musicianship. The plot is anadaptation of the legend of the Flying Dutchman, and the unmitigatedgloom of the work prevented it from winning the degree of favour towhich its many merits entitled it. Gustave Charpentier's 'Louise, 'produced in 1900, hit the taste of the Parisian public immediately anddecisively. It tells the story of the loves of Louise, a Montmartrework-girl, and Julien, a poet of Bohemian tendencies. Louise's parentsrefuse their consent to the marriage, whereupon Louise quits her homeand her work and follows Julien. Together they plunge into the whirl ofParisian life. Louise's mother appears, and persuades her daughter tocome home and nurse her sick father. In the last act, the parents, having, as they think, snatched their child from destruction, do all intheir power to keep her at home. At first she is resigned, butafterwards revolts, and the curtain falls as she rushes out to rejoinJulien with her father's curses ringing in her ears. The strongly markedParisian flavour of the libretto ensured the success of 'Louise' inParis, but the music counts for a good deal too. Charpentier owes muchto Bruneau, but his music is more organic in quality, and hisorchestration is infinitely superior. Nothing could be more brilliantthan his translation into music of the sights and sounds of Parisianstreet life. The vocal parts of 'Louise' are often ugly andexpressionless, but they are framed in an orchestral setting of curiousalertness and vivacity. It remains to be seen how Charpentier'sunquestionable talent will adapt itself to work of a wider scope than'Louise. ' The fame of Claude Debussy is a plant of recent growth, and dates, sofar as the general public is concerned, from the production of his'Pelléas et Mélisande' in 1902, though for some years before he had beenthe idol of an intimate circle of adorers. 'Pelléas et Mélisande' isfounded upon Maeterlinck's play of that name, the action of which itfollows closely, but not closely enough, it seems, to please the poet, who publicly dissociated himself from the production of Debussy's operaand, metaphorically speaking, cursed it root and branch. Golaud, the sonof King Arkel, wandering in the wood finds the damsel Mélisande sittingby a fountain. He falls in love with her and carries her back to thecastle as his wife. At the castle dwells also Pelléas, Golaud's brother, whose growing love for Mélisande is traced through a succession ofinterviews. In the end, Golaud kills the lovers after a striking scenein which, as he stands beneath the window of the room in which Pelléasand Mélisande have secretly met, he is told what is passing within by achild whom he holds in his arms. The story is of course merely that ofPaolo and Francesca retold, but placed in very different surroundingsand accompanied by music that certainly could never have been written byan Italian, of Dante's or any other time. Debussy has aimed at creating a musical equivalent for the Maeterlinck'atmosphere, ' The score of 'Pelléas et Mélisande' is a pure piece ofmusical impressionism, an experiment in musical pioneering the value ofwhich it is difficult to judge offhand. He has wilfully abjured melodyof any accepted kind and harmony conforming to any establishedtradition. His music moves in a world of its own, a dream-world ofneutral tints, shadowy figures, and spectral passions. The dreamyunreality of the tale is mirrored in the vague floating discords of themusic, and whatever the critics may say the effect is singularlystriking and persuasive. At present there are no rumours of a successorto 'Pelléas et Mélisande, ' but whatever the future of Debussy may be, heat any rate deserves the credit of striking a note entirely new to thehistory of music. There are many other living French composers who, if not destined torevolutionise the world of opera, have already done admirable work, andmay yet win a more than local reputation. Charles Marie Widor hasrecently in 'Les Pêcheurs de Saint Jean' (1905) given a worthy successto his twenty-year-old 'Maître Ambros. ' Navier Leroux, a pupil ofMassenet, has carried on his master's traditions, somewhat Wagnerisedand generally speaking brought up to date, in 'Astarté' (1900), 'LaReine Fiammette' (1903), 'William Ratcliff' (1906), and 'Théodora'(1907). Remarkable promise has been shown by Paul Dukas in 'Ariane etBarbe-Bleue' (1907); by Camille d'Erlanger in 'Le Fils de l'Étoile'(1904) and 'Aphrodite' (1906); by Georges Marty in 'Daria' (1905); byGeorges Hüe in 'Titania' (1903), and by Gabriel Dupont in 'La Cabrera(1905), while a characteristic note of tender sentiment was struck byReynaldo Hahn in 'La Carmélite' (1902). André Messager's name is chiefly associated in England with work of alighter character, but it must not be forgotten that he is the composerof two of the most charming opéras comiques of modern times, 'LaBasoche' (1890) and 'Madame Chrysanthème' (1893). This is perhaps the most convenient place to refer to the remarkablesuccess recently achieved by the Flemish composer Jan Blockx, whose'Herbergprinses, ' originally produced at Antwerp in 1896, has been givenin French as 'Princesse d'Auberge' in Brussels and many French towns. The heroine is a kind of Flemish Carmen, a wicked siren named Rita, whoseduces the poet Merlyn from his bride, and after dragging him to thedepths of infamy and despair, dies in the end by his hand. The music, though not without a touch of coarseness, overflows with life andenergy, and one scene in particular, that of a Flemish Kermesse, ismasterly in its judicious and convincing use of local colour. JanBlockx's later works, 'Thyl Uylenspiegel' (1900), 'De Bruid van der Zee'(1901) and 'De Kapelle' (1903) do not appear to have met with equalsuccess. Another Belgian composer, Paul Gilson, has of late won morethan local fame by his 'Princesse Rayon de Soleil, ' produced at Brusselsin 1905. In modern times the stream of opéra comique has divided into twochannels. The first, as we have seen, under the guidance of such men asBizet, Delibes, and Massenet, has approached so near to the confines ofgrand opera, that it is often difficult to draw the line between the two_genres_ The second, under the influence of Offenbach, Hervé, andLecocq, has shrunk into opéra bouffe, a peculiarly Parisian product, which, though now for some reason under a cloud, has added sensibly tothe gaiety of nations during the past thirty years. The productions ofthis school, though scarcely coming within the scope of the presentwork, are by no means to be despised from the merely musical point ofview, and though the recent deaths of Audran, Planquette and otheracknowledged masters of the _genre_ have left serious gaps in the ranksof comic opera writers, there seems to be no valid reason for despairingof the future of so highly civilised and entertaining a form of musicalart. CHAPTER XII MODERN ITALY VERDI--BOITO--PONCHIELLI--PUCCINI--MASCAGNI--LEONCAVALLO--GIORDANO The death of Verdi occurred so recently that it is still possible tospeak of him as representing the music of modern Italy in its noblestand most characteristic manifestation, but his life's record stretchesback to a very dim antiquity. His first work, 'Oberto, Conte di SanBonifacio, ' was performed in 1839, when 'Les Huguenots' was but threeyears old, and 'Der Fliegende Holländer' still unwritten. It isthoroughly and completely Italian in type, and, though belonging to apast age in the matter of form, contains the germs of those qualitieswhich were afterwards to make Verdi so popular, the rough, almost brutalenergy which contrasted so strongly with the vapid sweetness ofDonizetti, and the vigorous vein of melody which throughout his careernever failed him. Verdi's next work, a comic opera known alternativelyas 'Un Giorno di Regno' and 'Il Finto Stanislao' (1840) was a failure. 'Nabucodonosor' (1842) and 'I Lombardi' (1843) established hisreputation in his own country and won favour abroad; but the operawhich gave him European fame was 'Ernani' (1844). The story is anadaptation of Victor Hugo's famous play. Elvira, the chosen bride of DonSilva, a Spanish grandee, loves Ernani, an exiled nobleman, who has hadto take refuge in brigandage. Silva discovers their attachment, butbeing connected with Ernani in a plot against Charles V. , he defers hisvengeance for the moment. He yields his claim upon Elvira's affection, but exacts a promise from his rival, that when he demands it, Ernanishall be prepared to take his own life. Charles's magnanimity frustratesthe conspiracy, and Silva, defeated alike in love and ambition, claimsthe fulfilment of Ernani's oath, despite the prayers of Elvira, who iscondemned to see her lover stab himself in her presence. Hugo'smelodrama suited Verdi's blood-and-thunder style exactly. 'Ernani' iscrude and sensational, but its rough vigour never descends to weakness, though it often comes dangerously near to vulgarity. 'Ernani' is theopera most typical of Verdi's earliest period. With all its blemishes, it is easy to see how its masculine vigour and energy must havecaptivated the audiences of the day. But there were political as well asmusical reasons for the instantaneous success of Verdi's early operas. Italy in the forties was a seething mass of sedition. Verdi's strenuousmelodies, often allied to words in which the passionate patriotism ofhis countrymen contrived to read a political sentiment, struck like atrumpet-call upon the ears of men already ripe for revolt against thehated Austrian rule. Such strains as the famous 'O mia patria, si bellae perduta' in 'Nabucodonosor' proclaimed Verdi the Tyrtæus of awakenedItaly. 'Ernani' was followed by a series of works which, for the sake ofVerdi's reputation, it is better to pass over as briefly as possible. His success provided him with more engagements than he couldconscientiously fulfil, and the quality of his work suffered inconsequence. There are some fine scenes in 'I Due Foscari' (1844), butit has little of the vigour of 'Ernani. ' 'Giovanna d'Arco' (1845), 'Alzira' (1845), and 'Attila' (1846), were almost total failures. In'Macbeth' (1847), however, Verdi seems to have been inspired by hissubject, and wrote better music than he had yet given to the world. Thelibretto is a miserable perversion of Shakespeare, and for that reasonthe opera has never succeeded in England, but in countries which cancalmly contemplate a ballet of witches, or listen unmoved to LadyMacbeth trolling a drinking-song, it has had its day of success. 'Macbeth' is interesting to students of Verdi's development as the firstwork in which he shows signs of emerging from his _Sturm und Drang_period. There is some admirable declamatory music in it, which seems toforeshadow the style of 'Rigoletto, ' and the sleep-walking scene, thoughold-fashioned in structure, is really impressive. After 'Macbeth' cameanother series of works which are now forgotten. Among them was 'IMasnadieri, ' which was written for Her Majesty's Theatre in 1847. Although the principal part was sung by Jenny Lind, the work was acomplete failure, and was pronounced by the critic Chorley to be theworst opera ever produced in England. Passing quickly by 'Il Corsaro'(1848), 'La Battaglia di Legnano' (1849), 'Luisa Miller' (1849) and'Stiffelio' (1850), all of which have dropped completely out of thecurrent repertory, we come to the brilliant period in which Verdiproduced in succession three works which, through all changes oftaste and fashion, have manfully held their place in popularfavour--'Rigoletto, ' 'Il Trovatore, ' and 'La Traviata. ' 'Rigoletto'(1851) is founded upon Victor Hugo's drama, 'Le Roi s'amuse. ' The_locale_ of the story is changed, and the King of France becomes a Dukeof Mantua, but otherwise the original scheme of the work remainsunaltered. Rigoletto, the Duke's jester, has an only daughter, Gilda, whom he keeps closely immured in an out-of-the-way part of the city, topreserve her from the vicious influence of the court. The amorous Duke, however, has discovered her retreat, and won her heart in the disguiseof a student. The courtiers, too, have found out that Rigoletto is inthe habit of visiting a lady, and jumping to the conclusion that she ishis mistress, determine to carry her off by night in order to pay thejester out for the bitter insults which he loves to heap upon them. Their plan succeeds, and Gilda is conveyed to the Palace. There she isfound by her father, and to his horror she confesses that she loves theDuke. He determines to punish his daughter's seducer, and hires a bravonamed Sparafucile to put him out of the way. This worthy beguiles theDuke, by means of the charms of his sister Maddalena, to a lonely inn onthe banks of the river, promising to hand over his body to Rigoletto atmidnight. Maddalena pleads tearfully for the life of her handsome lover, but Sparafucile is a man of honour, and will not break his contract withthe jester. Rigoletto has paid for a body, and a body he must have. However, he consents, should any stranger visit the inn that night, tokill him in the Duke's place. Gilda, who is waiting in the street, hearsthis and makes up her mind to die instead of her lover. She enters thehouse, and is promptly murdered by Sparafucile. Her body, sewn up in asack, is handed over at the appointed hour to Rigoletto. The jester, intriumph, is about to hurl the body into the river, when he hears theDuke singing in the distance. Overcome by a horrible suspicion, he opensthe sack and is confronted by the body of his daughter. The music of 'Rigoletto' is on a very different plane from that of'Ernani. ' Verdi had become uneasy in the fetters of thecavatina-cabaletta tradition--the slow movement followed by thequick--which, since the day of Rossini, had ruled Italian opera with arod of iron. In 'Rigoletto, ' although the old convention still survives, the composer shows a keen aspiration after a less trammelled method ofexpressing himself. Rigoletto's great monologue is a piece ofdeclamation pure and simple, and as such struck a note till thenunheard in Italy. The whole of the last act is a brilliant example ofVerdi's picturesque power, combined with acute power ofcharacterisation. The Duke's gay and lightsome _canzone_, themagnificent quartet, in which the different passions of four personagesare contrasted and combined with such consummate art, and the sombreterrors of the tempest, touch a level of art which Verdi had not tillthen attained, nor was to reach again until the days of 'Aida, ' twentyyears later. 'Il Trovatore' (1853) is melodrama run mad. The plot is terriblyconfused, and much of it borders on the incomprehensible, but theoutline of it is as follows. The mother of Azucena, a gipsy, has beenburnt as a witch by order of the Count di Luna. In revenge Azucenasteals one of his children, whom she brings up as her own son under thename of Manrico. Manrico loves Leonora, a lady of the Spanish Court, whois also beloved by his brother, the younger Count di Luna. After variousincidents Manrico falls into the Count's hands, and is condemned todeath. Leonora offers her hand as the price of his release, which theCount accepts. Manrico refuses liberty on these terms, and Leonora takespoison to escape the fulfilment of her promise. The music of 'Il Trovatore' shows a sad falling off from the promise of'Rigoletto. ' Face to face with such a libretto, Verdi probably felt thatrefinement and characterisation were equally out of the question, andfell back on the coarseness of his earlier style. 'Il Trovatore' aboundswith magnificent tunes, but they are slung together with very littlefeeling for appropriateness. There is a brutal energy about the workwhich has been its salvation, for of the higher qualities, which make afitful appearance in 'Rigoletto, ' there is hardly a trace. 'La Traviata' (1853) is an operatic version of Dumas's famous play, 'LaDame aux Caméllias. ' The sickly tale of the love and death of MargueriteGauthier, here known as Violetta, is hardly an ideal subject for alibretto, and it says much for Verdi's versatility that, after hisexcursions into transpontine melodrama, he was able to treat'drawing-room tragedy' with success. Alfredo Germont loves Violetta, thecourtesan, and establishes himself with her in a villa outside Paris. There his old father pays Violetta a visit, and, by representing thatthe matrimonial prospects of his daughter are injured by Violetta'sconnection with Alfredo, induces her to leave him. Alfredo is indignantat Violetta's supposed inconstancy, and insults her publicly at a ballin Paris. In the last act Violetta dies of consumption after anaffecting reconciliation with her lover. The music of 'La Traviata' isin strong contrast to Verdi's previous work. The interest of Dumas'splay is mainly psychological, and demands a delicacy of treatment whichwould have been thrown away upon the melodramatic subjects which Verdihad hitherto affected. Much of his music is really graceful andrefined, but his efforts to avoid vulgarity occasionally land him inthe slough of sentimentality. Nevertheless, the pathos whichcharacterises some of the scenes has kept 'La Traviata' alive, thoughthe opera is chiefly employed now as a means of allowing a popular primadonna to display her high notes and her diamonds. 'Les Vêpres Siciliennes, ' which was produced in Paris in 1855, duringthe Universal Exhibition, only achieved a partial success, and 'SimonBoccanegra' (1857), even in the revised and partly re-written form whichwas performed in 1881, has never been popular out of Italy. 'Un Ballo inMaschera' (1861), on the other hand, was for many years a greatfavourite in this country, and has recently been revived with remarkablesuccess. The scene of the opera is laid in New England. Riccardo, thegovernor of Boston, loves Amelia, the wife of his secretary, Renato. After a scene in a fortune-teller's hut, in which Riccardo's death ispredicted, the lovers meet in a desolate spot on the seashore. Thitheralso comes Renato, who has discovered a plot against his chief andhastens to warn him of his danger. In order to save Riccardo's lifeRenato resorts to the time-honoured device of an exchange of cloaks. Thus effectually disguised Riccardo makes his escape, leaving Amelia, also completely unrecognisable in a transparent gauze veil, in charge ofher unsuspecting husband, who has promised to convey her home in safety. Enter the conspirators, who attack Renato; Amelia rushes between thecombatants, and at the psychological moment her veil drops off. Tableauand curtain to a mocking chorus of the conspirators, which forms asinister background to the anguish and despair of the betrayed husbandand guilty wife. In the next act Renato joins forces with theconspirators, and in the last he murders Riccardo at the masked ballfrom which the opera takes its name. 'Un Ballo in Maschera' is one ofthe best operas of Verdi's middle period. Like 'Rigoletto' it abounds insharp and striking contrasts of character, the gay and brilliant musicof the page Oscar, in particular, forming an effective foil to the moretragic portions of the score. The same feeling for contrast isperceptible in 'La Forza del Destino, ' in which the gloom of a mostsanguinary plot is relieved by the humours of a vivandière and a comicpriest. This work, which was produced at St. Petersburg in 1862, hasnever been popular out of Italy, and 'Don Carlos, ' which was written forthe Paris Exhibition of 1867, seems also to be practically laid upon theshelf. It tells of the love of Don Carlos for his stepmother, Elizabeth, the wife of Philip II. Of Spain, and apart from the dulness of thelibretto, has the faults of a work of transition. Verdi's earlier mannerwas beginning to lie heavily upon his shoulders, but he was not yetstrong enough to sever his connection with the past. There are scenes in'Don Carlos' which foreshadow the truth and freedom of 'Aida, ' but theirbeauty is often marred by strange relapses into conventionality. 'Aida' (1871) was the result of a commission from Ismail Pacha, whowished to enhance the reputation of his new opera-house at Cairo by theproduction of a work upon an Egyptian subject from the pen of the mostpopular composer of the day. The idea of the libretto seems to have beenoriginally due to Mariette Bey, the famous Egyptologist, who hadhappened to light upon the story in the course of his researches. It wasfirst written in French prose by M. Camilla du Locle in collaborationwith Verdi himself, and afterwards translated by Signor Ghislanzoni. Aida, the daughter of Amonasro, the King of Ethiopia, has been takenprisoner by the Egyptians, and given as a slave to the princess Amneris. They both love the warrior Radames, the chosen chief of the Egyptianarmy, but he cares nothing for Amneris, and she vows a deadly vengeanceagainst the slave who has supplanted her. Radames returns in triumphfrom the wars, bringing with him a chain of prisoners, among whom isAmonasro. The latter soon finds out Aida's influence over Radames, andhalf terrifies, half persuades her into promising to extract from herlover the secret of the route which the Egyptian army will take on themorrow on their way to a new campaign against the Ethiopians. Aidabeguiles Radames with seductive visions of happiness in her own country, and induces him to tell her the secret. Amonasro, who is on the watch, overhears it and escapes in triumph, while Radames, in despair at hisown treachery, gives himself up to justice. Amneris offers him pardonif he will accept her love, but he refuses life without Aida, and iscondemned to be immured in a vault beneath the temple of Phtha. There hefinds Aida, who has discovered a means of getting in, and has made upher mind to die with her lover. They expire in each other's arms, whilethe solemn chant of the priestesses in the temple above mingles with thesighs of the heart-broken Amneris. 'Aida' was an immense advance upon Verdi's previous work. The Egyptiansubject, so remote from the ordinary operatic groove, seems to havetempted him to a fresher and more vivid realism, and the possibilitiesof local colour opened a new world to so consummate a master oforchestration. The critics of the day at once accused Verdi of imitatingWagner, and certain passages undoubtedly suggest the influence of'Lohengrin, ' but as a whole the score is thoroughly and radicallyItalian. In 'Aida' Verdi's vein of melody is as rich as ever, but it iscontrolled by a keen artistic sense, which had never had full playbefore. For the first time in his career he discovered the true balancebetween singers and orchestra, and at once took his proper place amongthe great musicians of the world. Special attention must be directed toVerdi's use of local colour in 'Aida. ' This is often a dangerousstumbling-block to musicians, but Verdi triumphed most where all theworld had failed. In the scene of the consecration of Radames, heemploys two genuine Oriental tunes with such consummate art that thisscene is not only one of the few instances in the history of opera inwhich Oriental colour has been successfully employed, but, in theopinion of many, is the most beautiful part of the whole opera. Anothermagnificent scene is the judgment of Radames, in the fourth act, wherean extraordinary effect is gained by the contrast of the solemn voicesof the priests within the chamber with the passionate grief of Amnerisupon the threshold. The love scene, in the third act, shows the lyricalside of Verdi's genius in its most voluptuous aspect. The picture of thepalm-clad island of Philae and the dreaming bosom of the Nile isdivinely mirrored in Verdi's score. The music seems to be steeped in theodorous charm of the warm southern night. Sixteen years elapsed before the appearance of Verdi's next work. It wasgenerally supposed that the aged composer had bidden farewell for everto the turmoil and excitement of the theatre, and the interest excitedby the announcement of a new opera from his pen was proportionatelykeen. The libretto of 'Otello' (1887), a masterly condensation ofShakespeare's tragedy, was from the pen of Arrigo Boito, himself amusician of no ordinary accomplishment. The action of the opera opens inCyprus, amidst the fury of a tempest. Othello arrives fresh from avictory over the Turks, and is greeted enthusiastically by the people, who light a bonfire in his honour. Then follows the drinking scene. Cassio, plied by Iago, becomes intoxicated and fights with Montano. Theduel is interrupted by the entrance of Othello, who degrades Cassiofrom his captaincy, and dismisses the people to their homes. The actends with a duet of flawless loveliness between Othello and Desdemona, the words of which are ingeniously transplanted from Othello's greatspeech before the Senate. In the second act Iago advises Cassio toinduce Desdemona to intercede for him, and, when left alone, pours fortha terrible confession of his unfaith in the famous 'Credo. ' This, one ofthe few passages in the libretto not immediately derived fromShakespeare, is a triumph on Boito's part. The highest praise that canbe given to it is to say, which is the literal truth, that it falls inno way beneath the poetical and dramatic standard of its context. Othello now enters, and Iago contrives to sow the first seeds ofjealousy in his breast by calling his attention to Cassio's interviewwith Desdemona. Then follows a charming episode, another of Boito'sinterpolations, in which a band of Cypriotes bring flowers to Desdemona. Othello is won for the moment by the guileless charm of her manner, buthis jealousy is revived by her assiduous pleading for Cassio. He thrustsher from him, and the handkerchief with which she offers to bind hisbrow is secured by Iago. Left with his chief, Iago fans the rising flameof jealousy, and the act ends with Othello's terrific appeal to Heavenfor vengeance upon his wife. In the third act, after an interview ofterrible irony and passion between Othello and Desdemona, in which heaccuses her to her face of unchastity, and laughs at her indignantdenial. Cassio appears with the handkerchief which he has found in hischamber. Iago ingeniously contrives that Othello shall recognise it, andat the same time arranges that he shall only hear as much of theconversation as shall confirm him in his infatuation. Envoys from Venicearrive, bearing the order for Othello's recall and the appointment ofCassio in his place. Othello, mad with rage and jealousy, strikesDesdemona to the earth, and drives every one from the hall. Then hisovertaxed brain reels, and he sinks swooning to the floor. The shouts ofthe people outside acclaim him as the lion of Venice, while Iago, hisheel scornfully placed on Othello's unconscious breast, cries withghastly malevolence, 'Ecco il Leone. ' The last act follows Shakespearevery closely. Desdemona sings her Willow Song, and, as though consciousof approaching calamity, bids Emilia a pathetic farewell. Scarcely areher eyes closed in sleep, when Othello enters by a secret door, bent onhis fell purpose. He wakes her with a kiss, and after a brief scenesmothers her with a pillow. Emilia enters with the news of an attempt toassassinate Cassio. Finding Desdemona lead, she calls for help. Cassio, Montano, and others rush in; Iago's treachery is unmasked, and Othelloin despair stabs himself, dying in a last kiss upon his dead wife'slips. In 'Otello' Verdi advanced to undreamed-of heights of freedom andbeauty. 'Aida' was a mighty step towards the light, but with 'Otello' hefinally shook off the trammels of convention. His inexhaustible streamof melody remained as pure and full as ever, while the more declamatoryparts of the opera, down to the slightest piece of recitative, areinformed by a richness of suggestion, and an unerring instinct fortruth, such as it would be vain to seek in his earlier work. Rich andpicturesque as much of the orchestral writing is, the voice remains, asin his earlier works, the key-stone of the whole structure, and thoughmotives are occasionally repeated with exquisite effect--as in the caseof the 'Kiss' theme from the duet in the first act, which is heard againin Othello's death scene--Verdi makes no pretence at imitating Wagner'selaborate use of guiding themes. There is an artistic reason for this, apart from the radical difference between the German and Italian viewsof opera. In 'Otello' the action is rapid for the most part, and in manyscenes the music only aims at furnishing a suitable accompaniment to thedialogue. A symphonic treatment of the orchestra, in such scenes as thatbetween Iago and Othello in the second act, would tend to obscure theimportance of the dialogue upon the stage, every word of which for theproper comprehension of the drama, must be forcibly impressed upon thelistener's attention. In such a scene as the handkerchief trio, in whichthe situation remains practically the same for some time, a symphonictreatment of the orchestra is thoroughly in place, and here Verdidisplays extraordinary skill in working out his theme, though even herehis method has very little resemblance to that of Wagner. Six years after 'Otello' came 'Falstaff, ' produced in 1893, when Verdiwas in his eightieth year. Boito's libretto is a cleverly abbreviatedversion of Shakespeare's 'Merry Wives of Windsor, ' with the addition oftwo or three passages from 'Henry IV. ' There are three acts, each ofwhich is divided into two scenes. The first scene takes place in theGarter Inn at Windsor. Falstaff and his trusty followers, Bardolph andPistol, discomfit Dr. Caius, who comes to complain of having beenrobbed. Falstaff then unfolds his scheme for replenishing his coffersthrough the aid of Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page, and bids his faithfulesquires carry the famous duplicate letters to the comely dames. Honour, however intervenes, and they refuse the office. Falstaff then sends hispage with the letters, pronounces his celebrated discourse upon honour, and hunts Bardolph and Pistol out of the house. In the second scene, weare in Ford's garden. The letters have arrived, and the merry wiveseagerly compare notes and deliberate upon a plan for avenging themselvesupon their elderly wooer. Dame Quickly is despatched to bid Falstaff toan interview. Meanwhile Nannetta Ford, the 'Sweet Anne Page' ofShakespeare, has contrived to gain a stolen interview with her loverFenton, while the treacherous Bardolph and Pistol are telling Ford oftheir late master's designs on is wife's honour. Ford's jealousy iseasily aroused, and he makes up his mind to carry the war into theenemy's country by visiting Falstaff in disguise. The second act takesus back to the Garter. Dame Quickly arrives with a message from Mrs. Ford. Falstaff is on fire at once, and agrees to pay her a visit betweenthe hours of two and three. Ford now arrives, calling himself MasterBrook, and paves his way with a present of wine and money. He tellsFalstaff of his hopeless passion for a haughty dame of Windsor, Mrs. Alice Ford, begging the irresistible knight to woo the lady, so that, once her pride is broken, he too may have a chance of winning herfavour. Falstaff gladly agrees, and horrifies the unlucky Ford byconfiding the news to him that he already has an assignation with thelady fixed for that very afternoon. The second scene is laid in a roomin Ford's house. The merry wives are assembled, and soon Falstaff isdescried approaching. Mrs. Ford entertains him for a few minutes, andthen, according to their arrangement, Dame Quickly runs in to say thatMrs. Page is at the door. Falstaff hastily hides himself behind a largescreen, but the jest changes to earnest when Mrs. Page herself rushes into announce that Ford, mad with jealousy and rage, has raised the wholehousehold and is really coming to look for his wife's lover. The womenquickly slip Falstaff into a huge basket and cover him with dirty linen, while Nannetta and Fenton who have been indulging in another stoleninterview slip behind the screen. Ford searches everywhere for Falstaffin vain, and is beginning to despair of finding him, when the sound of akiss behind the screen arrests his attention. He approaches itcautiously, and thrusts it aside only to find his daughter in Fenton'sarms. Meanwhile Mrs. Ford calls on her servants. Between them theymanage to lift the gigantic basket, and, while she calls her husband toview the sight, carry it to the window and pitch it out bodily into theThames. The first scene of the third act is devoted to hatching a newplot to humiliate the fat knight, and the second shows us a moonlitglade in Windsor Forest, whither he has been summoned by the agency ofDame Quickly. There all the characters assemble disguised as elves andfairies. They give Falstaff a _mauvais quart d'heure_, and end byconvincing him that his amorous wiles are useless against the virtue ofhonest burghers' wives. Meanwhile Nannetta has induced her father, bymeans of a trick, to consent to her marriage with Fenton, and the actends with a song of rejoicing in the shape of a magnificent fugue inwhich every one joins. Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about 'Falstaff' is that it waswritten by a man eighty years old. It is the very incarnation of youthand high spirits. Verdi told an interviewer that he thoroughly enjoyedwriting it, and one can well believe his words. He has combined aschoolboy's sense of fun with the grace and science of a Mozart. Thepart-writing is often exceedingly elaborate, but the most complicatedconcerted pieces flow on as naturally as a ballad. The glorious finalfugue is an epitome of the work. It is really a marvel of contrapuntalingenuity, yet it is so full of bewitching melody and healthy animalspirits that an uncultivated hearer would probably think it nothing butan ordinary jovial finale. In the last act Verdi strikes a deeper note. He has caught the charm and mystery of the sleeping forest withexquisite art. There is an unearthly beauty about this scene, which isnew to students of Verdi. In the fairy music, too, he reveals yetanother side of his genius. Nothing so delicate nor so rich inimaginative beauty has been written since the days of Weber. It is impossible as yet to speak with any degree of certainty as toVerdi's probable influence upon posterity. With all his genius he wasperhaps hardly the man to found a school. He was not, like his greatcontemporary Wagner, one of the world's great revolutionists. His geniuslay not in overturning systems and in exploring paths hithertountrodden, but in developing existing materials to the highestconceivable pitch of beauty and completeness. His music has nothing todo with theories, it is the voice of nature speaking in the idiom ofart. Of the composers who modelled their style upon Verdi's earlier manner, the most important were Petrella (1813-1877); Apolloni (1822-1889), thecomposer of 'L'Ebreo, ' a melodrama of a rough and ready description, which was produced in 1855 and went the round of all the theatres ofItaly; and Carlos Gomez (1839-1896), a Brazilian composer, whose opera, 'Il Guarany, ' was performed in London in 1872. In him Verdi's vigouroften degenerated into mere brutality, but his work is by no meanswithout power, though he has little claim to distinction of style. Ofthe many operas written by Marchetti (1835-1902) only one, 'Ruy Blas, 'founded upon Victor Hugo's play, achieved anything like permanentsuccess. In form and general outline it owes much to Verdi's influence, but the vein of tender melody which runs through it strikes a note ofindividual inspiration. It was performed in London in 1877. Arrigo Boito, to whom the University of Cambridge accorded the honour ofan honorary degree in 1893, has written but one opera, 'Mefistofele, 'but his influence upon modern Italian music must be measured in inverseratio to his productive power. When 'Mefistofele' was originallyproduced in 1868, Verdi's genius was still in the chrysalis stage, andthe novelty and force of Boito's music made 'Mefistofele, ' even in itsfall--for the first performance was a complete failure--a rallying pointfor the Italian disciples of truth and sincerity in music. In 1875 itwas performed in a revised and abbreviated form, and since then hastaken its place among the masterpieces of modern Italy. Boito's librettoreproduces the atmosphere of Goethe's drama far more successfully thanany other of the many attempts to fit 'Faust' to the operatic stage. Itis a noble poem, but from the merely scenic point of view it has manyweaknesses. Its principal failing is the lack of one continuous threadof interest. The opera is merely a succession of episodes, each nicelycalculated to throw fresh light upon the character of Faust, but by nomeans mutually connected. The prologue opens in Heaven, where thecompact is made regarding the soul of Faust. The next scene shows theKermesse, changing to Faust's study, where Mephistopheles appears andthe contract is signed which binds him to Faust's service. We then passto the garden scene, in which Faust is shown as Margaret's lover. Thencome the Witches' Sabbath on the summit of the Brocken, and the prisonscene with the death of Margaret. After this we have two scenes from thesecond part of Goethe's 'Faust, ' the classical Sabbath, in which theunion of Helen and Faust symbolises the embrace of the Greek andGermanic ideals, and the redemption of Faust with the discomfiture ofMephistopheles, which ends the work. Although 'Mefistofele' isunsatisfactory as a whole, the extraordinary beauty of several singlescenes ought to secure for it such immortality as the stage has tooffer. Boito is most happily inspired by Margaret, and the two scenes inwhich she appears are masterpieces of beauty and pathos. In the gardenscene he has caught the ineffable simplicity of her character withastonishing success. The contrast between her girlish innocence and thevoluptuous sentiment of Gounod's heroine cannot fail to strike the mostcareless listener. The climax of this scene, the delightfully tender andplayful quartet, which culminates in a burst of hysterical laughter, isa stroke of genius. In the prison scene Boito rises to still greaterheights. The poignant pathos of the poor maniac's broken utterances, thelanguorous beauty of the duet, and the frenzied terror and agony of thefinale, are beyond praise. Amilcare Ponchielli (1834-1886) owed much to both Verdi and Boito, andhis best work, 'La Gioconda, ' which was produced in 1876, bearsunmistakable traces of the influence of 'Mefistofele' and 'Aida. ' Thelibretto of 'La Gioconda' is founded upon a gloomy play by Victor Hugo, 'Angelo, Tyran de Padoue. ' La Gioconda, a Venetian street singer, buysthe safety of her lover Enzo from the spy Barnaba with her own hand, only to find that the former uses his new-found liberty to prosecute anintrigue with another woman. She generously contrives to save the livesof Enzo and his mistress, which are threatened by the vengeance of thelatter's husband, and commits suicide in order to escape falling intothe hands of Barnaba. Ponchielli's opera overflows with melody of arather commonplace description. He has, besides, a certain dramaticgift, and the concerted music in 'La Gioconda' is powerful andeffective. The ballet music is unusually good, and shows many favourableexamples of Ponchielli's fondness for fanciful melodic designs, amannerism which has been freely imitated by his pupils and followers. Another meritorious composer of the same school was Alfredo Catalani(1854-93), whose 'Lorelei' (1890) and 'La Wally' (1892) still hold thestage. The most important of the younger men is Giacomo Puccini, a composer whoduring the last decade has come to the front in a decisive manner. Hisfirst opera, 'Le Villi, ' was produced in 1884. The subject is a strangeone to have taken the fancy of a southern composer. It is founded uponone of those weird traditions which seem essentially the property ofNorthern Europe. Villi, or in English, Wilis, are the spirits ofaffianced damsels, whose lovers have proved untrue. They rise from theearth at midnight, and assemble upon the highway attired in all theirbridal finery. From midnight until dawn they wheel their wild dances andwatch for their faithless lovers. If one of the latter happen to pass, he is beguiled into the magic circle, and in the grasp of the relentlessWilis is whirled round and round until he sinks expiring upon theground. In Puccini's opera, the scene is laid in the Black Forest. Thecharacters are three in number--- Anna, her _fiancé_ Robert, and herfather Wilhelm Wulf. The first act opens with the betrothal of thelovers. After the usual festivities Robert departs for Mayence, whitherhe has to go to claim an inheritance. Six months elapse between thefirst and second acts. Robert has fallen into the toils of an abandonedwoman, and is still at Mayence; Anna has died of a broken heart. Thesecond act opens with two orchestral movements, 'L'Abbandono, ' whichdescribes the funeral of Anna, and 'La Tregenda, ' the dance of theWilis. Robert now appears, torn by remorse, and pours forth hisunavailing regrets. But the hour of repentance is past. Anna and herattendant Wilis rush on. The unfortunate man, in a kind of hypnotictrance, is drawn into their circling dance. They whirl him round andround in ever wilder and more fantastic gambols, until he drops lifelessupon the ground, and the avenging spirits disappear with a Hosanna oftriumph. There is little attempt at local colour in 'Le Villi, ' but themusic is full of imaginative power. In the purely orchestral parts ofthe work the composer seems to have escaped from convention altogether, and has written music instinct with weird suggestion and unearthlyforce. Puccini's next opera, 'Edgar' (1889), was a failure, but in 'ManonLescaut' (1893) he once more achieved success. His treatment of the AbbéPrévost's romance, as may well be imagined, differs _in toto_ from thatof Massenet. The libretto, in the first place, is laid out upon anentirely different plan. It consists of a string of detached scenes withbut little mutual connection, which, without some previous knowledge ofthe story, would be barely comprehensible. The first act deals with themeeting of the lovers at Amiens and their flight to Paris. In the secondact we find Manon installed as the mistress of Géronte di Lavoir, surrounded by crowds of admirers. Des Grieux penetrates to herapartment, and after a scene of passionate upbraiding persuades her tofly with him. But before they can depart they are interrupted by theentrance of Manon's irate protector, who, in revenge for herfaithlessness, summons the police and consigns her to St. Lazare. Thethird act shows the quay at Havre, and the embarkation of the _filles dejoie_ for New Orleans; and the last act, which takes place in America, is one long duet between Manon and Des Grieux, ending with Manon'sdeath. Puccini looked at the story of Manon through Italian spectacles. His power of characterisation is limited, and there is little in hismusic to differentiate Manon and her lover from the ordinary hero andheroine of Italian opera. The earlier scenes of the opera demand alighter touch than he could then command, but in the tragic scene atHavre he is completely successful. Here he strikes the true note oftragedy. The great concerted piece with which the act ends is a masterlypiece of writing, and proves that Puccini can handle a form, which asemployed by lesser men is a synonym for stereotyped conventionality, with superb passion and sincerity. But Puccini's earlier successes sank into insignificance by the side ofthe triumph of 'La Bohème, ' which was produced in 1896. It wasimpossible to weave a connected story from Murger's famous novel. Puccini's librettists attempted nothing of the kind. They took fourscenes each complete in itself and put them before the audience withoutany pretence of a connecting thread of interest. In the first act we seethe joyous quartet of Bohemians in their Paris attic--Rodolphe the poet, Marcel the painter, Colline the philosopher, and Schaunard the musician. Rodolphe sacrifices the manuscript of his tragedy to keep the firegoing, and Marcel keeps the landlord at bay, until the arrival ofSchaunard with an unexpected windfall of provisions raises the spiritsof the company to the zenith of rapture. Three of the Bohemians go outto keep Christmas Eve at their favourite café, leaving Rodolphe tofinish an article. To him enters Mimi, an embroiderer, who lodges on thesame floor, under pretence of asking for a light. A delicious love-duetfollows, and the lovers go off to join their friends. The next scene isat the Café Momus, where Musette appears with a wealthy banker. Shespeedily contrives to get the banker out of the way and rushes into thearms of her old lover, Marcel. This scene, which is very short, is acarnival of bustle and gaiety, and is a brilliant example of Puccini'shappy knack of handling concerted music. The next scene is a series ofquarrels and reconciliations between the two pairs of lovers, while inthe last act Mimi, who has deserted Rodolphe, comes back to see him oncemore before she dies, and breathes her last on the little bed in theattic. Puccini's music echoes the spirit of Murger's romance withmarvellous sincerity. It paints the mingled joy and grief of Bohemianlife in hues the most delicate and tender. Like Murger, though dealingwith things often squalid and unlovely, he never forgets that he is anartist. The sordid facts of life are gilded by the rainbow colours ofromance. Puccini has caught the fanciful grace of Murger's style withthe dexterity of genius. His music is thoroughly Italian in style, buthe never strikes a false note. He dashes off the irresponsible gaiety ofthe earlier scenes with a touch which though light is always sure, andwhen the action deepens to tenderness, and even to pathos, he can beserious without falling into sentimentality and impressive withoutencroaching upon the boundaries of melodrama. 'La Bohème' is one of thefew operas of recent years which can be described as a masterpiece. With 'La Tosca, ' which was produced in 1899, Puccini won anothersuccess, though for very different reasons from those which made 'LaBohème' so conspicuous a triumph. The libretto is a clever condensationof Sardou's famous drama. The scene is laid in Rome in the year 1800. Inthe first act we are introduced to Mario Cavaradossi, a painter, who isat work in a church, and to Flora Tosca, his mistress, a famous singer, who pays him a visit and teases him with her jealous reproaches. Cavaradossi befriends Angelotti, a victim of Papal tyranny, who hasescaped from the castle of St Angelo, and despatches him by a secretpath to his villa in the outskirts of Rome. Scarpia, the chief ofpolice, who is close upon Angelotti's heels, suspects Cavaradossi ofbeing implicated in Angelotti's escape, and uses La Tosca's jealoussuspicions to help him in securing the prisoner. In the next actAngelotti is still at large, but Cavaradossi has been arrested. Scarpia, who has meanwhile conceived a violent passion for La Tosca, extractsfrom her the secret of Angelotti's hiding-place by putting her lover tothe torture in an adjoining room, whence his cries penetrate to herdistracted ears. La Tosca buys her lover's safety by promising herselfto Scarpia. The latter gives orders that Cavaradossi's execution shallonly be a sham one, blank cartridge being substituted for bullets. Whenthey are left alone, La Tosca murders Scarpia with a carving-knife whenhe tries to embrace her. In the last act, after a passionate duetbetween the lovers, Cavaradossi is executed--Scarpia having given asecret order to the effect that the execution shall be genuine afterall--and La Tosca in despair throws herself into the Tiber. In 'La Tosca' we are in a world very different from that of 'La Bohème. 'Here there is very little scope for grace and tenderness. All is deadlyearnest. The melodramatic incidents of the story crowd one upon another, and in the rush and excitement of the plot the music often has to take asecondary place. Whenever the composer has a chance he utilises it withrare skill. There are passages in 'La Tosca' of great lyrical beauty, but as a rule the exigencies of the stage give little room for musicaldevelopment, and a great deal of the score is more like glorifiedincidental music than the almost symphonic fabric to which we areaccustomed in modern opera. The history of 'Madama Butterfly' (1904), Puccini's latest opera, is astrange one. At its production in Milan it was hissed off the stage andwithdrawn after a single performance. No one seems to know why it failedto please the Scala audience, with whom Puccini had previously been agreat favourite. Possibly the unfamiliar Japanese surroundingsdispleased the conservative Milanese, or the singers may have beeninadequate. At any rate, when it was revived a few months later atBrescia, in a slightly revised form, it won more favour, and its Londonappearance the following year was a brilliant triumph. Since then it hasgone the round of Europe and America, and is now probably the mostpopular opera in the modern repertory. The story of 'Madama Butterfly'is familiar to English hearers, the opera being founded upon the dramaby David Belasco, which was played here with great success some yearsago. Peculiarly apt for musical setting is the tale of the fascinatinglittle 'mousmé' who contracts a so-called Japanese marriage with alieutenant in the American navy, and after a brief union is driven byhis perfidy to suicide. That the story is what may be called edifyingcan hardly be claimed, but the world has long since ceased toexpect--perhaps even to desire--that opera should inculcate a loftymoral code. However, to come to business, the scene opens in the garden of a countryhouse among the hills above Nagasaki. Lieutenant Pinkerton and hisfriend Sharpless, the American consul, are inspecting the retreat whichthe former has prepared for his Japanese wife. The voices of Butterflyand her girl friends are soon heard in the distance as they ascend thehill. After an amusing scene of greeting and introduction comes themarriage ceremony and its attendant festivities, which are interruptedby the arrival of Butterfly's uncle. This venerable person, who is apriest in a neighbouring temple, has discovered that Butterfly hasrenounced her own religion and adopted that of her 'husband. ' Hepronounces the most portentous maledictions upon her and is bundled outby Pinkerton. The act ends with a love-duet of extraordinary beauty, breathing tenderness and passion in strains which seem to embody all thecharm and mystery of the perfumed eastern night. Three years have passedwhen the next act begins. Butterfly is deserted and lives with hertwo-year-old baby and her faithful maid Suzuki, praying and waiting forthe husband who never comes. The friendly consul tries to break to herthe news of Pinkerton's marriage with an American girl, but Butterflycannot comprehend such perfidy. She sees Pinkerton's ship entering theharbour and calls Suzuki to help her deck the house with flowers. Themusic of this scene is exquisite, as is also that of the scene in whichSharpless reads Pinkerton's letter to Butterfly; but the whole act is atreasure-house of delicious melody and tender pathos. It ends curiously, but not the less effectively, with a short orchestral movement, playedwhilst Butterfly, Suzuki, and the child post themselves at the windowsto watch through the night for the coming of Pinkerton. The grey dawnshows Butterfly still at her post, though the others have fallen asleep, but no Pinkerton appears. A little later that singularly unheroic personsneaks in with his wife, whom he commissions to interview Butterflywhile he waits in the garden outside. Mrs. Pinkerton rathercold-bloodedly offers to take charge of the child, to which Butterflyagrees, and, after a passionate farewell, kills herself behind ascreen. Puccini's music is unquestionably the strongest thing he hasdone yet. The score is richer and more solid than that of any of hisearlier works, and the orchestration shows no falling off in ingenuityand resource. Melodically 'Madama Butterfly' is perhaps not so fresh orabundant as 'La Bohème, ' but the composer's touch is firmer and surer inhandling dramatic situations. 'Madama Butterfly' is unquestionably oneof the most interesting and important operas of modern times, as it isone of the most attractive. It has established Puccini more firmly thanever in the position of the leading operatic composer of the day. The name of Pietro Mascagni is chiefly connected in the minds ofopera-goers with 'Cavalleria Rusticana, ' This work, which was producedin 1890, lifted its composer at once into popularity. The story isfounded upon one of Verga's Sicilian tales. Turiddu, a village Adonis, is beloved by the fair Lola. He enlists as a soldier, and on his returnfrom the wars finds that the fickle damsel has married Alfio, a carter. He looks round him for fresh conquests, and his choice falls uponSantuzza. This arouses all Lola's latent coquetry, and she sooncontrives to win him back to her side. The deserted Santuzza appeals invain to his love and pity. He repulses her roughly, and in despair shetells Alfio the story of his wife's inconstancy. Alfio challengesTuriddu to mortal combat, and kills him as the curtain falls. Squalid asthe story is, it is full of life and movement, and has that simpledirectness which is essential to success. The music is melodious, ifnot very original, and vigorous even to brutality. Mascagni here shows anatural instinct for the theatre. His method is often coarse, but hiseffects rarely miss their mark. At its production 'Cavalleria' wasabsurdly overpraised, but it certainly is a work of promise. Unfortunately the promise so far has not been fulfilled. 'L'Amico Fritz'and 'I Rantzau, ' two adaptations of novels by Erckmann-Chatrian, produced respectively in 1891 and 1892, have almost disappeared from thecurrent repertory. The first is a delicate little story of an oldbachelor's love for a pretty country girl, the second a village 'Romeoand Juliet, ' showing how an internecine feud between two brothers isended by the mutual love of their children. Mascagni's melodramaticstyle was ill suited to idylls of this kind. He drowned the prettylittle stories in oceans of perfervid orchestration, and banged all thesentiment out of them with drums and cymbals. Yet, in the midst of thedesert of coarseness and vulgarity came oases of delicate fancy andimagination. The 'Cherry Duet' in 'L'Amico Fritz, ' and the _Cicaleccio_chorus in 'I Rantzau, ' are models of refinement and finish, which aredoubly delightful by reason of their incongruous environment. Unfortunately such gems as these only make the coarseness of theirsetting the more conspicuous, and on the whole the sooner the worldforgets about 'L'Amico Fritz' and 'I Rantzau' the better it will be forMascagni's reputation. 'Guglielmo Ratcliff' and 'Silvano, ' both producedin 1895, have not been heard out of Italy, nor is there muchprobability that they will ever cross the Alps. 'Zanetto' (1896), onthe other hand, seems to contain the best work which Mascagni has yetgiven to the world. It is founded upon Francois Coppée's charmingduologue, 'Le Passant, ' a graceful scene between a world-weary courtesanand a youthful troubadour who passes beneath her balcony. Mascagni'smusic, which is scored only for strings and harp, is both delicate andrefined, and instinct with a tender melancholy, for which it would bevain to look in his earlier works. 'Iris' (1898), an opera on a ratherunpleasant Japanese story, has met with a certain degree of favour, but'Le Maschere' (1901), an attempt to introduce Harlequin and Columbine tothe lyric stage, failed completely, nor does 'Amica' (1905) seen to havedone much to rehabilitate the composer's waning reputation. Mascagni hasas yet done little to justify the extravagant eulogies with which hisfirst work was greeted, and his warmest admirers are beginning to fearthat the possibility of his doing something to redeem the early promiseof 'Cavalleria' is getting rather remote. Leoncavallo, though older than Mascagni, must be regarded as in acertain sense his follower, since his most popular work, 'Pagliacci, 'was undoubtedly inspired by 'Cavalleria Rusticana. ' The story beginswith the arrival of a troupe of travelling comedians, or _Pagliacci_, inan Italian village. All is not harmony in the little company. Tonio (theTaddeo, or clown) loves Nedda (Columbine), the wife of Canio(Pagliaccio), but she already has a lover in the shape of Silvio, ayoung villager, and rejects the clumsy advances of the other with scorn. Tonio overhears the mutual vows of Nedda and her lover, and bent uponvengeance, hurries off to bring the unsuspecting Canio upon the scene. He only arrives in time to see the disappearance of Silvio, and cannotterrify his wife into disclosing her lover's name, though he is onlyjust prevented by Beppe, the Harlequin of the troupe, from stabbing heron the spot. The second act is on the evening of the same day, a fewhours later. The curtain of the rustic theatre goes up and the littleplay begins. By a curious coincidence the scheme of the plot representssomething like the real situation of the actors. Columbine isentertaining her lover Harlequin in the absence of her husbandPagliaccio, while Taddeo keeps a look-out for his return. When hereturns we see that the mimic comedy is to develop into real tragedy. Canio scarcely makes a pretence of keeping to his rôle of Pagliaccio. Mad with jealousy, he rushes on his wife and tries to make her confessthe name of her lover. She refuses, and in the end he stabs her, whileSilvio, who has formed one of the rustic audience, leaps on to the stageonly to receive his death-blow as well. As in 'Cavalleria, ' the theme ofthe story is squalid and unpleasant, though lucid and undeniablyeffective for stage purposes. The music makes an effective accompanimentto the exciting incidents of the plot, but it has few claims tointrinsic interest. Leoncavallo is never much of a melodist, and'Pagliacci' teems with reminiscences. The opera was probably written ina hurry, in order to pander to the taste for melodrama which'Cavalleria' had excited. In 'I Medici' (1893), a tale of the FlorentineRenaissance, Leoncavallo aimed far higher. Here, too, however, his musicis for the most part a string of ill-digested reminiscences, thoughscored with such extraordinary cleverness and fertility of resource asalmost to disguise the inherent poverty of the score. 'Chatterton'(1896) was a failure, but 'La Bohème' (1897), though somewhat cast intothe shade by Puccini's work upon the same subject, scored a decidedsuccess. Leoncavallo's music is conceived in a totally different moodfrom that of Puccini. He has little of Puccini's grace and tenderness, but he treated the scenes of Bohemian life with amazing energy andspirit, if with an occasional suggestion of brutality. 'Zaza' (1900), founded upon a French play which recently achieved a scandalousnotoriety, has found little favour even in Italy. Leoncavallo's latestwork, 'Der Roland, ' was written in response to a commission from theGerman Emperor, who believed that he had found in the composer of 'IMedici' a musician worthy to celebrate the mighty deeds of theHohenzollerns. 'Der Roland' was produced in a German version at Berlinin 1904, and in spite of Court patronage failed completely. Umberto Giordano, who during the last few years has steadily worked hisway to the front rank of Italian composers, started his career with a_succès de scandale_ in 'Mala Vita' (1892), a coarse and licentiousimitation of 'Cavalleria Rusticana. ' There is far better work in 'AndreaChénier' (1896), a stirring tale of the French Revolution set to musicwhich shows uncommon dramatic power and in certain scenes a fine senseof lyrical expression. After a good deal of preludial matter the plotcentres in the rivalry of Chénier the poet and Gérard, a revolutionaryleader, for the hand of Madeleine. Gérard condemns Chénier to death, butis melted by Madeleine's pleading, and rescinds the order for hisexecution. The pardon, however, comes too late, and Madeleine andChénier ascend the scaffold together, in an ecstasy of lyrical rapture. 'Fedora' (1898), an adaptation of Sardou's famous drama, has lessmusical interest than 'Andrea Chénier, ' the breathless incidents of theplot giving but little scope for musical treatment. The first act showsthe death of Vladimir, the police investigation and Fedora's vow todiscover the murderer. In the second Fedora extorts from Loris Ipanoff aconfession of the vengeance that he wreaked upon the perfidiousVladimir, and, finding Loris innocent and Vladimir guilty, in a suddenrevulsion of feeling throws herself into Loris's arms, bidding him staywith her rather than leave the house to fall into the hands of spies. Inthe third act Fedora, certain of detection, confesses to Loris herprevious machinations against him, which have resulted in the deaths ofhis mother and brother, and takes poison before his eyes. Giordanotouched a far higher level in 'Siberia' (1903), a gloomy tale ofRussian crime and punishment. Stephana, a courtesan, among all herlovers cares only for the young sergeant Vassili. Vassili, who haslearnt to love her, not knowing who she is, when he discovers the truth, bursts in upon a fête she is giving, quarrels with a lieutenant andkills him on the spot. He is condemned to exile in Siberia, but isfollowed by Stephana, who overtakes him at the frontier, and gets leaveto share his fate. In the mines they find Globy, Stephana's originalseducer, whose infamy she exposes to the assembled convicts. In revengeGloby betrays to the authorities a project of escape devised by Stephanaand Vassili, and the lovers are shot just as liberty appears to bewithin their grasp. The music of 'Siberia' is more artistic thananything Giordano has previously written. The situations are skilfullyhandled, and the note of pity and pathos is touched with no uncertainhand. The opera is unequal, but the scene of the halt at the frontier istreated in masterly fashion. Francesco Ciléa won no marked success until the production of his'Adriana Lecouvreur' in 1902. The plot is an adaptation of Scribe'sfamous play, but so trenchantly abbreviated as to be almostincomprehensible. The opening scene in the _foyer_ of the ComédieFrançaise is bright and lively, the handling of the score arousingpleasant reminiscences of Verdi's 'Falstaff, ' but the more dramaticpassages in the struggle of Adrienne and her rival the Princess deBouillon for Maurice de Saxe seem to be outside the scope of thecomposer's talent, and the great moments of the piece are somewhatfrigid and unimpressive. There is a note of pathos, however, inAdrienne's death-scene, and the character of Michonnet is elaboratedwith skill and feeling. Ciléa's latest opera, 'Gloria' (1907), ablood-thirsty story of the struggle between the Guelphs and Ghibellines, does not appear to have won much favour in Italy. Edoardo Mascheroni's early laurels were won as a conductor, but in 1901he sprang into fame as the composer of 'Lorenza, ' an opera which has metwith much success in various cities of Spain and Spanish America as wellas in Italy. 'Lorenza' is a Calabrian version of the time-honoured storyof Judith and Holofernes, though in this case the Judith, so far fromslaying her brigand Holofernes, falls in love with him, and ends bydisguising herself in his cloak and allowing herself to be shot by thesoldiers who come to capture the bandit chief. Mascheroni's scoreoverflows with thoroughly Italian melody, and shows considerableknowledge of dramatic effect, which from a conductor of his experiencewas only to be expected. Of the numerous other Italian composers who bask in the sunshine ofpopularity south of the Alps very few are known to fame beyond thefrontiers of Italy. The younger men follow religiously in the steps ofMascagni or Puccini, while their elders still hang on to the skirts of'Aida. ' Giacomo Orefice won a success of curiosity in 1901 with his'Chopin, ' a strange work dealing in fanciful fashion with the story ofthe Polish composer's life, the melodies of the opera being takenentirely from Chopin's music. Spinelli's 'A Basso Porto' (1895), which has been performed in Englishby the Carl Rosa Opera Company, is redolent of Mascagni's influence, butthe nauseating incidents of the plot make 'Cavalleria, ' by comparison, seem chaste and classical. The libretto deals with the vengeance wreakedby a villainous Neapolitan street loafer upon a woman who has played himfalse--a vengeance which takes the form of ruining her son by drink andplay, and of attempting to seduce her daughter. In the end thisegregious ruffian is murdered in the street by the mother of his twovictims, just in time to prevent his being knifed by the members of asecret society whom he had betrayed to justice. The music is not withoutdramatic vigour, and it has plenty of melody of a rough and ready kind. There is technical skill, too, in the treatment of the voices and in theorchestration, but hardly enough to reconcile an English audience to sooffensive a book. Salvatore Auteri-Manzocchi has never repeated theearly success of 'Dolores, ' and Spiro Samara, a Greek by birth, but anItalian by training and sympathies, seems to have lost the secret of thedelicate imagination which nearly made 'Flora Mirabilis' a Europeansuccess, though his 'Martire, ' a work of crude sensationalism, enjoyedan ephemeral success in Italy. Franchetti, the composer of 'Asrael, ''Cristoforo Colombo, ' and other works, conceived upon a scale grandioserather than grand, appears anxious to emulate the theatrical glories ofMeyerbeer, and to make up for poverty of inspiration by spectacularmagnificence, but none of his operas has yet succeeded in crossing theAlps. CHAPTER XIII MODERN GERMAN AND SLAVONIC OPERA CORNELIUS--GOETZ--GOLDMARK--HUMPERDINCK--STRAUSS--SMETANA--GLINKA--PADEREWSKI The history of music furnishes more than one instance of the paralysingeffect which the influence of a great genius is apt to exercise upon hiscontemporaries and immediate successors. The vast popularity of Handelin England had the effect of stunting the development of our nationalmusic for more than a century. During his lifetime, and for many yearsafter his death, English-born musicians could do little but imitate hismore salient mannerisms, and reproduce in an attenuated form the lessonswhich he had taught. The effect of Wagner's music upon German opera hasbeen something of the same description. As soon as his works gainedtheir legitimate place in the affections of his countrymen, hisinfluence began to assume formidable proportions. The might of hisindividuality was irresistible. It was not possible, as in Italy andFrance, to combine the system of Wagner with other elements. In Germanyit had to be Wagner or nothing, and thus, except for the writers ofsentimental Singspiele, a form of opera which scarcely comes into theprovince of art at all, German musicians have vied with each other inproducing imitations of their great master, which succeeded or failedaccording to the measure of their resemblance to their model, but hadvery little value as original work. The production of Humperdinck's'Hänsel und Gretel' gave rise to a hope that the merely imitative periodwas passing away, but it is plain that the mighty shadow of Wagner stillhangs over German music. Strauss's 'Salome' may be the herald of a newepoch, but on that subject it is too soon to indulge in prophecy. Wagner had completed what, for the sake of convenience, we have calledhis earlier period, before his influence began to make itself felt inGerman opera. 'Lohengrin' was performed for the first time under Liszt'sdirection at Weimar in 1850. Eight years later Cornelius's 'Barbier vonBagdad' was performed at the same theatre under the same conductor. Thiswas Liszt's last production at Weimar, for the ill-feeling stirred up byCornelius's work was so pronounced that the great pianist threw up hisposition as Kapellmeister in disgust, and took refuge in the morecongenial society of Rome. Peter Cornelius (1824-1874) was one of themost prominent of the band of young men who gathered round Liszt atWeimar, and by means of their music and writings sought to further thecause of 'New-German' art. 'Der Barbier von Bagdad' was immensely inadvance of its time. It failed completely to attract the public ofWeimar, the most cultivated in Europe, when it was originally produced, but it is now one of the most popular operas in Germany. The beauties ofthe score are doubly astonishing when it is remembered that when it waswritten 'Die Meistersinger' had not been composed. The germs of muchthat delights us in Wagner's comic opera may be found in 'Der Barbier, 'and it is certain that if Cornelius received his initial impulse from'Lohengrin, ' he himself reacted upon Wagner to a very remarkable extent. The plot of 'Der Barbier' is long-winded and puerile, and the interestis entirely centred in the music, Noureddin loves Margiana, the daughterof the Cadi, and is bidden to an interview by Bostana, her _confidante_. He takes with him Abul Hassan, a talkative fool of a barber, who watchesin the street while Noureddin visits his sweetheart. Suddenly the criesof a slave undergoing the bastinado are heard. The barber jumps to theconclusion that Noureddin is being murdered, summons help and invadesthe house. Noureddin takes refuge from the wrath of the Cadi in a chest. The commotion and tumult end in bringing the Caliph upon the scene, andthe unfortunate youth is discovered half dead in his hiding-place. He isrevived by the barber, and presented with the hand of Margiana. To thissilly story Cornelius wrote music of extraordinary power and beauty. Much of it is of course light and trivial, but such scenes as that ofthe Muezzin call, or the wild confusion of the last finale, are fullyworthy of the master upon whom Cornelius modelled his style. Corneliushad a pretty gift for humorous orchestration, and his accompanimentsoften anticipate the dainty effects of 'Die Meistersinger. ' 'DasRheingold' being still unwritten in 1858, it would be too much to expecta systematised use of guiding themes, but they are often employed withconsummate skill, and in the Muezzin scene the music of the call toprayer forms the basis of a symphonic passage, which is thoroughly inthe style of Wagner's later works. Cornelius left two posthumous works, 'Der Cid' and 'Gunlöd, ' which have been produced during the last fewyears. They are little more than imitations of Wagner's maturer style. Hermann Goetz (1840-1876) was a composer whose early death cut short acareer of remarkable promise. He produced but one opera during hislifetime, but that displayed an originality and a resource for which itwould be vain to look in the multifarious compositions of theKapellmeisters of the period. 'Der Widerspänstigen Zähmung' follows theincidents of 'The Taming of the Shrew' very closely. The action beginsat night. Lucentio is serenading Bianca, but his ditty is interrupted bya riot among Baptista's servants, who refuse to submit any longer toKatharine's ill-treatment. Peace is restored, and Lucentio resumes hissong. A second interruption is in store for him in the shape ofHortensio, another of Bianca's suitors, also upon serenading bent. Baptista, angry at being disturbed again by the quarrels of the rivalmusicians, dismisses them with the information that Bianca shall bebestowed upon neither of them until Katharine is wedded. Petruchio nowenters, and fired with Hortensio's description of Katharine's beauty andspirit, vows to make her his own. The second act begins with a scene between Katharine and her sister, which conclusively proves that the reports of the former's shrewishnesshave not exceeded the truth. Hortensio and Lucentio, disguisedrespectively as a music master and a teacher of languages, are nowushered in, and receive most uncourteous treatment at Katharine's hands. The act ends with Petruchio's wooing of Katharine, and the settlement oftheir wedding-day. In the third act comes the marriage of Petruchio andKatharine, and the fourth act shows the taming of the shrew in strictaccordance with Shakespeare's comedy. Goetz's music brims over withfrolicsome humour and gaiety, and the more serious portions are tenderwithout being sentimental. The influence of Wagner is more plainly seenin the musicianly development of the melodies than in their employmentas guiding themes, though of this, too, there are not a few instances. But the parts of the work in which Goetz's indebtedness to Wagner aremost apparent are the choruses, which, both in their tunefulness and inthe elaborate nature of the part-writing, often recall 'DieMeistersinger, ' and in the orchestration, which is extraordinarilyfanciful and imaginative. 'Der Widerspänstigen Zähmung' has never beenproperly appreciated in this country, in spite of the familiar nature ofthe libretto. Goetz left another opera, 'Francesca da Rimini, 'unfinished. This was completed by his friend Ernst Frank, but has nevermet with much success. Cornelius and Goetz would have been the first to admit the influencewhich Wagner's works exercised upon their imagination, yet theiradmiration for his music never seduced them into anything like mereimitation. The operas of Carl Goldmark are founded far more directlyupon the methods and system of Wagner. Yet it would be unjust to dismisshim as a mere plagiarist. In his first work, 'Die Königin von Saba'(1875), there is a great deal which is entirely independent of Wagner'sor any one else's influence. The plot of the work has really nothingBiblical about it, and if the names of the characters were changed, thework might be produced to-morrow at Covent Garden without offending themost puritanical susceptibilities. Sulamith, the daughter of the highpriest, is to wed Assad, a Jewish warrior, upon his return from amilitary expedition, but Assad has fallen in with the Queen of Sheba onher way to Jerusalem, and her charms have proved fatal to his constancy. Sulamith is prepared to forgive him, but his love for the queen isirresistible, and even at the altar he leaves Sulamith for her embraces. Finally Assad is banished to the desert, where he is overwhelmed by asandstorm. 'Die Königin von Saba' is a strong and effective opera. Thelocal colour is managed very skilfully, and the orchestration is noveland brilliant. Yet there is very little of that indefinable quality, which we call sincerity, about the score. It was happily described atits production as a clever imitation of good music. The influence ofWagner is strongest in the love music, which owes much to 'Tristan undIsolde, ' 'Merlin' (1886), Goldmark's second opera, has not been assuccessful in Germany as 'Die Königin von Saba, ' The libretto, which isfounded upon the Arthurian legend of Merlin and Vivien, shows manypoints of resemblance to Wagner's later works, and the music follows hissystem of guiding themes far more closely than in the earlier work. 'Merlin' may stand as an instance of the unfortunate influence which aman of Wagner's power and originality exercises upon his contemporaries. There is little in it which cannot be traced more or less directly to aprototype in the works of Wagner, and it need scarcely be said thatGoldmark does not improve upon his model In 'Das Heimchen am Herd'(1896), the libretto of which is founded upon Dickens's famous story'The Cricket on the Hearth, ' Goldmark seems to have tried to emulate thesuccess of Humperdinck's 'Hänsel und Gretel, ' There are suggestions init, too, of the influence of Smetana who dawned upon the Viennesehorizon in 1890. In this work, which has been performed with greatsuccess in Germany, and was produced in English by the Carl Rosa Companyin 1900, the composer contrived very cleverly to put off the grandiosemanner of his earlier operas. Elaborate as the orchestral part of thescore is, it is never allowed to overpower the voices, and the generalimpression of the opera is one of rare simplicity and charm. Goldmark'slater works, 'Die Kriegsgefangene' (1899) and 'Götz von Berlichingen'(1902), have been less successful. Cyrill Kistler (1848-1907) was spoken of some years ago as the man uponwhom Wagner's mantle had fallen, but his recent death has shattered thehopes founded upon the promise of his early works. 'Kunihild, ' a workdealing with a heroic legend, was produced in 1883. It is a cleverimitation of the Wagnerian manner, except as regards the choruses, whichscarcely rise above the standard of the Liedertafel; but neither at itsproduction nor at an elaborate revival, which took place at Würzburg afew years ago, did it meet with more than a _succès d'estime_. Thereseems to be better work in 'Eulenspiegel, ' a comic opera founded uponKotzebue's comedy. The music is instinct with genuine humour, and thoughbut remotely suggesting the methods of Wagner shows complete mastery oftechnical resource. The most important contribution to German opera made during the decadethat followed the death of Wagner was Humperdinck's 'Hänsel und Gretel, 'which was produced in December 1893. Before that time the composer wasknown to fame, at any rate so far as England is concerned, only by acouple of cantatas and some arrangements of scenes from Wagner's worksfor concert purposes, but at one bound he became the most popular livingoperatic composer of Germany. The libretto of 'Hänsel und Gretel' is avery charming arrangement, in three scenes, of a familiar nursery tale. The action opens in the cottage of Peter the broom-maker. Hänsel andGretel, the two children, are left to keep house together. They soontire of their tasks, and Gretel volunteers to teach her brother how todance. In the middle of their romp, Gertrude their mother comes in, andangrily packs them off into the wood to pick strawberries. Tired andfaint she sinks into a chair, bewailing the lot of the poor man's wife, with empty cupboards and hungry mouths to be fed. Soon Peter's voice isheard singing in the distance. He has had a good sale for his besoms, and comes back laden with good cheer. But his delight is cut short bythe absence of the children, and when he finds that they are out in thewood alone, he terrifies his wife with the story of the witch ofSchornstein, who is given to eating little children, and they both hurryoff to bring Hänsel and Gretel home. Meanwhile, out in the forest thechildren amuse themselves with picking strawberries and making flowergarlands, until the approach of night, when they find to their horrorthat they have lost their way. They search for it in vain, and at last, completely tired out, they sink down upon the moss beneath a spreadingtree. The Dustman--the German sleep-fairy--appears and throws dust intheir weary eyes. Together they sing their little evening hymn, and dropoff to sleep locked in each other's arms. Then the heavens open, anddown a shining staircase come the bright forms of angels, who groupthemselves round the sleeping children, and watch over their innocentslumbers until the break of day. Hänsel and Gretel are aroused by theDew-fairy, who sprinkles his magic branch over them and drives the sleepfrom their eyes. They tell each other of the wonderful dream which cameto both of them, and then, looking round for the first time, discover abeautiful gingerbread house, close to where they were sleeping. This iswhere the witch of the forest lives, who bakes little children intogingerbread in her great oven, and eats them up. She catches Hänsel andGretel, and nearly succeeds in her wicked schemes, but the children, with great presence of mind, defeat her malice by pushing her into herown oven. Then they free the other children who have been turned intogingerbread through her magic spells, and the father and motheropportunely appearing, all join in a hymn of thanksgiving for theirdeliverance. Humperdinck's music reproduces, with infinite art, the tender andchildlike charm of the delightful old fairy tale. His score is amazinglyelaborate, and his treatment of the guiding themes which compose it iskaleidoscopic in its variety, yet the whole thing flows on as naturallyas a ballad. The voice-parts are always suave and melodious, and theorchestral score, however complicated, never loses touch of consummatemusical beauty. Humperdinck's melody is founded upon the Volkslied, andhe uses at least one nursery tune with charming effect. The framework of'Hänsel und Gretel' is that bequeathed by Wagner, but the spirit whichanimates and informs the work is so different from that of the Bayreuthmaster, that there can be no suspicion of imitation, much less ofplagiarism. Humperdinck is the first German operatic composer ofdistinct individuality since the death of Wagner. He has shown that themethods of the great composer can be used as a garment to cover anindividuality as distinct as that of any writer in the history of opera. Humperdinck's share of 'Die sieben Geislein, ' a children's ballad operawhich was published some years ago, consists only of a few songs of anunimportant character, which will not enhance his reputation. 'Königskinder, ' which was produced in 1897, must be classed as a playwith incidental music rather than as an opera. The composer directedthat the accompanied dialogue, of which there is a good deal, should berhythmically chanted, but when the work came to be performed thesedirections were practically ignored by the players. 'Königskinder' wasfollowed in 1902 by 'Dornröschen, ' another fairy play accompanied byincidental music, which won little success, nor has good fortuneattended his latest opera, 'Die Heirath wider Willen' (1905). Among the younger generation of German composers, mention must be madeof Max Schillings, whose very promising 'Ingwelde' (1894) has recentlybeen succeeded by a remarkable work entitled 'Moloch' (1907); and ofWilhelm Kienzl, the composer of 'Der Evangelimann' (1895). In'Ingwelde' Schillings followed the Wagnerian tradition almost toofaithfully, but 'Moloch' is a work of very distinct individuality. 'DerEvangelimann, ' on the other hand, is thoroughly eclectic in style, andthe influence not only of Wagner, but of Meyerbeer, Gounod and evenMascagni, may be traced in its pages. Kienzl's later works have met withlittle favour. 'Donna Diana' (1895), by a composer named Reznicek, is acomic opera founded upon a Spanish subject, which has had a mostsuccessful career in Germany during the past few years. It is elaboratein construction, and indeed the score seems to be too complicated toharmonise well with the comic incidents of the story. More recently thecomposer has won success with a work on the subject of TillEulenspiegel. Heinrich Zöllner came to the front in 1899 with 'Dieversunkene Glocke, ' an opera founded upon Gerhart Hauptmann's famousplay, which is said to reproduce the symbolic charm of the original withconspicuous success. Eugene d'Albert, though English by birth, has forso long identified himself with Germany, that the success of his comicopera, 'Die Abreise' (1898), may most suitably be recorded here. Hismore ambitious works have been less favourably received. SiegfriedWagner, in spite of his parentage, seems to have founded his styleprincipally upon that of Humperdinck. His first opera, 'Der Bärenhäuter'(1899), was fairly successful, principally owing to a fantastic andsemi-comic libretto. 'Herzog Wildfang' (1901) and 'Der Kobold' (1904)failed completely, nor does his latest work, 'Bruder Lustig' (1905), raise very sanguine hopes as to its young composer's future career. Another follower of Humperdinck is Eduard Poldini, whose clever andcharming 'Der Vagabund und die Prinzessin, ' a graceful version of one ofHans Andersen's stories, was given in London with success in 1906. Mention must also be made of Felix Weingartner, whose 'Genesius' (1892)and 'Orestes' (1902) are said to contain much fine music; of AugustBungert, whose trilogy founded upon the Odyssey has been received withfavour in Dresden, though it does not appear to have made much wayelsewhere; and of Hans Pfitzner, whose 'Rose von Liebesgarten' (1901) isone of the most promising operas of the younger generation. The most important figure in the world of German opera to-day isunquestionably that of Richard Strauss. This is not the place to dilateupon Strauss's achievements as a symphonic writer, which aresufficiently well known to the world at large. His first opera, 'Guntram' (1894), was hardly more than an exercise in the manner ofWagner, and made comparatively little impression. 'Feuersnoth' (1901)was a far more characteristic production. It deals with an old legend ofthe love of a sorcerer for a maiden. The sorcerer is rejected, and inrevenge he deprives the town in which the maiden lives of fire andlight. The townspeople press the maiden to relent, and her yielding issignalised by a sudden blaze of splendour. Strauss's score shows to thefull the amazing command of polyphony and the bewildering richness andvariety of orchestration which have made his name famous. The plot of'Feuersnoth, ' however, was against it, and it does not seem to have wona permanent success. 'Salome' (1906), on the other hand, has triumphedin Italy and Paris as well as in Germany, and succeeded in scandalisingNew York so seriously that it was withdrawn after a single performance. 'Salome' is a setting, almost unabbreviated, of Oscar Wilde's play ofthat name, which itself owed much to a tale by Flaubert. The scene islaid upon a terrace of Herod's palace, where soldiers are keeping watchwhile the king holds revel within. Salome, the daughter of Herodias, issues from the banquet chamber, troubled by Herod's gaze. The voice ofJochanaan (John the Baptist), who is imprisoned in a cistern hard by, isheard. Salome bids Narraboth, a young Assyrian, bring him forth. Draggedfrom his living tomb, Jochanaan denounces the wickedness of Herodias, but Salome has no ears for his curses. Fascinated by the strange beautyof the prophet, she pours forth her passion in wild accents. Jochanaanrepulses her and retreats once more to his cistern. Herod and Herodiasnow come forth from the banquet, and Herod bids Salome dance. Sheextorts a promise from him that he will give her whatever she asks, evento the half of his kingdom, and dances the dance of the seven veils. Thedance over, she demands the head of Jochanaan. Herod pleads with her invain, the executioner is sent into the cistern and the head of Jochanaanis brought in upon a silver charger. Salome kisses the lifeless lips, but Herod in wrath and horror cries to his soldiers: 'Kill this woman, 'and as the curtain falls she is crushed beneath their shields. Straussis the stormy petrel of modern music, and 'Salome' has aroused morediscussion than anything he has written. Many critics quite the reverseof prudish have found its ethics somewhat difficult of digestion, whileconservative musicians hold up their hands in horror at its harmonicaudacity. The more advanced spirits find a strange exotic beauty in theweird harmonies and infinitely suggestive orchestration, and contendwith some justice that a work of art must be judged as such, not as anessay in didactic morality. The 'Salome' question may well be left fortime to settle, more especially as the subject and treatment of the workcombine to put its production upon the London stage beyond the limits ofimmediate probability. In modern times Singspiel has for the most part become merged in comicopera, which, though originally an importation from France, has becomethoroughly acclimatised in Germany, and in the hands of such men asJohann Strauss, Franz von Suppé, and Carl Millöcker, has produced workof no little artistic interest, though scarcely coming within the scopeof this book. To the Singspiel, too, may be traced an exceedinglyunpretentious school of opera, dealing for the most part with homely andsentimental subjects, of which the best-known representative is VictorNessler (1841-1890). Nessler's opera, 'Der Trompeter von Säkkingen, ' isstill one of the most popular works in the repertory of Germanopera-houses, and his 'Rattenfänger von Hameln' is scarcely less of afavourite. The first of these works is founded upon Scheffel'swell-known poem, and tells in artless fashion of the love of JungWerner, the trumpeter, for the daughter of the Baron von Schönau; thesecond deals with the story of the Hamelin rat-catcher, which Browninghas immortalised. Nessler has little more than a vein of simple melodyto recommend him, and his works have had no success beyond the frontiersof Germany; but at home his flow of rather feeble sentimentality hasendeared him to every susceptible heart in the Fatherland. Closely allied to the German school of opera is that of Bohemia, ofwhich the most famous representative is Smetana (1824-1884). Outside thefrontiers of his native land, Smetana was practically unknown until theVienna Exhibition of 1890, when his opera, 'Die verkaufte Braut, ' wasproduced for the first time in the Austrian capital. Since then it hasbeen played in many German opera-houses, and was performed in London in1895, and again in 1907. The story is simplicity itself. Jeník, a youngpeasant, and Marenka, the daughter of the rich farmer Krusina, love eachother dearly; but Kezal, a kind of go-between in the Bohemianmarriage-market, tells Krusina that he can produce a rich husband forhis daughter in the shape of Vasek, the son of Mícha. The avaricious oldman jumps at the proposal, but Marenka will have nothing to say to thearrangement, for Vasek is almost an idiot, and a stammerer as well. Kezal then proceeds to buy Jeník out for three hundred gulden. Thelatter, however, stipulates that in the agreement it shall only be setdown that Marenka is to marry the son of Mícha. The contract is signedand the money is paid, whereupon Jeník announces that he is a long-lostson of Mícha by a youthful marriage, and carries off the bride, to thediscomfiture of his enemies. If Smetana owes anything to anybody it isto Mozart, whose form and system of orchestration his own occasionallyrecalls, but his music is so thoroughly saturated with the melodies andrhythms of Bohemia, that it is quite unnecessary to look for any sourceof inspiration other than the composer's own native land. But althoughSmetana's music is Bohemian to the core, he brings about his effectslike a true artist. The national colour is not laid on in smudges, buttinges the whole fabric of the score. Smetana's other works are lessknown outside Bohemia. 'Das Geheimniss' and 'Der Kuss' are comic operasof a thoroughly national type, while 'Dalibor' and 'Libusa' deal withstirring episodes of Bohemian history. More famous than his master is Smetana's pupil Dvorak (1841-1904), yetthe latter seems to have had little real vocation for the stage. Hisoperas, 'Der Bauer ein Schelm' and 'Der Dickschädel, ' appear to followthe style of Smetana very closely. They have been favourably received inBohemia, but the thoroughly national sentiment of the libretti mustnaturally militate against their success elsewhere. In Russia the development of opera, and indeed of music generally, is ofcomparatively recent date. Glinka (1803-1857), the founder of theschool, is still perhaps its most famous representative, although hisoperas, in spite of frequent trials, seem never to succeed beyond thefrontiers of Russia. The splendid patriotism of 'Life for the Czar'(1836), his most famous work, endears him to the hearts of hiscountrymen. The scene of the opera is laid in the seventeenth century, when the Poles held Moscow and the fortunes of Russia were at the lowestebb. Michael Fedorovich Romanov has just been elected Czar, and upon himthe hopes of the people are centred. The Poles are determined to seizethe person of the Czar, and some of them, disguised as ambassadors, summon the peasant Ivan Sussaninna to guide them to his retreat. Ivansacrifices his life for his master. He despatches his adopted son towarn the Czar, and himself leads the Poles astray in the wild morassesof the country. When they discover that they have been betrayed they putIvan to death, but not before he has had the satisfaction of knowingthat the Czar is in safety. The opera ends with the triumphal entry ofthe Czar into Moscow. 'Russian and Ludmila' (1858), Glinka's second work, is founded upon afantastic Russian legend of magic and necromancy. It has not thenational and patriotic interest of 'Life for the Czar, ' but as music itdeserves to rank higher. Berlioz thought very highly of it. Neverthelessit may be doubted whether, at this time of day, there is any likelihoodof Glinka becoming popular in Western Europe. Glinka had anextraordinary natural talent, and had he lived in closer touch with themusical world, he might have become one of the great composers of thecentury. Melody he had in abundance, and his feeling for musical form isstrong, though only partially developed. He had little dramaticinstinct, and it is singular that he should be known principally as acomposer for the stage. His treatment of the orchestra is brilliant andeffective, but the national element in his music is the _signeparticulier_ of his style. He rarely used actual Russian folk-tunes, buthis music is coloured throughout by the plaintive melancholy of thenational type. A composer, whose music smells so strongly of the soil, can scarcely expect to be appreciated abroad. Dargomishky (1813-1869) and Serov (1818-1871) are unfamiliar names toEnglishmen. The former during his lifetime was content to follow in thesteps of Glinka, but his opera, 'The Marble Guest, ' a treatment of thestory of Don Juan, which was produced after his death, broke entirelyfresh ground. This work is completely modern in thought and expression, and may be regarded as the foundation of modern Russian opera. Serov wasan enthusiastic imitator of Wagner, and even his own countrymen admitthat his works have little musical value. Rubinstein (1829-1895) wrote many works for the stage, and during thelast years of his life founded something like a new form of art in hissacred operas, 'Moses' and 'Christus, ' the latter of which was producedafter his death at Bremen. Critics differ very much as to Rubinstein'smerits as a composer, but as to the quality of his work for the stagethere can hardly be two opinions. His music is essentially undramatic. None of his works, at any rate outside Russia, has achieved more than apassing success. 'The Demon, ' a strange story of the love of a demon fora Russian princess, has some fine music in it, but the story is almosttotally devoid of incident, and the opera as a whole is intolerablywearisome. Of the younger school of Russian operatic composers it is almostimpossible to speak with any authority, since their works are rarelyperformed in Western Europe. Tchaikovsky's 'Eugene Onegin' isoccasionally given in London, but has won little success. Much of themusic is interesting, but the disconnected character of the libretto andthe lack of incident fully account for the scanty favour with which itis received. 'Le Flibustier, ' an opera by César Cui, was performed inParis a few years ago with even less success. Borodin's 'Prince Igor, 'and 'Die Mainacht' by Rimsky-Korsakov, are thought highly of by thefellow-countrymen of the composers, but neither work has succeeded incrossing the frontier of Russia. Poland has not hitherto taken a prominent place in the history of opera, and the successful production of 'Manru' (1901), an opera by IgnazPaderewski, the world-famous pianist, is hardly to be taken as thefoundation of a new school. The story deals with the fortunes of agipsy, Manru, who marries Ulana, a peasant girl, but is won back togipsy life by the fascinations of Asa, the princess of his tribe. Herejoins his own people in spite of Ulana's entreaties and a love-potionwhich she administers, but is killed by a gipsy rival, while Ulana indespair throws herself into a lake. Paderewski's music is thoroughlyGerman in style, but he makes clever use of gipsy tunes and rhythms, which give a welcome variety to the score. The genius of Scandinavian musicians seems to have little in common withthe stage. The works of Hartmann and Weyse are not known beyond theboundaries of Denmark. Of late years, however, works by August Enna, ayoung Danish composer, have been performed in various German towns. 'DieHexe' and 'Cleopatra' won a good deal of success, but the composer'smore recent operas, 'Aucassin und Nicolette' and 'Das Streichholzmädel, 'have met with little favour. CHAPTER XIV ENGLISH OPERA BALFE--WALLACE--BENEDICT--GORING THOMAS--MACKENZIESTANFORD--SULLIVAN--SMYTH Soon after the death of Purcell, the craze for Italian opera seems tohave banished native art completely from the English stage. At thebeginning of the eighteenth century, the most popular form ofentertainment consisted of operas set to a mixture of English andItalian words, but after a time the town, to quote Addison, tired ofunderstanding only half the work, determined for the future tounderstand none of it, and these hybrid works gave place, after thearrival of Handel, to the splendid series of masterpieces extending from'Rinaldo' to 'Deidamia. ' From time to time attempts were made to gain afooting for English opera in London, and in 1728 'The Beggar's Opera'achieved a triumph so instantaneous and overwhelming as seriously toaffect the success of Handel's Italian enterprise at the HaymarketTheatre. It is supposed, that the origin of 'The Beggar's Opera' is dueto a remark of Swift's that 'a Newgate pastoral might be made a prettything. ' Gay borrowed the idea, and constructed 'The Beggar's Opera'round a cut-throat highwayman of the name of Macheath, while Dr. Pepuscharranged the music from old English and Scotch melodies, together withsome of the most popular tunes of the day. The success of the work wasvery remarkable. It was performed sixty-two times during the firstseason, and even now is still to be heard occasionally. It was thefoundation of that exceedingly simple form of art, the English balladopera, which was so widely popular in London during the closing years ofthe eighteenth century, and early in the nineteenth. At first composersavailed themselves largely of traditional or popular tunes in arrangingthe music which diversified the dialogue of these works, but as timewent on they became more ambitious, and the operas of Storace and hiscontemporaries are for the most entirely original. Meanwhile an attempt had been made by Arne to adapt the mannerisms ofthe Italian stage to English opera. His 'Artaxerxes, ' which was producedin 1762, was constructed strictly upon the lines of Italian opera, beingmade up throughout entirely of airs and recitative. It had a mostencouraging reception, but the enterprise seems to have borne littlefruit, for after a few years we hear no more of English opera 'after theItalian manner, ' and London seems to have been content with Italianopera and ballad operas of the already familiar type. The traditions ofthe latter were successfully carried on by Storace, a naturalisedItalian, Dibdin, Shield, Hook, and many others, many of whose songs arestill popular, though the works of which they once formed part havelong been forgotten. The ballad operas of these composers were ofunimaginable _naïveté_ and depended entirely upon their simpletunefulness for such favour as they won. Sir Henry Bishop (1786-1855)raised the artistic standard of this form of art considerably. There isreal musical interest in some of his concerted pieces, and many of hischoruses, which are familiar to us under the incorrect name of glees, are capitally written. Had Bishop possessed the necessary energy andenterprise, he might have founded a school of English opera which wouldhave compared favourably even with its continental contemporaries. To John Barnett (1802-1890) belongs the credit of writing the firstEnglish opera, strictly so called, since Arne's 'Artaxerxes. ' 'TheMountain Sylph, ' which was produced in 1834, fulfils all therequirements of the operatic form. It is besides a work of genuine charmand power, and retained its popularity for many years. It is unfortunate for the memory of Balfe (1808-1870) that the one operaby which he is now remembered, the perennial 'Bohemian Girl, ' should beperhaps the least meritorious of his many works. It lives solely byreason of the insipid tunefulness of one or two airs, regardless of thefact that the plot is transcendentally foolish, and that the words are ashining example of the immortal balderdash of the poet Bunn. In thefirst act Thaddeus, an exiled Polish rebel, finds refuge among a tribeof gipsies, who disguise him in order to enable him to escape hispursuers. While among them he saves the life of Arline, the six-year-olddaughter of Count Arnheim, an Austrian nobleman. Arnheim, in delight atrecovering his child, invites Thaddeus and his companion Devilshoof, theleader of the gipsies, to a banquet, at which the Emperor's health isproposed. The two supposed gipsies refuse to drink it, whereuponDevilshoof is seized and imprisoned, while Thaddeus, at the Count'searnest entreaty, is allowed to go in freedom. Devilshoof contrives tomake his escape, and in revenge for the treatment he has received stealsthe little Arline, whom he carries off to the gipsy camp. Twelve yearshave passed when the second act begins. Arline has grown up towomanhood, but all the other characters remain at precisely the same ageas in the first act. Thaddeus loves Arline, and is himself beloved bythe gipsy queen, who vows the innocent girl's ruin. By her machinationsArline is accused of theft, and is taken to be tried by her own father. The inevitable recognition ensues, and upon Thaddeus disclosing his trueposition he is rewarded with Airline's hand. During the betrothal feastthe gipsy queen attempts Arline's life, but the shot, in a manner whicheven Bunn himself might have found difficult to explain, recoils andstrikes her who aimed it. Balfe had to the full his share of that vein of maudlin sentiment whichis typical of one side of the Irish character. He appears to have hadlittle ambition, and was content throughout his career to fit hissaccharine melodies to whatever words the librettists of the day choseto supply. No one can deny him the possession of fluent and commonplacemelody, but there his claim to musicianship ends. Wallace (1814-1865) was more of a musician than Balfe, but hisbest-known work, 'Maritana, ' is but little superior to 'The BohemianGirl. ' Maritana, a street singer, has attracted the attention of theKing of Spain. Don José, one of the courtiers, determines to help theKing in his amour, in order that he may afterwards use his infidelity asa means of advancing himself in the favour of the Queen. There is a lawagainst duelling in the streets of Madrid, and a certain spendthriftnobleman, Don Cæsar de Bazan, has rendered himself liable to death forprotecting a poor boy named Lazarillo from arrest. Don José promises thecondemned man that he shall be shot instead of hanged, if he willconsent to marry a veiled lady an hour before the execution, intendingthus to give Maritana a position at court as the widow of a nobleman. Don Cæsar consents to the arrangement, but Lazarillo takes the bulletsout of the soldiers' rifles, so that the execution does not end fatally, and Maritana is not a widow after all. Don Cæsar finds his way to avilla in the outskirts of Madrid, where he not only has the satisfactionof putting a stop to the King's attentions to Maritana, but performs thesame kind office for the Queen, who is being persecuted by Don José. Forthe latter performance he receives a free pardon, and is made Governorof Valentia. 'Lurline, ' an opera constructed upon the Rhenish legend ofthe Loreley, has perhaps more musical merit than 'Maritana, ' but thelibretto is more than usually indefinite. Wallace rivalled Balfe in the facility and shallowness of his melody. Yet with all their weaknesses, his operas contain many tunes which havewound themselves into popular affection, and in the eyes of Bank-Holidayaudiences, 'Maritana' stands second only to 'The Bohemian Girl. ' Sir Julius Benedict (1804-1885), though German by birth, mayconveniently be classed as an Englishman. Trained in the school ofWeber, he was a musician of a very different calibre from Balfe andWallace. His earlier works, 'The Gipsy's Warning' and 'The Brides ofVenice, ' are now forgotten, but 'The Lily of Killarney, ' which wasproduced in 1862, is still deservedly popular. It is founded upon Boucicault's famous drama, 'The Colleen Bawn. 'Hardress Cregan, a young Irish landowner, has married Eily O'Connor, abeautiful peasant girl of Killarney. The marriage has been kept secret, and Hardress, finding that an opportunity has arisen of repairing thefallen fortunes of his house by a rich marriage, contemplatesrepudiating Eily. Eily refuses to part with her 'marriage lines, 'whereupon Danny Mann, Hardress's faithful henchman, attempts to drownher in the lake. She is saved by Myles na Coppaleen, a humble lover ofher own, who shoots Danny Mann. Eily's narrow escape has the result ofbringing Hardress to his senses. He renounces his schemes of ambition, and makes public his marriage with Eily. Benedict's music touches ahigher level than had been reached by English opera before. He was, ofcourse, directly inspired by Weber, but there runs through the opera avein of plaintive melancholy which is all his own. The form in which'The Lily of Killarney' is cast is now somewhat superannuated, but fortenderness of melody and unaffected pathos, it will compare veryfavourably with many more pretentious works which have succeeded it. SirGeorge Macfarren (1813-1887) was a prolific writer for the stage, but ofall his works 'Robin Hood' is the only one which is still occasionallyperformed. It has little of the buoyancy which the theme demands, butthere is a great deal of sound writing in the concerted music, and someof the ballads are tuneful enough in a rather commonplace way. EdwardJames Loder (1813-1865) was a good musician, and under more favourableconditions might have produced work of permanent interest. Hisbest-known work is 'The Night Dancers, ' an opera founded upon the legendwhich has been used by the Italian composer Puccini in his 'Le Villi. ' About the middle of the nineteenth century the destinies of Englishopera were controlled by a company presided over by Miss Pyne and Mr. Harrison, for which Balfe and Macfarren wrote a good many of theirworks. In more recent times the place of this institution was taken bythe Carl Rosa company, which was founded in 1875 by a German violinistnamed Carl Rosa. Such opportunities as were presented to Englishmusicians, during the latter part of the last century, of hearing theirworks sung upon the stage were principally due to his efforts. One ofthe first works actually written in response to a commission by CarlRosa was 'Esmeralda, ' an opera by Arthur Goring Thomas (1851-1892), which was produced in 1883. It is founded upon Victor Hugo's 'NotreDame, ' and the libretto was written by T. Marzials and A. Randegger. Esmeralda, a gipsy street singer, is loved by the profligate priestClaude Frollo, who with the assistance of Quasimodo, the deformedbell-ringer of Notre Dame, tries to carry her off by night. She isrescued by Phoebus de Châteaupers, the captain of the guard, whospeedily falls in love with her. Frollo escapes, but Quasimodo iscaptured, though, at Esmeralda's entreaty, Phoebus sets him once more atliberty. In gratitude the dwarf vows himself to her service. Frollo ismad with rage at seeing Phoebus preferred to himself; he assassinatesthe captain and accuses Esmeralda of the crime. She is condemned todeath, but is saved by the appearance of Phoebus, who was not killedafter all, and opportunely turns up in time to rescue Esmeralda. Frolloattempts once more to murder Phoebus, but the blow is received insteadby Quasimodo, who sacrifices himself for Esmeralda's happiness. When theopera was produced in French at Covent Garden in 1890, the composerintroduced several alterations into the score. An elaborate air forEsmeralda in the prison was the most important of the additions, andthe close of the opera was also materially changed. It was generallythought, however, that the original version was the more successful. Thomas's training and sympathies were thoroughly French, and except forthe words 'Esmeralda' has very little claim to be called an Englishopera. The score is extremely graceful and charming, and it is only atthe more dramatic moments that the composer fails to do justice to histheme. In 'Nadeshda, ' an opera written upon a Russian subject, which wasproduced in 1885, there was much charming music, but the libretto wasuninteresting, and the success of the work never equalled that of itspredecessor. The most attractive part of the opera was the delightfullyquaint and original ballet music, to which local colour was given byclever orchestration and ingenious use of Russian rhythms. To the initiative of the Carl Rosa company was due the production of Mr. Frederick Corder's 'Nordisa, ' a work of undoubted talent thoughsuffering from a fatal lack of homogeneity, and of two operas by SirAlexander Mackenzie. The first of these, 'Colomba, ' was produced in1883. It achieved a success, but the gloomy character of the librettoprevented it from becoming really popular. It is founded upon ProsperMérimée's famous Corsican tale. The father of Orso and Colomba dellaRebbia has been treacherously murdered by two of the family ofBarracini. Colomba is burning for vengeance, but her brother is anofficer in the French army, and has been absent from Corsica for manyyears. When he returns she finds that his love for Lydia, the daughterof the Count de Nevers, has driven thoughts of revenge from his mind. She succeeds, however, in rousing him to action, and one day he killsboth the murderers, though wounded himself by a cowardly ambush. He hasto take to the mountains for refuge, and there he remains, tended byLydia and Colomba, until news of his pardon comes. It is too late, however, to save the life of Colomba, who has been mortally wounded inendeavouring to divert the soldiers from Orso's hiding-place. Mackenzie's music is exceedingly clever and effective. He uses guidingthemes with judgment and skill, and his employment of some old Corsicanmelodies is also very happy. 'Colomba' is a work which eminently meritsrevival, and it will be probably heard of again. 'The Troubadour, ' whichwas produced a few years later, failed completely. The story isthoroughly dull, and completely failed to inspire the musician. SirAlexander Mackenzie has recently completed the score of an opera on thesubject of Dickens's 'Cricket on the Hearth, ' the production of which isawaited with much interest. During the closing years of the nineteenth century the fortunes ofEnglish opera, never very brilliant, reached a lower point than at anytime in our musical history. The Carl Rosa opera company fell upon evildays, and was compelled to restrict its energies almost entirely to theperformance of stock operas, while at Covent Garden the opportunitiesafforded to native composers were few and far between. In thesedisheartening circumstances it is not surprising that English musicianswere not encouraged to devote their powers to a form of art in which solittle prospect of success could be entertained. What they might haveachieved under happier conditions the operatic career of Sir CharlesStanford suggests in the most convincing manner. Stanford is a composerwhose natural endowment conspicuously fits him for operatic work, and hehas grasped such opportunities as have been vouchsafed to him withalmost unvarying success. Had he been blessed with a more congenialenvironment he would have taken rank with the foremost operaticcomposers of his time. His first opera, 'The Veiled Prophet, ' was originally performed atHanover in 1881, but was not actually heard in London until it wasproduced at Covent Garden in 1894. The libretto, an admirablecondensation of Moore's well-known poem from the pen of Mr. W. BarclaySquire, gave the composer ample opportunities for picturesque anddramatic effect. Stanford's music is tuneful and vigorous throughout, and such weaknesses as are occasionally perceptible are due rather toinexperience of the stage than to any failure in inspiration. 'The Canterbury Pilgrims, ' written to a libretto by Gilbert à Beckett, which was produced in 1884, was happily named by some one at the timean English 'Meistersinger, ' and indeed it is not difficult to imaginewhat model Stanford had in his mind when writing his brilliant andgenial opera, Geoffrey, the host of the Tabard Inn, has a prettydaughter named Cicely, who is loved by the jovial apprentice, Hubert. Geoffrey finds out their attachment, and determines to sent Cicely upona visit to an aunt in Kent, in company with a body of pilgrims who arejust starting for Canterbury. Sir Christopher Synge, a knight of Kent, has cast sheep's eyes upon the pretty girl, and hearing of her intendedtrip bids his factotum, Hal o' the Chepe, assemble a company ofragamuffins, and carry her off on her way to Canterbury. Hubertcontrives to get enlisted among them, so as to be able to watch over hissweetheart, and Dame Margery, Sir Christopher's wife, also in disguise, joins the pilgrims, in the hope of keeping an eye upon her errantspouse. In the second act the pilgrims arrive at Sidenbourne. DameMargery helps the lovers to escape, and taking Cicely's place receivesthe vows and sighs of her husband. In the third act the lovers have beenovertaken and caught by the irate Geoffrey, and Hubert is dragged totrial before Sir Christopher. After an amusing trial scene, the knightdiscovers that Cicely is one of the culprits, and at once pardons themboth. Geoffrey is persuaded to forgive the young couple, and all endshappily, Stanford's music is a happy compromise between old and new. Inhis use of guiding themes, and in his contrapuntal treatment of theorchestra he follows Wagner, but his employment of new devices istempered by due regard for established tradition. He is happiest indealing with humorous situations, and in the lighter parts of the operahis music has a bustling gaiety which fits the situation very happily. In the more passionate scenes he is less at home, and the love duet inparticular is by no means entirely satisfactory. Stanford's next work, 'Savonarola, ' was performed in London for the first time by a Germancompany under Dr. Hans Richter in 1884. Interesting as much of the musicis, the performance was not successful, partly owing to the almostunmitigated gloom of the libretto. Far the best part of the work, bothmusically and dramatically, is the prologue, which tells of the love ofSavonarola for Clarice, of her marriage, and of his renouncement of theworld. The merit of this scene is so great that it might be worth thecomposer's while to produce it as a one-act opera, in which form itwould be safe to predict for it a genuine success. Stanford's next work for the stage was 'Shamus O'Brien, ' a romanticopera dealing with a typically Irish subject, which was produced in 1896with great success. The form of the work is that of a genuine comicopera, the dialogue being interspersed throughout with music, butalthough less ambitious in form than his earlier works, 'Shamus O'Brien'has a deeper artistic importance. With all its cleverness and ingenuity, 'The Canterbury Pilgrims' is German in method and expression, and it ismerely by the accident of language that it can be classed as Britishopera at all. In 'Shamus O'Brien' the composer drew his inspiration fromthe melodies and rhythms of his native Ireland, and the result is thathis work ranks as an original and independent effort, instead of beingmerely a brilliant exercise. In 1901 Sir Charles Stanford's 'Much Ado about Nothing' was produced atCovent Garden. The libretto by Julian Sturgis is a clever adaptation ofShakespeare's comedy, in which the action is judiciously compressed intofour scenes without any incidents of importance being omitted. First wehave the ball at Leonato's house, with some love-making for Claudio andHero, and a wit-combat between Beatrice and Benedick. Here, too, DonJohn hatches his plot against Hero's honour, and Don Pedro unfolds hisscheme for tricking Beatrice and Benedick into mutual love. The secondact takes place in Leonato's garden. Claudio serenades his mistress, whocomes down from her balcony and joins him in a duet. Then follows thecozening of Benedick, and the act ends effectively by Don John showingto Claudio the supposed Hero admitting Borachio to her chamber. Thethird scene is in the church, following Shakespeare very closely, andthe last takes place in an open square in Messina with Hero's tomb onone side, where, after a scene with Dogberry, Borachio confesses hiscrime, and Hero is restored to her lover. Stanford's music is a masterlycombination of delicate fancy and brilliant humour, and when seriousmatters are in hand he is not found wanting. A distinctive feature ofthe work is the absence of Wagnerian influence. Stanford uses guidingthemes, it is true, and often in a most suggestive manner, but they donot form the basis of his score. If foreign influence there be in 'MuchAdo about Nothing, ' it is that of Verdi in his 'Falstaff' manner. LikeVerdi Stanford strikes a true balance between voices and instruments. His orchestra prattles merrily along, underlining each situation in turnwith happy emphasis, but it never attempts to dethrone the human voicefrom its pride of place. Like the blithe Beatrice, 'Much Ado aboutNothing' was born under a star that danced. It overflows with deliciousmelody, and its orchestration is the _ne plus ultra_ of finishedmusicianship. Since its production in London it has been performed withgreat success in the provinces by the Moody-Manners opera company, andhas lately been produced in Germany. Dr. Frederic Cowen is another of our English musicians who, in morefavourable circumstances, would doubtless have proved himself anoperatic composer of distinction. 'Pauline, ' a work founded upon 'TheLady of Lyons, ' which was played by the Carl Rosa company in 1876, seemsto have won little success. 'Thorgrim, ' produced by the same company in1889, was more fortunate. The plot is founded upon an Icelandic saga, and has but little dramatic interest. There is much charm in Dr. Cowen'smusic, and some of the lighter scenes in the opera are gracefullytreated, but his talent is essentially delicate rather than powerful, and the fierce passions of the Vikings scarcely come within its scope. 'Signa' (1893), an opera founded upon Ouida's novel of that name, showedtraces of Italian influence. It was produced at Milan with considerablesuccess, and was afterwards given in London. In 'Harold' (1895), Dr. Cowen attempted too ambitious a task. The tale of the conquest ofEngland was ill suited to his delicate muse, and the opera achievedlittle more than a _succès d'estime_. Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900) was the most successful English composerof opera during the later years of the nineteenth century. His name isof course principally associated with the long series of light operaswritten in conjunction with Mr. W. S. Gilbert; but it must not beforgotten that he also essayed grand opera with no little success. The experiment made by the Carl Rosa company in 1899 of playing hisearly oratorio, 'The Martyr of Antioch, ' as an opera had, notunnaturally, very little success, but 'Ivanhoe' (1891) showed thatSullivan could adapt his style to the exigencies of grand opera withsingular versatility. 'Ivanhoe' was handicapped by a patchy and unequallibretto, but it contained a great deal of good music, and we haveprobably not heard the last of it yet. For the present generation, however, Sullivan's fame rests almost entirely upon his comic operas, which indeed have already attained something like the position ofclassics and may prove, it is sincerely to be hoped, the foundation ofthat national school of opera which has been so often debated and soardently desired, but is still, alas! so far from practical realisation. Sullivan's first essay in comic opera dates from the year 1867, whichsaw the production of his 'Contrabandista' and 'Cox and Box, ' bothwritten to libretti by Sir Frank Burnand, and both showing not merelyadmirable musicianship and an original vein of melody, but anirresistible sense of humour and a rare faculty for expressing it inmusic. 'Thespis' (1871) first brought him into partnership with Mr. Gilbert, a partnership which was further cemented by 'Trial by Jury'(1875). It was 'Trial by Jury' that opened the eyes of connoisseurs tothe possibilities lying within the grasp of these two young men, whosecombined talents had produced a work so entirely without precedent inthe history of English or indeed of any music. The promise of 'Trial byJury' was amply borne out by 'The Sorcerer' (1877), which remains in theopinion of many the best of the whole series of Gilbert and Sullivanoperas--but indeed there is hardly one of them that has not at one timeor another been preferred above its fellows by expert opinion. 'TheSorcerer' naturally gave Sullivan more scope than 'Trial by Jury. ' Herefor the first time he showed what he could do in what may be called hisold English vein, in reproduction of the graceful dance measures of oldtime, and in imitations of Elizabethan madrigals so fresh and tunefulthat they seem less the resuscitation of a style long dead than thecreation of an entirely new art-form. In a different vein was theburlesque incantation, a masterpiece of musical humour, in which thevery essence of Mr. Gilbert's strange topsy-turvydom seems transmutedinto sound. In 'H. M. S. Pinafore' (1878) Sullivan scored his first great popularsuccess. 'The Sorcerer' had appealed to the few; 'Pinafore' carried themasses by storm. In humour and in musicianship alike it is less subtlethan its predecessor, but it triumphed by sheer dash and high spirits. There is a smack of the sea in music and libretto alike. 'Pinafore' wasirresistible, and Sullivan became the most popular composer of the day. 'The Pirates of Penzance' (1880) followed the lines of 'Pinafore, ' withhumour perhaps less abundant but with an added touch of refinement. There are passages in 'The Pirates' tenderer in tone, one might almostsay more pathetic, than anything Sullivan had previously written, passages which gave more than a hint of the triumphs he was later to winin that mingling of tears and laughter of which he had the secret In'Patience' (1881) musician and librettist mutually agreed to leave therealm of farcical extravagance, and to turn to satire of a peculiarlykeen-edged and delicate kind--that satire which caresses while it cuts, and somehow contrives to win sympathy for its object even when it ismost mordant. There are people nowadays who have been known to declarethat the "æsthetic" movement had no existence outside the imagination ofMr. Gilbert and 'Mr. Punch. ' In the eighties, however, everybodybelieved in it, and believed too that 'Patience' killed it. What isquite certain is that, whoever killed it, 'Patience' embalmed it inodours and spices of the most fragrant and costly description, so thatit has remained a thing of beauty even to our own day. In 'Iolanthe'(1882) Mr. Gilbert reached the dizziest height of topsy-turvydom towhich he ever climbed, and set Sullivan to solve what was perhaps themost difficult problem of his whole career. To bring the atmosphere offairyland into the House of Lords was a task which the most accomplishedmaster of musical satire might well have refused, but Sullivan camevictoriously through the ordeal. His 'Iolanthe' music, with its blendingof things aërial with things terrene, and its contrast between the solidqualities of our hereditary legislators and the irresponsible ecstasy offairyland is one of the most surprising feats of musical imaginationthat even his career can furnish. In 'Princess Ida' (1884), which is, soto speak, a burlesque of a burlesque, his task was easier. 'PrincessIda' contains some of his most brilliant excursions into the realm ofparody--parodies of grand opera, parodies of the traditional Handelianmanner, parodies of sentimental love-making--but it also contains someof the purest and most beautiful music he ever wrote. Some of Sullivan'smelodies, indeed, would be more fitting on the lips of Tennyson'sromantic princess than on those of Mr. Gilbert's burlesque"suffragette". 'Princess Ida' was not appreciated at its true value andstill awaits its revenge, but in 'The Mikado' (1885) the twocollaborators scored the greatest success of their career. The freshnessand novelty of its surroundings--Japan had not then, so to speak, becomethe property of the man in the street--counted for something in thetriumph of 'The Mikado, ' but it is unquestionably one of the very bestof the series. Mr. Gilbert never wrote wittier or more brilliantdialogue, and Sullivan never dazzled his admirers by more astonishingfeats of musicianship. 'Ruddigore' (1887) was less successful than anyof its predecessors. If the satire of 'Princess Ida' was just a shadeabove the heads of the Savoy audience, the satire of 'Ruddigore' wasperhaps a shade below them. 'Ruddigore' is a burlesque of transpontinemelodrama, and a very good burlesque too; but the Savoy audience knewnext to nothing about transpontine melodrama, and so the satire wasmissed and the piece fell flat. It was a pity, because Sullivan's musicwas in his happiest manner. There may yet, however, be a future for'Ruddigore, ' 'The Yeomen of the Guard' (1888) opened fresh ground. Forthe moment Mr. Gilbert turned his back upon topsy-turvydom and Sullivanapproached the frontiers of grand opera. 'The Yeomen of the Guard' has a serious plot, and at times lingers onthe threshold of tragedy. Sullivan caught the altered spirit of hiscollaborator with perfect sympathy, and struck a note of romanticfeeling unique in his career. With 'The Gondoliers' (1889) the scenebrightened again, and merriment reigned supreme once more. Perhaps attimes there was a suspicion of weariness in Mr. Gilbert's wit, and someof Sullivan's melodies had not all the old distinction of manner, butthe piece was an incarnation of liveliness and gaiety, and its successrivalled the historic glories of 'The Mikado. ' With 'The Gondoliers'came the first solution of continuity in the Gilbert and Sullivanpartnership. Differences arose; Mr. Gilbert retired from the councils ofthe Savoy Theatre, and Sullivan had to look out for a new collaborator. He found one in Mr. Sydney Grundy, and their 'Haddon Hall' was producedin 1892. In spite of charming music, reflecting very gracefully the oldEnglish atmosphere of the story, its success was only moderate, and theworld of music was much relieved to hear that the differences betweenMr. Gilbert and the Savoy authorities had been adjusted, and that thetwo famous collaborators were to join forces once more. Unfortunately'Utopia' (1893) echoed but faintly the magical harmonies of the past. The old enchantment was gone; the spell was shattered. Bothcollaborators seemed to have lost the clue that had so often led totriumph. Again they drifted apart, and Sullivan turned once more to hisold friend, Sir Frank Burnand. Together they produced 'The Chieftain'(1894), a revised and enlarged version of their early indiscretion, 'TheContrabandista. ' Success still held aloof, and for the last timeSullivan and Mr. Gilbert joined forces. In 'The Grand Duke' (1896)there were fitful gleams of the old splendour, notably in an amazingsham--Greek chorus, which no one but Sullivan could have written, butthe piece could not for a moment be compared to even the weakest of theearlier operas. The fate of 'The Beauty Stone' (1898), written to alibretto by Messrs Pinero and Comyns Carr, was even more deplorable. Fortunately Sullivan's collaboration with Captain Basil Hood brought himan Indian summer of inspiration and success. 'The Rose of Persia'(1900), if not upon the level of his early masterpieces, containedbetter music than he had written since the days of 'The Gondoliers, ' andat least one number--the marvellous Dervish quartet--that for sheerinvention and musicianship could hardly be matched even in 'The Mikado'itself. There was a great deal of charming music, too, in 'The EmeraldIsle' (1901), which Sullivan left unfinished at his death, and Mr. Edward German completed. During his lifetime, Sullivan was called the English Auber by people whowanted to flatter him, and the English Offenbach by people who wanted tosnub him. Neither was a very happy nickname. He might more justly havebeen called the English Lortzing, since he undoubtedly learnt more thana little from the composer of 'Czar und Zimmermann, ' whose comic operashe heard during his student days at Leipzig. But Sullivan owed verylittle to anyone. His genius was thoroughly his own and thoroughlyEnglish, and in that lies his real value to posterity. For if we areever to have a national English opera, we shall get it by writingEnglish music, not by producing elaborate exercises in the manner ofWagner, Verdi, Massenet, Strauss, or anybody else. Most great artisticenterprises spring from humble sources, and our young lions need not beashamed of producing a mere comic opera or two before attacking afull-fledged music-drama. Did not Wagner himself recommend a buddingbard to start his musical career with a Singspiel? It is safest as arule to begin building operations from the foundation, and a betterfoundation for a school of English opera than Sullivan's series of comicoperas could hardly be desired. In his younger days Sullivan had many disciples. Alfred Cellier, thecomposer of the world-famous 'Dorothy, ' was the best of them. EdwardSolomon was hardly more than a clever imitator. The mantle of Sullivanseems now to have fallen on Mr. Edward German, who besides completingSullivan's unfinished 'Emerald Isle, ' won brilliant success with hisenchanting 'Merrie England. ' His 'Princess of Kensington' was saddledwith a dull libretto, but the music was hardly inferior to that of itspredecessor, and much the same may be said of his latest work 'TomJones. ' The recent performances of English composers in the field of grand operahave not been very encouraging. Few indeed are the opportunities offeredto our native musicians of winning distinction on the lyric stage, andof late we have been regaled with the curious spectacle of Englishcomposers setting French or German libretti in the hope of finding inforeign theatres the hearing that is denied them in their own. MissEthel Smyth is the most prominent and successful of the composers whosereputation has been made abroad. Her 'Fantasio' has not been given inEngland, but 'Der Wald, ' an opera in one act, after having been producedin Germany was given at Covent Garden in 1902 with conspicuous success. The libretto, which is the work of the composer herself, is concise anddramatic. Heinrich the forester loves Röschen, the woodman's daughter, but on the eve of their marriage he has the misfortune to attract thenotice of Iolanthe, the mistress of his liege lord the Landgrave Rudolf. He rejects her advances, and in revenge she has him stabbed by herfollowers. This is the bare outline of the story, but the value of thework lies in the highly poetical and imaginative framework in which itis set. Behind the puny passions of man looms the vast presence of theeternal forest, the mighty background against which the children ofearth fret their brief hour and pass into oblivion. The note whichechoes through the drama is struck in the opening scene--a tangled brakedeep in the heart of the great stillness, peopled by nymphs and faunswhose voices float vaguely through the twilight. Every scene in thedrama is tinged with the same mysterious influence, until at the closethe spirit-voices chant their primeval hymn over the bodies of thelovers in the gathering night. Miss Smyth's music has the same masteringunity. The voice of the forest is the keynote of her score. Perhaps itcan hardly be said that she has altogether succeeded in translatinginto music the remarkable conception which is the foundation of herlibretto. Had she done so, she might at once have taken her place by theside of Wagner, the only composer of modern times who has handled aphilosophical idea of this kind in music with any notable success. Buther music has an individual strain of romance, which stamps her as acomposer of definite personality, while in the more dramatic scenes sheshows a fine grip of the principles of stage effect. Her latest work'Strandrecht, ' in English 'The Wreckers' (1906), was produced atLeipzig, and shortly afterwards was given at Prague. It has not yetfound its way to London. The scene is laid in Cornwall in the eighteenthcentury. The inhabitants of that wild coast, though fervent Methodists, live by 'wrecking, ' in which they are encouraged by their minister. Thurza, the minister's faithless wife, alone protests against theircruelty and hypocrisy, and persuades her lover, a young fisherman, tolight fires in order to warn mariners from the dangerous coast. Thetreachery, as it seems to the rest of the villagers, of Thurza and herlover is discovered, and after a rough-and-ready trial they are left ina cavern close to the sea to be overwhelmed by the rising tide. MissSmyth's music is spoken of as strongly dramatic, and marked by a keensense of characterisation. The operas of Mr. Isidore de Lara, a composer who, in spite of his name, is said to be of English extraction, may conveniently be mentionedhere. It is generally understood that the production of these works atCovent Garden was due to causes other than their musical value, but inany case they do not call for detailed criticism. Mr. De Lara's earlierworks, 'The Light of Asia, ' 'Amy Robsart, ' and 'Moina' failedcompletely. There is better work in 'Messaline' (1899). The musicalideas are poor in quality, but the score is put together in aworkmanlike manner, and the orchestration is often clever. The libretto, which recounts the intrigues of the Empress Messalina with two brothers, Hares and Helion, a singer and a gladiator, is in the highest degreerepellent, and it would need far better music than Mr. De Lara's toreconcile a London audience to so outrageous a subject. Mr. De Lara'slatest production, 'Sanga' (1906), does not seem to have sustained thepromise of 'Messaline. ' Another composer whom necessity has driven toally his music to a foreign libretto is Mr. Herbert Bunning, whose opera'La Princesse Osra' was produced at Covent Garden in 1902. Mr. AlickMaclean, whose 'Quentin Durward' and 'Petruccio' had already shownremarkable promise, has lately won considerable success in Germany with'Die Liebesgeige. ' Scanty is the catalogue of noteworthy operas with English words producedin recent years. The most remarkable of them are Mr. Colin MacAlpin's'The Cross and the Crescent, ' which won the prize offered by Mr. CharlesManners in 1903 for an English opera, and Mr. Nicholas Gatty's'Greysteel, ' a very able and musicianly setting of an episode from oneof the Norse sagas, which was produced at Sheffield in 1906. It is difficult to be sanguine as to the prospects of English opera. Circumstances are certainly against the production of original work inthis country, though it is legitimate to hope that the recent revival ofinterest in Sullivan's works may lead our composers to devote theirenergies to the higher forms of comic opera. Anything is better than themere imitation of foreign models which has for so long beencharacteristic of English opera. By turning to the melodies of hisnative land, Weber founded German opera, and if we are ever to have aschool of opera in England we must begin by building upon a similarfoundation. INDEX OF OPERAS A Basso Porto (_Spinelli_), 300Abreise, Die (_D'Albert_), 313Abu Hassan (_Weber_), 89Adriana Lecouvreur (_Ciléa_), 298Africaine, L' (_Meyerbeer_), 136Agrippina (_Handel_), 15Aida (_Verdi_), 271Alceste (_Gluck_), 25Alceste (_Lulli_), 8Alcina (_Handel_), 56Alfonso und Estrella (_Schubert_), 104Almira (_Handel_), 13Alzira (_Verdi_), 264Amadis (_Lulli_), 8Amant Jaloux, L' (_Grétry_), 45Amica (_Mascagni_), 294Amico Fritz, L' (_Mascagni_), 293Amy Robsart (_De Lara_), 348Ancêtre, L' (_Saint Saëns_), 238Andrea Chénier (_Giordano_), 297Anna Bolena (_Donizetti_), 116Aphrodite (_Erlanger_), 259Ariane (_Massenet_), 249Ariane et Barbe-Bleue (_Dukas_), 259Arianna (_Monteverde_), 4Armide (_Gluck_), 32Artaserse (_Gluck_), 20Artaxerxes (_Arne_), 324Ascanio (_Saint Saëns_), 236Asrael (_Franchetti_), 301Astarté (_Leroux_), 259Attaque du Moulin, L' (_Bruneau_), 253Attila (_Verdi_), 264Aucassin und Nicolette (_Enna_), 322 Ballo in Maschera, Un (_Verdi_), 269Barbares, Les (_Saint Saëns_), 236Barbier von Bagdad, Der (_Cornelius_), 303Barbiere di Siviglia, Il (_Paisiello_), 49Barbiere di Siviglia, Il (_Rossini_), 107Bardes, Les (_Lesueur_), 78Bärenhäuter, Der (_S. Wagner_), 313Basoche, La (_Messager_), 259Bastien und Bastienne (_Mozart_), 52Battaglia di Legnano, La (_Verdi_), 265Bauer ein Schelm, Der (_Dvorak_), 318Béatrice et Bénédict (_Berlioz_), 143Beauty Stone, The (_Sullivan_), 344Beggar's Opera, The (_Pepusch_), 323Benvenuto Cellini (_Berlioz_), 143Betly (_Donizetti_), 116Bohème, La (_Leoncavallo_), 296Bohème, La (_Puccini_), 286Bohemian Girl, The (_Balfe_), 325Bonduca (_Purcell_), 11Brides of Venice, The (_Benedict_), 328Bruder Lustig (_S. Wagner_), 313Bruid van der Zee, De (_Blockx_), 260 Cabrera, La (_Dupont_), 259Caduta de' Giganti (_Gluck_), 21Canterbury Pilgrims, The (_Stanford_), 333Carmélite, La (_Hahn_), 259Carmen (_Bizet_), 227Castor et Pollux (_Rameau_), 24Cavalleria Rusticana (_Mascagni_), 292Cendrillon (_Massenet_), 246Cendrillon (_Nicolo_), 85Châlet, Le (_Adam_), 149Chatterton (_Leoncavallo_), 296Chérubin (_Massenet_), 248Chi sofre speri (_Mazzocchi_ and _Marazzoli_), 40Chieftain, The (_Sullivan_), 343Chopin (_Orefice_), 300Christus (_Rubinstein_), 321Cid, Der (_Cornelius_), 305Cid, Le (_Massenet_), 244Cinq-Mars (_Gounod_), 223Circe (_Banister_), 10Clemenza di Tito, La (_Mozart_), 68Cleopatra (_Enna_), 322Colomba (_Mackenzie_), 331Colombe, La (_Gounod_), 220Contes d' Hoffmann, Les (_Offenbach_), 229Contrabandista, The (_Sullivan_), 339Corsaro, Il (_Verdi_), 265Così fan tutte (_Mozart_), 67Cox and Box (_Sullivan_), 339Cricket on the Hearth, The (_Goldmark_), 308Cricket on the Hearth, The (_Mackenzie_), 332Crispino e la Comare (_Ricci_), 124Cristoforo Colombo (_Franchetti_), 301Cross and the Crescent, The (_MacAlpin_), 348Czar und Zimmermann (_Lortzing_), 102 Dafne (_Peri_), 2Dafne (_Schütz_), 12Dalibor (_Smetana_), 318Dame Blanche, La (_Boieldieu_), 85Damnation de Faust, La (_Berlioz_), 145Danaïdes, Les (_Salieri_), 75Daria (_Marty_), 259Deidamia (_Handel_), 16Demon, The (_Rubinstein_), 321Déserteur, Le (_Monsigny_), 45Deux Avares, Les (_Grétry_), 45Deux Journées, Les (_Cherubini_), 77Devin du Village, Le (_Rousseau_), 44Dickschädel, Der (_Dvorak_) 318Dido and Æneas (_Purcell_), 10Dinorah (_Meyerbeer_), 141Djamileh (_Bizet_), 227Doktor und Apotheker (_Dittersdorf_), 84Dolores (_Auteri-Manzocchi_), 300Don Carlos (_Verdi_), 270Don César de Bazan (_Massenet_), 240Don Giovanni (_Mozart_), 64Don Pasquale (_Donizetti_), 118Donna Diana (_Reznicek_), 313Dori, La (_Cesti_), 14Dornröschen (_Humperdinck_), 312Dorothy (_Cellier_), 345Drei Pintos, Die (_Weber_), 97Duc d'Albe, Le (_Donizetti_), 116Due Foscari, I (_Verdi_), 264 Ebreo, L' (_Apolloni_), 280Echo et Narcisse (_Gluck_), 38Edgar (_Puccini_), 285Eleonora (_Paer_), 50Elisir d'Amore, L' (_Donizetti_), 119Emerald Isle, The (_Sullivan_), 344Enfant Roi, L' (_Bruneau_), 255Enrico di Borgogna (_Donizetti_), 113Entführung aus dem Serail, Die (_Mozart_), 56Ernani (_Verdi_), 263Érostrate (_Reyer_), 238Erschaffene, gefallene und aufgerichtete Mensch, Der (_Theile_), 12Esclarmonde (_Massenet_), 244Esmeralda (_A. G. Thomas_), 330Étienne Marcel (_Saint Saëns_), 235Étoile du Nord, L' (_Meyerbeer_), 139Étranger, L' (_Indy_), 256Eugene Onegin (_Tchaikovsky_), 321Eulenspiegel (_Kistler_), 309Euridice (_Peri_), 2Euryanthe (_Weber_), 93Evangelimann, Der (_Kienzl_), 313 Falstaff (_Verdi_), 277Fantasio (_Smyth_), 346Faust (_Berlioz_), 145Faust (_Gounod_), 216Faust (_Spohr_), 98Favorite, La (_Donizetti_), 115Fedora (_Giordano_), 297Feen, Die (_Wagner_), 153Fernand Cortez (_Spontini_), 80Fervaal (_Indy_), 256Feuersnoth (_R. Strauss_), 314Fidelio (_Beethoven_), 80Fierrabras (_Schubert_), 104Fille du Régiment, La (_Donizetti_), 117Fils de l' Étoile, Le (_Erlanger_), 259Finta Giardiniera, La (_Mozart_), 53Finta Semplice, La (_Mozart_), 52Finto Stanislao, Il (_Verdi_), 262Flauto Magico, Il (_Mozart_). _See_ Zauberflöte, DieFlibustier, Le (_Cui_), 321Fliegende Holländer, Der (_Wagner_), 158Flora Mirabilis (_Samara_), 300Flying Dutchman, The (_Wagner_), 158Folie, Une (_Méhul_), 77Forza del Destino, La (_Verdi_), 270Fra Diavolo (_Auber_), 147Francesca da Rimini (_Goetz_), 307Frédégonde (_Guiraud_), 233Freischütz, Der (_Weber_), 90 Gazza Ladra, La (_Rossini_), 108Geheimniss, Das (_Smetana_), 318Genesius (_Weingartner_), 314Genoveva (_Schumann_), 105Ghiselle (_Franck_), 231Gioconda, La (_Ponchielli_), 283Giorno di Regno, Un (_Verdi_), 262Giovanna d'Arco (_Verdi_), 264Gipsy's Warning, The (_Benedict_), 328Giulietta e Romeo (_Vaccai_), 124Giuramento, Il (_Mercadante_), 124Gloria (_Ciléa_), 299Gondoliers, The (_Sullivan_), 343Götterdämmerung (_Wagner_), 193Götz von Berlichingen (_Goldmark_), 309Grand Duke, The (_Sullivan_), 344Grand' Tante, La (_Massenet_), 240Greysteel (_Gatty_), 348Grisélidis (_Massenet_), 246Guarany, Il (_Gomez_), 280Guglielmo Ratcliff (_Mascagni_), 293Guillaume Tell (_Rossini_), 110Gunlöd (_Cornelius_), 305Guntram (_Strauss_), 314Gwendoline (_Chabrier_), 234 H. M. S. Pinafore (_Sullivan_), 340Haddon Hall (_Sullivan_), 343Hamlet (_Thomas_), 226Hans Heiling (_Marschner_), 99Hänsel und Gretel (_Humperdinck_), 309Harold (_Cowen_), 338Häusliche Krieg, Der (_Schubert_), 104Heimchen am Herd, Das (_Goldmark_), 308Heimkehr aus der Fremde (_Mendelssohn_), 104Heirath wider Willen, Die (_Humperdinck_), 312Hélène (_Saint Saëns_), 237Henry VIII. (_Saint Saëns_), 235Herbergprinses (_Blockx_), 260Hérodiade (_Massenet_), 241Herzog Wildfang (_S. Wagner_), 313Hexe, Die (_Enna_), 322Hochzeit des Camacho, Die (_Mendelssohn_), 104Hoffmann's Erzählungen (_Offenbach_), 230Huguenots, Les (_Meyerbeer_), 131Hulda (_Franck_), 231 Idomeneo (_Mozart_), 54Impresario, L' (_Mozart_). _See_ Schauspieldirektor, DerIngwelde (_Schillings_), 312Iolanthe (_Sullivan_), 341Iphigénie en Aulide (_Gluck_), 29Iphigénie en Tauride (_Gluck_), 35Irato, L' (_Méhul_), 77Iris (_Mascagni_), 294Isis (_Lulli_), 12Italiana in Algeri, L' (_Rossini_), 107Ivanhoe (_Sullivan_), 338 Jean de Paris (_Boieldieu_), 85Jessonda (_Spohr_), 99Joconde (_Nicolo_), 85Jolie Fille de Perth, La (_Bizet_), 227Jongleur de Notre Dame, Le (_Massenet_), 247Joseph (_Méhul_), 75Juive, La (_Halévy_), 146 Kapelle, De (_Blockx_), 260Kassya (_Delibes_), 232Kérim (_Bruneau_), 251King Arthur (_Purcell_), 11Kobold, Der (_S. Wagner_), 313Königin von Saba, Die (_Goldmark_), 307Königskinder (_Humperdinck_), 312Kriegsgefangene, Die (_Goldmark_), 309Kunihild (_Kistler_), 309Kuss, Der (_Smetana_), 318 Lakmé (_Delibes_), 231Lalla Rookh (_David_), 149Libusa (_Smetana_), 318Liebesgeige, Die (_Maclean_), 348Liebesverbot, Das (_Wagner_), 154Life for the Czar (_Glinka_), 319Light of Asia, The (_De Lara_), 348Lily of Killarney, The (_Benedict_), 328Linda di Chamonix (_Donizetti_), 116Lodoiska (_Cherubini_), 77Lohengrin (_Wagner_), 170Lombardi, I (_Verdi_), 262Lorelei (_Catalani_), 283Lorelei (_Mendelssohn_), 104Lorenza (_Mascheroni_), 299Louise (_Charpentier_), 256Lucia di Lammermoor (_Donizetti_), 113Lucio Silla (_Mozart_), 53Lucrezia Borgia (_Donizetti_), 114Luisa Miller (_Verdi_), 265Lurline (_Wallace_), 328Lustigen Weiber von Windsor, Die (_Nicolai_), 104 Macbeth (_Verdi_), 264Madama Butterfly (_Puccini_), 289Madame Chrysanthème (_Messager_), 259Mage, Le (_Massenet_), 244Magic Flute, The (_Mozart_). _See_ Zauberflöte, DieMainacht, Die (_Rimsky-Korsakov_), 321Maître Ambros (_Widor_), 259Maître de Chapelle, Le (_Paer_), 50Mala Vita (_Giordano_), 297Manon (_Massenet_), 242Manon Lescaut (_Puccini_), 285Manru (_Paderewski_), 321Marble Guest, The (_Dargomishky_), 320Marie Magdeleine (_Massenet_), 248Maritana (_Wallace_), 327Marriage of Figaro, The (_Mozart_). _See_ Nozze di Figaro, LeMartha (_Flotow_), 103Martire, La (_Samara_), 300Martyr of Antioch, The (_Sullivan_), 338Masaniello (_Auber_), 148Maschere, Le (_Mascagni_), 294Masnadieri, I (_Verdi_), 264Matrimonio Segreto, Il (_Cimarosa_), 48Médecin malgré lui, Le (_Gounod_), 215Médée (_Cherubini_), 78Medici, I (_Leoncavallo_), 296Mefistofele (_Boito_), 281Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Die (_Wagner_), 202Merlin (_Goldmark_), 308Merrie England (_German_), 345Merry Wives of Windsor, The (_Nicolai_), 104Messaline (_De Lara_), 348Messidor (_Bruneau_), 254Mignon (_Thomas_), 225Mikado, The (_Sullivan_), 342Milton (_Spontini_), 79Mireille (_Gounod_), 220Mitridate (_Mozart_), 53Mock Doctor, The (_Gounod_), 215Moina (_De Lara_), 348Moloch (_Schillings_), 312Mosé in Egitto (_Rossini_), 109Moses (_Rubinstein_), 321Mountain Sylph, The (_Barnett_), 325Much Ado about Nothing (_Stanford_), 336Muette de Portici, La (_Auber_), 148 Nabucodonosor (_Verdi_), 262Nachtlager von Granada, Das (_Kreutzer_), 101Nadeshda (_A. G. Thomas_), 331Naïs Micoulin (_Bruneau_), 255Navarraise, La (_Massenet_), 245Nibelung's Ring, The (_Wagner_), 178Night Dancers, The (_Loder_), 329Ninette à la Cour (_Duni_), 44Nonne Sanglante, La (_Gounod_), 215Nordisa (_Corder_), 331Norma (_Bellini_), 120Nozze di Figaro, Le (_Mozart_), 60 Oberon (_Weber_), 95Oberto (_Verdi_), 262Oca del Cairo, L' (_Mozart_), 59Olympie (_Spontini_), 80Orestes (_Weingartner_), 314Orazi e Curiazi, Gli (_Cimarosa_), 48Orfeo (_Monteverde_), 4Orfeo ed Euridice (_Gluck_), 21Otello (_Verdi_), 273Ouragan, L' (_Bruneau_), 254 Pagliacci (_Leoncavallo_), 294Papa Martin (_Cagnoni_), 125Pardon de Ploërmel, Le (_Meyerbeer_), 141Paride ed Elena (_Gluck_), 28Parsifal (_Wagner_), 207Patience (_Sullivan_), 340Patrie (_Paladilhe_), 234Pauline (_Cowen_), 337Pêcheurs de Perles, Les (_Bizet_), 227Pêcheurs de Saint Jean, Les (_Widor_), 259Peines et les Plaisirs de l'Amour, Les (_Cambert_), 7Pelléas et Mélisande (_Debussy_), 257Peter Schmoll (_Weber_), 89Peter the Shipwright (_Lortzing_), 102Petruccio (_Maclean_), 348Philémon et Baucis (_Gounod_), 219Phryné (_Saint Saëns_), 236Piccolino (_Guiraud_), 233Piramo e Tisbe (_Gluck_), 21Pirates of Penzance, The (_Sullivan_), 340Poacher, The (_Lortzing_), 102Polyeucte (_Gounod_) 224Pomone (_Cambert_), 7Porter of Havre, The (_Cagnoni_), 125Portrait de Manon, Le (_Massenet_), 245Postillon de Longjumeau, Le (_Adam_), 149Pré aux Clercs, Le (_Hérold_), 128Prince Igor (_Borodin_), 321Princess Ida (_Sullivan_), 341Princess of Kensington, The (_German_), 345Princesse d'Auberge (_Blockx_), 260Princesse Jaune, La (_Saint Saëns_), 234Princesse Osra, La (_Bunning_), 348Princesse Rayon de Soleil (_Gilson_), 260Prise de Troie, La (_Berlioz_), 144Prophète, Le (_Meyerbeer_), 134Proserpine (_Saint Saëns_), 235Psyche (_Locke_), 10Puritani, I (_Bellini_), 122 Quentin Durward (_Maclean_), 348 Radamisto (_Handel_), 56Rantzau, I (_Mascagni_), 293Rattenfänger von Hameln, Der (_Nessler_), 317Re Pastore, Il (_Mozart_), 53Reine de Saba, La (_Gounod_), 220Reine Fiammette, La (_Leroux_), 259Rêve, Le (_Bruneau_), 251Rêve d'Amour, Le (_Auber_), 147Rheingold, Das (_Wagner_), 179Richard Coeur de Lion (_Grétry_), 45Rienzi (_Wagner_), 155Rigoletto (_Verdi_), 265Rinaldo (_Handel_), 15Ring des Nibelungen, Der (_Wagner_), 178Robert le Diable (_Meyerbeer_), 129Robin Hood (_Macfarren_), 329Rodrigo (_Handel_), 15Roi de Lahore, Le (_Massenet_), 240Roi d'Ys, Le (_Lalo_), 233Roi l'a dit, Le (_Delibes_), 232Roi malgré lui, Le (_Chabrier_), 234Roland, Der (_Leoncavallo_), 296Roméo et Juliette (_Gounod_), 221Rose of Persia, The (_Sullivan_), 344Rose von Liebesgarten, Die (_Pfitzner_), 314Ruddigore (_Sullivan_), 342Russlan and Ludmila (_Glinka_), 319Ruy Blas (_Marchetti_), 281 Saffo (_Pacini_), 124Salammbô (_Reyer_), 240Salome (_Massenet_), 241Salome (_Strauss_), 315Samson et Dalila (_Saint Saëns_), 234Sanga (_De Lara_), 348Sapho (_Gounod_), 215Sapho (_Massenet_), 246Savonarola (_Stanford_), 335Schauspieldirektor, Der (_Mozart_), 59Schweizerfamilie, Die (_Weigl_), 84Scuffiara Raggiratrice, La (_Paisiello_), 50Seelewig (_Staden_), 12Semiramide (_Rossini_), 109Seraglio, Il (_Mozart_). _See_ Entführung aus dem Serail, DieSerse (_Cavalli_), 7Serva Padrona, La (_Pergolesi_), 43Shamus O'Brien (_Stanford_), 335Siberia (_Giordano_), 297Sieben Geislein, Die (_Humperdinck_), 312Siegfried (_Wagner_), 188Signa (_Cowen_), 338Sigurd (_Reyer_), 238Silvano (_Mascagni_), 293Simon Boccanegra (_Verdi_), 269Sonnambula, La (_Bellini_), 120Sorcerer, The (_Sullivan_), 339Sposo Deluso, Lo (_Mozart_), 59Statue, La (_Reyer_), 238Stiffelio (_Verdi_), 265Strandrecht (_Smyth_), 347Stratonice (_Méhul_), 76Streichholzmädel, Die (_Enna_), 322Sylvana (_Weber_), 89 Tableau Parlant, Le (_Grétry_), 45Taming of the Shrew, The (_Goetz_), 305Tancredi (_Rossini_), 107Tannhäuser (_Wagner_), 163Templer und Jüdin (_Marschner_), 100Thaïs (_Massenet_), 245Théodora (_Leroux_), 259Thérèse (_Massenet_), 250Thésée (_Lulli_), 11Thespis (_Sullivan_), 339Thorgrim (_Cowen_), 337Thyl Uylenspiegel (_Blockx_), 260Timbre d'Argent, Le (_Saint Saëns_), 234Timon of Athens (_Purcell_), 11Titania (_Hüe_), 259Tom Jones (_German_), 345Tom Jones (_Philidor_), 46Tosca, La (_Puccini_), 288Traviata, La (_Verdi_), 268Trésor Supposé, Le (_Méhul_), 77Trial by Jury (_Sullivan_), 339Tribut de Zamora, Le (_Gounod_), 224Tristan und Isolde (_Wagner_), 199Trompeter von Säkkingen, Der (_Nessler_), 316Troubadour, The (_Mackenzie_), 332Trovatore, Il (_Verdi_), 267Troyens, Les (_Berlioz_), 144Tutti in Maschera (_Pedrotti_), 125 Uthal (_Méhul_), 76Utopia (_Sullivan_), 343 Vagabund und die Prinzessin, Der (_Poldini_), 314Vampyr, Der (_Marschner_), 100Veiled Prophet, The (_Stanford_), 333Vêpres Siciliennes, Les (_Verdi_), 269Verkaufte Braut, Die (_Smetana_), 317Versunkene Glocke, Die (_Zöllner_), 313Vestale, La (_Spontini_), 79Villi, Le (_Puccini_), 283Vivandière, La (_Godard_), 234 Wald, Der (_Smyth_), 346Walküre, Die (_Wagner_), 183Wally, La (_Catalani_), 283Water-Carrier, The (_Cherubini_), 77Werther (_Massenet_), 244Widerspänstigen Zähmung, Der (_Goetz_), 305Wildschütz, Der (_Lortzing_), 102William Ratcliff (_Leroux_), 259William Tell (_Rossini_), 110Wreckers, The (_Smyth_), 347 Yeomen of the Guard, The (_Sullivan_), 342 Zampa (_Hérold_), 127Zanetto (_Mascagni_), 294Zauberflöte, Die (_Mozart_), 69Zaza (_Leoncavallo_), 296Zemire und Azor (_Spohr_), 99Zwillingsbrüder, Die (_Schubert_), 104 INDEX OF COMPOSERS Adam, 149Apolloni, 280Arne, 324Auber, 147Audran, 261Auteri-Manzocchi, 300 Balfe, 325Banister, 10Barnett, 325Beethoven, 81Bellini, 119Benedict, 328Berlioz, 143Bishop, 325Bizet, 227Blockx, 260Boieldieu, 85Boito, 281Borodin, 321Bruneau, 251Bungert, 314Bunning, 348Buononcini, 16 Cagnoni, 125Cambert, 7Campra, 19Carissimi, 6Catalani, 283Cavaliere, 2Cavalli, 5Cellier, 345Cesti, 6Chabrier, 233Charpentier, 256Cherubini, 77Child, 9Ciléa, 298Cimarosa, 48Clapisson, 150Corder, 331Cornelius, 300Cowen, 337Cui, 321 D'Albert, 313Dargomishky, 320David, 149Debussy, 257De Lara, 347Delibes, 231Destouches, 19Dibdin, 324Dietsch, 159Dittersdorf, 84Donizetti, 112Dubois, 234Dukas, 259Duni, 44Dupont, 259Dvorak, 318 Enna, 322Erlanger, 259 Flotow, 103Franchetti, 301Franck, César, 230Frank, Ernst, 307 Gagliano, 4Galilei, 2Gatty, 348German, 345Gibbons, C. , 9Gilson, 260Giordano, 296Glinka, 319Gluck, 20Godard, 234Goetz, 305Goldmark, 307Gomez, 280Gossec, 27Gounod, 214Grétry, 45Grisar, 150Guiraud, 232 Hahn, 259Halévy, 146Handel, 13Hartmann, 322Hasse, 17Hérold, 126Hervé, 260Hiller, J. A. , 50Hoffmann, 100Hook, 324Hüe, 259Humperdinck, 309Humphreys, 9 Indy, V. D', 256Isouard, 84 Jomelli, 43Joncières, 234 Keiser, 13Kienzl, 312Kistler, 309Kreutzer, 101 Lalo, 233Lecocq, 260Leoncavallo, 294Leroux, 259Lesueur, 78Lindpaintner, 100Locke, 10Loder, 329Logroscino, 42Lortzing, 102Lulli, 8 MacAlpin, 348Macfarren, 329Mackenzie, 331Maclean, 348Maillart, 150Marais, 19Marazzoli, 40Marchetti, 281Marschner, 99Marty, 259Mascagni, 292Mascheroni, 299Massenet, 240Mazzocchi, 40Méhul, 75Mendelssohn, 104Mercadante, 124Messager, 259Meyerbeer, 128Millöcker, 316Monsigny, 45Monteverde, 4Mozart, 52 Nessler, 316Nicolai, 104Nicolo, 84Niedermeyer, 150 Offenbach, 229Orefice, 299 Pacini, 124Paderewski, 321Paer, 49Paisiello, 49Paladilhe, 234Pedrotti, 125Pepusch, 324Pergolesi, 43Peri, 2Petrella, 280Pfitzner, 314Philidor, 46Piccinni, 47Planquette, 261Poise, 232Poldini, 314Ponchielli, 283Porpora, 17Provenzale, 6Puccini, 283Purcell, 9 Rameau, 20Reichardt, 51Reyer, 238Reznicek, 313Ricci, F. , 124Ricci, L. , 124Rimsky-Korsakov, 321Rossini, 106Rousseau, 44Rubinstein, 320 Sacchini, 75Saint Saëns, 234Salieri, 75Samara, 300Scarlatti, 14Schillings, 312Schubert, 104Schumann, 105Schütz, 12Serov, 320Shield, 324Smetana, 317Smyth, 346Solomon, 345Spinelli, 300Spohr, 98Spontini, 79Staden, 12Stanford, 333Storace, 324Strauss, J. , 316Strauss, R. , 314Sullivan, 338Suppé, 316Süssmayer, 84 Tchaikovsky, 321Theile, 12Thomas, Ambroise, 224Thomas, A. G. , 330 Vaccai, 124Verdi, 262Vogler, 84 Wagner, R. , 151Wagner, S. , 313Wallace, 327Weber, 89Weigl, 84Weingartner, 314Weyse, 322Widor, 259Winter, 84 Zöllner, 313 PRINTED AT THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET.