The second act opens with the celebration of the Passover in Eleazar's house, and introduces a very solemn and impressive prayer ("Allmaecht'ger blicke gnaedig"). In the next scene there is a passionate ensemble and duet for Eudoxia and Leopold ("Ich will ihn seh'n"), which is followed by a second spirited duet between Rachel and Leopold ("Als mein Herz"); an intensely dramatic aria ("Ach! Vater! Halt ein!"), in which she claims her share of Leopold's guilt; and the final grand trio of anathema pronounced by Eleazar.

The third act is principally devoted to the festivities of the royal pageants, and closes with the anathema of the Cardinal ("Ihr, die ihr Gottes Zorn"), which is a concerted number of magnificent power and spirited dramatic effect. The fourth act contains a grand duet between Eleazar and the Cardinal ("Hoert ich recht?"), and closes with one of the most powerful scenas ever written for tenor ("Das Todesurtheil sprich"), in which Eleazar welcomes death and hurls defiance at the Christians. The last act is occupied with the tragic denouement, which affords splendid opportunities for action, and is accompanied by very dramatic music to the close, often rising to real sublimity. In the pageantry of the stage, in the expression of high and passionate sentiment, in elaborateness of treatment, and in broad and powerful dramatic effect, "The Jewess" is one of the strongest operas in the modern repertory.



HUMPERDINCK.

Engelbert Humperdinck, the latest star in the German musical firmament, was born, Sept. 1, 1854, at Siegburg on the Rhine, and received his earliest musical training at the Cologne Conservatory. He made such rapid progress in his studies, showing special proficiency in composition, that he carried off in succession the three prizes of the Mozart, Mendelssohn, and Meyerbeer stipends. These enabled him to continue his lessons at Munich, and afterwards in Italy. While in Naples, in 1880, he attracted the attention of Richard Wagner as a rising genius, and two years later had the honor of an invitation to go to Venice as his guest, upon the occasion of the performance of Wagner's only symphony. In 1885 he went to Barcelona, Spain, where he taught composition, and was the director of a quartette at the Royal Conservatory for two years. In 1887 he returned to Cologne, and since 1890 has been identified with a Conservatory at Frankfort-on-the-Main. In addition to the opera "Hansel and Gretel," which has given him a world-wide fame, he produced, a few years ago, a chorus ballad, "Das Glueck von Edenhall," and a cantata, "Die Wallfahrt nach Kevelaar," based upon Heine's poem, and scored for soloists, chorus, and orchestra. He has also written several songs and piano pieces, and, it is now reported, is engaged upon a dramatic composition called "The Royal Children." He is regarded in Germany as the one composer who gives promise of continuing and developing the scheme of the music-drama as it was propounded by Wagner.

HANSEL AND GRETEL.

"Hansel and Gretel," a fairy opera in three acts, words by Adelheid Wette, was first produced in Germany in 1894. In January, 1895, it was performed in London by the Royal Carl Rosa Opera Company, rendered into English by Constance Bache; and in the fall of the same year it had its first representation in New York, at Daly's Theatre, with the following cast:—

PETER, a broom-maker Mr. JACQUES BARS. GERTRUDE, his wife Miss ALICE GORDON. THE WITCH Miss LOUISE MEISSLINGER. HANSEL Miss MARIE ELBA. GRETEL Miss JEANNE DOUSTE. SANDMAN, the Sleep Fairy Miss CECILE BRANI. DEWMAN, the Dawn Fairy Miss EDITH JOHNSTON.

The story is taken from one of Grimm's well-known fairy tales, and the text was written by the composer's sister, Adelheid Wette. It was Frau Wette's intention to arrange the story in dramatic form for the amusement of her children, her brother lending his co-operation by writing a few little melodies, of a simple nature, to accompany the performance. When he had read it, however, the story took his fancy, and its dramatic possibilities so appealed to him that he determined to give it an operatic setting with full orchestral score, and thus placed it in the higher sphere of world performance by an art which not alone reveals the highest type of genial German sentimentality, but, curiously enough, applied to this simple little story of angels, witches, and the two babes in the woods the same musical methods which Wagner has employed in telling the stories of gods and demigods. Perhaps its highest praise was sounded by Siegfried Wagner, son of Richard Wagner, who declared that "Hansel and Gretel" was the most important German opera since "Parsifal," notwithstanding its childishness and simplicity.

After a beautifully instrumented prelude, which has already become a favorite concert piece, the curtain rises upon the home of Peter, the broom-maker. The parents are away seeking for food, and Hansel and Gretel have been left in the cottage with instructions to knit and make brooms. There is a charming dialogue between the two children, beginning with a doleful lament over their poverty, and ending with an outburst of childish hilarity in song and dancing,—a veritable romp in music,—which is suddenly interrupted by the return of Gertrude, the mother, empty-handed, who chides them for their behavior, and in her anger upsets a jug of milk which was the only hope of supper in the house. With an energetic outburst of recitative she sends them into the forest, telling them not to return until they have filled their basket with strawberries. After lamenting her loss, and mourning over her many troubles, she falls asleep, but is awakened by the return of Peter, who has been more fortunate, and has brought home some provisions. A rollicking scene ensues, but suddenly he misses the children, and breaks out in a fit of rage when he is informed that they have gone into the forest. To the accompaniment of most gruesome and characteristic music he tells his wife of the witch who haunts the woods, and who, living in a honey-cake house, entices little children to it, bakes them into gingerbread in her oven, and then devours them.

The second act, "In the Forest," is preluded by a characteristic instrumental number, "The Witches' Ride." The children are discovered near the Ilsenstein, among the fir-trees, making garlands, listening to the cuckoos, and mocking them in a beautiful duet with echo accompaniment. At last, however, they realize that they are lost; and in the midst of their fear, which is intensified by strange sights and sounds, the Sandman, or sleep fairy, approaches them, strews sand in their eyes, and sings them to sleep with a most delicious lullaby, after they have recited their prayer, "When at night I go to sleep, fourteen Angels watch do keep." As they sleep the mist rolls away, the forest background disappears, and the fourteen angels come down a sort of Jacob's ladder and surround the children, while other angels perform a stately dance, grouping themselves in picturesque tableau as the curtain falls.

The third act is entitled "The Witch's House." The children are still sleeping, but the angels have vanished. The Dawn-Fairy steps forward and shakes dewdrops from a bluebell over them, accompanying the action with a delightful song, "I'm up with early Dawning." Gretel is the first to wake, and rouses Hansel by tickling him with a leaf, at the same time singing a veritable tickling melody, and then telling him what she has seen in her dream. In place of the fir-trees they discover the witch's house at the Ilsenstein, with an oven on one side and on the other a cage, both joined to the house by a curious fence of gingerbread figures. The house itself is constructed of sweets and creams. Attracted by its delicious fragrance and toothsomeness, the hungry children break off a piece and are nibbling at it, when the old witch within surprises and captures them. After a series of incantations, and much riding upon her broomstick, which are vividly portrayed in the music, she prepares to cook Gretel in the oven; but while looking into it the children deftly tumble her into the fire. The witch waltz, danced by the children and full of joyous abandon, follows. To a most vivid accompaniment, Hansel rushes into the house and throws fruit, nuts, and sweetmeats into Gretel's apron. Meanwhile the oven falls into bits, and a crowd of children swarms around them, released from their gingerbread disguises, and sing a swelling chorus of gratitude as two of the boys drag the witch from the ruins of the oven in the form of a big gingerbread-cake. The father and mother appear. Their long quest is ended. The family join in singing a pious little hymn, "When past bearing is our grief, God the Lord will send relief;" and the children dance joyously around the reunited group. The story is only a little child's tale, but it is wedded to music of the highest order. The union has been made so deftly, the motives are so charming and take their places so skilfully, and the music is so scholarly and characteristic throughout, that no one has yet considered this union as incongruous. In this respect "Hansel and Gretel" is a distinct creation in the operatic world.



LEONCAVALLO.

Ruggiero Leoncavallo, a promising representative of the young Italian school, was born in Naples, March 8, 1858. He first studied with Siri, and afterwards learned harmony and the piano from Simonetti. While a student at the Naples Conservatory he was advised by Rossi, one of his teachers, to devote himself to opera. In pursuance of this counsel, he went to Bologna, and there wrote his first opera, "Tommaso Chatterton," which still remains in manuscript and unperformed. Then followed a series of "wander years," during which he visited many European countries, giving lessons in singing and upon the piano, and meeting with varying fortunes. In all these years, however, he cherished the plan of producing a trilogy in the Wagnerian manner with a groundwork from Florentine history. In a letter he says: "I subdivided the historical periods in the following way: first part, 'I Medici,' from the accession of Sextus IV. to the Pazzi conspiracy; second part, 'Savonorola,' from the investiture of Fra Benedetto to the death of Savonorola; third part, 'Cesare Borgia,' from the death of the Duke of Candia to that of Alexander VI." The first part was completed and performed in Milan in November, 1893, and was a failure, notwithstanding its effective instrumentation. It was not so, however, with the little two-act opera "I Pagliacci," which was produced May 21, 1892, at Milan, and met with an instantaneous and enthusiastic success. His next work was a chorus with orchestral accompaniment, the text based upon Balzac's rhapsodical and highly wrought "Seraphita," which was performed at Milan in 1894. It has been recently reported that the Emperor of Germany has given him a commission to produce an opera upon a national subject, "Roland of Berlin." Of his works, "I Pagliacci" is the only one known in the United States. It has met with great favor here, and has become standard in the Italian repertory.

I PAGLIACCI.

"I Pagliacci," an Italian opera in two acts, words by the composer, Ruggiero Leoncavallo, was first performed at Milan, May 21, 1892, and was introduced in this country in the spring of 1894, Mme. Arnoldson, Mme. Calve, and Signors Ancona, Gromzeski, Guetary, and De Lucia taking the principal parts. The scene is laid in Calabria during the Feast of the Assumption. The Pagliacci are a troupe of itinerant mountebanks, the characters being Nedda, the Columbine, who is wife of Canio, or Punchinello, master of the troupe; Tonio, the Clown; Beppe, the Harlequin; and Silvio, a villager.

The first act opens with the picturesque arrival of the troupe in the village, and the preparations for a performance in the rustic theatre, with which the peasants are overjoyed. The tragic element of the composition is apparent at once, and the action moves swiftly on to the fearful denouement. Tonio, the clown, is in love with Nedda, and before the performance makes advances to her, which she resents by slashing him across the face with Beppe's riding-whip. He rushes off vowing revenge, and upon his return overhears Nedda declaring her passion for Silvio, a young peasant, and arranging to elope with him. Tonio thereupon seeks Canio, and tells him of his wife's infidelity. Canio hurries to the spot, encounters Nedda; but Silvio has fled, and she refuses to give his name. He attempts to stab her, but is prevented by Beppe, and the act closes with the final preparation for the show, the grief-stricken husband donning the motley in gloomy and foreboding silence.

The second act opens with Tonio beating the big drum, and the people crowding to the show, among them Silvio, who manages to make an appointment with Nedda while she is collecting the money. The curtain of the little theatre rises, disclosing a small room barely furnished. The play to be performed is almost an identical picture of the real situation in the unfortunate little troupe. Columbine, who is to poison her husband, Punchinello, is entertaining her lover, Harlequin, while Taddeo, the clown, watches for Punchinello's return. When Canio finally appears the mimic tragedy becomes one in reality. Inflamed with passion, he rushes upon Nedda, and demands the name of her lover. She still refuses to tell. He draws his dagger. Nedda, conscious of her danger, calls upon Silvio in the audience to save her; but it is too late. Her husband kills her, and Silvio, who rushes upon the stage, is killed with the same dagger. With a wild cry full of hate, jealousy, and despair, the unfortunate Canio tells the audience "La commedia e finita" ("The comedy is finished"). The curtain falls upon the tragedy, and the excited audience disperses.

The story is peculiarly Italian in its motive, though the composer has been charged with taking it from "La Femme de Tabarin," by the French novelist, Catulle Mendes. Be this as it may, Leoncavallo's version has the merit of brevity, conciseness, ingenuity, and swift action, closing in a denouement of great tragic power and capable, in the hands of a good actor, of being made very effective. The composer has not alone been charged with borrowing the story, but also with plagiarizing the music. So far as the accusation of plagiarism is concerned, however, it hardly involves anything more serious than those curious resemblances which are so often found in musical compositions. As a whole, the opera is melodious, forceful, full of snap and go, and intensely dramatic, and is without a dull moment from the prologue ("Si puo? Signore") sung before the curtain by Tonio to that last despairing outcry of Canio ("La commedia e finita"), upon which the curtain falls. The prominent numbers are the prologue already referred to; Nedda's beautiful cavatina in the second scene ("O, che volo d'angello"); her duet with Silvio in the third scene ("E allor perche"); the passionate declamation of Canio at the close of the first act ("Recitur! mentre preso dal delirio"); the serenade of Beppe in the second act ("O Colombino, il tenero"); and the graceful dance-music which plays so singular a part in this fierce struggle of the passions, which forms the motive of the closing scenes.



MASCAGNI.

Pietro Mascagni, who leaped into fame at a single bound, was born at Leghorn, Dec. 7, 1863. His father was a baker, and had planned for his son a career in the legal profession; but, as often happens, fate ordered otherwise. His tastes were distinctly musical, and his determination to study music was encouraged by Signor Bianchi, a singing teacher, who recognized his talent. For a time he took lessons, unknown to his father, of Soffredini, but when it was discovered he was ordered to abandon music and devote himself to the law. At this juncture his uncle Stefano came to his rescue, took him to his house, provided him with a piano, and also with the means to pursue his studies. Recognizing the uselessness of further objections, the father at last withdrew them, and left his son free to follow his own pleasure. He progressed so rapidly under Soffredini that he was soon engaged in composition, his first works being a symphony in C minor and a "Kyrie," which were performed in 1879. In 1881 he composed a cantata, "In Filanda," and a setting of Schiller's hymn, "An die Freude," both of which had successful public performances. The former attracted the attention of a rich nobleman who furnished young Mascagni with the means to attend the Milan Conservatory. After studying there a short time, he suddenly left Milan with an operatic troupe, and visited various Italian cities, a pilgrimage which was of great value to him, as it made him acquainted with the resources of an orchestra and the details of conducting. The troupe, however, met with hard fortunes, and was soon disbanded, throwing Mascagni upon the world. For a few years he made a precarious living in obscure towns, by teaching, and had at last reached desperate extremities when one day he read in a newspaper that Sonzogno, the music publisher, had offered prizes for the three best one act operas, to be performed in Rome. He at once entered into the competition, and produced "Cavalleria Rusticana." It took the first prize. It did more than this for the impecunious composer. When performed, it made a success of enthusiasm. He was called twenty times before the curtain. Honors and decorations were showered upon him. He was everywhere greeted with serenades and ovations. Every opera-house in Europe clamored for the new work. In a day he had risen from utter obscurity and become world-famous. His sudden popularity, however, had a pernicious effect, as it induced him to rush out more operas without giving sufficient time to their preparation. "L'Amico Fritz," based upon the well-known Erckmann-Chatrian story, and "I Rantzau" quickly followed "Cavalleria Rusticana," but did not meet with its success. Last year however he produced two operas at Milan, "Guglielmo Ratcliff" and "Silvano," which proved successful. Whether "Cavalleria Rusticana" is to remain as his only hold upon popular favor, the future alone can tell; but that he has talent of the highest order, and that he has produced an opera whose reception has been almost unparalleled in the world of music cannot be questioned.

CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA.

"Cavalleria Rusticana," an opera in one act, words by Signori Targioni-Tozzetti and Menasci, music by Pietro Mascagni, was written in 1890, and was first performed at the Costanzi Theatre in Rome, May 20, of that year, with Gemma Bellinconi and Roberto Stagno in the two principal roles. It had its first American production in Philadelphia, Sept. 9, 1891, with Mme. Kronold as Santuzza, Miss Campbell as Lola, Guille as Turridu, Del Puente as Alfio, and Jeannie Teal as Lucia.

The story upon which the text of "Cavalleria Rusticana" is based is taken from a Sicilian tale by Giovanni Verga. It is peculiarly Italian in its motive, running a swift, sure gamut of love, flirtation, jealousy, and death,—a melodrama of a passionate and tragic sort, amid somewhat squalid environments, that particularly lends itself to music of Mascagni's forceful sort. The overture graphically presents the main themes of the opera, and these themes illustrate a very simple but strong story. Turridu, a young Sicilian peasant, arrived home from army service, finds that his old love, Lola, during his absence has married Alfio, a carter. To console himself he makes love to Santuzza, who returns his passion with ardor. The inconstant Turridu, however, soon tires of her and makes fresh advances to Lola, who, inspired by her jealousy of Santuzza, and her natural coquetry, smiles upon him again. The latter seeks to reclaim him, and, when she is rudely repulsed, tells the story of Lola's perfidy to Alfio, who challenges Turridu and kills him.

During the overture Turridu sings a charming Siciliana ("O Lola c'hai di latti"), and the curtain rises, disclosing a Sicilian village with a church decorated for Easter service. As the sacristan opens its doors, the villagers appear and sing a hymn to the Madonna. A hurried duet follows, in which Santuzza reveals to mother Lucia her grief at the perfidy of Turridu. Her discourse is interrupted by the entrance of Alfio, singing a rollicking whip-song ("Il cavallo scalpita") with accompaniment of male chorus. The scene then develops into a trio, closing with a hymn ("Inneggiamo, il Signor"), sung by the people in the square, and led by Santuzza herself, and blending with the "Regina Coeli," performed by the choir inside the church with organ accompaniment, the number finally working up into a tremendous climax in genuine Italian style.

In the next scene Santuzza tells her sad story to Lucia, Turridu's mother, in a romanza of great power ("Voi lo sapete"), closing with an outburst of the highest significance as she appeals to Lucia to pray for her. In the next scene Turridu enters. Santuzza upbraids him, and a passionate duet follows in which Santuzza's suspicions are more than confirmed by his avowal of his passion for Lola. The duet is interrupted by a song of the latter, heard in the distance with harp accompaniment ("Fior di giaggiolo"). As she approaches the pair the song grows livelier, and at its close she banters poor Santuzza with biting sarcasms, and assails Turridu with all the arts of coquetry. She passes into the church, confident that the infatuated Turridu will follow her. An impassioned duo of great power follows, in which Santuzza pleads with him to love her, but all in vain. He rushes into the church. She attempts to follow him, but falls upon the steps just as Alfio comes up. To him she relates the story of her troubles, and of Turridu's baseness. Alfio promises to revenge her, and another powerful duet follows.

As they leave the stage, there is a sudden and most unexpected change in the character of the music and the motive of the drama. In the place of struggle, contesting passions, and manifestations of rage, hate, and jealousy ensues an intermezzo for orchestra, with an accompaniment of harps and organ, of the utmost simplicity and sweetness, breathing something like a sacred calm, and turning the thoughts away from all this human turmoil into conditions of peace and rest. It has not only become one of the most favorite numbers in the concert repertory, but is ground out from every barrel-organ the world over, and yet it has retained its hold upon popular admiration.

At its close the turmoil begins again and the action hastens to the tragic denouement. The people come out of the church singing a glad chorus which is followed by a drinking song ("Viva il vino"), sung by Turridu, and joined in by Lola and chorus. In the midst of the hilarity Alfio appears. Turridu invites him to join them and drink; but he refuses, and the quarrel begins. Lola and the frightened women withdraw. Turridu bites Alfio's right ear,—a Sicilian form of challenge. The scene closes with the death of the former at Alfio's hands, and Santuzza is avenged; but the fickle Lola has gone her way bent upon other conquests.



MEYERBEER.

Giacomo Meyerbeer, the eldest son of Herz Beer, was born in Berlin, Sept. 5, 1794. He was named Jacob Meyer Beer, but afterwards called himself Giacomo Meyerbeer. His early studies were pursued with the pianist Lanska, and Bernard Anselm Weber, chief of the Berlin orchestra. At fifteen he became the pupil of Vogler in Darmstadt, with whom he displayed such talent in composition that he was named Composer to the Court by the Grand Duke. At eighteen his first dramatic work, "The Daughter of Jephtha," was performed at Munich. He then began the world for himself, and made his debut in Vienna as a pianist with great success. His first opera, "The Two Caliphs," met with complete failure, as it was not written in the Italian form. He at once transformed his style and brought out "Romilda e Costanza," a serio-comic opera, with great success, at Padua. In 1820, "Emma di Resburgo" appeared at Venice, and from this period his star was in the ascendant. "The Gate of Brandeburg," "Margharita d' Anjou," "Esule di Granata," and "Almanzar" followed in quick succession, and were well received, though with nothing like the furor which "Il Crociato in Egitto" created in Venice in 1824. His next great work, "Robert le Diable," was produced in Paris, Nov. 21, 1831, the unparalleled success of which carried its fame to every part of the civilized world. In 1836 "The Huguenots," unquestionably his masterpiece, was brought out, and it still holds its place as one of the grandest dramatic works the world has ever seen. In 1838 Scribe furnished him the libretto of "L'Africaine," but before the music was finished he had changed the text so much that Scribe withdrew it altogether. He was consoled, however, by Meyerbeer's taking from him the libretto of "Le Prophete," this opera being finished in 1843. During the following year he wrote several miscellaneous pieces besides the three-act German opera, "Ein Feldlager in Schlesien," in which Jenny Lind made her Berlin debut. In 1846 he composed the overture and incidental music to his brother's drama of "Struensee," and in 1847 he not only prepared the way for Wagner's "Flying Dutchman" in Paris, but personally produced "Rienzi,"—services which Wagner poorly requited. In 1849 "Le Prophete" was given in Paris; in 1854, "L'Etoile du Nord;" and in 1859, "Dinorah;" but none of them reached the fame of "The Huguenots." In 1860 he wrote two cantatas and commenced a musical drama called "Goethe's Jugendzeit," which was never finished. In 1862 and 1863 he worked upon "L'Africaine," and at last brought it forward as far as a rehearsal; but he died April 23, 1863, and it was not performed until two years after his death.

THE HUGUENOTS.

"Les Huguenots," a grand opera in five acts, words by Scribe and Deschamps, was first produced at the Academie, Paris, Feb. 29, 1836, with the following cast of the principal parts:—

VALENTIN Mlle. FALCON. MARGUERITE DE VALOIS Mme. DORUS-GRAS. URBAIN Mlle. FLECHEUX. COUNT DE ST. BRIS M. LERDA. COUNT DE NEVERS M. DERIVIS. RAOUL DE NANGIS M. NOURRIT. MARCEL M. LEVASSEUR.

At its first production in London in Italian, as "Gli Ugonotti," July 20, 1848, the cast was even more remarkable than that above. Meyerbeer specially adapted the opera for the performance, transposed the part of the page, which was written for a soprano, and expressly composed a cavatina to be sung by Mme. Alboni, in the scene of the chateau and gardens of Chenonceaux, forming the second act of the original work, but now given as the second scene of the first act in the Italian version. The cast was as follows:—

VALENTIN Mme. PAULINE VIARDOT. MARGUERITE DE VALOIS Mme. CASTELLAN. URBAIN Mlle. ALBONI. COUNT DE ST. BRIS Sig. TAMBURINI. COUNT DE NEVERS Sig. TAGLIAFICO. RAOUL DE NANGIS Sig. MARIO. MARCEL Sig. MARINI.

The action of the opera passes in 1572, the first and second acts in Touraine, and the remainder in Paris. The first act opens on a scene of revelry in the salon of Count de Nevers, where a number of noblemen, among them Raoul de Nangis, a Protestant, accompanied by his faithful old Huguenot servant, Marcel, are present, telling stories of their exploits in love. Marguerite de Valois, the betrothed of Henry IV., for the sake of reconciling the dispute between the two religious sects, sends her page to De Nevers's salon and invites Raoul to her chateau. When he arrives, Marguerite informs him of her purpose to give him in marriage to a Catholic lady, daughter of the Count de St. Bris. Raoul at first consents; but when Valentin is introduced to him and he discovers her to be a lady whom he had once rescued from insult and who had visited De Nevers in his salon, he rejects the proposition, believing that her affections have been bestowed upon another, and that his enemies are seeking to entrap him. St. Bris challenges Raoul for the affront, but the Queen disarms the angry combatants. Valentin is now urged to marry Count de Nevers, and begs that she may pass the day in prayer in the chapel. Meanwhile Count de St. Bris, who has been challenged by Raoul, forms a plot for his assassination, which is overheard by Valentin from within the chapel. She communicates the plot to Marcel, who lies in wait with a party of Huguenots in the vicinity of the duel, and comes to Raoul's rescue when danger threatens him. A general combat is about to ensue, but it is suppressed by Marguerite, who suddenly appears upon the scene. Raoul thus discovers that he owes his life to Valentin, and that her visit to De Nevers was to induce him to sever the relations between them, as she was in love with Raoul. The announcement comes too late, for the marriage festivities have already begun. Raoul visits her for the last time. Their interview is disturbed by the approach of De Nevers, St. Bris, and other Catholic noblemen, who meet to arrange the details of the plot conceived by Catherine de Medicis for the slaughter of the Huguenots on St. Bartholomew's Eve. Valentin hurriedly conceals Raoul behind the tapestries, where he overhears their plans and witnesses the conjuration and the blessing of the swords, as well as the refusal of the chivalrous De Nevers to engage in murder. After the conspirators have departed, Raoul and Valentin have a long and affecting interview, in which he hesitates between love and honor, Valentin striving to detain him lest he may be included in the general massacre. Honor at last prevails, and he joins his friends just before the work of slaughter begins. He rushes to the festivities which are about to be given in honor of the marriage of Marguerite with the King of Navarre, and warns the Huguenots of their danger. He then makes his way to a chapel where many of them are gathered for refuge. He finds Marcel, who has been wounded, and who brings him the tidings of the death of De Nevers. The faithful Valentin joins them to share their fate. Amid the horrors of the massacre Marcel blesses and unites them. They enter the church and all perish together.

The first act opens with the brilliant chorus of the revellers ("Piacer della mensa"), which is full of courtly grace. Raoul tells the story of the unknown fair one he has encountered, in the romanza, "Piu bianca del velo." When Marcel is called upon, he hurriedly chants the hymn, "O tu che ognor," set to the Martin Luther air, "Ein feste Burg," and heightened by a stirring accompaniment, and then bursts out into a graphic song ("Finita e pe' frati"), emphasized with the piff-paff of bullets and full of martial fervor. In delightful contrast with the fierce Huguenot song comes the lively and graceful romanza of Urbain ("Nobil donna e tanto onesta"), followed by a delightful septet. The scene now changes, and with it the music. We are in the Queen's gardens at Chenonceaux. Every number, the Queen's solo ("A questa voce sola"), the delicate "Bathers' Chorus," as it is called ("Audiam, regina, in questo amene sponde"), the brilliant and graceful allegretto sung by Urbain ("No, no, no, no"), the duet between the Queen and Raoul, based upon one of the most flowing of melodies, and the spirited and effective finale in which the nobles take the oath of allegiance ("Per la fe, per l'onore"),—each and every one of these is colored with consummate skill, while all are invested with chivalrous refinement and stately grace.

The second act opens with a beautiful choral embroidery in which different choruses, most striking in contrast, are interwoven with masterly skill. It is a picture, in music, of the old Paris. The citizens rejoice over their day's work done. The Huguenots shout their lusty Rataplan, while the Papist maidens sing their solemn litany ("Ave Maria") on their way to chapel; and as they disappear, the quaint tones of the curfew chant are heard, and night and rest settle down upon the city. It is a striking introduction to what follows,—the exquisite duet between Marcel and Valentin, the great septet of the duel scene, beginning, "De dritti miei ho l'alma accesa," with the tremendous double chorus which follows as the two bands rush upon the scene. As if for relief from the storm of this scene, the act closes with brilliant pageant music as De Nevers approaches to escort Valentin to her bridal.

The third act is the climax of the work, and stands almost unrivalled in the field of dramatic music, for the manner in which horror and passion are illustrated. After a dark and despairing aria by Valentin ("Eccomi sola ormai"), and a brief duet with Raoul, the conspirators enter. The great trio, closing with the conjuration, "Quel Dio," the awful and stately chant of the monks in the blessing of the unsheathed daggers ("Sia gloria eterna e onore"), and the thrilling unisons of the chorus ("D'un sacro zel l'ardore"), which fairly glow with energy, fierceness, and religious fury,—these numbers of themselves might have made an act; but Meyerbeer does not pause here. He closes with a duet between Raoul and Valentin which does not suffer in comparison with the tremendous combinations which have preceded it. It is filled with the alternations of despair and love, of grief and ecstasy. In its movement it is the very whirlwind of passion. Higher form dramatic music can hardly reach. In the Italian version the performance usually closes at this point; but there is still another striking and powerful scene, that in which Raoul and Valentin are united by the dying Marcel. Then the three join in a sublime trio, and for the last time chant together the old Lutheran psalm, and await their fate amid the triumphant harpings that sound from the orchestra and the hosanna they sing to its accompaniment.

THE STAR OF THE NORTH.

"L'Etoile du Nord," an opera in three acts, words by Scribe, was first performed at the Opera Comique, Paris, Feb. 16, 1854, and in Italian as "La Stella del Nord" at Covent Garden, London, July 19, 1855. In English it has been produced under the title of "The Star of the North." The opera contains several numbers from the composer's earlier work, "Feldlager in Schlesien," which was written for the opening of the Berlin opera-house, in memory of Frederick the Great, and was subsequently (Feb. 17, 1847) performed with great success in Vienna, Jenny Lind taking the role of Vielka. The "Feldlager," however, has never been given out of Germany.

The action of the opera transpires in Wyborg, on the Gulf of Finland, in the first act, at a camp of the Russians in the second, and at the palace of the Czar Peter in the third. In the first, Peter, who is working at Wyborg, disguised as a carpenter, makes the acquaintance of Danilowitz, a pastry-cook, and Catharine, a cantiniere, whose brother George is about to marry Prascovia. Catharine brings about this marriage; and not only that, but saves the little village from an invasion by a strolling horde of Tartars, upon whose superstition she practises successfully, and so conducts herself in general that Peter falls in love with her, and they are betrothed, though she is not aware of the real person who is her suitor. Meanwhile the conscription takes place, and to save her newly wedded brother she volunteers for fifteen days in his place, disguising herself as a soldier. In the next act we find Catharine going her rounds as a sentinel in the Russian camp on the Finnish frontier. Peter and Danilowitz are also there, and are having a roistering time in their tent, drinking and making love to a couple of girls. Hearing Peter's voice she recognizes it, and curiosity leads her to peep into the tent. She is shocked at what she beholds, neglects her duty, and is found by the corporal in this insubordinate condition. He remonstrates with her, and she answers with a slap on his ears, for which she incurs the penalties of disobedience to orders as well as insulting behavior to her superior officer. Peter at last is roused from his drunkenness by the news of an insurrection among his own soldiers and the approach of the enemy. He rushes out and promises to give Peter into their hands if they will obey and follow him. At last, struck with his bearing and authority, they demand to know who he is, whereupon he declares himself the Czar. The mutiny is at once quelled. They submit, and offer their lives as warrant for their loyalty. The last act opens in the Czar's palace, where his old companion, Danilowitz, has been installed in high favor. Catharine, however, has disappeared. George and Prascovia arrive from Finland, but they know nothing of her. The faithful Danilowitz finds her, but she has lost her reason. Her friends try to restore it by surrounding her with recollections of home, and Peter at last succeeds by playing upon his flute the airs he used to play to her in Finland. Her senses come back, and thus all ends happily; for Catharine and Peter are at last united amid the acclamations of the people.

In the first act the character of Peter is well expressed in the surly, growling bass of his soliloquy ("Vedra, vedra"). It is followed by a characteristic drinking-chorus ("Alla Finlanda, beviam"), a wild, barbaric rhythm in the minor, which passes into a prayer as they invoke the protection of Heaven upon Charles XII. In the eighth scene occur the couplets of Gritzensko as he sings the wild song of the Kalmucks. In charming contrast, in the next scene, Catharine sings the gypsy rondo, which Jenny Lind made so famous ("Wlastla la santa"), which is characterized by graceful coquetry; and this in turn is followed by a striking duet between Catharine and Peter, in which the individual characteristics of the two are brought out in genuine Wagnerian style. In the thirteenth scene occurs the bridal song of Prascovia ("Al suono dell'ora"), with choral accompaniment, of a delicate and coquettish cast, leading up to the finale, beginning with the soldiers' chorus ("Onor che a gloria"), with an accompaniment of drums and fifes, again passing to a pathetic prayer ("Veglia dal ciel su lor") sung by Catharine amid the ringing of bells as the bridal wreath is placed upon Prascovia's head, and closing with a florid barcarole ("Vascel che lasci") as she sails away.

The second act opens with ballet music, full of Eastern color, and then ensues one of those choral combinations, like that in the second act of "the Huguenots," in which Meyerbeer so much delighted,—a cavalry chorus ("Bel cavalier del cuor d'acciar"), followed by the Grenadier's song, accompanied by chorus ("Granadier di Russia esperti"), the chorus taking up the "tr-r-r-um" refrain in imitation of the drum. In the eighth scene we have the orgy in the tent in the form of a very spirited dramatic trio, in which Peter sings a blithe drinking-song ("Vedi al par del rubino"); this in turn resolving into a quintet ("Vezzose vivandiere"), and again into a sextet, as Ismailoff enters with a letter for the Czar. The finale is a superb military picture, made up of the imposing oath of death to the tyrant, the stirring Dessauer march, the cavalry fanfare, and the Grenadiers' march, interwoven with the chorus of women as they cheer on the marching soldiers.

The third act opens with a romanza ("Dal cor per iscacciare"), very tender and beautiful, in which the rugged Czar shows us the sentimental side of his character. In the third scene occurs a long buffo trio between Peter, Gritzensko, and Danilowitz, which is full of humor. In the finale we have Catharine in the mad scene, singing the scena, "L'aurora alfin succede," with bits of the old music running through the accompaniment; and in the final scene, as her reason returns, breaking out in the florid bravura, "Non s'ode alcun," accompanied by the first and second flutes, which is a triumph of virtuosity for the voice. This number was taken from "The Camp in Silesia," and was given by Jenny Lind with immense success, not only in the latter work, but upon the concert stage. The opera as a whole abounds in humor, its music is fresh and brilliant, and its military character makes it specially attractive.

ROBERT THE DEVIL

"Robert le Diable," a grand opera in five acts, words by Scribe and Delavigne, was first produced at the Academie, Paris, Nov. 21, 1831, with the following cast:—

ALICE Mlle. DORUS. ISABELLE Mme. CINTI-DAMOREAU. THE ABBESS Sigr. TAGLIONI. ROBERT M. NOURRIT. BERTRAM M. LEVASSEUR. RAIMBAUT M. LAFONT.

In the following year two versions in English, both of them imperfect, were brought out by the rival theatres, Covent Garden and Drury Lane. On the 20th of February it appeared at Drury Lane under the title of "The Demon; or, the Mystic Branch," and at Covent Garden the next evening as "The Fiend Father, or Robert Normandy." Drury Lane had twenty-four hours the start of its rival, but in neither case were the representations anything but poor imitations of the original. On the 11th of the following June the French version was produced at the King's Theatre, London, with the same cast as in Paris, except that the part of Alice was taken by Mme. De Meric, and that of the Abbess by the danseuse Mlle. Heberle. On the 4th of May, 1847, the first Italian version was produced at Her Majesty's Theatre, with Jenny Lind and Staudigl in the cast. Gruneisen, the author of a brief memoir of Meyerbeer, who was present, says: "The night was rendered memorable, not only by the massacre attending the general execution, but also by the debut of Mlle. Lind in this country, who appeared as Alice. With the exception of the debutante, such a disgraceful exhibition was never before witnessed on the operatic stage. Mendelssohn was sitting in the stalls, and at the end of the third act, unable to bear any longer the executive infliction, he left the theatre."

The libretto of "Robert the Devil" is absurd in its conceptions and sensational in its treatment of the story, notwithstanding that it came from such famous dramatists as Scribe and Delavigne; and it would have been still worse had it not been for Meyerbeer. Scribe, it is said, wished to introduce a bevy of sea-nymphs, carrying golden oars, as the tempters of Robert; but the composer would not have them, and insisted upon the famous scene of the nuns, as it now stands, though these were afterwards made the butt of almost endless ridicule. Mendelssohn himself, who was in Paris at this time, writes: "I cannot imagine how any music could be composed on such a cold, formal extravaganza as this." The story runs as follows: The scene is laid in Sicily, where Robert, Duke of Normandy, who by his daring and gallantries had earned the sobriquet of "the Devil," banished by his own subjects, has arrived to attend a tournament given by the Duke of Messina. In the opening scene, while he is carousing with his knights, the minstrel Raimbaut sings a song descriptive of the misdeeds of Robert. The latter is about to revenge himself on the minstrel, when Alice, his foster-sister and the betrothed of Raimbaut, appears and pleads with him to give up his wicked courses, and resist the spirit of evil which is striving to get the mastery of him. Robert then confides to Alice his hopeless passion for Isabella, daughter of the Duke. While they are conversing, Bertram, "the unknown," enters, and Alice shrinks back affrighted, fancying she sees in him the evil spirit who is luring Robert on to ruin. After she leaves, Bertram entices him to the gaming-table, from which he rises a beggar,—and worse than this, he still further prejudices his cause with Isabella by failing to attend the tournament, thus forfeiting his knightly honor.

The second act opens upon an orgy of the evil spirits in the cavern of St. Irene. Bertram is present, and makes a compact with them to loose Robert from his influence if he does not yield to his desires at once. Alice, who has an appointment with the minstrel in the cavern, overhears the compact, and determines to save him. Robert soon appears, mourning over his losses and dishonor; but Bertram promises to restore everything if he will visit the ruined Abbey of St. Rosalie, and carry away a mystic branch which has the power of conferring wealth, happiness, and immortality. He consents; and in the next scene Bertram pronounces the incantation which calls up the buried nuns. Dazed with their ghostly fascinations, Robert seizes the branch and flies. His first use of it is to enter the apartments of Isabella, unseen by her or her attendants, all of whom become immovable in the presence of the mystic talisman. He declares his intention of carrying her away; but moved by her entreaties he breaks the branch, which destroys the charm. In the last act Bertram is at his side again, trying to induce him to sign the fatal compact. The strains of sacred music which he hears, and the recollections of his mother, restrain him. In desperation Bertram announces himself as his fiend-father. He is about to yield, when Alice appears and reads to him his mother's warning against the fiend's temptation. As he still hesitates, the clock strikes, and the spell is over. Bertram disappears, and the scene changes to the cathedral, where Isabella in her wedding robes awaits the saved Robert.

From the musical point of view "Robert le Diable" is interesting, as it marks the beginning of a new school of grand opera. With this work, Meyerbeer abandoned the school of Rossini and took an independent course. He cut loose from the conventional classic forms and gave the world dramatic music, melodies of extraordinary dramatic force, brilliant orchestration, stately pageants, and theatrical effects. "Robert le Diable" was the first of the subsequent great works from his pen which still further emphasized his new and independent departure. It is only necessary to call attention to a few prominent numbers, for this opera has not as many instances of these characteristics as those which followed and which are elsewhere described. The first act contains the opening bacchanalian chorus ("Versiamo a tazza plena"), which is very brilliant in character; the minstrel's song in the same scene ("Regnava un tempo in Normandia"), with choral accompaniment; and a very tender aria for Alice ("Vanne, disse, al figlio mio"), in which she delivers his mother's message to Robert. The second act opens with a spirited duet between Bertram and Raimbaut, leading up to a powerful and characteristic chorus of the evil spirits ("Demoni fatali"). An aria for Alice ("Nel lasciar in Normandia"), a duet between Bertram and Alice ("Trionfo bramato"), and an intensely dramatic trio between Bertram, Alice, and Robert ("Lo sguardo immobile"), prepare the way for the great scena of the nuns, known as "La Temptation," in which Meyerbeer illustrates the fantastic and oftentimes ludicrous scene with music which is the very essence of diabolism, and in its way as unique as the incantation music in "Der Freischutz." The third act contains two great arias. The first ("Invano il fato"), sung at the opening of the act by Isabella, and the second the world-famous aria "Roberto, o tu che adoro," better known by the French words ("Robert! toi que j'aime"). The closing act is specially remarkable for the great terzetto in its finale, which is one of the most effective numbers Meyerbeer has written. The judgment of Hanslick, the great Viennese critic, upon this work is interesting in this connection. He compares it with "William Tell" and "Masaniello," and finds that in musical richness and blended effects it is superior to either, but that a single act of either of the works mentioned contains more artistic truth and ideal form than "Robert le Diable,"—a judgment which is largely based upon the libretto itself, which he condemns without stint.

DINORAH

"Dinorah," an opera in three acts, founded upon a Breton idyl, words by Barbiere and Carre, was first produced at the Opera Comique, Paris, April 4, 1859, under the title of "Le Pardon de Ploermel." It contains but three principal characters, and these were cast as follows: Dinorah, Mme. Cabel; Corentin, M. Sainte-Foy; and Hoeel, M. Faure. On the 26th of July, 1859, Meyerbeer conducted the work himself at Covent Garden, London, with Mme. Miolan-Carvalho as Dinorah, and it was also produced in the same year in English by the Pyne-Harrison troupe. The first representative of Dinorah in this country was Mlle. Cordier.

The scene of the opera is laid in Brittany, and when the first act opens, the following events are supposed to have transpired. On one of the days set apart by the villagers of Ploermel for a pilgrimage to the shrine of the Virgin, Hoeel, the goatherd, and Dinorah, his affianced, set out to receive a nuptial benediction. The festivity is interrupted by a thunder-storm, during which Les Herbiers, the dwelling-place of Dinorah, is destroyed by lightning. Dinorah is in despair. Hoeel determines to make good the loss, and upon the advice of Tonick, an old wizard, resolves to go in quest of a treasure which is under the care of the Korigans, a supernatural folk belonging to Brittany. In order to wrest it from them, however, it is necessary for Hoeel to quit the country and spend a year in solitude in a desolate region. He bravely starts off, and Dinorah, thinking he has abandoned her, loses her wits, and constantly wanders about the woods with her goat, seeking him. Meanwhile the year expires and Hoeel returns, convinced that he has the secret for securing the treasure.

The overture to the work is unique among operatic overtures, as it has a chorus behind the curtain interwoven with it. It is a picture of the opera itself, and contains a will-o'-the-wisp passage, a rustic song with accompaniment of goat-bells, a storm, and in the midst of the storm a chant to the Virgin, sung by the unseen chorus, and then a Pilgrimage march, the whole being in the nature of a retrospect. The curtain rises upon a rustic chorus, after which Dinorah appears, seeking her goat, and sings a slumber-song ("Si, carina, caprettina") which is very graceful, and concludes with phrases in imitation of birds. In the next scene, Corentin, the bagpiper, who has been away three months, and is nearly dead with terror of goblins and fairies, returns to his cottage, and to reassure himself sings a very quaint and original song ("Sto in casa alfine"), to the accompaniment of his pipe. Dinorah suddenly appears and enters the cottage, and much to his alarm keeps him playing and singing, which leads to a very animated vocal contest between her and the bagpiper. It is abruptly terminated, however, by the arrival of Hoeel. Dinorah makes her escape by a window, and Hoeel relates to Corentin the story of the Korigans' treasure. As the first person who touches it will die, he determines that Corentin shall be his messenger, and to rouse his courage sends for wine. While Corentin is absent, Hoeel sings an aria ("Se per prender") which has always been a favorite with barytones. After Corentin returns, the tinkling of the goat's bell is heard. Dinorah appears in the distance, and a charming trio closes the act, to the accompaniment of the whistling wind and booming thunder on the contra basses and drums of the orchestra.

The second act opens with a drinking-song by wood-cutters, and as they withdraw, Dinorah enters, seeking Hoeel. She sings a tender lament, which, as the moonlight falls about her, develops into the famous "Shadow Song," a polka mazurka, which she sings and dances to her shadow. The aria, "Ombra leggier," is fairly lavish in its texture of vocal embroidery, and has always been a favorite number on the concert stage. The next scene changes to the Val Maudit (the Cursed Vale), a rocky, cavernous spot, through which rushes a raging torrent bridged by a fallen tree. Hoeel and Corentin appear in quest of the treasure, and the latter gives expression to his terror in a very characteristic manner, with the assistance of the orchestra. Dinorah is heard singing the legend of the treasure ("Chi primo al tesor"), from which Corentin learns that whoever touches it first will die. He refuses to go on, and a spirited duet ensues between them, which is interrupted by the entrance of Dinorah and her goat. Hoeel, fancying it is a spirit sent to keep him back, sings a very beautiful aria ("Le crede il padre"). The act closes with the fall of Dinorah, who attempts to cross the bridge, into the torrent, and her rescue by Hoeel, to the accompaniment of a storm set to music. The scene, though melodramatic, is very strong in its musical effects.

The last act opens with a scene in striking contrast, introduced with a quintet of horns, followed by a hunter's solo, a reaper's solo, a duet for shepherds; and a quartet in the finale. Hoeel arrives, bearing the rescued Dinorah, and sings to her an exquisite romance ("Sei vendicata assai"). The magic of his singing and her bath in the torrent restore her wandering senses. Hoeel persuades her that all which has transpired has been a dream. The old song of the Pardon of Ploermel comes to her, and as she tries to recall it the chorus takes it up ("Santa Maria! nostra donna") as it was heard in the overture. A procession is seen in the distance, and amid some exquisite pageant music Hoeel and Dinorah wend their way to the chapel, where the nuptial rites are supposed to be performed.

THE PROPHET.

"Le Prophete," an opera in five acts, words by Scribe, was first produced in Paris, April 16, 1849, with Mme. Viardot-Garcia as Fides, and M. Roger as John of Leyden. "The Prophet" was long and carefully elaborated by its composer. Thirteen years intervened between it and its predecessor, "The Huguenots;" but in spite of its elaboration it can only be said to excel the latter in pageantry and spectacular effect, while its musical text is more declamatory than melodious, as compared with "The Huguenots." In this sense it was disappointing when first produced.

The period of the opera is 1534. The first act transpires in Dordrecht and Leyden, in Holland, and the other three in Munster, Germany. The text closely follows the historical narrative of the period when Munster was occupied by John of Leyden and his fanatics, who, after he had been crowned by them as Emperor of Germany, was driven out by the bishop of the diocese. The first act opens in the suburbs of Dordrecht, near the Meuse, with the chateau of Count Oberthal, lord of the domain, in the distance. After a very fresh and vigorous chorus of peasants, Bertha, a vassal of the Count, betrothed to John of Leyden, enters and sings a cavatina ("Il cor nel sento"), in which she gives expression to emotions of delight at her approaching union. As she cannot go to Leyden, where the marriage is to take place, without the Count's consent, Fides, the mother of John, joins her to make the request. In the mean time the three Anabaptists, Zacarie, Gione, and Mathisen, leaders of the revolt in Westphalia, arrive on their mission of raising an insurrection in Holland, and in a sombre trio of a religious but stirring character ("O libertade") incite the peasants to rise against their rulers. They make an assault upon the castle of Count Oberthal, who speedily repels them, and turns the tide of popular feeling against the Anabaptists, by recognizing Gione as a former servant who had been discharged from his service for dishonesty. Fides and Bertha then join in a romanza ("Della mora un giorno"), imploring his permission for the marriage of Bertha and John. The Count, however, struck with her beauty, not only refuses, but claims her for himself, and seizes both her and Fides, and the act closes with a repetition of the warning chant of the Anabaptists.

The second act opens in the hostelry of John of Leyden, and is introduced with a waltz and drinking-chorus, in the midst of which the Anabaptists arrive and are struck with his resemblance to a portrait of David in the Munster Cathedral. From a very descriptive and highly wrought scena ("Sotto le vasti arcati") sung by him they also learn that he is given to visions and religious meditations. They assure him that he shall be a ruler; but in a beautiful romanza ("Un impero piu soave") he replies that his love for Bertha is his only sovereignty. Just as they depart, Bertha, who has escaped, rushes in and claims his protection. He conceals her; but has hardly done so when the Count enters with his soldiers, bringing Fides as a prisoner, and threatens to kill her unless Bertha is given up. He hesitates; but at last, to save his mother's life, delivers Bertha to her pursuers. Mother and son are left alone, and she seeks to console him. In this scene occurs one of the most dramatic and intense of Meyerbeer's arias ("O figlio mio, che diro"), known more popularly by its French words, beginning, "Ah! mon fils." It has enjoyed a world-wide popularity, and still holds its place in all its original freshness and vigor. Fides hardly disappears before the ominous chant of the Anabaptists is heard again. He does not need much persuasion now. They make their compact in a quartet of magnificent power, which closes the act; and some of John's garments are left behind stained with blood, that his mother may believe he has been killed.

The third act opens in the Anabaptists' camp in a Westphalian forest, a frozen lake near them, and Munster, which they are besieging, in the distance. In the second scene Zacarie sings a stirring pasan of victory ("In coppia son"), followed by the beautiful ballet music of the skaters as they come bringing provisions to the troops. Count Oberthal meanwhile has been taken prisoner and brought into camp. A buffo trio between himself and his captors follows, in which Gione penetrates his disguise and recognizes him. They are about to fall upon him; but John, learning from him that Bertha is still alive and in Munster, saves his life. He immediately resolves to take the place by assault, rouses his followers with religious chants of a martial character, and the act concludes with the march on the city.

The fourth act opens in the city itself after its capture. A mendicant appears in the public square begging for bread. It is Fides; and in a plaintively declamatory aria of striking power ("Pieta! pieta!") she implores alms. She meets with Bertha disguised as a pilgrim, and bent upon the destruction of the Prophet, who, she believes, has been the cause of John's death. The next scene opens in the cathedral, where the coronation of the Prophet is to take place; and among all Meyerbeer's pageants none are more imposing than this, with its accompaniment of pealing bells, religious chants, the strains of the organ, and the stately rhythms of the great Coronation March. It is a splendid prelude to the dramatic scene which follows. In the midst of the gorgeous spectacle, the voice of Fides is heard claiming the Prophet as her son. John boldly disavows her, and tells his followers to kill him if she does not confirm the disavowal. The feelings of the mother predominate, and she declares that she is mistaken. The multitude proclaim it a miracle, and Fides is removed as a prisoner. The dramatic situation in this finale is one of great strength, and its musical treatment has hardly been excelled.

The last act opens with a trio by the Anabaptist leaders, who, learning that the enemy is approaching in force, determine to save themselves by betraying John. In the third scene Fides in prison, learning that John is coming to see her, invokes the punishment of Heaven upon him in the passionate aria, "Spirto superno." A duet ("Tu che del cielo") of great power follows, in which Fides convinces him of the errors of his course. As they are about to leave, Bertha enters, bent upon the destruction of the palace, and in the trio which ensues learns that John and the Prophet are one. She stabs herself, and dying in the arms of Fides curses him. The last scene opens in a banqueting-hall of the palace, where John is revelling, with the Anabaptists around him. He sings a bacchanalian song of a wild description ("Beviam e intorno"), and, as it closes, the Bishop of Munster, the Elector, Count Oberthal, and the three Anabaptists who have betrayed him, enter the apartment. The revenge which John has planned is now consummated. An explosion is heard. Flames break out on all sides. Fides rushes in and forgives her son, and the Prophet, his mother, and his enemies perish together.

Although "The Prophet" did not meet with the popularity of some of his other operas, it contains some of the most vigorous and dramatic music Meyerbeer has written,—notably the arias of Zacarie and Fides, the skating-ballet, the Coronation March, and the drinking-song. As a pageant, "The Prophet" has never been surpassed.

THE AFRICAN.

"L'Africaine," a grand opera in five acts, words by Scribe, was first produced at the Academie, Paris, April 28, 1865, with the following cast:—

SELIKA Mme. MARIE SAXE. INEZ Mlle. MARIE BATTEO. VASCO DI GAMA M. NAUDIN. NELUSKO M. FAURE. DON PEDRO M. BELVAL. HIGH PRIEST M. OBIN.

The libretto of the opera was first given to Meyerbeer by Scribe in 1838; but such were the alterations demanded by the composer, that at last Scribe withdrew it altogether, although the music was already set. In 1852 he furnished a revised libretto, and the music was revised to suit it. The work was not finished until 1860, and owing to the difficulty of filling the cast satisfactorily, was not brought to rehearsal until the fall of 1863. While still correcting and improving it, Meyerbeer died, and it was not produced until two years later. Shortly after the Paris performance it was brought out in London, with Mlle. Lucca in the part of Selika. Mme. Zucchi was one of the earliest representatives of the slave in this country.

The scene of the opera is laid in Portugal and Africa, and the first act opens in the council chamber of the king of the former country. Inez, his daughter, is mourning the long absence of her betrothed, Vasco di Gama the explorer. Her father, wishing to marry her to Don Pedro, the President of the Council, tries to persuade her that Vasco has perished by shipwreck; but the refutation of the story comes in the sudden appearance of Vasco himself, who is summoned before the Council and narrates to them his discovery of a strange land, producing two of the natives, Selika and Nelusko, as confirmations of his announcement. Don Pedro incites the inquisitors to deny the truth of the story, at which Vasco breaks out in such a furious rage against them that he is arrested and thrown into a dungeon. The second act opens in the prison, where Selika is watching the slumbering Vasco. As he wakens she declares her love for him, and at the same time saves him from the dagger of the jealous Nelusko. She also indicates to him the course he should have taken to discover the island of which he is in quest. To save her lover, Inez consents to wed Don Pedro; and the latter, to cheat Vasco of his fame, takes command of the expedition under the pilotage of Nelusko, and sets sail for the new land. The Indian, thirsting for vengeance, directs the vessel out of her course towards a reef; but Vasco, who has followed in another vessel, arrives in time to warn Don Pedro of his danger. He disregards the warning, distrusts his motives, and orders him to be shot; but before the sentence can be carried out, the vessel strikes and is boarded by the savages, who slaughter the commander and most of his men. The fourth act opens on the island which Selika pointed out on the map, and of which she is queen. To save him from her subjects, she declares herself his spouse; but as the marriage rite is about to be celebrated, Vasco hears the voice of Inez in the distance, deserts Selika, and flies to her. In the last act, as the vessel sails away bearing Vasco and Inez back to Portugal, Selika throws herself down under the poisonous manchineel-tree and kills herself with its fatal flowers; expiring in the arms of Nelusko, who shares the same fate.

The first act opens with a very sweet but sombre ballad sung by Inez ("Del Tago sponde addio"), which recalls the English song, "Isle of Beauty, fare thee well," and is followed by a bold and flowing terzetto. The third scene opens with a noble and stately chorus ("Tu che la terra adora") sung by the basses in unison, opening the Council before which Vasco appears; and the act closes with an anathema hurled at him ("Ribelle, insolente"),—a splendid ensemble, pronounced in its rhythm and majestic in the sweep of its passionate music.

The second act opens with the quaint slumber-song ("In grembo a me") which Selika sings to Vasco in prison. It is oriental in color, and is broken here and there by a barcarole which Vasco murmurs in his sleep. In striking contrast with its dreamy, quiet flow, it leads up to a passionate aria ("Tranquillo e gia") based upon a strong and fiery motive. In the next scene follows an aria of equal vigor sung by Nelusko ("Figlia dei Re"), in which his devotion to Selika changing to his hatred of Vasco is characterized by a grand crescendo. The act closes with a vigorous sextet, the motive of which is strangely similar to the old song, "The Minstrel Boy."

The third act contains a very impressive number, Nelusko's invocation of Adamastor ("Adamastor, re dell' onde profondo"), but is mainly devoted to the ship scene, which, though grotesque from the dramatic point of view, is accompanied by music of a powerful and realistic description, written with all the vividness and force Meyerbeer always displays in his melodramatic ensembles. The fourth act contains the most beautiful music of the opera,—Vasco's opening aria, "O Paradiso," an exquisite melody set to an equally exquisite accompaniment; the ensemble in the fourth scene, in which Selika protects Vasco and Nelusko swears vengeance ("Al mio penar de fine"); the grand duet between Vasco and Selika ("Dove son"), which has often been compared to the duet in the fourth act of "The Huguenots," though it has not the passionate intensity of the scene between Raoul and Valentin; and the graceful choruses of the Indian maidens and Inez's attendants which close the act.

The last act contains two scenes,—the first in Selika's gardens, where there is a long and spirited duet between Inez and Selika. The second, known as "La Scene du Mancenillier," has a symphonic prelude in the form of a funeral march, based upon a fascinating melody, which is beyond question the finest of Meyerbeer's orchestral numbers in any of his works. From this point the story hastens to its tragic denouement; and nearly the entire scene is occupied with Selika's dying song, which opens with a majestic apostrophe to the sea ("Da qui io vedo il mar"), then turns to sadness as she sings to the fatal tree ("O tempio sontuoso"), and at the close develops into a passionate outcry of joy ("O douce extase"). Though the plot of "L'Africaine" is often absurd, many of its incidents preposterous, and some of its characters unattractive, the opera is full of effective situations, and repeatedly illustrates Meyerbeer's powers of realization and his knowledge of effects.



MOZART.

Johann Chrysostomus Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born at Salzburg, Jan. 27, 1756. With this wonderful child music was a divine gift, for his first work, a minuet and trio for piano, was written in his fifth year. He began to study with his father when but three years of age, and at once gave signs of extraordinary promise. His sister was also very talented; and in 1762 the father determined to travel with his prodigies. They were absent a year, the most of that time being spent at Munich, Vienna, and Presburg, where they created a furor by their performances. A longer journey was then resolved upon. The principal German cities, Brussels, Paris, London, the Hague, Amsterdam, and the larger towns of Switzerland were visited in succession, and everywhere the children were greeted with enthusiasm, particularly when they played before the French and English courts. They returned to Salzburg in 1766, already famous all over Europe; and during the next two years Mozart composed many minor works. In 1768 he was again in Vienna, where he produced his little operetta, "Bastien und Bastienne," and in the same year the Archbishop of Salzburg made him his concertmeister. The next year he went to Italy, where he both studied and composed, and was received with extraordinary honors. In 1771 he brought out his opera, "Mitridate, Re di Ponto," at Milan, with great success. The next year he produced "Lucio Silla," also in Milan, and during the next four years composed a great number of symphonies and other instrumental works. The mass of music which he composed up to his twenty-first year is simply bewildering. In 1781 he brought out "Idomeneo" at Munich, which left no doubt as to his position as a dramatic composer. In 1782 his "Entfuhrung aus dem Serail" was produced at Vienna by the Emperor's command. His next great opera was "Le Nozze di Figaro," which was performed in 1786, and made all Vienna go wild. "Don Giovanni" followed it the next year, and was received with equal enthusiasm. In 1789 he composed the famous "Requiem;" and the same year the "Zauberfloete," his last great opera, appeared, and made a success even greater than its two great predecessors. Two years later, Dec. 5, 1791, Mozart died in poverty, and amid the saddest of surroundings. One of the world's greatest geniuses was carried to his last resting-place unaccompanied by friends, and was buried in the common pauper's grave. God endowed him with a wonderful genius, which the world of his time could not recognize.

THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO.

"Le Nozze di Figaro," in the German version, "Die Hochzeit des Figaro," an opera buffa in four acts, the words by Lorenzo da Ponte, after Beaumarchais's comedy, "Le Mariage de Figaro," was first produced at the National Theatre, Vienna, May 1, 1786, with the following cast:—

COUNTESS ALMAVIVA Signora STORACE. SUSANNA Signora LASCHI. CHERUBINO Signora MANDINI. MARCELLINA Signora BUSSANI. BARBARINA Signora GOTTLIEB. COUNT ALMAVIVA Signor MANDINI. FIGARO Signor BENUCCI. BARTOLO Signor OCCHELEY. BASILIO Signor BUSSANI.

It was first brought out in Paris in 1793, with Beaumarchais's spoken dialogue, in five acts, as "Le Mariage de Figaro," and in 1858 at the Theatre Lyrique in the same city, in four acts, as "Les Noces de Figaro," with text by Barbiere and Carre. The late Mme. Parepa-Rosa introduced it in this country in its English form with great success.

At the time the libretto was written, Beaumarchais's satirical comedy, "Le Mariage de Figaro," had been performed all over Europe, and had attracted great attention. It had been prohibited in Paris, and had caused great commotion in Vienna. Mozart's notice was thus drawn to it, and he suggested it to Da Ponte for a libretto, and the Emperor Joseph subsequently commissioned the composer to set it to music, though he had already composed a portion of it. The entire opera was written during the month of April, and the wonderful finale to the second act occupied him for two nights and a day. When it came to a performance, its success was remarkable. Kelly, who was present, says, in his Reminiscences: "Never was there a greater triumph than Mozart enjoyed with his 'Figaro.' The house was crowded to overflowing, and almost everything encored, so that the opera lasted nearly double the usual time; and yet at its close the public were unwearied in clapping their hands and shouting for Mozart." Popular as it was, it was soon laid aside in Vienna through the influence of the Italian faction headed by Salieri, one of Mozart's rivals.

The story of the opera is laid in Spain. Count Almaviva, who had won his beautiful Countess with the aid of Figaro, the barber of Seville, becomes enamoured of her maid Susanna, and at the same time, by the collusion of the two, in order to punish him, is made jealous by the attentions paid to the Countess by Cherubino, the page. Meanwhile Figaro, to whom Susanna is betrothed, becomes jealous of the Count for his gallantry to her. Out of these cross-relations arise several humorous surprises. Besides these characters there are two others who have been disappointed in love,—Bartolo, who has been rejected by Susanna, and Marcellina, whose affection for Figaro has not been requited. The Count seeks to get rid of Cherubino by ordering him off to the wars, but he is saved by Susanna, who disguises him in female attire. The Countess, Susanna, Figaro, and Cherubino then conspire to punish the Count for his infidelity. The latter suddenly appears at his wife's door, and finding it locked demands an entrance. Cherubino, alarmed, hides himself in a closet and bars the door. The Count is admitted, and finding the Countess in confusion insists upon searching the closet. He goes out to find some means of breaking in the door, and Cherubino improves the opportunity to jump out of the window, while Susanna takes his place and confronts the puzzled Count. Antonio, the gardener, comes in and complains that some one has jumped from the window and broken his flower-pots. Figaro at once asserts that he did it.

A ludicrous side plot unfolds at this point. Marcellina appears with a contract of marriage signed by Figaro, bringing Bartolo as a witness. The Count decides that Figaro must fulfil his contract, but the latter escapes by showing that he is the son of Marcellina, and that Bartolo is his father. Meanwhile the main plot is developed in another conspiracy to punish the Count. Susanna contrives a rendezvous with the Count at night in the garden, having previously arranged with the Countess that she should disguise herself as the maid, the latter also assuming the part of the Countess, and arrive in time to surprise the two. The page also puts in an appearance, and gets his ears boxed for his attentions to the disguised Countess. Figaro, who has been informed that Susanna and the Count are to meet in the garden, comes on the scene, and in revenge makes a passionate declaration of love to the supposed Countess, upon which the Count, who is growing more and more bewildered, orders lights and makes his supposed wife unveil. The real wife does the same. Covered with confusion, he implores pardon of the Countess, which is readily given. The two are reconciled, and Figaro and Susanna are united.

The whole opera is such a combination of playfulness and grace that it is a somewhat ungracious task to refer to particular numbers. In these regards it is the most Mozartean of all the composer's operas. The first act opens with a sparkling duet between Figaro and Susanna, in which she informs him of the Count's gallantries. As she leaves, Figaro, to the accompaniment of his guitar, sings a rollicking song ("Se vuol ballare, Signor Contino"), in which he intimates that if the Count wishes to dance he will play for him in a style he little expects. In the second scene Bartolo enters, full of his plans for vengeance, which he narrates in a grim and grotesque song ("La Vendetta"). The fourth scene closes with an exquisite aria by Cherubino ("Non so piu cosa son"). After an exceedingly humorous trio ("Cosa sento? tosto andate") for the Count, Basilio and Susanna, and a bright, gleeful chorus ("Giovanni lieti"), Figaro closes the act with the celebrated aria, "Non piu andrai." Of the singing of this great song at the first rehearsal of the opera Kelly says in his Reminiscences: "I remember Mozart well at the first general rehearsal, in a red furred coat and a gallooned hat, standing on the stage and giving the tempi. Benucci sang Figaro's aria, 'Non piu andrai,' with the utmost vivacity and the full strength of his voice. I stood close beside Mozart, who exclaimed, sotto voce, 'Brava! brava! Benucci!' and when that fine passage came, 'Cherubino, alla vittoria, alla gloria militar,' which Benucci gave in a stentorian voice, the effect was quite electrical, both on the singers on the stage and the musicians in the orchestra. Quite transported with delight, they all called out, 'Brava! brava, Maestro! viva! viva! viva il grande Mozart!' In the orchestra the applause seemed to have no end, while the violin-players rapped their bows on their desks. The little Maestro expressed his gratitude for the enthusiasm, testified in so unusual a manner, by repeatedly bowing."

The second act is the masterpiece of the opera, and contains in itself music enough to have made any composer immortal. It opens with a serious aria by the Countess ("Porgi amor") followed by Cherubino's well-known romanza ("Voi che sapete,") one of the sweetest and most effective songs ever written for contralto, and this in turn by Susanna's coquettish song, "Venite, inginocchiatevi," as she disguises Cherubino. A spirited trio and duet lead up to the great finale, begun by the Count, ("Esci omai, garzon mal nato"). Upon this finale Mozart seems to have lavished the riches of his musical genius with the most elaborate detail and in bewildering profusion. It begins with a duet between the Count and Countess, then with the entrance of Susanna changes to a trio, and as Figaro and Antonio enter, develops into a quintet. In the close, an independent figure is added by the entrance of Marcellina, Barbarina, and Basilio, and as Antonio exits, this trio is set against the quartet with independent themes and tempi.

The third act opens with a duet ("Crudel, perche finora") for the Count and Countess, followed by a very dramatic scena for the Count, beginning with the recitative, "Hai gia vinta la causa?" which in turn leads up to a lively and spirited sextet ("Riconosci in questo amplesso"). The two numbers which follow the sextet are recognized universally as two of the sweetest and most melodious ever written,—the exquisite aria, "Dove Sono," for the Countess, and the "Zephyr Duet," as it is popularly known ("Canzonetta su l'aria. Che soave zeffiretto"), which stands unsurpassed for elegance, grace, and melodious beauty. The remaining numbers of prominent interest are a long and very versatile buffo aria for tenor ("In quegli anni"), sung by Basilio, Figaro's stirring march number ("Ecco la marcia"), and a lovely song for Susanna ("Deh, vieni, non tardar"). The opera is full of life and human interest. Its wonderful cheerfulness and vital sympathy appeal to every listener, and its bright, free, joyous tone from beginning to end is no less fascinating than the exquisite melodies with which Mozart has so richly adorned it. Like "Don Giovanni" and the "Magic Flute," the best test of the work is, that it is rounding its first century as fresh and bright and popular as ever.

DON GIOVANNI.

"Don Giovanni," an opera buffa in two acts, words by Da Ponte, was first produced at Prague, Oct. 29, 1787. The full title of the work is "Il dissoluto punito, ossia il Don Giovanni," and the subject was taken from a Spanish tale by Tirso de Molina, called "El combidado de piedra." The original cast of the opera was as follows:—

DONNA ANNA Signora TERESA SAPORITTI. DONNA ELVIRA Signora MICELLI. ZERLINA Signora BONDINI. DON OTTAVIO Signor BAGLIONI. DON GIOVANNI Signor LUIGI BASSI. LEPORELLO Signor FELICE PONZIANI. MASETTO and DON PEDRO Signor LOLLI.

The success of the "Marriage of Figaro" prepared the way for "Don Giovanni." Mozart wrote the opera in Prague, and completed it, except the overture, Oct. 28, 1787, about six weeks after he arrived in the city. The first performance took place the next evening. The overture was written during the night, the copyist received the score at seven o'clock in the morning, and it was played at eight in the evening. He had only a week for stage rehearsals, and yet the opera created a furor. As an instance of his extraordinary memory, it is said that the drum and trumpet parts to the finale of the second act were written without the score, from memory. When he brought the parts into the orchestra, he remarked, "Pray, gentlemen, be particularly attentive at this place," pointing to one, "as I believe that there are four bars either too few or too many." His remark was proved true. It is also said that in the original scores the brass instruments frequently have no place, as he wrote the parts continually on separate bits of paper, trusting to his memory for the score. The next year (1788) the opera was brought out in Vienna, and for this production he wrote four new numbers,—a recitative and aria for Donna Elvira ("In quali excessi, o numi"); an aria for Masetto ("Ho capito, Signor, si"); a short aria for Don Ottavio ("Dalla sua pace"); and a duet for Zerlina and Leporello ("Per queste tue manine").

The scene of the opera is laid in Spain. Don Giovanni, a licentious nobleman, becomes enamoured of Donna Anna, the daughter of the Commandant of Seville, who is betrothed to Don Ottavio. He gains admission to her apartments at night, and attempts to carry her away; but her cries bring her father to her rescue. He attacks Don Giovanni, and in the encounter is slain. The libertine, however, in company with his rascally servant, Leporello, makes good his escape. While the precious pair are consulting about some new amour, Donna Elvira, one of his victims, appears and taxes him with his cruelty; but he flies from her, leaving her with Leporello, who horrifies her with an appalling list of his master's conquests in various countries. Don Giovanni next attempts the ruin of Zerlina, a peasant girl, upon the very eve of her marriage with her lover, Masetto. Donna Elvira, however, appears and thwarts his purposes, and also discovers him to Donna Anna as the murderer of her father, whereupon she binds her lover, Don Ottavio, to avenge his death. Don Giovanni does not abandon his purpose, however. He gives a fete, and once more seeks to accomplish Zerlina's ruin, but is again thwarted by her three friends.

The second act opens in a public square of Seville at night. Don Giovanni and Leporello appear before the house of Donna Elvira, where Zerlina is concealed. Leporello, disguised in his master's cloak, and assuming his voice, lures Donna Elvira out, and feigning repentance for his conduct induces her to leave with him. Don Giovanni then proceeds to enter the house and seize Zerlina; but before he can accomplish his purpose, Masetto and his friends appear, and supposing it is Leporello before them, demand to know where his master is, as they are bent upon killing him. Don Giovanni easily disposes of Masetto, and then rejoins his servant near the equestrian statue, which has been erected to the memory of the murdered Don Pedro. To their astonishment the statue speaks, and warns the libertine he will die before the morrow. Don Giovanni laughs at the prophecy, and invites the statue to a banquet to be given the next day at his house. While the guests are assembled at the feast, an ominous knock is heard at the door and the statue unceremoniously enters. All except Leporello and Don Giovanni fly from the room in terror. The doomed man orders an extra plate, but the statue extends its hand and invites him to sup with it. He takes the marble hand, and its cold fingers clutch him in a firm grasp. Thrice the statue urges him to repent, and as many times he refuses; whereupon, as it disappears, demons rise, seize Don Giovanni, and carry him to the infernal regions.

Musically considered, "Don Giovanni" is regarded as Mozart's greatest opera, though it lacks the bright joyousness of the "Marriage of Figaro," and its human interest. Its melodies are more pronounced, and have entered more freely into general use, however, than those of the former. Repulsive as the story is, some of the melodies which illustrate it have been impressed into the service of the church. The first act is introduced with a humorous aria by Leporello ("Notte e giorno faticar"), in which he complains of his treatment by his master. After the murder of Don Pedro, in the second scene, occurs a trio between Donna Elvira, Don Giovanni, and Leporello, the leading motive of which is a beautiful aria sung by Donna Elvira ("Ah! chi mi dici mai"). The scene closes with the great buffo aria of Leporello ("Madamina il catalogo") popularly known as the "Catalogue Song," which is full of broad humor, though its subject is far from possessing that quality. In the third scene occur the lovely duet for Don Giovanni and Zerlina ("La ci darem, la mano"), two arias of great dramatic intensity for Donna Elvira ("Mi tradi") and Donna Anna ("Or sai chi l'onore"), and Don Giovanni's dashing song, "Finche dal vino," the music of which is in admirable keeping with the reckless nature of the libertine himself. The last scene is a treasure-house of music, containing the exquisitely coquettish aria, "Batti, batti," which Zerlina sings to the jealous Masetto, and the beautiful trio of Donna Anna, Donna Elvira, and Don Ottavio, known as the Mask Trio, set off against the quaint minuet music of the fete and the hurly-burly which accompanies the discovery of Don Giovanni's black designs.

The second act opens with a humorous duet between master and servant ("Eh, via, buffone"), followed by the trio, "Ah! taci, inquisto care," as Elvira appears at her window. After she leaves with Leporello, Don Giovanni sings a serenade ("Deh? vieni all finestra") to Zerlina, which is interrupted by the appearance of Masetto and his friends. Zerlina is summoned to the scene by the cries of Masetto after Don Giovanni has beaten him, and sings to him for his consolation the beautiful aria, "Vedrai carino," which has more than once been set to sacred words, and has become familiar as a church tune, notwithstanding the unsanctity of its original setting. The second scene opens with a strong sextet ("Sola, sola, in bujo loco"), followed by the ludicrously solemn appeal of Leporello, "Ah! pieta, signori miei," and that aria beloved of all tenors, "Il mio tesoro." The finale is occupied with the scenes at the statue and at the banquet, a short scene between Donna Anna and Don Ottavio intervening, in which she sings the aria, "Non mi dir." The statue music throughout is of a sepulchral character, gradually developing into strains almost as cold and ominous as the marble of the Commandant himself, and yet not without an element of the grotesque as it portrays the terror of Leporello.

It is said that in revenge at his Italian rivals, Mozart introduced an aria from Martin's "Cosa Rara," arranged for wind instruments, and also a favorite aria of Sarti's, to be played at the banquet when the hungry Leporello beholds his master at the table and watches for some of the choice morsels, and parodied them in an amusing manner. He never could retain an enmity very long, however, and so at the end of the banquet he parodied one of his own arias, the famous "Non piu andrai," by giving it a comical turn to suit Leporello's situation. The criticism of one of the best biographers of Mozart upon this opera is worth repeating in this connection: "Whether we regard the mixture of passions in its concerted music, the profound expression of melancholy, the variety of its situations, the beauty of its accompaniment, or the grandeur of its heightening and protracted scene of terror—the finale of the second act,—'Don Giovanni' stands alone in dramatic eminence."

THE MAGIC FLUTE.

"Die Zauberfloete," an opera in two acts, words by Emanuel Schickaneder, was first produced at Vienna, Sept. 30, 1791, with the following cast:

QUEEN OF NIGHT Mme. HOFER. PAMINA Mlle. GOTTLIEB. PAPAGENA Mme. GORL. TAMINO Herr SCHACK. MONOSTATOS Herr GORL. SARASTRO Herr SCHICKANEDER, Sr. PAPAGENO Herr SCHICKANEDER, Jr.

The "Magic Flute" was the last great work of the composer, and followed the "Cosi fan tutte," which was given in January, 1791. In 1780 Mozart had made the acquaintance of Schickaneder at Salzburg. He was a reckless, dissipated theatre manager, and at the time of the composition of the "Magic Flute" was running a small theatre in Vienna. The competition of the larger theatres had nearly beggared him, and in the midst of his perplexities he applied to Mozart to write him an opera, and intimated that he had discovered an admirable subject for a fairy composition. Mozart at first objected; but Schickaneder, like himself, was a Freemason; he had been his companion in dissipation, and exercised a great influence over him. Mozart at last consented. A compact was made, and Schickaneder set to work on the libretto. As he was a popular buffoon, he invented the part of Papageno, the bird-catcher, for himself, and arranged that it should be dressed in a costume of feathers. It is a trivial part, but Schickaneder intended to tickle the fancy of the public, and succeeded. The first act was finished, when it was found that the same subject had been chosen by a rival theatre, the Leopold Stadt, which speedily announced the opera of "Kaspar der Fagottist, oder die Zauber-Zither," by a popular composer, Wenzel Mueller. The piece had a successful run, and in order to prevent a duplication, Schickaneder reversed the point of his story, and changed the evil magician, who stole the daughter of the Queen of Night, into a great philosopher and friend of man. It is owing to this change that we have the magnificent character of Sarastro, with its impressive music.

The scene of the opera is laid in Egypt. Sarastro, the high-priest of Isis, has induced Pamina to leave her mother, Astrifiamenti, the Queen of Night, who represents the spirit of evil, and come to his temple, where she may be trained in the ways of virtue and wisdom. At the opening of the opera the dark Queen is trying to discover some plan of recovering her daughter and punishing Sarastro. In the first act appears Tamino, an Egyptian prince, who has lost his way, and is attacked by a huge serpent, from which he is rescued by the three attendants of the Queen. The latter accosts him, tells him her daughter's story, and demands that, as the cost of his deliverance, he shall rescue her. He consents. She gives him a magic flute, and with his companion Papageno, a rollicking bird-catcher, who is also presented with a magical chime of bells, they set out for Sarastro's temple. Papageno arrives there first, and in time to rescue Pamina from the persecutions of Monostatos, a slave, who flies when he beholds Papageno in his feather costume, fancying him the Devil. They seek to make their escape, but are intercepted. Tamino also is caught, and all are brought before Sarastro. The prince consents to become a novitiate in the sacred rites, and to go through the various stages of probation and purification, and Pamina again returns to her duties. They remain faithful to their vows, and the last ordeal, that of passing through a burning lake up to the altar of the temple, is triumphantly accomplished. The Queen of Night, however, does not abandon her scheme of revenge. She appears to Pamina in her sleep, gives her a dagger, and swears that unless she murders Sarastro she will cast her off forever. Pamina pays no heed to her oath, but goes on with her sacred duties, trusting to Sarastro's promise that if she endures all the ordeals she will be forever happy. In the closing scene, Monostatos, who has been inflamed against Sarastro by the Queen, seeks to kill him, but is vanquished by the might of the priest's presence alone. The night of the ordeals is over. At a sign from Sarastro, the, full sunlight pours in upon them. The evil spirits all vanish, and Tamino and Pamina are united amid the triumphant choruses of the priests and attendants, as the reward of their fidelity.

In the opening scene, after the encounter of Tamino with the serpent, Papageno has a light and catching song ("Der Vogelfaenger bin ich ja"), which, like all of Papageno's music, was specially written for Schickaneder, and has been classed under the head of the "Viennese ditties." Melodious as Mozart always is, these songs must be regarded as concessions to the buffoon who sang them. Papageno's song is followed by another in a serious strain ("Dies Bildniss ist bezaubernd schoen") sung by Tamino. In the sixth scene occurs the first aria for the Queen of Night ("O zittre nicht, mein lieber Sohn"), which, like its companion to be mentioned later, is a remarkable exercise in vocal power, range, and gymnastics, written for an exceptional voice. The next scene, known as the Padlock Quintet, is very simple and flowing in style, and will always be popular for its humorous and melodious character. In the eleventh scene occurs the familiar duet between Pamina and Papageno, "Bei Maennern, welche Liebe fuellen," which has done good service for the church, and will be recognized in the English hymn version, "Serene I laid me down." It leads up to the finale, beginning, "Zum Ziehle fuehrt dich diese Bahn," and containing a graceful melody for Tamino ("O dass ich doch im Stande waere"), and another of the Viennese tunes, "Koennte jeder brave Mann,"—a duet for Papageno and Pamina, with chorus.