Operas Every Child Should Know

Operas Every Child Should Know
Mary Bacon

Mary Schell Hoke Bacon

Operas Every Child Should Know Descriptions of the Text and Music of Some of the Most Famous Masterpieces

FOREWORD

In selecting a few of the operas every child should know, the editor's greatest difficulty is in determining what to leave out. The wish to include "L'Africaine," "Othello," "Lucia," "Don Pasquale," "Mignon," "Nozze di Figaro," "Don Giovanni," "Rienzi," "Tannhäuser," "Romeo and Juliet," "Parsifal," "Freischütz," and a hundred others makes one impatient of limitations.

The operas described here are not all great compositions: Some of them are hopelessly poor. Those of Balfe and Flotow are included because they were expressions of popular taste when our grandfathers enjoyed going to the opera.

The Nibelung Ring is used in preference to several other compositions of Wagner because the four operas included in it are the fullest both of musical and story wonders, and are at the same time the least understood.

"Aïda" and "Carmen" belong here – as do many which are left out – because of their beauty and musical splendour. Few, instead of many, operas have been written about in this book, because it seemed better to give a complete idea of several than a superficial sketch of many.

The beginnings of opera – music-drama – are unknown; but Sulpitius, an Italian, declared that opera was heard in Italy as early as 1490. The Greeks, of course, accompanied their tragedies with music long before that time, but that would not imply "opera" as we understand it. However, modern opera is doubtless merely the development of that manner of presenting drama.

After the opera, came the ballet, and that belonged distinctively to France. Before 1681 there were no women dancers in the ballet – only males. All ballets of shepherdesses and nymphs and dryads were represented by men and boys; but at last, the ladies of the court of France took to the ballet for their own amusement, and thus women dancers became the fashion.

Even the most heroic or touching stories must lose much of their dignity when made into opera, since in that case the "music's the thing," and not the "play." For this reason it has seemed necessary to tell the stories of such operas as "Il Trovatore," with all their bombastic trimmings complete, in order to be faithful in showing them as they really are. On the other hand, it has been necessary to try to treat "Pinafore" in Gilbert's rollicking fashion.

Opera is the most superficial thing in the world, even if it appears the most beautiful to the senses, if not to the intelligence. We go to opera not specially to understand the story, but to hear music and to see beautiful scenic effects. It is necessary, however, to know enough of the story to appreciate the cause of the movement upon the stage, and without some acquaintance of it beforehand one gets but a very imperfect knowledge of an opera story from hearing it once.

A very great deal is said of music-motif and music-illustration, and it has been demonstrated again and again that this is largely the effort of the ultra-artistic to discover what is not there. At best, music is a "concord of sweet sounds" – heroic, tender, exciting, etc.; but the elemental passions and emotions are almost all it can define, or even suggest. Certain music is called "characteristic" – anvil choruses, for example, where hammers or triangles or tin whistles are used, but that is not music in its best estate, and musical purpose is best understood after a composer has labelled it, whether the ultra-artistic are ready to admit it or not.

The opera is never more enjoyed than by a music lover who is incapable of criticism from lack of musical knowledge: music being first and last an emotional art; and as our emotions are refined it requires compositions of a more and more elevated character to appeal to them. Thus, we range from the bathos and vulgarity of the music hall to the glories of grand opera!

The history of opera should be known and composers classified, just as it is desirable to know and to classify authors, painters, sculptors, and actors.

Music is first of all something to be felt, and it is one of the arts which does not always explain itself.

    Dolores Bacon.

BALFE

THE story of The Bohemian Girl is supposed to have been taken from a French ballet entitled The Gipsy, which was produced in Paris in 1839. Again, it is said to have been stolen from a play written by the Marquis de Saint-Georges, which was named La Bohémienne. However that may be, it would at first sight hardly seem worth stealing, but it has nevertheless been popular for many decades. Balfe, the composer, had no sense of dramatic composition and was not much of a musician, but he had a talent for writing that which could be sung. It was not always beautiful, but it was always practicable.

The original title of La Bohémienne has in its meaning nothing to do with Bohemia, and therefore a literal translation does not seem to have been especially applicable to the opera as Bunn made it. The story is placed in Hungary and not in Bohemia, and the hero came from Warsaw, hence the title is a misnomer all the way around. It was Balfe who tried to establish English opera in London, and to that purpose he wrote an opera or two in which his wife sang the principal rôles; but in the midst of that enterprise he received favourable propositions from Paris, and therefore abandoned the London engagement. When he went to Paris, The Bohemian Girl was only partly written, and he took from its score several of its arias for use in a new opera. When he returned to London he wrote new music for the old opera, and thus The Bohemian Girl knew many vicissitudes off, as well as on, the stage.

The first city to hear this opera, outside of London, was New York. It was produced in America at the Park Theatre, November 25, 1844. The most remarkable thing about that performance was that the part of Arline was sung in the same cast by two women, Miss Dyott and Mrs. Seguin: the former singing it in the first act, the latter in the second and third. When it was produced in London, Piccolomini (a most famous singer) sang Arline and it was written that "applause from the many loud enough to rend the heavens" followed.

Because of this inconsequent opera, Balfe was given the cross of the Legion of Honour from Napoleon III., and was made Commander of the Order of Carlos III. by the regent of Spain. This seems incredible, for good music was perfectly well known from bad, but the undefined element of popularity was there, and thus the opera became a living thing.

A story is told of Balfe while he belonged to the Drury Lane orchestra. "Vauxhall Gardens" were then in vogue, and there was a call for the Drury Lane musicians to go there to play. The "Gardens" were a long way off, and there was no tram-car or other means of transportation for their patrons. Those who hadn't a coach had no way of getting there, and it must have cost Balfe considerable to go and come each day. He decided to find lodgings near the Gardens to save himself expense. He looked and looked, on the day he first went out. Others wanted the same thing, and it was not easy to place himself. However, by evening, he had decided to take anything he could find; so he engaged a room at an unpromising looking house. He was kept waiting by the landlady for a long time in the passageway, but at last he was escorted up to his room, and, being tired out, he immediately went to bed and to sleep. In the morning he began to look about, and to his horror and amazement he found a corpse stowed away in a cupboard. Some member of his landlady's family who occupied the bed had died. When he applied for the room, he had been made to wait while the previous occupant was hastily tucked out of sight. After that, he never hired lodgings without first looking into the cupboards and under the bed.

Balfe was a good deal of a wag, and his waggishness was not always in good taste, as shown by an incident at carnival time in Rome. His resemblance to a great patroness of his, the Countess Mazzaras, a well-known woman of much dignity, induced him upon that occasion to dress himself in women's clothes, stand in a window conspicuously, and make the most extraordinary and hideous faces at the monks and other churchmen who passed. Every one gave the credit of this remarkable conduct to the Countess Mazzaras. Balfe had pianos carried up to the sleeping rooms of great singers before they got out of bed, and thus made them listen to his newly composed tunes. He sometimes announced himself by the titles of his famous tunes, as, "We May Be Happy Yet," and was admitted, and received as readily as if he had resorted to pasteboard politeness.

In short, Balfe was never a great musician, yet he had all the eccentricities that one might expect a great musician to have, and he succeeded quite as well as if he had had genius.

Balfe was born May 15, 1808, and died October 20, 1870.

THE BOHEMIAN GIRL

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST

Scene laid in Hungary.

Composer: Michael Balfe.

Author: Alfred Bunn.

First sung at London, England, Her Majesty's Theatre, Drury Lane, Nov. 27, 1843.

ACT I

Many years ago, when noblemen, warriors, gipsies, lovers, enemies and all sorts and conditions of men fraternized without drawing very fine distinctions except when it came to levying taxes, a company of rich nobles met in the gardens of the Count Arnheim to go hunting together. The Count was the Governor of Presburg, and a very popular man, except with his inferiors.

They began their day's sport with a rather highfalutin song sung by the Count's retainers:

"Up with the banner and down with the slave,
Who shall dare dispute the right,
Wherever its folds in their glory wave,
Of the Austrian eagle's flight?"

The verses were rather more emotional than intelligent, but the singers were all in good spirits and prepared for a fine day's sport.

After this preliminary all the party – among whom was the young daughter of the Count, whose name was Arline, and a girlie sort of chap, Florestein, who was the Count's nephew – came from the castle, with huntsmen and pages in their train; and what with pages running about, and the huntsmen's bright colours, and the horns echoing, and the horses that one must feel were just without, stamping with impatience to be off, it was a gay scene. The old Count was in such high feather that he, too, broke into song and, while singing that

"Bugles shake the air,"

he caught up his little daughter in his arms and told how dear she was to him. It was not a proper thing for so young a girl to go on a hunt, but Arline was a spoiled young countess. When a huntsman handed a rifle to Florestein, that young man shuddered and rejected it – which left one to wonder just what he was going to do at a hunt without a rifle, but the others were less timid, and all separated to go to their various posts, Arline going by a foot-path in charge of a retainer.

These gay people had no sooner disappeared than a handsome young fellow, dishevelled, pursued, rushed into the garden. He looked fearfully behind him, and stopped to get his breath.

"I can run no farther," he gasped, looking back upon the road he had come; and then suddenly at his side, he saw a statue of the Austrian Emperor. He was even leaning against it.

"Here I am, in the very midst of my foes! – a statue of the Emperor himself adorning these grounds!" and he became even more alarmed. While he stood thus, hesitating what to do next, a dozen dusky forms leaped the wall of the garden and stood looking at him. Thaddeus was in a soldier's dress and looked like a soldier. Foremost among the newcomers, who huddled together in brilliant rags, was a great brigand-looking fellow, who seemed to lead the band.

"Hold on! before we undertake to rob this chap, let us make sure of what we are doing," he cautioned the others. "If he is a soldier, we are likely to get the worst of it" – showing that he had as much wisdom as bravado. After a moment's hesitation they decided that caution was the better part of valour, and since it was no harm to be a gipsy, and there was a penalty attached to being a robber, they nonchalantly turned suspicion from themselves by beginning to sing gaily of their gipsy life. Frequently when they had done this, they had received money for it. If they mayn't rob this soldier chap, at least he might be generous and toss them a coin. During this time, Thaddeus was not napping. The Austrian soldiery were after him, and at best he could not expect to be safe long. The sight of the vagabonds inspired him with hope, although to most folks they would have seemed to be a rather uninspiring and hopeless lot. He went up to the leader, Devilshoof:

"My friend, I have something to say to you. I am in danger. You seem to be a decent sort – gay and friendly enough. The Austrian soldiers are after me. I am an exile from Poland. If I am caught, my life will be forfeited. I am young and you may count upon my good will. If you will take me along with you as one of you, I may stand a chance of escaping with my life – what do you say?"

The gipsies stared at him; and Devilshoof did so in no unfriendly manner. The leader was a good-natured wanderer, whose main fault was stealing – but that was a fault he shared in common with all gipsies. He was quite capable of being a good friend.

"Just who are you?" he asked, wanting a little more information.

"A man without country, friends, hope – or money."