For his latest opera, Madama Butterfly, Puccini turned to the flowery land of Japan for the environment of a story—the book being by Illica and Giocosa—which, following his invariable custom, he chose himself. The suggestion appears to have come originally from Mr. Frank Nielson, who was then the stage manager at Covent Garden, that Puccini should go and see the play by Belasco, running at the time at the Duke of York's Theatre in London. He did so, and was immediately taken with its possibilities. It may be mentioned as a tribute to the actors who interpreted this play, that without knowing any English Puccini was able to follow the story with perfect ease. He was greatly struck by Miss Evelyn Millard's performance of the name part, and her photograph as Butterfly is among his collection of celebrities at Torre del Lago.

The story is a slight one, and is no more Japanese than the plot of La BohÈme is French. It is a presentation of the universal theme of a man's passion, which is an episode, and a woman's love, which is her life. A little Japanese girl is wooed and won by an American naval officer. She, in her trust and devotion regards herself, after going through some sort of marriage ceremony, as his lawful wife. He regards the whole affair as an incident, the mere satisfying of an animal instinct, and returns, married to an American wife, to find the girl a mother. The ending is the usual sad one—the girl takes her life when her dishonoured state comes upon her in its full significance.

Madama Butterfly was written for the most part during Puccini's recovery from his accident; but he had planned out a good deal of it by the end of 1902 or the beginning of the next year. He himself about this time said of the work: "As an opera, it would be in one act divided by an intermezzo. The theme has a sentiment, a passion which veritably haunts me. I have it constantly ringing in my head."

The intermezzo mentioned was Puccini's idea of treating the very effective and most eloquent silence on which, it will be remembered, the curtain fell, while the little Japanese girl with her servant and baby were keeping their long, long vigil through the night, awaiting the return of the supposed husband who, after all, was only a lover, and a poor one at that.

Puccini was at Rome for a time soon after his complete recovery from his accident, and took special pains to get up the local colour for his new work. For this he invoked the aid of the Japanese ambassadress, and obtained some actual Japanese melodies from a friend of hers in Paris. Of music there is no lack in Japan, but by the Japanese themselves it is never written down. Like the troubadours of old, the musicians, who are a sort of guild, hand the traditional songs and dances on from father to son.

Madama Butterfly was produced at the Scala, Milan, on February 17, 1904. Canpanini was the conductor, and it was cast as follows:

Although Puccini was at the very zenith of his popularity a strange thing happened with the first production of this new opera, and the composer went through a similar experience to that which Wagner had to suffer when TannhÄuser was first given in Paris. The audience simply howled with derision. For the reason of this it is difficult to account. The storm of disapproval began after the first few bars of the opening act. Puccini, very quietly, took matters into his own hands, and at the end of the performance thanked the conductor for his trouble and marched off with the score. The second or any subsequent performance was therefore an impossibility.

He tells an amusing story of a little incident occasioned by the fiasco, which, he says, brought him at least some little consolation, and atoned for much disillusion. A bookkeeper at Genoa, an ardent admirer of Puccini, indignant at what he considered the outrageous treatment—for it was nothing else—meted out to his favourite composer, went to the City Hall to register the birth of a daughter. When the clerk asked the name of the child, he replied, "Butterfly." "What!" said the official, "do you want to brand your child for life with the memory of a failure?" But the father persisted, and so as Butterfly the child was entered. A little time after this Puccini heard of the incident, and rather touched with the simple devotion, asked the father to bring the child to see him. On the appointed day Puccini looked out of the window and saw a long stream of people approaching his front door. Not only did the father bring little "Butterfly," but, as in the first act of the opera from which her name was derived, her mother, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, as well—in fact the whole surviving members of the genealogical tree. Puccini laughingly said at the end of a trying afternoon that it was the most gigantic reception he had ever held.

The despised opera was given in what is known as the present revised version at Brescia, on 28 May of the same year, the Butterfly being Krusceniski, and Bellati the Sharpless, Zenatello being again the Pinkerton. Strange to say, it proved entirely to the taste of those who saw it. The revision, as a matter of fact, amounted to very little. It was played in two acts instead of one, with the intermezzo dividing two scenes in the second act, making it, in reality, in three acts, and the tenor air was added in the last scene.

No more striking proof of Puccini's popularity could be found than the fact that the new opera quickly came to London. It was seen at Covent Garden on July 10, 1905, Campanini being the conductor, and was cast as follows:

Its splendid performance was helped in no small degree by the superb interpretation of the name part by Mdme. Destinn, and the news of its favourable reception was one of the greatest pleasures ever afforded to its composer. It was given again early in the autumn season of the same year, by the company, conducted by Mugnone (who, by the way, was not the person of the same name whose death was chronicled very soon after the conclusion of the season), and for which the composer came over, having been away at Buenos Ayres when the work was given in the summer. Zenatello, who was the original Pinkerton at the Milan production, was seen in this part on this occasion, making his first appearance in London during that season. Giachetti was the Butterfly and Sammarco the Sharpless.

The original source of the story, I believe, was a story by John Luther Long, and emanated from America. It was turned into a play by David Belasco, and, as in the case of The Darling of the Gods, the author's name appeared jointly with the dramatist, or adaptor, on the play bills. The simple touching little story depends rather upon its pathos and atmosphere, which is decidedly poetical, than on any great dramatic situation. A lieutenant, F.B. Pinkerton, of the United States Navy, goes through a ceremony of marriage with a little Japanese girl, with no intention of regarding the contract as in the least degree binding. Little Butterfly (or Cio Cio San, as her Japanese name is) thinks differently, and after her child is born watches and waits anxiously for the return of her husband. Sharpless is a friend of Pinkerton's, and is the consul at Nagasaki, and he tries to break the news gently to the sorrowful girl who has been so cruelly misled, and in the "letter" song in the last act is provided with one of the most subtle and dramatic numbers in the whole work. Butterfly believes in Pinkerton's fidelity and honour up to the end, when her ideal is shattered by the arrival of Pinkerton's wife, an American woman, who wants to befriend the child, and who has apparently condoned Pinkerton's lapse from the strict path of virtue. Butterfly, however, prefers to die by her own hand, and this she does, after caressing the child and giving way to a torrent of grief, and pathetically placing an American flag in the baby's hand. Pinkerton comes in time to see her pass away, and in calling her name in an outburst of sorrow and remorse, the story ends.

In La BohÈme it has been seen how singularly happy Puccini was in stringing together, by the flow of his music, a dramatic scheme that is concerned with detached scenes and incidents; and in Madama Butterfly he is equally successful and characteristic. The music is essentially vocal, but the chief melodies are often to be found in the orchestral fabric, a feature which comes out more prominently in this work than in any of this composer's since Manon, and which goes to prove that it stands as his chief orchestral achievement.

The present work begins in somewhat curious fashion with a tonal fugue, as if to show that the composer with all his modernity has still a regard for the old forms. A similar figure is used for the opening of the second act. The first indication of the Japanese character in the music—and this flavour is very sparingly introduced—comes when Goro (a sort of marriage broker) parades his wares, in the shape of girls, before the lieutenant. There is here a very distinctive melody in octaves underneath the vocal part, which is most effective. Several of the little melodies make an entrance after their first quotation much after the fashion of the old ritornello, which is an interesting point, among several, to note in Puccini's working out, on quite modern lines, of his scheme. The themes are often altered, in place of development, by a change in the time; and at the opening of the first act several examples are to be found, while here and there an Eastern character is given to the music by the frequent use of the flat seventh. Another noteworthy feature is the constant modulation by means of chords of the seventh.

Sharpless, the friend (a baritone), makes an entry with a fine burst of melody—the theme, easily recognised on hearing the work, which is associated with this character, being one particular rhythmic distinction—and when Pinkerton (the tenor) explains that he has bought the house, and probably the little lady with it, on an elastic contract, there is a clever counterpoint in the music to the introductory fugue. Pinkerton's first chief solo—the music, of course, runs on continuously from start to finish—is a broad and vocal aria, quite allied to the old form. The general trend of the music gets brisker at the entry of Butterfly and her girl friends. Butterfly's first song, a beautiful "largo," in which she tells of her approaching happy state, is skilfully blended with the sopranos of the chorus, and ends with a high D flat for the soloist. The procession and arrival of Butterfly's relations give an opportunity for some humour in the music, which is quaint and characteristic, and brings in a clever theme for the bassoons. Just before the signing of the contract, Butterfly has a pathetic air, in which she states that, fully believing in Pinkerton, she has embraced the Christian religion and discards her native gods. Soon after, a noisy and cantankerous old uncle of the bride comes in to protest against the union. Here is another of the few examples of Japanese music, and his entry is shown by a quaint march of the conventional pattern chiefly in unison. After the guests leave, Butterfly and Pinkerton have a very tender scene, and begin a duet of great charm. Butterfly's share continues rather more vigorously when she is preparing for the marriage chamber, while Pinkerton has a contemplative air as he admires her pretty movements. The act ends with a strenuous outburst of love and longing, both voices going up to a high C sharp by way of a finish. The second act is in Butterfly's little house, and is divided into two sections without a change of scene, the curtain being lowered merely to mark the passage of time. Butterfly and her faithful maid Suzuki begin to feel the pinch of poverty, and the desertion of Pinkerton is soon realised, although Butterfly will not believe it. Butterfly has a characteristic air, vocal but possibly commonplace, and quite typical of "Young Italy," in which she explains that Pinkerton will come back, how she will see the smoke of his vessel, and watch him climbing the hill from the harbour. Sharpless then comes in to try and break the news, and brings in a former native lover, a Prince, Yamadori, who is evidently quite willing to accept Butterfly as his spouse and make her happy. But she simply bids Sharpless to write and tell his friend Pinkerton that Butterfly and Pinkerton's son await the coming of their lord and master. The first scene ends with Butterfly, the maid, and the child sitting up all the night to watch for the arrival of Pinkerton's vessel. She dresses herself in her wedding garments, and decorates the little house with flowers. The maid and the child soon fall asleep, but as the moonlight floods the scene Butterfly remains rigid and motionless. A delicate instrumental passage in the music gives the idea of the vigil, in the nature of an intermezzo, and a fresh and pleasing effect is obtained by the use of a humming with closed lips, by the chorus outside, of the melody, supported by the somewhat unusual instrument, a viol d'amore. It is a curious instance, and probably the first, of the use of this "bouche fermÉe" effect as an integral part of the orchestration. For a special effect, Puccini also adds to his score in another place the Hungarian instrument, a czimbalom, added to the dulcimer.

The second scene has a rich, picturesque, and gay opening, the voices of the sailors and the bustle of the vessel's arrival being well shown in the bright music. The end of the tragedy is near, and is very pathetic. Pinkerton is full of remorse, and his wife Kate tries to console Butterfly, but the little Japanese girl, with her heart broken when she learns that Pinkerton has passed out of her life, decides to kill herself. She bandages the child's eyes, commits the deed behind a screen, and then staggers forward to die with her arms about the child. With Butterfly's farewell to the child the work ends, as Pinkerton and Sharpless come in to see her die. The music ends with a curious outburst of Japanese character almost in the nature of an epilogue, and oddly enough it ends on a chord of the sixth in place of the accustomed tonic.

All through the music is fresh and interesting, and, provided that by the setting and general interpretation the necessary picturesque atmosphere is established, the opera proves singularly attractive. From the nature of the story, the text reads extremely well in English; in fact, contrary to usual custom, much of the dialogue is strange in Italian, in which mellifluous tongue there is no equivalent apparently for "whisky punch" or "America for ever!"

With this last opera of Puccini we come to the end of the chapter, and with it, he may fittingly be left to the verdict of those who shall come after. At the time of writing no one can say with what the gifted melodist will follow it—whether one of the few themes which have been mentioned as being in his mind will materialise, or whether the "Notre Dame" of Victor Hugo, or a certain play of Maxim Gorky's will eventually come to an achievement. Certain it is, that the present success of Madama Butterfly, with all its progress on the purely orchestral side, cannot fail to call attention to the earlier works, particularly Le Villi, Edgar and Manon, as being compositions of singular sincerity.

One of Mr. E.A. Baughan's most interesting pieces of criticism, I think, was that written in the Outlook of July 15, 1905, after the first production of Madama Butterfly in England. After making comparison between Puccini and other modern Italians on the subject of musical expression of a theme, in general, he deals, in characteristic fashion, with the dramatic structure of the opera in question.

"The story itself, as arranged by the Italian librettists, has also grave defects as the subject of an opera. The character of Madame Butterfly herself, with her naÏve love for the American naval officer, her belief that she is a real American bride and that he will return to lift her once more into the paradise from which she was so cruelly cast out by his departure, and, when the truth of her "marriage" is at last revealed, her tragic recourse to the honourable dagger is a fit subject for music. The emotions to be expressed are mainly lyrical. The other characters are outside musical treatment. F.B. Pinkerton, the American naval officer, is never possessed of any lyrical emotion, except when he expresses his remorse for the consequences of his misdeeds; Sharpless, the American consul, who acts as a go-between, feels nothing but a vague disquietude, which is easily drowned in a whisky-and-soda, and later a rather tender pity for Butterfly; Goro, the marriage-broker, is antipathetic to music; Mrs. Pinkerton is the merest of shadows; and of all the cast the only characters that have thoughts or feelings which can be interpreted by music are Butterfly's faithful maid, Suzuki, and her uncle Bonzo, who objects on religious grounds to Butterfly's marriage. Puccini has written a love-duet for the American naval officer and Madame Butterfly, but as he can make no pretence to any more passionate feeling than a passing sensualism there is a want of emotional grip in the scene. Then the Japanese environment of the story does not help the composer. Madame Butterfly is only Japanese by fits and starts. When she is emotional she is a native of modern Italy, the Italy of Mascagni, Leoncavallo and Puccini himself. It could not be otherwise, for there is no musical local colour to be imitated which would serve in passionate scenes.

"The composer has overcome many of these difficulties with much cleverness. When the stage itself is not musically inspiring, he falls back on his orchestra with the happiest effect. The prosaicness of the European lover and his friend the Consul and the sordid ideas of the Japanese crowd are covered up by a clever musical ensemble, and the whole drama is drawn together by Puccini's sense of atmosphere.... Madame Butterfly herself is a musical creation. The composer could not, of course, make her Japanese, but very poetically he has made her musically naÏve and sincere. She is a fascinating figure from the moment when she appears singing of her happiness in having been honoured by the American's choice. Her share in the love duet is also well conceived. It is not exactly passionate music; rather ecstatic and sensitive. And the gradual smirching of this butterfly's brightness until in the end she becomes a wan little figure of tragedy is subtly expressed in the music. It is not deep music—indeed it should not be—but it has all the more effect because it is thoroughly in character. Even when Madame Butterfly sets her child on the ground and addresses to him her last worship before dying with honour she is not made to rant by the composer. A German would not have forgotten Isolde's Liebestod; a Mascagni would have remembered his own Santuzza; a Verdi would have metamorphosed the Geisha into an AÏda; but Puccini has kept to his conception of the character and she is never once allowed to express herself on the heroic scale."

Madama Butterfly is published (like all the operatic works of Puccini) by Ricordi, who, with the vocal score (the English translation being by R.H. Elkin), departed from the usual style of binding and issued it in a very decorative "Japanesy" cover of white linen, with all sorts of tasteful little designs—butterflies and flowers—jotted about on the cover and on the margins. My final paragraph may well be an expression of thanks to those who have been kind enough to assist me with the preparation of my little book. First of all I would thank Signor Puccini, who has cheerfully submitted to two things which he cordially detests—sitting for his photograph on two special occasions and answering letters. Again would I thank him for the time he was good enough to spare me when I had the pleasure of meeting him in London during his last two visits. Then to Messrs. Ricordi, who not only have been at considerable pains to verify casts, first performances and biographical details, but have generously enriched my library of opera scores by those Puccini works which I did not possess. Yet again, to Mr. C. Pavone, their representative in London, for considerable assistance most cheerfully rendered; and to my friends Mrs. John Chartres—for helping out my very limited knowledge of Italian, and Mr. Percy Pitt—for allowing me to see his orchestral scores of the Puccini operas.