THE SACRIFICE

OPERA in three acts by Frederick Shepherd Converse.

Mr. Converse wrote his own libretto. The lyrics are by John Macy. The story takes place in southern California in 1846. Americans are guarding the Anaya mansion, and the American officer, Burton, a baritone, is in love with Chonita, the beauty of the household. Chonita has an old Indian servant, Tomasa, who hates the Americans, yet seems to realize that they will conquer. Chonita, praying in the Mission Church desecrated by the invaders, is told by Burton that he has killed a Mexican. Her questions reveal that Bernal is the dead man. But Bernal is wounded, not dead, and he comes into the church. Burton again assures Chonita of his love and promises to do for her all that a man can do. "You wretched devil, 'tis I she loves," cries Bernal, and he rushes at Burton with a dagger. Chonita throws herself between the two, and is accidentally wounded by the American's sword. Bernal is held a prisoner.

In the third act, Chonita is in bed apparently dying. If she could only have her lover she would live, she sings; despair is killing her. Padre Gabriel brings her consolation, and sets a trap for the Americans. Burton brings Bernal that he may sing a love duet with Chonita. She pleads for Bernal's freedom. "He is not a spy." Burton stands between love and duty. To give Chonita happiness he is willing to die. The Americans are suddenly attacked and Burton, throwing down his sword, is killed by Mexican rescuers. Tomasa looks at Burton's corpse and sums up the whole tragedy: "'Tis true as ever. Love brings life and death."

THE PIPE OF DESIRE

Opera in one act by Frederick Shepherd Converse. Poem by George Edwards Barton.

The scene takes place in a wood during the first day of spring. Elves flit to and fro performing sundry occupations. One scatters seeds to the winds. Others remove dead leaves from flowers. They sing of the awakening of Nature from her sleep through the winter. Iolan, a peasant, is heard singing in the distance. The elves although reproached by the Old One desire to show themselves to him. Iolan tells them that he is to wed Naoia tomorrow, and bids them come to the wedding. The Old One reminds them that it is forbidden to show themselves to man, and adds that no good can come of it. Iolan laughs at the Old One and his Pipe. The Old One plays for the elves to dance, but with misgivings. Iolan still defies the power of the Pipe. The elves demand that the Old One make him dance and respect its power. When he cannot resist the music, he snatches the Pipe and breaks the cord which holds it. The Old One tells him that it is the Pipe God gave to Lilith, who played it to Adam in Eden, and that the mortal who now plays the Pipe without understanding its secret will die when it becomes known to him. Iolan, however, puts the Pipe to his lips. At first only discordant sound, later beautiful music is his reward. Iolan sees a vision of what he most desires. He is rich. He owns horses, goats, and wine. Naoia, his wife, comes to him through roses. His children play about the door of their home. He calls on Naoia to come to him. She comes to him, bleeding. Because he played the Pipe misfortune has come to her. She dies and Iolan soon follows her, while the sorrowing elves proclaim that they who die for love have accomplished their life.

SHANEWIS, OR THE ROBIN WOMAN

An Indian girl, whose voice has been elaborately cultivated, falls in love with the son of her benefactress. The young man is already betrothed to Mrs. Everton's daughter. An Indian suitor offers Shanewis a bow and poisoned arrow which she rejects. When he discovers that his rival has left Shanewis in ignorance of his previous betrothal he shoots the gay deceiver, and finishes both the youth and the opera.

THE TEMPLE DANCER

The leading dancer of the Temple of Mahadeo has fallen in love with a youth who is not of her faith. Through her lover's suffering she realizes the unjust and immoral demands made upon the temple dancers whose beauty is sold to passers-by in order that jewels may be bought for Mahadeo. The opera opens with a ceremony in the temple. The great Mahadeo sits blazing in jewels. The Dancer enters. She has decided to take the jewels for her lover, who is in want. She considers that the jewels bought with the price of her beauty are hers, by right. She pleads for a sign from the god, but as her prayer remains unanswered she threatens the temple. The returning temple guard, hearing her imprecations, threatens her with death. To protect herself, she takes the snake from Mahadeo and winds it around her. She begs to be permitted to pray before being slain, and in a seductive dance, that interprets her prayer, fascinates the guard. He promises her his protection and she pretends to return his passion. In a love scene he loosens the bands of her outer robe, which falls off. A letter to her lover tells of her plan to meet him with the stolen jewels. The guard, enraged, prepares to torture her. But she dances again, and as a last prayer begs for a drop of water. When the guard brings her the water she poisons it and persuades him to drink to her courage in facing death. He drinks and dies cursing her, her laughter, and her mocking dance. As he dies the dancer calls down curses upon the temple. A thunderstorm is the answer. Lightning shatters the walls and as the dancer puts out her hand to take the jewels of the god it strikes her and she falls dead beside the guard. The priests, returning, see the bodies of guard and dancer and call upon the gods for protection. The opera closes with the singing of the hymn of redemption, which implores forgiveness for the erring spirits of the dead.

THE LEGEND

A lyric tragedy in one act in English by Joseph Breil, with a libretto by Jacques Byrne. Produced for the first time on any stage at the Metropolitan Opera House, March 12, 1919, with Rosa Ponselle, Kathleen Howard, Paul Althouse, and Louis d'Angelo.

Count Stackareff, an impoverished nobleman, lives with his daughter, Carmelita, at his hunting lodge in Muscovadia, a mythical country in the Balkans. In order to make his living, he leads a double life. By day he is a courtly nobleman, and by night a bloodthirsty bandit, Black Lorenzo. No one but his daughter knows his secret, and she is in constant fear of his discovery for there is a price upon his head. The story opens on a stormy night. Stackareff tells his daughter that he has captured a wealthy merchant, and is holding him for a large ransom. He expects the ransom to arrive by messenger at any moment. If it does not come Stackareff intends to kill the prisoner. Carmelita not only fears for the safety of her father, but that her lover Stephen Pauloff, whom she met in Vienna, will find out that she is the daughter of such a rogue, and cast her off. She prays before the statue of the Virgin that the young man will not discover her father's double life. Marta, an old servant, enters and tells Carmelita that she has seen Stephen in the woods. He has told her that he will soon come to see his sweetheart. Carmelita rejoices but Marta warns her of the legend that on this night the Evil One walks abroad and knocks at doors. He who opens the door dies within a year.

Carmelita scoffs and asks Marta to tell her fortune with the cards. The ace of spades, the death card, presents itself at every cutting. Marta refuses to explain its significance and leaves her young mistress bewildered. The storm increases. There are two knocks. Thinking it is Stephen, Carmelita opens the door. No one is there. She is terrified. Later Stephen arrives. In his arms she for the moment forgets her fears, but they are soon renewed when her lover tells her that he has been sent to take the murderous bandit, Black Lorenzo, dead or alive. Carmelita makes the young man swear before the Virgin that he will never desert her. Then she prepares to elope with him.

Stackareff enters, expecting to find the messenger. He is apprehensive when he sees a soldier at his fireside. Carmelita's assurance that Stephen is her lover calms his fear. But Stephen in answer to Stackareff's questions tells him that he is after Black Lorenzo. Again the knocks are heard. Stackareff, after shouting at Stephen that he is his man, escapes through the door. When the young soldier resists her prayers to desist from pursuing the murderer Carmelita stabs him. Two soldiers bring in the mortally wounded body of her father. Realizing that Carmelita has killed their captain they fire upon her. Their shot rings out through the music of the finale.

NATOMAH

The time is 1820, under the Spanish rÉgime. The scene of Act I is laid on the Island of Santa Cruz, two hours' sail from the mainland. Act II takes place in the plaza of the town of Santa Barbara on the mainland, in front of the Mission Church. Act III represents the interior of the Mission Church.

At the beginning of the opera Don Francisco is awaiting the return from a convent of his only child, Barbara. His reverie is interrupted by the arrival of Alvarado and his comrades Castro, Pico, and Kagama. Alvarado wishes to marry his cousin Barbara in order to gain possession of the estates left to her by her mother. Castro is a half-breed. Pico and Kagama are vaqueros and hunters. All three have come to the island ostensibly for a wild-boar hunt, but Alvarado has timed his arrival with the return of his cousin.

Lieutenant Paul Merrill, an American naval officer, and Natomah, a pure-blooded Indian girl, appear together at the back of the stage. His ship has dropped anchor in the Bay of Santa Barbara. Natomah has never seen an American before and she is fascinated by him. She tells him of a legend of her people. She is the last of her race. During their childhood she was Barbara's playmate. She tells him of the young girl's beauty, and imagining that when he sees Barbara he will fall in love, the Indian girl begs him to permit her to be at least his slave. Barbara and Father Peralta enter. With the young girl and Paul it is a case of love at first sight. When all but Castro and Natomah have gone into the hacienda, the half-breed urges Natomah to cease spending her time with white people and to follow him, the leader of her race. Natomah turns from him in disgust. When they separate, Alvarado serenades Barbara who appears on the porch. He has heard that she has eyes only for the American. Fearing to lose time he declares his love. But he does not advance his suit by taunting her with her infatuation for the American officer. When she leaves him he swears to have Paul's life. Castro suggests that it would be better to carry Barbara off. Natomah, hidden in an arbour, overhears them discussing their plans. The next day a fiesta will be held in honour of Barbara's return. When the festivity is at its height fast horses will be ready to bear the young girl away to the mountains where pursuit would be difficult.

When all the guests have departed, Barbara speaks aloud in the moonlight of her love for Paul. He suddenly appears and they exchange vows.

The next act shows the fiesta. Alvarado dances the Habanera with the dancing-girl Chiquita. There is formal ceremony in which the Alcalde and the leading dignitaries of the town pay tribute to the young girl on her coming of age. Alvarado begs the honour of dancing with his cousin. The American ship salutes and Paul arrives with an escort to pay tribute to the Goddess of the Land, Barbara. Alvarado demands that his cousin continue the dance. A number of couples join them and the dance changes into the Panuelo or handkerchief dance of declaration. Each man places his hat upon the head of his partner. Each girl retains the hat but Barbara who tosses Alvarado's disdainfully aside. During this time Natomah has sat motionless upon the steps of the grand-stand. When Castro approaches in an ugly mood, rails at the modern dances and challenges someone to dance the dagger dance with him, she draws her dagger and hurls it into the ground beside the half-breed's. The crowd is fascinated by the wild dance. Just as Alvarado is about to smother Barbara in the folds of his serape, Natomah, purposely passing him, plunges her dagger into the would-be abductor. The dance comes to a sudden stop. Alvarado falls dead. Paul and his escort hold the crowd at bay. Natomah seeks protection in the Mission Church at the feet of Father Peralta.

At the opening of the third act Natomah is crooning an Indian lullaby to herself in the church. She wishes to join her people, but instead Father Peralta persuades her to enter the convent.

MONA

Opera in three acts. Poem by Brian Hooker. Music by Horatio Parker. The action takes place during the days of the Roman rule in Britain. First performance at the Metropolitan, March 4, 1912.

Quintus, son of the Roman Governor, by a British captive, has grown up as one of his mother's people. Known to them as Gwynn, he has won power and position among them as a bard. He is about to marry Mona, foster-child of Enya and Arth, and last of the blood of Boadicea. But a great rebellion is stirred up in Britain by Caradoc, the chief bard, and Gloom, the Druid, foster-brother of Mona. By birthright and by old signs and prophecies she is proclaimed leader. The girl has been taught to hate Rome and to dream of great deeds. Gwynn, fearing to lose Mona and his power, swears fellowship in the conspiracy. But in spite of this, for urging peace, he is cast off by Mona and her followers.

The faithful lover follows her about on her mission to arouse revolt, prevents the Roman garrisons from seizing her, and secretly saves her life many times. The Governor, his father, blames him for this, but he replies that through Mona he will yet keep the tribes from war. The Governor lays all the responsibility upon his shoulders. He promises to spare the Britons if they remain passive, but swears to crush them without mercy if they attack. Gwynn meets Mona just before the battle and so moves her love for him that she becomes his creature from that moment. Triumphantly he begins to tell her of his plans for peace. Suddenly she seems to realize that he is a Roman, and calls the Britons to her aid. Still, she lies to save his life. The youth is made prisoner and led by Mona and the bards against the Roman town.

The rebellion is crushed. Arth and Gloom are slain. Gwynn, coming upon them and Mona, tells her of his parentage and pleads for assistance. But having believed him a traitor, she now thinks him a liar and slays him. The Governor and his soldiers take her captive. From them she learns that Gwynn had spoken the truth.

CYRANO

Act I. Interior of the HÔtel de Bourgogne. Act II. "The Poet's Eating House," Ragueneau's cook and pastry shop. Act III. A small square in the Old Marais. Act IV, Scene 1. Entrenchment at the siege of Arras. Scene 2. A convent garden near the field of battle.

Rostand's play was first produced, October, 1898, by Richard Mansfield, and repeated in subsequent seasons. In 1900 it was given in French by Bernhardt and Coquelin. The libretto of the opera follows the play closely. Mr. Henderson retained and successfully remodelled the main incidents of the drama. The operatic version begins at the HÔtel de Bourgogne where "La Clorise" is to be played. Cyrano orders the leading actor off the stage because he has dared to cast insolent glances at his cousin Roxane, whom Cyrano loves but dares not woo because of the deformity of his hideous nose. Roxane, from a box, sees in the audience the man with whom she has fallen in love, although she has never met him. Cyrano fights a duel with De Guiche, a married suitor of Roxane, and pricks him in the arm. Elated at the prospect of a meeting with his cousin arranged through her duenna, Cyrano rushes off to disperse one hundred men who are waiting to kill one of his friends.

In Act II, Cyrano is at Ragueneau's shop waiting for his cousin. He writes an ardent love letter, intending to give it to her. His hopes are high, but they are dashed to the ground when Roxane tells him of her love for Christian, who is to join her cousin's regiment that day. Cyrano promises to watch over Christian. He bears his insults and agrees to woo Roxane for Christian by his wit and verse. He even sacrifices his own love letter.

In Act III, Christian rebels at the second-hand love-making. But when Roxane is disgusted with his commonplaces he is glad to turn again to Cyrano. Under cover of night, Cyrano courts Roxane beneath her balcony. She is delighted and rewards her lover with a kiss. De Guiche sends a priest with a letter in which he attempts to gain an interview with her. Roxane tells the priest that the letter contains an order for him to perform the marriage ceremony. While Cyrano keeps De Guiche outside the lovers are married. In revenge, De Guiche orders the Gascon regiment of which Cyrano and Christian are both members to the war.

In the last act, Roxane visits the entrenchment at the siege of Arras. Her carriage is driven by the faithful Ragueneau. Cyrano's love letters, ostensibly from Christian, have prompted her coming. Her husband realizes that the man she really loves is Cyrano, although she believes it to be Christian. He leaves the cousins alone, urging Cyrano to tell the truth. He is soon brought back, mortally wounded. Cyrano assures him that he has told Roxane of the deception and that Christian is the man she loves.

The second scene takes place in a convent. Cyrano, wounded and dying, visits Roxane. He begs to see her husband's last letter. Forgetting himself, he recites it in the dusk. Thus he betrays his love. But when Roxane realizes the truth he denies it, "dying," as he declares, "without a stain upon his soldier's snow-white plume."

THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS

The time is April, 1387; the place, England. Chaucer, first poet-laureate of England, travelling incognito with pilgrims from London to Canterbury, encounters Alisoun, the Wife of Bath, a woman of the lower middle class, buxom, canny, and full of fun, who has had five husbands, and is looking for a sixth. She promptly falls in love with Chaucer who, instead of returning her sprightly attentions, conceives a high, serious, poetic affection for the Prioress. She is a gentlewoman, who, according to the custom of the time, is both ecclesiastical and secular, having taken no vows.

The Wife of Bath, however, is determined to win her man. Devising a plan for this, she wagers that she will be able to get from the Prioress the brooch, bearing the inscription "Amor Vincit Omnia," that this lady wears upon her wrist. Should Alisoun win, Chaucer is bound by compact to marry her. After much plotting and by means of a disguise, the Wife of Bath wins her bet, and Chaucer ruefully contemplates the prospect of marrying her. In his plight he appeals to King Richard II, who announces that the Wife of Bath may marry a sixth time if she chooses, but only on condition that her prospective bridegroom be a miller. A devoted miller, who has long courted her, joyfully accepts the honour, and the opera ends with a reconciliation between Chaucer and the Prioress.

Mr. Mackaye in speaking of his libretto at the time of the production of the opera had this to say:

"In writing 'The Canterbury Pilgrims' one of my chief incentives was to portray, for a modern audience, one of the greatest poets of all times in relation to a group of his own characters. As a romancer of prolific imagination and dramatic insight, Chaucer stands shoulder to shoulder with Shakespeare. For English speech he achieved what Dante did for Italian, raising a local dialect to a world language.

"Yet the fourteenth-century speech of Chaucer is just archaic enough to make it difficult to understand in modern times. Consequently his works are little known today, except by students of English literature.

"To make it more popularly known I prepared a few years ago (with Professor J.S.P. Tatlock) 'The Modern Readers' Chaucer'; and I wrote for Mr. E.H. Sothern in 1903 my play 'The Canterbury Pilgrims,' which since then has been acted at many American universities by the Coburn Players, and in book form is used by many Chaucer classes.

"In the spring of 1914, at the suggestion of Mr. De Koven, I remodelled the play in the form of opera, condensing its plot and characters to the more simple essentials appropriate to operatic production. Thus focussed, the story depicts Chaucer—the humorous, democratic, lovable poet of Richard Second's court—placed between two contrasted feminine characters, the Prioress, a shy, religious-minded gentlewoman, who has retired from the world, but has as yet taken no vows; and the Wife of Bath, a merry, sensual, quick-witted hoyden of the lower middle class, hunting for a sixth husband. These three, with many other types of old England, are pilgrims, en route from London to the shrine of Thomas À Becket, at Canterbury.

"Becoming jealous of the Prioress, the Wife of Bath makes a bet with Chaucer concerning the gentlewoman's behaviour—a bet which she wins by a trick in the third act, only to lose it in the fourth.

"The work is a comedy in blank verse of various metres, interspersed with rhythmed lyrics. For the first time, I believe, in drama of any language, it inaugurates on the stage the character of the famous first poet-laureate of England—the 'Father of English Literature.'"

Mr. De Koven also tells how he came to compose the music:

"I have often been asked the question why I have never before now written a work in the larger operatic form, and my answer has always been that I was waiting until I could find a really good book. For an opera libretto that successfully meets the requirements of a lyric work of this class, which is primarily for and of the stage, in the way of dramatic interest, development and climax, a poetic knowledge of the possibilities and limitations of the English language when sung, and those visual and picturesque qualities in the story which alone can make the unreal conditions of opera, per se, either plausible or intelligible, is about as rare as the proverbial white crow—as many gifted composers have found to their cost.

"All these requirements are, I think, fulfilled in the really charming libretto which Mr. Mackaye has written in 'The Canterbury Pilgrims,' which came to me unsought as it were. As a member of a committee for choosing plays to be used in settlement work on the East Side, my wife read Mr. Mackaye's earlier play of the same name, and told me she thought it contained excellent operatic material. Agreeing with her, I went to Mr. Mackaye and suggested the idea to him. He agreed with me and soon afterwards, early in 1914, we set to work. To adapt a play of over 17,000 words for operatic purposes by merely cutting it was manifestly impossible. Entire reconstruction, both in structure and language, was necessary, and this Mr. Mackaye has so successfully accomplished that in my judgment his libretto, as an artistic whole, is far superior to his earlier play.

"I took the first act with me when I went abroad in March, 1914, and the entire opera, begun October 10, 1914, was finished on December 21, 1915, during which time I lived at Vevey, Switzerland, amid, and yet far from, wars and rumours of wars.

"As to my part of the work, the characters of Mr. Mackaye's story, whose essentially old English atmosphere appealed to me strongly from the first, naturally suggested Verdi's 'Falstaff' as a model in a sense. But Verdi abjured the leit motif or motto theme, and I had always felt that Wagner's theory, applied in some form, was the true basis of construction for all musico-dramatic work. Yet again it always seemed to me that, save in the hands of a consummate master, the leit motif, pushed to its logical development, was only too apt to become tiresome, obscure, and ineffective. So, after much consideration, I bethought me of the very way in which Massenet in 'Manon' had used a limited number of what might be called recurrent themes—such as the one for 'Des Grieux'—and made up my mind to try what could be done along these simpler and more plastic lines.

"So, without attempting to describe pictorially in music, swords, tarnhelms, or dragons, or to weave music into an intricate contrapuntal work, I have in 'The Canterbury Pilgrims,' while following closely the spirit and meaning of Mr. Mackaye's poetic text, attributed a number of saliently melodic themes to the characters, incidents, and even material objects of the story, and when these recur in or are suggested by the text the attributive themes recur with them, so that, as I hope, they may be readily recognizable by the untechnical opera-goer and aid him in following this story and action.

"Just a word in regard to the English language as a medium for opera and song. As Mr. Gatti says that a typical operatic audience in Italy, knowing their own language and generally familiar with both text and story of their operas, only expect to understand about half the words as sung, owing to the very conditions of opera itself, may it not be fairly said that American audiences who go to hear operas in English, expecting to understand every word, expect the impossible, and should be more reasonable in their demands?

"Again, I have always contended and maintained that the English language, properly used, is an entirely singable language, and as so far during the rehearsals of 'The Canterbury Pilgrims' none of the artists has seemed to find any great difficulty in singing in English beyond that inherent to a certain lack of familiarity with the language itself, it looks as if my contention stands at least a fair chance of being admitted."

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