  THIS composer, born in Lucca, Italy, June 22, 1858, first studied music in his native place as a private pupil of Angeloni. Later, at the Royal Conservatory, Milan, he came under the instruction of Ponchielli, composer of "La Gioconda," whose influence upon modern Italian opera, both as a preceptor and a composer, is regarded as greater than that of any other musician. Puccini himself is considered the most important figure in the operatic world of Italy today, the successor of Verdi, if there is any. For while Mascagni and Leoncavallo each has one sensationally successful short opera to his credit, neither has shown himself capable of the sustained effort required to create a score vital enough to maintain the interest of an audience throughout three or four acts, a criticism I consider applicable even to Mascagni's "Lodoletta," notwithstanding its production and repetitions at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, which I believe largely due to unusual conditions produced by the European war. Puccini, on the other hand, is represented in the repertoire of the modern opera house by four large works: "Manon Lescaut" (1870), "La BohÈme" (1896), "Tosca" (1900), and "Madama Butterfly" (1904). His early two-act opera, "Le Villi" (The Willis, Dal Verme Theatre, Milan, 1884), and his three-act opera, "La Fanciulla del West" (The Girl of the Golden West), 1910, have been much less
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| Manon Lescaut | Soprano |
| Lescaut, sergeant of the King's Guards | Baritone |
| Chevalier des Grieux | Tenor |
| Geronte de Ravoir, Treasurer-General | Bass |
| Edmund, a student | Tenor |
Time—Second half of eighteenth century.
Place—Amiens, Paris, Havre, Louisiana.
Act I plays in front of an inn at Amiens. Edmund has a solo with chorus for students and girls. Lescaut, Geronte, and Manon arrive in a diligence. Lescaut is taking his sister to a convent to complete her education, but finding her to be greatly admired by the wealthy Geronte, is quite willing to play a negative part and let the old satyr plot
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With her too it is love at first sight. When she rejoins him, as she had promised to, they have a love duet. "Vedete! Io son fedele alla parola mia" (Behold me! I have been faithful to my promise), she sings. Edmund, who has overheard Geronte's plot to abduct Manon, informs Des Grieux, who has little trouble in inducing the girl to elope with him. They drive off in the carriage Geronte had ordered. Lescaut, who has been carousing with the students, hints that, as Des Grieux is not wealthy and Manon loves luxury, he will soon be able to persuade her to desert her lover for the rich Treasurer-General.
Such, indeed, is the case, and in Act II, she is found ensconced in luxurious apartments in Geronte's house in Paris. But to Lescaut, who prides himself on having brought the business with her wealthy admirer to a successful conclusion, she complains that "in quelle trine morbide"—in those silken curtains—there's a chill that freezes her. "O mia dimora umile, tu mi ritorni innanzi" (My little humble dwelling, I see you there before me). She left Des Grieux for wealth and the luxuries it can bring—"Tell me, does not this gown suit me to perfection?" she asks Lescaut—and yet she longs for her handsome young lover.
Geronte sends singers to entertain her. They sing a madrigal, "Sulla vetta tu del monte erri, O Clori" (Speed o'er the summit of the mountain, gentle Chloe).
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Then a dancing master enters. Manon, Lescaut, Geronte, and old beaus and abbÉs, who have come in with Geronte, form for the dance, and a lesson in the minuet begins.
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Lescaut hurries off to inform Des Grieux, who has made money in gambling, where he can find Manon. When the lesson is over and all have gone, her lover appears at the door. At first he reproaches her, but soon is won by her beauty. There is an impassioned love duet, "Vieni! Colle tue braccia stringi Manon che t'ama" (Oh, come love! In your arms enfold Manon, who loves you).
Geronte surprises them, pretends to approve of their affection, but really sends for the police. Lescaut urges them to make a precipitate escape. Manon, however, now loath to leave the luxuries Geronte has lavished on her, insists on gathering up her jewels in order to take them with her. The delay is fatal. The police arrive. She is arrested on the charge made by Geronte that she is an abandoned woman.
Her sentence is banishment, with other women of loose character, to the then French possession of Louisiana. The journey to Havre for embarkation is represented by an intermezzo in the score, and an extract from AbbÉ PrÉvost's story in the libretto. The theme of the "Intermezzo," a striking composition, is as follows:
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Act III. The scene is laid in a square near the harbour at Havre. Des Grieux and Lescaut attempt to free
Act IV. "A vast plain on the borders of the territory of New Orleans. The country is bare and undulating, the horizon is far distant, the sky is overcast. Night falls." Thus the libretto. The score is a long, sad duet between Des Grieux and Manon. Manon dies of exhaustion. Des Grieux falls senseless upon her body.
THE BOHEMIANS
Opera in four acts by Puccini; words by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica, founded on Henri Murger's book, La Vie de BohÈme. Produced, Teatro Reggio, Turin, February 1, 1896. Manchester, England, in English, as "The Bohemians," April 22, 1897. Covent Garden, London, in English, October 2, 1897; in Italian, July 1, 1899. San Francisco, March, 1898, and Wallack's Theatre, New York, May 16, 1898, by a second-rate travelling organization, which called itself The Milan Royal Italian Opera Company of La Scala; American Theatre, New York, in English, by Henry W. Savage's Castle Square Opera Company, November 20, 1898; Metropolitan Opera House, New York, in Italian, December 18, 1901.
Characters
| Rudolph, a poet | Tenor |
| Marcel, a painter | Baritone |
| Colline, a philosopher | Bass |
| Schaunard, a musician | Baritone |
| Benoit, a landlord | Bass |
| Alcindoro, a state councillor and follower of Musetta | Bass |
| Parpignol, an itinerant toy vender | Tenor |
| Custom-house Sergeant | Bass |
| Musetta, a grisette | Soprano |
| Mimi, a maker of embroidery | Soprano |
Students, work girls, citizens, shopkeepers, street venders, soldiers, waiters, boys, girls, etc.
Time—About 1830.
Place—Latin Quarter, Paris.
"La BohÈme" is considered by many Puccini's finest score. There is little to choose, however, between it, "Tosca," and "Madama Butterfly." Each deals successfully with its subject. It chances that, as "La BohÈme" is laid in the Quartier Latin, the students' quarter of Paris, where gayety and pathos touch elbows, it laughs as well as weeps. Authors and composers who can tear passion to tatters are more numerous than those who have the light touch of high comedy. The latter, a distinguished gift, confers distinction upon many passages in the score of "La BohÈme," which anon sparkles with merriment, anon is eloquent of love, anon is stressed by despair.
Act I. The garret in the Latin Quarter, where live the inseparable quartet—Rudolph, poet; Marcel, painter; Colline, philosopher; Schaunard, musician, who defy hunger with cheerfulness and play pranks upon the landlord of their meagre lodging, when he importunes them for his rent.
When the act opens, Rudolph is at a table writing, and Marcel is at work on a painting, "The Passage of the Red Sea." He remarks that, owing to lack of fuel for the garret stove, the Red Sea is rather cold.
"Questo mar rosso" (This Red Sea), runs the duet, in the course of which Rudolph says that he will sacrifice the manuscript of his tragedy to the needs of the stove. They tear up the first act, throw it into the stove, and light it. Colline comes in with a bundle of books he has vainly been attempting to pawn. Another act of the tragedy goes into the fire, by which they warm themselves, still hungry.
Copyright photo by Dupont
Farrar as Mimi in “La BohÈme”
Photo by Hall
CafÉ Momus Scene, “La BohÈme,” Act II
Mimi (Rennyson), Musette (Joel), Rudolph (Sheehan)
But relief is nigh. Two boys enter. They bring provisions and fuel. After them comes Schaunard. He tosses
Rudolph locks the door. Then all go to the table and pour out wine. It is Christmas eve. Schaunard suggests that, when they have emptied their glasses, they repair to their favourite resort, the CafÉ Momus, and dine. Agreed. Just then there is a knock. It is Benoit, their landlord, for the rent. They let him in and invite him to drink with them. The sight of the money on the table reassures him. He joins them. The wine loosens his tongue. He boasts of his conquests of women at shady resorts. The four friends feign indignation. What! He, a married man, engaged in such disreputable proceedings! They seize him, lift him to his feet, and eject him, locking the door after him.
The money on the table was earned by Schaunard, but, according to their custom, they divide it. Now, off for the CafÉ Momus—that is, all but Rudolph, who will join them soon—when he has finished an article he has to write for a new journal, the Beaver. He stands on the landing with a lighted candle to aid the others in making their way down the rickety stairs.
With little that can be designated as set melody, there nevertheless has not been a dull moment in the music of these scenes. It has been brisk, merry and sparkling, in keeping with the careless gayety of the four dwellers in the garret.
Re-entering the room, and closing the door after him, Rudolph clears a space on the table for pens and paper, then sits down to write. Ideas are slow in coming. Moreover, at that moment, there is a timid knock at the door.
"Who's there?" he calls.
It is a woman's voice that says, hesitatingly, "Excuse me, my candle has gone out."
Rudolph runs to the door, and opens it. On the threshold stands a frail, appealingly attractive young woman. She has in one hand an extinguished candle, in the other a key. Rudolph bids her come in. She crosses the threshold. A woman of haunting sweetness in aspect and manner has entered Bohemia.
She lights her candle by his, but, as she is about to leave, the draught again extinguishes it. Rudolph's candle also is blown out, as he hastens to relight hers. The room is dark, save for the moonlight that, over the snow-clad roofs of Paris, steals in through the garret window. Mimi exclaims that she has dropped the key to the door of her room. They search for it. He finds it but slips it into his pocket. Guided by Mimi's voice and movements, he approaches. As she stoops, his hand meets hers. He clasps it.
"Che gelida manina" (How cold your hand), he exclaims with tender solicitude. "Let me warm it into life." He then tells her who he is, in what has become known as the "Racconto di Rodolfo" (Rudolph's Narrative), which, from the gentle and solicitous phrase, "Che gelida manina," followed by the proud exclamation, "Sono un poeta" (I am a poet), leads up to an eloquent avowal of his dreams and fancies. Then comes the girl's charming "Mi chiamano Mimi" (They call me Mimi), in which she tells of her work and how the flowers she embroiders for a living transport her from her narrow room out into the broad fields and meadows. "Mi chiamano Mimi" is as follows:—
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Her frailty, which one can see is caused by consumption in its early stages, makes her beauty the more appealing to Rudolph.
His friends call him from the street below. Their voices draw Mimi to the window. In the moonlight she appears even lovelier to Rudolph. "O soave fanciulla" (Thou beauteous maiden), he exclaims, as he takes her to his arms. This is the beginning of the love duet, which, though it be sung in a garret, is as impassioned as any that, in opera, has echoed through the corridors of palaces, or the moonlit colonnades of forests by historic rivers. The theme is quoted here in the key, in which it occurs, like a premonition, a little earlier in the act.
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The theme of the love duet is used by the composer several times in the course of the opera, and always in association with Mimi. Especially in the last act does it recur with poignant effect.
Act II. A meeting of streets, where they form a square, with shops of all sorts, and the CafÉ Momus. The square is filled with a happy Christmas eve crowd. Somewhat aloof from this are Rudolph and Mimi. Colline stands near the shop of a clothes dealer. Schaunard is haggling with a tinsmith over the price of a horn. Marcel is chaffing the girls who jostle against him in the crowd.
There are street venders crying their wares; citizens, students, and work girls, passing to and fro and calling to each other; people at the cafÉ giving orders—a merry whirl, depicted in the music by snatches of chorus, bits of recitative, and an instrumental accompaniment that runs through the scene like a many-coloured thread, and holds the pattern together.
Rudolph and Mimi enter a bonnet shop. The animation outside continues. When the two lovers come out of the shop, Mimi is wearing a new bonnet trimmed with roses. She looks about.
"What is it?" Rudolph asks suspiciously.
"Are you jealous?" asks Mimi.
"The man in love is always jealous."
Rudolph's friends are at a table outside the cafÉ. Rudolph joins them with Mimi. He introduces her to them as one who will make their party complete, for he "will play the poet, while she's the muse incarnate."
Parpignol, the toy vender, crosses the square and goes off, followed by children, whose mothers try to restrain them. The toy vender is heard crying his wares in the distance. The quartet of Bohemians, now a quintet through the accession of Mimi, order eatables and wine.
Shopwomen, who are going away, look down one of the streets, and exclaim over someone whom they see approaching.
"'Tis Musetta! My, she is gorgeous!—Some stammering old dotard is with her."
Musetta and Marcel have loved, quarrelled, and parted. She has recently put up with the aged but wealthy Alcindoro de Mittoneaux, who, when she comes upon the square, is out of breath trying to keep up with her.
Despite Musetta's and Marcel's attempt to appear indifferent to each other's presence, it is plain that they are not so. Musetta has a chic waltz song, "Quando me'n vo soletta per la via" (As through the streets I wander onward merrily), one of the best-known numbers of the score, which she deliberately sings at Marcel, to make him aware, without arousing her aged gallant's suspicions, that she still loves him.
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Feigning that a shoe hurts her, she makes the ridiculous Alcindoro unlatch and remove it, and trot off with it to the cobbler's. She and Marcel then embrace, and she joins the five friends at their table, and the expensive supper ordered by Alcindoro is served to them with their own.
The military tattoo is heard approaching from the distance. There is great confusion in the square. A waiter brings the bill for the Bohemians' order. Schaunard looks in vain for his purse. Musetta comes to the rescue. "Make one bill of the two orders. The gentleman who was with me will pay it."
The patrol enters, headed by a drum major. Musetta, being without her shoe, cannot walk, so Marcel and Colline lift her between them to their shoulders, and carry her through the crowd, which, sensing the humour of the situation, gives her an ovation, then swirls around Alcindoro, whose foolish, senile figure, appearing from the direction of the cobbler's shop with a pair of shoes for Musetta, it greets with jeers. For his gay ladybird has fled with her friends from the Quartier, and left him to pay all the bills.
Act III. A gate to the city of Paris on the Orleans road. A toll house at the gate. To the left a tavern, from which, as a signboard hangs Marcel's picture of the Red Sea. Several plane trees. It is February. Snow is on the ground. The hour is that of dawn. Scavengers, milk women, truckmen, peasants with produce, are waiting to be admitted to the city. Custom-house officers are seated, asleep, around a brazier. Sounds of revelry are heard from the tavern. These, together with characteristic phrases, when
Into the small square comes Mimi from the Rue d'Enfer, which leads from the Latin Quarter. She looks pale, distressed, and frailer than ever. A cough racks her. Now and then she leans against one of the bare, gaunt plane trees for support.
A message from her brings Marcel out of the tavern. He tells her he finds it more lucrative to paint signboards than pictures. Musetta gives music lessons. Rudolph is with them. Will not Mimi join them? She weeps, and tells him that Rudolph is so jealous of her she fears they must part. When Rudolph, having missed Marcel, comes out to look for him, Mimi hides behind a plane tree, from where she hears her lover tell his friend that he wishes to give her up because of their frequent quarrels. "Mimi È una civetta" (Mimi is a heartless creature) is the burden of his song. Her violent coughing reveals her presence. They decide to part—not angrily, but regretfully: "Addio, senza rancor" (Farewell, then, I wish you well), sings Mimi.
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Meanwhile Marcel, who has re-entered the tavern, has caught Musetta flirting with a stranger. This starts a quarrel, which brings them out into the street. Thus the music becomes a quartet: "Addio, dolce svegliare" (Farewell, sweet love), sing Rudolph and Mimi, while Marcel and Musetta upbraid each other. The temperamental difference between the two women, Mimi gentle and melancholy, Musetta aggressive and disputatious, and the difference in the effect upon the two men, are admirably brought out by the composer. "Viper!" "Toad!" Marcel and
Act IV. The scene is again the attic of the four Bohemians. Rudolph is longing for Mimi, of whom he has heard nothing, Marcel for Musetta, who, having left him, is indulging in one of her gay intermezzos with one of her wealthy patrons. "Ah, Mimi, tu piÙ" (Ah, Mimi, fickle-hearted), sings Rudolph, as he gazes at the little pink bonnet he bought her at the milliner's shop Christmas eve. Schaunard thrusts the water bottle into Colline's hat as if the latter were a champagne cooler. The four friends seek to forget sorrow and poverty in assuming mock dignities and then indulging in a frolic about the attic. When the fun is at its height, the door opens and Musetta enters. She announces that Mimi is dying and, as a last request, has asked to be brought back to the attic, where she had been so happy with Rudolph. He rushes out to get her, and supports her feeble and faltering footsteps to the cot, on which he gently lowers her.
She coughs; her hands are very cold. Rudolph takes them in his to warm them. Musetta hands her earrings to Marcel, and bids him go out and sell them quickly, then buy a tonic for the dying girl. There is no coffee, no wine. Colline takes off his overcoat, and, having apostrophized it in the "Song of the Coat," goes out to sell it, so as to be able to replenish the larder. Musetta runs off to get her muff for Mimi, her hands are still so cold.
Rudolph and the dying girl are now alone. This tragic moment, when their love revives too late, finds expression, at once passionate and exquisite, in the music. The phrases "How cold your hand," "They call me Mimi," from the love scene in the first act, recur like mournful memories.
Mimi whispers of incidents from early in their love. "Te lo rammenti" (Ah! do you remember).
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Musetta and the others return. There are tender touches in the good offices they would render the dying girl. They are aware before Rudolph that she is beyond aid. In their faces he reads what has happened. With a cry, "Mimi! Mimi!" he falls sobbing upon her lifeless form. Musetta kneels weeping at the foot of the bed. Schaunard, overcome, sinks back into a chair. Colline stands dazed at the suddenness of the catastrophe. Marcel turns away to hide his emotion.
Mi chiamano Mimi!
Opera in three acts by Puccini; words by L. Illica and G. Giacosa after the drama, "La Tosca," by Sardou. Produced, Constanzi Theatre, Rome, January 14, 1900; London, Covent Garden, July 12, 1900. Buenos Aires, June 16, 1900. Metropolitan Opera House, New York, February 4, 1901, with Ternina, Cremonini, Scotti, Gilibert (Sacristan), and Dufriche (Angelotti).
Characters
| Floria Tosca, a celebrated singer | Soprano |
| Mario Cavaradossi, a painter | Tenor |
| Baron Scarpia, Chief of Police | Baritone |
| Cesare Angelotti | Bass |
| A Sacristan | Baritone |
| Spoletta, police agent | Tenor |
| Sciarrone, a gendarme | Bass |
| A Gaoler | Bass |
| A Shepherd Boy | Contralto |
Roberti, executioner; a cardinal, judge, scribe, officer, and sergeant, soldiers, police agents, ladies, nobles, citizens, artisans, etc.
Time—June, 1800.
Place—Rome.
Three sharp, vigorous chords, denoting the imperious yet sinister and vindictive character of Scarpia—such is the introduction to "Tosca."
Act I. The church of Sant'Andrea della Valle. To the right the Attavanti chapel; left a scaffolding, dais, and easel. On the easel a large picture covered by a cloth. Painting accessories. A basket.
Enter Angelotti. He has escaped from prison and is seeking a hiding place. Looking about, he recognizes a pillar shrine containing an image of the Virgin, and surmounting a receptacle for holy water. Beneath the feet of the image he searches for and discovers a key, unlocks the Attavanti chapel and disappears within it. The Sacristan comes in. He has a bunch of brushes that he has been cleaning, and evidently is surprised not to find Cavaradossi at his easel. He looks into the basket, finds the luncheon in it untouched, and now is sure he was mistaken in thinking he had seen the painter enter.
The Angelus is rung. The Sacristan kneels. Cavaradossi enters. He uncovers the painting—a Mary Magdalen with large blue eyes and masses of golden hair. The Sacristan recognizes in it the portrait of a lady who lately has come frequently to the church to worship. The good man is scandalized at what he considers a sacrilege. Cavaradossi, however, has other things to think of. He compares the face in the portrait with the features of the woman
Meanwhile the Sacristan, engaged in cleaning the brushes in a jug of water, continues to growl over the sacrilege of putting frivolous women into religious paintings. Finally, his task with the brushes over, he points to the basket and asks, "Are you fasting?" "Nothing for me," says the painter. The Sacristan casts a greedy look at the basket, as he thinks of the benefit he will derive from the artist's abstemiousness. The painter goes on with his work. The Sacristan leaves.
Angelotti, believing no one to be in the church, comes out of his hiding place. He and Cavaradossi recognize each other. Angelotti has just escaped from the prison in the castle of Sant'Angelo. The painter at once offers to help him. Just then, however, Tosca's voice is heard outside. The painter presses the basket with wine and viands upon the exhausted fugitive, and urges him back into the chapel, while from without Tosca calls more insistently, "Mario!"
Feigning calm, for the meeting with Angelotti, who had been concerned in the abortive uprising to make Rome a republic, has excited him, Cavaradossi admits Tosca. Jealously she insists that he was whispering with someone, and that she heard footsteps and the swish of skirts. Her lover reassures her, tries to embrace her. Gently she reproves him. She cannot let him kiss her before the Madonna until she has prayed to her image and made an offering. She adorns the Virgin's figure with flowers she has brought with her, kneels in prayer, crosses herself and rises. She tells Cavaradossi to await her at the stage door that night, and they will steal away together to his villa. He is still distrait. When he replies, absent-mindedly, he surely will be there, her comment is, "Thou say'st it badly." Then, beginning the love duet, "Non la sospiri la nostra
For the moment Cavaradossi forgets Angelotti; then, however, urges Tosca to leave him, so that he may continue with his work. She is vexed and, when she recognizes in the picture of Mary Magdalen the fair features of the Marchioness Attavanti, she becomes jealous to the point of rage. But her lover soon soothes her. The episode is charming. In fact the libretto, following the Sardou play, unfolds, scene by scene, an always effective drama.
Tosca having departed, Cavaradossi lets Angelotti out of the chapel. He is a brother of the Attavanti, of whom Tosca is so needlessly jealous, and who has concealed a suit of woman's clothing for him under the altar. They mention Scarpia—"A bigoted satyr and hypocrite, secretly steeped in vice, yet most demonstratively pious"—the first hint we have in the opera of the relentless character, whose desire to possess Tosca is the mainspring of the drama.
A cannon shot startles them. It is from the direction of the castle and announces the escape of a prisoner—Angelotti. Cavaradossi suggests the grounds of his villa as a place of concealment from Scarpia and his police agents, especially the old dried-up well, from which a secret passage leads to a dark vault. It can be reached by a rough path just outside the Attavanti chapel. The painter even offers to guide the fugitive. They leave hastily.
The Sacristan enters excitedly. He has great news. Word has been received that Bonaparte has been defeated. The old man now notices, however, greatly to his surprise, that the painter has gone. Acolytes, penitents, choristers, and pupils of the chapel crowd in from all directions. There is to be a "Te Deum" in honour of the victory, and at evening, in the Farnese palace, a cantata with Floria Tosca
Scarpia enters unexpectedly. He stands in a doorway. A sudden hush falls upon all. For a while they are motionless, as if spellbound. While preparations are making for the "Te Deum," Scarpia orders search made in the Attavanti chapel. He finds a fan which, from the coat-of-arms on it, he recognizes as having been left there by Angelotti's sister. A police agent also finds a basket. As he comes out with it, the Sacristan unwittingly exclaims that it is Cavaradossi's, and empty, although the painter had said that he would eat nothing. It is plain to Scarpia, who has also discovered in the Mary Magdalen of the picture the likeness to the Marchioness Attavanti, that Cavaradossi had given the basket of provisions to Angelotti, and has been an accomplice in his escape.
Tosca comes in and quickly approaches the dais. She is greatly surprised not to find Cavaradossi at work on the picture. Scarpia dips his fingers in holy water and deferentially extends them to Tosca. Reluctantly she touches them, then crosses herself. Scarpia insinuatingly compliments her on her religious zeal. She comes to church to pray, not, like certain frivolous wantons—he points to the picture—to meet their lovers. He now produces the fan. "Is this a painter's brush or a mahlstick?" he asks, and adds that he found it on the easel. Quickly, jealously, Tosca examines it, sees the arms of the Attavanti. She had come to tell her lover that, because she is obliged to sing in the cantata she will be unable to meet him that night. Her reward is this evidence, offered by Scarpia, that he has been carrying on a love affair with another woman, with whom he probably has gone to the villa. She gives way to an outburst of jealous rage; then, weeping, leaves the chapel, to the gates of which Scarpia gallantly escorts her. He beckons to his agent Spoletta, and orders
Copyright photo by Dupont
Cavalieri as Tosca
Photo by Mishkin
Scotti as Scarpia
Church bells are tolling. Intermittently from the castle of Sant'Angelo comes the boom of the cannon. A Cardinal has entered and is advancing to the high altar. The "Te Deum" has begun. Scarpia soliloquizes vindictively: "Va, Tosca! Nel tuo cuor s'annida Scarpia" (Go, Tosca! There is room in your heart for Scarpia).
He pauses to bow reverently as the Cardinal passes by. Still soliloquizing, he exults in his power to send Cavaradossi to execution, while Tosca he will bring to his own arms. For her, he exclaims, he would renounce his hopes of heaven; then kneels and fervently joins in the "Te Deum."
This finale, with its elaborate apparatus, its complex emotions and the sinister and dominating figure of Scarpia set against a brilliant and constantly shifting background, is a stirring and effective climax to the act.
Act II. The Farnese Palace. Scarpia's apartments on an upper floor. A large window overlooks the palace courtyard. Scarpia is seated at table supping. At intervals he breaks off to reflect. His manner is anxious. An orchestra is heard from a lower story of the palace, where Queen Caroline is giving an entertainment in honour of the reported victory over Bonaparte. They are dancing, while waiting for Tosca, who is to sing in the cantata. Scarpia summons Sciarrone and gives him a letter, which is to be handed to the singer upon her arrival.
Spoletta returns from his mission. Tosca was followed to a villa almost hidden by foliage. She remained but a short time. When she left it, Spoletta and his men searched the house, but could not find Angelotti. Scarpia is furious, but is appeased when Spoletta tells him that they discovered Cavaradossi, put him in irons, and have brought him with them.
Through the open window there is now heard the begin
Scarpia orders that Cavaradossi be removed to an adjoining room and his deposition there taken. Tosca is not aware that it is the torture chamber the door to which has closed upon her lover. With Tosca Scarpia begins his interview quietly, deferentially. He has deduced from Spoletta's report of her having remained but a short time at the villa that, instead of discovering the Attavanti with her lover, as she jealously had suspected, she had found him making plans to conceal Angelotti. In this he has just been confirmed by her frankly affectionate manner toward Cavaradossi.
At first she answers Scarpia's questions as to the presence of someone else at the villa lightly; then, when he becomes more insistent, her replies show irritation, until, turning on her with "ferocious sternness," he tells her that his agents are attempting to wring a confession from Cavaradossi by torture. Even at that moment a groan is heard. Tosca implores mercy for her lover. Yes, if she will disclose the hiding place of Angelotti. Groan after groan escapes from the torture chamber. Tosca, overcome, bursts into convulsive sobs and sinks back upon a sofa. Spoletta kneels
Cavaradossi is borne in from the torture chamber and deposited on the sofa. Kneeling beside him Tosca lavishes tears and kisses upon him. Sciarrone, the judge, Roberti and the Clerk go. In obedience to a sign from Scarpia, Spoletta and the agents remain behind. Still loyal to his friend, Cavaradossi, although racked with pain, asks Tosca if unwittingly in his anguish he has disclosed aught. She reassures him.
In a loud and commanding voice Scarpia says to Spoletta: "In the well in the garden—Go Spoletta!"
From Scarpia's words Cavaradossi knows that Tosca has betrayed Angelotti's hiding place. He tries to repulse her.
Sciarrone rushes in much perturbed. He brings bad news. The victory they have been celebrating has turned into defeat. Bonaparte has triumphed at Marengo. Cavaradossi is roused to enthusiasm by the tidings. "Tremble, Scarpia, thou butcherly hypocrite," he cries.
It is his death warrant. At Scarpia's command Sciarrone and the agents seize him and drag him away to be hanged.
Quietly seating himself at table, Scarpia invites Tosca to a chair. Perhaps they can discover a plan by which Cavaradossi may be saved. He carefully polishes a wineglass with a napkin, fills it with wine, and pushes it toward her.
"Your price?" she asks, contemptuously.
Imperturbably he fills his glass. She is the price that
Distracted, not knowing whither or to whom to turn, Tosca now utters the famous "Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva":
| (Music and love—these have I lived for, Nor ever have I harmed a living being.... In this, my hour of grief and bitter tribulation, O, Heavenly Father, why hast Thou forsaken me), |
The "Vissi d'arte" justly is considered the most beautiful air in the repertoire of modern Italian opera. It is to passages of surpassing eloquence like this that Puccini owes his fame, and his operas are indebted for their lasting power of appeal.
Beginning quietly, "Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore,"
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it works up to the impassioned, heart-rending outburst of grief with which it comes to an end.
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Copyright photo by Dupont
Emma Eames as Tosca
Copyright photo by Dupont
Caruso as Mario in “Tosca”
A knock at the door. Spoletta comes to announce that Angelotti, on finding himself discovered, swallowed poison. "The other," he adds, meaning Cavaradossi, "awaits your decision." The life of Tosca's lover is in the hands of the man who has told her how she may save him. Softly Scarpia asks her, "What say you?" She nods consent; then, weeping for the shame of it, buries her head in the sofa cushions.
Scarpia says it is necessary for a mock execution to be gone through with, before Tosca and Cavaradossi can flee Rome. He directs Spoletta that the execution is to be simulated—"as we did in the case of Palmieri.—You understand."
"Just like Palmieri," Spoletta repeats with emphasis, and goes.
Scarpia turns to Tosca. "I have kept my promise." She, however, demands safe conduct for Cavaradossi and herself. Scarpia goes to his desk to write the paper. With trembling hand Tosca, standing at the table, raises to her lips the wineglass filled for her by Scarpia. As she does so she sees the sharp, pointed knife with which he peeled and quartered the apple. A rapid glance at the desk assures her that he still is writing. With infinite caution she reaches out, secures possession of the knife, conceals it on her person. Scarpia has finished writing. He folds up the paper, advances toward Tosca with open arms to embrace her.
"Tosca, at last thou art mine!"
With a swift stroke of the knife, she stabs him full in the breast.
"It is thus that Tosca kisses!"
He staggers, falls. Ineffectually he strives to rise; makes a final effort; falls backward; dies.
Glancing back from time to time at Scarpia's corpse, Tosca goes to the table, where she dips a napkin in water and washes her fingers. She arranges her hair before a looking-glass, then looks on the desk for the safe-conduct. Not finding it there, she searches elsewhere for it, finally discovers it clutched in Scarpia's dead fingers, lifts his arm, draws out the paper from between the fingers, and lets the arm fall back stiff and stark, as she hides the paper in her bosom. For a brief moment she surveys the body, then extinguishes the lights on the supper table.
About to leave, she sees one of the candles on the desk still burning. With a grace of solemnity, she lights with it the other candle, places one candle to the right, the other to the left of Scarpia's head, takes down a crucifix from the wall, and, kneeling, places it on the dead man's breast. There is a roll of distant drums. She rises; steals out of the room.
In the opera, as in the play, which was one of Sarah Bernhardt's triumphs, it is a wonderful scene—one of the greatest in all drama. Anyone who has seen it adequately acted, knows what it has signified in the success of the opera, even after giving Puccini credit for "Vissi d'arte" and an expressive accompaniment to all that transpires on the stage.
Act III. A platform of the Castle Sant'Angelo. Left, a casement with a table, a bench, and a stool. On the table are a lantern, a huge register book, and writing materials. Suspended on one of the walls are a crucifix and a votive lamp. Right, a trap door opening on a flight of steps that
The firing party conducting Cavaradossi ascends the steps through the trap door and is received by a jailer. From a paper handed him by the sergeant in charge of the picket, the jailer makes entries in the register, to which the sergeant signs his name, then descends the steps followed by the picket. A bell strikes. "You have an hour," the jailer tells Cavaradossi. The latter craves the favour of being permitted to write a letter. It being granted, he begins to write, but soon loses himself in memories of Tosca. "E lucevan le stelle ed olezzava la terra" (When the stars were brightly shining, and faint perfumes the air pervaded)—a tenor air of great beauty.
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He buries his face in his hands. Spoletta and the sergeant conduct Tosca up the steps to the platform, and point out to her where she will find Cavaradossi. A dim light still envelopes the scene as with mystery. Tosca, seeing her lover, rushes up to him and, unable to speak for sheer emotion, lifts his hands and shows him—herself and the safe-conduct.
"At what price?" he asks.
Swiftly she tells him what Scarpia demanded of her, and how, having consented, she thwarted him by slaying him with her own hand. Lovingly he takes her hands in his. "O dolci mani mansuete e pure" (Oh! gentle hands, so pitiful and tender). Her voice mingles with his in love and gratitude for deliverance.
"Amaro sol per te m'era il morire" (The sting of death, I only felt for thee, love).
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She informs him of the necessity of going through a mock execution. He must fall naturally and lie perfectly still, as if dead, until she calls to him. They laugh over the ruse. It will be amusing. The firing party arrives. The sergeant offers to bandage Cavaradossi's eyes. The latter declines. He stands with his back to the wall. The soldiers take aim. Tosca stops her ears with her hands so that she may not hear the explosion. The officer lowers his sword. The soldiers fire. Cavaradossi falls.
"How well he acts it!" exclaims Tosca.
A cloth is thrown over Cavaradossi. The firing party marches off. Tosca cautions her lover not to move yet. The footsteps of the firing party die away—"Now get up." He does not move. Can he not hear? She goes nearer to him. "Mario! Up quickly! Away!—Up! up! Mario!"
She raises the cloth. To the last Scarpia has tricked her. He had ordered a real, not a mock execution. Her lover lies at her feet—a corpse.
There are cries from below the platform. Scarpia's murder has been discovered. His myrmidons are hastening to apprehend her. She springs upon the parapet and throws herself into space.
Farrar as Tosca
MADAM BUTTERFLY
Opera in two acts, by Giacomo Puccini, words after the story of John Luther Long and the drama of David Belasco by L. Illica and G. Giacosa. English version by Mrs. R.H. Elkin. Produced unsuccessfully,
Characters
| Madam Butterfly (Cio-Cio-San) | Soprano | ||
| Suzuki (her servant) | Mezzo-Soprano | ||
| Kate Pinkerton | Mezzo-Soprano | ||
| B.F. Pinkerton, Lieutenant, U.S.N. | Tenor | ||
| Sharpless (U.S. Consul at Nagasaki) | Baritone | ||
| Goro (a marriage broker) | Tenor | ||
| Prince Yamadori | Baritone | ||
| The Bonze (Cio-Cio-San's uncle) | Bass | ||
| Yakuside | Baritone | ||
| The Imperial Commissioner | Bass | ||
| The Official Registrar | } | Members of the Chorus | Baritone |
| Cio-Cio-San's Mother | } | Mezzo-Soprano | |
| The Aunt | } | Mezzo-Soprano | |
| The Cousin | } | Soprano | |
| Trouble (Cio-Cio-San's Child) | |||
Cio-Cio-San's relations and friends. Servants.
Time—Present day.
Place—Nagasaki.
Photo by Hall
“Madame Butterfly,” Act I
(Francis Maclennan, RenÉe Vivienne, and Thomas Richards)
Although "Madama Butterfly" is in two acts, the division of the second act into two parts by the fall of the curtain, there also being an instrumental introduction to part second, practically gives the opera three acts.
Act I. There is a prelude, based on a Japanese theme. This theme runs through the greater part of the act. It is employed as a background and as a connecting link, with the result that it imparts much exotic tone colour to the
Lieutenant B.F. Pinkerton, U.S.N., is on the point of contracting a "Japanese marriage" with Cio-Cio-San, whom her friends call Butterfly. At the rise of the curtain Pinkerton is looking over a little house on a hill facing the harbour. This house he has leased and is about to occupy with his Japanese wife. Goro, the nakodo or marriage broker, who has arranged the match, also has found the house for him and is showing him over it, enjoying the American's surprise at the clever contrivances found in Japanese house construction. Three Japanese servants are in the house, one of whom is Suzuki, Butterfly's faithful maid.
Sharpless, the American Consul at Nagasaki, arrives. In the chat which follows between the two men it becomes apparent that Sharpless looks upon the step Pinkerton is about to take with disfavour. He argues that what may be a mere matter of pastime to the American Naval lieutenant, may have been taken seriously by the Japanese girl and, if so, may prove a matter of life or death with her. Pinkerton on the other hand laughs off his friend's fears and, having poured out drinks for both, recklessly pledges his real American wife of the future. Further discussion is interrupted by the arrival of the bride with her relatives and friends.
After greetings have been exchanged, the Consul on conversing with Butterfly becomes thoroughly convinced that he was correct in cautioning Pinkerton. For he discovers that she is not contemplating the usual Japanese marriage of arrangement, but, actually being in love with Pinkerton, is taking it with complete seriousness. She has even gone to the extent, as she confides to Pinkerton, of secretly renouncing her religious faith, the faith of her forefathers, and embracing his, before entering on her new life
Minor officials whose duty it is to see that the marriage contract, even though it be a "Japanese marriage," is signed with proper ceremony, arrive. In the midst of drinking and merry-making on the part of all who have come to the wedding, they are startled by fierce imprecations from a distance and gradually drawing nearer. A weird figure, shouting and cursing wildly, appears upon the scene. It is Butterfly's uncle, the Bonze (Japanese priest). He has discovered her renunciation of faith, now calls down curses upon her head for it, and insists that all her relatives, even her immediate family, renounce her. Pinkerton enraged at the disturbance turns them out of the house. The air shakes with their imprecations as they depart. Butterfly is weeping bitterly, but Pinkerton soon is enabled to comfort her. The act closes with a passionate love scene.
The Japanese theme, which I have spoken of as forming the introduction to the act, besides, the background to the greater part of it, in fact up to the scene with the Bonze, never becomes monotonous because it is interrupted by several other musical episodes. Such are the short theme to which Pinkerton sings "Tutto È pronto" (All is ready), and the skippy little theme when Goro tells Pinkerton about those who will be present at the ceremony. When Pinkerton sings, "The whole world over, on business or pleasure the Yankee travels," a motif based on the "Star-Spangled Banner," is heard for the first time.
In the duet between Pinkerton and Sharpless, which Pinkerton begins with the words, "Amore o grillo" (Love or fancy), Sharpless's serious argument and its suggestion of the possibility of Butterfly's genuine love for Pinkerton are well brought out in the music. When Butterfly and her
Full of feeling is the music of her confession to Pinkerton that she has renounced the faith of her forefathers, in order to be a fit wife for the man she loves:—"Ieri son salita" (Hear what I would tell you). An episode, brief but of great charm, is the chorus "Kami! O Kami! Let's drink to the newly married couple." Then comes the interruption of the cheerful scene by the appearance of the Bonze, which forms a dramatic contrast.
It is customary with Puccini to create "atmosphere" of time and place through the medium of the early scenes of his operas. It is only necessary to recall the opening episodes in the first acts of "La BohÈme" and "Tosca." He has done the same thing in "Madam Butterfly," by the employment of the Japanese theme already referred to, and by the crowded episodes attending the arrival of Butterfly and the performance of the ceremony. These episodes are full of action and colour, and distinctly Japanese in the impression they make. Moreover, they afford the only opportunity throughout the entire opera to employ the chorus upon the open stage. It is heard again in the second act, but only behind the scenes and humming in order to give the effect of distance.
Photo by White
Farrar as Cio-Cio-San in “Madama Butterfly”
The love scene between Pinkerton and Butterfly is extended. From its beginning, "Viene la sera" (Evening is falling),
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to the end, its interest never flags. It is full of beautiful melody charged with sentiment and passion, yet varied with lighter passages, like Butterfly's "I am like the moon's little goddess"; "I used to think if anyone should want me"; and the exquisite, "Vogliatemi bene" (Ah, love me a little). There is a beautiful melody for Pinkerton, "Love, what fear holds you trembling." The climax of the love duet is reached in two impassioned phrases:—"Dolce notte! Quante stelle" (Night of rapture, stars unnumbered),
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and "Oh! Quanti occhi fisi, attenti" (Oh, kindly heavens).
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Act II. Part I. Three years have elapsed. It is a long time since Pinkerton has left Butterfly with the promise to return to her "when the robins nest." When the curtain rises, after an introduction, in which another Japanese theme is employed, Suzuki, although convinced that Pinkerton has deserted her mistress, is praying for his return. Butterfly is full of faith and trust. In chiding her devoted maid for doubting that Pinkerton will return, she draws in language and song a vivid picture of his home-coming and of their mutual joy therein:—"Un bel dÌ vedremo" (Some day he'll come).
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In point of fact, Pinkerton really is returning to Nagasaki, but with no idea of resuming relations with his Japanese wife. Indeed, before leaving America he has written to Sharpless asking him to let Butterfly know that he is married
When Yamadori has gone, Sharpless makes one more effort to open her eyes to the truth. They have a duet, "Ora a noi" (Now at last), in which he again produces the letter, and attempts to persuade her that Pinkerton has been faithless to her and has forgotten her. Her only reply is to fetch in her baby boy, born since Pinkerton's departure. Her argument is, that when the boy's father hears what a fine son is waiting for him in Japan, he will hasten back. She sings to Trouble, as the little boy is called:—"Sai cos'ebbe cuore" (Do you hear, my sweet one, what that bad man is saying). Sharpless makes a final effort to disillusion her, but in vain. If Pinkerton does not come back, there are two things, she says, she can do—return to her old life and sing for people, or die. She sings a touching little lullaby to her baby boy, Suzuki twice interrupting her with the pathetically voiced exclamation, "Poor Madam Butterfly!"
A salute of cannon from the harbour announces the arrival of a man-of-war. Looking through the telescope, Butterfly and Suzuki discover that it is Pinkerton's ship, the "Abraham Lincoln." Now Butterfly is convinced that
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Butterfly adorns herself and the baby boy. Then with her fingers she pierces three holes in the paper wall of the dwelling. She, Suzuki, and the baby peer through these, watching for Pinkerton's arrival. Night falls. Suzuki and the boy drop off to sleep. Butterfly rigid, motionless, waits and watches, her faith still unshaken, for the return of the man who has forsaken her. The pathos of the scene is profound; the music, with the hum of voices, borne upon the night from the distant harbour, exquisite.
Act II. Part II. When the curtain rises, night has passed, dawn is breaking. Suzuki and the baby are fast asleep, but Butterfly still is watching. Again Puccini employs a Japanese melody (the "vigil" theme).
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When Suzuki awakes, she persuades the poor little "wife" to go upstairs to rest, which Butterfly does only upon Suzuki's promise to awaken her as soon as Pinkerton arrives. Pinkerton and Sharpless appear. Suzuki at first is full of joyful surprise, which, however, soon gives way to consternation, when she learns the truth. Pinkerton himself,
Butterfly has become aware that people are below. Suzuki tries to prevent her coming down, but she appears radiantly happy, for she expects to find her husband. The pathos of the scene in which she learns the truth is difficult to describe. But she does not burst into lamentations. With a gentleness which has been characteristic of her throughout, she bears the blow. She even expresses the wish to Kate, Pinkerton's real wife, that she may experience all happiness, and sends word to Pinkerton that, if he will come for his son in half an hour, he can have him.
Sharpless and Mrs. Pinkerton withdraw. In a scene of tragic power, Butterfly mortally wounds herself with her father's sword, the blade of which bears the inscription, "To die with honour when one can no longer live with honour," drags herself across the floor to where the boy is playing with his toys and waving a little American flag, and expires just as Pinkerton enters to take away the son whom thus she gives up to him.
From examples that already have been given of modern Italian opera, it is clear that "atmosphere," local colour, and character delineation are typical features of the art of Italy's lyric stage as it flourishes today. In "Madama Butterfly" we have exotic tone colour to a degree that has been approached but not equalled by Verdi in "AÏda." Certain brief scenes in Verdi's opera are Egyptian in tone colour. In "Madama Butterfly" Japanese themes are used in extenso, and although the thrilling climaxes in the work are distinctively Italian, the Japanese under-current, dramatic and musical, always is felt. In that respect compare "Madama
In character delineation in the opera Butterfly dominates. She is a sweet, trusting, pathetic little creature—traits expressed in the music as clearly as in the drama. The sturdy devotion of Suzuki is, if possible, brought out in an even stronger light in the opera than in the drama, and Sharpless is admirably drawn. Pinkerton, of course, cannot be made sympathetic. All that can be expected of him is that he be a tenor, and sing the beautiful music allotted to him in the first act with tender and passionate expression.
The use of the "Star-Spangled Banner" motif as a personal theme for Pinkerton, always has had a disagreeable effect upon me, and from now on should be objected to by all Americans. Some one in authority, a manager like Gatti-Casazza, or Ricordi & Co.'s American representatives, should call Puccini's attention to the fact that his employment of the National Anthem of the United States of America in "Madama Butterfly" is highly objectionable and might, in time, become offensive; although no offence was meant by him.
I "did" the first night of David Belasco's play "Madam Butterfly" for the New York Herald. The production occurred at the Herald Square Theatre, Broadway and Thirty-fifth Street, New York, March 5, 1900, with Blanche Bates as Butterfly. It was given with "Naughty Anthony," a farce-comedy also by Belasco, which had been a failure. The tragedy had been constructed with great rapidity from
The Milan production of "Madama Butterfly" was an utter failure. The audience hooted, the prima donna was in tears. The only person behind the scenes not disconcerted was the composer, whose faith in his work was so soon to be justified.
(THE GIRL OF THE GOLDEN WEST)
Opera in three acts by Puccini; words by C. Zangarini and G. Civini, after the play by David Belasco. Produced, Metropolitan Opera House, New York, December 10, 1910, with Destinn, Mattfeld, Caruso, Amato, Reiss, Didur, Dinh-Gilly, Pini-Corsi, and De Segurola.
Characters
| Minnie | Soprano | ||
| Jack Rance, sheriff | Baritone | ||
| Dick Johnson (Ramerrez) | Tenor | ||
| Nick, bartender at the "Polka" | Tenor | ||
| Ashby, Wells-Fargo agent | Bass | ||
| Sonora | } | Miners | Baritone |
| Trim | } | Tenor | |
| Sid | } | Baritone | |
| Handsome | } | Baritone | |
| Harry | } | Tenor | |
| Joe | } | Tenor | |
| Happy | } | Baritone | |
| Larkens | } | Bass | |
| Billy Jackrabbit, an Indian redskin | Bass | ||
| Wowkle, Billy's squaw | Mezzo-Soprano | ||
| Jake Wallace, a travelling camp minstrel | Baritone | ||
| JosÉ Castro, a greaser from Ramerrez's gang | Bass | ||
| A Postillion | Tenor | ||
| Men of the Camp | |||
Time—1849-1850, the days of the gold fever.
Place—A mining-camp at the foot of the Cloudy Mountains, California.
Photo by White
Destinn as Minnie, Caruso as Johnson, and Amato as Jack Rance in
“The Girl of the Golden West”
Successful in producing "atmosphere" in "La BohÈme," "Tosca," and "Madama Butterfly," Puccini has utterly failed in his effort to do so in his "Girl of the Golden West." Based upon an American play, the scene laid in America and given in America for the first time on any stage, the opera has not been, the more's the pity, a success.
In the first act, laid in the "Polka" bar-room, after a scene of considerable length for the miners (intended, no doubt, to create "atmosphere") there is an episode between Rance and Minnie, in which it develops that Rance wants to marry her, but that she does not care for him. Johnson comes in. He and Minnie have met but once before, but have been strongly attracted to each other. She asks him to visit her in her cabin, where they will be undisturbed by the crowd, which has gone off to hunt for Ramerrez, head of a band of outlaws, reported to be in the vicinity but which soon may be back.
The scene of the second act is Minnie's cabin, which consists of a room and loft. After a brief scene for Billy and Wowkle, Minnie comes in. Through night and a blizzard Johnson makes his way up the mountainside. There is a love scene—then noises outside. People are approaching. Not wishing to be found with Johnson, Minnie forces him to hide. Rance and others, who are on the trail of Ramerrez and hope to catch or kill him any moment, come in to warn her that Johnson is Ramerrez. When they have gone, and Johnson acknowledges that he is the outlaw, Minnie denounces him and sends him out into the blizzard. There
Rance enters, expecting to find Johnson. He is almost persuaded by Minnie that the fugitive is not there, when, through the loose timbers of the loft, a drop of blood falls on his hand. Minnie proposes that they play cards—Johnson to live, or she to marry the sheriff. They play. She cheats, and wins.
The third act is laid in the forest. Johnson, who has recovered and left Minnie's cabin, is caught, and is to be hung. But at the critical moment Minnie arrives, and her pleading moves the men to spare him, in spite of Rance's protests. They leave to begin a new life elsewhere.
In the score there is much recitative. It is not interesting in itself, nor is it made so by the insufficiently varied instrumental accompaniment. For the action of the play is too vigorous to find expression by means of the Debussyan manner that predominates in the orchestra. The most genuinely inspired musical number is Johnson's solo in the last act, when it seems certain that he is about to be executed.—"Ch'ella mi creda libero e lontano" (Let her believe that I have gained my freedom).
THE SWALLOW
The opera begins in Paris during the Second Empire. Magda, the heroine, is a demi-mondaine living under the protection of the rich banker Rambaldo. Satisfied with the luxuries he lavishes upon her, she longs for true affection, and is unable to stifle the remembrance of her first love, a poor young student. She meets Ruggero, who like her earlier love, is young and poor, and a student. At Bouilliers, the rendezvous of the gay life of Paris, Ruggero declares
Ruggero looks forward to a life of perfect happiness. He writes to his parents asking their consent to his marriage with Magda. The reply is that if she is virtuous and honourable, she will be received with open arms. Magda now considers herself (like Violetta in "La Traviata") unworthy of Ruggero's love and lest she shall bring dishonour upon the man she loves, she parts with him. Other principal rÔles are Lisetta and Prunia, and there are numerous second parts requiring first-rate artists.
In the second act of "La Rondine" is a quartet which, it is said, Puccini believes will rival that at the end of the third act in "La BohÈme." "I have let my pen run," he is reported to have said, "and no other method suffices to obtain good results, in my opinion. No matter what marvellous technical effects may be worked up by lengthy meditation, I believe in heart in preference to head."
The opera was produced in March, 1917, in Monte Carlo, and during the summer of the same year, in Buenos Aires. Puccini intended to compose it with dialogue as a genuine opÉra comique, but finally substituted recitative. The work is said to approach opÉra comique in style. Reports regarding its success vary.
After the first Italian performance, San Carlo Theatre, Naples, February 26, 1918, Puccini, according to report, decided to revise "La Rondine." Revision, as in the case of "Madama Butterfly," may make a great success of it.
ONE-ACT OPERAS
Three one-act operas by Puccini have been composed for performance at one sitting. They are "Suor Angelica" (Sister Angelica), "Il Tabarro" (The Cloak), and "Gianni Schicchi." The motifs of these operas are sentiment, tragedy, and humour.
The scene of "Il Tabarro" is laid on the deck of a Seine barge at sunset, when the day's work is over, and after dark. The husband is Michele, the wife Giorgetta, the lover, Luigi, and there are two other bargemen. These latter go off after the day's work. Luigi lingers in the cabin. He persuades Giorgetta that, when all is quiet on the barge, and it will be safe for him to return to her, she shall strike a match as a signal. He then goes.
Michele has suspected his wife. He reminds her of their early love, when he sheltered her under his cloak. Giorgetta, however, receives these reminiscences coldly, feigns weariness, and retires to the cabin.
It has grown dark. Michele lights his pipe. Luigi, thinking it is Giorgetta's signal, clambers up the side of the barge, where he is seized and choked to death by Michele, who takes his cloak and covers the corpse with it.
Giorgetta has heard sounds of a struggle. She comes on deck in alarm, but is somewhat reassured, when she sees Michele sitting alone and quietly smoking. Still somewhat nervous, however, she endeavours to atone for her frigidity toward him, but a short time before, by "making up" to him, telling him, among other things, that she well recalls their early love and wishes she could again find shelter in the folds of his big cloak. For reply, he raises the cloak, and lets her see Luigi's corpse.
I have read another synopsis of this plot, in which Michele forces his wife's face close to that of her dead lover. At the same moment, one of the other bargemen, whose wife also had betrayed him, returns brandishing the bloody knife, with which he has slain her. The simpler version surely is more dramatic than the one of cumulative horrors.
