This opera, which Mozart composed in his twenty-fifth year for the Opera-seria in Munich, was represented in the year 1781, and won brilliant success.
It is the most remarkable composition of Mozart's youthful age, and though he wrote it under Gluck's influence, there is many a spark of his own original genius, and often he breaks the bonds of conventional form and rises to heights hitherto unanticipated. The public in general does not estimate the opera very highly, in consequence Idomeneus was only represented in Dresden, after the long interval of 21 years, to find the house empty and the applause lukewarm. But the true connoisseur of music ought not to be influenced by public opinion, for though the action does not warm the hearer, the music is at once divinely sweet and harmonious; no wild excitement, no ecstatic feelings, but music pure and simple, filling the soul with sweet content.
The scene takes place in Cydonia, on the isle of Crete soon after the end of the Trojan war.—
In the first act Ilia, daughter of Priam, bewails her unhappy fate, but won by the magnanimity of Idamantes, son of Idomeneus, King of Crete, who relieves the captive Trojans from their fetters, she begins to love him, much against her own will. Electra, daughter of Agamemnon, who also loves Idamantes perceives with fury his predilection for the captive princess and endeavours to regain his heart.
Arbaces, the High-Priest enters, to announce that Idomeneus has perished at sea in a tempest. All bewail this misfortune and hasten to the strand to pray to the gods for safety.
But Idomeneus is not dead. Poseidon, whose help he invoked in his direst need, has saved him, Idomeneus vowing to sacrifice to the God the first mortal whom he should encounter on landing.—Unfortunately it is his own son, who comes to the strand to mourn for his beloved father.—Idomeneus, having been absent during the siege of Troy for ten years, at first fails to recognize his son. But when the truth dawns on both, the son's joy is as great as the father's misery. Terrified the latter turns from the aggrieved and bewildered Idamantes. Meanwhile the King's escort has also safely landed and all thank Poseidon for their delivery.
In the second act Idomeneus takes counsel with Arbaces, and resolves to send his son away, in order to save him from the impending evil. The King speaks to Ilia, whose love for Idamantes he soon divines. This only adds to his poignant distress.—Electra, hearing that she is to accompany Idamantes to Argos is radiant, hoping that her former lover may then forget Ilia. They take a tender farewell from Idomeneus, but just when they are about to embark, a dreadful tempest arises, and a monster emerges from the waves, filling all present with awe and terror.
In the third act Idamantes seeks Ilia to bid her farewell. Not anticipating the reason of his father's grief, which he takes for hate, he is resolved to die for his country, by either vanquishing the dreadful monster, sent by Poseidon's wrath, or by perishing in the combat.
Ilia, unable to conceal her love for him any longer, bids him live, live for her. In his new-found happiness Idamantes forgets his grief, and when his father surprises the lovers, he implores him to calm his wrath, and rushes away, firmly resolved to destroy the monster.—
With terrible misgivings Idomeneus sees Arbaces approach, who announces that the people are in open rebellion against him. The King hastens to the temple, where he is received with remonstrances by the High-Priest, who shows him the horrid ravages, which Poseidon's wrath has achieved through the monster; he entreats him to name the victim for the sacrifice and to satisfy the wishes of the God. Rent by remorse and pain Idomeneus finally names his son.
All are horror-stricken, and falling on their knees, they crave Poseidon's pardon.—While they yet kneel, loud songs of triumph are heard, and Idamantes returns victorious from his fight with the monster.
With noble courage he throws himself at his father's feet, imploring his benediction and—his death. For having heard of his father's unhappy vow, he now comprehends his sorrow, and endeavours to lessen his grief.
Idomeneus, torn by conflicting feelings at last is about to grant his son's wish, but when he lifts his sword, Ilia throws herself between, imploring him to let her be the victim. A touching scene ensues between the lovers, but Ilia gains her point.Just when she is about to receive her death-stroke, Poseidon's pity is at last aroused. In thunder and lightning he decrees, that Idomeneus is to renounce his throne in favor of Idamantes, for whose spouse he chooses Ilia.
In a concluding scene we see Electra tormented by the furies of hate and jealousy. Idomeneus fulfils Poseidon's request, and all invoke the God's benediction on the happy Royal house of Crete.
After a lapse of many years this spirited little opera has again been put upon the stage and its success has shown, that true music never grows old.
Next to the "Dame blanche" Jean de Paris is decidedly the best of Boieldieu's works; the music is very graceful, fresh and lively, and the plot, though simple and harmless is full of chivalric honor and very winning.
The scene takes us back to the 17th century and we find ourselves in an inn of the Pyrenees.
The young and beautiful Princess of Navarre being widowed and her year of mourning having passed, is induced by her brother, the King of Navarre, to marry again. The French Crown-Prince has been selected by the two courts as her future husband, but both parties are of a somewhat romantic turn of mind and desire to know each other, before being united for life.
For this purpose the Prince undertakes a journey to the Pyrenees, where he knows the Princess to be.
In the first scene we see preparations being made for the reception of the Princess, whose arrival has been announced by her Seneshal. In the midst of the bustle there enters a simple Page to demand rooms for his master. As he is on foot the host treats him spitefully, but his daughter Lorezza, pleased with his good looks, promises him a good dinner. While they are still debating, the numerous suite of the Prince comes up and without further ado takes possession of the house and stables, which have been prepared for the Princess and her people. The host begins to feel more favorably inclined towards the strange Seigneur, though he does not understand, how a simple citizen of Paris (this is the Prince's incognito), can afford such luxury.
By the time "Monsieur Jean de Paris" arrives the host's demeanour has entirely changed and seeing two large purses with gold, he abandons the whole house to the strange guest, hoping that he shall have prosecuted his journey before the arrival of the Princess. But he has been mistaken, for no sooner are Jean de Paris' people quartered in the house, than the Seneshal, a pompous Spanish Grandee arrives, to announce the coming of the Princess. The host is hopelessly embarrassed and the Seneshal rages at the impudence of the citizen, but Jean de Paris quietly intimates, that the houseand everything in it are hired by him, and courteously declares, that he will play the host and invite the Princess to his house and dinner.
While the Seneshal is still stupefied by such unheard-of impudence, the Princess arrives, and at once takes everybody captive by her grace and loveliness. Jean de Paris is fascinated and the Princess who instantly recognizes in him her future bridegroom, is equally pleased by his appearance, but resolves to profit and to amuse herself by her discovery.
To the Seneshal's unbounded surprise she graciously accepts Jean's invitation.
In the second act the preparations for the dinner of the honored guests have been made. Olivier the Page shows pretty Lorezza the minuets of the ladies at court, and she dances in her simple country-fashion, until Olivier seizes her and they dance and sing together.
Jean de Paris stepping in, sings an air in praise of God, beauty and chivalry and when the Princess appears, he leads her to dinner, to the unutterable horror of the Seneshal. Dinner, service, plate, silver, all is splendid and all belongs to Jean de Paris, who sings a tender minstrel's-song to the Princess; she sweetly answers him, and telling him, that she has already chosen her knight, who is true, honest and of her own rank, makes him stand on thorns for a while, lest he be too late,—until he perceives that she only teazes in order to punish him for his own comedy. Finally they areenchanted with each other, and when the people come up, the Prince, revealing his true name, presents the Princess as his bride, bidding his suite render homage to their mistress. The Seneshal humbly asks forgiveness, and all unite in a chorus in praise of the beautiful pair.
Spohr wrote this opera by way of inauguration to his charge as master of the court-chapel at Cassel, and with it he added to the fame, which he had long before established as master of the violin and first-rate composer. His music is sublime, and sheds a wealth of glory on the somewhat imperfect text.
The story introduces us to Goa on the coast of Malabar at the beginning of the 16th century.
A Rajah has just died and is bewailed by his people, and Jessonda, his widow, who was married to the old man against her will, is doomed to be burnt with him, according to the country's laws. Nadori, a young priest of the God Brahma is to announce her fate to the beautiful young widow. But Nadori is not a Brahmin by his own choice; he is young and passionate, and though it is forbidden to him to look at women, he at once falls in love with Jessonda's sister Amazili, whom he meets when on his sad errand. He promises to help her in saving her beloved sister from a terrible death.
Jessonda meanwhile hopes vainly for the arrival of the Portuguese General, Tristan d'Acunha, to whom she pledged her faith long ago, when a cruel fate separated her from him. She knows that the Portuguese are at this moment besieging Goa, which formerly belonged to them. Jessonda is accompanied by her women through the Portuguese camp, to wash away in the floods of the Ganges the last traces of earthliness. She sacrifices a rose to her early love.
Turning back into the town, she is recognized by Tristan, but alas, a truce forbids him to make an assault on the town in order to deliver his bride. Jessonda is led back in triumph by the High-priest Daudon, to die an untimely death.
In the third act Nadori visits Tristan in secret, to bring the welcome news that Daudon himself broke the truce, by sending two spies into the enemy's camp to burn their ships. This act of treachery frees Tristan from his oath. Nadori conducts him and his soldiers through subterranean passages into the temple, where he arrives just in time to save Jessonda from the High-priest's sword. She gives him hand and heart, and Nadori is united to her sister Amazili.
Ingrid is a musical composition of considerable interest, the local tone and colouring being so wellhit. It is a Norwegian picture with many pretty and original customs, to which the music is well adapted and effective, without being heart-stirring.
The scene is laid in Varö in Norway. Helga the rich Norwegian peasant Wandrup's daughter is to wed Godila Swestorp, her cousin, and the most desirable young man in the village. She entertains but friendly feelings for him while her heart belongs to a young German traveller, and Godila, feeling that she is different from what she was, keeps jealous watch over her, and swears to destroy his rival.
In the second scene Ingrid, a young girl (coach-maid), whose business it is to direct the carioles from station to station, drives up with the German Erhard, who meeting with a severe accident in the mountains, is saved by her courage. Full of tenderness she dresses his wounds; he thanks her warmly, and presents her with a miniature portrait of his mother. She mistakes her gratitude for love, and it fills her with happiness, which is instantly destroyed, when Helga appears and sinks on the breast of her lover. Ingrid, a poor orphan, who never knew father or mother, is deeply disappointed and bitterly reproaches heaven for her hard fate. The scene is witnessed by old father Wandrup, in whose heart it arouses long buried memories and he tries to console Ingrid. But when she claims the right to hear more of her parents he only says, that she was found a babe at his thresholdtwenty-five years ago, and that nothing was ever heard of her father and mother.
The second act opens with a pretty national festival, in which the youths and maidens, adorned with wild carnations wend their way in couples to Ljora (love's-bridge in the people's mouth), from whence they drop their flowers into the foaming water. If they chance to be carried out to sea together, the lovers will be united, if not, woe to them, for love and friendship will die an untimely death.—Godila tries to offer his carnations to Helga, but she dextrously avoids him, and succeeds in having a short interview with Erhard, with whom she is to take flight on a ship, whose arrival is just announced. Erhard goes off to prepare everything, and a few minutes afterwards Helga comes out of the house in a travelling dress. But Godila, who has promised Wandrup to watch over his daughter, detains her.
Wild with love and jealousy he strains her to his breast and drags her towards the Ljora-bridge. Helga vainly struggles against the madman, but Ingrid, who has witnessed the whole occurence, waves her white kerchief in the direction of the ship, and calls back Erhard, who is just in time to spring on the bridge, when its railing gives way, and Godila, who has let Helga fall at the approach of his enemy, is precipitated into the waves. Erhard tries to save him, but is prevented by Ingrid, who intimates that all efforts would be useless. Helga in a swoon is carried to the House, when Wandrup,seeing his child wounded and apparently lifeless, calls Godila, and hears with horror that his body has been found dashed to pieces on the rocks. Now the father's wrath turns against Erhard, in whom he sees Godila's murderer, but Ingrid, stepping forth, relates how the catastrophe happened, and how Godila seemed to be punished by heaven for his attack on Helga. Everybody is touched by poor despised Ingrid's unselfishness, she even pleads for Helga's union with Erhard, nobly renouncing her own claims on his love and gratitude. Wandrup relents and the happy lovers go on the Ljora-bridge, whence their carnations float out to sea side by side. The ship's departure is signalled, and all accompany the lovers on board. Only Ingrid remains. Her strength of mind has forsaken her; a prey to wild despair she resolves to destroy herself. Taking a last look at Erhard's gift, the little medallion-picture, she is surprised by Wandrup, who recognizes in it his own dead love. "She is thy mother too Ingrid", he cries out. "My mother, she, and Erhard my brother!"—This is too much for Ingrid; with an incoherent cry she rushes on the bridge intending to throw herself over. But Wandrup beseechingly stretches out his arms, crying "Ingrid, stay, live for thy father". At first the unhappy girl shrinks back, but seeing the old man's yearning love she sinks on her knees, then slowly rising, she returns to her father, who folds her in loving embrace.
This opera, though it does not stand from the point of view of the artist on the same level with Iphigenia in Tauris, deserves nevertheless to be represented on every good stage. It may be called the first part of the tragedy, and Iphigenia in Tauris very beautifully completes it. The music is sure to be highly relished by a cultivated hearer, characterized as it is by a simplicity which often rises into grandeur and nobility of utterance.
The first scene represents Agamemnon rent by a conflict between his duty and his fatherly love; the former of which demands the sacrifice of his daughter, for only then will a favorable wind conduct the Greeks safely to Ilion. Kalchas, the High-priest of Artemis, appears to announce her dreadful sentence. Alone with the King, Kalchas vainly tries to induce the unhappy father to consent to the sacrifice.
Meanwhile Iphigenia, who has not received Agamemnon's message, which ought to have prevented her undertaking the fatal journey, arrives with her mother Klytemnestra. They are received with joy by the people. Agamemnon secretly informs his spouse, that Achilles, Iphigenia's betrothed, has proved unworthy of her, and that she is to return to Argos at once.—Iphigenia gives way to her feelings. Achilles appears, the lovers are soon reconciled and prepare to celebrate their nuptials.
In the second act Iphigenia is adorned for her wedding and Achilles comes to lead her to the altar, when Arkas, Agamemnon's messenger, informs them that death awaits Iphigenia.
Klytemnestra in despair appeals to Achilles and the bridegroom swears to protect Iphigenia. She alone is resigned in the belief, that it is her father's will that she should face this dreadful duty. Achilles reproaches Agamemnon wildly and leaves the unhappy father a prey to mental torture. At last he decides to send Arkas at once to Mykene with mother and daughter and to hide them there, until the wrath of the goddess be appeased. But it is too late.
In the third act the people assemble before the Royal tent and with much shouting and noise demand the sacrifice. Achilles in vain implores Iphigenia to follow him. She is ready to be sacrificed, while he determines to kill anyone, who dares touch his bride. Klytemnestra then tries everything in her power to save her. She offers herself in her daughter's stead and finding it of no avail at last sinks down in a swoon. The daughter, having bade her an eternal farewell, with quiet dignity allows herself to be led to the altar. When her mother awakes, she rages in impotent fury; then she hears the people's hymn to the goddess, and rushes out to die with her child.—The scene changes.—The High-priest at the altar of Artemis is ready to pierce the innocent victim. A great tumult arises, Achilles with his native Thessalians makes his way throughthe crowd, in order to save Iphigenia, who loudly invokes the help of the goddess. But at this moment a loud thunder-peal arrests the contending parties, and when the mist, which has blinded all, has passed, Artemis herself is seen in a cloud with Iphigenia kneeling before her.
The goddess announces that it is Iphigenia's high mind, which she demands and not her blood, she wishes to take her into a foreign land, where she may be her priestess and atone for the sins of the blood of Atreus.
A wind favorable to the fleet has risen, and the people filled with gratitude and admiration behold the vanishing cloud and praise the goddess.
Gluck's Iphigenia stands highest among his dramatic compositions. It is eminently classic and so harmoniously finished, that Herder called its music sacred.
The libretto is excellent. It follows pretty exactly the Greek original.
Iphigenia, King Agamemnon's daughter, who has been saved by the goddess Diana (or Artemis) from death at the altar of Aulis, has been carried in a cloud to Tauris, where she is compelled to be High-priestess in the temple of the barbarous Scythians. There we find her, after having performed her cruel service for fifteen years.—Humansacrifices are required, but more than once she has saved a poor stranger from this awful lot.
Iphigenia is much troubled by a dream, in which she saw her father deadly wounded by her mother and herself about to kill her brother Orestes. She bewails her fate, in having at the behest of Thoas, King of the Scythians, to sacrifice two strangers, who have been thrown on his shores. Orestes and his friend Pylades, for these are the strangers, are led to death, loaded with chains.
Iphigenia, hearing that they are her countrymen, resolves to save at least one of them, in order to send him home to her sister Electra. She does not know her brother Orestes, who having slain his mother, has fled, pursued by the furies, but an inner voice makes her choose him as a messenger to Greece. A lively dispute arises between the two friends; at last Orestes prevails upon Iphigenia to spare his friend, by threatening to destroy himself with his own hands, his life being a burden to him. Iphigenia reluctantly complies with his request, giving the message for her sister to Pylades.
In the third act Iphigenia vainly tries to steel her heart against her victim. At last she seizes the knife, but Orestes' cry: "So you also were pierced by the sacrificial steel, O my sister Iphigenia!" arrests her; the knife falls from her hands, and there ensues a touching scene of recognition.
Meanwhile Thoas, who has heard that one of the strangers was about to depart, enters the temple with his body-guard, and though Iphigenia tellshim, that Orestes is her brother and entreats him so spare Agamemnon's son, Thoas determines to sacrifice him and his sister Iphigenia as well. But his evil designs are frustrated by Pylades, who, returning with several of his countrymen, stabs the King of Tauris. The goddess Diana herself appears and helping the Greeks in their fight, gains for them the victory. Diana declares herself appeased by Orestes' repentance and allows him to return to Mykene with his sister, his friend and all his followers.
This opera, which has almost disappeared from the French stage, is still esteemed in Germany and always will be so, because, though clad in the simplest garb, and almost without any external outfit, its music is grand, noble and classic; it equals the operas of Gluck, whose influence may be traced, but it is free from all imitation. Here we have true music, and the deep strain of patriarchal piety so touching in the Biblical recital finds grand expression.
Joseph, the son of Jacob, who was sold by his brothers, has by his wisdom saved Egypt from threatening famine; he resides as governor in Memphis under the name of Cleophas. But though much honored by the King and all the people, he never ceases to long for his old father, whose favorite child he was.
Driven from Palestine by this same famine, Jacob's sons are sent to Egypt to ask for food and hospitality. They are tormented by pangs of conscience, which Simeon is hardly able to conceal, when they are received by the governor, who at once recognized them. Seeing their sorrow and repentance, he pities them, and promises to receive them all hospitably. He does not reveal himself but goes to meet his youngest brother Benjamin and his blind father, whose mourning for his lost son has not been diminished by the long years. Joseph induces his father and brother to partake in the honors, which the people render to him. The whole family is received in the governor's palace, where Simeon consumed by grief and conscience-stricken at last confesses to his father the selling of Joseph. Full of horror Jacob curses and disowns his ten sons. But Joseph intervenes. Making himself known, he grants full pardon and entreats his father to do the same.
The old man yields, and together they praise God's providence and omnipotence.
With "Irrlicht" the composer takes a step towards verisme; both, subject and music are terribly realistic, though without the last shade of triviality. The music is often of brilliant dramatic effect,and the fantastic text, well matching the music, is as rich in thrilling facts as any modern Italian opera. Indeed this seems to be by far the best opera, which the highly gifted composer has written.
The scene is laid on a pilot's station on the coast of Normandy. A pilot-boat has been built and is to be baptized with the usual ceremonies. Tournaud, an old ship-captain expects his daughter Gervaise back from a stay in Paris. He worships her, and when she arrives, he is almost beside himself with joy and pride. But Gervaise is pale and sad, and hardly listens to gay Marion, who tells her of the coming festival.—Meanwhile all the fisher-people from far and near assemble to participate in the baptism, and André, who is to be captain of the boat, is about to choose a god-mother amongst the fair maidens around, when he sees Gervaise coming out of the house, where she has exchanged her travelling garb for a national-dress. Forgotten are all the village-lasses, and André chooses Gervaise, who reluctantly consents to baptize the boat, and is consequently received very ungraciously by the maidens and their elders. She blesses the boat which sails off among the cheers of the crowd with the simple words: "God bless thee". André, who loves Gervaise with strong and everlasting affection turns to her full of hope. He is gently but firmly rebuked, and sadly leaves her, while Gervaise is left to her own sad memories, which carry her back to the short happy time, when she was loved and won and alasforsaken by a stranger of high position. Marion, who loves André hopelessly, vainly tries to brighten up her companion. They are all frightened by the news of a ship being in danger at sea. A violent storm has arisen, and when Maire Grisard, the builder of the yacht pronounces her name "Irrlicht," Gervaise starts with a wild cry. The ship is seen battling with the waves, while André rushes in to bring Gervaise a telegraphic dispatch from Paris. It tells her, that her child is at death's door. Tournaud, catching the paper, in a moment guesses the whole tragedy of his daughter's life. In his shame and wrath he curses her, but all her thoughts are centered on the ship, on which the count, her child's father is struggling against death. She implores André to save him, but he is deaf to her entreaties. Then she rushes off to ring the alarm-bell, but nobody dares to risk his life in the storm. At last, seeing all her efforts vain, she looses a boat, and drives out alone into night and perdition. As soon as André perceives her danger, he follows her. At this moment a flash of lightning which is followed by a deafening crash shows the Yacht rising out of the waves for the last time, and then plunging down into a watery grave forever.—The whole assembly sink on their knees in fervent prayer, which is so far granted, that André brings back Gervaise unhurt. She is but in a deep swoon, and her father, deeply touched, pardons her. When she opens her eyes, and shudderingly understands that her sacrifice was fruitless, she takes a littleflask of poison from her bosom and slowly empties it. Then, taking a last farewell of the home of her childhood and of her early love, she recommends Marion to André's care. By this time the poison has begun to take effect and the poor girl, thinking that in the waving willow branches she sees the form of her lover, beckoning to her, sighs "I come beloved" and sinks back dead.
This opera created a great sensation when it first appeared on the stage of the Grand Opera at Paris in the year 1835, and it has never lost its attraction. It was one of the first grand operas to which brilliant mise en scène, gorgeous decorations etc., added success.
Halévy's great talent lies in orchestration, which is here rich and effective; his style, half French, half Italian, is full of beautiful effects of a high order.
The libretto is one of the best which was ever written by the dexterous and fertile Scribe.
The scene of action is laid in Constance, in the year 1414 during the Council.
In the first act the opening of the Council is celebrated with great pomp.
The Catholics, having gained a victory over the Hussites, Huss is to be burnt, and the Jews, equally disliked, are oppressed and put down stillmore than before. All the shops are closed, only Eleazar, a rich Jewish jeweller has kept his open, and is therefore about to be imprisoned and put to death, when Cardinal de Brogni intervenes, and saves the Jew and his daughter Recha from the people's fury. The Cardinal has a secret liking for Eleazar, though he once banished him from Rome. He hopes to gain news from him of his daughter, who was lost in early childhood. But Eleazar hates the Cardinal bitterly. When the mob is dispersed, Prince Leopold, the Imperial Commander-in-Chief, approaches Recha. Under the assumed name of Samuel he has gained her affections, and she begs him to be present at a religious feast, which is to take place that evening at her father's house. The act closes with a splendid procession of the Emperor and all his dignitaries. Ruggiero, the chief judge in Constance seeing the hated Jew and his daughter amongst the spectators, is about to seize them once more, when Prince Leopold steps between and delivers them, to Recha's great astonishment.
In the second act we are introduced to a great assembly of Jews, men and women, assisting at a religious ceremony. Samuel is there with them. The holy act is however interrupted by the Emperor's niece, Princess Eudora, who comes to purchase a golden chain, which once belonged to the Emperor Constantin, and which she destines for her bride-groom, Prince Leopold. Eleazar is to bring it himself on the following day. Samuel overhearingthis is full of trouble. When the assembly is broken up and all have gone, he returns once more to Recha, and finding her alone, confesses that he is a Christian. Love prevails over Recha's filial devotion, and she consents to fly with her lover, but they are surprised by Eleazar. Hearing of Samuel's falseness, he first swears vengeance, but, mollified by his daughter's entreaties, he only bids him marry Recha. Samuel refuses and has to leave, the father cursing him, Recha bewailing her lover's falseness.
In the third act we assist at the Imperial banquet. Eleazar brings the chain, and is accompanied by Recha, who at once recognizes in Eudora's bridegroom, her lover, Samuel. She denounces the traitor, accusing him of living in unlawful wedlock with a Jewess, a crime, which is punishable by death.
Leopold (alias Samuel) is outlawed, the Cardinal Brogni pronounces the anathema upon all three, and they are put into prison.
In the fourth act Eudora visits Recha in prison, and by her prayers not only overcomes Recha's hate, but persuades her to save Leopold by declaring him innocent. Recha, in her noblemindedness, pardons Leopold and Eudora, and resolves to die, alone.
Meanwhile the Cardinal has an interview with Eleazar, who tells him that he knows the Jew, who once saved the Cardinal's little daughter from the flames. Brogni vainly entreats him to revealthe name. He promises to save Recha, should Eleazar be willing to abjure his faith, but the latter remains firm, fully prepared to die.
In the fifth act we hear the clamors of the people who furiously demand the Jew's death.
Ruggiero announces to father and daughter the verdict of death by fire. Leopold is set free through Recha's testimony. When in view of the funeral pile, Eleazar asks Recha, if she would prefer to live in joy and splendor and to accept the Christian faith, but she firmly answers in the negative. Then she is led on to death, and she is just plunged into the glowing furnace, when Eleazar, pointing to her, informs the Cardinal, that the poor victim is his long-lost daughter; then Eleazar follows Recha into the flames, while Brogni falls back senseless.
This opera composed recently by the Superintendent of the Royal Opera in Munich, has made its way to the most renowned stages in Germany, which proves that the composition is not a common one.
Indeed, though it is not composed in the large style to which we are now accustomed from hearing so much of Wagner, the music is interesting, particularly so, because it is entirely original and free from reminiscenses.—There are some littlemasterpieces in it, which deserve to become popular on account of their freshness; wit and humor however are not the composer's "forte" and so the first act, in which the vagabonds present themselves, is by far the least interesting.
The libretto is very well done; it has made free use of Hertz's pretty poem.
The scene is laid in the beginning of the 11th century. The first act lands us near Esslingen in Suabia, the two following near Speier.
Three swindlers concoct a plot to acquire wealth by robbing the Emperor's daughter. To this end, one of them, Marudas, a former clerk, has forged a document, in which the Emperor of Byzantium asks for the hand of Agnes, daughter of Conrad, Emperor of Germany, who just approaching with his wife Gisela, is received with acclamation by the citizens of Esslingen. Soon after, the three vagabonds appear in decent clothes, crying for help; they pretend to have been attacked and robbed by brigands. Boccanera, the most insolent of them wears a bloody bandage round his head. The document is presented to the Emperor, who turns gladly to his wife and tells her of the flattering offer of the Greek Prince. After he has ordered that the ambassador be taken good care of, the Emperor is left alone with his wife. She tenderly asks him why he always seems so sorrowful and gloomy, and after a first evasive answer, he confides to his faithful wife what oppresses him.
Twenty years ago he gave orders to kill alittle infant, the son of his deadliest enemy, Count of Calw, his astronomer Crusius having prophesied, that this child would wed the Emperor's daughter and reign after him. The remembrance of this cruelty now torments him, but Gisela consoles her husband, hoping and praying that God will pardon the repentant sinner. During this intercourse, a young man comes up, entreating the Emperor to read a document, which was given to the youth by his dying uncle and destined for the Emperor. As Conrad reads it, he learns that this youth is the child, he would have had killed years ago and who was carried to the forester-house and brought up there. The Emperor and his wife thank Heaven that they have been spared so dreadful a sin, but Conrad, afraid of the prophesy, determines to send the young man, who is called Junker Heinz, away. He gives him a document, in which he orders Count Gerold, governor of Speier, to give his daughter to the three ambassadors of the Emperor of Byzantium.
In the second act we see Agnes, the Emperor's daughter, working and singing with her damsels. She is well guarded by old Hiltrudis, but the worthy lady is obliged to leave for some days and departs with many exhortations. Hardly has she gone, than all the working-material disappears, and the maidens begin to sing and frolic. The appearance of Junker Heinz frightens them away. Heinz, who has ridden long, thinks to take a little rest, now that he sees the towers of Speier beforehim. He stretches himself on a mossy bank and is soon asleep.—Shortly afterwards the Princess Agnes peeps about with her companion Bertha. She is highly pleased with the appearance of the strange hunter, and seeing him asleep, she gazes at him, until she insensibly falls in love with him. Observing the document which the stranger has in his keeping, she takes and reads it, and disgusted with its contents throws it into the fountain, quickly fetching another parchment which was once given to her by her father, and which contains both permission to wish for something and her father's promise to grant her wish.
When Heinz awakes, and finds the loveliest of the maidens beside him, he falls as deeply in love as the young lady, but their tender interview is soon interrupted by the blowing of hunter's horns.
In the third act Count Gerold, who has come with a suite, to accompany the Princess on a hunt, is presented with the Emperor's document by Heinz, who cannot read and who is wholly ignorant of the change which Agnes has made. Though greatly astonished at the Emperor's command to wed Agnes to the bringer of his letter, Count Gerold is accustomed to obey, and Heinz, who first refuses compliance with the strange command, at once acquiesces, when he sees that his lady-love and the Princess are one and the same person. About to go to church, they are detained by the Emperor, who scornfully charges Heinz with fraud.
But when Count Gerold presents the document,his scorn turns on Agnes and he orders her to a convent. Heinz fervently entreats the Emperor to pardon Agnes, and takes a tender farewell of her. On the point of departing for ever, he sees the three ambassadors, whom he recognizes and loudly denounces as robbers and swindlers. Boccanera is obliged to own that his wound came from Junker Heinz, who caught him stealing sheep. They are led to prison, while the Emperor, grateful to Heinz for his daughter's delivery from robbers, gives her to him and makes Heinz Duke of Suabia, persuaded that it is useless to fight against that which the stars have prophesied.