Kirke, the first part of Bungert's Odyssey was given for the first time in Dresden January 29th 1898. It had the same immense success as Odysseus' Return. Nevertheless it is weaker in many parts, which is perhaps due in part to the less congenial subject of its heroine. All the sweet parts of the tragedy, like the chorus of the Oceanides in the Prologue, the quartetti of the four nymphs and Periander's song of Ithaka are perfect in melody and expression. The strong and violent parts are Bungert's weakness they are often rather more noisy and wild than powerful, and they remind strongly of Wagner. Nevertheless the building up of the whole is grand and dramatic, and the hearer's interest never flags.
From the sea rises in the form of a chain of mountains the figure of Gäa in blue-green moonlight. Her song, sung by bass voices behind the scene, is about her children, the elect, the conquerors of the world, a race of men steeled by suffering, that struggle from darkness to light; who, lost and wandering during life, with vehement longings, yet remain blind, till in death their eyes are opened—but too late!
Then Eos, as conqueror of the world swings in a galop on his lion to Olympus, singing to hislyre in praise of Love, the Conqueror, to whom men and Gods bow. Olympus appears beyond the clouds. There the Gods are assembled in council to decide the fate of Odysseus. Athene and Hermes plead for the sorely-tried hero. Zeus answers that the immortal Gods know and have determined every step of man's life. He gives his sanction to Athene and Hermes to watch over and defend Odysseus. Again clouds hide the scene. When they part we find ourselves in Sicily before the cavern of Polyphemus the Cyclops. Here Odysseus carries out the cunning plan he has made to free his companions from certain death at the hands of the giant. He blinds the Cyclops with a red-hot stake, and escapes with his friends by clinging to the long fleece of the sheep of Polyphemus, who unsuspectingly lets them out in the morning to graze. Polyphemus, finding himself outwitted by Odysseus,—who makes himself known when at a safe distance,—curses the hero and vows vengeance upon him, calling his father Poseidon to pursue Odysseus with his fury at sea. Friendly sea-nymphs, and Eos (the Dawn) hover round the heroes' ship and speed them in safety on their way.
When the curtain rises the kingdom of Kirke, daughter of the sun-god Helios, lies before us, bathed in glowing sunshine. The foreground is a luxurious garden whose groves of palms and fantastic southern trees extend in deepening shade into the background.A colossal sphinx crouches at the gates of Kirke's palace on the left. Springs of water, represented by four attendant nymphs sing to their queen in melodious harmony. But Kirke—a lovely vision in soft flowing robes of yellow hue, with masses of red-gold hair, crowned with sun flowers—cannot be cheered by their sweet songs. She lies on her leopard-skin couch sunk in melancholy; she despairs of ever finding a hero worthy of her love. In wildest grief she bewails her hard lot; many suitors have presented themselves, all have proved low and ignoble in their aims and intentions. She has by her magic given them the outward form that corresponds with their inner nature; the grunting of swine is heard in the distance mingled with the wails and laments of human voices; Kirke listens with rage and contempt; she flings herself back on her couch; she hates the glaring light of day and longs for darkness. The maidens close the gates of the palace. Night comes on and the moon rises.
Odysseus, waiting vainly for the return of his companions, hears from his brother-in-law, Periander who has escaped, that the rest have been changed into swine, after having drunk of the enchantress' cup. Odysseus has set out to seek and rescue them; he is seen wandering in the background among the trees. The friendly God Hermes, invisible, whispers good counsel to Odysseus, and puts into his hand a magic herb which will counteract the enchantment of Kirke's cup. Full of hope andcourage, Odysseus knocks for admittance with his sword on the palace gates; they open, and suddenly in dazzling light, Kirke stands before him in all her dangerous beauty and charm. For a moment the hero is overcome with amazement and admiration. Kirke is radiant with joy; here is the world-famed hero at her feet. But again the grunting of swine and cries of grief are heard. Odysseus springs up; drawing his sword he commands Kirke to free her victims; she vainly tries to resist; she offers him her fatal cup. Odysseus takes it, but unobserved he drops the magic herb of Hermes into it, then drinks the now harmless draught. Kirke, swaying her magic wand looks to see Odysseus immediately transformed as his companions were; but he remains unchanged, and commands her to free his friends. Kirke, vanquished, obeys. One by one the men rush out of the palace in their natural forms and warmly thank and praise their deliverer. But Odysseus has himself fallen into the power of the enchantress; a wild passion has taken possession of him; he forgets his duty, his wife and child. Hastily dismissing his companions he falls into Kirke's arms.
Wondering and distressed Periander returns singing Penelope's song; he approaches and endeavours to rouse Odysseus to a sense of his duty; he reminds him of home and wife and child, but in vain; the infatuated hero, under the influence of this unholy passion, so far forgets himself as in furious rage to attack Periander with his spear.Periander in grief and despair turns to depart, and is mortally wounded by the spear of Odysseus which the latter hurls at him in his flight.
In the distance the song of Gäa is heard.
The scene takes place on the sea-shore of the coast of Kirke's island Aea.
Many of the companions of Odysseus are lying about sick or dying of a plague caused by the cruel rays of the sun and the poisonous air of the island. Helios is thus revenging himself upon the mortals that have offended him.
Periander, dying of the fatal spear wound, is being tended by two or three friends not yet struck down by the pestilence.
Odysseus has heard of their distress; he tears himself from the arms of Kirke and comes to reassure and comfort his friends; but all turn from him with horror, and curse him as the author of their woes.
All but Periander, who with a last, supreme effort implores Odysseus to fly from the enchantress and return with his companions to his faithful wife Penelope and take her her brother's dying greeting. Deeply touched Odysseus promises to do so; the spell that bound him to Kirke is broken; Periander consoled dies in his arms.
With his old energy Odysseus sets to work with the companions still in health to prepare the ship for sailing away at once; when Helios appearsin his dazzling chariot. Stricken with terror all fall to the earth. Helios is about to aim his fatal arrow at Odysseus, when Kirke rushes upon the scene to protect her beloved hero. Helios warns his daughter that like all mortals Odysseus is false and fickle; but she will not believe her father's warnings, and he drives sadly away.
Odysseus still lies on a couch unconscious as when first struck down. Hermes appears to him in a vision and tells him his mother Antikleia died the very day, Odysseus was ensnared by Kirke. In agony he cries out in his delirious sleep; he longs for darkness, only this can cure him. Kirke bids him descend to the underworld; the couch sinks with him and the scene gradually changes to the realm of Hades.
When the darkness clears away Odysseus is seen with two of his companions in the mournful land of Hades; they offer sacrifices and refresh the shades in the underworld with draughts of blood. Antikleia, the mother of Odysseus approaches and touchingly pleads the cause of Penelopeia with him. Teiresias, the Seer prophecies the future fate of Odysseus, who listens with awe. Periander passes by with his gaping wound. Agamemnon, Ajax and other great heroes of Troy approach; all mourn and bewail their sad doom to wander as shades in the changeless gloom of the underworld; they eagerly struggle to seize and quaff the cup offered to them by the attendants at the altar. Achilles rushes forward and accuses Odysseus ofcowardice; he has fatally wounded his friend in the back; he is the slave of Kirke! Odysseus draws his sword, the living and the dead heroes fight; the other shadows press forward with wild yells upon Odysseus, who, overpowered, falls senseless to the ground. With vivid lightning and pealing thunder the scene is quickly shrouded in darkness and the curtain falls.
The scene changes again to Kirke's enchanted garden. On the steps of the palace Odysseus lies sleeping with his head resting on Kirke's knee. He murmurs names in his dreams. Kirke listens, hoping to hear her own name, but only hears that of Penelopeia. Enraged, the enchantress roughly wakens him. The hero is himself again. He exclaims: "Away to my native land! to my wife! to my hearth and home!" A wild struggle begins between the two. Kirke strives with all her arts and blandishments to enchain him, to keep him. Odysseus resists; he has gained the victory over himself, he is no longer in the power of the syren; his will is inflexible. All in vain does she strive to charm him by the delights of her garden; the songs and dances of her maidens; her sweetest caresses. He turns from her with loathing, he curses her. At last Kirke's love turns to fierce hatred; she changes her garden into a desert; she calls upon Helios to come and slay her recreant lover. The sun god appears indeed, but says Zeus has forbidden him to injure Odysseus. In madfrenzy Kirke tears his bow and arrow from Helios; she will kill her false lover herself; but her heart misgives her, the arrow sinks from her hand. At the same moment, Hermes, as messenger of the Gods appears and cries: "Set the hero of Ilium free!" Kirke, subdued, requires Odysseus to unsay the curse he had spoken against her. "Be it so!" he solemnly says; and he is free.
He is now joined by his remaining companions, they have found their arms; they arm Odysseus; the ship is ready to sail; they all hasten away. Helios remains to console Kirke; he foretells that she shall have a son; a heroic child; she sinks smiling on a flower covered couch; Helios lulls her to sleep. In the distance is seen the ship with the heroes sailing joyously away.
The song of Gäa is heard once more.
The curtain falls.
Verdi wrote this opera in 1844 when in his thirtieth year. One cannot help being struck by the improvement shown in it, as compared with Verdi's first operas Nabukadnezar and the Lombardi, and through Ernani the composer at once became one of the most popular musicians in Italy.
The opera did not however at first find favourin France and Germany, and Verdi's fame was only established in these countries by his later operas, Rigoletto and Il Trovatore. But of late Ernani has been revived and duly appreciated wherever his fine melodies are heard, and its passionnate verve is felt, which is mostly due to its highly dramatic subject.
Here is a brief outline of the libretto:—
Ernani, an Italian rebel of obscure parentage is the accepted lover of Donna Elvira, the high-born niece of Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, Grandee of Spain.
Donna Elvira is also coveted by Don Carlos, King of Spain, and by her old uncle Silva, who is about to wed her, much against her will.
Ernani comes to Silva's castle in the garb of a pilgrim, and finds the King in Donna Elvira's room, trying to lure her away. Here they are surprised by de Silva, who, failing to recognize his sovereign challenges both men to mortal combat.—When he recognizes the King in one of his foes, he is in despair and humbly craves his pardon, which is granted to him.—At the same time Don Carlos sends Ernani away on a distant errand, hoping to rid himself of him once for all; but Donna Elvira vows to kill herself rather than belong either to the King or to her uncle, and promises unwavering constancy to her lover Ernani.
Nevertheless the second Act shows Elvira on the eve of her wedding with her uncle de Silva.
Ernani, once more proclaimed an outlaw seeksrefuge in de Silva's castle, again disguised as a pilgrim. But when Ernani hears of Donna Elvira's approaching marriage with de Silva, he reveals his identity and offers his head to the old man, telling him that his life is forfeited and that a reward is offered for his capture. De Silva is too generous to betray his rival; he orders the gates of the castle to be barred at once.—While this is being done, Ernani violently reproaches Elvira for having played him false. She answers, that she has been led to believe him dead, and dissolved in tears they embrace tenderly. Thus they are surprised by de Silva who, though for the time being bound by the laws of hospitality swears to destroy Ernani, wherever he may find him.
For the moment however he conceals his foe so well, that Don Carlos' followers cannot find him. Though the King threatens to take the old man's life, the nobleman remains true to his word and even makes the greatest sacrifice by delivering Elvira as a hostage into the King's hands.
Left alone he opens Ernani's hiding-place and challenges him to fight, but when the latter proves to him, that Don Carlos is his rival and wants to seduce Elvira, de Silva's wrath turns against the King.
He accepts Ernani's offer to help him in frustrating the King's designs, but at the same time he reminds him that his life is forfeited.—Ernani declares himself satisfied and gives de Silva a bugle, the sound of which is to proclaim, that the hour of reckoning between the two foes has come.
The third Act takes place at Aix-la-Chapelle.
The King has heard of the conspiracy against his life. While the conspirators assemble in the imperial vaults, he is concealed behind the monument of Charlemagne and frustrates their designs by advancing from his hiding-place and proclaiming himself Emperor.—
At the same moment the people rush in and do homage to Charles the Fifth.—Ernani surrenders to his foes, but Elvira implores the Emperor's pardon, which is granted, and Charles crowns his gracious act by uniting the lovers and creating Ernani Duke of Segorbia.
Both Elvira and Ernani go to Seville to celebrate their nuptials. But in the midst of their bliss Ernani hears the sound of his bugle and de Silva appears and claims his rival's life. In vain the lovers implore his mercy, de Silva is inexorable and relentlessly gives Ernani the choice between a poisoned draught and a dagger. Seizing the latter Ernani stabs himself, while Donna Elvira sinks senseless beside his corpse, leaving the aged de Silva to enjoy his revenge alone.
The subject of this opera is Goethe's famous novel of the same name.
Though the text is not to be compared withthat of the novel, the music to which Massenet has set it is so marvellously adapted to its lyric and idyllic qualities, that one is inclined to forget its deficiencies while listening to the melodious strains.
The scene is laid in Wetzlar in the year 1772.
The first Act takes place in the house of Lotte's father, who is a bailiff in his native city. He has assembled his younger children to teach them a new Christmas song. While they are practising two friends of the bailiff enter and invite him to take supper with them at the neighbouring inn, he declines however and sits down in his arm chair, while the smaller children climbing on to his knees begin their interrupted song once more. During this pretty scene Werther approaches. He sees Lotte coming out of the house, becomingly attired for a country-ball. She is duly admired by her father and the children. Then she acquits herself most charmingly of her household duties by distributing bread to the children. Werther meanwhile is cordially welcomed by her father.—Other visitors come in and Lotte goes to attend the ball, escorted by Werther.
Sophia the second daughter persuades her father to join his friends at the inn and promises to look after the children.—
He is hardly gone, when Albert, Lotte's affianced husband, who has been on a journey returns.
On hearing that Lotte is not at home, he leaves the house again.—When night comes onLotte returns with Werther. The latter is deeply in love with her, and she listens to his sweet words like one in a dream, but when her father informs her that Albert has returned she comes to her senses. In answer to Werther's questions she tells him, that she promised her dying mother to wed Albert, which confession leaves Werther a prey to gloom and despair.
The second Act takes place in the autumn of the same year. Lotte is married to Albert. She has conquered her sentimental fancy for Werther and is sitting quietly with her husband, enjoying a peaceful Sabbath day, and the celebration of the village clergyman's golden wedding. Werther is a jealous witness of her happiness; but when Albert welcomes him as a friend, he cannot but accept his overtures.—
Sophia enters with a large bouquet for the clergyman, she is in love with Werther, but the unhappy young man has eyes for her sister only, who receives him coldly and bids him leave the village.
On seeing Werther so cast-down, Lotte repents of her harshness and invites him to celebrate Christmas with her and her husband. But Werther refuses to be consoled and hurries away notwithstanding Sophia's entreaties, vowing never to return.
The third Act takes place in Lotte's drawing-room. She is sitting alone in deep thought. Werther's frequent and passionnate letters havereawakened her dormant love for him and her sister, coming in laden with Christmas parcels, finds her in tears. Unable to console Lotte, Sophia takes her leave after inviting her to spend Christmas Eve at her old home.—
Hardly has she gone when Werther appears. Unable to keep away from Lotte any longer he reminds her of her invitation for Christmas, and seeing his letters spread out on the table he guesses that Lotte returns his love.—An impassioned love-scene follows.—Half unconscious Lotte sinks into his arms, but the first kiss of her lover brings her to herself. Tearing herself from his embrace she flees into her room and bolts the door. After vain remonstrations Werther rushes out half-crazed.
Albert returning home finds no one in and calls Lotte. She appears pale and distressed, and her husband perceives that something is wrong. Before she can reply to his questions a servant brings in a note from Werther, asking Albert for his pistol. The husband forces his unhappy wife to hand the weapon to the servant herself. As soon as Albert has gone Lotte seizes her hat and cloak and hastens out to prevent the impending calamity. Alas! she comes too late.—The last scene shows Werther's room, which is dimly lighted by the moon. The Christmas-bells are tolling when Lotte enters, calling her lover by name.—She discovers him lying on the floor mortally wounded.—Now that he is lost to her for ever she pours out all her love and for a brief space calls him backto life and sweetens his last moments by a first kiss. He expires in her arms while from the opposite house the children's voices are heard singing their Christmas song.
By this opera the young composer, whose previous dramatic efforts were to a certain extent unsuccessful, has proved that his forte lies in comic opera.
The Departure was given in Dresden in October 1900, and was a complete success.
The whole opera teems with bright and merry melodies, wrought-in with consumate art, and the text, though somewhat frivolous is artistically adapted to the music.
The principal motive is the love-motive, its strains which run through the whole opera are not only charming but original. The orchestration is in the style at present in vogue, which subordinates the voices more or less to the music.
The following is a short synopsis of the libretto.
The husband Gilfen rather neglects his pretty wife Louise, while his friend Trott pays court to her.
In the first scene we find Gilfen undecided, whether to set out on a journey, or not.
Trott desiring his absence offers to do everything in his power to hasten his friend's departure, of course all for friendship's sake. Gilfen puts him to the test by pretending to need all sorts of things. He begs Trott to fetch a parcel lying at the custom-house, and weighing forty pounds; a letter from the post-office, a rose-tree for Louise, and a travelling-map, which was only to be had at a stationer's shop at a considerable distance.
Before leaving the house Trott finds an opportunity to tell Louise that he does all this for her sake only. Gilfen, finding him with his wife, sends him on his errands and then leaves Louise to herself. She is filled with sadness by her husband's indifference and sings a pretty song about a youth, who makes love to a maiden, and a man, who neglects his wife. Gilfen returns, attracted by the song, and guessing that his wife still loves him as before he decides to stay at home.
Louise leaves him and Trott returns out of breath and laden with parcels. The husband thanks him, but explains that there is still a letter to be written, for which an important document is needed, and is to be found in a chest on the next floor. Trott is hastening away, when Gilfen implies, that he must have the chest itself. Seeing the carriage, waiting outside Trott rushes away, determined to do his utmost for friendship's sake. Then Gilfen appears before his wife in travelling costume.—In the interview, which ensues, Louise shows him clearly, that her heart is still his, but that she longsfor more tenderness and love. They are interrupted by Trott's entrance, dragging in the heavy chest. Gilfen declares that he has now everything he wants, and takes an affectionate farewell of his wife and his friend.
Left alone, the latter loses no time in making love to Louise, but all he gains is a friendly handshake. Mistaking her coolness for timidity, he becomes bolder. At this moment Gilfen re-enters, telling them, that his carriage has broken down. Trott hastens out, to see to its repair and leaves husband and wife alone.
Now Gilfen owns that the carriage is intact and that he only come back, because he felt, that he had left the best thing behind him. "What is it, that would keep you at home?" asks Louise. "A wife, who would plead with a smile: do not go," he answers.—
A pretty duet follows, in which they indulge in sweet reminiscences of the past, and at last discover, that they still love each other as fondly as ever. Embracing her husband Louise whispers smilingly: "Do not go!"
When Trott returns Gilfen astonishes him by telling him that he has decided to stay at home. Trott perceives at last that it is his turn to go. While he still lingers, he receives a note from Louise, showing him unmistakeably, that he is not wanted in their house. He retires crestfallen, while Louise and Gilfen gaily wave their hands to the departing friend.
The first performance of this opera in Dresden on November 13th 1900 proved a great success.
This opera which was written almost thirty years ago did not meet with a favourable reception either in France or in any other country. In the year 1877 it was however given in Weimar through Liszt's influence, but fell flat.
At last it was performed in Rouen in 1890, and in November 1892 the Grand Opera in Paris followed suit. Since that time it has been one of the standard operas in Paris.
Its performance in Dresden has shown, that it well deserves its place.—
The vivid contrast between the simple yet stirring choruses of the Israelites and the pompous and warlike ones of the Philistines, the exquisite love-song of Samson and Delila, and last but not least the charming ballet-music, with its truly Eastern character entitle the opera to rank amongst the very best of the past century.—
The libretto is a biblical one; the scene is laid in Gaza, in Palestine, 1150 years before Christ.
In the first Act the Israelites, groaning under the yoke of the Philistines, pray to God for deliverance. They are derided and insulted by AbiMelech, satrap of Gaza but Samson, unable longer to endure the blasphemy hurled by the Heathen against the God of Israel, rises up in mighty wrath, and so inspires his brethren that they suddenly take up arms, and precipitating themselves on their unsuspecting oppressors, first slay Abi Melech and then rout the whole army of the Philistines.
The high-priest of the heathen god Dagon finding his friend slain, vows to be avenged upon the Israelites, but he is deserted by all his companions who flee before Samson's wrath.
In the next scene the Israelites return victorious and are greeted with triumphant songs and offerings of flowers. Even the Philistine Delila, the rose of Sharon receives them with her maidens, and pays homage to the hero Samson.
Delila had enthralled him once before, and again her beauty causes him very nearly to forget his people and his duty; but an aged Israelite implores him not to listen any more to the arts and wiles of the enchantress.
In the second Act Delila has an interview with the high-priest, whom she promises to avenge her people by winning Samson's love once more.
She proudly refuses the reward which the high-priest offers her, for it is her bitter hatred against the hero, who once loved and then forsook her, which prompts her to ruin him and to force from him by every means in her power the secret of his strength.
When the high-priest has left her, Samsoncomes down the steep mountain path, drawn to Delila's house against his will. She receives him with the greatest tenderness, and once more her beauty and her tears assert their power over him, so that he sinks at her feet and falters out his love for her. But in vain she tries to lure his secret from him. At last she leaves with words of contempt and scorn and enters the house. This proves his undoing. Goaded beyond earthly power he rushes after her and seals his fate. After a while the Philistines surround the house and Delila herself delivers her unfortunate lover, whom she has deprived of his strength by cutting off his locks, into the hands of his foes.—
In the third Act we find Samson in prison. Bereft of his eye-sight he has to turn the heavy mill. From the outside the wailings and reproaches of his Israelite brethren are heard, who have again been subjugated by their foes. Bitterly repentant Samson implores God to take his life as the price of his people's deliverance.
In the last scene he is led away to Dagon's temple there to be present at the festival of the Philistines, celebrated with great pomp in honour of their victory.
On the conclusion, after an exquisite ballet, Delila presents a golden cup to the blind hero, and insults and jeers at him for having been fool enough to believe in her love for him, the enemy of her country. Samson maintains silence, but when they order him to sacrificeat Dagon's shrine, he whispers to the child, who is guiding him, to lead him to the pillars of the temple.
This being done he loudly invokes the God of Israel, and seizing the pillars tears them down with mighty crash, burying the Philistines under the ruins of the temple.
The first representation of Nausikaa took place in Dresden on March 20th 1901.—The reception was much warmer than that given to Kirke. Naturally the charming episode of the Phaeakean Princess is far better adapted to the composer's lyric genuis.
Though the whole music is polyphoneous the easy flow of its melodies is hardly ever interrupted except in the highly dramatic moments.
There are real pearls of lyric melody in this tragedy, which, totally different from Kirke's selfish passion glorifies Nausikaa's pure love for Odysseus, her death of sacrifice and the hero's resignation;—it might be called a hymn of renunciation.
The sirens' songs in the Prologue are most enticing, the choruses of Nausikaa's companions treading their dances are lovely; also Odysseus' "home motive" which expresses his longing forhearth and home, is very expressive, but Nausikaa's "love motives" surpass all the other parts in sweetness.
The contents of the libretto are as follows:
Across the calm blue sea in the distance a ship passes. In it can be seen the figures of Odysseus and his companions. They can be heard lamenting their long absence from home and praying the gods to send them favourable winds and a speedy return to their native land.
In the foreground is the rocky coast of an island. Partly hidden by the high cliffs, sirens may presently be seen looking out for their prey. Brilliant, many coloured lights cast a lurid glare over their hideous den that is full of dead men's bones, out of which roses, poppies and other flowers have sprung into bloom. The sirens try to attract Odysseus and his companions by singing sweetly, and playing enticing music on weird instruments made out of the bones of their victims.
Odysseus, however, is on his guard. He causes his men to stop their ears with wax, and to bind him fast to the mast of his ship. The attempt to lure them is unsuccessful. Though Persephoneia herself rises from the depths to aid the sirens, Odysseus' ship sails safely past and the sirens and their rocks sink into the sea.
But the hostile god Poseidon pursues Odysseus in rage. Seated in his cart drawn by sea-horseshe strikes the ship with his trident, and it goes down in the now stormy sea.
Zeus and the friendly gods now interpose. Poseidon is forced to withdraw, and, though his companions perish and the ship is wrecked, the nymph Leukothea brings a magic veil which ensures the hero's safety and he swims to the shore.
Odysseus has landed in the country of the Pheacians. In the first part of this act he is lying asleep hidden among the shrubs and trees in the background.
Nausikaa, the King's daughter has come at the bidding of Athene with her companions to wash the linen and garments of her family. While the clothes are drying in the sun the maidens dance and play at ball. Their voices and laughter awake Odysseus who rises and shows himself through the foliage. Seeing a nearly naked man the girls run away screaming; only Nausikaa stands still and asks the stranger fearlessly who he is. Odysseus tells her his piteous story and his cruel fate. Nausikaa calls to her maidens to bring raiment for the hero whose name however she has not yet heard. A sudden and tender love fills her heart for the outcast wanderer. Odysseus too feels drawn towards the noble maiden, for a moment he forgets his wife and child at home. Nausikaa invites him to follow her to her father's court and promises him a kindly reception there.
As the procession is starting, the sound of horns is heard and King Alkinous and his followers come up. Among them are his son Leodamus, and Prince Euryalos, a would-be suitor of Nausikaa. The King welcomes the stranger kindly and invites him to come and stay in his palace. Euryalos, however, regards Odysseus with suspicion and hostility; he sees in him at once a favoured rival. With songs of welcome Odysseus is greeted by the men and maidens and by the King's side he moves towards the palace.
This scene takes place in front of the palace of King Alkinous. The gardens and terraces extend downwards to the shore of the sea that forms the background. It is evening. Youths and maidens are busy decking pillars and statues with garlands of flowers and making wreaths to crown the victors in the next day's games.
Odysseus comes out of the palace; he cannot sleep; he thinks of his home, his father, his wife and child. He sees a temple to Athene on the right and resolves to spend the night there praying to the gods to restore him to his home. He passes across the stage and goes into the temple.
Nausikaa now comes out of the palace with some of her companions. She presently dismisses them and remains alone in the moonlight. She prays to Aphrodite to deliver her from theimportunate wooing of Euryalos and to grant her the love of the stranger.
The vision of Aphrodite appears; with a threatening gesture she seems to refuse Nausikaa's request. While Nausikaa sinks fainting on the steps of the terrace the voice of Euryalos is heard in the background singing a love song, and soon after he comes forward and stormily declares his love to Nausikaa who rushes away from him with a cry into the temple of Athene. As the bold youth is about to follow Odysseus appears at the door of the temple and forces Euryalos to retire. The baffled suitor rushes upon Odysseus with his drawn sword in blind rage; but Odysseus instantly disarms him, breaks the sword, and Euryalos vowing vengeance goes into the palace.
Though deeply moved by Nausikaa's passionate gratitude and affection for her protector, Odysseus remains faithful to the memory of his wife and child and prays the gods to help him to be strong.
In a great court in front of the gymnasium where games and wrestling matches are going on a procession of priests and young boys enter singing; they offer prayers and burn incense before the altars of the gods, particularly before that of Poseidon the special patron of the Phaeakens. Girls and matrons follow in a like procession and deck the statue and altar of Athene with flowers. The shouts of the people in the gymnasium greeting the victors in the games are heard at intervals.
Among the maidens is Nausikaa. Her brother Leodamus enters soon afterwards in great excitement and begs his sister to come and witness the feats of Euryalos who is victor in all the games. But she coldly asks if the stranger has entered into competition with him, and hearing he has not done so she refuses to go into the gymnasium.
Queen Arete enters and Nausikaa throws herself into her mother's arms. Arete guesses the truth that her daughter loves the stranger; she tenderly warns Nausikaa that life is full of disappointments—of sacrifices.
The King now enters from the gymnasium; beside him walks Odysseus who had at last been persuaded to wrestle with Euryalos and had entirely vanquished him. The people hail Odysseus as victor. Nausikaa hastens to him and crowns him with the victor's wreath; she shows her preference for him in such a marked manner that Euryalos is beside himself with rage and draws his sword upon Odysseus who in selfdefence wounds Euryalos severely.
Odysseus then turns to the King and implores him to give him a ship that he may go back to his own country and family. These words fall like a knell upon the heart of Nausikaa; she is led out fainting by her mother.
The aged poet Homer now enters. All hail him with joy; the King bids him sing them a song about Troy. The blind poet sings the tragic story—the people join in the chorus. Odysseus listens;at last he can keep quiet no longer. Springing up he goes on with the story giving his own share in it with such vividness that Nausikaa, who has stolen back again, rushes forward and cries: "Thou art Odysseus himself!" He acknowledges with tears that he is that unhappy man. The people greet him with joy and wonder; the King embraces him warmly. Odysseus relates his sorrows, his wanderings; he speaks of his wife and child; he implores the King to give him a ship that he may return home. The King readily promises his help, he gives orders that a ship shall immediately be prepared and filled with costly gifts.
But the priests see in Odysseus the enemy of their god Poseidon; they press the King to slay Odysseus—but the King sternly refuses to do so and orders the High Priest to be bound till Odysseus is safely gone.
Nausikaa's hopes are dashed to the ground; heartbroken she murmurs to herself her mother's words: "Each human life is a sacrifice, a death for the dearest in the world." She slowly goes away and is seen later standing on a high wall of Athene's temple overlooking the sea.
In the meantime all is ready, the King, Queen and Laodamus accompany Odysseus to the ship and take leave of him; he goes on board and the ship moves off. At this moment the sky is overcast and Poseidon appears in his car and threatens Odysseus with his trident.
Nausikaa calls to Poseidon to take her for avictim and with a cry springs into the sea. The nymphs bear her dead body to Poseidon. Zeus suddenly appears and drives Poseidon away, while Athene hovers over Odysseus with shield and lance. He sails away in safety.
Dresden claims the honour of having first represented the celebrated Polish pianist's opera.
The performance took place on May 29th 1901, and a closely packed house showed its approbation in the most enthusiastic manner.
Those who will look out for reminiscences in every new piece of music find of course that Paderewski is an imitator of Wagner, but though Manru would probably not have been written without the composer's intimate knowledge of the Ring of Nibelungen, the melodies and rythm are entirely his own. The music is true gypsy music with very much movement and highly phantastic colouring, reminding us sometimes of Liszt and Bizet.
The best parts of the opera are the choruses of the village maidens in the first act, the charming cradle song, the violin solo and the love-duet in the second and the splendid gipsy music in the last act.
Nossig's libretto is very inferior to the music; its rhymes are often absolutely trivial. The scene is laid in the Hungarian Tatra mountain district.