In the second act John rests from his labour in his garden, while Dot, who finds her husband, who is considerably older than herself, somewhat too self-confident and phlegmatic, tries to make him appreciate her more by arousing his jealousy. While they thus talk and jest May enters, followed by her old suitor, who has already chosen the wedding-ring for her. Eduard listens to his wooing with ill concealed anxiety, and Tackleton, not pleased to find a stranger in his friend's house, gruffly asks his name. The strange sailor tells him, that he left his father and his sweetheart to seek his fortune elsewhere, and that he has come back rich and independent, only to find his father dead and his sweetheart lost to him. His voice moves May strangely, but Tackleton wants to see his riches. Eduard shows them some fine jewels, which so delight Dot, that she begins to adorn herself with them and to dance about the room. Eduard presents her with a beautiful cross, and seizes the opportunity to reveal to her his identity, entreating her not to betray him. Then he turns to May, begging her to chose one of the trinkets, but Tackleton interferes, saying that his promised bride does not need any jewels from strange people. Dot is greatly embarrassed, and Tackleton, mistaking her agitation, believes, that she has fallen in love with the sailor, and insinuates as much to her husband, whom he invites to have a glass of beer with him.
This unusual generosity on the part of the avaricious old man excites the clever little wife'ssuspicion. May having withdrawn, she greets the friend of her youth with great ostentation (knowing herself secretly watched by John and Tackleton), and promises to help him to regain his sweetheart. John and his friend, who suddenly return, see them together, and poor old John gets wildly jealous. But when he is alone, he falls asleep and the faithful cricket prophetically shows him his wife fast asleep in a dream, while a little boy in miniature postilion's dress plays merrily in the background.
In the third act Dot adorns May with the bridal wreath, but the girl is in a very sad mood. All at once she hears the sailor sing; Dot steals away, and May vividly reminded of her old love by the song, decides to refuse old Tackleton at the last moment, and to remain true to Eduard until the end of her life. The sailor, hearing her resolve, rushes in tearing off his false grey beard, and catches May, who at last recognizes him, in his arms. Meanwhile Tackleton arrives gorgeously attired; he brings a necklace of false pearls and invites May to drive with him to the wedding ceremony in the church at once. A whole chorus of people interrupt this scene however; they greet him, saying they are his wedding guests, exciting the miser's wrath. At last May, who had retired to put on her bridal attire, re-appears, but instead of taking Tackleton's arm she walks up to Eduard, who courteously thanking the old lover for the carriage standing at the door, suddenly disappears with May. Thechorus detains the furious old Tackleton until the lovers are well out of the way.
Meanwhile Dot has explained her behaviour to John, and whispering her sweet secret into his ear, makes him the happiest man on earth.—The cricket, the good fairy of the house, chirps sweetly and the last scene shows once more a picture of faithfulness and love.
The author has learnt a great deal since the days, in which he composed Urvasi. His music has become more original and more independant of great models. The new opera, while not so poetical is eminently touching and true; the text, founded on fact, runs smoothly and is cleverly done, the verses being well adapted to the music. Like Verga's Cavalleria the subject is such as to be impressive even without music.
It is necessary to explain the title of this opera, which signifies a man who goes about reciting biblical verse after the fashion of street singers. This means of earning a livelihood is unknown in Germany, but forms a speciality in Austria.
The music of the first act puts one in mind of the Meistersingers; as a whole it is very captivating, fresh and drastic, especially during the nine-pin scene. The orchestra predominates, but there are truly poetic airs, which will linger as much inthe heart as in the ear of the hearer. Such is: "O sweet days of my youth," and in the last act: "Blessed are they who are persecuted," from Christ's Sermon on the Mount. Another charming bit of music is the children's waltz, in which the composer has paraphrased one of Lanner's well-known waltz-motives.
The first scene is laid in the village of St. Othmar in Austria, or rather in the court of the convent of the Benedictines of that place. Mathias, a young clerk of the convent has an interview with Martha, the niece and ward of Frederic Engel, the rich warden of the convent. John, Mathias' elder brother and the village-schoolmaster sees them together. Being in love with the girl himself he warns her uncle of his brother's courtship and excites his wrath against the lovers, so that Engel, coming across the young people, gruffly tells Mathias, that he has already chosen a rich bridegroom for his ward. In vain, the lovers beseech the old man's pity, for his anger only waxes stronger, and he goes so far, as to discharge Mathias, warning him to leave the place altogether. Martha left alone bemourns her guardian's hardness, and John, thinking to profit by the occasion approaches her and asks for her hand. But he is so decidedly rejected by Martha, that he swears to have his revenge.
Meanwhile the evening approaches, and the country-folk come to the inn next to the convent, to play their game of ninepins.—During this very animated scene Mathias finds Magdalen, his sweetheart's friend, whom he entreats to take a messageto Martha, asking her to meet him at eleven o'clock in the bower near the skittleground for a last farewell. John hears this and when night sets in and the gates of the convent are closed, he remains outside alone, hiding behind the barn-floor. When the clock strikes eleven Martha and Mathias approach the bower. They swear to remain true to each other, come what may. Their tender words excite John's jealousy to the utmost, and while the lovers are engrossed with their sorrow and make plans for the future, he sets fire to the barn-floor. Soon the flames leap up to the sky, but the lovers are oblivious of everything, till they hear the watchman's cry of fire. Mathias persuades Martha to hide herself; so he is found alone on the place and seized by the crowd and brought before the warden. Engel at once jumps to the conclusion, that he has been the incendiary, to revenge himself for Engel's hard-heartedness, and despite his protestations of innocence Mathias is put in chains and carried away, while Martha, who comes out from her hiding-place falls back in a swoon after proclaiming his innocence.
The second act takes place thirty years later in Vienna. Magdalen sits under a lime-tree in the court of an old house and muses sadly over days gone by. After long, lonely years she has found the school-master John sick unto death, and now finds comfort in nursing him. Nothing has ever been heard of Mathias again, and she wonders sadly what has become of him. Children throng into the court, they dance around the lime-tree, while anold organ-grinder plays pretty waltz-tunes to their steps.—While they are dancing, an Evangelimann comes into the court. He reads and sings to the children the verses from Christ's Sermon on the Mount, and teaches them to repeat the melody. When they are able to sing it faultlessly, he faintly asks for a drink of water, which Magdalen brings him. She asks him, whence he comes, and when he tells her, that his father's house stood in St. Othmar, she recognizes in him her old friend Mathias. Then he relates his sad story, how he lay imprisoned for twenty years, the real incendiary having never been discovered. When he was set free, he returned home, only to find that his bride had drowned herself. All his efforts to earn a livelihood were fruitless; nobody would employ the convict, until he was at last obliged to become an Evangelimann, and wandered from place to place, preaching the gospel to the poor, and getting such small bounties they could afford to give.—Exhausted by hunger and overcome by sad remembrances Mathias sinks down on the bench half fainting, but is revived by bread and broth brought to him by Magdalen, who earnestly entreats him to return soon, and to bring comfort to the sick man she is nursing.
The last scene takes place a day later in John's sick-room. He is lying on a couch, a prey to bitter thoughts and pangs of conscience, when his brother's voice reaches his ear from below, and dimly awakens sweet memories in him. He bids Magdalen to fetch the singer, and when the latter enters, he feels sodrawn to him without recognizing his brother, that he begs leave, to unburden his soul to him.
Mathias soon recognizing his brother is about to fold him in his arms, but John despairingly shrinks from him, while confessing his guilt in broken words and beseeching his forgiveness. The unfortunate Mathias, whose life has been so utterly ruined by his brother, battles fiercely with his natural feelings. But when he sees the wretched John on his knees before him, so broken down and exhausted he finally forgives him. With a last faint gasp of thanks John falls back and dies, while Magdalen prays "And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us." Outside the children's voices are heard once more: "Blessed are they, that are persecuted for righteousness' sake; for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."
A musical drama of the highest interest, one which may be considered equal to Wagner's great Nibelung series, has been created at last.
"Odysseus' Return" is the third of four parts of a cyclus, called the Odyssey, and its success since its first representation in Dresden on December 12th 1896 has been so absolute, that one may hope to hear the other parts before long. It must be admitted here, that this is due partly toits splendid rendering under Schuch's genial conductorship, and to the interpreters of the two principal roles in the drama. Frau Wittich as Penelope is the very incarnation of womanliness and queenliness, and no singer could be a truer and nobler Odysseus than Karl Scheidemantel. Whosoever had the advantage of hearing these two great singers in these roles, must for ever identify them with the grand characters of ancient Greece.
Bungert is happy in having found a subject so noble and so sympathetic, and his music does full justice to these sentiments.
The orchestration is simple in character, sometimes of classic naïveté, and though the composer keeps to measures without caesura (destitute of rythm) which are peculiar to Wagner, he differs from him inasmuch as the orchestra is always merely the accompaniment of the voice and never drowns it.
All the characters are most life-like, and they thrill with those never changing emotions, which are the same to-day as they were a thousand years ago.
The plot treats of Homer's Odyssey with a poetic licence.
In the Prelude Pallas Athene appears, conveying the impression of a statue and forthwith producing the right frame of mind in the hearer, by the original song of thirty measures all in c.—After her disappearance Penelope's suitors assemble and form a plot to destroy Telemachus, the queen's son, of whom they are afraid. Hyperion, Telemachus' intimate friend tries to frustrate their plans, but invain. When left alone he reproaches himself bitterly for his treachery to his friend and decides to warn him. Hyperion too is in love with the queen, but he is at the same time deeply attached to her noble son, who at this juncture is seen arriving in a vessel, in which he is setting out in quest of his father Odysseus.—Hyperion entreats Telemachus to let him accompany him on this dangerous voyage, but the latter begs him to remain with his lonely mother and embarks after taking a tender leave of Hyperion.
Then the scenery changes. The first act takes place in a bay of the isle of Ithaca, in which Odysseus has landed after many years of fruitless wandering. He has fallen asleep near a grotto, which is the abode of nymphs; beside him lie the gifts of the Phaeaces. On the heights the hut of old Eumaeus, Odysseus' steward is seen. He sits on a bench beside the aged Laërtes, Odysseus' father, awaiting his master. Shepherds, dancing and frolicking past him laugh and mock at the faithful servant's belief in Odysseus' return.
By and by Odysseus half awakes from the deep slumber, into which the gods have thrown him; the whole country seems to be enveloped in mist and he does not recognize it, although the songs of the peasants fill him with thoughts of his youth and his home. Dreamily he sinks back on his couch, while Pallas appears attired in beggar's garb, which she throws off and is seen clad fantastically in the costume of a royal shepherdess. Shewaves her hand, and the mist clears away when the whole country is seen bathed in moonlight and Odysseus opening his eyes recognizes mount Neriton and his own beloved island. Blinded with tears he kisses the sacred soil, and returns thanks to the gods, who have at last led him back to his home.
Suddenly he hears Eumaeus' voice, and finding the beggar's cloak, which the goddess has left him, he wraps himself in it, and hides his weapons and the treasures of the Phaeaces in the grotto. Eumaeus loudly bewails Penelope's fate, and curses the wicked suitors. At the same time the sound of oars is heard and Telemachus' vessel passes by, pursued by the suitors. Eumaeus, too weak to render aid, continues to wail, when suddenly Odysseus rises up before him saying; "The gods will conquer." The old man, not recognizing his king continues to accuse the Fates, and tells the stranger, how badly things have fared since the king's absence.—"And Penelope, my friend?" asks Odysseus. "Penelope is faithful," answers the servant. Then "Be it known to you friend, that Oydsseus will return" quoth the stranger. Struck by a dim foreboding of the truth Eumaeus promises to lead the stranger into the queen's palace this very night.
While they converse, Telemachus calls upon Eumaeus for help, and when the vessels come into sight the prince is seen fighting against his pursuers. He slays one of them, but their number far exceeds that of his own followers. Odysseus, who hasvainly looked for the boat which the suitors have stolen, throws his club at them, and springs into his son's vessel just in time to rescue the lad, whose sword has been broken, but who continues to fight, nothing daunted. Odysseus kills some of his foes and pushes their vessel far off, after which they escape, while the father carries his fainting son on shore. At this moment Eumaeus recognizes his mighty guest. Telemachus still half unconscious, calls for another sword. When he at last opens his eyes he stares in wonder at the mysterious stranger whom he deems a god in beggar's garb. Eumaeus informs him, that the stranger brings news of their long lost king, which fills the son's heart with joy. At this point the low songs of the nymphs are heard, welcoming the hero to Ithaca while Laërtes, slowly descending from the heights, prophesies Odysseus' return as one in a dream. Odysseus can hardly restrain his tears at seeing his father looking so old and so woebegone. He meets him humbly, and all their voices mingle in a chorus of triumph and welcome, while Odysseus stepping forward, vows that he will annihilate the suitors.
The second act opens in Penelope's room.
She sits at her loom, looking out over the far stretching sea and bewailing her lot. Behind the scene the evoës and drunken cries of the suitors are heard and with bitter tears she prays to the gods to help her, and to protect her son, whom she knows to be on the treacherous waves.—SuddenlyHyperion rushes in and prostrating himself at her feet offers her a bunch of orange blossoms, and pays homage to her in sentimental poetic language. Penelope quietly congratulates him on having escaped from the nets of his paramour Despoina and the lover, taking this as a favourable sign, breaks out into passionate words, but is at once checked by the queen. He then reveals to her the shameful plot of the suitors, and Penelope becomes speechless with horror. Before she recovers her selfpossession the suitors rush into the apartment, insolently reminding her of her promise to choose one of them, as soon as the garment, which she has been weaving for so many years for Laërtes shall be completed, and wildly upbraiding her with undoing her work during the night Penelope tries to hold them in check, but they only grow more shameless, and at last Antinous tries to embrace her. Quick as thought she draws her dagger, and when it is wrenched from her she snatches his own sword and directs it against him. But Eurymachus, another suitor comes forward, and attacking Hyperion, pierces him with his sword, then turns to the queen, swearing to kill Telemachus as well, should she not yield to their demands. The queen wavers, when renewed acclamations are heard, and Telemachus enters with Eumaeus and Odysseus, the latter still wearing his disguise. The mother rushes forward to embrace her son, but he is seized by the suitors who peremptorily require the queen's oath. "Save thy son o queen", saysthe stranger, and Penelope at last swears to give her hand to him who shall be victorious in the contest held on Apollo's festival on the following day. Thereupon the suitors promise to protect Telemachus and retire leaving mother and son together.
Not until then does Telemachus recognize in the prostrate form his friend Hyperion, who dying tells him, that he has betrayed his friend and loved his mother. Terrified though he is the tender-hearted youth forgives him and entreats his mother to do the same. But the queen stands as one turned to stone not heeding the stranger, who likewise bids her say a word to the man, who is dying for her, and who is now in his last moments raving of his unholy love. Telemachus at last seizes his friend's hand and closes his dim eyes with a kiss, while the queen, with a last despairing cry for Odysseus sinks back senseless and is carried away by her son and her nurse Eurycleia.—Left alone, Odysseus remains a prey to doubt and jealousy.—When Penelope recovering hears the news of her lost husband, Odysseus promises her the speedy return of the latter, answering her excited questions with: "I know him as I know myself." The queen fears he will be too late, and when the stranger insinuates to her that the king will perhaps kill the suitors whom he has discovered in the queen's apartments and cunningly asks, wether she wants their protection, her long pent up rage against her pursuers finds vent in a terrible cry for vengeanceand for the annihilation of all her enemies, and falling on her knees before the beggar she beseeches him to hasten Odysseus' return. The latter, being at last sure of his wife's faithfullness, reassures her and tells her to confide in the gods.
The third act opens with Apollo's festival. The statue of the god is carried before the people, adorned with roses and ivy. The suitors banquet in the palace, while the true master sits aloof on the steps of the temple and is mocked at by the crowd, however remains quiet, only invoking the god to direct his fate.—Trumpets announce the arrival of the queen, who is loudly hailed by the crowd. She carries her husband's own bow, and promises to marry whomsoever shall succeed in bending it, and in shooting the arrow through a series of twelve rings.—Telemachus is the first to try his luck, hoping to redeem his beloved mother. But alas, his strength fails him, and he has to hand the bow on to the suitors, who so goad and taunt him, that the boy draws his sword. But they are stronger, Telemachus stumbles and the beggar catches him in his arms, and unfolds his mantle to protect him whispering: "Telemachus my son, I am thy father." The youth sinks on his knees, but Odysseus enjoins silence upon him and warns him to be ready for battle.
Meanwhile the boy is derided by the crowd, and the queen bitterly disappointed turns to the beggar whispering: "Thy words old man were false!" But Odysseus replies: "The gods will provevictorious", and kisses the queen's hand so fervently, that she stares at him as one in a trance, until he, recovering himself, kisses it again in due humility. Her eyes once more grow dim, and she leaves the grounds in dull despair. During this time the bow has passed from hand to hand, but none can bend it, and the augur Theoclymenus, who hears Jupiter's thunder and sees the ravens fly over the temple prophesies their destruction.
Eurymachus at last proposes to throw the bow into the fire, when the beggar advances and asks leave to try his strength at bending it, which, though indignantly refused by the suitors, is immediately granted by Telemachus, who owns the bow. Odysseus bends it and shoots through all the rings.
During this scene Pallas appears in the air, holding her shield aloft. Horror seizes the wooers, when they recognize the mighty arm, which alone can bend the bow, and Odysseus, flinging his cloak from him and standing erect in his shining armour, slays his enemies aided by his son and those of his servants who have remained true to him and to their queen. The latter, walking slowly over the peristyle all at once sees Odysseus and recognizes her lord, who folds her to his heart. When the palace is cleared of the dead, the people press in to hail their king and Athene appears once more, holding her shield over the happy crowd and blessing the faithful spouse.
In the beginning of the year 1899 a great sensation thrilled through the musical world; Siegfried Wagner had written his first musical drama. Some call him the small son of a great father; others consider him to be the true heir of his father's greatness; I, for my part think that the truth, as usual, lies between these two extremes.
The drama was first performed in January 1899 on the Munich Stage, and a few days later Leipzig followed suit. The effect the work produced was much greater than the opponents of the young composer thought possible, and no doubt the "Bärenhäuter" will soon appear on all stages of importance, including that of Bayreuth, whose fanatical adherents have noised abroad young Siegfried's fame perhaps too loudly and too early for his advantage. That his work shows talent nobody will deny after having heard this drama, which is however not free from imitation of the works of greater masters. The manner of instrumentation, the musical declamation are his father's, but the orchestration is much simpler, and, unlike his father, he produces his greatest and best effects by means of simple melodies, but he fails when he seeks to become pathetic or dramatic. Like most modern composers he has written his libretto himself, and he has chosen a most original subject from one ofGrimm's old fairy tales. The story is well told though at rather too great a length, and both libretto and music are very effective, full of action, fascinating the hearer and heightening his interest from act to act. In the second act, especially in the dialogues between Luise and Hans Kraft, are sufficient proofs of Siegfried's genius, and the conclusion is truly grand.
The scene is laid in Bavaria, in the country around Bayreuth, during the time of the Thirty Years war.
The first act takes place in a village in the Hummelgau. The soldiers are first returning after a long period of war to their native village, and are received enthusiastically by the inhabitants. Hans Kraft, the hero of the drama, looks in vain for his old mother and at last learns that sorrow and anxiety about her absent son have caused her death three years ago; she is already forgotten, and so is her son, who find himself alone and forsaken. He is rudely repulsed by the peasants who will not even give him a night's lodging in their cottages. Full of wrath and despair he turns into the forest where he is accosted by a wild looking being who laughs at his impotent rage and offers his help. Hans, perceiving the cloven hoof and the horns, at once recognizes the Devil in this queer fellow, and is at first unwilling to follow his advice; but the Devil is artful and insinuating, and at last Hans is induced to make an agreement with him by which he engages himself as Stokerin the infernal regions; he has to keep the fire burning under the caldron in which poor lost souls are being roasted. When he has served the devil for one year Hans will be free to go wherever he likes. In the next scene Hans has already arrived at his new quarters—hell—and, after having explained to Hans his new duties, the Devil leaves him. Hans now begins to stir the fire, but is soon arrested by a wailing voice which he recognizes as that of the old sergeant who so often tormented him on earth, and who now vainly entreats him to let him escape.
While Hans is gaily feeding the flames, a Stranger enters; his name is Peter the doorkeeper, (of course St. Peter,) who skilfully entices him to play at dice. He proposes that Hans should stake some years of his own life. Hans refuses to do so. The Stranger next proposes that Hans should stake the salvation of his soul, but without success. At last it is agreed that Hans shall win ten Florins if he throws the highest cast, and the Stranger shall win two souls out of the caldron if he wins. They play, and Hans loses time after time, and at last stakes all the souls in the caldron—and loses. St. Peter has delivered all the poor souls from the pains of hell and Hallelujas are heard from the heights above. Hans, who had at first thrown himself upon the Stranger to bind him, is held back by a superior power, a glory shines about St. Peter's head and Hans falls back struck with awe. The glory dies away and the Strangerresuming his former manner thanks Hans for his good deed in delivering the lost souls, and, as a reward he warns him not to put himself again in the power of the Devil, and kindly advises him to bear with patience and courage the punishment that will surely fall upon him for his foolish, thoughtless compact with the evil one. Bidding Hans remember that he has a friend who will not forget him, the Stranger departs.
The punishment is not long delayed, for the Devil returning in a rage takes vengeance upon Hans for his disobedience by covering him with black soot that cannot be washed off, and hanging a bearskin round him. To supply his needs the Devil gives him a magic scrip from which he can always take money. The only way in which he may be released from this hideous disguise is through the faithful love of a woman who will love him in spite of his repulsive appearance. Hans in vain rebels against this cruel sentence, the Devil reminds him of his contract. He gives Hans a ring and tells him that if he finds a maiden who truly loves him he is to split the ring in two and giving her one half he is to go away and leave her for three years. At the end of that time he may come back and claim her, and if the gold of the ring is pure and bright, it will be a proof that she is true to him and Hans will then be free. In that case the Devil promises to fulfil any three wishes that Hans may name. These arrangements made, Hans is at last flung out of hell and back to earth a pitiful object of loathing and ridicule.
The second act is laid in a village inn near Kulmbach. The assembled peasants are all talking of the Devil whom they declare they have seen in person. While they are talking a rap is heard at the door, and Hans stands outside clad in his bearskin, asking for food and shelter. In their terror they all refuse to let him in believing him to be the devil himself, until the Burgomaster suggests that the man in this hideous disguise should be made to show his feet. When this is done and the peasants see that the stranger has no cloven hoof but human feet they are satisfied that all is right. While they are still deliberating Hans breaks open the window and springs into the room. The peasants eye him with amazed curiosity, and the host at first refuses to give a night's lodging to such a suspicious looking object, but a piece of gold out of Hans' never empty sack makes him change his mind. He sets the bar maid on to sound the queer fellow and she draws from Hans that he is a relation of the Emperor of Marocco, and other nonsense, which makes all think he is insane but harmless. Presently the Burgomaster falls asleep but is rudely awakened by the host who reminds him of a debt of 60 Florins which he had promised to pay. The Burgomaster not being able to pay a quarrel takes place, which is ended by Hans paying down the money himself and sending the innkeeper to bed. Left alone with the bewildered Burgomaster, Hans questions him about his family and circumstances and learnsthat the good man has three daughters whom he anxiously wishes to see married. Hans, without more ado, offers himself as a suitor for one of them, in the hope that this is an opportunity for his deliverance from his unhappy plight by the true love of a woman. The Burgomaster accepts his offer, believing Hans to be some grandee under a spell, or bewitched and supposing that when he claims his bride he will be restored to his proper form. Hans however assures him the lady will have to accept him as he is, unkempt and unwashed. After wishing the Burgomaster good night, Hans retires to his chamber, leaving his knapsack in the outer room. The innkeeper on the watch, waits till all is still and comes noiselessly in to steal the money from the sack. He puts in his hand and draws out—not gold—but scorpions, mice, frogs and other vermin which fly about and torment him till at his cries Hans comes to the rescue and the goblin creatures disappear.
In the next scene it is early morning; the servants come in and adorn the inn with boughs of birch as is the custom at the festival of Whitsuntide.
The Burgomaster appears with his three daughters; he first presents to Hans his eldest, Line, but when she sees him she turns away in horror at the appearance of the suitor, and calling the second sister Gunda both mock the poor fellow, and laughing turn homewards. The youngest girl,Luise, her father's favourite, not knowing what was going on, comes in to look for her father, and seeing Hans standing there in tears, at once checks the laughter that was provoked by his droll appearance, and moved to pity asks what ails him. At first he is unwilling to answer, but, when she presses him to speak, he shows her the ring and tells her that if she were willing to wear it for three years, always thinking kindly of him, the gold would remain bright, and at the end of that time the bann would be taken off him. Luise promises never to forget him, and though Hans hesitates to give her the ring, fearing the trial will be too heavy for the sweet child to whom his heart goes out in love, she draws the ring from him, passes a ribbon through it and hangs it round her neck.
In the meanwhile, the peasants, led by the revengeful innkeeper, make an attack upon Hans and try to take away his sack. Hans relates how the innkeeper tried to rob him, and forces him to show the 60 Florins the latter had received for the Burgomaster's debt. In rage the innkeeper throws the pieces on the ground; a flame leaps up from the spot. This convinces the peasants that Hans is in league with the Devil; they are about to kill him when Luise calls for aid and her courage so astonishes the assailants that they let Hans go.
The third act takes place three years later.
Hans is discovered lying in a dense forest fast asleep. The Devil has summoned a number of his little imps who are busily engaged in washing,combing and dressing the sleeper. Satan is in a very bad temper, but he does not give up his battle for a soul with Heaven yet, and intends to make a last effort to get Hans into his clutches. The lad's hand, on which is the fateful ring, hangs close to the water of the brook near which he lies, and Satan calls the water nymphs to take it from him. But at this moment Hans wakes and his first thought is for the ring which he looks at with rapture, seeing that its gold shines undimmed. The Devil, (who appears not to be such a bad fellow after all,) greets him in a friendly manner, and Hans, delighted to find himself free from the spell, requires at once the fulfilment of the three wishes the devil has promised to grant. His first wish, to become what he was before, is already fulfilled. His second wish, to keep the sack, but free from magic gold and charm, is also granted. His third wish is, that for the future the Devil will let him alone and never cross his path again. This also the Devil agrees to and mockingly bestows upon him the bearskin into the bargain. Hans now recognises it as the skin of a bear he had once killed himself. Hans' one thought now is for his betrothed bride. On his way to her St. Peter appears to him once more. He tells that the Plassenburg is about to be stormed, and urges him to save it from the enemy.
The next scene opens again in the hero's native village. A crowd of people is assembled before the Burgomaster's house; they are looking towards the Plassenburg which they fear is already in theenemy's hand. No sound is heard from the fortress; its defenders seem to be in deep sleep. Suddenly the trumpets sound and in breathless anxiety men and women watch the battle that now begins.
At last a man comes running up in hot haste shouting that victory is theirs. He relates how that believing Wallenstein to be far away all the garrison went to sleep when they were suddenly awakened by a loud knocking, and the cry "the Friedlander is at the gates!"
The commander Kuensberg sprang out, and at his side, fighting like a lion, a stranger in whom they presently recognized their fellow soldier, Hans Kraft, who had served in the same army years ago; to him they now owe the victory. Everybody begins to praise the deliverer and to ask where he is, for he had gone away and had not been heard of again.
The Burgomaster advances to greet the victors accompanied by his two elder daughters, but Luise cannot be induced to leave home. Alone she thinks sadly of the man to whom all this time she has remained faithful and who fails to come and let her know if he is free from the terrible spell. While she is praying that her lover's sorrows may be ended, Hans comes up, and seeing the maiden so sad he greets her shyly and begs her to bandage a wound he received in the fight. While she brings some linen and fills a cup with water for the thirsty soldier Hans lets his half of the splitring fall into the cup; she recognizes it, then Hans makes himself known and with tears of joy, he folds her to his heart. Thus they are found by the peasants who enthusiastically greet Hans and tell Luise that her lover is Hans Kraft who has saved them all. The Burgomaster of course rejoices in his darling's happiness, while the sisters are mad with envy. Hans now bestows the famous sack upon the innkeeper who recoils from the present with terror; and the peasants at last recognizing in the hero poor Bearskin, whom they almost killed in their frenzy, humbly beg his pardon and express their grateful thanks. Hans declines all honours that are offered him and thanks God for his lovely bride who has been sent as his good angel. All join in praise to God for his goodness to the happy couple.
After an interval of more than thirty years the Dresden Opera has paid a debt of honour to the dead composer and gave his finest and best opera for the first time on January 17th 1899.
This opera had hitherto only been performed in Munich and Weimar. Though its music is perhaps less fresh and piquant than that of the Barber of Bagdad by the same composer, yet it has the true ring of genius and its noble charmranks high above the ordinary opera of the present day.
We find in it many leading motives, which would seem to rank Cornelius amongst Wagner's imitators, but he is very far from being one of these. All his melodies are original and one of the finest, the Cid-motive, which accompanies every entrance of this hero, is perfectly entrancing. The loveliest pearls in the string of music are the funeral march and Chimene's wail in the first act, her prayer in the second, and the avowal of her love and the duet that follows in the last act.
The libretto written by Cornelius himself is also far above the average; its language is uncommonly beautiful and poetic.
The scene is laid in Burgos in Castile in the year 1064. The first act opens with a large concourse of people, assembled to celebrate Ruy Diaz' victory over the Moors.
In the midst of their rejoicings a funeral march announces Chimene, Countess of Lozan, whose father has been slain by Diaz. While she wildly invokes the King's help against the hero the latter enters, enthusiastically greeted by the people, who adore in him their deliverer from the sword of the infidels.
He justifies himself before King Fernando, relating with quiet dignity, how he killed Count Lozan in open duel to avenge his old father, whose honour the Count had grossly attacked. Nevertheless he is ready to defend himself against anybody, whois willing to fight for Donna Chimene, and for this purpose he throws down his glove, which is taken up by Alvar Farnez, his friend and companion in arms, who is madly in love with Chimene.—While they are preparing for the duel the Bishop Luyn Calvo, an uncle of Diaz, intervenes, entreating his nephew to desist from further bloodshed and to surrender his sword Tizona into his the priest's hands. After a hard struggle with himself the hero, who secretly loves Chimene, yields, and hands his sword to Calvo, who at once offers it to Chimene, thereby giving the defenceless hero into her hands.
Exultingly she swears to take vengeance on Diaz, who stands motionless, looking down with mournful dignity on the woman whom he loves and who seems to hate him so bitterly.
In the midst of this scene the war cry is heard. The enemy has again broken into the country and has already taken and burnt the fortress of Belforad. All crowd round Diaz, beseeching him to save them. While he stands mute and deprived of his invincible sword, Chimene, mastering her own grief at the sight of her country's distress, lays down Tizona at Fernando's feet. Ruy Diaz now receives his sword back from the hands of the King, and brandishing it high above his head he leads the warriors forth to freedom or death.
The second act takes place in Chimene's castle. Her women try to beguile their mistress's sorrow by songs, and when they see her soothed to quiet, they retire noiselessly. But hardly does she findherself alone than pain and grief overcome her again. She longs to avenge her father's death on Diaz, and yet deep in her heart there is a feeling of great admiration for him. In vain she wrestles with her feelings, invoking the Allmighty's help to do what is right. In this mood Alvar finds her and once more assures her of his devotion and repeats that he will fight with Diaz as soon as the country is freed from the enemy. He leaves her and night sets in and in the darkness Diaz steals in, for he cannot resist his heart's desire to see Chimene once more before the battle. In the uncertain rays of the moonlight she at first mistakes him for her father's ghost, but when he pronounces her name she recognizes him, and violently motions him away, but he falls on his knee and pours out his hopeless love. At last his passion overcomes all obstacles; she forgives him and at his entreaty she calls him by his name, saying: "Ruy Diaz be victorious!" Full of joy he blesses her and goes to join his men who are heard in the distance calling him to lead them to battle.
The third act is played once more in Burgos.
Diaz has been victorious; the whole army of captives defiles before the throne and a rejoicing assemblage of nobles and peoples does homage to the King. Even the Moorish Kings bend the knee voluntarily; they have been unfortunate, but they have been conquered by the greatest hero of the world; they are conquered by "the Cid!" When the King asks them what the name meansthey tell him that its signification is "Master"; full of enthusiasm all around adopt this name for their hero. The Cid will be Diaz' title henceforth, immortal as his glorious star!
The people loudly call for Diaz to appear, but are told that immediately after the battle Alvar had sent the hero a challenge. At the same time Alvar enters unhurt, and Chimene who stands near the King with her women ready to greet the victor, grows white and faint, believing that Diaz has been killed by Alvar. She impetuously interrupts the latter, who begins to relate the events, and unable to control her feelings any longer she pours out her long pent up love for Diaz, at the same time bewailing the slain hero and swearing faithfulness to his memory unto death.—"He lives" cries Alvar, and at this moment the Cid, as we must now call him appears, stormily hailed by great and small.
Deeply moved he lays down his victorious sword at the feet of his King, who embraces him pronouncing him Sire of Saldaja, Cardenja and Belforad. Then he leads him to his lady who sinks into his arms supremely happy. The Bishop blesses the noble pair and all join in his prayer, that love may guide them through life and death.