This beautiful opera is the only one, which the gifted young composer left complete, for he died of consumption in his early manhood. His death is all the more to be lamented, as this composition shows a talent, capable of performances far above the average. Its melodies are very fresh and winning, and above all original.
As the subject of the libretto is so generally known, it is not necessary to do more than shortly epitomise here. Of the libretto itself however it may be remarked in passing, that it is uncommonly well done; it is in rhymes which are harmonious and well turned. The translation is quite free andindependent, but the sense and the course of action are the same, though somewhat shortened and modified, so that we only find the chief of the persons, we so well know.
Kate is the same headstrong young lady, though she does not appear in a very bad light, her wilfulness being the result of maidenly pride, which is ashamed to appear weak before the stronger sex. She finds her master in Petrucchio however and after a hard and bitter fight with her feelings, she at last avows herself conquered, less by her husband's indomitable will, than by her love for him, which acknowledges him as her best friend and protector.
Then her trials are at an end, and when her sister Bianca with her young husband Lucentio and her father Baptista, visit her, they are witnesses of the perfect harmony and peace which reign in Kate's home.
With this opera begins a new era in the history of the German theatre. Tannhäuser is more a drama than an opera, every expression in it is highly dramatic; the management of the orchestra too is quite different from anything hitherto experienced, it dominates everywhere, the voice of the performer being often only an accompaniment to it. Tannhäuser is the first opera, or as Wagnerhimself called it, drama of this kind, and written after this one, all Wagner's works bear the same stamp.
Wagner took his subject from an old legend, which tells of a minstrel, called Tannhäuser (probably identical with Heinrich von Ofterdingen), who won all prizes by his beautiful songs and all hearts by his noble bearing. So the palm is allotted to him at the yearly "Tournament of Minstrels" on the Wartburg, and his reward is to be the hand of Elizabeth, niece of the Landgrave of Thuringia, whom he loves. But instead of behaving sensibly, this erring knight suddenly disappears nobody knows where, leaving his bride in sorrow and anguish. He falls into the hands of Venus, who holds court in the Hörselberg near Eisenach, and Tannhäuser, at the opening of the first scene, has already passed a whole year with her. At length he has grown tired of sensual love and pleasure, and notwithstanding Venus' allurements he leaves her, vowing never to return to the goddess, but to expiate his sins by a holy life. He returns to the charming vale behind the Wartburg, he hears again the singing of the birds, the shepherds playing on the flute, the pious songs of the pilgrims on their way to Rome. Full of repentance he kneels down and prays, when suddenly the Landgrave appears with some minstrels, amongst them Wolfram von Eschinbach, Tannhäuser's best friend. They greet their long-lost companion, who however cannot tell where he has been all thetime, and as Wolfram reminds him of Elizabeth, Tannhäuser returns with the party to the Wartburg.
It is just the anniversary of the Tournament of Minstrels, and in the second act we find Elizabeth with Tannhäuser, who craves her pardon and is warmly welcomed by her. The high prize for the best song is again to be Elizabeth's hand, and Tannhäuser resolves to win her once more. The Landgrave chooses "love" as the subject, whose nature is to be explained by the minstrels. Everyone is called by name, and Wolfram von Eschinbach begins, praising love as a well, deep and pure, a source of the highest and most sacred feeling. Others follow; Walther von der Vogelweide praises the virtue of love, every minstrel celebrates spiritual love alone.
But Tannhäuser, who has been in Venus' fetters, sings of another love, warmer and more passionate, but sensual. And when the others remonstrate, he loudly praises Venus, the goddess of heathen love. All stand aghast, they recognize now, where he has been so long, he is about to be put to death, when Elizabeth prays for him. She loves him dearly and hopes to save his soul from eternal perdition. Tannhäuser is to join a party of pilgrims on their way to Rome, there to crave for the Pope's pardon.
In the third act we see the pilgrims return from their journey. Elizabeth anxiously expects her lover, but he is not among them.—Fervently she prays to the Holy Virgin: but notthat a faithful lover may be given back to her, no, rather that he may be pardoned and his immortal soul saved. Wolfram is beside her, he loves the maiden, but he has no thought for himself, he only feels for her, whose life he sees ebbing swiftly away, and for his unhappy friend.
Presently when Elizabeth is gone, Tannhäuser comes up in pilgrim's garb. He has passed a hard journey, full of sacrifices and castigation, and all for nought, for the Pope has rejected him. He has been told in hard words, that he is for ever damned, and will as little get deliverance from his grievous sin, as the stick in his hand will ever bear green leaves afresh.
Full of despair Tannhäuser is returning to seek Venus, whose Siren songs already fall alluringly on his ear. Wolfram entreats him to fly, and when Tannhäuser fails to listen, he utters Elizabeth's name. At this moment a procession descends from the Wartburg, chanting a funeral song over an open bier. Elizabeth lies on it dead, and Tannhäuser sinks on his knee beside her, crying: "Holy Elizabeth, pray for me". Then Venus disappears, and all at once the withered stick begins to bud and blossom, and Tannhäuser, pardoned, expires at the side of his beloved.
Tannhäuser was represented on the Dresden Theatre in June 1890 according to Wagner's changes of arrangement, done by him in Paris 1861 for the Grand Opera by order of Napoleon III.,this arrangement the composer acknowledges as the only correct one.
These alterations are limited to the first scene in the mysterious abode of Venus and his motives for the changes become clearly apparent, when it is remembered, that the simple form of Tannhäuser was composed in the years 1843 and 45 in and near Dresden, at a time, when there were neither means nor taste in Germany for such scenes, as those, which excited Wagner's brain. Afterwards success has rendered Wagner bolder and more pretentious and so he endowed the person of Frau Venus with more dramatic power, and thereby threw a vivid light on the great attraction, she exercises on Tannhäuser. The decorations are by far richer and a ballet of Sirens and Fauns was added, a concession, which Wagner had to make to the Parisian taste. Venus's part, now sung by the first primadonnas, has considerably gained by the alterations, and the first scene is far more interesting than before, but it is to be regretted that the Tournament of Minstrels has been shortened and particularly the fine song of Walter von der Vogelweide omitted by Wagner. All else is as of old, as indeed Elizabeth's part needed nothing to add to her purity and loveliness, which stands out now in even bolder relief against the beautiful but sensual part of Venus.
This last opera of Rossini's is his most perfect work and it is deeply to be regretted that when it appeared, he left the dramatic world, to live in comfortable retirement for 39 years. How much he could still have done, if he had chosen! In Tell his genius attains its full depth, here alone we find the highly dramatic element united to the infinite richness of melody, which we have learned to associate with his name and work.
The text is founded on the well-known story of Tell, who delivered his Fatherland from one of its most cruel despots, the Austrian governor Gessler.
The first act opens with a charming introductory chorus by peasants, who are celebrating a nuptial fête.
Tell joins in their pleasure, though he cannot help giving utterance to the pain which the Austrian tyranny causes him. Arnold von Melchthal, son of an old Swiss, has conceived an unhappy passion for Mathilda, Princess of Habsburg, whose life he once saved; but he is Swiss and resolved to be true to his country. He promises Tell to join in his efforts to liberate it. Meanwhile Leuthold, a Swiss peasant, comes up. He is a fugitive, having killed an Austrian soldier, to revenge an intended abduction of his daughter. His only safety lies in crossing the lake, but no fisherman dares to rowout in the face of the coming storm. Tell steps forth, and seizing the oars, brings Leuthold safely to the opposite shore. When Rudolf von Harras appears with his soldiers, his prey has escaped and, nobody being willing to betray the deliverer, old father Melchthal is imprisoned.
In the second act we find the Princess Mathilda returning from a hunt. She meets Arnold, and they betray their mutual passion. Arnold does not yet know his father's fate, but presently Tell enters with Walter Fürst, who informs Arnold that his father has fallen a victim to the Austrian tyranny. Arnold, cruelly roused from his love-dream, awakes to duty, and the three men vow bloody vengeance. This is the famous oath taken on the Rütli. The deputies of the three Cantons arrive, one after the other, and Tell makes them swear solemnly to establish Switzerland's independence. Excited by Arnold's dreadful account of his father's murder, they all unite in the fierce cry: "To arms!" which is to be their signal of combat.
In the third act Gessler arrives at the marketplace of Altdorf, where he has placed his hat on a pole, to be greeted instead of himself by the Swiss who pass by.
They grumble at this new proof of arrogance, but dare not disobey the order, till Tell, passing by with his son Gemmy, disregards it. Refusing to salute the hat, he is instantly taken and commanded by Gessler to shoot an apple off his little boy's head. After a dreadful inward struggle Tellsubmits. Fervently praying to God and embracing his fearless son, he shoots with steady hand, hitting the apple right in the centre. But Gessler has seen a second arrow, which Tell has hidden in his breast, and he asks its purpose. Tell freely confesses, that he would have shot the tyrant, had he missed his aim. Tell is fettered, Mathilda vainly appealing for mercy. But Gessler's time has come. The Swiss begin to revolt. Mathilda herself begs to be admitted into their alliance of free citizens and offers her hand to Arnold. The fortresses of the oppressors fall, Tell enters free and victorious, having himself killed Gessler, and in a chorus at once majestic and grand the Swiss celebrate the day of their liberation.
The subject of this opera is the well-known romance of Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. The poet understood pretty well how to make an effective picture with his somewhat too extensive and imposing material.
Its chief defect lies in the conclusion, which is lacking in poetic justice and cannot be considered satisfactory, for the heroine Rebecca who loves her knightly succourer Ivanhoe, is only pitied by him, and so the difficulty of the situation is not solved to our liking. Apart from this defect, the operais most interesting and we are won by its beautiful music, which may be called essentially chivalrous and therefore particularly adapted to the romantic text.
In the opening scene we are introduced to the Knight-Templar, Brian de Bois Guilbert, who has fallen in love with the beautiful Jewess Rebecca, and has succeeded in capturing and detaining her in his castle. At the same time Sir Cedric of Rotherwood, a Saxon knight, (father of Ivanhoe, whom he has disinherited), has been taken captive with his ward, the Lady Rowena, by their enemies, the Normans.—Rebecca refuses to hear the Templar's protestations of love, and threatens to precipitate herself from the parapet, if he dares to touch her. Her wild energy conquers; and when he leaves her, Ivanhoe, the wounded knight to whom Rebecca is assigned as nurse, tells her that friends have come to deliver them all.
The outlaws, commanded by Richard Coeur de Lion, under the guise of the Black Knight, assault the castle, burn it and deliver the captives. Poor Rebecca alone falls into the hands of the Templar, who does not cease to press his love-suit. Brian's deed soon becomes known, and his brother-Templars, believing Brian to be innocent, but seduced by a sorceress, condemn Rebecca to the stake. She makes use of her right to ask for a champion, and is allowed till sunset to find one. Brian himself tries all he can to save her, but she rejects his aid, for she loves Ivanhoe, though she is well awarethat at this noble knight loves his beautiful cousin Rowena.
The day has nearly passed, the funeral pile awaits its victim, and no champion appears. The trumpets sound for the last time, when Ivanhoe presents himself in the lists to fight Brian, whom the Templars have appointed as his adversary. Ivanhoe is victorious; Brian falls lifeless, even before the enemy's sword touches him. All recognize the judgment of God and Rebecca is given back to her desolate father. At the last moment King Richard, who has long been absent on a crusade to Jerusalem, appears on the scene. He announces that henceforth he alone will govern the land and punish all injustice. Ivanhoe and Rowena are united by consent of Sir Cedric, who is now wholly reconciled to his valorous son.
The original of the libretto is Dumas' celebrated novel "La dame aux camélias."
The opera is like all of Verdi's works full of melody and there are numberless special beauties in it. The prelude which opens the opera instead of an overture, is in particular an elegy of a noble and interesting kind. But as the text is frivolous and sensual, of course the music cannot be expected to be wholly free from these characteristics.
The scene is laid in and near Paris. Alfred Germont is passionately in love with Violetta Valery, one of the most frivolous beauties in Paris. She is pleased with his sincere passion, anything like which she has never hitherto known, and openly telling him, who she is, she warns him herself; but he loves her all the more, and as she returns his passion, she abandons her gay life and follows him into the country, where they live very happily for some months.
Annina, Violetta's maid dropping a hint to Alfred that her mistress is about to sell her house and carriage in town in order to avoid expenses, he departs for the Capital to prevent this.
During his absence Violetta receives a visit from Alfred's father, who tries to show her that she has destroyed not only his family's but his son's happiness by suffering Alfred to unite himself to one so dishonored as herself. He succeeds in convincing her, and, broken-hearted, she determines to sacrifice herself and leave Alfred secretly. Ignoring the possible reason for this inexplicable action, Alfred is full of wrath and resolves to take vengeance. He finds Violetta in the house of a former friend, Flora Bervoix, who is in a position similar to that of Violetta.—The latter, having no other resources and feeling herself at death's door a state of health suggested in the first act by an attack of suffocation, has returned to her former life.
Alfred insults her publicly. The result is aduel between her present adorer, Baron Dauphal and Alfred.
From this time on Violetta declines rapidly, and in the last act, which takes place in her sleeping-room, we find her dying. Hearing that Alfred has been victorious in the duel, and receiving a letter from his father, who is now willing to pardon and to accept her as his daughter-in-law, she revives to some extent and Alfred, who at last hears of her sacrifice, returns to her, but only to afford a last glimpse of happiness to the unfortunate woman, who expires, a modern Magdalen, full of repentance, and striving tenderly to console her lover and his now equally desolate father.
The music to this drama is deemed by connoisseurs the most perfect ever written by Wagner, but it needs a fine and highly cultivated understanding of music to take in all its beauty and greatness. There is little action in it, and very often the orchestra has the principal part, so that the voice seems little more than an accompaniment, it has musical measures too, which cannot be digested by an uneducated hearer; but nevertheless many parts of it will interest every-one.
Isolda's love-song for instance is the noblest hymn, ever sung in praise of this passion.
The first act represents the deck of a ship,where we find the two principal persons, Tristan and Isolda together,—Tristan, a Cornish hero, has gone over to Ireland, to woo the Princess for his old uncle, King Marke. Isolda however loves Tristan and has loved him from the time when he was cast sick and dying on the coast of Ireland and was rescued and nursed by her, though he was her enemy. But Tristan, having sworn faith to his uncle, never looks at her, and she full of wrath that he wooes her for another instead of for himself, attempts to poison herself and him by a potion. But Brangäna, her faithful attendant secretly changes the poisoned draught for a love-potion, so that they are inevitably joined in passionate love. Only when the ship gets ashore, its deck already covered with knights and sailors, who come to greet their King's bride, does Brangäna confess her fraud, and Isolda, hearing, that she is to live, faints in her attendant's arms.
In the second act Isolda has been wedded to Marke, but the love-potion has worked well, and she has secret interviews at night with Tristan, whose sense of honor is deadened by the fatal draught. Brangäna keeps watch for the lovers, but King Marke's jealous friend Melot betrays them, and they are found out by the good old King, who returns earlier than he had intended from a hunt.
Tristan is profoundly touched by the grief of the King, whose sadness at losing faith in his most noble warrior is greater than his wrath againstthe betrayer of honor. Tristan, unable to defend himself, turns to Isolda, asking her to follow him into the desert, but Melot opposes him, and they fight, Tristan falling back deadly wounded into his faithful servant Kurvenal's arms.
The third act represents Tristan's home in Brittany, whither Kurvenal has carried his wounded master in order to nurse him. Isolda, so skilled in the art of healing wounds, has been sent for, but they look in vain for the ship, which is to bring her.
When at last it comes into sight, Tristan, who awakes from a long swoon, sends Kurvenal away, to receive his mistress, and as they both delay their coming, his impatient longing gets the better of him. Forgetting his wound, he rises from his couch, tearing away the bandages, and so Isolda is only just in time to catch him in her arms, where he expires with her name on his lips. While she bewails her loss, another ship is announced by the shepherd's horn. King Marke arrives, prepared to pardon all and to unite the lovers. Kurvenal, seeing Melot advance, mistakes them for foes and running his sword through Melot's breast, sinks, himself deadly wounded, at his master's feet. King Marke, to whom Brangäna has confessed her part in the whole matter, vainly laments his friend Tristan, while Isolda, waking from her swoon and seeing her lover dead, pours forth rapturous words of greeting, and, broken-hearted, sinks down dead at his side.
Though Verdi is far beneath his celebrated predecessors Rossini and Bellini, he is highly appreciated in his own country and the Trovatore counts many admirers not only in Italy but also abroad. This is easily accounted for by the number of simple and catching melodies contained in his operas, and which have become so quickly popular, that we hear them on every street-organ. Manrico's romance for example, is a good specimen of the work for which he is admired.
The text of Il Trovatore is very gloomy and distressing.
Two men of entirely different station and character woo Leonore, Countess of Sergaste. The one is Count Luna, the other a minstrel, named Manrico, who is believed to be the son of Azucena, a gipsy.
Azucena has in accordance with gipsy-law vowed bloody revenge on Count Luna, because his father, believing her mother to be a sorceress and to have bewitched one of his children, had the old woman burnt. To punish the father for this cruelty Azucena took away his other child, which was vainly sought for. This story is told in the first scene, where we find the Count's servants waiting for him, while he stands sighing beneath his sweetheart's window. But Leonore's heart isalready captivated by Manrico's sweet songs and his valour in tournament. She suddenly hears his voice, and in the darkness mistakes the Count for her lover, who however comes up just in time to claim her. The Count is full of rage, and there follows a duel in which Manrico is wounded, but though it is in his power to kill his enemy, he spares his life, without however being able to account for the impulse.
In the second act Azucena, nursing Manrico, tells him of her mother's dreadful fate and her last cry for revenge, and confesses to having robbed the old Count's son, with the intention of burning him. But in her despair and confusion, she says, she threw her own child into the flames, and the Count's son lived. Manrico is terrified, but Azucena retracts her words and regains his confidence, so that he believes her tale to have been but an outburst of remorse and folly.
Meanwhile he hears that Leonore, to whom he was reported as dead, is about to take the veil, and he rushes away to save her. Count Luna arrives before the convent with the same purpose. But just as he seizes his prey, Manrico comes up, and liberates her with the aid of his companions, while the Count curses them.
Leonore becomes Manrico's wife, but her happiness is shortlived.
In the third act the Count's soldiers succeed in capturing Azucena, in whom they recognize the burnt gipsy's daughter. She denies all knowledgeof the Count's lost brother, and as the Count hears that his successful rival is her son, she is sentenced to be burnt. Ruiz, Manrico's friend, brings the news to him. Manrico tries to rescue her, but is seized too, and condemned to die by the axe.
In the fourth act Leonore offers herself to the Count as the price of freedom for the captives, but determined to be true to her lover, she takes poison. She hastens to him, announcing his deliverance. Too late he sees how dearly she has paid for it, when after sweet assurance of love and fidelity she sinks dead at his feet.
The Count, coming up and seeing himself deceived, orders Manrico to be put to death instantly.
He is led away, and only after the execution does Azucena inform the Count, that his murdered rival was Luna's own long-sought brother.
Seldom in our days is an opera such a complete success in all German theatres, as this composition of Nessler's has proved to be. To tell the truth, it owes its popularity in great degree to the libretto, which has taken so many fine songs and ideas from its universally known and adored original. Nessler's Trompeter is however in every way inferior to Scheffel's celebrated poem.
Nevertheless the music, though not very profound is pleasing, and there are several airs in it, which have already become popular.
The prelude opens at Heidelberg, where a chorus of students make a great noise after one of their drinking-bouts. They presently serenade the Princess-Electress, and a law-student, named Werner, a foundling and the adopted son of a professor, distinguishes himself by a solo on the trumpet. He is heard by the trumpeter of the Imperial recruiting officers, who tries to win him, but without success, when suddenly the Rector Magnificus appears, to assist the major-domo, and announces to the astounded disturbers of peace, that they are dismissed from the university.
Werner, taking a sudden resolution, accepts the press-money from Konradin the trumpeter, marches away with the soldiers, and the prelude is closed.
The first act represents a scene at Sakkingen on the Rhine. There is a festival in honor of St. Fridolin, at which young Baroness Maria assists. She is insulted by the peasants and Werner protects her from them. She is much pleased by the noble bearing of the trumpeter, and so is her aunt, the Countess of Wildenstein, who detects a great resemblance between him and her son, who was stolen by gipsies in his childhood.—The second scene takes us into the Baron's room, where we find the gouty old gentleman in rather a bad humor. He is restored to good temper by a letterfrom his friend, the Count of Wildenstein, who lives separated from his first wife, the above mentioned Countess, and who proposes his son, born in second wedlock, as Maria's husband.
The Baron receives Maria kindly, when she relates her adventure and begs him to engage Werner as trumpeter in the castle. At this moment the latter is heard blowing his instrument and the Baron, who has a great predilection for it, bids Werner present himself and at once engages him.
In the second act Werner gives lessons on the trumpet to the lovely Maria; of course the young people fall in love with each other, but the Countess watches them, until friend Konradin for once succeeds in drawing her aside, when there follows a glowing declaration of love on both sides. Unhappily it is interrupted by the Countess, who announces her discovery to the Baron. Meanwhile the destined bridegroom has arrived with his father. Damian, that is the young man's name, is a simpleton, and Maria declares at once that she never will be his. But in the presence of the whole company, assembled for a festival, the Baron proclaims Maria Count Damian's bride; to the over-bold Werner he forbids the castle.
The last act opens with a siege of the castle by the rebellious peasants. Damian shows himself a coward. In the last extremity they are relieved by Werner, who drives the peasants back with his soldiers. He is wounded in the fray, and while the wound is being dressed, a mole detected on hisarm proclaims him the stolen child of Countess Wildenstein. All now ends in joy and happiness; the Baron is willing enough to give his daughter to the brave young nobleman and very glad to be rid of the cowardly Damian.
With this opera Lortzing for the first time tried his genius in another field. Until then he had only composed comic operas, which had met with a very fair measure of success, but in this opera he left the comic for the romantic and was peculiarly happy both in his ideas and choice of subject which, as it happened, had previously had the honor of being taken up by Weber. The first representation of Undine at Hamburg in the year 1845 was one of the few luminous moments in Lortzing's dark life.
His melodies are wonderfully captivating and lovely and the whole charm of German romance lies in them.
The contents of the libretto are:
The gallant Knight, Hugo von Ringstetten has been ordered by the Duke's daughter, Berthalda, to go in search of adventures, accompanied by his attendant Veit. Being detained for three months in a little village cut off from communication with the outer world by an inundation, he sees Undine, the adopted daughter of an old fisherman, namedTobias, and falling in love with her he asks for her hand. In the first act we see the priest uniting the young couple. The Knight recognizes in the old man a traveller, whom he once saved from robbers, and is glad to see him. Undine behaves most childishly and finally says that she has no soul. She is herself grieved, and the others do not believe her. Hugo now tells them of the proud and beautiful Berthalda, whose scarf he received in a tournament, and who sent him away on this adventure. He then returns to the Capital with his young wife, in order to present her at the Ducal court. Meanwhile Veit has met Kühleborn, the mighty King of the water-fairies, and is asked by him, whether his master has quite forgotten Berthalda. The valet gives as his opinion that the poor fisher-maiden is deceived, and will soon be abandoned by her husband. This excites Kühleborn's wrath, for Undine is his daughter, and he forthwith resolves to protect her.
In the second act Undine confesses to her husband, that she is a water-fairy, one of those, whom men call "Undinas". They have no soul, but if they are loved faithfully by man, they are able to gain a soul and through it immortality. Though he shudders inwardly, Undine's purity and loveliness conquer Hugo's fright, and he once more swears to be eternally true to her.
The proud Berthalda, who loves Hugo, has heard with feelings of mingled anger and despair of the knight's marriage. She determines to honorthe King of Naples with her hand; but before her wedding takes place, a sealed document has to be opened, which says that Berthalda, instead of being a Duke's daughter, is a poor foundling. Kühleborn, who is present, declares that she is the real child of Undine's fosterparents. Berthalda is now obliged to leave the palace. She loathes her fate and curses her low-born parents. Then Kühleborn derides her and the attendants are about to seize him, in order to turn him out-of-doors, when the statue of the water-god breaks into fragments, while Kühleborn stands in its place, the waters pouring down upon him. All take flight, but Undine raises the prostrate Berthalda, promising her protection in her husband's castle.
In the third act Berthalda succeeds in again drawing Hugo into her nets. Though warned by the waterfairies not to perjure himself, he neglects their advice and Undine finds him in the arms of her rival. He repels his wife, and Kühleborn takes her back into his watery kingdom. But Undine has lost her peace of mind for ever, she cannot forget her husband.
In the fourth act Hugo has given orders to close the well with stones, to prevent all possible communication with the waterfairies. Undine's pale face pursues him everywhere, he continually fancies to hear her soft voice and touching entreaties and to stifle his remorse he appoints the day of his wedding with Berthalda.
His attendant Veit, however, unable to forgethis sweet mistress, removes the stones, which cover the well. Undine rises from it and appears at midnight at the wedding. Hugo, forgetting Berthalda, and drawn towards his lovely wife against his will, falls into her arms and dies at her feet. The castle comes crashing down, floods penetrate everywhere, and carry Hugo and Undine into Kühleborn's crystal palace.
Undine obtains pardon for Hugo, and his only punishment is that he must forever stay with his wife in her fairy domains.
This opera is so brilliantly supplemented by decorations and poetic enchantment of every kind, that it would be worth while to see those triumphs of modern machinery alone. But not only on account of external effect is Urvasi admired, the music is in itself well worth hearing, though it contains many reminiscences of other well-known composers. It is pleasing and graceful, and the orchestration is so brilliant, that it may even deceive the hearer as to the poverty of invention.
The subject, arranged by Kienzl himself, is highly romantic.
The Apsares, (virgins of heaven), who are sometimes allowed to visit earth and its inhabitants, have just made use of this permission.
Urvasi, their Princess, isolates herself from their dances and is with two sisters caught by the wild Prince of the Asures, their enemy. They cry for help, when the King of Persia, hunting in those grounds, appears with his suite and saves Urvasi.
They fall in love with each other, though Brahma has prophesied to the King, that he will die poor and unknown, if he does not wed the last Princess of the Persian kingdom, Ausinari, to whom he is already betrothed.
Urvasi tells him, that not being a daughter of earth, she can only be allowed to see him from time to time. The King swears eternal faith to her; and she in return promises to be his in heaven. But should he prove false, nothing can save them both from fearful punishment.
Then she bids him farewell, promising to send a rose every time she is allowed to descend from heaven.
In the second act Ausinari, walking in the moonshine, mourns for the King's love which she has lost. Mandava, priest of the moon, consoles her, designing [Transcriber's note: designating?] the present night, that of the full-moon, as the one, in which the King's heart shall again turn to her.
After his departure Ausinari first prays to the good and mild god of the moon, but afterwards invokes Ahriman, the Spirit of Night, lest the moon-god should prove too weak. When she has left the park, the King walks in dreamily. His whole soul is filled by Urvasi; he fervently calls for her,and a rose, her love-token, falls at his feet. But he waits in vain for her, she does not come and as the priests of the moon appear, to celebrate the festival of their god, he retires disappointed into a bower.
Now follows a sort of ballet. All the maidens and their lovers, who desire to be united, sacrifice to the god; the young men throw a blooming rose into the flame, the girls a palm-branch.
Ausinari appears and is greeted, with joyous acclamations, while Manava enters the bower to conduct the King to the sacrifice. He vainly strives against Ausinari and the priests, who urgently demand the sacrifice of the red rose, which he still carries in his hand. After a long resistance he abandons himself to despair and throws the rose into the blaze, thinking himself forsaken by Urvasi. But hardly has he done so, than Urvasi's form rises from the flame, solemnly reminding him of the oath which he has broken. She has only been testing his firmness and finding him weak, she is obliged to disappear forever as Urvasi and to live in another form, while only deepest contrition and ardent love can ever help him to find her again. Urvasi vanishes, and the King leaves Ausinari, his throne, and his land, to seek as a poor pilgrim for his beloved.
In the last act we find Urvasi's friend, the Apsare Tschitralekha, watering a rose-bush, into which her Princess has been transformed.
The King enters in the garb of an Indianpenitent. His strength is nearly exhausted, he has sought his bride all over the earth, and he now demands her from the spirit of the rock and from that of the cataract, but all tell him, that she is only to find where glowing life grows. Tired to death, he draws his sword to end his life, when Tschitralekha laying her hand on his arm, points out the rose-bush. The King kisses it, and falling on his knee beside the virgin who joins in his devotions, fervently prays to Indra, that at last his love may be given to him again. Slowly Urvasi rises from the rose-bush. A long and exalted love-duet follows, then the Indian heaven opens and the King dies at Urvasi's feet, struck by a ray from the celestial sun.
This opera had long fallen into oblivion, when Hofrath Schuch of Dresden was struck with the happy idea of resuscitating it. And indeed its music well deserves to be heard. It is both beautiful and characteristic and particularly the drinking-scenes in the second act, the soft and graceful airs sung by Emma and Edgar Aubry belong to the best of Marschner's work. He is, it is true, not quite original and often reminds one of Weber, but that cannot well be called a fault, almost every genius having greater prototype. This opera was so long neglected on account of its libretto, thesubject of which is not only unusual, but far too romantic and ghastly for modern taste. It is taken from Lord Byron's tale of the same name and written by Marschner's own brother-in-law. The scene is laid in Scotland in the seventeenth century and illustrates the old Scottish legend of the Vampire, a phantom-monster which can only exist by sucking the heart-blood of sleeping mortals.
Lord Ruthven is such a Vampire. He victimizes young maidens in particular. His soul is sold to Satan, but the demons have granted him a respite of a year, on condition of his bringing them three brides young and pure. His first victim is Janthe, daughter of Sir John Berkley. She loves the monster and together they disappear into a cavern. Her father assembles followers and goes in search of her. They hear dreadful waitings, followed by mocking laughter proceeding from the ill-fated Vampire, and entering they find Janthe lifeless. The despairing father stabs Ruthven, who wounded to death knows that he cannot survive but by drawing life from the rays of the moon, which shines on the mountains. Unable to move, he is saved by Edgar Aubry, a relative to the Laird of Davenant, who accidentally comes to the spot.
Lord Ruthven, after having received a promise of secrecy from Aubry, tells him who he is and implores him to carry him to the hills as the last favor to a dying man.
Aubry complies with the Vampire's request and then hastily flies from the spot. Ruthvenrevives and follows him, in order to win the love of Malwina, daughter of the Laird of Davenant and Aubry's betrothed.
His respite now waxing short, he tries at the same time to gain the affections of John Perth's the steward's daughter Emma.
Malwina meanwhile greets her beloved Aubry, who has returned after a long absence. Both are full of joy, when Malwina's father enters to announce to his daughter her future husband, whom he has chosen in the person of the Earl of Marsden. Great is Malwina's sorrow, and she now for the first time dares to tell her father, that her heart has already spoken and to present Aubry to him. The Laird's pride however does not allow him to retract his word, and when the Earl of Marsden arrives, he presents him to his daughter. In the supposed Earl, Aubry at once recognizes Lord Ruthven, but the villain stoutly denies his identity, giving Lord Ruthven out as a brother, who has been travelling for a long time. Aubry however recognizes the Vampire by a scar on his hand, but he is bound to secrecy by his oath, and so Ruthven triumphs, having the Laird of Davenant's promise that he will be betrothed before midnight to Malwina, as he declares that he is bound to depart for Madrid the following morning as Ambassador.
In the second act all are drinking and frolicking on the green, where the bridal is to take place.