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The Standard Operas (12th edition) by George P. Upton

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The second act reveals Klingsor's enchanted palace. The magician
gazing into a mirror sees Parsifal approaching, and knows he is the
redeemer who has been promised. He summons Kundry before him, and
commands her to tempt him with her spells. She struggles against the
task, for in her soul the powers of good and evil are always
contending for the mastery. She longs for eternal sleep, and rest from
her evil passions, but Klingsor holds her in his power. Parsifal
enters, and the scene changes to a delightful garden filled with girls
of ravishing beauty in garments of flowers. They crowd about him, and
by their fascinating blandishments seek to gain his love, but in vain.
He is still the "guileless fool." Then Kundry appears in all her
loveliness, and calls him by name, the name he had heard his mother
speak. He sorrowfully sinks at Kundry's feet. The enchantress bends
over him, appeals to him through his longing for his mother, and
kisses him. Instantly he comprehends all that he has seen, and he
cries, "The wound burns in my heart, oh, torment of love!" Then
quickly rising he spurns her from him. He has gained the
world-knowledge. She flies to him again, and passionately exclaims,
"The gift of my love would make thee divine. If this hour has made
thee the redeemer, let me suffer forever, but give me thy love." He
spurns her again, and cries, "To all eternity thou wouldst be damned
with me, if for one hour I should forget my mission," but says he will
save her too, and demands to know the way to Amfortas. In rage she
declares he shall never find it, and summons the help of Klingsor, who
hurls the sacred lance at Parsifal. The weapon remains suspended over
his head. He seizes it and makes the sign of the Cross. The gardens
and castle disappear. Parsifal and Kundry are alone in a desert. She
sinks to the ground with a mournful cry, and turning from her, his
last words are, "Thou knowest where only thou canst see me again."

In the third act we are again in the land of the Grail. Parsifal has
wandered for years trying to find Monsalvat, and at last encounters
Gurnemanz, now a very old man, living as a hermit near a forest
spring, and the saddened Kundry is serving him. It is the Good Friday
morning, and forests and fields are bright with flowers and the
verdure of spring. Gurnemanz recognizes him, and in reply to his
question what makes the world so beautiful, the aged knight makes
answer:--

"The sad repentant tears of sinners
Have here with holy rain
Besprinkled field and plain,
And made them glow with beauty.
All earthly creatures in delight
At the Redeemer's trace so bright,
Uplift their prayers of duty.
And now perceive each blade and meadow flower,
That mortal foot to-day it need not dread."

Kundry washes "the dust of his long wanderings" from his feet, and
looks up at him with earnest and beseeching gaze. Gurnemanz recognizes
the sacred spear, hails him as the King of the Grail and offers to
conduct him to the great hall where the holy rites are once more to be
performed. Before they leave, Parsifal's first act as the redeemer is
to baptize Kundry with water from the spring. The sound of tolling
bells in the distance announces the funeral of Titurel, and the scene
changes to the hall where the knights are carrying the litter upon
which Amfortas lies, awaiting the funeral procession approaching to
the strains of a solemn march. The knights demand he shall again
uncover the Grail, but he refuses, and calls upon them to destroy him
and then the Grail will shine brightly for them again. Unobserved by
them, Parsifal steps forward, touches the king's wound with the spear,
and it is immediately healed. Then he proclaims himself King of the
Grail, and orders it to be uncovered. As Amfortas and Gurnemanz kneel
to do him homage, Kundry dies at his feet in the joy of repentance.
Titurel rises from his coffin and bestows a benediction. Parsifal
ascends to the altar and raises the Grail in all its resplendent
beauty. A white dove flies down from the dome of the hall and hovers
over his head, while the knights chant their praise to God, re-echoed
by the singers in the dome, whose strains sound like celestial
voices:--

"Miracle of supreme blessing,
Redemption to the Redeemer."




WALLACE.

William Vincent Wallace was born at Waterford, Ireland, in 1815. He
first studied music with his father, a bandleader, who afterwards sent
him to Dublin, where he speedily became an excellent performer on the
clarinet, violin, and piano. At the early age of fifteen he was
appointed organist at the Cathedral of Thurles, and soon afterwards
was engaged as a theatre director and concert conductor. At the age of
eighteen he had a fit of sickness, and upon his recovery went to
Australia for his health, and thence to Van Diemen's Land and New
Zealand. He passed some time in the latter country, and then began a
long series of wanderings, in the course of which he visited the East
and West Indies, Mexico,--where he conducted Italian opera,--and the
United States. He remained in New York a considerable period, and gave
concerts which were very remunerative. In 1846 he returned to Europe,
and shortly afterwards his pretty little opera, "Maritana," appeared,
and made quite a sensation among the admirers of English opera. In
1847 "Matilda of Hungary" was produced, and met with success. Thirteen
years of silence elapsed, and at last, in 1860, he produced his
legendary opera, "Lurline," at Covent Garden. It gave great
satisfaction at the time, but is now rarely performed. Besides his
operas he also wrote many waltzes, nocturnes, studies, and other light
works for the piano. After the production of "Lurline" he went to
Paris for the purpose of bringing out some of his operas, and while in
that city also composed the first act of an opera for London, but his
health was too delicate to admit of its completion. He died at Chateau
de Bayen, Oct. 12, 1865.


MARITANA.

"Maritana," a romantic opera in three acts, words by Fitzball, founded
upon the well-known play of "Don Caesar de Bazan," was first produced
at Drury Lane, London, Nov. 15, 1845. The text closely follows that of
the drama. The first act opens in a public square of Madrid, where a
band of gypsies are singing to the populace, among them Maritana, a
young girl of more than ordinary beauty and vocal accomplishments.
Among the spectators is the young King Charles, who after listening to
her is smitten with her charms. Don Jose, his minister, to carry out
certain ambitious plans of his own, resolves to encourage the
fascinations which have so attracted the King. He extols her beauty
and arouses hopes in her breast of future grandeur and prosperity. At
this juncture Don Caesar de Bazan, a reckless, rollicking cavalier,
comes reeling out of a tavern where he has just parted with the last
of his money to gamblers. In spite of his shabby costume and
dissipated appearance he bears the marks of high breeding. In better
days he had been a friend of Don Jose. While he is relating the story
of his downward career to the minister, Lazarillo, a forlorn young lad
who has just attempted to destroy himself, accosts Don Caesar, and
tells him a piteous tale of his wrongs. Don Caesar befriends him, and
in consequence becomes involved in a duel, which leads to his arrest;
for it is Holy Week, and duelling during that time has been forbidden
on pain of death. While Don Caesar is on his way to prison, Don Jose
delights Maritana by promising her wealth, a splendid marriage, and an
introduction to the court on the morrow.

The second act opens in the prison, and discovers Don Caesar asleep,
with his faithful little friend watching by him. It is five o'clock
when he wakes, and at seven he must die. Only two hours of life remain
for him, but the prospect does not disturb him. On the other hand he
is gayer than usual, and rallies Lazarillo with playful mirth. In the
midst of his gayety the crafty Don Jose enters and professes strong
friendship for him. When Don Caesar declares that he has but one last
wish, and that is to die a soldier's death instead of being
ignominiously hanged, Don Jose says it shall be gratified upon
condition that he will marry. The prisoner has but an hour and three
quarters to live, but he consents. He is provided with wedding
apparel, and a banquet is spread in honor of the occasion. During the
feast Lazarillo brings in a paper to Don Jose containing the King's
pardon for Don Caesar, but the minister promptly conceals it.
Maritana, her features disguised by a veil, is introduced, and as the
nuptial rites are performed the soldiers prepare to execute the
penalty. At the expiration of the hour Don Caesar is led out to meet
his fate, but Lazarillo has managed to abstract the balls from the
guns. The soldiers perform their duty, and Don Caesar feigns death;
but as soon as the opportunity occurs, he leaves the prison and
hurries to a grand ball given by the Marquis and Marchioness de
Montefiori at their palace, while the Marquis, who has had his
instructions from Don Jose to recognize Maritana as his long-lost
niece, is introducing her as such. Don Caesar enters and demands his
bride. The astonished Don Jose, perceiving that his scheme to
introduce Maritana at court is liable to be frustrated, offers the
Marquis a rich appointment if he will induce his wife to play the part
he shall suggest. The scheme is soon arranged, and the Marchioness,
closely veiled, is presented to Don Caesar as the Countess de Bazan.
Disgusted at "the precious piece of antiquity," as he terms her, and
fancying that he has been duped, he is about to sign a paper
relinquishing his bride, when he suddenly hears Maritana's voice. He
recognizes it as the same he had heard during the marriage rites. He
rushes forward to claim her, but she is quickly carried away, and he
is prevented from following.

The last act opens in a palace belonging to the King, where Maritana
is surrounded with luxury, though she is as yet unaware that she is in
the royal apartments. Don Jose, fancying that Don Caesar will not dare
to make his appearance, as he does not know of his pardon, carries out
his plot by introducing the King to her as her husband. She at first
rejects him, and as he presses his suit Don Caesar breaks into the
apartment. The King in a rage demands to know his errand. He replies
that he is in quest of the Countess de Bazan, and with equal rage
inquires who he (the King) is. The King in confusion answers that he
is Don Caesar, whereupon the latter promptly replies, "Then I am the
King of Spain." Before further explanation can be made, a messenger
arrives from the Queen with the announcement that she awaits the King.
After his departure Don Caesar and Maritana mutually recognize each
other, and upon her advice he resolves to appeal to the Queen to save
her. He waits for her Majesty in the palace garden, and while
concealed, overhears Don Jose informing her that the King will meet
his mistress that night. He springs out, and denouncing him as a
traitor to his King slays him, and then returning to Maritana's
apartment finds the King there again, and tells him what has occurred.
He has saved the King's honor: will the King destroy his? The monarch,
overcome with Don Caesar's gallantry and loyalty, consigns Maritana to
him and appoints him Governor of Granada. The appointment does not
suit Don Caesar, for Granada is too near his creditors. The King,
laughing, changes it to Valencia, a hundred leagues away, and thither
Don Caesar conducts his happy bride.

The drama is one which is well adapted to bright, cheerful, melodious
music, and the opportunity has been well improved, for "Maritana" is
one of the sprightliest and brightest of all the English operas, and
contains several ballads which for beauty and expressiveness may well
challenge any that Balfe has written. The principal numbers in the
first act are Maritana's opening song in the public square ("It was a
Knight of princely Mien"); the romanza which she subsequently sings
for Don Jose, "I hear it again, 'tis the Harp in the Air," which is
one of the sweetest and most delicate songs in any of the lighter
operas; the duet between Maritana and Don Jose, "Of fairy Wand had I
the Power;" Don Caesar's rollicking drinking-song, "All the World
over, to love, to drink, to fight, I delight;" and the tripping
chorus, "Pretty Gitana, tell us what the Fates decree," leading up to
the stirring ensemble in the finale, when Don Caesar is arrested. The
first scene of the second act is the richest in popular numbers,
containing an aria for alto, Lazarillo's song ("Alas! those Chimes so
sweetly pealing"); a charming trio for Don Caesar, Lazarillo, and Don
Jose ("Turn on, old Time, thine Hourglass"); Don Caesar's stirring
martial song, "Yes, let me like a Soldier fall;" the serious ballad,
"In happy Moments, Day by Day," written by Alfred Bunn, who wrote so
many of the Balfe ballads; and the quartet and chorus closing the
scene, "Health to the Lady, the lovely Bride!" The second scene opens
with a pretty chorus in waltz time ("Ah, what Pleasure! the soft
Guitar"), followed by an aria sung by the King ("The Mariner in his
Bark"), and introduced by an attractive violin prelude. The finale is
a very dramatic ensemble, quintet and chorus ("What Mystery must now
control"). The last act falls off in musical interest, though it is
very strong dramatically. It contains a few numbers, however, which
are very popular; among them one of the most admired of all English
songs ("Scenes that are brightest"), which Maritana sings in the
King's apartments at the beginning of the act; the humorous duet
between the King and Don Caesar when they meet; the love-duet between
Don Caesar and Maritana ("This Heart with Bliss o'erflowing"); and Don
Caesar's song, "There is a Flower that bloometh," which is in the
sentimental ballad style. The freshness, brightness, and gracefulness
of the music of this little opera, combined with the unusual interest
and delicate humor of the story, have always commended it to popular
admiration.




WEBER.

Carl Maria von Weber was born Dec. 18, 1786, at Eutin, and may almost
be said to have been born on the stage, as his father was at the head
of a theatrical company, and the young Carl was carried in the train
of the wandering troupe all over Germany. His first lessons were given
to him by Henschkel, conductor of the orchestra of Duke Friedrich of
Meiningen. At the age of fourteen he wrote his first opera, "Das
Waldmaedchen," which was performed several times during the year 1800.
In 1801 appeared his two-act comic opera, "Peter Schmoll and his
Neighbors," and during these two years he also frequently played in
concerts with great success. He then studied with the Abbe Vogler, and
in his eighteenth year was engaged for the conductorship of the
Breslau opera. About this time appeared his first important opera,
"Rubezahl." At the conclusion of his studies with Vogler he was made
director of the Opera at Prague. In 1814 he wrote a cantata, "The Lyre
and Sword," for a festive occasion, and it was greeted with the
wildest enthusiasm. In 1816 he went to Berlin, where he was received
with the highest marks of popular esteem, and thence to Dresden as
Hofcapellmeister. This was the most brilliant period in his career. It
was during this time that he married Caroline Brandt, the actress and
singer, who had had a marked influence upon his musical progress, and
to whom he dedicated his exquisite "Invitation to the Dance." The
first great work of his life, "Der Freischuetz," was written at this
period. Three other important operas followed,--"Preciosa,"
"Euryanthe," the first performance of which took place in Vienna in
1823, and "Oberon," which he finished in London and brought out there.
Weber's last days were spent in the latter city; and it was while
making preparations to return to Germany, which he longed to see
again, that he was stricken down with his final illness. On the 4th of
June, 1826, he was visited by Sir George Smart, Moscheles, and other
musicians who were eager to show him attention. He declined to have
any one watch by his bedside, thanked them for their kindness, bade
them good-by, and then turned to his friend Fuerstenau and said, "Now
let me sleep." These were his last words. The next morning he was
found dead in his bed. He has left a rich legacy of works besides his
operas,--a large collection of songs, many cantatas (of which "The
Jubilee," with its brilliant overture, is the finest), some masses, of
which that in E flat is the most beautiful, and several concertos,
besides many brilliant rondos, polaccas, and marches for the piano.


DER FREISCHUETZ.

"Der Freischuetz," a romantic opera in three acts, words by Friedrich
Kind, was first produced at Berlin, June 18, 1821. It is one of the
most popular operas in the modern repertory. It was first performed in
Paris, Dec. 7, 1824, as "Robin des Bois," with a new libretto by
Castile Blaze and Sauvage, and many changes in the score, such as
divertissements made up of the dance-music in "Preciosa" and "Oberon,"
and of "The Invitation to the Dance," scored by Berlioz. In 1841 it
was again given in Paris, with an accurate translation of the text by
Pacini, and recitatives added by Berlioz, as "Le Franc Archer." Its
first English performance in London was given July 22, 1824, as "Der
Freischuetz, or the Seventh Bullet," with several ballads inserted; and
its first Italian at Covent Garden, March 16, 1850, with recitatives
by Costa, as "Il Franco Arciero." So popular was it in England in 1824
that no less than nine theatres were presenting various versions of it
at the same time. The original cast was as follows:--

AGATHA Frau CAROLINE SEIDLER.
ANNCHEN Frl. JOHANNA EUNIKE.
MAX Herr CARL STUEMER.
CASPAR Herr HEINRICH BLUME.
OTTAKAR Herr RUBINSTEIN.
KUNO Herr WANER.
HERMIT Herr GERN.
KILIAN Herr WIEDEMANN.

The text of the opera is taken from a story in "Popular Tales of the
Northern Nations," and is founded upon a traditionary belief that a
demon of the forest furnishes a marksman with unerring bullets cast
under magical influences. Kuno, the head ranger to the Prince of
Bohemia, too old to longer continue in his position, recommends Max, a
skilful marksman, who is betrothed to his daughter Agatha, as his
successor. The Prince agrees to accept him if he proves himself victor
at the forthcoming hunting-match. Caspar, the master-villain of the
play, who has sold himself to the demon Zamiel, and who also is in
love with Agatha, forms a plot to ruin Max and deliver him over to
Zamiel as a substitute for himself, for the limit of his contract with
the Evil One is close at hand. With Zamiel's aid he causes Max to miss
the mark several times during the rehearsals for the match. The lover
is thrown into deep dejection by his ill luck, and while in this
melancholy condition is cunningly approached by Caspar, who says to
him that if he will but repeat the formula, "In the name of Zamiel,"
he will be successful. He does so, and brings down an eagle soaring
high above him.

Elated with his success, Caspar easily persuades him that he can win
the match if he will meet him at midnight in the Wolf's Glen, where
with Zamiel's aid he can obtain plenty of magic bullets.

The second act opens in Kuno's house, and shows us Agatha melancholy
with forebodings of coming evil. A hermit whom she has met in the
woods has warned her of danger, and given her a wreath of magic roses
to ward it off. An ancestral portrait falling from the walls also
disturbs her; and at last the appearance of the melancholy Max
confirms her belief that trouble is in store for her. Max himself is
no less concerned. All sorts of strange sounds have troubled him, and
his slumbers have been invaded with apparitions. Nevertheless, he goes
to the Wolf's Glen; and though spectres, skeletons, and various
grotesque animals terrify him, and his mother's spirit appears and
warns him away, he overcomes his fright and appears with Caspar at the
place of incantation. Zamiel is summoned, and seven bullets are cast,
six of which are to be directed by Max himself in the forthcoming
match, while the seventh will be at the disposal of the demon. Little
dreaming the fate which hangs upon the seventh, Caspar offers no
objections.

The third act opens, like the last, in Kuno's house, and discovers
Agatha preparing for her nuptials, and telling Annchen a singular
dream she has had. She had fancied herself a dove, and that Max fired
at her. As the bird fell she came to herself and saw that the dove had
changed to a fierce bird of ill omen which lay dying at her feet. The
melancholy produced by the dream is still further heightened when it
is found that a funeral instead of a bridal wreath has been made for
her; but her heart lightens up again as she remembers the magic
rose-wreath which the hermit had enjoined her to wear on her wedding
day. At last the eventful day of trial comes, and the Prince and all
his courtiers assemble to witness the match. Max makes six shots in
succession which go home to the mark. At the Prince's command he fires
the seventh, Zamiel's bullet, at a dove flying past. As he fires,
Agatha appears to him as the dove, and he fancies he has slain her.
The wreath protects her, however, and Zamiel directs the bullet to
Caspar's heart. The demon claims his victim, and Max his bride, amid
general rejoicing.

The overture, which is one of the most favorite numbers of its class
in the concert-room as well as in the opera-house, is a masterpiece of
brilliant and descriptive instrumentation, and furnishes us with a key
to the whole story in its announcement of the leading themes. It opens
with an adagio horn passage of great beauty, giving us the groundwork
of the entire action; and then follow motives from Max's grand scena
in the first act, the Incantation music, Agatha's moonlight scene, and
other episodes connected with the action of Max and Caspar. Indeed,
the frequent and expressive use of the _Leit motif_ all through the
work seem to entitle Weber to the credit of its invention.

The first act opens with a spirited chorus of villagers, followed by a
lively march and a comic song by Kilian, in which he rallies Max upon
his bad luck. The next number is a trio and chorus, with solos for the
principals, Max, Kuno, and Caspar ("O diese Sonne, furchtbar steigt
sie mir empor"). Max laments his fate, but Kuno encourages him, while
Caspar insinuates his evil plot. The trio is of a sombre cast at the
beginning, but by a sudden change the horns and an expressive
combination of the chorus give it a cheerful character. It is once
more disturbed, however, by Caspar's ominous phrases, but at last Kuno
and his men cheer up the despondent lover with a brisk hunting-chorus,
and the villagers dance off to a lively waltz tempo. Max is left
alone, and the next number is a grand tenor scene. It opens with a
gloomy recitative, which lights up as he thinks of Agatha, and then
passes into one of the most tender and delicious of melodies ("Durch
die Waelder, durch die Auen"), set to a beautiful accompaniment.
Suddenly the harmony is clouded by the apparition of Zamiel, but as he
disappears, Max begins another charming melody ("Jetzt ist wohl ihr
Fenster offen"), which is even more beautiful than the first. As
Zamiel reappears the harmony is again darkened; but when despairing
Max utters the cry, "Lives there no God!" the wood-demon disappears,
and the great song comes to an end. In this mood Caspar meets him, and
seeks to cheer him with an hilarious drinking-song ("Hier im ird'schen
Jammerthal"), furious in its energy, and intended to express
unhallowed mirth. The act closes with Caspar's bass aria of infernal
triumph ("Triumph! die Rache, die Rache gelingt"), accompanied by
music which is wonderfully weird and shadowy in its suggestions.

The second act opens with a duet ("Schelm! halt fest") in which
Agatha's fear and anxiety are charmingly contrasted with the lightsome
and cheery nature of Annchen, her attendant, and this in turn is
followed by a naive and coquettish arietta ("Kommt ein schlanker
Bursch gegangen") sung by the latter. Annchen departs, and Agatha,
opening her window and letting the moonlight flood the room, sings the
famous scena and prayer, "Leise, leise, fromme Weise," beginning,
after a few bars of recitative, with a melody full of prayer and hope
and tender longings, shaded with vague presentiment. It is an adagio
of exquisite beauty, closing with an ecstatic outburst of rapture
("Alle meine Pulse schlagen") as she beholds her lover coming. The
melody has already been heard in the overture, but its full joy and
splendid sweep are attained only in this scene. In the next scene we
have a trio ("Wie? was? Entsetzen?") between Max, Annchen, and Agatha,
in which the musical discrimination of character is carried to a fine
point; and the act concludes with the incantation music in the Wolf's
Glen, which has never been surpassed in weirdness, mystery, and
diablerie, and at times in actual sublimity. Its real power lies in
the instrumentation; not alone in its vivid and picturesque
presentation of the melodramatic scene with its hideous surroundings,
but in its expressiveness and appositeness to the action and sentiment
by the skilful use of motives.

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