Part 5
There she sat in her chair and recalled how handsome the lover of her dream was, and how truly she already loved him. Then she decided to go to bed, and while she was folding her few things, putting her apron away, combing out her long and beautiful hair, she sang an old Gothic song, of the King of Thule:
[Music:
There was a king in Thule Was faithful till the grave To whom his mistress, dying, A golden goblet gave. Naught was to him more precious, He drained it at ev'ry bout. His eyes with tears ran over As oft as he drank thereout.]
When came his time of dying, The towns in his land he told; Naught else to his heir denying Except the goblet of gold. He sat at the royal banquet, With his knights of high degree, In the lofty hall of his fathers, In the castle by the sea.
There stood the old carouser, And drank the last life-glow, And hurled the hallow'd goblet Into the tide below. He saw it plunging and filling, And sinking deep in the sea, Then his eyelids fell forever, And never more drank he.
There was a King once in Thule, Faithful was he--to the grave.
Then the Devil, who was watching all, summoned his imps. This time they took the form of Will-o'-the-wisps.
"Come! dance and confuse this maiden, and see what we can do to help this lovesick Faust," he cried to them, and at once they began a wonderful dance. Marguerite watched them entranced, and by the time Faust appeared from the folds of the curtains she was half dazed and confused by the unreal spectacle she had seen. Then she recognized the handsome fellow as the one she had seen in her dream.
"I have seen thee in my dreams," she said, "and thou wert one who loved me well." Faust, entranced with her beauty and goodness, promised to love her forever; and as he embraced her, the Devil suddenly popped in.
"Hasten," he cried. "We must be off."
"Who is this man?" Marguerite cried in affright.
"A brute," Faust declared, knowing well the devilishness of his pretended friend in whose company he travelled.
"Nay! I am your best friend. Be more courteous," the Devil cautioned, smiling.
"I expect I am intruding," he continued. "But really I came to save this angel of a girl. Our songs have awakened all the neighbours round, and they are running hither like a pack of hounds to see what is going on. They know this pretty girl has a young man in here talking with her, and already they are calling for her old gossip of a mother. When her mother comes ye will catch it finely. So come along."
"Death and Hell!" Faust cried, not knowing how near he was to both.
"There is no time for that. Just come along. You and the young woman will have plenty of time hereafter to see each other. But just now we must be off."
"But she----"
"It will go hard with her if we are found here, so ye had better come on, if only for her sake."
"But, return, return," Marguerite cried, looking tenderly at Faust.
"I shall return, never to leave thee," he cried, and then, interrupted by the noise made by men and women in the street, who were coming to find out what he was doing there, Faust left hurriedly. Every night thereafter for a time they met, and Marguerite was persuaded by the Devil to give her old mother a sleeping potion to keep her from surprising them. Then one day the Devil again lured Faust away.
"Now thou shalt never see her again," the Devil said to himself, gloating over the sorrow Faust was sure to feel; and away they fled, the Devil sure of tempting Faust anew.
After that Marguerite, left quite alone, watched sadly, each day for the return of her lover, but alas! he never came. One night while she was leaning out of her casement, the villagers were singing of the return of the army.
"Alas, they are all making merry, soldiers and students, as on the night when I first saw my lover, but he is no longer among them." And then sadly she closed her window and kept her lonely vigil, ever hoping for his return.
Away in a cavern, in the depths of the forest, was Faust. He had never returned to Marguerite's village, and neither had he known any peace of mind. He had immediately found other pleasures which had for a time made him forget her, and then, when he was far away and it was too late to return, he desired again to be with her. Now, sitting apart in the wood, mourning, the Devil came to him.
"How about that constant love of thine? Do ye never think of that poor child Marguerite, lonely and far away, awaiting thee month after month?"
"Be silent and do not torture me, fiend," Faust cried bitterly.
"Oh I have a lot to tell thee," the Black Prince replied. "I have been saving news for thee. Dost thou remember how, on those nights when thou didst go to see that good maiden, she was told to give her old mother a sleeping draught, that she might sleep soundly while ye billed and cooed? Well, when ye were gone, Marguerite still expected ye, and continued to give the draught, and one night the old dame slept forever, and I tell thee that draught killed her. Now thy Marguerite is going to be hanged for it." Upon hearing that, Faust nearly died with horror.
"What is it ye tell me?" he cried. "My God! This is not true."
"All right. All right. Believe it or not, it is the same to me--and to her--because that poor maid is about to die for killing her mother."
"Thou shalt save her, or I shall kill--" But he stopped in his fury, knowing that none could kill the Devil. He wrung his hands in despair.
"Now if thou wilt keep thyself a bit civil, I may save her for thee, but don't forget thy manners."
At that Faust was in a fury of excitement to be off to Marguerite's village.
"Not so fast, not so fast," the Devil said "Now if I am to save thy love, I must have a little agreement with thee. I want your signature to this paper. Sign, and I promise to save her, without fail. But I must have that first."
"I will give thee anything," Faust cried, and instantly signed the paper. That paper was really an agreement to give the Devil his soul when he should die, so Faust had abandoned his last hope on earth or hereafter. Then the Devil called for his horses--his black horses upon which damned souls rode with him to Hell.
"Mount," he said to Faust, "and in a trice we shall be with thy Marguerite and snatch her from the gallows." Instantly they mounted and then began the fearful ride to Hell.
Presently they came near a crowd of peasants kneeling about a roadside cross.
"Oh, have a care. Let us not ride upon them," Faust cried.
"Get on, get on," the Devil cried. "It is thy Marguerite we are hastening to," and the poor peasants scattered in every direction, some being trampled upon and little children hurt.
"Horrible, horrible," Faust cried. "What is that monster pursuing us?" he whispered, glancing fearfully behind him.
"Ye are dreaming."
"Nay! and there are hideous birds of prey now joining us. They rush upon us. What screams? Their black wings strike me." And then a bell tolled.
"Hark ye! It is the bell for her death. Hasten," the Devil urged.
"Aye, make haste, make haste." And the horses, black as night, were urged on and on. "See those ghastly skeletons dancing!" Faust screamed, as the fearful spectres gathered round them.
"Think not of them, but of our Marguerite!" the Devil counselled.
"Our horses' manes are bristling. They tremble, the earth rocks wildly. I hear the thunders roar, it is raining blood," Faust shrieked. Then the Devil shouted:
"Ah! Ye slaves of Hell, your trumpets blow. I come triumphant. This man is mine!" And as he spoke, the two riders fell headlong into the abyss of Hell.
Then all the fiends of Hell began to sing wildly. The scene was one of damnation.
Then, grandly above Hell's din rose a mighty chorus. It was a heavenly strain. Marguerite had not been spared the horror of execution; but dead, the saints forgave her. In Heaven, as her soul ascended, they sang:
"Ascend, O trusting spirit! It was love which misled thee. Come, let us wipe away thy tears. Come, come, and dwell forever among the blest."
And thus Faust met his end, and Marguerite her reward for faith and innocence.
BIZET
When Bizet wrote his music around Prosper Merimee's story of Carmen, he reflected his familiarity with Spanish life and his long living in the Pyrenees mountains. The character of Michaela is not found in the novel, but the clever introduction of it into the opera story adds greatly to dramatic effect, since the gentle and loving character is in strong contrast with that of Carmen.
Bizet's name was Alexandre Cesar Leopold, and he was born on October 25, 1838, at Bougival, and died June 3, 1875. He with Charles Lecocq won the Offenbach prize for the best operetta while Bizet was as yet a youth, and from that time his art gained in strength and beauty. In those days it was a reproach to suggest Wagner in musical composition, but Bizet was accused of doing so. Thus he was handicapped by leaning toward an unpopular school at the very start, but the great beauty of his productions made their way in spite of all. He wrote, as his second composition of importance, an opera around the novel of Scott's Fair Maid of Perth--in French, La Jolie Fille de Perth--and this was not a success, but that same opera survives through his Carmen. The Bohemian dance in that opera was taken from it and interpolated into the fourth act of Carmen.
Bizet died only three months after the production of this last opera, but he had lived long enough to know that he had become one of the world's great composers. He wrote exquisite pastoral music for "l'Arlesienne"--whose story was adapted from Daudet's novel of that name. In short, Bizet was the pioneer in a new school of French opera, doing for it in a less measure what Wagner has finally done for the whole world.
This genius left few anecdotes or personal reminiscences behind him. The glory of his compositions alone seems to stand for his existence.
CARMEN
CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST, AS PRESENTED AT THE FIRST PERFORMANCE
Don Jose, Corporal of Dragoons M. Lherie Escamillo, Toreador M. Bouhy Zuniga, Captain of Dragoons M. Dufriche Morales, Officer M. Duvernoy Lillas Pastia, Innkeeper M. Nathan Carmen, Gipsy-girl Mme. Galli-Marie Michaela, a Village Maiden Mlle. Chapuy Frasquita Mlle. Ducasse Mercedes Mlle. Chevalier El Dancairo } El Remendado } Smugglers. A guide. Dragoons, gypsies, smugglers, cigarette-girls, street-boys, etc.
The time of the story is 1820, and it takes place in and near Seville.
Composer: Georges Bizet.
Book: H. Meilhac and L. Halevy.
First sung at the Opera Comique, Paris, March 3, 1875.
I knew a boy who once said: "That soldier thing in 'Carmen' is the most awful bully thing to whistle a fellow ever heard; but if you don't get it just right, it doesn't sound like anything," which was a mistake, because if you don't get it "just right" it sounds something awful. That boy's whistle was twenty per cent. better than his syntax, but his judgment about music was pretty good, and we shall have the soldier song in the very beginning, even before learning how it happens, because it is the thing we are likely to recall, in a shadowy sort of way, throughout the first act:
[Music:
With the guard on duty going Marching onward, here we are! Sound, trumpets merrily blowing! Ta ra ta ta ta ra ta ta.
On we tramp, alert and ready, Like young soldiers ev'ry one;-- Heads up and footfall steady, Left! right! we're marching on!
See how straight our shoulders are, Ev'ry breast is swell'd with pride, Our arms all regular Hanging down on either side.
With the guard on duty going, Marching onward, here we are! Sound, trumpets merrily blowing, Ta ra ta ta ta ra ta ta!]
That is the way it goes, and this is the way it happens:
ACT I
Once upon a time there was a pretty girl named Michaela, and she was as good as she was beautiful. She loved a corporal in the Spanish army whose name was Don Jose. Now the corporal was a fairly good chap, but he had been born thoughtless, and as a matter of fact he had lived away from home for so long that he had half-forgotten his old mother who lived a lonely life with Michaela.
One day, about noontime, the guard, waiting to be relieved by their comrades, were on duty near the guard-house, which was situated in a public square of Seville. As the soldiers sat about, or walked with muskets over shoulders, their service was not especially wearisome, because people were continually passing through the square, and besides there was a cigarette factory on the other side of the square, and when the factory hands tumbled out, about noon, there was plenty of carousing and gaiety for an hour. Here in the square were little donkeys with tinkling bells upon them, and donkeys carrying packs upon their backs, and gentlemen in black velvet cloaks which were thrown artistically over one shoulder, and with plumes on their hats. Then, too, there were ragged folks who looked rather well, nevertheless, since their rags were Spanish rags, and made a fine show of bright colours.
Just as Morales, the officer of the guard, was finding the hot morning rather slow, and wishing the factory bell would ring, and his brother officer march his men in to relieve him, Michaela appeared. She had come into the city from the home of Jose's mother, which was somewhere near, in the hills. His old mother had become so lonely and worried, not having heard from Jose for so long, that at last the girl had undertaken to come down into the city, bearing a note from his mother, and to seek him out at his barracks. She had inquired her way till she found the square where the guard was quartered, and now, when she entered it, Morales was the first to see her.
"That is a pretty girl," Morales decided as he watched her. "Seems to be looking for some one--little strange in this part of the town, probably. Can I do anything for you?" he called to her, as she approached.
"I am looking for Don Jose, a soldier, if you know him----"
"Perfectly. He is corporal of the guard which is presently to relieve us. If you wait here, you are certain to see him." Michaela thanked him quietly, and went away. The soldiers were strange to her, and she preferred to wait in another part of the square rather than where they were idling. She had no sooner disappeared than the music of the relief guard was heard in the distance. It was the soldiers' chorus: a regular fife and drum affair. It came nearer, nearer, nearer, till it arrived in full blast, fresh as a pippin, the herald of all that was going to happen through four acts of opera. There was to be fighting and smugglers: factory-girls in a row, and Carmen everywhere and anywhere, all of the time.
With the new guard comes first the bugler and a fifer with a lot of little ragged urchins tagging along behind; then comes Zuniga strutting in, very much pleased with himself, and after him Don Jose, the corporal, whom Michaela has come to town to see. The street boys sing while the new guard lines up in front of the old one, and every one takes up the song. It is the business of every one in opera to sing about everything at any time. Thus the guard describes itself in song:
On we tramp, alert and steady, Like young soldiers, every one! Head up, and footfall steady, Left, right! we're marching on!
See how straight our shoulders are,-- Every breast is swelled with pride, Our arms all regular-- Hanging down on either side.
There is not much poetry in this, but there is lots of vim, and the new guard, as bright as a new tin whistle, has formed and the old guard marched off during the singing. Meantime, while things have been settling down, Morales has had a word with Don Jose.
"A pretty girl is somewhere near here, looking for you, Jose. She wore a blue gown and her hair is in a braid down her back; she's----"
"I know her; it is Michaela," Jose declares: and, with the sudden knowledge that she is so near, and that she comes directly from his old mother, he feels a longing for home, and realizes that he has been none too thoughtful or kind toward those who love him. As everybody finds himself in place, Zuniga points across to the cigarette factory.
"Did you ever notice that there are often some tremendously pretty girls over there?" he asks of Jose.
"Huh?" Jose answers, abstractedly. Zuniga laughs.
"You are thinking of the pretty girl Morales has just told you of," he says. "The girl with the blue petticoat and the braid down her back!"
"Well, why not? I love her," Jose answers shortly. He hunches his musket a little higher and wheels about. He doesn't specially care to talk of Michaela or his mother, with these young scamps who are as thoughtless as himself: he has preserved so much of self-respect; but before he can answer again the factory bell rings. Dinner time! Jose stands looking across, as every one else does, while the factory crowd begins to tumble out, helter-skelter. All come singing, and the girls smoking cigarettes, a good many of them being gipsies, like Carmen. They are dressed in all sorts of clothes from dirty silk petticoats, up to self-respecting rags. Carmen is somewhere in the midst of the hullabaloo, and everybody is shouting for her.
Carmen leads in everything. She leads in good and she leads in bad. She makes the best and the worst cigarettes, she is the quickest and she is the slowest, as the mood moves her; and now, when she flashes on to the stage in red and yellow fringes and bedraggled finery, cigarette in mouth and bangles tinkling, opera has given to the stage the supreme puzzle of humanity: the woman who does always what she pleases, and who pleases never to do the thing expected of her!
The first man she sees when she comes from the factory is Jose. The first thing that she pleases to do is to make Jose love her. It will be good fun for the noon hour. She has her friends with her, Frasquita and Mercedes, and all are in the mood for a frolic. They sing:
[Music:
Love is like any wood-bird wild, That none can ever hope to tame; And in vain is all wooing mild If he refuse your heart to claim. Naught avails, neither threat nor prayer, One speaks me fair--the other sighs, 'Tis the other that I prefer, Tho' mute, his heart to mine replies.]
While Carmen sings, her eyes do not leave Don Jose, and he is watching her in spite of himself. The racket continues till the factory bell rings to call the crowd back to work. Carmen goes reluctantly, and as she goes, she throws a flower at Jose.
This little flower gave me a start Like a ball aimed fair at my heart!
he says, half smiling, half seriously, as he picks it up. While he stands thus, looking toward the factory, holding the flower, thinking of Carmen, Michaela comes back into the square. They espy each other, and a sudden warmth and tenderness come upon Jose: after all, he loves her dearly--and there is his old mother! His better self responds: Jose, in imagination, sees the little house in the hills where he lived as a boy before he went soldiering. He recalls vividly for the first time in months, those who are faithful to him, and for a moment he loves them as they love him. They speak together. Michaela gives him the note from his mother. There is money in it: she has thought he might be in debt, or in other trouble and need it. Jose is surprised by the tears in his own eyes--it is a far cry from gay Seville to the little house among the hills!
"Go back to mother, Michaela, tell her I am going to get leave as soon as I can and am coming back to her and you. I am going to play fair. There's not much in life, otherwise. Go home and tell her I am coming, and I mean to make you both as happy as once I meant to."
His sudden tenderness enraptures the young girl, and kissing him she sets out to leave Seville with a glad heart. Jose, left alone, on guard, his life and thought interrupted by this incident of home and faithfulness, leans thoughtfully upon his musket.
"It hasn't been quite right, and I am not happy. We'll change all this," he meditates.
As the afternoon sun grows hot the citizens begin to creep within doors for the _siesta_, as all Spanish life seems to grow tired and still in the burning day. Suddenly the silence is broken by a scream from over the way. Jose starts up and looks across.
"Hey, there! what the devil!" Zuniga shouts from the guard-house, and runs out. "Hello, hello! Jose, look alive there! What's gone wrong?--what the----" And the men start to run across the square.
"Help, help!" comes from the factory. "Will no one come? We're being killed--the she-devil--look out for her--Carmen! Look out for her--she has a knife!" Every one is screaming at once and trying each in his own way to tell what has happened.
"Get in there, Jose, and bring out the girl. Arrest the gipsy; and you men here get into this crowd and quiet it down. Make those girls shut up. Why, what the devil, I say! one would think a lunatic asylum loose. You've got the girl, Jose?" he calls across as the corporal brings Carmen out. "Bring her over," and Zuniga starts across to meet them, clattering on the cobblestones with his high heels.
"She knifed one of the girls, did she? All right--clap her into jail. You're just a bit too ready with your hands, my girl," the captain cries as Jose takes her into the guard-house.
Jose is set to guard her; which is about as wise as setting the cream where the cat can dip her whiskers.
If it pleased the girl a moment before to stab a companion, it pleases her best now to get out of jail. She begins ably.
"I love you," she remarks to Jose.
"It does not concern me," replies the heroic Jose.
"It should," Carmen persists.
"Ah!" replies Jose, noncommittally. This is unsatisfactory to Carmen. However, she is equal to the occasion. When is she so fascinating as when quite preoccupied?--she will try it now. She will sing:
[Music: