The Complete Opera Book / The Stories of the Operas, together with 400 of the Leading Airs and Motives in Musical Notation

Act I. There is a prelude, based on a Japanese theme. This theme runs through the greater part of the act. It is employed as a background and as a connecting link, with the result that it imparts much exotic tone colour to the scenes. The prelude passes over into the first act without a break.

Lieutenant B.F. Pinkerton, U.S.N., is on the point of contracting a "Japanese marriage" with Cio-Cio-San, whom her friends call Butterfly. At the rise of the curtain Pinkerton is looking over a little house on a hill facing the harbour. This house he has leased and is about to occupy with his Japanese wife. Goro, the nakodo or marriage broker, who has arranged the match, also has found the house for him and is showing him over it, enjoying the American's surprise at the clever contrivances found in Japanese house construction. Three Japanese servants are in the house, one of whom is Suzuki, Butterfly's faithful maid.

Sharpless, the American Consul at Nagasaki, arrives. In the chat which follows between the two men it becomes apparent that Sharpless looks upon the step Pinkerton is about to take with disfavour. He argues that what may be a mere matter of pastime to the American Naval lieutenant, may have been taken seriously by the Japanese girl and, if so, may prove a matter of life or death with her. Pinkerton on the other hand laughs off his friend's fears and, having poured out drinks for both, recklessly pledges his real American wife of the future. Further discussion is interrupted by the arrival of the bride with her relatives and friends.

After greetings have been exchanged, the Consul on conversing with Butterfly becomes thoroughly convinced that he was correct in cautioning Pinkerton. For he discovers that she is not contemplating the usual Japanese marriage of arrangement, but, actually being in love with Pinkerton, is taking it with complete seriousness. She has even gone to the extent, as she confides to Pinkerton, of secretly renouncing her religious faith, the faith of her forefathers, and embracing his, before entering on her new life with him. This step, when discovered by her relatives, means that she has cut herself loose from all her old associations and belongings, and entrusts herself and her future entirely to her husband.

Minor officials whose duty it is to see that the marriage contract, even though it be a "Japanese marriage," is signed with proper ceremony, arrive. In the midst of drinking and merry-making on the part of all who have come to the wedding, they are startled by fierce imprecations from a distance and gradually drawing nearer. A weird figure, shouting and cursing wildly, appears upon the scene. It is Butterfly's uncle, the Bonze (Japanese priest). He has discovered her renunciation of faith, now calls down curses upon her head for it, and insists that all her relatives, even her immediate family, renounce her. Pinkerton enraged at the disturbance turns them out of the house. The air shakes with their imprecations as they depart. Butterfly is weeping bitterly, but Pinkerton soon is enabled to comfort her. The act closes with a passionate love scene.

The Japanese theme, which I have spoken of as forming the introduction to the act, besides, the background to the greater part of it, in fact up to the scene with the Bonze, never becomes monotonous because it is interrupted by several other musical episodes. Such are the short theme to which Pinkerton sings "Tutto è pronto" (All is ready), and the skippy little theme when Goro tells Pinkerton about those who will be present at the ceremony. When Pinkerton sings, "The whole world over, on business or pleasure the Yankee travels," a motif based on the "Star-Spangled Banner," is heard for the first time.

In the duet between Pinkerton and Sharpless, which Pinkerton begins with the words, "Amore o grillo" (Love or fancy), Sharpless's serious argument and its suggestion of the possibility of Butterfly's genuine love for Pinkerton are well brought out in the music. When Butterfly and her party arrive, her voice soars above those of the others to the strains of the same theme which occurs as a climax to the love duet at the end of the act and which, in the course of the opera, is heard on other occasions so intimately associated with herself and her emotions that it may be regarded as a motif, expressing the love she has conceived for Pinkerton.

Full of feeling is the music of her confession to Pinkerton that she has renounced the faith of her forefathers, in order to be a fit wife for the man she loves:—"Ieri son salita" (Hear what I would tell you). An episode, brief but of great charm, is the chorus "Kami! O Kami! Let's drink to the newly married couple." Then comes the interruption of the cheerful scene by the appearance of the Bonze, which forms a dramatic contrast.

It is customary with Puccini to create "atmosphere" of time and place through the medium of the early scenes of his operas. It is only necessary to recall the opening episodes in the first acts of "La Bohème" and "Tosca." He has done the same thing in "Madam Butterfly," by the employment of the Japanese theme already referred to, and by the crowded episodes attending the arrival of Butterfly and the performance of the ceremony. These episodes are full of action and colour, and distinctly Japanese in the impression they make. Moreover, they afford the only opportunity throughout the entire opera to employ the chorus upon the open stage. It is heard again in the second act, but only behind the scenes and humming in order to give the effect of distance.

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to the end, its interest never flags. It is full of beautiful melody charged with sentiment and passion, yet varied with lighter passages, like Butterfly's "I am like the moon's little goddess"; "I used to think if anyone should want me"; and the exquisite, "Vogliatemi bene" (Ah, love me a little). There is a beautiful melody for Pinkerton, "Love, what fear holds you trembling." The climax of the love duet is reached in two impassioned phrases:—"Dolce notte! Quante stelle" (Night of rapture, stars unnumbered),

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and "Oh! Quanti occhi fisi, attenti" (Oh, kindly heavens).

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Act II. Part I. Three years have elapsed. It is a long time since Pinkerton has left Butterfly with the promise to return to her "when the robins nest." When the curtain rises, after an introduction, in which another Japanese theme is employed, Suzuki, although convinced that Pinkerton has deserted her mistress, is praying for his return. Butterfly is full of faith and trust. In chiding her devoted maid for doubting that Pinkerton will return, she draws in language and song a vivid picture of his home-coming and of their mutual joy therein:—"Un bel dì vedremo" (Some day he'll come).

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In point of fact, Pinkerton really is returning to Nagasaki, but with no idea of resuming relations with his Japanese wife. Indeed, before leaving America he has written to Sharpless asking him to let Butterfly know that he is married to an American wife, who will join him in Nagasaki. Sharpless calls upon Butterfly, and attempts to deliver his message, but is unable to do so because of the emotions aroused in Butterfly by the very sight of a letter from Pinkerton. It throws her into a transport of joy because, unable immediately to grasp its contents, she believes that in writing he has remembered her, and must be returning to her. Sharpless endeavours to make the true situation clear to her, but is interrupted by a visit from Yamadori, a wealthy Japanese suitor, whom Goro urges Butterfly to marry. For the money left by Pinkerton with his little Japanese wife has dwindled almost to nothing, and poverty stares her in the face. But she will not hear of an alliance with Yamadori. She protests that she is already married to Pinkerton, and will await his return.

When Yamadori has gone, Sharpless makes one more effort to open her eyes to the truth. They have a duet, "Ora a noi" (Now at last), in which he again produces the letter, and attempts to persuade her that Pinkerton has been faithless to her and has forgotten her. Her only reply is to fetch in her baby boy, born since Pinkerton's departure. Her argument is, that when the boy's father hears what a fine son is waiting for him in Japan, he will hasten back. She sings to Trouble, as the little boy is called:—"Sai cos'ebbe cuore" (Do you hear, my sweet one, what that bad man is saying). Sharpless makes a final effort to disillusion her, but in vain. If Pinkerton does not come back, there are two things, she says, she can do—return to her old life and sing for people, or die. She sings a touching little lullaby to her baby boy, Suzuki twice interrupting her with the pathetically voiced exclamation, "Poor Madam Butterfly!"

A salute of cannon from the harbour announces the arrival of a man-of-war. Looking through the telescope, Butterfly and Suzuki discover that it is Pinkerton's ship, the "Abraham Lincoln." Now Butterfly is convinced that Sharpless is wrong. Her faith is about to be rewarded. The man she loves is returning to her. The home must be decorated and made cheerful and attractive to greet him. She and Suzuki distribute cherry blossoms wherever their effect will be most charming. The music accompanying this is the enchanting duet of the flowers, "Scuoti quella fronda di ciliegio" (Shake that cherry tree till every flower). Most effective is the phrase, "Gettiamo a mani piene mammole e tuberose" (In handfuls let us scatter violets and white roses.)

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Butterfly adorns herself and the baby boy. Then with her fingers she pierces three holes in the paper wall of the dwelling. She, Suzuki, and the baby peer through these, watching for Pinkerton's arrival. Night falls. Suzuki and the boy drop off to sleep. Butterfly rigid, motionless, waits and watches, her faith still unshaken, for the return of the man who has forsaken her. The pathos of the scene is profound; the music, with the hum of voices, borne upon the night from the distant harbour, exquisite.

Act II. Part II. When the curtain rises, night has passed, dawn is breaking. Suzuki and the baby are fast asleep, but Butterfly still is watching. Again Puccini employs a Japanese melody (the "vigil" theme).

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When Suzuki awakes, she persuades the poor little "wife" to go upstairs to rest, which Butterfly does only upon Suzuki's promise to awaken her as soon as Pinkerton arrives. Pinkerton and Sharpless appear. Suzuki at first is full of joyful surprise, which, however, soon gives way to consternation, when she learns the truth. Pinkerton himself, seeing about him the proofs of Butterfly's complete loyalty to him, realizes the heartlessness of his own conduct. There is a dramatic trio for Pinkerton, Sharpless, and Suzuki. Pinkerton, who cannot bear to face the situation, rushes away, leaving it to Sharpless to settle matters as best he can.

Butterfly has become aware that people are below. Suzuki tries to prevent her coming down, but she appears radiantly happy, for she expects to find her husband. The pathos of the scene in which she learns the truth is difficult to describe. But she does not burst into lamentations. With a gentleness which has been characteristic of her throughout, she bears the blow. She even expresses the wish to Kate, Pinkerton's real wife, that she may experience all happiness, and sends word to Pinkerton that, if he will come for his son in half an hour, he can have him.

Sharpless and Mrs. Pinkerton withdraw. In a scene of tragic power, Butterfly mortally wounds herself with her father's sword, the blade of which bears the inscription, "To die with honour when one can no longer live with honour," drags herself across the floor to where the boy is playing with his toys and waving a little American flag, and expires just as Pinkerton enters to take away the son whom thus she gives up to him.

From examples that already have been given of modern Italian opera, it is clear that "atmosphere," local colour, and character delineation are typical features of the art of Italy's lyric stage as it flourishes today. In "Madama Butterfly" we have exotic tone colour to a degree that has been approached but not equalled by Verdi in "Aïda." Certain brief scenes in Verdi's opera are Egyptian in tone colour. In "Madama Butterfly" Japanese themes are used in extenso, and although the thrilling climaxes in the work are distinctively Italian, the Japanese under-current, dramatic and musical, always is felt. In that respect compare "Madama Butterfly" with a typical old Italian opera like "Lucia di Lammermoor" the scene of which is laid in Scotland, but in which there is nothing Scotch save the costumes—no "atmosphere," no local colour. These things are taken seriously by modern Italian composers, who do not ignore melody, yet also appreciate the value of an eloquent instrumental support to the voice score; whereas the older Italian opera composers were content to distribute melody with a lavish hand and took little else into account.

In character delineation in the opera Butterfly dominates. She is a sweet, trusting, pathetic little creature—traits expressed in the music as clearly as in the drama. The sturdy devotion of Suzuki is, if possible, brought out in an even stronger light in the opera than in the drama, and Sharpless is admirably drawn. Pinkerton, of course, cannot be made sympathetic. All that can be expected of him is that he be a tenor, and sing the beautiful music allotted to him in the first act with tender and passionate expression.

The use of the "Star-Spangled Banner" motif as a personal theme for Pinkerton, always has had a disagreeable effect upon me, and from now on should be objected to by all Americans. Some one in authority, a manager like Gatti-Casazza, or Ricordi & Co.'s American representatives, should call Puccini's attention to the fact that his employment of the National Anthem of the United States of America in "Madama Butterfly" is highly objectionable and might, in time, become offensive; although no offence was meant by him.

I "did" the first night of David Belasco's play "Madam Butterfly" for the New York Herald. The production occurred at the Herald Square Theatre, Broadway and Thirty-fifth Street, New York, March 5, 1900, with Blanche Bates as Butterfly. It was given with "Naughty Anthony," a farce-comedy also by Belasco, which had been a failure. The tragedy had been constructed with great rapidity from John Luther Long's story, but its success was even swifter. At the Duke of York's Theatre, London, it was seen by Francis Nielsen, stage manager of Covent Garden, who immediately sent word to Puccini urging him to come from Milan to London to see a play which, in his hands, might well become a successful opera. Puccini came at once, with the result that he created a work which has done its full share toward making the modern Italian lyric stage as flourishing as all unprejudiced critics concede it to be.

The Milan production of "Madama Butterfly" was an utter failure. The audience hooted, the prima donna was in tears. The only person behind the scenes not disconcerted was the composer, whose faith in his work was so soon to be justified.

LA FANCIULLA DEL WEST
(THE GIRL OF THE GOLDEN WEST)

The scene of the second act is Minnie's cabin, which consists of a room and loft. After a brief scene for Billy and Wowkle, Minnie comes in. Through night and a blizzard Johnson makes his way up the mountainside. There is a love scene—then noises outside. People are approaching. Not wishing to be found with Johnson, Minnie forces him to hide. Rance and others, who are on the trail of Ramerrez and hope to catch or kill him any moment, come in to warn her that Johnson is Ramerrez. When they have gone, and Johnson acknowledges that he is the outlaw, Minnie denounces him and sends him out into the blizzard. There is a shot. Johnson, sorely wounded, staggers into the cabin. A knock at the door. Rance's voice. With Minnie's aid the wounded man reaches the loft where he collapses.

Rance enters, expecting to find Johnson. He is almost persuaded by Minnie that the fugitive is not there, when, through the loose timbers of the loft, a drop of blood falls on his hand. Minnie proposes that they play cards—Johnson to live, or she to marry the sheriff. They play. She cheats, and wins.

The third act is laid in the forest. Johnson, who has recovered and left Minnie's cabin, is caught, and is to be hung. But at the critical moment Minnie arrives, and her pleading moves the men to spare him, in spite of Rance's protests. They leave to begin a new life elsewhere.

In the score there is much recitative. It is not interesting in itself, nor is it made so by the insufficiently varied instrumental accompaniment. For the action of the play is too vigorous to find expression by means of the Debussyan manner that predominates in the orchestra. The most genuinely inspired musical number is Johnson's solo in the last act, when it seems certain that he is about to be executed.—"Ch'ella mi creda libero e lontano" (Let her believe that I have gained my freedom).

LA RONDINE
THE SWALLOW

The opera begins in Paris during the Second Empire. Magda, the heroine, is a demi-mondaine living under the protection of the rich banker Rambaldo. Satisfied with the luxuries he lavishes upon her, she longs for true affection, and is unable to stifle the remembrance of her first love, a poor young student. She meets Ruggero, who like her earlier love, is young and poor, and a student. At Bouilliers, the rendezvous of the gay life of Paris, Ruggero declares his love for Magda. They leave Paris for Nice, where they hope to lead an idyllic existence.

Ruggero looks forward to a life of perfect happiness. He writes to his parents asking their consent to his marriage with Magda. The reply is that if she is virtuous and honourable, she will be received with open arms. Magda now considers herself (like Violetta in "La Traviata") unworthy of Ruggero's love and lest she shall bring dishonour upon the man she loves, she parts with him. Other principal rôles are Lisetta and Prunia, and there are numerous second parts requiring first-rate artists.

In the second act of "La Rondine" is a quartet which, it is said, Puccini believes will rival that at the end of the third act in "La Bohème." "I have let my pen run," he is reported to have said, "and no other method suffices to obtain good results, in my opinion. No matter what marvellous technical effects may be worked up by lengthy meditation, I believe in heart in preference to head."

The opera was produced in March, 1917, in Monte Carlo, and during the summer of the same year, in Buenos Aires. Puccini intended to compose it with dialogue as a genuine opéra comique, but finally substituted recitative. The work is said to approach opéra comique in style. Reports regarding its success vary.

After the first Italian performance, San Carlo Theatre, Naples, February 26, 1918, Puccini, according to report, decided to revise "La Rondine." Revision, as in the case of "Madama Butterfly," may make a great success of it.

ONE-ACT OPERAS

Three one-act operas by Puccini have been composed for performance at one sitting. They are "Suor Angelica" (Sister Angelica), "Il Tabarro" (The Cloak), and "Gianni Schicchi." The motifs of these operas are sentiment, tragedy, and humour.

The scene of "Suor Angelica" is laid within the walls of a mountain convent, whither she has retired to expiate an unfortunate past. Her first contact with the outer world is through a visit from an aunt, who needs her signature to a document. Timidly she asks about the tiny mite, whom she was constrained to abandon before she entered the convent. Harshly the aunt replies that the child is dead. Sister Angelica decides to make an end to her life amid the flowers she loves. Dying, she appeals for pardon for her act of self-destruction. The doors of the convent church open, and a dazzling light pours forth revealing the Virgin Mary on the threshold surrounded by angels, who, intoning a sweet chorus, bear the poor, penitent, and weary soul to eternal peace. This little work is entirely for female voices.

The libretto of "Il Tabarro" is tragic. The great scene is between a husband and his wife. The husband has killed her lover, whose body he shows to his unfaithful wife, lifting from the ground the cloak (il tabarro) under which it is hidden.

Giorgetta has heard sounds of a struggle. She comes on deck in alarm, but is somewhat reassured, when she sees Michele sitting alone and quietly smoking. Still somewhat nervous, however, she endeavours to atone for her frigidity toward him, but a short time before, by "making up" to him, telling him, among other things, that she well recalls their early love and wishes she could again find shelter in the folds of his big cloak. For reply, he raises the cloak, and lets her see Luigi's corpse.

I have read another synopsis of this plot, in which Michele forces his wife's face close to that of her dead lover. At the same moment, one of the other bargemen, whose wife also had betrayed him, returns brandishing the bloody knife, with which he has slain her. The simpler version surely is more dramatic than the one of cumulative horrors.

When the action of "Gianni Schicchi" opens one Donati has been dead for two hours. His relations are thinking of the will. A young man of the house hands it to his mother but exacts the promise that he shall marry the daughter of neighbour Schicchi. When the will is read, it is found that Donati has left his all to charity. Schicchi is called in, and consulted. He plans a ruse. So far only those in the room know of Donati's demise. The corpse is hidden. Schicchi gets into bed, and, when the Doctor calls, imitates the dead man's voice and pretends he wants to sleep. The lawyer is sent for. Schicchi dictates a new will—in favour of himself, and becomes the heir, in spite of the anger of the others.

Riccardo Zandonai

FRANCESCA DA RIMINI
FRANCESCA OF RIMINI

A PRETENTIOUS but not wholly successful score based upon a somewhat diffuse drama—such is the net impression made by Zandonai's opera "Francesca da Rimini." The story of Francesca and Paolo is one of the world's immortal tales of passion, and an opera set to it should be inspired beyond almost any other. But as W.J. Henderson wrote in the New York Sun the day after the production of Zandonai's work in New York, "In all human probability the full measure of 'love insatiable' was never taken in music but once, and we cannot expect a second 'Tristan und Isolde' so soon."

Act I. The scene is a court in the house of the Polentani, in Ravenna, adjacent to a garden, whose bright colours are seen through a pierced marble screen. A colloquy between Francesca's brother Ostasio and the notary Ser Toldo Berardengo informs us that for reasons of state, Francesca is to be married to that one of the three sons of Malatesta da Verrucchio, who although named Giovanni, is known as Gianciotto, the Lamester, because of his deformity and ugliness. As Francesca surely would refuse to marry Gianciotto, a plot has been formed by which she is introduced to his handsome younger brother Paolo, with whom, under the impression that he is her destined bridegroom, she falls deeply in love at first sight, a passion that is fully reciprocated by him, although they have only beheld each other, and not yet exchanged a word.

Such is the procedure of the first act. When Francesca and Paolo behold each other through the marble screen, which divides the court from the garden, in which Paolo stands amid brightly coloured flowers, the orchestra intones a phrase which may properly be called the love motif.

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The act is largely lyric in its musical effect. Much charm is given to it by the quartette of women who attend upon Francesca. Almost at the outset the composer creates what might be called the necessary love mood, by a playful scene between Francesca's women and a strolling jester, who chants for them the story of "Tristan und Isolde." The setting of the scene is most picturesque. In fact everything in this act tends to create "atmosphere," and were the rest of the opera as successful, it would be one of the finest works of its kind to have come out of modern Italy.

Act II. The scene is the interior of a round tower in the fortified castle of the Malatestas. The summit of the tower is crowned with engines of war and arms. There are heavy cross-bows, ballistas, a catapult, and other mediæval machinery of battle. The castle is a stronghold of the Guelfs. In the distance, beyond the city of Rimini, are seen the battlements of the highest Ghibelline Tower. A narrow fortified window looks out on the Adriatic.

Soon after the act opens, an attack takes place. The battle rages. Amid all this distracting, and therefore futile tumult, occurs the first meeting between Francesca and Paolo, since the marriage into which she was tricked. Their love is obvious enough. Paolo despairingly seeks death, to which Francesca also exposes herself by remaining on the platform of the tower during the combat. The relation between these two principal characters of the opera is clearly enough set forth, and the impression made by it would be forcible, were not attention distracted by the fiercely raging mediæval combat.

The Malatestas are victorious. The attacking foes are driven off. Gianciotto comes upon the platform and brings news to Paolo of his election as Captain of the people and Commune of Florence, for which city Paolo departs.

Act III. The scene is the beautiful apartment of Francesca, where, from an old tome, she is reading to her women the story of Lancelot and Guenevere. This episode has somewhat of the same charm as that which pervaded portions of the first act. Especially is this true, when to the accompaniment of archaic instruments, the women sing their measures in praise of spring, "Marzo è giunto, e Febbraio gito se n'è col ghiado" (March comes, and February goes with the wind today).

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The women dance and sing, until on a whispered word from her slave, Francesca dismisses them. Paolo has returned. The greeting from her to him is simple enough: "Benvenuto, signore mio cognato" (Welcome my lord and kinsman), but the music is charged with deeper significance.

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Even more pronounced is the meaning in the musical phrase at Francesca's words, "Paolo, datemi pace" (Paolo, give me peace).

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Together they read the story which Francesca had begun reading to her women. Their heads come close together over the book. Their white faces bend over it until their cheeks almost touch; and when in the ancient love tale, the queen and her lover kiss, Francesca's and Paolo's lips meet and linger in an ecstasy of passion.

Act IV. This act is divided into two parts. The scene of the first part is an octagonal hall of gray stone. A grated door leads to a subterranean prison. Cries of a prisoner from there have disturbed Francesca. When she complains of this to the youngest brother of Gianciotto, Malatestino, he goes down into the prison and kills the captive. The introduction to this act is, appropriately enough, based on an abrupt phrase.

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Malatestino is desperately in love with Francesca, urges his suit upon her, and even hints that he would go to the length of poisoning Gianciotto. Francesca repulses him. Out of revenge he excites the jealousy of Gianciotto by arousing his suspicions of Paolo and Francesca, pointing out especially that Paolo has returned from Florence much sooner than his duties there would justify him in doing.

The scene of part two is laid in Francesca's chamber. It is night. Four waxen torches burn in iron candlesticks. Francesca is lying on the bed. From her sleep she is roused by a wild dream that harm has come to Paolo. Her women try to comfort her. After an exchange of gentle and affectionate phrases, she dismisses them.

A light knocking at the door, and Paolo's voice calling, "Francesca!" She flings open the door and throws herself into the arms of her lover. There is an interchange of impassioned phrases. Then a violent shock is heard at the door, followed by the voice of Gianciotto, demanding admission. Paolo spies a trap door in the floor of the apartment, pulls the bolt, and bids Francesca open the door of the room for her husband, while he escapes.

Gianciotto rushes into the room. Paolo's cloak has caught in the bolt of the trap door. He is still standing head and shoulders above the level of the floor. Seizing him by the hair, the Lamester forces him to come up. Paolo unsheathes his dagger. Gianciotto draws his sword, thrusts at Paolo. Francesca throws herself between the two men, receives the thrust of her husband's sword full in the breast, and falls into Paolo's arms. Mad with rage, her deformed husband with another deadly thrust pierces his brother's side. Paolo and Francesca fall at full length to the floor. With a painful effort, Gianciotto breaks his bloodstained sword over his knee.

Where the drama is lyric in character, and where it concentrates upon the hot-blooded love story, a tradition in the Malatesta family, and narrated by a Malatesta to Dante, who, as is well known, used it in his "Inferno," the music is eloquent. Where, however, the action becomes diffuse, and attention is drawn to subsidiary incidents, as is far too often the case, interest in the music flags. With great benefit to the score at least a third of the libretto could be sacrificed.

Riccardo Zandonai was born at Sacco. He studied with Gianferrai and at the Rossini Conservatory. "Conchita," another opera by him, Milan, 1912, was produced in this country in Chicago and New York in 1913.

Franco Leoni

L’ORACOLO
THE SAGE