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

In the centre of the whole scene stands a sideboard. This same sideboard belongs to Frau Willmers who now comes running to the apartment of the pretty young widow, Gertrud, with every sign of agitation, to tell her that the bailiff, Lampe, intends to seize her sideboard, an old and valuable heirloom. The burgomaster bears her ill will because her son Bertel has been casting eyes at his daughter Else, and now takes occasion to inflict on her this disgrace. To escape this she begs her lodger the favour of taking in the sideboard for her. Frau Gertrud is very willing. She has a grudge against the burgomaster. He used to call on her almost every day, and Frau Gertrud allowed herself to hope that sometime she would become the Frau burgomistress. Nevertheless, she would very willingly accelerate his decision. Scarcely is the sideboard, with the help of a neighbour, happily installed at Frau Gertrud's than Bertel, Frau Willmers' son and the burgomaster's daughter Else enter. They have made every effort to make the burgomaster kindly disposed but it was in vain. But as the couple have decided not to give up each other, they have come to Frau Gertrud to beg her influence with the burgomaster. When she thus receives confirmation of her suspicion of the burgomaster's liking for her, she naturally is not averse to the rôle of matchmaker. Out of her beautiful dreams of the future the young woman, left alone by her neighbours, is aroused by a knock. But it is not the burgomaster, whom she secretly expected, but the bailiff, Lampe. Loquacious, conceited, and intrusive, he begins by telling her all his merits and his skill, brings greetings to the widow, as the burgomaster has commissioned him. The sideboard seems to him very suspicious. So now he will go only to Frau Willmers' to convince himself whether his suspicion is well founded. As soon as he has gone the burgomaster comes. He also makes use of evasions and then confides to his gentle friend the anxieties of a father. It grieves him very much that his Else loves this Bertel, son of his bitterest enemy, who is now dead. Frau Gertrud, however, interests her self bravely in favour of her protégés. Her remark that the burgomaster surely has not a heart of stone, brings him nearer to realizing his own condition. Instead of the children he now talks of himself. First he is seeking for a sign that she means well by him with her advice. Soon she has led him so far that he confesses his love for her and begs a kiss. The twilight that has begun favours the idyll. Then again comes the trouble-maker Lampe. Nothing worse can happen to the couple than to be discovered by this gossiper. So the burgomaster must hide in order to save his own and Frau Gertrud's reputation. But where? There is nothing better than the empty sideboard. Scarcely has the somewhat corpulent burgomaster fortunately concealed himself in it than Lampe enters the apartment and, "In the name of the authorities" seals up the sideboard. Unfortunately the burgomaster in his hiding place finds himself not so quiet as caution demanded. The sound does not escape Lampe and his evil thoughts scent here something very improper. Surely there is a lover concealed in the sideboard, and he goes away with the malicious idea of finding the burgomaster to tell him that Frau Gertrud is not the right sort of woman for him. But Frau Gertrud is sure of her point and, as Bertel and Else also come in with Frau Willmers, a plot is soon concocted by the four so that the happiness of everybody will result from this favourable accident. The two women leave the young couple alone so that through a put-up game on the father everything will be obtained. Else plays the lovesick girl, Bertel on the other hand the virtuous one whose respect for the burgomaster knows no bounds. So he refuses to accept Else's love against the will of her father and she, desperate, wants to run away when a voice proceeds from the sideboard. Now the father and burgomaster must humbly beg of his clerk that he take upon himself the offence of breaking the seal and letting him out of the sideboard. Naturally, the first takes place after Else has dictated the marriage contract. The burgomaster, who at all hazards must get out before Lampe comes back, consents to everything. Bertel employs his profession in writing out the whole contract and through a peephole in the sideboard the burgomaster has to sign it before the door is finally opened to him. But he makes his terms. In place of himself, Bertel and Else must enter the sideboard. Naturally they do not hesitate long and they are for the first time together undisturbed within it. The burgomaster has concealed himself in the next room when the two women come back with a gay company. (The following very indelicate passage, which endangers all the sympathy of the audience for Frau Gertrud, might easily be cut out.) Frau Gertrud has brought people from a nearby shooters' festival to show them the trapped burgomaster, evidently because she believes her scheme more assured thus. All the greater is the astonishment when the young couple step out of the opened sideboard. But the burgomaster all of a sudden appears in the background. Then Frau Gertrud cleverly takes everything on herself. She had shut up the young couple in it and had spread the report that the burgomaster was concealed in it in order that he might be affected by it and could no longer oppose the union of the two young people. Surely everything is solved satisfactorily when Lampe arrives with every sign of agitation. He has not found the burgomaster, and Else and the clerk of the court have disappeared. The burgomaster must certainly have been murdered by the clerk. Lampe rages so long in the excessive indignation of his official power that he himself is shut up in the sideboard and the others, now undisturbed, seal their compact and reseal it.

DER TROMPETER VON SÄKKINGEN
THE TRUMPETER OF SÄKKINGEN

Prologue. In the Heidelberg palace courtyard there is a merry company of students and peasants gathered in a drinking bout. The enthusiasm for "Old Heidelberg the fine" and for the gay life of a cavalier takes on such a noisy expression that the steward of the Rector's wife orders them to be quiet. Werner Kirchhofer, a law student, leaps on a table, the peasant Konradin lends him his trumpet and now there echoes forth the sweet song "which once the Palsgrave Friedrich sang" in honour of the "Palsgravin, the most beautiful of women." But the Rector and the Senate entertain other views of the nightly noise of trumpets and the entire body of students is expelled. So they all seek to become cavaliers.

Act I. In Säkkingen a great festival is being held, Fridolin's day. Peasants from the suburbs have come to town for it. There is a suspicious agitation among them. Konradin who is now in the service of the state has his hands full keeping order. What happiness when he sees his old comrade Werner. But now as Maria, daughter of the Baron von Schönau; together with her haughty aunt, the divorced wife of Count von Wildenstein, arrive at the church, insurrection breaks out. Who knows what the peasants would not have done to the ladies had not Werner as knightly protector sprung between them. Love at first sight seized the two young people. (Change of scene.) Above in Schönau castle the old baron is again tormented by chills. Serving as a means of lessening his pain comes a letter from his brother-in-law, Count von Wildenstein, who announces that he is coming to visit him. He has a son, Damian, who would be just the right husband for Schönau's daughter Maria. Moreover that would be an opportunity to bring about a reconciliation between the count and his divorced wife, none other than Maria's aunt. The marriage was dissolved and their son was once stolen by gypsies. Damian is a son of the second wife of Count von Wildenstein, who is dead. Out of his pleasant thoughts about his future son-in-law and protector of the castle in these evil days the Baron is frightened by the reports of his women about the uprising of the peasants. In the praise that Maria gives to the brave trumpeter is echoed his playing from the Rhine to here. That stirs the old baron like an elixir of youth in his bones. The trumpeter is summoned and a look in Maria's love-warmed eyes is enough for him to accept the Baron's offer to become trumpeter of the castle. Of course the proximity of the young people will not please the aunt.

Act II. That they love each other both already long know but the acknowledgment nevertheless would be very beautiful. But the old aunt is always at hand especially at the music lessons which Werner gives to the young woman. A real piece of luck that Konradin is coming today to the castle to bring wine for the May festival. He knows how to arrange it so that the old woman must go to the wine cellar. Now it is all over with pride. Maria lies in the arms of the humble trumpeter. Unfortunately, the old aunt comes back. She is not moved by their prayers, but tells all about it to the excited Baron. Nothing helps, the trumpeter must leave the house. Maria's bridegroom is already chosen. At today's May festival he will take part. Damian is certainly stupid enough but that does not help the lovers. "Would to God that it had not been so beautiful, would to God it had not been!"

Act III. But Damian is not only stupid, he is also a miserable coward. That is shown as it now behooves him to defend Baron von Schönau's castle against the revolted peasants. The knights there would have been lost had not relief suddenly come. It is Werner who arrives with a troop of country people. Maria flees to her lover's arms. But alas, he is wounded in the arm. And what is that? That mole? The old Countess Wildenstein recognizes in the trumpeter her son, whom the gypsies once stole. Now naturally there is nothing in the way of the union. Now "young Werner is the happiest man" and who can deny that "Love and trumpet sounds are very useful, good things."

DER EVANGELIMANN
THE EVANGELIST

Act II. Thirty years have elapsed. In the courtyard of a house in Vienna, Magdalena meets an evangelist in whom she recognizes Matthias, the friend of her youth. She herself is here caring for Johannes who is ill. How has Matthias become an evangelist? He tells her his sad history. He had been sentenced to prison for twenty years. When he had finished his punishment he learned that his sweetheart Martha out of grief had sought death in the water. Then he had become a wandering, singing preacher.

Second Part. In the sitting-room, Johannes lies ill. But more than pain disturbs his mind. Then he hears outside the voice of the evangelist. Magdalena must call him in. Without recognizing him Johannes tells his brother of the infamous action through which he had ruined the other's life. And Matthias not only preaches love but practices it too. He forgives his brother who now can die in peace.

DER KUHREIGEN
RANZ DES VACHES

Act I. Barracks of St. Honoré. Under penalty of death the Swiss soldiers have been forbidden to sing their native songs especially the Kuhreigen or "Ranz des Vaches," because songs of their native land always awakened homesickness and had led to desertions. But a quarrel between Primus Thallus, of the Swiss, and Favart, of the Chasseurs, excites the Swiss and they sing "In the fort at Strassburg" (Zu Strassburg auf der Schanz) the song of the Swiss who became a deserter through homesickness, the song which was forbidden by such a severe decree, especially because it introduced the Kuhreigen or "Ranz des Vaches." Then Favart believed the moment had come to be able to avenge himself. He quickly called an officer to hear the forbidden song. The officer first wants to arrest all the Swiss, but Primus Thallus takes all the blame on himself; he is glad to prevent the others being imprisoned.

Act II. In the King's bedroom at Versailles the ceremony of the royal levee is taking place. This medley of laughable ceremonial and the practice of the highest refinement makes a sharp contrast with the wild ferment and discontent among the people, of which, however, no one hears anything in these rooms and will know nothing. So the commandant Massimelle is among those waiting because he has to lay before the King the death sentence on the unsubdued Swiss. Naturally the King thinks nothing about bringing an obsolete law into force again, and leaves the decision to Massimelle's wife, Blanchefleur. She begs Thallus's life for herself and wants to learn the fellow manners in her service. Silly as are the thoughts of this whole company, so also are those of Blanchefleur. Through a whim she has obtained the release of the young Swiss, now she wants as a reward to have diversion with him. The high authorities already are glad to play shepherds and shepherdesses; what would happen if they could have a real Swiss as a shepherd! Cleo, the court lady, is perfectly delighted with the idea and awaits with enjoyment the play in which Primus Thallus shall appear with Blanchefleur. But the play takes a serious turn, Primus Thallus sees no joke in the thing. To him, Blanchefleur appears as the image of his dreams, and yet he knows that this dream never can be a reality, at least not for a man to whom, as to this Swiss, love is not merely a form of amusement in life. So Blanchefleur has to give up her shepherd's dream and let Primus Thallus withdraw.

Act III. The earnest man is very quickly drawn in. In the ruined dining-hall of the palace of Massimelle, the sans-culottes are lodged. Favart, under whose direction the castle has been stormed, is vexed at his report for which Doris, his sweetheart, and the others with their wild drinking and quarrelling scarcely leave him the possibility. By chance the half-drunken men discover a secret door. They go down into the passage and drag out Blanchefleur who had concealed herself there. Favart wants her to play for the men, but he cannot prevail upon her to do it. With her graceful, distinguished air she refuses to have anything to do with the dirty, uncivilized men and smilingly allows herself to be condemned to death and led away to the frightful prison of the Temple. Hardly has she gone than Primus Thallus enters. He has been promoted by the Directory to be a captain as a reward because he has often been threatened with death by the royalists. His great courage certainly makes an impression on these savage troops, but as Massimelle outside is being led to the scaffold and he learns of the arrest of Blanchefleur only one thought rules him—to save the beautiful woman.

The scene changes to the underground prison of the Temple. One can hardly recognize the figure of Primus Thallus who presents himself here, but one must admit of these aristocrats that while they know how to live laughingly they also know how to die with a smile. While without the guillotine is fulfilling its awful task uninterruptedly, they are dancing and playing here underneath as though these were still the gayest days of the King's delights at Versailles. In vain Primus Thallus uses all his eloquence to persuade Blanchefleur to flee or to give him her hand because then he could obtain a pardon. She has only one reward for his faithfulness: a dance. Then when her name is called she dances with a light minuet step to the scaffold.

LOBETANZ

Act I. This play takes place somewhere and somewhen but begins in a blooming garden in spring. And the most fragrant flowers in the garden are the lovely girls that play in it. Take care, Lobetanz; take care! Now that you have leaped over the wall into the garden, still take care! You are a travelling singer, your clothes are tattered; but you are a magnificent fellow and sing as only a bird can sing or a fellow who knows nothing about the illness of the Princess. What is the matter with her then? She no longer laughs as she once did, her cheeks are pale, she no longer sings but sighs. "Alas!" Oh, the maidens know what is the matter with her but no one asks the maidens. The poet-laureate today at the festival of the Early Rose Day will announce what is the matter with the child of the King. And the King is coming, the Princess and the people. And the poets proudly strut in and make known their wisdom. But that does not help. Now the sound of a violin is heard. How the Princess listens and now the player comes before her and fiddles and sings and the maid revives. Roses bloom on her cheeks; her eyes shine in looking at the violinist who is singing of the morning in May when they kissed each other, innocently dear, and played "bridegroom and bride." You must flee, Lobetanz, flee; that is magic with which you are subduing the child of the King.

Act II. Spring has awakened your heart, you happy singer, and has brought to life what was asleep deep within you. Now you may dream of what will be. And see, she comes to you, the sick Princess, to be restored to health by you. And she sits there by you in the branch of a linden tree. But alas, alas! The King and his hunting train are suddenly there and all things have an end.

Act III. In a dungeon sits the bird once so gay. For "dead, dead, dead must he be and so slip with hurrahs into the infernal abode." And they lead you to the gallows and tell you your sentence. And the King and the people, the envious singers and the Princess sick unto death on her bier are all there. Now choose your last present, you poor gallows bird. So let me once more sing. And, "see, Oh see, how the delicate face is covered with a rosy glow." He is singing her back to life, the lovely Princess, until finally she flees to his arms: "Thou art mine!" Now leave the gallows, there is a wedding today. "A great magician is Lobetanz, let the couple only look, the gallows shine with luck and lustre; spring has done wonders."

DER CORREGIDOR
THE MAGISTRATE

Act I. The miller, Tio Lucas, is living a happy life with his beautiful wife, Frasquita. Her love is so true that jealousy, to which he is inclined, cannot thrive. Jealous? Yes, he has a bump of jealousy. True, the Corregidor, who eagerly concerns him about the miller's pretty wife, has one too. But no matter, he is a high, very influential functionary. Meanwhile Frasquita loves her Tio Lucas so truly that she can even allow herself a dance with the Corregidor. Perhaps she will cure him so, perhaps she will obtain in addition the wished-for official place for her nephew. The Corregidor too does not keep her waiting long and Frasquita makes him so much in love with her that he becomes very impetuous. Thereupon he loses his balance and the worthy official falls in the dust, out of which the miller, without suspecting anything, raises him up. But the Corregidor swears revenge.

Act II. The opportunity for this comes very quickly. As the miller one evening is sitting with his wife in their cozy room, there comes a knock at the door. It is the drunken court messenger, Tonuelo, who produces a warrant of arrest. Tio Lucas must follow him without delay to the alcalde who has lent himself as a willing instrument to the Corregidor. Frasquita is trying to calm her anxiety with a song when outside there is a cry for help. She opens the door and before it stands the Corregidor dripping with water. He had fallen in the brook. Now he begs admission from Frasquita who is raging with anger. He has also brought with him the appointment of the nephew. But the angry woman will pay no attention and sends the Corregidor away from her threshold. Then he falls in a swoon. His own servant now comes along. Frasquita admits both of them to the house and herself goes into town to look for her Tio Lucas. When the Corregidor, awakened out of his swoon, hears this, full of anxiety, he sends his valet after her; he himself, however, hangs his wet clothes before the fire and goes to bed in the miller's bedroom.

(Change of scene.) In the meantime Tio Lucas has drunk under the table the alcalde and his fine comrades and seizes the occasion to flee.

Act III. In the darkness of the night, Tio Lucas and Frasquita pass by without seeing each other. The miller comes to his mill. (Change of scene.) Everything is open. In the dust lies the appointment of the nephew; before the fire hang the Corregidor's clothes. A frightful suspicion arises in Tio Lucas's mind which becomes certainty when through the keyhole he sees the Corregidor in his own bed. He is already groping for his rifle to shoot the seducer and the faithless woman when another thought strikes him. The Corregidor also has a wife, a beautiful wife. Here the Corregidor's clothes are hanging. He quickly slips into them and goes back to town. In the meantime the Corregidor has awakened. He wants to go back home now. But he does not find his clothes and so he crawls into those of the miller. Thus he is almost arrested by the alcalde who now enters with his companions and Frasquita. When the misunderstanding is cleared up, they all go with different feelings into the town after the miller.

Act IV. Now comes the explanation and the punishment of the Corregidor, at least in so far as he receives a sound thrashing and becomes really humbled. In reality the miller also has not yet had his "revenge," but he is recognized and likewise is beaten blue. That he must suffer in reparation for his doubt of the faithful Frasquita, and he hears it willingly for they have now come to a good understanding about everything.

Richard Strauss

RICHARD STRAUSS was born at Munich, June 11, 1864. His father, Franz Strauss, was a distinguished horn player in the Royal Opera orchestra. From him Richard received rigid instruction in music. His teacher in composition was the orchestral conductor, W. Meyer. At school he wrote music on the margins of his books. He was so young at the first public performance of a work by him, that when he appeared and bowed in response to the applause, someone asked, "What has that boy to do with it?" "Nothing, except that he composed it," was the reply.

Strauss is best known as the composer of many beautiful songs and of the orchestral works Tod und Verklaerung (Death and Transfiguration), and Till Eulenspiegel's Lustige Streiche (Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks). The latter is a veritable tour de force of orchestral scoring and a test of the virtuosity of a modern orchestra. Thus Spake Zarathustra, Don Quixote, and Ein Heldenleben (A Hero's Life) are other well-known orchestral works by him. They are of large proportions. To the symphony, and the symphonic poem, Strauss has added the tone poem as a form of instrumental music even freer in its development than the symphonic poem, which was Liszt's legacy to music.

FEUERSNOT
FIRE FAMINE

The action takes place in Munich on the day of the winter solstice in olden times. At the time of the representation the twelfth century has just passed. A big crowd of children, followed by grown-ups, is going in whimsical wantonness from house to house to collect wood for the solstitial fire ("Subendfeuer"). After they have collected rich booty at the burgomaster's they go over to the house opposite. It appears strangely gloomy. Shutters and doors are closed as though it were empty. Yet a short time ago young Herr Kunrad lived there. It is his legal inheritance and property, a legacy from his ancestor who was an "excellent sorcerer" and now taken possession of after a long absence. Nevertheless, the superstition of the masses had been much concerned with the house. The most reasonable was that its occupant was a strange fellow, the majority thought him a gloomy magician. In reality the young man sat in the house poring over books. The noise of the children calls him forth. When he hears that it is the solstice, the great festival of his profession, an agitation seizes him in which he tells the children to take away all the wood from his house. This destruction stirs the townsmen but Kunrad is so struck at sight of Diemut, who seems to him like a revelation of life, that he dashes through the townsmen and kisses the girl on the mouth. The agitation of the townsmen is silenced sooner than Diemut's who plans revenge for this outrage.

Now the townsmen are all out of doors on account of the solstitial holiday. But in Kunrad's heart the promptings of love are blazing like a fire. A mad longing for Diemut seizes him, and as she now appears on her balcony he begs for her love with warm words. The spark has also been well kindled in her heart, but still she only thinks of revenge. So she lures him toward the side street where the order basket still stands on the ground. Kunrad steps into it and Diemut hauls him upward. But halfway up she lets him hang suspended. So Kunrad becomes a laughing-stock for the townsmen returning home. Then a fearful rage seizes upon him; he makes use of his magic art: "May an ice-cold everlasting night surround you because you have laughed at the might of love." Every light is extinguished and a deep darkness covers the town and its inhabitants. Now Kunrad from the balcony, addresses the townsmen, furious with rage in a speech filled with personal references whose basic idea is that the people always recognize and follow their great masters. So they have sadly mistaken his purpose and the maid whom he had chosen had mocked him. For punishment their light is now extinguished. Let all the warmth leave the women, all the light of love depart from ardent young maidens, until the fire burns anew. Now the tables are turned. All recognize in Kunrad a great man. In their self-reproaches are mingled complaints about the darkness and an imploring cry to Diemut by her love to make an end of the lack of fire. But Diemut in the meantime has changed her mind; love in her too gets the upper hand as the sudden rekindling of every light makes known.

GUNTRAM

Act II. At the festive banquet Guntram, relying upon the power of the thought of love as presented by him, will make use of the occasion to win the Duke's heart for peace. The Duke, whose clown has just irritated him, in a rage interrupts Guntram. But the latter is protected by the vassals all of whom at heart are angry at the cruel ruler. When a messenger brings news of a new revolt, a vote is taken and they all decide for war. Then Guntram reminds them anew of peace in inspired songs. In a rage the Duke scorns him as a rebel, assaults him and, after a brief wrestle, Guntram strikes down the tyrant. Then the Old Duke has him thrown into a dungeon and goes off with the vassals to put down the rebellion again. But Freihild, whose heart is inflamed with love for the bold, noble singer, conspires with the clown to save him and flee with him.

Act III. In the gloomy dungeon in which Guntram is awaiting his punishment, the young hero has plenty of leisure to meditate on his deeds and their motives. The Band of the Good has sent Friedhold to him in order that he may ask of him an account of his sinful deed. For such an act is considered as murder in every case. Guntram feels that he is not guilty in the opinion of the Band but is self-convicted in the opinion of the highest humanity. For he cannot conceal from himself that the passionate love for Freihild, wife of the Duke, which burns in his heart, led him to his deed. Therefore, he can certainly reject the reproach of the Band, but he charges himself with renunciation as expiation for his deed. He has taught himself that true freedom cannot be attained unless it is acquired by one's own power and victory over one's self. So the Band of the Good is caught in an error and Guntram renounces his connection with them. But Freihild, who has succeeded to the duchy since the Old Duke has fallen on the field, he refers to the godly message which calls her to promote the happiness of the people. In this noble task she will find indemnification for the personal sacrifice of her lost love. The singer withdraws thence into solitude.

SALOME

On the great terrace of Herod's palace, off the banquet hall, is his body-guard. The ardent looks of the young captain, Narraboth, a Syrian, are directed toward the banquet hall where Salome is seated. In vain the Page, who is aware of the neurotic taint in the woman, warns him. The young captain is consumed with ardent desires.

The night is sultry. The soldiers' talk is interrupted by the sounds from the hall. Suddenly there is heard a loud and deep voice, as from a tomb. Dread seizes even upon the rough soldiers. He who calls is a madman according to some, a prophet according to others, in either case, a man of indomitable courage who with terrifying directness of speech brings the ruling powers face to face with their sins and bids them repent. This is Jokanaan. His voice sounds so reverberant because it issues from the gloomy cistern in which he is held a captive.

Suddenly Salome, in great commotion, steps out on the terrace. The greedy looks with which the Herod, her stepfather, has regarded her, as well as the talk and noisy disputes of the gluttons and degenerates within have driven her out. In her stirs the sinful blood of her mother, who, in order that she might marry Herod, slew her husband. Depraved surroundings, a court at which the satiating of all desires is the main theme of the day, have poisoned her thoughts. She seeks new pleasures, as yet untasted enjoyments. Now, as she hears the voice of the Prophet, there arises in her the lust to see this man, whom she has heard her mother curse, because he has stigmatized her shame, and whom she knows the Tetrarch fears, although a captive. What she desires is strictly forbidden, but Narraboth cannot resist her blandishments. The strange, gloomy figure of the Jokanaan, fantastically noble in the rags of his captivity, stirs Salome's morbid desires. Her abandoned arts are brought into full play in her efforts to tempt him, but with the sole result that he bids her do penance. This but adds fuel to the flame. When Narraboth, in despair over her actions, kills himself on his own sword, she does not so much as notice it. Appalled by the wickedness of the young woman, the Prophet warns her to seek for the only one in whom she can find redemption, the Man of Galilee. But realizing that his words fall on deaf ears, he curses her, and retreats into his cistern.

Herod, Herodias, and their suite come out on the terrace. Herod is suffering under the weight of his crimes, but the infamous Herodias is as cold as a serpent. Herod's sinful desire for his stepdaughter is the only thing that can stir his blood. But Salome is weary and indifferent; Herodias full of bitter scorn for him and for her daughter. Against the Prophet, whose voice terrifies the abandoned gatherings at table, her hatred is fierce. But Herod stands in mysterious awe of the Prophet. It is almost because of his dread of the future, which Jokanaan proclaims so terribly, that Herod asks as a diversion for Salome's dance in order that life may flow warm again in his chilled veins. Salome demurs, until he swears that he will grant any request she may make of him. She then executes the "Dance of the Seven Veils," casting one veil after another from her. Herod asks what her reward shall be. In part prompted by Herodias, but also by her own mad desire to have vengeance for her rejected passion, she demands the head of the Prophet. Herod offers her everything else he can name that is most precious, but Salome refuses to release him from his promise. The executioner descends into the cistern. Jokanaan is slain and his severed head presented to Salome upon a silver charger. Alive he refused her his lips. Now, in a frenzy of lust, she presses hers upon them. Even Herod shudders, and turns from her revolted. "Kill that woman!" he commands his guards, who crush her under their shields.

Regarding the score of "Salome," Strauss himself remarked that he had paid no consideration whatever to the singers. There is a passage for quarrelling Jews that is amusing; and, for a brief spell, in the passage in which Salome gives vent to her lust for Jokanaan, the music is molten fire. But considered as a whole, the singers are like actors, who intone instead of speaking. Whatever the drama suggests, whatever is said or done upon the stage—a word, a look, a gesture—is minutely and realistically set forth in the orchestra, which should consist of a hundred and twelve pieces. The real musical climax is "The Dance of the Seven Veils," a superb orchestral composition.

Strauss calls the work a drama. As many as forty motifs have been enumerated in it. But they lack the compact, pregnant qualities of the motifs in the Wagner music-dramas which are so individual, so melodically eloquent that their significance is readily recognized not only when they are first heard, but also when they recur. Nevertheless, the "Salome" of Richard Strauss is an effective work—so effective in the setting forth of its offensive theme that it was banished from the Metropolitan Opera House, although Olive Fremstad lavished her art upon the title rôle; nor have the personal fascination and histrionic gifts of Mary Garden been able to keep it alive.

At the Metropolitan Opera House, then under the direction of Heinrich Conried, it was heard at a full-dress rehearsal, which I attended, and at one performance. It was then withdrawn, practically on command of the board of directors of the opera company, although the initial impulse is said to have come from a woman who sensed the brutality of the work under its mask of "culture."

ELEKTRA