CHIM-FEN is about to close up his opium den. A man half crazed by the drug comes up its steps and slinks away.

Out of the house of the merchant Hu-Tsin comes Hua-Qui, the nurse of Hu-Tsin's son, Hu-Chi. Chim-Fen wants to marry the merchant's daughter Ah-Joe. The nurse is in league with him. She brings him a fan, upon which Ah-Joe's lover, San-Lui, son of the sage, Win-She, has written an avowal of love. Hua-Qui is jealous, because Chim-Fen is in love with Ah-Joe. Her jealousy annoys him. He threatens her and drives her away.

Four gamblers, drunk with opium, emerge from the den. Chim-Fen looks after them with contempt. It is now very early in the morning of New Year's Day. Win-She comes along. Chim-Fen greets him obsequiously and is admonished by the sage to mend his vile ways.

San-Lui sings a serenade to Ah-Joe, who comes out on her balcony to hear him. People pass by, street venders cry their wares. Ah-Joe withdraws into the house, San-Lui goes his way. When Hu-Tsin, the rich merchant, comes out, he is accosted by Chim-Fen, who asks for the promise of Ah-Joe's hand. Hu-Tsin spurns the proposal.

A fortune-teller comes upon the scene. Chim-Fen has his fortune told. "A vile past, a future possessed of the devil. Wash you of your slime." When Chim-Fen threatens the fortune-teller, the crowd, which has gathered, hoots him and repeats the words of the fortune-teller amid howls and jeers.

Hu-Tsin, with Ah-Joe, Hua-Qui, and the baby boy come into the street, where Win-She, gathering a group of worshippers about him, bids San-Lui prevent the crowd from creating a disturbance, then, with all the people kneeling, intones a prayer, from which he finally passes into a trance. When he comes out of it, he says that he has seen two souls, one aspiring toward Nirvana, the other engulfed in the inferno. He also has witnessed the grief of a father at the killing of a hope. At this Hu-Tsin shows alarm for the safety of Hu-Chi, and the people join in lamentations, but Win-She prophesies, "Hu-Chi is safe."

Along comes the procession of the dragon. In watching this Hua-Qui neglects her charge. Utilizing this opportunity Chim-Fen seizes the child and carries him off into his cellar. When Hu-Tsin discovers the loss and has berated the nurse, he offers to give the hand of Ah-Joe in marriage to the finder of his son. This is just what Chim-Fen expected. San-Lui, however, immediately takes up the search, in spite of Ah-Joe's protests, for the girl fears that some harm will come to him.

San-Lui starts towards Chim-Fen's den. Hua-Qui tries to warn him, by telling him how the opium dealer deceived her and is seeking the hand of Ah-Joe, in order to obtain Hu-Tsin's money. San-Lui, however, compels Chim-Fen to descend with him to the cellar, where he finds and is about to rescue Hu-Chi, when Chim-Fen kills him with a hatchet. San-Lui staggers up the steps to the street, calls Ah-Joe's name, and falls dead. She wails over his body, a crowd gathers, and Hu-Tsin is horror-stricken to find that the man who has been slain at his door is San-Lui.

Win-She, the father of San-Lui, tells the merchant to wait; the death of San-Lui will be avenged. Immediately Win-She goes over to the opium den, hears the child's cry in the cellar, finds Hu-Chi and restores him to his father. He then goes to the door of the opium den, calls Chim-Fen, who comes out, apparently filled with indignation against the murderer of Win-She's son, whom he says he would like to throttle with his own hands. From the merchant's house there is heard every now and then the voice of Ah-Joe, who has lost her reason through grief, and is calling her lover's name.

The two men seat themselves on a bench near the opium den. Win-She speaks calmly, quietly, and unperceived by Chim-Fen, draws a knife, and plunges it into the villain's back. Chim-Fen not dying at once, Win-She quietly winds the man's own pigtail around his neck and proceeds slowly and gradually to strangle him, meanwhile disclosing his knowledge of the murder, but without raising his voice, propping up Chim-Fen against some cases, and speaking so quietly, that a policeman, who saunters by, thinks two Chinamen are in conversation, and turns the corner without realizing that anything is wrong. Win-She now goes his way. Chim-Fen's body falls to the ground.

It will have been observed that many incidents are crowded into this one act, but that the main features of the drama, the villainy of Chim-Fen, and the calm clairvoyance of Win-She are never lost sight of.

The music consists mainly of descriptive and dramatic phrases, with but little attempt to give the score definite Chinese colouring. Ah-Joe's song on her balcony to the silvery dawn is the most tuneful passage in the opera. Scotti, whose Chim-Fen is a performance of sinister power, Didur (Win-She), and Bori (Ah-Joe) were in the Metropolitan production.

Franco Leoni was born at Milan, October 24, 1864. He studied under Ponchielli at the Conservatory in his native city. Other works by him are "Rip Van Winkle," "Raggio di Luna," and "Ib and Little Christina."

Italo Montemezzi

L’AMORE DEI TRE RE
THE LOVE OF THREE KINGS

Tre Re cast

THIS opera is justly considered one of the finest products of modern Italian genius. Based upon a powerful tragedy, by Sem Benelli, one of the foremost of living playwrights in Italy, it is a combination of terse, swiftly moving drama with a score which vividly depicts events progressing fatefully toward an inevitable human cataclysm. While there is little or no set melody in Montemezzi's score, nevertheless it is melodious—a succession of musical phrases that clothe the words, the thought behind them, their significance, their most subtle suggestion, in the weft and woof of expressive music. It is a mediæval tapestry, the colours of which have not faded, but still glow with their original depth and opulence. Of the many scores that have come out of Italy since the death of Verdi, "L'Amore dei Tre Re" is one of the most eloquent.

Act I. The scene is a spacious hall open to a terrace. A lantern employed as a signal sheds its reddish light dimly through the gloom before dawn.

From the left enters Archibaldo. He is old with flowing white hair and beard, and he is blind. He is led in by his guide Flaminio, who is in the dress of the castle guard. As if he saw, the old blind king points to the door of a chamber across the hall and bids Flaminio look and tell him if it is quite shut. It is slightly open. Archibaldo in a low voice orders him to shut it, but make no noise, then, hastily changing his mind, to leave it as it is.

In the setting of the scene, in the gloom penetrated only by the glow of the red lantern, in the costumes of the men, in the actions of the old king, who cannot see but whose sense of hearing is weirdly acute, and in the subtle suggestion of suspicion that all is not well, indicated in his restlessness, the very opening of this opera immediately casts a spell of the uncanny over the hearer. This is enhanced by the groping character of the theme which accompanies the entrance of Archibaldo with his guide, depicting the searching footsteps of the blind old man.

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There is mention of Fiora, the wife of Archibaldo's son, Manfredo, who is in the north, laying siege to an enemy stronghold. There also is mention of Avito, a prince of Altura, to whom Fiora was betrothed before Archibaldo humbled Italy, but whose marriage to Manfredo, notwithstanding her previous betrothal, was one of the conditions of peace. Presumably—as is to be gathered from the brief colloquy—Archibaldo has come into the hall to watch with Flaminio for the possible return of Manfredo, but the restlessness of the old king, his commands regarding the door opposite, and even certain inferences to be drawn from what he says, lead to the conclusion that he suspects his son's wife and Avito. It is also clear—subtly conveyed, without being stated in so many words—that Flaminio, though in the service of Archibaldo, is faithful to Avito, like himself a native of the country, which Archibaldo has conquered.

When Flaminio reminds Archibaldo that Avito was to have wedded Fiora, the blind king bids his guide look out into the valley for any sign of Manfredo's approach. "Nessuno, mio signore! Tutto è pace!" is Flaminio's reply. (No one, my lord! All is quiet!)

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Archibaldo, recalling his younger years, tells eloquently of his conquest of Italy, apostrophizing the ravishing beauty of the country, when it first met his gaze, before he descended the mountains from which he beheld it. He then bids Flaminio put out the lantern, since Manfredo comes not. Flaminio obeys then, as there is heard in the distance the sound of a rustic flute, he urges upon Archibaldo that they go. It is nearly dawn, the flute appears to have been a signal which Flaminio understands. He is obviously uneasy, as he leads Archibaldo out of the hall.

Avito and Fiora come out of her room. The woman's hair hangs in disorder around her face, her slender figure is draped in a very fine ivory-white garment. The very quiet that prevails fills Avito with apprehension. It is the woman, confident through love, that seeks to reassure him. "Dammi le labbra, e tanta ti darò di questa pace!" (Give me thy lips, and I will give thee of this peace).

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For the moment Avito is reassured. There is a brief but passionate love scene. Then Avito perceives that the lantern has been extinguished. He is sure someone has been there, and they are spied upon. Once more Fiora tries to give him confidence. Then she herself hears someone approaching. Avito escapes from the terrace into the dim daylight. The door on the left opens and Archibaldo appears alone. He calls "Fiora! Fiora! Fiora!"

Concealing every movement from the old man's ears, she endeavours to glide back to her chamber. But he hears her.

"I hear thee breathing! Thou'rt breathless and excited! O Fiora, say, with whom hast thou been speaking?"

Deliberately she lies to him. She has been speaking to no one. His keen sense tells him that she lies. For when she sought to escape from him, he heard her "gliding thro' the shadows like a snowy wing."

Flaminio comes hurrying in. The gleam of armoured men has been seen in the distance. Manfredo is returning. His trumpet is sounded. Even now he is upon the battlement and embraced by his father. Longing for his wife, Fiora, has led him for a time to forsake the siege. Fiora greets him, but with no more than a semblance of kindness. With cunning, she taunts Archibaldo by telling Manfredo that she had come out upon the terrace at dawn to watch for him, the truth of which assertion Archibaldo can affirm, for he found her there. As they go to their chamber, the old man, troubled, suspecting, fearing, thanks God that he is blind.

Act II. The scene is a circular terrace on the high castle walls. A single staircase leads up to the battlements. It is afternoon. The sky is covered with changing, fleeting clouds. Trumpet blasts are heard from the valley. From the left comes Manfredo with his arms around Fiora. He pleads with her for her love. As a last boon before he departs he asks her that she will mount the stairway and, as he departs down the valley, wave to him with her scarf. Sincerely moved to pity by his plea, a request so simple and yet seemingly meaning so much to him, she promises that this shall be done. He bids her farewell, kisses her, and rushes off to lead his men back to the siege.

Fiora tries to shake off the sensation of her husband's embrace. She ascends to the battlemented wall. A handmaid brings her an inlaid casket, from which she draws forth a long white scarf. The orchestra graphically depicts the departure of Manfredo at the head of his cavalcade.

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Fiora sees the horsemen disappear in the valley. As she waves the veil, her hand drops wearily each time. Avito comes. He tells her it is to say farewell. At first, still touched by the pity which she has felt for her husband, Fiora restrains her passionate longing for her lover, once or twice waves the scarf, tries to do so again, lets her arms drop, her head droop, then, coming down the steps, falls into his arms open to receive her, and they kiss each other as if dying of love. "Come tremi, diletto" (How thou art trembling, beloved!) whispers Fiora.

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"Guarda in sù! Siamo in cielo!" (Look up! We are in heaven!) responds Avito.

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But the avenger is nigh. He is old, he is blind, but he knows. Avito is about to throw himself upon him with his drawn dagger, but is stopped by a gesture from Flaminio, who has followed the king. Avito goes. But Archibaldo has heard his footsteps. The king orders Flaminio to leave him with Fiora. Flaminio bids him listen to the sound of horses' hoofs in the valley. Manfredo is returning. Fiora senses that her husband has suddenly missed the waving of the scarf. Archibaldo orders Flaminio to go meet the prince.

The old king bluntly accuses Fiora of having been with her lover. Cowering on a stone bench that runs around the wall, she denies it. Archibaldo seizes her. Rearing like a serpent, Fiora, losing all fear, in the almost certainty of death at the hands of the powerful old man, who holds her, boldly vaunts her lover to him. Archibaldo demands his name, that he and his son may be avenged upon him. She refuses to divulge it. He seizes her by the throat, again demands the name, and when she again refuses to betray her lover, throttles her to death. Manfredo arrives. Briefly the old man tells him of Fiora's guilt. Yet Manfredo cannot hate her. He is moved to pity by the great love of which her heart was capable, though it was not for him. He goes out slowly, while Archibaldo hoists the slender body of the dead woman across his chest, and follows him.

Act III. The crypt of the castle, where Fiora lies upon her bier with white flowers all about her, and tapers at her head and feet. Around her, people of her country, young and old, make their moan, while from within the chapel voices of a choir are heard.

Out of the darkness comes Avito. The others depart in order that he may be alone with his beloved dead, for he too is of their country, and they know. "Fiora! Fiora!—È silenzio!" (Fiora! Fiora!—Silence surrounds us) are his first words, as he gazes upon her.

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Fiora, Fiora! È silenzio.

Then, desperately, he throws himself beside her and presses his lips on hers. A sudden chill, as of approaching death, passes through him. He rises, takes a few tottering steps toward the exit.

Like a shadow, Manfredo approaches. He has come to seize his wife's lover, whose name his father could not wring from her, but whom at last they have caught. He recognizes Avito. Then it was he whom she adored.

"What do you want?" asks Avito. "Can you not see that I can scarcely speak?"

Scarcely speak? He might as well be dead. Upon Fiora's lips Archibaldo has spread a virulent poison, knowing well that her lover would come into the crypt to kiss her, and in that very act would drain the poison from her lips and die. Thus would they track him.

With his last breath, Avito tells that she loved him as the life that they took from her, aye, even more. Despite the avowal, Manfredo cannot hate him; but rather is he moved to wonder at the vast love Fiora was capable of bestowing, yet not upon himself.

Avito is dead. Manfredo, too, throws himself upon Fiora's corpse, and from her lips draws in what remains of the poison, quivers, while death slowly creeps through his veins, then enters eternal darkness, as Archibaldo gropes his way into the crypt.

The blind king approaches the bier, feels a body lying by it, believes he has caught Fiora's lover, only to find that the corpse is that of his son.

Such is the love of three kings;—of Archibaldo for his son, of Avito for the woman who loved him, of Manfredo for the woman who loved him not.

Or, if deeper meaning is looked for in Sem Benelli's powerful tragedy, the three kings are in love with Italy, represented by Fiora, who hates and scorns the conqueror of her country, Archibaldo; coldly turns aside from Manfredo, his son and heir apparent with whose hand he sought to bribe her; hotly loves, and dies for a prince of her own people, Avito. Tragic is the outcome of the conqueror's effort to win and rule over an unwilling people. Truly, he is blind.

Italo Montemezzi was born in 1875, in Verona. A choral work by him, "Cantico dei Cantici," was produced at the Milan Conservatory, 1900. Besides "L'Amore dei Tre Re," he has composed the operas "Giovanni Gallurese," Turin, 1905, and "Hélléra," Turin, 1909.

Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari

ERMANNO Wolf-Ferrari was born in Venice, January 12, 1876, the son of August Wolf, a German painter, and an Italian mother. At first self-taught in music, he studied later with Rheinberger in Munich. From 1902-09 he was director of the conservatory Licio Benedetto Marcello. He composed, to words by Dante, the oratorio "La Vita Nuova." His operas, "Le Donne Curiose," "Il Segreto di Susanna," and "L'Amore Medico," are works of the utmost delicacy. They had not, however, been able to hold their own on the operatic stage of English-speaking countries. This may explain the composer's plunge into so exaggerated, and "manufactured" a blood and thunder work as "The Jewels of the Madonna." In American opera this has held its own in the repertoire of the Chicago Opera Company. It has at least some substance, some approach to passion, even if this appears worked up when compared with such spontaneous productions as "Cavalleria Rusticana" and "I Pagliacci," which it obviously seeks to outdo in sordidness and brutality.

The failure of Wolf-Ferrari's other operas to hold the stage in English-speaking countries disappointed many, who regarded him as next to Puccini, the most promising contemporary Italian composer of opera. The trouble is that the plots of his librettos are mere sketches, and his scores delicate to the point of tenuity, so that even with good casts, they are futile attempts to re-invoke the Spirit of Mozart behind the mask of a half-suppressed modern orchestra.

I GIOJELLI DELLA MADONNA
(THE JEWELS OF THE MADONNA)

Gennaro in his blacksmith's shop is seen giving the finishing touches to a candelabra on which he has been working. He places it on the anvil, as on an altar, kneels before it, and sings a prayer to the Madonna—"Madonna, con sospiri" (Madonna, tears and sighing).

Maliella rushes out of the house pursued by Carmela. She is a restless, wilful girl, possessed of the desire to get away from the restraint of the household and throw herself into the life of the city, however evil—a potential Carmen, from whom opportunity has as yet been withheld. Striking an attitude of bravado, and in spite of Gennaro's protests, she voices her rebellious thoughts in the "Canzone di Cannetella,"—"Diceva Cannetella vedendosi inserata" (Thus sang poor Cannetella, who yearned and sighed for her freedom).

A crowd gathers to hear her. From the direction of the sea comes the chorus of the approaching Camorrists. Maliella and the crowd dance wildly. When Carmela reappears with a pitcher of water on her head, the wayward girl is dashing along the quay screaming and laughing.

Carmela tells her son the brief story of Maliella. Gennaro languished, when an infant. Carmela vowed to the Madonna to seek an infant girl of sin begotten, and adopt her. "In the open street I found her, and you recovered." There is a touching duet for mother and son, in which Carmela bids him go and pray to the Madonna, and Gennaro asks for her blessing, before he leaves to do so. Carmela then goes into the house.

Maliella runs in. The Camorrists, Rafaele in the van, are in pursuit of her. Rafaele, the leader of the band, is a handsome, flashy blackguard. When he advances to seize and kiss her, she draws a dagger-like hat pin. Laughing, he throws off his coat, like a duellist, grasps and holds her tightly. She stabs his hand, making it bleed, then throws away the skewer. Angry at first, he laughs disdainfully, then passionately kisses the wound. While the other Camorrists buy flowers from a passing flower girl and make a carpet of them, Rafaele picks up the hat pin, kneels before Maliella, and hands it to her. Maliella slowly replaces it in her hair, and then Rafaele, her arms being uplifted, sticks a flower she had previously refused, on her breast, where she permits it to remain. A few moments later she plucks it out and throws it away. Rafaele picks it up, and carefully replaces it in his buttonhole. A little later he goes to the inn, looks in her direction, and raises his filled glass to her, just at the moment, when, although her back is toward him, a subtle influence compels her to turn and look at him.

Tolling of bells, discharge of mortars, cheers of populace, announce the approach of the procession of Madonna. While hymns to the Virgin are chanted, Rafaele pours words of passion into Maliella's ears. The image of the Virgin, bedecked with sparkling jewels—the jewels of the Madonna—is borne past. Rafaele asseverates that for the love of Maliella he would even rob the sacred image of the jewels and bedeck her with them. The superstitious girl is terrified.

Gennaro, who returns at that moment, warns her against Rafaele as "the most notorious blackguard in this quarter," at the same time he orders her into the house. Rafaele's mocking laugh infuriates him. The men seem about to fight. Just then the procession returns, and they are obliged to kneel. Rafaele's looks, however, follow Maliella, who is very deliberately moving toward the house, her eyes constantly turning in the Camorrist's direction. He tosses her the flower she has previously despised. She picks it up, puts it between her lips, and flies indoors.

Act II. The garden of Carmela's house. On the left wall a wooden staircase. Under this is a gap in the back wall shut in by a railing. It is late evening.

Carmela, having cleared the table, goes into the house. Gennaro starts in to warn Maliella. She says she will have freedom, rushes up the staircase to her room, where she is seen putting her things together, while she hums, "E ndringhete, ndranghete" (I long for mirth and folly).

She descends with her bundle and is ready to leave. Gennaro pleads with her. As if lost in a reverie, with eyes half-closed, she recalls how Rafaele offered to steal the jewels of the Madonna for her. Gennaro, at first shocked at the sacrilege in the mere suggestion, appears to yield gradually to a desperate intention. He bars the way to Maliella, locks the gate, and stands facing her. Laughing derisively, she reascends the stairs.

Her laugh still ringing in his ears, no longer master of himself, he goes to a cupboard under the stairs, takes out a box, opens it by the light of the lamp at the table, selects from its contents several skeleton keys and files, wraps them in a piece of leather, which he hides under his coat, takes a look at Maliella's window, crosses himself, and sneaks out.

From the direction of the sea a chorus of men's voices is heard. Rafaele appears at the gate with his Camorrist friends. To the accompaniment of their mandolins and guitars he sings to Maliella a lively waltzlike serenade. The girl, in a white wrapper, a light scarlet shawl over her shoulders descends to the garden. There is a love duet—"in a torrent of passion," according to the libretto, but not so torrential in the score:—"T'amo, sì, t'amo" (I love you, I love you), for Maliella; "Stringimi forte" (Cling fast to me) for Rafaele; "Oh! strette ardenti" (Rapture enthralling) for both. She promises that on the morrow she will join him. Then Rafaele's comrades signal that someone approaches.

Left to herself, she sees in the moonlight Gennaro's open tool box. As if in answer to her presentiment of what it signifies, he appears with a bundle wrapped in red damask. He is too distracted by his purpose to question her presence in the garden at so late an hour and so lightly clad. Throwing back the folds of the damask, he spreads out on the table, for Maliella, the jewels of the Madonna.

Maliella, in an ecstacy, half mystic, half sensual, and seemingly visioning in Gennaro the image of the man who promised her the jewels, Rafaele, who has set every chord of evil passion in her nature vibrating—no longer repulses Gennaro, but, when, at the foot of a blossoming orange tree, he seizes her, yields herself to his embrace;—a scene described in the Italian libretto with a realism that leaves no doubt as to its meaning.

Act III. A haunt of the Camorrists on the outskirts of Naples. On the left wall is a rough fresco of the Madonna, whose image was borne in procession the previous day. In front of it is a sort of altar.

The Camorrists gather. They are men and women, all the latter of doubtful character. There is singing with dancing—the "Apache," the "Tarantella." Stella, Concetta, Serena, and Grazia, the dancer, are the principal women. They do not anticipate Maliella's expected arrival with much pleasure. When Rafaele comes in, they ask him what he admires in her. In his answer, "Non sapete ... di Maliella" (know you not of Maliella), he tells them her chief charm is that he will be the first man to whom she has yielded herself.

In the midst of an uproar of shouting and dancing, while Rafaele, standing on a table, cracks a whip, Maliella rushes in. In an agony she cries out that, in a trance, she gave herself up to Gennaro. The women laugh derisively at Rafaele, who has just sung of her as being inviolable to all but himself. There is not a touch of mysticism about Rafaele. That she should have confused Gennaro with him, and so have yielded herself to the young blacksmith, does not appeal to him at all. For him she is a plucked rose to be left to wither. Furiously he rejects her, flings her to the ground. The jewels of the Madonna fall from her cloak. They are readily recognized; for they are depicted in the rough fresco on the wall.

Gennaro, who has followed her to the haunt of the Camorrists, enters. He is half mad. Maliella, laughing hysterically, flings the jewels at his feet, shrieking that he stole them for her. The crowd, as superstitious as it is criminal, recoils from both intruders. The women fall to their knees. Rafaele curses the girl. At his command, the band disperses. Maliella goes out to drown herself in the sea. "Madonna dei dolor! Miserere!" (Madonna of our pain, have pity), prays Gennaro. His thoughts revert to his mother. "Deh non piangere, O Mamma mia" (Ah! Weep not, beloved mother mine). Among the débris he finds a knife and plunges it into his heart.

"Le Donne Curiose" (Inquisitive Women), words by Luigi Sagana, after a comedy by Goldoni, was produced at the Hofoper, Munich, November 27, 1903, in German. It was given for the first time in Italian at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, January 3, 1912.

The principal characters are Ottavio, a rich Italian (Bass); Beatrice, his wife (Mezzo-Soprano); Rosaura, his daughter (Soprano); Florindo, betrothed to Rosaura (Tenor); Pantalone, a Venetian merchant (Buffo-Baritone); his friends, Lelio (Baritone), and Leandro (Tenor); Colombina, Rosaura's maid (Soprano); Eleanora, wife to Lelio (Soprano); Arlecchino; servant to Pantalone (Buffo-Bass). There are servants, gondoliers, and men and women of the populace. The action is laid in Venice in the middle of the eighteenth century. There are three acts:

Act I, in the Friendship Club, and later in Ottavio's home; Act II, in Lelio's home; Act III, a street in Venice near the Grand Canal, and later in the club.

In the music the club's motto, "Bandie xe le Done" (No Women Admitted) is repeated often enough to pass for a motif. The most melodious vocal passage is the duet for Rosaura and Florindo in Act II, "Il cor nel contento" (My heart, how it leaps in rejoicing). In the first scene of Act III a beautiful effect is produced by the composer's use of the Venetian barcarolle, "La Biondina in Gondoletta," which often, in the earlier days of Rossini's Opera, "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," was introduced by prima donnas in the lesson scene.

In the Metropolitan production Farrar was Rosaura, Jadlowker Florindo, and Scotti Lelio. Toscanini conducted. The rôles of Colombina and Arlecchino (Harlequin) are survivals of old Italian comedy, which Goldoni still retained in some of his plays.

"Il Segreto di Susanna" (The Secret of Suzanne), the scene a drawing-room in Piedmont, time 1840, is in one act. Countess Suzanne (Soprano) smokes cigarettes. The aroma left by the smoke leads Count Gil (Baritone) to suspect his wife of entertaining a lover. He discovers her secret—and all is well. The third character, a servant, Sante, is an acting part.—A musical trifle, at the Hofoper, Munich, November 4, 1909; Metropolitan Opera House, New York, by the Chicago Opera Company, March 14, 1911, with Carolina White and Sammarco; Constanzi Theatre, Rome, November 27, 1911. The "book" is by Enrico Golisciani, from the French.

"L'Amore Medico," Metropolitan Opera House, March 25, 1914, is another typical bit of Wolf-Ferrari musical bric-a-brac—slight, charming, and quite unable to hold its own in the hurly-burly of modern verismo. A girl is lovesick. Her father, who does not want her ever to leave him, thinks her ailment physical, and vainly summons four noted physicians. Then the clever maid brings in the girl's lover disguised as a doctor. He diagnoses the case as love-hallucination, and suggests as a remedy a mock marriage, with himself as bridegroom. The father consents, and an actual marriage takes place.

Umberto Giordano

UMBERTO GIORDANO was born at Foggia, August 26, 1867. Paolo Serrão was his teacher in music at the Naples Conservatory. With a one-act opera, "Marina," he competed for the Sonzogno prize, which Mascagni won with "Cavalleria Rusticana." "Marina," however, secured for him a commission for the three-act opera, "Mala Vita," Rome, 1892. Then followed the operas which have been noticed above.

MADAME SANS-GÊNE

Discharge of cannon and other sounds indicate that fighting is going on in the streets. Three women employed by Catherine are at work in the laundry. Catherine comes in from the street. She tells of her adventures with a lot of rough soldiers. She does this amazingly, but her experience has cured her of her curiosity to see what is going on outside. There is a scene between Catherine and Fouché, a time-server, waiting to observe how matters go, before he decides whether to cast his fortunes with the Royalists or the people. They gossip about a Corsican officer, who owes Catherine for laundry, but is so poor he has been obliged to pawn his watch for bread. Nevertheless, the good-hearted, lively Madame Sans-Gêne continues to do his laundry work for him, and trusts to the future for the bill.

Catherine is left alone. Rifle shots are heard. Count Neipperg, a wounded Austrian officer of the Queen's suite, comes in and asks to be hidden. Although she is of the people, Catherine hides him in her own room. His pursuers enter. It chances they are led by Catherine's betrothed, Sergeant Lefebvre. For a while Catherine diverts the squad from its purpose by offering wine. Lefebvre uncorks the bottle, meanwhile giving a lively description of the sacking of the Tuilleries. There is a scene of affection between him and Catherine. He notices that his hands are black with powder and, intending to wash them in Catherine's room, becomes violently suspicious on finding the door locked. He wrenches the key from her, unlocks the door, enters the room. Catherine, expecting every moment to hear him despatching the wounded man stops up her ears. Lefebvre comes out quietly. He tells her the man in her room is dead. As she is not at all excited, but merely surprised, he knows that he has no cause to suspect that the wounded man is her lover. He will help her to save him. Catherine throws herself into his arms. There are sounds of drums and of marching and shouting in the street. Lefebvre leads out his squad.

Like most modern composers who do not possess the gift for sustained melody, Giordano would make up for it by great skill in the handling of his orchestra and constant depiction of the varying phases of the action. There is considerable opportunity for a display of this talent in the first act of "Madame Sans-Gêne," and the composer has furnished a musical background, in which the colours are laid on in short, quick, and crisp strokes. "The Marseillaise" is introduced as soldiers and mob surge past Catherine's laundry.

Act II. The drawing-room of the Château de Compiègne. The Empire has been established. Lefebvre is a Marshal and has been created Duke of Danzig. Catherine is his duchess. She scandalizes the court with her frequent breaches of etiquette.

Farrar

When the act opens Despréaux, the dancing master, Gelsomino, the valet, and Leroy, the ladies' tailor, are engaged in passing criticisms upon her. She enters, is as unconventional as ever, and amusingly awkward, when she tries on the court train, or is being taught by Despréaux how to deport herself, when she receives the Emperor's sisters, whom she is expecting. Lefebvre comes in like a thunder cloud. Napoleon, he tells her, has heard how she has scandalized the court by her conduct and has intimated that he wishes him to divorce her. There is a charming scene—perhaps the most melodious in the opera—between the couple who love each other sincerely. Neipperg, who now is Austrian Ambassador, comes upon the scene to bid his old friends good-bye. Napoleon suspects that there is an intrigue between him and the Empress, and has had him recalled. Fouché, Minister of Police, announces Napoleon's sisters—Queen Carolina and Princess Elisa. Catherine's court train bothers her. She is unrestrained in her language. The royal ladies and their suite at first laugh contemptuously, then as Catherine, in her resentment, recalls to Carolina that King Murat, her husband, once was a waiter in a tavern, the scene becomes one of growing mutual recrimination, until, to the measures of "The Marseillaise," Catherine begins to recount her services to Napoleon's army as Cantinière. Enraged, the royal ladies and their suite leave. De Brigode, the court chamberlain, summons Catherine to the presence of the Emperor. Not at all disconcerted, she salutes in military fashion the men who have remained behind, and follows De Brigode.

Act III. Cabinet of the Emperor. There is a brief scene between Napoleon and his sisters, to whom he announces that there is to be a hunt at dawn, at which he desires their presence. They withdraw; Catherine is announced.

Napoleon brusquely attacks her for her behaviour. She recalls his own humble origin, tells of her services to the army, and of the wound in the arm she received on the battlefield, maintains that his sisters in insulting her also insulted his army, and, as a climax draws out a bit of yellow paper—a laundry bill he still owes her, for he was the impecunious young lieutenant mentioned in the first act. With much chicness she even tells him that, when she delivered his laundry, she tried to attract his attention, but he was always too absorbed in study to take notice of her, and make love to her.

The Emperor is charmed. He kisses the scar left by the wound on her arm. Catherine, bowing, exclaims, "The Emperor owes me nothing more!"

Catherine is about to go, Napoleon ordering for her the escort of an officer, when Neipperg is apprehended, as he is approaching the Empress's door. Infuriated, Napoleon tears the string of medals from the Ambassador's breast and appears about to strike him in the face with it. Neipperg draws his sword. Officers rush in. Napoleon orders that he be shot ere dawn, and that Fouché and Lefebvre have charge of the execution.

Act IV. The scene is the same, but it is far into the night. The candles are burning low, the fire is dying out, Catherine and Lefebvre have a brief scene in which they deplore that they are powerless to prevent Neipperg's execution. Catherine cannot even inform the Empress and possibly obtain her intervention, for her door, at Napoleon's command, is guarded by Roustan.

But Napoleon, when he comes in, is sufficiently impressed by Catherine's faith in the Empress's loyalty to put it to the test. At his direction, she knocks at the Empress's door, and pretending to be her Matron of Honour, Mme. de Bülow, says, "Majesty, Neipperg is here." The Empress passes out a letter. "Give this to him—and my farewell." Napoleon takes the letter, breaks the seal. The letter is to the Empress's father, the Emperor of Austria, whom she asks to entertain Neipperg in Vienna as his assiduity troubles her and the Emperor. Napoleon orders Fouché to restore Neipperg's sword and let him depart.

"As for your divorce," he says to Lefebvre, with a savage look, "My wish is this"—playfully he tweaks Catherine by the ear. "Hold her for ever true. Give thanks to heaven for giving her to you."

Hunting-horns and the chorus of hunters are heard outside.

ANDRÉ CHÉNIER

Historical as a character though André Chénier be, Giordano's librettist, Luigi Illica, has turned his life into fiction. Chénier was a poet, dreamer, and patriot. Born at Constantinople, he went to Paris for his education. Later he became a participant in and victim of the French Revolution.