Читать книгу: «Operas Every Child Should Know», страница 2

"Now be off and join the rest!" she cried; and while she left the square by one route Devilshoof departed by another.

After going a little way, Devilshoof was certain to come up with those who had gone before and who were dancing along, in front of Arline and Thaddeus, singing gaily about the wedding.

 
Come with the gipsy bride,
And repair
To the fair.
Where the mazy dance
Will the hours entrance.
Come with the gipsy bride,
Where souls as light preside.
 

Thus they pranced along having a fine gipsy time of it till they arrived at the fair, which was held in a great public square in the midst of the city. The courthouse was on one side, and over the door there was a sign which read "The Hall of Justice." Everybody seemed to be at the fair: peasants, nobles, soldiers, and citizens; rope-dancers, quack doctors, waxworks, showmen of all sorts, and bells rang and flags flew, and altogether it was just the thing for a gipsy's wedding day.

The quack doctor blew his horn, and everybody surged about him, and while all that movement and fun were taking place, Devilshoof and Thaddeus formed a sort of flying wedge on the outskirts of the crowd and forced a passage for the gipsy band. At that moment Florestein came along, taking part in the day as all the rest of Presburg were doing, and the first man his eye lighted upon was that miscreant, Devilshoof. There stood the man who had stolen his medallion! There were several gentlemen with Florestein, and he called their attention to the gipsy group. Meantime Arline, like any gipsy, had been going about selling flowers and telling fortunes, and while those things were taking place the old Count Arnheim and some officers of the city entered and tried to pass through the group to the courthouse, where the old Count presided as judge. Florestein stopped him.

"Uncle, just stop a bit and look at those gipsies! Do you see that pretty girl? I am delighted with her. Even an old gentleman like you should have an eye to a girl as pretty as that," he laughed. This was not in very good taste, but then, nobody ever accused the little idiot of having either good taste or good courage.

"I have no eyes for beauty since my Arline was lost to me, nephew," the old man returned sadly, and passed to his courtroom. But Florestein pressed through the crowd till he reached Arline's side.

"You are a pretty girl," he said boldly, ogling her. "Come! you are teaching others" (Arline had been telling a fortune), "teach me."

"A lesson in politeness, sir? – you need it," and Arline slapped his face; not at all the sort of thing a countess would do, but then she had been brought up a gipsy, and couldn't be expected to have all the graces of her ancestors. The Queen, who had been watching, ready to make trouble, called Thaddeus's attention to the incident, and Thaddeus shouldered his way through the crowd just in time to slap Florestein's face from the other side, as he turned about. The fop was somewhat disturbed, while Arline and Thaddeus burst out laughing at him. The Queen, watching this episode, recognized in Florestein the chap to whom she had restored the trinkets. She herself had the medallion, and instantly a malicious thought occurred to her: it was her opportunity to revenge herself on Arline for loving Thaddeus. She approached Arline, and held out the medallion.

"You should be rewarded, my girl, for giving this presumptuous fellow a lesson. Take this from me, and think of it as my wedding gift," and she left the medallion with Arline. The girl was very grateful and kissed the Queen's hand.

"Now we must go! call the band together," she commanded, leading the way; and slowly they all assembled and prepared to go. Thaddeus hung the medallion on Arline's neck and, with her, came last of the band. Now Florestein, smarting under their blows, saw the medallion on Arline's neck and at once drew the attention of his friends to it. They recognized it as his. He then went up to Thaddeus and Arline and pointed to the trinket.

"You may stay awhile, my girl. How about that medallion of mine which you have on your neck? My friends here recognize it!"

"The Queen has given it to me – only now," she replied in amazement; but as she looked about she saw that the Queen was gone, and Devilshoof, who had witnessed all, was then sneaking off.

"That is a good story. We have all heard that sort of thing before. Come along," and he would have arrested her instantly, but Thaddeus sprang forward and took a hand in the matter. When Florestein saw the affair had grown serious he ran into the Hall of Justice, and returned with a guard who arrested the girl. Arline, in tears, declared her innocence, but everything appeared against her. She had only Thaddeus to stand by her, but at this crisis the other gipsies ran back, hearing of the row, and tried to rescue her. There Thaddeus, too, was seized, and a free fight took place in which the gipsies were driven off; finally, Arline, left alone, was marched into the Hall of Justice. The Queen then returned, and stood unseen, enjoying the young girl's peril, while Thaddeus threatened everybody concerned.

Now before the guards reached the Count Arnheim's apartment where Arline was to be tried, the Count had been sitting before a portrait of his lost daughter, which pictured her as she was twelve years before. He had never known a happy hour since her loss. As he looked at her portrait he sang:

[Listen]

 
The heart bow'd down by weight of woe,
To weakest hope will cling,
To tho't and impulse while they flow,
That can no comfort bring, that can, that can no comfort bring,
With those exciting scenes will blend,
O'er pleasure's pathway thrown;
But mem'ry is the only friend,
That grief can call its own,
That grief can call its own,
That grief can call its own.
 
 
The mind will in its worst despair,
Still ponder o'er the past,
On moments of delight that were
Too beautiful to last.
To long departed years extend
Its visions with them flown;
For mem'ry is the only friend
That grief can call its own.
 

Thus, while the old Count's mind was lingering sadly over the past, calling up visions of the hopes that had fled with his daughter, she was being brought to him charged with a crime of which she was innocent. Soon the Count heard a noise near his apartment, and the captain of the guard burst in to tell him a robbery had been committed in the square. No sooner had Arnheim seated himself in his official place than the people hustled in Arline. Florestein was in the midst of the mob; going at once to his uncle he cried:

"Your lordship, it is I who have been robbed!"

"Ah! some more of your trouble-making. Why are you forever bringing the family name into some ill-sounding affair?"

"But, uncle, it is true that I am a victim. There is the very girl who robbed me!" he cried, pointing to Arline. The Count looked pityingly at her.

"What – the pretty girl I saw in the square? So young and innocent a face!"

"However that may be, she has stolen my medallion: we found it upon her!"

"Can this be true, my child?" the Count asked gently.

"No, your lordship. I have done nothing wrong; but alas! there is no one to help me."

At that the Count became more distressed. The thought of his own child returned to him. She might be somewhere as hardly pressed and as helpless as this young gipsy girl.

"We can prove her guilty," Florestein persisted.

"Tell me your story, my child. I shall try to do you justice," the Count urged, looking kindly at Arline.

"The Queen of our tribe gave me that medallion. I do not know how she possessed herself of it, unless – " Arline suddenly remembered the scene at her wedding, and half guessed the truth. "Your lordship, I cannot prove it, but I believe she gave me a medallion which she knew to be stolen, in order to revenge herself upon me for giving her displeasure last night!" The old Count gazed thoughtfully at her. He believed her story: she looked truthful, and her tone was honest.

"I believe you," he answered, at last, "yet since you cannot prove this, I have no alternative but to hand you over to justice."

"Then, sir, I can deliver myself!" she cried, drawing a dagger, and was about to plunge it into her heart when the horrified Count sprung forward and stopped her. As he seized her arm, he glanced at the scar upon it: then started and looked closely at her face. Again the face of his lost daughter was before him. He looked at the painting of the little girl upon the wall, and again at Arline. They were so like that he could doubt no longer.

"Tell me – how did you come by that scar upon your arm – speak the truth, because my very life hangs upon it, my child." By this time the whole mob had gathered excitedly about the girl and the old judge.

"When I was six years old a wild deer wounded me – " the Count nearly fainted with hope – "I was saved and – " at this moment, Thaddeus, having shaken off his guard, rushed in to help Arline. She cried out happily and pointed to him. "It was he who saved my life," she said. "It was Thaddeus!" The Count recognized the man who had refused to drink the health of the Emperor at the banquet years before! Clearly it was his own child who had been brought before him!

With a joyous cry he clasped her in his arms, but she did not know the meaning of his joy or of the excitement, and, frightened and bewildered, she ran to Thaddeus. Thaddeus pointed sadly to the Count:

"It is thy father, Arline. It is true," and he buried his face in his hands. He must now give her up. Since she had found a noble father he could not hope to be near her again, and while he stood with his face in his hands, and Arline was again in the arms of the Count, Devilshoof made his way in through the crowd, and tried to drag Thaddeus away. He loved his comrade of twelve years, and he saw that harm might come to him in the new situation.

ACT III

After leaving the Hall of Justice, Arline returned with her father to the home of her childhood, for her dream had come true: she "dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs at her side." Yet she was far from happy: Thaddeus had left the hall with Devilshoof on the day of Arline's arrest, and she had not seen him since. Gorgeously dressed in a ball gown, she was in a beautiful room in her father's house. Her father entered with Florestein and begged her to think kindly of her silly foppish cousin.

"You have every reason to be resentful toward Florestein," he said, "but if you can think kindly of him for my sake it would make me very happy. I have always intended you to marry each other."

At that Arline was very wretched; and after a moment she said: "Father, I should like to please you, but I cannot think affectionately of my cousin," and before the argument could be carried further, a servant entered to tell them that the palace was filling with guests, and that the Count was needed. Florestein and the Count then went to meet the company, leaving Arline alone to recover her self-possession. She became very sad for she was thinking of Thaddeus and of the days she had spent wandering over the world with him and the gipsies. Suddenly she went to a cabinet, took her gipsy dress from it, and looked at it, the tears streaming from her eyes. While she was lost in the memories of other days, Devilshoof jumped in at the window and Arline nearly screamed upon seeing him so suddenly.

"Don't scream! Don't be frightened," he said quickly. "I have come to say how we all miss you, and to beg you to come back to the tribe. I have brought with me one whose powers of persuasion are greater than mine," he added, and instantly Thaddeus appeared at the window, while Arline, unable to restrain herself, rushed into his arms.

"Ah, I feared you would forget me in the midst of so much luxury and wealth," he said happily.

"Oh, Thaddeus, did I not also dream – which pleased me most – that you loved me still the same?" she reminded him.

"I came only to entreat you sometimes to think of me," he now said with a lighter heart, "and also I came to tell you – " he paused, kissed her, and then sang:

[Listen]

 
When other lips and other hearts
Their tales of love shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts
The pow'r they feel so well:
There may, perhaps, in such a scene,
Some recollection be
Of days that have as happy been,
And you'll remember me, and you'll remember,
You'll remember me.
 
 
When coldness or deceit shall slight
The beauty now they prize,
And deem it but a faded light
Which beams within your eyes;
When hollow hearts shall wear a mask
'Twill break your own to see:
In such a moment I but ask
That you'll remember me.
 

The song only added to Arline's distress. She could not let Thaddeus go.

"You must never leave me, Thaddeus," she cried.

"Then will you fly with me?" he begged.

"It would kill my poor father; he has only now found me. I would go if it were not for love of him, but how can I leave him?" And while the lovers were in this unhappy coil Devilshoof, who had been watching at the window to warn them if any one was coming, called out:

"Your doom is sealed in another moment! You must decide: people are coming. There is no escape for you, Thaddeus."

"Come into this cabinet," Arline cried in alarm. "No one can find you there! and you, Devilshoof, jump out of the window." No sooner said than done! Out Devilshoof jumped, while Thaddeus got into the cabinet. The great doors were thrown open and the company streamed in to congratulate Arline on being restored to her father. The old Count then took Arline by the hand and presented her to the company, while Florestein, as the suitor who expected to be given her hand in marriage, stood beside her, smiling and looking the coxcomb. Everybody then sang a gay welcome, and Florestein, who seemed born only to do that which was annoying to other people, picked up the forgotten gipsy dress, declaring that it was not suitable to such a moment, and that he would place it in the cabinet.

That was the worst possible thing he could do, and Arline watched him with horror. If he should go to the cabinet, as she was now certain he would, he could not possibly help finding Thaddeus. She watched with excitement every moment; but in the midst of her fears there was a great noise without, and the gipsy Queen forced her way in, to the amazement of the company. She went at once to the old Count, who it seemed was never to have done with surprises.

"Who art thou, intruder?" he asked angrily. Upon this the Queen lifted her veil, which till then had concealed her face.

"Behold me!" she cried, very dramatically, "heed my warning voice! Wail and not rejoice!" A nice sort of caution to be injected into a merrymaking. "The foe to thy rest, is the one you love best. Think not my warning wild, 'tis thy refound child. She loves a youth of the tribe I sway, and braves the world's reproof. List to the words I say, he is now beneath thy roof!" This was quite enough to drive the entire company into hysterics.

"Base wretch," the Count cried, "thou liest!"

"Thy faith I begrudge, open that door and thyself be the judge," she screamed, quite beside herself with anger. Of course everybody looked toward the door of the cabinet, and finally the Count opened it, and there stood Thaddeus.

He staggered back, the Queen was delighted, but everybody else was frightened half to death.

Everybody concerned seemed then to be in the worst possible way. Arline determined to stand by Thaddeus, and she was quite appalled at the wickedness of the Queen.

"Leave the place instantly," the Count roared to Thaddeus.

"I go, Arline," Thaddeus answered sorrowfully.

"Never! – unless I go with thee," she declared, quite overcome by the situation. "Father, I love thee, but I cannot give up Thaddeus," she protested sorrowfully to the Count. Then the Count drew his sword and rushed between them.

"Go!" he cried again to Thaddeus, and at the same time the Queen urged him to go with her. Then Arline begged to be left alone with her father that she might have a private word with him. Everybody withdrew except Thaddeus, wondering what next, and how it would all turn out.

"Father," Arline pleaded when they were alone, "I am at your feet. If you love me you will listen. It was Thaddeus who restored me to you; who has guarded me from harm for twelve years. I cannot give him up, and to send him away is unworthy of you." The Count made a despairing gesture of dismissal to Thaddeus.

"But, father, we are already united," she urged, referring to the gipsy marriage. At that the Count was quite horrified.

"United? – to a strolling fellow like this?" This was more than Thaddeus could stand, knowing as he did that he was every bit as good as the Count – being a Polish noble. True, if he revealed himself, he might have to pay for it with his life, because he was still reckoned at large as the enemy of the Emperor, but even so, he decided to tell the truth about himself for Arline's sake.

"Listen," he cried, stepping nearer to the Count. "I am not what you think me. Let this prove to you my birth," and he took the old commission from his pocket where he had carried it for years, and handed it to the Count. "This will prove to thee, though I am an exile, that I am a noble like thyself; and my birth does not separate me from thy daughter." The Count read the paper tremblingly and then looked long at Thaddeus. Tears came to his eyes.

"The storms of a nation's strife should never part true lovers," he said softly, at last: "Thy hand!" – and taking Thaddeus's hand he placed it tenderly in that of Arline. As they stood thus united and happy, the Queen appeared at the window, pointing him out to a gipsy beside her. The gipsy was about to fire upon Thaddeus at the Queen's command, when Devilshoof knocked up the gipsy's arm, and the bullet meant for the lover killed the revengeful Queen.

"Guard every portal – summon all the guests!" the Count cried. "Suspend all festivities," at which the music which had been heard in the distant salon ceased, and the guests began to assemble. Arline rushed to the arms of Thaddeus. The Count explained all that had occurred, the danger Thaddeus had just been in, that he had been given the Count's daughter, and that congratulations were in order.

As you may believe, after so much fright and danger, everybody was overjoyed to find that all was well – everybody but Florestein, and he was certain to be satisfied presently when the banquet began, and he got some especially fine tit-bit on his own plate!

BEETHOVEN

THE most complete, at the same time picturesque, story of Beethoven and his "Fidelio" is told in "Musical Sketches," by Elise Polko, with all the sentimentality that a German writer can command. Whole paragraphs might be lifted from that book and included in this sketch, but the substance of the story shall be told in a somewhat inferior way.

"Leonora" (Fidelio) was composed some time before it was produced. Ludwig van Beethoven had been urged again and again by his friends to put the opera before the public, but he always refused.

"It shall never be produced till I find the woman in whose powers I have absolute confidence to sing 'Leonora.' She need not be beautiful, change her costume ten times, nor break her throat with roulades: but she must have one thing besides her voice." He would not disclose what special quality he demanded; and when his friends persisted in urging the production of his first, last, and only opera, Beethoven went into a great rage and declared if the subject were ever mentioned again, he would burn the manuscript. At one time friends begged him to hear a new prima donna, Wilhelmina Schröder, the daughter of a great actress, believing that in her he would find his "Leonora."

This enraged him still more. The idea of entrusting his beloved composition to a girl no more than sixteen years old!

His appearance at that time is thus described:

"At the same hour every afternoon a tall man walked alone on the so-called Wasserglacis (Vienna). Every one reverentially avoided him. Neither heat nor cold made him hasten his steps; no passer-by arrested his eye; he strode slowly, firmly and proudly along, with glance bent downward, and with hands clasped behind his back. You felt that he was some extraordinary being, and that the might of genius encircled this majestic head with its glory. Gray hair grew thickly around his magnificent brow, but he noticed not the spring breeze that played sportively among it and pushed it in his eyes. Every child knew: 'that is Ludwig van Beethoven, who has composed such wondrously beautiful music.'"

One day, during one of these outings a fearful storm arose, and he noticed a beautiful young woman, whom he had frequently seen in his walks, frightened but standing still without protection from the weather. She stared at him with such peculiar devotion and entreaty that he stopped and asked her what she did there in the storm.

She had the appearance of a child, and great simplicity of manner. She told him she waited to see him. He, being surprised at this, questioned her, and she declared she was Wilhelmina Schröder, who longed for nothing but to sing his Leonora, of which all Vienna had heard. He took her to his home, she sang the part for him, and at once he accepted her.

It was she who first sang "Fidelio," and she who had the "quality" that Beethoven demanded: the quality of kindness. It is said that her face was instinct with gentleness and her voice exquisitely beautiful. It was almost the last thing that Beethoven heard. His deafness was already upon him, but he heard her voice; heard his beloved opera sung, and was so much overcome by the beauty of the young girl's art that during the performance he fainted.

Of all temperamental men, Beethoven was doubtless the most so, and the anecdotes written of him are many. He was especially irascible. His domestic annoyances are revealed freely in his diary: "Nancy is too uneducated for a housekeeper – indeed, quite a beast." "My precious servants were occupied from seven o'clock till ten, trying to light a fire." "The cook's off again – I shied half a dozen books at her head." "No soup to-day, no beef, no eggs. Got something from the inn at last." These situations are amusing to read about, decades later, but doubtless tragic enough at the time to the great composer!

That in financial matters Beethoven was quite practical was illustrated by his answer to the Prussian Ambassador at Vienna, who offered to the musician the choice of the glory of having some order bestowed upon him or fifty ducats. Beethoven took the ducats.

Beautiful as the production of "Fidelio" was, it did not escape criticism from an eminent source. Cherubini was present at the first performance at the Karnthnerthor Theatre in Vienna, and when asked how he liked the overture (Leonora in C) he replied:

"To be honest, I must confess that I could not tell what key it was in from beginning to end."