JOSEPH IN EGYPT.
Opera in three acts by ETIENNE HENRY MEHUL.
Text after ALEXANDER DUVAL.
This opera, which has almost disappeared from the French stage, is still esteemed in Germany and always will be so, because, though clad in the simplest garb, and almost without any external outfit, its music is grand, noble and classic; it equals the operas of Gluck, whose influence may be traced, but it is free from all imitation. Here we have true music, and the deep strain of patriarchal piety so touching in the Biblical recital finds grand expression.
Joseph, the son of Jacob, who was sold by his brothers, has by his wisdom saved Egypt from threatening famine; he resides as governor in Memphis under the name of Cleophas. But though much honored by the King and all the people, he never ceases to long for his old father, whose favorite child he was.
Driven from Palestine by this same famine, Jacob's sons are sent to Egypt to ask for food and hospitality. They are tormented by pangs of conscience, which Simeon is hardly able to conceal, when they are received by the governor, who at once recognized them. Seeing their sorrow and repentance, he pities them, and promises to receive them all hospitably. He does not reveal himself but goes to meet his youngest brother Benjamin and his blind father, whose mourning for his lost son has not been diminished by the long years. Joseph induces his father and brother to partake in the honors, which the people render to him. The whole family is received in the governor's palace, where Simeon consumed by grief and conscience-stricken at last confesses to his father the selling of Joseph. Full of horror Jacob curses and disowns his ten sons. But Joseph intervenes. Making himself known, he grants full pardon and entreats his father to do the same.
The old man yields, and together they praise God's providence and omnipotence.
IRRLICHT.
(WILL-O'-THE WISP.)
Opera in one act by KARL GRAMANN.
Text by KURT GEUCKE.
With "Irrlicht" the composer takes a step towards verisme; both, subject and music are terribly realistic, though without the last shade of triviality. The music is often of brilliant dramatic effect, and the fantastic text, well matching the music, is as rich in thrilling facts as any modern Italian opera. Indeed this seems to be by far the best opera, which the highly gifted composer has written.
The scene is laid on a pilot's station on the coast of Normandy. A pilot-boat has been built and is to be baptized with the usual ceremonies. Tournaud, an old ship-captain expects his daughter Gervaise back from a stay in Paris. He worships her, and when she arrives, he is almost beside himself with joy and pride. But Gervaise is pale and sad, and hardly listens to gay Marion, who tells her of the coming festival.—Meanwhile all the fisher-people from far and near assemble to participate in the baptism, and André, who is to be captain of the boat, is about to choose a god-mother amongst the fair maidens around, when he sees Gervaise coming out of the house, where she has exchanged her travelling garb for a national-dress. Forgotten are all the village-lasses, and André chooses Gervaise, who reluctantly consents to baptize the boat, and is consequently received very ungraciously by the maidens and their elders. She blesses the boat which sails off among the cheers of the crowd with the simple words: "God bless thee". André, who loves Gervaise with strong and everlasting affection turns to her full of hope. He is gently but firmly rebuked, and sadly leaves her, while Gervaise is left to her own sad memories, which carry her back to the short happy time, when she was loved and won and alas forsaken by a stranger of high position. Marion, who loves André hopelessly, vainly tries to brighten up her companion. They are all frightened by the news of a ship being in danger at sea. A violent storm has arisen, and when Maire Grisard, the builder of the yacht pronounces her name "Irrlicht," Gervaise starts with a wild cry. The ship is seen battling with the waves, while André rushes in to bring Gervaise a telegraphic dispatch from Paris. It tells her, that her child is at death's door. Tournaud, catching the paper, in a moment guesses the whole tragedy of his daughter's life. In his shame and wrath he curses her, but all her thoughts are centered on the ship, on which the count, her child's father is struggling against death. She implores André to save him, but he is deaf to her entreaties. Then she rushes off to ring the alarm-bell, but nobody dares to risk his life in the storm. At last, seeing all her efforts vain, she looses a boat, and drives out alone into night and perdition. As soon as André perceives her danger, he follows her. At this moment a flash of lightning which is followed by a deafening crash shows the Yacht rising out of the waves for the last time, and then plunging down into a watery grave forever.—The whole assembly sink on their knees in fervent prayer, which is so far granted, that André brings back Gervaise unhurt. She is but in a deep swoon, and her father, deeply touched, pardons her. When she opens her eyes, and shudderingly understands that her sacrifice was fruitless, she takes a little flask of poison from her bosom and slowly empties it. Then, taking a last farewell of the home of her childhood and of her early love, she recommends Marion to André's care. By this time the poison has begun to take effect and the poor girl, thinking that in the waving willow branches she sees the form of her lover, beckoning to her, sighs "I come beloved" and sinks back dead.