MANRU.
Opera in three acts by J. PADEREWSKI.
Text by ALFRED NOSSIG.
Dresden claims the honour of having first represented the celebrated Polish pianist's opera.
The performance took place on May 29th 1901, and a closely packed house showed its approbation in the most enthusiastic manner.
Those who will look out for reminiscences in every new piece of music find of course that Paderewski is an imitator of Wagner, but though Manru would probably not have been written without the composer's intimate knowledge of the Ring of Nibelungen, the melodies and rythm are entirely his own. The music is true gypsy music with very much movement and highly phantastic colouring, reminding us sometimes of Liszt and Bizet.
The best parts of the opera are the choruses of the village maidens in the first act, the charming cradle song, the violin solo and the love-duet in the second and the splendid gipsy music in the last act.
Nossig's libretto is very inferior to the music; its rhymes are often absolutely trivial. The scene is laid in the Hungarian Tatra mountain district.
Manru a wandering gipsy has fallen in love with a peasant girl Ulana and has married her against her mother's wishes.
In the first act mother Hedwig laments her daughter's loss. While the village lasses are dancing and frolicking Ulana returns to her mother to ask her forgiveness; she is encouraged by a hunchback Urok, who is devoted to her, and who persuades the mother to forgive her child, on condition that she shall leave her husband. As Ulana refuses, though she is in dire need of bread, Hedwig sternly shuts her door upon her daughter. Ulana turns to Urok, who does his best to persuade her to leave her husband.
Urok is a philosopher; he warns the poor woman, that gipsy blood is never faithful, and that the time will come, when Manru will leave wife and child.
Ulana is frightened and finally obtains from Urok a love potion, by which she hopes to secure her husband's constancy.
When she tries to turn back into the mountains she is surrounded by the returning villagers, who tease and torment her and the hunchback, until Manru comes to their rescue. But his arrival only awakes the villagers' wrath, they fall upon him and are about to kill him, when mother Hedwig comes out and warns them not to touch the outlaws on whom her curse has fallen.
The second act takes place in Manru's hiding place in the mountains. The gipsy is tired of the idyll. He longs for freedom and quarrels with his wife, whose sweetness bores him. She patiently rocks her child's cradle and sings him to rest. Suddenly Manru hears the tones of a gipsy fiddle in the distance; he follows the sound and soon returns with an old gipsy who does his best to lure him back to his tribe. But once more love and duty prevail; and when Ulana sweetly presents him the love-philtre he drains it at one draught, and immediately feeling the fire of the strong and potent drug, he becomes cheerful and receives his wife, who has adorned herself with a wreath of flowers with open arms.
In the third act Manru rushes out of the small, close hut. His intoxication is gone; he gasps for air and freedom. Wearily he stretches himself on the ground and falls asleep. The full moon, shining on him, throws him into a trance, during which he rises to follow the gipsy tribe whose songs he hears. In this state he is found by Asa, the gipsy queen, who loves him and at once claims him as her own.
But the tribe refuses to receive the apostate, and their chief Oros pronounces a terrible anathema against him. However Asa prevails with her tribe to pardon Manru.
Oros in anger flings down his staff of office and departs, and Manru is elected chief in his place.
Once more he hesitates, but Asa's beauty triumphs; he follows her and his own people.
At this moment Ulana appears. Seeing that her husband has forsaken her, she implores Urok, who has been present during the whole scene to bring Manru back to her.—Alas, it is in vain. When Ulana sees Manru climbing the mountain path arm in arm with Asa, she drowns herself in the lake.
But Manru does not enjoy his treachery; Oros, hidden behind the rocks is on the watch for him and tearing Asa from him, he precipitates his rival from the rocks into the lake.
FEUERSNOT
(THE PLAGUE OF DARKNESS).
A Lyric Poem (Singgedicht) in one act by ERNST VON WOLZOGEN.
Music by RICHARD STRAUSS.
The new Opera of the highly gifted young Bavarian composer was represented for the first time in Dresden on November 21st 1901.
This absolutely original composition was received with acclamation, and it deserves it. The musical part is so difficult, that it can only be performed on a few very first rate stages, and it wants many hearings to take in all its charm of instrumentation and its eminently modern harmonies and intervals.
The text is very witty and very clever, and quite worthy of the music. The story is taken from an old Dutch legend of rather free conception. The scene is laid in Munich; it takes place at the summer solstice in the far away middle-ages, or, as the author calls it "fabulous no-time."
The title has a double meaning as the explanation of the plot will show.
A band of merry children wanders from house to house, singing and demanding wood for the bonfires of the summer solstice. After having got a plentiful supply at the burgomaster's house, they cross over to the opposite house, an old decayed building, called the Wizard's house. Its inmate at first takes no notice of the children's noisy summons; at last he appears at the door.
He, Kunrad, is a young dreamer, who has forgotten the outside world over his books and studies. But the merry songs wake him suddenly to life and sunshine. He gives up his whole house to the uproarious band, beginning himself to tear down the battered shutters. The children set to work to carry off every piece of wood, that is not too firmly riveted, and Kunrad helps them full of glee.
Suddenly he perceives, Diemuth, the burgomaster's lovely daughter. His hitherto perfectly untouched heart catches fire, and all at once he steps up to her, presses her to his heart and kissing her he passionately explains: "I will leap through the fire; wilt thou leap after me?!"
Diemuth, who has all the time been gazing at the stranger like one in a trance wakes up and turns from him with a cry of shame and indignation.
Kunrad is now attacked on all sides for his impertinence and Diemuth, turning to her maiden friends, who secretly envy her for the adoration, the noble stranger has shown her, whispers into their ears, that she will revenge herself for the disgrace he has brought upon her.
While the evening is setting in the citizens begin to wander out of town to see the bonfires.
The burgomaster is obliged to walk away alone, after having vainly tried to persuade his daughter to accompany him.
Diemuth steps into the house, and soon appears on the balcony, combing her heir. Kunrad standing at his battered house-door renews his protestations of love and begs her in passionate terms to let him in. At first she refuses tartly but by and by she seems to relent, and pointing to the large basket in which the wood had been let down to the children she invites him to get into it and says that she will draw him up.—Kunrad complies with her wish.
While she slowly winds the basket up her three companions peep round the corner and perceive with delight, that Diemuth's trick is successful, and that the bird is caught. The tercet of the maidens is one of the loveliest pieces of music ever written.
Before the basket reaches the balcony, Diemuth pretends that her strength is failing. At his entreaties she loosens and lets down her long hair, but when he tries to grasp it she jerks it back with a cry of pain and rates him harshly.—At last he perceives, that she has been fooling him all the time. He is helplessly caught in the trap and the returning citizens seeing him hanging between heaven and earth deride him, congratulating Diemuth on having caught such a fine bird.
Then Kunrad rises in a towering rage. Loudly invoking the help of his friend and master, the mighty sorcerer, he suddenly plunges the whole town into utter darkness. When the good citizens of Munich find themselves deprived of fire and light, they break out into loud lamentation; the frightened children wail and the head officials of the town vow to hang Kunrad for his insolence and his witchcraft.
At this moment the moon shining through the clouds throws her light upon Kunrad, who has swung himself on to the balcony, and smiling down upon the people he pronounces a powerful oration upon their narrowmindedness.
He reminds them, that the owner of his house, whom they drove out of the town, Richard Wagner was one of the greatest masters the world had ever seen and who would have brought them fame and greatness, if they had not rejected him. He, Kunrad (Richard Strauss) claims to be his successor, who is to carry on the great work nothing daunted, and in spite of all the small minds of the world.
For his helpmate he has chosen Diemuth, but she too has failed to understand, that love is higher than even virtue and morality, and for this reason he has extinguished their lights and fire, to show them, that all light comes, from love, and that without love the world is dark and cold.
As soon as he has ended, Diemuth softly opens her door and draws Kunrad in. The citizens, convinced by his burning words begin to praise him and acknowledge his high courage and good words. Meanwhile the windows of Diemuth's chamber begin to gleam faintly; Diemuth and Kunrad have fulfilled the law of love and all at once, the flames of the bonfires leap up and the windows and streets are again aglow with the light, that is given back to the city.