ODYSSEUS' RETURN.
A Musical Tragedy in three acts with a Prelude by AUGUST BUNGERT.
A musical drama of the highest interest, one which may be considered equal to Wagner's great Nibelung series, has been created at last.
"Odysseus' Return" is the third of four parts of a cyclus, called the Odyssey, and its success since its first representation in Dresden on December 12th 1896 has been so absolute, that one may hope to hear the other parts before long. It must be admitted here, that this is due partly to its splendid rendering under Schuch's genial conductorship, and to the interpreters of the two principal roles in the drama. Frau Wittich as Penelope is the very incarnation of womanliness and queenliness, and no singer could be a truer and nobler Odysseus than Karl Scheidemantel. Whosoever had the advantage of hearing these two great singers in these roles, must for ever identify them with the grand characters of ancient Greece.
Bungert is happy in having found a subject so noble and so sympathetic, and his music does full justice to these sentiments.
The orchestration is simple in character, sometimes of classic naïveté, and though the composer keeps to measures without caesura (destitute of rythm) which are peculiar to Wagner, he differs from him inasmuch as the orchestra is always merely the accompaniment of the voice and never drowns it.
All the characters are most life-like, and they thrill with those never changing emotions, which are the same to-day as they were a thousand years ago.
The plot treats of Homer's Odyssey with a poetic licence.
In the Prelude Pallas Athene appears, conveying the impression of a statue and forthwith producing the right frame of mind in the hearer, by the original song of thirty measures all in c.—After her disappearance Penelope's suitors assemble and form a plot to destroy Telemachus, the queen's son, of whom they are afraid. Hyperion, Telemachus' intimate friend tries to frustrate their plans, but in vain. When left alone he reproaches himself bitterly for his treachery to his friend and decides to warn him. Hyperion too is in love with the queen, but he is at the same time deeply attached to her noble son, who at this juncture is seen arriving in a vessel, in which he is setting out in quest of his father Odysseus.—Hyperion entreats Telemachus to let him accompany him on this dangerous voyage, but the latter begs him to remain with his lonely mother and embarks after taking a tender leave of Hyperion.
Then the scenery changes. The first act takes place in a bay of the isle of Ithaca, in which Odysseus has landed after many years of fruitless wandering. He has fallen asleep near a grotto, which is the abode of nymphs; beside him lie the gifts of the Phaeaces. On the heights the hut of old Eumaeus, Odysseus' steward is seen. He sits on a bench beside the aged Laërtes, Odysseus' father, awaiting his master. Shepherds, dancing and frolicking past him laugh and mock at the faithful servant's belief in Odysseus' return.
By and by Odysseus half awakes from the deep slumber, into which the gods have thrown him; the whole country seems to be enveloped in mist and he does not recognize it, although the songs of the peasants fill him with thoughts of his youth and his home. Dreamily he sinks back on his couch, while Pallas appears attired in beggar's garb, which she throws off and is seen clad fantastically in the costume of a royal shepherdess. She waves her hand, and the mist clears away when the whole country is seen bathed in moonlight and Odysseus opening his eyes recognizes mount Neriton and his own beloved island. Blinded with tears he kisses the sacred soil, and returns thanks to the gods, who have at last led him back to his home.
Suddenly he hears Eumaeus' voice, and finding the beggar's cloak, which the goddess has left him, he wraps himself in it, and hides his weapons and the treasures of the Phaeaces in the grotto. Eumaeus loudly bewails Penelope's fate, and curses the wicked suitors. At the same time the sound of oars is heard and Telemachus' vessel passes by, pursued by the suitors. Eumaeus, too weak to render aid, continues to wail, when suddenly Odysseus rises up before him saying; "The gods will conquer." The old man, not recognizing his king continues to accuse the Fates, and tells the stranger, how badly things have fared since the king's absence.—"And Penelope, my friend?" asks Odysseus. "Penelope is faithful," answers the servant. Then "Be it known to you friend, that Oydsseus will return" quoth the stranger. Struck by a dim foreboding of the truth Eumaeus promises to lead the stranger into the queen's palace this very night.
While they converse, Telemachus calls upon Eumaeus for help, and when the vessels come into sight the prince is seen fighting against his pursuers. He slays one of them, but their number far exceeds that of his own followers. Odysseus, who has vainly looked for the boat which the suitors have stolen, throws his club at them, and springs into his son's vessel just in time to rescue the lad, whose sword has been broken, but who continues to fight, nothing daunted. Odysseus kills some of his foes and pushes their vessel far off, after which they escape, while the father carries his fainting son on shore. At this moment Eumaeus recognizes his mighty guest. Telemachus still half unconscious, calls for another sword. When he at last opens his eyes he stares in wonder at the mysterious stranger whom he deems a god in beggar's garb. Eumaeus informs him, that the stranger brings news of their long lost king, which fills the son's heart with joy. At this point the low songs of the nymphs are heard, welcoming the hero to Ithaca while Laërtes, slowly descending from the heights, prophesies Odysseus' return as one in a dream. Odysseus can hardly restrain his tears at seeing his father looking so old and so woebegone. He meets him humbly, and all their voices mingle in a chorus of triumph and welcome, while Odysseus stepping forward, vows that he will annihilate the suitors.
The second act opens in Penelope's room.
She sits at her loom, looking out over the far stretching sea and bewailing her lot. Behind the scene the evoës and drunken cries of the suitors are heard and with bitter tears she prays to the gods to help her, and to protect her son, whom she knows to be on the treacherous waves.—Suddenly Hyperion rushes in and prostrating himself at her feet offers her a bunch of orange blossoms, and pays homage to her in sentimental poetic language. Penelope quietly congratulates him on having escaped from the nets of his paramour Despoina and the lover, taking this as a favourable sign, breaks out into passionate words, but is at once checked by the queen. He then reveals to her the shameful plot of the suitors, and Penelope becomes speechless with horror. Before she recovers her selfpossession the suitors rush into the apartment, insolently reminding her of her promise to choose one of them, as soon as the garment, which she has been weaving for so many years for Laërtes shall be completed, and wildly upbraiding her with undoing her work during the night Penelope tries to hold them in check, but they only grow more shameless, and at last Antinous tries to embrace her. Quick as thought she draws her dagger, and when it is wrenched from her she snatches his own sword and directs it against him. But Eurymachus, another suitor comes forward, and attacking Hyperion, pierces him with his sword, then turns to the queen, swearing to kill Telemachus as well, should she not yield to their demands. The queen wavers, when renewed acclamations are heard, and Telemachus enters with Eumaeus and Odysseus, the latter still wearing his disguise. The mother rushes forward to embrace her son, but he is seized by the suitors who peremptorily require the queen's oath. "Save thy son o queen", says the stranger, and Penelope at last swears to give her hand to him who shall be victorious in the contest held on Apollo's festival on the following day. Thereupon the suitors promise to protect Telemachus and retire leaving mother and son together.
Not until then does Telemachus recognize in the prostrate form his friend Hyperion, who dying tells him, that he has betrayed his friend and loved his mother. Terrified though he is the tender-hearted youth forgives him and entreats his mother to do the same. But the queen stands as one turned to stone not heeding the stranger, who likewise bids her say a word to the man, who is dying for her, and who is now in his last moments raving of his unholy love. Telemachus at last seizes his friend's hand and closes his dim eyes with a kiss, while the queen, with a last despairing cry for Odysseus sinks back senseless and is carried away by her son and her nurse Eurycleia.—Left alone, Odysseus remains a prey to doubt and jealousy.—When Penelope recovering hears the news of her lost husband, Odysseus promises her the speedy return of the latter, answering her excited questions with: "I know him as I know myself." The queen fears he will be too late, and when the stranger insinuates to her that the king will perhaps kill the suitors whom he has discovered in the queen's apartments and cunningly asks, wether she wants their protection, her long pent up rage against her pursuers finds vent in a terrible cry for vengeance and for the annihilation of all her enemies, and falling on her knees before the beggar she beseeches him to hasten Odysseus' return. The latter, being at last sure of his wife's faithfullness, reassures her and tells her to confide in the gods.
The third act opens with Apollo's festival. The statue of the god is carried before the people, adorned with roses and ivy. The suitors banquet in the palace, while the true master sits aloof on the steps of the temple and is mocked at by the crowd, however remains quiet, only invoking the god to direct his fate.—Trumpets announce the arrival of the queen, who is loudly hailed by the crowd. She carries her husband's own bow, and promises to marry whomsoever shall succeed in bending it, and in shooting the arrow through a series of twelve rings.—Telemachus is the first to try his luck, hoping to redeem his beloved mother. But alas, his strength fails him, and he has to hand the bow on to the suitors, who so goad and taunt him, that the boy draws his sword. But they are stronger, Telemachus stumbles and the beggar catches him in his arms, and unfolds his mantle to protect him whispering: "Telemachus my son, I am thy father." The youth sinks on his knees, but Odysseus enjoins silence upon him and warns him to be ready for battle.
Meanwhile the boy is derided by the crowd, and the queen bitterly disappointed turns to the beggar whispering: "Thy words old man were false!" But Odysseus replies: "The gods will prove victorious", and kisses the queen's hand so fervently, that she stares at him as one in a trance, until he, recovering himself, kisses it again in due humility. Her eyes once more grow dim, and she leaves the grounds in dull despair. During this time the bow has passed from hand to hand, but none can bend it, and the augur Theoclymenus, who hears Jupiter's thunder and sees the ravens fly over the temple prophesies their destruction.
Eurymachus at last proposes to throw the bow into the fire, when the beggar advances and asks leave to try his strength at bending it, which, though indignantly refused by the suitors, is immediately granted by Telemachus, who owns the bow. Odysseus bends it and shoots through all the rings.
During this scene Pallas appears in the air, holding her shield aloft. Horror seizes the wooers, when they recognize the mighty arm, which alone can bend the bow, and Odysseus, flinging his cloak from him and standing erect in his shining armour, slays his enemies aided by his son and those of his servants who have remained true to him and to their queen. The latter, walking slowly over the peristyle all at once sees Odysseus and recognizes her lord, who folds her to his heart. When the palace is cleared of the dead, the people press in to hail their king and Athene appears once more, holding her shield over the happy crowd and blessing the faithful spouse.
BEARSKIN.
(DER BÄRENHÄUTER).
An Opera in three acts by SIEGFRIED WAGNER.
In the beginning of the year 1899 a great sensation thrilled through the musical world; Siegfried Wagner had written his first musical drama. Some call him the small son of a great father; others consider him to be the true heir of his father's greatness; I, for my part think that the truth, as usual, lies between these two extremes.
The drama was first performed in January 1899 on the Munich Stage, and a few days later Leipzig followed suit. The effect the work produced was much greater than the opponents of the young composer thought possible, and no doubt the "Bärenhäuter" will soon appear on all stages of importance, including that of Bayreuth, whose fanatical adherents have noised abroad young Siegfried's fame perhaps too loudly and too early for his advantage. That his work shows talent nobody will deny after having heard this drama, which is however not free from imitation of the works of greater masters. The manner of instrumentation, the musical declamation are his father's, but the orchestration is much simpler, and, unlike his father, he produces his greatest and best effects by means of simple melodies, but he fails when he seeks to become pathetic or dramatic. Like most modern composers he has written his libretto himself, and he has chosen a most original subject from one of Grimm's old fairy tales. The story is well told though at rather too great a length, and both libretto and music are very effective, full of action, fascinating the hearer and heightening his interest from act to act. In the second act, especially in the dialogues between Luise and Hans Kraft, are sufficient proofs of Siegfried's genius, and the conclusion is truly grand.
The scene is laid in Bavaria, in the country around Bayreuth, during the time of the Thirty Years war.
The first act takes place in a village in the Hummelgau. The soldiers are first returning after a long period of war to their native village, and are received enthusiastically by the inhabitants. Hans Kraft, the hero of the drama, looks in vain for his old mother and at last learns that sorrow and anxiety about her absent son have caused her death three years ago; she is already forgotten, and so is her son, who find himself alone and forsaken. He is rudely repulsed by the peasants who will not even give him a night's lodging in their cottages. Full of wrath and despair he turns into the forest where he is accosted by a wild looking being who laughs at his impotent rage and offers his help. Hans, perceiving the cloven hoof and the horns, at once recognizes the Devil in this queer fellow, and is at first unwilling to follow his advice; but the Devil is artful and insinuating, and at last Hans is induced to make an agreement with him by which he engages himself as Stoker in the infernal regions; he has to keep the fire burning under the caldron in which poor lost souls are being roasted. When he has served the devil for one year Hans will be free to go wherever he likes. In the next scene Hans has already arrived at his new quarters—hell—and, after having explained to Hans his new duties, the Devil leaves him. Hans now begins to stir the fire, but is soon arrested by a wailing voice which he recognizes as that of the old sergeant who so often tormented him on earth, and who now vainly entreats him to let him escape.
While Hans is gaily feeding the flames, a Stranger enters; his name is Peter the doorkeeper, (of course St. Peter,) who skilfully entices him to play at dice. He proposes that Hans should stake some years of his own life. Hans refuses to do so. The Stranger next proposes that Hans should stake the salvation of his soul, but without success. At last it is agreed that Hans shall win ten Florins if he throws the highest cast, and the Stranger shall win two souls out of the caldron if he wins. They play, and Hans loses time after time, and at last stakes all the souls in the caldron—and loses. St. Peter has delivered all the poor souls from the pains of hell and Hallelujas are heard from the heights above. Hans, who had at first thrown himself upon the Stranger to bind him, is held back by a superior power, a glory shines about St. Peter's head and Hans falls back struck with awe. The glory dies away and the Stranger resuming his former manner thanks Hans for his good deed in delivering the lost souls, and, as a reward he warns him not to put himself again in the power of the Devil, and kindly advises him to bear with patience and courage the punishment that will surely fall upon him for his foolish, thoughtless compact with the evil one. Bidding Hans remember that he has a friend who will not forget him, the Stranger departs.
The punishment is not long delayed, for the Devil returning in a rage takes vengeance upon Hans for his disobedience by covering him with black soot that cannot be washed off, and hanging a bearskin round him. To supply his needs the Devil gives him a magic scrip from which he can always take money. The only way in which he may be released from this hideous disguise is through the faithful love of a woman who will love him in spite of his repulsive appearance. Hans in vain rebels against this cruel sentence, the Devil reminds him of his contract. He gives Hans a ring and tells him that if he finds a maiden who truly loves him he is to split the ring in two and giving her one half he is to go away and leave her for three years. At the end of that time he may come back and claim her, and if the gold of the ring is pure and bright, it will be a proof that she is true to him and Hans will then be free. In that case the Devil promises to fulfil any three wishes that Hans may name. These arrangements made, Hans is at last flung out of hell and back to earth a pitiful object of loathing and ridicule.
The second act is laid in a village inn near Kulmbach. The assembled peasants are all talking of the Devil whom they declare they have seen in person. While they are talking a rap is heard at the door, and Hans stands outside clad in his bearskin, asking for food and shelter. In their terror they all refuse to let him in believing him to be the devil himself, until the Burgomaster suggests that the man in this hideous disguise should be made to show his feet. When this is done and the peasants see that the stranger has no cloven hoof but human feet they are satisfied that all is right. While they are still deliberating Hans breaks open the window and springs into the room. The peasants eye him with amazed curiosity, and the host at first refuses to give a night's lodging to such a suspicious looking object, but a piece of gold out of Hans' never empty sack makes him change his mind. He sets the bar maid on to sound the queer fellow and she draws from Hans that he is a relation of the Emperor of Marocco, and other nonsense, which makes all think he is insane but harmless. Presently the Burgomaster falls asleep but is rudely awakened by the host who reminds him of a debt of 60 Florins which he had promised to pay. The Burgomaster not being able to pay a quarrel takes place, which is ended by Hans paying down the money himself and sending the innkeeper to bed. Left alone with the bewildered Burgomaster, Hans questions him about his family and circumstances and learns that the good man has three daughters whom he anxiously wishes to see married. Hans, without more ado, offers himself as a suitor for one of them, in the hope that this is an opportunity for his deliverance from his unhappy plight by the true love of a woman. The Burgomaster accepts his offer, believing Hans to be some grandee under a spell, or bewitched and supposing that when he claims his bride he will be restored to his proper form. Hans however assures him the lady will have to accept him as he is, unkempt and unwashed. After wishing the Burgomaster good night, Hans retires to his chamber, leaving his knapsack in the outer room. The innkeeper on the watch, waits till all is still and comes noiselessly in to steal the money from the sack. He puts in his hand and draws out—not gold—but scorpions, mice, frogs and other vermin which fly about and torment him till at his cries Hans comes to the rescue and the goblin creatures disappear.
In the next scene it is early morning; the servants come in and adorn the inn with boughs of birch as is the custom at the festival of Whitsuntide.
The Burgomaster appears with his three daughters; he first presents to Hans his eldest, Line, but when she sees him she turns away in horror at the appearance of the suitor, and calling the second sister Gunda both mock the poor fellow, and laughing turn homewards. The youngest girl, Luise, her father's favourite, not knowing what was going on, comes in to look for her father, and seeing Hans standing there in tears, at once checks the laughter that was provoked by his droll appearance, and moved to pity asks what ails him. At first he is unwilling to answer, but, when she presses him to speak, he shows her the ring and tells her that if she were willing to wear it for three years, always thinking kindly of him, the gold would remain bright, and at the end of that time the bann would be taken off him. Luise promises never to forget him, and though Hans hesitates to give her the ring, fearing the trial will be too heavy for the sweet child to whom his heart goes out in love, she draws the ring from him, passes a ribbon through it and hangs it round her neck.
In the meanwhile, the peasants, led by the revengeful innkeeper, make an attack upon Hans and try to take away his sack. Hans relates how the innkeeper tried to rob him, and forces him to show the 60 Florins the latter had received for the Burgomaster's debt. In rage the innkeeper throws the pieces on the ground; a flame leaps up from the spot. This convinces the peasants that Hans is in league with the Devil; they are about to kill him when Luise calls for aid and her courage so astonishes the assailants that they let Hans go.
The third act takes place three years later.
Hans is discovered lying in a dense forest fast asleep. The Devil has summoned a number of his little imps who are busily engaged in washing, combing and dressing the sleeper. Satan is in a very bad temper, but he does not give up his battle for a soul with Heaven yet, and intends to make a last effort to get Hans into his clutches. The lad's hand, on which is the fateful ring, hangs close to the water of the brook near which he lies, and Satan calls the water nymphs to take it from him. But at this moment Hans wakes and his first thought is for the ring which he looks at with rapture, seeing that its gold shines undimmed. The Devil, (who appears not to be such a bad fellow after all,) greets him in a friendly manner, and Hans, delighted to find himself free from the spell, requires at once the fulfilment of the three wishes the devil has promised to grant. His first wish, to become what he was before, is already fulfilled. His second wish, to keep the sack, but free from magic gold and charm, is also granted. His third wish is, that for the future the Devil will let him alone and never cross his path again. This also the Devil agrees to and mockingly bestows upon him the bearskin into the bargain. Hans now recognises it as the skin of a bear he had once killed himself. Hans' one thought now is for his betrothed bride. On his way to her St. Peter appears to him once more. He tells that the Plassenburg is about to be stormed, and urges him to save it from the enemy.
The next scene opens again in the hero's native village. A crowd of people is assembled before the Burgomaster's house; they are looking towards the Plassenburg which they fear is already in the enemy's hand. No sound is heard from the fortress; its defenders seem to be in deep sleep. Suddenly the trumpets sound and in breathless anxiety men and women watch the battle that now begins.
At last a man comes running up in hot haste shouting that victory is theirs. He relates how that believing Wallenstein to be far away all the garrison went to sleep when they were suddenly awakened by a loud knocking, and the cry "the Friedlander is at the gates!"
The commander Kuensberg sprang out, and at his side, fighting like a lion, a stranger in whom they presently recognized their fellow soldier, Hans Kraft, who had served in the same army years ago; to him they now owe the victory. Everybody begins to praise the deliverer and to ask where he is, for he had gone away and had not been heard of again.
The Burgomaster advances to greet the victors accompanied by his two elder daughters, but Luise cannot be induced to leave home. Alone she thinks sadly of the man to whom all this time she has remained faithful and who fails to come and let her know if he is free from the terrible spell. While she is praying that her lover's sorrows may be ended, Hans comes up, and seeing the maiden so sad he greets her shyly and begs her to bandage a wound he received in the fight. While she brings some linen and fills a cup with water for the thirsty soldier Hans lets his half of the split ring fall into the cup; she recognizes it, then Hans makes himself known and with tears of joy, he folds her to his heart. Thus they are found by the peasants who enthusiastically greet Hans and tell Luise that her lover is Hans Kraft who has saved them all. The Burgomaster of course rejoices in his darling's happiness, while the sisters are mad with envy. Hans now bestows the famous sack upon the innkeeper who recoils from the present with terror; and the peasants at last recognizing in the hero poor Bearskin, whom they almost killed in their frenzy, humbly beg his pardon and express their grateful thanks. Hans declines all honours that are offered him and thanks God for his lovely bride who has been sent as his good angel. All join in praise to God for his goodness to the happy couple.