In the first part of Berlioz's dramatic legend Faust is supposed to be on the Plains of Hungary. Introspectively he sings of nature and solitude. There are a chorus and dance of peasants and a recitative. Soldiers march past to the stirring measures of the "Rákóczy March," the national air of Hungary.
This march Berlioz orchestrated in Vienna, during his tour of 1845, and conducted it at a concert in Pesth, when it created the greatest enthusiasm. It was in order to justify the interpolation of this march that he laid the first scene of his dramatic legend on the plains of Hungary. Liszt claimed that his pianoforte transcription of the march had freely been made use of by Berlioz, "especially in the harmony."
In the operatic version Gunsbourg shows Faust in a mediæval chamber, with a view, through a window, of the sally-port of a castle, out of which the soldiers march. At one point in the march, which Berlioz has treated contrapuntally, and where it would be difficult for marchers to keep step, the soldiers halt and have their standards solemnly blessed.
The next part of the dramatic legend only required a stage setting to make it operatic. Faust is in his study. He is about to quaff poison, when the walls part and disclose a church interior. The congregation, kneeling, sings the Easter canticle, "Christ is Risen." Change of scene to Auerbach's cellar, Leipsic. Revel of students and soldiers. Brander sings the "Song of the Rat," whose death is mockingly grieved over by a "Requiescat in pace" and a fugue on the word "Amen," sung by the roistering crowd. Méphistophélès then "obliges" with the song of the flea, in which the skipping about of the elusive insect is depicted in the accompaniment.
In the next scene in the dramatic legend, Faust is supposed to be asleep on the banks of the Elbe. Here is the most exquisite effect of the score, the "Dance of the Sylphs," a masterpiece of delicate and airy illustration. Violoncellos, con sordini, hold a single note as a pedal point, over which is woven a gossamer fabric of melody and harmony, ending with the faintest possible pianissimo from drum and harps. Gunsbourg employed here, with admirable results, the aërial ballet, and has given a rich and beautiful setting to the scene, including a vision of Marguerite. The ballet is followed by a chorus of soldiers and a students' song in Latin.
The scenic directions of Gounod's "Faust" call Marguerite's house—so much of it as is projected into the garden scene—a pavilion. Gunsbourg makes it more like an arbour, into which the audience can see through the elimination of a supposedly existing wall, the same as in Sparafucile's house, in the last act of "Rigoletto." Soldiers and students are strolling and singing in the street. Marguerite sings the ballad of the King of Thule. Berlioz's setting of the song is primitive. He aptly characterizes the number as a "Chanson Gothique." The "Invocation" of Méphistophélès is followed by the "Dance of Will-o'-the-Wisps." Then comes Méphistophélès's barocque serenade. Faust enters Marguerite's pavilion. There is a love duet, which becomes a trio when Méphistophélès joins the lovers and urges Faust's departure.
Marguerite is alone. Berlioz, instead of using Goethe's song, "Meine Ruh ist hin" (My peace is gone), the setting of which by Schubert is famous, substitutes a poem of his own. The unhappy Marguerite sings, "D'Amour, l'ardente flamme" (Love, devouring fire).
The singing of the students and the soldiers grows fainter. The "retreat"—the call to which the flag is lowered at sunset—is sounded by the drums and trumpets. Marguerite, overcome by remorse, swoons at the window.
A mountain gorge. Faust's soliloquy, "Nature, immense, impénétrable et fière" (Nature, vast, unfathomable and proud). The "Ride to Hell"; moving panorama; pandemonium; redemption of Marguerite, whom angels are seen welcoming in the softly illumined heavens far above the town, in which the action is supposed to have transpired.
The production by Dr. Leopold Damrosch of "La Damnation de Faust" in its original concert form in New York, was one of the sensational events of the concert history of America. As an opera, however, the work has failed so far to make the impression that might have been expected from its effect on concert audiences; "... the experiment, though tried in various theatres," says Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, "has happily not been permanently successful." Why "happily"? It would be an advantage to operatic art if a work by so distinguished a composer as Berlioz could find a permanent place in the repertoire.