"HAMLET"
Of all Shakespeare's plays, Hamlet is the most difficult to surround with music and adapt for the lyric stage. It is more scholastic than dramatic, and for this reason composers have passed it by with the single exception of Ambroise Thomas. His accomplishment certainly deserves more commendation than was bestowed by an irate critic who said: "There are four weary, dreary acts before you come to the music." This assertion is correct in one way, for the opera is indeed long—quite too long; but there is, nevertheless, much that is beautiful in those four acts preceding the mad scene. But even were this not the case, that last scene is so exquisite that it would atone for any amount of previous ennui.
Thomas has given his principal rôle to the baritone, which seems an innovation. Whenever a lower voice has been honored with the leading rôle in a grand opera the reason is found in the character, as the jovial Barber of Seville, the deformed Rigoletto, the accursed Flying Dutchman; but the tenor has always held undisputed possession of the lover's part. It takes us some little time to become reconciled to this baritone-voiced young prince. But we finally realize that he is less a lover than a philosopher, which probably explains why Thomas turned from the tenor.
The opera opens with a short and somber prelude that closely resembles the later introduction to the ghost-scene. It is therefore more descriptive of the melancholy Dane than of the first act, which is brilliant throughout. The curtain rises upon a state hall in the palace, where have been celebrated the wedding and coronation of Claudius and Gertrude, brother and widow of the late king. A sturdy march that is quite Danish in character accompanies the grand entrance of the king and queen. That music can express a nationality is clearly evinced by this march, which possesses a rugged, North-sea atmosphere that differs from all others. The first aria is given by the king, who eulogizes his new-made wife, "our sometime sister, now our queen." After this bass solo with its pleasing rhythm and satisfying cadences the queen inquires for her son Hamlet, who is not among the revelers. But her anxieties are drowned by the festive music that recommences and continues until the entire court have made their exit.
The music now changes to a meditative, minor mood, which announces the entrance of Hamlet. He shares no joy on this occasion of his mother's wedding, and his first words are a short recitative about "frailty, thy name is woman."
His soliloquy is followed by a phrase in the orchestra—a timid, questioning sort of introduction which before the opera is over we learn to associate with the gentle Ophelia. She enters and addresses Hamlet, her betrothed, with an anxious inquiry about his intended departure from Denmark. On learning from his own lips that the report is true, she asks why he leaves, and begins to doubt his love. There is a daintiness and a delicacy to all of Ophelia's music; and in this short melody, so admirably blended with the accompaniment, there is a wooing charm that diverts even Hamlet from his grief. He clasps her hands, and with thrilling fervor bids her—
| "Doubt that the stars are fire. |
| Doubt that the sun doth move, |
| Doubt Truth to be a liar, |
| But never doubt I love." |
This is the great theme of the opera, the center-stone of the musical crown that the French composer has given to Shakespeare's Hamlet. Its love-laden melody would carry conviction to a less trusting heart than Ophelia's. She receives it like truth from heaven. Its memory lingers ever, and even in her after madness, when the words have no meaning, we hear them again "like sweet bells jangled out of tune." There follows a duet based upon Hamlet's vow. The soprano voice occasionally runs up in some happy little roulades which seem like the outburst of joy which can not confine itself to the prescribed theme. However long the whole opera, we certainly could not spare a note from the love-duet; it ends only too soon.
Ophelia's brother, Laertes, comes in. He is a soldier, and has just received a commission which requires his speedy departure; so he sings a farewell to his sister and bids Hamlet be as a brother to her in case he never returns. This first and only cavatina of Laertes is well worth a good artist. It is melodious and pleasing, even when compared to the previous duet. As he finishes, gay music is heard from the inner hall. Ophelia asks Hamlet to join the festivities, but he declines and retires sorrowfully as some pages and young officers enter. They sing a unique and merry chorus without accompaniment, which is interrupted by the entrance of Horatio and Marcellus, who inquire for Hamlet. They declare they have seen the ghost of the late king, and seek to apprise Hamlet of the fact. The merry-makers laugh and call it a delusion; but the two friends continue their search for the young prince. The dance music is resumed, and so fascinating and emphatic is its rhythm that our pulses throb in tempo long after the curtain descends.