Act 3 — Act III.

In a great court in front of the gymnasium where games and wrestling matches are going on a procession of priests and young boys enter singing; they offer prayers and burn incense before the altars of the gods, particularly before that of Poseidon the special patron of the Phaeakens. Girls and matrons follow in a like procession and deck the statue and altar of Athene with flowers. The shouts of the people in the gymnasium greeting the victors in the games are heard at intervals.

Among the maidens is Nausikaa. Her brother Leodamus enters soon afterwards in great excitement and begs his sister to come and witness the feats of Euryalos who is victor in all the games. But she coldly asks if the stranger has entered into competition with him, and hearing he has not done so she refuses to go into the gymnasium.

Queen Arete enters and Nausikaa throws herself into her mother's arms. Arete guesses the truth that her daughter loves the stranger; she tenderly warns Nausikaa that life is full of disappointments—of sacrifices.

The King now enters from the gymnasium; beside him walks Odysseus who had at last been persuaded to wrestle with Euryalos and had entirely vanquished him. The people hail Odysseus as victor. Nausikaa hastens to him and crowns him with the victor's wreath; she shows her preference for him in such a marked manner that Euryalos is beside himself with rage and draws his sword upon Odysseus who in selfdefence wounds Euryalos severely.

Odysseus then turns to the King and implores him to give him a ship that he may go back to his own country and family. These words fall like a knell upon the heart of Nausikaa; she is led out fainting by her mother.

The aged poet Homer now enters. All hail him with joy; the King bids him sing them a song about Troy. The blind poet sings the tragic story—the people join in the chorus. Odysseus listens; at last he can keep quiet no longer. Springing up he goes on with the story giving his own share in it with such vividness that Nausikaa, who has stolen back again, rushes forward and cries: "Thou art Odysseus himself!" He acknowledges with tears that he is that unhappy man. The people greet him with joy and wonder; the King embraces him warmly. Odysseus relates his sorrows, his wanderings; he speaks of his wife and child; he implores the King to give him a ship that he may return home. The King readily promises his help, he gives orders that a ship shall immediately be prepared and filled with costly gifts.

But the priests see in Odysseus the enemy of their god Poseidon; they press the King to slay Odysseus—but the King sternly refuses to do so and orders the High Priest to be bound till Odysseus is safely gone.

Nausikaa's hopes are dashed to the ground; heartbroken she murmurs to herself her mother's words: "Each human life is a sacrifice, a death for the dearest in the world." She slowly goes away and is seen later standing on a high wall of Athene's temple overlooking the sea.

In the meantime all is ready, the King, Queen and Laodamus accompany Odysseus to the ship and take leave of him; he goes on board and the ship moves off. At this moment the sky is overcast and Poseidon appears in his car and threatens Odysseus with his trident.

Nausikaa calls to Poseidon to take her for a victim and with a cry springs into the sea. The nymphs bear her dead body to Poseidon. Zeus suddenly appears and drives Poseidon away, while Athene hovers over Odysseus with shield and lance. He sails away in safety.

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.

HOFFMANN'S TALES.

A phantastic Opera in three acts by JULES BARBIER. Music by JACQUES OFFENBACH.

In this opera the composer far surpasses all his other compositions. It is his swan's song, for he composed it in the summer of 1880 and he died in October of the same year after having given his best to the world, a true work of genius, so full of grace, of delicate feeling and of phantastic loveliness, that nobody can hear it without being captivated by its sweetness.

The libretto is taken from three different tales of E. Th. A. Hoffmann, who was not only an author and a poet, but a musician and composer worthy of note.

His weird tales were much read in the beginning of the last century.

The first scene, a prologue, is laid in Luther's famous wine-cellar in Nuremberg.

The hero of the opera, Hoffmann himself is there, drinking with a number of gay young students, his friends. He is in a despondent mood and when urged by his companions to tell them the reason of his depression, he declares himself ready to relate the story of his three love adventures, while his friends sit round a bowl of flaming strong punch.

Now the scene changes and the curtain rises on the first act. We find Hoffmann in Spalanzani's house. This man is a famous physiologist, and Hoffmann has entered his house as his pupil in order to make the acquaintance of the professor's beautiful daughter Olympia, whom he has seen at a distance.

This daughter is nothing more than an automaton, that has been manufactured by Spalanzani and his friend, the wizard Coppelius. This doll can sing, dance and speak like a human being. Spalanzani hopes to become rich by means of this clever work of art. As half of Olympia (this is the doll's name), belongs to Coppelius, Spalanzani buys her from him, paying him by a draft on the Jew Elias, though he knows him to be bankrupt.—Hoffmann has been persuaded by Coppelius to purchase a pair of spectacles, through which he looks at Olympia, and taking her for a lovely living maiden falls violently in love with her.

Spalanzani now gives a grand entertainment, at which he presents his daughter Olympia, (the Automaton), who surprises everybody by her loveliness and her fine singing.—Hoffmann is completely bewitched and as soon as he finds himself alone with her, he makes her an ardent declaration of love and is not at all discouraged by her sitting stock still and only answering from time to time a dry little "ja, ja". At last he tries to embrace her, but as soon as he touches her she rises and trips away.

Hoffmann's friend Niklas finds him in the seventh heaven of rapture and vainly endeavours to enlighten him as to the reason of the beauty's stiffness and heartlessness.

When the dancing begins Hoffmann engages Olympia, and they dance on, always faster and faster, until Hoffmann sinks down in a swoon, his spectacles being broken by the fall. Olympia spins on alone as fast as ever and presently dances out of the room, Cochenille vainly trying to stop her. Coppelius now enters in a fury having found out that Spalanzani's draft on Elias is worthless. He rushes to the room, into which Olympia has vanished and when Hoffmann revives he hears a frightful sound of breaking and smashing, and Spalanzani bursts in with the news that Coppelius has broken his valuable automaton. Thus Hoffmann learns that he has been in love with a senseless doll. The guests, who now enter shout with laughter at his confusion, while Spalanzani and Coppelius load each other with abuse.

The second act takes place in Giulietta's palace in Venice. Everything breathes joy and love.—Both Niklas and Hoffmann are courting the beautiful lady. Niklas warns his friend against her, but Hoffmann only laughs at the idea that he is likely to love a courtezan. The latter is entirely in the hand of the wizard Dapertutto, who acts towards Hoffmann as an evil spirit under three different names in each of his three love affairs. Giulietta has already stolen for him the shadow of her former lover Schlemihl; now Dapertutto wounds her vanity, by telling her, that Hoffmann has spoken disdainfully of her, and makes her promise to win the young man's love and by that means to make him give her his reflection from a looking-glass.

She succeeds easily, and there ensues a charming love-duet, during which they are surprised by the jealous Schlemihl. Giulietta tells Hoffmann, that her former lover has the key of her apartments in his pocket, she then departs leaving the two lovers and Dapertutto alone. When Hoffmann peremptorily demands the key from Schlemihl the latter refuses to give it up. The result is a duel, for which Dapertutto offers Hoffmann his sword.—

After a few passes Schlemihl is killed and Dapertutto disappears. A few moments afterwards Giulietta's gondola passes before the balcony and Hoffmann sees her leaning on Dapertutto's arm, singing a mocking farewell to the poor deserted lover.

The third act takes place in Rath Krespel's house. His daughter Antonia has inherited her mother's gift of a beautiful voice, but alas, also her tendency to consumption. The greatest joy of her life is singing, which however her father has forbidden, knowing this exertion to be fatal to his darling.

She is engaged to be married to Hoffmann, but Krespel is averse to the marriage, seeing in it another danger for his daughter's health, as Hoffmann is musical and encourages Antonia to sing. Krespel has forbidden his servant Franz to let anybody see Antonia, while he goes out of the house, but Franz, who is very deaf, misunderstands his master's orders and joyously welcomes his mistress's suitor. A delicate love-scene follows, during which Antonia shows her lover, that her voice is as fine as ever. When they hear Krespel returning Antonia retires to her own room, but Hoffmann hides himself in an alcove, determined to learn why Antonia is so closely hidden from the world.

Immediately after the father's return Doctor Mirakel enters; Krespel is mortally afraid of this mysterious man, as he believes him to have killed his wife by his drugs and that now he aims at his daughter's life.

This Mirakel is a demon, who acts as in the two former instances as Hoffmann's evil genius.—From the conversation of the two men Hoffmann learns the secret of his bride's dangerous inheritance, and when Mirakel has at last been driven out of the room, and Krespel has left it too; the lovers both come back again. Hoffmann by earnest entreaty succeeds in gaining Antonia's promise never to sing any more. But when he has left Mirakel returns and by invoking the spirit of her mother he goads her on to break her promise. She begins to sing and he urges her on, until she sinks back exhausted. It is thus that her father and her lover find her, and after a few sweet words of farewell she dies in their arms.

The Epilogue takes us back to Luther's cellar, where Hoffmann's companions are still sitting over their punch, the steam of which forms clouds over their heads, while they thank their poor, heart-broken friend for his three stories with ringing cheers.

THE ALPINE KING AND THE MISANTHROPE.

Opera in three acts by LEO BLECH. Text by RICHARD BATKA.

The young composer, who is already conductor of the orchestra of the German Opera in Prague made his debut last year in a small one-act opera, called "That was I"—, the music of which is pretty and shows remarkable talent. There is however enormous progress to be observed in "The Alpine King". Blech, although following in Wagner's footsteps, has a style of his own. His modulations are bold, often daring; his dissonances are frequent but they are fully compensated for by the most charming folk-songs. He has the courage to introduce melodies freely, in this respect he is one among a thousand. In his modern style of orchestration too he shows himself to be full of resource, while more especially in those passages, where the spirit-world comes into play, there is a display of tone-effects of great beauty, which are perhaps too elaborate for the simple subject, but the Cottage scene, and the simple Tirolean-songs of the peasants are all the more graceful by contrast; one of the most charming songs in the Polka-air in f: "Fair are Roses and Jessamine".

Batka, the writer of the libretto, has taken his subject from Raimund's beautiful folk-story of the same name. He has done it with skill but not without some weak passages.

The scene opens in a Tirolean mountain district. Marthe, Rappelkopf's daughter, and her servant Lieschen, while making a nosegay of wild flowers, are waiting for Marthe's lover Hans, a poor musician, who after having been rejected by his sweetheart's father has absented himself for some time, in order to make himself perfect in his art by studying under the great masters in Italy. Lieschen is much afraid of the Alpine King on whose ground they are sitting, and of whom the legend says, that he turns young girls into old women, if they dare to look at him. Marthe has more sense, she is sure that the lord of these grand mountains must be good and just. While the girls are busy wilh their garlands, Hans comes up the steep path and is joyously greeted by his fiancée. He has become a man and is full of hope that he will now be able to satisfy Herr Rappelkopf, but Marthe sadly tells him, how morbid and misanthropic her father has become, so that she does not even dare to mention her lover's name. Suddenly a shot is heard and a bird falls dead at their feet. Turning to look at the unwelcome intruder they find themselves face to face with a strange old man; who, when they ask him who he is, replies quickly: "I am the King of the Alps". Dreadfully frightened Lieschen and Marthe look at each other in consternation, but finding that their sweet young faces are unchanged, they take courage, and kneeling before the majestic traveller they implore his help and blessing, which the latter willingly promises.

The second scene takes place in Rappelkopf's house. Lieschen comes to look for the man servant Habakuk, who is very much in love with her. She treats him rather scornfully, being averse to his peculiar style of love-making, and the French phrases with which he adorns his speeches and which she does not understand. He takes the greatest pride in the fact that he has lived for two years in Paris, and he continually refers to that glorious time. Rappelkopf taking his servants by surprise pours forth a volley of abuse upon them; he is interrupted by the appearance of his daughter and Hans, whom he receives just as badly. In vain his wife Sabine implores him to listen to reason; in his wrath he abuses her too, so that she leaves him broken-hearted, sighing, that she would rather see him dead than in such a state of mind. Shortly after Habakuk comes forward with a kitchen-knife, with which he is going to cut chiccory in the garden. Rappelkopf no sooner perceives the knife that his wits take leave of him altogether; and he actually believes that Habakuk has been sent by his wife to murder him. Making for one door he meets Hans and Marthe, turning to another he sees Habakuk, and at last trying to escape by the garden door his wife stops him, but he pushes her aside, and with frantic vociferations he rushes away.

The second act opens in front of a cottage in the Alpine regions; Veit the joiner is busy at his bench singing all the while and rejoicing in the prospect of the coming Festival. His wife Katherine is busy washing and his daughter is sitting at her wheel spinning and singing, while his son is playing about merrily. At last the joiner throws down his plane disregarding the remonstrances of his wife, who still goes on with her washing and complains bitterly of her light hearted and lazy family. Thus they are found by Rappelkopf, whose fancy is at once struck by position of the solitary little cottage. He desires to buy it and offers three hundred thalers for it on condition that he shall enter in immediate possession. The astonished workman consents to this bargain without more ado, too happy at this unexpected piece of good luck to think of anything else. Rappelkopf gruffly orders the whole family to pack off instantly. Father and children prepare to depart laughing and singing, but Katherine takes leave of her humble home with bitter tears.

When Rappelkopf finds himself alone he is quite delighted by the complete solitude and grandeur of the surrounding mountains and glaciers, but soon darkness comes over the scene and with it uneasiness and fear take possession of the lonely man. At last he can stand the loneliness no longer and on his cry for help, Astragalus the Alpine King appears frightening him almost to death. Astragalus however merely advises him to return to his family, whom he left in sorrow and anxiety. But Rappelkopf's hatred of mankind knows no bounds; he remains deaf to the good king's remonstrances. At last the latter determines to make Rappelkopf see his behaviour in its true light. To this end he promises to metamorphose the misanthrope into the exact likeness of his own brother in law, in which form he is to return home on the following morning in order to test the real feelings of his wife and daughter.

Astragalus makes him swear that he will not persist in his obstinacy should he find out his error, and Rappelkopf consents, making the king promise in his turn to destroy all the inhabitants of the place, should his hate for them be justified. Both take solemn oaths, after which Astragalus touches Rappelkopf's forehead, making him fall asleep while a sweet chorus of fairies lulls the unhappy man into sweet slumber.

The third act opens in Rappelkopf's house. Marthe and Lieschen are waiting for the return of the neighbours who have gone in search of the lost father. Marthe is in great anxiety, she has almost ceased to hope for the Alpine King's help. Suddenly the stage-coach arrives bringing Sabine's brother, whom his sister had summoned in her despair. It is Rappelkopf himself in the likeness of uncle Joseph. He is greeted with enthusiasm, but remarking his wife's sad looks, he observes that she ought to be glad to be rid of the maniac who has treated her so badly. Sabine however stands up for her husband, affirming that she loves him as much as ever, though a strange alienation of mind has sadly changed him. Rappelkopf does not believe her; he asks why she should suppose such a thing. Sabine relates the scene with Habakuk, who, having been sent by her into the garden with a kitchen-knife to cut some vegetables, was regarded as a murderer by her insane husband, who had fled at once. This explanation moves Rappelkopf deeply, and when Marthe begs him earnestly to assure her father when he sees him of her deep filial love, and to speak in favour of Hans without whom she cannot live, he kisses her tenderly and then begs to be left alone for a short time. They all leave him, but almost immediately afterwards Rappelkopf hears a great uproar, which Habakuk explains by announcing the return of his master, who seems to be in a more frantic state than ever.

Astragalus now enters transformed into the appearance of Rappelkopf. He pushes Hans before him overwhelming him with a volley of abuse. The real Rappelkopf, coming forward to greet his brother-in-law, is received no better. When Rappelkopf mentions Sabine, Astragalus speaks of her exactly in the same way as Rappelkopf had formerly done, calling her a murderess, a dragon etc.; in fact he behaves in such a manner that Rappelkopf begins to be afraid of his own (Rappelkopf's) image. Astragalus having shut himself up in his own room now rings violently; both servants rush forward at his call, but neither of them dares to enter the tyrant's apartment. Rappelkopf, already heartily ashamed of himself now asks the servants what their opinion is about their master and receives the instant reply, that he is a madman, of whom everybody is afraid.—They confess their attachment to each other, and entreat the supposed uncle Joseph to try to bring their master back to reason, and to put in a good word for them about their wedding. The uncle promises everything, and having got a knife from Habakuk he goes into the garden to cut some roses for Sabine. Habakuk and his sweet-heart are left alone and exchange a few words, but they timidly separate when Astragalus enters. However he takes no notice of them, but looking out of the window he perceives Rappelkopf, returning from the garden with the knife and a bunch of roses. Rappelkopf no sooner sees his double, than he tries to slink off unobserved, but Astragalus detains him and pointing to the knife in his hand abuses him in the very language which Rappelkopf had formerly used, calling him murderer, robber, monster and—man.

The poor misanthrope screams for help and the whole family rushing in Astragalus turns his wrath upon them, cursing them one and all. This is too much for Rappelkopf. "Enough of the play" he cries, "I was a madman and a sinner, not he, but I am Rappelkopf, and I freely confess that my hatred towards mankind in general and especially against my own dear family was as wicked as it was unfounded!" At these word a peal of thunder is heard and the room becomes dark. When the light returns, Astragalus has vanished and Rappelkopf stands before his family in his own form. Deeply moved, he begs pardon of every one, he embraces his faithful wife and daughter and unites the two pairs of lovers, Martha and Hans—Lieschen and Habakuk.

MANON.

Opera in four acts by J. MASSENET. Text by HENRY MEILHAC and PHILIPPE GILLE.

The subject of this opera is based on Prevost's famous novel "Manon Lescaut". The libretto is much weaker than the story, but the music is most graceful and charming, and quite makes up for the defects of the text.

The scene is laid in France in 1721.

The first act takes place in the courtyard of a large inn at Amiens.

Several young cavaliers are amusing themselves by paying attentions to three pretty ladies. They impatiently call upon their host to bring dinner, and at last it is brought to them in great state.

While they are dining in the large saloon above, the stage-coach arrives with a great number of travellers; amongst them is young Manon, a country girl of sixteen; this is her first journey which alas is to end in a convent, an arrangement made by her parents who think her taste for worldly pleasures is greater than it should be. She is expected by her cousin Lescaut, a Garde du Corps, and while he is looking for her luggage, the young beauty is accosted by Guillot-Marfontaine, an old roué, and rich farmer, who annoys her with his equivocal speeches, and offers her a seat in his carriage. He is quickly driven away by Lescaut on his return; the young man is however enticed away by his comrades to play a game of cards, for which purpose he leaves his cousin a second time. Before long another cavalier approaches Manon; this time it is the Chevalier de Grieux, a young nobleman, whose good looks and charming manners please the young girl much better. They quickly fall in love with each other, and when de Grieux offers to take her to Paris Manon gladly consents, thankful to escape the convent. Remembering Guillot's offer she proposes to make use of the farmer's carriage, and they drive gaily off, just before Lescaut returns to look for his cousin. When this worthy soldier hears that the fugitives have gone off in Guillot's carriage, he abuses the farmer with great fury and swears, that he will not rest, until he shall have found his little cousin.

The second act takes place in a poorly furnished apartment in Paris.

De Grieux is about to write to his father, whom he hopes to reconcile to his purpose of marrying Manon, by telling him of the girl's beauty, of her youth and innocence. They are interrupted by the entrance of Lescaut, who, accompanied by de Bretigny, another victim of Manon's charms, comes to avenge the honour of the family. While Grieux takes Lescaut aside and pacifies him by showing him the letter he has just written, de Bretigny tells Manon, that her lover will be kidnapped this very evening by his father's orders. Manon protests warmly against this act of tyranny, but de Bretigny warns her that her interference would only bring greater harm to both of them, while riches, honours and liberty will be hers, if she lets things take their course.

Manon who on the one hand sincerely loves de Grieux while on the other hand she has a longing for all the good things of this world, is very unhappy but allows herself to be tempted. When de Grieux leaves her to post his letter she takes a most tender farewell of the little table at which they have so often sat, of the one glass from which they both drank, and of all the objects around. De Grieux finding her in tears, tries to console her by picturing the future of his dreams, a little cottage in the wood, where they are to live for ever happy and contented. A loud knock interrupts them, Manon, knowing what will happen tries to detain him, but he tears himself from her and opening the door is at once seized and carried off.

The third act opens on the promenade Cour-la-Reine in Paris, a scene of merry making where all the buying, selling and amusements of a great fair are going on.

The pretty ladies of the first act, Yavotte, Poussette and Rosette are being entertained by new lovers, while rich old Guillot looks in vain for a sweetheart.

Manon, who appears on de Brétigny's arm, is the queen of the festival. She has stifled the pangs of conscience which had troubled her when she left de Grieux, and her passion of jewels and riches is as insatiable as ever. Guillot, who hears that de Brétigny has refused to comply with her last wish, which is to order the ballet of the grand opera to dance in the open market-place for her own amusement, rushes off to pay for this whim himself, hoping thereby to gain the young lady's favour.

Manon slowly wanders about in search of new and pretty things to buy, while Brétigny suddenly finds himself face to face with the old count de Grieux. When he asks for news of his son, the count tells him, that the young man has renounced the world and become an Abbé and is a famous preacher at Saint Sulpice. He cuts de Brétigny's expressions of astonishment short by telling him, that this turn of things is due to de Brétigny's own conduct, meaning that the latter had done a bad turn to his friend by crossing his path in relation to a certain pretty young lady. De Brétigny indicating his lady-love by a gesture says: "That is Manon", and the count, perceiving her beauty quite understands his son's infatuation.

But Manon's quick ears have also caught bits of the conversation and beckoning to her lover she sends him away to buy a golden bracelet for her. She then approaches the count and asks him, if his son has quite overcome his passion for the lady whom she says was a friend of hers. The old man acknowledges, that his son had had a hard struggle with his love and grief but adds "one must try and forget" and Manon repeats the words and falls into a fit of sad musing.

Meanwhile Guillot has succeeded in bringing the ballet-dancers who perform a beautiful gavotte and other dances. When these are ended he turns to Manon in hope of a word of praise, but the wilful beauty only turns from him to order her carriage, which is to take her to Saint Sulpice, saying lightly to Guillot that she has not cared to look at the ballet after all.

The next scene takes place in the parlour of the seminary in Saint Sulpice. A crowd of ladies has assembled to praise the new Abbé's fine preaching. They at last disperse, when the young Abbé enters with downcast eyes. He is warmly greeted by his father, who has followed him. The father at first tries to persuade him to give up his newly chosen vocation before he finally takes the vows, but seeing him determined, the Count hands him over his mother's inheritage of 30,000 Lires [Transcriber's note: Livres?] and then bids him good-bye. The young man retires to find strength and forgetfulness in prayer.

When he returns to the parlour he finds Manon. She has also prayed fervently, that God would pardon her and help her to win back her lover's heart. A passionate scene ensues, in which Manon implores his forgiveness and is at last successful, De Grieux opens his arms to her and abandons his vocation.

The fourth act opens in the luxurious drawing-rooms of a great Paris Hotel. Games of hazard and lively conversation are going on everywhere. Manon arriving with de Grieux is joyously greeted by her old friends. She coaxes her lover to try his luck at play and is seconded by her cousin Lescaut, himself an inveterate gambler, who intimates that fortune always favours a beginner. Guillot offers to play with de Grieux, and truly fortune favours him. After a few turns, in which Guillot loses heavily, the latter rises accusing his partner of false play.

The Chevalier full of wrath is about to strike him, but the others hold him back and Guillot escapes, vowing vengeance. He soon returns with the police headed by the old Count de Grieux, to whom he denounces young de Grieux as a gambler and a cheat and points out Manon as his accomplice. Old Count de Grieux allows his son to be arrested, telling him he will soon be released. Poor Manon is seized by the guards, though all the spectators, touched by her youth and beauty beg for her release. The old Count says she only gets her deserts.

The last scene takes place on the highroad leading to Havre. Cousin Lescaut meets de Grieux whom he had promised to try to save Manon from penal servitude by effecting her escape. Unfortunately the soldiers he employed had meanly deserted him, on hearing which de Grieux violently upbraids him. Lescaut pacifies the desperate nobleman by saying that he has thought of other means of rescuing Manon. Soon the waggons conveying the convicts to their destination are heard approaching. One of these waggons stops. Lescaut, accosting one of the soldiers in charge hears that Manon is inside, dying. He begs that he may be allowed to take a last farewell of his little cousin, and bribing the man with money he succeeds in getting Manon out of the waggon, promising to bring her to the nearest village in due time.

Manon sadly changed totters forward and finds herself clasped in her lover's arms. For a little while the two forget all their woes in the joy of being together; Manon deeply repents of her sins and follies and humbly craves his pardon, while he covers her wan face with kisses. Then he tries to raise her, imploring her to fly with him, but alas release has come too late, she sinks back and expires in her lover's embrace.

ODYSSEUS' DEATH.

Fourth Part of the Odyssey in three acts by AUGUST BUNGERT.

This last part of the Tetralogy bears more decided indications of Wagner's influence than the others do; and though strikingly beautiful in many ways it fails to excite quite the same interest as the others, because it reminds us too much of the Nibelungen Ring, especially of Siegfried; nevertheless it deserves attention as the conclusion of the whole series and also on account of Bungert's adopting a later version of the story of Odysseus, whom Bungert does not suffer to die peacefully in his old age, but makes him fight as a hero to the very last.

The prelude opens in Kirke's gardens. The nymphs of the spring are singing to her, while her son Telegonos, a youth of 15 is playing with a lion. Kirke has often spoken to her son of his glorious father, whom he never saw and now his curiosity is awakened, and he asks his mother, why his father never comes home to her. Kirke now thinks that the time is come when she should reveal the story of her love to her son. He hears that his father is no god, but a human hero who after a short time of bliss remembered his earthly wife Penelopeia, and returned to her, leaving the goddess alone and broken hearted.—Telegonos determines to go forth in search of the hero of Troy and hopes to bring him back to his mother's arms. Kirke presents him with the golden cup, from which Odysseus once drank the magic draught of forgetfulness; she hopes to remind him thereby of their past bliss and thus to win him back.

The first act takes place in Thesprotia. Odysseus has just returned from a victory over the friends and relations of the insolent suitors he had slain on his return home; he has conquered their country and is now greeted with acclamations of joy by his warriors. Despoina, queen of Thesprotia, and once Penelope's attendant has been made prisoner and is to be put to death, but Telemachos, Odysseus' son fascinated by her beauty, intercedes for her. Odysseus resolves to let the oracle of Dodona decide her fate and Despoina is led back to the tent, but manages on the way to whisper to Telemachos, that she will expect him during the night.

Left alone, she intoxicates the guard by means of a sleeping-draught, and so Telemachos enters the tent unobserved. At first she beguiles him with a great show of tenderness. When he asks her from whence she comes, she tells him, that she never knew father nor mother, but that her nurse revealed to her that she is the daughter of Poseidon and of Persephone. After her nurse's death she became a priestess in Poseidon's temple, where she had seen Hyperion, with whom she had fallen in love, and whom she had followed to Ithaka. There her lover having fallen under the spell of Penelope's beauty like all the others, and having met with an untimely death, Despoina had sworn vengeance on the whole house of Odysseus and to this end had married the barbarian king of Thesprotia. At this Telemachos turns shudderingly away from this mysterious woman and she makes use of the opportunity to take up his sword, with which she secretly and swiftly stabs the guard, sleeping heavily outside the tent. Then she tries again to gain ascendency over Telemachos, by assuring him of her love, but though full of pity for the unhappy and beautiful woman he turns from her and flies. A short time afterwards Odysseus enters to visit his captive, she also tries her arts on him but in vain, Odysseus hearing the shouts of his soldiers, leaves her, and all set out for Dodona.

The next scene shows the grove of Dodona with Jupiter's temple, bearing the inscription: Know thyself.

The priests sacrifice to the god singing: "Zeus (Jupiter) is, Zeus was, Zeus will be." Odysseus brings costly offerings and the three Peleiades appear, warning Odysseus not to slay Despoina, as vengeance belongs to Zeus alone but in vain Odysseus insists that she must die. Then the prophetesses grow wilder in their threats and the priests in dark words predict to Odysseus an untimely death through his own son; the sky becomes dark, the sacred spring bubbles and steams. Odysseus goaded to madness by Telemachos' entreaties for the life of Despoina the worst foe of his house, draws his sword upon his son. The latter throws away his weapons and offers his bare breast to his beloved father's stroke while the priests cry: "Woe to thee Odysseus!" Then the unhappy father coming to his senses seizes Despoina and drags her away, while the water quakes from the earth and the Peleiades tear their hair in wild despair.—

The prelude to the second act takes place in the grotto of the nymphs at Ithaka, where Telegonos has landed with his companions after a hard fight with the inhabitants of the island. Resting beside a spring he sees the reflection of his own image in it, and he begins to dream about his father and to long for his mother. This song, and the whole scene, with the water fairies emerging from the waves to look at the young hero remind very much of the scene between Siegfried and the Rhine-daughters.—The curtain falls and the first scene of the second act opens with the triumphant return of Odysseus to his palace.

He has conquered all his enemies and is joyously greeted by his people. Eumaeos however meets him with the bad news that during his master's absence a new enemy had appeared and had ravaged the country.—

Odysseus vows that he will drive the enemy off. He turns lovingly to his faithful Queen and assures her that he will now lay down the sword for the spade and will labour to insure peace and happiness to all those countries that are now his own. He is however not without forebodings of evil remembering the prophesy: "When once thou exchangest the sword for the spade, then will the close of thy day be near."

Despoina's entrance interrupts this happy meeting. The she-devil dares to attack even Penelope's virtue, she goads Odysseus to fury, so that he is about to stab her. But when she tears open her dress, mockingly presenting her bosom to his sword, he turns from her ordering the guards to take her away and to put her to death on the following morning.

The next scene again shows Telegonos sleeping. Despoina awakes him. She has escaped from prison and, disguised as a young warrior has hastened hither to warn Telegonos. He receives her warnings with laughter for fear is unknown to him. When he calls his lions she faints with fright. Trying to revive her he opens her coat of mail and takes off her helmet and thus perceives that she is a woman. At this discovery his heart is suddenly inflamed with love for Despoina who is also madly in love with Telegonos. A passionnate love scene follows, ending by Telegonos telling her, that he is searching for his father Odysseus. She offers to show him the way, and armed with a sword she places herself with Telegonos at the head of his soldiers.—

In the third act Odysseus appears alone, stunned and terrified by his enemy's striking resemblance to Kirke. Wearied to death he lies down on a mossy bank and falls asleep. In his dream the three Fates appear before him; they have woven the web of his life which is approaching its end; Klotho lowers the distaff, Lachesis breaks the thread and the balance in Atropos' hand sinks. Odysseus awakening finds himself face to face with Telemachos, who once more throws himself in his father's arms, having thrown down his sword, and proving his love and faith in every way. Odysseus, at last persuaded of his affection returns his embrace. Hearing that Despoina is leading the enemy to battle he bids Telemachos to take her captive alive or dead, on which the son hastens away at once. Odysseus about to join his warriors is hindered by Telegonos, who attacks him. The unhappy father only defends himself feebly, quite unable to slay the radiant young hero. Suddenly the news reaches him, that the enemy headed by Despoina is gaining ground. Telegonos hearing her shouts is about to join her when Odysseus bars his way with those words: "Dos't know with whom thou fightest? I am Odysseus."—Alas, Telegonos cannot believe that this old and evidently decrepit man should be the famous hero; he reviles him, pressing him hard. When his companions' shouts of victory reach his ears he throws down his lance, and attacks Odysseus with his sword.—This is observed by Despoina, who has come up unobserved and picking up Telegonos' lance she with it stabs Odysseus in the back.

The hero falls, and Telegonos full of joy is about to embrace Despoina, when she pushes him back and pointing to the dying man says: "There lies thy father! Odysseus behold thy son!" Telegonos staggers back but as he is forced to recognize the awful truth he rushes upon the murderess with his drawn sword. Despoina however is too quick for him and stabs herself with her own dagger.—

In deep sorrow Telegonos kneels beside his father who embraces him tenderly. Thus they are found by Penelope and Telemachos. Only now does Odysseus confess the truth about his love for Kirke to his faithful wife, whom he had wanted to save from pain by withholding the knowledge of his infidelity. After a touching farewell Odysseus joins the hands of the two brothers and blessing his family and his people he dies erect, like the hero he has always been.

TOSCA.

Musical Drama in three acts by V. SARDOU, L. ILLICA and G. GIACOSA. Music by GIACOMO PUCCINI.

The libretto of this opera is adapted from Sardou's tragedy of the same name; it possesses all the exquisite stage effects of which this writer is capable. It is based on fact; these most tragic events having actually taken place in Rome in 1800 at the time of the battle of Marengo.

The music far surpasses the libretto, although the latter handles the dreadful facts with as much delicacy as possible.

Puccini may fairly be called the most gifted among Italian composers. In Tosca especially he has shown the ennobling influence of music over an otherwise repulsive theme. The lovely melodies inspire us with a warm interest in all the persons of the play, with the exception of Scarpia, that living incarnation of evil and corruption. The leading melodies that introduce Scarpia are almost brutal in their tone; the three intervals of B flat, A flat and E which accompany Scarpia from the beginning through the whole drama sound hard and inexorable like fate, and form a striking contrast to the songs of the two lovers, whose duet in the third act is one of the sweetest things ever written.

The scene is laid in Rome. The first act takes place in the church of Sant' Andrea della Valle. Cesare Angelotti a state-prisoner has escaped from gaol and is hiding in a private chapel of which his sister, the Lady Attavanti, has secretly sent him the key.

When he has disappeared from view the painter Cavaradossi enters the church. He is engaged in painting a picture to represent Mary Magdalen; the canvass stands on a high easel and the sacristan, who is prowling about, recognizes with scandalized amazement and indignation that the sacred picture resembles a beautiful lady, who comes to pray daily in the church. The old man, after having left a basket with food for the painter, retires grumbling at this sacrilege.

When he is gone Angelotti comes forward, and the painter recognizing in the prisoner the Consul of the late Roman Republic who is at the same time an intimate friend of his own, puts himself at his disposal, but hearing the voice of his fiancée Tosca, who demands entrance he begs the prisoner, a victim of the vile Scarpia, to retire into the chapel, giving him the refreshments, which the sacristan has left.

At last he opens the church-door, and Tosca, a famous singer enters looking suspiciously around her, for she is of a jealous disposition. She begs her lover to wait for her at the stage door in the evening. He assents and tries to get rid of her, when her suspicions are reawakened by the sight of the picture, which she sees is a portrait of the Lady Attavanti. With difficulty he succeeds in persuading her of his undying love and at last induces her to depart; he then enters the chapel, and urges Angelotti to fly, while the way is clear. The chapel opens into a deserted garden from whence a foot-path leads to the painter's villa, in which there is a well now nearly dry. Into this well the painter advises Angelotti to descend if there is any danger of pursuit, as half way down there is an opening leading to a secret cave where his friend will be in perfect safety.

The Lady Attavanti had left a woman's clothes for her brother, to wear as a disguise. He takes them up and turns to go, when the report of a cannon tells him that his flight from the fortress is discovered. With sudden resolution Cavaradossi decides to accompany the fugitive, to help him to escape from his terrible enemy.

In the next scene acolytes, scholars and singers enter the church tumultuously. They have heard that Napoleon has been defeated and all are shouting and laughing, when Scarpia, the chief of the Police enters in search of the fugitive. Turning to the sacristan he demands to be shown the chapel of the Attavanti, which to the amazement of the sacristan is found open. It is empty, but Scarpia finds a fan, on which he perceives the arms of the Attavanti, then he sees the picture and hears that Tosca's lover, Cavaradossi has painted it. The basket with food is also found, empty. During the discussion that ensues, Tosca enters, much astonished to find Scarpia here instead of her lover. The chief of the police awakens her jealousy by showing her the fan, which he pretends to have found on the scaffolding. Tosca, recognizing the arms of the Attavanti is goaded almost to madness by the wily Scarpia. When she departs three spies are ordered to follow her.

The second act takes place in Scarpia's luxurious apartments in an upper story of the Farnese palace.

Scarpia is expecting Tosca, who is to sing this evening at the Queen's festival. He has decided to take her for his Mistress, and to put her lover to death as well as Angelotti, as soon as he has got hold of both. Spoletta, a police-agent informs his chief, that he followed Tosca to a solitary villa which she left again, alone, very soon after she had entered it.

Forcing his way into the villa he had only found the painter Cavaradossi whom he had at once arrested and brought to the palace.

Cavaradossi who is now brought in, denies resolutely any knowledge of the escaped prisoner. When Tosca enters he embraces her, whispering into her ear not to betray anything she had witnessed in his villa.

Meanwhile Scarpia has called for Roberts, the executioner, and Mario is led into the torture chamber that adjoins Scarpia's apartment. Scarpia vainly questions Tosca about her visit to the villa; she assures him, that she found her lover alone. Then she hears her lover's groans, which are growing more fearful, the torture under Scarpia's directions being applied with more and more violence. In the intervals Mario however entreats Tosca to be silent, but at last she can bear no more, and gasps "In the well, in the garden." Scarpia at once gives a signal to stop the torture and Mario is carried in fainting and covered with blood. When he comes to himself he hears Scarpia say to Spoletta "In the well, in the garden," and thereby finds out that Tosca has betrayed the unfortunate prisoner. While he turns from her in bitter grief and indignation, Sciarrone enters and announces in the greatest consternation, that the news of victory have proved false, Napoleon having beaten the Italian army at Marengo. Mario exults in the defeat of his enemy, but the latter turns to him with an evil smile and orders the gendarmes to take him away to his death. Tosca tries to follow him, but Scarpia detains her. Remaining alone with him, she offers him all her treasures and at last kneels to him imploring him to save her lover. But the villain only shows her the scaffold which is being erected on the square below, swearing that he will only save her lover if she will be his. Tosca turns shuddering from him. Spoletta now enters to announce that Angelotti being found and taken has killed himself; and that Mario is ready for death.

Now at last Tosca yields, Scarpia promising to liberate her lover at the price of her honour. He suggests however that Mario must be supposed dead, and that a farce must be acted, in which the prisoner is to pretend to fall dead while only blank cartridges will be used for firing. Tosca begs to be allowed to warn him herself and Scarpia consents and orders Spoletta to accompany her to the prison at 4 o'clock in the morning, after having given the spy private instructions to have Mario really shot after all. Spoletta retires and Scarpia approaches Tosca to claim his reward. But she stops him, asking for a safe conduct for herself and her lover. While Scarpia is writing it Tosca seizes a knife from the table while leaning against it and hides the weapon behind her back. Scarpia seals the passport, then opening his arms he says: "Now Tosca, mine at last." But he staggers back with an awful scream; Tosca has suddenly plunged the knife deep into his breast. Before he can call for help, death overtakes him, and Tosca after having taken the passport from the clenched fist of the dead man turns to fly.

The third act takes place on the platform of the castle Sant' Angelo.

The gaoler informs Mario Cavaradossi that he may ask for a last favour having only one hour to live and the captive begs to be allowed to send a last letter of farewell to his fiancée. The gaoler assents, and Mario sits down to write, but soon the sweet recollections of the past overcome him. Tosca finds him in bitter tears, which soon give way to joy, when she shows him her passport, granting a free pass to Tosca and to the Chevalier who will accompany her.

When she tells him of the deadly deed she has done to procure it, he kisses the hands that were stained with blood for his sake. Then she informs him of the farce, which is to be acted, and begs him to fall quite naturally after the first shot, and to remain motionless until she shall call him. After a while the gaoler reminds them that the hour is over. The soldiers march up and Tosca places herself to the left of the guard's room, in order to face her lover. The latter refuses to have his eyes bandaged, and bravely stands erect before the soldiers. The officer lowers his sword, a report follows and Tosca seeing her lover fall sends him a kiss. When one of the sergeants is about to give the "coup de grace" to the fallen man Spoletta prevents him, and covers Mario with a cloak. Tosca remains quiet until the last soldier has descended the steps of the staircase, then she runs to her lover, calling to him, to rise. As he does not move, she bends down to him and tears the cloak off, but with a terrible cry she staggers back. Her lover is dead! She bewails him in the wildest grief, when suddenly she hears the voice of Sciarrone, and knows that Scarpia's murder has been discovered. A crowd rushes up the stairs with Spoletta at their head; the latter is about to precipitate himself upon Tosca, but she runs to the parapet and throws herself into space, with the cry: "Scarpia, may God judge between us!"

BARFUSSELE (LITTLE BARE FOOT).

Opera in two Pictures with a Prelude by RICHARD HEUBERGER. Words by VICTOR LÉON from AUERBACH'S Story.

The young composer's opera is a musical village-story, simple and well adapted to the pretty subject.

Heuberger's talent is of the graceful style; he is not very original but his waltzes and "Ländlers" have the true Viennese ring, and the kirmess in the first act is very characteristic; it is melodious and full of healthy humour. The airs often recall popular songs.

The story is simple. Its scene is laid in Haldenbrunn, a village in the Black Forest.

Amrei and Dami, sister and brother, coming home from their distant school find the door of their father's cottage locked. Accustomed to the frequent absence of their parents they sit down under the mountain-ash to wait for their return. A crowd of school-children following them provoke Amrei by calling her "Barfüssele", because she never wears shoes; her little brother tries to defend his sister, but in vain. At last the "Landfriedbäurin", a rich farmer's wife comes to his help and drives the tormenting brats away.

She has come to attend the funeral of the two children's parents, who both died on the same day, and seeing that the orphans do not yet know of their bereavement she is at a loss, how to make them understand.—At last she takes off her garnet-necklace, and hangs it round Amrei's neck, promising Dami a pair of good leather breeches.

When she sees Marann and Mr. Krappenzacher approaching, she upbraids them for having left the poor children in ignorance of their sad loss, on which old Marann, taking the orphans in her arms, explains to them, that they will never see their parents again on earth. The poor children cry bitterly and bid a heartrending farewell to their little home. Thus ends the Prelude.

The first act takes place twelve years later.

Amrei has entered the service of the rich Rodelbauer. She still goes bare-footed, but she is the life of the inn, and everybody requires her services.—It is St. Paul's day and the farmer's wife promises Amrei that she may join in the dancing like the other girls. While Amrei goes into the house to adorn herself for the festival, Dami comes to take leave of his sister. Dami is in love with the Rodelbauer's handsome sister Rosel, and having no hopes of winning her, he is about to enter the military service.—Amrei, who has returned, is much grieved at his resolution and leaves him to fetch his bundle of clothes.—Rosel now enters in her best attire. She loves Dami, and though she never means to marry the poor servant lad, she allows him to kiss and embrace her. Amrei coming back and seeing this is very much shocked and now urges him herself to leave the village at once.

In the next scene the Landfriedbäurin arrives from the Allgäu with her son Johannes.—Amrei recognizes the good woman who gave her the garnet-necklace twelve years ago and both are very much pleased to see each other again. The rich peasant has come to consult Krappenzacher, known as the best matchmaker in the country, and she promises him a large fee, if he succeeds in finding a suitable bride for Johannes. The latter is quite willing to marry, provided he finds a girl that pleases him and his mother gives him sound advice about the qualities that should be found in a good wife. First she must never cut a knot but untie it, she must be content to take the second part in a duet and so on.

In the next scene the Rodelbäurin and Rosel come out ready for church. Amrei has to keep house, but she is perfectly happy in the prospect of a dance.

Meanwhile Krappenzacher tells the Rodelbauer that he has found a splendid suitor for his sister Rosel, and the rich peasant promises him a hundred crowns, if the match comes off.—They then stroll towards the church and Amrei appears in her national Sunday costume and with new shoes. She sits down on the bench, meditating sadly about the poor chance she will have of a partner and hardly noticing Johannes who rides by and accosts her.

A few minutes later the villagers come in a procession from church headed by the band and the dancing begins.

Amrei sits alone neglected; nobody comes to dance with her; the peasants threw all their wraps, kerchiefs etc. to the poor girl, who soon looks like a clothes-stand.

Suddenly Johannes comes up. Perceiving the lonely maiden, he carries her off to dance with him.

When the village bells ring for Vespers the dancing stops, and Johannes, sitting down at a table treats his partner to a glass of wine. He is greatly pleased with her, but when she tells him, that she is only a servant he becomes thoughtful. At last he bids her farewell with a kiss and departs without having looked at any of the other girls.

The second act takes place a year later. The scene is laid in the Rodelbauer's court-yard. Johannes has come once more to the village with his parents, who press him to make up his mind and to choose a wife at last. Krappenzacher, in whose house they live promises to let him see the right bride, and goes to prepare Rosel for the coming of the rich suitor. He advises her to take off her finery and to appear as a practical and capable peasant girl, and Rosel promises to comply with his wishes.

A little later Amrei arrives with her brother Dami. He is decorated with the iron cross, but he wears his arm in a sling. His sister has brought him home from the battle field in order to nurse him; she has caught cold herself, so that her whole face is bound up in a woolen shawl. Rosel, reappearing in a simple working-dress greets her old lover, but Dami speaks very bitterly, when he hears that she is to marry a rich peasant, and he leaves her in scorn and wrath, while Rosel goes to the stable to milk the cows.

Johannes, coming into the court-yard finds only Amrei, who is sweetly singing the second part to Rosel's song, heard from the stable. Amrei recognizes him at once, but he does not recognize his fair partner in the simple servant, whose face is disfigured by the bandage. Desirous to know something about the girl he is to wed, he asks Amrei, if she leads a hard life in the house and if Rosel is good to her. She answers in the affirmative, and so he lets himself be led to the stable by the old Rodelbauer under the pretext of inspecting a white horse, but in reality to look at the girl. Meanwhile Rosel comes out tired of her unaccustomed work.

She wavers between her desire to get a rich husband and her love for Dami. The appearance of Amrei, who comes out of the house in her Sunday dress excites her wrath. Notwithstanding Amrei's resistance she wrenches the garnet-necklace from her throat and beats her. The girl's screams bring out all the neighbours including Johannes, who, pulling Rosel back from the weeping girl, recognizes his partner of the year before.

Forgetting everything but his love, which has only grown deeper in the interval, he strains her to his heart.

The Rodelbauer turning to his sister is about to beat her, but Dami intervenes and Rosel, quite ashamed of herself turns to her true lover and begs his pardon.

Johannes leads his sweet-heart into the adjoining garden, where they wait for the arrival of the parents.

Amrei has a difficult task in winning Johannes' father, whose pride will not permit him to welcome a daughter in law without a dower, but the mother, who was always fond of the daughter of her old friend, secretly offers her a sum of money she has saved for herself; Johannes does the same. At last her perfect goodness and sweetness soften the old peasant's heart and all ends in peace and happiness.

LA BOHÈME.

Adapted from HENRY MURGER'S VIE DE BOHÈME. Music by GIACOMO PUCCINI.

This opera was composed in 1896, and the music is of a far higher order than that of "La Tosca", particularly the love scenes.—

La Bohème grows on one more and more, the oftener one hears it; but such bits as Musette's waltz, the quartet and the love duet in the last act cannot fail to appeal to everybody. The composer has given a most realistic subject a highly poetic setting.

The first act opens in a garret in Paris, in about 1830, and shows us Rudolph the painter and Marcel the poet, from whose Bohemian mode of life the opera derives its name, at work. Alas, there is no fire in the grate and the cold is so intense, that Marcel is about to break up a chair for firewood.—

Rudolph prevents him and kindles a fire with his manuscript instead, crying: "My drama shall warm us". The second act of the manuscript follows the first one, by the blaze of which the artists joyfully warm their half frozen hands. The paper is quickly burnt to ashes, but before they have time to lament this fact the door is opened by two boys bringing food, fuel, wine and even money. Schaunard, a musician brings up the rear to whom neither Marcel nor Rudolph pay the least attention.

It seems, that an Englishman engaged Schaunard to sing to his parrot till it dies, but after three days Schaunard becomes so heartily sick of his task, that he poisons the bird and runs away.

He suggests that they all go out for supper it being Christmas Eve. They decide to drink some of the wine first, but they are interrupted by the landlord, who demands his quarter's rent. He soon imbibes so much of the wine, that he becomes intoxicated and correspondingly jovial.—After joking him about his love adventures he finds himself standing outside the door in pitch darkness. The others meanwhile prepare to go out to supper, with the exception of Rudolph who remains behind to finish a manuscript article.

A pretty young girl soon knocks, carrying a candle and a key. He begs her to come in and be seated and she swoons while refusing. He revives her with some wine, and she goes off with her relighted candlestick, but forgets her key, which she has dropped in her swoon, and for which she at once comes back. A draught blows out the candle and Rudolph keeps the key, while pretending to look for it.—Suddenly he clasps the girl's hand and he and she exchange confidences, while confessing their love for each other.

When Rudolph's friends call him he invites Mimi, who is a flower girl, to accompany him.

The second act takes place before the well known Café Momus in the Quartier Latin, where Rudolph and Mimi join Schaunard and Marcel.

Rudolph has bought her a pink bonnet and introduces her to his friends, the fourth of whom is Colline the Philosopher.

The party eat and drink amid the noise and bustle of the fair, when Marcel suddenly sees his old love Musette, gorgeously arrayed and leaning upon the arm of an old man. Marcel turns pale, while his friends make fun of the fantastic couple, much to Musette's anger. She at once begins to make overtures to Marcel, who feigns utter indifference.—Musette's old admirer orders supper, in the hope of pacifying her, while she addresses Marcel in fond whispers. The others watch the scene with amusement, but Rudolph devotes all his attentions to Mimi. Musette suddenly complains, that her shoes hurt her and sends her aged lover off for another pair. Then she proceeds to make friends with Marcel. When the waiter brings the bill, Musette tells him, that the old gentleman will settle for everything after his return.

The party profits by the approach of the patrol, who causes a turmoil, in the midst of which they all escape. Alcindor the old admirer finds only two bills awaiting him, when he returns with the new shoes. Musette has been carried away shoeless by her old friend.

The third scene takes place on the outskirts of Paris called "Barrière de l'Enfer", (The Toll Gate of Hell). To the left there is a tavern, over which hangs Marcel's picture "The Crossing of the Red Sea", as a sign board. The day is breaking, the customhouse officials are still sleeping around the fire, but the scavengers coming from Chantilly soon awake them.

The gate is opened to admit milk-women, carters, peasants with baskets and finally Mimi.

She looks wretched and is at once seized with a terrible fit of coughing. As soon as she can speak, she asks the name of the tavern, where she knows Marcel is working. When he emerges from the inn she implores his help, saying Rudolph is killing her by his insane jealousy. Marcel promises to intervene, and when Rudolph comes out of the tavern Mimi hides behind the trees.

She hears Rudolph say, she is doomed to die, and coughs and sobs so violently, that her presence is revealed.

Rudolph remorsefully takes the poor weak creature in his arms, and they decide to make it up.

Their reconciliation is interrupted by Marcel, who is upbraiding Musette. This flighty damsel has one lover after another, although she really loves Marcel alone.

The fourth and last scene takes us back to the garret, where Marcel and Rudolph are alone, Musette and Mimi having left them. They each kiss mementos of their lady-loves when Schaunard appears with bread and herring. Gayety is soon restored and a regular frolic takes place. Musette enters in a state of great agitation, to say, that Mimi, who is in the last stage of consumption is there and wants to see Rudolph once more. The latter carries her on the little bed. As there is nothing in the house, with which to revive her, Musette decides to sell her earrings in order to procure medicines, a doctor and and a muff, for which Mimi longs.

Schaunard also goes out, so that the lovers are left alone.—A touching scene follows, when Rudolph shows Mimi the pink bonnet he has cherished all the time. Musette and Marcel soon return with medicines and a muff, upon which Mimi sinks into the sleep from which there is no awakening with a sweet smile of satisfaction.

THE FLEDERMAUS (THE BAT).

A Comic Operetta in three Acts by MEILHAC and HALÉVY. Music by JOHANN STRAUSS.

The Fledermaus is the famous Viennese Waltz King's best operetta. The charming music is so well known, that only the libretto needs to be explained, because of its rather complicated plot.

A serenade which is listened to by Adele Rosalind Eisenstein's maid, but is intended for her mistress, begins the first act. Adele has just received an invitation from her sister Ida to a grand entertainment to be given by a Russian prince, Orlofsky by name. She is longing to accept it, and attempts to get leave of absence for the evening from her mistress, when the latter enters, by telling her that an aunt if hers is ill, and wishes to see her. Rosalind, however, refuses to let Adele go out, and the maid disappears pouting. While Rosalind is alone, her former singing master and admirer Alfred, suddenly turns up. He it was who had been serenading her, and Rosalind, succumbing to her old weakness for tenors, promises to let Alfred return later, when her husband is not at home. Herr Eisenstein, a banker, has just been sentenced to five days' imprisonment, a misfortune which his hot temper has brought upon him. The sentence has been prolonged to eight days through the stupidity of his lawyer, Dr. Blind, who follows Eisenstein on to the stage. The banker finally turns Dr. Blind out of the house, after upbraiding him violently.—Rosalind tries to console Eisenstein, and finally decides to see what a good supper will do towards soothing his ruffled spirits. While she is thus occupied Eisenstein's friend Dr. Falck appears, bringing his unlucky friend an invitation to an elegant soirée which Prince Orlofsky is about to give.—Eisenstein is quite ready to enjoy himself before going to prison, and when Rosalind reenters, she finds her husband in excellent spirits. He does not, however partake of the delicious supper she sets before him, with any great zest. But he takes a tender, although almost joyful leave of his wife, after donning his best dress suit. Rosalind then gives Adele leave to go out, much to the maid's surprise. After Adele has gone, Alfred again puts in an appearance. Rosalind only wishes to hear him sing again, and is both shocked and frightened, when Alfred goes into Herr Eisenstein's dressing room, and, returns clad in the banker's dressing gown and cap. The tenor then proceeds to partake of what is left of the supper, and makes himself altogether at home. But a sudden ring at the door announces the arrival of Franck, the governor of the prison, who has come with a cab to fetch Eisenstein. Rosalind is so terrified at being found tête à tête with Alfred, that she introduces him as her husband. After a tender farewell, Alfred good-naturedly follows the governor to prison.

The second act opens in the garden of a cafe, where the guests of Prince Orlofsky are assembled. Adele enters, dressed in her mistress's best gown, and looking very smart. Eisenstein, who is also present, at once recognizes her, as well as his wife's finery. But Adele and the whole party pretend to be very indignant at his mistaking a fine lady for a maid. Prince Orlofsky proceeds to make Eisenstein most uncomfortable, by telling him that Dr. Falck has promised to afford him great amusement, by playing some practical joke at Eisenstein's expense. The last guest who enters is Rosalind, whom nobody recognizes, because she is masked. Dr. Falck introduces her as a Hungarian countess who has consented to be present at the soirée only on condition that her incognito be respected. She catches just a glimpse of Eisenstein, who is flirting violently with Adele instead of being in prison, and determines to punish him. Noticing the magnificent attire and fine form of the supposed countess, Eisenstein at once devotes himself to the new comer. He even counts her heart beats with the aid of a watch which he keeps for that purpose, without, however, giving it away as he always promises to do. But Rosalind suddenly takes possession of the watch, and slips away with it.—The whole party finally assembles at supper, where Eisenstein becomes very jovial, and tells how he once attended a masquerade ball with his friend Falck, who was disguised as a bat. Eisenstein, it appears, induced his friend to drink so heavily, that he fell asleep in the street, where Eisenstein left him. Falck did not wake up till morning, when he had to go home amid the jeers of a street crowd, by whom he was nicknamed "Dr. Fledermaus".—Eisenstein's story creates much amusement, but Dr. Falck only smiles, saying, he who laughs last, laughs best.

After a champagne supper and some dancing, Eisenstein remembers, when the clock strikes six, that he ought to be in prison. Both he and Dr. Franck take a merry leave of the boisterous party.

The third act begins with Franck's return to his own room, where he is received by the jailer.—Frosch has taken advantage of his master's absence to get drunk, while Franck himself has likewise become somewhat intoxicated. He grows drowsy while recalling the incidents of Prince Orlofsky's fête, and finally falls fast asleep.—

Adele and her sister Ida interrupt his slumbers, in order to ask the supposed marquis to use his influence in the former's behalf. Adele confesses that she is in reality a lady's maid, but tries to convince Franck, the supposed marquis, and her sister (who is a ballet dancer), of her talents by showing them what she can do in that line.—A loud ring soon puts an end to the performance While the jailer conducts Adele and Ida to No. 13, Eisenstein arrives and gives himself up. Franck and he are much surprised to find themselves face to face with each other in prison, after each had been led to suppose the other a marquis, at the fête. They are naturally much amused to learn each other's identity. Meanwhile Dr. Blind enters, to undertake the defense of the impostor Eisenstein. He turns out to be the genuine Eisenstein, who again turns Blind out of door, and possesses himself of his cap and gown and of his spectacles, in which he interviews his double.—Alfred has been brought in from his cell, when Rosalind also enters, carrying her husband's watch, and prepared for revenge. Both Alfred and she alternately state their grievances to the supposed lawyer, who quite loses his temper, when he learns of Alfred's tête à tête with his wife, and how completely she has fooled him. Throwing off his disguise, he reveals his identity, only to be reviled by his wife for his treachery. He in turn vows to revenge himself on Rosalind and on her admirer, but the entrance of Dr. Falck, followed by all the guests who were at Prince Orlofsky's fête, clears up matters for all concerned. While making fun of the discomfited Eisenstein, he explains that the whole thing is a huge practical joke of his invention which he has played on Eisenstein in return for the trick Eisenstein played on him years ago, which he related at the fête. All the guests had been bidden to the fête by Dr. Falck with the consent of the prince in order to deceive Eisenstein. The latter, when convinced of his wife's innocence, embraces her. All toast one another in champagne, which they declare to be the King of Wines.

FLAUTO SOLO.

An Opera in one Act by EUGÈNE D'ALBERT. Libretto by HANS VON WOLZOGEN.

D'Albert's new attempt at an opera secured an even greater success than his "Departure", which is still constantly given at the Dresden Opera.

"Flauto Solo" had a brilliant first night performance in Dresden in August 1906, both because of the unusually charming music, which is a masterly imitation of the compositions in vogue during the Roccocco period, and also for its remarkably clever libretto. The latter required no little ingenuity, since it is a medley of no less than three languages.

The fact, that Flauto Solo contains a plot, which is founded on history, renders it doubly attractive. Anyone acquainted with German history at the time of Frederic the Great will not fail to recognize him and his testy father under the assumed names of the young prince and the reigning head of the house.

The opera is at the same time an amusing parody of the two great schools of music of the age, that is, of German and Italian musical art.

Füst Eberhard, the reigning prince and his son, Prince Ferdinand are perpetually disagreeing, not only because of their radically opposite dispositions, but because the parent is a champion of German music, while his son is absolutely devoted to everything Italian.

The two prime favourites at court are two musicians, a German named Pepusch, and an Italian, Maëstro Emanuele, who take turns at conducting the court orchestra. Naturally there is constant rivalry between these two, particularly since Pepusch composed the so-called "Schweine Canon" (hog-canon), for the gratification of Prince Eberhard. Taken literally this song of the Hogs is a quartette, which skilfully reproduces the various forms of grunting characteristic of these animals. To reward Pepusch for his composition, Eberhard wishes him to become his wayward son's tutor instead of Maëstro Emanuele. The latter encourages the young prince in his fondness for all things foreign and his violent dislike of everything German.

At the beginning of the opera, Prince Eberhard laments over his son's fondness for the flute to Pepusch, till an orderly abruptly summons him to take command of the troops.—

Before going he shouts to Pepusch, that if Prince Ferdinand fails to appreciate the "hog-canon", he had at least better make the "cannon" his instrument instead of the flute.

Left to himself Pepusch goes into the concert pavilion, and picks up his music.—Peppina, a famous primadonna, makes her appearance without perceiving the German conductor. Soon she begins to sing and is quite terrified, when Pepusch joins in. A lengthy conversation ensues and Peppina is not long in expressing her contempt for the song of the hogs.—When Pepusch confesses himself to be the composer thereof, she lapses into the Tyrolese dialect of her childhood. Both she and Pepusch declare their allegiance to the German and Italian schools of music, but nevertheless they are highly pleased with each other.

Suddenly the sounds of a flute are heard, which cause Pepusch to run away and Maëstro Emanuele to run forward, warning Peppina, that the young Prince is close at hand. The Italian is filled with jealousy, when he hears of the primadonna's meeting with Pepusch and begins to make violent love to her.—

She makes fun of him and finally Prince Ferdinand puts an end to the scene. He plays several quick runs on his flute, and addresses himself chiefly in the French tongue, for which he has a weakness, to his favourite Emanuele.

Peppina has concealed herself behind some trees. Prince Ferdinand relates how he has received orders from his father to inspect the regiment, but that he made Pepusch take his place. A few minutes later Pepusch turns up and admits, that he has not carried out Prince Ferdinand's command.

The young Prince then confides to Pepusch, that he has made arrangements for a grand fête which is to take place that same evening, to which he has invited a large and select company. All this Pepusch knows already from Peppina. But when the Prince invites him to take part with a performance of his "hog-canon", he is beside himself, knowing well that Emanuele insinuated this idea to the Prince, simply to expose him to ridicule. The Prince however insists, and when he goes away, Peppina comes out of her hiding place and shares Pepusch's despair.

Vainly Pepusch tries to find some new musical motive, to enhance his quartette's effect, when suddenly Peppina begins to sing. Involuntarily he grunts an accompaniment. All at once he starts and exclaims "Ah, now I have it". After embracing Peppina he hurries away. The primadonna gets up too, but runs right into old Prince Eberhard, who calls out "What! A woman in my royal domains! Who is it?!" Peppina, unintimidated replies: "I am a Tyrolese singer and who are you?" When the prince tells her who he is she retorts: "Nonsense, Prince Eberhard is away at the manoeuvres." When she has charmed the old prince sufficiently by her marvellous trills and scales she tells him, that although she has all Italy and France at her feet she cares most of all for the good opinion of Prince Ferdinand, young though he is.

Prince Eberhard is half pleased, half angry, and complains, that there is never praise for any one save his son. Drawing forth a note, he shows her, that he is informed of the evening festival, which is to take place in his absence. Hearing this, Peppina informs him of the plot, which has been meditated against poor Pepusch, and intimates, that the whole thing is owned to the false Italian Maëstro, who wants to make the German composer a laughing stock for the foreign guests, who are expected not only to hear the famous flute playing of Prince Ferdinand, but especially herself, the famous Primadonna. She is to be engaged for the Vienna opera by a Viennese count, coming expressly on her account. Hearing all this, Prince Eberhard first flies into a passion, but soon he calms himself and tells Peppina to be without fear for Pepusch's future, as he, Eberhard, will not fail to be present at the soirée.

When Pepusch appears, he finds the two executing a droll dance together. Peppina seizes the prince's hand and tells him that she and Pepusch are in love with one another. All three vow, that they will give the audience a surprise at the fête, Pepusch saying his will be the "Flauto Solo".

Preparations for the festival are carried on with the aid of all kinds of decorations during which Pepusch is busily employed finishing his new composition.—Prince Ferdinand arrives followed by his suite, receiving his guests gracefully. After having presented Pepusch he commands him to conduct his chef d'oeuvre. Pepusch, taking out a score of music, announces, that a young pig was born during the night, necessitating a Solo flute. He hands the Prince the melody, intimating that the great Maëstro Emanuele should play it. Much to Emanuele's disgust, Prince Ferdinand takes Pepusch's part in the quarrel, which the Italian attempts to bring about.

Suddenly the old Prince arrives and orders his son to perform Pepusch's new melody on the flute. Prince Ferdinand unwillingly obeys, and plays the solo part so splendidly, that the audience breaks out into endless applause.

Prince Ferdinand cordially begs Pepusch's pardon for his injustice and calls his new composition a real master piece. Pepusch is however honest enough to admit, that the melody, which he first heard Peppina sing, was originally Emanuele's idea, upon which the guests cheer both conductors.

Prince Eberhard, on the other hand, praises his son's skill on the flute most highly and admits, that Prince Ferdinand will as a ruler in all probability become as great a virtuoso, as he has proved himself a great artist.—

Pepusch and Emanuele call for Peppina, the great Italian primadonna.—She appears on the steps wrapped in a long cloak, but when she throws it off, she shows herself in her native Tyrolese costume; she sings in dialect, and goes through all her charming native songs and "Jodls", to the delight of all her hearers. Prince Eberhard promises to grant any wish of Peppina's, while Prince Ferdinand does the same with Pepusch.—

Finally Prince Ferdinand joins Peppina's and Pepusch's hands, while the old Prince announces that the two shall henceforth play "Flauti due" by being married, and appointed musicians of his court for the rest of their lives.—

MOLOCH.

A musical tragedy in three Acts. Music by MAX SCHILLINGS. Libretto by EMIL GERHAEUSER, founded on HEBBEL'S fragment "MOLOCH".

The first representation of this opera took place on December 8th 1906 in the Dresden Royal Opera.

It is the production of a highly esteemed German composer, who, though independant in his musical invention follows in Wagner's steps.

Two operas "Ingwelde" and the "Pfeiffertag" have already made him a name amongst modern composers; his last, "Moloch" is however the best in orchestration and invention.

The Moloch music, if somewhat heavy and loud, is altogether noble and interesting. The first Act is steeped in gloom, the second is more fascinating and especially the choral accompaniment to the quartette is as striking as it is beautiful.

But the culminating point is reached in the last Act, where we find passages of extreme beauty.

The scene is laid on the island of Thule (otherwise Germany, perhaps Ruegen), at the time after the destruction of Carthage.

In the first Act Hiram, a Carthaginian priest emerges from a cave, where he has found a refuge. He has brought Carthage's famous idol Moloch to Thule, with the intention of subjecting the inhabitants to its power, in which he himself no more believes since the downfall of his native city.

The inhabitants of Thule do not as yet worship any particular god, and Hiram hopes to gain enough ascendancy over them, to use them as a means of revenge against Carthage's great enemy Rome.

When the people of Thule catch sight of the fearful idol, they are frightened, and Hiram intensifies their terror by taking advantage of natural causes. A terrific thunderstorm comes on and the lightning striking the hollow brass figure, sets light to the wood inside and makes the figure become red hot.

The King's son Teut is one of Hiram's first converts. Moloch, he says, has appeared to him in his dreams, and in spite of the remonstrances of Wolf, his father's friend, in spite of Theoda's and his mother's tears, he worships at Moloch's feet together with the majority of his followers.

Velleda, his mother, a somewhat mystic personage, who foresees every misfortune, prophetically sees her son in the fearful monster's jaws; she veils herself shuddering and withdraws into the woods.

Theoda, who loves Teut hopelessly tries all her simple wiles and allurements on him in vain. When Hiram sacrifices a pair of doves and a ram to the idol, the people all join in his exulting cry of "Moloch is King, he is Lord over all", with which grand and impressive chorus the first Act closes.