Escamillo is the man who kills bulls and makes love to all the pretty girls he sees. Everybody wants to get a peep at him. The air is full of excitement. Everybody, wine-sellers, orange-girls, all dance and twirl about, and donkeys' bells tinkle, and some are eating, and some are drinking. The Alcalde is to attend, and all the fine ladies and gentlemen of Seville. Here comes Zuniga.

"Here, bring me some oranges," he orders, in his old at-least-a-general fashion. The smugglers had let him loose, of course, as soon as Carmen and Jose had got away from Lillas Pastia's inn, that night. He sits to eat his oranges and to watch the gradually a.s.sembling crowd. Frasquita and Mercedes are on hand, and there is a fair sprinkling of smugglers and other gipsies.

"Here they come, here they come!" some one cries, and almost at once the beginning of the bull-fighting procession appears. First the cuadrilla, then the alguazil, chulos, banderilleros--all covered with spangles and gold lace; and the picadors with their pointed lances with which to goad the bull. Every division in a different colour, and everybody fixed for a good time, except the bull, perhaps. After all these chromo gentlemen have had a chance at him, Escamillo will courageously step up and kill him. Yes, Spain is all ready for a good time! Now at last comes Escamillo.

"Viva Escamillo!" If one ever saw a beauty-man, he is one! He might as well have been a woman, he is so good-looking. He has a most beautiful love song with Carmen, who of course is in the very midst of the excitement, and in the midst of the song, the great Alcalde arrives.

n.o.body wants to see the bull-fight more than he does. He was brought up on bull-fights. His entrance makes a new sensation.

In the midst of the hurly-burly Frasquita forces her way to Carmen.

"You want to get away from here. I have seen Don Jose in this crowd.

If he finds you there will be trouble----"

"For him maybe." Carmen returns, insolently looking about to see if she can espy Jose. The girls urge her not to go too far; to keep out of Jose's way, but she refuses point blank.

"Leave the fight and Escamillo? Not for twenty Joses. Here I am, and here I stay," she declares. Everybody but Carmen thinks of the fortune in the cave: death, death, death! But gradually the great crowd pa.s.ses into the amphitheatre, and Carmen has promised Escamillo to await him when he shall come out triumphant; and Escamillo has no sooner bade Carmen good-bye than Jose swings into the square in search of Carmen.

Carmen sees him and watches him. He does not look angry. As a matter of fact he has gone through so much sorrow (the death of his mother, and the jeers of his friends) that he has sought Carmen only with tenderness in his heart. He now goes up to her and tells her this.

"Indeed, I thought you had come to murder me."

"I have come to take you away from these gipsies and smugglers. If you are apart from them you will do better. I love you and want you to go away from here, and together we will begin over and try to do better."

Carmen looks at him and laughs. Suddenly she hears cheering from the amphitheatre and starts toward it. Jose interposes.

"You let me alone. I want to go in----"

"To see Escamillo----"

"Why not--since I love him----"

"How is that?"

"As I said----" At this, a blind rage takes possession of Don Jose.

All his good purposes are forgotten. For a moment he still pleads with her to go away, and she taunts him more cruelly. Then in a flash Jose's knife is drawn, another flash and Carmen's fortune is verified: she falls dead at the entrance to the amphitheatre, just as the crowd is coming out, cheering the victorious Escamillo. Jose falls beside her, nearly mad with grief for what he has done in a fit of rage, while Escamillo comes out, already fascinated by some other girl, and caring little that Carmen is dead--except that the body is in the way.

Jose is under arrest, Carmen dead, and the great crowd pa.s.ses on, cheering:

"Escamillo, Escamillo forever!"

DEKOVEN

Smith and DeKoven, who have made countless thousands laugh, are living still, and will very likely continue to do gracious things for the comic-opera-loving public.

The very imperfect sketch of the opera, "Robin Hood," given in this book, is lacking in coherence and in completeness in every way, but a prompt-book, being necessary properly to give the story, is not obtainable. Rather than ignore an American performance which is so graceful, so elegant, and which should certainly be known to every child, an attempt had been made to outline the story.

Little idea can be had of the opera's charm from this sketch, but the opera is likely to live, even after the topical stories of "Pinafore"

and "The Mikado" have lost their application, because the story of Robin Hood is romantic forever, and the DeKoven music is not likely to lose its charm.

"Robin Hood" was first produced at the Chicago Opera House, June 9, 1890, by the Bostonian Opera Company. In January, 1891, under the management of Mr. Horace Sedger, the opera was produced, under the t.i.tle of "Maid Marian," at the Prince of Wales's Theatre in London.

The cast included Mr. Haydn Coffin, Mr. Harry Markham, Miss Marion Manola, and Miss Violet Cameron.

ROBIN HOOD

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Robin Hood Edwin H. Hoff Little John W.H. Macdonald Scarlet Eugene Cowles Friar Tuck George Frothingham Alan-a-Dale Jessie Bartlett Davis Sheriff of Nottingham H.C. Barnabee Sir Guy Peter Lang Maid Marian Marie Stone Annabel Carlotta Maconda Dame Durden Josephine Bartlett

ACT I

In Sherwood forest, the merriest of lives, Is our outlaw's life so free!

We roam and rove in Sherwood's grove, Beneath the greenwood tree.

Through all the glades and sylvan shades Our homes (through the glades) are found; We hunt the deer, afar and near, Our hunting horns do we sound.

And thus begins the merriest tale of the merriest lives imaginable. It is on a May morning: every young sprint and his sweetheart in Nottingham are out in their best, for the fair--May-day fair in Nottingham; and near at hand, Alan-a-Dale, Little John, Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck, and the finest company of outlaws ever told about, are just entering the town to add to the gaiety.

Now in the village of Nottingham lived Dame Durden and her daughter, Annabel. Annabel was a flirtatious young woman who welcomed the outlaws in her very best manner. She a.s.sured them that outlaws of such high position would surely add much to the happiness of the occasion; and they certainly did, before the day was over. The outlaws came in, as fine a looking lot and as handsome as one would wish to see, and joined the village dance. It was an old English dance, called a "Morris Dance," with a lilt and a tilt which set all feet a-going.

[Music:

Fa la, fa la, Trip a morris dance hilarious, Lightly brightly, Trip in measure multifarious, Fa la la, fa la la, Trip a morris dance hilarious, Lightly and brightly we celebrate the fair!]

If anything was needed to add to the gaiety of the day, the outlaws furnished it, because, among other things, they brought to the fair a lot of goods belonging to other people, and they meant to put them up at auction.

Friar Tuck was an old renegade monk who travelled about with the merry men of Sherwood, to seem to lend a little piety to their doings. He had a little bottle-shaped belly and the dirtiest face possible, a tonsured head, and he wore a long brown habit tied round the middle with a piece of rope which did duty for several things besides tying this gown. He was a droll, jolly little bad man and he began the auction with mock piety:

As an honest auctioneer, I'm prepared to sell you here Some goods in an a.s.sortment that is various; Here's a late lamented deer (That was once a King's, I fear) Killing him was certainly precarious.

Here I have for sale Casks of brown October ale, Brewed to make humanity hilarious; Here's a suit of homespun brave Fit for honest man or knave; Here's a stock in fact that's multifarious.

And so it was!

His stock consisted of the most curious a.s.sortment of plunder one ever saw even at a Nottingham fair in the outlaw days of Robin Hood.

While all that tow-wow was going on, people were coming in droves to the fair; and among them came Robert of Huntingdon. The name is very thrilling, since the first part gives one an inkling that he beholds for the first time the future Robin Hood. However, on that May morning he was not yet an outlaw. He was a simple Knight of the Shire.

The Sheriff, who was a great personage in Nottingham, had a ward whom he had foisted upon the good folks of Nottinghamshire as an Earl, but as a fact he was simply a country lout, and all the teachings of the Sheriff would not make him appear anything different. Robert of Huntingdon was the Earl, in fact, and the Sheriff was going to try to keep him out of his t.i.tle and estates. The merry men of Sherwood forest were great favourites with Robert and they were his friends.

During the fair a fine cavalier, very dainty for a man, fascinating, was caught by Friar Tuck kissing a girl, and was brought in with a great to-do. She declared that she had a right to kiss a pretty girl, since her business was that of cavalier. Robin Hood discovered her s.e.x, underneath her disguise, and began to make love to her.

Among other reasons for Robin Hood being at the fair was that of making the Sheriff confer upon him his t.i.tle to the Earldom. When he boldly made his demand, the foxy Sheriff declared that he had a half-brother brought up by him, and that the half-brother, and not Robert, was the Earl.

"You are a vain, presumptuous youth," the Sheriff declared. "You are no Earl, instead it is this lovely youth whom I have brought up so carefully." And he put forth Guy, the b.u.mpkin. This created an awful stir, and all the outlaws who were fond of Robin Hood took up the case for him.

"A nice sort of Earl, that," Little John cried.