The scene then changes back to Lammermoor, where the wedding guests still are feasting. Their revels are halted by _Raymond_, who, horror-stricken, announces to them that _Lucy_ has gone mad and slain her husband; and soon the unhappy bride herself appears. Then follows the mad scene, one of the greatest "show numbers" for soprano, with the further merit that it fits perfectly into the scheme of the work.

This is an elaborate _scena_. In an earlier part of the opera Donizetti made effective use of a harp. In the mad scene he introduces a flute obligato, which plays around the voice, joins with it, touches it with sharp, brilliant accentuations, and glides with it up and down the scale in mellifluous companionship.

In a brief article in _The Musician_, Thomas Tapper writes that "to perform the mad scene has been an inspiration and incentive to attainment for many singers. Its demands are severe. There must be the 'mood,' that is, the characterization of the mental state of _Lucy_ must be evidenced both in vocal tone and physical movement. The aria requires an unusual degree of facility. Its transparency demands adherence to pitch that must not vary a shade from the truth (note the pa.s.sage where voice and flute are in unison). The coloratura soprano is here afforded unusual opportunity to display fluency and flexibility of voice, to portray the character that is 'as Ophelia was'; the dramatic intensity is paramount and must be sustained at a lofty eminence. In brief, the aria is truly a _tour de force_."

One of the best things in the above is its insistence on the "mood,"

the emotional situation that underlies the music. However brilliant the singing of the prima donna, something in her performance must yet convey to her hearers a sense of the sad fortunes of _Lucy of Lammermoor_.

To the accomplishment of this Donizetti lends a helping hand by introducing, as a mournful reminiscence, the theme of the first act love duet for _Lucy_ and _Edgar_ ("My sighs shall on the balmy breeze"); also by the dreaminess of the two melodies, "Alfin son tua"

(Thine am I ever);

[Music]

and "Spargi d'amaro pianto" (Shed thou a tear of sorrow).

[Music]

Preceding the first of these, and also between the two, are dramatic recitatives, in which the flute, possibly introduced merely for musical effect, yet, with its clear, limpid notes, by no means untypical of _Lucy's_ pure and spiritual personality, is prominent in the instrumental part of the score. Upon a brilliant phrase of vocalization, like "Yet shall we meet, dear Edgar, before the altar,"

[Music: Qui ricovriamo, Edgardo, a pie dell'ara]

it follows with this phrase:

[Music]

which simple, even commonplace, as it seems, nevertheless, in place, has the desired effect of ingenuousness and charm; while the pa.s.sage beginning,

[Music]

has decided dramatic significance.

I also give an example of a pa.s.sage in which flute and voice combine in a manner that requires impeccable intonation on the singer's part.

[Music: a noi sara, la vita etc.]

The _scena_ ends with a _stretto_, a concluding pa.s.sage taken in more rapid tempo in order to enhance the effect.

It is always interesting to me to hear this scene, when well rendered, and to note the simple means employed by the composer to produce the impression it makes.

The flute is an instrument that long has been the b.u.t.t of humorists.

"What is worse than one flute?"--"Two flutes." This is a standard musical joke. The kind suggestion also has been volunteered that _Lucy of Lammermoor_ went out of her head, not because she was deserted by _Edgar_, but because she was accompanied by a flute.

Nevertheless the flute is precisely the instrument required as an _obligato_ to this scene. Italian composers, as a rule, pay little attention to instrumentation. Yet it is a fact that, when they make a special choice of an instrument in order to produce a desired effect, their selection usually proves a happy inspiration. The flute and the harp in "Lucia" are instances; the ba.s.soons in the introduction to "Una furtiva lagrima" (A furtive tear) in "L'Elisire d'Amore" furnish another; and the wood-wind in the "Semiramide" duet, "Giorno d'orrore"

(Dark day of horror) may also be mentioned.

There is a point in the mad scene where it is easy to modulate into the key of G major. Donizetti has written in that key the aria "Perche non ho del vento" (Oh, for an eagle's pinions) which sopranos sometimes introduce during the scene, since it was composed for that purpose.

Probably the air is unfamiliar to opera-goers in this country. Lionel Mapleson, the librarian of the Metropolitan Opera House, never has heard it sung there, and was interested to know where I had found it.

As it is a florid, brilliant piece of music, and well suited to the scene, I quote a line of it, as a possible hint to some prima donna.

[Music: Perche non ho del vento l'infaticabil vole]

During the finale of the opera, laid near the churchyard where lie the bones of _Edgar's_ ancestors, _Lucy's_ lover holds the stage. His final aria, "Tu che a Dio spiegasti l'ali" (Tho' from earth thou'st flown before me), is a pa.s.sage of mournful beauty, which has few equals in Italian opera.

[Music: Tu che a Dio spiegasti l'ali, o bell'alma innamorata]

Of the singers of former days who have been heard here as _Lucia_, Adelina Patti interpreted the role with the least effort and the greatest brilliancy. Hers was a pure flexible soprano, which seemed to flow forth spontaneously from an inexhaustible reservoir of song.

Unfortunately she was heard here by many long after her day had pa.s.sed. She had too many "farewells." But those who heard her at her best, always will remember her as the possessor of a naturally beautiful voice, exquisitely trained.

Italo Campanini, a tenor who was in his prime when Mapleson was impresario at the Academy of Music, was one of the great _Edgardos_.

He was an elder brother of Cleofante Campanini, orchestral conductor and director of the Chicago Opera Company.

As for Caruso, rarely have I witnessed such excitement as followed the singing of the s.e.xtet the evening of his first appearance as _Edgardo_ at the Metropolitan Opera House. It is a fact that the policeman in the lobby, thinking a riot of some sort had broken loose in the auditorium, grabbed his night stick and pushed through the swinging doors--only to find an audience vociferously demanding an encore. Even granted that some of the excitement was "worked up," it was, nevertheless, a remarkable demonstration.

The role of _Enrico_, though, of course, of less importance than _Edgardo_, can be made very effective by a baritone of the first rank.

Such, for example, was Antonio Gala.s.si, who, like Campanini, was one of Mapleson's singers. He was a tall, well-put-up man; and when, in the s.e.xtet, at the words "e mio rosa inaridita" [Transcriber's Note: should be 'e mio sangue, l'ho tradita'] (Of thine own blood thou'rt the betrayer), he came forward in one stride, and projected his voice into the proceedings, it seemed as if, no matter what happened to the others, he could take the entire affair on his broad shoulders and carry it through to success.

LA FIGLIA DEL REGGIMENTO

LA FILLE DU ReGIMENT--THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT.

Opera in two acts, by Donizetti; words by Bayard and Jules H. Vernoy (Marquis St. Georges). Produced, Opera Comique, Paris, as "La Fille du Regiment," February 11, 1840; Milan, October 30, 1840; London, in English, at the Surrey Theatre, December 21, 1847; the same season in Italian, with Jenny Lind. First American performance, New Orleans, March 7, 1843. _Marie_ was a favorite role with Jenny Lind, Sontag, Lucca, and Patti, all of whom appeared in it in New York; also Sembrich, with Charles Gilibert as _Sulpice_, Metropolitan Opera House, 1902-03; and Hempel, with Scotti as _Sulpice_, same house, December 17, 1917. Tetrazzini, McCormack, and Gilibert, Manhattan Opera House, 1909. An opera with a slight hold on the repertoire, but liable to occasional revival for coloratura sopranos.

CHARACTERS

MARIE, the "Daughter of the Regiment,"

but really the daughter of the Marquise de Birkenfeld _Soprano_ SULPICE, Sergeant of French Grenadiers _Ba.s.s_ TONIO, a Tyrolese peasant in love with Marie; afterwards an officer of Grenadiers _Tenor_ MARQUISE DE BIRKENFELD _Soprano_ HORTENSIO, steward to the Marquise _Ba.s.s_ CORPORAL _Ba.s.s_

Soldiers, peasants, friends of the Marquise, etc.

_Time_--1815.

_Place_--Mountains of the Swiss Tyrol.

Act I. A pa.s.sage in the Tyrolese mountains. On the right is a cottage, on the left the first houses of a village. Heights in the background.

Tyrolese peasants are grouped on rising ground, as if on the lookout.

Their wives and daughters kneel before a shrine to the Virgin. The _Marquise de Birkenfeld_ is seated on a rustic bench. Beside her stands _Hortensio_, her steward. They have been caught in the eddy of the war. An engagement is in progress not far away. The Tyrolese chorus sings valiantly, the women pray; the French are victorious. And why not? Is not the unbeaten Twenty-first Regiment of Grenadiers among them?

One of them is coming now, _Sergeant Sulpice_, an old grumbler. After him comes a pretty girl in uniform, a vivandiere--_Marie_, the daughter of the regiment, found on the field of battle when she was a mere child, and brought up by a whole regiment of fathers, the spoiled darling of the grenadiers. She sings "Apparvi alla luce, sul campo guerrier"

[Music:

Apparvi alla luce, Sul campo guerrier,]

(I first saw the light in the camp of my brave grenadiers), which ends in a brilliant cadenza.

[Music]