The opening chorus has a peculiarly attractive lilt.

_Don Jose_ is unhappy. _Carmen's_ absorbing pa.s.sion for him has been of brief duration. A creature of impulse, she is fickle and wayward.

_Don Jose_, a soldier bred, but now a deserter, is ill at ease among the smugglers, and finds cause to reproach himself for sacrificing everything to a fierce and capricious beauty, in whose veins courses the blood of a lawless race. Yet he still loves her to distraction, and is insanely jealous of her. She gives him ample cause for jealousy. It is quite apparent that the impression made upon her by _Escamillo_, the dashing toreador and victor in many bullfights, is deepening. _Escamillo_ has been caught in the lure of her dangerous beauty, but he doesn't annoy her by sulking in her presence, like _Don Jose_, but goes on adding to his laurels by winning fresh victories in the bull ring.

Now that _Don Jose_ is more than usually morose, she says, with a sarcastic inflection in her voice:

"If you don't like our mode of life here, why don't you leave?"

"And go far from you! Carmen! If you say that again, it will be your death!" He half draws his knife from his belt.

With a shrug of her shoulders _Carmen_ replies: "What matter--I shall die as fate wills." And, indeed, she plays with fate as with men's hearts. For whatever else this gypsy may be, she is fearless.

While _Don Jose_ wanders moodily about the camp, she joins _Frasquita_ and _Mercedes_, who are telling their fortunes by cards. The superst.i.tious creatures are merry because the cards favour them.

_Carmen_ takes the pack and draws.

"Spades!--A grave!" she mutters darkly, and for a moment it seems as if she is drawing back from a shadow that has crossed her path. But the bravado of the fatalist does not long desert her.

"What matters it?" she calls to the two girls. "If you are to die, try the cards a hundred times, they will fall the same--spades, a grave!"

Then, glancing in the direction where _Don Jose_ stood, she adds, in a low voice, "First I, then he!"

The "Card Trio," "Melons! Coupons!" (Shuffle! Throw!) is a brilliant pa.s.sage of the score, broken in upon by _Carmen's_ fatalistic soliloquy.

A moment later, when the leader of the smugglers announces that it is an opportune time to attempt to convey their contraband through the mountain pa.s.s, she is all on the alert and aids in making ready for the departure. _Don Jose_ is posted behind a screen of rocks above the camp, to guard against a surprise from the rear, while the smugglers make their way through the pa.s.s.

Unseen by him, a guide comes out on the rocks, and, making a gesture in the direction of the camp, hastily withdraws. Into this wild pa.s.sage of nature, where desperate characters but a few moments before were encamped, and where _Carmen_ had darkly hinted at fate, as foretold by the stars, there descends _Micaela_, the emblem of sweetness and purity in this tragedy of the pa.s.sions. She is seeking _Don Jose_, in hopes of reclaiming him. Her romance, "Je dis que rien ne m'epouvante" (I try not to own that I tremble), is characterized by Mr. Upton as "the most effective and beautiful number in the whole work." The introduction for horns is an exquisite pa.s.sage, and the expectations it awakens are fully met by the melodious measures of the romance.

[Music]

Having looked about her, and failing to find _Don Jose_, she withdraws. Meanwhile _Don Jose_, from the place where he stands guard, has caught sight of a man approaching the camp. A shot rings out. It is _Don Jose_ who has fired at the man coming up the defile. He is about to fire again, but the nonchalant manner in which the stranger comes on, and, waving his hat, calls out, "An inch lower and it would have been all over with me!" causes him to lower his gun and advance to meet him.

"I am Escamillo and I am here to see Carmen," he says gaily. "She had a lover here, a dragoon, who deserted from his troop for her. She adored him, but that, I understand, is all over with now. The loves of Carmen never last long."

"Slowly, my friend," replies _Don Jose_. "Before any one can take our gypsy girls away, he must pay the price."

"So, so. And what is it?"

"It is paid with the knife," grimly answers _Jose_, as he draws his blade.

"Ah," laughs the _Toreador_, "then you are the dragoon of whom Carmen has wearied. I am in luck to have met you so soon."

He, too, draws. The knives clash, as the men, the one a soldier, the other a bullfighter, skilfully thrust and parry. But _Don Jose's_ is the better weapon, for, as he catches one of _Escamillo's_ thrusts on his blade, the _Toreador's_ knife snaps short. It would be a fatal mishap for _Escamillo_, did not at that moment the gypsies and smugglers, recalled by the shot, hurry in and separate the combatants.

Unruffled by his misadventure, especially as his ardent glances meet an answering gleam in _Carmen's_ eyes, the _Toreador_ invites the entire band to the coming bullfight in Seville, in which he is to figure. With a glad shout they a.s.sent.

"Don't be angry, dragoon," he adds tauntingly. "We may meet again."

For answer _Don Jose_ seeks to rush at him, but some of the smugglers hold him back, while the _Toreador_ leisurely goes his way.

The smugglers make ready to depart again. One of them, however, spies _Micaela_. She is led down. _Don Jose_ is reluctant to comply with her pleas to go away with her. The fact that _Carmen_ urges him to do what the girl says only arouses his jealousy. But when at last _Micaela_ tells him that his mother is dying of a broken heart for him, he makes ready to go.

In the distance _Escamillo_ is heard singing:

"Toreador, on guard e'er be!

Thou shalt read, in her dark eyes, Hopes of victory.

Her love is the prize!"

_Carmen_ listens, as if enraptured, and starts to run after him. _Don Jose_ with bared knife bars the way; then leaves with _Micaela_.

Act IV. A square in Seville. At the back the entrance to the arena. It is the day of the bullfight. The square is animated. Watersellers, others with oranges, fans, and other articles. Chorus. Ballet.

Gay the crowd that fills the square outside the arena where the bullfights are held. It cheers the first strains of music heard as the festival procession approaches, and it shouts and applauds as the various divisions go by and pa.s.s into the arena: "The Aguacil on horseback!"--"The chulos with their pretty little flags!"--"Look! The bandilleros, all clad in green and spangles, and waving the crimson cloths!"--"The picadors with the pointed lances!"--"The cuadrilla of toreros!"--"Now! Vivo, vivo! Escamillo!" And a great shout goes up, as the _Toreador_ enters, with _Carmen_ on his arm.

There is a brief but beautiful duet for _Escamillo_ and _Carmen_, "Si tu m'aimes, Carmen" (If you love me, Carmen), before he goes into the building to make ready for the bullfight, while she waits to be joined by some of the smugglers and gypsies, whom _Escamillo_ has invited to be witnesses, with her, of his prowess.

As the Alcalde crosses the square and enters the arena, and the crowd pours in after him, one of the gypsy girls from the smugglers' band whispers to _Carmen_:

"If you value your life, Carmen, don't stay here. He is lurking in the crowd and watching you."

"He?--Jose?--I am no coward.--I fear no one.--If he is here, we will have it over with now," she answers, defiantly, motioning to the girl to pa.s.s on into the arena into which the square is rapidly emptying itself. _Carmen_ lingers until she is the only one left, then, with a shrug of contempt, turns to enter--but finds herself facing _Don Jose_, who has slunk out from one of the side streets to intercept her.

"I was told you were here. I was even warned to leave here, because my life was in danger. If the hour has come, well, so be it. But, live or die, yours I shall never be again."

Her speech is abrupt, rapid, but there is no tremor of fear in her voice.

_Don Jose_ is pale and haggard. His eyes are hollow, but they glow with a dangerous light. His plight has pa.s.sed from the pitiable to the desperate stage.

"Carmen," he says hoa.r.s.ely, "leave with me. Begin life over again with me under another sky. I will adore you so, it will make you love me."

"You never can make me love you again. No one can _make_ me do anything. Free I was born, free I die."

The band in the arena strikes up a fanfare. There are loud vivos for _Escamillo_. _Carmen_ starts to rush for the entrance. Driven to the fury of despair, his knife drawn, as it had been when he barred her way in the smugglers' camp, _Don Jose_ confronts her. He laughs grimly.

"The man for whom they are shouting--he is the one for whom you have deserted me!"

"Let me pa.s.s!" is her defiant answer.

"That you may tell him how you have spurned me, and laugh with him over my misery!"

Again the crowd in the arena shouts: "Victory! Victory! Vivo, vivo, Escamillo, the toreador of Granada!"

A cry of triumph escapes _Carmen_.

"You love him!" hisses _Don Jose_.

"Yes, I love him! If I must die for it, I love him! Victory for Escamillo, victory! I go to the victor of the arena!"

She makes a dash for the entrance. Somehow she manages to get past the desperate man who has stood between her and the gates. She reaches the steps, her foot already touches the landing above them, when he overtakes her, and madly plunges his knife into her back. With a shriek heard above the shouts of the crowd within, she staggers, falls, and rolls lifeless down the steps into the square.

The doors of the arena swing open. Acclaiming the prowess of _Escamillo_, out pours the crowd, suddenly to halt, hushed and horror-stricken, at the body of a woman dead at the foot of the steps.