Story so tender, Old and gray; Yet sing again Love's roundelay-- Ah! Love is King!

In greater contrast is the roystering drinking song of Cardenas, the Mexican bandit, who was characterized by Eugene Cowles without in any way overdoing a part easily overdone.

CARE'S THE KING OF ALL.

Oh, care's the King of all-- A King who doth appal; But shall we who love delight bow before him?

Or raise revolting cry-- Proclaiming pleasure high, Declare it treason if good men dare adore him?

And to this design We'll pledge in good wine; Come all and drink and laugh tonight; We'll clink and we'll drink, Nor stop to sigh or think-- Come all with me who love delight.

Away, away with care; Come on, come all who dare With me to banish care in joyous drinking.

The night's for pleasure bought, The day alone for thought-- Let all begone who would annoy us thinking.

Then come while above The stars wink at love-- Come all and drink and laugh tonight.

We'll clink and we'll drink, Nor stop to sigh or think-- Come on with me who love delight.

Jessie Bartlett Davis was cast for "Minnetoa, an Indian Girl," but didn't take the part until Flora Finlayson had made a hit and even then she wanted certain changes made in the finale, which Waller refused.

Well, "The Ogallallas" deserved a better fate and probably would have been a go, if there had been tenors enough to carry Waller's big themes. They were really Grand Opera parts and the average--and better than average--tenor could not continue night after night without breaking down.

It was great! Too bad it was so far ahead of the times--and failed.

That was Jinx No. 1.

Allison was everlastingly encouraging Waller to musical creations by exciting his imagination with suggestions and in the end writing the story, although he tried faithfully to find a librettist who, he too modestly believed, might do better work than he. In the end, however, each of the children of his brain came back to its creator. The fact was that Waller couldn't or wouldn't work with others. So was conceived "Brother Francesco," an opera set in a monastery in Italy during the Seventeenth Century, and bringing up a vivid picture of monks, medieval chapels--dark, ma.s.sive and severe--and the dank scent of deep tragedy. There were but four main characters, a quartette of voices, in "Brother Francesco," which was in one act of about an hour and ten minutes, the whole story unravelling itself in the public chapel between the ringing of the church bell and the conclusion of the ma.s.s of the Benediction of the Holy Virgin. The altar lights have not been lit. Enter Francesco, a novice, to light them. A candle flashes on the altar; then another--and the tale unfolds. Francesco, sorrowing over his lost love, Maria, observes the Father Confessor enter the Confessional and, reminded of his too worldly thoughts, kneels and sings an aria, "The Confession," in which the tragedy of his life is revealed.

THE CONFESSION.

All my sins confessing humbly, oh, my father-- All my thoughts are ever of my lost Maria.

Wondrously fair and so pure was she Whom I loved ere my heart was dead-- When love yet thrilled with tender mystery.

Ah, her face! I see it ever--waking, dreaming, Hear her voice in cadence tender, softly speaking.

Pure was the love that from heaven above Filled my heart with its ardent flame And blowed with pa.s.sion's thrilling mystery.

Our fathers were at strife And we were kept apart.

I told Lucretia all and Bade her pour my love Into Maria's breast.

I waited long and then She said Maria--false To me--was pledged to wed Another that she loved.

That cruel message, father, broke my heart.

It was not long until I saw Lucretia's heart--that she could love Where false Maria failed. And so In sympathy we two were wed.

The vows had scarce been said-- Aye, on the church's steps--a messenger Did crush a letter in my hand.

'Twas but a line, but at the end-- Oh G.o.d in Heaven! Maria's name.

"I hear that thou art false," it said, "But I cannot believe "That one who loved as thou didst "Could fail me or deceive."

Ah! suspicion, like a lightning flash, Transfixed me and I held The paper to Lucretia's face And bade her read and tell me all.

Upon her knees she fell and whined That she had loved me too, and had Deceived me of Maria's heart--Ah! G.o.d!

In that d.a.m.ned moment's rage I struck her as she knelt--to kill!

The wedding guests did drag me off And take the knife away. But, Ah!

There was one stain of blood it bore, Where, as I struck, it slashed across The dark and faithless cheek of her And left it scarred for life. Scarred!

When I had meant to kill.

All that night I lingered, watching 'neath her window-- Saw once more the haunting face of my Maria-- Saw her once more--I can see her still!-- Fled away and am buried here In G.o.d's own house and all unchastened yet.

In very irony, it would seem, to the simplicity of his nature, the outpourings of the novitiate's sorrowing heart have been confessed to his wife, the scarred-faced Lucretia, who inhabits the monastery in the guise of the Father Confessor (not an unknown historical fact) thus in its very inception lending an intense dramatic effect to the story. Now, at the ringing of the bell, the villagers enter the public loft, Maria--his lost love--in the foreground unrecognized either by Francesco or Lucretia, singing an "Ave Maria:"

Ave Maria, Mother of Mercy, Thou art our hope, and our sweetness and life.

Pray for Francesco, Oh, watch o'er his footsteps; Turn on his sorrow thine eyes sweet and tender.

At thy dear feet anguished I fall To pray for him-- For oh! somewhere he's wandering, Sorrow enduring.

Pray for him Mother, oh watch o'er his footsteps.

Lost, lost to me, yet so dear to me-- Pray for him, oh Mother dear.

Ave Maria! Hope of the hopeless!

To thy sweet mercy in anguish I cry-- Pray for Francesco, my own, my beloved-- Pray for him Mother, oh pray for Francesco.

Lost, lost to me--oh! loved and lost!

Oh Mother dear pray for him.

Again the bell rings and the monks pa.s.s before the altar with genuflections and sink in their stalls in prayer, while a male chorus chants the Office of the Benediction. During the singing of the anthem, Francesco enters with cowl thrown back and a lighted taper in his hand. He is recognized by Maria and at her exclamations starts to her but is restrained by the Father Confessor now disclosed to him for the first time as his discarded wife.

After a trio of great dramatic force, Francesco seizes a dagger drawn by Lucretia to kill him, and stabbing himself, expires in Maria's arms, while Lucretia, still disguised as the Father Confessor, takes back her place unnoticed among the monks who hold their crosses in horror against the suicide!

Waller wrote the entire service in imitation of the sombre Gregorian Ma.s.s, and then over the face of this dark background sketched in modern pa.s.sionate music the lyrical and dramatic lightning of the action. This wonderful conception, both in idea, words and music, was "pa.s.sed by censors" of the church--that is, Archbishop Corrigan and the Archbishop of Paris both said that while they did not approve of representations of the Church on the stage, it had been done before, and would no doubt be done again. Otherwise there was nothing objectionable in it.

Yet when it was produced in Berlin at the Royal Opera, under the wing of Emperor William, even though horribly mutilated by the Public Censor, the Catholic party, (aided and abetted by the musical cabal that has always existed in Berlin), made it the cause of protests against the German Government and Jinx No. 2 came to life in riotous uprisings against it during its three performances. Whereupon it was withdrawn. These simple facts are gleaned from Mr. Waller's descriptive letters. Jean de Reszke thought so well of "Brother Francesco" that he proposed--nay promised--to have it produced at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. But the old Jinx proceeded to put his No. 3 seal on de Reszke's voice that year, and he and the opera were heard from no more under the proscenium arch.

Then there was "The Mouse and the Garter," a travesty on Grand Opera in two acts that Clarence Andrews was to produce at the opening of the Waldorf-Astoria ballroom-theater. Many has been the pleasurable moment I have had in examining the old "prompt book" in use during rehearsals, for the company was picked, the scenery modeled, the costumes made and the "fancy," as Allison called it, ready to be staged, when Oscar Hammerstein, who had a contract with Andrews to transfer successes to the old Victoria Theater, blew up in one of his bankruptcies. The Jinx was again monarch of all he surveyed--and Monte-Cristo-like held up four fingers! That old "prompt book" mentioned shows the wear and tear of much use and is filled with odd notes in Allison's characteristic handwriting. No less interesting were the "Librettist's Notes on Characters in the Opera and the Business,"

dated October 21, 1897, and taken from an old letter-press copy that turned up in our archives. There we find that--

The general tone of the performance is to be light, gay, rapid, suggestive and delicate--without a trace of the license of current musical farce. The suggestiveness must naturally arise from the innocent freedom of village life. The whole idea is a travesty of sentimental grand opera, the vocal characters being transposed so far as their fate and actions are concerned.

Good stuff! And who were these innocent villagers? Well, there was Tenor Robusto, in love with Soprano and fated to be left at the post; Tenor Di Grazia, his twin brother; Giovanni Baritono, a Soldier of Fortune; Piccolo, an innkeeper; Fra Tonerero Ba.s.so, a priest; Signorina Prima Soprano, a bar maid; Signorina Mezzo, also a bar maid, and Signora Contralto, Piccolo's wife, besides villagers, eight topers, musicians, five couples of rustic brides and grooms, and a dancing bear and his keeper. Let us not forget the mythical mouse and the ribbon from which The Garters were made, though neither appears among the "properties" scheduled by Allison.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Page from the old Prompt Book "The Mouse and the Garter"_]

Robusto and Soprano flirted. He gave her a ribbon and she promised to marry him. Just a bluff! And then he wanted his ribbon back, but she had already made it into garters, and when he tried to take them by force she boxed him smartly. He got fussy, drank a gallon of gooseberry wine, smoked two cigarettes and making out that he was a great bounder, threatened her with sudden death. Great dialogue! He would have gone to war, only there was no war at the time and anyway his "mother wouldn't let him"--the topical number. After smacking Robusto good and plenty before all the villagers, Soprano, who seems to know how to take care of herself, swears that she'll marry no one unless he has the wit "to get--that! And this!"--the garters.

Baritono, Soldier of Fortune, comes on the scene. Lots more bully dialogue and song and then Baritono hears of Soprano's oath. It's easy for him and he bides his time--you always have to bide your time--to indicate a point behind Soprano, when she is in a wholly unsuspecting mood, and shout "Ha! A mouse!! A mouse!!!" Village maidens scream and scatter. Soprano, skirts to knees, hurdles into a chair, while Baritono deftly seizes the loose ends of the now visible "lover-knots" and holds aloft the precious talismen.

Wedding. Finis!

But the Jinx got it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A PIRATICAL BALLAD SONG FOR Ba.s.s OR DEEP BARITONE WORDS BY YOUNG E. ALLISON.

MUSIC BY HENRY WALLER.]