1960s

The logic of his statement had no effect until after a visit to Paris in 1867, when Strauss, after much pressure from his wife and friends, at last wrote Die Lustiger Welber von Wien. Unfortunately Strauss could not obtain the services of the leading lady he thought necessary to the production and the project was dropped. The world now waited until 1871 when Indigo und die vierzig Riluber was produced at the Theater an der Wien. It has a weak libretto, an Offenbach inspired score with only one Strauss waltz, but nevertheless attracted considerable attention. Der Karneval in Rom followed in 1873 and got contemporary approval, later to be forgotten.

The real truth of Offenbach’s prophecy came to light with Die Fledermaus, which was produced at the Theater an der Wien on April 5, 1874. With the exception of Der ligeuner-baron (1885) this was the best libretto that Strauss was ever to get in a long history of operetta writing, and he rose to the occasion with some of his most sparkling music. The original plot was born in a German comedy, Das Gefangnis, which was first turned into a Parisian vaudeville called Le Reveillon by Meilhac and Halevy and finally into Die Fledermaus by Richard Genee (also a composer of some standing) and Karl Haffner.

The Viennese cast included the celebrated Marie Geistinger as Rosalinde and it seems incredible that anything so vivaciously alive as Die Fledermaus could possibly fall flat. But perhaps the time was hardly propitious. 1873 had seen a great financial slump in Vienna, a depression that spread all over Europe, and there was much poverty and ill-feeling about. The champagne frivolities of Die Fledermaus were perhaps ill-timed. It managed 16 performances and then expired.

Put on in Paris, a city nurtured on the frivolities of Offenbach, it was an immediate success ; and even wilder acclaim followed in Berlin in June, 1874. The Viennese supporters, duly chastened, slipped Die Fledermaus back into the Theater an der Wien in September, and the public at last took this home product to its heart. It was a great success for Marie Geistinger, star of La belle Hélene and a director of the Viennese theatre; and a chapter of immortality for Strauss. The old hack, Karl Haffner, the bright young man, Richard Genee, and the waltz-king, between them, had triumphed.

The overture to Die Fledermaus is a sparkling potpourri made up of some of the operetta’s best tunes, an exhilarating portent of the rich entertainment to come. The curtain rises on the drawing-room of the house where the rich Gabriel von Eisenstein lives with his beautiful young wife Rosalinde. The first voice we hear is that of one Alfred, a professional singer and teacher, serenading the fair Rosalinde from outside the window, “Taubchen, das entflattert ist”, recalling their past amours. His efforts fall on unheeding ears, as the only person in the room is Adele the maid who is pre-occupied by a letter from her sister which suggests that she borrows some of her mistress’s clothes and comes to the grand ball to be held by Prince Orlofsky that evening. The singing at last intruding on her thoughts, she opens the window to shoo him away, Rosalinde entering just in time to remind Alfred that she is now a married woman – but she leaves a future meeting an open prospect, however. Adele now concocts a story of a sick aunt and asks for the evening off. The plans are only slightly complicated by the fact that Eisenstein is to go to prison for eight days, that very evening, a five-day sentence having been increased by the blunderings of his incompetent lawyer, Dr. Blind. This involves some heated discussion between Blind, Rosalinde and Eisenstein “Nein, mit solchen Advokaten”. However, his friend, Dr. Falke, appears and suggests secretly to Eisenstein that he should at least enjoy himself at the ball that evening under the name of Marquis Renard ; Dr. Falke has a spiteful little plan in mind. They imagine the gay time they are going to have – “Ein Souper uns heute winkt”. Rosalinde sees a chance also to have a gay time with her old flame Alfred but now has to pretend great sorrow at her husband’s imprisonment; Adele is covering up her own little plans with sorrow for her fictitious aunt; and Eisenstein thinks of the good time he will have. Each bemoans their fate while anticipating the evening in the famous “So muss allein ich bleiben” with its accelerating refrain “o je, o je, wie ruhrt mich dies”.

As Eisenstein and Adele depart, Alfred is quickly upon the scene. He dons the husband’s dressing-gown and fez and they merrily drink together for old time’s sake – “Glucklich ist, wer vergisst”. The prison governor arrives and discovers this situation ; so they have to pretend that Alfred really is Rosalinde’s husband —” Mein Herr, was dachten Sie von mir “. The governor advocates the joys of a cell, ” Mein schemes, grosses Voglehaus “, and the unfortunate man is taken off to prison.

The second act, in the ballroom, finds Prince Orlofsky extremely bored by it all. Falke enters and promises him some entertainment. In return for a prank Eisenstein once played on him, leaving him after a fancy-dress ball dressed as a bat in a drunken sleep by the road, to wander home in much ridicule in broad daylight – ever after to be known as Dr. Bat – he has contrived the Bat’s revenge. He has sent a note to Rosalinde suggesting she comes to the ball in disguise to see what her husband is up to. Orlofsky enters the spirit of the thing and declares he likes to see people enjoying themselves – “Ich lade gem mir Gaste ein” – “chacun a son gout”. Eisenstein, introduced as the French Marquis, is shattered to bump into his wife’s maid Adele, dressed in his wife’s clothes. Adele is equally surprised to find him there, imagining him in prison, but remains composed calling herself Fraulein Olga. She pretends to be indignant at being taken for a lady’s maid – ” Min Herr Marquis”. The next arrival is the prison governor, who should not be there either, disguised as the Chevalier Chagrin. He takes Adele for a grand lady and makes passes. Rosalinde enters, disguised by a mask as a mysterious Hungarian countess. Eisenstein, ever the one for a conquest, thinks that here is an easy one. Rosalinde decides to play him along, secretly most annoyed at his deception “Wie er gieret, kokettieret”. Eisenstein takes out his chiming-watch, always a fascinating weapon in affairs of this sort, and Rosalinde decides she must get hold of it for evidence. She swoons and asks Eisenstein to check her pulse, which he does rather un-successfully – and she manages to take the watch from him. Adele now challenges Rosalinde to take off her mask, Orlofsky enjoying the joke supports Rosalinde, and Rosalinde declares her true Hungarian birth in ” Klange der Heimat “. Eisen-stein, poor fish, tells once more the story of the bat episode, boasting that he has been too clever for Falke to get revenge. “We’ll see,” says Falke. They all sit down to dinner and Orlofsky praises the wine – “Im Feuerstrom der Reben” and Falke exhorts that they all be one big, happy family – “Briiderlein und Schwesterlein . . . Dui-du!”. All anxiously watch the clock as it strikes six – remembering their various appointments.

In the prison, the third act finds Alfred singing in his cell attended by a very intoxicated warder. Frank, the prison governor, now staggers in and is revived by a cup of coffee. No sooner is he asleep than Adele and her friend arrive looking for the Chevalier Chagrin to confess that Adele is only an un-sophisticated lady’s maid “Speil ‘ich die Unschild vom Lande”. Next the phony Marquis comes, Eisenstein arriving to give himself up. Adele and her friend are hidden away. Frank explains he is the prison governor, but when Eisenstein tells who he is, says he can’t be as he arrested him last night. Dr. Blind arrives, and while Frank goes for the prisoner Eisenstein takes Blind’s coat, wig and spectacles and disguises himself as the lawyer, pushing Blind out of the way. Enter Alfred in Eisenstein’s dressing-gown. At this moment Rosalinde comes in, heavily veiled. The deceptions and Falke’s joke are all revealed after much confusion and heart-searching, with Eisenstein eventually coming off worse. “O Fledermaus”, they all beg, say it was all a joke. In the end, as no one was without some disgrace, they decide that the champagne was to blame, ” Champagner hat’s verschuldet “, and under its lingering influence all differences are settled and Eisenstein and his Rosalinde reunited.

PETER GAMMOND

It took Smetana five years (1874-79) to complete Má Vlast, and his purpose was simple: he wished to exalt his country, then under Austrian rule. He dedicated his symphonic cycle to the city of Prague, and he selected as the subjects for its six tone poems the various historic and geographic sites which symbolized some aspect of his nation’s greatness. The second of these was the river Moldau, and Smetana himself has left us a graphic description of what he meant to depict in this tonal portrait:

Two springs pour forth in the shade of the Bohemian forest, the one warm and gushing, the other cold and tranquil. Their waves, joyfully flowing over their rocky beds, unite and sparkle in the morning sun. The forest brook, rushing on, becomes the River Moldau, which, with its waters speeding through Bohemia’s valleys, grows into a mighty stream. It flows through dense woods from which come the joyous sounds of the chase, and the notes of the hunter’s horn are heard ever nearer and nearer.
It flows through emerald meadows and lowlands, where a wedding feast is being celebrated with song and dancing. At night, in its shining waves, wood and water nymphs hold their revels, and in these waves are reflected many a fortress and castle—witnesses of bygone splendour of chivalry, and the vanished martial fame of days that are no more. At the Rapids of St. John the stream speeds on, winding its way through cataracts and hewing the path for its foaming water through the rocky chasm into the broad river bed, in which it flows on in majestic calm toward Prague, welcomed by the time-honoured Vysherad [the citadel], to disappear in the far distance from the poet’s gaze.

The music illustrates this programme with admirable clarity and beautiful colours. Flutes depict the first gushing spring, clarinets the second. The flowing Moldau theme first appears in the strings; it gives way temporarily to the romantic sounds of a hunt (horns and trumpets), and to the rhythms of a polka, indicating a rustic wedding on the shores. There are suggestions of moonlight on the waters (muted strings, embellished by woodwinds and harp), and then, after the Moldau theme is briefly restated, the river courses through the turbulent rapids. Finally, the Moldau theme takes command in its full majesty as the mountain stream becomes a mighty river flowing past the citadel Vysherad, reflecting in its waters the glories of a great people, and then receding into the distance, with two decisive chords signalling an end to the work.
The Moldau theme itself is a stroke of genius. Few melodies could suggest a river more vividly than this flowing, rolling music, whose very phrases lead into one another with a constant forward surge. It is music of majestic spirit, tinged ever so slightly with sadness (its first appearance is in a minor key), and somehow having the flavour of a folk song. Oddly enough, the Central European folk melody which served as Smetana’s inspiration for this work was later adapted as the Zionist hymn Hatikvah (The Hope) and eventually became the national anthem of Israel. Thus, The Moldau, in a way Smetana never dreamed of, became an expression of the unconquerableness of the human spirit.

Just as The Moldau is Smetana’s greatest symphonic work, so The Bartered Bride is his operatic masterpiece. Stage performances of this bubbling rustic comedy have increased in recent years, but audiences continue to know the work chiefly through the Overture and Three Dances which typify its gay’ and cheerful spirit. The Overture ranks with Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro Overture as a pure distillation of comedy into music. It is compounded principally of material from the Act II Finale of the opera, and is one of those pieces that make thematic analysis seem superfluous and pretentious. The Three Dances are a Polka, a Furiant, and the Dance of the Comedians. All stem from the colourful stage action, the Polka occurring at the climax of Act I, when a group of Bohemian villagers stage an impromptu dance, and the Furiant at the outset of Act II, following a joyous chorus in praise of beer – “a heavenly gift, which drowns all trouble.” The final dance takes place where a circus troupe arrives on the scene and performs a pantomime act.

Antonin Dvořák succeeded Smetana as Bohemia’s leading composer and won even wider acclaim abroad. His Slavonic Dances, which first made his name known in his own country and beyond, were written both in two-piano and orchestral versions.

The Carnival Overture, written in 1891, has remained one of his most popular compositions. It originally was part of a symphonic work which Dvořák took with him on his visit to the United States in 1892, and which he conducted at his debut concert in New York’s Carnegie Hall. This tripartite work was entitled Triple Overture: Nature, Life, Love.

Subsequently, the parts were separated, and the Life portion was published under the title Carnival. Never noted for its subtlety, Carnival’s spirited Slavonic measures provide a rousing picture of mirth and merriment. Dvořák once said that this work was meant to depict the feelings of “a lonely, contemplative wanderer reaching a city at twilight when a carnival is in full sway. On every side is heard the clangour of instruments mingled with shouts of joy and unrestrained hilarity of the people giving vent to their feelings in songs and dance tunes.” A quieter middle section, full of murmurings of winds and strings, suggests that, even during the revelry, there is a passing moment for pastoral romance. The Carnival Overture remains in our day, no less than in Dvořák’s, a brilliant and exciting orchestra showpiece.

Band 2 – Avec la garde montante After a while, we hear in the distance the relief guard approaching. They enter, preceded by two buglers and two fifers; then come Lieutenant Zuniga and Corporal Jose, then a group of excited urchins who burlesque their movements and sing a chorus in shrill tones (Avec la garde montante, nous arrivons). [The officers confer and the sentries are relieved. Before the old guard has marched off with the urchins still in attendance, we hear the other Corporal, Morales, telling Jose of a pretty girl who has been enquiring for him. Jose guesses that it must be Micaela, the village sweetheart he had left behind at home.]

Band 3 – Mais nous ne voyons pas la Carmencita! La voila! (Entrance of Carmen) .. . L’amour est un oiseau rebelle (Habanera) A crowd of young men have gathered in the square to see the girls from the cigarette factory come out for their morning break ; especially they are eager to see the most famous of them all, La Carmencita, the gypsy. At last the girls come out, parading about smoking their little cigars and flirting with the men. Only Jose is not interested : as a Basque he prefers the fair girls from his native province, and he sits down to make a little chain for his priming pin. Presently Carmen herself appears, a bouquet of Cassia flowers in her corsage and a flower in the corner of her mouth. The men press round her but her eye is upon the one man who is paying no attention to her – Don Jose. Carmen sings, directly `at’ him, the Habanera which Bizet modelled on a Spanish song by Sebastien Yradier. The refrain sums up Carmen’s philosophy – “The god of love is gypsy born and knows no law. If you don’t love me, though I love you, then take care 1”

Band 4 – Pres des remparts de Seville .. . Tais-toi! (Seguidilla and Duet) [Towards the end of the first act Carmen is hauled out of the cigarette factory by Don Jose and two troopers and brought to the military guardroom nearby to answer a charge of stabbing one of her workmates. Her attitude is defiant and on the order of Zuniga, the guard commander, her wrists have been bound while he goes off to write an order for her detention. Carmen then proceeds to exercise her wit and feminine appeal, of which he has already had a taste earlier in the day, upon Don Jose. Told to stop talking,] Carmen proceeds to sing of how she proposes to spend the evening at Lillas Pastia’s tavern on the outskirts of the town, and how she is looking for a new lover to amuse her over the week-end (Seguidilla). Her invitation is perfectly forthright : “who wishes to love me, 1 will love him ! . . . 1 have hardly time to wait for my new lover !” – but she goes on to make it quite clear that it is Jose she has in mind. [Against her fascination he is quite helpless : his resistance soon breaks down before her promises and he loosens her bonds and – as the act ends – allows her to escape.]

ACT II Band 5 – Les tringles des sistres tintaient (Gypsy Song) Two months elapse before the second act, which takes place in the courtyard of Lillas Pastia’s tavern. The scene opens with a gypsy song and dance. Carmen and two other gypsies, Frasquita and Mercedes, are sitting at a table with some officers, Zuniga among them, drinking and smoking. Carmen, watching two dancers, suddenly springs up and begins a vivid commentary, her two friends joining in the refrain (Gypsy Song). The music grows ever faster, ever wilder, reaching a climax of frenzy as all give themselves up to dancing.

SIDE TWO Band 1 – Votre toast (Toreador’s Song) [The proprietor is about to close for the night when a crowd outside is heard acclaiming the matador Escamillo, who enters with his admirers and is toasted by Zuniga.] He responds in the well known couplets, “Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre” (“I wish to return your toast, Senors, for soldiers and bullfighters have an understanding. Fighting is their game”) and goes on with a colourful description of the excitements of the bull-ring. The refrain, already heard in the Prelude to Act I, is marked to be sung avec fatuite, for Bizet is at pains to depict, at Escamillo’s very first entrance, the naïve conceit of this reigning popular idol.

Band 2 – La fleur que to m’avais jetee (Flower Song) [Carmen has remained behind in the tavern alone. She is expecting Jose, of whose release from prison she has heard, and when he arrives greets him rapturously. But almost at once the bugles sounding Retreat are heard and Jose’s anxiety to get back to barracks arouses her contempt. She laughs at his protestations of love.] Then, as this excerpt begins, the theme of Carmen’s fateful fascination is heard in the orchestra, and Jose takes from inside his tunic the faded flower she had so provocatively tossed at him on the occasion of their first meeting. He goes on to tell her what it meant to him in his imprisonment. Though it withered and dried up it always kept its perfume, and sometimes during the long nights brought back memories so painful that he took to cursing her, detesting her for her hold over him. But there always returned the one desire, the one hope, to see her again. “For you had only to appear, 0 my Carmen, to make me yours alone !”

ACT III Band 3 – Carreau! Pique! (Card Scene) [linable to resist Carmen’s fascination, Jose has deserted from his regiment and followed her with the smugglers into the mountains, where they have a cache for their contraband goods. It is evident that Carmen is already tiring of him and she suggests that he should leave them ; obviousiy he has no heart for a smuggler’s life. The thought of separation from her maddens Jose and Carmen divines that he is capable of murder. This she accepts philosophic-ally : “well, after all, Fate is our master,” she says. Meanwhile Mercedes and Frasquita have settled down to tell their fortunes with a pack of cards.] Carmen joins them and moves the cards to her side of the table and turns up first a diamond, then a spade – Death ! “It is useless,” she sings, “to shuffle the cards in the hope of avoiding unpleasant answers – the cards do not lie !” and again she turns up the cards of death. This sombre air in F minor is the supreme moment in Bizet’s portrayal of Carmen’s character, revealing the smouldering depths in her nature underlying her irresponsibility and lack of any moral sense.

Band 4 – C’est des contrabandlers le refuge ordinaire . . . Je dis que den ne neepouvante (Micaela’s Air) [Presently Micaela appears, guided to this remote place by a peasant from the valley.] When he has gone, we learn from her air, Je dis que rlen ne m’epouvante, that the intrepid girl has come to try to rescue Jose from the wiles of “that woman” who has turned him into a criminal. She prays to God for strength.

ACT IV Band 5 – Les void! [The curtain rises on Act IV to reveal the crowds streaming into the bullring, while the sellers of fruit and fans, wine, water and tobacco hawking their wares lend colour and animation to the scene.] Presently (as this excerpt begins) the march of the Prelude is heard, while the children cry out “Here they come !” (Les void !) The procession of the bull-fighters in their picturesque costumes passes by to the accompaniment of excited comments from the crowd ; first the Toreros with their lances, then authority represented by the Alguazil who is greeted with derision, then the Chulos (assistants to the Toreros) and the Bandilleros. Last come the Picadors followed – to the tune of the Toreador’s Song – by the matador Escamillo himself with Carmen, radiant in a sumptuous dress, leaning on his arm. [From here, after Escamillo’s entry into the ring, it is not far to the final climax of the tragedy, with Jose, who has been lurking in the crowd, confronting Carmen and in an uncontrollable fit of jealousy stabbing her to death.]

From a note by DYNELEY HUSSEY. Note © Dyneley Hussey, 1960