on, get on," the Devil cried. "It is thy Marguerite we are hastening to," and the poor peasants scattered in every direction, some being trampled upon and little children hurt.
"Horrible, horrible," Faust cried. "What is that monster pursuing us?" he whispered, glancing fearfully behind him.
"Ye are dreaming."
"Nay! and there are hideous birds of prey now joining us. They rush upon us. What screams? Their black wings strike me." And then a bell tolled.
"Hark ye! It is the bell for her death. Hasten," the Devil urged.
"Aye, make haste, make haste." And the horses, black as night, were urged on and on. "See those ghastly skeletons dancing!" Faust screamed, as the fearful spectres gathered round them.
"Think not of them, but of our Marguerite!" the Devil counselled.
"Our horses' manes are bristling. They tremble, the earth rocks wildly. I hear the thunders roar, it is raining blood," Faust shrieked. Then the Devil shouted:
"Ah! Ye slaves of Hell, your trumpets blow. I come triumphant. This man is mine!" And as he spoke, the two riders fell headlong into the abyss of Hell.
Then all the fiends of Hell began to sing wildly. The scene was one of damnation.
Then, grandly above Hell's din rose a mighty chorus. It was a heavenly strain. Marguerite had not been spared the horror of execution; but dead, the saints forgave her. In Heaven, as her soul ascended, they sang:
"Ascend, O trusting spirit! It was love which misled thee. Come, let us wipe away thy tears. Come, come, and dwell forever among the blest."
And thus Faust met his end, and Marguerite her reward for faith and innocence.
BIZET
WHEN Bizet wrote his music around Prosper Mérimée's story of Carmen, he reflected his familiarity with Spanish life and his long living in the Pyrenees mountains. The character of Michaela is not found in the novel, but the clever introduction of it into the opera story adds greatly to dramatic effect, since the gentle and loving character is in strong contrast with that of Carmen.
Bizet's name was Alexandre César Léopold, and he was born on October 25, 1838, at Bougival, and died June 3, 1875. He with Charles Lécocq won the Offenbach prize for the best operetta while Bizet was as yet a youth, and from that time his art gained in strength and beauty. In those days it was a reproach to suggest Wagner in musical composition, but Bizet was accused of doing so. Thus he was handicapped by leaning toward an unpopular school at the very start, but the great beauty of his productions made their way in spite of all. He wrote, as his second composition of importance, an opera around the novel of Scott's Fair Maid of Perth – in French, La Jolie Fille de Perth – and this was not a success, but that same opera survives through his Carmen. The Bohemian dance in that opera was taken from it and interpolated into the fourth act of Carmen.
Bizet died only three months after the production of this last opera, but he had lived long enough to know that he had become one of the world's great composers. He wrote exquisite pastoral music for "l'Arlésienne" – whose story was adapted from Daudet's novel of that name. In short, Bizet was the pioneer in a new school of French opera, doing for it in a less measure what Wagner has finally done for the whole world.
This genius left few anecdotes or personal reminiscences behind him. The glory of his compositions alone seems to stand for his existence.
CARMEN
A guide.
Dragoons, gypsies, smugglers, cigarette-girls, street-boys, etc.
The time of the story is 1820, and it takes place in and near Seville.
Composer: Georges Bizet.
Book: H. Meilhac and L. Halévy.
First sung at the Opéra Comique, Paris, March 3, 1875.
I knew a boy who once said: "That soldier thing in 'Carmen' is the most awful bully thing to whistle a fellow ever heard; but if you don't get it just right, it doesn't sound like anything," which was a mistake, because if you don't get it "just right" it sounds something awful. That boy's whistle was twenty per cent. better than his syntax, but his judgment about music was pretty good, and we shall have the soldier song in the very beginning, even before learning how it happens, because it is the thing we are likely to recall, in a shadowy sort of way, throughout the first act:
[Listen]
With the guard on duty going
Marching onward, here we are!
Sound, trumpets merrily blowing!
Ta ra ta ta ta ra ta ta.
On we tramp, alert and ready,
Like young soldiers ev'ry one; —
Heads up and footfall steady,
Left! right! we're marching on!
See how straight our shoulders are,
Ev'ry breast is swell'd with pride,
Our arms all regular
Hanging down on either side.
With the guard on duty going,
Marching onward, here we are!
Sound, trumpets merrily blowing,
Ta ra ta ta ta ra ta ta!
That is the way it goes, and this is the way it happens:
Once upon a time there was a pretty girl named Michaela, and she was as good as she was beautiful. She loved a corporal in the Spanish army whose name was Don José. Now the corporal was a fairly good chap, but he had been born thoughtless, and as a matter of fact he had lived away from home for so long that he had half-forgotten his old mother who lived a lonely life with Michaela.
One day, about noontime, the guard, waiting to be relieved by their comrades, were on duty near the guard-house, which was situated in a public square of Seville. As the soldiers sat about, or walked with muskets over shoulders, their service was not especially wearisome, because people were continually passing through the square, and besides there was a cigarette factory on the other side of the square, and when the factory hands tumbled out, about noon, there was plenty of carousing and gaiety for an hour. Here in the square were little donkeys with tinkling bells upon them, and donkeys carrying packs upon their backs, and gentlemen in black velvet cloaks which were thrown artistically over one shoulder, and with plumes on their hats. Then, too, there were ragged folks who looked rather well, nevertheless, since their rags were Spanish rags, and made a fine show of bright colours.
Just as Morales, the officer of the guard, was finding the hot morning rather slow, and wishing the factory bell would ring, and his brother officer march his men in to relieve him, Michaela appeared. She had come into the city from the home of José's mother, which was somewhere near, in the hills. His old mother had become so lonely and worried, not having heard from José for so long, that at last the girl had undertaken to come down into the city, bearing a note from his mother, and to seek him out at his barracks. She had inquired her way till she found the square where the guard was quartered,
