The Dead Men's Song Part 3

IN _the_ OPERATIC FIELD

Did I remark in some preceding breath that Allison is more or less "dippy"

over music? Well, the statement, though made kindly, is severely and unqualifiedly true and whenever there is "big music" in town I can always find him in a front seat where he won't miss a single note. This inherent love of music was what first led him to listen by the hour to Henry Waller at the piano and later into setting words to Waller's big creations. When Philip Sousa was in Louisville five or six years ago and told Allison that the time was ripe to revive "The Ogallallas," which embraced, he said, some of the finest music he had ever heard, I inquired of Waller's whereabouts.

"Heaven knows!" Allison replied, "And I wish I did, too!" Some years prior to that time they had "lost" each other; that is, Allison lost Waller.

Henry Waller was the adopted son of Mrs. Scott Siddons, the English actress and dramatic reader--a famous beauty. He had been an infant prodigy as a pianist, but was overdriven by his father and Mrs. Siddons intervened and bought his freedom. She sent him to Woolwich Academy, the great Royal Artillery and Engineering School of Great Britain, where, curiously enough for a musician, he graduated at the head of his cla.s.s in mathematics.

Waller was a cla.s.s-mate and friend of the ill-fated Prince Imperial of France, killed by the Zulus, and afterwards spent three years in Franz Liszt's house as the master's pupil. Strangely enough, too, Waller's piano performances on the stage were almost mediocre, but to private audiences of those known to be appreciative, he was a tireless marvel. Allison was a frequent visitor at Waller's quarters and here his idea germinated for an American opera. At that time he had no intention of writing the libretto but, after outlining the plot, at Waller's urgent request he wrote the scenario. Waller was enthused by Allison, the past master in creating enthusiasm, to a point where he had entered into its spirit and was composing great accompanying music, so there was nothing left for him but to complete the job. While they worked together the mode of procedure was about this: Allison would sketch out an idea and raise Waller to a seventh heaven over some dramatic scene until he struck fire and evolved its musical conception. Whereupon Allison would fit words to the music. So "The Ogallallas" was completed, submitted to The Bostonians, accepted at once, rehea.r.s.ed in New York, Was.h.i.+ngton and Chicago, making its first public bow at the Columbia Theatre in the latter city in 1893, where I heard it. The plot is simple enough and is all worked out in the opening conversation of the "Scouts" while waiting for their leader. Here it is:

_Joe._ So, then, you know all about this errand of ours?

_Wickliffe._ As much as you do. I know that General Belcher sent a messenger, asking Deadshot to provide a safe escort for Professor Andover, of Boston, and a party of ladies, to Lone Star Ranch.

Andover declined a military escort, but Belcher, notwithstanding the country is quiet, wants us to see them safely through.

_Joe._ Yes, that's it; but who are Professor Andover and his party?

_Wickliffe._ Boston people; with a mission to regenerate the world, Indians especially.

_Joe._ Well, I should think Deadshot would like his errand. He is a Boston man I've always understood.

_Wickliffe._ Yes. He came out here with me ten years ago, just out of college, rich, adventurous and restless. City life was too tame for Arthur Cambridge. You know how he took to the life of a scout, and now, under the name of Captain Deadshot, he is the most famous Indian fighter and scout on the plains.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _t.i.tle Page, Book of "The Ogallallas"_]

Imagination could finish the story, but the old, old Beadle Dime Novel of the Scout, the Girl and the Redskins--capture, threatened death, beautiful Indian maidens, villain, hero, heroine and rescue, "You set fire to the girl and I'll take care of the house"--excellently executed in dialogue and verse, briefly represent the whole thing. The cast of characters in the first night's production, February 16, 1893, which was widely reviewed and complimented by the critics in next day's Chicago dailies, was as follows:

CAST OF CHARACTERS.

Arthur Cambridge, known as Captain Deadshot Tom Karl Professor Andover, a philanthropist H. C. Barnabee War Cloud, chief of the Ogallallas W. H. McDonald Cardenas, a Mexican bandit Eugene Cowles Mississinewa, medicine man of Ogallallas George Frothingham Wickliffe } { Peter Lang Buckskin Joe } Scouts { Clem Herschel Commander United States forces W. A. Howland Edith, niece and ward of Professor Andover Camille D'Arville Minnetoa, an Indian girl Flora Finlayson Miss Hepzibah Small, Edith's governess Josephine Bartlett Kate, friend of Edith Lillian Hawthorne Cosita, a Mexican girl Lola Hawthorne Laura, friend of Edith Georgie Newel

"Bill" MacDonald, the big baritone, as "War Cloud," seized the opportunity of his life. He almost ran away with the piece and anyone ever after, who would say "Ogallallas" could get a conversation out of him that would wind up with "that was the greatest stuff ever written." When costumed and wearing the Chief's head-dress (old-timers may recall having observed it hanging in Harry Ballard's city room of the _Chicago Inter-Ocean_, at Madison and Dearborn) MacDonald boomed out the War Song of the Ogallallas, he scored the big hit of the opera.

WAR SONG OF THE OGALLALLAS.

Great is the warrior of the Ogallallas, Fearless his heart is and great is his glory.

Lighted my war-fires and hill-tops flaming Red to the skies, arouse all my braves.

In the air the swelling war-cry-- In the air that swelling cry-- Wildest sound to combat calling, Swift the onset in the l.u.s.t of war.

Shrill is the cry of the wolf As he howls in the moonlight, Shrill is the sound of the war-cry-- Ogallalla! Ogallalla!

Lo! where the warriors, trailing their lances, Sweep o'er the plain upon resistless steeds!

There, on the trail, vengeance is launching Swift as the arrow upon the hated foe.

In their hearts the whispered war-cry-- In their hearts that wailing cry.

Low the sound of vengeance breathing.

Ride they boldly in the thrill of war.

Low is the cry of the bird As he chants in the moonlight, Low is the sound of the war-cry-- Ogallalla! Ogallalla!

Great are the warriors of the Ogallallas!

Strong of arm and fearless of danger, Where wait the foemen-- Warriors will meet them where the white sun Is burning on the plain.

In the air resounds the war-cry-- In the air resounds that cry.

Wildest sound to combat calling, Bold the onset of the warriors charge.

Shrill is the cry of the wolf As he howls in the moonlight, Shrill is the sound of the war-cry-- Ogallalla! Ogallalla!

Mr. Barnabee (Professor Andover--dignified, staid and circ.u.mscribed; a misogynist if there ever was one) took huge delight in accentuating the satire of his character's advice to the bevy of school girls in his charge to--

BEWARE OF LOVE.

Whoever heard of Homer making sonnets to an eye-brow?

Or Aristotle singing to a maiden with his lute?

Imagine wise old Plato, with his pale and ma.s.sive high-brow.

Wrinkling it by thinking how his love he'd prosecute; Do you think Professor Aga.s.siz learned all he knew by sighing?

Or that Mr. Herbert Spencer thought out ethics at a ball?

If our own lamented Emerson of love had been a-dying, We never should have heard of his philosophy at all.

Can love teach youthful maidens anything at all of Botany?

Or Mathematics cause a thrill erotic in the heart?

Will flirting give a lady brains--if she hasn't got any?-- Or solve the esoteric problems hid in Ray's Third Part?

You may lose yourself completely in pursuing Etiology, Or safely throw yourself away upon a Cubic Rule; But nowhere else in nature will you find such useless "ology,"

As in a man who's dead in love and makes himself a fool.

Quite in contrast, is the delicate little waltz song of Edith's (Camille D'Arville) in which the ring of the blue bells sounds the gladsomeness of springtime and the intoxication of love.

THE BREATH OF MAY.

Ah! The breath of May!

Never was wine Half so divine; Never the air As fresh or as fair.

Ah! Delight of May!

When every bud Upon the tree Lays bare its heart To every bee.

Ah! The breath of May.

Glowing suns.h.i.+ne everywhere Flings a gleaming, golden snare-- Flowers here-- And there-- Are blowing in May air.

Ah! The joy of May!

When to the heart Love doth impart All the delight Love can excite.

Ah! The joy of Spring!

When every bird Hath found its mate, And every heart Hath had its sate.

Ah! Love is King!

Love and music everywhere, Weaving rapture's joyous snare, Love is here-- Is there-- Is wafted on May air.

Ah! The song of May!

How every trill Makes hearts to thrill, And every note's Aleap in our throats.

Ah! Sweet lay of love!