The Standard Operas Part 16

Joyously Siegfried rushes on over the rocks. He is soon bathed in the glow of the fire, which casts weird shadows through the wild glen. Now the burning wall of red flames is before him. With a ringing cry of exultation he dashes through them, and before him lies the sleeping maiden in her glistening armor. Mad with her beauty and his own overpowering pa.s.sion, he springs to her side and wakes her with a kiss. The Volsung and the Valkyr gaze at each other a long time in silence. Brunnhilde strives to comprehend her situation, and to recall the events that led up to her penalty, while love grows within her for the hero who has rescued her, and Siegfried is transfixed by the majesty of the maiden. As she comes to herself and fully realizes who is the hero before her and foresees the approaching doom, she earnestly appeals to him:--

"Leave, ah, leave, Leave me unlost, Force on me not Thy fiery nearness.

s.h.i.+ver me not With thy shattering will, And lay me not waste in thy love."

What is preordained cannot be changed. Siegfried replies with growing pa.s.sion, and Brunnhilde at last yields, and the two join in an outburst of exultant song:--

"Away, Walhalla, In dust crumble Thy myriad towers.

Farewell, greatness, And gift of the G.o.ds.

You, Norns, unravel The rope of runes.

Darken upwards, Dusk of the G.o.ds.

Night of annulment, Draw near with thy cloud.

I stand in sight Of Siegfried's star.

For me he was, And for me he will ever be."

With this great duet, which is one of the most extraordinary numbers in the trilogy for dramatic power and musical expression of human emotion, this division closes.

DIE GoTTERDaMMERUNG.

The last division of the tragedy opens under the shade of a huge ash-tree where the three Fates sit spinning and weaving out human destinies. As they toss their thread from one to the other,--the thread they have been spinning since time began,--they foresee the gloom which is coming. Suddenly it snaps in their fingers, whereupon the dark sisters crowding closely together descend to the depths of the earth to consult with the ancient Erda and seek shelter near her.

Meanwhile as day breaks Siegfried and Brunnhilde emerge from the glen where they have been reposing in mutual happiness. Brunnhilde has told her lover the story of the G.o.ds and the secrets of the mystic runes, but he is still unsatisfied. His mission is not yet fulfilled. He must away to perform new deeds. Before he leaves her he gives her the ring as his pledge of fidelity, and they part, after exchanging mutual vows of love and constancy.

In his search for further exploits, Siegfried arrives at the dwelling of Gunter, a powerful Rhenish chief, head of the Gib.i.+.c.hungen, another race of heroes, where also resides Gutrune, his fascinating sister, and the evil Hagen, begotten by Alberich of Crimhilda, Gunter's mother, who was the victim of his gold. Alberich's hatred of the G.o.ds and all connected with them is shared by his son, who has been charged by the Nibelung to recover the gold. From this point the tragic denouement rapidly progresses. Siegfried's horn is heard in the distance, and he soon crosses Gunter's threshold, where his ruin is being plotted by the sinister Hagen. He is hospitably received, and at Hagen's bidding Gutrune pours out and offers him a draught so cunningly mixed that it will efface all past remembrances. He is completely infatuated with the girl's beauty, and as the potion takes effect, the love for Brunnhilde disappears. He demands Gutrune in marriage, and Hagen promises her upon condition that he will bring Brunnhilde as a bride for Gunter. Siegfried departs upon the fatal errand, and after taking from her the ring drags her by force to deliver her to Gunter. The Valkyr rises to a sublime height of anger over her betrayal, and dooms Siegfried to death in the approaching hunt, for by death alone she knows that she can regain his love.

The last act opens in a rocky glen on the banks of the Rhine, the ripple of whose waters is repeated in the melody of "The Rhinegold."

Siegfried is separated from his companion, and while alone, the song of the Rhine-daughters is heard. They rise to the surface of the gleaming water and demand their gold, but Siegfried refuses to restore it. They warn him again to fly from the curse, but he proudly exclaims that his sword is invincible and can crush the Norns. Sadly they float away to the sound of harps s.h.i.+mmering over the water. Gunter's horn is heard among the hills, and Siegfried exultantly answers it. The huntsmen a.s.semble and prepare for a feast. Siegfried relates his adventure with the Rhine-daughters, and when Hagen asks him if it is true that he can understand the language of the birds, he tells the whole story of his life in the "Rheinfahrt," a song built up of all the motives which have been heard in the "Siegfried" division,--the melody of the sword, the stir of the woods, the song of the mysterious bird, Mime's enticement, the love of Brunnhilde, and the flaming fire following each other in rapid and brilliant succession through the measures of the picturesque description. As the song dies away, two ravens, messengers of ill-omen, fly across the stage. The curse motive sounds gloomily through the orchestra. Hagen springs to his feet and suddenly and treacherously plunges his spear into Siegfried's back, then sullenly leaves and disappears among the rocks. The hero falls to the earth and dies, breathing Brunnhilde's name, for in the last supreme moment the spell of Hagen's draught pa.s.ses away. With his last breath he breaks out in a death-song of surpa.s.sing beauty and majesty, in which the motives are those of the Volsung and the Valkyr, as well as of the destiny which is to reunite them in death. Once more he murmurs the name of Brunnhilde, and then his companions tenderly place him upon his s.h.i.+eld, and lifting him upon their shoulders carry him to the misty summits and disappear in the cloud, to the mighty and impressive strains of a funeral march, built up on the motives of Siegmund, the love-duet of Siegmund and Sieglinde, the sword and Volsung motives, and Siegfried's great theme. In the interweaving of these motives and their sombre coloring, in ma.s.sive fortissimo and crescendo effects, in expressive musical delineation, and in majestic solemnity, the Siegfried funeral march must take precedence of all other dirges. In truth it is a colossal and heroic funeral poem fit to celebrate the death of a demiG.o.d. In the last scene Siegfried's body is borne back to the hall of the Gib.i.+.c.hungs amid loud lamenting. When Gutrune learns what has occurred, she bitterly curses Hagen and throws herself on Siegfried's corpse. Hagen and Gunter quarrel for the possession of the ring, and Gunter is slain; but when Hagen tries to take the ring, the hand of the dead hero is raised in warning. Then Brunnhilde solemnly and proudly advances in the light of the torches and bids the empty clamor cease, for "this is no lamenting worthy of a hero." She orders a funeral pyre to be built, and Siegfried is laid thereon. She contemplates the dead hero with pa.s.sionate love and sadness, and then solemnly turning to those about her, exclaims: "Those who efface the fault of the G.o.ds are predestined to suffering and death. Let one sacrifice end the curse. Let the Ring be purified by fire, the waters dissolve it forever. The end of the G.o.ds is at hand. But though I leave the world masterless, I give it this precious treasure. In joy or in suffering, happiness can alone come from love."

She seizes a burning brand, and invoking Loge, G.o.d of fire, flings it into the pyre. Her horse is brought to her, and she proudly mounts it:--

"Grane, my horse, Hail to thee here!

Knowest thou, friend, How far I shall need thee?

Heiaho! Grane!

Greeting to him.

Siegfried! See, Brunnhilde Joyously hails thee, thy bride."

She swings herself upon her steed and dashes into the furious flames.

At last they die away, and the Rhine rushes forward from its banks and covers the pyre. The exultant Rhine-daughters are swimming in the flood, for Brunnhilde has thrown them the ring. Hagen makes a last desperate effort to clutch it, but Woglinde and Wellgunde wind their arms about him, and as they drag him into the depths Floss.h.i.+lde holds the ring above the waters, and the exultant song of the Rhine-daughters is heard above the swelling tide, while far in the distance a red flame spreads among the clouds. Walhalla is blazing in the sky. The Dusk of the G.o.ds has come. Reparation has been made. The hero without fear is victorious. Free will, independent of the G.o.ds, will rule the world, and the G.o.ds themselves are lost in the human creation. Love is given to men, and conquers death.

PARSIFAL.

"Parsifal," a "Buhnenweihfestspiel" (festival acting-drama), words by Wagner, was concluded in 1879, and first produced at Baireuth, July 22, 1882, only about seven months before the distinguished composer's death, with Mme. Friedrich-Materna as Kundry, Herr Winckelmann as Parsifal, and Herr Scaria as Gurnemanz.

The theme of the opera is taken from the cycle of Holy Grail myths to which "Lohengrin" also belongs. The reader will remember that Lohengrin in his final address declares himself son of Parsifal, the King of the Grail; and it is with this Parsifal that Wagner's last work is concerned. Parsifal, like Siegfried, represents free human nature in its spontaneous, impulsive action. He is styled in the text, "Der reine Thor" (the guileless fool), who, in consonance with the old mythological idea, overcomes the evil principle and gains the crown by dint of pure natural impulse. The opera differs widely from "The Nibelung Ring." The composer has used the free instead of the alliterative form of verse, which he then contended was best adapted to musical setting. In "The Ring" the chorus is not introduced at all until the last division is reached, while in "Parsifal" it plays an important part in every act, in the second scene of the first act there being three choirs on the stage at a time. Still there is no trace of the aria, the duet, or the recitative, of the Italian style, though there is plenty of concerted music, which grows out of the dramatic necessities of the situations. When these necessities do not urge themselves, the music flows on in dialogue form, as in "The Ring."

The vorspiel is based upon three motives connected with the mystery of the Grail, which forms the key-note of the opera, though in a different aspect from that which the Grail a.s.sumes in "Lohengrin,"

where it can only be visible to the eye of faith, while in "Parsifal"

it distinctly performs its wonders. Let it be remembered that the Grail is the chalice from which Christ drank with his disciples at the Last Supper, and in which his blood was received at the cross. The first of these motives is of the same general character as the Grail motive in the "Lohengrin" vorspiel; the second is an impressive phrase for trumpets and trombones, which will be heard again when the Knights of the Grail are summoned to their duties; and the third is a broad, dignified melody in the chorale form.

The action of the drama occurs in the north of Spain, and in the vicinity of Monsalvat, the Castle of the Holy Grail, where this chalice was brought by angels when Christianity was in danger. The curtain rises upon a lovely forest glade on the borders of a lake, at daybreak, and discovers the Grail Knight, Gurnemanz, and two young s.h.i.+eld-bearers, guardians of the castle, sleeping at the foot of a tree. Trumpet-calls, repeating the motive first heard in the prelude, arouse them from their sleep; and as they offer up their morning prayer the chorale is heard again. As they wend their way to the castle, they meet two knights preceding the litter upon which the wounded Amfortas, King of the Grail, is carried. In the subsequent dialogue Gurnemanz tells the story of the King's mishap. He is suffering from a wound which refuses to close, and which has been inflicted by the sacred spear,--the spear, according to the legend, with which our Saviour's side was pierced. Klingsor, a magician, had aspired to become a knight of the Grail, but his application was refused; for only those of holy lives could watch the sacred vessel and perform its ministrations. In revenge, Klingsor studied the magic arts and created for himself a fairy palace, which he peopled with beautiful women, whose sole duty it was to seduce the Knights of the Grail. One of these women, a mysterious creature of wonderful fascinations, Kundry by name, had beguiled Amfortas, who thus fell into the power of Klingsor. He lost his spear, and received from it a wound which will never heal so long as it remains in the hands of the magician. In a vision he has been told to wait for the one who has been appointed to cure him. A voice from the Grail tells him the following mystery:--

"Durch Mitleid wissend, Der reine Thor, Harre sein'

Den ich erkor."

["Let a guileless fool only, knowing by compa.s.sion, await him whom I have chosen."]

Meanwhile, as the s.h.i.+eld-bearers are carrying Amfortas towards the lake, the savage, mysterious Kundry is seen flying over the fields.

She overtakes Gurnemanz and gives him a balm, saying that if it will not help the King, nothing in Arabia can, and then, refusing to accept thanks or reveal her ident.i.ty, sinks to the ground in weariness. The King takes the drug with grat.i.tude; but she scorns thanks, and sneers at those about her with savage irony. Gurnemanz's companions are about to seize her, but the old Knight warns them that she is living incarnate to expiate the sins of a former life, and that in serving the Order of the Grail she is purchasing back her own redemption. As Gurnemanz concludes, cries are heard in the wood, and two knights, approaching, announce that a swan, the bird sacred to the Grail, which was winging its way over the lake, and which the King had hailed as a happy omen, has been shot. Parsifal, the murderer, is dragged in, and when questioned by Gurnemanz, is unaware that he has committed any offence. To every question he only answers he does not know. When asked who is his mother, Kundry answers for him: "His mother brought him an orphan into the world, and kept him like a fool in the forest, a stranger to arms, so that he should escape a premature death; but he fled from her and followed the wild life of nature. Her grief is over, for she is dead." Whereupon Parsifal flies at her and seizes her by the throat; but Gurnemanz holds him back, and Kundry sinks down exhausted. Parsifal answers to the "Thor," but it remains to be seen whether he is the "reine Thor." Gurnemanz conducts him to the temple where the holy rites of the Grail are to be performed, hoping he is the redeemer whom the Grail will disclose when the love-feast of the Saviour is celebrated.

The scene changes to the great hall of the castle and the celebration of the feast of the Grail. The scene is introduced with a solemn march by full orchestra, including trombones on the stage, accompanied by the clanging of bells as the knights enter in stately procession. They sing a pious chant in unison, the march theme still sounding. As the younger squires and pages enter, a new melody is taken in three-part harmony, and finally an unseen chorus of boys from the extreme height of the dome sing the chorale from the introduction, without accompaniment, in imitation of angel voices. The s.h.i.+eld-bearers bring in Amfortas upon his litter, when suddenly from a vaulted niche is heard the voice of t.i.turel, Amfortas's aged father, and the founder of Monsalvat, now too feeble to perform the holy offices, bidding the Grail to be uncovered. Amfortas, mourning that he, the unholiest of them, should be called, opens a golden shrine and takes out the crystal vessel. Darkness falls upon the hall, but the Grail is illuminated with constantly increasing brilliancy, while from the dome the children's voices sing, "Take My blood in the name of our love, and take My body in remembrance of me." Parsifal watches the scene with bewildered eyes, but upon saying in reply that he does not understand the holy rite, he is contemptuously ejected from the place.

The second act reveals Klingsor's enchanted palace. The magician gazing into a mirror sees Parsifal approaching, and knows he is the redeemer who has been promised. He summons Kundry before him, and commands her to tempt him with her spells. She struggles against the task, for in her soul the powers of good and evil are always contending for the mastery. She longs for eternal sleep, and rest from her evil pa.s.sions, but Klingsor holds her in his power. Parsifal enters, and the scene changes to a delightful garden filled with girls of ravis.h.i.+ng beauty in garments of flowers. They crowd about him, and by their fascinating blandishments seek to gain his love, but in vain.

He is still the "guileless fool." Then Kundry appears in all her loveliness, and calls him by name, the name he had heard his mother speak. He sorrowfully sinks at Kundry's feet. The enchantress bends over him, appeals to him through his longing for his mother, and kisses him. Instantly he comprehends all that he has seen, and he cries, "The wound burns in my heart, oh, torment of love!" Then quickly rising he spurns her from him. He has gained the world-knowledge. She flies to him again, and pa.s.sionately exclaims, "The gift of my love would make thee divine. If this hour has made thee the redeemer, let me suffer forever, but give me thy love." He spurns her again, and cries, "To all eternity thou wouldst be d.a.m.ned with me, if for one hour I should forget my mission," but says he will save her too, and demands to know the way to Amfortas. In rage she declares he shall never find it, and summons the help of Klingsor, who hurls the sacred lance at Parsifal. The weapon remains suspended over his head. He seizes it and makes the sign of the Cross. The gardens and castle disappear. Parsifal and Kundry are alone in a desert. She sinks to the ground with a mournful cry, and turning from her, his last words are, "Thou knowest where only thou canst see me again."

In the third act we are again in the land of the Grail. Parsifal has wandered for years trying to find Monsalvat, and at last encounters Gurnemanz, now a very old man, living as a hermit near a forest spring, and the saddened Kundry is serving him. It is the Good Friday morning, and forests and fields are bright with flowers and the verdure of spring. Gurnemanz recognizes him, and in reply to his question what makes the world so beautiful, the aged knight makes answer:--

"The sad repentant tears of sinners Have here with holy rain Besprinkled field and plain, And made them glow with beauty.

All earthly creatures in delight At the Redeemer's trace so bright, Uplift their prayers of duty.

And now perceive each blade and meadow flower, That mortal foot to-day it need not dread."

Kundry washes "the dust of his long wanderings" from his feet, and looks up at him with earnest and beseeching gaze. Gurnemanz recognizes the sacred spear, hails him as the King of the Grail and offers to conduct him to the great hall where the holy rites are once more to be performed. Before they leave, Parsifal's first act as the redeemer is to baptize Kundry with water from the spring. The sound of tolling bells in the distance announces the funeral of t.i.turel, and the scene changes to the hall where the knights are carrying the litter upon which Amfortas lies, awaiting the funeral procession approaching to the strains of a solemn march. The knights demand he shall again uncover the Grail, but he refuses, and calls upon them to destroy him and then the Grail will s.h.i.+ne brightly for them again. Un.o.bserved by them, Parsifal steps forward, touches the king's wound with the spear, and it is immediately healed. Then he proclaims himself King of the Grail, and orders it to be uncovered. As Amfortas and Gurnemanz kneel to do him homage, Kundry dies at his feet in the joy of repentance.

t.i.turel rises from his coffin and bestows a benediction. Parsifal ascends to the altar and raises the Grail in all its resplendent beauty. A white dove flies down from the dome of the hall and hovers over his head, while the knights chant their praise to G.o.d, re-echoed by the singers in the dome, whose strains sound like celestial voices:--

"Miracle of supreme blessing, Redemption to the Redeemer."

WALLACE.

William Vincent Wallace was born at Waterford, Ireland, in 1815. He first studied music with his father, a bandleader, who afterwards sent him to Dublin, where he speedily became an excellent performer on the clarinet, violin, and piano. At the early age of fifteen he was appointed organist at the Cathedral of Thurles, and soon afterwards was engaged as a theatre director and concert conductor. At the age of eighteen he had a fit of sickness, and upon his recovery went to Australia for his health, and thence to Van Diemen's Land and New Zealand. He pa.s.sed some time in the latter country, and then began a long series of wanderings, in the course of which he visited the East and West Indies, Mexico,--where he conducted Italian opera,--and the United States. He remained in New York a considerable period, and gave concerts which were very remunerative. In 1846 he returned to Europe, and shortly afterwards his pretty little opera, "Maritana," appeared, and made quite a sensation among the admirers of English opera. In 1847 "Matilda of Hungary" was produced, and met with success. Thirteen years of silence elapsed, and at last, in 1860, he produced his legendary opera, "Lurline," at Covent Garden. It gave great satisfaction at the time, but is now rarely performed. Besides his operas he also wrote many waltzes, nocturnes, studies, and other light works for the piano. After the production of "Lurline" he went to Paris for the purpose of bringing out some of his operas, and while in that city also composed the first act of an opera for London, but his health was too delicate to admit of its completion. He died at Chateau de Bayen, Oct. 12, 1865.

MARITANA.

"Maritana," a romantic opera in three acts, words by Fitzball, founded upon the well-known play of "Don Caesar de Bazan," was first produced at Drury Lane, London, Nov. 15, 1845. The text closely follows that of the drama. The first act opens in a public square of Madrid, where a band of gypsies are singing to the populace, among them Maritana, a young girl of more than ordinary beauty and vocal accomplishments.

Among the spectators is the young King Charles, who after listening to her is smitten with her charms. Don Jose, his minister, to carry out certain ambitious plans of his own, resolves to encourage the fascinations which have so attracted the King. He extols her beauty and arouses hopes in her breast of future grandeur and prosperity. At this juncture Don Caesar de Bazan, a reckless, rollicking cavalier, comes reeling out of a tavern where he has just parted with the last of his money to gamblers. In spite of his shabby costume and dissipated appearance he bears the marks of high breeding. In better days he had been a friend of Don Jose. While he is relating the story of his downward career to the minister, Lazarillo, a forlorn young lad who has just attempted to destroy himself, accosts Don Caesar, and tells him a piteous tale of his wrongs. Don Caesar befriends him, and in consequence becomes involved in a duel, which leads to his arrest; for it is Holy Week, and duelling during that time has been forbidden on pain of death. While Don Caesar is on his way to prison, Don Jose delights Maritana by promising her wealth, a splendid marriage, and an introduction to the court on the morrow.

The second act opens in the prison, and discovers Don Caesar asleep, with his faithful little friend watching by him. It is five o'clock when he wakes, and at seven he must die. Only two hours of life remain for him, but the prospect does not disturb him. On the other hand he is gayer than usual, and rallies Lazarillo with playful mirth. In the midst of his gayety the crafty Don Jose enters and professes strong friends.h.i.+p for him. When Don Caesar declares that he has but one last wish, and that is to die a soldier's death instead of being ignominiously hanged, Don Jose says it shall be gratified upon condition that he will marry. The prisoner has but an hour and three quarters to live, but he consents. He is provided with wedding apparel, and a banquet is spread in honor of the occasion. During the feast Lazarillo brings in a paper to Don Jose containing the King's pardon for Don Caesar, but the minister promptly conceals it.

Maritana, her features disguised by a veil, is introduced, and as the nuptial rites are performed the soldiers prepare to execute the penalty. At the expiration of the hour Don Caesar is led out to meet his fate, but Lazarillo has managed to abstract the b.a.l.l.s from the guns. The soldiers perform their duty, and Don Caesar feigns death; but as soon as the opportunity occurs, he leaves the prison and hurries to a grand ball given by the Marquis and Marchioness de Montefiori at their palace, while the Marquis, who has had his instructions from Don Jose to recognize Maritana as his long-lost niece, is introducing her as such. Don Caesar enters and demands his bride. The astonished Don Jose, perceiving that his scheme to introduce Maritana at court is liable to be frustrated, offers the Marquis a rich appointment if he will induce his wife to play the part he shall suggest. The scheme is soon arranged, and the Marchioness, closely veiled, is presented to Don Caesar as the Countess de Bazan.

Disgusted at "the precious piece of antiquity," as he terms her, and fancying that he has been duped, he is about to sign a paper relinquis.h.i.+ng his bride, when he suddenly hears Maritana's voice. He recognizes it as the same he had heard during the marriage rites. He rushes forward to claim her, but she is quickly carried away, and he is prevented from following.

The last act opens in a palace belonging to the King, where Maritana is surrounded with luxury, though she is as yet unaware that she is in the royal apartments. Don Jose, fancying that Don Caesar will not dare to make his appearance, as he does not know of his pardon, carries out his plot by introducing the King to her as her husband. She at first rejects him, and as he presses his suit Don Caesar breaks into the apartment. The King in a rage demands to know his errand. He replies that he is in quest of the Countess de Bazan, and with equal rage inquires who he (the King) is. The King in confusion answers that he is Don Caesar, whereupon the latter promptly replies, "Then I am the King of Spain." Before further explanation can be made, a messenger arrives from the Queen with the announcement that she awaits the King.

After his departure Don Caesar and Maritana mutually recognize each other, and upon her advice he resolves to appeal to the Queen to save her. He waits for her Majesty in the palace garden, and while concealed, overhears Don Jose informing her that the King will meet his mistress that night. He springs out, and denouncing him as a traitor to his King slays him, and then returning to Maritana's apartment finds the King there again, and tells him what has occurred.

He has saved the King's honor: will the King destroy his? The monarch, overcome with Don Caesar's gallantry and loyalty, consigns Maritana to him and appoints him Governor of Granada. The appointment does not suit Don Caesar, for Granada is too near his creditors. The King, laughing, changes it to Valencia, a hundred leagues away, and thither Don Caesar conducts his happy bride.

The drama is one which is well adapted to bright, cheerful, melodious music, and the opportunity has been well improved, for "Maritana" is one of the sprightliest and brightest of all the English operas, and contains several ballads which for beauty and expressiveness may well challenge any that Balfe has written. The princ.i.p.al numbers in the first act are Maritana's opening song in the public square ("It was a Knight of princely Mien"); the romanza which she subsequently sings for Don Jose, "I hear it again, 'tis the Harp in the Air," which is one of the sweetest and most delicate songs in any of the lighter operas; the duet between Maritana and Don Jose, "Of fairy Wand had I the Power;" Don Caesar's rollicking drinking-song, "All the World over, to love, to drink, to fight, I delight;" and the tripping chorus, "Pretty Gitana, tell us what the Fates decree," leading up to the stirring ensemble in the finale, when Don Caesar is arrested. The first scene of the second act is the richest in popular numbers, containing an aria for alto, Lazarillo's song ("Alas! those Chimes so sweetly pealing"); a charming trio for Don Caesar, Lazarillo, and Don Jose ("Turn on, old Time, thine Hourgla.s.s"); Don Caesar's stirring martial song, "Yes, let me like a Soldier fall;" the serious ballad, "In happy Moments, Day by Day," written by Alfred Bunn, who wrote so many of the Balfe ballads; and the quartet and chorus closing the scene, "Health to the Lady, the lovely Bride!" The second scene opens with a pretty chorus in waltz time ("Ah, what Pleasure! the soft Guitar"), followed by an aria sung by the King ("The Mariner in his Bark"), and introduced by an attractive violin prelude. The finale is a very dramatic ensemble, quintet and chorus ("What Mystery must now control"). The last act falls off in musical interest, though it is very strong dramatically. It contains a few numbers, however, which are very popular; among them one of the most admired of all English songs ("Scenes that are brightest"), which Maritana sings in the King's apartments at the beginning of the act; the humorous duet between the King and Don Caesar when they meet; the love-duet between Don Caesar and Maritana ("This Heart with Bliss o'erflowing"); and Don Caesar's song, "There is a Flower that bloometh," which is in the sentimental ballad style. The freshness, brightness, and gracefulness of the music of this little opera, combined with the unusual interest and delicate humor of the story, have always commended it to popular admiration.