Strakosch Italian Opera: Faust

Complete cast.

“Last evening was the crowning success of ‘La Diva,’ and an occasion which will remain long green in the memories of those who were present. The anticipations of this event were of such a character that the morning before it took place there was not a seat undisposed of in the house. Seldom has the Academy put on such a surpassingly brilliant appearance or counted among its audience such distinguished people. In fact, no better proof of Nilsson’s success can be given than in the fact that each representation shows a greater desire on the part of the public to hear her and an enthusiasm which is always on the increase. Last night was the climax of her success and a triumph that few on the stage ever may hope to gain. Gounod’s ‘Faust’ was given, with the following distribution of characters [see above]. The chorus and orchestra were very large, and the usual military band assisted in the soldiers’ chorus.

Gretchen has been happily termed ‘the concrete embodiment of a poet’s dream.’ It is the most perfect illustration of innocence that we have on the stage. For a wonder, the librettist in this instance (and such people are generally iconoclasts in dealing with poetic creations) has not entirely destroyed the beauty of the character by the usual deformities that operatic heroines have to undergo. The Marguerites of the present day widely differ from each other in their ideal of the victim of Satanic art. With Tietjens all the accessories of art are brought into requisition to give what might be termed a labored simplicity, which is false in its very conception; Lucca is a saucy little demoiselle, who looks upon Faust at their first meeting as a capital subject for flirtation, and gives way to a storm of passion when she finds herself deceived. We have a merry black-eyed and black-haired Gretchen in Adelina Patti, who colors or rather obliterates the German ideal with the volcanic nature of an Italian and the chic coquetry of a Parisienne—a rather incongruous mixture. Kellogg’s impersonation is nearer the spirit of the original, and has more homogeneity of character about it in all the trying scenes of the victim of the demon. But in Nilsson we have a complete type of the creation of Goethe. To quote the words of a celebrated critic:--‘Who has not in his mind’s eye the slender Saxon type, the blonde hair flat upon a marble forehead and falling in plaits behind, the deep, earnest eyes, the low stomacher, the lithe, supple form just emerging into womanhood, as she crosses the path of a lover prepared to see ‘Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt?” The Scandinavian features, the slender, graceful form and artless manners gave the character a naturalness that it never possessed before.

In the garden scene the true nature of the young girl is revealed, particularly when she sees the jewel casket. Her delight at the sight of the jewels that flash from the box, to her more prolific of evil than that of Pandora, was not the vanity of a grisette, who thinks only how they will set off her charms to the best possible advantage. The flashing gems produce in her the same effect as the eye of a snake does on the fluttering dove, and she falls into the trap as if the hand of fate had dragged her to her doom. Even the childish joy she displays when bedecked with the glittering gems is, to quote the words of one of Nilsson’s admirers, ’like a bird caroling over a poison berry.’ It is no wonder that the Parisians were at first disappointed in her début in this rôle. They looked for the Gretchen of the Boulevards—a saucy soubrette, with the manners of a shop girl, a trifle unfortunate and only deserving of pity on account of the shabby manner in which she is treated by Monsieur Faust and his partner, the devil. They saw only the Gretchen that Goethe created and Ary Scheffer and Kaulbach depicted.

At the death of her brother and his wild denunciation of her, Nilsson did not show anguish and grief, as is generally the case in this scene. She was dazed, bewildered, and followed the body with an expression on her countenance as if the whole tragedy was but a dream. But in the church scene she seemed to realize the full extent of her misery, and her passionate appeals for forgiveness, with the mocking voice of the fiend in her ear, was the sublimity of histrionic art. In the last scene, when she rises from the uttermost depths of despair to the realms of eternal bliss, the Marguerite of last evening seemed an inspired being, and each repetition of the ecstatic ‘Oh, del ciel angeli immortal’ seemed to bring her nearer to the haven of everlasting peace. It was, indeed, a grand performance, such as our stage has been long stranger to. In no instance does Nilsson lose sight of the fundamental principle of the character—innocence. The poor betrayed creature that dies on a couch of straw in the last act is the same pure, bright being that Faust meets in the Kermesse.

The next character in the cast that deserves commendation was the Mephisto of M. Jamet. It was satanic not only in appearance and action but in every tone of his fine bass voice and every movement. He dressed the character as a true court gallant of that day, and, in accordance with the hint we gave him, he sacrificed his luxuriant beard for the interests of art. He sang the rollicking song in the second act, ‘Dio del’or,’ and the mocking serenade in the fourth, ‘Tu che fai l’addormentata,’ with an effect that we have never heard before. He is a truly fine artist and a valuable member of any company. Capoul’s Faust, as far as the singing was concerned, was marred by the too frequent use of the detestable French falsetto, which robbed even the ‘Salve dimora’ of some of its best points. His voice, when kept within proper limits, is an agreeable tenor; but when he forces its tone it becomes harsh and grating. It is the same as if an instrumental performer was to attempt to bring forth from an instrument a greater breadth of tone than it was capable of. In regard to his acting he seems to have made love-making a special study, and, therefore, cannot fail in being a favorite with the ladies. Miss Cary made a charming Siebel, and sang the ‘Parlate d’amor’ with tenderness and expression. Mlle. Cooney deserves a word of praise for her rendering of Martha. The chorus and orchestra did not always act in concert, the former, especially during the Kermesse, dragging considerably. The viola obligato to ‘Salve dimora’ was very flat in many of the measures. The mise en scene was exactly the same as has been used in ‘Faust’ at the Academy for time immemorial, and the church scene was a most remarkable specimen of ecclesiastical architecture.”

“The audience which greeted Miss Nilsson last night in one of her greatest rôles was one of the kind which managers pray for—that is, standing-room at a premium, the aisles and gangways beset with sitting and crouching figures, and lobbies and corridors fringed with a dense battalion of uncomfortable but listening humanity. The enthusiasm was, perhaps, in spite of the recalls in the later acts, hardly in proportion to the unusual numbers. The opera, with all its romantic beauty, is still not one of the evident kind—either in music, text or plot. Much of the mediaeval mysticism of the old tradition, as of the grave and metaphysic quality of Goethe’s more modern creation, still hangs about it. Much in character and action must be felt and imagined rather than seen or heard. Nor is the music of the kind which allows the most startling effects of mere technical execution. The thoughtful tone of the drama has, somehow, got into the score, and the whole representation tends, with many at least, to inspire an inward glow of meditative and imaginative appreciation and profound enjoyment rather than that more external, demonstrative emotion finds vent in excited bravos and the concussion of kids.

Miss Nilsson’s Margherita was, like all her portraitures, thoroughly imaginative and refined. Unlike the thoughtless coquette into which the character, in ordinary hands, is so apt to degenerate, she unites in it the modesty, simplicity and dignity of the burgher maiden with the purity of a lofty soul, yet the impulsive passion of the fullest womanly nature.

Throughout the character, as we have so often hinted of other of her creations, she aims at the highest intellectual level of her auditors by the most delicate measure in suggesting rather than over-enforcing; by leaving to their original faculty the work it fairly should undertake, and drawing no single line of the picture deeper or stronger than is necessary to carry the impression fairly home to the receptive mind. 

M. Capoul seconded her ably by his excellent acting and singing as Faust. Much of his vocalization, spite of the exaggeration and over-refinement of certain technical methods, was charming for delicacy and grace, and in the garden scene the conjoined merits of the two artists united to form a most perfect and delightful picture. 

Miss Cary was fresh and sweet as usual as Siebel, and her rendering of ‘Le parlate d’amor’ made us regret that the tradition of our stage cuts out almost the whole of the part as originally written, and limits her to this one air.

M. Jamet is good, though hardly so unctuous in action and vocal expression as we could wish, in the buffo-demoniao rôle of Mephisto and M. Barré, as Valentine, seems to confirm our criticism of the last representation, that he sings a little better each time he is heard.”

“’Faust’ was at length brought out last evening. The great interest that was felt in the production of this opera was shown by the thronging multitude that gathered at the Academy to hear it, filling the aisles and every vacant space. It is an opera that appeals in the highest degree to the sensibilities of an audience. Gounod has given his Marguerite no flashy or showy arias for the display of vocalism, everything is for the sentiment of the work, nothing for ad captandum effects of mere prima donna displays.

Miss Nilsson presented the character of Marguerite with exquisite refinement, purity, and simplicity; making it more artless and girl like than did Miss Kellogg. The great love duet, in the third act, than which a more intense romantic and poetic one was never set to music, was superbly sung by Miss Nilsson and M. Capoul. The latter found favor with the audience throughout the opera, except in his occasional use of the falsetto, to which Americans are never reconciled. But where a tenor has not a high C in his chest voice what is he to do? He must either omit the note, or sing it as nature permits him. That M. Capoul prefers the latter method is not to his discredit, especially where he exhibits so many excellent qualities as an artist. His voice is delicate and even pathetic, and his action is always fervent and to the point.

M. Jamet is an admirable Mephistopheles, and certainly a more charming Sibel than Miss Cary made has not been seen before upon the stage.”

“The production of ‘Faust’ to the best house of the season last night, at the Academy, was a genuine artistic success, if not an artistic triumph. It is not to be forgotten that the present Italian Opera Company appeared under some decided advantages. They have a magnificent background. Italian opera in New-York has been of late so atrociously bad that anything approaching merit was sure to be greeted with pleasure as well as surprise. The chance for respectable desert in this field was something like that of certain Union Generals who had the fortune to follow a long line of incapable or unlucky predecessors. But what has been offered us by Mr. Strakosch is much better than respectable. The four singers, for example, heard by the public in ‘Faust’—Mlles. Nilsson and Cary, and Signors Capoul and Jamet, would command applause anywhere. We name them as a quartet, of course, irrespective of their relative artistic positions. And when to these names are added those of Signors Ronconi and Brignoli, of Mlle. Duval and M. Barre, we have described a company which, if not to be compared to the array of the London and Paris houses at their best epochs, is incomparably superior to any we have been used to see in New-York.

The Marguerite of Mlle. Nilsson is a far truer and nobler impersonation than her Violetta. The latter is not an embodiment but an assumption; and of the former can be said the precise reverse. That air of cold poetic chastity which is Mlle. Nilsson’s predominant characteristic, fits to a nicety in Gretchen, while it suggests anomaly in the ‘Traviata.’ The picture is in truth one to live in the memory, and almost to enroll in that gallery where such portraitures as Grisi’s Lucrezia or Norma, or either of the two masterpieces of Rachel, are hung up for enduring reverence and fame. Of Mlle. Nilsson’s singing we cannot speak too warmly. Despite an occasional trace of hoarseness, the evenness of her voice, its soaring elasticity, its velvet smoothness and exquisite fidelity, have seldom been heard to greater advantage than on this occasion. A wet and gloomy day, reminding one ominously of the previous Wednesday when the same opera was postponed, led to the fear that Mlle. Nilsson might again be in bad voice and even incapable of singing. The lady’s first notes, however, happily dispelled this fear. On no evening, we repeat, has she been generally more complete mistress of her powers. As vocalist and actress her Marguerite was round, symmetrical, superb; and if there were a few weak spots for criticism to cavil on, the qualities challenging pure admiration were so brilliant as to throw all else into the shade.

Signor Capoul was not in his very best voice last night, and yet the exceedingly clever persons who have hitherto failed to see any particular talent in this artist, will probably now begin to reverse their judgment. Certainly a tenor who can sing as this gentleman has Almaviva, Alfredo and Faust, has established some claims to consideration. To find a tenor who can act, is assuredly something. But a tenor who can not only act, but who has a voice almost absolutely free of blemish, sweet, true and sympathetic, with liberal breadth of culture, unimpeachable method and a thoroughly artistic spirit behind it, has little cause to dread his future. Signor Capoul has some blemishes of delivery, one or two of which have rise in over-solicitude—a rare fault, indeed. We do not like the falsetto or the tremolo, as he sometimes employs them. Yet neither are inseparable accompaniments of his style, and both may easily be eliminated from it. His action, too, is sometimes ungainly, and the mannerism of depressing his head—why is it that tenors will either crouch in this way, or bend so far the other way that they seem in danger of falling over backwards?—Signor Capoul will be wise immediately to correct. He acted Faust delightfully last night, if he did not sing it quite as well as when in thorough voice he can do. Still, Salve Dimora has never been better rendered here before, nor has anything been heard in this part approaching the sustained vocal excellence of Signor Capoul’s performance.

Miss Cary gave us a fresh, comely Siebel, and notwithstanding a false note in the aria opening the third act, her beautiful contralto rang forth to capital purpose. The deserved popularity gained by Miss Cary in the concert-room she commands on the operatic stage. Her ease and spirited action are notable accomplishments, rare with so limited an experience, and full of promise for her future. Signor Jamet sings and acts Mephistophelesexcellently. His voice is not, perhaps, quite as well gifted with those profounder qualities that seem fitting to the diabolical personality depicted; yet the resonance, vigor, dash and fine perception of dramatic situation evinced by him could not well have been improved upon. His first and best aria in the second act was heartily encored, and throughout Signor Jamet’s efforts were highly appreciated by his audience. Signor Barre pleased better in Valentini than in any rôle he has hitherto attempted here. The chorus and orchestra were conspicuously good, although the former now and then required stimulus in the way of promptness of attack from Mr. Maretzek’s baton. We should speak a good word likewise for the costumes, which were new and characteristic.”

“It is not surprising that the production of Gounod’s masterpiece last night should have aroused in musical circles a curiosity at least as intense as that which excited the little world of New-York society when Nilsson made her first appearance in ‘Lucia.’ Margherita is not the character, to be sure, in which the fair singer won her most brilliant triumphs abroad. She never conquered Paris as she did with Violetta, and Mignon, and Ophelia. Yet she made it one of her best known assumptions, and in London it was accepted as one of the most successful personations of the gentle heroine of Gounod and Goethe known to the English stage, though not perhaps the model upon which later Margarets would have to form themselves. It was plain that in many physical attributes Nilsson was well nigh the ideal Margherita. The tender beauty of face and eyes [illegible line], the modesty the gentleness of demeanor, the softness of speech, which would involuntarily associate with the image of this dearest of lyric heroines, were all hers. Gounod could not have wished for one who in outward appearance embodied more perfectly the romanticism and [refinement?] which breathe through his music and the ‘[illegible] and innocence which [illegible] themselves.’ Nilsson is not perhaps the Gretchen of his poem; but then the Gretchen of Goethe, an artless, ignorant, unlettered girl, who talks bad grammar, prattles of homely domestic troubles, and knows nothing but to love and trust, is a different person altogether from the Margherita of Gounod. The charm of the one is that she is [illegible] type of the loving, confiding, single-hearted woman. The beauty of the other is of a more intellectual type. She is not less pure-minded and artless, but she is more thoughtful. Nilsson has rightly attempted to personate the heroine of the musical poem rather than of the original from which she was borrowed. She makes the Margherita simple in manner, with a little tinge of rusticity, but, withal, she is refined and pensive. Her entrance in the Second Act, and the meeting with Faust, differed little from the ordinary representations of that scene, except that it was possibly a little too formal and hard; but in the Third Act she departed notably from the conventional renderings. She begins the ballad of the King in Thule over the spinning-wheel with the manner of a young girl busy with her work, and thinking more of the spindle than the song; but as she proceeds her mind wanders; the work is forgotten; the wheel ceases to turn, and she drops her head at last in reverie. It is a charming bit of realistic acting. She omits half this number, and does not resort to the spoken interludes which Miss Kellogg employs with such excellent effect. There is again some inimitable acting in the Jewel Song, which she gives with mere girlish [zest?] and a prettier show of innocent vanity than any other Margherita we have ever seen, and in the following love scene with Faust there is the most admirable [illegible] of embarrassment, pleasure, tenderness, and [illegible] that ecstatic love which ‘yield wholly and feel [illegible] yielding.’ The [illegible] scene, omitted in all [illegible] versions of the opera in New York for many years, was restored last night. It was placed after the death of Valentine, and represented as occurring in the church instead of outside of it, which we believe is the correct arrangement, though not the one to which we were formerly accustomed. Margherita’s share in this scene was an impressive exhibition of tragic power; but it was surpassed by the prison scene of the Fifth Act, which put the crown to a most admirable histrionic performance. Of Miss Nilsson’s singing last night, we speak with some hesitation. We confess to a little disappointment. Her voice was somewhat cold, her tenderness somewhat mechanical, her delivery of many of the most famous numbers deficient in color, M. Capoul was an impassioned Faust who gave the ‘Salve dimora’ and the garden duet with admirable delicacy, but seemed, upon the whole, to think more of his hair than of anything else. Miss Cary sang her flower song charmingly, and M. Jamet was a good Mefisto. The chorus was supplied with new and [showy?] dresses, and sang reasonably well—always excepting the women. The orchestra was fair, but [illegible].”

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