Maretzek Italian Opera: Faust

“’Faust’ was repeated at the Academy of Music last evening, with the unvarying results represented by an exceedingly large audience and great applause. Mme. Lucca, though suffering, sang admirably. It is not indiscreet to mention that, although neither voice nor delivery have shown signs of the artist’s indisposition, Mme. Lucca has ofttimes appeared this season under the influence of a sense of duty potent enough to overcome the power of illness.”

Attendance of President and Mrs. Grant: “President and Mrs. Grant seemed to enjoy the opera with much relish.”

“A nicely-dressed house at the Academy is a pleasing sight to an opera-goer. The boxes become bright bouquets of fashion, the stalls and the dress circle shine in the reflection of rich toilets and glistening bijouterie, and during the entr’actes the house seems to be transformed into a social club of ladies and gentlemen. The audience is to a great extent as interesting as the performers. This is a characteristic of the opera alone, for in no other place of amusement can such sociability be experienced. Hence the charm it possesses above all other entertainments and the manner in which it unites a reception, soirée and party with the attractions presented on the stage. But it is a luxury of the most expensive kind, and there must be an entire entente cordiale between the manager and his patrons in order to carry a season through successfully. Therefore there must be especial caution exercised by an impresario in making out his prospectus, so that he may be able to carry out all his promises. New faces are looked to with considerable interest and fresh voices always command attention. But disappointment in such cases generally leads to sad financial consequences. Opera can be supported in this city when presented with one great artist and a number of lights of lesser magnitude; but these lights must have a little lustre of their own.

We have spoken at length before of the Gretchen of Madame Lucca. It is stamped throughout with the impressive genius. Three scenes stand forth as masterpieces of a great artist. The tenderness and passionate love with which she surrenders her heart to her love in the garden scene become blank despair, human agony, when she kneels beside the body of her murdered brother. In the church scene she is the poor penitent, seeking happiness at the altar’s foot. There is a touch of nature in the shrinking away from her of the village maidens when Gretchen kneels beside them, and her soul seems to be poured forth in her earnest prayer for pardon. But the tempter is ever whispering into her ear the dire history of her fall and the prayer becomes an agonized appeal. Here M. Gounod changes the whole character of the scene by an inexcusable freak of instrumentation. He brings in a phrase of four bars, alternating between the wind and string instruments, which is as uncalled-for as if he introduced an air from ‘La Grande Duchesse.’ The closing scene, as interpreted by Mme. Lucca, is sufficient to crowd the Academy for a season. It is a climax to one of the grandest impersonations ever witnessed in opera. The Gretchen of Lucca will live as long in the memories of opera-goers as the Desdemona of Malibran, the Lucia of Bosio, the Norma of Grisi, the Medea of Titiens, the Alice of Jenny Lind, the Lady Macbeth of Medori, or the Donna Anna of Parepa-Rosa. It is a grand impersonation, artless and natural, and it is sufficient to cover up many of the shortcomings of the other members of the cast.

To M. Jamet, as Mephistopheles, and Mlle. Sanz, as Siebel, praise is due for their excellent rendering of these rôles. The tenor--Vizzani—was even more ineffective than before in the title rôle. Between him and the chef d’attaque—M. Grill—the ‘Salve dimora’ was a lamentable failure, and his voice seemed to be utterly beyond control. When a violinist plays out of tune and a tenor’s voice goes zigzag, the result is anything but creditable. As for the Valentine, Sparapani, he has not the remotest idea of the rôle of the brother of Marguerite. What on earth has Mr. Santi done with the chorus that this valuable body should not keep on good terms with the orchestra? Mr. Maretzek took care of the latter and conducted it with satisfactory results. But those twenty singers from Covent Garden have not fulfilled the expectations formed of them. In fact we have a better chorus here, if properly used, than anything they can send us from London. The English tenors are notoriously thin in voice, and they thereby destroy the balance in the choruses. We have better singers and more reliable, too, than they can boast of even in the London Opera House. Another idea suggests itself. Why does not the management try to make more in the way of scenic effect out of Gounod’s opera than is done at present? The church scene could be immeasurably improved by a more judicious management of the lights. To be sure, that horrible thing, the chandelier, which hangs like Mahomet’s coffin, betwixt heaven and earth, mars every scene on the stage. But even this nuisance might be modified by some electrical arrangement, leaving the auditorium in darkness during the time the curtain is raised; yet it burns brightly while the footlights are lowered, and it sends a blinding glare into the boxes, even in the most impressive scenes.

We can now speak of the audience. In one of the proscenium boxes, on the right hand side, sat President Grant and his family. The orchestra paid him the compliment, after the ‘Kermesse,’ of playing ‘Hail Columbia.’ The audience hailed him vociferously, and he bowed his acknowledgments in due form.”

“Lucca sung at the matinee at the Academy of Music yesterday one of her very best rôles—that of Marguerite, in ‘Faust.’ She was in fine voice, and all the excellences of her matchless interpretation came out in bold relief. The Jewel song, the scene with her dying brother, the prayer for mercy in the church and the death scene were, as before, applauded to the echo. Mlle. Sanz, who seems to have fully recovered from her recent indisposition, achieved quite a success as Siebel.”

“New York, Oct. 28.—Up to the present time, the management at the Italian Opera has done little to redeem the fair promises made at the opening of the season. Since my last letter only two additions (‘Don Giovanni’ and ‘Trovatore’) have been made to the repertoire, and, but for the genius of Pauline Lucca, the popularity of Miss Kellogg, and the excellent singing and acting of M. Jamet, both of these representations would have fallen below mediocrity. Advantage has been taken of these three names to bring before the public a company of singers which could obtain a hearing in no other way, not even I believe at the Stadt Theatre in the Bowery.

The scenery and costumes give evidence of that ‘economy’ which is penny-wise and pound foolish; and the same spirit has, in many cases, been evinced in dealing with the press. As a natural result some of the papers have taken to telling the truth, and the managers having thus caught an extremely unpleasant Tartar, fills the columns of its programmes with long-winded vindications of itself and its policy, quite forgetting the French proverb: ’Qui s’excuse s’accuse.” 

In spite of these unfavorable surroundings, Mme. Pauline Lucca is constantly increasing in public favor, and it is evident that the task of preserving the enterprise from utter failure rests mainly upon her. Of the four impersonations in which she has appeared, the most dramatic and, as a whole, the most satisfactory is that of Marguerite in Faust. I state this in face of the fact that her conception of the character is in many respects directly the opposite of Miss Nilsson’s; the one being intensely realistic, while the other is purely ideal. There is a feeling of disappointment when, in the first act, we look for the exquisite vision of Ary Scheffer and behold only Gretchen at the wheel. The feeling returns in the second act at the meeting between Faust and Marguerite. Remembering the gentleness, the calmness with which Nilsson rendered that lovely fragment of melody: 'No, Signor, io non son damigella nè bella,’ we are unprepared for Lucca’s touch of coquetry, although her somewhat scornful attitude is quite in keeping with the words she is singing. It is plainly Goethe’s Gretchen and not the ideal Marguerite which she aims to produce, and in the third act all prejudice is forgotten, and the real merit and genius of the singer are unquestioned. She sings ‘The King of Thule’ absently, as though she were far more intent upon her own thoughts than upon the meaning of her song; and in the jewel scene she attempts to delineate nothing more complex than the delight of a simple peasant girl at such a trouvaille. It is in the Duet with Faust, and the subsequent love scene that her true greatness is best revealed. The charm lies quite as much in her acting as in her singing, and both are admirable.

The death of Valentine in the fourth act presents a curious anomaly, his agony and rage are so very stagey, so plainly assumed; while the anguish, the sorrow past bearing of his sister, is so painfully real. In the church scene Mme. Lucca departs widely from her predecessors. Instead of a lonely chapel, the nave of a great cathedral is disclosed, filled with worshippers who kneel before the high altar. The organ peels solemnly; slowly and with faltering footsteps Marguerite enters the church and advances towards the throng of worshippers; she sees their scornful glances; sees them draw back at her approach, shrinking from the touch of her garments as from contamination, and, meekly accepting the ban, takes her place in the nave alone, far from the altar, and tries to pray. Then, in a niche near by, behind the figure of a saint, the spirit of evil appears dimly outlined, and as he utters his terrible curse, the poor girl cowers before him as though she would shrink into the earth. Still she tries to pray, turning the leaves of her prayer-book with nervous haste and trembling fingers, until at last the book drops from her nerveless hand, she starts to her feet, confronts the demon and falls senseless to the floor.

In the short but trying Prison scene her acting and singing are fully up to the requirements of the situation, and her impersonation of Marguerite must be regarded as among the best that our Academy has ever known.

M. Jamet is thoroughly identified with the role of Mephistopheles, and I need hardly say that he is greatly to be admired both as a singer and an actor, but the other roles were too badly filled to deserve mention.”