“The Damnation of Faust” was first produced as an opera, by Raoul Gunsburg, in Monte Carlo, about 1903. Before that time it had been conducted only as a concerted piece. Later it was produced in Paris, Calve and Alvarez singing the great roles. That was in the late spring of 1903.

In Europe the opera was produced with the dream scene (the dream-Marguerite) as in the original plan of Berlioz, but in this country this dream-Marguerite was omitted, also the rain in the ride to Hell; otherwise the European and the New York production were much the same. At the Metropolitan Opera House, in New York, there were three hundred people upon the stage in the first act, and every attention was given to scenic detail. This piece is meant for the concert room, and in no sense for the operatic stage, but great care and much money have been spent in trying to realize its scenic demands. As a dramatic production, it cannot compare with the “Faust” of Gounod, but it has certain qualities of a greater sort, which have made imprésarios desire to shape it for the stage.

Berlioz was probably one of the least attractive of musicians. As a man, he was entirely detestable. He despised (from jealous rather than critical motives) all music that was not his own; or if he chose to applaud, his applause was certain to be for some obscure person without ability, in order that there might be no unfavourable comparisons drawn between his own work and that which he was praising. Beyond doubt he was the greatest instrumentalist of Europe, but he was bizarre, and none too lucid.

His method of showing his contempt for other great composers like Beethoven, Mozart, and the like, was to conduct their music upon important occasions, without having given himself or any one else a rehearsal. He called Haydn a “pedantic old baby,” and refused as long as he lived to hear Elijah (Mendelssohn). In short, he was one of the vastly disagreeable people of the earth, who believe that their own genius excuses everything.

The story of his behaviour at a performance of Cherubini’s Ali Baba will serve as an illustration of his bad taste.

Cherubini had become old, and was even more anxious about the fate of his compositions than he had been in his youth, having less confidence in himself as he declined in years, and on the occasion of Ali Baba he was especially overwrought. Berlioz got a seat in the house, and made his disapproval of the performance very marked by his manner. Finally he cried out toward the end of the first act, “Twenty francs for an idea!” During the second act he called, “Forty francs for an idea!” and at the finale he screeched, “Eighty francs for an idea!” When all was over, he rose wearily and said, loud enough to be heard all over the place, “I give it up I’m not rich enough!” and went out.

There is hardly an anecdote of Berlioz extant that does not deal with his cynicism or displeasing qualities, therefore we may more or less assume that they pretty correctly reflect the man. One of the stories which well illustrates his love of “showing up” his fellows, concerns his Fuite en Égypte. When it was produced he had put upon the programme as the composer one Pierre Ducre “of the seventeenth century.” The critics, one and all, wrote of the old and worthless score that Berlioz had unearthed and foisted upon the suffering public. Some of them wrote voluminously and knowingly of the life of Pierre Ducre, and hinted at other productions of his, which they said demonstrated his puerility. Then when he had roused all the discussion he pleased, Berlioz came forward and announced that there never had been any such personage as Ducre, and that it was himself who had written Fuite en Égypte. He had made everybody appear as absurd as possible, and there is no sign that he ever did that sort of thing for the pure love of a joke. He was malicious, born so, lived so, and died so. However great his music, he was unworthy of it.

DAMNATION OF FAUST

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Faust.
Méphistophélès.
Brander.
Marguerite.
Sylphs, students, soldiers, angels.

Composer: Hector Berlioz.

ACT I

One lovely morning, in a Hungarian meadow, a scholar went to walk before he should begin his day’s task of study and of teaching. He was an old man, who had thought of little in life, so far as his associates knew, besides his books; but secretly he had longed for the bright joys of the world most ardently.

While he lingered in the meadow, possessed with its morning brightness, and its summer dress he heard some person singing not far away:

At first a single voice was singing, but soon the song was taken up by a joyous chorus, and Faust, the scholar, stopped to listen.

Alas! It spoke of that gaiety he had so longed to enjoy. A group of peasants were out for a holiday, and their sport was beginning early. While he meditated on all that he had lost, the merrymakers drew near, and he watched them dance, listened to them laugh and sing, and became more and more heartsick. It was the youth of the revellers that entered into his heart. There was he, so old, and nearly done with life; done with its possibilities for joy and with its hardships!

Then, in the very midst of these thoughts the sound of martial music was heard. Faust shaded his eyes with his trembling old hand:

“Ha! A splendour of weapons is brightly gleaming afar: the sons of the Danube apparelled for war! They gallop so proudly along: how sparkle their eyes, how flash their shields. All hearts are thrilled, they chant their battle’s story! While my heart is cold, all unmoved by glory.” He sang this in recitative, while the music drew nearer and nearer, and as the army passed by, it marched to one of the famous compositions of history:

Then the scene changed, and Faust was once more alone in his study. He was melancholy.

“I left the meadow without regret, and now, without delight, I greet our haughty mountains. What is the use of such as I continuing to live? There is no use! I may as well kill myself and have done it.” And after thinking this over a moment in silence he prepared himself a cup of poison, and lifted it to his lips. As he was about to drink and end his woes, the choir from the chapel began to sing an Easter hymn.

“Ah!” he cried, “the memories that overwhelm me! Oh, my weak and trembling spirit, wilt thou surely ascend to heaven, borne upward by this holy song!” He began to think of his happy boyhood, of his early home; then as the glorious music of the choir swelled higher and higher, he became gentler and thought more tolerantly of life.

“Those soft melodious strains bring peace to my soul; songs more sweet than morning, I hear again! My tears spring forth, the earth has won me back.” He dropped his head upon his breast and wept. As he sat thus, in tender mood, a strange happening took place. A queer, explosive sound, and a jet of flame, and there stood the devil, all in red, forked tail, horns, and cloven hoof! He stood smiling wickedly at the softened old man, while Faust stared at him wildly.

“A most pious frame of mind, my friend. Give me your hand, dear Doctor Faust. The glad Easter ringing of bells and singing of péans have certainly charmed you back to earth!”

“Who art thou, whose glances are so fierce? They burn my very soul. Speak, thou spectre, and tell me thy name.” From his very appearance, one could hardly doubt he was the Devil.

“Why! so learned a man as you should know me. I am thy friend and comfort. Come, ye are so melancholy, Doctor Faust, let me be thy friend I’ll tell thee a secret: if you but say the word, I’ll give ye your dearest wish. It shall be whatever you wish. Eh? Shall it be wealth, or fame? what shall it be? Come! Let us talk it over.”

“That is well, wretched demon! I think I know ye now. I am interested in ye. Sit, and we shall talk,” the poor old Doctor replied, despising that which nevertheless aroused his curiosity. He, like everybody else, had heard of the Devil, but he doubted if any other had had the fortune actually to see him.

“Very well; I will be thine eye, thine ear. I will give thee the world; thou shalt leave thy den, thy hateful study. Come! to satisfy thy curiosity, follow me.”

The old man regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then rose:

“Let us go,” he said, and in the twinkle of an eye they disappeared into the air.

They were transported over hill and dale, village and fine city, till the Devil paused at Leipzig.

“Here is the place for us,” he said; and instantly they descended to the drinking cellar of Auerbach, a man who kept fine Rhenish wine for jolly fellows.

They entered and sat at a table. By this time the Devil had changed Faust the scholar, into a young and handsome man, youth being one of Faust’s dearest wishes.

All about them were coarse youths, soldiers, students, men off the street, all drinking and singing gaily. Faust and the Devil ordered wine and became a part of the company. They were all singing together at that moment:

Oh, what delight when storm is crashing,
To sit all the night round the bowl;
High in the glass the liquor flashing,
While thick clouds of smoke float around.

The rest of the words were not very dignified nor fascinating, and Faust looked on with some disgust. Presently some one cried out to a half-drunken fellow named Brander to give them one of his famous songs, and he got unsteadily upon his feet and began:

There was a rat in the cellar-nest
Whom fat and butter made smoother;
He had a paunch beneath his vest
Like that of Doctor Luther;
The cook laid poison cunningly,
And then as sore oppressed was he,
As if he had love in his bosom.

He ran around, he ran about,
His thirst in puddles laving;
He gnawed and scratched the house throughout,
But nothing cured his raving;
He whirled and jumped with torment mad,
And soon enough the poor beast had,
As if he had love in his bosom.

And driven at last, in open day,
He ran at last into the kitchen,
Fell on the hearth and squirming lay
In the last convulsion twitching;
Then laughed the murd’ress in her glee,
“Ha, ha! He’s at his last gasp,” said she,
As if he had love in his bosom.

“Requiescat in pace, amen!” the Devil sang, and all joined on the “amen.” “Now then, permit me to sing you a ballad,” the Devil cried, gaily, and he jumped upon his feet.

“What, you pretend that you can do better than Brander?” they demanded, a little piqued.

“Well, you see, I am expert at anything nasty and bad; so let us see:

There was a king once reigning,
Who had a big black flea,
And loved him past explaining,
As his own son were he.
He called his man of stitches,
The tailor came straightway,
’Here, measure the lad for breeches,
And measure his coat, I say.’

In silk and velvet gleaming,
He now was wholly drest,
Had a coat with ribbons streaming,
A cross upon his breast.
He had the first of stations,
A minister’s star and name,
And also his relations,
Great lords at court became.

And lords and dames of honour
Were plagued awake and in bed.
The Queen, she got them upon her,
The maids were bitten and bled.
And they did not dare to brush them,
Or scratch them day or night.
We crack them and we crush them,
At once whene’er they bite.”

“Enough!” said Faust; “I want to leave this brutal company. There can be no joys found where there is so much that is low and degrading. I wish to go.” And turning angrily to the Devil, he signified that he would leave instantly.

“Very well,” said the Prince of Darkness, smiling his satirical smile. “Away we go and better success with thee, next time.” At which he placed his mantle upon the ground, they stood upon it, and away they flew into the air and disappeared.

When next they stopped, it was upon a grassy bank of the Elbe River.

“Now, my friend; let us rest. Lie thou down upon the grassy bank and close thine eyes, and dream of joys to come. When we awake we shall wish again and see what new experience the world holds for us. Thus far you do not seem too well satisfied.”

“I will sleep,” Faust answered, reclining upon the bank. “I should be glad to forget some things that we have seen.” So saying he slept. No sooner had he done so, that the Devil summoned the most beautiful sylphs to dance before him, and thus to influence Faust’s dreams. They began by softly calling his name. Then they lulled him to deeper sleep, and his dream was of fair women. In his dream he saw the lovely dance, the gracious forms, the heavenly voices of youthful women. The Devil directed his dream-laden eyes toward a loving pair who walked and spoke and loved apart. Then immediately behind those lovers walked, meditatively, a beautiful maiden.

“Behold,” the Black Prince murmured to Faust; “that maiden there who follows: she shall be thy Marguerite. Shall it not be so?” And Faust sank back in his sleep, overcome with the lovely vision. Then the Devil motioned the sylphs away.

“Away, ye dainty elves, ye have served my turn to-day, and I shall not forget.” They danced to exquisite waltz music, hovering above Faust, and gradually disappeared in the mists of the air.

Slowly Faust awakened; His first word was “Marguerite!” Then he looked about him in a daze.

“What a dream! What a dream!” he murmured. “I saw an angel in human form.”

“Nay, she was a woman,” said the Devil. “Rise and follow me, and I will show her to thee in her home. Hello! Here comes along a party of jolly students and soldiers. They will pass her home. We’ll move along with them, join their shouts and songs, and presently we shall arrive at her house.” Faust, all trembling with the thought that at last he had found that which was to make his life worth living, joined the crowd and followed. The soldiers boisterously sang a fine chorus as they went. No sooner had they finished than the students began their song. It was all in Latin and seemed to Faust to echo that life which had once been his. Then the soldiers and students joined in the jollity and sang together.

This fun lasted what to Faust seemed too long a time. He was impatient to see and speak with the dear maiden Marguerite; and at last, his wish was to be granted. The Devil set him down without ceremony in the young girl’s house. There, where she lived, where her meagre belongings were about, he sang rapturously of her. He went about the room, looking at her chair, her basket of work, the place where she should sleep, examining all with rapture. Then the Devil said in an undertone:

“She is coming! hide thyself, and frighten her not.” Then he hid Faust behind some curtains and took himself off with the parting advice:

“Have a care not to frighten her, or thou wilt lose her. Now make the most of thy time.” Faust’s heart beat so with love that he feared to betray himself.

Then Marguerite entered. She was as lovely as a dream. She was simple and gentle, and very young and innocent. She had never seen any one outside her little village. She was so good that she could fairly tell by instinct if evil influences were about her. She no sooner entered the chamber than she was aware of something wrong. She felt the presence of the evil one who had but just gone. She paused and murmured to herself:

“The air is very sultry,” and she felt stifled. “I am trembling like a little child. I think it is the dream I had last night” (for the Devil had given her a dream as he had given Faust, and in it she had seen her future husband). “I think it is because I expect every moment since my dream, to see the one who is to love and cherish me the rest of my life.” The simple folk of Marguerite’s time believed in dreams and portents of all kinds.

There she sat in her chair and recalled how handsome the lover of her dream was, and how truly she already loved him. Then she decided to go to bed, and while she was folding her few things, putting her apron away, combing out her long and beautiful hair, she sang an old Gothic song, of the King of Thule:

When came his time of dying,
The towns in his land he told;
Naught else to his heir denying
Except the goblet of gold.
He sat at the royal banquet,
With his knights of high degree,
In the lofty hall of his fathers,
In the castle by the sea.

There stood the old carouser,
And drank the last life-glow,
And hurled the hallow’d goblet
Into the tide below.
He saw it plunging and filling,
And sinking deep in the sea,
Then his eyelids fell forever,
And never more drank he.

There was a King once in Thule,
Faithful was he to the grave.

Then the Devil, who was watching all, summoned his imps. This time they took the form of Will-o’-the-wisps.

“Come! dance and confuse this maiden, and see what we can do to help this lovesick Faust,” he cried to them, and at once they began a wonderful dance. Marguerite watched them entranced, and by the time Faust appeared from the folds of the curtains she was half dazed and confused by the unreal spectacle she had seen. Then she recognized the handsome fellow as the one she had seen in her dream.

“I have seen thee in my dreams,” she said, “and thou wert one who loved me well.” Faust, entranced with her beauty and goodness, promised to love her forever; and as he embraced her, the Devil suddenly popped in.

“Hasten,” he cried. “We must be off.”

“Who is this man?” Marguerite cried in affright.

“A brute,” Faust declared, knowing well the devilishness of his pretended friend in whose company he travelled.

“Nay! I am your best friend. Be more courteous,” the Devil cautioned, smiling.

“I expect I am intruding,” he continued. “But really I came to save this angel of a girl. Our songs have awakened all the neighbours round, and they are running hither like a pack of hounds to see what is going on. They know this pretty girl has a young man in here talking with her, and already they are calling for her old gossip of a mother. When her mother comes ye will catch it finely. So come along.”

“Death and Hell!” Faust cried, not knowing how near he was to both.

“There is no time for that. Just come along. You and the young woman will have plenty of time hereafter to see each other. But just now we must be off.”

“But she ”

“It will go hard with her if we are found here, so ye had better come on, if only for her sake.”

“But, return, return,” Marguerite cried, looking tenderly at Faust.

“I shall return, never to leave thee,” he cried, and then, interrupted by the noise made by men and women in the street, who were coming to find out what he was doing there, Faust left hurriedly. Every night thereafter for a time they met, and Marguerite was persuaded by the Devil to give her old mother a sleeping potion to keep her from surprising them. Then one day the Devil again lured Faust away.

“Now thou shalt never see her again,” the Devil said to himself, gloating over the sorrow Faust was sure to feel; and away they fled, the Devil sure of tempting Faust anew.

After that Marguerite, left quite alone, watched sadly, each day for the return of her lover, but alas! he never came. One night while she was leaning out of her casement, the villagers were singing of the return of the army.

“Alas, they are all making merry, soldiers and students, as on the night when I first saw my lover, but he is no longer among them.” And then sadly she closed her window and kept her lonely vigil, ever hoping for his return.

Away in a cavern, in the depths of the forest, was Faust. He had never returned to Marguerite’s village, and neither had he known any peace of mind. He had immediately found other pleasures which had for a time made him forget her, and then, when he was far away and it was too late to return, he desired again to be with her. Now, sitting apart in the wood, mourning, the Devil came to him.

“How about that constant love of thine? Do ye never think of that poor child Marguerite, lonely and far away, awaiting thee month after month?”

“Be silent and do not torture me, fiend,” Faust cried bitterly.

“Oh I have a lot to tell thee,” the Black Prince replied. “I have been saving news for thee. Dost thou remember how, on those nights when thou didst go to see that good maiden, she was told to give her old mother a sleeping draught, that she might sleep soundly while ye billed and cooed? Well, when ye were gone, Marguerite still expected ye, and continued to give the draught, and one night the old dame slept forever, and I tell thee that draught killed her. Now thy Marguerite is going to be hanged for it.” Upon hearing that, Faust nearly died with horror.

“What is it ye tell me?” he cried. “My God! This is not true.”

“All right. All right. Believe it or not, it is the same to me and to her because that poor maid is about to die for killing her mother.”

“Thou shalt save her, or I shall kill ” But he stopped in his fury, knowing that none could kill the Devil. He wrung his hands in despair.

“Now if thou wilt keep thyself a bit civil, I may save her for thee, but don’t forget thy manners.”

At that Faust was in a fury of excitement to be off to Marguerite’s village.

“Not so fast, not so fast,” the Devil said “Now if I am to save thy love, I must have a little agreement with thee. I want your signature to this paper. Sign, and I promise to save her, without fail. But I must have that first.”

“I will give thee anything,” Faust cried, and instantly signed the paper. That paper was really an agreement to give the Devil his soul when he should die, so Faust had abandoned his last hope on earth or hereafter. Then the Devil called for his horses his black horses upon which damned souls rode with him to Hell.

“Mount,” he said to Faust, “and in a trice we shall be with thy Marguerite and snatch her from the gallows.” Instantly they mounted and then began the fearful ride to Hell.

Presently they came near a crowd of peasants kneeling about a roadside cross.

“Oh, have a care. Let us not ride upon them,” Faust cried.

“Get 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.