Don Quichotte

There lived in Spain toward the end of the 16th Century a certain Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, soldier of fortune retired to devote himself to literature, who, weary of the frothy, extravagant romances that had so long been the vogue in Spain, set himself to mock his scribbling brothers with a tale more fantastic than any that had been written. A great satirist, Cervantes--a greater poet. He took for his hero a knight as mad as the northwind, put him through incredible paces, made him withal so real, so courageous, so pathetic, so magnificent that not for three centuries has one been found to rival him.

On the basis of Cervantes' Don Quixote, cut and pieced by librettist Henri Cain, Jules Massenet wrote an opera, wrote it seeing Feodor Chaliapin, big Russian bass, craftiest of impersonators, as the noble moulting Don Quichotte de la Mancha, Baron, Duke and Knight of the Rueful Countenance.

Last week, at the Metropolitan Opera House, Manhattan, Chaliapin made his first (U. S.) appearance* as the Don, proved himself once more a master interpreter, able to grasp what Massenet had been temperamentally unable to--the irony, the humor, the pathos, of the first Don Quixote. On he came, splendidly, madly scattering largesse, singing to his love Dulcinea, who knew him only for a seedy dolt who roamed the countryside. Off he went, for her, to find her necklace stolen by a band of brigands; saw windmills in the clearing mist take shapes of giants making wild gestures with their great revolving arms, charged them in the name of his lady. Back he came with the necklace surrendered to him for the insane simplicity of his request, back to wed his Dulcinea who, kindly for a courtesan, sent him away, back into the forest to die. Florence Easton was Dulcinea, conscientiously seductive; Giuseppe de Luca, the faithful portly Sancho, himself a little mad. The opera, critics agreed, to be of little consequence, save for Massenet's unfailing craftsmanship; endowed with little real beauty, with many melodic bromides--all of which were forgotten in the magnificent impersonation of Chaliapin, one well worth a place beside his Mephistopheles, his Boris.

Hired

Back to the Metropolitan Opera House, Manhattan, after nine years' absence, came some weeks ago 65-year-old Ernestine Schumann-Heink, sang in two performance s--both times as Erda, once in Rheingold, once in Siegfried. Critics praised her, the audiences rushed to the footlights afterward to give her an ovation, acclaimed her a "great old lady." Back, way back in his office, where all things are decided, Manager Giulio Gatti-Casazza listened to her voice, still gloriously strong and true, listened to the applause, drew up a new contract, for next season. Last week Mrs. Charlotte Grief (daughter of Mme. Schumann-Heink), who lives in Leipzig, sailed for Europe. Mme. Schumann-Heink went to see her off, encountered a group of reporters, took the opportunity to announce that she had signed the contract. "What I did was only a tryout. They wanted to see if I could sing any more and I believe they found I could. Honest to God, I'm happy!"

*Don Quichotte had its premiere in Monte Carlo on Feb. 24, 1910. with Chaliapin in the title role. It was first given in Manhattan on Feb. 3, 1914, by the Chicago-Philadelphia Opera Company with Mary Garden as Dulcinea. Last week's performance was the first at the Metropolitan.