d upon the drama
by David Belasco, which was played here with great success some years
ago. Peculiarly apt for musical setting is the tale of the fascinating
little 'mousme' who contracts a so-called Japanese marriage with a
lieutenant in the American navy, and after a brief union is driven by
his perfidy to suicide. That the story is what may be called edifying
can hardly be claimed, but the world has long since ceased to
expect--perhaps even to desire--that opera should inculcate a lofty
moral code.

However, to come to business, the scene opens in the garden of a country
house among the hills above Nagasaki. Lieutenant Pinkerton and his
friend Sharpless, the American consul, are inspecting the retreat which
the former has prepared for his Japanese wife. The voices of Butterfly
and her girl friends are soon heard in the distance as they ascend the
hill. After an amusing scene of greeting and introduction comes the
marriage ceremony and its attendant festivities, which are interrupted
by the arrival of Butterfly's uncle. This venerable person, who is a
priest in a neighbouring temple, has discovered that Butterfly has
renounced her own religion and adopted that of her 'husband.' He
pronounces the most portentous maledictions upon her and is bundled out
by Pinkerton. The act ends with a love-duet of extraordinary beauty,
breathing tenderness and passion in strains which seem to embody all the
charm and mystery of the perfumed eastern night. Three years have passed
when the next act begins. Butterfly is deserted and lives with her
two-year-old baby and her faithful maid Suzuki, praying and waiting for
the husband who never comes. The friendly consul tries to break to her
the news of Pinkerton's marriage with an American girl, but Butterfly
cannot comprehend such perfidy. She sees Pinkerton's ship entering the
harbour and calls Suzuki to help her deck the house with flowers. The
music of this scene is exquisite, as is also that of the scene in which
Sharpless reads Pinkerton's letter to Butterfly; but the whole act is a
treasure-house of delicious melody and tender pathos. It ends curiously,
but not the less effectively, with a short orchestral movement, played
whilst Butterfly, Suzuki, and the child post themselves at the windows
to watch through the night for the coming of Pinkerton. The grey dawn
shows Butterfly still at her post, though the others have fallen asleep,
but no Pinkerton appears. A little later that singu