The original 1926 décor for the Brno première of the "Moon" scene was happier, with its fairy-tale castle towers and Fritz Lang U.F.A. "Metropolis" shapes; side mountain ranges, looking like gigantic dinosaur molars, and streaming light alternating with dark circles on the cyclorama. The moon décor in the 1958 Brno production at the Janáček Festival was still pretty shabby, with few of the subtle shadings and imaginative touches of modernity which one had hoped for: "because", someone said, "the festival budget would not run to new designs and décor for all the Janáček operas presented at the Festival".

All the main characters in the first earth-scene now appear in various metamorphoses. Mazal, our artist, given to occasional flights of poetic fancy, has become Blankytný, a poet with an overpowering taste for hyperbole and extravaganza. The Verger is now Lunobor, still protector of his daughter and armed for this purpose with a green net on the end of a long stick-a butterfly-catcher. The central figure of this scene is Etherea, late Málinka. Throughout all changes in both operas, Mr. Brouček alone remains faithful to himself and is the one constant character in the entire opera.

When we first see him on the moon, he is either asleep or in a faint; anyway he is lying on his back. Blankytný (ex Mazal) enters riding on his horse Pegasus, dismounts and ties the steed to a tall flower. The horse occasionally feeds on the "fragrance "of the flower.

Blankytný catches sight of Brouček and is openly disgusted at the vulgarity of his appearance; he turns to his harp for consolation. What sort of monster is this, he wonders, or can it be an hallucination of his brain? Mr. Brouček awakes, sees what he supposes is his defaulting tenant Mazal, and asks him warmly why he appears in this ridiculous disguise. Blankytný tells him to keep his distance and, drawing himself up with dignity, announces himself as the poet Blankytný, whose name is known in every corner of the Moon. Hastily looking round him, Brouček is frightened at what he sees, and starts counting rapidly on his cuff to see if he is awake or dreaming. These antics of Mr. Brouček are disturbing to the sensitive poet who commands him to stop fidgeting and to tell him his name. "It’s not so poetic a name as yours", replies Mr. Brouček and, as he jumps to his feet, a sausage falls from his pocket before the horrified eyes of the poet.

"Don’t you know your own landlord?", he asks and starts boasting (to a swaggering Czech folk-dance motif) that he owns a three-storied house with no mortgage on it either. This piece of excessive vulgarity, following on the lamentable sausage episode, is more than our poet can stand, and he starts moaning to himself in an agonized manner seeking consolation in lightly strumming on his harp, the ethereal tones of which remind him of the higher aesthetic life to which he belongs. "Please, please do not mention such mundane matters to me", he says loftily, "but rather tell me how you are serving the Higher Life, the Eternal Ideals of Beauty and Love. But perhaps you don’t even know what Poetry and Love are?" he adds scornfully.

Not know anything about Love indeed! And at his age too! "Why, whenever I meet a pretty wench", chuckles Brouček, "I never can resist the temptation to chuck her under the chin. "

"Such blasphemy against the High Dignity of Sanctified Womanhood!" exclaims the now almost speechless poet; and, to warm romantic music, he tells the worldly-wise Brouček that the landlord knows nothing at all of true spiritual love and passion, going on to speak of the Divine Creature (Etherea) whom he has worshipped from afar for fifteen years.

"When this Pearl of Womanhood appears", says the infatuated poet, "you must fall on your knees, kiss the hem of her garment, look up at Her with Unspeaking Devotion ". Brouček scratches his head-has this penniless tenant of his gone barmy? The poet-artist raves on about the marvellous charms of his divinity, one poetic extravagance following another.

"What funny people God has created!" exclaims the exasperated Mr. Brouček. "If your love-making is all this high-falutin’, airy-fairy talk, tell me... where do your kids come from?" At this unspeakable piece of blasphemy against the Life Aesthetic, the poet covers his ears with his hands: further revelations at this pitch of vulgarity may well cause his death!

Lunobor, alias the Verger, has appeared on the scene again in the same role of female protector. He is described as a big fluffy ball of white hair and beard, carrying a butterfly net: like our poet artist, Lunobor also affects high poetic talk. He has come to announce the arrival of Etherea and, a moment later, the "Goddess" herself appears accompanied by a group of her handmaidens. Etherea turns out to be our Málinka of the previous earth-scene, transformed into a worthy mate and functioning on a suitably exalted spiritual plane. Certainly the tenor of her opening speech is such as would be calculated to give true aesthetic pleasure to the humbly adoring Blankytný who, of course, has fallen gracefully on his knees to welcome her. "I am bringing you the flower of my song, on which the dew shines as the tears of a poet, fragrant as an aloe and unafraid of any criticism", she begins smoothly. Her attendants dutifully echo her sentiments. "I cover you with the wings of my song", Etherea continues, "which are fiery, like the wings of Sarda, soft as the coat of a leopard and clean as a glass of alabaster. "Mr. Brouček stands gaping at the latest lunar arrivals now pretty certain in his own mind that he is among a bunch of lunatics.

Blankytný turns on Brouček and angrily commands him to kneel down. Brouček asks indignantly why on earth he should kneel to "a skirt"; and goes up to Etherea with a familiar "Pleased to meet you ", thrusting forward a cushioned hand. The lunar beings are petrified at this indelicate familiarity.

Etherea gazes at him in fascinated horror: "You are frightening, like a Medusa ", she tells him. Lunobor realizes that this strange creature is not of lunar-blood and proposes to begin his conversion by reading him the first three chapters of his "Lunar Manual on Aesthetics "; he goes to get the book. Blankytný can only moan his "Ou, ou!" in higher keys. Etherea now turns to the stranger, and while she expresses herself in the high-flown poetic imagery which, apparently, is the commonplace talk of lunar beings, there is no doubt that Mr. Brouček’s earthy happy-go-lucky ways have made an impression on her heart.

One recalls that, as a jealous young woman in the previous scene, she had also run after Brouček if only to spite her lover and appease her wounded vanity. Blankytný continues his moaning but now for a different reason: he calls Brouček the murderer of their happiness, and beseeches him to plunge a dagger into his heart and end his misery.

"I am wafted heavenwards by a fragrant breeze ", breathes Etherea tenderly to Brouček, ignoring this interruption, "but I will return as a butterfly to a flower, when it flies through the rainbow, as a living diamond shines in all the shimmering colours of the spectrum."

Looking critically at her frail, fragile figure, Mr. Brouček can’t resist saying-"Why, there isn’t even a solid pound of flesh on your bones! "The shock of this latest "gaffe" inspires only further passion in the infatuated Etherea, who now repeats over and over again with increasing passion, "You are mine! You are mine!"

She flings her arms around Mr. Brouček and drags him unwillingly to the grazing Pegasus. Despite his protests, she pushes him on to the saddle and with Brouček screaming at the top of his voice "This is madness!" and her attendants urging on the steed with Wagnerian "Hoy! Hoy!"s, she flies away with him on Pegasus. Lunobor rushes in, and unaware of the latest happenings, reads aloud to the departed Brouček the first three chapters of his "Lunar Manual on Aesthetics":

Cherish well
All Love and Beauty!
Respect and fear-
It is your duty!
Approach her not
That fruity cutey!

He turns a page and reads chapter 2:

Cherish well
All Love and Beauty! etc.

turns another page and then reads chapter 3, a further repeat of the same nonsense. Blankytný recovers sufficiently to strike a final dramatic attitude-"Madness rages in my soul! "he storms, looking after the departing Pegasus and follows it up with hollow Mephistophelian laughter, which Lunobor echoes as he runs after Etherea with his book and butterfly net.

The Music of Act I

The first printed edition of this opera by Universal Edition in 1919 has only Czech words and only as late as 1957 did an edition with German text appear-a version by Karlheinz Gutheim (after Cech, Dyk and Procházka ) which, because it deviated too far from the original, was disallowed by the Czech authorities.

Although a note at the beginning of the vocal score, presumably by the composer, indicates that the orchestral introduction is intended to picture silent moonlight interrupted by some sound of life, it is perhaps better to consider the prelude merely as a piece of music which introduces some of the main themes. At any rate, there is little of the conventional musical portrait of moonlight in this lively one-in-a-bar allegro. Its opening paragraph consists of three comedy themes,

the third of which-the pentatonic dance tune in the bassoon-is the most important generating theme in the opera, appearing no fewer than twenty-two times in this, its original, form and many other transformations. The pointed arpeggio octave leaping figure on the harp No. 163, which accompanies its openings bars, is also of importance in future developments.

How simple, yet how subtle and characteristic of the composer are the opening bars: (No. 161) around a softly sustained C sharp in the tenor, a two-note figure (crotchets B and A, with and without the addition of a C sharp auxiliary note) alternate on top and bottom voices, repeating this process six times. The opening D major sentence of sixteen bars (6(2+2+2)+10(4+4+2)) is repeated a tone lower in C minor.

The unexpectedly forceful and agitated third repetition of this material in G flat major breaks off before completing itself and is followed by two repetitions of the uncompleted second half (Nos. 162 and 163), each entry falling a tone in pitch (G flat major giving way to E major and D major) diminuendo, each phrase separated by pregnant silences, until in C major, with the original tempo and mood restored, we hear six quiet bars (the first two bars of Nos. 163 and 162) as preparation for a new section of the overture.

This is the symphonic "second "contrasting subject No. 164,

No. 164

 

the love theme of Act I, Scene 1, associated in the text with Málinka and Mazal and later (modified) in their masquerading as Blankytný and Etherea. In the overture, this appealing melody alternates with the playful No. 162, perhaps reminding us that even the love-making is to be taken as part of an overall burlesque. First appearing in C major, it begins to repeat itself in G flat major, but follows on with a new compressed 164A phrase, returning to C major where we again hear the bassoon playing a portion of No. 162.

The musical paragraph from [2I to [3] +3 is repeated and with some further repetitions crescendo of No. 163 in the bass, the broad second subject in @ flat major now receives similar treatment to the first subject (i.e. two quiet presentations of the theme followed by a tutti one), although here bars 1 and 2 of No. 164 are separated and expanded, a procedure which is continued in the high register of the cellos, the whole passage accompanied throughout by the compact figure No. 163 in the bass.

After further developments of the compressed 164 (A) (and six bars of a D major chord), the curtain rises as the dry comic bassoon of No. 162 appears transformed into a warm luscious eight-bar tune with an equally tuneful bass, to be repeated piano with top and bottom parts reversed and all firmly on the chord of D flat major.

The opening group of themes between [1] and [2] are now recapitulated fortissimo (transposed from D to A major) beginning with a melodic variation of No. 163 on top with the meaningful pauses between the phrases observed. In a meno mosso pianissimo, a flute plays the legato version of No. 162, followed by violas (imitated by cellos), singing out the counter-melody which accompanied it at [5].

As Málinka enters in a jealous rage, the music suddenly jerks on to an enhanced E major second inversion chord-held for twenty-three bars-as the first two bars of No. 162 flit in shade and shadow, punctuated with fp jerks indicating Málinka’s ill-temper. At [7] the major third of No. 164 starts a waltz tune which adds a light staccato (in an eight quaver pattern) of "Polka" to the basic waltz rhythm. An interesting rhythmic variation of No. 162 appears after [9]

No. 165

 

to which the three-part male chorus of artists from the inn sing a still further variant of the resourceful No. 162.

What might be called the first moon motive appears at [12], probably a speech-curve from "snad s mesice jste nespad?" ("Perhaps you fell from the moon?").
No. 166

 

When Mr. Brouček warns Mazal to keep away from his housekeeper, Málinka turns angrily on her lover: "Oh! I'll be revenged!" while the orchestra plays three heavily descending dominant 7th chords which circle back to the first one

No. 167

 

a "revenge" or "anger" motive of considerable importance.

Mazal’s "vision "of Mr. Brouček begins with mock solemn bass chords and No. 162 in a tongue-in-the-cheek disguise. Three further repetitions of the anger motif, and Mazal goes off jauntily into the inn, leaving Brouček spluttering with rage as the Innkeeper, standing in the doorway, remarks to him that his revenge may reach as high as the moon (a further repetition of No. 162).

What I have called the first moon motif (No. 166) reappears now with a crotchet rest between each second note, then consolidates itself into a sentimental legato little waltz tune to express Málinka’s love pique. A moment later a bassoon blurts out a four-note anger motif

No. 168

 

of which much use is made throughout the opera. At first it merely expresses Mr. Brouček’s irritation that anyone so nice as Málinka should care two hoots about such a worthless fellow as his penniless tenant. Then it later becomes associated with Mazal and his counterpart on the moon, that stern disciple of aestheticism, Blankytný and his so easily outraged feelings.

Vogel associates No. 162 at the beginning of the opera with "the moon smiling teasingly in the bassoons, as if guessing what is to befall Mr. Brouček": it appears in so many disguises that its dramatic implications at any one point is really anyone’s guess.

It is true that the fragmentary nature of the music, microscopic motifs of only a few notes which appear and disappear, voice lines which are little more than enhanced speech and an unorthodox orchestral palette give the listener who comes to Janáček’s music unprepared, very little to grasp: yet even a casual analysis of the music will disclose the logical relationship between the numberless motifs and figures and their transformation and development and, in particular, their rightness in any particular dramatic situation of the opera.

But these are subtle points which unless sought for may well elude identification, so that even so well informed a musician, brilliant critic and composer as the Soviet Kabalevsky could find little in Brouček of which he could conscientiously approve.

Janáček’s greatest success, Jenůfa, has a solidity about it and is basically founded on a recognizable and acceptable classical tradition of opera, which, on this account, makes it acceptable as a welcome addition to the modern operatic repertoire. It must he admitted, however, that the later operas, with the possible exception of Kátja  Kabanová, are still operas for connoisseurs; but now that recordings exist, it is possible that appreciation may well be accelerated and that outside the country of their origin, a Janáček opera may become less of an artistic "novelty", a succes d’estime, and more an anticipated and enjoyable evening’s entertainment in a theatre.

At [19], the scene between Málinka and the landlord settles into a more flowing movement-steady legato crotchets with a tremolo accompaniment, preceded by a grotesque measured tremolo "shiver of despair", which keeps recurring. Oboe, then viola, interject the twinkling No. 162, as Málinka’s father, with mug of beer in hand, asks Mr. Brouček if his intentions towards his daughter are honourable. Brouček escapes from this demanding situation with vague mutterings about the moon, as the ironic drinking song is heard coming from the Vikárka Inn-now as an infectious waltz (with imitations between first tenor and second bass) beginning with the endlessly adaptable No. 162.

The comic scene with the little waiter running after Brouček with his sausages reintroduces the opening motif No. 161: it might be somewhat difficult to explain its strategic situation here if one accepted Vogel’s association of it with moonlight. Here it is one of a group of humorous themes-including a high-pitched piccolo phrase.

In the distance, Málinka is heard asking Mr. Brouček if he really would marry her, while her father continues to voice indignation and disapproval. We hear the "revenge" motif (No. 167) in the bass, which is repeated two octaves higher. The action is fast-moving, with the music keeping pace with it: the characters appear and disappear with cinema-like rapidity.

"Please come again", the Innkeeper calls after Brouček to No. 161 in triple time.

As the Verger returns with his daughter, the orchestra very quietly plays the love motif No. 164, again followed by many repetitions of the compressed 4 third bar, and we learn from the orchestra too-the revenge or anger motif No. 167-that the Verger is still angry with Mazal and Brouček for their affront to his daughter. The expressive adagio which follows begins with a new restrained harmonization of the first two bars of the love motif: the once jaunty little burlesque figure No. 163 is transformed into a soaring, lush melody which dominates the music until [34], a typical example of "Janáček’s capacity for changing, as if by sleight of hand, a burlesque into an exalted hymn".

When Mazal’s sustained top A threatens to bring an enraged father on the scene [34], the practical-minded Málinka forces him to lower his voice at the same time as the "Love is a magic flower" song is wafted towards us from the inn.

A few minutes later, the castle steps are flooded by moonlight as the endearing No. 164 sings out in the most beautiful and ethereal tones imaginable, with the voices of the lovers barely audible in the distance-one of the loveliest moments in the entire opera.

Then Brouček is seen staggering drunkenly about and a stuttering oboe, echoed by the little waiter, reintroduces the comic element, which carries on with the umpteenth variation of No. 162. As Brouček "talks" to the moon, there is a reprise of the music at [5], with further variations (from p. 16 tempo primo) reaching a comical climax at [44] going into a prestissimo at [46], when voices and orchestra formulate a waltz on No. 161.

Janáček only provides about forty seconds’ worth of music to allow time for the change to the moonscape, it is necessary for a theatre in which the opera is being performed to possess a revolving stage.

Here Janáček has written a very charming motif for a solo violin, with harp accompaniment, breathing the very atmosphere of moonlight and the fragrance of moon flowers (No. 169).

No. 169

 

The space theme on piccolos, combined with the horn variation of 161 (A) and the fighting arpeggio figure No. 168, are thrown together in contrast.

It is dangerous to attach labels too closely to themes in Janáček’s works, as many of them serve a variety of purposes. No. 168 was first heard when Brouček was abusing Mazal to Málinka, but in the moon scenes it has identified itself with Blankytný and especially with the "agony" endured by this fleshly poet at the sight of the vulgar and the commonplace.

It now alternates with the opening motif of the scene: the rhythmically alive surprise figure No. 161, when Blankytný sees Brouček on the moon for the first time. To restore his jaded nerves, the poet finds relief by strumming on his harp, although, oddly enough, Janáček writes no special harp music for this purpose.

As the curtain rises, we hear the lively No. 170.

No 170

 

There is further development of No. 169, the first part of No. 170 and No. 168, until we come to a series of alternating major and minor triads in an adagio chromatic scale which is worth a moment’s consideration.

This series of unrelated chords, within the framework of a chromatic scale, represents the strange, "foreign", earthy element to the inhabitants of the moon: at [88] (Maestoso I = 63) when Etherea tells Brouček he is frightening like a Medusa: at [94], [96], [97], etc. (presto J= 100 fortissimo) when Blankytný feels himself up against a foreign force he cannot surmount: in phrases of two chords, at different places in the score, when matters of strangeness and puzzlement arise quietly at [72] and with mighty import at [90] and always the chord sequences are major and minor triads in alternation.

As a descending (unharmonized) whole-tone scale in the rhythm

Pegasus and his passengers disappear: altogether this chromatic scale motif generates almost as many sister motifs as does No. 162 in the Earth Scene (for another example see the emphatic six-note motif of disapproval [72] + 4) .

As Blankytný introduces himself to Brouček, the music is fragmentary and epigrammatic and mainly accompanied recitative (a boastful trumpet fanfare, a frightened figure at [60], an indignant one at [63], a swaggering Czech folksong at [64], an agitated running figure reiterated thirty times as Blankytný keeps moaning his No. 168) until we arrive at [67], when a modified version of No. 164 (pianissimo J = 63 with throbbing triplet accompaniment) accompanies Blankytný’s ecstatic outbursts in praise of "Beauty and Love".

When at [68] the poet tells Brouček flatly that perhaps he does not even know what love or beauty is, the orchestra immediately points his questions.

Again at [71], while Blankytný rhapsodizes over abstract love of an exultant, aesthetic character, strings cut in acidly, expressing Brouček’s down-to-earth idea that his idea of love is... sex! (three times a musical "belch" on a bassoon).

Another important theme appears at [73]-"Etherea with the soul of an angel "as Blankytný sees her-No. 171, which at [76] is orchestrated on a particularly delicate and silky three-octave string passage

No. 171

 

followed by considerable development (i.e. repetition) of No. 171 (A), worked up to a climax as Etherea herself appears accompanied by her handmaidens, and the orchestra thunders out No. 171 in all its glory and majesty!

Etherea’s greeting leaves nothing to be desired in its turn of poetic phrase and aesthetic imagery. Her handmaidens echo her words to No. 171 as a splendid waltz tune (with A of the same theme, as a quadruple group, rudely interjecting): orchestra and soprano chorus are associated in a rough sort of canon.

When Kabalevsky describes the waltzes in Brouček as being a la Richard Strauss, he was not listening very carefully, for, in fact, no waltzes could be more dissimilar: Strauss’s long, sweeping, complex, highly organized melodies, with equally organized contrasted episodes-Janáček’s dozen or more repetitions of a single four-bar phrase.

Etherea’s voice joins happily in the waltz and everything seems to be going along splendidly, until the officious Blankytný demands that Brouček should bow in hommage to his Goddess. This has the unfortunate effect of singling out the stranger for Etherea’s special attention, and in the major-minor chromatic chord sequence already mentioned, she makes it abundantly clear that his strange, crude, "foreign" manners have made an indelible impression on her heart.

She even sings a tender little love-song to him at [91], which is followed by the passionate trio [94] to [101], with Etherea becoming more and more infatuated with the stranger, Brouček protesting vigorously at her amorous onslaught and Blankytný moaning that his dreams of happiness have been murdered.

In addition to the chromatic major-minor motif at [94], [96], [97] and elsewhere in an aggressive rhythm, and the agonizing No. 168 groaning from Blankytný and the orchestra, there is also Etherea’s motif of infatuation

No. 172

 

and a bar of general excitement which keeps repeating

No 173

 

and which at [98] is augmented while Etherea emphatically repeats: "You are mine! You are mine!" and the near demented Blankytný begs for relief from the torture which is tearing him apart.

Now [12] and [13] combine, as the love-sick maiden pushes the loudly protesting Mr. Brouček into the saddle and Pegasus takes to the air, egged on by her trusty handmaidens, with their "Hoy! Hoy!"s, while Blankytný expresses his horror with a top C!

The arpeggio twisting love melody with which Etherea begins her wooing of Brouček at [95], soars out passionately in the full-toned orchestra, alternating with a series of harmonized falling whole-tone scales. These become single lines in weary imitation, after the disappearance of Pegasus and his passengers.

When Lunobor appears, things brighten immediately, as he reads three absurd (mercifully short!) nonsense chapters, accompanied by an equally ridiculous one-bar "Tidli, tidli" figure which can be seen again in various numbers of Janáček’s later "Říkadla" (Nursery Rhymes).

The act ends with Janáček’s usual abruptness.

The Story of Act II

The scene of Act II is the lunar Temple of All-Knowledge, star-shaped and magnificent in its magic splendour. Each point of the star belongs to a different art-poetry, painting, sculpture, music and dancing. In the centre of the star is the throne of the Splendid-One, while all around groups of dedicated artists are busily employed at the practice of their arts. The Splendid-One himself watches and encourages them, and when the curtain rises, he is directing a group of musicians in the orchestration of a score: "Put that melody on the Bombardon!" he calls, and when they do so, he expands with a satisfied "Splendid! Splendid!"

In the Splendid-One we can recognize the voice, if not the features, of our friend Würfl, Innkeeper at the Vikárka Inn: from being a glorified waiter, his librettists have promoted him to Director of the Lunar Academy of Arts. Although he acts grandly and behaves condescendingly to the artists, he admits candidly to the audience-like Bunthorne, in Patience-that he is a bit of a fake: "I have no creative gifts myself", he confesses: "I could have been a critic, only that sort of job doesn’t appeal to me, possibly because I am, basically, a man of peace. One must do something, however; so I became a patron of the arts. It pays off handsomely: they paint me, sculpt me, work my ideas into their music, and in this way, I secure immortality for myself and the gratitude of future generations. It is all highly gratifying. "Ecstatic cries arise from different artist groups in the throes of inspiration: "Light of all Lights! Spirit of all Spirits! " From the threshold of the music star-point, one Harfoboj, tenor, calls for silence, as he wishes to favour the company with a song.

We are not, however, destined to hear this song for, at this moment, Pegasus sails through the air and deposits its two passengers on the staircase which leads to the Temple of All-Knowledge. All are petrified at this apparition from the unknown, and the artists try to hide in all directions. Etherea falls on her knees in front of the Splendid One and begs that he, as Protector of All Things, should also grant protection to her and her lover.

Mr. Brouček indignantly repudiates the suggestion that he is Etherea’s lover. "And who, then, may you be?" asks the Splendid-One sternly. "Matĕj Brouček!" he replies, while the hiding artists savour the name with relish. The Prodigy Child, who is constantly seen with a piccolo held to his mouth, appears on the musical star-point, and welcomes Brouček. "I recognize you", says the Splendid-One reassuringly, "the glory of your name has penetrated even up here! "Then to the frightened artists-"Come out, you cowardly nightingales!"

A Pegasus, unless perhaps ridden by a Phaeton, is apparently no effective substitute for plane, motor-car, or locomotive, for the lively Lunobor and the blinking Blankytný-travelling by foot-rush in only a couple of minutes after the arrival of Etherea on her Pegasus. Of course, we know that the force of gravity on the moon is only a fifth of what it is here, and that provided one can keep alive without breathing air, one can easily take 40-foot leaps which will cover long distances in next to no time, but did Janáček know this and take it into account in a race a pied vs. Pegasus? or rather did Messrs. (Cech, Dyk, Masek, Janke, Gellner, Mahen, Holy and Procházka ?

Blankytný begins where he left off with his cri-de-coeur- "A storm of madness rages in my breast!" Apparently he is not thought of so highly away from home, for the Splendid-One points at him disparagingly saying: "He is an Argentinian song-bird!" Lunobor is more successful this time with his butterfly net and manages to catch his daughter in it at which Mr. Brouček is overjoyed.

Our man of property is introduced to the Cloudy-One, Priest of Lunar Poetry, and the artists proceed to give demonstrations of their lofty art to the new arrival. First a troop of dancers file out from the dancing star-point and execute a welcoming dance. During this ballet the Cloudy One falls on his knees in front of Brouček, takes his hands and presses them, gazes fixedly into his eye, embraces him and presses him to his bosom-gestures of homage and welcome which are utterly wasted on the worldly Brouček who pushes him roughly aside, muttering angrily "Stop this fooling!"

The artists readily sympathize with Brouček’s impatience, saying that, as a poet, the Cloudy-One is worse than useless and only writes commonplace, unoriginal stuff, the Splendid-One adding in an aside-"What can you expect? He has refused my patronage!" They crowd round this "Titan of Glorious Songs, Author of Unsurpassed Masterpieces "and welcome him with their homage, though why the Selenites should mistake Brouček for a great Earth poet is a mystery left unsolved by his creators. As they continue their unctuous flattery, which, again, leaves the bored and weary landlord utterly cold, we hear-en passant-one poet saying to a colleague, "I embrace you, dear friend, for your latest epic", and the too-modest reply, "Please be silent, friend! I look from the dust to your Eagle Flight!" The welcoming dance having ended, the Splendid-One invites the company to partake of some light refreshments. The refreshments are indeed very light, as the guests are expected to stave off hunger pangs with the scent of moonflowers.

The Prodigy Child acts as master of ceremonies, placing the guests at a long table, generally fussing over them and distributing flowers and an odd contrivance called a "slznicky" or "crying box". One can only assume that instead of applauding at the end of a performance on the Moon, it is customary to weep copiously, and this "slznicky" is a tear-jerking contrivance to help things along-a kind of lunar razzle! The Splendid-One announces that they will now sing the Moon National Anthem for their distinguished guest, and the Prodigy Child obligingly begins.

Some phrases of the anthem "Domou mŭj-Čechŭ plémĕ" ("My home-the Czech people") are actual quotes from the Czech National Anthem: we may take it, therefore, that it is intended to be a parody on the words of the Czech anthem:

In this land of gaping craters
Here have I made my home!
Where scents not food are served by waiters
Here on the moon is my home!

Seeing the honoured guest is falling asleep, the Prodigy Child breaks off singing and calls on Brouček to wake up! The artists continue with the anthem: the Prodigy Child reproaches Brouček for not "applauding" and hands him one of the tear-boxes.

Etherea comes stealthily up to Brouček, having escaped from her father’s clutches, and before the drowsy landlord is even aware of her presence, she has embraced him passionately and is fawning over him. The brazenness of her conduct offends the artists who turn their heads away in disgust. "As the breeze carries the Muezzin’s call of ‘Allah’, so I call unto thee ", she sings fervently with her arms around Brouček. "You-you spider’s web you! "splutters the indignant landlord. The artists cover their embarrassment by lustily singing their anthem.

Etherea now repeats the Romance she sang to Brouček at the end of the first act which begins-"I flee like the fragrance of flowers on the wind", accompanying her song with excited movements.

Probably no other composer but Janáček would dream of making an entirely new musical setting of a poem which has previously appeared in the same opera, if only for the formal balance such a repetition would provide. There are some additional verses with high-flown metaphors such as "antics of baboons", "explosions of Indian dancers", "smoking Etna", "Fair of Maenads" and the like, poetic imagery in which Etherea clothes her ardent desires. The artists now heartily approve of Etherea’s lofty words, perhaps not realizing the full import of her designs on Brouček.

"Pray that the Great Spirit may enlighten you with the Golden Rays of his Poesy", says the Splendid-One condescendingly to Brouček who now finds he has to defend himself on all sides against the over-enthusiastic attentions of the artists. "I cannot refuse you the uplift of my own verses ", says the Cloudy-One passionately to this poetic infidel:

"let me recite you the first hundred stanzas of my latest work ‘Starry Mists of Heaven’. "Not to be outdone, Lunobor rushes in with butterfly net and book shouting "Let me read you three mighty chapters from my famous book on Aesthetics."

"Silence", commands the Splendid-One; "all you know about poetry is to stick to the rules." On seeing her father Etherea has flown.

Without further ado, the Cloudy-One launches into his poem which begins: "In the blue sky the golden sun shines in its love to all creatures, throughout all ages.

"Fortified with all-powerful fragrance the dew drops from myriad flowers throughout all ages." At the words "throughout all ages" the artists as one body become suddenly rigid then immediately relax. According to Janáček, František Procházka wrote all the verses in the opera: we cannot but admire the consistency of his flamboyant moonstyle which maintains an exotic quasi-impressionistic flavour throughout and is really very funny.

As the moon poet rants on and on, poor Brouček’s agony becomes unbearable, until, in desperation, he asks the company what he has done to deserve this! Stanza follows stanza, until the droning voice of the poet finally lulls Mr. Brouček to sleep. He dreams of happy times in the snuggery of the Vikárka Inn, calling out in his sleep-"Waiter! Bring pork with sauerkraut and dumplings! "

At this irreverence the poet is huffed, while the artists try to repress their laughter. The Splendid-One intervenes tactfully: "O Dignified Genius, do not rob us of this Godly Pleasure. "Mollified, the poet continues his recitation, ignoring as best he can another dreadful interjection from Brouček about "that last sausage". His fellow poets help him out to the extent of loudly declaiming in chorus the new motto, "Far Horizon!" accompanied by their ludicrous rigid-relaxed gestures.

Following their example, the poet bursts into song, but gives up altogether when Brouček keeps shouting for more beer. At this the Prodigy Child presses a moon-flower to Brouček’s nose, hoping that his appetite, like theirs, may be appeased by its scent. It tickles.

He starts awake, rubs his eyes, roughly pushes the flower away with the remark that his "nose has enjoyed itself quite enough, thank you! "This rudeness is too much for the lunar artists, who turn indignantly on Brouček telling him never again must he use such language. Brouček, now thoroughly awake, asks with amazement what is the matter with his language; can’t he even speak about his own nose? To end an embarrassing situation the artists announce their intention of leaving, and they make a dancing exit to a rhythmically emphatic Czech dance, repeat at intervals, in true Gilbertian fashion, "We go! We go! We go! " This scene might have ended quite differently if Janáček had included a riotous scene he had actually written and published in Hudební Listy twenty-one years earlier: in this episode, a famous lunar composer, Thunderbolt, performed his latest composition "Storm" in honour of their distinguished guest but the noise was so horrific that Brouček flew for his life from the concert hall.

All this time the snubbed Blankytný has been painfully meditating on his lonely status among the members of this art community: he shakes himself awake, remarks that he doesn’t want to belong to this phoney moon society, and renewing his moaning, wanders disconsolately off.

The amazed Brouček refuses to believe that the mere mention of his nose could possibly give such offence.

A new character appears in the shape of the Rainbow Man who descends from the Art Star-point and beckons to Brouček. The landlord is unimpressed at what he sees-an odd-looking fellow in a multi-coloured suit: "He looks like twopence-halfpenny! Just look at the tie and suit! Like a mushroom!" Brouček remarks scornfully.

The Rainbow-Man, however, greets him politely and conducts him around the rainbow: then pulls out a chair and suggests that they should give over talking for a while and admire the scenery. After a time Brouček becomes bored, and taking a sausage from his pocket begins eating it. "He is crying!" exclaims the surprised Rainbow-Man, and the artists, sticking their heads out warily, and gradually reappearing, repeat the Rainbow-Man’s words: "He is crying! He is crying!"

"What rubbish! "exclaims Brouček, "Can’t you see that I am eating!"

"Eating!" shouts the chorus of artists in disgust: "Eating! Facing such dignified creatures of nature as us, you dare to indulge yourself in this contemptible earthly habit!"

"Did I come to the moon to die of starvation?" asks Brouček in despair. "You Earth-men", asks the Prodigy Child, "don’t you eat plant and vegetables?" "Only vegetarian cranks do that", replies Brouček angrily; "We eat MEAT! EAT MEAT! exclaim the horrified artists. Pork and veal, I mean", Brouček hastily explains; "not human meat, you know! "

The Splendid-One rallies to the attack, "So you, without mercy, tear and devour God’s own creatures! You make of your bodies living tombs to contain their corpses! Is it possible that the universe can tolerate a planet tainted with such despicable cannibalism!"-pointing to the sausage-"And this, I suppose, is a slaughtered animal?"

"Animal?" replies Brouček furiously: "Why, this is simply pork meat, mashed and stuffed into a bit of skin from the pig’s stomach. "

This piece of earthly barbarism proves too much for the sensitive Selenites-and one by one they fall down in a dead faint.

The infatuated Etherea rushes in and dances ferociously around Brouček, giving vent to passionate outpourings far in excess of her previous efforts. "I want to kidnap you and carry you off to the Moorish Alhambra" (now what would a moon-spirit know about that?). "You will be drunk with my love. I will close the golden book of my life with your dear name ... dear name, sweeter than aloes. "

But, on all counts now, our Mr. Brouček has had enough. In a flash-amounting to a stroke of genius-he blows his sausage breath full into Etherea’s face: result-she immediately dematerialises.

Madly crying "I must eat! I must drink!", Brouček-berserk-wrecks the table, runs to the staircase, climbs on Pegasus with shouts of "Gee up! Pegasus" and flies away.

Blankytný beats his breast and gives us positively the last performance of his melodramatic-"A storm of madness . . . rages in me! "

The ever-hopeful Lunobor continues to throw pearls of worldly wisdom from his Manual on Aesthetics after the fleeing Brouček.

Etherea materializes sufficiently to trill on a top B flat before signing off.

Harfoboj leads a group of male musicians who file out from the music star-point singing a chorus in praise of the Splendid-One:

Praise the Splendid-One in story
Harken to his tale of glory!
Blessings on his noble brow
Bringing courage to us now.

Under the influence of this inspiring stanza, the artists quickly recover from their faint.

Harfoboj sings it twice as a solo in a broadened version, adding a verse of his own in true lunatic-fringe poetic vein: "Don’t tear my soul, but consent graciously to receive these my emotional outpourings. "

A heavy mist comes down and quickly fills the whole stage, so that, when the Prodigy Child sings the chorus for the last time (accompanied by enthusiastic cries of "Hurrah! Hurrah!" from artists and musicians), we can now barely see the Splendid-One (who has shuffled on to his throne) and the excited throng of his ardent admirers.

The entire moon landscape is blotted out! We are now in outer space: stars shine, meteorites flash before our eyes, fall and burn: we are approaching the Earth. Gradually the outline of the Vikárka Inn becomes visible. It is dark; a red light goes on and off: we can just make out the company of artists leaving the inn after a heavy night’s drinking, with Innkeeper Würfl standing on the threshold beaming at them.

A composer throws a parting bouquet to the Innkeeper-

 

Accept these heartfelt thanks I render,
To you, dear friend, in all your splendour.

We are, perhaps, a little surprised to find the words and tune identical with those of Harfoboj in the coda of the moon scene; moreover, the merry chorus sung by the departing artists is also curiously reminiscent of the final song of the moon artists; likewise their last "Hurrah! Hurrah! "shout.

When Würfl calls after them "Please honour me again with your patronage", we really feel we are right back where we started.

Mazal and Málinka, pressed closely together, come out from the background. "Soon it will be dawn! We are alone, I and my true love", sings the amorous painter. "Perhaps you’d rather be with that girl-the one you danced with yesterday!" Málinka gently interposes.

"Dear Málinka," laughs Mazal, "that was only a joke! I don’t even dance, you know that!"

The pot-boy comes running from the castle steps: he has just spotted Mr. Brouček being carried home drunk-in a box-to the delight of the artists.

The lights in the inn are extinguished.

"Soon it will be dawn", the lovers sing happily together; "We are alone-I and my true love."

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