LE JONGLEUR DE NOTRE-DAME " Le Jongleur de Notre-Dame," or " The Juggler of Notre-Dame," an opera in three acts with score by Jules Massenet and as text the poem of Maurice Lena, was first produced in 1902 at the theatre of Monte Carlo.
Jean, the juggler.
Boniface, the cook of the abbey.
The priest.
A poet monk.
A painter monk.
A musician monk.
A sculptor monk.
Two angels.
The Virgin, an apparition.
Monks, voices of invisible angels, cavaliers, villagers, peasants, merchants, clerks, a crier monk, a comical fellow, a drunkard.
On a May-day in the Fourteenth Century, the people are frolicking in the square overlooked by the abbey, above whose door is placed a statue of the Virgin. With their songs mingle the cries of the merchants extolling such articles as leeks, cream cheeses, and white cabbages. Soon into the general tumult steal the notes of a hurdy-gurdy. The peasants, glad of a new diversion, give attention, and Jean arrives, grinding out a tune and bowing right and left. " Give place for the king of jugglers! " he says, quite grandly. He is very thin and wan and shabby and titters are heard from the crowd. " The king is not very splendid, truly a king of pitiful mien," comments one. " His Majesty, King Famine," announces another and the titters become roars.
Jean begins a grand harangue about the wonders of his performance but the crowd interrupts him to dance about the pathetic figure. As soon as he can evade them, he passes the wooden bowl. Only one piece of money rattles into it. A look of radiant gratitude comes into his face but a second glance drives it away, for the coin is bad.
Still hopeful, he begins his performance. " I can draw eggs from a hat," he suggests. " That old trick," sniffs the contemptuous audience. " I know the hoop dance," and he makes a few heavy turns. " Such lightsome grace," they remark, ironically, and dance about him again. " Shall I sing then ? " he pleads, hoping against hope to light upon some way to please them. " Will the gentlemen have a love song?" The cries of the vendors drown his voice.
"A battle song? " " No ! no! " He mentions several by name. All are old stories and they will have none of them. He timidly enumerates all his repertory. At last in his desperation and against the inclinations of his truly pious soul, he proposes a sacrilegious drinking song and, behold! it is what they want. First he turns to the Virgin to implore her pardon, explaining his hunger and necessity, and then playing a prelude on the hurdy-gurdy, he regret fully begins his song, the people joining boisterously in the chorus.
Suddenly the abbey doors open and the priest appears upon the steps to hurl reproaches and maledictions at the irreverent crowd. All run away but Jean, who falls upon his knees and begs piteously to be forgiven. The priest has no leniency. Only hell is for such as he. Jean, crushed, falls on his face and finally drags himself before the Virgin to plead with her. The holy man, softened at last by his agony of soul, admits that there is one way to secure for giveness for his transgression and that is to become a monk.
All his life Jean has had but one mistress, Liberty. It is hard to give her up but the priest argues unanswer ably, and to crown it all, Friar Boniface, the cook, comes in carrying paniers full of flowers and food and bottles. Savory odors issue from the refectory and he hears the chanted grace. " Come," invites the priest, " to the table." " To the table! " repeats hungry Jean in ecstasy, and with a humble genuflection, he goes in, carrying his juggler's box.
In the second act, we find Jean a monk but humble, contrite and regretful. What homage can lie do the Vir gin? He cannot even sing, or pray to her in Latin. Feel ing keenly his unworthiness, he remains silent and apart and the others chide him, all save Boniface, the cook. Humbly he acknowledges his fault. Well he knows that not one day since gentle Mary led him to this shelter has he earned his bread. Stupid, ignorant, he does nothing but eat and drink.