I had been informed that it was no use buying a book of _Mireille_,
as those sold in the house were of a somewhat light and mis-leading
character. So I didn't. But I had a programme, and fortunately I was
able to recognise most of the singers in spite of their disguise. Also
I comforted myself with the official information that the piece was
to be performed, "by desire, in French." "Oho!" says I, to myself,
"there is some sensible person on the Committee who doesn't understand
Italian, and prefers 'French as she is sung.'" However, I recognised
but one of the Covent Garden Committee men present, and he was there
only in a casual sort of way. DRURIOLANUS wasn't _en évidence_;
probably at home rehearsing various effects with a view to receiving
the Imperial Majesty of Germany. These receptions, including "such a
getting up (and down) stairs," walking with crab-like action, require
a lot of rehearsal, not to mention the management of a sword which
is apt to be dangerous only to the wearer, and the carrying of
wax-lights, the effect of which on his official Court dress may recall
to the mind of the Operatic Manager the celebrated name of GRISI.
There was no one in authority to tell me anything about _Mireille_,
and this is what I made out of the plot.
_Mireille_, Miss EAMES, charming throughout, is a happy peasant
in beautiful little patent leather shoes, which, I hope, are
as easy as apparently are her circumstances. She is beloved by
one _Vincent_, pronounced _Van Song_, a peasant of a rather
Whitechapelish-costermongerish-out-on-a-Sunday appearance, but
picturesque withal. They are engaged; at least, if they are not they
ought to be. Then comes a handsome elderly lady, disguised like a
fairy godmother in a pantomime before she throws off her hood and
announces her real character, and this lady, called _Taven_ in the
bill, is Mlle. PASSAMA, who sings a song about a _papillon_, for what
particular reason I do not know, except to please the audience, which
it did, being encored, and to puzzle _Mireille_, in which it also
succeeded, if I might judge by Miss EAMES's expressive countenance.
And here I must observe that I found my intimate acquaintance with
the French language almost useless, for except an occasional "_oui_,"
given, as _Jeames_ has it, "in excellent French," and for some
allusions to "_le papillon_" just mentioned, and "_et alors_"--which
didn't help me much, even when given twice most dramatically by M.
ISNARDON,--I couldn't catch a single word, and as far as libretto
went, it might have been, for me personally, given in double-Dutch,
or the dialect of a South-African tribe.
[Illustration: The Wicked Vibrato Peasant with the big
Toasting-cum-Tuning-Fork.]
On the disappearance of _Taven_,--[she didn't take off her cloak, and
wasn't a fairy, which rather put me off the scent, I admit,]--in comes
a gorgeous person, six feet high at least, and stout in proportion,
who, as I gathered from the programme, was _Ourrias_ (what a name!),
played by Signor CESTE, and sung with a kind of double vibrato stop in
his organ, which seemed, when turned on full, to make the upper boxes
quiver. Well, in he comes, and tells _Mireille_ something--what,
I don't know--but this is how the row began, as, in less than five
minutes, two old men, one M. ISNARDON, dramatic and in tune, and
the other, not mentioned in my programme, and therefore pardonably
somewhat out of tune, enter and commence a rumpus; what the difficulty
was all about I am not clear, but the upshot was that the old man in
tune cursed his daughter, and the old man out of tune held back his
son VINCENT, and prevented him from first assaulting and then being
assaulted by the irate _Maître Ramon_, i.e., M. ISNARDON. The Chorus
of Unhappy Villagers forms _tableau_. End of Act the Second; in Act
the First there was no action at all, and everything had gone off as
pleasantly as possible.
[Illustration: The Happy Peasant Boy with his Long Pipe.]
Then, in Act III., there is a sandy desert--where?--Egypt?--Heaven,
AUGUSTUS HARRIS, and the scene-painter, only know--and here comes on
a mighty illigant shepherd with a pipe--to play, not to smoke--and
one clever person near me was sure it was Miss EAMES in disguise, but
it turned out to be Miss REGINA PINKERT, a piper of whom some present
would willingly have paid to hear a little more; but she vanished,
probably in search of her flock in the desert,--by the way, an
excellent place for golf this desert,--and then in came _Mireille_ and
_Taven_, when the latter, I fancy, tells _Mireille_ of the crime she
has witnessed in the previous scene, which, I regret to say, I have
omitted to mention from motives of delicacy. But alas! I can no longer
conceal the fact. In that previous scene _Mr. Ourrias_ had behaved
very badly in first losing his temper, and then sticking a dagger into
poor _Vincent Lubert_, who fell down behind a rock, presumably dead.
The golf-ground is cleared off, and we are back again in front of the
village church. But at this moment a person, who knew all about it,
whispered, "If you want to get your cab, and escape the crush, now's
the time, as the Opera is just over." So I hurried off, and to this
moment I haven't the faintest idea how it all ended, and I don't quite
understand how it began. However, I have recorded my impressions,
confused probably, but--the music is very pretty, and Miss EAMES very
charming.
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