I went on Saturday to hear the three operatic novelties so liberally
provided for us on the same night by Messrs. MAPLESON, LAGO and HARRIS.
I do not mix my liquors, and I endeavour, as a rule, to keep to the same
lyrical drama throughout the evening; nor is it my fault if a good dose
of strong BEETHOVEN, sweetened with GOUNOD and flavoured with MEYERBEER
had, on the occasion in question, a somewhat confusing effect on my
brain. At Her Majesty's, LILLI LEHMANN was all right as _Leonora_: not
_Leonora_ of _La Favorita_, but _Leonora_ the favourite wife of
_Manrico_--no, not of _Manrico_, but of another personage who, like the
unfortunate _Trovatore_, has to be rescued by his loving spouse from the
tyranny of a powerful baritone; whether VERDI'S _Count di Luna_ or
SHERIDAN'S _Pizarro_, I cannot just now call to mind. Mlle. LEHMANN is
not only a fine singer, but also a serious dramatic artist; and the
public was deeply impressed by her performance. She is a LEHMANN with
all the earnestness of a good clergyman; not that she had taken orders
as I (Box No. 70) had done.
From Her Majesty's Theatre, I drove in a rapid Hansom to Drury Lane. I
had told the cabman to take me to the Royal Italian Opera, and I was
about to remonstrate with him for conveying me to the wrong house, when
he promptly explained that there were now two Royal Italian Operas, one
at Covent Garden, the other at Drury Lane. New source of confusion!
"Confusion worse confounded!" as MILTON observes.
"How far have they got?" I inquired as I entered the theatre.
"_Valentine's_ death scene," replied my friend.
"_Valentine_ does not die, my dear fellow; _Valentine_ only faints," I
answered, I was thinking of course, of the new dramatic soprano, Mlle.
SANDRA, in _Les Huguenots_.
"You are evidently not an Opera-goer," I continued, "or you would know
that no one dies in this work, except, of course, in the last Act. But
that is always left out."
"Wrong again!" exclaimed JONES, with an amused look. "AUGUSTUS HARRIS
restores the last Act. See his prospectus."
"Well, never mind that. Is _Ella Russell_ singing the part of _Queen
Margaret_ as well as ever?"
"I did not know that _Margaret_ was a Queen. I always thought she was of
humble origin. The part in any case is being played by Mlle. NORDICA."
Determined to be no longer the victim of mystification, I wished JONES
good-bye, and hurrying in, found the curtain down. Afraid now to ask
what was being played, I waited patiently for the next Act, and when at
last the curtain went up, I found to my astonishment that some
representation entirely new to me was taking place. Will-o'-the-Wisps on
a dark back-ground. That was all I saw. I asked myself whether I had
gone mad, or whether the Drury Lane Pantomime was being played a little
earlier than usual. Then the dark scene gave place to a scene of great
brilliancy. There was a throne at the back of the stage, and again my
thoughts reverted to the _Huguenots_, and I fancied I could recognise
_Queen Margaret_. But her features were not the features of ELLA
RUSSELL. Besides, ELLA RUSSELL does not dance, not at least on the
Operatic stage; and this lady did.
"This is HELEN," said a gentleman in a stall on my right to a lady by
his side. Here was at least a clue; and when at the same moment the
baritone DE RESZKE stepped out of a group attired in the garb of
_Mephistopheles_, I said to myself that the performance had been
changed, and this was the last Act of BOITO'S _Mefistofele_, with new
details, or at least details that I had not noticed when the work was
performed at Her Majesty's Theatre and at Covent Garden. Now dancing
began in earnest, and I wondered much at the never-failing ingenuity of
Mr. AUGUSTUS HARRIS, who with a score of first-rate singers in his
Company, had nevertheless found himself compelled (probably at five
minutes' notice,) to change an Opera into a _ballet_. It reminded me of
a certain operatic Manager, who, being suddenly deprived of the services
of most of his vocalists, announced in his programme, that in
consequence of the departure of his principal singers, the music of _Don
Giovanni_, would be "replaced, for that night only, by lively and
expressive pantomime."
When, however, _Mephistopheles_ DE RESZKE and _Faust_ DE RESZKE both
began to sing, I saw that my supposition was untenable.
"What you have seen," said JONES, who meanwhile had come in, and who now
occupied a seat on my left, "is not _Mefistofele_ at all. It is GOUNOD'S
additional Ballet Scene for _Faust_. 'Dramatic _Divertissement_' it
ought to be called. Beautiful grouping, picturesque costumes,
magnificent scenery, delightful dance music! But you ought not to have
missed the new _Valentine_. That was a great mistake." I looked at my
watch. "Time enough for the new _Valentine_ even now," I reflected; and
I went over as fast as I could to Covent Garden.
Here there was a new _Valentine_ surely enough. A Russian lady, I was
told. Not a bit like the Russian ladies one has seen in _Fedora_, the
_Pink Pearl_, the _Red Lamp_, and other dramatic misrepresentations of
Russian life. But Mlle. SANDRA, or Mlle. PANAEFF, or whatever her name
may be, was not playing the part of a female Nihilist. She was
impersonating a well-bred, Catholic young lady of the Sixteenth Century.
JONES subsequently informed me that it was not Mlle. SANDRA'S
_Valentine_ that I ought to have seen, but VICTOR MAUREL'S, at the other
house.
* * * * *
NOTE AT THE GUILDHALL.--Now we know what the City Marshal has to do. We
saw him in his warlike costume, bareheaded, marshalling the carriages of
the Great Personages on their departure, and capitally he did it. Not a
single name was pronounced incorrectly. Everybody came up to time, and
got away comfortably. On these occasions, the City Marshal is a sort of
Glorified Linkman.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LATEST FROM LORD'S.
_Land Bill._ "WELL, ANYHOW, YOU CARRIED YOUR BAT." _Crimes Bill._ "YES;
BUT YOU'LL FIND THE BOWLING AWFULLY HOT."]
* * * * *
SCENE--_The Cricket Field. The Bell has rung for the Second Innings._
Mr. LAND BILL _is just going to the wickets, and pauses to exchange a
word or two with_ Mr. CRIMES BILL, _who has had so long an innings in
the earlier part of the match_.
_Crimes Bill (taking it easy on his bat)._ Hello, L. B. my lad,
you're going in?
_L. B. (buttoning his gloves nervously)._ Ye--e--s. Captain's orders!
_C. B._ Well, I hope you'll win.
_L. B._ I'll do my best; can Cricketer do more?
_C. B._ No. But, by Jove! you'll find it hard to score.
_L. B._ What? Bowling killing?
_C. B._ Beastly! Talk of "shying"?
CROSSLAND'S a lamb to HEALY.
_L. B._ Ah! that's trying.
But then they haven't got a SHAW, Sir, surely?
_C. B._ No; but, by Jingo! they have more--a MORLEY!
Straight on the middle stump. And then old GLAD
Breaks awful, right and left, and shoots like mad.
I say they ought to be disqualified
For unfair bowling.
_L. B._ Humph! that game's been tried;
But Umpire doesn't always seem to see it.
_C. B._ Ah! Umpires are such funkers.
_L. B._ Well, so be it.
Must do my best. What sort of wickets?
_C. B._ Crumbling.
Must meet the ball with a straight bat; no fumbling,
Or out you go!
_L. B._ And how's the fielding?
_C. B._ Dicky!
'Tis there you'll have the pull that wickets sticky
Or cut up, through the influence of weather,
Can't neutralise. _They're never all together._
Some run like hares, some throw in like a Krupp;
But what they fail in is in "backing up."
_L. B._ Thanks be! I see my chance then. If they're loose
In fielding I can slog 'em to the doose.
_C. B._ But don't take liberties, my lad. No jumps
In for a drive; they're always on the stumps.
And then their wicket-keeper's like a cat.
_L. B._ Well, anyhow _you_ carried out your bat,
Despite the lot of them. Can "_crack_" do more?
_C. B. (significantly)._ Yes!--I kept up my stumps, but
_could not score_!
A "Not out, nothing" may be meritorious,
And very useful, but 'tis hardly glorious,
A stolid SCOTTON'S worth his salt, at need;
But, after all, he's not a GRACE or READ.
_You_'ll have to hit, as well as guard your wicket,
If you'd be popular. Blocking is not Cricket!
_L. B._ Humph! no, not quite. My orders are to score
And bring the House down.
_C. B._ That will cause a roar
When you take back your bat to the Pavilion.
A Cricketer must smite to please the Million.
* * * * *
ROUTLEDGE'S _Jubilee Guide to London_, is good, not only for such a
"high old time" as the Jubilee Week, but for the next three years or so
until the streets are re-named and a few new thoroughfares opened up.
The illustrations are excellent. There is only one objection to this
Guide as a companion, and that is it is rather too large. No Guide to be
useful should be bigger than the Handy-Volume Shakspeare size,
originally started at 85, Fleet Street. Some of the French Guides, not
the regiment, but the little books, JOANNE'S Series, are models in this
respect.
* * * * *
PHILIPS' _Handy Volume Atlas_ is about the right size. "The World," it
is often said, "is a small place;" but for all that, it does not go so
easily in a tail-coat pocket, where Mr. PHILIPS' _Atlas_ can be
conveniently carried. It is an invaluable companion for everyday
newspaper reading. _Happy Thought_ for Travellers, to whom this little
volume is recommended, "PHILIPS on his way through the World."
* * * * *
[Illustration: WHAT OUR ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH.
_Our Artist (showing his last and most important Picture, the work of
years)._ "YES, I SHOULD LIKE TO _EXHIBIT_ IT; BUT I DON'T WANT TO _SELL_
IT, YOU KNOW--AT LEAST NOT TILL TIMES ARE BETTER."
_Friend._ "WELL, WHY NOT SEND IT TO THE EXHIBITION, AND PUT A
PROHIBITIVE PRICE UPON IT--SAY TWENTY POUNDS?!"]
* * * * *