In these dull days of reaction, when, in the intervals of jazzing, we
have nothing to satisfy the spiritual void left by the War except the
possibility of an industrial cataclysm at home and the triumph of
Bolshevism abroad, we owe a large debt of gratitude to Sir THOMAS
BEECHAM for his efforts to revive the Town. And the Town is at last
appreciating at their full worth his services both to the cause of
popular education in music and to the encouragement of native talent.
It was perhaps a little unfortunate that _Aïda_ should have been given
on the night of the Guards' march through London, for the parade of
the Pharaoh's scratch soldiery suffered badly by comparison. The
priesthood of Isis, too, furnished more humour than could, I think,
have been designed, and I doubt if even Mr. WEEDON GROSSMITH could
have given us anything funnier than the spectacle presented by the
Egyptian monarch when making his announcement of an Ethiopian raid.
Nor shall I easily forget the figure of the King of Ethiopia, with
a head of hair like a Zulu's, and swathed in a tiger-skin. I should
myself have chosen the hide of a leopard, for the leopard cannot
change his spots nor the Ethiopian his skin, and when you get the two
together you have an extraordinarily durable combination.
It would be false flattery to say that Miss ROSINA BUCKMAN quite
looked the part of _Aïda_, or Miss EDNA THORNTON that of _Amneris_,
but they both sang finely, and the orchestra did great work under Mr.
EUGENE GOOSSENS, Sen.
In _Louise_, again, it was the orchestra, cleverly steered by Sir
THOMAS BEECHAM through the difficult score for the choruses, that
sustained us through the banalities of an opera which has only one
dramatic moment--when her father hastens the eviction of _Louise_ by
throwing a chair at her, very well aimed by Mr. ROBERT RADFORD, who
only just missed his mark. I suppose it is hopeless to expect that the
makers of "Grand" Opera (whose sense of humour is seldom their strong
point) will consent to allow the trivialities of ordinary speech in
everyday life ("How do you do?" "Thank you, I am not feeling my
best," and so on) to be said--if they _must_ find expression of some
sort--and not sung.
By way of contrast to the modern realism which makes so unlikely a
material for serious opera, the fantastic irresponsibility of _The
Magic Flute_ came as a great relief. Its simpler music, serenely
sampling the whole gamut of emotions, grave to gay, offered equal
chances (all taken) to the pure love-singing of Miss AGNES NICHOLLS
as _Pamina_, and Mr. MAURICE D'OISLY as _Tamino_, the light-hearted
frivolity of _Papageno_ (Mr. RANALOW), and the solemn pontifics
(_de profundissimis_) of Mr. FOSTER RICHARDSON'S _Sarastro_. A most
delightful and refreshing performance.