THE OPERA-GOER'S DIARY.
Poor little Zélie (beseechingly). O Mr. Randegger, do let me have my bouquets!]
Monday.—Don Giovanni. Ravelli the Reliable an excellent Don Ottavio, vocally; considered dramatically, he does as much as can be expected of a man of his inches. Zerlina and Masetto so pleased with his singing that they stop on the stage all through the tessoro song, for which he takes a hearty encore, whereupon Zerlina and Mazetto run off quickly. Having had enough of it, however, they do not return for the encore. Rather rude this. Dan Drady too sinister for gay Don Giovanni; and there is a villanous determination about his gallantry which would have frightened away the coquettish Zerlina, and have warned the more mature ladies of the world, Donna Anna and Donna Elvira, in time to prevent them from falling victims to his wiles. Otherwise a highly satisfactory Don. Signor Plunketto Greeno as the unfortunate Commendatore, who is first killed, and then executed in stone, as a statue to his own memory, was heard and seen to the best advantage. Zélie de Lussan, too Carmenish as flighty little Zerlina, but evidently a match for the sardonic Don Dan Drady. Madame Tavary has done well to quit the Hofoperahaus, Munich, and come to Covengardenhaus as Donna Anna,—a trying part that not Anna-body can play and sing as well as Madame Tavary. This lady and Lilian Nordica (pretty name Lilian) as Donna Elvira render the characters so charmingly, that they cease to be the funereal bores I have generally considered them. Ottavio, Anna, and Elvira, the trio with a grievance, are, usually, about as cheerful as the three Anabaptists in Le Prophète. Mais on a changé tout cela. Palladino, as the dancing guest—she is always small and early in every Opera now—delights everyone, and so does Conductor Randegger, who is determined that poor little Zélie de Lussan shall not receive the big bouquets which a mysterious man has brought to the orchestra; then one of the instrumentalists handed them to the leader, who, in order to take them, has been compelled to put down his violin, and, after looking about in a helpless and puzzled manner, holds them until further orders from his chief. Not receiving further orders, he occupies his time by sniffing at the flowers and making remarks sotto voce to his companion violinist on the botanical beauties of the flora. Conductor Randegger, apparently unaware of what has been taking place behind his back, turns round abruptly to inquire why leader is taking a few bars' rest. Leading violinist exhibits bouquet, and appeals in dumb show to conductor. The conductor's eye in fine frenzy rolling, says as clearly as fine frenzied rolling eye can say anything, "Remove that bauble!"—(Randegger would make up remarkably well as Cromwell)—and the leader, with a sympathetic and apologetic glance at Zélie as implying, "You should have had 'em if I could have managed it, but you see how I'm situated. Randegger's a hard man"—puts the bouquets on the floor of the orchestra, and, dismissing them by a supreme effort from his thoughts, betakes himself to his musical Paganinic duties. What becomes of the flowers that bloom in the orchestra, tra la! I don't know, I wish that Zélie may get them. Remembering the example set by "Practical John" at the Gaiety, of placarding up everywhere in the theatre "No Fees," Druriolanus, at the suggestion of Conductor Randegger, might "hang out a banner on the outer wall" of the orchestra, with the letters inscribed on it "N.B.—No Bouquets."
Tuesday.—The grandest night of the Season up to now, dear boys. Romeo Jean de Reszké, and Melba Juliette. What can you wish for more? Edouard de Reszké as the Frère Laurent a magnificent Friar, belonging to some one of the theatrical "Orders" "not admitted after seven." The talented Mlle. Bauermeister's Gertrude hardly a companion picture to her Martha in Faust. Signor Plunketto Greeno not quite every inch a Duke: about one inch in three Duke and the rest Democrat. When he has been Duke of Verona long enough, he'll be all right, and most likely
He'll be, this Mister Plunket Greene,
The Dukiest Duke that ever was seen.
A word to the wise. Whenever this Season Romeo and Juliette is played with this cast, go and see it. Don't hesitate. It's memorable. A feast for ear and eye. Ite ad astra-operatica. And at the same time, don't forget to honourably mention the founder of the feast, Augustus Druriolanus.
Wednesday.—Extra. Carmen. Derby Day. I have been at the Derby. Glad to get back again. As to "back again," I don't "back again" anything for a long time. But, à nos moutons. Toreador evidently has had his money on Sainfoin. Never sang better. Glad to see the simple Scotch lassie, Maggie McIntyre, once more as the village maiden. Charming. Zélie de Lussan as wickedly attractive as ever. What a collection such a gipsy would make on a Derby Day—a fine Derby Day—among the "pretty gentlemen" whose fortunes she would tell. Extra night this, and extra good.
Thursday.—A Wagner Night. Crowded to see Jean de Reszké as another Wagner Knight. Neddie de Reszké as the King Henry—every inch a King, and something to spare. Freddy Telramondo suits Dan Drady better than Don Giovanni. Madame Fursch-Madi as the wicked Ortruda,—("Never saw ought ruder than her conduct to Elsa," observes the irrepressible Mr. Wagstaff,)—And Maggie MacIntyre as the virtuous but unhappy Elsa. The stranger in the land of Wagner begins to wonder at the continuous flow of the melody, not one tiny cupful of which can he take away with him, until with joy he hears the Bridal Chorus at the commencement of the Third Act, and for a few moments he rests dans un pays de connaissance.
Friday.—Lucia di Lammermoor. Great night for Madame Melba. Recalled three times before Curtain after each Act. Living illustration of once popular romance, "Called Back." Great night, too, for Harpist and Flutist. Both gentlemen highly applauded, and would have been recalled, but for the fact of their not having quitted the orchestra. Harper plays solo from Harper's Miscellany, arranged by Donizetti. Ravelli the Reliable recalled also.
Saturday.—Brilliant house. Royal Highnesses early to come and last to go. Magnificent performance of Die Meistersinger. M. Isnardon very comic as Beckmesser, Lassalle a noble Hans Sachs ("the shoemaker who sings a sole-o," says Mr. Wagstaff), Jean de Reszké a grand young Walther, Montariol (as before) a capital silly idiot David, Mlle. Bauermeistersinger very lively as Magdalena, and Madame Tavary a skittish young chit in the somewhat trying and rather thankless part of Eva. The tenor's song to her ought to be, "Eva, of thee I'm fondly dreaming," if Wagner had only thought of it. Opera too long; but Wagnerites don't complain, and certainly to-night they get their money's worth and something over, from 7.30 till past midnight.
