LANE AND GARDEN.
"Oh, Todgers's could do it when it chose! mind that." Augustus Druriolanus can "do it," too, when he chooses, mind that, and his production of Les Huguenots on Monday the 11th was a convincing proof of this assertion. The mise-en-scène was as perfect as if the Opera had been a brand new one. The costumes were gorgeous, the scenes brilliant, and the jeu de scène original and artistic.
Monsieur Maurel was an ideal Count de Nevers, a chevalier sans peur et sans reproche. Miss Engle won all hearts as Marguerite de Valois. "Non 'Engle' sed 'Angel,'" as the Pope didn't say.
The Page was rather weak, but made up in action and archness—the archness was not confined to the eyes, but was also strikingly exhibited in another feature—for whatever might have been lacking vocally; and then of course there were the two brothers, Jean and Edouard de Reszke, always ready to come to the resky. We stopped till the end, and congratulated ourselves on having heard the very last of the Huguenots for the first time in our chequered career. We saw Signor Foli, as Marcel, perform a marriage ceremony between Valentine and Raoul, from which fact we gathered that the Count de Nevers must have been shot, otherwise Valentine would be a bigamist; and, in fact, the moral position of the three parties would be an extremely unpleasant one, in view of their hurried departure from this wicked world, which the muskets of the soldiers, executing the victims and the dramatist's design at the same time, compel them to make. The band and choruses were excellent.
At the Garden, on Tuesday the 12th, the new Opera, La Vita per lo Czar, was produced and placed on the stage by Signor Lago, as if it had been brought out at the beginning of the season instead of the finish. An eccentric Opera. The first Act fresh as the newly-painted scenery: full of life, colour, and melody. It started well with a chorus which was unanimously and enthusiastically encored. Mme. Albani was never in better voice. Gayarré and Devoyod were excellent. The First Act was an undeniable success, and everybody was happy.
Then came the Second Act, all chorus, hops, and Poles. No Albani, no Gayarré, no Devoyod. Music pretty, but as Toby in the Essence of Parliament puts it, "Business done. None." Curtain down: people a bit scared. Not accustomed to an Act without Principals. Evidently such an Unprincipal'd Act must be wrong. Act Third revived all hopes. Albani the bride, Gayarré the bridegroom, Scalchi the best boy, Devoyod the best boy's father, a venerable grey-headed peasant, the very reverse of the mild old gent in Leech's picture who was represented by the 'Bus cad as "a cussin' and a swearin' like hanythink," inasmuch as he is always either blessing somebody, uttering patriotic sentiments about the Czar, or down on his hands and knees with his nose in the dust saying, or rather singing, his prayers.
Third Act pleases everybody, raises our hopes, and then in the Fourth Act we discover, to our amazement, that we are only to see Scalchi once again, that we have bidden farewell for ever to Albani and Gayarré, and that the remainder of the Opera is to be carried on right up to the end by the heavy father, a chorus of Poles,—all acting well, and not a stick amongst them,—and a transparency representing the Coronation of the Czar. And though the absence of Albani, Scalchi, and Gayarré made everyone's heart grow fonder, though we all missed them, yet we "pitied the sorrows of the poor old man," admired his acting and singing in a most difficult situation, and agreed with everybody that this strange Opera was a decided success. The Second scene of the last Act might be curtailed with advantage. This is speaking only dramatically; perhaps on a second hearing we should change our opinion.
However, so ends the Covent Garden Opera Season; it has finished first,—a good first.
The New Silver Coinage will be re-named, until it is re-called, "The Silber-Goschen."