"Not so much can be said in praise of the music. It is the same old thing that has served in many operettas. There is a jingle, there are the inevitable waltz tunes that always sound alike. But the music gives the comedians an excuse for singing and dancing. It thus serves its turn and is promptly forgotten until another operetta comes, and the hearer has a vague impression that he has heard the tunes before."
"The Wedding Day," with Della Fox, Lillian Russell, and Jefferson De Angelis in the cast, was brought out in the fall of 1897, and it revived to a degree old-time memories of players at the Casino. The opera itself proved to be of an order of merit recalling "Falka," "The Merry War," and "Nanon," the like of which had not appeared for many, many seasons. The music was ambitious without being dull, and some of the concerted numbers had genuine musicianly value. The story held its interest fairly well, though in spots it was too complicated, and at one point in the third act quite absurd. Still it was an excellent vehicle to display the talents of the so-called "triple alliance" of comic opera stars. Miss Fox, who had shown a decided tendency toward stoutness, had trained down to within hailing distance of her former slender lithesomeness, and she made a pretty and attractive bride.
The following season found Miss Fox again an individual star, this time in "The Little Host." Her last appearances in opera were made in this piece, for after her season had begun in the fall of 1899, she was taken seriously ill, and for a long time her death was expected. She recovered partially, however, after months of illness, and in the spring of 1900 she appeared for a few months in vaudeville. Even this labor proved too much for her strength, and her friends were compelled to remove her to a place where she might have perfect rest.
CHAPTER XVIII
CAMILLE D'ARVILLE
Camille D'Arville, like Lillian Russell, Pauline Hall, and Jessie Bartlett Davis, is one of the old guard, in American light opera. She has not appeared in opera for some time, for during the season of 1899-1900 she followed the general inclination and went into vaudeville. From these appearances it was apparent that her voice was not what it had been once—and little wonder that it had failed, when one recalls how continuously that voice has been in use since the owner left her Dutch home, forswore her own name of Neeltye Dykstra, and first learned to talk a prettily accentuated English. She still had in full the power to win an audience instantly and completely. Nor had she lost to any perceptible degree her rare good looks. A little fuller in the figure, perhaps, than she was five years ago, she carried herself with the same fine grace and perfect poise which were of themselves an art.
Camille D'Arville has temperament, and she has style. It is these two qualities particularly that have brought her success so often in dashing cavalier parts, parts which require that a woman shall act either a man or a woman masquerading as a man. The modern comic opera librettist often has but one main purpose in mind, that is, to get his prima donna in tights as soon after the show begins as possible and keep her in them as long as practical. Indeed, if one were looking for a practical way to distinguish modern comic opera from extravaganza, he might find it in this matter of tights. If the leading woman represent a woman disguised as a man, she is an operatic prima donna; if, on the contrary, she be represented as a man from start to finish, she is merely principal "boy" in extravaganza.
I suppose this tendency toward tights, which is so common as to be almost a light-opera conventionality, is an outgrowth or heritage from the old-fashioned burlesque. In fact, the difference between the modern comic opera and the burlesque of thirty years ago is purely one of degree. The relation between the two is similar to that between the variety show of eight years ago and the so-called "fashionable vaudeville" of to-day. Variety has been put through what managers of the large circuits call a refining process. There is no denying that the old-style variety show in most of its components was crude, noisy, and vulgar, and that its surroundings were scarcely favorable to the development of high art. But one was always sure of finding vigor and life—plenty of both—in the old-time varieties, and there were oftentimes spontaneity and humor—rude and bucolic, perhaps, but real, just the same—which one is not sure of meeting in the latter-day entertainments so carefully prepared for the mentally delicate and sensitive.