That is, so turned it round again that she became quite sane and chatted amicably with two or three of the leading chorus "up stage" until it suddenly occurred to her that she must go mad again, which she did at once, most effectively. After this "Fra poco," the swan-like (if swan a tenor) death-song of Edgardo, cannot go for its value unless sung by a most popular and highly-gifted tenor. So it stands to the credit of Signor Dash-my-Vignas that, in this, he was enthusiastically applauded, and soon after "laid him down and dee'd" in the midst of an admiring and more-or-less sympathetic Chorus. Great opera for Chorus giving expression to their feelings. How they cry or laugh, and point and gesticulate and threaten and sympathise as guests in low dresses without anything distinctively Scotch about them, except in the case of one lady over whose shoulder I fancy I detected a tartan scarf of clannish pattern. Normanno, played by, I think, Iginio Corsi (which name, in compliment to the national Scotch liquor, ought to have been changed to "Iwiskio Corsi"), bore remarkable resemblance to Markis o' Salisbury. I do not remember ever having seen or heard Lord Salisbury as a vocalist. To be remembered as The Melba Night of the Season—up to now.
Wednesday.—Calvé as Carmen simply perfect. That is all I have to say; like the Raven (not Barnaby Rudge's, but Edgar A. Poe's), I announce "Only this, and Nothing More." And Alvarez as José, "Gentleman Joe," who does not drive, but is driven to madness, first-rate; in last scene, struggle and assassination most thrilling, dramatically: even stall-by-the-season'd opera-goers holding breath, and clutching at backs of seats. Audience, ordinarily indifferent to fate of heroine in last act, wait till bitter end. They only quit when quite sure Carmen cannot possibly sing any more. Madame Melba, who, "by request of the Management"—how modestly is this put, O Druriolanus Operaticus!—"has kindly consented to play Michaela," exceeded the terms of her amiable contract, as she not only "played" Michaela, but sang the music superbly, her singing being faultless, which her "playing" was not. Mossoo Albers rather out of it as Escamillo, and Toréador was not an Encoreador, whereat Toréador non contento. All the principals sang in French, "knowing the language," but clever Chorus stuck to Italian. Benissimo! Bevignani beaming, and beating time. House crowded; elections and political parties disturb not the harmony of Covent Garden. Yet "last week but one" announced, and end in view. Wagstaff, seeing Calvé in first act with scarf or belt round waist, suggests riddle, "Why is Calvé a perfect Carmen?" Before you can break away from him, without damage to your button-hole, he answers, "Because she plays the part with a-band-on." Exit Wagstaff.
Friday.—Pagliacci.—A new Nedda in Mlle. Zélie de Lussan. Nedda is rather a Loose'un, and Mlle. Zélie is as good a Nedda as you can get "when t'other dear charmer's away." Then to follow, Calvé in Calvé-'lleria Rusticana admirably dramatic. Can't believe this Magdalenish saint-like woman can possibly be that deuce of a young woman, Carmen, of t'other night. But "Fœmina varium et mutabile (also cantabile) semper." All the others good as ever, specially Giulia Ravogli, as the gay Lo-la-li-ety.
SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.
The hedgehog is sometimes accused of helping himself to a drink from a recumbent cow, but his larger relative, the domestic pig, is to be even still more commended for his enterprise. According to the Western Daily Mercury, in a farmyard in the parish of Uffculme a pig was observed to rear on his hind legs and suck milk from a cow. This sight must have enormously impressed the spectator. But it ought to have been a dog.
Surely a Radical Unionist is a new departure in politics. Mr. Strauss, who is opposing Mr. Conybeare, M.P. for the Camborne division of Cornwall, in reply to a question at Cusgarne said that he was a Radical Unionist, but the name Liberal was good enough for him. Mr. Strauss is to be congratulated on his new political "Doctrinen"; but, if he should succeed in defeating Mr. Conybeare, he seems likely to lead the Whips a pretty dance.
It seems a little hard on a Parliamentary candidate when he is seriously misrepresented by his own friends. This is what Mr. Michael Williams has suffered in the St. Austell division of Cornwall at the hands of his friend Canon Bush. With every intention of doing Mr. Williams a good turn, the worthy Canon fired off a letter in the local press containing a serious misquotation of a speech said to have been made by Mr. Williams about the false doctrines of the Nonconformists. The explosion of this shell in the Nonconformist camp has not improved Mr. Williams's chance of success, and he probably believes in the truth of the old saying, that "Good wine needs no Bush."