The Tournament Scene is a very effective "set," but practically an elaborate "sell," as all the fighting on horseback is done "without." Presently, after a fierce clashing of property-swords, sounding suspiciously like fire-irons, Ivanhoe and Sir Brian come in, afoot, to fight out "round the sixth, and last." There is refreshing novelty in Mr. COPLAND's impersonation of Isaac of York, who might be taken for Shylock's younger brother who has been experimenting on his beard with some curious kind of hair-dye. This comic little Isaac will no doubt grow older during the run of the piece, but on the first night he neither looked nor behaved like Rebecca's aged and venerable sire, nor did Miss MACINTYRE—who, by the way, is charming as Rebecca, and who is so nimble in skipping about the stage when avoiding the melodramatic Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert-sans-Sullivan, and so generally active and artful as to be quite a Becky Sharp,—nor, I say, did Miss MACINTYRE seem to treat her precocious parent (Isaac must have married very young, seeing that Becky is full twenty-one, and Isaac apparently very little more than twenty-eight, or, say, thirty) with any great tenderness and affection; but these feelings no doubt will be intensified, as she becomes more and more accustomed to her jewvenile father during the run of the Opera, and he may say to her, as the Bottle Imp did to his victim, "Ha! Ha! You must learn to love me!"
I have not time to enumerate all the charming effects of the Opera, but I must not forget the magic property-harp, with, apparently, limp whip-cord strings, "the harp that once," or several times, was played by those accomplished musicians, King Richard, and Friar Tuck, the latter of whom has by far the most taking song in the Opera, and which would have received a treble [or a baritone] encore, had Barkis—meaning Sir ARTHUR—"been willin'." The contest between Richard and the Friar is decidedly "Dicky." Nor must I forget the magnificent property supper in the first scene, at so much a head, where not a ham or a chicken is touched; nor must "the waits" between some of the sets be forgotten,—"waits" being so suggestive of music at the merriest time of the year. Nor, above all, must I omit to mention the principal character, Ivanhoe himself, played by Mr. BEN DAVIES, who would be quite an ideal Ivanhoe if he were not such a very real Ivanhoe—only, of course, we must not forget that he "doubles" the part. There is no thinness about "Ben Mio," whether considered as a man, or as a good all-round tenor. I did not envy Ivanhoe's marvellous power of sleep while Miss MACINTYRE was singing her best, her sweetest, and her loudest. For my part I prefer to believe that the crafty Saxon was "only purtendin'," and was no more asleep than Josh Sedley on the eve of Waterloo, or the Fat Boy when he surprised Mr. Tupman and Aunt Rachel in the arbour, or when he pinched Mr. Pickwick's leg in order to attract his attention. But, after all, Ivanhoe and Rowena, as THACKERAY remarked, are a poor namby-pamby pair, and the real heroine is Rebecca. The Opera ends with a "Rebecca Riot." Every one wishes success to the new venture.
As to the Music,—well, I am not a musician, and in any new Opera when there is no one tuneful phrase as in Aïda or Tannhäuser, which, at the very first hearing, anyone with half an ear can straightway catch, and reproduce next day till everyone about him cries, "Oh don't!" and when, as in this instance, the conducting-composer, Wagnerianly, will not permit encores—where am I? Nowhere. I return home in common time, but tuneless. On the other hand, besides being certain that Friar Tuck's jovial song will "catch on," I must record the complete satisfaction with which I heard the substantial whack on the drum so descriptive of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert-sans-Sullivan's heavy fall "at the ropes." This last effect, being as novel as it is effective, attracted the attention of the wily and observant DRURIOLANUS, who mentally booked the effect as something startlingly new and original for his next Pantomime. The combat between the Saxon Slogger, very much out of training, and the Norman Nobbler, rather over-trained as the result proved, is decidedly exciting, and the Nobbler would be backed at long odds. Altogether, the whole show was thoroughly appreciated by WAMBA JUNIOR.
SPECIMENS FROM MR. PUNCH'S SCAMP-ALBUM.
No. I.—THE CLASSICAL SCHOLAR IN REDUCED CIRCUMSTANCES.
You are, let us say, a young professional man in chambers or offices, incompetently guarded by an idiot boy whom you dare not trust with the responsibility of denying you to strangers. You hear a knock at your outer door, followed by conversation in the clerk's room, after which your salaried idiot announces, "A Gentleman to see you." Enter a dingy and dismal little man in threadbare black, who advances with an air of mysterious importance. "I think," he begins, "I 'ave the pleasure of speaking to Mr.——" (whatever your name is.) "I take the liberty of calling, Mr.——, to consult you on a matter of the utmost importance, and I shall feel personally obliged if you will take precautions for our conversation not being over'eard."
He looks grubby for a client—but appearances are deceptive, and you offer him a seat, assuring him that he may speak with perfect security—whereupon he proceeds in a lowered voice.
