MacStrakosch. "What do these fellows really think, whom we compel to write so sweetly of our own Connecticut prima donna?"

All
"Come high or low, come jack or even game,
We'll answer all your questions just the same."

Thunder. An apparition of a critic rises.

MacStrakosch.

"Tell me, thou unknown power, what thinkest thou Of our own native nightingale?"

Apparition. "Her voice is clear and bright, but far too thin
For a great singer.—Such in truth she's not.
Dismiss me!" (Descends.)
MacStrakosch.
"Dismissed thou shalt be if thy editor
Will listen to our singer's and MAECENAS' plaint.
But one word more."
Thunder. Second apparition of a critic rises.
Apparition.
"Her voice is good in quality, but then
There's not sufficient of it for a queen
Of the lyric stage. Yet such she claims to be,
But is not. Now dismiss me." (Descends.)
MacStrakosch.
"Yea; and I will unless thy master's ear
Be deaf to the demand of good society.
Let me hear more!"
Thunder. Third apparition of a critic rises.
Apparition.
"Her lower notes are bad, her upper notes
Forced, reedy, and most sadly often flat;
'Tis folly to compare her with the great
Full-voiced and plenteous Parepa. Now
Dismiss me if thou wilt."
MacStrakosch.
"Sacrilegious wretch! I have thy name
Upon my tablets. Thy official head
Comes off at once. Call up, ye midnight hags,
Another of these villains."
Thunder. Fourth apparition of a critic rises.
Apparition.
"Her acting, like her voice, is cold and hard;
Not thus did GRISI, GAZZANIGA or
CORTESI act when their warm Southern blood
Throbbed in the passionate pulse of VIOLETTA,
NORMA, or the Spanish LEONORE.
Dismiss me, quick."
MacStralosch.
"Thon diest ere to-morrow's sun shall set,
Or never more advertisement of mine
Shall grace the columns of thy journal. Next."
Thunder. Fifth apparition of a critic rises.
Apparition.
"She in the same in everything she sings;
Her 'Gilda,' her 'Amina,' or her 'Marguerite,'
Her 'Leonora,' or her 'Daughter of
The Regiment,' are one and all the same
Fair lady decked in different stage costumes.
Better dismiss me, now. I've told the truth,
And may continue that unseemly practice."
MacStrakosch.
"This is past bearing. Are there any more
Of these rude fellows waiting to be summoned?"

Thunder. Eight apparitions of critics rise and pass over the stage, reciting the following chorus:

Apparitions.

"She has a pretty little voice, and uses it
In pretty little ways. If she would sing
In pretty little theatres she'd make a hit
In pretty little parts. That's everything
That can be said for her. Cease then to claim
That "KELLOGG" should be writ next GRISI'S name."

The apparitions vanish. An alarm of drums is heard, and MATADOR awakes to find that he is still enduring Poliuto, and that a sporadic drum in the orchestra, which has broken loose from the weak restraints of the conductor's discipline, is making Verdi unnecessarily hideous.