Punch (99.1890)

July 26, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 45

THE OPERA-GOER'S DIARY.

Monday to Saturday —Nothing particular this week. Second
July Meeting at Newmarket took a lot of people away, and the
thunder, hail, and rain frightened a lot more away on Thursday, so
may as well discuss Esmeralda, which I hadn't time to do last week.
Rather a mixed affair to start with when you have a French libretto,
set hy an English Composer, and played at the Royal Italian Opera,

The Hanging Committee.
Covent Garden. Wo matter. A big success for everyone concerned,
from Duuriolantjs downwards. No one could have wished for a
better Esmeralda than Madame Melba, though she did not make
the most of that first charming song, " L'Hirondelle." One
Swallow, however, doesn't make an Opera, and Madame Melba
soon pulled herself together, and threw herself into the work when
Bhe saw Mons. Jean de Reszke, as Phoebus, winning fresh laurels.

The Quasimodo of M. Dufeiche, of the Vibrato school, was
dramatically good, but not great; but Claude Frollo was both great
and good. These two have been defrauded of their rights by the
undramatic Librettist, who has done about as little as possible
with the excellent materials at his command. What a scene might
have been the final one between Quasimodo and Claude, when
Claude Frollo is pitched over the battlements. I forget what
becomes of Quasi; but if he stabs himself, or is stabbed, that would
be quite sufficient for dramatic justice and effect. Then, of course,
the absurd ceremony used by Clopin, and the real unwillingness of
Esmeraldato become Oringoire's wife, would dispose of the marriage,

How it Ought to have Ended.
Mr. Justice Butt pronounces a decree of divorce. Phoabus marries Esmeralda,
Claude Frollo is smashed, and Quasimodo is stabbed.

unless Oringoire were previously got rid of (for I don't remember
how the novel ends) and Esmeralda would be united (.to Phoebus,
while Fleur-de-Lys could marry Be Chevreuse, or anybody else.

The Goat, too, has a wretched part: to be left out after the first
soene is too bad. Something might have been done with him, if
he had only been put into a chaise; _ but perhaps Esmeralda and
Phoebus reserve him for further use in the oourse of a couple of
years or so, when Djali, drawing a goat-chaise containing a little
Esmeralda and a little Phoebus, followed by a nurse and Papa and
Mamma, would make a sensation at some fashionable seaside resort.

Mons. Montariol played and sang well as Gringoire, and Mons.
Winogradoff was most artistic as Clopin. Amusing to see Mons.
Lassalle as Claude Frollo, melodramatically hiding behind the

window-curtains, just as Phcebus enters the room followed by
Esmeralda. So evidently was the curtain shaken, that Phcebus
would most cer-
tainly have de-
tected the sneak,
or he might have v- ■
asked Esmeralda,
"What's that?"
and have asserted
his belief that it
could not possibly
be the cat, but he
might have ac-
cepted her ex-
planation had she
informed him that
it was the Goat.
What a chance
here lost for a
situation of the
Goat behind cur-
tains butting
Claude Frollo!
However, it was
all " purtendin',"
and Jean de
Reszke as The Goat. " I ought to have the second principal part
Phcebus didn't in tins Opera. If they don't produce Dinorah, I shall
see what he would 8ive notice. Too bad of Goring Thomas. If I see him
most certainly al°ne> I 'U ^ovr him what' Butting' Thomas is."
have noticed immediately had he been himself. Magnificently got up ;
mise-en-scene excellent; band and chorus all that could be wished.

BULLY FOR THE COLONEL!

"The Hon. Member had availed himself of the privilege accorded to
Members of Parliament in debate to fire a shameful barbed arrow at Colonel
Caddell, in order that some of the mud might stick."—Colonel Saunderson
in the Souse of Commons.

Come, listen to my story ■ it's a sort of shilling-shock tale,
With no end of fire and fury, and a modicum of blood,

And a Colonel who mixed metaphors as Yankees mix a cocktail,
And a quiverful of arrows, shameful arrows, barbed with mud.

It was Dillon who had used them, and he spoke of Tipperary,
Tipperary new and rentless, where the tenants have combined.

And the Parnellites were gathered like the chicks of Mother Caret,
When they feel the tempest rising, and give warning of the wind.

And the pale and angry Tories sat impatient of the battle,
And the benches of the Commons, where they love a fight, grew
full;

And, although they knew 'twas better not to hurry people's cattle,
They implored their fiery Colonel to oblige them with a bull.

Bat the Colonel needs no prompting, straight rises to address them,
And his eye now flames in fury, and now twinkles like a star;

And he turned on Mr. Parnell's men, and didn't rightly bless
them,

This flashing, dashing, slashing militaire from North Armagh.

And before a man could whistle there were ructions and denials,
Shouts and countershouts of anger—quite a House of Commons
scene;

While the Colonel, who had bottled all his wrath, poured out the vials
On the heads of Irish gentlemen whose wigs were on the green.

'Twas in vain they sought to daunt him; like a flock of noisy sparrows
When a hawk comes grimly swooping, or like moths that tempt
the wick,

So they scattered when the Colonel told the House of shameful arrows,
Which were fired (I quote the Colonel) in the hope that mud might
stick.

When Sir Boyle, the ever famous, smelt a rat (you've heard the
story)—

Saw it floating in the air, he promptly nipped it in the bud;
But I think our modern Colonel gets the greater Bhare of glory
For inventing shameful arrows that could only spatter mud.

And, oh, ye sons of Erin, when the coat-tails next are trailing,

Make your weapons on this pattern, think of Saunderson, his bull;
And no mother's son will suffer, though the missiles should come
hailing,

If you only use mud-arrows, or shillelaghs made of wool I

Devotjt Wish of Irish Landlords for Mb. Balfour.—" May
his shadowing never grow less 1"