Punch (103.1892)

October 29, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

193

IMPRESSIONS OF "IL TROVATORE."

{By a Matter-of-Fact Philistine at Covent Garden.)

Act I. Scene 2. — Leonora's confidant evidently alive to the
responsibilities of her position. Watch her, for example, when her
Mistress is about to confide to her ear the dawn of her passion for
Manrico. She walks Leonora gently down to the footlights,

launches her into her solo, like a
boat, and stands aside on the
left, a little behind, with an air
of apprehension, lest she should
come to grief over the next high
note, and a hand in readiness to
support her elbow in case she
should suddenly collapse. Then,
feeling partially reassured, she
goes round to inspect her from
the right, where she remains
until her superior has completed
her confidences, and it is time to
lead her away. Operatic confi-
dant sympathetic—but a more
modern heroine might find one
"get on her nerves," perhaps.
Manrico a very robust type of
Troubadour — but oughtn't a
Troubadour to carry about a

fuitar, or a lute, or something ?
f Manrico has one, he invariably
leaves it outside. Probably
doesn't see why, with so many
competent musicians in the
orchestra, he should take the
trouble of playing his own ac-
Manrico, a rather full-blown " Ghost companiments. And why does
in Hamlet." the Curtain invariably come down

as soon as swords are drawn? Tantalising to have all the duels
and fighting done during the entr'actes.

Act II. Scene 1.—Azucena insists on telling Manrico a long and
rather improbable story of how, in a fit of absorption, she once burnt
her own son in mistake for the Conte di Luna's. _ Manrico listens,
as a matter of filial duty—because, after all, she is his mother —but
he is clearly of opinion that these painful family reminiscences are
far better forgotten. Perhaps he suspects that her anguish may be
due to a severe fit of indigestion—the symptoms of which are almost
indistinguishable from those of operatic remorse. At all events, he
does not find his parent a cheerful companion, and, as soon as he
finds a decent excuse for escape, takes it.

Scene 2.—The Cloisters of a Convent. Enter the Conte di Luna,
with followers, to abduct Leonora. The followers range themselves

against a wall in the back-

tround, until the Count has
nished _"I7 JBalen." If
their opinion was asked,
they would probably be in
favour of his making rather
less noise about it, if he
really means business—but
of course it is not their
place to interfere. Leonora
enters to take the veil, with
procession of nuns, preceded
by four female acolytes—or
are they pages ?—in white
tights, carrying tapers. The
Count and his followers are
evidently a little taken aback
—an abduction not quite so
simple an affair as they
expected. While they are
working themselves up to it,
Manrico appears, as the
stage-direction says, "like
a phantom." In a helmet,
with a horsehair tail, and a
large white cloak, he does
look extremely like the

« Azucena," or, "My pretty Chain ! " " Phost *n and which

; ' ; ls' Perhaps, why the Count,

under the impression that lie is an apparition from some other
Opera, allows him to walk off with Leonora under his very nose.
Swords are drawn—with the usual result of bringing down the
Curtain.

Act III. Scene 1.—-Soldiers discovered carousing, as wildly as is
possible on four gilded cruets, and a dozen goblets. Azucena is

brought before the Count", and manacled. Operatic handcuffs —a
most humane contrivance—with long links, to permit of the freest
facilities for entreaty and imprecation. Soldiers, who have been
called to arms, but stayed, from a natural curiosity to hear what
the Conte di Luna had to say to the Gipsy, go off, as she is led
away to prison, with a sense that they have seen all there is to be
seen, and a vague recollection that there is some fighting to be done
somewhere.

Scene 2.—Leonora and Manrico are about to be married; every-
thing prepared—four apathetic bridesmaids, and the four acolytes
in tights—who have possibly been kindly lent by the Convent for
the occasion—in a vacuous row at the back of the scene. Fancy
Manrico has forgotten to give them the usual initial brooches, and
they feel the wedding is a poky affair, and take no interest in it.
Leonora herself is in low spirits—seems to miss the confidant, and
to be oppressed with a misgiving that the wedding is not destined
to come off. Misgivings on the stage are never thrown away—the
wedding is interrupted immediately by a crowd of men, in small
sugar-loaf caps, who carry the bridegroom off to fight—whereupon,
of course, the Curtain falls.

Act IV. Scene 1.—Leonora listening outside the tower in which
Manrico is being tortured, after having been taken prisoner in a
combat during the entr'acte. Here a confidant might have comforted
her considerably by representing that they couldn't be torturing the
poor Troubadour so very seriously so long as he is able to take part in
a duet—but unfortunately Leonora seems to have discharged the
confidant after the Second Act—an error of judgment on her part,
for she is certainly incapable of taking care of herself. A cool-
headed, sensible confidant, for instance, would have taken care that

Luna and the Star of the Evening.

the bargain with the Conte di Luna was conceived and carried out
in a more business-like spirit.

"Now do be careful," she would have said. " Make sure that
the Count keeps his word before you break pours. Don't go and see
Manrico yourself—it can do no good, and will only harrow you ! If
you really must go, don't take a quick poison first—or you '11 die in
his dungeon, and spoil the whole thing!" Which is just what
Leonora—like the impulsive operatic heroine she is—proceeds to
do, and is cruelly misunderstood by Manrico, in consequence,
besides hastening his doom by disappointing the Count, _ whose
irritation was only natural, and pardonable, under the circum-
stances.

Don't quite see myself why the Count should be so horrified on
learning that the person he has just had executed was his long-lost
brother. It is not as if they had ever been friendly, or were at all
likely to become so, considering their previous relations. Depend
upon it, when he has time to think the matter over calmly, he
will recognise that things are better as they are, and that Fate
has solved his domestic difficulties in the only possible manner.
A Troubadour Brother, with a revengeful and quite unpresentable
gipsy foster-mother, would have proved very trying persons to live
with.

"A Chiel's Amang- Ye Making Notes."—Sir Arthur Sulli-
van sat next to Sir Henry; Hawkins during part of the recent
sensational trial at the Ancient Bailey, making, of course not taking,
notes. Sir Henry occasionally conversed with the Knight of Music.
Did the latter hum, sotto voce, "And a good Judge too.'" with
other selections from Trial by Jury f Everyone glad Sir Arthur
is so well. Perhaps after this he will return to Heal Eccentric
Gilbertian Opera, and go away for " change of air." The " Carte"
is at the door, ready to take him, but his original " Gee Gee " has
gone to America.

vol. cm.