The STAGE

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume IX, Issue 465, 22 June 1899, Page 9

The STAGE

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Orpheus.]

-•• Orpheus ” will be glad to hear from those managers of theatrical companies touring New Zealand who desire that, the public shall know the movements of the companies. Any information as to dates, etc., will be acknowledged in these columns, as well as any other items of interest to the theatrical world. All letters should be addressed —-• Orpheus,” Sporting and Dramatic Review, Vulcan Lane, Auckland.

Miss Celia Dampier is still in Sydney. She is billed to appear at a Benefit Concert tendered to her on Friday next (to-morrow), June 23rd, at the Oddfellows’ Temple, Sydney.

Mr Hawkins, who succeeds the late Mr Harrison as Pollards conductor, is an able musician and a Royal Academician. He was here recently as director of music in the Maggie Moore —Roberts combination. Unless I mistake he was in Auckland some five or six years ago when Mr Snazelle delighted large audiences with his musical and pictorial entertainments.

Stage Fencing.—lt has been dogmatically stated that the age of scientific stage fencing began with Henry Irving, but Charles Kean and Alfred Wigan were favorite pupils of Angelo (the famous fencing master), and their duel in “ The Corsican Brothers” (in the late ’so’s) was a brilliant exhibition of swordmanship. The duel in “ The Dead Heart,” between Irving and Bancroft, while effective, was dangerous, both being shortsighted and, of course, unable to wear their glasses.

Haydn’s “Creation,” at the Choral Hall on Friday evening, with Mdlle. Trebelli and Mr Prouse in the lead, could not fail to be a triumphant success-. A criticism in the Herald — owing to obvious nr sprints—gives birth to some amusing reflections. Of Mr Prouse the writer justly says, *• The opening pages of ‘ Rolling in Foaming Billows’ received a masterly and dramatic rendering, while the change of theme, ‘ Softly pushing! was phrased exquisitely.” As applied to ocean billows, “ opening pages” is distinctly poetic, but what are we td make of “Softly Pushing” in reference to “ The Limpid Brook” ? Surely Mr Prou e was not having a sly poke at the Auckland society tuft-hunters! That they are a hard push is a decidedly limpid truism.

The recent death of Mr Harrison, late conductor of Pollard’s Opera Company, is deeply lamented by his many friends, both on and off the boards. His full name was H. F. Towle Harrison, but for many years his professional designation was H. F. Towle. He was not only a clever theoretical musician and composer, but also an excellent conductor, and in his day a successful singer. In the first Australian production of “ The Mikado,” his Nanki Poo won great favor. His opera, “ Prince Bulbo,” produced in Auckland, contained several melodious numbers, one of which (“Take a Charming Little Maid”) has been introduced and nicely sung by Mr Carter in “ The Gay Pansienne.” Mr Harrison died in Dunedin and was buried there, a large concourse of friends paying him their last respects.

Miss Ada Crossley, the Australian contralto, who has scored numerous successes in England and runs a close second to Mies Clara Biitt, has recently been much discussed in Sydney and Melbourne papers. Madame Melba, it is said, with some—doubtless, well meant —advice nearly brought Mise Crcseley to sad grief. The great soprano said to the London debutante, “ You must come with me at once, to-morrow morning, to, Paris and Marchesi 1” Miss Crossley did not obey orders and Melba went alone, angry and disappointed with her friend, who stuck to Mr Santley as her musical guide. However, in the end, she went to Madame Marchesi and “ had her voice turned upside down, learned that she was no contralto at all, but a pure soprano, and finally (says The Bulletin) returned in sorrow to the forgiving Santley, whose pupil she owned herself at her first concert.”

Mdlle Trebelli.—ln the Antipodes all things are, of course, topsy-turvy. Last Sunday “ Orpheus” (confined to his inferno) was nursing a crushed ankle and bemoaning the hard fate which had deprived him of listening to Eurydice (Mdlle. Trebelli) during her season’s concerts. Presently Charon (Mr John Prouse) escorts Eurydice to the “ Orpheus” prison-house, having appeased tripe-headed Cerberus (three foxterriers). Eurydice climbs the golden stairs to the celestial regions where the Broad wood piano (ancient, but still sweet) is placed. “ Orpheus,” on his wheeled chair, hastens to the—not bottomless —pit at the foot of the stairs. Charon (on the first landing) calls out, “Well, Orpheus! Are you ready ? What would you like ?” “ Anything Eurydice pleases, but, mind, in this inferno, we are not Sabbatarians! ” “ Will Gounod’s ‘ Ave Maria’ do ?” “ Splendidly, as of course one could not expect ‘Che Faro’ from Eurydice!” Bach’s delicious prelude steals upon the ear under the delicate touch of sympathetic fingers, and the lovely melody Gounod has plucked from its hidden depths arose and swelled m the rich tones of Eurydice’s superb and pure soprano. “ Orpheus.” in spirit at least, was irresistibly drawn towards the Elysian Fields Descending to earth once more the trio repaired to a verandah, where -- gazing on the oaks, sycamores, chestnuts, and medlars shedding their last yellow leaves, while the evergreen native trees seem to. exult over the fading foreigners—many

matters, musical and artistic, were pleasantly discussed. Mdlle. Trebelli spoke enthusiastically of recitals, in which the history of music schools was traced up to date by examples of the best composers in sequence of periods. The names of Palestrina, Peyolisi, Lotti, and songs such as “Pur Dicesti,” “ Una Voce,” “ Non Mi Dir,” etc., etc., fell as rapidly as the autumn leaves shaken by the south-westerly breeze. Then memories of great artists are recalled —of Mademoiselle’s mother (the unrivalled mezzo soprano, Madame Trebelli-Bettini), whose sparkling vivacity, charming presence and manner shine in “ the daughter of the mother.” But time is inexorable and au reveir must be said. The visitors depart, leaving “ Orpheus” deeply impressed with the true kindness of a gentle lady who declined pressing invitations in order to bestow happiness upon an invalid. “To live in self is nought—in others live ! Whom can I serve or gratify to-day ?” This, to ourselves, each morning we should say. And when at eve the light from Heav’n doth fade— Happy to whom the heart hath whisp’ring said, “ Thanks to my pains, I’ve seen upon some face, Of care forgot or pleasure giv’n the trace.” How sweet the fruits of social intercourse, If in such thoughts our deeds all had their source.