Scan 17
Musical Courier 1895-05-15: Vol 30 Iss 793, 1895
105 lines. Read by computer on 20 September 2026, twice; the two readings disagreed in places. Printed page 18. See the scan on archive.org.
1IN PRAISE OF THE TRIANGLE.
2Ye countless stars, both great and small,
3The poetic sky who spangle,
4Not one of you, that I recall,
5Has hymned the sweet triangle!
6With lyre and lute too long, too much,
7Ye've thrid love's mazy tangle,
8Yet unresponsive to your touch
9Have left the sweet triangle.
10And so the Muse commissions me
11A lay to newly tangle—
12I play the instrument, you see—
13In praise of my triangle.
14No tambourine, no minstrel bones
15Give forth what Hilda Wangel
16Would call such "frightfully thrilling tones"
17As those of my triangle.
18No self respecting band may try
19To play—"t'would simply mangle—
20Good music, unassisted by
21The silver tongued triangle.
22In vain does Strephon with a lute
23Round Phyllis always dangle;
24She'd have him, if he urged his suit
25With passionate triangle.
26Full brave may bray the loud trombone,
27Full sweet the cymbals jangle,
28The bagpipes till they burst may drone,
29So I have my triangle.
30The stately cold piano may
31All depth of feeling strangle;
32To rouse deep feeling I essay,
33Nor fail, on my triangle!
34O'er rival claims of violin
35And 'cello some may wrangle—
36For pure expression nothing's in
37The hunt with my triangle.
38The diamond bracelet must exceed
39In worth the silver bangle—
40No instrument, string, wind, or reed
41Compares with my triangle!
43EARLY in the year I met Anton Seidl at the Opera House one night, and we disagreed about some readings of some composition, the Lord only knows what—perhaps a Beethoven symphony, as you can always disagree on the Beethoven question. Rumors dire filled the air. Stories floated about that Mr. Seidl and myself were seen rolling over the ground in mortal combat. Mr. Seidl then passed successfully through a most serious illness. Until two weeks ago I had not seen him since the night we were supposed to have drawn stilettos. And now I hear that some people were regaled with a thrilling story about a reconciliation—although there had never been a quarrel—and that the distinguished Kapellmeister held me to his bosom while I spoilt his dress tie with tears of joy.
44As Mr. Twain said of old:
45"This is becoming monotonous."
47Of course I saw Mr. Seidl. Of course I was glad to see him after his illness. And there you have it. Savez-Vous? (N. B.—He is having the tears set by Tiffany, and will wear them as studs.)
49I was very sorry not to have eaten dinner with the Manuscripters, especially as the Rev. Dr. Gerritt Smith informed me Mr. Dana could not be present, so I would respond for him. The society knows not what it missed. I got my invitation exactly one hour too late, and regret exceedingly not to have christened that loving cup. Mais, il-y-a des autres!
51Victor Maurel, whose acting was enjoyed as much as his singing last season, is a man just turned fifty. But, like Jean de Reszké, he does not look his age by fifteen years. Indeed I found it difficult to convince Paul Potter that I heard Maurel here in 1875, when he was at least thirty.
52His voice was in better condition then, but it was never a great organ. Faure, his senior, and Lassalle, his junior, both possessed richer voices.
53Maurel is a great actor and his voice is so vibrant, his art so fine and convincing, that he always puts his audience in his pocket.
55Maurel is a fine fencer, and is versed in the mysteries of "le box," and I suppose also the "savate," the latter being that polite French habit of attacking a gentleman's face with the feet.
57He looks Don Juan on the stage, and is the typical modern Don Juan off the boards as well.
58In fact, M. Maurel, being very handsome and very daring, simply cuts a wide swath among feminine hearts.
60As I said, Maurel is a Don Juan—of course, only in appearance and manner.
61No one would accuse him of anything worse than flirting. But sometimes he has been a Sir John Falstaff. He is very fond of paying devoted attention to many ladies at the same time.
62In St. Louis a couple of weeks ago he made three distinct appointments for three distinct hours in the park.
63But the Merry Wives of Windsor put their cunning heads together and plotted.
64When Maurel reached the first place of meeting three handsome young women—singers all—met him, and with arch smiles waved three letters at him.
65Was he discomfited?
66Not a bit of it. With one of those ravishing smiles that bring into play his charming dimples, he gallantly invited the trio to lunch and paid for the wine—a lot of it, I can assure you.
68Maurel is one of those men whose repose is adamantine. He is never nonplussed, and seldom loses his temper.
69But he did in St. Louis—and that is another story.
71A lady in this city, living up town on the West Side and having plenty of leisure, employed it most profitably by falling in love with Maurel.
72It was, of course, not reciprocated, but the lady was not to be put off. She haunted Maurel until even his plump secretary grew thin, and M. Mortier, his manager, thought of applying to the police.
73When the Abbey company went West, Maurel heaved a hugh sigh of relief as New York faded into the middle distance.
75But the practical joker is in the Abbey Company, as in other organization of the sort.
76When the Chicago engagement was terminated and St. Louis was reached, Maurel to his horror was suddenly pounced upon by his fair admirer from New York.
77"Here I am, Victor! I'm so glad you sent for me!" she said.
78"Sent for you?" gasped the baritone.
79"Yes. This telegram—you sent it, of course."
80Maurel grabbed it and read this: "Come to St. Louis and spend the week. Victor."
81He took in the situation at once, and being a polite man he did not undeceive the fair one.
82But he swears he will be revenged on the sender of that telegram.
84Perhaps his Leporello will be soon able to sing "In America, a thousand and three!"
86Mr. Mansfield as a regal Weary Raggles was one of the most astonishing spectacles of last week at his new Garrick Theatre. An experience hunting King of Peru might have gleamed more profitable knowledge of practical life than consorting with the one eyed Sammie's of the road. Come, come, my dear sir, this last production of yours verges on the preposterous. The main idea of the story is as old as Daudet, perhaps older, and as young as Lemaitre. And do we not glimpse it in Robert Louis Stevenson's delightful Prince Otto? But, romancer as Mr. Louis N. Parker is, he cannot romance in stagecraft. I begin to suspect that it was his partner who put Gudgeons on the boards so presentably. one of two readings
87Mr. Mansfield as a regal Weary Raggles was one of the most astonishing spectacles of last week at his new Garrick Theatre. An experience hunting King of Peru might have gleaned more profitable knowledge of practical life than consorting with the one eyed Sammie's of the road. Come, come, my dear sir, this last production of yours verges on the preposterous. The main idea of the story is as old as Daudet, perhaps older, and as young as Lemaitre. And do we not glimpse it in Robert Louis Stevenson's delightful Prince Otto? But, romancer as Mr. Louis N. Parker is, he cannot romance in stagecraft. I begin to suspect that it was his partner who put Gudgeons on the boards so presentably. one of two readings
89Mr. Meltzer hinted to me that he suspected the play to be an adaptation, a remote one, but yet from some Continental source. The notion is worthy of investigation. Certainly there is no reason why an admirable work could not have been built upon the story. But the interminable talk, the clumsy dovetailing of the mechanism, the almost utter improbability of the events and the fatuity of that last act surely strangled the piece at its birth. Many sensible changes have been made since the first night, and Mr. Mansfield has begun to differentiate this young king from his other creations. There is less of Don Juan, Baron Chevraill and Prince Karl in his conception now. Yet I doubt his ability to make vital such a king of shreds and patches as this same Don Pedro XIV. Little wonder the Peruvians doubted the scheme of restoration!
91We find him so ingénue in the first act that he is able to control his face when his mother hands him the fatal cablegram, so ingénue that he marries a rich young woman, yet wearies of her devotion and rides in the park with a circus princess. He spends, does this innocent young man, a fortune, never asking where the money comes from, is pictured as very clever, yet too naive to be told the truth as to his wife's fortune. What a sham king!
93Pandolfo, the ex-King of the Sardinians, and the Chevalier Moffat are the two live figures of the play. Without detracting a bit from the fine, artistic work of Mr. Andrews, who was a wonderful Sardinian, I still would like to see Mr. Mansfield in the part. He is unquestionably stronger in eccentric rôles.
95The dashing Irish adventurer, strongly played by Mr. Jewett, reminded me of a page torn from a rollicking romance of Charles Lever's. The handsome rascal is a common enough figure in life, literature and the drama. Mr. Harkins tried hard to galvanize the ungrateful rôle of Don Miguel. The truth of the matter is that Mr. Parker's character drawing is very faulty. Don Miguel is all devotion. Everything is done to keep up this illusion until act third, and then we discover him tarred with the same brush as the rest of this sorry, swindling crew.
97As for the so-called adventuress, she is beyond me. This Princess Zea does not live. She is simply a theatrical figment. First she will and then she won't. Doubtless the author intended her for something very subtile, something Shaw-esque, her very inconsistencies alike her charm and strength. But she is simply a silly weathercock, a negative thing, neither bad, neither good, but all the time sentimental.
99With the heroine, Clara Desmond, I have no patience. Such white-souled creatures that wait at gates and bid bleary-eyed tramps bring back the missing dear, such absurd phantoms disinterred from three volume novels of Mudie's, such precious little idiots, that lose their fortunes because of love, because of love (as the burden goes), such irritate me. The average theatre goer will have none of her, and what can you say of a woman that sits and sighs, "My lord, my master, husband, man." Better the new woman than this puling caricature of womanhood.
101For the rest there was a clever sketch by Mr. Lyons of a diplomat. The queen was by all odds the best figure among the women, rather strongly drawn in one act, but soon fading from our sympathies. The entire play cannot win our suffrages, because it is primarily false—false in sentiment, false in portrayal and false in actual construction.
103This I caught in Percy Bett's excellent column in the London Figaro:
104"Miss Edith Green, who gave an orchestral concert on Tuesday, is a spiritualist, and, according to Light, she is a musician who for ten years has been under the influence of a spirit purporting to be Beethoven. From this spirit she has received inspiration far and away beyond her normal powers. Miss Green originally intended to give a Mass, a violin sonata and a symphony, but the Mass was omitted owing to insufficient time for preparation. The sonata was more Mozartian than Beethovenish, but the symphony, though rather crude, was a clever effort from a lady's pen. In one of the advertisements the work was said to be 'written by her, under the direction of Ludwig van Beethoven, between 1885 and 1895.' A well-known musical critic suggested some alteration in the treatment of the flutes.
The computer misreads some letters and numbers. Where a name matters to you, read the scan.