, 1872-11-17

no bloom, nor sweetness, nor perfume in it, and
the lettering school-boy will not pluck it merely
because once it was fair to see and sweet to
taste. Mario still fingers upon the stage,
but not the Mario Of old days. The Mario Of
to-day is tradition, "Reminiscences. There is
no hint in his feeble, vague, and uncertain
singing Of the prison music in 'fTroyatore" that
he was ever the grandest Aanrico On the stage.
There is no trace OF the Rao,A, which delighted
even Meyerbeer, in Mario's singing Of that paa-
Rionate thi1d-act music. The present Mario is
but shadow Of the great Mario. His voice is
but broken, whispering echo OF that voice
which once thrilled and fascinated. ehas out
nvedhis successes, and they have gone into musi-
cal history as facts belonging to another gen.
GRAFTON. He has out1ived almost all that glorious
company Of singers whom our fathers remember
with delight and reverence. Some Of them are
dead and others hare retired from the world,
and live over their triumphs in Imagination,
count their faded souvenirs as miAer counts
his gold, and now and then fancy they hear
again the ringing p1audits which welcomed them
and spoke the delight OF assembled thousands.
He has out1ived his fame. He can add nothing
more to it. He has no further delight except
to please an old mans innocent fancy, and now
he accepts, With all the joy and eagernsss of
child, what he would have epurned With royal
contempt in tbs palmy days of his glorious
voice, when all the world was at his feet, when
women loved and men admired.
By curious coincidence, there are at present
three other artists in this country who may be
styled contemporaries Of Mario. They are Mad.
Anna Bishop, who has wandered the whole
world over in the last thirty years; Carl Fornes,
whoae voice has been wrecked by time and GAM
brinus combined; and Ronconi, forty years ago
the delight Of all Europe, and the pet Of Ros-
sini and Donizetti, now glad to accept any
position on the stage, great bufo actor yet, but
the voice all gone. As one thinks of this yener-
able quartette, aggregating in age over two cen
turtles, dating back in successes over half q CEN
tury, still clinging to the stage, unwilling to
give up its fascinations, unable to live without
the tribute OF applause which has allured them
so many years, it must inevitably produce
feeling Of sadness. They must know
that they are no longer capable of giving
pleasure; that ii the public goes to hear them
it is simply to crafty curiosity; that if it ap-
plauds them, it applauds from sympathy. We
can conceive Of only one way in which this nota-
BILE qusrtette could delight their auditors An
evening with them, over their wine and walnuts,
devoted to "Reminiscences, would be one OF the
pleasantest and most nmbrosial that cou1d be
imagined. What days and nights Of rerelry;
what piquant anecdotes; what musical and con-
vivial recol1ections; what glowing pictures Of
past triumphs; what strange adventures; what
stories of passion, and jealousy, and intrigue,
they would recall! How many fascinating vol
umes might be written out Of their experiences!
Link them With the past and they at once are
interesting. Connect them With the present,
they hare nothing in common with it. A gener-
alton has grown up about them to which they
are strangers. Tho songs they once sang are
now sung by younger, freaher voices. The ap-
plause they once gathered, and which they now
covet is given to the new comers.
Why, then, do they still cling to the stage7
There are two answers. First, the majority Of
artists live from day to day. In their prime
they draw large salaries. But they are imprac-
tical and improvident. They save nothing for
the morrow. They never look forward to the
rainy day which is inevitable. They never i'm
agine that q time is coming when the public will
no longer care to listen TO them, and when their
powers Of fascination will be gone. But that TINA
always comes, and it comes sooner than they ex-
pect. Then they ere without money. They hare de-
voted their lives to music and they cannot adspt
themselves to any other employment. They
circle, and they do not enjoy general society,
which has little in common with them. There
fore, they are obliged to siug on Is best they
may, and discount their prestige for such small
sums Is managers are willing to pay. And so
they haunt the stnge, these shadowy
spectres Of the past, subsisting as
best they may upon what small Mammon
there is in memory. The second reason is this,
there are some artists who manage to saEe
enough upon which to live when old age comes
and they can sing no more. But they have been
intoxicated with years OF applause. They have
lived 60 long upon it, that they cannot do with
out it, any more than the drunkard can do
without his morning beverage. It g1ows to be
necessity Of their nature. Forrest is an instance
OF this On the dramatic stage; Mario On the
lyric. But neither OF these facts effect the sad
ness Of the spectacle There has been nothing
more pitiable in the musical record OF Chicago
than the appearance Of this feeble old man, with
the shadow OF voice, surrounded by fresh,
young artists, to whom, when he was Of their
age, he was incomparably superior, but who
now, BY contrast, only bring into stronger
light the mournfulness Of the ruin.
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