a, existing for the sake of its songs, nor the later form in which
the songs exist for the sake of the drama, but an attempt to combine
the songs with the continuous working out of a dramatic impulse in the
modern manner. But the attempt is far less successful than in "Romeo";
and indeed it is a faint-hearted one. Whenever a song occurs, the
action is suspended, and all the actors save the lucky vocalist of the
minute are at their wits' end to know where to look, and what to do
with their hands, feet--their whole persons in fact--and the parts
they are playing. And the songs are far from being expressive of the
feeling of the situation that is supposed to call them up. The
drinking tune in the first act is lively and appropriate enough; and
not much more can be said against Violetta's song, "Ah! fors' e lui,"
than that while rather pretty its endless cadenzas are more than
rather absurd. But in the next act Alfredo sings of the dream of his
life to a pretty melody until he is interrupted by his sweetheart's
maid, who tells him that his joy is at an end, and then he howls "O
mio rimorso" to a march-tune of the rowdiest kind. Equally undramatic,
untrue, false in feeling, are the sentimental ditties sung by
Alfredo's father. The last act is best; but I must say that I have
always found it a tedious business to watch Albani die of consumption.
At the production of the piece, a soprano who must have looked quite
as healthy played Violetta, and it is recorded that, when the doctor
told how rapidly she was wasting away and announced her speedy
decease, the theatre broke into uproarious merriment. I respect Madame
Albani too highly to break into uproarious merriment at her pretence
of consumption; but no one is better pleased when the business is
over, although the music is more satisfactory here than in any other
portion of the opera. Anyone who has sat at night with a friend down
with toothache or cholera will recognise the atmosphere of the
sickroom at once. But it is not pleasant enough to atone for the rest
of the opera. For, to sum up, there is small interest in the drama,
and, on the whole, smaller beauty in the music, of "La Traviata." It
was made, as bonnets were made, to sell in the fifties; like the
bonnets sold in the fifties, it is hopelessly out of date now; and it
wants the inherent vitality that keeps the masterworks alive after the
fashion in which they were written has passed away. The younger Verdi
is not, aft