ndoubtedly good but she is no
instrument for the mystic gods to play upon.

But Miss Garden's Fiora burned through the play like a flame. She
visualized a strong-minded mediaeval woman, torn by the conflicting
emotions of pity and love, but once she had abandoned herself to her
passion she became a living altar consecrated to the worship of
Aphrodite and Eros. Such a hurricane of fiery, tempestuous love has
seldom if ever before swept the stage. Miss Garden herself has never
equalled this performance, save in Melisande and Monna Vanna, which
would lead one to the conclusion that she is at her best in parts of the
middle ages, until one reflects that in early Greek courtesans, in
French cocottes of several periods, in American Indians, and Spanish
gipsies she is equally atmospheric. Other Fioras have been content to
allow the hand of death to smite them without a struggle. Not this one.
When Archibaldo attempts to strangle her she tries to escape; her
efforts are horrible and pathetic because they are fruitless. And the
final clutch of the fingers behind his back leave the most horrible
blood-stains of tragic beauty in the memory.

V

What is to become of Mary Garden? What can she do now? What is there
left for her to do? Those who complain of some of the dross in her
repertoire can scarcely have considered the material available to her.
In _Pelleas et Melisande_, _Louise_, and _Salome_ she has given much to
the best the contemporary lyric stage has to offer. On other occasions
she has succeeded in transfiguring indifferent material with her genius.
_Monna Vanna_ is not a great opera, but she makes it seem so. But where
is there anything better? Can she turn to Puccini, whose later operas
seem bereft of merit, to Mascagni, to Strauss, to any other of the
living opera composers?

Ravel's one opera is not particularly suited to her, but why, I might
ask, does not Ravel write something for her? Why not Strawinsky? Why not
Leo Ornstein? Why not John Carpenter? The talented composer of _The
Birthday of the Infanta_ might very well write an opera, in which her
genius for vocal experimentation might have still further play.

In the meantime I can make one or two suggestions. I have already begged
for Isolde and Isolde I think we shall get in time. But has it occurred
to any one that the Queen in _The Golden Cockerel_ is a part absolutely
suited to the Garden genius? Not, of course, _The Golden Cockerel_ as at
present pe