he
coloratura of which was to have made Mozart's famous aria for the
Queen of Night seem like thirty cents. (I quote the exact phrase of an
over-seas admirer.) Well, if Mozart's music is worth thirty cents,
then the Zerbinetta aria is worth five; that is the proportion. The
fact is the composer burlesques the old-fashioned scene and air with
trills and other vocal pyrotechnics, but overdoes the thing. Frieda
Hempel was to have sung the part and did not. Margarethe Siems
(Dresden) could not. She was as spiritless as corked champagne. To
give you an idea of the clumsy humour of the aria it is only necessary
to relate that in the middle of the music the singer comes down to the
footlights, points to her throat, tells the conductor that she is out
of breath, that she must have breathing time if she is to go on. At
the general rehearsal this vaudeville act found no favour and the
singer was without doubt vocally distressed. An ominous noise from the
direction of the conductor's desk (Strauss himself) caused her some
embarrassment. She eventually got under way, leaving the audience in
doubt as to the success of the experiment--the score shows that it is
all in deadly earnest. But the foot-stamping of Strauss and his
remarks reminded me of Gumprecht's description of Liszt's B-minor
Sonata as the Invitation to Hissing and Stamping. Zerbinetta's vocal
flower-garden must be shorn of many roses and lilies before it will be
shapely.

Mizzi Jeritza (what ingratiating names they have in Vienna!) was the
first Ariadne. In addition to being heartbroken over the perfidy of
Theseus she was scared to death. It took some time before her voice
grew warm, her acting less stiff. Her new wooer, Hermann Jadlowker
(Vienna), was the Bacchus. As you have seen and heard him in New York,
I need hardly add that he didn't "look" the part, though he sang with
warmth. The three Rhine maidens on dry land were shrill and out of
tune. But for the life of me I couldn't become interested in the
sorrow and ecstasy, chiefly metaphysical, of this pair. The scheme is
too remote from our days and ways. These young persons were
make-believe, after all, and while they sonorously declaimed their
passion--hers for a speedy death, his for the new life--under a canopy
with mother-of-pearl lining (Reinhardt, too, can be very Teutonic), I
didn't believe in them, and, I fear, neither did Strauss. He has
written sparkling music, Offenbachian music, rainbow music and music