but very few
reserved seats." (The house will perhaps be full of dead-heads, and the
broker may be meditating a timely failure.) Nevertheless, the public
rushes in, and the money follows a similar course. If the stock be
really good, the founders of the enterprise become millionnaires. If the
artist has talent, the _impresario_ occasionally makes his (the
_impresario's_) fortune. In case both stock and artist prove bad, they
fall below par and vanish after having made (quite innocently) a certain
number of victims. Now, in all sincerity, of the two humbugs, do you not
prefer that of the _impresario_? At all events, it is less expensive.

* * * * *

I heard Brignoli yesterday evening in "Martha." The favorite tenor has
still his charming voice, and has retained, despite the progress of an
_embonpoint_ that gives him some uneasiness, the aristocratic elegance
which, added to his fine hair and "beautiful throat," has made him so
successful with the fair sex. Brignoli, notwithstanding the defects his
detractors love to heap upon him, is an artist I sincerely admire. The
reverse of vocalists, who, I am sorry to say, are for the most part
vulgar ignoramuses, he is a thorough musician, and perfectly qualified
to judge a musical work. His enemies would be surprised to learn that he
knows by heart Hummel's Concerto in A minor. He learned it as a child
when he contemplated becoming a pianist, and still plays it charmingly.
Brignoli knows how to sing, and, were it not for the excessive fear that
paralyzes all his faculties before an audience, he would rank among the
best singers of the day.

I met Brignoli for the first time at Paris in 1849. He was then very
young, and had just made his _debut_ at the Theatre Italien, in "L'
Elisire d' Amore," under the sentimental patronage of Mme. R., wife of
the celebrated barytone. In those days Brignoli was very thin, very
awkward, and his timidity was rendered more apparent by the proximity of
his protectress. Mme. R. was an Italian of commanding stature,
impassioned and jealous. She sang badly, although possessed of a fine
voice, which she was less skilful in showing to advantage than in
displaying the luxuriant splendor of her raven hair. The public,
initiated into the secret of the green-room, used to be intensely amused
at the piteous attitudes of Nemorino Brignoli, contrasting, as they did,
with the ardent pantomime of Adina R., who looked by his side l