Maretzek Italian Opera: Faust

“The performance last night at the Academy of Music more than fulfilled the brightest expectations of those who witnessed Madame Lucca’s debut on Monday. Not only was the prima donna better fitted with her part, but she was better supported, and ‘Faust’ was consequently given with a spirit and effect which ’L’Africaine’ certainly lacked. Madame Lucca’s Margherita is unlike the Margherita of any other artist whom our stage has seen,--unlike in personal appearance, intellectual comprehension, and musical expression. It is not the gentle and pensive blonde whom Ary Scheffer painted and whom Gounod perhaps had chiefly in his mind when he wrote the beautiful love music of the Third Act; it is much more like the actual Gretchen of Goethe, a simple, rosy, hearty girl, not very wise, not very romantic, not given to reveries, who prattles with her lover about common household topics, and uses bad grammar, and is pleased with trifles; who is vain as a child but loves with the warm hear of a woman. This is the maid whom Lucca, with her dark hair, and plump figure, and healthy face brings before us. When she first comes upon the stage and receives Faust’s salutation during the Kermesse, she puts away his compliment not with the soft disclaimer and gentle curtsey to which we are accustomed in this scene, but with a stare of surprise and an abrupt rebuff, so perfectly natural that we are reconciled at once to the innovation. In the Garden scene the peculiarities of her interpretation are still more marked. The ballad of the ‘King in Thule’ is given without that tinge of sadness which other singers impart to it, and if it is less sentimental it is more true to life. The discovery of the jewels offers an opportunity for one of the most characteristic and vivacious bits of acting, surpassing even the excellent performance of Miss Nilsson in the same scene, and the song which accompanies the display of the necklace and pendants is poured out with a reckless joy that is perfectly inimitable. It is in the love duet, however, that she departs furthest from the track of her predecessors. She has comparatively little of the languishing tenderness of other heroines, for her Margherita is a girl with a plenty of warm blood in her veins, and after a few moments of hesitation and coyness she throws herself unreservedly into the passionate enjoyment of the hour. The ‘Tarda si fa’ with her is not a revery, but rapture, and the closing scene which others invest with so much gentle romanticism is made by Lucca the occasion for a magnificent display of intense feeling. In the Church scene she kneels before the altar, with her back to the audience, never turning her head until the end, when she falls senseless on the ground; but in that attitude, crouching in the rear of a crowd of worshippers, and hurriedly turning the leaves of her prayer-book, while the scoffs of the invisible tempter mingle in her ear with the voices of the chanters, she expresses a terror and agony that almost send a shudder through the house. There was one portion of Miss Nilsson’s acting in this scene which made, perhaps, a more remarkable impression than anything which Mme. Lucca does. But Lucca’s conception of the situation, as indeed of the entire character, is undoubtedly the more correct, and her performance the more truly artistic. In the prison she is again what she has been in the previous acts,--not an etherealized sentimentalist, but a woman; and here, at the close, comes her grandest outburst, in that joyous, inspiriting song of the pardoned, who sees heaven opened and puts away sin and suffering and fear forever. No one has ever before given such glorious voice to this triumphant song; no one has so grandly displayed the spirit of Gounod’s finale. We have said more of Madame Lucca’s action and dramatic conception than of her singing, because the musical delivery is governed more or less by her understanding of the drama. Her style is in perfect sympathy with the character. There is no striving for vocal display, no special exhibition of brilliancy. Everything is natural and vigorous. Every note is true; and though there are some wiry tones we soon forget them in admiration of the rich, mellow, and powerful mezzo-soprano voice which adapts itself so perfectly to all the requirements of the opera.

Madame Lucca, as we have already said, was more fortunate in her associates last night than on Monday. Sig. Vizzani, who is probably the handsomest tenor our Academy has known, made an excellent Faust. He is young and prepossessing; he seems to have a fine appreciation of Goethe’s poetic spirit; his method is admirable, and his voice, though neither strong, nor rich, nor of much compass, is agreeable in quality, firm and even. He is not a singer to set the town raving; but he is a much better artist than Abrugnedo. Señora Sanz, the Siebel of the evening, has a good contralto voice of moderate compass; it is not very flexible, but in cantabile passages it is effective, and her style is generally sympathetic. The new baritone, Sparapani, who took the role of Valentine, has only two or three notes worth speaking of. M. Jamet’s Mefistofele is well known as one of the best we have had in this city, and it seemed to be last night more effective than ever.

The opera was given with more regard to accessories than ‘L’Africaine.’ Two important airs were inserted which Gounod wrote for the opera when it was first performed in London—an air for Valentine in the second act, taken from the melody in the first part of the overture, and an excellent air for Siebel in the fourth. The Church scene was striking in its arrangement, but the representation of a celebration of mass was an offensive and needless irreverence which ought not to be repeated. The choruses generally were bad; this part of the opera, far from showing any improvement, is worse than it has often been heretofore. The singers indeed are numerous and fairly dressed; but they have not learned to sing. Mr. Maretzek was the conductor, and the orchestra was tolerable.”

“A performance remarkable for its power, its symmetry, its elaborateness, was given at the Academy of Music, last evening, when Mme. Pauline Lucca filled, for the first time in this country, the part of Margarita, in Gounod’s ‘Faust.’ The elder Dumas was wont to say that the life of a newspaper ought to begin with its second number. Under the influence of yesterday’s representation he would surely have declared that the present season of Italian opera was commenced with the recital following the first. Mme. Lucca, it is true, turns to profit equally the story of Selika and that of Margarita, in so far as each allow her to; but no comparison can be established between the number and character of the opportunities offered here by the two compositions. And as the artist disdains to make what are known as point, and is determined and able to place the acting of a rôle and the singing of its music on a plane throughout with those impressive incidents to which special attention is usually directed, some conception of her work, when we record its complete success, may be formed. The songstress who contents herself with the effect of the charming melodies of the composer, and with that of the poetic atmosphere surrounding the hero and heroine has in ‘Faust’ a comparatively easy task before her. It is impossible, too, not to sympathize with the misfortunes of Margarita, and hence the interest with which most prime donne have invested the personage. But to picture the Margarita whom Mme. Lucca makes known, is to do that which only genius can accomplish. No personation witnessed on the lyric stage of America, in the memory of the present generation can, in respect of singing and acting, rank with that of the latest Margarita. Beauty of voice, perfection of method, a sensibility to the words and notes assigned to her productive of that absolute unconsciousness of the presence of the public essential to an honest dramatic effort; and an expressiveness of tone, delivery, and look, of unsurpassable eloquence are brought by Mme. Lucca to her portrayal of the object of Faust’s passion. To mention these attributes is to convince the reader least acquainted with the libretto and score of ‘Faust,’ that not only no incident of the piece failed of its accustomed force, but that whole passages of the poem shone with a new radiance. It is, of course, impossible to deal at great length with a representation which closed at a late hour, and of which no fraction could be overlooked by any spectator desirous of forming an adequate estimate of its excellence. To fully realize how supreme as a vocalist, a comedienne and a tragédienne is Mme. Lucca, it is necessary to be acquainted with every line of the librettist and every bar of the composer, for each act and each note of Mme. Lucca has its significance. Local audiences, however, despite their increasing acquaintance with opera, are hardly yet prepared to completely appreciate the details of so studied a portrait, and in mentioning those stages of the entertainment whereat most applause was elicited, no opinion should be formed that Mme. Lucca was satisfied to tread only oft-traversed ground. That Mme. Lucca’s Margarita was unique in conception was apparent from the outset. Faust’s love, as she depicts her, has no blue blood in her veins. Her refusal of the proffered arm is not tinged with the melancholy haughtiness of a grande dame, nor with the practiced simplicity of an ultra-refined village girl, but with a pretty sauciness much more rational than a majesty befitting Hamlet. Mme. Lucca, as she crossed the stage and recited the one phrase, struck the keynote of a success which augmented steadily as the entertainment progressed. In the garden-scene the histrionic talent of the artist found abundant scope. The innocent dreaminess of her song and manner at the spinning wheel; the childlike joy at the discovery of the jewels; the momentary thrill of fear, when she fancies that she feels a hand upon her wrist; the resumption of delighted self-contemplation after she has adorned herself with her lover’s gifts; the dawn of her love for Faust, in the earlier portion of the duet, and its growth until her absolute abandonment at the termination of the act—all these emotions found utterance in vocal execution most facile and irreproachable, and in a dramatic portrayal in which art was carried to those limits at which it becomes nature. Twice called before the curtain at the end of the act, the pathos and picturesqueness of Mme. Lucca’s acting evoked lewd plaudits when she cast herself upon the body of Valentino. Most admiration, though, was reserved for the church scene. Set after a different—and after the right—fashion, this portion of ‘Faust’ acquired an importance it never before possessed. Kneeling behind a throng of worshippers, striving to fix her thoughts upon the Holy Book she holds in her trembling hands, driven to despair by the words of the demon who reminds her of the past from the crimsoned depths of an overhanging fount, and whose utterances seem to rise from her remorseful conscience, the face and form and singing of Mme. Lucca, throughout this tableau, were instinct with a sorrow and a terror no tragic actress could more forcibly paint. The fifth act of ‘Faust,’ though the duet, with its ever-swelling passion and its ascensional movement, was extremely striking, was almost an anti-climax to the preceding tableau, after which, as at the termination of the representation, she was twice summoned to the footlights. By devoting the larger portion of the space at our disposal to Mme. Lucca’s remarkable personation, we are constrained to defer the careful consideration of the merits of her associate artists these justly claim. But we can find room to say that the results of the début of Signor Vizzani must have gratified his warmest friends; that those of Signor Sparapani’s first appearance were equally agreeable; that Señorita Sanz, although suffering still from illness, produced a most favorable impression, and that Signor Jamet’s Mefistofele, good as it was last season, is richer in nice historic touches than ever. Signor Vizzani was not at his best in the first movement of ‘Salve, Dimora,’ which he took rather fast, but in the remainder of the song he used with skill and taste a light tenor voice of pleasant quality. As an actor, Signor Vizzani is acceptable, though not as conspicuous for sustained grace and warmth as we could wish. Signor Sparapani’s notes have more of the tenor quality than of the baritone; the gentleman, as Valentino, rendered, for the first time in this country, an aria written, if we mistake not, for Mr. Santley. Señorita Sanz also sang ’Quando a te,’ a solo not yet executed by contralti, in New-York. M. Jamet’s Mephistophelian drinking-tune was encored as usual; no more conscientious basso has ever been in sight of the public.  The chorus and orchestra were generally precise; the scenery, though not wholly renovated, was distinguished by several fresh-bits of painting, and particularly by the absence of the Swiss view with Chinese perspective. The costumes were worthy of notice for elegance and brightness.”

“The representation of Gounod’s masterpiece at the Academy last evening introduced to the public three new members of Mr. Maretzek’s company, Mlle. Sanz, Sig. Vizzani, the tenore di grazia, and Sig. Sparapani. Of Mlle. Sanz—the Siebel of the evening—it is only necessary to remark that she has a strong and full contralto, apparently a little worn, and sings with self-possession and breadth and simplicity of style; but should not be judged by her appearance of last evening, as she had just risen from a sick bed to fulfill the requirements of her engagement. Sig. Vizzani has a very high and reedy tenor, with some sweet and tolerably powerful notes, but in general weak and apt to break under stress. His execution is correct, but not well assured or facile, and his dramatic action not remarkable for fire or passion. As the Faust of the piece he gave a moderately satisfactory version of the part, but will hardly efface our traditions of last year.

Sig. Sparapani, who sang ‘Valentine,’ has a fair baritone, but sings with deficient intonation, and appeared nervous and embarrassed.

M. Jamet gave his well-known and excellent interpretation of Mephistopheles. His voice is in as good tune as last winter, and his action and singing, especially in the impressive defiance scene after the fair, were admirable for spirit and vigor. With this exception, the main weight of the opera fell on Mme. Lucca, who amply fulfilled the expectations of her admirers by a delineation of Marguerita notable for many excellences and some strong and novel features. Her version of the part has not the cold and original simplicity, the moonlight tone, of Nilsson, but possesses more of fire, energy, and spontaneity. The garden scene was charming for its mingled pathos and passion, and the scene in the church was given with a force of dramatic reality which drew down stormy applause. As we hear her in successive rôles, we have continually more occasion to admire the clear, sonorous quality of her voice, and the ease, correctness, and sympathetic feeling of her execution. Still, it may be doubted whether her tragic rôles are her best, and rumor from abroad leads us to expect with great curiosity her appearance in such more naïve and sparkling creations as Zerlina and Cherubino.”

“The representation of ‘Faust’ last evening at the Academy of Music established at once the capacity of Messrs. Jarrett & Maretzek’s company, and the hold Mme. Lucca had already acquired upon public favor by her Selika. Whoever wins the applauses of a New York audience as Margherita may not fear criticism in any other operatic part. Every strain of the music is familiar, every situation of the drama is anticipated, we catch in advance every sob of the heroine and know exactly where each start is to be introduced. Mme. Lucca’s conception of Margherita, however, was a surprise not less than a gratification. It is less poetic than voluptuous, and the tinge of sadness, perhaps sentimentalism, that has hitherto belonged to the lovely creation, colors not at all the new prima donna’s captivating portraiture. There is more warmth of coloring in Lucca’s Margherita than we have been accustomed to see in it—there is more avoirdupois, and there is also, if not more vivacity, more pertness and caprice. Nothing could have exceeded the ease and naturalness of Gretchen’s delighted wonder at the jewels, as nothing could have betrayed more feelingly the distressful agitation of the soul than her by-play in the church, where we can almost hear the beatings of her heart. Mme. Lucca’s idea of Margherita is womanly, as ‘a creature not too bright and good for human nature’s daily food,’ fond of pretty things, tolerant of flattery, swayed by passion, purified by suffering, glorified by the hope of final pardon. In this notice of the character we have spoken of it only from its dramatic side, and so high is Madam Lucca’s art that it is difficult not to think of the effects she produces as having been achieved by her rare histrionic talent; but as there could not be a Margherita without the highest capacities for music, it is unnecessary to say that she sings the part with equal exactness and feeling. There is nothing phenomenal in her voice, but it charms with its unfailing sweetness, while its strength and pathos have a cumulative power wanting to organs that startle and electrify but do not carry away the listener. In the prison scene Mme. Lucca fairly overpowered her auditors, as the climacteric of a command over their feelings that had been growing stronger from the beginning, and from the bed of straw to the realms of unfading light the raptured sense seemed lifted on a strain of melody, as in the apotheosis of the finale, where the angels bear away the soul of Margherita to the upper skies.

The new tenor, Signor Vizzani, sang with great acceptance the part of Faust for his first appearance, and Signor Sparapaul as Valentine made an agreeable impression. Signor Jamet’s Mephisto was excellent.

The opera was handsomely put upon the stage, and the chorus, while it might certainly have sung in better time and more in tune, was unusually numerous and well dressed. The scenic effects were also good, but the imitation of the mass is open to objection as calculated needlessly to offend the religious sensibilities of many.”

“Last night might properly be called the American début of Madame Lucca, as it was the first opportunity afforded to her to display her remarkable talents. ‘L’Africaine,’ albeit the connection of her name with the posthumous work of Meyerbeer led every one to regard it with a special interest, is too labored a production and too unpopular in its lack of taking melodies and singleness of purpose to give a prima donna a fair chance. But Gounod’s ‘Faust’ has become a household word with opera-goers since it was first introduced here by Miss Kellogg, and every scene and every note of the music tells with a New York audience. The Gretchen of Goethe is one of the most fascinating creations of the inspired poet. Beyond the mere charm of the character as she appears on the stage, there is in her the embodiment of a high, noble dramatic idea. It is the struggle of innocence against the power of the demon, of maidenly virtue against the snares of the world. It lays open the human heart and makes every feeling of passion and tenderness vibrate, until in the last scene the heartstrings snap asunder in the agony of woe, and the baffled demon recoils before the apotheosis of a pure soul mounting to the realms of bliss after its fiery ordeal in the crucible of temptation. One remarkable illustration of the heroine of Goethe’s poem-drama was given here by Mme. Seebach. With her Gretchen was something more than a poor, innocent peasant girl, a mere automaton in the hands of the wily tempter and his dupe. Seebach threw around her a halo of angelic sweetness that seemed to be above taint even in her fall, and the German actress made her the unconscious victim of Fate, whose misfortune, not fault, it was to meet with a Satanic power beyond her strength to withstand.

Miss Kellogg’s name has been so long and so favorably connected with the lyric illustration of Goethe’s heroine, that it is necessary to speak of her conception of the rôle. With her the prevailing idea is somewhat akin to that of Mme. Seebach, innocence passing unscathed under the most trying, and we might say, questionable circumstances. Mlle. Nilsson took the same view of it, but lacked the ingenuousness and warmth of the American prima donna. Nilsson’s Marguerite, or Gretchen, was a beautiful specimen of art, finished in all its details, but one that would call forth from the audience the prayer that Pygmalion addressed to the gods, when he stood spellbound before the handiwork of his talent, and called upon Heaven for the Promethean fire that would call the exquisite statue into life. The perfection of the art of the Swedish songstress was more apparent in this rôle than perhaps in any other that our public have seen her in. There was a lack of spontaneity in her love making, and a chilliness, graceful and beautiful though it might be, that precluded even in the jewel scene the idea of girlishness. It was too stately and too ethereal a representation to be natural.

When Mr. Grau brought his opera company to the old Academy a fortnight before it was burned, he introduced a Marguerite in the person of Mlle. Boschetti, who came nearer to the idea of Goethe than any artiste we have ever seen. She seemed to have studied the drama before the opera, and to have made the wonderful pictures of Ary Scheffer and Kaulbach the models of her acting. But, like Miolan Carvalho, she could not do justice to the music, having a high, thin soprano voice, that was blurred with all the faults of the French school. Mlle. Tietjens in London essayed the rôle and destroyed the true character of Gretchen by a ponderosity of style, which, however effective in rôles like Norma, Medea and Lucrezia, was not at all suitable for such a poetic creation as the village girl of ‘Faust.’

Mme. Frederici-Himmer is the only Marguerite on the German stage in this city who created a profound impression in the part; but her impersonation lacked the essential element of poetry. She was, perhaps, truer to nature than any of the others, but was unable to limn her subject with all the nuances and delicate touches of art that lift a characterization above mediocrity. Again, her voice was one of those heavy German organs that regard quantity of tone as more essential than quality. Lastly, there is a popular Marguerite on the stage at present in the person of Adelina Patti. But the little, black-eyed, merry Rosina, of ‘Il Barbiere,’ brings to the impersonation of Gretchen the volcanic passion of an Italian and the chic and coquetry of a Parisienne—a rather incongruous mixture.

The last claimant for attention in this beautiful rôle is the little lady that appeared last night. Her Marguerite differs in many respects from all those of her predecessors. First, she eschews the blonde tresses and wears her own black hair in braids. In the next place her impulsive nature changes the traditional repose of Gretchen at the wheel and in the Kermesse. When she is accosted by Faust on her way from the church she does not turn around with that sweet, composed smile and demeanor of Nilsson which is icy, chaste as snow and statuesque in its dignity. Lucca starts and becomes confused at being addressed by a handsome cavalier and hurriedly refuses his escort. The former conception of this scene was, perhaps, the more picturesque; the latter undoubtedly the more natural. In the jewel scene the girlish and exuberant spirits of the Marguerite were displayed to the fullest extent, and no child could evince more delight at the first glimpse of a Christmas tree than did Madame Lucca when she saw the gleaming toys of the tempter reflected in the glass of the jewel case. The lovely duet with Faust, ‘Dammi ancor;’ those passionate phrases, ‘Sempre amar’ and ‘Ti voglio amar’ were rendered with a tenderness and sentiment that seemed to come from the very soul. The last touching address of Marguerite, an apostrophe to Love, on which the curtain fell at the close of the third act, has never been delivered here before with more passion and abandon. In the famous church scene her dramatic genius mounted still higher. The scene represented the interior of a church, and was given, as far as the appointments are concerned, for the first time in an attractive shape. The priest is officiating at the high altar (this should be modified out of regard for religious feelings), and grouped outside the railings are the villagers. Marguerite enters, oppressed with the sense of guilt and despair, and endeavors to pray to Heaven for forgiveness and strength to burst asunder the deadly bonds with which the evil spirit has encircled her. In a niche is seen the ominous form of the tempter, mocking her prayers and bidding her to cease her useless struggles against his power. With one heart-rending shriek she falls prostrate on the floor of the church, and while the astonished congregation gather around her, the curtain falls.

The last scene was the climax of dramatic talent. Marguerite, roused from her rude bed of straw in the dungeon by the sweet accents of a voice so fatally dear to her, regains for the moment a consciousness not of her present condition, but of the episode in her life when she met her destroyer. While the violins breathe forth softly the waltz movement of the Kermesse, she sees before her in imagination the scene in which she was accosted by the strange cavalier. Her suffering and torture of mind is forgotten for the moment in the sweet vision, and the large, expressive eyes of the prima donna glow with a melting expression of tenderness. Then comes before her the mocking face of the tempter. The vision is rudely dispelled; a stony glance of horror comes into the beautiful eyes, and then, as in a supreme effort, the last, fervent prayer of a departing spirit bursts forth, ‘O del ciel, angeli immortali’ The grand phrase in which this prayer is musically illustrated is repeated three times, rising higher and higher until the soul bursts from its prison. This has the effect of an ecstatic climax which has nothing to equal it in the entire range of opera. Madame Lucca gave it with all the passion and fervency of her nature, and roused her hearers to a pitch of enthusiasm such as they never experienced before. 

Vizzani, the new tenor leggiero, who undertook the rôle of Faust, made a very favorable impression. His personal appearance is considerably in his favor, and his voice is pleasant and well cultivated. The tone is rather lighter than what one would wish for, but the expression and finish with which he sings each morceau, makes amends. His acting is graceful and not demonstrative. He is not so passionate a lover as Capoul, but, we opine, a more reasonable one. He sang the ‘Salve Dimora’ with a rare feeling. Mlle. Sanz made a pretty, well-proportioned Siebel, but her voice seemed to be out of good order last night. Whether it was caused by nervousness or indisposition it is certain that she did not do justice to the well-known ‘Pariate d’Amor,’ especially in introducing an illy finished cadence of her own at the end. Another candidate for public esteem appeared in the rôle of Valentine, sung by Signor Sparapani, a baritone, with an extremely light voice, but well cultivated. His acting was rather tame. He sang in the second act the aria composed by Gounod for Santley, and did not make much impression by it. Our old friend, Jamet, undertook the rôle of Mephistopheles, in which he made such a genuine success last season. He has been taking some hints from Faure during the summer, and some creditable improvements were perceptible. We do not like the blood-red costume which he adopted last night in imitation of the great French baritone; it smacks of sensation and bad taste. No respectable village, even in Germany, would endure the sight of a masquerader going about its streets in such a sanguinary style of dress.

The chorus and orchestra did not seem to pull well together, especially in the waltz movement of the second act, and we would earnestly advise Mr. Maretzek to moderate the exuberant tone of his Teutonic brigade in the orchestra. There was a want of crisp, sharp rendering, in which every phrase is well defined, on the part of the singers and instrumentalists, which should be attended to in the future.”

“All who had the great pleasure of seeing Pauline Lucca as Marguerite in the opera of ‘Faust’ on Wednesday night will long remember that extraordinary performance. It has been well said that the impression left upon the mind by the highest works of art is a joy forever, and Lucca’s delineation of the beautiful creation of Goethe as adapted by Gounod to the opera can never be effaced from the memory. We make no comparisons, invidious or otherwise, between the art of Lucca in this representation and that of other prime donne. Several have afforded the public much gratification in their performance of the character of Marguerite, and though differing in the conception of it and in style of acting and singing, have had their excellences, but Lucca gives us the poet’s idea. The acting and singing were in perfect accord and were really superb. The vast and critical audience was thrilled with delight. There has never been any performance in the Academy of Music, or in opera at any time in this country, superior to that of Lucca on Wednesday night. Indeed, we remember nothing equal to it. We can now understand the enthusiasm of the Berlin, St. Petersburg and London audiences over this charming prima donna. We do not know which to admire most, her clear, full, rich, and, as the Berlinese call it, velvet voice, used with consummate skill, or the unsurpassed dramatic power of her action. However opinions may differ as to the most agreeable representation of Marguerite, none can deny the surpassing excellence of Lucca’s personation of it in accordance with the poet’s idea, and all must accord to her the highest merit, both as a singer and actress. This was evidently the verdict of the audience at the Academy of Music, and will be of the American public everywhere.”

“It is generally admitted that the opera season is to be a prosperous one, and, if the money taken during the first week is to be accounted an [sic]earnest, there can be no doubt of the fact. Mr. Maretzek has certainly been working very hard, and we hope that the many and constantly-increasing opera goers who are familiar with European standards, will take this into consideration, and remember the serious local difficulties that have here to be encountered. Good progress is being made, after all [is] said and done, and if in lyric matters we have not yet in all respects attained perfection, we surely have not stood still. Mme. Lucca has made a powerful impression this week—more decided in ‘Faust’ than in ‘L’Africaine,’ and will, we think, grow stronger and stronger with the public as the season goes on.”