The Squared Ring

Operas abound in fights of all kinds, and always have. There is a sword-fight in Tristan, a bullfight in Carmen, a dagger-fight in Cavalleria Rusticana, a gunfight in The Girl of the Golden West, a Chinese axe-fight in L'Oracolo, not to mention word-fights of staggering intensity, especially when a prima-donna screams in Italian and a baritone roars his defy in French.

But a real prizefight has not yet been enacted on any American, French, German or Italian lyric stage. Except for a few halfhearted, ineffectual wrestling-passes, no U. S. operagoer has seen even a hint of its possibilities.

In England, however, home of rock-bound tradition, the thing has been done, and no less a personage than H. M. Queen Mary, royally prim and sensitive, has vigourously acclaimed the innovation. The prizefight opera was given a private performance last week before representatives of the Court and critics. Enthusiasm was unbounded. Experts marvelled at the way in which the composer handled his difficult subject.

The Great Scene particularly evoked acclamation. The two contestants were milling gloriously on the stage, while the orchestra milled away at its violins and double-basses, prestissimo furioso.

The chorus was divided--a part of it in each of the rivals' corners. Choral shouts mingled with the principals' gasps, with the thud of leather on flesh, with the nervous shrieks of the piccolo. The climax arrived with the referee's musical cry of "Foul! !", which "rent the ear" and which was followed by the trained diapason of hoots and yowls from rival corners.

London now awaits with ill-concealed impatience the first public performance of this alluring work. Something of the sort might have been expected ever since Bernard Shaw, in his The Admirable Bashville, put the fortunes of the pugilist on the stage in heroic blank verse. And now it has been suggested that the American composer turn away from Negro, Red Indian and Sunday Supplement subjects, and devote his muse to creating an interpretation of the character and physique of Jeff or John L. Sullivan for Chaliapin's titanic bass voice--and figure. This may mean that the operatic star (male) of tomorrow will go into training with a skipping-rope rather than with deep-breathing exercises.

Said The New York World: "In opera it is essential that the tenor shall be either a very young and poor man who gets the girl at last, or else a very wild and rich rake who eventually receives what is known in ring parlance as the raspberry. The American public would not tolerate any of its fistic heroes in the latter unflattering light. And the American public could not conceivably believe in the verisimilitude of the first role. For none in America ever heard of a poor young boxer."