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Updated: June 17, 2025
The bridesmaids wore pale yellow cloth, with reveres and cuffs of daffodil yellow satin and white Venetian point. Mrs. Harris wore a gown of heliotrope brocaded silk, trimmed with rich lace and a bodice of velvet. The wedding party took their places and Mme. Melba accompanied by piano, harp, and violin sang Gounod's "Ave Maria."
The perfect cordiality of that interview did not deceive either of us, I always believed, although to one at least it was a great comfort. I do not think he and Genevieve ever spoke of the matter together, but Boris knew. Genevieve was lovely. The Madonna-like purity of her face might have been inspired by the Sanctus in Gounod's Mass.
The contrast between her girlish innocence and the voluptuous sentiment of Gounod's heroine cannot fail to strike the most careless listener. The climax of this scene, the delightfully tender and playful quartet, which culminates in a burst of hysterical laughter, is a stroke of genius. In the prison scene Boito rises to still greater heights.
Madame, who had not betrayed the least embarrassment when she and her café were apostrophized in Gounod's impassioned strains, was utterly bewildered by Poluski's wealth. Not once in many years had he owned so much at one time, since he always drew small sums on account of his pictures and kept himself going hand-to-mouth fashion.
A catalogue of Gounod's failures would have no significance except as showing that his industry and energy were not relaxed by public neglect.
Boito changes the order of the scenes which he borrows from Goethe, presenting first the merrymaking of the populace outside the walls of Frankfort-on-the-Main, and then the interview between Faust and Mefistofele, in which, as in the opening scene of Gounod's opera, the infernal compact is agreed upon.
Gounod's genius seems to have had no affinity for the graceful and sparkling measures of comic music, and his attempt to rival Rossini and Auber in the field where they were preeminent was decidedly unsuccessful, though the opera contained much fine music. The year of his triumph had at last arrived.
For my part, my wires are working rather rustily, but I must obey the Stage-Manager. For my requiem I wish somebody would ask them to play Gounod's masterpiece." "What's that?" asked Corliss, amused. "`The Funeral March of a Marionette!" "I suppose you mean that for a cheerful way of announcing that you are a fatalist." "Fatalism? That is only a word," declared Mr. Vilas gravely.
But it was not the subject which led to Gounod's failure in "Romeo and Juliet." He failed in every opera excepting "Faust," and he failed because, lacking perfect sincerity and perfect knowledge of his own powers, he endeavoured to express feelings he had never experienced, in a form which he would have felt at once to be inadequate had he experienced them for ever so brief a moment.
In the first cabin were more than two hundred souls young and old, maids and matrons, young and middle-aged men, and a few beyond the allotted three score years and ten. Mlle. Carenta, a member of a troupe of grand opera singers, whom many had heard during the company's engagement in New York, arose from the piano amid cries of "bravo," for her superb vocalism. She had sung Gounod's Ave Maria.
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