Ulysses
Stabat Mater, a work simply abounding in immortal num-
bers, in which his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, made a
hit, a veritable sensation, he might safely say, greatly add-
ing to her other laureis and putting the others totally in the
shade, in the jesuit fathers’ church in upper Gardiner street,
the sacred edifice being thronged to the doors to hear her
with virtuosos, or virtuosi rather. There was the unanimous
opinion that there was none to come up to her and suffice
it to say in a place of worship for music of a sacred charac-
ter there was a generally voiced desire for an encore. On
the whole though favouring preferably light opera of the
Don Giovanni description and Martha, a gem in its line,
he had a penchant, though with only a surface knowledge,
for the severe classical school such as Mendelssohn. And
talking of that, taking it for granted he knew all about the
old favourites, he mentioned par excellence Lionel’s air in
Martha, M’appari, which, curiously enough, he had heard
or overheard, to be more accurate, on yesterday, a privilege
he keenly appreciated, from the lips of Stephen’s respected
father, sung to perfection, a study of the number, in fact,
which made all the others take a back seat. Stephen, in reply
to a politely put query, said he didn’t sing it but launched out
into praises of Shakespeare’s songs, at least of in or about
that period, the lutenist Dowland who lived in Fetter lane
near Gerard the herbalist, who anno ludendo hausi, Dou-
landus, an instrument he was contemplating purchasing
from Mr Arnold Dolmetsch, whom B. did not quite recall
though the name certainly sounded familiar, for sixtyfive
guineas and Farnaby and son with their dux and comes con-