The night of performance was that of January 3, 1881, when the beautiful play-poem was at last set before the audience in all its attraction. It still lingers in the memory with an inexpressible charm, breathing poetry and romance. We shall ever look back fondly to ‘The Cup,’ with its exquisite setting, and lament heartily that others did not so cordially or enthusiastically appreciate it. There was something so fascinating about the play, something so refining, and also so “fantastical,” that though lacking the strong thews and muscles of a regular drama, it satisfied eye and ear. As it floated before us, in airy, evanescent fashion, it seemed to recall the lines that wind up the most charming of Shakespeare’s plays, when the revels now had ended, and all had “melted into air, into thin air.” The noble Temple, with its rich mouldings, was destined too soon, alas! to pass away into the same dark grave of so many noble creations. On the two chief characters, both full of tragic power, the eye rested with an almost entrancing interest. Never did Irving _act_ better—that is, never did he convey by his look and tones the evidence of the barbaric conception within him. There was a fine, pagan, reckless savagery, yet controlled by dignity. Miss Terry’s Camma returns to the memory like the fragment of a dream. The delightful creation was brought before us more by her sympathetic bearing and motion than by speech; what music was there in those tones, pitched in low, melodious key, interpreting the music of Tennyson! Her face and outline of figure, refined and poetical as they were, became more refined still in association with the lovely scenery and its surroundings. She seemed to belong to the mythological past. There was a strange calm towards the close, and all through no undue theatrical emphasis or faulty tone of recitation to disturb that dreamy sense. It was not a little disheartening to think that this “entire, perfect chrysolite” was received with a rather cold admiration, or at least not with the enthusiasm it richly merited. The apathetic crowd scarcely appreciated the too delicate fare set before it, we scarcely know why. I suppose that it had not sufficient _robustness_, as it is called. After some weeks the manager found it needful to supplement the attraction of the play by the revived ‘Corsican Brothers.’ It may be conceived what a strain[26] was here on the resources, not merely of the actors, but even of all who were concerned with the scenery and properties. Two important pieces had to be treated and manipulated within an incredibly short space of time. CHAPTER IX. 1881. ‘OTHELLO’ AND ‘THE TWO ROSES’ REVIVED.