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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31880-8.txt b/31880-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..428abe3 --- /dev/null +++ b/31880-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2333 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Physiology of The Opera, by John H. Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Physiology of The Opera + +Author: John H. Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +Release Date: April 4, 2010 [EBook #31880] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHYSIOLOGY OF THE OPERA *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + +Smooth Reading Good Words list: +haviour +ancle +ancles +donna +donna's +habitués +parquette +poignard +prima +Simms +tenore + + + + +Physiology of the Opera. + + "I both compose and perform Sir: and though I say it, perhaps few + even of the profession possess the _contra-punto_ and the + _chromatic_ better." + + CONNOISSEUR. No. 130. + + "I see, Sir--you + Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one + To whom the opera is by no means new." + + BYRON. + + + + +PHYSIOLOGY + +OF + +THE OPERA. + +[Illustration] + +BY SCRICI. + +PHILADELPHIA. WILLIS P. HAZARD, 178 CHESNUT ST. 1852. + +COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW. + + + + +Introduction. + + +As an introduction to the dissertation upon which we are about to enter, +such an antiquarian view of the subject might be taken as would tend to +establish a parallel between the ancient Greek tragedy and the modern +sanguinary Italian opera, the strong resemblance therein being displayed +of Signor Salvi trilling on the stage, to the immortal Thespis jargoning +from a dung-cart. But we shall indulge in no such wearying pedantry. +Our intention being merely to "hold the mirror up to nature," in +presenting our immaterial reflector to the public, we invite our readers +to a view of the present only--a period of time in which they take most +interest, since they adorn it with their own presence. + +We feel satisfied that few of the ladies who take a peep into this +mirror, will find any cause to break it in a fit of petulancy after +having looked upon the attractive reflection of their own lovely +features. Few young gentlemen will throw down a glass that gives them a +just idea of their striking and distingué appearance behind a large +moustache and a gilded _lorgnette_. Old papas, who rule 'change and keep +a "stall," cannot be offended with that which teaches them how dignified +and creditable is their position, as they sit up proudly and exhibit +their family's extravagance and ostentation as an evidence of the +stability of their commercial relations. Few mammas will carp at a book +which assures them that society does not esteem them less highly because +they use an opera box as a sort of matrimonial show window in which they +place their beautiful daughters, "got up regardless of expense," as +delicate wares in the market of Hymen. + +In these our humble efforts to present to our readers an amusing yet +faithful picture of the opera, we hope our manner of treating the +subject has been to nothing extenuate nor aught set down in malice. This +book has not for its end the unlimited censure of foreign opera singers, +or native opera goers. We do not therefore, expect to gratify the +malignant demands of persons of over-strained morality, who maintain +that the opera is a bad school of musical science, or a worse school of +morals; and exclaim with the very correct Mr. Coleridge, who was +_shocked_ in a--_concert room_, + + "Nor cold nor stern my soul, yet I detest + These scented rooms; where to a gaudy throng, + Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast, + In intricacies of laborious song. + + "These feel not music's genuine power, nor deign + To melt at nature's passion-warbled plaint; + But when the long-breath'd singer's up-trilled strain + Bursts in a squall--they gape for wonderment." + +Neither do we coincide in sentiment with those who, conceiving that +every folly and absurdity sanctioned by fashion, is converted into +reason and common sense, believe that "the whole duty of man" consists +in _spending the day_ with Max Maretzeck on the occasion of his musical +jubilees, and being roasted by gas in the hours of broad day-light. +Consequently the reader will find no one line herein written with the +intention of flattering the vanity of those who ride to the opera every +night in a splendid coach, followed by spotted dogs. + +Having thus declared the impartial manner in which it is our purpose to +pursue the physiological discussion of our subject, and the various +phenomena involved in its consideration, we proceed at once to unveil +the operatic existence to the reader, fatigued no doubt by an +introductory salaam already protracted beyond the limits of propriety. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +The Opera in the Abstract. + + "L'Opéra toujours + Fait bruit et merveilles: + On y voit les sourds + Boucher leurs oreilles." + + BERANGER. + + +To most of the world (and we say it advisedly,) the opera is a sealed +book. We do not mean a bare representation with its accompanying +screechings, violinings and bass-drummings. Everybody has seen that--But +the race of beings who constitute that remarkable combination; their +feelings, positions, social habits; their relation to one another; what +they say and eat;[a] whether the tenor ever notices as they (the world) +do, the fine legs of the contralto in man's dress, and whether the basso +drinks pale ale or porter; all these things have been hitherto wrapped +in an inscrutable mystery. In regard to mere actors, not singers, this +feeling is confined to children; but the operators of an opera are +essentially esoteric. They are enclosed by a curtain more impenetrable +than the Chinese wall. You may walk all around them; nay, you may even +know an inferior artiste, but there is a line beyond which even the fast +men, with all their impetuosity, are restrained from invading. + +[a] We actually knew a man who, when a tenor was spoken of, as having +gone through his _role_, thought that that worthy had been eating his +breakfast. + +You walk in the street with a young female, on whom you flatter yourself +you are making an impression; suddenly she cries out, "Oh, there's +Bawlini; do look! dear creature, isn't he?" You may as well turn round +and go home immediately; the rest of your walk won't be worth half the +dream you had the night before. This shows an importance to be attached +to these remarkable persons, which, together with the mystery which +encircles them, is exceedingly aggravating to the feelings of a large +body of respectable citizens. Among those who are mostly afflicted, we +may mention all women, but most especially boarding school misses. +Mothers of families are much perturbed; they wonder why the tenor is so +intimate with the donna, considering they are not married; and fathers +of families wonder "where under the sun that manager gets the money to +pay a tenor twelve hundred dollars a month, when state sixes are so +shockingly depressed." We were going to enumerate those we thought +particularly afflicted by a praiseworthy desire to know something more +of these obscurities, but they are too many for us. In every class of +society, nay, in the breast of almost every person, there exists a +desire to be rightly informed on these subjects. It was to supply this +want that we have devoted ourselves more especially to the actors who +do, to the exclusion of the auditors who are "_done_." + +Shakspeare observes, that "all the world's a stage;" the converse of +this proposition is no less worthy of being regarded as a great moral +truth,--that all the stage is a world. Every condition of life may be +found typified in one or other of the officials or attachés of an opera +house; from the king upon the throne, symbolized by the haughty and +magisterial impresario, to the _chiffonier_ in the gutter, represented +by the unfortunate chorister who is attired as a shabby nobleman on the +stage, but who goes home to a supper of leeks. Between these two +degrees, of dignity and unimportance, come those many shades of social +position corresponding to the happy situations of Secretary of State, +Secretary of the Treasury, and divers other dignitaries, set forth in +the stage director, the treasurer, the chorus-master, &c. + +The tenor, basso, prima donna and baritone may be considered as +belonging to what is called "society;"--that well-to-do and ornamental +portion of the community, who having no vocation save to frequent balls, +soirées, concerts and operas, and fall in love--serve as objects of +admiration to those persons less favoured by fortune, who make the +clothes and dress the hair of the former class. + +Our simile need not be carried further, it being apparent to the most +inconsiderate reader, that it is quite as truthful as that hatched by +the swan of Avon. We shall now commence our observations upon the most +interesting members of a troupe; those best known to the community +before whom they nightly appear; and leave unnoticed those disagreeable +but influential ones who raise the price of tickets, or stand in a +little box near the door and palm off all the back seats upon the +uninitiated. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +Of the Tenore. + + "In short, I may, I am sure, with truth assert, that whether in the + _allegro_ or in the _piano_, the _adagio_, the _largo_ or the + _forte_, he never had his equal."--CONNOISSEUR. No. 130. + + "Famed for the even tenor of his conduct, and his conduct as a + tenor."--KNICKERBOCKER. + + +[Illustration] + +The Tenor is a small man, seldom exceeding the medium height. His voice +is, comparatively speaking, a small voice, and consequently not likely +to issue from over-grown lungs. His proportions are, or at least ought +to be, as symmetrical as possible. His hair, nine times out of ten, is +black, and _always_ curls. His beard is reasonably bushy; but his +moustache is the most artistically cultivated and carefully nurtured +collection of hair that ever adorned the superior lip of man. His +features are likely to be handsome, sometimes, however, effeminately so. +His dress is a little extravagant; not extravagant in the mode and +manner of a fast man or a dandy--for it is not punctiliously fashionable +like that of the latter, without any deviation from tailor's plates; +neither does it resemble that of the former in the gentlemanly roughness +of its appearance; consequently he rejoices not in entire suits of grey +or plaid, those _very_ sporting coats, those English country-gentleman's +shoes, those amply bowed cravats, and those shirts that are so +resplendent with the well executed heads of terrier dogs. No! the primo +tenore has a passion, first, for satin,--secondly, for jewelry,--and +lastly, for hats, boots and gloves. He dotes on satin scarfs, cravats +and ties, and his gorgeous satin vests, of all the hues of the rainbow, +astound the saunterer on the morning promenade. His love for pins, +studs, rings and chains is almost enough to lead us to believe that his +blood is mingled with that of the Mohawks. Boots that fit like gloves, +and gloves that fit like the skin, render him the envy of dandies. His +hat is smooth and glossy to an excess, and its peculiar formation makes +it considered "_un peu trop fort_," even by the most daring of +hat-fanciers. + +The tenor rises late; partly because he is naturally indolent; partly +because the prime basso drank him slightly exhilarated the evening +previous; and partly out of affectation and the desire to appear a very +fine gentleman. Having spent a long time in making a _negligée +toilette_, he orders his breakfast. Seated in his comprehensive arm +chair, and attired in all the splendor of a well-tinselled satin or +velvet _calotte_, a dazzling _robe de chambre_, and slippers of the most +brilliant colors, he takes his matutinal repast. And now we begin to +discover some of the thousand vexations and annoyances that harass the +life of this poor object of popular support. His breakfast is but the +skeleton of that useful and nourishing repast. No rich beef-steaks! no +tender chops! no fragrant ham nor well-seasoned omelettes, transfer +their nutritive properties through his system. Any indulgence in these +wholesome articles of food is considered direct destruction to the +tender organ of the tenor. A hunting breakfast every day, or a glass of +wine at an improper hour, if persisted in for any length of time, it is +supposed would ruin the most delightful voice that ever sung an _aria_. +A large cup of _café au lait_, with an egg beaten in it, is all the +morning meal of which the poor _artiste_ (as he styles himself,) is +permitted to partake. This feat accomplished, he takes up the newspaper +in which he _spells out_ the puff which he paid the reporter to insert, +and after satisfying himself that he has received his _quid pro quo_, he +lounges away the morning until a sufficient space of time has elapsed to +render the use of the voice no longer deleterious, as it is immediately +after eating. And then come two or three hours of study that is no +trifle. The tenor is a man; and it seems to be a great moral law, that +whether it come in the form of labor, disease, ennui or indigestion, +suffering shall be the badge of all our tribe. Even prima donnas, who +defy gods and men with more temerity than all living creatures, are +constrained to concede the obligation of this universal moral edict. The +tenor then yields homage to human nature and the public, in the labor of +climbing stubborn scales, rehearsing new operas, and sometimes, though +not often, in receiving the impertinence of arrogant prima donnas, +during several hours every day. After these fatiguing efforts, he makes +his _grande toilette_, and prepares himself to astound the town no less +by his personal attractions than by his song. The chief promenade of the +city, where he condescends to mete out to highly favoured audiences the +treasures of his organ, is made the day-theatre of his glory. +Accompanied by his friend the _primo basso_, he saunters along very +quietly, attracting the gaze of the curious, and calling forth the +passionate remarks of enthusiastic young ladies, who feel it would be a +pleasure to die, if they could only leave such a gentleman behind on +earth to sing "_Tu che a Dio_," in the event of their being "snatched +away in beauty's bloom." + +The basso is the chosen male companion of the tenor's walk; firstly, +because he is no rival, and secondly, because the gross physical +endowments of the former are such as to bring out the latter's +symmetrical proportions in such strong relief. + +Sometimes the tenor is seen riding out with the prima donna, with whom +he is nearly always a favorite. He is the gentleman who makes himself +useful in assisting her to destroy time; he performs for her those +thousand and one little delicate attentions for which all women are so +truly grateful; and then he sings with her every night those sentimental +duos, that necessarily produce their effect upon the feminine bosom. + +Whether walking with his gigantic friend, or riding with his fair one, +the tenor behaves himself with the greatest propriety and gentleman-like +bearing, excepting always a certain air which leads us to believe that +he thinks "too curious old port" of himself. He is more grave, but +apparently more vain when on foot, than when seated in the carriage with +the prima donna; at which time his gesticulation becomes very animated, +sometimes very extravagant; though we must always accord it the +attraction of gracefulness. + +The time is thus agreeably walked, ridden and "chaffed" away, until the +hour for the substantial dinner comes to fortify mankind against the +slings and arrows of hunger and tedium. Then the tenor does dare to +partake of a few, of what are technically called "the delicacies of the +season." But still a restraint is put upon the appetite, for in a few +hours more he must go through labours for which the "fulness of satiety" +would little prepare him. A very worthy and elderly clergyman of the +Church of England once made known to the writer his opinion concerning +after-dinner sermons, in the following words; "I believe, sir, that +though sermons preached through the medium of simple roast beef and +plum-pudding may have been sermons invented by inspiration; they are +sure to be enunciated through the agency of the devil." So melting +strains of solos and duos, when sung through the medium of soups, patés +and fricasées, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into +monotony. How the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall +relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home--that is +to say, on the stage. + +But when supper comes he is no longer prevented by fear of "lost voice" +or any other dire calamity, from giving way to the cravings of hunger +and thirst. He eats with the relish of hunger induced by labor, and +drinks with the excitement arising from the consciousness that he is, +what in the language of the turf is styled "the favorite." The ladies +and gentlemen of the troupe usually assemble at supper, and it is then +that the tenor again bestows his _galanteries_ on the prima donna, and +says many more really complimentary things than are to be found set down +in his professional role. + +In concluding this sketch of the tenor, the writer would, with all due +submission to the opinion of the public, venture to discover his +sentiments upon a question which often agitates society; viz., whether +the tenor is always sick when he announces himself to be seriously +indisposed. The writer hopes he will not render himself liable to the +charge of duplicity or an attempt at evasion, when he declares it to be +his impression, that on the occasion of such announcements, the tenor is +_sometimes_ seriously indisposed but not _always_. The tenor, as we have +before observed, is but a man, and must needs be subject to diseases +like other men; but when we consider the delicacy of his conformation, +we must multiply the chances of his liability to indisposition. His +organization is such, that the most trifling irregularity in his general +health operates immediately upon the voice. Now, for the tenor, in the +slightest degree out of tone, to appear before a merciless audience, +consisting of blasé opera goers, tyrannical critics, hired depreciators, +and unrelenting musical amateurs, would indicate the most utter folly +and imbecility. The tenor is well aware that a reputation for singing +divinely a few nights in the year, is more lucrative than a reputation +for ability to sing tolerably well, taking an average of all the nights +in that space of time. It is consequently more advantageous for him to +sing occasionally, when he feels his voice to be in full force and +vigour, and his spirits in a sufficiently animated condition to warrant +his appearing with every certainty of success. When, therefore, he does +not favour the public with the melody of his notes, it is, generally +speaking because, without really suffering from a serious attack of +disease, he considers that his appearance would insure a future +diminution in the offers of the _impresario_. Hence the _affiches_ +usually proclaim nothing but truth itself, when they declare that the +tenor is _seriously indisposed_; but then we must be careful to +interpret the word indisposition by that one of its significations which +is equivalent to _disinclination_. + +That some compulsory measures might be taken to make these gentlemen +"who can sing but won't sing" more complying, and willing to yield to +the wishes and request of managers and audiences, the writer has never +entertained a doubt. The ways and means of effecting such an object, he +will not take upon himself to devise or advise, but will merely state a +fact which probably may induce some one to enter upon a thorough +examination of the subject, and suggest the remedy. Upon one occasion, +when the Havannah troupe was performing in Philadelphia, and a favorite +tenor had been amusing himself by trifling with the public, until the +patience of that forbearing portion of mankind was entirely exhausted; +the treasury was beginning to fall extremely low, and the wearied out +director was well nigh driven to desperation. In this critical juncture +of affairs, the gentleman who was the legal adviser of the troupe was +applied to, to say whether there was not some compulsory process known +to the law, by which the refractory tenor could be brought to a +recognition of the right of the rest of the company to the use of his +voice to attract large audiences, and thereby replenish the empty +coffers of the treasury. Upon answer that there existed no such process, +the distracted director muttered a few maledictions upon our country, +with a sneer at our _free institutions_, and informed the astonished +counsellor, that in Havannah, when the tenor was supposed to be feigning +sickness, the proper authorities were resorted to for the right of an +examination of the offending party by a physician, and a certificate of +the state of his health. Upon the physician certifying that the signor +was able to go through his role, a few _gendarmes_ were dispatched to +seize the delinquent and take such means as would sooner coerce him into +a compliance with the stipulations of his professional contract. + +[Illustration] + +Every reasonable excuse, however, should be made for the necessity the +tenor is under to be careful of the delicate organ whereby he gains his +subsistence. When we reflect how many of these poor fellows lose their +voices and are consequently driven to throw themselves on the cold +charity of the public--or out of the window, we must be struck with the +inhumanity which would be exercised if this professional singer were +excluded from enjoying occasionally by permission, what every clergyman +in the land can always claim as a right--the disease which the Hibernian +servant expressively denominated "the brown gaiters in the throat." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +Of the Primo Basso. + + "And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; + + * * * * * + + An Ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow." + + BYRON. + + +[Illustration] + +The Primo Basso is to the primo tenore what the draught horse is to the +racer; drawing along the heavy business of an opera, whilst the other +goes capering and curvetting through whole pages of chromatics, and runs +bounding with unerring precision over the most fearful musical +intervals. The basso, consequently, to uphold the vast superstructure +of song, must be a man furnished with a strong supporting and sustaining +voice. He usually plays the part of tyrants, either of the domestic +circle or of the throne; and the tyrants of fiction always have been +represented as over-grown individuals, from the time of the Titans down +to the giants who met with their well-merited fate from the invincible +arm of that doughty nursery hero--_Jack the Giant Killer_. It is a most +fortunate circumstance then for the basso, that while his powerful voice +must necessarily proceed from gigantic lungs, and these organs again are +chiefly found planted in largely developed frames, his huge proportions +only the better qualify him for his department of operatic personæ. His +form is heavy, and would be muscular, if ease and indolence, +unrestrained appetite, and no more exertion than is requisite to blow +the bass-bellows during half a dozen evenings in the week, did not +permit an undue accumulation of adipose substance. His hair is generally +black, but not of that rich, glossy, _curling_ kind, which decks the +fair brow of the delicate little tenor. His features are gross and +sensual, exhibiting about the amount of intelligence which may be +looked for in one of those bedecked and garlanded animals, whose +appearance among us announces the future sale of show beef. His dress is +an exhibition of slovenly grandeur. Each article of clothing is in +itself very handsome, perhaps very gaudy; but the manner in which it is +dragged on the figure, makes the _tout ensemble_ coarse and common, +slovenly and disagreeable. His animal propensities hold the intellectual +faculties in bondage, and every approach to sentiment is excluded by the +clogged up avenues to thought. His manner of living is _sensualité en +action_. His life is an existence, tossed and troubled by the +vicissitudes of sleeping and feeding, with occasional interruptions of +mechanical vocalization. He possesses an organ, which it is supposed +cannot be impaired by indulgence in the pleasures of the table, and he +always acts as if he wished to put this supposition to the test. When he +orders his breakfast, therefore, he does not look down the _carte_ in +order to see what viands he must avoid, but only to ascertain how many +dishes are likely to be objects agreeable to his palate. _Substantials_ +form all his meals. No mild _café au lait_, composes the meal which is +to announce that he has commenced his daily labours of mastication. +After a morning's deglutition worthy of the anaconda, he suffers +digestion to prepare him for a walk, while he indulges in piles of +cigars. As this smoking effort is a long one, he is about ready to join +his elegant friend, the tenor, when the latter calls on him to go out +and astound the town. What a majestic stride the heavy, beefy fellow +puts on as he saunters down the street! How his body seems to say--for +his face is void of expression; how his body seems to say; "gentlemen, +you're all very well,--but it won't do; I out-weigh a dozen of you, and +the ladies have to surrender to such a superior weight of metal." + +The basso seldom loves the prima donna. He regards her as a very +troublesome lady, who _devils_ him at rehearsals, because he won't sing +in time; on the stage, because she wants to show her importance; and in +the _salon_, because she requires so much attention. + +The only wonder is, how he and the delicate, sensitive tenor, persons +presenting such a decided contrast to each other, should live together +on terms of such apparent friendship. The reason, however, is, that the +association is not one arising from choice, but from necessity. Between +the tenor and the baritone, there is a something too much of similarity +in voice and _physique_ to render them just the most inseparable friends +in the world; but in the vast musical gulf between the tenor and the +basso, all professional rivalry is buried. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Of the Prima Donna. + + "Your female singer being exceedingly capricious and wayward, and + very liable to accident."--SKETCH BOOK. + + +[Illustration] + +Every body knows what a prima donna is. She is the _first lady_, and +this is a fact apparently better known to the individual herself, than +to any body else--at least her actions would warrant this inference. She +deems herself more indispensable to an opera than an executioner to an +execution, or the thimbles to a thimble-rig man. She takes no pains to +conceal what a high price she sets on the value of her presence. She +sings just when she pleases, and just as she pleases. Caprice itself is +not more capricious than this fair creature. As capricious as a prima +donna has almost become a proverb, and we predict that in a few years it +will become fully established as such. She is a female tyrant. +Impresario, treasurer, chef (d'orchestre,) chorus master and chorus +tremble before her, when in one of her passions she brings down her +pretty little foot in a most commanding stamp. She gives the first +mentioned person more trouble than all the singers, orchestra and +officials together, with her coughs, colds and affected indispositions. +Next to the impresario, the chef (d'orchestre) suffers most from her +imperious spirit. He never conducts so as to accompany her properly, and +though she sings a half a note higher than she did at rehearsal, she +expects every poor musician to transpose his magic at sight, or receive +the indications of her displeasure in a way that leads the audience to +believe that the fault lies entirely with the orchestra. She worries the +basso,--poor, heavy, drowsy fellow,--because he's such a slow +coach--and such an oaf. She is disposed to be more friendly to the +tenor, who is the only person who receives any tokens of her good-will; +but in truth, she would cease to be a woman, if she were unkind to this +gentlemanly, polite little fellow. Neither does she hold the public in +the least regard, but conceives that she has a right to be seriously +indisposed as often as she thinks that people are really desirous to +hear her; and "is subject when the house is thin, to cold," as Byron +says. She keeps all the town who have determined to go and hear her, in +the most provoking suspense. Balls and evening parties are sadly +interrupted by her erratic course, for she is sure to sing on the +evenings assigned to those delightfully laborious modes of destroying +time. All the pleasure promising engagements made by the Browns and the +Smiths to form a party, and go in concert to the opera, are postponed +from time to time, to the great vexation of young Harry Brown, who +craftily set the affair on foot, in order to have an evening's "chaff" +with Miss Julia Smith. + +Sometimes the prima donna's "serious indisposition" is not discovered by +the fair singer herself, until the ladies of the audience have removed +the cloaks, furs and hoods which guard their loveliness from the cold of +a winter night; until the young gentlemen have jammed their opera hats +into an inconceivably small space, and adroitly passed the hand up to +the collar and cravat to discover how things are in that quarter; and +until the old _habitués_ have settled themselves down into the softest +chair of the pit, with the full intention of being extremely displeased, +and making very unfavourable comparisons between the performance about +to take place, and one at which they were present some twenty years +before. However, she is a splendid creature--a small miracle in the way +of humanity--and can therefore be excused from pursuing that monotonous +and regular course of life which "patient merit" is obliged to take. + +[Illustration] + +She is either a beautiful woman in reality, or one who can get up such +an admirable imitation that it is difficult to distinguish it from the +genuine. She is well skilled in music, at least in its execution; but +she is always much more deeply versed in the virtues of cosmetics, and +in the art of making herself beautiful. + +There are two varieties in the figure of the prima donna; either, +firstly, such as to qualify her for opera buffa and certain tragic +roles, in which case she is of medium stature, delicate proportions, and +possesses the most graceful and vivacious action. Prima donnas of this +stamp make the dearest, sweetest, most innocent-looking Aminas; the most +sprightly, coquettish Rosinas, and the most faithful, confiding and +sincere Lucias. Or, secondly, she is of a large mould, more masculine +dimensions, with a countenance that can gather up in a moment a show of +the requisite amount of fury to poignard the husband and strangle the +_babbies_. She plays all the high tragedy roles, doing the Semiramide, +Norma and Lucrezia, with a very sanguinary power and effect. Those of +the first kind are most admired by the gay young fellows about town who +have no taste for music, and who do not resort to the opera to hear it, +but make the parquette a lounging place where they can be in the mode, +see beautiful women, and show _themselves_. + +The prima donna, in her attempts to render herself personally +attractive, has an auxiliary in her maid, who is a compound of companion +and servant, and a _coiffeuse_ gifted with the most delicate taste and +artistic execution. How often have we looked round the house and been +forced to confess that the prima donna was literally the _first lady_ in +the building, in respect to costume and _coiffure_. This maid too, is +almost as much of a curiosity among maids as her mistress among fine +ladies. She may be regarded as a prima donna without a voice, without +fine clothes, bouquets, and a tenor companion; and it is her _destiny_ +to marry one of the violinists, when her mistress marries the tenor. It +is upon this official that the duty of attending to the prima donna's +lap-dogs Beatrice and Amore, particularly devolves--two animals that are +almost as dear to their possessor as her professional reputation. In +addition to these darling little quadrupeds, upon which so many caresses +are bestowed, both by the faultless hand of the mistress, and the same +well-diamonded member of the tenor, a parrot usually divides the +affections of one, who woman-like, must love something, but who has +been so far initiated into the ways of the world as to doubt the +sincerity of all mankind, except probably that of the aforesaid tenor. +We remember once being present when a well-known prima donna was about +to leave a northern city, where a rival cantatrice had lately appeared, +and was inducing comparisons unsatisfactory to the former. She had been +informed that an overland trip to New Orleans would be greatly +incumbered by the presence of her lap-dogs and parrot, and was prevailed +on to bestow them on some tender-hearted persons, whose extreme +affection for domesticated animals would be a guaranty for their gentle +treatment. A married gentleman--we are afraid without having consulted +his wife--kindly offered to relieve the lady from all trouble in finding +the suitable persons, by taking them himself. Assuming the attitude of +Norma handing over babes, she delivered up the poodles. With what +sadness were the little creatures confided to his care. What admonitions +and instructions to carefully keep them; what prayers for their faithful +protection; a womanly tear bedewed the cheek of the fascinating lady, +and a smile followed, as if to ask forgiveness for what she feared +those present might consider an unbecoming weakness. Five years +afterwards, we saw in a concert room this same sensitive creature, who +was so moved and affected at the _derniers adieux_ paid to her hateful +little poodles, scowl darkly, bite her lips, and turn her back on the +person who had engaged her, whom, by the by, we, in common with the +audience, regarded as a much aggrieved individual. + +[Illustration] + +Between the attention and affection bestowed on her pets, some hours +devoted to study and rehearsal, occasional rides and walks, and time +spent in the pleasing avocation of arranging her wardrobe, and in +innocently admiring her fair self in the mirror, the days of this +spoiled child of the music-loving are whiled away. She is acquainted +with some of the dandies of the place where she for the time resides, +but as such gentlemen in this country seldom have the temerity to +appear with her in public, their usefulness as escort promenaders is +greatly abridged. The fast men sometimes smuggle themselves into her +visiting circle, in order to be able to boast of their intimacy with the +prima donna; but as this class of society is seldom very _fluent_ in the +use of Italian, and as there is small affinity between the +sentimentality of the opera and "mile heats to harness," this +acquaintance is not of very long duration. + +[Illustration] + +The necessity of personal beauty in a prima donna is such, that she must +"assume that virtue if she have it not." Not many winters since, a +beautiful cantatrice was induced to undertake the role of Romeo in "I +Montecchi ed I Capuletti." The lady was excellently proportioned, except +that there existed a great want of symmetry in the inferior members; +and as Romeo's skirts must necessarily be short, and the lady could not +at will assume a pair of well turned knees and calves, she clothed the +offending limbs in what, at this day would be called "Bloomer +pantaloons." The attempt to ingraft turkish trowsers on the Veronese +costume, proved too absurd to warrant the continuance of such a +representation, and was abandoned after the night of its introduction. + +The effect of a prima donna on society is very various. If she be of the +high tragic or strangulation school, it is to induce young ladies of +some voice, _and a good deal of person_, to clothe themselves in white +_tulle_ on the occasion of evening parties and amateur concerts--draw +their hair very smoothly over the temples--drive a white camellia into +the left side of the head, and sing long recitatives from Norma or +Lucrezia;--in the case of evening parties to the infinite chagrin of +young gentlemen possessed of great waltzing powers and passions; and in +the case of amateur concerts, to the fatigue of yawning audiences. If +the prima donna is of the coquettish school of song, every damsel of +sylph-like proportions, vivacious expression, and a turn for +man-killing, chirps and warbles away in the sprightly passages of the +_Barbiere_. + +[Illustration] + +As for the male part of the community, it is perfectly easy to divine +how they will be affected by the appearance of the different "_prime +donne_" who from year to year present themselves for musical honors. +They will always be pleased, but chiefly by those who are rather +attractive in features than in voice. The very young and inexperienced +men just entering into society, denominated "cubs" by the beaux of some +years standing, affect most the prima donna of the sanguinary school, +because she seems more in accordance with the ideas they have derived +from the study of Medea, a work to which they have not long since bid +adieu. They regard the killing of babes as the most tragic of tragedy, +and the actress who can do the thing best, as the most accomplished of +actresses. But the knowing fellows of mature years prefer the pretty +creatures who look so fond and affectionate, in their short peasant +dresses, displaying the delicate little foot and well turned ancle. How +they gather night after night into the parquette, to compare opinions on +the merits of Orsini's soft notes, and the long, beautifully-filled +stockings of the page dress. We once heard an enthusiastic Cuban remark, +when Patti was singing Orsini to Parodi's Lucrezia; "Parodi is the +finest singer I ever heard,--she is the best actress I ever saw; some +few people can appreciate her singing, many more her acting;--but +Patti's legs! Ah! Sir, that is something that everybody can understand." +How delighted the young fellows pretend to be with the wild, bacchanal +song, when in reality they only encore the songstress, in order to have +another opportunity of admiring her pretty knees. Alas, how foolish they +are to throw away admiration on one who takes no more thought of them +than if they never existed; but each one of them supposes that she must +necessarily, be slightly enamoured of himself. The consequence is, that +next morning divers bouquets, with small notes or cards containing a few +amatory words, appended to them, are handed in to the servant, who is +very much out of humour at what has become troublesome from its over +repetition. + +The old _habitués_, of course, will not be affected in any way except by +peevishness and petulance, which will drive them into their usual course +of detraction. "Ah!" says old Twaddle; "Pasta--you should have seen +Pasta! No melodramatic twaddle about her! Genuine, artistic delineation +of passion and profound emotion. And then what a voice! none of your +ambiguous voices there; no difficulty in pronouncing, whether soprano or +contralto. And then her beauty--none of your namby-pamby, sickly, +insignificant prettiness." And thus Twaddle grumbles on, making shocking +comparisons between the past and present. Poor old Twaddle! he has, +according to his own showing, outlived all that is good in the province +of music. + +The prima donna in this country will, generally speaking, produce on any +foreigner who happens to be among us, an effect very much akin to that +exercised upon Twaddle. She will set him sighing after the vocalization +of the other side of the Atlantic. He will seem to forget that Parodi or +"the Hays" ought to sing as well in this country as in Europe. But still +he can't be brought to that belief; and what is worse, upon your +venturing to suggest any possibility of such a state of the case, you +are made to perceive that he considers that your nationality puts you +off the bench of musical critics. + + * * * * * + +Query. Why is it that _every_ Frenchman is supposed to be an infallible +judge of sweet sounds? For our own part, we no more believe that every +Gallic gentleman is fit for a critic, than that every one can raise a +handsome moustache. + + * * * * * + +Another effect of a beautiful prima donna, is to make young husbands, +who have been married _just_ two years, look so steadfastly on the +stage, that their young wives sit with their eyes fastened on a cousin +George or Harry, in the parquette. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +Of the Barytone. + + "Our Barytone I almost had forgot; + + * * * * * + + In lover's parts, his passion more to breathe, + Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."--BYRON. + + +The Barytone of the opera is probably the most inoffensive individual in +the world. This is his peculiarity. Even his fierceness on the stage is +done with an effort; and when in the course of a piece he is +unfortunately called on to massacre somebody, we always fancy that he +does it with the most unfeigned reluctance, and for aught we know, with +silent tears. He is generally of a bashful, retiring disposition, and +pretty nearly always awkward. This perhaps arises from the anomalous +position he occupies in operatical society. He cannot be on good terms +with the basso,--they have too much similarity in their voices for that; +he is on no more friendly relations with the tenor for the same reason. +Besides never daring to aspire to the familiarity with the prima donna +which that worthy enjoys, he suffers under the affliction of conscious +diffidence in their presence. + +[Illustration] + +The barytone must as surely be the king as the basso must be the tyrant; +indeed we have often thought of the startling effect which would be +produced by an opera in which this law of nature was reversed. To hear +the lover growling his tender feelings in a gutteral E flat, and moaning +his hard lot in a series of double D.'s; to listen to the remorseless +tyrant ordering his myrmidons to "away with him to the deepest dungeon +'neath the castle moat," in the most soothing and mellifluous of tenor +head notes, would produce such a revulsion in operatic taste, as surely +to create a deep sensation, if nothing more. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +Of the Suggeritore or Prompter. + + "There never was a man so notoriously abused. + + TWELFTH NIGHT. + + "But whispering words can poison truth." + + COLERIDGE. + + +[Illustration] + +We should be much grieved were we to let a chance of immortality at our +hands go by, for our great friend the prompter--the suggeritore of the +Italians. The prompter is to the opera, what the fifth wheel is to a +wagon; everything rubs, grates and abrades it, yet the whole concern +turns on it. He is the most abused (not hated--that is reserved for the +Impresario,) man in the company. But he does not care for it. That is +what he is hired for. He is paid to be of a good temper, and he does it. +He returns docility for dollars; and suavity for salary. He is the true +philosopher; just enough in the company to be part of it, and +sufficiently detached to avoid all the squabbles and bickerings. He, +however, is the victim of all the caprices of the company, from the +prima donna, who in a miff kicks about _his partition_ in a very piano +cavatina, to each of the bandy-legged choristers. True, he has his +little revenge. This he accomplishes by using his voice too much and too +loudly in the _sotto voce_ parts, so that all the duos become trios and +the quintettes, choruses. This is little enough to sweeten the +embitterments of a _suggeritore's_ life, but such it is, and he is +contented. The _suggeritore_ must be a thin man. It does not require a +Paxton to know that a hole in the stage two feet square, will not hold +Barnum's obesities. He must also be short and supple-necked, to allow +the green fungus which excresces from the stage to cover him; and he +must be the fortunate owner of a right arm as untiring as a locomotive +crank or the sails of a windmill. It is a prevalent but mistaken idea, +that the prompter is an impolite man; we happen to know that it is a +matter of the deepest concern with him to be obliged to sit with his +back to the audience. But he is like the angels and St. Cecilia, "_Il +n'avait pas de quoi_" to do otherwise. Operas must be, Singers must +have, a lead horse--(N. B. How can delicate females and tenors be +expected to recollect "_les paroles_;")--and there he is, with a little +hole in the back of his calash for the leader of the orchestra to stir +him up when the excitement becomes very strong, and the time is +irrecoverably lost. As to the social habits of the suggeritore, the +naturalist is at a loss, for he immediately disappears after rehearsal, +and remains in close retirement till the performance, after which he is +again lost till the next day. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +Before the Curtain. + + "A neat, snug study on a winter's night; + A book, friend, single lady, or a glass + Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, + Are things which make an English evening pass, + Though _certes_ by no means so grand a sight, + As is a theatre, lit up with gas."--BYRON. + + +The night is a cold one; the snow is falling in large, heavy flakes, and +those who are fond of the frigid, but exhilarating amusement of +sleighing, are in hopes that by the morrow they will be able to pass +like lightning from one part of the city to the other; in a sleigh +decked with warm, gaily trimmed furs; filled with a merry company, and +drawn by two high-headed, dashing trotters. The gas lights are just +discernible from corner to corner. The number of people in the streets +is steadily decreasing, and the sound of their foot-fall is muffled in +the snow. About the theatres and the opera house, however, crowds of the +idle and curious, gaping at those who are entering these buildings, make +it necessary for the police to pace to and fro, ordering back the more +presumptuous loiterers, who press forward and obstruct the approach to +the doors. + +Query? Why does the crowd always stare at those who are going into a +theatre or opera? The latter are attired somewhat strangely to be sure, +but still they don't look _exactly_ like Choctaws. + +The cab and chaise-men muffled up in their cold-defying great-coats and +woolen comforters, are opening the doors of their several vehicles, out +of which ladies enveloped in cloaks and hoods are dismounting under +cover of umbrellas, held probably by the "best of brothers," but more +probably by gentlemen in no way related to them. In the opera house all +is bustle and commotion. The officials are selling tickets, receiving +tickets, and directing to their places bevies of ladies and gentlemen +bewildered in a maze of passages. The audience is impatiently preparing +itself for a delightful evening's entertainment. The dandies, who are +so unfortunate as not to have accompanied ladies have already brought +themselves up to the attack, and have levelled their opera-glasses on +all the points where they know well-established objects of admiration +are likely to be found. Now and then they bow their recognition in a +reserved inclination, or in a careless smiling way that bespeaks the +freedom of familiar intimacy. + +The fast-men are standing at the doors in knots of three and four, +talking over the last trot of Suffolk, or the probable chance of victory +in the next day's dog-fight, and making a few, no doubt _very fast_, but +not very proper allusions to the shoulders of some rather sparingly +habited _belles_. The Cubans in the parquette, who, by the by, during +their sojourn in this country will best preserve their liberty by +remaining north of Mason and Dixon's line, are clearing their voices in +very doubtful Spanish, for those animated bravos, which we must admit +they always administer in the very best taste, both as to time and +quantity. Here and there, some lone young man, desolate in a crowd, who +has seldom before been exposed to the full blaze of the all-discovering +gas light, not exactly knowing what to do with himself, is +endeavouring, with a fictitious indifference, to fill up the vacancies +of attention by smoothing down the stubborn folds of badly selected +white _kids_. Five collegians just escaped from the studious +universities for a high week in town, have established themselves all +together, and commenced a running commentary, carried on chiefly in the +Virginia dialect, on men, women, and things, much to the annoyance of a +very foreign gentleman behind them--so foreign that he is almost +black--who looks stilettos at his cheerful but over-loquacious +neighbours. One youth in an excessively white, though unpleasantly stiff +cravat, is assisting an equally stiff old chaperon into her place, at +the expense of great physical efforts, till his cheeks are thereby +suffused with a tint strongly resembling the color of a juvenile beet, +while the distended veins of his forehead would make a fine anatomical +study for the laborious medical student, if that fabulous biped were +still extant. The chaperon being disposed of, four young ladies under +her _surveillance_, two in opera cloaks and hoods, and two in +antediluvian mantles and pre-adamitic head-gear, assuring the existence +of rural cousinship, by four minor efforts of the same gentleman, are +at length safely landed in their places. But now commences a new round +of confusion. Each of the four young ladies discovers that she has +placed herself on some article of clothing belonging to her companion. +Whereupon she half rises, and having drawn forth the disturbing +habiliment, resumes her former position: and as this movement is +performed by each one of them without regard to the order in which they +have placed themselves, and is repeated half a dozen times in as many +minutes, the unconscious fair ones become the subjects of the allusions +of the fast-men, who immediately institute comparisons between them and +various animate and inanimate objects. One of these gentlemen observing +that their motions remind him of a flock of aquatic fowl, known by the +name of divers, a facetious friend replies that probably he means diving +bells; which being considered an extremely happy pun, it meets with a +hearty laugh of approbation. But an ambitious fast wit, fearing that his +reputation is likely to be lost forever, if he remain silent, says that +the whole group of uneasy females recalls the line of Coleman, + + "For what is so gay as a bag full of fleas." + +This being regarded as the acme of brilliancy, there is no telling what +might be the consequences if their attention were not drawn into another +channel by the entrance of a distinguished belle, who is immediately +pronounced to be a "stunner" and the question is raised as to who the +man is who acts as "bottle holder," reference thereby being had to the +gentleman who is so polite as to hand the lady to her place, and aid her +in disposing of her divers little appliances of operatic necessity. The +_belle_ scarcely takes her seat before she commences to hum snatches of +Italian airs, in a very careless indifferent way, just to show how much +she is at home in such a place, and probably to attract a little more +attention. + +Query? Why do the handsomest women at an opera _always_ talk and laugh +the loudest? + +That portion of the audience comprised in the gentler sex is here in all +the attraction of natural loveliness and adventitious ornament, putting +to flight a notion once prevalent, that beauty when unadorned is then +adorned the most. + +The noise of conversation which now lulls, now swells out in gentle +crescendos, is chiefly the production of this taciturn part of the +audience. All at once the gas is let on in a gush of light, the buzz of +voices, which up to this time has been carried on in a subdued tone, +bursts out into full force, with a suddenness that seems to render it +probable that the conversation has been issuing all the while from the +gas jets. The augmented light brings down another volley from the foci +of a thousand _lorgnettes_. At this moment the musicians begin to enter +the orchestra which has been void of occupants all the evening, with the +exception of one meaningless old fellow, who has been attempting to +restore order among the stands, seats, and books, but whose laudable +efforts have ended in what every single gentleman at lodgings knows all +endeavours to "set things to rights," are sure to effect--a state of +affairs in which confusion is considerably worse confounded. But after +all a music-stand must be adjusted by the performer himself; no one can +put the hat of another on the head of the latter so as to be comfortable +to him. The latter must pose it for himself. This law applies with +peculiar force to music-stands. + +The violinists proceed to tighten or slacken the hair of their bows, to +throw back the coat collar, or stuff a white handkerchief under it, in +order to adjust the violin to the peculiar crook of each neck, with as +much apparent anxiety as if they had not been doing the same thing for +the last thirty years, and some of their heads had not become bald over +the sound-post. In the meantime, the other members of this well-bearded +corps are streaming in with their instruments under the arm, and are +placing their music books and lamps at the proper elevation on the +stands, all the while talking, nodding, and smiling as if rehearsing +half the day, and playing half the night, were a mighty good joke. + +And then ascend to the highest parts of the house--to the regions of the +operatic "paradise," those most singular of all instrumental sounds, +those fifty or sixty antagonistic voluntaries with which all the +audience would voluntarily dispense, consisting of chromatics in twenty +different keys, violin octaves, harmonics, thirds and fifths, clarionet +shakes, flute staccatos, horn growlings, ophicleide rumblings, +triangular vibrations, and drum concussions. + + "See to their desks Apollo's sons repair-- + Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! + In unison their various tones to tune, + Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon. + In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, + Twang goes the harpsicord, too too the flute, + Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, + Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling harp." + +About the time that the observer has made up in his mind an answer to +the following mental queries--how many nights the first violinist could +play without getting a crick in the neck--whether the flutist may not +sometime blow his eyes so far out of his head that he may never be able +to get them back again--how long it would take the operator on the +_cornet à piston_ to learn to play on the magnetic telegraph--why such a +small man should be suffered to perform on such a big thing as an +ophicleide, and how a person with such a huge moustache can get the +piccola up to lips defended by such a bulwark of hair, a fermentation is +observable in the midst of this musical whirlpool, which indicates the +presence of some higher power. Place is given by the humble members of +the orchestra, and the director is seen to stand forth in the attitude +of mounting the tribunal from whence he guides his submissive subjects +with despotic sway. He is a neat figured little man, with a profusion of +methodically adjusted curls, a moustache that would render his +physiognomy excessively ferocious, if an occasional smile playing over +the distinguishable parts of his face, did not modify this expression. +He is attired in the costume of the ball room, bearing in his button +hole the most delicate rosebud of the conservatory, and in his perfectly +gloved hand, an amber headed baton, the sceptre of command. At his +appearance a wave of applause floats up from the audience, and the head +and breast of the director bend down to meet it in a graceful and +reverential bow, accompanied by a smile expressing the highest possible +amount of inward gratification. This little acknowledgment of a becoming +respect for the good opinion of the house is repeated once or twice, and +then with the air of a man who has important business on hand, he mounts +his elevated seat. He gives one or two magical taps on the stand, and +the chaos of sounds is annihilated with the exception of the +lamentations of one refractory violin, over which the owner has been for +the last half hour repeatedly, first inclining his head in a horizontal +position, and then tugging away at the screws. At this the director +seems to be much annoyed, and the poor violinist, more annoyed, mutters +to a companion that he wishes himself an _unspeakably_ long way +hence--probably in Italy where he could procure some good strings. + +The resisting violin having been brought to subjection, the director +casts an eye over the whole body of musicians, and having thrown back +his head and lifted up both arms, very much in the supposed attitude of +Ajax defying the thunder, he remains perfectly motionless for an +instant, and then brings forward the whole of his body from the hips +upwards, with a rapid and powerful jerk, which introduces his forehead +into close proximity with the musical score which he pretends to be +reading, the baton strikes the stand with a loud clap, and one old +drummer proceeds to touch the drum, but in so gentle a manner, that it +sounds as if, instead of using the sticks he were tossing some grains of +shot on it. You now tremble for the safety of the director, and you +enter into an arithmetical calculation with yourself, the basis of which +is, that if the director by such a dangerous inclination of the person +can only bring one poor drummer into movement, what amount of bodily +labour he will be compelled to undergo, in order to operate on all that +concourse of musicians. But your fears are dissipated in a few moments, +for you discover that great sounds and little sounds are accompanied +with about the same degree of gesticulatory emphasis. In the meantime +some horns have commenced to blow on a very small scale, not hard +enough, you would suppose, to drive the dust out of them, and if the +piston of the cornet did not rattle so, you would pronounce its playing +all a sham. The violins and flutes begin to be audible and the +violinists are suddenly struck with a simultaneous desire to pick the +strings, just as if that would make any music. All the other instruments +are now doing duty in very feeble tones, and you take a look round the +house to see who are there; and you wonder why that particular family of +Smiths, with whom you have the pleasure of an acquaintance has not yet +appeared. You think Miss Julia Brown's hair arranged with the usual want +of elegance, and then call to mind the fact that at Newport, the +previous summer, you complimented her so many times on the peculiar +taste which her coiffure always displayed. The aforesaid drummer is now +giving the drum considerable ill usage, and then for the first time, you +observe that he has two of them which he appears to beat alternately. +The director is casting his head from one side to the other, flashes of +disapprobation dart from his eyes upon the dilatory violinists, who from +time to time, stop as it were, to catch breath, and fail to "come to the +scratch" in due season. Every now and then a frown, dark as Erebus, +spreads over his brow, as some poor laggard is astray in the mazes of +sound, and can't find his place, or turns two pages instead of one, and +consequently loses the thread of his harmonious discourse. The music +grows so powerful that the conversation of the most enthusiastic and +vociferous fast man no longer meets the ear. The orchestra is going as +if they were riding an instrumental steeple chase, and the director +looks more and more involved in doubt, as to which of his followers is +to be left most in the rear. + +At length when you have concluded that every musician has exhausted his +last resource in the general attempt to make a noise, you are knocked +into a start of astonishment by the introduction of a _corps de +reserve_, in the clash of cymbals, which sounds as if a careless servant +had stumbled in coming up stairs and mashed an entire set of Sevres +china. In the midst of this carnage of crotchets and quavers, the +director is obviously the controlling spirit who "rides in the whirlwind +and directs the storm." There he sits producing no one sound except an +occasional rap of his baton on the desk, and yet rousing to frenzy or +lulling into tranquillity the instruments of all this tumult, every now +and then, as Mr. Macaulay would say, "hurling foul scorn" at the heaps +of little black dots that are crowded over the leaves of his score. + +When the intensity of the tones has been diminished and augmented some +half dozen times, the overture is concluded in four grand crashes, in +which the cymbals make the most conspicuous figure. During the overture, +however, there seems to be occasional seasons when there is a cessation +of hostilities, and a soft plaintive air is taken up by one clarionet, +violincello or oboe, with which air the audience must be very much +delighted, for they laugh and talk with the greatest earnestness, and +never turn their eyes towards the orchestra. + +And now there is a new commotion among the musicians, while arranging +every thing for the more serious undertaking, the opera itself. The +director goes about like a general on the eve of battle, reconnoitres +his forces, and marshals them for the attack. He mounts the elevated +seat, gives another contortion to his frame, similar to that which was +necessary to put the overture in movement, and then the curtain rises. +Heads are slightly projected from the boxes at this movement, and many +an alabaster neck is curved forward till the lowered drapery reveals the +snowy bosom. The noise of conversation ceases, and the opera commences +in earnest. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +Of the Opera in the Concrete. + + "Lord! said my mother, what is all this story about? + + "A cock and a bull, said Yorick--and one of the best of its kind I + ever heard."--TRISTRAM SHANDY. + + _Prince Henry._ "'Wilt thou rob this leather-jerkin, + crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke stocking, + caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,--" + + _Francis._ "O Lord, sir, who do you mean?" + + _P. Hen._ "Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink: for, + look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully; in + Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much." FIRST PART OF KING HENRY + IV. + + "If this were played upon a stage, now, I would condemn it as an + improbable fiction." TWELFTH NIGHT. + + +When the curtain rises the scene represents a dark forest, where some +quite well dressed, but desperate, foreign-looking gentlemen are engaged +at a game of cards, which, from the abandoned appearance of the players, +we are warranted to believe, must be some such low pastime as "all +fours," or a hand at poker. The desperate gentlemen cantatorially +inform the audience that their profession is that of outlaws, and remark +that having no particular business then to engage them, they are staking +quite extravagant sums on some cards, which the curious observer will +discover to have a very unctuous appearance. How the outlaws ever came +to be reduced to such straightened circumstances as to put up with these +"lodgings upon the cold ground," or how they ever fell into such an +improper course of life, we are not told, but we remember once hearing a +fast man suggest that they were evidently "nobs who had overdrawn the +badger by driving fast cattle, and going it high"--the exact +signification of which words we did not understand, but supposed them to +refer to scions of nobility who had squandered their patrimonies in +riotous living. That these men are lost beyond the hope of redemption, +is clear from the fact that they express their determination to employ +themselves in no more useful or moral way; and how long they would +persist in this pernicious amusement is rendered uncertain, by the +entrance of their leader or chieftain--who, it is needless to say, is +the tenor. From, the first moment that the spectator casts his eye on +this obviously unfortunate individual, he is at once interested in his +case, observing to himself, that if the fellow is somewhat addicted to +low company, still he's a very gentlemanly character, and to all +appearance + + "The mildest manner'd man + That ever sculled ship or cut a throat." + +His looks are sad and melancholy, and would indicate that he is either +suffering from a cold in the head, or that his outlaws had been a little +more successful at "all fours" than himself. The "dejected haviour of +his visage" seems to touch the audience, for they immediately give him +several rounds of applause, no doubt with the intention of raising his +spirits. This kind manifestation of their feelings is responded to by +one or two low bows, and then he turns towards his outlaws to obtain a +becoming reception from them. + +He is greeted by his followers with the greatest enthusiasm; though, to +their inquiries after his health, he makes no reply, but walks languidly +down to the foot-lights, and relates to both audience and outlaws, how +deplorable will be his condition unless he receive the assistance of +the latter in carrying out his designs. He goes on to state that the +"voice of a certain damsel of Arragon has slid into his heart like dew +upon a parched flower"--a simile which the reader will observe to be +equally felicitous as novel. He adds, however, that a great old villain +and tyrant (who of course must be the basso,) has carried off the +Spanish maiden, and is about to compel her to marry him. The bandits +become at once highly indignant, and with one accord seize their arms +and declare that they will follow their chief to the castle of the old +phylogynist, and _boulversé_ all his designs by some insinuating digs of +the poignard. The despondent chief seems comforted by this assurance of +their "most distinguished consideration," and remarks that the young +lady will no doubt be a consoling angel amidst the griefs of exile. + +[Illustration] + +While he has been informing the audience and his friends of the state of +his feelings, he has from time to time indulged in gestures about as +strong as we can well conceive of, but now and then when an +extraordinarily deep sentiment, and a very high note, choose the same +moment for their expression, he is obliged to poise himself on one +foot, extend the other behind him, elevating the heel and depressing the +toe, fold his hands over his breast, throw back the head and shake his +body like a newfoundland dog just issuing from the water--the refractory +note and the hidden emotion are always brought to light by these +gesticulatory expedients. + +Immediately after this, the scene having changed to the castle of the +tyrant, the "Aragonese vergine" (the prima donna), is discovered +reclining on an old box covered with green baize, which long-continued +acquaintance with theatrical properties, enables the audience to +recognize as a velvet _lounge_. This lady seems to be in great +affliction, for which, however, we can discover no adequate cause, +except that she is in such an unbecoming place for an unprotected +female. The applause of the audience is overwhelming, and three very +low, but extremely graceful and lady-like curtsies which she rises "to +do," are the consequence. + +The beaux are now in all the excitement that dandies dare permit +themselves to yield to, alternately exclaiming, "how grand she is! how +beautiful! heavens, but isn't she beautiful!" and then bringing down the +focus of the opera-glass on the peerless woman. + +The distressed female now launches off into a recitative, in which she +expresses, in no measured terms, her utter aversion to the hateful old +tyrant, and then, falling on one knee, strikes into a cavatina, in which +she says she hopes her lover, who necessarily must be the outlaw chief, +(who again must necessarily be the tenor), will come immediately and run +off with her--a wish that is probably often entertained by young ladies +in reference to their particular lovers, but which is seldom avowed in +this public way. + +[Illustration] + +During the cavatina, she has been doing some very high singing, and +making a great many of the newfoundland dog shakes, the lady part of the +audience sitting wrapt in admiration, with the eyes fastened on the +stage as intently as if they were witnessing a marriage ceremony, gently +murmuring their approbation in detached sentences, such as "sweet, +lovely, charming, exquisite;" while the fast men by the door, utter the +words "knocker, fast nag," and declare that her time is "two thirty." + +One of these very sporting young gentlemen asserts his readiness to +"back her against the field." Just as the prima donna makes a very +steep raise in the scale with a dreadful velocity of utterance, the same +individual expresses his desire to withdraw the offer, observing that +she is making her "brushes" too soon, and that he fears "she'll be too +distressed to come home handsome." + +A troupe of maidens with very plethoric ancles, now make their +appearance, encumbered by large gilt paste-board caskets, containing +some exceedingly brilliant paste-jewelry, intended as bridal presents +for the unprotected female. They have, however, the strangest mode of +offering these tokens of friendship that we have ever seen. + +[Illustration] + +They arrange themselves in a line on one side of the stage, apparently +measuring their proximity to or distance from the foot-lights, with +reference to the relative thickness of their ankles, until the lady +nearest the audience seems to be the subject of a violent attack of +elephantiasis. This done, they repeatedly sing five bars, and stretch +out the right hand containing the present, in a line, forming, with the +body, an angle of about ninety degrees. + +A certain king of Castile in disguise, who is another of the many +admirers of the heroine, breaks in on this little ceremony, expresses a +strong wish to see her, and is told by one of the maidens, that the +subject of his admirations is very much depressed in spirits, being +considerably smitten with the afore-mentioned outlaw chieftain. The king +is shocked at his adored one's want of taste in making a preference so +little flattering to himself, and endeavours to force her to escape with +him; but the young lady being highly indignant, draws a dagger, and +threatens "to go into him," if he don't cease taking such +liberties--thereby attracting considerable applause from some gentlemen +in a back box, who have a strong penchant for dog-fighting. The outlaw +happens to come in at the very nick of time, and after some quite +serious altercation between him and the disguised king, at the moment +when the "fancy" part of the audience are expecting a "set to," and +admiring the courage of the little tenor (the outlaw), which they +technically denominate the "game" of the "light weight," the heroine +rushes between them with a drawn sword, threatening to destroy herself +if they do not desist, and calling upon them to remember the honour of +her mansion--thereby, no doubt, alluding to the possibility of an +indictment for keeping a disorderly house. + +The old tyrant, of whom we have heard a great deal, but have not as yet +seen, returns home late at night to his castle, and finding two unknown +gentlemen in his house without an invitation, conversing with his +shut-up lady, he charges them with the impropriety of their behaviour. +The strange gentlemen (the outlaw chief and the king in disguise), not +particularly relishing these observations, beg him not to be so violent +in his language. This seems only to incense the old fellow the more, who +has just suggested "coffee and pistols," when the aforesaid king's +followers entering, make the tyrant acquainted with the fact that he's +been blowing up a king. The parasitical old tyrant immediately +endeavours to excuse himself for the mistake he has made; says he hopes +his royal highness will not be offended, that he had not the pleasure of +his acquaintance, and all that sort of thing. The king rejoins that he +is perfectly excuseable; that no offence has been done--that the cause +of his own unlooked-for presence arises from the fact that he is out for +the emperorship--that he is about doing a little electioneering, and +that he just stopped in to learn the state of public feeling in his +district, and solicit his (the tyrant's) vote. The tyrant being a good +deal flattered by this appeal to his chief weak point--namely, his own +fancied knowledge of party politics--says that the king does him great +honour--"supreme honour"--and invites him to spend the night in the +castle; which kind invitation his majesty graciously accepts. + +In the meantime, the outlaw, having observed how much more cordially the +tyrant is received than himself, has made his exit. The king's followers +all draw up in line and conclude the act by a song, the burden of which +is that their master's nomination is the only one "fit to be made." + +The next act discovers the tyrant awaiting the arrival of the +unfortunate heroine, to whom he is going to be married in a few minutes. +All is jollity in the castle, till a gentleman clothed as a pilgrim, +interrupts the general hilarity; for when the bride enters, he throws +off the dreadful black cloak and reveals the outlaw chieftain. He +pitches himself into a variety of passionate attitudes, to the great +terror of a whole boarding school of young ladies, whom their teacher +has permitted to visit the opera to improve their style of singing. The +bride elect rushes up to him, and so they both step down to the +foot-lights. The outlaw gentleman passes his right hand round the waist +of the lady, and clasps in his left both of her's, elevating them to a +line with the breast. They remain stationary for a moment, whilst the +orchestra is playing the symphony, looking as fondly into each other's +eyes as a pair of dear little turtle doves, and smiling as sweetly as +every gentleman and lady have a right to smile under such pleasant +circumstances. There they begin to assure each other simultaneously of +the pleasure they would find in immediately dying, placed in the +attitude which they are at present enjoying so highly; by a rare and +curious accident, both repeating the same words, with the exception of +the respective substitution of the pronouns "I, you, my, your, he, she," +as often as such substitutions become necessary--as if one should say, +for example, + + I'll } bet { my } money on the bob-tail mare. + You'll} {your} + + He'll } bet {his} money on the bob-tail mare. + She'll} {her} + +The outlaw is, however, obliged to run and hide himself, because he +hears the king knocking to come in, and he fears that he'll be killed if +he is discovered. The king enters, and with a very "fee, fi, fo, fum" +air, asks for the body of the outlaw. The tyrant tells a most bare-faced +falsehood, swears the outlaw is not in his house, and so, the king, +after considerable use of the word wretch, traitor, menditore, &c., +carries off the bride as a hostage, to the great chagrin of the tyrant. +As soon as the king has departed with his fair companion, the tyrant +runs to the outlaw's hiding place, and dragging him forth by the +collar, declares that he'll kill him himself. The outlaw, under great +excitement, seizes his head in both hands in a manner so terrible, that +self-decapitation would seem to be inevitable, which so alarms the +aforesaid boarding school misses, that two of them go off into +hysterics, and they are carried into the lobby, where the cutting of +their laces is attended with an explosion similar to that of "popping" a +champagne cork. The outlaw prays the tyrant not to kill him just now, +and says he will give him permission to do so at any future period. +"Here, sir," adds he, still addressing himself to the tyrant, "is a very +fine _cornet à piston_, allow me to present it to you with the +assurance, that whenever you wish to obtain my presence for the purpose +of exterminating me, you will merely be obliged to sound the note of B +flat, and I will unhesitatingly comply with your wishes." In the words +of the poet Tennyson, + + "Leave me here, and when you want me, + Sound upon the bugle horn." + +The tyrant accepts the present upon the accompanying condition, but +having no great confidence in the word of a man who has been associating +so long a time with bad company, he requires him to make oath to that +effect; which being done, both gentlemen call upon the chorus to follow +them immediately in pursuit of the king and his captive lady. These +cowardly rascals stand some five minutes and sing about their readiness +to depart, instead of marching off instantly, as they are requested to +do. + +In the third act, the king hides himself in a grave-yard during the +election for emperor, probably out of fear that he may be defeated. +While wandering among the grave-stones he overhears some of his +political enemies, (among whom is the outlaw chieftain,) plotting his +assassination. The conspirators cast lots for the office of assassin, +and the lot _very naturally_ falls on the outlaw. The next moment the +report of cannon is heard, and the king's retinue come in, bringing with +them the heroine--who, we must confess, seems to have no real business +there,--and state that the polls have closed, and that the king has been +elected emperor. Thereupon the new emperor calls the conspirators up and +is about to have them killed, just as it might be expected an emperor +would do. + +The heroine begs for the life of the miserable offenders, telling the +emperor that if he wishes to be considered a sovereign of +respectability, and not conduct himself like one who had "stolen a +precious diadem and put it in his pocket," he must pardon the +delinquents. The emperor relents, and pronounces a pardon for the +conspirators. He calls up the robber chieftain and the heroine, and +uniting their hands, expresses an ardent wish that they may, as the +libretto says, "love forever." The pleasure of the two lovers is +indescribable, and the whole company begin to sing the praises of such a +trump of an emperor. The air, which is chosen as the vehicle to carry +all this adulation to royal ears, is apparently one of those crashing, +clashing passages in the overture; and if the emperor does not hear the +voice of flattery, it is because the gentlemen who preside over the +kettle-drum and cymbals, seem to have entered into a conspiracy to +prevent it. The more zealous the chorus is in its efforts to make an +agreeable impression on their sovereign, and the louder the voice is +raised for this object, the more that irritable old drummer seems +anxious to defeat their sycophantic purposes. If you are one of those +excitable persons who are prone to take a side in every contest that +comes under their observation, whether it be two gentlemen ranging for +the presidency, or two bull-terriers "punishing" each other for the +possession of a bone, you immediately determine who you hope may carry +their point. In your admiration of the dogged perseverance of the old +drummer, you take part in favour of the instruments, and when you hear +that sudden and awful clash of the cymbals, which causes you to start +till you dig your elbow into an elderly gentleman on one side, and tread +on some corny toes on the other, you felicitate yourself upon the +victory of parchment and brass over throats; but the next moment your +pleasure is extinguished, for the tenor and soprano give their voices an +extra lift, and away they go up like rockets, far aloft above the din of +horns, cymbals and kettle drums. + +The fourth and last act represents the terrace of a highly illuminated +palace, which may be seen in the back ground. Some masked gentlemen, +very bandy-legged and knock-kneed, dressed in tight hose, well +calculated to exhibit these deformities, are observed flirting with some +of the before mentioned thick-ankled ladies, who likewise rejoice in +dominos. Every thing indicates that this is a place, where people are in +the habit of being extremely jolly, and from which such stupid things as +parties to which a few friends are invited "very sociably", or family +re-unions, are entirely abolished. Presently all the company break out +with the expression of one general wish for the unbounded prosperity of +the outlaw chief and the heroine whom we saw betrothed in the last act, +and who have just been married. They make their exit shortly afterward +in great precipitation, having been frightened from the stage by the +appearance of a great, horrible-looking figure, clothed in black, which +seems to be a species of bug-bear, sent to scare such naughty people who +do nothing but dance, sing and make merry. The bug-bear exits shortly +after. + +Again the highly profligate chorus enter, in no wise corrected by the +visitation of the gloomy looking gentleman, and assure the audience what +a pleasant thing it is for one man to flirt with another's wife from +behind a mask, or for an innocent young lady "going her first winter" to +whisper in a corner with a man about town; but getting weary of this +occupation, they at last retire, and the newly married couple--the +outlaw and his bride--again show themselves. + +The outlaw seems to be struck with a highly poetic vein, for he tells +the lady that the noise of the polka in the palace has ceased, that the +gas has been stopped off, and that the stars are amusing themselves by +smiling on their happy union, "because they've nothing else to do." +Thereupon they indulge in a gentle embrace, and start off simultaneously +in a duo, declaratory of the union of their two hearts in such an +anti-anatomical manner, that henceforth until their latest breath, one +cardiacal organ will suffice to perform the functions of two separate +bodies. Scarcely have they made this declaration of their abnormal +heart-union, before the sound of a horn falls on the ears of the o'er +happy couple. At this moment the outlaw forgets all good breeding, and +still influenced by his former brigand habits, swears a most horrible +oath in the presence of his young bride, and seems to be overcome by +great depression of spirits. The poor woman, observing nothing singular +about the blast of the horn--in all probability fancying that it is only +the tooting of a lazy post boy somewhat behind time, prays him to cheer +up, and let her see him smile. Before the outlaw can comply with this +small request the horn sounds again. "Behold," shrieks the young +husband, "the tiger seeks his prey." The bride surveys the apartment, +but observing no tiger or other ferocious animal, takes it for granted +that he has the mania à potu, induced by imbibing too much champagne at +the wedding feast. She immediately runs out into the bridal chamber, +with the intention of putting on those indefinite garments denominated +"things," and going to call up the court physician. The outlaw chieftain +stands a moment listening with breathless attention, and hearing no more +of the horn, comes to the conclusion that he has no just ground for +fear, and that it was only a dreadful ringing in the ears with which he +is sometimes afflicted. He thereupon rushes in pursuit of his bride, but +just as he arrives at the door of the bridal chamber, his progress is +arrested by the same black hob-goblin gentlemen who frighted the +dissipated chorus, as before related. This gentleman is recognized by +the outlaw in spite of his black clothes and mask, as the hateful old +tyrant who persecuted him to such an extent some time previously. The +outlaw groans a few times, and then the tyrant asks his victim if he +calls to mind his promise, and the words of the poet Tennyson, + + "Leave me here, and when you want me + Sound upon the bugle horn." + +The poor outlaw begs for his life; but the old tyrant remains +inexorable, and tells him that he must die. + +The unhappy bride returns, and hearing her husband entreating the old +tyrant so fervently for a respite, unites her supplications with those +of her husband. To this the tyrant makes no direct answer, but merely +presents a poignard to the trembling outlaw, with a repetition of the +words of the poet Tennyson. + + "Leave me here, and when you want me + Sound upon the bugle horn." + +The outlaw perceiving no mode of escaping from this _horn_ of the +dilemma, seizes the poignard, drives it in his breast, and sinks +mortally wounded. The poor bride shrieks, and falls upon his body. Now +succeeds a scene of pulling and dragging on the floor. The wounded +tenor is called upon to struggle and writhe in all the agonies of death, +and the prima donna to follow him up in order to raise his head on her +knee, and thus give him an opportunity of singing his dying solo. To do +this in such a manner as not to render the whole thing ridiculous and +farcical, instead of tragic and touching, requires all the grace and +ease imaginable. When well done it is impressive; when badly it is +laughable; but whether touching or laughable, it is sure to be relished +by a large part of the audience, for it always discloses who has done +most for the prima donna's bust, dame nature or the mantua maker. + +The tenor's head being elevated to the proper height, he expresses it as +his dying wish that the prima donna will continue to live and cherish +his memory. They then lament their unhappy fate in a short duo. The +tenor dies; the prima donna appears to do the same, but the libretto +consoles you by declaring that she only swoons. The old tyrant--the +basso--chuckles like a wretch over the success of his successful plot, +declares it a revenge worthy of a demon; you concur in his sentiments, +and the curtain falls. + +Gentle reader, are you wearied out with this insufferable nonsense? Do +not say that you are, or you will have established a reputation for want +of taste, beyond all controversy. Not to admire what we have written in +this chapter, is to condemn what we know you have often declared was a +"love of an opera." We have merely explained the plot of a well known +operatic _chef d'oeuvre_, which, goodness knows, required an +explanation. + +Now do not be petulant, and _very satirically_ exclaim,--"I wish he +would explain his explanation," thereby showing, both that you can be +excessively severe, and that you have read Byron. We do not intend to +endeavour to render luminous that which is so very clear and evident in +its meaning; it would be to "gild refined gold," and all that sort of +thing, and therefore we spare you the infliction. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +Après. + + I'm fond of fire and crickets, and all that, + A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat. + + BYRON. + + From this genteel place the reader must not be surprised, if I should + convey him to a cellar, or a common porter-house. + + CONNOISSEUR. No. 1. + + Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels. + + BYRON. + + +The curtain falls, much to the delight of those gentlemen whose sole +motive for frequenting the opera, is to have an opportunity of what they +term "chaffing" with some fair lady friend, whilst repairing thither, +and returning from thence, as well as during the enchanting moments +when the "drop" displays one of those accommodating landscapes, which +the audience, at their option, may convert either into the lake of Como, +or the ruins of Palmyra. If we may trust the assertion of many fair +mouths, we must infer that the curtain has fallen, much to the regret of +certain young ladies who declare that they could sit and hear Bosio +forever--a period of time which we have always been taught to regard as +very long indeed. + +But the curtain _has_ fallen, and the gentlemen who have been foolish +enough to send _bouquets_ to the prima donna in the morning, all seem +suddenly to be struck with the bright idea, that by giving a few knocks +of a cane, or a few taps of a gloved hand, they can "call out" that +divine woman, and by some adroit manoeuvre render themselves +distinguishable, and obvious to her from out that mass of heads and +black coats. The persons who occupy the elevated portions of the house, +who have paid a small price for their admittance, like all other persons +who pay small prices, make large demands for their money, and +consequently unite with the prima donna's admirers in an attempt to get +a last, long, lingering look at the lady. They really "do" all the +applause, thundering with their heavy canes and beating their hands +together until they resemble small lumps of crude beef steaks. After the +requisite amount of delay which is imposed upon the audience to give +them an adequate idea of the obligation the prima donna will confer, +should she see fit to exhibit herself, a human head is seen to project +from behind the curtain, but is drawn back with that kind of jerk which +is said to be peculiar to a turtle establishing his right to the +homestead exemption. This little _aiguillon_ of the prompter has the +desired effect, for the gentlemen in the parquette, who expect the prima +donna to observe _them_ to the entire exclusion of the other five +hundred men in white cravats and black coats, become perfectly frantic, +and the sojourners in "paradise" threaten to take advantage of their +position and empty themselves on the heads of the higher orders of +society, who happen for the present to be below them. The excitement now +begins to infuse itself into all present; the most apathetic old +_habitués_ commence to stretch forth their necks, to wriggle on their +seats, and manifest other signs of sympathy, with the more inflammable +portion of the audience. At length the tenor comes forward from the +side of the curtain, with a sickly smile of inexpressible pleasure on +his countenance. He leads by the hand the prima donna, whose downcast +eyes, and modest demeanor, entirely mislead the audience, giving them +the fullest assurance of her "beautiful disposition," and wholly +contradicting the assertion that she ever stamps her foot at the leader, +or tears the hair of her maid. The brace of singers make one +acknowledgment of gratitude immediately after issuing from behind the +ruins of Palmyra, thence proceeding in front of said ruins, make +another, and the moment before their disappearance perpetrate a third. +This is not sufficient for those enamoured ones who think that by some +evident mistake the prima donna has not recognised _them_, so the +patting of gloves and the tapping of canes is again resorted to, which, +together with the efforts of the "upper circles," again extracts the +tenor and his "inamorata" together, with the drowsy basso. The +last-named person wears an air of great reluctance at thus being +detained on the stage, instead of being permitted to go home to his +_patés_ and _fricasées_. The three go through the reverential with due +regard to time and position, and then withdraw, leaving the house to +contemplate the gas light, and reflect upon the briefness of all human +pleasures. + +During all this time the ladies have been standing in an apparently half +decided state, as to what was ultimately to become of them, alternately +looking on the stage and picking up hoods and shawls which they +immediately let fall again. Now that their suspense is ended, they +commence to hood and shawl; and many is the gentleman who announces in +whispers that he is unspeakably happy in being permitted to place a +cloak upon shoulders that rival alabaster. + +Harry Brown is unfortunate, for Miss Smith's cousin George has +anticipated him, having already astutely seized upon a shawl, during the +"calling out" which he carefully keeps until the blissful moment arrives +for enveloping that lady. Miss Smith thanks cousin George, as she always +calls him, with such a sweet smile that Harry Brown immediately becomes +occupied in a protracted search after his hat, muttering to himself +"hang these cousins." + +The audience go out of the boxes together with the going out of the +gas, and masses of people stand crowded together in the lobbies, while +the house is slowly emptying itself. + +The fast-men have collected about in front of the different box doors +from which the ladies are issuing, and are examining the relative claims +to beauty, which the fair observed ones merit, or as they term it, "are +getting their points." They are heard to make their comparisons upon the +singers too, with all the assurance of the old _habitués_, telling about +Salvi's falsetto, and Bettini's chest-voice, with a wondrous deal of +volubility. Where the crowds from the upper tiers unite with those of +the lower, one loud-voiced critic, who has just made his descent, is +heard to observe to a friend that "though Salvi is an old cock, he is +nevertheless a remarkably sound egg;" but why such a peculiarly +gallinaceous reference is made to that distinguished tenor, we must +unhesitatingly confess ignorance. + +After the confusion attendant on the coming and going of carriages, cabs +and divers other vehicles, the fatigued audience are at length set in +motion towards their respective dwellings. + +Again poor Harry Brown is a fit subject for our commiseration. The +ill-fated young man is placed by the side of Miss Smith's mother, a +rather antique lady; Cousin George somehow or other, has managed to +place himself beside Miss Smith. The carriage passes a lamp-post, and +though Harry Brown does observe Cousin George's left hand, the +disappearance of the right is something for which he cannot at all +account, except upon the laws of proximity which pertain to cousinship. +While the carriage proceeds homewards the party does not converse as +freely as they did a short time before, under the exhilaration arising +from gas-light and gossip. Harry Brown finds the ride a bore, Mrs. Smith +is so deaf, and still has her ideas of public amusement, confined to the +times when Mr. Kemble, Mr. Cooper and Mr. Cooke, performed in the +_legitimate_ drama to crowded houses. Cousin George's position is such a +happy one, that conversation is to him a thing superfluous. + +Those whose means authorise them, and very often those whose means do +not authorise them, go home to a nice supper, some delicate partridges, +cold capon, or deviled turkey, and a bottle or two of champagne. Under +the influences of the warm room and the viands, not to mention that +"warm champagny, old particular brandy-punchy feeling" induced by the +popping cork, the events of the whole evening are reviewed in a quite +thorough manner, though without much attention to a "_lucidus ordo_." + +Let us follow the Smiths home, and see what is their mode of terminating +the evening. Scarcely have they settled themselves at table before a +glass of champagne is administered all round, and a very severe +criticism of Bosio is commenced by Cousin George, who says in a very +opinionated way, that he likes her pretty well, but prefers either +Truffi or Stefanoni. Miss Smith immediately espouses the cause of the +injured Bosio, whom she has often declared she could listen to +"forever," and calls on Harry Brown to come to the rescue of the +cantatrice's reputation. Harry, who has been sadly silent ever since the +miraculous disappearance of Cousin George's right hand in the carriage, +at once becomes a violent Bosioite, and maintains the vocal abilities of +that prima donna against the whole world; whereupon Miss Smith with one +of the most approving of smiles, exclaims, "Thank you, Mr. Brown; I +always knew you were a gentleman of taste. There, there, let me shake +hands with you." And as Miss Smith utters the last words, she extends +such a ridiculously little hand across the table, that it seems almost a +misnomer to apply that appellation to it. Mr. Brown seizes the proffered +member, and gives it as hearty a pressure as the publicity of the +occasion will permit. From the moment that he touches the magical little +hand, cousin George is eclipsed. Harry's knowledge of operas, music and +singers, becomes at once astonishingly enlarged, and he speaks on +operatic subjects like one having authority to do so. Fortunately for +cousin George, Miss Smith's brother Charles enters, his clothes strongly +redolent of Havannahs, he having just returned from his club. His sister +forbids him to come so near her, alleging as a ground for such a +prohibition, that those "horrid" cigars are _so_ offensive to her. Her +brother moves good naturedly to the other side of the table, having +first applied his finger to his sister's cheek in a playful way, which +has a powerful effect upon poor Harry, causing him to feel exceedingly +as if he should like to do the same thing himself. The sister begins to +assure her brother of the inestimable amount of pleasure he has lost by +loitering at the "horrid" club, instead of accompanying her to the +_delicious_ opera. The reply is that "the club" has voted Bosio a bore, +and that consequently he cannot think of wasting his valuable time by +going to hear her. The sister then makes some very severe remarks upon +clubs in the abstract, but is interrupted by her brother's inquiring if +she does not want to take a share in the great stakes which the club is +endeavouring to raise, in order to _pit_ Tom Hyer against Harry Broome +the English champion. The sister pretends to be so provoked at the +_raillerie_ of her brother, that she smiles in a way that makes her look +doubly pretty, calls him a "horrid creature," then turns to Harry Brown +and indulges in some rather pointed observations, relative to divers of +the good people who were among the audience at the opera. + +Mrs. Smith, who has up to this moment been very laudably occupied in +seeing that the young people get a due proportion of the well selected +viands, now comes in for a part of the conversation. She, good lady, +knows the fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers, of the +present generation, and can tell just what amount of homage each of the +dashing families of the city have a right to lay claim to. She declares +that Mrs. Simms has no right to assume the importance that she +does--that though her father was a very respectable man, still, when she +was a girl, the family lived in a very obscure part of the town, and +were wholly unknown among our first people. Miss Smith, however, who is +very much afraid that her mother is going to indulge in too minute and +wearisome an investigation of genealogies, conducts the conversation to +subjects which she supposes to be more interesting to the rest of the +party. She objects to the want of taste displayed by those awful looking +Misses Rogers, who deck themselves out like young girls, when every body +knows they have been in society for the last fifteen years--that their +mother has made herself notorious, as well as ridiculous, by angling for +every young man of desirable means in the city. Miss Smith likewise +expresses her wonder when that stupid Lieutenant Jones _will_ marry Miss +Simms. She declares that "she is tired of seeing the two together; that +one cannot go to any public place, but the first persons who meet the +eye are Jones and Miss Simms; that if the weather is fair, and you walk +out, there are the loving couple in the street. Go to Newport, there +they are--go to the opera, there they are. If they can find means to run +incessantly to parties and balls, watering places and operas, why cannot +they get married?" Miss Smith concludes her observations on the +over-fond lovers, by emphasising the words "so stupid, is it not?" at +the same time giving them both an affirmative and interrogative +character. Harry Brown responds that it might be excessively +uninteresting to be always thus placed in proximity to Miss Simms, but +that there are other young ladies of his acquaintance, with whom such +extreme intimacy would be any thing but stupid. To this ambiguous use of +the word "stupid," Miss Smith makes no reply, but merely looks at Mr. +Brown as if she had not the slightest idea whatever that a very personal +allusion to herself had been made by that gentleman. Miss Smith again +indulges in reflections on society with a great deal of freedom and +pointedness of expression, which much amuses cousin George, who laughs +approvingly at what he terms the "sharpness" of his relative. Brother +Charles remains wholly unattentive to a kind of conversation which his +fair sister so often takes part in, and is absorbed in estimating, on +the back of a visiting card, the probability of his winning his bet on +the late election. Harry Brown, after his complimentary effort, sinks +into a state of silence, induced by the loquacity of Miss Smith, the +hilarity of cousin George, and the negligence of brother Charles. Alas +for Harry! he is considering the likelihood that such a censorious young +lady can have a kind heart--or would make a good wife. At this moment, +Mr. Smith, Senior, walks into the dining-room. A worthy, respectable, +and well-to-do man is Mr. Smith, the elder; he pays his taxes and he +loves his children, and who can do more? Miss Smith immediately rises +from the table, puts up her dear little mouth to her papa to be kissed. +The tender parent goes through the osculatory process in such an +affectionate manner, that Harry Brown is strongly impressed with the +idea that the old gentleman would make a trump of a father-in-law, and +he begins to suspect that Miss Smith's heart is not so bad after all. +The elderly Smith takes his seat, having first shaken Harry by the hand +in a friendly, familiar way, that indicates a very good opinion of that +worthy young person. The conversation again reverts to operatics, but +Harry seems to have forgotten all his late familiarity with such +subjects, and becomes suddenly very conversant with rail-roads, canals +and stocks, and launches out into an earnest conversation with Mr. Smith +on those interesting topics. + +But everything must have an end, and so about midnight Mr. Brown _walks_ +home through a foot of snow, because his mind is too much occupied with +thoughts of Miss Smith and her cousin George, to allow him to think of +calling a cab. + +Let us now see what becomes of those gentlemen who have been sitting in +the parquette, giving the opera their most anxious attention at all such +times as either the prima donna is on the stage, or any aria is sung, +but who have been giving quite unmistakeable signs of ennui and +weariness during the recitatives and choruses. If we have narrowly +observed the movements of this portion of the audience, we will have +remarked, that during the performance of the last act they have, from +time to time, cast hurried glances towards the avenues of egress, and +contorted their countenances in a way which would indicate that their +olfactories were greeted by certain savory odours, imperceptible to +every body but the possessors of the said olfactories. These gentlemen, +immediately after leaving the opera, may be seen to walk along the +street in companies of three or four, with a hurried step, until their +progress is arrested by the view of divers green, blue, pink, or crimson +coloured lamps, holding a very conspicuous position over the doors of +some houses of very suggestive exterior, or before some suspicious +hiatuses in the pavement, where those horrid monsters, who figure in +Christmas pantomimes, might easily be imagined to dwell. These lamps +seem to be possessed of a most incredible power of human attraction, for +no sooner does their light fall upon the vision of the nocturnal +wayfarer, than he is drawn within the portals over which they are +established. Upon mounting the steps into these houses, or descending +into these subterranean regions, the inquirer will discover a long, +brilliantly illuminated, gaudily papered chamber, whose walls are +ornamented with numerous over-grown mirrors, and French coloured +prints, representing young ladies in short dresses, standing in every +possible posture except that usually assumed by ladies of our +acquaintance. Along one side of this apartment, at the distance of about +three and a half feet from the wall, extends a marble slab, placed in a +horizontal position, and elevated three feet from the floor, forming a +species of enclosure. Within this enclosure, a number of men, habited to +the waist in white garments,--apparently a nameless order of +priesthood--are going through some inexplicable mystic rites, repeatedly +seizing up various large glass bottles containing transparent or opaque +liquids, and carrying them to different parts of this marble slab at the +request of various persons, who seem to be the worshippers in this +temple. At one end of the enclosure, a solitary man of a dark and sombre +hue, evidently a person held more sacred than the other priests, is seen +alternately to hammer portions of some hard matter, resembling stone in +appearance, and then split them by the magical application of a small +piece of blunt iron. He conducts this ceremony with the greatest +solemnity, occasionally pronouncing these incantatory words, "Plate or +shell, sah?" in a seemingly interrogative manner. The worshippers at +these shrines are some of the same young gentlemen whom we have seen +standing back in the opera boxes by the doors, making fast remarks on +all that was passing around them, or sitting in the parquette +endeavouring to annihilate the prima donna by the attractiveness of +their appearance. Others, of this same class of persons, merely pass +through this chamber, having first said in a low tone to the most +potential of the priests, "Four dozen broiled; ale for one, and brandy +and water for three." The priest immediately repeats these words so +fraught with significance, in a loud voice, which resounds through the +whole chamber. An invisible priest, at some distance from the first, +again repeats them, and thus the mysterious sound is passed from one +unseen priest to another, until it ceases to be heard in the distance. + +Nothing more is seen of the last described devotees, for some time after +their leaving the mysterious apartment; but about midnight a confused +sound of human voices is heard to issue from another mysterious chamber. +Some of those voices express a dogged determination on the part of +their proprietors, to remain shut up within the present confines until +the matutinal hours; other voices assure a universal confidence in the +powers of a certain bob-tail mare, while one teaches in the Italian +language the secret of ever living happily.[b] At between two and three +o'clock in the morning, several of our _operators_ are seen to emerge +from the aforesaid houses and subterranean abodes, in a very musical, as +well as affectionate frame of mind. One gentleman, totally regardless of +the lateness of the hour, after manifesting a strong desire to embrace a +large party of his friends, kindly invites them home to take tea with +him. Another walks homeward, expressing his notions on the secret of +living happily in a cantatory way. A third is assisted into a cab by his +associates, with directions to the driver to set him down at his +lodgings. Arrived there, he is put to bed, when he dreams that he is +falling down five hundred precipices; that afterwards a huge man is on +the point of cutting off his head, but a very prima donna like looking +lady comes in and intercedes for him, and she thus saves his life; that +he is just going to be married to the prima donna like looking lady, +when his pleasure is interrupted by the sound of ten thousand horns, +each one four times as large as that he saw the tyrant have in the +opera; whereupon he awakes, and discovers that there is a cry of fire, +and the firemen are making almost as much noise as the orchestra did, +when it was doing the crashing passages. + +[b] Il segreto per esser felici. + + * * * * * + +In the morning, the chambermaid wonders why Mr. Higgins rings for water, +when she recollects filling the ewer full the night previous. Next day +Mr. Higgins examines his operatic accounts, and finds them to stand +thus: + + To one pair kid gloves, $1.00 + " opera ticket, (secured seat,) 1.50 + " supper, 3.00 + " cab-hire, 1.00 + ----- + Total, 6.50 + +At that moment his land-lady sends in the bill for lodging, which, +by-the-by, she always seems to do when he is in one of his repentant +moods, and Mr. Higgins expresses a kind wish that all Italians were in a +climate somewhat warmer than that of the south of Europe. + +The Smiths do not feel any inconvenience, physical or pecuniary, from +their visit to the opera, and _petit souper_ afterwards. "When one has +money," says Mrs. Smith, in a very oracular tone, "what is the use of +it, except to let people know that one has got it!" Immediately after +this expression of her sentiments in regard to filthy lucre, Mrs. Smith +tells the servant not to give a shilling to the whimpering little boy +who has been sweeping the snow off the pavement; that a sixpence is +enough, and more than enough, for him, and that it is wrong to encourage +such exorbitance. + + * * * * * + +Now, that Mr. Higgins should feel thirsty in the morning, or that Mrs. +Smith should regret to part with a sixpence, concerns not us; we have +not been writing to correct public morals, but only to amuse the +readers of THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE OPERA. + + +ERRATA. [corrected in etext] + + + Page. Line. + 16 6 after a, insert _fast man or a_. + 34 10 " chef (d' orchestre), read _chef d'orchestre_. + 34 17 " chef (d' orchestre), " _chef d'orchestre_. + 55 10 " guoi, read _quoi_. + 55 10 " singers, read _Singers_. + 55 11 " led horse, read _lead horse_. + 70 24 " was, read _is_. + 76 12 " bulversé, read _boulversé_. + 92 22 " gentlemen, read _gentleman_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Physiology of The Opera, by +John H. Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHYSIOLOGY OF THE OPERA *** + +***** This file should be named 31880-8.txt or 31880-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/8/31880/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Physiology of The Opera + +Author: John H. Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +Release Date: April 4, 2010 [EBook #31880] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHYSIOLOGY OF THE OPERA *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a></p> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_physiology.png" +width="350" +height="52" +alt="Physiology of the Opera." title="Physiology of the Opera." +/></div> + +<p><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a></p> + +<div class="block"><p class="sml">"I both compose and perform Sir: and though I say it, perhaps few +even of the profession possess the <i>contra-punto</i> and the +<i>chromatic</i> better."</p> + +<p class="r smcap">Connoisseur. No. 130.</p> +</div> + +<div class="block2"> +<p class="sml"><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"I see, Sir—you</span><br /> +Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one<br />To +whom the opera is by no means new."</p> + +<p class="r2 smcap">Byron.</p></div> + +<h2>PHYSIOLOGY</h2> + +<p class="c"><b>OF</b></p> + +<h1 class="spc">THE OPERA.</h1> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_080.png" +width="400" +height="288" +alt="illustration" +/></div> + +<p class="squig2 top5">\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/</p> + +<p class="scrici">BY SCRICI.</p> + +<p class="squig2">\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/</p> + +<p class="c"><b>PHILADELPHIA.</b><br /><b>WILLIS P. HAZARD, 178 CHESNUT ST.</b><br /><b>1852.</b></p> + +<p><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a></p> + +<p class="c top15 sml">COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW.<a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a></p> + +<hr /> + +<table summary="toc" +cellspacing="0" +cellpadding="4" +style="border:gray 5px double;padding:4%;margin:10% auto 15% auto;"> +<tr valign="top"><td colspan="2"> </td><td colspan="3"><a href="#Introduction"> +<img src="images/ill_introduction.png" +style="border:none;" +width="186" +height="25" +title="Introduction" +alt="Introduction." +/></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td rowspan="9" valign="top"><b>CHAPTER: </b></td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>I</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><img src="images/ill_ch001.png" +style="border:none;" +width="260" +height="32" +alt="The Opera in the Abstract." +title="The Opera in the Abstract." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>II</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><img src="images/ill_ch002.png" +style="border:none;" +width="139" +height="32" +alt="Of the Tenore." +title="Of the Tenore." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>III</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><img src="images/ill_ch003.png" +style="border:none;" +width="190" +height="32" +alt="Of the Primo Basso." +title="Of the Primo Basso." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>IV</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><img src="images/ill_ch004.png" +style="border:none;" +width="184" +height="32" +alt="Of the Prima Donna." +title="Of the Prima Donna." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>V</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><img src="images/ill_ch005.png" +style="border:none;" +width="148" +height="28" +alt="Of the Barytone." +title="Of the Barytone." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>VI</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><img src="images/ill_ch006.png" +style="border:none;" +width="282" +height="32" +alt="Of the Suggeritore or Prompter." +title="Of the Suggeritore or Prompter." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>VII</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><img src="images/ill_ch007.png" +style="border:none;" +width="167" +height="26" +alt="Before the Curtain." +title="Before the Curtain." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>VIII</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><img src="images/ill_ch008.png" +style="border:none;" +width="264" +height="26" +alt="Of the Opera in the Concrete." +title="Of the Opera in the Concrete." +/></a></td></tr> +<tr valign="middle"><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>IX</b>.</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><img src="images/ill_ch009.png" +style="border:none;" +width="56" +height="28" +alt="Après." +title="Après." +/></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="image"><a name="Introduction" id="Introduction"></a><img src="images/ill_introduction.png" +width="250" +height="35" +alt="Introduction." title="Introduction." +/></div> + +<p class="squig">\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_0a.png" +width="150" +height="142" +alt="A" +title="A" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">S</span> an introduction to the dissertation upon which we are about to enter, +such an antiquarian view of the subject might be taken as would tend to +establish a parallel between the ancient Greek tragedy and the modern +sanguinary Italian opera, the strong resemblance therein being displayed +of Signor Salvi trilling on the stage, to the immortal Thespis jargoning +from a dung-cart. But we shall indulge<a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a> in no such wearying pedantry. +Our intention being merely to "hold the mirror up to nature," in +presenting our immaterial reflector to the public, we invite our readers +to a view of the present only—a period of time in which they take most +interest, since they adorn it with their own presence.</p> + +<p>We feel satisfied that few of the ladies who take a peep into this +mirror, will find any cause to break it in a fit of petulancy after +having looked upon the attractive reflection of their own lovely +features. Few young gentlemen will throw down a glass that gives them a +just idea of their striking and distingué appearance behind a large +moustache and a gilded <i>lorgnette</i>. Old papas, who rule 'change and keep +a "stall," cannot be offended with that which teaches them how dignified +and creditable is their position, as they sit up proudly and exhibit +their family's extravagance and ostentation as an evidence of the +stability of their commercial relations. Few mammas will carp at a book +which assures them that society does not esteem them less highly because +they use an opera box as a sort of matrimonial show window in which they +place their beautiful daughters,<a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a> "got up regardless of expense," as +delicate wares in the market of Hymen.</p> + +<p>In these our humble efforts to present to our readers an amusing yet +faithful picture of the opera, we hope our manner of treating the +subject has been to nothing extenuate nor aught set down in malice. This +book has not for its end the unlimited censure of foreign opera singers, +or native opera goers. We do not therefore, expect to gratify the +malignant demands of persons of over-strained morality, who maintain +that the opera is a bad school of musical science, or a worse school of +morals; and exclaim with the very correct Mr. Coleridge, who was +<i>shocked</i> in a—<i>concert room</i>,</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Nor cold nor stern my soul, yet I detest</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">These scented rooms; where to a gaudy throng,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In intricacies of laborious song.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"These feel not music's genuine power, nor deign</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To melt at nature's passion-warbled plaint;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But when the long-breath'd singer's up-trilled strain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Neither do we coincide in sentiment with those<a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a> who, conceiving that +every folly and absurdity sanctioned by fashion, is converted into +reason and common sense, believe that "the whole duty of man" consists +in <i>spending the day</i> with Max Maretzeck on the occasion of his musical +jubilees, and being roasted by gas in the hours of broad day-light. +Consequently the reader will find no one line herein written with the +intention of flattering the vanity of those who ride to the opera every +night in a splendid coach, followed by spotted dogs.</p> + +<p>Having thus declared the impartial manner in which it is our purpose to +pursue the physiological discussion of our subject, and the various +phenomena involved in its consideration, we proceed at once to unveil +the operatic existence to the reader, fatigued no doubt by an +introductory salaam already protracted beyond the limits of propriety.<a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch001.png" +width="400" +height="48" +alt="The Opera in the Abstract." title="The Opera in the Abstract." +/></div> + +<table summary="poem"><tr><td> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"L'Opéra toujours</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Fait bruit et merveilles:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">On y voit les sourds</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Boucher leurs oreilles."</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><span class="smcap">Beranger.</span></span> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_009.png" +width="150" +height="210" +alt="T" +title="T" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">O</span> most of the world (and we say it advisedly,) the opera is a sealed +book. We do not mean a bare representation with its accompanying +screechings, violinings and bass-drummings. Everybody has seen that—But +the race of beings who constitute that remarkable combination; their +feelings, positions, social habits;<a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a> their relation to one another; what +they say and eat;<a name="A2" id="A2"></a><sup><a href="#A">[a]</a></sup> whether the tenor ever notices as they (the world) +do, the fine legs of the contralto in man's dress, and whether the basso +drinks pale ale or porter; all these things have been hitherto wrapped +in an inscrutable mystery. In regard to mere actors, not singers, this +feeling is confined to children; but the operators of an opera are +essentially esoteric. They are enclosed by a curtain more impenetrable +than the Chinese wall. You may walk all around them; nay, you may even +know an inferior artiste, but there is a line beyond which even the fast +men, with all their impetuosity, are restrained from invading.</p> + +<p><sup><a name="A" id="A"></a><a href="#A2">[a]</a></sup> <span class="sml">We actually knew a man who, when a tenor was spoken of, as having +gone through his <i>role</i>, thought that that worthy had been eating his +breakfast.</span></p> + +<p>You walk in the street with a young female, on whom you flatter yourself +you are making an impression; suddenly she cries out, "Oh, there's +Bawlini; do look! dear creature, isn't he?" You may as well turn round +and go home immediately; the rest of your walk won't be worth half the +dream you had the night before. This shows an importance to be attached +to these remarkable<a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a> persons, which, together with the mystery which +encircles them, is exceedingly aggravating to the feelings of a large +body of respectable citizens. Among those who are mostly afflicted, we +may mention all women, but most especially boarding school misses. +Mothers of families are much perturbed; they wonder why the tenor is so +intimate with the donna, considering they are not married; and fathers +of families wonder "where under the sun that manager gets the money to +pay a tenor twelve hundred dollars a month, when state sixes are so +shockingly depressed." We were going to enumerate those we thought +particularly afflicted by a praiseworthy desire to know something more +of these obscurities, but they are too many for us. In every class of +society, nay, in the breast of almost every person, there exists a +desire to be rightly informed on these subjects. It was to supply this +want that we have devoted ourselves more especially to the actors who +do, to the exclusion of the auditors who are "<i>done</i>."</p> + +<p>Shakspeare observes, that "all the world's a stage;" the converse of +this proposition is no less worthy of being regarded as a great moral +truth,—that all the stage is a world. Every condition<a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a> of life may be +found typified in one or other of the officials or attachés of an opera +house; from the king upon the throne, symbolized by the haughty and +magisterial impresario, to the <i>chiffonier</i> in the gutter, represented +by the unfortunate chorister who is attired as a shabby nobleman on the +stage, but who goes home to a supper of leeks. Between these two +degrees, of dignity and unimportance, come those many shades of social +position corresponding to the happy situations of Secretary of State, +Secretary of the Treasury, and divers other dignitaries, set forth in +the stage director, the treasurer, the chorus-master, &c.</p> + +<p>The tenor, basso, prima donna and baritone may be considered as +belonging to what is called "society;"—that well-to-do and ornamental +portion of the community, who having no vocation save to frequent balls, +soirées, concerts and operas, and fall in love—serve as objects of +admiration to those persons less favoured by fortune, who make the +clothes and dress the hair of the former class.</p> + +<p>Our simile need not be carried further, it being apparent to the most +inconsiderate reader, that it<a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a> is quite as truthful as that hatched by +the swan of Avon. We shall now commence our observations upon the most +interesting members of a troupe; those best known to the community +before whom they nightly appear; and leave unnoticed those disagreeable +but influential ones who raise the price of tickets, or stand in a +little box near the door and palm off all the back seats upon the +uninitiated.<a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch002.png" +width="200" +height="46" +alt="Of the Tenore." title="Of the Tenore." +/></div> + +<p class="sml">"In short, I may, I am sure, with truth assert, that whether in the +<i>allegro</i> or in the <i>piano</i>, the <i>adagio</i>, the <i>largo</i> or the +<i>forte</i>, he never had his equal."—<span class="smcap">Connoisseur.</span> No. 130.</p> + +<p class="sml">"Famed for the even tenor of his conduct, and his conduct as a +tenor."—<span class="smcap">Knickerbocker.</span></p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_015.png" +width="208" +height="343" +alt="illustration" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">THE</span> Tenor is a small man, seldom exceeding the medium height. His voice +is, comparatively speaking, a small voice, and consequently not likely +to issue from over-grown lungs. His proportions are, or at least ought +to be, as symmetrical as possible. His hair, nine times out of ten, is +black, and <i>always</i> curls. His beard is reasonably bushy; but his +moustache is the most artistically<a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a> cultivated and carefully nurtured +collection of hair that ever adorned the superior lip of man. His +features are likely to be handsome, sometimes, however, effeminately so. +His dress is a little extravagant; not extravagant in the mode and +manner of a fast man or a dandy—for it is not punctiliously fashionable +like that of the latter, without any deviation from tailor's plates; +neither does it resemble that of the former in the gentlemanly roughness +of its appearance; consequently he rejoices not in entire suits of grey +or plaid, those <i>very</i> sporting coats, those English country-gentleman's +shoes, those amply bowed cravats, and those shirts that are so +resplendent with the well executed heads of terrier dogs. No! the primo +tenore has a passion, first, for satin,—secondly, for jewelry,—and +lastly, for hats, boots and gloves. He dotes on satin scarfs, cravats +and ties, and his gorgeous satin vests, of all the hues of the rainbow, +astound the saunterer on the morning promenade. His love for pins, +studs, rings and chains is almost enough to lead us to believe that his +blood is mingled with that of the Mohawks. Boots that fit like gloves, +and gloves that fit like the skin, render him the envy of dandies. His +hat is smooth<a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a> and glossy to an excess, and its peculiar formation makes +it considered "<i>un peu trop fort</i>," even by the most daring of +hat-fanciers.</p> + +<p>The tenor rises late; partly because he is naturally indolent; partly +because the prime basso drank him slightly exhilarated the evening +previous; and partly out of affectation and the desire to appear a very +fine gentleman. Having spent a long time in making a <i>negligée +toilette</i>, he orders his breakfast. Seated in his comprehensive arm +chair, and attired in all the splendor of a well-tinselled satin or +velvet <i>calotte</i>, a dazzling <i>robe de chambre</i>, and slippers of the most +brilliant colors, he takes his matutinal repast. And now we begin to +discover some of the thousand vexations and annoyances that harass the +life of this poor object of popular support. His breakfast is but the +skeleton of that useful and nourishing repast. No rich beef-steaks! no +tender chops! no fragrant ham nor well-seasoned omelettes, transfer +their nutritive properties through his system. Any indulgence in these +wholesome articles of food is considered direct destruction to the +tender organ of the tenor. A hunting breakfast every day, or a glass of +wine at an improper hour, if<a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a> persisted in for any length of time, it is +supposed would ruin the most delightful voice that ever sung an <i>aria</i>. +A large cup of <i>café au lait</i>, with an egg beaten in it, is all the +morning meal of which the poor <i>artiste</i> (as he styles himself,) is +permitted to partake. This feat accomplished, he takes up the newspaper +in which he <i>spells out</i> the puff which he paid the reporter to insert, +and after satisfying himself that he has received his <i>quid pro quo</i>, he +lounges away the morning until a sufficient space of time has elapsed to +render the use of the voice no longer deleterious, as it is immediately +after eating. And then come two or three hours of study that is no +trifle. The tenor is a man; and it seems to be a great moral law, that +whether it come in the form of labor, disease, ennui or indigestion, +suffering shall be the badge of all our tribe. Even prima donnas, who +defy gods and men with more temerity than all living creatures, are +constrained to concede the obligation of this universal moral edict. The +tenor then yields homage to human nature and the public, in the labor of +climbing stubborn scales, rehearsing new operas, and sometimes, though +not often, in receiving the impertinence of arrogant prima donnas,<a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a> +during several hours every day. After these fatiguing efforts, he makes +his <i>grande toilette</i>, and prepares himself to astound the town no less +by his personal attractions than by his song. The chief promenade of the +city, where he condescends to mete out to highly favoured audiences the +treasures of his organ, is made the day-theatre of his glory. +Accompanied by his friend the <i>primo basso</i>, he saunters along very +quietly, attracting the gaze of the curious, and calling forth the +passionate remarks of enthusiastic young ladies, who feel it would be a +pleasure to die, if they could only leave such a gentleman behind on +earth to sing "<i>Tu che a Dio</i>," in the event of their being "snatched +away in beauty's bloom."</p> + +<p>The basso is the chosen male companion of the tenor's walk; firstly, +because he is no rival, and secondly, because the gross physical +endowments of the former are such as to bring out the latter's +symmetrical proportions in such strong relief.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the tenor is seen riding out with the prima donna, with whom +he is nearly always a favorite. He is the gentleman who makes himself +useful in assisting her to destroy time; he performs for her those +thousand and one little<a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a> delicate attentions for which all women are so +truly grateful; and then he sings with her every night those sentimental +duos, that necessarily produce their effect upon the feminine bosom.</p> + +<p>Whether walking with his gigantic friend, or riding with his fair one, +the tenor behaves himself with the greatest propriety and gentleman-like +bearing, excepting always a certain air which leads us to believe that +he thinks "too curious old port" of himself. He is more grave, but +apparently more vain when on foot, than when seated in the carriage with +the prima donna; at which time his gesticulation becomes very animated, +sometimes very extravagant; though we must always accord it the +attraction of gracefulness.</p> + +<p>The time is thus agreeably walked, ridden and "chaffed" away, until the +hour for the substantial dinner comes to fortify mankind against the +slings and arrows of hunger and tedium. Then the tenor does dare to +partake of a few, of what are technically called "the delicacies of the +season." But still a restraint is put upon the appetite, for in a few +hours more he must go through labours for which the "fulness of satiety" +would little prepare him. A very worthy and<a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a> elderly clergyman of the +Church of England once made known to the writer his opinion concerning +after-dinner sermons, in the following words; "I believe, sir, that +though sermons preached through the medium of simple roast beef and +plum-pudding may have been sermons invented by inspiration; they are +sure to be enunciated through the agency of the devil." So melting +strains of solos and duos, when sung through the medium of soups, patés +and fricasées, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into +monotony. How the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall +relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home—that is +to say, on the stage.</p> + +<p>But when supper comes he is no longer prevented by fear of "lost voice" +or any other dire calamity, from giving way to the cravings of hunger +and thirst. He eats with the relish of hunger induced by labor, and +drinks with the excitement arising from the consciousness that he is, +what in the language of the turf is styled "the favorite." The ladies +and gentlemen of the troupe usually assemble at supper, and it is then +that the tenor again bestows his <i>galanteries</i> on the<a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a> prima donna, and +says many more really complimentary things than are to be found set down +in his professional role.</p> + +<p>In concluding this sketch of the tenor, the writer would, with all due +submission to the opinion of the public, venture to discover his +sentiments upon a question which often agitates society; viz., whether +the tenor is always sick when he announces himself to be seriously +indisposed. The writer hopes he will not render himself liable to the +charge of duplicity or an attempt at evasion, when he declares it to be +his impression, that on the occasion of such announcements, the tenor is +<i>sometimes</i> seriously indisposed but not <i>always</i>. The tenor, as we have +before observed, is but a man, and must needs be subject to diseases +like other men; but when we consider the delicacy of his conformation, +we must multiply the chances of his liability to indisposition. His +organization is such, that the most trifling irregularity in his general +health operates immediately upon the voice. Now, for the tenor, in the +slightest degree out of tone, to appear before a merciless audience, +consisting of blasé opera goers, tyrannical critics, hired depreciators, +and unrelenting<a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a> musical amateurs, would indicate the most utter folly +and imbecility. The tenor is well aware that a reputation for singing +divinely a few nights in the year, is more lucrative than a reputation +for ability to sing tolerably well, taking an average of all the nights +in that space of time. It is consequently more advantageous for him to +sing occasionally, when he feels his voice to be in full force and +vigour, and his spirits in a sufficiently animated condition to warrant +his appearing with every certainty of success. When, therefore, he does +not favour the public with the melody of his notes, it is, generally +speaking because, without really suffering from a serious attack of +disease, he considers that his appearance would insure a future +diminution in the offers of the <i>impresario</i>. Hence the <i>affiches</i> +usually proclaim nothing but truth itself, when they declare that the +tenor is <i>seriously indisposed</i>; but then we must be careful to +interpret the word indisposition by that one of its significations which +is equivalent to <i>disinclination</i>.</p> + +<p>That some compulsory measures might be taken to make these gentlemen +"who can sing but won't sing" more complying, and willing to yield to +the<a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a> wishes and request of managers and audiences, the writer has never +entertained a doubt. The ways and means of effecting such an object, he +will not take upon himself to devise or advise, but will merely state a +fact which probably may induce some one to enter upon a thorough +examination of the subject, and suggest the remedy. Upon one occasion, +when the Havannah troupe was performing in Philadelphia, and a favorite +tenor had been amusing himself by trifling with the public, until the +patience of that forbearing portion of mankind was entirely exhausted; +the treasury was beginning to fall extremely low, and the wearied out +director was well nigh driven to desperation. In this critical juncture +of affairs, the gentleman who was the legal adviser of the troupe was +applied to, to say whether there was not some compulsory process known +to the law, by which the refractory tenor could be brought to a +recognition of the right of the rest of the company to the use of his +voice to attract large audiences, and thereby replenish the empty +coffers of the treasury. Upon answer that there existed no such process, +the distracted director muttered a few maledictions upon our country,<a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a> +with a sneer at our <i>free institutions</i>, and informed the astonished +counsellor, that in Havannah, when the tenor was supposed to be feigning +sickness, the proper authorities were resorted to for the right of an +examination of the offending party by a physician, and a certificate of +the state of his health. Upon the physician certifying that the signor +was able to go through his role, a few <i>gendarmes</i> were dispatched to +seize the delinquent and take such means as would sooner coerce him into +a compliance with the stipulations of his professional contract.</p> + +<p><span class="imageright"><img src="images/ill_025.png" +width="350" +height="429" +alt="illustration" +/></span>Every reasonable excuse, however, should be made for the necessity the +tenor is under to be careful of the delicate organ whereby he gains his +subsistence. When we reflect how<a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a> many of these poor fellows lose their +voices and are consequently driven to throw themselves on the cold +charity of the public—or out of the window, we must be struck with the +inhumanity which would be exercised if this professional singer were +excluded from enjoying occasionally by permission, what every clergyman +in the land can always claim as a right—the disease which the Hibernian +servant expressively denominated "the brown gaiters in the throat."<a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a></p> + +<p style="clear:both;"> </p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch003.png" +width="250" +height="42" +alt="Of the Primo Basso." title="Of the Primo Basso." +/></div> + +<table summary="poem" class="sml"> +<tr><td>"And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" class="spc">* * * * * *</td></tr> +<tr><td>An Ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow."</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">Byron.</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_027.png" +width="291" +height="550" +alt="illustration" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">THE</span> Primo Basso is to the primo tenore what the draught horse is to the +racer; drawing along the heavy business of an opera, whilst the other +goes capering and curvetting through whole pages of chromatics, and runs +bounding with unerring precision over the most fearful musical +intervals. The basso, consequently,<a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a> to uphold the vast superstructure +of song, must be a man furnished with a strong supporting and sustaining +voice. He usually plays the part of tyrants, either of the domestic +circle or of the throne; and the tyrants of fiction always have been +represented as over-grown individuals, from the time of the Titans down +to the giants who met with their well-merited fate from the invincible +arm of that doughty nursery hero—<i>Jack the Giant Killer</i>. It is a most +fortunate circumstance then for the basso, that while his powerful voice +must necessarily proceed from gigantic lungs, and these organs again are +chiefly found planted in largely developed frames, his huge proportions +only the better qualify him for his department of operatic personæ. His +form is heavy, and would be muscular, if ease and indolence, +unrestrained appetite, and no more exertion than is requisite to blow +the bass-bellows during half a dozen evenings in the week, did not +permit an undue accumulation of adipose substance. His hair is generally +black, but not of that rich, glossy, <i>curling</i> kind, which decks the +fair brow of the delicate little tenor. His features are gross and +sensual, exhibiting about the<a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a> amount of intelligence which may be +looked for in one of those bedecked and garlanded animals, whose +appearance among us announces the future sale of show beef. His dress is +an exhibition of slovenly grandeur. Each article of clothing is in +itself very handsome, perhaps very gaudy; but the manner in which it is +dragged on the figure, makes the <i>tout ensemble</i> coarse and common, +slovenly and disagreeable. His animal propensities hold the intellectual +faculties in bondage, and every approach to sentiment is excluded by the +clogged up avenues to thought. His manner of living is <i>sensualité en +action</i>. His life is an existence, tossed and troubled by the +vicissitudes of sleeping and feeding, with occasional interruptions of +mechanical vocalization. He possesses an organ, which it is supposed +cannot be impaired by indulgence in the pleasures of the table, and he +always acts as if he wished to put this supposition to the test. When he +orders his breakfast, therefore, he does not look down the <i>carte</i> in +order to see what viands he must avoid, but only to ascertain how many +dishes are likely to be objects agreeable to his palate. <i>Substantials</i> +form all his meals. No mild <i>café au lait</i>, composes<a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a> the meal which is +to announce that he has commenced his daily labours of mastication. +After a morning's deglutition worthy of the anaconda, he suffers +digestion to prepare him for a walk, while he indulges in piles of +cigars. As this smoking effort is a long one, he is about ready to join +his elegant friend, the tenor, when the latter calls on him to go out +and astound the town. What a majestic stride the heavy, beefy fellow +puts on as he saunters down the street! How his body seems to say—for +his face is void of expression; how his body seems to say; "gentlemen, +you're all very well,—but it won't do; I out-weigh a dozen of you, and +the ladies have to surrender to such a superior weight of metal."</p> + +<p>The basso seldom loves the prima donna. He regards her as a very +troublesome lady, who <i>devils</i> him at rehearsals, because he won't sing +in time; on the stage, because she wants to show her importance; and in +the <i>salon</i>, because she requires so much attention.</p> + +<p>The only wonder is, how he and the delicate, sensitive tenor, persons +presenting such a decided contrast to each other, should live together +on terms of such apparent friendship. The reason,<a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a> however, is, that the +association is not one arising from choice, but from necessity. Between +the tenor and the baritone, there is a something too much of similarity +in voice and <i>physique</i> to render them just the most inseparable friends +in the world; but in the vast musical gulf between the tenor and the +basso, all professional rivalry is buried.<a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch004.png" +width="250" +height="43" +alt="Of the Prima Donna." title="Of the Prima Donna." +/></div> + +<p class="c sml">"Your female singer being exceedingly capricious and wayward, and +very liable to accident."—<span class="smcap">Sketch Book.</span></p> + +<p class="nind"> +<a href="images/ill_033.png"> +<img src="images/ill_033a.png" +width="579" +height="234" +style="float: left; clear: both; margin: 0pt 0pt 0pt 0pt;border:none;" alt="illustration" +/></a><img src="images/ill_033b.png" +width="305" +height="227" +style="float: left; clear: both; margin: 0pt 0pt 0pt 0pt;" alt="illustration" +/> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +EVERY +body knows what a prima donna is. She is the <i>first lady</i>, and +this is a fact apparently better known to the individual herself, than +to any body else—at least her actions would warrant this inference. She +deems herself more indispensable to an opera<a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a> than an executioner to an +execution, or the thimbles to a thimble-rig man. She takes no pains to +conceal what a high price she sets on the value of her presence. She +sings just when she pleases, and just as she pleases. Caprice itself is +not more capricious than this fair creature. As capricious as a prima +donna has almost become a proverb, and we predict that in a few years it +will become fully established as such. She is a female tyrant. +Impresario, treasurer, chef (d'orchestre,) chorus master and chorus +tremble before her, when in one of her passions she brings down her +pretty little foot in a most commanding stamp. She gives the first +mentioned person more trouble than all the singers, orchestra and +officials together, with her coughs, colds and affected indispositions. +Next to the impresario, the chef (d'orchestre) suffers most from her +imperious spirit. He never conducts so as to accompany her properly, and +though she sings a half a note higher than she did at rehearsal, she +expects every poor musician to transpose his magic at sight, or receive +the indications of her displeasure in a way that leads the audience to +believe that the fault lies entirely with the orchestra. She worries the +basso,—poor,<a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a> heavy, drowsy fellow,—because he's such a slow +coach—and such an oaf. She is disposed to be more friendly to the +tenor, who is the only person who receives any tokens of her good-will; +but in truth, she would cease to be a woman, if she were unkind to this +gentlemanly, polite little fellow. Neither does she hold the public in +the least regard, but conceives that she has a right to be seriously +indisposed as often as she thinks that people are really desirous to +hear her; and "is subject when the house is thin, to cold," as Byron +says. She keeps all the town who have determined to go and hear her, in +the most provoking suspense. Balls and evening parties are sadly +interrupted by her erratic course, for she is sure to sing on the +evenings assigned to those delightfully laborious modes of destroying +time. All the pleasure promising engagements made by the Browns and the +Smiths to form a party, and go in concert to the opera, are postponed +from time to time, to the great vexation of young Harry Brown, who +craftily set the affair on foot, in order to have an evening's "chaff" +with Miss Julia Smith.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the prima donna's "serious indisposition" is not discovered by +the fair singer herself,<a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a> until the ladies of the audience have removed +the cloaks, furs and hoods which guard their loveliness from the cold of +a winter night; until the young gentlemen have jammed their opera hats +into an inconceivably small space, and adroitly passed the hand up to +the collar and cravat to discover how things are in that quarter; and +until the old <i>habitués</i> have settled themselves down into the softest +chair of the pit, with the full intention of being extremely displeased, +and making very unfavourable<span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_036.png" +width="200" +height="294" +alt="illustration" +/></span> comparisons between the performance about +to take place, and one at which they were present some twenty years +before. However, she is a splendid creature—a small miracle in the way +of humanity—and can therefore be excused from pursuing that monotonous +and regular course of life which "patient merit" is obliged to take. +</p> + +<p>She is either a beautiful woman in reality, or one who can get up such +an admirable imitation that it is difficult to distinguish it from the +genuine. She is well skilled in music,<a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a> at least in its execution; but +she is always much more deeply versed in the virtues of cosmetics, and +in the art of making herself beautiful.</p> + +<p>There are two varieties in the figure of the prima donna; either, +firstly, such as to qualify her for opera buffa and certain tragic +roles, in which case she is of medium stature, delicate proportions, and +possesses the most graceful and vivacious action. Prima donnas of this +stamp make the dearest, sweetest, most innocent-looking Aminas; the most +sprightly, coquettish Rosinas, and the most faithful, confiding and +sincere Lucias. Or, secondly, she is of a large mould, more masculine +dimensions, with a countenance that can gather up in a moment a show of +the requisite amount of fury to poignard the husband and strangle the +<i>babbies</i>. She plays all the high tragedy roles, doing the Semiramide, +Norma and Lucrezia, with a very sanguinary power and effect. Those of +the first kind are most admired by the gay young fellows about town who +have no taste for music, and who do not resort to the opera to hear it, +but make the parquette a lounging place where they can be in the mode, +see beautiful women, and show <i>themselves</i>.<a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a></p> + +<p>The prima donna, in her attempts to render herself personally +attractive, has an auxiliary in her maid, who is a compound of companion +and servant, and a <i>coiffeuse</i> gifted with the most delicate taste and +artistic execution. How often have we looked round the house and been +forced to confess that the prima donna was literally the <i>first lady</i> in +the building, in respect to costume and <i>coiffure</i>. This maid too, is +almost as much of a curiosity among maids as her mistress among fine +ladies. She may be regarded as a prima donna without a voice, without +fine clothes, bouquets, and a tenor companion; and it is her <i>destiny</i> +to marry one of the violinists, when her mistress marries the tenor. It +is upon this official that the duty of attending to the prima donna's +lap-dogs Beatrice and Amore, particularly devolves—two animals that are +almost as dear to their possessor as her professional reputation. In +addition to these darling little quadrupeds, upon which so many caresses +are bestowed, both by the faultless hand of the mistress, and the same +well-diamonded member of the tenor, a parrot usually divides the +affections of one, who woman-like, must love something, but<a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a> who has +been so far initiated into the ways of the world as to doubt the +sincerity of all mankind, except probably that of the aforesaid tenor. +We remember once being present when a well-known prima donna was about +to leave a northern city, where a rival cantatrice had lately appeared, +and was inducing comparisons unsatisfactory to the former. She had been +informed that an overland trip to New Orleans would be greatly +incumbered by the presence of her lap-dogs and parrot, and was prevailed +on to bestow them on some tender-hearted persons, whose extreme +affection for domesticated animals would be a guaranty for their gentle +treatment. A married gentleman—we are afraid without having consulted +his wife—kindly offered to relieve the lady from all trouble in finding +the suitable persons, by taking them himself. Assuming the attitude of +Norma handing over babes, she delivered up the poodles. With what +sadness were the little creatures confided to his care. What admonitions +and instructions to carefully keep them; what prayers for their faithful +protection; a womanly tear bedewed the cheek of the fascinating lady, +and a smile followed, as if to ask forgiveness for what she feared +those<a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a> present might consider an unbecoming weakness. Five years +afterwards, we saw in a concert room this same sensitive creature, who +was so moved and affected at the <i>derniers adieux</i> paid to her hateful +little poodles, scowl darkly, bite her lips, and turn her back on the +person who had engaged her, whom, by the by, we, in common with the +audience, regarded as a much aggrieved individual.</p> + +<p>Between the attention and affection bestowed on her pets, some hours +devoted to study<span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_040.png" +width="200" +height="296" +alt="illustration" /></span> and rehearsal, occasional rides and walks, and time +spent in the pleasing avocation of arranging her wardrobe, and in +innocently admiring her fair self in the mirror, the days of this +spoiled child of the music-loving are whiled away. She is acquainted +with some of the dandies of the place where she for the time resides, +but as such gentlemen in this country<a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a> seldom have the temerity to +appear with her in public, their usefulness as escort promenaders is +greatly abridged. The fast men sometimes smuggle themselves into her +visiting circle, in order to be able to boast of their intimacy with the +prima donna; but as this class of society is seldom very <i>fluent</i> in the +use of Italian, and as there is small affinity between the +sentimentality of the opera and "mile heats to harness," this +acquaintance is not of very long duration.<span class="imageright"><img src="images/ill_041.png" +width="300" +height="233" +alt="illustration" +/></span></p> + +<p>The necessity of personal beauty in a prima donna is such, that she must +"assume that virtue if she have it not." Not many winters since, a +beautiful cantatrice was induced to undertake the role of Romeo in "I +Montecchi ed I Capuletti." The lady was excellently proportioned, except +that there existed a great want of symmetry in<a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a> the inferior members; +and as Romeo's skirts must necessarily be short, and the lady could not +at will assume a pair of well turned knees and calves, she clothed the +offending limbs in what, at this day would be called "Bloomer +pantaloons." The attempt to ingraft turkish trowsers on the Veronese +costume, proved too absurd to warrant the continuance of such a +representation, and was abandoned after the night of its introduction.</p> + +<p>The effect of a prima donna on society is very various. If she be of the +high tragic or strangulation school, it is to induce young ladies of +some voice, <i>and a good deal of person</i>, to clothe themselves in white +<i>tulle</i> on the occasion of evening parties and amateur concerts—draw +their hair very smoothly over the temples—drive a white camellia into +the left side of the head, and sing long recitatives from Norma or +Lucrezia;—in the case of evening parties to the infinite chagrin of +young gentlemen possessed of great waltzing powers and passions; and in +the case of amateur concerts, to the fatigue of yawning audiences. If +the prima donna is of the coquettish school of song, every damsel of +sylph-like proportions, vivacious expression, and a turn for +man-killing,<a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a> chirps and warbles away in the sprightly passages of the +<i>Barbiere</i>.</p> + +<p>As for the male part of the community, it is perfectly easy to divine +how they will be affected by the appearance of the different "<i>prime +donne</i>" who from year to year present themselves for musical honors. +They will always be pleased, but chiefly by those who are rather +attractive in features than in voice. The very young and inexperienced +men just entering into society, denominated "cubs" by the beaux of some +years standing, affect most the prima donna of the sanguinary school, +because she seems more in accordance with the ideas they have derived +from the study of Medea, a work to which they have not long since bid +adieu. They regard the killing of babes as the most tragic of tragedy, +and the actress who can do the thing best, as the most accomplished of +actresses.<span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_044.png" +width="250" +height="418" +alt="illustration" +/></span> But the knowing fellows of mature years prefer the pretty +creatures who look so fond and affectionate, in their short peasant +dresses, displaying the delicate little foot and well turned ancle. How +they gather night after night into the parquette, to compare opinions on +the merits of Orsini's soft notes, and the<a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a> long, beautifully-filled +stockings of the page dress. We once heard an enthusiastic Cuban remark, +when Patti was singing Orsini to Parodi's Lucrezia; "Parodi is the +finest singer I ever heard,—she is the best actress I ever saw; some +few people can appreciate her singing, many more her acting;—but +Patti's legs! Ah! Sir, that is something that everybody can understand." +How delighted the young fellows pretend to be with the wild, bacchanal +song, when in reality they only encore the songstress, in order to have +another opportunity of admiring her pretty knees. Alas, how foolish they +are to throw away admiration on one who takes no more thought of them +than if they never existed; but each one of them supposes that she must +necessarily, be slightly enamoured of himself.<a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a> The consequence is, that +next morning divers bouquets, with small notes or cards containing a few +amatory words, appended to them, are handed in to the servant, who is +very much out of humour at what has become troublesome from its over +repetition.</p> + +<p>The old <i>habitués</i>, of course, will not be affected in any way except by +peevishness and petulance, which will drive them into their usual course +of detraction. "Ah!" says old Twaddle; "Pasta—you should have seen +Pasta! No melodramatic twaddle about her! Genuine, artistic delineation +of passion and profound emotion. And then what a voice! none of your +ambiguous voices there; no difficulty in pronouncing, whether soprano or +contralto. And then her beauty—none of your namby-pamby, sickly, +insignificant prettiness." And thus Twaddle grumbles on, making shocking +comparisons between the past and present. Poor old Twaddle! he has, +according to his own showing, outlived all that is good in the province +of music.</p> + +<p>The prima donna in this country will, generally speaking, produce on any +foreigner who<a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a> happens to be among us, an effect very much akin to that +exercised upon Twaddle. She will set him sighing after the vocalization +of the other side of the Atlantic. He will seem to forget that Parodi or +"the Hays" ought to sing as well in this country as in Europe. But still +he can't be brought to that belief; and what is worse, upon your +venturing to suggest any possibility of such a state of the case, you +are made to perceive that he considers that your nationality puts you +off the bench of musical critics.</p> + +<p class="top5">Query. Why is it that <i>every</i> Frenchman is supposed to be an infallible +judge of sweet sounds? For our own part, we no more believe that every +Gallic gentleman is fit for a critic, than that every one can raise a +handsome moustache.</p> + +<p class="top5">Another effect of a beautiful prima donna, is to make young husbands, +who have been married <i>just</i> two years, look so steadfastly on the +stage,<a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a> that their young wives sit with their eyes fastened on a cousin +George or Harry, in the parquette.</p> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_047.png" +width="400" +height="331" +alt="illustration" +/></div> + +<p><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a></p> + +<p><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch005.png" +width="200" +height="38" +alt="Of the Barytone." title="Of the Barytone." +/></div> + +<table summary="poem" +class="sml"> +<tr><td>"Our Barytone I almost had forgot;</td></tr> +<tr><td class="spc"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * *</span></td></tr> +<tr><td>In lover's parts, his passion more to breathe,</td></tr> +<tr><td>Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."—Byron.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_049.png" +width="150" +height="199" +alt="T" +title="T" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">HE</span> Barytone of the opera is probably the most inoffensive individual in +the world. This is his peculiarity. Even his fierceness on the stage is +done with an effort; and when in the course of a piece he is +unfortunately called on to massacre somebody, we always fancy that he +does<a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a> it with the most unfeigned reluctance, and for aught we know, with +silent tears. He is generally of a bashful, retiring disposition, and +pretty nearly always awkward. This perhaps arises from the anomalous +position he occupies in operatical society. He cannot be on good terms +with the basso,—they have too much similarity in their voices for that; +he is on no more friendly relations with the tenor for the same reason. +Besides never daring to aspire to the familiarity with the prima donna +which that worthy enjoys, he suffers under the affliction of conscious +diffidence in their presence.<span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_050.png" +width="150" +height="100" +alt="illustration" +/></span></p> + +<p>The barytone must as surely be the king as the basso must be the tyrant; +indeed we have often thought of the startling effect which would be +produced by an opera in which this law of nature was reversed. To hear +the lover growling his tender feelings in a gutteral E flat, and moaning +his hard lot in a series of double D.'s; to listen to the remorseless +tyrant ordering his myrmidons to "away with him to the deepest dungeon +'neath the castle moat," in the<a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a> most soothing and mellifluous of tenor +head notes, would produce such a revulsion in operatic taste, as surely +to create a deep sensation, if nothing more.<a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch006.png" +width="300" +height="34" +alt="Of the Suggeritore or Prompter." title="Of the Suggeritore or Prompter." +/></div> + +<table summary="poem" class="sml"> +<tr><td>"There never was a man so notoriously abused.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Twelfth Night.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>"But whispering words can poison truth."</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Coleridge.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_053.png" +width="350" +height="394" +alt="illustration" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">WE</span> +should be much grieved were we to let a chance of immortality at our +hands go by, for our great friend the prompter—the suggeritore of the +Italians. The<a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a> prompter is to the opera, what the fifth wheel is to a +wagon; everything rubs, grates and abrades it, yet the whole concern +turns on it. He is the most abused (not hated—that is reserved for the +Impresario,) man in the company. But he does not care for it. That is +what he is hired for. He is paid to be of a good temper, and he does it. +He returns docility for dollars; and suavity for salary. He is the true +philosopher; just enough in the company to be part of it, and +sufficiently detached to avoid all the squabbles and bickerings. He, +however, is the victim of all the caprices of the company, from the +prima donna, who in a miff kicks about <i>his partition</i> in a very piano +cavatina, to each of the bandy-legged choristers. True, he has his +little revenge. This he accomplishes by using his voice too much and too +loudly in the <i>sotto voce</i> parts, so that all the duos become trios and +the quintettes, choruses. This is little enough to sweeten the +embitterments of a <i>suggeritore's</i> life, but such it is, and he is +contented. The <i>suggeritore</i> must be a thin man. It does not require a +Paxton to know that a hole in the stage two feet square, will not hold +Barnum's obesities. He must also be short and supple-necked,<a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a> to allow +the green fungus which excresces from the stage to cover him; and he +must be the fortunate owner of a right arm as untiring as a locomotive +crank or the sails of a windmill. It is a prevalent but mistaken idea, +that the prompter is an impolite man; we happen to know that it is a +matter of the deepest concern with him to be obliged to sit with his +back to the audience. But he is like the angels and St. Cecilia, "<i>Il +n'avait pas de quoi</i>" to do otherwise. Operas must be, Singers must +have, a lead horse—(N. B. How can delicate females and tenors be +expected to recollect "<i>les paroles</i>;")—and there he is, with a little +hole in the back of his calash for the leader of the orchestra to stir +him up when the excitement becomes very strong, and the time is +irrecoverably lost. As to the social habits of the suggeritore, the +naturalist is at a loss, for he immediately disappears after rehearsal, +and remains in close retirement till the performance, after which he is +again lost till the next day.<a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch007.png" +width="200" +height="31" +alt="Before the Curtain." title="Before the Curtain." +/></div> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A neat, snug study on a winter's night;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A book, friend, single lady, or a glass</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are things which make an English evening pass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though <i>certes</i> by no means so grand a sight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As is a theatre, lit up with gas."—<span class="smcap">Byron</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>THE night is a cold one; the snow is falling in large, heavy flakes, and +those who are fond of the frigid, but exhilarating amusement of +sleighing, are in hopes that by the morrow they will be able to pass +like lightning from one part of the city to the other; in a sleigh +decked with warm, gaily trimmed furs; filled with a merry company, and +drawn by two high-headed, dashing trotters. The gas lights are just +discernible from corner to corner. The number of people in the streets +is<a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a> steadily decreasing, and the sound of their foot-fall is muffled in +the snow. About the theatres and the opera house, however, crowds of the +idle and curious, gaping at those who are entering these buildings, make +it necessary for the police to pace to and fro, ordering back the more +presumptuous loiterers, who press forward and obstruct the approach to +the doors.</p> + +<p>Query? Why does the crowd always stare at those who are going into a +theatre or opera? The latter are attired somewhat strangely to be sure, +but still they don't look <i>exactly</i> like Choctaws.</p> + +<p>The cab and chaise-men muffled up in their cold-defying great-coats and +woolen comforters, are opening the doors of their several vehicles, out +of which ladies enveloped in cloaks and hoods are dismounting under +cover of umbrellas, held probably by the "best of brothers," but more +probably by gentlemen in no way related to them. In the opera house all +is bustle and commotion. The officials are selling tickets, receiving +tickets, and directing to their places bevies of ladies and gentlemen +bewildered in a maze of passages. The audience is impatiently preparing +itself for a delightful evening's entertainment. The dandies,<a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a> who are +so unfortunate as not to have accompanied ladies have already brought +themselves up to the attack, and have levelled their opera-glasses on +all the points where they know well-established objects of admiration +are likely to be found. Now and then they bow their recognition in a +reserved inclination, or in a careless smiling way that bespeaks the +freedom of familiar intimacy.</p> + +<p>The fast-men are standing at the doors in knots of three and four, +talking over the last trot of Suffolk, or the probable chance of victory +in the next day's dog-fight, and making a few, no doubt <i>very fast</i>, but +not very proper allusions to the shoulders of some rather sparingly +habited <i>belles</i>. The Cubans in the parquette, who, by the by, during +their sojourn in this country will best preserve their liberty by +remaining north of Mason and Dixon's line, are clearing their voices in +very doubtful Spanish, for those animated bravos, which we must admit +they always administer in the very best taste, both as to time and +quantity. Here and there, some lone young man, desolate in a crowd, who +has seldom before been exposed to the full blaze of the all-discovering +gas light, not exactly knowing what to do with himself, is +endeavouring,<a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a> with a fictitious indifference, to fill up the vacancies +of attention by smoothing down the stubborn folds of badly selected +white <i>kids</i>. Five collegians just escaped from the studious +universities for a high week in town, have established themselves all +together, and commenced a running commentary, carried on chiefly in the +Virginia dialect, on men, women, and things, much to the annoyance of a +very foreign gentleman behind them—so foreign that he is almost +black—who looks stilettos at his cheerful but over-loquacious +neighbours. One youth in an excessively white, though unpleasantly stiff +cravat, is assisting an equally stiff old chaperon into her place, at +the expense of great physical efforts, till his cheeks are thereby +suffused with a tint strongly resembling the color of a juvenile beet, +while the distended veins of his forehead would make a fine anatomical +study for the laborious medical student, if that fabulous biped were +still extant. The chaperon being disposed of, four young ladies under +her <i>surveillance</i>, two in opera cloaks and hoods, and two in +antediluvian mantles and pre-adamitic head-gear, assuring the existence +of rural cousinship, by four minor efforts of the same<a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a> gentleman, are +at length safely landed in their places. But now commences a new round +of confusion. Each of the four young ladies discovers that she has +placed herself on some article of clothing belonging to her companion. +Whereupon she half rises, and having drawn forth the disturbing +habiliment, resumes her former position: and as this movement is +performed by each one of them without regard to the order in which they +have placed themselves, and is repeated half a dozen times in as many +minutes, the unconscious fair ones become the subjects of the allusions +of the fast-men, who immediately institute comparisons between them and +various animate and inanimate objects. One of these gentlemen observing +that their motions remind him of a flock of aquatic fowl, known by the +name of divers, a facetious friend replies that probably he means diving +bells; which being considered an extremely happy pun, it meets with a +hearty laugh of approbation. But an ambitious fast wit, fearing that his +reputation is likely to be lost forever, if he remain silent, says that +the whole group of uneasy females recalls the line of Coleman,<a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a></p> + +<p class="c">"For what is so gay as a bag full of fleas."</p> + +<p>This being regarded as the acme of brilliancy, there is no telling what +might be the consequences if their attention were not drawn into another +channel by the entrance of a distinguished belle, who is immediately +pronounced to be a "stunner" and the question is raised as to who the +man is who acts as "bottle holder," reference thereby being had to the +gentleman who is so polite as to hand the lady to her place, and aid her +in disposing of her divers little appliances of operatic necessity. The +<i>belle</i> scarcely takes her seat before she commences to hum snatches of +Italian airs, in a very careless indifferent way, just to show how much +she is at home in such a place, and probably to attract a little more +attention.</p> + +<p>Query? Why do the handsomest women at an opera <i>always</i> talk and laugh +the loudest?</p> + +<p>That portion of the audience comprised in the gentler sex is here in all +the attraction of natural loveliness and adventitious ornament, putting +to flight a notion once prevalent, that beauty when unadorned is then +adorned the most.</p> + +<p>The noise of conversation which now lulls, now swells out in gentle +crescendos, is chiefly the production<a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a> of this taciturn part of the +audience. All at once the gas is let on in a gush of light, the buzz of +voices, which up to this time has been carried on in a subdued tone, +bursts out into full force, with a suddenness that seems to render it +probable that the conversation has been issuing all the while from the +gas jets. The augmented light brings down another volley from the foci +of a thousand <i>lorgnettes</i>. At this moment the musicians begin to enter +the orchestra which has been void of occupants all the evening, with the +exception of one meaningless old fellow, who has been attempting to +restore order among the stands, seats, and books, but whose laudable +efforts have ended in what every single gentleman at lodgings knows all +endeavours to "set things to rights," are sure to effect—a state of +affairs in which confusion is considerably worse confounded. But after +all a music-stand must be adjusted by the performer himself; no one can +put the hat of another on the head of the latter so as to be comfortable +to him. The latter must pose it for himself. This law applies with +peculiar force to music-stands.</p> + +<p>The violinists proceed to tighten or slacken the hair of their bows, to +throw back the coat collar,<a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a> or stuff a white handkerchief under it, in +order to adjust the violin to the peculiar crook of each neck, with as +much apparent anxiety as if they had not been doing the same thing for +the last thirty years, and some of their heads had not become bald over +the sound-post. In the meantime, the other members of this well-bearded +corps are streaming in with their instruments under the arm, and are +placing their music books and lamps at the proper elevation on the +stands, all the while talking, nodding, and smiling as if rehearsing +half the day, and playing half the night, were a mighty good joke.</p> + +<p>And then ascend to the highest parts of the house—to the regions of the +operatic "paradise," those most singular of all instrumental sounds, +those fifty or sixty antagonistic voluntaries with which all the +audience would voluntarily dispense, consisting of chromatics in twenty +different keys, violin octaves, harmonics, thirds and fifths, clarionet +shakes, flute staccatos, horn growlings, ophicleide rumblings, +triangular vibrations, and drum concussions.<a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a></p> + +<p class="poem"> +"See to their desks Apollo's sons repair—<br /> +Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair!<br /> +In unison their various tones to tune,<br /> +Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon.<br /> +In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute,<br /> +Twang goes the harpsicord, too too the flute,<br /> +Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp,<br /> +Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling harp."</p> + +<p>About the time that the observer has made up in his mind an answer to +the following mental queries—how many nights the first violinist could +play without getting a crick in the neck—whether the flutist may not +sometime blow his eyes so far out of his head that he may never be able +to get them back again—how long it would take the operator on the +<i>cornet à piston</i> to learn to play on the magnetic telegraph—why such a +small man should be suffered to perform on such a big thing as an +ophicleide, and how a person with such a huge moustache can get the +piccola up to lips defended by such a bulwark of hair, a fermentation is +observable in the midst of this musical whirlpool, which indicates the +presence of some higher power. Place is given by the humble members of +the orchestra, and the director is seen to stand forth in the attitude +of mounting the tribunal<a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a> from whence he guides his submissive subjects +with despotic sway. He is a neat figured little man, with a profusion of +methodically adjusted curls, a moustache that would render his +physiognomy excessively ferocious, if an occasional smile playing over +the distinguishable parts of his face, did not modify this expression. +He is attired in the costume of the ball room, bearing in his button +hole the most delicate rosebud of the conservatory, and in his perfectly +gloved hand, an amber headed baton, the sceptre of command. At his +appearance a wave of applause floats up from the audience, and the head +and breast of the director bend down to meet it in a graceful and +reverential bow, accompanied by a smile expressing the highest possible +amount of inward gratification. This little acknowledgment of a becoming +respect for the good opinion of the house is repeated once or twice, and +then with the air of a man who has important business on hand, he mounts +his elevated seat. He gives one or two magical taps on the stand, and +the chaos of sounds is annihilated with the exception of the +lamentations of one refractory violin, over which the owner has been for +the last half hour repeatedly,<a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a> first inclining his head in a horizontal +position, and then tugging away at the screws. At this the director +seems to be much annoyed, and the poor violinist, more annoyed, mutters +to a companion that he wishes himself an <i>unspeakably</i> long way +hence—probably in Italy where he could procure some good strings.</p> + +<p>The resisting violin having been brought to subjection, the director +casts an eye over the whole body of musicians, and having thrown back +his head and lifted up both arms, very much in the supposed attitude of +Ajax defying the thunder, he remains perfectly motionless for an +instant, and then brings forward the whole of his body from the hips +upwards, with a rapid and powerful jerk, which introduces his forehead +into close proximity with the musical score which he pretends to be +reading, the baton strikes the stand with a loud clap, and one old +drummer proceeds to touch the drum, but in so gentle a manner, that it +sounds as if, instead of using the sticks he were tossing some grains of +shot on it. You now tremble for the safety of the director, and you +enter into an arithmetical calculation with yourself, the basis of which +is, that if the director by<a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a> such a dangerous inclination of the person +can only bring one poor drummer into movement, what amount of bodily +labour he will be compelled to undergo, in order to operate on all that +concourse of musicians. But your fears are dissipated in a few moments, +for you discover that great sounds and little sounds are accompanied +with about the same degree of gesticulatory emphasis. In the meantime +some horns have commenced to blow on a very small scale, not hard +enough, you would suppose, to drive the dust out of them, and if the +piston of the cornet did not rattle so, you would pronounce its playing +all a sham. The violins and flutes begin to be audible and the +violinists are suddenly struck with a simultaneous desire to pick the +strings, just as if that would make any music. All the other instruments +are now doing duty in very feeble tones, and you take a look round the +house to see who are there; and you wonder why that particular family of +Smiths, with whom you have the pleasure of an acquaintance has not yet +appeared. You think Miss Julia Brown's hair arranged with the usual want +of elegance, and then call to mind the fact that at Newport, the +previous summer,<a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a> you complimented her so many times on the peculiar +taste which her coiffure always displayed. The aforesaid drummer is now +giving the drum considerable ill usage, and then for the first time, you +observe that he has two of them which he appears to beat alternately. +The director is casting his head from one side to the other, flashes of +disapprobation dart from his eyes upon the dilatory violinists, who from +time to time, stop as it were, to catch breath, and fail to "come to the +scratch" in due season. Every now and then a frown, dark as Erebus, +spreads over his brow, as some poor laggard is astray in the mazes of +sound, and can't find his place, or turns two pages instead of one, and +consequently loses the thread of his harmonious discourse. The music +grows so powerful that the conversation of the most enthusiastic and +vociferous fast man no longer meets the ear. The orchestra is going as +if they were riding an instrumental steeple chase, and the director +looks more and more involved in doubt, as to which of his followers is +to be left most in the rear.</p> + +<p>At length when you have concluded that every musician has exhausted his +last resource in the<a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a> general attempt to make a noise, you are knocked +into a start of astonishment by the introduction of a <i>corps de +reserve</i>, in the clash of cymbals, which sounds as if a careless servant +had stumbled in coming up stairs and mashed an entire set of Sevres +china. In the midst of this carnage of crotchets and quavers, the +director is obviously the controlling spirit who "rides in the whirlwind +and directs the storm." There he sits producing no one sound except an +occasional rap of his baton on the desk, and yet rousing to frenzy or +lulling into tranquillity the instruments of all this tumult, every now +and then, as Mr. Macaulay would say, "hurling foul scorn" at the heaps +of little black dots that are crowded over the leaves of his score.</p> + +<p>When the intensity of the tones has been diminished and augmented some +half dozen times, the overture is concluded in four grand crashes, in +which the cymbals make the most conspicuous figure. During the overture, +however, there seems to be occasional seasons when there is a cessation +of hostilities, and a soft plaintive air is taken up by one clarionet, +violincello or oboe, with which air the audience must be very<a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a> much +delighted, for they laugh and talk with the greatest earnestness, and +never turn their eyes towards the orchestra.</p> + +<p>And now there is a new commotion among the musicians, while arranging +every thing for the more serious undertaking, the opera itself. The +director goes about like a general on the eve of battle, reconnoitres +his forces, and marshals them for the attack. He mounts the elevated +seat, gives another contortion to his frame, similar to that which was +necessary to put the overture in movement, and then the curtain rises. +Heads are slightly projected from the boxes at this movement, and many +an alabaster neck is curved forward till the lowered drapery reveals the +snowy bosom. The noise of conversation ceases, and the opera commences +in earnest.<a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch008.png" +width="350" +height="35" +alt="Of the Opera in the Concrete." title="Of the Opera in the Concrete." +/></div> + +<p class="sml top5">"Lord! said my mother, what is all this story about?</p> + +<p class="sml">"A cock and a bull, said Yorick—and one of the best of its kind I +ever heard."—<span class="smcap">Tristram Shandy.</span></p> + +<p class="sml"><i>Prince Henry.</i> "'Wilt thou rob this leather-jerkin, +crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke stocking, +caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,—"</p> + +<p class="sml"><i>Francis.</i> "O Lord, sir, who do you mean?"</p> + +<p class="sml"><i>P. Hen.</i> "Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink: for, +look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully; in +Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much." <span class="smcap">First Part of King Henry +IV.</span></p> + +<p class="sml">"If this were played upon a stage, now, I would condemn it as an +improbable fiction." <span class="smcap">Twelfth Night.</span></p> + +<p class="top5">WHEN the curtain rises the scene represents a dark forest, where some +quite well dressed, but desperate, foreign-looking gentlemen are engaged +at a game of cards, which, from the abandoned appearance of the players, +we are warranted to believe, must be some such low pastime as "all +fours," or a hand at poker. The desperate gentlemen<a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a> cantatorially +inform the audience that their profession is that of outlaws, and remark +that having no particular business then to engage them, they are staking +quite extravagant sums on some cards, which the curious observer will +discover to have a very unctuous appearance. How the outlaws ever came +to be reduced to such straightened circumstances as to put up with these +"lodgings upon the cold ground," or how they ever fell into such an +improper course of life, we are not told, but we remember once hearing a +fast man suggest that they were evidently "nobs who had overdrawn the +badger by driving fast cattle, and going it high"—the exact +signification of which words we did not understand, but supposed them to +refer to scions of nobility who had squandered their patrimonies in +riotous living. That these men are lost beyond the hope of redemption, +is clear from the fact that they express their determination to employ +themselves in no more useful or moral way; and how long they would +persist in this pernicious amusement is rendered uncertain, by the +entrance of their leader or chieftain—who, it is needless to say, is +the tenor. From, the first moment that the spectator<a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a> casts his eye on +this obviously unfortunate individual, he is at once interested in his +case, observing to himself, that if the fellow is somewhat addicted to +low company, still he's a very gentlemanly character, and to all +appearance</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"The mildest manner'd man</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That ever sculled ship or cut a throat."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>His looks are sad and melancholy, and would indicate that he is either +suffering from a cold in the head, or that his outlaws had been a little +more successful at "all fours" than himself. The "dejected haviour of +his visage" seems to touch the audience, for they immediately give him +several rounds of applause, no doubt with the intention of raising his +spirits. This kind manifestation of their feelings is responded to by +one or two low bows, and then he turns towards his outlaws to obtain a +becoming reception from them.</p> + +<p>He is greeted by his followers with the greatest enthusiasm; though, to +their inquiries after his health, he makes no reply, but walks languidly +down to the foot-lights, and relates to both audience and outlaws, how +deplorable will be his condition unless he receive the assistance of +the<a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a> latter in carrying out his designs. He goes on to state that the +"voice of a certain damsel of Arragon has slid into his heart like dew +upon a parched flower"—a simile which the reader will observe to be +equally felicitous as novel. He adds, however, that a great old villain +and tyrant (who of course must be the basso,) has carried off the +Spanish maiden, and is about to compel her to marry him. The bandits +become at once highly indignant, and with one accord seize their arms +and declare that they will follow their chief to the castle of the old +phylogynist, and <i>boulversé</i> all his designs by some insinuating digs of +the poignard. The despondent chief seems comforted by this assurance of +their "most distinguished consideration," and remarks that the young +lady will no doubt be a consoling angel amidst the griefs of exile.<span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_077.png" +width="275" +height="410" +alt="illustration" +/></span></p> + +<p>While he has been informing the audience and his friends of the state of +his feelings, he has from time to time indulged in gestures about as +strong as we can well conceive of, but now and then when an +extraordinarily deep sentiment, and a very high note, choose the same +moment for their expression, he is obliged to<a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a> poise himself on one +foot, extend the other behind him, elevating the heel and depressing the +toe, fold his hands over his breast, throw back the head and shake his +body like a newfoundland dog just issuing from the water—the refractory +note and the hidden emotion are always brought to light by these +gesticulatory expedients.</p> + +<p>Immediately after this, the scene having changed to the castle of the +tyrant, the "Aragonese vergine" (the prima donna), is discovered +reclining on an old box covered with green baize, which long-continued +acquaintance with theatrical properties, enables the audience to +recognize as a velvet <i>lounge</i>. This lady seems to be in great +affliction, for which, however, we<a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a> can discover no adequate cause, +except that she is in such an unbecoming place for an unprotected +female. The applause of the audience is overwhelming, and three very +low, but extremely graceful and lady-like curtsies which she rises "to +do," are the consequence.</p> + +<p>The beaux are now in all the excitement that dandies dare permit +themselves to yield to, alternately exclaiming, "how grand she is! how +beautiful! heavens, but isn't she beautiful!" and then bringing down the +focus of the opera-glass on the peerless woman.</p> + +<p>The distressed female now launches off into a recitative, in which she +expresses, in no measured terms, her utter aversion to the hateful old +tyrant, and then, falling on one knee, strikes into a cavatina, in which +she says she hopes her lover, who necessarily must be the outlaw chief, +(who again must necessarily be the tenor), will come immediately and run +off with her—a wish that is probably often entertained by young ladies +in reference to their particular lovers, but which is seldom avowed in +this public way.<a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a></p> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_079.png" +width="400" +height="323" +alt="illustration" +/></div> + +<p>During the cavatina, she has been doing some very high singing, and +making a great many of the newfoundland dog shakes, the lady part of the +audience sitting wrapt in admiration, with the eyes fastened on the +stage as intently as if they were witnessing a marriage ceremony, gently +murmuring their approbation in detached sentences, such as "sweet, +lovely, charming, exquisite;" while the fast men by the door, utter the +words "knocker, fast nag," and declare that her time is "two thirty."</p> + +<p>One of these very sporting young gentlemen asserts his readiness to +"back her against the<a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a> field." Just as the prima donna makes a very +steep raise in the scale with a dreadful velocity of utterance, the same +individual expresses his desire to withdraw the offer, observing that +she is making her "brushes" too soon, and that he fears "she'll be too +distressed to come home handsome."</p> + +<p>A troupe of maidens with very plethoric ancles, now make their +appearance, encumbered by large gilt paste-board caskets, containing +some exceedingly brilliant paste-jewelry, intended as bridal presents +for the unprotected female. They have, however, the strangest mode of +offering these tokens of friendship that we have ever seen.</p> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_080.png" +width="400" +height="288" +alt="illustration" +/></div> + +<p>They arrange themselves in a line on one side of<a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a> the stage, apparently +measuring their proximity to or distance from the foot-lights, with +reference to the relative thickness of their ankles, until the lady +nearest the audience seems to be the subject of a violent attack of +elephantiasis. This done, they repeatedly sing five bars, and stretch +out the right hand containing the present, in a line, forming, with the +body, an angle of about ninety degrees.</p> + +<p>A certain king of Castile in disguise, who is another of the many +admirers of the heroine, breaks in on this little ceremony, expresses a +strong wish to see her, and is told by one of the maidens, that the +subject of his admirations is very much depressed in spirits, being +considerably smitten with the afore-mentioned outlaw chieftain. The king +is shocked at his adored one's want of taste in making a preference so +little flattering to himself, and endeavours to force her to escape with +him; but the young lady being highly indignant, draws a dagger, and +threatens "to go into him," if he don't cease taking such +liberties—thereby attracting considerable applause from some gentlemen +in a back box, who have a strong penchant for dog-fighting. The outlaw<a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a> +happens to come in at the very nick of time, and after some quite +serious altercation between him and the disguised king, at the moment +when the "fancy" part of the audience are expecting a "set to," and +admiring the courage of the little tenor (the outlaw), which they +technically denominate the "game" of the "light weight," the heroine +rushes between them with a drawn sword, threatening to destroy herself +if they do not desist, and calling upon them to remember the honour of +her mansion—thereby, no doubt, alluding to the possibility of an +indictment for keeping a disorderly house.</p> + +<p>The old tyrant, of whom we have heard a great deal, but have not as yet +seen, returns home late at night to his castle, and finding two unknown +gentlemen in his house without an invitation, conversing with his +shut-up lady, he charges them with the impropriety of their behaviour. +The strange gentlemen (the outlaw chief and the king in disguise), not +particularly relishing these observations, beg him not to be so violent +in his language. This seems only to incense the old fellow the more, who +has just suggested "coffee and pistols," when the aforesaid king's +followers<a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a> entering, make the tyrant acquainted with the fact that he's +been blowing up a king. The parasitical old tyrant immediately +endeavours to excuse himself for the mistake he has made; says he hopes +his royal highness will not be offended, that he had not the pleasure of +his acquaintance, and all that sort of thing. The king rejoins that he +is perfectly excuseable; that no offence has been done—that the cause +of his own unlooked-for presence arises from the fact that he is out for +the emperorship—that he is about doing a little electioneering, and +that he just stopped in to learn the state of public feeling in his +district, and solicit his (the tyrant's) vote. The tyrant being a good +deal flattered by this appeal to his chief weak point—namely, his own +fancied knowledge of party politics—says that the king does him great +honour—"supreme honour"—and invites him to spend the night in the +castle; which kind invitation his majesty graciously accepts.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, the outlaw, having observed how much more cordially the +tyrant is received than himself, has made his exit. The king's followers +all draw up in line and conclude the act<a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a> by a song, the burden of which +is that their master's nomination is the only one "fit to be made."</p> + +<p>The next act discovers the tyrant awaiting the arrival of the +unfortunate heroine, to whom he is going to be married in a few minutes. +All is jollity in the castle, till a gentleman clothed as a pilgrim, +interrupts the general hilarity; for when the bride enters, he throws +off the dreadful black cloak and reveals the outlaw chieftain. He +pitches himself into a variety of passionate attitudes, to the great +terror of a whole boarding school of young ladies, whom their teacher +has permitted to visit the opera to improve their style of singing. The +bride elect rushes up to him, and so they both step down to the +foot-lights. The outlaw gentleman passes his right hand round the waist +of the lady, and clasps in his left both of her's, elevating them to a +line with the breast. They remain stationary for a moment, whilst the +orchestra is playing the symphony, looking as fondly into each other's +eyes as a pair of dear little turtle doves, and smiling as sweetly as +every gentleman and lady have a right to smile under such pleasant +circumstances. There they begin to assure each other simultaneously of +the<a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a> pleasure they would find in immediately dying, placed in the +attitude which they are at present enjoying so highly; by a rare and +curious accident, both repeating the same words, with the exception of +the respective substitution of the pronouns "I, you, my, your, he, she," +as often as such substitutions become necessary—as if one should say, +for example,</p> + +<table summary="example" +cellspacing="1" +cellpadding="1"> +<tr valign="top"><td>I'll</td><td rowspan="2"><span style="font-size:175%;"> <span style="margin-right:-.1em;">-</span>[</span> bet <span style="font-size:175%;">]<span style="margin-left: -.1em;">-</span></span></td><td> my</td><td rowspan="2"><span style="font-size:175%;">]<span style="margin-left: -.15em;">-</span></span> money on the bob-tail mare.</td></tr> +<tr valign="top"><td>You'll</td><td> your</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr valign="top"><td>He'll</td><td rowspan="2"><span style="font-size:175%;"> <span style="margin-right:-.1em;">-</span>[</span> bet <span style="font-size:175%;">]<span style="margin-left: -.1em;">-</span></span></td><td> his</td><td rowspan="2"><span style="font-size:175%;">]<span style="margin-left: -.15em;">-</span></span> money on the bob-tail mare.</td></tr> +<tr valign="top"><td>She'll</td><td> her</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>The outlaw is, however, obliged to run and hide himself, because he +hears the king knocking to come in, and he fears that he'll be killed if +he is discovered. The king enters, and with a very "fee, fi, fo, fum" +air, asks for the body of the outlaw. The tyrant tells a most bare-faced +falsehood, swears the outlaw is not in his house, and so, the king, +after considerable use of the word wretch, traitor, menditore, &c., +carries off the bride as a hostage, to the great chagrin of the tyrant. +As soon as the king has departed with his fair companion, the tyrant +runs to the outlaw's hiding place, and dragging him forth by the<a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a> +collar, declares that he'll kill him himself. The outlaw, under great +excitement, seizes his head in both hands in a manner so terrible, that +self-decapitation would seem to be inevitable, which so alarms the +aforesaid boarding school misses, that two of them go off into +hysterics, and they are carried into the lobby, where the cutting of +their laces is attended with an explosion similar to that of "popping" a +champagne cork. The outlaw prays the tyrant not to kill him just now, +and says he will give him permission to do so at any future period. +"Here, sir," adds he, still addressing himself to the tyrant, "is a very +fine <i>cornet à piston</i>, allow me to present it to you with the +assurance, that whenever you wish to obtain my presence for the purpose +of exterminating me, you will merely be obliged to sound the note of B +flat, and I will unhesitatingly comply with your wishes." In the words +of the poet Tennyson,</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Leave me here, and when you want me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sound upon the bugle horn."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The tyrant accepts the present upon the accompanying condition, but +having no great confidence in the word of a man who has been associating +so long a time with bad company, he<a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a> requires him to make oath to that +effect; which being done, both gentlemen call upon the chorus to follow +them immediately in pursuit of the king and his captive lady. These +cowardly rascals stand some five minutes and sing about their readiness +to depart, instead of marching off instantly, as they are requested to +do.</p> + +<p>In the third act, the king hides himself in a grave-yard during the +election for emperor, probably out of fear that he may be defeated. +While wandering among the grave-stones he overhears some of his +political enemies, (among whom is the outlaw chieftain,) plotting his +assassination. The conspirators cast lots for the office of assassin, +and the lot <i>very naturally</i> falls on the outlaw. The next moment the +report of cannon is heard, and the king's retinue come in, bringing with +them the heroine—who, we must confess, seems to have no real business +there,—and state that the polls have closed, and that the king has been +elected emperor. Thereupon the new emperor calls the conspirators up and +is about to have them killed, just as it might be expected an emperor +would do.</p> + +<p>The heroine begs for the life of the miserable<a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a> offenders, telling the +emperor that if he wishes to be considered a sovereign of +respectability, and not conduct himself like one who had "stolen a +precious diadem and put it in his pocket," he must pardon the +delinquents. The emperor relents, and pronounces a pardon for the +conspirators. He calls up the robber chieftain and the heroine, and +uniting their hands, expresses an ardent wish that they may, as the +libretto says, "love forever." The pleasure of the two lovers is +indescribable, and the whole company begin to sing the praises of such a +trump of an emperor. The air, which is chosen as the vehicle to carry +all this adulation to royal ears, is apparently one of those crashing, +clashing passages in the overture; and if the emperor does not hear the +voice of flattery, it is because the gentlemen who preside over the +kettle-drum and cymbals, seem to have entered into a conspiracy to +prevent it. The more zealous the chorus is in its efforts to make an +agreeable impression on their sovereign, and the louder the voice is +raised for this object, the more that irritable old drummer seems +anxious to defeat their sycophantic purposes. If you are one of those +excitable persons who are prone to take a<a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a> side in every contest that +comes under their observation, whether it be two gentlemen ranging for +the presidency, or two bull-terriers "punishing" each other for the +possession of a bone, you immediately determine who you hope may carry +their point. In your admiration of the dogged perseverance of the old +drummer, you take part in favour of the instruments, and when you hear +that sudden and awful clash of the cymbals, which causes you to start +till you dig your elbow into an elderly gentleman on one side, and tread +on some corny toes on the other, you felicitate yourself upon the +victory of parchment and brass over throats; but the next moment your +pleasure is extinguished, for the tenor and soprano give their voices an +extra lift, and away they go up like rockets, far aloft above the din of +horns, cymbals and kettle drums.</p> + +<p>The fourth and last act represents the terrace of a highly illuminated +palace, which may be seen in the back ground. Some masked gentlemen, +very bandy-legged and knock-kneed, dressed in tight hose, well +calculated to exhibit these deformities, are observed flirting with some +of the before mentioned thick-ankled ladies, who likewise<a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a> rejoice in +dominos. Every thing indicates that this is a place, where people are in +the habit of being extremely jolly, and from which such stupid things as +parties to which a few friends are invited "very sociably", or family +re-unions, are entirely abolished. Presently all the company break out +with the expression of one general wish for the unbounded prosperity of +the outlaw chief and the heroine whom we saw betrothed in the last act, +and who have just been married. They make their exit shortly afterward +in great precipitation, having been frightened from the stage by the +appearance of a great, horrible-looking figure, clothed in black, which +seems to be a species of bug-bear, sent to scare such naughty people who +do nothing but dance, sing and make merry. The bug-bear exits shortly +after.</p> + +<p>Again the highly profligate chorus enter, in no wise corrected by the +visitation of the gloomy looking gentleman, and assure the audience what +a pleasant thing it is for one man to flirt with another's wife from +behind a mask, or for an innocent young lady "going her first winter" to +whisper in a corner with a man about town; but<a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a> getting weary of this +occupation, they at last retire, and the newly married couple—the +outlaw and his bride—again show themselves.</p> + +<p>The outlaw seems to be struck with a highly poetic vein, for he tells +the lady that the noise of the polka in the palace has ceased, that the +gas has been stopped off, and that the stars are amusing themselves by +smiling on their happy union, "because they've nothing else to do." +Thereupon they indulge in a gentle embrace, and start off simultaneously +in a duo, declaratory of the union of their two hearts in such an +anti-anatomical manner, that henceforth until their latest breath, one +cardiacal organ will suffice to perform the functions of two separate +bodies. Scarcely have they made this declaration of their abnormal +heart-union, before the sound of a horn falls on the ears of the o'er +happy couple. At this moment the outlaw forgets all good breeding, and +still influenced by his former brigand habits, swears a most horrible +oath in the presence of his young bride, and seems to be overcome by +great depression of spirits. The poor woman, observing nothing singular +about the blast of the horn—in all probability fancying that it is only +the tooting<a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a> of a lazy post boy somewhat behind time, prays him to cheer +up, and let her see him smile. Before the outlaw can comply with this +small request the horn sounds again. "Behold," shrieks the young +husband, "the tiger seeks his prey." The bride surveys the apartment, +but observing no tiger or other ferocious animal, takes it for granted +that he has the mania à potu, induced by imbibing too much champagne at +the wedding feast. She immediately runs out into the bridal chamber, +with the intention of putting on those indefinite garments denominated +"things," and going to call up the court physician. The outlaw chieftain +stands a moment listening with breathless attention, and hearing no more +of the horn, comes to the conclusion that he has no just ground for +fear, and that it was only a dreadful ringing in the ears with which he +is sometimes afflicted. He thereupon rushes in pursuit of his bride, but +just as he arrives at the door of the bridal chamber, his progress is +arrested by the same black hob-goblin gentlemen who frighted the +dissipated chorus, as before related. This gentleman is recognized by +the outlaw in spite of his black clothes and mask, as the hateful old +tyrant who<a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a> persecuted him to such an extent some time previously. The +outlaw groans a few times, and then the tyrant asks his victim if he +calls to mind his promise, and the words of the poet Tennyson,</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Leave me here, and when you want me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sound upon the bugle horn."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The poor outlaw begs for his life; but the old tyrant remains +inexorable, and tells him that he must die.</p> + +<p>The unhappy bride returns, and hearing her husband entreating the old +tyrant so fervently for a respite, unites her supplications with those +of her husband. To this the tyrant makes no direct answer, but merely +presents a poignard to the trembling outlaw, with a repetition of the +words of the poet Tennyson.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Leave me here, and when you want me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sound upon the bugle horn."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The outlaw perceiving no mode of escaping from this <i>horn</i> of the +dilemma, seizes the poignard, drives it in his breast, and sinks +mortally wounded. The poor bride shrieks, and falls upon his body. Now +succeeds a scene of pulling and<a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a> dragging on the floor. The wounded +tenor is called upon to struggle and writhe in all the agonies of death, +and the prima donna to follow him up in order to raise his head on her +knee, and thus give him an opportunity of singing his dying solo. To do +this in such a manner as not to render the whole thing ridiculous and +farcical, instead of tragic and touching, requires all the grace and +ease imaginable. When well done it is impressive; when badly it is +laughable; but whether touching or laughable, it is sure to be relished +by a large part of the audience, for it always discloses who has done +most for the prima donna's bust, dame nature or the mantua maker.</p> + +<p>The tenor's head being elevated to the proper height, he expresses it as +his dying wish that the prima donna will continue to live and cherish +his memory. They then lament their unhappy fate in a short duo. The +tenor dies; the prima donna appears to do the same, but the libretto +consoles you by declaring that she only swoons. The old tyrant—the +basso—chuckles like a wretch over the success of his successful plot, +declares it a revenge worthy of a demon; you concur in his sentiments, +and the curtain falls.<a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a></p> + +<p>Gentle reader, are you wearied out with this insufferable nonsense? Do +not say that you are, or you will have established a reputation for want +of taste, beyond all controversy. Not to admire what we have written in +this chapter, is to condemn what we know you have often declared was a +"love of an opera." We have merely explained the plot of a well known +operatic <i>chef d'œuvre</i>, which, goodness knows, required an +explanation.</p> + +<p>Now do not be petulant, and <i>very satirically</i> exclaim,—"I wish he +would explain his explanation," thereby showing, both that you can be +excessively severe, and that you have read Byron. We do not intend to +endeavour to render luminous that which is so very clear and evident in +its meaning; it would be to "gild refined gold," and all that sort of +thing, and therefore we spare you the infliction.<a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a></p> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h3> + +<div class="image"><img src="images/ill_ch009.png" +width="90" +height="44" +alt="Après." title="Après." +/></div> + +<table summary="poem" +class="sml"> +<tr><td>I'm fond of fire and crickets, and all that,</td></tr> +<tr><td>A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" class="smcap">Byron.</td></tr> +</table> + +<table summary="poem" +class="sml" style="margin:1% auto 1% auto;"> +<tr><td>From this genteel place the reader must not be surprised, if I should +convey him to a cellar, or a common porter-house.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" class="smcap">Connoisseur. No. 1.</td></tr> +</table> + +<table summary="poem" +class="sml" style="margin:1% auto 3% auto;"> +<tr><td>Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" class="smcap">Byron.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind"><span class="imageleft"><img src="images/ill_097.png" +width="150" +height="199" +alt="T" +title="T" +/></span><span style="margin-left:-1.25em;">HE</span> curtain falls, much to the delight of those gentlemen whose sole +motive for frequenting the opera, is to have an opportunity of what they +term "chaffing" with some fair lady friend, whilst repairing thither, +and returning from thence, as well as during the enchanting<a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a> moments +when the "drop" displays one of those accommodating landscapes, which +the audience, at their option, may convert either into the lake of Como, +or the ruins of Palmyra. If we may trust the assertion of many fair +mouths, we must infer that the curtain has fallen, much to the regret of +certain young ladies who declare that they could sit and hear Bosio +forever—a period of time which we have always been taught to regard as +very long indeed.</p> + +<p>But the curtain <i>has</i> fallen, and the gentlemen who have been foolish +enough to send <i>bouquets</i> to the prima donna in the morning, all seem +suddenly to be struck with the bright idea, that by giving a few knocks +of a cane, or a few taps of a gloved hand, they can "call out" that +divine woman, and by some adroit manœuvre render themselves +distinguishable, and obvious to her from out that mass of heads and +black coats. The persons who occupy the elevated portions of the house, +who have paid a small price for their admittance, like all other persons +who pay small prices, make large demands for their money, and +consequently unite with the prima donna's admirers in an attempt to get +a last, long, lingering look at<a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a> the lady. They really "do" all the +applause, thundering with their heavy canes and beating their hands +together until they resemble small lumps of crude beef steaks. After the +requisite amount of delay which is imposed upon the audience to give +them an adequate idea of the obligation the prima donna will confer, +should she see fit to exhibit herself, a human head is seen to project +from behind the curtain, but is drawn back with that kind of jerk which +is said to be peculiar to a turtle establishing his right to the +homestead exemption. This little <i>aiguillon</i> of the prompter has the +desired effect, for the gentlemen in the parquette, who expect the prima +donna to observe <i>them</i> to the entire exclusion of the other five +hundred men in white cravats and black coats, become perfectly frantic, +and the sojourners in "paradise" threaten to take advantage of their +position and empty themselves on the heads of the higher orders of +society, who happen for the present to be below them. The excitement now +begins to infuse itself into all present; the most apathetic old +<i>habitués</i> commence to stretch forth their necks, to wriggle on their +seats, and manifest other signs of sympathy, with the more inflammable +portion of<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> the audience. At length the tenor comes forward from the +side of the curtain, with a sickly smile of inexpressible pleasure on +his countenance. He leads by the hand the prima donna, whose downcast +eyes, and modest demeanor, entirely mislead the audience, giving them +the fullest assurance of her "beautiful disposition," and wholly +contradicting the assertion that she ever stamps her foot at the leader, +or tears the hair of her maid. The brace of singers make one +acknowledgment of gratitude immediately after issuing from behind the +ruins of Palmyra, thence proceeding in front of said ruins, make +another, and the moment before their disappearance perpetrate a third. +This is not sufficient for those enamoured ones who think that by some +evident mistake the prima donna has not recognised <i>them</i>, so the +patting of gloves and the tapping of canes is again resorted to, which, +together with the efforts of the "upper circles," again extracts the +tenor and his "inamorata" together, with the drowsy basso. The +last-named person wears an air of great reluctance at thus being +detained on the stage, instead of being permitted to go home to his +<i>patés</i> and <i>fricasées</i>. The three go through the reverential<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> with due +regard to time and position, and then withdraw, leaving the house to +contemplate the gas light, and reflect upon the briefness of all human +pleasures.</p> + +<p>During all this time the ladies have been standing in an apparently half +decided state, as to what was ultimately to become of them, alternately +looking on the stage and picking up hoods and shawls which they +immediately let fall again. Now that their suspense is ended, they +commence to hood and shawl; and many is the gentleman who announces in +whispers that he is unspeakably happy in being permitted to place a +cloak upon shoulders that rival alabaster.</p> + +<p>Harry Brown is unfortunate, for Miss Smith's cousin George has +anticipated him, having already astutely seized upon a shawl, during the +"calling out" which he carefully keeps until the blissful moment arrives +for enveloping that lady. Miss Smith thanks cousin George, as she always +calls him, with such a sweet smile that Harry Brown immediately becomes +occupied in a protracted search after his hat, muttering to himself +"hang these cousins."</p> + +<p>The audience go out of the boxes together with<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> the going out of the +gas, and masses of people stand crowded together in the lobbies, while +the house is slowly emptying itself.</p> + +<p>The fast-men have collected about in front of the different box doors +from which the ladies are issuing, and are examining the relative claims +to beauty, which the fair observed ones merit, or as they term it, "are +getting their points." They are heard to make their comparisons upon the +singers too, with all the assurance of the old <i>habitués</i>, telling about +Salvi's falsetto, and Bettini's chest-voice, with a wondrous deal of +volubility. Where the crowds from the upper tiers unite with those of +the lower, one loud-voiced critic, who has just made his descent, is +heard to observe to a friend that "though Salvi is an old cock, he is +nevertheless a remarkably sound egg;" but why such a peculiarly +gallinaceous reference is made to that distinguished tenor, we must +unhesitatingly confess ignorance.</p> + +<p>After the confusion attendant on the coming and going of carriages, cabs +and divers other vehicles, the fatigued audience are at length set in +motion towards their respective dwellings.</p> + +<p>Again poor Harry Brown is a fit subject for<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> our commiseration. The +ill-fated young man is placed by the side of Miss Smith's mother, a +rather antique lady; Cousin George somehow or other, has managed to +place himself beside Miss Smith. The carriage passes a lamp-post, and +though Harry Brown does observe Cousin George's left hand, the +disappearance of the right is something for which he cannot at all +account, except upon the laws of proximity which pertain to cousinship. +While the carriage proceeds homewards the party does not converse as +freely as they did a short time before, under the exhilaration arising +from gas-light and gossip. Harry Brown finds the ride a bore, Mrs. Smith +is so deaf, and still has her ideas of public amusement, confined to the +times when Mr. Kemble, Mr. Cooper and Mr. Cooke, performed in the +<i>legitimate</i> drama to crowded houses. Cousin George's position is such a +happy one, that conversation is to him a thing superfluous.</p> + +<p>Those whose means authorise them, and very often those whose means do +not authorise them, go home to a nice supper, some delicate partridges, +cold capon, or deviled turkey, and a bottle or two of champagne. Under +the influences of<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> the warm room and the viands, not to mention that +"warm champagny, old particular brandy-punchy feeling" induced by the +popping cork, the events of the whole evening are reviewed in a quite +thorough manner, though without much attention to a "<i>lucidus ordo</i>."</p> + +<p>Let us follow the Smiths home, and see what is their mode of terminating +the evening. Scarcely have they settled themselves at table before a +glass of champagne is administered all round, and a very severe +criticism of Bosio is commenced by Cousin George, who says in a very +opinionated way, that he likes her pretty well, but prefers either +Truffi or Stefanoni. Miss Smith immediately espouses the cause of the +injured Bosio, whom she has often declared she could listen to +"forever," and calls on Harry Brown to come to the rescue of the +cantatrice's reputation. Harry, who has been sadly silent ever since the +miraculous disappearance of Cousin George's right hand in the carriage, +at once becomes a violent Bosioite, and maintains the vocal abilities of +that prima donna against the whole world; whereupon Miss Smith with one +of the most approving of smiles, exclaims, "Thank you, Mr. Brown; I +always knew<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> you were a gentleman of taste. There, there, let me shake +hands with you." And as Miss Smith utters the last words, she extends +such a ridiculously little hand across the table, that it seems almost a +misnomer to apply that appellation to it. Mr. Brown seizes the proffered +member, and gives it as hearty a pressure as the publicity of the +occasion will permit. From the moment that he touches the magical little +hand, cousin George is eclipsed. Harry's knowledge of operas, music and +singers, becomes at once astonishingly enlarged, and he speaks on +operatic subjects like one having authority to do so. Fortunately for +cousin George, Miss Smith's brother Charles enters, his clothes strongly +redolent of Havannahs, he having just returned from his club. His sister +forbids him to come so near her, alleging as a ground for such a +prohibition, that those "horrid" cigars are <i>so</i> offensive to her. Her +brother moves good naturedly to the other side of the table, having +first applied his finger to his sister's cheek in a playful way, which +has a powerful effect upon poor Harry, causing him to feel exceedingly +as if he should like to do the same thing<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> himself. The sister begins to +assure her brother of the inestimable amount of pleasure he has lost by +loitering at the "horrid" club, instead of accompanying her to the +<i>delicious</i> opera. The reply is that "the club" has voted Bosio a bore, +and that consequently he cannot think of wasting his valuable time by +going to hear her. The sister then makes some very severe remarks upon +clubs in the abstract, but is interrupted by her brother's inquiring if +she does not want to take a share in the great stakes which the club is +endeavouring to raise, in order to <i>pit</i> Tom Hyer against Harry Broome +the English champion. The sister pretends to be so provoked at the +<i>raillerie</i> of her brother, that she smiles in a way that makes her look +doubly pretty, calls him a "horrid creature," then turns to Harry Brown +and indulges in some rather pointed observations, relative to divers of +the good people who were among the audience at the opera.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Smith, who has up to this moment been very laudably occupied in +seeing that the young people get a due proportion of the well selected +viands, now comes in for a part of the conversation. She, good lady, +knows the fathers and<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers, of the +present generation, and can tell just what amount of homage each of the +dashing families of the city have a right to lay claim to. She declares +that Mrs. Simms has no right to assume the importance that she +does—that though her father was a very respectable man, still, when she +was a girl, the family lived in a very obscure part of the town, and +were wholly unknown among our first people. Miss Smith, however, who is +very much afraid that her mother is going to indulge in too minute and +wearisome an investigation of genealogies, conducts the conversation to +subjects which she supposes to be more interesting to the rest of the +party. She objects to the want of taste displayed by those awful looking +Misses Rogers, who deck themselves out like young girls, when every body +knows they have been in society for the last fifteen years—that their +mother has made herself notorious, as well as ridiculous, by angling for +every young man of desirable means in the city. Miss Smith likewise +expresses her wonder when that stupid Lieutenant Jones <i>will</i> marry Miss +Simms. She declares that "she is tired of seeing the two together; that +one cannot<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> go to any public place, but the first persons who meet the +eye are Jones and Miss Simms; that if the weather is fair, and you walk +out, there are the loving couple in the street. Go to Newport, there +they are—go to the opera, there they are. If they can find means to run +incessantly to parties and balls, watering places and operas, why cannot +they get married?" Miss Smith concludes her observations on the +over-fond lovers, by emphasising the words "so stupid, is it not?" at +the same time giving them both an affirmative and interrogative +character. Harry Brown responds that it might be excessively +uninteresting to be always thus placed in proximity to Miss Simms, but +that there are other young ladies of his acquaintance, with whom such +extreme intimacy would be any thing but stupid. To this ambiguous use of +the word "stupid," Miss Smith makes no reply, but merely looks at Mr. +Brown as if she had not the slightest idea whatever that a very personal +allusion to herself had been made by that gentleman. Miss Smith again +indulges in reflections on society with a great deal of freedom and +pointedness of expression, which much amuses cousin George, who laughs +approvingly at<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> what he terms the "sharpness" of his relative. Brother +Charles remains wholly unattentive to a kind of conversation which his +fair sister so often takes part in, and is absorbed in estimating, on +the back of a visiting card, the probability of his winning his bet on +the late election. Harry Brown, after his complimentary effort, sinks +into a state of silence, induced by the loquacity of Miss Smith, the +hilarity of cousin George, and the negligence of brother Charles. Alas +for Harry! he is considering the likelihood that such a censorious young +lady can have a kind heart—or would make a good wife. At this moment, +Mr. Smith, Senior, walks into the dining-room. A worthy, respectable, +and well-to-do man is Mr. Smith, the elder; he pays his taxes and he +loves his children, and who can do more? Miss Smith immediately rises +from the table, puts up her dear little mouth to her papa to be kissed. +The tender parent goes through the osculatory process in such an +affectionate manner, that Harry Brown is strongly impressed with the +idea that the old gentleman would make a trump of a father-in-law, and +he begins to suspect that Miss Smith's heart is not so bad after all. +The elderly Smith takes<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> his seat, having first shaken Harry by the hand +in a friendly, familiar way, that indicates a very good opinion of that +worthy young person. The conversation again reverts to operatics, but +Harry seems to have forgotten all his late familiarity with such +subjects, and becomes suddenly very conversant with rail-roads, canals +and stocks, and launches out into an earnest conversation with Mr. Smith +on those interesting topics.</p> + +<p>But everything must have an end, and so about midnight Mr. Brown <i>walks</i> +home through a foot of snow, because his mind is too much occupied with +thoughts of Miss Smith and her cousin George, to allow him to think of +calling a cab.</p> + +<p>Let us now see what becomes of those gentlemen who have been sitting in +the parquette, giving the opera their most anxious attention at all such +times as either the prima donna is on the stage, or any aria is sung, +but who have been giving quite unmistakeable signs of ennui and +weariness during the recitatives and choruses. If we have narrowly +observed the movements of this portion of the audience, we will have +remarked, that during the performance of the last act they have, from +time to time, cast hurried glances towards<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> the avenues of egress, and +contorted their countenances in a way which would indicate that their +olfactories were greeted by certain savory odours, imperceptible to +every body but the possessors of the said olfactories. These gentlemen, +immediately after leaving the opera, may be seen to walk along the +street in companies of three or four, with a hurried step, until their +progress is arrested by the view of divers green, blue, pink, or crimson +coloured lamps, holding a very conspicuous position over the doors of +some houses of very suggestive exterior, or before some suspicious +hiatuses in the pavement, where those horrid monsters, who figure in +Christmas pantomimes, might easily be imagined to dwell. These lamps +seem to be possessed of a most incredible power of human attraction, for +no sooner does their light fall upon the vision of the nocturnal +wayfarer, than he is drawn within the portals over which they are +established. Upon mounting the steps into these houses, or descending +into these subterranean regions, the inquirer will discover a long, +brilliantly illuminated, gaudily papered chamber, whose walls are +ornamented with numerous over-grown mirrors, and French<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> coloured +prints, representing young ladies in short dresses, standing in every +possible posture except that usually assumed by ladies of our +acquaintance. Along one side of this apartment, at the distance of about +three and a half feet from the wall, extends a marble slab, placed in a +horizontal position, and elevated three feet from the floor, forming a +species of enclosure. Within this enclosure, a number of men, habited to +the waist in white garments,—apparently a nameless order of +priesthood—are going through some inexplicable mystic rites, repeatedly +seizing up various large glass bottles containing transparent or opaque +liquids, and carrying them to different parts of this marble slab at the +request of various persons, who seem to be the worshippers in this +temple. At one end of the enclosure, a solitary man of a dark and sombre +hue, evidently a person held more sacred than the other priests, is seen +alternately to hammer portions of some hard matter, resembling stone in +appearance, and then split them by the magical application of a small +piece of blunt iron. He conducts this ceremony with the greatest +solemnity, occasionally pronouncing these incantatory words, "Plate<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> or +shell, sah?" in a seemingly interrogative manner. The worshippers at +these shrines are some of the same young gentlemen whom we have seen +standing back in the opera boxes by the doors, making fast remarks on +all that was passing around them, or sitting in the parquette +endeavouring to annihilate the prima donna by the attractiveness of +their appearance. Others, of this same class of persons, merely pass +through this chamber, having first said in a low tone to the most +potential of the priests, "Four dozen broiled; ale for one, and brandy +and water for three." The priest immediately repeats these words so +fraught with significance, in a loud voice, which resounds through the +whole chamber. An invisible priest, at some distance from the first, +again repeats them, and thus the mysterious sound is passed from one +unseen priest to another, until it ceases to be heard in the distance.</p> + +<p>Nothing more is seen of the last described devotees, for some time after +their leaving the mysterious apartment; but about midnight a confused +sound of human voices is heard to issue from another mysterious chamber. +Some of those<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> voices express a dogged determination on the part of +their proprietors, to remain shut up within the present confines until +the matutinal hours; other voices assure a universal confidence in the +powers of a certain bob-tail mare, while one teaches in the Italian +language the secret of ever living happily.<a name="B2" id="B2"></a><sup><a href="#B">[b]</a></sup> At between two and three +o'clock in the morning, several of our <i>operators</i> are seen to emerge +from the aforesaid houses and subterranean abodes, in a very musical, as +well as affectionate frame of mind. One gentleman, totally regardless of +the lateness of the hour, after manifesting a strong desire to embrace a +large party of his friends, kindly invites them home to take tea with +him. Another walks homeward, expressing his notions on the secret of +living happily in a cantatory way. A third is assisted into a cab by his +associates, with directions to the driver to set him down at his +lodgings. Arrived there, he is put to bed, when he dreams that he is +falling down five hundred precipices; that afterwards a huge man is on +the point of cutting off his head, but a very<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> prima donna like looking +lady comes in and intercedes for him, and she thus saves his life; that +he is just going to be married to the prima donna like looking lady, +when his pleasure is interrupted by the sound of ten thousand horns, +each one four times as large as that he saw the tyrant have in the +opera; whereupon he awakes, and discovers that there is a cry of fire, +and the firemen are making almost as much noise as the orchestra did, +when it was doing the crashing passages.</p> + +<p><sup><a name="B" id="B"></a><a href="#B2">[b]</a></sup> <span class="sml">Il segreto per esser felici.</span></p> + +<p class="c spc2">* * * * *</p> + +<p>In the morning, the chambermaid wonders why Mr. Higgins rings for water, +when she recollects filling the ewer full the night previous. Next day +Mr. Higgins examines his operatic accounts, and finds them to stand +thus:</p> + +<table summary="accounts" +cellspacing="0" +cellpadding="1"> +<tr><td>To </td><td>one pair kid gloves,</td><td align="right">$1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">" </td><td>opera ticket, (secured seat,) </td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">" </td><td>supper,</td><td align="right">3.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">" </td><td>cab-hire,</td><td align="right" style="border-bottom:1px solid black;">1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="right">Total,</td><td align="right">6.50</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>At that moment his land-lady sends in the bill<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> for lodging, which, +by-the-by, she always seems to do when he is in one of his repentant +moods, and Mr. Higgins expresses a kind wish that all Italians were in a +climate somewhat warmer than that of the south of Europe.</p> + +<p>The Smiths do not feel any inconvenience, physical or pecuniary, from +their visit to the opera, and <i>petit souper</i> afterwards. "When one has +money," says Mrs. Smith, in a very oracular tone, "what is the use of +it, except to let people know that one has got it!" Immediately after +this expression of her sentiments in regard to filthy lucre, Mrs. Smith +tells the servant not to give a shilling to the whimpering little boy +who has been sweeping the snow off the pavement; that a sixpence is +enough, and more than enough, for him, and that it is wrong to encourage +such exorbitance.</p> + +<p class="c spc2">* * * * *</p> + +<p>Now, that Mr. Higgins should feel thirsty in the morning, or that Mrs. +Smith should regret to part with a sixpence, concerns not us; we have +not been writing to correct public morals, but<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> only to amuse the +readers of <span class="smcap">The Physiology of the Opera</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="c">ERRATA. [corrected in etext]</p> + +<table summary="errata" +cellspacing="0" +cellpadding="2"> +<tr><td>Page.</td><td colspan="3">Line.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_16">16</a></td><td align="right">6</td><td>after</td><td>a, insert <i>fast man or a</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_34">34</a></td><td align="right">10</td><td align="center">"</td><td>chef (d' orchestre), read <i>chef d'orchestre</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_34">34</a></td><td align="right">17</td><td align="center">"</td><td>chef (d' orchestre), " <i>chef d'orchestre</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_55">55</a></td><td align="right">10</td><td align="center">"</td><td>guoi, read <i>quoi</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_55">55</a></td><td align="right">10</td><td align="center">"</td><td>singers, read <i>Singers</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_55">55</a></td><td align="right">11</td><td align="center">"</td><td>led horse, read <i>lead horse</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_70">70</a></td><td align="right">24</td><td align="center">"</td><td>was, read <i>is</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_76">76</a></td><td align="right">12</td><td align="center">"</td><td>bulversé, read <i>boulversé</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#page_92">92</a></td><td align="right">22</td><td align="center">"</td><td>gentlemen, read <i>gentleman</i>.</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Physiology of The Opera, by +John H. 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Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Physiology of The Opera + +Author: John H. Swaby (AKA "Scrici") + +Release Date: April 4, 2010 [EBook #31880] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHYSIOLOGY OF THE OPERA *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + +Smooth Reading Good Words list: +haviour +ancle +ancles +donna +donna's +habitues +parquette +poignard +prima +Simms +tenore + + + + +Physiology of the Opera. + + "I both compose and perform Sir: and though I say it, perhaps few + even of the profession possess the _contra-punto_ and the + _chromatic_ better." + + CONNOISSEUR. No. 130. + + "I see, Sir--you + Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one + To whom the opera is by no means new." + + BYRON. + + + + +PHYSIOLOGY + +OF + +THE OPERA. + +[Illustration] + +BY SCRICI. + +PHILADELPHIA. WILLIS P. HAZARD, 178 CHESNUT ST. 1852. + +COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW. + + + + +Introduction. + + +As an introduction to the dissertation upon which we are about to enter, +such an antiquarian view of the subject might be taken as would tend to +establish a parallel between the ancient Greek tragedy and the modern +sanguinary Italian opera, the strong resemblance therein being displayed +of Signor Salvi trilling on the stage, to the immortal Thespis jargoning +from a dung-cart. But we shall indulge in no such wearying pedantry. +Our intention being merely to "hold the mirror up to nature," in +presenting our immaterial reflector to the public, we invite our readers +to a view of the present only--a period of time in which they take most +interest, since they adorn it with their own presence. + +We feel satisfied that few of the ladies who take a peep into this +mirror, will find any cause to break it in a fit of petulancy after +having looked upon the attractive reflection of their own lovely +features. Few young gentlemen will throw down a glass that gives them a +just idea of their striking and distingue appearance behind a large +moustache and a gilded _lorgnette_. Old papas, who rule 'change and keep +a "stall," cannot be offended with that which teaches them how dignified +and creditable is their position, as they sit up proudly and exhibit +their family's extravagance and ostentation as an evidence of the +stability of their commercial relations. Few mammas will carp at a book +which assures them that society does not esteem them less highly because +they use an opera box as a sort of matrimonial show window in which they +place their beautiful daughters, "got up regardless of expense," as +delicate wares in the market of Hymen. + +In these our humble efforts to present to our readers an amusing yet +faithful picture of the opera, we hope our manner of treating the +subject has been to nothing extenuate nor aught set down in malice. This +book has not for its end the unlimited censure of foreign opera singers, +or native opera goers. We do not therefore, expect to gratify the +malignant demands of persons of over-strained morality, who maintain +that the opera is a bad school of musical science, or a worse school of +morals; and exclaim with the very correct Mr. Coleridge, who was +_shocked_ in a--_concert room_, + + "Nor cold nor stern my soul, yet I detest + These scented rooms; where to a gaudy throng, + Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast, + In intricacies of laborious song. + + "These feel not music's genuine power, nor deign + To melt at nature's passion-warbled plaint; + But when the long-breath'd singer's up-trilled strain + Bursts in a squall--they gape for wonderment." + +Neither do we coincide in sentiment with those who, conceiving that +every folly and absurdity sanctioned by fashion, is converted into +reason and common sense, believe that "the whole duty of man" consists +in _spending the day_ with Max Maretzeck on the occasion of his musical +jubilees, and being roasted by gas in the hours of broad day-light. +Consequently the reader will find no one line herein written with the +intention of flattering the vanity of those who ride to the opera every +night in a splendid coach, followed by spotted dogs. + +Having thus declared the impartial manner in which it is our purpose to +pursue the physiological discussion of our subject, and the various +phenomena involved in its consideration, we proceed at once to unveil +the operatic existence to the reader, fatigued no doubt by an +introductory salaam already protracted beyond the limits of propriety. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +The Opera in the Abstract. + + "L'Opera toujours + Fait bruit et merveilles: + On y voit les sourds + Boucher leurs oreilles." + + BERANGER. + + +To most of the world (and we say it advisedly,) the opera is a sealed +book. We do not mean a bare representation with its accompanying +screechings, violinings and bass-drummings. Everybody has seen that--But +the race of beings who constitute that remarkable combination; their +feelings, positions, social habits; their relation to one another; what +they say and eat;[a] whether the tenor ever notices as they (the world) +do, the fine legs of the contralto in man's dress, and whether the basso +drinks pale ale or porter; all these things have been hitherto wrapped +in an inscrutable mystery. In regard to mere actors, not singers, this +feeling is confined to children; but the operators of an opera are +essentially esoteric. They are enclosed by a curtain more impenetrable +than the Chinese wall. You may walk all around them; nay, you may even +know an inferior artiste, but there is a line beyond which even the fast +men, with all their impetuosity, are restrained from invading. + +[a] We actually knew a man who, when a tenor was spoken of, as having +gone through his _role_, thought that that worthy had been eating his +breakfast. + +You walk in the street with a young female, on whom you flatter yourself +you are making an impression; suddenly she cries out, "Oh, there's +Bawlini; do look! dear creature, isn't he?" You may as well turn round +and go home immediately; the rest of your walk won't be worth half the +dream you had the night before. This shows an importance to be attached +to these remarkable persons, which, together with the mystery which +encircles them, is exceedingly aggravating to the feelings of a large +body of respectable citizens. Among those who are mostly afflicted, we +may mention all women, but most especially boarding school misses. +Mothers of families are much perturbed; they wonder why the tenor is so +intimate with the donna, considering they are not married; and fathers +of families wonder "where under the sun that manager gets the money to +pay a tenor twelve hundred dollars a month, when state sixes are so +shockingly depressed." We were going to enumerate those we thought +particularly afflicted by a praiseworthy desire to know something more +of these obscurities, but they are too many for us. In every class of +society, nay, in the breast of almost every person, there exists a +desire to be rightly informed on these subjects. It was to supply this +want that we have devoted ourselves more especially to the actors who +do, to the exclusion of the auditors who are "_done_." + +Shakspeare observes, that "all the world's a stage;" the converse of +this proposition is no less worthy of being regarded as a great moral +truth,--that all the stage is a world. Every condition of life may be +found typified in one or other of the officials or attaches of an opera +house; from the king upon the throne, symbolized by the haughty and +magisterial impresario, to the _chiffonier_ in the gutter, represented +by the unfortunate chorister who is attired as a shabby nobleman on the +stage, but who goes home to a supper of leeks. Between these two +degrees, of dignity and unimportance, come those many shades of social +position corresponding to the happy situations of Secretary of State, +Secretary of the Treasury, and divers other dignitaries, set forth in +the stage director, the treasurer, the chorus-master, &c. + +The tenor, basso, prima donna and baritone may be considered as +belonging to what is called "society;"--that well-to-do and ornamental +portion of the community, who having no vocation save to frequent balls, +soirees, concerts and operas, and fall in love--serve as objects of +admiration to those persons less favoured by fortune, who make the +clothes and dress the hair of the former class. + +Our simile need not be carried further, it being apparent to the most +inconsiderate reader, that it is quite as truthful as that hatched by +the swan of Avon. We shall now commence our observations upon the most +interesting members of a troupe; those best known to the community +before whom they nightly appear; and leave unnoticed those disagreeable +but influential ones who raise the price of tickets, or stand in a +little box near the door and palm off all the back seats upon the +uninitiated. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +Of the Tenore. + + "In short, I may, I am sure, with truth assert, that whether in the + _allegro_ or in the _piano_, the _adagio_, the _largo_ or the + _forte_, he never had his equal."--CONNOISSEUR. No. 130. + + "Famed for the even tenor of his conduct, and his conduct as a + tenor."--KNICKERBOCKER. + + +[Illustration] + +The Tenor is a small man, seldom exceeding the medium height. His voice +is, comparatively speaking, a small voice, and consequently not likely +to issue from over-grown lungs. His proportions are, or at least ought +to be, as symmetrical as possible. His hair, nine times out of ten, is +black, and _always_ curls. His beard is reasonably bushy; but his +moustache is the most artistically cultivated and carefully nurtured +collection of hair that ever adorned the superior lip of man. His +features are likely to be handsome, sometimes, however, effeminately so. +His dress is a little extravagant; not extravagant in the mode and +manner of a fast man or a dandy--for it is not punctiliously fashionable +like that of the latter, without any deviation from tailor's plates; +neither does it resemble that of the former in the gentlemanly roughness +of its appearance; consequently he rejoices not in entire suits of grey +or plaid, those _very_ sporting coats, those English country-gentleman's +shoes, those amply bowed cravats, and those shirts that are so +resplendent with the well executed heads of terrier dogs. No! the primo +tenore has a passion, first, for satin,--secondly, for jewelry,--and +lastly, for hats, boots and gloves. He dotes on satin scarfs, cravats +and ties, and his gorgeous satin vests, of all the hues of the rainbow, +astound the saunterer on the morning promenade. His love for pins, +studs, rings and chains is almost enough to lead us to believe that his +blood is mingled with that of the Mohawks. Boots that fit like gloves, +and gloves that fit like the skin, render him the envy of dandies. His +hat is smooth and glossy to an excess, and its peculiar formation makes +it considered "_un peu trop fort_," even by the most daring of +hat-fanciers. + +The tenor rises late; partly because he is naturally indolent; partly +because the prime basso drank him slightly exhilarated the evening +previous; and partly out of affectation and the desire to appear a very +fine gentleman. Having spent a long time in making a _negligee +toilette_, he orders his breakfast. Seated in his comprehensive arm +chair, and attired in all the splendor of a well-tinselled satin or +velvet _calotte_, a dazzling _robe de chambre_, and slippers of the most +brilliant colors, he takes his matutinal repast. And now we begin to +discover some of the thousand vexations and annoyances that harass the +life of this poor object of popular support. His breakfast is but the +skeleton of that useful and nourishing repast. No rich beef-steaks! no +tender chops! no fragrant ham nor well-seasoned omelettes, transfer +their nutritive properties through his system. Any indulgence in these +wholesome articles of food is considered direct destruction to the +tender organ of the tenor. A hunting breakfast every day, or a glass of +wine at an improper hour, if persisted in for any length of time, it is +supposed would ruin the most delightful voice that ever sung an _aria_. +A large cup of _cafe au lait_, with an egg beaten in it, is all the +morning meal of which the poor _artiste_ (as he styles himself,) is +permitted to partake. This feat accomplished, he takes up the newspaper +in which he _spells out_ the puff which he paid the reporter to insert, +and after satisfying himself that he has received his _quid pro quo_, he +lounges away the morning until a sufficient space of time has elapsed to +render the use of the voice no longer deleterious, as it is immediately +after eating. And then come two or three hours of study that is no +trifle. The tenor is a man; and it seems to be a great moral law, that +whether it come in the form of labor, disease, ennui or indigestion, +suffering shall be the badge of all our tribe. Even prima donnas, who +defy gods and men with more temerity than all living creatures, are +constrained to concede the obligation of this universal moral edict. The +tenor then yields homage to human nature and the public, in the labor of +climbing stubborn scales, rehearsing new operas, and sometimes, though +not often, in receiving the impertinence of arrogant prima donnas, +during several hours every day. After these fatiguing efforts, he makes +his _grande toilette_, and prepares himself to astound the town no less +by his personal attractions than by his song. The chief promenade of the +city, where he condescends to mete out to highly favoured audiences the +treasures of his organ, is made the day-theatre of his glory. +Accompanied by his friend the _primo basso_, he saunters along very +quietly, attracting the gaze of the curious, and calling forth the +passionate remarks of enthusiastic young ladies, who feel it would be a +pleasure to die, if they could only leave such a gentleman behind on +earth to sing "_Tu che a Dio_," in the event of their being "snatched +away in beauty's bloom." + +The basso is the chosen male companion of the tenor's walk; firstly, +because he is no rival, and secondly, because the gross physical +endowments of the former are such as to bring out the latter's +symmetrical proportions in such strong relief. + +Sometimes the tenor is seen riding out with the prima donna, with whom +he is nearly always a favorite. He is the gentleman who makes himself +useful in assisting her to destroy time; he performs for her those +thousand and one little delicate attentions for which all women are so +truly grateful; and then he sings with her every night those sentimental +duos, that necessarily produce their effect upon the feminine bosom. + +Whether walking with his gigantic friend, or riding with his fair one, +the tenor behaves himself with the greatest propriety and gentleman-like +bearing, excepting always a certain air which leads us to believe that +he thinks "too curious old port" of himself. He is more grave, but +apparently more vain when on foot, than when seated in the carriage with +the prima donna; at which time his gesticulation becomes very animated, +sometimes very extravagant; though we must always accord it the +attraction of gracefulness. + +The time is thus agreeably walked, ridden and "chaffed" away, until the +hour for the substantial dinner comes to fortify mankind against the +slings and arrows of hunger and tedium. Then the tenor does dare to +partake of a few, of what are technically called "the delicacies of the +season." But still a restraint is put upon the appetite, for in a few +hours more he must go through labours for which the "fulness of satiety" +would little prepare him. A very worthy and elderly clergyman of the +Church of England once made known to the writer his opinion concerning +after-dinner sermons, in the following words; "I believe, sir, that +though sermons preached through the medium of simple roast beef and +plum-pudding may have been sermons invented by inspiration; they are +sure to be enunciated through the agency of the devil." So melting +strains of solos and duos, when sung through the medium of soups, pates +and fricasees, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into +monotony. How the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall +relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home--that is +to say, on the stage. + +But when supper comes he is no longer prevented by fear of "lost voice" +or any other dire calamity, from giving way to the cravings of hunger +and thirst. He eats with the relish of hunger induced by labor, and +drinks with the excitement arising from the consciousness that he is, +what in the language of the turf is styled "the favorite." The ladies +and gentlemen of the troupe usually assemble at supper, and it is then +that the tenor again bestows his _galanteries_ on the prima donna, and +says many more really complimentary things than are to be found set down +in his professional role. + +In concluding this sketch of the tenor, the writer would, with all due +submission to the opinion of the public, venture to discover his +sentiments upon a question which often agitates society; viz., whether +the tenor is always sick when he announces himself to be seriously +indisposed. The writer hopes he will not render himself liable to the +charge of duplicity or an attempt at evasion, when he declares it to be +his impression, that on the occasion of such announcements, the tenor is +_sometimes_ seriously indisposed but not _always_. The tenor, as we have +before observed, is but a man, and must needs be subject to diseases +like other men; but when we consider the delicacy of his conformation, +we must multiply the chances of his liability to indisposition. His +organization is such, that the most trifling irregularity in his general +health operates immediately upon the voice. Now, for the tenor, in the +slightest degree out of tone, to appear before a merciless audience, +consisting of blase opera goers, tyrannical critics, hired depreciators, +and unrelenting musical amateurs, would indicate the most utter folly +and imbecility. The tenor is well aware that a reputation for singing +divinely a few nights in the year, is more lucrative than a reputation +for ability to sing tolerably well, taking an average of all the nights +in that space of time. It is consequently more advantageous for him to +sing occasionally, when he feels his voice to be in full force and +vigour, and his spirits in a sufficiently animated condition to warrant +his appearing with every certainty of success. When, therefore, he does +not favour the public with the melody of his notes, it is, generally +speaking because, without really suffering from a serious attack of +disease, he considers that his appearance would insure a future +diminution in the offers of the _impresario_. Hence the _affiches_ +usually proclaim nothing but truth itself, when they declare that the +tenor is _seriously indisposed_; but then we must be careful to +interpret the word indisposition by that one of its significations which +is equivalent to _disinclination_. + +That some compulsory measures might be taken to make these gentlemen +"who can sing but won't sing" more complying, and willing to yield to +the wishes and request of managers and audiences, the writer has never +entertained a doubt. The ways and means of effecting such an object, he +will not take upon himself to devise or advise, but will merely state a +fact which probably may induce some one to enter upon a thorough +examination of the subject, and suggest the remedy. Upon one occasion, +when the Havannah troupe was performing in Philadelphia, and a favorite +tenor had been amusing himself by trifling with the public, until the +patience of that forbearing portion of mankind was entirely exhausted; +the treasury was beginning to fall extremely low, and the wearied out +director was well nigh driven to desperation. In this critical juncture +of affairs, the gentleman who was the legal adviser of the troupe was +applied to, to say whether there was not some compulsory process known +to the law, by which the refractory tenor could be brought to a +recognition of the right of the rest of the company to the use of his +voice to attract large audiences, and thereby replenish the empty +coffers of the treasury. Upon answer that there existed no such process, +the distracted director muttered a few maledictions upon our country, +with a sneer at our _free institutions_, and informed the astonished +counsellor, that in Havannah, when the tenor was supposed to be feigning +sickness, the proper authorities were resorted to for the right of an +examination of the offending party by a physician, and a certificate of +the state of his health. Upon the physician certifying that the signor +was able to go through his role, a few _gendarmes_ were dispatched to +seize the delinquent and take such means as would sooner coerce him into +a compliance with the stipulations of his professional contract. + +[Illustration] + +Every reasonable excuse, however, should be made for the necessity the +tenor is under to be careful of the delicate organ whereby he gains his +subsistence. When we reflect how many of these poor fellows lose their +voices and are consequently driven to throw themselves on the cold +charity of the public--or out of the window, we must be struck with the +inhumanity which would be exercised if this professional singer were +excluded from enjoying occasionally by permission, what every clergyman +in the land can always claim as a right--the disease which the Hibernian +servant expressively denominated "the brown gaiters in the throat." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +Of the Primo Basso. + + "And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; + + * * * * * + + An Ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow." + + BYRON. + + +[Illustration] + +The Primo Basso is to the primo tenore what the draught horse is to the +racer; drawing along the heavy business of an opera, whilst the other +goes capering and curvetting through whole pages of chromatics, and runs +bounding with unerring precision over the most fearful musical +intervals. The basso, consequently, to uphold the vast superstructure +of song, must be a man furnished with a strong supporting and sustaining +voice. He usually plays the part of tyrants, either of the domestic +circle or of the throne; and the tyrants of fiction always have been +represented as over-grown individuals, from the time of the Titans down +to the giants who met with their well-merited fate from the invincible +arm of that doughty nursery hero--_Jack the Giant Killer_. It is a most +fortunate circumstance then for the basso, that while his powerful voice +must necessarily proceed from gigantic lungs, and these organs again are +chiefly found planted in largely developed frames, his huge proportions +only the better qualify him for his department of operatic personae. His +form is heavy, and would be muscular, if ease and indolence, +unrestrained appetite, and no more exertion than is requisite to blow +the bass-bellows during half a dozen evenings in the week, did not +permit an undue accumulation of adipose substance. His hair is generally +black, but not of that rich, glossy, _curling_ kind, which decks the +fair brow of the delicate little tenor. His features are gross and +sensual, exhibiting about the amount of intelligence which may be +looked for in one of those bedecked and garlanded animals, whose +appearance among us announces the future sale of show beef. His dress is +an exhibition of slovenly grandeur. Each article of clothing is in +itself very handsome, perhaps very gaudy; but the manner in which it is +dragged on the figure, makes the _tout ensemble_ coarse and common, +slovenly and disagreeable. His animal propensities hold the intellectual +faculties in bondage, and every approach to sentiment is excluded by the +clogged up avenues to thought. His manner of living is _sensualite en +action_. His life is an existence, tossed and troubled by the +vicissitudes of sleeping and feeding, with occasional interruptions of +mechanical vocalization. He possesses an organ, which it is supposed +cannot be impaired by indulgence in the pleasures of the table, and he +always acts as if he wished to put this supposition to the test. When he +orders his breakfast, therefore, he does not look down the _carte_ in +order to see what viands he must avoid, but only to ascertain how many +dishes are likely to be objects agreeable to his palate. _Substantials_ +form all his meals. No mild _cafe au lait_, composes the meal which is +to announce that he has commenced his daily labours of mastication. +After a morning's deglutition worthy of the anaconda, he suffers +digestion to prepare him for a walk, while he indulges in piles of +cigars. As this smoking effort is a long one, he is about ready to join +his elegant friend, the tenor, when the latter calls on him to go out +and astound the town. What a majestic stride the heavy, beefy fellow +puts on as he saunters down the street! How his body seems to say--for +his face is void of expression; how his body seems to say; "gentlemen, +you're all very well,--but it won't do; I out-weigh a dozen of you, and +the ladies have to surrender to such a superior weight of metal." + +The basso seldom loves the prima donna. He regards her as a very +troublesome lady, who _devils_ him at rehearsals, because he won't sing +in time; on the stage, because she wants to show her importance; and in +the _salon_, because she requires so much attention. + +The only wonder is, how he and the delicate, sensitive tenor, persons +presenting such a decided contrast to each other, should live together +on terms of such apparent friendship. The reason, however, is, that the +association is not one arising from choice, but from necessity. Between +the tenor and the baritone, there is a something too much of similarity +in voice and _physique_ to render them just the most inseparable friends +in the world; but in the vast musical gulf between the tenor and the +basso, all professional rivalry is buried. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Of the Prima Donna. + + "Your female singer being exceedingly capricious and wayward, and + very liable to accident."--SKETCH BOOK. + + +[Illustration] + +Every body knows what a prima donna is. She is the _first lady_, and +this is a fact apparently better known to the individual herself, than +to any body else--at least her actions would warrant this inference. She +deems herself more indispensable to an opera than an executioner to an +execution, or the thimbles to a thimble-rig man. She takes no pains to +conceal what a high price she sets on the value of her presence. She +sings just when she pleases, and just as she pleases. Caprice itself is +not more capricious than this fair creature. As capricious as a prima +donna has almost become a proverb, and we predict that in a few years it +will become fully established as such. She is a female tyrant. +Impresario, treasurer, chef (d'orchestre,) chorus master and chorus +tremble before her, when in one of her passions she brings down her +pretty little foot in a most commanding stamp. She gives the first +mentioned person more trouble than all the singers, orchestra and +officials together, with her coughs, colds and affected indispositions. +Next to the impresario, the chef (d'orchestre) suffers most from her +imperious spirit. He never conducts so as to accompany her properly, and +though she sings a half a note higher than she did at rehearsal, she +expects every poor musician to transpose his magic at sight, or receive +the indications of her displeasure in a way that leads the audience to +believe that the fault lies entirely with the orchestra. She worries the +basso,--poor, heavy, drowsy fellow,--because he's such a slow +coach--and such an oaf. She is disposed to be more friendly to the +tenor, who is the only person who receives any tokens of her good-will; +but in truth, she would cease to be a woman, if she were unkind to this +gentlemanly, polite little fellow. Neither does she hold the public in +the least regard, but conceives that she has a right to be seriously +indisposed as often as she thinks that people are really desirous to +hear her; and "is subject when the house is thin, to cold," as Byron +says. She keeps all the town who have determined to go and hear her, in +the most provoking suspense. Balls and evening parties are sadly +interrupted by her erratic course, for she is sure to sing on the +evenings assigned to those delightfully laborious modes of destroying +time. All the pleasure promising engagements made by the Browns and the +Smiths to form a party, and go in concert to the opera, are postponed +from time to time, to the great vexation of young Harry Brown, who +craftily set the affair on foot, in order to have an evening's "chaff" +with Miss Julia Smith. + +Sometimes the prima donna's "serious indisposition" is not discovered by +the fair singer herself, until the ladies of the audience have removed +the cloaks, furs and hoods which guard their loveliness from the cold of +a winter night; until the young gentlemen have jammed their opera hats +into an inconceivably small space, and adroitly passed the hand up to +the collar and cravat to discover how things are in that quarter; and +until the old _habitues_ have settled themselves down into the softest +chair of the pit, with the full intention of being extremely displeased, +and making very unfavourable comparisons between the performance about +to take place, and one at which they were present some twenty years +before. However, she is a splendid creature--a small miracle in the way +of humanity--and can therefore be excused from pursuing that monotonous +and regular course of life which "patient merit" is obliged to take. + +[Illustration] + +She is either a beautiful woman in reality, or one who can get up such +an admirable imitation that it is difficult to distinguish it from the +genuine. She is well skilled in music, at least in its execution; but +she is always much more deeply versed in the virtues of cosmetics, and +in the art of making herself beautiful. + +There are two varieties in the figure of the prima donna; either, +firstly, such as to qualify her for opera buffa and certain tragic +roles, in which case she is of medium stature, delicate proportions, and +possesses the most graceful and vivacious action. Prima donnas of this +stamp make the dearest, sweetest, most innocent-looking Aminas; the most +sprightly, coquettish Rosinas, and the most faithful, confiding and +sincere Lucias. Or, secondly, she is of a large mould, more masculine +dimensions, with a countenance that can gather up in a moment a show of +the requisite amount of fury to poignard the husband and strangle the +_babbies_. She plays all the high tragedy roles, doing the Semiramide, +Norma and Lucrezia, with a very sanguinary power and effect. Those of +the first kind are most admired by the gay young fellows about town who +have no taste for music, and who do not resort to the opera to hear it, +but make the parquette a lounging place where they can be in the mode, +see beautiful women, and show _themselves_. + +The prima donna, in her attempts to render herself personally +attractive, has an auxiliary in her maid, who is a compound of companion +and servant, and a _coiffeuse_ gifted with the most delicate taste and +artistic execution. How often have we looked round the house and been +forced to confess that the prima donna was literally the _first lady_ in +the building, in respect to costume and _coiffure_. This maid too, is +almost as much of a curiosity among maids as her mistress among fine +ladies. She may be regarded as a prima donna without a voice, without +fine clothes, bouquets, and a tenor companion; and it is her _destiny_ +to marry one of the violinists, when her mistress marries the tenor. It +is upon this official that the duty of attending to the prima donna's +lap-dogs Beatrice and Amore, particularly devolves--two animals that are +almost as dear to their possessor as her professional reputation. In +addition to these darling little quadrupeds, upon which so many caresses +are bestowed, both by the faultless hand of the mistress, and the same +well-diamonded member of the tenor, a parrot usually divides the +affections of one, who woman-like, must love something, but who has +been so far initiated into the ways of the world as to doubt the +sincerity of all mankind, except probably that of the aforesaid tenor. +We remember once being present when a well-known prima donna was about +to leave a northern city, where a rival cantatrice had lately appeared, +and was inducing comparisons unsatisfactory to the former. She had been +informed that an overland trip to New Orleans would be greatly +incumbered by the presence of her lap-dogs and parrot, and was prevailed +on to bestow them on some tender-hearted persons, whose extreme +affection for domesticated animals would be a guaranty for their gentle +treatment. A married gentleman--we are afraid without having consulted +his wife--kindly offered to relieve the lady from all trouble in finding +the suitable persons, by taking them himself. Assuming the attitude of +Norma handing over babes, she delivered up the poodles. With what +sadness were the little creatures confided to his care. What admonitions +and instructions to carefully keep them; what prayers for their faithful +protection; a womanly tear bedewed the cheek of the fascinating lady, +and a smile followed, as if to ask forgiveness for what she feared +those present might consider an unbecoming weakness. Five years +afterwards, we saw in a concert room this same sensitive creature, who +was so moved and affected at the _derniers adieux_ paid to her hateful +little poodles, scowl darkly, bite her lips, and turn her back on the +person who had engaged her, whom, by the by, we, in common with the +audience, regarded as a much aggrieved individual. + +[Illustration] + +Between the attention and affection bestowed on her pets, some hours +devoted to study and rehearsal, occasional rides and walks, and time +spent in the pleasing avocation of arranging her wardrobe, and in +innocently admiring her fair self in the mirror, the days of this +spoiled child of the music-loving are whiled away. She is acquainted +with some of the dandies of the place where she for the time resides, +but as such gentlemen in this country seldom have the temerity to +appear with her in public, their usefulness as escort promenaders is +greatly abridged. The fast men sometimes smuggle themselves into her +visiting circle, in order to be able to boast of their intimacy with the +prima donna; but as this class of society is seldom very _fluent_ in the +use of Italian, and as there is small affinity between the +sentimentality of the opera and "mile heats to harness," this +acquaintance is not of very long duration. + +[Illustration] + +The necessity of personal beauty in a prima donna is such, that she must +"assume that virtue if she have it not." Not many winters since, a +beautiful cantatrice was induced to undertake the role of Romeo in "I +Montecchi ed I Capuletti." The lady was excellently proportioned, except +that there existed a great want of symmetry in the inferior members; +and as Romeo's skirts must necessarily be short, and the lady could not +at will assume a pair of well turned knees and calves, she clothed the +offending limbs in what, at this day would be called "Bloomer +pantaloons." The attempt to ingraft turkish trowsers on the Veronese +costume, proved too absurd to warrant the continuance of such a +representation, and was abandoned after the night of its introduction. + +The effect of a prima donna on society is very various. If she be of the +high tragic or strangulation school, it is to induce young ladies of +some voice, _and a good deal of person_, to clothe themselves in white +_tulle_ on the occasion of evening parties and amateur concerts--draw +their hair very smoothly over the temples--drive a white camellia into +the left side of the head, and sing long recitatives from Norma or +Lucrezia;--in the case of evening parties to the infinite chagrin of +young gentlemen possessed of great waltzing powers and passions; and in +the case of amateur concerts, to the fatigue of yawning audiences. If +the prima donna is of the coquettish school of song, every damsel of +sylph-like proportions, vivacious expression, and a turn for +man-killing, chirps and warbles away in the sprightly passages of the +_Barbiere_. + +[Illustration] + +As for the male part of the community, it is perfectly easy to divine +how they will be affected by the appearance of the different "_prime +donne_" who from year to year present themselves for musical honors. +They will always be pleased, but chiefly by those who are rather +attractive in features than in voice. The very young and inexperienced +men just entering into society, denominated "cubs" by the beaux of some +years standing, affect most the prima donna of the sanguinary school, +because she seems more in accordance with the ideas they have derived +from the study of Medea, a work to which they have not long since bid +adieu. They regard the killing of babes as the most tragic of tragedy, +and the actress who can do the thing best, as the most accomplished of +actresses. But the knowing fellows of mature years prefer the pretty +creatures who look so fond and affectionate, in their short peasant +dresses, displaying the delicate little foot and well turned ancle. How +they gather night after night into the parquette, to compare opinions on +the merits of Orsini's soft notes, and the long, beautifully-filled +stockings of the page dress. We once heard an enthusiastic Cuban remark, +when Patti was singing Orsini to Parodi's Lucrezia; "Parodi is the +finest singer I ever heard,--she is the best actress I ever saw; some +few people can appreciate her singing, many more her acting;--but +Patti's legs! Ah! Sir, that is something that everybody can understand." +How delighted the young fellows pretend to be with the wild, bacchanal +song, when in reality they only encore the songstress, in order to have +another opportunity of admiring her pretty knees. Alas, how foolish they +are to throw away admiration on one who takes no more thought of them +than if they never existed; but each one of them supposes that she must +necessarily, be slightly enamoured of himself. The consequence is, that +next morning divers bouquets, with small notes or cards containing a few +amatory words, appended to them, are handed in to the servant, who is +very much out of humour at what has become troublesome from its over +repetition. + +The old _habitues_, of course, will not be affected in any way except by +peevishness and petulance, which will drive them into their usual course +of detraction. "Ah!" says old Twaddle; "Pasta--you should have seen +Pasta! No melodramatic twaddle about her! Genuine, artistic delineation +of passion and profound emotion. And then what a voice! none of your +ambiguous voices there; no difficulty in pronouncing, whether soprano or +contralto. And then her beauty--none of your namby-pamby, sickly, +insignificant prettiness." And thus Twaddle grumbles on, making shocking +comparisons between the past and present. Poor old Twaddle! he has, +according to his own showing, outlived all that is good in the province +of music. + +The prima donna in this country will, generally speaking, produce on any +foreigner who happens to be among us, an effect very much akin to that +exercised upon Twaddle. She will set him sighing after the vocalization +of the other side of the Atlantic. He will seem to forget that Parodi or +"the Hays" ought to sing as well in this country as in Europe. But still +he can't be brought to that belief; and what is worse, upon your +venturing to suggest any possibility of such a state of the case, you +are made to perceive that he considers that your nationality puts you +off the bench of musical critics. + + * * * * * + +Query. Why is it that _every_ Frenchman is supposed to be an infallible +judge of sweet sounds? For our own part, we no more believe that every +Gallic gentleman is fit for a critic, than that every one can raise a +handsome moustache. + + * * * * * + +Another effect of a beautiful prima donna, is to make young husbands, +who have been married _just_ two years, look so steadfastly on the +stage, that their young wives sit with their eyes fastened on a cousin +George or Harry, in the parquette. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +Of the Barytone. + + "Our Barytone I almost had forgot; + + * * * * * + + In lover's parts, his passion more to breathe, + Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."--BYRON. + + +The Barytone of the opera is probably the most inoffensive individual in +the world. This is his peculiarity. Even his fierceness on the stage is +done with an effort; and when in the course of a piece he is +unfortunately called on to massacre somebody, we always fancy that he +does it with the most unfeigned reluctance, and for aught we know, with +silent tears. He is generally of a bashful, retiring disposition, and +pretty nearly always awkward. This perhaps arises from the anomalous +position he occupies in operatical society. He cannot be on good terms +with the basso,--they have too much similarity in their voices for that; +he is on no more friendly relations with the tenor for the same reason. +Besides never daring to aspire to the familiarity with the prima donna +which that worthy enjoys, he suffers under the affliction of conscious +diffidence in their presence. + +[Illustration] + +The barytone must as surely be the king as the basso must be the tyrant; +indeed we have often thought of the startling effect which would be +produced by an opera in which this law of nature was reversed. To hear +the lover growling his tender feelings in a gutteral E flat, and moaning +his hard lot in a series of double D.'s; to listen to the remorseless +tyrant ordering his myrmidons to "away with him to the deepest dungeon +'neath the castle moat," in the most soothing and mellifluous of tenor +head notes, would produce such a revulsion in operatic taste, as surely +to create a deep sensation, if nothing more. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +Of the Suggeritore or Prompter. + + "There never was a man so notoriously abused. + + TWELFTH NIGHT. + + "But whispering words can poison truth." + + COLERIDGE. + + +[Illustration] + +We should be much grieved were we to let a chance of immortality at our +hands go by, for our great friend the prompter--the suggeritore of the +Italians. The prompter is to the opera, what the fifth wheel is to a +wagon; everything rubs, grates and abrades it, yet the whole concern +turns on it. He is the most abused (not hated--that is reserved for the +Impresario,) man in the company. But he does not care for it. That is +what he is hired for. He is paid to be of a good temper, and he does it. +He returns docility for dollars; and suavity for salary. He is the true +philosopher; just enough in the company to be part of it, and +sufficiently detached to avoid all the squabbles and bickerings. He, +however, is the victim of all the caprices of the company, from the +prima donna, who in a miff kicks about _his partition_ in a very piano +cavatina, to each of the bandy-legged choristers. True, he has his +little revenge. This he accomplishes by using his voice too much and too +loudly in the _sotto voce_ parts, so that all the duos become trios and +the quintettes, choruses. This is little enough to sweeten the +embitterments of a _suggeritore's_ life, but such it is, and he is +contented. The _suggeritore_ must be a thin man. It does not require a +Paxton to know that a hole in the stage two feet square, will not hold +Barnum's obesities. He must also be short and supple-necked, to allow +the green fungus which excresces from the stage to cover him; and he +must be the fortunate owner of a right arm as untiring as a locomotive +crank or the sails of a windmill. It is a prevalent but mistaken idea, +that the prompter is an impolite man; we happen to know that it is a +matter of the deepest concern with him to be obliged to sit with his +back to the audience. But he is like the angels and St. Cecilia, "_Il +n'avait pas de quoi_" to do otherwise. Operas must be, Singers must +have, a lead horse--(N. B. How can delicate females and tenors be +expected to recollect "_les paroles_;")--and there he is, with a little +hole in the back of his calash for the leader of the orchestra to stir +him up when the excitement becomes very strong, and the time is +irrecoverably lost. As to the social habits of the suggeritore, the +naturalist is at a loss, for he immediately disappears after rehearsal, +and remains in close retirement till the performance, after which he is +again lost till the next day. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +Before the Curtain. + + "A neat, snug study on a winter's night; + A book, friend, single lady, or a glass + Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, + Are things which make an English evening pass, + Though _certes_ by no means so grand a sight, + As is a theatre, lit up with gas."--BYRON. + + +The night is a cold one; the snow is falling in large, heavy flakes, and +those who are fond of the frigid, but exhilarating amusement of +sleighing, are in hopes that by the morrow they will be able to pass +like lightning from one part of the city to the other; in a sleigh +decked with warm, gaily trimmed furs; filled with a merry company, and +drawn by two high-headed, dashing trotters. The gas lights are just +discernible from corner to corner. The number of people in the streets +is steadily decreasing, and the sound of their foot-fall is muffled in +the snow. About the theatres and the opera house, however, crowds of the +idle and curious, gaping at those who are entering these buildings, make +it necessary for the police to pace to and fro, ordering back the more +presumptuous loiterers, who press forward and obstruct the approach to +the doors. + +Query? Why does the crowd always stare at those who are going into a +theatre or opera? The latter are attired somewhat strangely to be sure, +but still they don't look _exactly_ like Choctaws. + +The cab and chaise-men muffled up in their cold-defying great-coats and +woolen comforters, are opening the doors of their several vehicles, out +of which ladies enveloped in cloaks and hoods are dismounting under +cover of umbrellas, held probably by the "best of brothers," but more +probably by gentlemen in no way related to them. In the opera house all +is bustle and commotion. The officials are selling tickets, receiving +tickets, and directing to their places bevies of ladies and gentlemen +bewildered in a maze of passages. The audience is impatiently preparing +itself for a delightful evening's entertainment. The dandies, who are +so unfortunate as not to have accompanied ladies have already brought +themselves up to the attack, and have levelled their opera-glasses on +all the points where they know well-established objects of admiration +are likely to be found. Now and then they bow their recognition in a +reserved inclination, or in a careless smiling way that bespeaks the +freedom of familiar intimacy. + +The fast-men are standing at the doors in knots of three and four, +talking over the last trot of Suffolk, or the probable chance of victory +in the next day's dog-fight, and making a few, no doubt _very fast_, but +not very proper allusions to the shoulders of some rather sparingly +habited _belles_. The Cubans in the parquette, who, by the by, during +their sojourn in this country will best preserve their liberty by +remaining north of Mason and Dixon's line, are clearing their voices in +very doubtful Spanish, for those animated bravos, which we must admit +they always administer in the very best taste, both as to time and +quantity. Here and there, some lone young man, desolate in a crowd, who +has seldom before been exposed to the full blaze of the all-discovering +gas light, not exactly knowing what to do with himself, is +endeavouring, with a fictitious indifference, to fill up the vacancies +of attention by smoothing down the stubborn folds of badly selected +white _kids_. Five collegians just escaped from the studious +universities for a high week in town, have established themselves all +together, and commenced a running commentary, carried on chiefly in the +Virginia dialect, on men, women, and things, much to the annoyance of a +very foreign gentleman behind them--so foreign that he is almost +black--who looks stilettos at his cheerful but over-loquacious +neighbours. One youth in an excessively white, though unpleasantly stiff +cravat, is assisting an equally stiff old chaperon into her place, at +the expense of great physical efforts, till his cheeks are thereby +suffused with a tint strongly resembling the color of a juvenile beet, +while the distended veins of his forehead would make a fine anatomical +study for the laborious medical student, if that fabulous biped were +still extant. The chaperon being disposed of, four young ladies under +her _surveillance_, two in opera cloaks and hoods, and two in +antediluvian mantles and pre-adamitic head-gear, assuring the existence +of rural cousinship, by four minor efforts of the same gentleman, are +at length safely landed in their places. But now commences a new round +of confusion. Each of the four young ladies discovers that she has +placed herself on some article of clothing belonging to her companion. +Whereupon she half rises, and having drawn forth the disturbing +habiliment, resumes her former position: and as this movement is +performed by each one of them without regard to the order in which they +have placed themselves, and is repeated half a dozen times in as many +minutes, the unconscious fair ones become the subjects of the allusions +of the fast-men, who immediately institute comparisons between them and +various animate and inanimate objects. One of these gentlemen observing +that their motions remind him of a flock of aquatic fowl, known by the +name of divers, a facetious friend replies that probably he means diving +bells; which being considered an extremely happy pun, it meets with a +hearty laugh of approbation. But an ambitious fast wit, fearing that his +reputation is likely to be lost forever, if he remain silent, says that +the whole group of uneasy females recalls the line of Coleman, + + "For what is so gay as a bag full of fleas." + +This being regarded as the acme of brilliancy, there is no telling what +might be the consequences if their attention were not drawn into another +channel by the entrance of a distinguished belle, who is immediately +pronounced to be a "stunner" and the question is raised as to who the +man is who acts as "bottle holder," reference thereby being had to the +gentleman who is so polite as to hand the lady to her place, and aid her +in disposing of her divers little appliances of operatic necessity. The +_belle_ scarcely takes her seat before she commences to hum snatches of +Italian airs, in a very careless indifferent way, just to show how much +she is at home in such a place, and probably to attract a little more +attention. + +Query? Why do the handsomest women at an opera _always_ talk and laugh +the loudest? + +That portion of the audience comprised in the gentler sex is here in all +the attraction of natural loveliness and adventitious ornament, putting +to flight a notion once prevalent, that beauty when unadorned is then +adorned the most. + +The noise of conversation which now lulls, now swells out in gentle +crescendos, is chiefly the production of this taciturn part of the +audience. All at once the gas is let on in a gush of light, the buzz of +voices, which up to this time has been carried on in a subdued tone, +bursts out into full force, with a suddenness that seems to render it +probable that the conversation has been issuing all the while from the +gas jets. The augmented light brings down another volley from the foci +of a thousand _lorgnettes_. At this moment the musicians begin to enter +the orchestra which has been void of occupants all the evening, with the +exception of one meaningless old fellow, who has been attempting to +restore order among the stands, seats, and books, but whose laudable +efforts have ended in what every single gentleman at lodgings knows all +endeavours to "set things to rights," are sure to effect--a state of +affairs in which confusion is considerably worse confounded. But after +all a music-stand must be adjusted by the performer himself; no one can +put the hat of another on the head of the latter so as to be comfortable +to him. The latter must pose it for himself. This law applies with +peculiar force to music-stands. + +The violinists proceed to tighten or slacken the hair of their bows, to +throw back the coat collar, or stuff a white handkerchief under it, in +order to adjust the violin to the peculiar crook of each neck, with as +much apparent anxiety as if they had not been doing the same thing for +the last thirty years, and some of their heads had not become bald over +the sound-post. In the meantime, the other members of this well-bearded +corps are streaming in with their instruments under the arm, and are +placing their music books and lamps at the proper elevation on the +stands, all the while talking, nodding, and smiling as if rehearsing +half the day, and playing half the night, were a mighty good joke. + +And then ascend to the highest parts of the house--to the regions of the +operatic "paradise," those most singular of all instrumental sounds, +those fifty or sixty antagonistic voluntaries with which all the +audience would voluntarily dispense, consisting of chromatics in twenty +different keys, violin octaves, harmonics, thirds and fifths, clarionet +shakes, flute staccatos, horn growlings, ophicleide rumblings, +triangular vibrations, and drum concussions. + + "See to their desks Apollo's sons repair-- + Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! + In unison their various tones to tune, + Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon. + In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, + Twang goes the harpsicord, too too the flute, + Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, + Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling harp." + +About the time that the observer has made up in his mind an answer to +the following mental queries--how many nights the first violinist could +play without getting a crick in the neck--whether the flutist may not +sometime blow his eyes so far out of his head that he may never be able +to get them back again--how long it would take the operator on the +_cornet a piston_ to learn to play on the magnetic telegraph--why such a +small man should be suffered to perform on such a big thing as an +ophicleide, and how a person with such a huge moustache can get the +piccola up to lips defended by such a bulwark of hair, a fermentation is +observable in the midst of this musical whirlpool, which indicates the +presence of some higher power. Place is given by the humble members of +the orchestra, and the director is seen to stand forth in the attitude +of mounting the tribunal from whence he guides his submissive subjects +with despotic sway. He is a neat figured little man, with a profusion of +methodically adjusted curls, a moustache that would render his +physiognomy excessively ferocious, if an occasional smile playing over +the distinguishable parts of his face, did not modify this expression. +He is attired in the costume of the ball room, bearing in his button +hole the most delicate rosebud of the conservatory, and in his perfectly +gloved hand, an amber headed baton, the sceptre of command. At his +appearance a wave of applause floats up from the audience, and the head +and breast of the director bend down to meet it in a graceful and +reverential bow, accompanied by a smile expressing the highest possible +amount of inward gratification. This little acknowledgment of a becoming +respect for the good opinion of the house is repeated once or twice, and +then with the air of a man who has important business on hand, he mounts +his elevated seat. He gives one or two magical taps on the stand, and +the chaos of sounds is annihilated with the exception of the +lamentations of one refractory violin, over which the owner has been for +the last half hour repeatedly, first inclining his head in a horizontal +position, and then tugging away at the screws. At this the director +seems to be much annoyed, and the poor violinist, more annoyed, mutters +to a companion that he wishes himself an _unspeakably_ long way +hence--probably in Italy where he could procure some good strings. + +The resisting violin having been brought to subjection, the director +casts an eye over the whole body of musicians, and having thrown back +his head and lifted up both arms, very much in the supposed attitude of +Ajax defying the thunder, he remains perfectly motionless for an +instant, and then brings forward the whole of his body from the hips +upwards, with a rapid and powerful jerk, which introduces his forehead +into close proximity with the musical score which he pretends to be +reading, the baton strikes the stand with a loud clap, and one old +drummer proceeds to touch the drum, but in so gentle a manner, that it +sounds as if, instead of using the sticks he were tossing some grains of +shot on it. You now tremble for the safety of the director, and you +enter into an arithmetical calculation with yourself, the basis of which +is, that if the director by such a dangerous inclination of the person +can only bring one poor drummer into movement, what amount of bodily +labour he will be compelled to undergo, in order to operate on all that +concourse of musicians. But your fears are dissipated in a few moments, +for you discover that great sounds and little sounds are accompanied +with about the same degree of gesticulatory emphasis. In the meantime +some horns have commenced to blow on a very small scale, not hard +enough, you would suppose, to drive the dust out of them, and if the +piston of the cornet did not rattle so, you would pronounce its playing +all a sham. The violins and flutes begin to be audible and the +violinists are suddenly struck with a simultaneous desire to pick the +strings, just as if that would make any music. All the other instruments +are now doing duty in very feeble tones, and you take a look round the +house to see who are there; and you wonder why that particular family of +Smiths, with whom you have the pleasure of an acquaintance has not yet +appeared. You think Miss Julia Brown's hair arranged with the usual want +of elegance, and then call to mind the fact that at Newport, the +previous summer, you complimented her so many times on the peculiar +taste which her coiffure always displayed. The aforesaid drummer is now +giving the drum considerable ill usage, and then for the first time, you +observe that he has two of them which he appears to beat alternately. +The director is casting his head from one side to the other, flashes of +disapprobation dart from his eyes upon the dilatory violinists, who from +time to time, stop as it were, to catch breath, and fail to "come to the +scratch" in due season. Every now and then a frown, dark as Erebus, +spreads over his brow, as some poor laggard is astray in the mazes of +sound, and can't find his place, or turns two pages instead of one, and +consequently loses the thread of his harmonious discourse. The music +grows so powerful that the conversation of the most enthusiastic and +vociferous fast man no longer meets the ear. The orchestra is going as +if they were riding an instrumental steeple chase, and the director +looks more and more involved in doubt, as to which of his followers is +to be left most in the rear. + +At length when you have concluded that every musician has exhausted his +last resource in the general attempt to make a noise, you are knocked +into a start of astonishment by the introduction of a _corps de +reserve_, in the clash of cymbals, which sounds as if a careless servant +had stumbled in coming up stairs and mashed an entire set of Sevres +china. In the midst of this carnage of crotchets and quavers, the +director is obviously the controlling spirit who "rides in the whirlwind +and directs the storm." There he sits producing no one sound except an +occasional rap of his baton on the desk, and yet rousing to frenzy or +lulling into tranquillity the instruments of all this tumult, every now +and then, as Mr. Macaulay would say, "hurling foul scorn" at the heaps +of little black dots that are crowded over the leaves of his score. + +When the intensity of the tones has been diminished and augmented some +half dozen times, the overture is concluded in four grand crashes, in +which the cymbals make the most conspicuous figure. During the overture, +however, there seems to be occasional seasons when there is a cessation +of hostilities, and a soft plaintive air is taken up by one clarionet, +violincello or oboe, with which air the audience must be very much +delighted, for they laugh and talk with the greatest earnestness, and +never turn their eyes towards the orchestra. + +And now there is a new commotion among the musicians, while arranging +every thing for the more serious undertaking, the opera itself. The +director goes about like a general on the eve of battle, reconnoitres +his forces, and marshals them for the attack. He mounts the elevated +seat, gives another contortion to his frame, similar to that which was +necessary to put the overture in movement, and then the curtain rises. +Heads are slightly projected from the boxes at this movement, and many +an alabaster neck is curved forward till the lowered drapery reveals the +snowy bosom. The noise of conversation ceases, and the opera commences +in earnest. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +Of the Opera in the Concrete. + + "Lord! said my mother, what is all this story about? + + "A cock and a bull, said Yorick--and one of the best of its kind I + ever heard."--TRISTRAM SHANDY. + + _Prince Henry._ "'Wilt thou rob this leather-jerkin, + crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke stocking, + caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,--" + + _Francis._ "O Lord, sir, who do you mean?" + + _P. Hen._ "Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink: for, + look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully; in + Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much." FIRST PART OF KING HENRY + IV. + + "If this were played upon a stage, now, I would condemn it as an + improbable fiction." TWELFTH NIGHT. + + +When the curtain rises the scene represents a dark forest, where some +quite well dressed, but desperate, foreign-looking gentlemen are engaged +at a game of cards, which, from the abandoned appearance of the players, +we are warranted to believe, must be some such low pastime as "all +fours," or a hand at poker. The desperate gentlemen cantatorially +inform the audience that their profession is that of outlaws, and remark +that having no particular business then to engage them, they are staking +quite extravagant sums on some cards, which the curious observer will +discover to have a very unctuous appearance. How the outlaws ever came +to be reduced to such straightened circumstances as to put up with these +"lodgings upon the cold ground," or how they ever fell into such an +improper course of life, we are not told, but we remember once hearing a +fast man suggest that they were evidently "nobs who had overdrawn the +badger by driving fast cattle, and going it high"--the exact +signification of which words we did not understand, but supposed them to +refer to scions of nobility who had squandered their patrimonies in +riotous living. That these men are lost beyond the hope of redemption, +is clear from the fact that they express their determination to employ +themselves in no more useful or moral way; and how long they would +persist in this pernicious amusement is rendered uncertain, by the +entrance of their leader or chieftain--who, it is needless to say, is +the tenor. From, the first moment that the spectator casts his eye on +this obviously unfortunate individual, he is at once interested in his +case, observing to himself, that if the fellow is somewhat addicted to +low company, still he's a very gentlemanly character, and to all +appearance + + "The mildest manner'd man + That ever sculled ship or cut a throat." + +His looks are sad and melancholy, and would indicate that he is either +suffering from a cold in the head, or that his outlaws had been a little +more successful at "all fours" than himself. The "dejected haviour of +his visage" seems to touch the audience, for they immediately give him +several rounds of applause, no doubt with the intention of raising his +spirits. This kind manifestation of their feelings is responded to by +one or two low bows, and then he turns towards his outlaws to obtain a +becoming reception from them. + +He is greeted by his followers with the greatest enthusiasm; though, to +their inquiries after his health, he makes no reply, but walks languidly +down to the foot-lights, and relates to both audience and outlaws, how +deplorable will be his condition unless he receive the assistance of +the latter in carrying out his designs. He goes on to state that the +"voice of a certain damsel of Arragon has slid into his heart like dew +upon a parched flower"--a simile which the reader will observe to be +equally felicitous as novel. He adds, however, that a great old villain +and tyrant (who of course must be the basso,) has carried off the +Spanish maiden, and is about to compel her to marry him. The bandits +become at once highly indignant, and with one accord seize their arms +and declare that they will follow their chief to the castle of the old +phylogynist, and _boulverse_ all his designs by some insinuating digs of +the poignard. The despondent chief seems comforted by this assurance of +their "most distinguished consideration," and remarks that the young +lady will no doubt be a consoling angel amidst the griefs of exile. + +[Illustration] + +While he has been informing the audience and his friends of the state of +his feelings, he has from time to time indulged in gestures about as +strong as we can well conceive of, but now and then when an +extraordinarily deep sentiment, and a very high note, choose the same +moment for their expression, he is obliged to poise himself on one +foot, extend the other behind him, elevating the heel and depressing the +toe, fold his hands over his breast, throw back the head and shake his +body like a newfoundland dog just issuing from the water--the refractory +note and the hidden emotion are always brought to light by these +gesticulatory expedients. + +Immediately after this, the scene having changed to the castle of the +tyrant, the "Aragonese vergine" (the prima donna), is discovered +reclining on an old box covered with green baize, which long-continued +acquaintance with theatrical properties, enables the audience to +recognize as a velvet _lounge_. This lady seems to be in great +affliction, for which, however, we can discover no adequate cause, +except that she is in such an unbecoming place for an unprotected +female. The applause of the audience is overwhelming, and three very +low, but extremely graceful and lady-like curtsies which she rises "to +do," are the consequence. + +The beaux are now in all the excitement that dandies dare permit +themselves to yield to, alternately exclaiming, "how grand she is! how +beautiful! heavens, but isn't she beautiful!" and then bringing down the +focus of the opera-glass on the peerless woman. + +The distressed female now launches off into a recitative, in which she +expresses, in no measured terms, her utter aversion to the hateful old +tyrant, and then, falling on one knee, strikes into a cavatina, in which +she says she hopes her lover, who necessarily must be the outlaw chief, +(who again must necessarily be the tenor), will come immediately and run +off with her--a wish that is probably often entertained by young ladies +in reference to their particular lovers, but which is seldom avowed in +this public way. + +[Illustration] + +During the cavatina, she has been doing some very high singing, and +making a great many of the newfoundland dog shakes, the lady part of the +audience sitting wrapt in admiration, with the eyes fastened on the +stage as intently as if they were witnessing a marriage ceremony, gently +murmuring their approbation in detached sentences, such as "sweet, +lovely, charming, exquisite;" while the fast men by the door, utter the +words "knocker, fast nag," and declare that her time is "two thirty." + +One of these very sporting young gentlemen asserts his readiness to +"back her against the field." Just as the prima donna makes a very +steep raise in the scale with a dreadful velocity of utterance, the same +individual expresses his desire to withdraw the offer, observing that +she is making her "brushes" too soon, and that he fears "she'll be too +distressed to come home handsome." + +A troupe of maidens with very plethoric ancles, now make their +appearance, encumbered by large gilt paste-board caskets, containing +some exceedingly brilliant paste-jewelry, intended as bridal presents +for the unprotected female. They have, however, the strangest mode of +offering these tokens of friendship that we have ever seen. + +[Illustration] + +They arrange themselves in a line on one side of the stage, apparently +measuring their proximity to or distance from the foot-lights, with +reference to the relative thickness of their ankles, until the lady +nearest the audience seems to be the subject of a violent attack of +elephantiasis. This done, they repeatedly sing five bars, and stretch +out the right hand containing the present, in a line, forming, with the +body, an angle of about ninety degrees. + +A certain king of Castile in disguise, who is another of the many +admirers of the heroine, breaks in on this little ceremony, expresses a +strong wish to see her, and is told by one of the maidens, that the +subject of his admirations is very much depressed in spirits, being +considerably smitten with the afore-mentioned outlaw chieftain. The king +is shocked at his adored one's want of taste in making a preference so +little flattering to himself, and endeavours to force her to escape with +him; but the young lady being highly indignant, draws a dagger, and +threatens "to go into him," if he don't cease taking such +liberties--thereby attracting considerable applause from some gentlemen +in a back box, who have a strong penchant for dog-fighting. The outlaw +happens to come in at the very nick of time, and after some quite +serious altercation between him and the disguised king, at the moment +when the "fancy" part of the audience are expecting a "set to," and +admiring the courage of the little tenor (the outlaw), which they +technically denominate the "game" of the "light weight," the heroine +rushes between them with a drawn sword, threatening to destroy herself +if they do not desist, and calling upon them to remember the honour of +her mansion--thereby, no doubt, alluding to the possibility of an +indictment for keeping a disorderly house. + +The old tyrant, of whom we have heard a great deal, but have not as yet +seen, returns home late at night to his castle, and finding two unknown +gentlemen in his house without an invitation, conversing with his +shut-up lady, he charges them with the impropriety of their behaviour. +The strange gentlemen (the outlaw chief and the king in disguise), not +particularly relishing these observations, beg him not to be so violent +in his language. This seems only to incense the old fellow the more, who +has just suggested "coffee and pistols," when the aforesaid king's +followers entering, make the tyrant acquainted with the fact that he's +been blowing up a king. The parasitical old tyrant immediately +endeavours to excuse himself for the mistake he has made; says he hopes +his royal highness will not be offended, that he had not the pleasure of +his acquaintance, and all that sort of thing. The king rejoins that he +is perfectly excuseable; that no offence has been done--that the cause +of his own unlooked-for presence arises from the fact that he is out for +the emperorship--that he is about doing a little electioneering, and +that he just stopped in to learn the state of public feeling in his +district, and solicit his (the tyrant's) vote. The tyrant being a good +deal flattered by this appeal to his chief weak point--namely, his own +fancied knowledge of party politics--says that the king does him great +honour--"supreme honour"--and invites him to spend the night in the +castle; which kind invitation his majesty graciously accepts. + +In the meantime, the outlaw, having observed how much more cordially the +tyrant is received than himself, has made his exit. The king's followers +all draw up in line and conclude the act by a song, the burden of which +is that their master's nomination is the only one "fit to be made." + +The next act discovers the tyrant awaiting the arrival of the +unfortunate heroine, to whom he is going to be married in a few minutes. +All is jollity in the castle, till a gentleman clothed as a pilgrim, +interrupts the general hilarity; for when the bride enters, he throws +off the dreadful black cloak and reveals the outlaw chieftain. He +pitches himself into a variety of passionate attitudes, to the great +terror of a whole boarding school of young ladies, whom their teacher +has permitted to visit the opera to improve their style of singing. The +bride elect rushes up to him, and so they both step down to the +foot-lights. The outlaw gentleman passes his right hand round the waist +of the lady, and clasps in his left both of her's, elevating them to a +line with the breast. They remain stationary for a moment, whilst the +orchestra is playing the symphony, looking as fondly into each other's +eyes as a pair of dear little turtle doves, and smiling as sweetly as +every gentleman and lady have a right to smile under such pleasant +circumstances. There they begin to assure each other simultaneously of +the pleasure they would find in immediately dying, placed in the +attitude which they are at present enjoying so highly; by a rare and +curious accident, both repeating the same words, with the exception of +the respective substitution of the pronouns "I, you, my, your, he, she," +as often as such substitutions become necessary--as if one should say, +for example, + + I'll } bet { my } money on the bob-tail mare. + You'll} {your} + + He'll } bet {his} money on the bob-tail mare. + She'll} {her} + +The outlaw is, however, obliged to run and hide himself, because he +hears the king knocking to come in, and he fears that he'll be killed if +he is discovered. The king enters, and with a very "fee, fi, fo, fum" +air, asks for the body of the outlaw. The tyrant tells a most bare-faced +falsehood, swears the outlaw is not in his house, and so, the king, +after considerable use of the word wretch, traitor, menditore, &c., +carries off the bride as a hostage, to the great chagrin of the tyrant. +As soon as the king has departed with his fair companion, the tyrant +runs to the outlaw's hiding place, and dragging him forth by the +collar, declares that he'll kill him himself. The outlaw, under great +excitement, seizes his head in both hands in a manner so terrible, that +self-decapitation would seem to be inevitable, which so alarms the +aforesaid boarding school misses, that two of them go off into +hysterics, and they are carried into the lobby, where the cutting of +their laces is attended with an explosion similar to that of "popping" a +champagne cork. The outlaw prays the tyrant not to kill him just now, +and says he will give him permission to do so at any future period. +"Here, sir," adds he, still addressing himself to the tyrant, "is a very +fine _cornet a piston_, allow me to present it to you with the +assurance, that whenever you wish to obtain my presence for the purpose +of exterminating me, you will merely be obliged to sound the note of B +flat, and I will unhesitatingly comply with your wishes." In the words +of the poet Tennyson, + + "Leave me here, and when you want me, + Sound upon the bugle horn." + +The tyrant accepts the present upon the accompanying condition, but +having no great confidence in the word of a man who has been associating +so long a time with bad company, he requires him to make oath to that +effect; which being done, both gentlemen call upon the chorus to follow +them immediately in pursuit of the king and his captive lady. These +cowardly rascals stand some five minutes and sing about their readiness +to depart, instead of marching off instantly, as they are requested to +do. + +In the third act, the king hides himself in a grave-yard during the +election for emperor, probably out of fear that he may be defeated. +While wandering among the grave-stones he overhears some of his +political enemies, (among whom is the outlaw chieftain,) plotting his +assassination. The conspirators cast lots for the office of assassin, +and the lot _very naturally_ falls on the outlaw. The next moment the +report of cannon is heard, and the king's retinue come in, bringing with +them the heroine--who, we must confess, seems to have no real business +there,--and state that the polls have closed, and that the king has been +elected emperor. Thereupon the new emperor calls the conspirators up and +is about to have them killed, just as it might be expected an emperor +would do. + +The heroine begs for the life of the miserable offenders, telling the +emperor that if he wishes to be considered a sovereign of +respectability, and not conduct himself like one who had "stolen a +precious diadem and put it in his pocket," he must pardon the +delinquents. The emperor relents, and pronounces a pardon for the +conspirators. He calls up the robber chieftain and the heroine, and +uniting their hands, expresses an ardent wish that they may, as the +libretto says, "love forever." The pleasure of the two lovers is +indescribable, and the whole company begin to sing the praises of such a +trump of an emperor. The air, which is chosen as the vehicle to carry +all this adulation to royal ears, is apparently one of those crashing, +clashing passages in the overture; and if the emperor does not hear the +voice of flattery, it is because the gentlemen who preside over the +kettle-drum and cymbals, seem to have entered into a conspiracy to +prevent it. The more zealous the chorus is in its efforts to make an +agreeable impression on their sovereign, and the louder the voice is +raised for this object, the more that irritable old drummer seems +anxious to defeat their sycophantic purposes. If you are one of those +excitable persons who are prone to take a side in every contest that +comes under their observation, whether it be two gentlemen ranging for +the presidency, or two bull-terriers "punishing" each other for the +possession of a bone, you immediately determine who you hope may carry +their point. In your admiration of the dogged perseverance of the old +drummer, you take part in favour of the instruments, and when you hear +that sudden and awful clash of the cymbals, which causes you to start +till you dig your elbow into an elderly gentleman on one side, and tread +on some corny toes on the other, you felicitate yourself upon the +victory of parchment and brass over throats; but the next moment your +pleasure is extinguished, for the tenor and soprano give their voices an +extra lift, and away they go up like rockets, far aloft above the din of +horns, cymbals and kettle drums. + +The fourth and last act represents the terrace of a highly illuminated +palace, which may be seen in the back ground. Some masked gentlemen, +very bandy-legged and knock-kneed, dressed in tight hose, well +calculated to exhibit these deformities, are observed flirting with some +of the before mentioned thick-ankled ladies, who likewise rejoice in +dominos. Every thing indicates that this is a place, where people are in +the habit of being extremely jolly, and from which such stupid things as +parties to which a few friends are invited "very sociably", or family +re-unions, are entirely abolished. Presently all the company break out +with the expression of one general wish for the unbounded prosperity of +the outlaw chief and the heroine whom we saw betrothed in the last act, +and who have just been married. They make their exit shortly afterward +in great precipitation, having been frightened from the stage by the +appearance of a great, horrible-looking figure, clothed in black, which +seems to be a species of bug-bear, sent to scare such naughty people who +do nothing but dance, sing and make merry. The bug-bear exits shortly +after. + +Again the highly profligate chorus enter, in no wise corrected by the +visitation of the gloomy looking gentleman, and assure the audience what +a pleasant thing it is for one man to flirt with another's wife from +behind a mask, or for an innocent young lady "going her first winter" to +whisper in a corner with a man about town; but getting weary of this +occupation, they at last retire, and the newly married couple--the +outlaw and his bride--again show themselves. + +The outlaw seems to be struck with a highly poetic vein, for he tells +the lady that the noise of the polka in the palace has ceased, that the +gas has been stopped off, and that the stars are amusing themselves by +smiling on their happy union, "because they've nothing else to do." +Thereupon they indulge in a gentle embrace, and start off simultaneously +in a duo, declaratory of the union of their two hearts in such an +anti-anatomical manner, that henceforth until their latest breath, one +cardiacal organ will suffice to perform the functions of two separate +bodies. Scarcely have they made this declaration of their abnormal +heart-union, before the sound of a horn falls on the ears of the o'er +happy couple. At this moment the outlaw forgets all good breeding, and +still influenced by his former brigand habits, swears a most horrible +oath in the presence of his young bride, and seems to be overcome by +great depression of spirits. The poor woman, observing nothing singular +about the blast of the horn--in all probability fancying that it is only +the tooting of a lazy post boy somewhat behind time, prays him to cheer +up, and let her see him smile. Before the outlaw can comply with this +small request the horn sounds again. "Behold," shrieks the young +husband, "the tiger seeks his prey." The bride surveys the apartment, +but observing no tiger or other ferocious animal, takes it for granted +that he has the mania a potu, induced by imbibing too much champagne at +the wedding feast. She immediately runs out into the bridal chamber, +with the intention of putting on those indefinite garments denominated +"things," and going to call up the court physician. The outlaw chieftain +stands a moment listening with breathless attention, and hearing no more +of the horn, comes to the conclusion that he has no just ground for +fear, and that it was only a dreadful ringing in the ears with which he +is sometimes afflicted. He thereupon rushes in pursuit of his bride, but +just as he arrives at the door of the bridal chamber, his progress is +arrested by the same black hob-goblin gentlemen who frighted the +dissipated chorus, as before related. This gentleman is recognized by +the outlaw in spite of his black clothes and mask, as the hateful old +tyrant who persecuted him to such an extent some time previously. The +outlaw groans a few times, and then the tyrant asks his victim if he +calls to mind his promise, and the words of the poet Tennyson, + + "Leave me here, and when you want me + Sound upon the bugle horn." + +The poor outlaw begs for his life; but the old tyrant remains +inexorable, and tells him that he must die. + +The unhappy bride returns, and hearing her husband entreating the old +tyrant so fervently for a respite, unites her supplications with those +of her husband. To this the tyrant makes no direct answer, but merely +presents a poignard to the trembling outlaw, with a repetition of the +words of the poet Tennyson. + + "Leave me here, and when you want me + Sound upon the bugle horn." + +The outlaw perceiving no mode of escaping from this _horn_ of the +dilemma, seizes the poignard, drives it in his breast, and sinks +mortally wounded. The poor bride shrieks, and falls upon his body. Now +succeeds a scene of pulling and dragging on the floor. The wounded +tenor is called upon to struggle and writhe in all the agonies of death, +and the prima donna to follow him up in order to raise his head on her +knee, and thus give him an opportunity of singing his dying solo. To do +this in such a manner as not to render the whole thing ridiculous and +farcical, instead of tragic and touching, requires all the grace and +ease imaginable. When well done it is impressive; when badly it is +laughable; but whether touching or laughable, it is sure to be relished +by a large part of the audience, for it always discloses who has done +most for the prima donna's bust, dame nature or the mantua maker. + +The tenor's head being elevated to the proper height, he expresses it as +his dying wish that the prima donna will continue to live and cherish +his memory. They then lament their unhappy fate in a short duo. The +tenor dies; the prima donna appears to do the same, but the libretto +consoles you by declaring that she only swoons. The old tyrant--the +basso--chuckles like a wretch over the success of his successful plot, +declares it a revenge worthy of a demon; you concur in his sentiments, +and the curtain falls. + +Gentle reader, are you wearied out with this insufferable nonsense? Do +not say that you are, or you will have established a reputation for want +of taste, beyond all controversy. Not to admire what we have written in +this chapter, is to condemn what we know you have often declared was a +"love of an opera." We have merely explained the plot of a well known +operatic _chef d'oeuvre_, which, goodness knows, required an +explanation. + +Now do not be petulant, and _very satirically_ exclaim,--"I wish he +would explain his explanation," thereby showing, both that you can be +excessively severe, and that you have read Byron. We do not intend to +endeavour to render luminous that which is so very clear and evident in +its meaning; it would be to "gild refined gold," and all that sort of +thing, and therefore we spare you the infliction. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +Apres. + + I'm fond of fire and crickets, and all that, + A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat. + + BYRON. + + From this genteel place the reader must not be surprised, if I should + convey him to a cellar, or a common porter-house. + + CONNOISSEUR. No. 1. + + Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels. + + BYRON. + + +The curtain falls, much to the delight of those gentlemen whose sole +motive for frequenting the opera, is to have an opportunity of what they +term "chaffing" with some fair lady friend, whilst repairing thither, +and returning from thence, as well as during the enchanting moments +when the "drop" displays one of those accommodating landscapes, which +the audience, at their option, may convert either into the lake of Como, +or the ruins of Palmyra. If we may trust the assertion of many fair +mouths, we must infer that the curtain has fallen, much to the regret of +certain young ladies who declare that they could sit and hear Bosio +forever--a period of time which we have always been taught to regard as +very long indeed. + +But the curtain _has_ fallen, and the gentlemen who have been foolish +enough to send _bouquets_ to the prima donna in the morning, all seem +suddenly to be struck with the bright idea, that by giving a few knocks +of a cane, or a few taps of a gloved hand, they can "call out" that +divine woman, and by some adroit manoeuvre render themselves +distinguishable, and obvious to her from out that mass of heads and +black coats. The persons who occupy the elevated portions of the house, +who have paid a small price for their admittance, like all other persons +who pay small prices, make large demands for their money, and +consequently unite with the prima donna's admirers in an attempt to get +a last, long, lingering look at the lady. They really "do" all the +applause, thundering with their heavy canes and beating their hands +together until they resemble small lumps of crude beef steaks. After the +requisite amount of delay which is imposed upon the audience to give +them an adequate idea of the obligation the prima donna will confer, +should she see fit to exhibit herself, a human head is seen to project +from behind the curtain, but is drawn back with that kind of jerk which +is said to be peculiar to a turtle establishing his right to the +homestead exemption. This little _aiguillon_ of the prompter has the +desired effect, for the gentlemen in the parquette, who expect the prima +donna to observe _them_ to the entire exclusion of the other five +hundred men in white cravats and black coats, become perfectly frantic, +and the sojourners in "paradise" threaten to take advantage of their +position and empty themselves on the heads of the higher orders of +society, who happen for the present to be below them. The excitement now +begins to infuse itself into all present; the most apathetic old +_habitues_ commence to stretch forth their necks, to wriggle on their +seats, and manifest other signs of sympathy, with the more inflammable +portion of the audience. At length the tenor comes forward from the +side of the curtain, with a sickly smile of inexpressible pleasure on +his countenance. He leads by the hand the prima donna, whose downcast +eyes, and modest demeanor, entirely mislead the audience, giving them +the fullest assurance of her "beautiful disposition," and wholly +contradicting the assertion that she ever stamps her foot at the leader, +or tears the hair of her maid. The brace of singers make one +acknowledgment of gratitude immediately after issuing from behind the +ruins of Palmyra, thence proceeding in front of said ruins, make +another, and the moment before their disappearance perpetrate a third. +This is not sufficient for those enamoured ones who think that by some +evident mistake the prima donna has not recognised _them_, so the +patting of gloves and the tapping of canes is again resorted to, which, +together with the efforts of the "upper circles," again extracts the +tenor and his "inamorata" together, with the drowsy basso. The +last-named person wears an air of great reluctance at thus being +detained on the stage, instead of being permitted to go home to his +_pates_ and _fricasees_. The three go through the reverential with due +regard to time and position, and then withdraw, leaving the house to +contemplate the gas light, and reflect upon the briefness of all human +pleasures. + +During all this time the ladies have been standing in an apparently half +decided state, as to what was ultimately to become of them, alternately +looking on the stage and picking up hoods and shawls which they +immediately let fall again. Now that their suspense is ended, they +commence to hood and shawl; and many is the gentleman who announces in +whispers that he is unspeakably happy in being permitted to place a +cloak upon shoulders that rival alabaster. + +Harry Brown is unfortunate, for Miss Smith's cousin George has +anticipated him, having already astutely seized upon a shawl, during the +"calling out" which he carefully keeps until the blissful moment arrives +for enveloping that lady. Miss Smith thanks cousin George, as she always +calls him, with such a sweet smile that Harry Brown immediately becomes +occupied in a protracted search after his hat, muttering to himself +"hang these cousins." + +The audience go out of the boxes together with the going out of the +gas, and masses of people stand crowded together in the lobbies, while +the house is slowly emptying itself. + +The fast-men have collected about in front of the different box doors +from which the ladies are issuing, and are examining the relative claims +to beauty, which the fair observed ones merit, or as they term it, "are +getting their points." They are heard to make their comparisons upon the +singers too, with all the assurance of the old _habitues_, telling about +Salvi's falsetto, and Bettini's chest-voice, with a wondrous deal of +volubility. Where the crowds from the upper tiers unite with those of +the lower, one loud-voiced critic, who has just made his descent, is +heard to observe to a friend that "though Salvi is an old cock, he is +nevertheless a remarkably sound egg;" but why such a peculiarly +gallinaceous reference is made to that distinguished tenor, we must +unhesitatingly confess ignorance. + +After the confusion attendant on the coming and going of carriages, cabs +and divers other vehicles, the fatigued audience are at length set in +motion towards their respective dwellings. + +Again poor Harry Brown is a fit subject for our commiseration. The +ill-fated young man is placed by the side of Miss Smith's mother, a +rather antique lady; Cousin George somehow or other, has managed to +place himself beside Miss Smith. The carriage passes a lamp-post, and +though Harry Brown does observe Cousin George's left hand, the +disappearance of the right is something for which he cannot at all +account, except upon the laws of proximity which pertain to cousinship. +While the carriage proceeds homewards the party does not converse as +freely as they did a short time before, under the exhilaration arising +from gas-light and gossip. Harry Brown finds the ride a bore, Mrs. Smith +is so deaf, and still has her ideas of public amusement, confined to the +times when Mr. Kemble, Mr. Cooper and Mr. Cooke, performed in the +_legitimate_ drama to crowded houses. Cousin George's position is such a +happy one, that conversation is to him a thing superfluous. + +Those whose means authorise them, and very often those whose means do +not authorise them, go home to a nice supper, some delicate partridges, +cold capon, or deviled turkey, and a bottle or two of champagne. Under +the influences of the warm room and the viands, not to mention that +"warm champagny, old particular brandy-punchy feeling" induced by the +popping cork, the events of the whole evening are reviewed in a quite +thorough manner, though without much attention to a "_lucidus ordo_." + +Let us follow the Smiths home, and see what is their mode of terminating +the evening. Scarcely have they settled themselves at table before a +glass of champagne is administered all round, and a very severe +criticism of Bosio is commenced by Cousin George, who says in a very +opinionated way, that he likes her pretty well, but prefers either +Truffi or Stefanoni. Miss Smith immediately espouses the cause of the +injured Bosio, whom she has often declared she could listen to +"forever," and calls on Harry Brown to come to the rescue of the +cantatrice's reputation. Harry, who has been sadly silent ever since the +miraculous disappearance of Cousin George's right hand in the carriage, +at once becomes a violent Bosioite, and maintains the vocal abilities of +that prima donna against the whole world; whereupon Miss Smith with one +of the most approving of smiles, exclaims, "Thank you, Mr. Brown; I +always knew you were a gentleman of taste. There, there, let me shake +hands with you." And as Miss Smith utters the last words, she extends +such a ridiculously little hand across the table, that it seems almost a +misnomer to apply that appellation to it. Mr. Brown seizes the proffered +member, and gives it as hearty a pressure as the publicity of the +occasion will permit. From the moment that he touches the magical little +hand, cousin George is eclipsed. Harry's knowledge of operas, music and +singers, becomes at once astonishingly enlarged, and he speaks on +operatic subjects like one having authority to do so. Fortunately for +cousin George, Miss Smith's brother Charles enters, his clothes strongly +redolent of Havannahs, he having just returned from his club. His sister +forbids him to come so near her, alleging as a ground for such a +prohibition, that those "horrid" cigars are _so_ offensive to her. Her +brother moves good naturedly to the other side of the table, having +first applied his finger to his sister's cheek in a playful way, which +has a powerful effect upon poor Harry, causing him to feel exceedingly +as if he should like to do the same thing himself. The sister begins to +assure her brother of the inestimable amount of pleasure he has lost by +loitering at the "horrid" club, instead of accompanying her to the +_delicious_ opera. The reply is that "the club" has voted Bosio a bore, +and that consequently he cannot think of wasting his valuable time by +going to hear her. The sister then makes some very severe remarks upon +clubs in the abstract, but is interrupted by her brother's inquiring if +she does not want to take a share in the great stakes which the club is +endeavouring to raise, in order to _pit_ Tom Hyer against Harry Broome +the English champion. The sister pretends to be so provoked at the +_raillerie_ of her brother, that she smiles in a way that makes her look +doubly pretty, calls him a "horrid creature," then turns to Harry Brown +and indulges in some rather pointed observations, relative to divers of +the good people who were among the audience at the opera. + +Mrs. Smith, who has up to this moment been very laudably occupied in +seeing that the young people get a due proportion of the well selected +viands, now comes in for a part of the conversation. She, good lady, +knows the fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers, of the +present generation, and can tell just what amount of homage each of the +dashing families of the city have a right to lay claim to. She declares +that Mrs. Simms has no right to assume the importance that she +does--that though her father was a very respectable man, still, when she +was a girl, the family lived in a very obscure part of the town, and +were wholly unknown among our first people. Miss Smith, however, who is +very much afraid that her mother is going to indulge in too minute and +wearisome an investigation of genealogies, conducts the conversation to +subjects which she supposes to be more interesting to the rest of the +party. She objects to the want of taste displayed by those awful looking +Misses Rogers, who deck themselves out like young girls, when every body +knows they have been in society for the last fifteen years--that their +mother has made herself notorious, as well as ridiculous, by angling for +every young man of desirable means in the city. Miss Smith likewise +expresses her wonder when that stupid Lieutenant Jones _will_ marry Miss +Simms. She declares that "she is tired of seeing the two together; that +one cannot go to any public place, but the first persons who meet the +eye are Jones and Miss Simms; that if the weather is fair, and you walk +out, there are the loving couple in the street. Go to Newport, there +they are--go to the opera, there they are. If they can find means to run +incessantly to parties and balls, watering places and operas, why cannot +they get married?" Miss Smith concludes her observations on the +over-fond lovers, by emphasising the words "so stupid, is it not?" at +the same time giving them both an affirmative and interrogative +character. Harry Brown responds that it might be excessively +uninteresting to be always thus placed in proximity to Miss Simms, but +that there are other young ladies of his acquaintance, with whom such +extreme intimacy would be any thing but stupid. To this ambiguous use of +the word "stupid," Miss Smith makes no reply, but merely looks at Mr. +Brown as if she had not the slightest idea whatever that a very personal +allusion to herself had been made by that gentleman. Miss Smith again +indulges in reflections on society with a great deal of freedom and +pointedness of expression, which much amuses cousin George, who laughs +approvingly at what he terms the "sharpness" of his relative. Brother +Charles remains wholly unattentive to a kind of conversation which his +fair sister so often takes part in, and is absorbed in estimating, on +the back of a visiting card, the probability of his winning his bet on +the late election. Harry Brown, after his complimentary effort, sinks +into a state of silence, induced by the loquacity of Miss Smith, the +hilarity of cousin George, and the negligence of brother Charles. Alas +for Harry! he is considering the likelihood that such a censorious young +lady can have a kind heart--or would make a good wife. At this moment, +Mr. Smith, Senior, walks into the dining-room. A worthy, respectable, +and well-to-do man is Mr. Smith, the elder; he pays his taxes and he +loves his children, and who can do more? Miss Smith immediately rises +from the table, puts up her dear little mouth to her papa to be kissed. +The tender parent goes through the osculatory process in such an +affectionate manner, that Harry Brown is strongly impressed with the +idea that the old gentleman would make a trump of a father-in-law, and +he begins to suspect that Miss Smith's heart is not so bad after all. +The elderly Smith takes his seat, having first shaken Harry by the hand +in a friendly, familiar way, that indicates a very good opinion of that +worthy young person. The conversation again reverts to operatics, but +Harry seems to have forgotten all his late familiarity with such +subjects, and becomes suddenly very conversant with rail-roads, canals +and stocks, and launches out into an earnest conversation with Mr. Smith +on those interesting topics. + +But everything must have an end, and so about midnight Mr. Brown _walks_ +home through a foot of snow, because his mind is too much occupied with +thoughts of Miss Smith and her cousin George, to allow him to think of +calling a cab. + +Let us now see what becomes of those gentlemen who have been sitting in +the parquette, giving the opera their most anxious attention at all such +times as either the prima donna is on the stage, or any aria is sung, +but who have been giving quite unmistakeable signs of ennui and +weariness during the recitatives and choruses. If we have narrowly +observed the movements of this portion of the audience, we will have +remarked, that during the performance of the last act they have, from +time to time, cast hurried glances towards the avenues of egress, and +contorted their countenances in a way which would indicate that their +olfactories were greeted by certain savory odours, imperceptible to +every body but the possessors of the said olfactories. These gentlemen, +immediately after leaving the opera, may be seen to walk along the +street in companies of three or four, with a hurried step, until their +progress is arrested by the view of divers green, blue, pink, or crimson +coloured lamps, holding a very conspicuous position over the doors of +some houses of very suggestive exterior, or before some suspicious +hiatuses in the pavement, where those horrid monsters, who figure in +Christmas pantomimes, might easily be imagined to dwell. These lamps +seem to be possessed of a most incredible power of human attraction, for +no sooner does their light fall upon the vision of the nocturnal +wayfarer, than he is drawn within the portals over which they are +established. Upon mounting the steps into these houses, or descending +into these subterranean regions, the inquirer will discover a long, +brilliantly illuminated, gaudily papered chamber, whose walls are +ornamented with numerous over-grown mirrors, and French coloured +prints, representing young ladies in short dresses, standing in every +possible posture except that usually assumed by ladies of our +acquaintance. Along one side of this apartment, at the distance of about +three and a half feet from the wall, extends a marble slab, placed in a +horizontal position, and elevated three feet from the floor, forming a +species of enclosure. Within this enclosure, a number of men, habited to +the waist in white garments,--apparently a nameless order of +priesthood--are going through some inexplicable mystic rites, repeatedly +seizing up various large glass bottles containing transparent or opaque +liquids, and carrying them to different parts of this marble slab at the +request of various persons, who seem to be the worshippers in this +temple. At one end of the enclosure, a solitary man of a dark and sombre +hue, evidently a person held more sacred than the other priests, is seen +alternately to hammer portions of some hard matter, resembling stone in +appearance, and then split them by the magical application of a small +piece of blunt iron. He conducts this ceremony with the greatest +solemnity, occasionally pronouncing these incantatory words, "Plate or +shell, sah?" in a seemingly interrogative manner. The worshippers at +these shrines are some of the same young gentlemen whom we have seen +standing back in the opera boxes by the doors, making fast remarks on +all that was passing around them, or sitting in the parquette +endeavouring to annihilate the prima donna by the attractiveness of +their appearance. Others, of this same class of persons, merely pass +through this chamber, having first said in a low tone to the most +potential of the priests, "Four dozen broiled; ale for one, and brandy +and water for three." The priest immediately repeats these words so +fraught with significance, in a loud voice, which resounds through the +whole chamber. An invisible priest, at some distance from the first, +again repeats them, and thus the mysterious sound is passed from one +unseen priest to another, until it ceases to be heard in the distance. + +Nothing more is seen of the last described devotees, for some time after +their leaving the mysterious apartment; but about midnight a confused +sound of human voices is heard to issue from another mysterious chamber. +Some of those voices express a dogged determination on the part of +their proprietors, to remain shut up within the present confines until +the matutinal hours; other voices assure a universal confidence in the +powers of a certain bob-tail mare, while one teaches in the Italian +language the secret of ever living happily.[b] At between two and three +o'clock in the morning, several of our _operators_ are seen to emerge +from the aforesaid houses and subterranean abodes, in a very musical, as +well as affectionate frame of mind. One gentleman, totally regardless of +the lateness of the hour, after manifesting a strong desire to embrace a +large party of his friends, kindly invites them home to take tea with +him. Another walks homeward, expressing his notions on the secret of +living happily in a cantatory way. A third is assisted into a cab by his +associates, with directions to the driver to set him down at his +lodgings. Arrived there, he is put to bed, when he dreams that he is +falling down five hundred precipices; that afterwards a huge man is on +the point of cutting off his head, but a very prima donna like looking +lady comes in and intercedes for him, and she thus saves his life; that +he is just going to be married to the prima donna like looking lady, +when his pleasure is interrupted by the sound of ten thousand horns, +each one four times as large as that he saw the tyrant have in the +opera; whereupon he awakes, and discovers that there is a cry of fire, +and the firemen are making almost as much noise as the orchestra did, +when it was doing the crashing passages. + +[b] Il segreto per esser felici. + + * * * * * + +In the morning, the chambermaid wonders why Mr. Higgins rings for water, +when she recollects filling the ewer full the night previous. Next day +Mr. Higgins examines his operatic accounts, and finds them to stand +thus: + + To one pair kid gloves, $1.00 + " opera ticket, (secured seat,) 1.50 + " supper, 3.00 + " cab-hire, 1.00 + ----- + Total, 6.50 + +At that moment his land-lady sends in the bill for lodging, which, +by-the-by, she always seems to do when he is in one of his repentant +moods, and Mr. Higgins expresses a kind wish that all Italians were in a +climate somewhat warmer than that of the south of Europe. + +The Smiths do not feel any inconvenience, physical or pecuniary, from +their visit to the opera, and _petit souper_ afterwards. "When one has +money," says Mrs. Smith, in a very oracular tone, "what is the use of +it, except to let people know that one has got it!" Immediately after +this expression of her sentiments in regard to filthy lucre, Mrs. Smith +tells the servant not to give a shilling to the whimpering little boy +who has been sweeping the snow off the pavement; that a sixpence is +enough, and more than enough, for him, and that it is wrong to encourage +such exorbitance. + + * * * * * + +Now, that Mr. Higgins should feel thirsty in the morning, or that Mrs. +Smith should regret to part with a sixpence, concerns not us; we have +not been writing to correct public morals, but only to amuse the +readers of THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE OPERA. + + +ERRATA. [corrected in etext] + + + Page. Line. + 16 6 after a, insert _fast man or a_. + 34 10 " chef (d' orchestre), read _chef d'orchestre_. + 34 17 " chef (d' orchestre), " _chef d'orchestre_. + 55 10 " guoi, read _quoi_. + 55 10 " singers, read _Singers_. + 55 11 " led horse, read _lead horse_. + 70 24 " was, read _is_. + 76 12 " bulverse, read _boulverse_. + 92 22 " gentlemen, read _gentleman_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Physiology of The Opera, by +John H. 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