Physiology of The Opera Part 4

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 a.s.surance 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 c.o.c.k, 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 pa.s.ses 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 gla.s.s 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.sume 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 b.a.l.l.s, 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, ca.n.a.ls 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 a.s.sumed 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 gla.s.s 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 p.r.o.nouncing these incantatory words, "Plate or sh.e.l.l, 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 pa.s.sing around them, or sitting in the parquette endeavouring to annihilate the prima donna by the attractiveness of their appearance. Others, of this same cla.s.s of persons, merely pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.sisted into a cab by his a.s.sociates, 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 pa.s.sages.

[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 _pet.i.t 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.