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.
"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.