Physiology of the Opera

by Scrici

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

Byron.

HE 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 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 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.