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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.