"Well," he said, "it's all very fine.I've no doubt of that, but I give you my word I would rather hear my old governor take his guitar and sing 'Father, oh father, come home with me now,' than all the fiddle-faddle, tweedle-deedle opera business in the whole world."But the orchestra was returning, the musicians crawling out one by one from a little door beneath the stage hardly bigger than the entrance of a rabbit hutch.
They settled themselves in front of their racks, adjusting their coat-tails, fingering their sheet music.Soon they began to tune up, and a vague bourdon of many sounds--the subdued snarl of the cornets, the dull mutter of the bass viols, the liquid gurgling of the flageolets and wood-wind instruments, now and then pierced by the strident chirps and cries of the violins, rose into the air dominating the incessant clamour of conversation that came from all parts of the theatre.
Then suddenly the house lights sank and the foot-lights rose.From all over the theatre came energetic whispers of "Sh! Sh!" Three strokes, as of a great mallet, sepulchral, grave, came from behind the wings;the leader of the orchestra raised his baton, then brought it slowly down, and while from all the instruments at once issued a prolonged minor chord, emphasised by a muffled roll of the kettle-drum, the curtain rose upon a mediaeval public square.The soprano was seated languidly upon a bench.Her _grande scene_ occurred in this act.Her hair was un-bound;she wore a loose robe of cream white, with flowing sleeves, which left the arms bare to the shoulder.
At the waist it was caught in by a girdle of silk rope.
"This is the great act," whispered Mrs.Cressler, leaning over Laura's shoulder."She is superb later on.Superb.""I wish those _men_ would stop talking," murmured Laura, searching the darkness distressfully, for between the strains of the music she had heard the words:
"----Clearing House balance of three thousand dollars."Meanwhile the prima donna, rising to her feet, delivered herself of a lengthy recitative, her chin upon her breast, her eyes looking out from under her brows, an arm stretched out over the footlights.The baritone entered, striding to the left of the footlights, apostrophising the prima donna in a rage.
She clasped her hands imploringly, supplicating him to leave her, exclaiming from time to time:
"Ya via, va via--
Vel chieco per pieta."
Then all at once, while the orchestra blared, they fell into each other's arms.
"Why do they do that?" murmured Aunt Wess' perplexed.
"I thought the gentleman with the beard didn't like her at all.""Why, that's the duke, don't you see, Aunt Wess'?" said Laura trying to explain."And he forgives her.Idon't know exactly.Look at your libretto.""----a conspiracy of the Bears...seventy cents...
and naturally he busted."
The mezzo-soprano, the confidante of the prima donna, entered, and a trio developed that had but a mediocre success.At the end the baritone abruptly drew his sword, and the prima donna fell to her knees, chanting:
"Io tremo, ahime!"
"And now he's mad again," whispered Aunt Wess', consulting her libretto, all at sea once more."Ican't understand.She says--the opera book _says_ she says, 'I tremble.' I don't see why.""Look now," said Page, "here comes the tenor.Now they're going to have it out."The tenor, hatless, debouched suddenly upon the scene, and furious, addressed himself to the baritone, leaning forward, his hands upon his chest.Though the others sang in Italian, the tenor, a Parisian, used the French book continually, and now villified the baritone, crying out:
"O traitre infame O lache et coupable"
"I don't see why he don't marry the young lady and be done with it," commented Aunt Wess'.
The act drew to its close.The prima donna went through her "great scene," wherein her voice climbed to C in alt, holding the note so long that Aunt Wess'
became uneasy.As she finished, the house rocked with applause, and the soprano, who had gone out supported by her confidante, was recalled three times.A duel followed between the baritone and tenor, and the latter, mortally wounded, fell into the arms of his friends uttering broken, vehement notes.The chorus--made up of the city watch and town's people--crowded in upon the back of the stage.The soprano and her confidante returned.The basso, a black-bearded, bull necked man, sombre, mysterious, parted the chorus to right and left, and advanced to the footlights.The contralto, dressed as a boy, appeared.The soprano took stage, and abruptly the closing scene of the act developed.
The violins raged and wailed in unison, all the bows moving together like parts of a well-regulated machine.
The kettle-drums, marking the cadences, rolled at exact intervals.The director beat time furiously, as though dragging up the notes and chords with the end of his baton, while the horns and cornets blared, the bass viols growled, and the flageolets and piccolos lost themselves in an amazing complication of liquid gurgles and modulated roulades.
On the stage every one was singing.The soprano in the centre, vocalised in her highest register, bringing out the notes with vigorous twists of her entire body, and tossing them off into the air with sharp flirts of her head.On the right, the basso, scowling, could be heard in the intervals of the music repeating"Il perfido, l'ingrato"while to the left of the soprano, the baritone intoned indistinguishable, sonorous phrases, striking his breast and pointing to the fallen tenor with his sword.
At the extreme left of the stage the contralto, in tights and plush doublet, turned to the audience, extending her hands, or flinging back her arms.She raised her eyebrows with each high note, and sunk her chin into her ruff when her voice descended.At certain intervals her notes blended with those of the soprano's while she sang:
"Addio, felicita del ciel!"
