Chapter 4
Of the Prima Donna.
"Your female singer being exceedingly capricious and wayward, and very liable to accident."--SKETCH BOOK.
Every body knows what a prima donna is. She is the _first lady_, and this is a fact apparently better known to the individual herself, than to any body else--at least her actions would warrant this inference. She deems herself more indispensable to an opera than an executioner to an execution, or the thimbles to a thimble-rig man. She takes no pains to conceal what a high price she sets on the value of her presence. She sings just when she pleases, and just as she pleases. Caprice itself is not more capricious than this fair creature. As capricious as a prima donna has almost become a proverb, and we predict that in a few years it will become fully established as such. She is a female tyrant. Impresario, treasurer, chef (d'orchestre,) chorus master and chorus tremble before her, when in one of her passions she brings down her pretty little foot in a most commanding stamp. She gives the first mentioned person more trouble than all the singers, orchestra and officials together, with her coughs, colds and affected indispositions. Next to the impresario, the chef (d'orchestre) suffers most from her imperious spirit. He never conducts so as to accompany her properly, and though she sings a half a note higher than she did at rehearsal, she expects every poor musician to transpose his magic at sight, or receive the indications of her displeasure in a way that leads the audience to believe that the fault lies entirely with the orchestra. She worries the basso,--poor, heavy, drowsy fellow,--because he's such a slow coach--and such an oaf. She is disposed to be more friendly to the tenor, who is the only person who receives any tokens of her good-will; but in truth, she would cease to be a woman, if she were unkind to this gentlemanly, polite little fellow. Neither does she hold the public in the least regard, but conceives that she has a right to be seriously indisposed as often as she thinks that people are really desirous to hear her; and "is subject when the house is thin, to cold," as Byron says. She keeps all the town who have determined to go and hear her, in the most provoking suspense. Balls and evening parties are sadly interrupted by her erratic course, for she is sure to sing on the evenings assigned to those delightfully laborious modes of destroying time. All the pleasure promising engagements made by the Browns and the Smiths to form a party, and go in concert to the opera, are postponed from time to time, to the great vexation of young Harry Brown, who craftily set the affair on foot, in order to have an evening's "chaff" with Miss Julia Smith.
Sometimes the prima donna's "serious indisposition" is not discovered by the fair singer herself, until the ladies of the audience have removed the cloaks, furs and hoods which guard their loveliness from the cold of a winter night; until the young gentlemen have jammed their opera hats into an inconceivably small space, and adroitly passed the hand up to the collar and cravat to discover how things are in that quarter; and until the old _habitués_ have settled themselves down into the softest chair of the pit, with the full intention of being extremely displeased, and making very unfavourable comparisons between the performance about to take place, and one at which they were present some twenty years before. However, she is a splendid creature--a small miracle in the way of humanity--and can therefore be excused from pursuing that monotonous and regular course of life which "patient merit" is obliged to take.
She is either a beautiful woman in reality, or one who can get up such an admirable imitation that it is difficult to distinguish it from the genuine. She is well skilled in music, at least in its execution; but she is always much more deeply versed in the virtues of cosmetics, and in the art of making herself beautiful.
There are two varieties in the figure of the prima donna; either, firstly, such as to qualify her for opera buffa and certain tragic roles, in which case she is of medium stature, delicate proportions, and possesses the most graceful and vivacious action. Prima donnas of this stamp make the dearest, sweetest, most innocent-looking Aminas; the most sprightly, coquettish Rosinas, and the most faithful, confiding and sincere Lucias. Or, secondly, she is of a large mould, more masculine dimensions, with a countenance that can gather up in a moment a show of the requisite amount of fury to poignard the husband and strangle the _babbies_. She plays all the high tragedy roles, doing the Semiramide, Norma and Lucrezia, with a very sanguinary power and effect. Those of the first kind are most admired by the gay young fellows about town who have no taste for music, and who do not resort to the opera to hear it, but make the parquette a lounging place where they can be in the mode, see beautiful women, and show _themselves_.
The prima donna, in her attempts to render herself personally attractive, has an auxiliary in her maid, who is a compound of companion and servant, and a _coiffeuse_ gifted with the most delicate taste and artistic execution. How often have we looked round the house and been forced to confess that the prima donna was literally the _first lady_ in the building, in respect to costume and _coiffure_. This maid too, is almost as much of a curiosity among maids as her mistress among fine ladies. She may be regarded as a prima donna without a voice, without fine clothes, bouquets, and a tenor companion; and it is her _destiny_ to marry one of the violinists, when her mistress marries the tenor. It is upon this official that the duty of attending to the prima donna's lap-dogs Beatrice and Amore, particularly devolves--two animals that are almost as dear to their possessor as her professional reputation. In addition to these darling little quadrupeds, upon which so many caresses are bestowed, both by the faultless hand of the mistress, and the same well-diamonded member of the tenor, a parrot usually divides the affections of one, who woman-like, must love something, but who has been so far initiated into the ways of the world as to doubt the sincerity of all mankind, except probably that of the aforesaid tenor. We remember once being present when a well-known prima donna was about to leave a northern city, where a rival cantatrice had lately appeared, and was inducing comparisons unsatisfactory to the former. She had been informed that an overland trip to New Orleans would be greatly incumbered by the presence of her lap-dogs and parrot, and was prevailed on to bestow them on some tender-hearted persons, whose extreme affection for domesticated animals would be a guaranty for their gentle treatment. A married gentleman--we are afraid without having consulted his wife--kindly offered to relieve the lady from all trouble in finding the suitable persons, by taking them himself. Assuming the attitude of Norma handing over babes, she delivered up the poodles. With what sadness were the little creatures confided to his care. What admonitions and instructions to carefully keep them; what prayers for their faithful protection; a womanly tear bedewed the cheek of the fascinating lady, and a smile followed, as if to ask forgiveness for what she feared those present might consider an unbecoming weakness. Five years afterwards, we saw in a concert room this same sensitive creature, who was so moved and affected at the _derniers adieux_ paid to her hateful little poodles, scowl darkly, bite her lips, and turn her back on the person who had engaged her, whom, by the by, we, in common with the audience, regarded as a much aggrieved individual.
Between the attention and affection bestowed on her pets, some hours devoted to study and rehearsal, occasional rides and walks, and time spent in the pleasing avocation of arranging her wardrobe, and in innocently admiring her fair self in the mirror, the days of this spoiled child of the music-loving are whiled away. She is acquainted with some of the dandies of the place where she for the time resides, but as such gentlemen in this country seldom have the temerity to appear with her in public, their usefulness as escort promenaders is greatly abridged. The fast men sometimes smuggle themselves into her visiting circle, in order to be able to boast of their intimacy with the prima donna; but as this class of society is seldom very _fluent_ in the use of Italian, and as there is small affinity between the sentimentality of the opera and "mile heats to harness," this acquaintance is not of very long duration.
The necessity of personal beauty in a prima donna is such, that she must "assume that virtue if she have it not." Not many winters since, a beautiful cantatrice was induced to undertake the role of Romeo in "I Montecchi ed I Capuletti." The lady was excellently proportioned, except that there existed a great want of symmetry in the inferior members; and as Romeo's skirts must necessarily be short, and the lady could not at will assume a pair of well turned knees and calves, she clothed the offending limbs in what, at this day would be called "Bloomer pantaloons." The attempt to ingraft turkish trowsers on the Veronese costume, proved too absurd to warrant the continuance of such a representation, and was abandoned after the night of its introduction.
The effect of a prima donna on society is very various. If she be of the high tragic or strangulation school, it is to induce young ladies of some voice, _and a good deal of person_, to clothe themselves in white _tulle_ on the occasion of evening parties and amateur concerts--draw their hair very smoothly over the temples--drive a white camellia into the left side of the head, and sing long recitatives from Norma or Lucrezia;--in the case of evening parties to the infinite chagrin of young gentlemen possessed of great waltzing powers and passions; and in the case of amateur concerts, to the fatigue of yawning audiences. If the prima donna is of the coquettish school of song, every damsel of sylph-like proportions, vivacious expression, and a turn for man-killing, chirps and warbles away in the sprightly passages of the _Barbiere_.
As for the male part of the community, it is perfectly easy to divine how they will be affected by the appearance of the different "_prime donne_" who from year to year present themselves for musical honors. They will always be pleased, but chiefly by those who are rather attractive in features than in voice. The very young and inexperienced men just entering into society, denominated "cubs" by the beaux of some years standing, affect most the prima donna of the sanguinary school, because she seems more in accordance with the ideas they have derived from the study of Medea, a work to which they have not long since bid adieu. They regard the killing of babes as the most tragic of tragedy, and the actress who can do the thing best, as the most accomplished of actresses. But the knowing fellows of mature years prefer the pretty creatures who look so fond and affectionate, in their short peasant dresses, displaying the delicate little foot and well turned ancle. How they gather night after night into the parquette, to compare opinions on the merits of Orsini's soft notes, and the long, beautifully-filled stockings of the page dress. We once heard an enthusiastic Cuban remark, when Patti was singing Orsini to Parodi's Lucrezia; "Parodi is the finest singer I ever heard,--she is the best actress I ever saw; some few people can appreciate her singing, many more her acting;--but Patti's legs! Ah! Sir, that is something that everybody can understand." How delighted the young fellows pretend to be with the wild, bacchanal song, when in reality they only encore the songstress, in order to have another opportunity of admiring her pretty knees. Alas, how foolish they are to throw away admiration on one who takes no more thought of them than if they never existed; but each one of them supposes that she must necessarily, be slightly enamoured of himself. The consequence is, that next morning divers bouquets, with small notes or cards containing a few amatory words, appended to them, are handed in to the servant, who is very much out of humour at what has become troublesome from its over repetition.
The old _habitués_, of course, will not be affected in any way except by peevishness and petulance, which will drive them into their usual course of detraction. "Ah!" says old Twaddle; "Pasta--you should have seen Pasta! No melodramatic twaddle about her! Genuine, artistic delineation of passion and profound emotion. And then what a voice! none of your ambiguous voices there; no difficulty in pronouncing, whether soprano or contralto. And then her beauty--none of your namby-pamby, sickly, insignificant prettiness." And thus Twaddle grumbles on, making shocking comparisons between the past and present. Poor old Twaddle! he has, according to his own showing, outlived all that is good in the province of music.
The prima donna in this country will, generally speaking, produce on any foreigner who happens to be among us, an effect very much akin to that exercised upon Twaddle. She will set him sighing after the vocalization of the other side of the Atlantic. He will seem to forget that Parodi or "the Hays" ought to sing as well in this country as in Europe. But still he can't be brought to that belief; and what is worse, upon your venturing to suggest any possibility of such a state of the case, you are made to perceive that he considers that your nationality puts you off the bench of musical critics.
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Query. Why is it that _every_ Frenchman is supposed to be an infallible judge of sweet sounds? For our own part, we no more believe that every Gallic gentleman is fit for a critic, than that every one can raise a handsome moustache.
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Another effect of a beautiful prima donna, is to make young husbands, who have been married _just_ two years, look so steadfastly on the stage, that their young wives sit with their eyes fastened on a cousin George or Harry, in the parquette.