Punch (29.1855)

Ju; v 21, 1655a PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 29

(A. confidante wishing the sorrows to soften
Of a principal singer, can't bear them too often,
The latter is ask'd to repeat them once more,
If the audience haven't been told them before,
How came you to love him, says Inez, and when?
Leonora replies—that the dearest of men,
She met at a tournament, wlieo in a quarrel,
He gain'd that absurd piece of rubbish a laurel,
Which—though to the gardening business not bred,
She planted right up on the top of his head.
The knight with the green stuff no sooner was ciown'd,
Than all of a sudden he couldn't be found ;
But though non inventus, he wasn't a brute,
And struck up an air (uut of sight) on his flute.*
The solo was heard with attention serene,
But still the executant couldn't be seen;
And though he was look'd for, 'tis natural quite
(On the stage) to explore every place but the right.
Another remarkable fact then occurr'd,
For the name Leonora distinctly was heard;
And though p'rhaps a singer could easily say it,
'Tis hard to conceive how a flutist could play it.
The lady, of course, as all heroines do
(On the stage), to the lattice immediately flew.
'Tis the stranger—she bums with a sudden amour.
For this flute-playing, eaves-dropping, strange Troubadour.
" Forget him," says Inez. "Forget him I can't,"
Exclaims Leonora, " and therefore I sua'n't.
If for him unable to live—tell me why
I shouldn't make other arrangements—and die."
To the back of the stage the two ladies then mount.
When exeunt ambo and enter the Count.
He looks at the window, and seeing a light,
Observes Leonora's not sleeping to-night,;
Forgetting that people, not partial to gloom,
Will sleep with an Albert or Child! in the room.
Approaching the window to catch p'rhaps a sound
From the voice of his love, in the stillness around—
Or should she be sleeping, expecting a snore—
He's struck by the voice of the sad Troubadour
His jealousy's roused, for he feels his position—
'Tis his rival, the beggarly strolling musician.
The lady descends with an anima mia
Address'd to the Count, who's astonish'd to see her
Shrink back, like a ball that rebounds from the floor
At hearing the voice of the young Troubadour.
The moon, which has hitherto been 'neath a shroud,
Is, thanks to a weli-bred theatrical cloud,
Released from the veil—a disc-over it laid,—
And thus an important discovery's made ;
For seeing the Minstrel, the lady, whose views
Are musical, throws herself down at his shoes ;
Forgetting alike both her sex and her station,
She makes to the flutist a bold declaration.
The Count's in a rage—having heard her confess
That she favours the strolling musician's address ;
And burning with anger, proceeds to exclaim,
"Since she's got your address, p'rhaps you'll give trie your name."
" Makkico's my name," cries the flutist. No sooner
1 )oes the word reach the ears of the lunatic Luna,
Than he casts his abuse, like a boy throwing pebbles,
On the Minstrel, and calls him the chief of the rebels.
The gentlemen sing with remarkable power,
Saying, each has arrived at his ultimate hour.
And though one another most anxious to kill,
They execute jointly a beautiful trill.
Though the Count is determined the iife-blood to take
Of Mankico—the rivals concur, in a shake.
They flourish their weapons—-then jointly they pause,
Awaiting the end of a round of applause.
The top of their voices the couple then reach,
While poor Leonora approaches a screech.
For the music of Verdi is known to require
The voice to go higher, and higher and higher.
]So wonder, that just as the First Act is o'er,
The lady, exhausted, drops dowu on the floor :
While the gentlemen, having expended their might
In shouting—are forced to retire to fight.
A. light on the stage quite another thing means
From a duel (supposed) at the back of the scenes,
Where the combatants—all their hostility over,
Sit puffing and blowing their wind to recover.

* In the original Italian the word is liutn, but the poet of the establishment having
TaIH I jTT^IT" "* '"' I translated it "flute,' we take ad vantage of the mistranslation for our own purposes.

I fUtllOttgn an aitenUanCj OeglUS tO reprove + Albkrt and Child will be recognised as the names given to two varieties of Patent

I he tormer tor feeling a dangerous love. 1 Night i.iahts.

IL TROVATORE.

It you '11 listen awhile, I will tell you a story
Of the poDular opera, LI Trovatore.
AVhat's LI Trovatore p A foundling, no doubt,
From Trovare, to find; but, excuse me, you 're out.
'Tis hardly yet known to three folks out of four
That II Trovatore's the (young) Troubadour.

The curtain goes up, and the audience soon are
Surveying the halls of the Conte di Luna.
The title is strange, but its owner will soon
Give proof of his right to take rank from the moon ;
For his conduct becomes so decidedly bad,
That charity kindly considers him mad :
Attendants discover'd, all sleepy and spooney :
Is it strange that the servants of Luna are mooney ?
Though anywhere else one would wake them by ringing,
On the stage 'tis the fashion to rouse folks by singing.
An upper domestic, Fernando by name,
Proceeds to allude to some violent flame
That's consuming his master—who's got an amour—
And fears as a rival the young Troubadour.
For 'tis a remarkable thing on the stage,
A Count in a courtship can never engage.
But straight to his servants he seeks to impart
The secret (he calls it) that burns in his heart.
The servants, however, have heard it before,
And threaten to sink into slumber once more,
Unless, the old story's replaced by another,
Not touching their master, but touching his brother.
The principal servant, who's made it his part
To get all the family secrets by heart,
Calls all the domestics and soldiers about him;
And though 'twould be very' much nobler to scout him,
With keen curiosity gathering round,
They give to his scandal attention profound.
The story is thus :—" Count di Luna the late one,
(Who being deceased is ot course called the great one).
Of two darling sons was the fortunate sire,
When a witch (who was afterwards thrown in the lire)
At the cradle of one of the boys came to sit,
And sent the young gentleman off in a fit.
The Count had the sorceress burnt to a cinder;
But the hag had a daughter, who seeing the tinder,
With wonderful instinct, by some means or other,
Collecting the dust, re-collected her mother.
With horrible vengeance, and energy wild,
She caught from its cradle the innocent child,
And, near to the spot where her mother was roasted,
Some small bones were found very recently toasted.
The chorus, of course, with discretion sublime,
Fxpress their disgust at the low person's crime;
Though they suffer'd without observation to pass
The act of the man of superior class.
By one of those instincts that seldom prevail,
Except on the stage, where they 're sure not to fail,
The Count a belief in his child's safety owns,
Notwithstanding the startling affair of the bones ;
Aud so the old gentleman, just as he died,
Had summon'd the Count (Number 2) to his side,
And made him most faithfully promise and swear
He'd look for his brother—for though quite aware
Of the bones the poor child was consider'd the owner,
Further search might return them e'en yet nulla bona.
The woman by whom the vile deed was committed,
From all her pursuers successfully flitted.
For criminals always, in opera or play,
(However well known) can keep out of the way.
'Tis true she's the neighbourhood often infested,
But somehow or other she's not been arrested.
The people have seen her, on chimney and cowl,
At times as a crow, once or twice as an owl;
But to catch this strauge bird they incessanth fail,
Or even to put any salt on its tail.
So the servants disgusted at finding a hitch
lu their own bad arrangements for catching the witch,
Agree, in a chorus, she ought to be cursed,
Which brings to a spirited end—Scene the First.

Scene Two—\s a palace with gardens at night,
The moon and the stars show each other a light,
Two ladies approach, Leoncyra and Inez;
The latter without the least atom of shyness,