Punch (31.1856)

July 19, 1856.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

29

THE OPERA BOX

AN HISTORICAL DRAMA, FROM A BRITISH LEGEND.

■ DRAMATIS PERSONAL
The Queen of Great Britain and Ireland.
The Fteld Marshal.
The Princess Royal.
Johanna, [a Wandering Mimtrel).

Courtiers, Pages, Footmen, Statesmen, Ladies, and Musicians.

Scene—An Apartment in the Palace. A Concert just concluded.

The Quem. Thou hast sung well, Johanna, and thy voice,
Albeit not the perfect instrument
That whilom hath made resonant these halls,
Where Lind sent music mended from her tongue,
Hath ample power. Thy style, although Teutonic,
Lacks neither breadth nor force (to the Field Marshal), Is't not so,
Sir ?

The Field Marshal. 'Tis highly good, 'tis satisfying, bon.

Johanna. The proudest moment of a minstrel's life
Is when she wins sucb praise—and yet a prouder—

The Field Marshal. Regard your grammars, mine young vocalist,
Comparative upon superlative !
Eb? Bah!

Johanna. 'Twas my excitement, gracious Sir,
Made me forget myself.

The Field Marshal. Never do that.
I never do.

The Queen (smiling). The error is forgiven.
Now, tell us of this prouder moment still.

Johanna. If I might dare ! O Madam, would that you
And that right royal soldier by your side,
And she, thrice gracious daughter of your House,
Could hear me sing that aria on the stage.
Indeed, indeed, great Madam, torn away
From its appropriate place, its best effect
Is gone. O, would you hear the Opera, M'm ?

The Princess. Mamma, I wish we could.

The Field Marshal. Impossible !

Johanna. Is augbt impossible to royalty?

The Field Marshal. You sing, I think, at the old Opera House ?

Johanna (with intention). Her Majesty's.

The Field Marshal. I would it were not so.

But, as it is so, so ir, is no go.

Johanna. The tiny words—they crush a mighty hope !

The Queen. Reasons there be, Johanna, which have weigh
To hinder your petition. That you may not
Deem this a form of words, we (not compelled)
Will tell you that we love not operas
Where vice, in sentimental garb arrayed,
Sobs out its soul in physical disease.

Johanna. My honoured Madam, shall your servant suffer
Because another's opera gives offence.
My character is from the page of Shakspeare—

The Field Marshal. Who was not for an age, but for all time.
But there be other crows which might be picked,

But that their plutnsge is a thought too darfc
For mention here.

Johanna. I apprehend you, Sir,

And might I dare companion your remark
Witti a reply as datk, I'd only say
That from the presence of Anointed Virtue,
Any slight, sillily protruded folly
Must slink away, abashed.

The Field Marshal. Adroitly put;
Now drop the subject, lady, if you please.

Johanna. Rather behold me drop upon my knees. {Falls on her knees.
O Sovereign Lady, for the sake of Art,
For my poor sake, her votary, whose renown
In Gerniany awaits your crowning verdict—
By all the memories of those long, long trials,
When the two managers were striving for me,
And by iheir squabble kept me from the boards—
By my dear Father's keen anxiety—

The Field Marshal (smiles). Nay, girl, his cares have ceased. Dost
not receive
Thy salary ?

Johanna. By punctual Lumley paid
Up to the moment, yes, most gracious Prince.

The Field Marshal. Then is thy father happy. Wrote he nots
" England is valued only for her money ? "

Johanna. He meant not that—at least he's changed his mind-
Forget the foolish pb'ase, O Queen, 0 Prince,

0 lovely Lily of the House of Brunswick.
Do take a box and see my Romeo.

The Queen. It grieves me to deny an artist's wish
Earnestly, yet becomingly, set forth ;
But thou must take No for an answer, child.

Johanna. Yes were a sweeter word on royal lips.

The Queen. We well appreciate yon director's zeal,
He hath fought manfully, and, once again,
< 'pened the noblest theatre we have
For Music and the Dance. Our town's his debtor,
And in that he doth service to our town;
'A'e deem bim one to whom we should do honour,
And gladly would, but for some certain causes.

Johanna (aside). Then I must play the card which I engaged
Only to use when all thiDgs else should fail. {Takes out a letter.

Deign to peruse this scroll, Anointed Lady.

The Field Marshal. Allow me (takes it). Ha ! a hand we know,
Though something shaky.

The Queen. Prussia's, as it seems !

The Field Marshal. Seems, Madam, nay it is.

[The Princess manifests some ladylike interest.
, The Queen. Rise, rise, Johanna.

Johanna. Forgive me, Madam, if I disobey you
Until that letter's read.

The Field Marshal breads). " Prussia sends health
" To England, as this leaves me at this present,
" Thanks be to Providence. His royal sister
" (Sister I mean, in Kingship, Heaven forbid
" You should be old enough to be the other)
" Will much oblige if 'you will go and see
" Miss Wagnek, whom he thinks a Protestant,
" No, I mean prodigy, of excellence.
" Pray do, and so no more from yours sincerely,
" Receive the assurance of his high esteem,
" And with best compliments to Albert.

" Clicquot."

Tlw Queen. The good old man !

The Princess. Mamma, 'tis not for Htt

To give opinions, but--

The Queen (smiling). If yours were asked,
'Twould be that we should tell this child to rise.

1 The Princess (smiling). Indeed, Mamma, it would.

The Queen. Then up, Johanna.

Your prayer is granted.
Johanna (rises). How to thank you, Madam ?
The Queen. By singing, child, next Saturday, your best.
Nay, we won't say that if you give us reason,
| We shan't retain Our Box for Lumley's season.
Johanna (sings). 0 what Rapture, O what Joy!

Pleasure's gold without alloy,
Let no cloud of grief destroy

Ecstacy like this—
Every earthly sorrow healing,
Every heart attuned to feeling,
All my senses gently sealing
In oblivion (bis).

(Curtain falls.)