There was a pause after the introductory,and then the real business of the opera -for it was no less -began;an opera where every singer was an accomplished actor.The leading man,in an impassioned ecstasy which possessed him from head to foot,seemed transfigured;once it was as though a strong wind had swept over the stage -their arms,their feathered fingers thrilling with an emotion that shook my nerves as well:heads and bodies followed like a field of grain before a gust.My blood came hot and cold,tears pricked my eyes,my head whirled,I felt an almost irresistible impulse to join the dancers.One drama,I think,Ivery nearly understood.A fierce and savage old man took the solo part.He sang of the birth of a prince,and how he was tenderly rocked in his mother's arms;of his boyhood,when he excelled his fellows in swimming,climbing,and all athletic sports;of his youth,when he went out to sea with his boat and fished;of his manhood,when he married a wife who cradled a son of his own in her arms.Then came the alarm of war,and a great battle,of which for a time the issue was doubtful;but the hero conquered,as he always does,and with a tremendous burst of the victors the piece closed.
There were also comic pieces,which caused great amusement.During one,an old man behind me clutched me by the arm,shook his finger in my face with a roguish smile,and said something with a chuckle,which I took to be the equivalent of "O,you women,you women;it is true of you all!"I fear it was not complimentary.At no time was there the least sign of the ugly indecency of the eastern islands.All was poetry pure and simple.The music itself was as complex as our own,though constructed on an entirely different basis;once or twice I was startled by a bit of something very like the best English sacred music,but it was only for an instant.At last there was a longer pause,and this time the dancers were all on their feet.As the drama went on,the interest grew.The performers appealed to each other,to the audience,to the heaven above;they took counsel with each other,the conspirators drew together in a knot;it was just an opera,the drums coming in at proper intervals,the tenor,baritone,and bass all where they should be -except that the voices were all of the same calibre.Awoman once sang from the back row with a very fine contralto voice spoilt by being made artificially nasal;I notice all the women affect that unpleasantness.At one time a boy of angelic beauty was the soloist;and at another,a child of six or eight,doubtless an infant phenomenon being trained,was placed in the centre.The little fellow was desperately frightened and embarrassed at first,but towards the close warmed up to his work and showed much dramatic talent.The changing expressions on the faces of the dancers were so speaking,that it seemed a great stupidity not to understand them.'