hroat."

CHAPTER III.

Of the Primo Basso.

"And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;

* * * * *

An Ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow."

BYRON.

[Illustration]

The Primo Basso is to the primo tenore what the draught horse is to the
racer; drawing along the heavy business of an opera, whilst the other
goes capering and curvetting through whole pages of chromatics, and runs
bounding with unerring precision over the most fearful musical
intervals. The basso, consequently, to uphold the vast superstructure
of song, must be a man furnished with a strong supporting and sustaining
voice. He usually plays the part of tyrants, either of the domestic
circle or of the throne; and the tyrants of fiction always have been
represented as over-grown individuals, from the time of the Titans down
to the giants who met with their well-merited fate from the invincible
arm of that doughty nursery hero--_Jack the Giant Killer_. It is a most
fortunate circumstance then for the basso, that while his powerful voice
must necessarily proceed from gigantic lungs, and these organs again are
chiefly found planted in largely developed frames, his huge proportions
only the better qualify him for his department of operatic personae. His
form is heavy, and would be muscular, if ease and indolence,
unrestrained appetite, and no more exertion than is requisite to blow
the bass-bellows during half a dozen evenings in the week, did not
permit an undue accumulation of adipose substance. His hair is generally
black, but not of that rich, glossy, _curling_ kind, which decks the
fair brow of the delicate little tenor. His features are gross and
sensual, exhibiting about the amount of intelligence which may be
looked for in one of those bedecked and garlanded animals, whose
appearance among us announces the future sale of show beef. His dress is
an exhibition of slovenly grandeur. Each article of clothing is in
itself very handsome, perhaps very gaudy; but the manner in which it is
dragged on the figure, makes the _tout ensemble_ coarse and common,
slovenly and disagreeable. His animal propensities hold the intellectual
faculties in bondage, and every approach to sentiment is excluded by the
clogged up avenues to thought. His manner of living is _sensualite en
action_. His life is an existence, tossed and troubled by the
vicissitudes of sleeping and feeding, with occasional in