This familiar wail is repeated in 1849 when London was likened to a musical Babel with two Italian, one German, and one French operas; Hungarian, French and other foreign _prime donne_; Strauss's band and Styrian minstrels. M. Blanchard's view was further confirmed by a curious episode worthy of note for the first introduction of the name Wagner to _Punch's_ readers and indeed to the British public. It was not the great Richard, however, but his niece Johanna, an opera singer of considerable repute, who was concerned. In 1852 she simultaneously accepted engagements at both opera houses, a policy which led to protracted litigation in Chancery. Her father was so frank as to say that "England was worth nothing except for her money," and _Punch_ in his frequent references to the incident employs the term "Wagnerism" to express the point of view of opera-singers who would not abide by their contracts. The unfortunate Johanna, "the wandering minstrel," as _Punch_ called her, never appeared in opera in London, but apparently did sing at Court. The engagement of Richard Wagner to conduct the concerts of the Philharmonic Society in 1855 left _Punch_ not merely cold but pugnaciously antagonistic. The "music of the future" prompted him to rude remarks about "long-eared musicians," and he returns to the seat of the scornful in a curt notice headed "NOT a Magic Minstrel":-- Herr Wagner, Professor of the "Music of the Future," appears, in conducting at the Philharmonic, to have made strange work with the music of all time. He alters Mozart, it appears, if not exactly as a parish clerk once said that he had altered Haydn for the singing gallery, yet in a manner nearly as audacious, altering "_allegro_" to "_moderato_"; "_andante_" to "_adagio_"; "_allegretto_" to "_andante_"; and "_allegro_" again to "_prestissimo_." Wagner would seem strongly to resemble his namesake in _Faust_, in the particular wherein that _Wagner_ differs from his master--that is, in the circumstance of being no conjuror. The sudden disappearance of that Italianized Westphalian, the fiery Cruvelli, was a nine days' wonder in the operatic world in 1854 and is duly chronicled in _Punch_. Towards the end of this period Piccolomini, a singer of small calibre but attractive personality, achieved great popularity in the _rôle_ of the consumptive heroine of _La Traviata_, and _Punch_ celebrated the craze of "Piccolomania," as he called it, in the following travesty:-- Art is long and time is fleeting, But of genius the soul, Ordinary talent beating, Reaches at one stride the goal. In the operatic battle, In the _Prima Donna's_ life Quit the herd--the vocal cattle, Be a Grisi in the strife. Trust no promise, howe'er pleasant, Not who may be, but who are; Piccolomini at present, Is the bright particular star. [Sidenote: _Jullien_] [Illustration: JULLIEN'S DESPAIR]