RUNNING OVER A TENOR—TITIENS IN ITALY—CASHING A CHEQUE AT NAPLES—A NEAPOLITAN BALL—APPROACHING A MINISTER—RETURN TO LONDON.
RUNNING OVER A TENOR—TITIENS IN ITALY—CASHING A CHEQUE AT NAPLES—A NEAPOLITAN BALL—APPROACHING A MINISTER—RETURN TO LONDON.
ONEafternoon about four o'clock, during the month of November, 1862, Giuglini sent word that he would be unable to sing the part of "Lionel" inMarthathat evening, having had some dispute at home. All my persuasion was useless; nothing would induce him, and as at that period of the year there were no tenors to be found in London, I was at my wits' ends to know what to do, and I ultimately decided to close the theatre, having no alternative. I therefore got into a hansom and drove off to inform Mdme. Trebelli, also Mdlle. Titiens, who was dining at her house, that there would be no need of their coming down.
On turning the corner of the Haymarket, Piccadilly, the horse's head struck a gentleman and forced him back on to the pavement. The cab was stopped, and a policeman came up. The gentlemanwas not, however, injured, and to my great astonishment he turned out to be an English tenor, who had been lately in Italy. On learning this I politely took him into my cab and inquired what had brought him back to England. He said that he had been performing at various Italian theatres, and that he was now very desirous of obtaining adébutin this country.
I at once informed him that nothing could be easier, and that it would be best for him to make his appearance immediately, without any further preparation, for thus he would have no time to reflect and get nervous. I then quite casually, as we were going along, asked him if he knew the opera ofMartha, to which he replied that he knew nothing of the music and had never seen the work. This for the moment wrecked all my hopes as to saving my receipts that evening, the booking for which exceeded £600.
My impulse was to stop the cab and put him out; but first I sang to him a few bars ofM'appari. This romance he said he knew, having occasionally sung it at concerts, but always with the English words. I thought no more of ejecting him from the cab, and continued my drive up to St. John's Wood.
On my relating to Mdlle. Titiens and Mdme. Trebelli how by good luck I had nearly run over a tenor they both said it was useless to think of attempting any performance.
I assured, however, my newly-caught tenor that if he would only be guided by me and appear forthwith he would make a great success. I at once set to work and showed him the stage business in the drawing-room, requesting Mdme. Trebelli to go through the acting of the part of "Nancy," and Mdlle. Titiens through that of "Martha." I explained to the tenor that on entering he merely had to come on with his friend "Plunkett," go to the inn table, seat himself, drink as much beer as he liked, and at a given signal hand over the shilling to enlist the services of "Martha" at the Richmond Fair, after which he would drive her away in a cart. This would complete Act I.
In Act II. he simply had to enter the cottage leading "Martha," and afterwards to attempt to spin (two drawing-room chairs served as spinning wheels), until at last the wheels would be taken away by the two ladies. When the spinning quartet began he was merely to laugh heartily and appear joyous. In the third act I explained that he might sing his song provided always that he confined himself to Italian words. It did not much matter, in view of the public, what he sang if he only kept clear of English; and I advised him to keep repeatingM'apparias often as he felt inclined. This he did, and in consequence of a printed apology which I had previously circulated in the theatre, to the effect that Signor Giuglini had refused his services without assigning anyreason, my new tenor was warmly applauded, receiving for his principal air a double encore, and afterwards a recall. In the last act there was, of course, nothing for him to do, and the newspapers of the next morning were unanimous in his praise.
The singer who rendered me these services was Mr. George Bolton, who some years later (his voice having by that time become a baritone) played with great success the part of "Petruchio" to Minnie Hauk's "Katherine" in Goetz'sTaming of the Shrew.
In the course of the season, which ended about the 18th December, I had accepted an engagement for Mdlle. Titiens to sing at the San Carlo of Naples. The contract was made direct with the Prefect, at the recommendation of the "Commissione." The leading soprano engaged by the manager had not given satisfaction, and the "Commissione" had the power, before handing over the subvention, of insisting on the engagement of a capable artist so as to restore the fortunes of the establishment.
Naturally, then, on my arrival with the great prima donna every possible difficulty was thrown in our way. At length thedébuttook place, when Titiens appeared as "Lucrezia Borgia." The vast theatre was crowded from floor to ceiling, the first four rows of stalls being occupied by the most critical "cognoscenti," who literally watched every breath and every phrase, ready in case of need toexpress hostile opinions. At length the boat came on, and "Lucrezia" stepped on to the stage amidst the most solemn silence; and it was not until the close of thecabaletta, of the first aria that the public manifested its approbation, when it seemed as if a revolution were taking place. Mdlle. Titiens' success went on increasing nightly, and the theatre was proportionately crowded.
I recollect on one occasion after I had made four or five applications to the Prefect for the money payable for the lady's services he handed me a cheque the size of a sheet of foolscap paper. The amount was £800 for her first eight nights' services. On presenting myself at the bank I was referred from one desk to another, until I was told that I must see the chief cashier, who had gone out to smoke a cigar, and would not return that day. I went again the following day, and after waiting a considerable time at length saw him, when he told me to go to a certain counter in the bank where I should be paid.
I endorsed the cheque in the presence of the cashier, who told me, however, that he could not hand me the money for it unless my signature was verified by the British Consul. On going to the British Consul I found that he had gone to Rome, and would not be back for a couple of days. At length I obtained the official verification of the signature, and presented myself for the seventh time at the bank, when I was invited by the cashierto go down into the cellars, where a man told me off the amount in bags of silver ducats, which he drew from a large iron grating. He did not count the sacks he was giving me, but only those remaining behind; which left me one bag short. This he did not care for; he only wanted his own remainder to be right.
Eventually the manager of the bank insisted on my having the amount stated in the cheque, and I was then left to myself, surrounded by my bags, with no porters to move them for me.
On my returning to the manager, who was very polite, and telling him that I wished for the money in gold napoleons, he said it would be very difficult, and that in the first place I must hire men to carry the bags of silver up into the gold department. Thereupon I bargained with four ill-looking individuals who were brought in out of the streets, and who moved the bags at my risk to the gold department, when a vast premium had to be paid. On my leaving the bank with the gold I saw my four lazzaroni who had helped to move the silver, with hundreds of others, all extending their hands and following me.
I drove with difficulty to the British Consul, who happened to be a banker, followed by this vast multitude; for such a sum of money had not been seen for a long time in or about Naples. I had now to pay another large premium to get a bill on London for my gold, and this concluded the matter,which had occupied me altogether seven days and a half.
After the next payment had become due I went three or four times to the Prefect, but could never find him. One day, however, about twelve o'clock, I was told he was within, but that he had a headache, and could not see anyone. I nevertheless insisted on the necessity of his receiving me, saying that otherwise the night's performance at the San Carlo might be jeopardized. I was invited upstairs, where his Excellency was eating macaroni in the grand ball-room, lying on a sofa, which had served as a bed, he having returned home too late to mount the stairs, whilst about eighty Bersaglieri were rehearsing a selection fromRigolettofor a ball he was going to give that evening. The sound was deafening.
The Prefect was very polite, and gave me another of those large cheques, which with a little manipulation I induced the British Consul to change, and get me a bill for it. The Prefect invited me very courteously to the ball he was giving, at which over 2,000 persons were present. It was a most magnificent affair, the four angles of the large room being occupied by wild boars roasted whole (with sundry fruits, wines, etc.), to which the guests after every dance or two helped themselves, and then continued their dancing.
At that time I was very anxious to secure the lease of the San Carlo Opera-house, and by the aidof my friend the Prefect so far advanced the matter, that it wanted but the sanction of the Minister at Turin to complete it. The pay-sheet of the orchestra contained over 150 names, but as the salaries varied from six to eight shillings a week I made no objection to this. The heaviest salary was that of the conductor Mercadante (composer ofIl Giuramento, &c.), who received £5 a week.
On leaving Naples I went to Turin to present myself to the Marquis Braham, but before I could get my card forwarded, even to the first room, I was obliged to make a monetary advance. On reaching the second room I was referred to another room on the entresol. It was impossible to gain entrance, or even get my card sent further, without the help of a napoleon. On going into the fourth room another tax was laid upon me, and it being evening I thought it better to go home and reserve my money offerings towards meeting the Marquis Braham until the next day. I returned, armed with sundry five-franc pieces and napoleons; but it was not until the fourth day, when I gave an extra douceur, that I could approach him at all. It then appeared that someone had anticipated me, and I was recommended to wait another year. I left for England, and the matter dropped.
PRODUCTION OF GOUNOD'S "FAUST"—APATHY OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC—A MANAGERIAL DEVICE—DAMASK CRUMB CLOTH AND CHINTZ HANGINGS—HEROIC ATTITUDE OF A DYING TENOR—PRAYERS TO A PORTMANTEAU.
PRODUCTION OF GOUNOD'S "FAUST"—APATHY OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC—A MANAGERIAL DEVICE—DAMASK CRUMB CLOTH AND CHINTZ HANGINGS—HEROIC ATTITUDE OF A DYING TENOR—PRAYERS TO A PORTMANTEAU.
ONmy return from Italy I set to work preparing for my grand London season of 1863, and entered into several important engagements. About this time I was told of an opera well worthy of my attention which was being performed at the Théâtre Lyrique of Paris. I started to see it, and at once decided that Gounod'sFaust—the work in question—possessed all the qualities necessary for a success in this country. On inquiry I found that Mr. Thomas Chappell, the well-known music publisher, had acquired the opera for England. The late Mr. Frank Chappell, on the part of his brother, but acting in some measure on his own responsibility, had bought the Faust music for reproduction in England from M. Choudens, of Paris; and I have heard not only that he acquired this privilege forthe small sum of £40 (1,000 francs), but moreover that he was remonstrated with on his return home for making so poor a purchase.
The music of an opera is worth nothing until the opera itself has become known, and Messrs. Chappell opened negotiations with Mr. Frederick Gye for the production ofFaustat the Royal Italian Opera. The work, however, had not made much impression at the Théâtre Lyrique, and Mr. Gye, after going to Paris specially to hear it, assured his stage manager, the late Mr. Augustus Harris, who had formed a better opinion of Gounod's music than was entertained by his chief, that there was nothing in it except the "Chorus of Soldiers." After due consideration Mr. Gye refused to have anything to do withFaust, and the prospect of this opera's being performed in London was not improved by the fact that, in the Italian version, it had failed at Milan.
Meanwhile I had heard Faust at the Théâtre Lyrique, and, much struck by the beauty of the music, felt convinced that the work had only to be fitly presented to achieve forthwith an immense success in London. Mr. Chappell was ready to give £200 towards the cost of its production, and he further agreed to pay me £200 more after four representations, besides a further payment after ten representations.
Certain that I had secured a treasure, I went to Paris and bought from M. Choudens a copy of the score, the orchestral parts, and the right for myselfpersonally of performing the work whenever I might think fit in England. I then visited Gounod, who for £100 agreed to come over and superintend the production of what he justly declared to be his masterpiece.
I was at that time (as indeed I always was when anything important had to be done) my own stage manager. My orchestral conductor was Arditi; Titiens undertook the part of "Margherita;" Giuglini that of "Faust;" Trebelli was "Siebel;" Gassier "Mephistopheles;" and Santley "Valentine."
Far from carrying out his agreement as to superintending the production of the work, Gounod did not arrive in London until nearly seven o'clock on the night of production; and all I heard from him was that he wanted a good pit box in the centre of the house. With this, for reasons which I will at once explain, I had no difficulty whatever in providing him.
One afternoon, a few days before the day fixed for the production of the opera, I looked in upon Mr. Nugent at the box-office and asked how the sale of places was going on.
"Very badly indeed," he replied.
Only thirty pounds' worth of seats had been taken.
This presaged a dismal failure, and I had set my mind upon a brilliant success. I told Mr. Nugent in the first place that I had decided to announce Faust for four nights in succession. He thought I must be mad, and assured me that one night's performancewould be more than enough, and that to persist in offering to the public a work in which it took no interest was surely a deplorable mistake.
I told him that not only should the opera be played for four nights in succession, but that for the first three out of these four not one place was to be sold beyond those already disposed of. That there might be no mistake about the matter, I had all the remaining tickets for the three nights in question collected and put away in several carpet bags, which I took home with me that I might distribute them far and wide throughout the Metropolis and the Metropolitan suburbs. At last, after a prodigious outlay in envelopes, and above all postage stamps, nearly the whole mass of tickets for the three nights had been carefully given away.
I at the same time advertised in theTimesthat in consequence of a death in the family, two stalls secured for the first representation ofFaust—the opera which was exciting so much interest that all places for the first three representations had been bought up—could be had at twenty-five shillings each, being but a small advance on the box-office prices. The stalls thus liberally offered were on sale at the shop of Mr. Phillips, the jeweller, in Cockspur Street, and I told Mr. Phillips that if he succeeded in selling them I would present him with three for the use of his own family. Mr. Phillips sold them three times over, and a like success wasachieved by Mr. Baxter, the stationer, also in Cockspur Street.
Meanwhile demands had been made at the box-office for places, and when the would-be purchasers were told that "everything had gone," they went away and repeated it to their friends, who, in their turn, came to see whether it was quite impossible to obtain seats for the first performance of an opera which was now beginning to be seriously talked about. As the day of production approached the inquiries became more and more numerous.
"If not for the first night, there must surely be places somewhere for the second," was the cry.
Mr. Nugent and his assistants had, however, but one answer, "Everything had been sold, not only for the first night, but also for the two following ones."
The first representation took place on June 11th, and the work was received with applause, if not with enthusiasm. I had arranged for Gounod to be recalled; and he appeared several times on the stage, much, I think, to the annoyance of Arditi, to whom the credit of a goodensembleand a fine performance generally was justly due. The opinions expressed by several distinguished amateurs as to the merits of Gounod's admirable work were rather amusing. The late Lord Dudley said that the only striking pieces in the opera were the "Old Men's Chorus" and the "Soldiers' March;" which was going a step beyond Mr. Gye, who had seen nothing in the work but the "Soldiers' Chorus."
Another noble lord, when I asked him what he thought ofFaust, replied—
"This demand is most premature. How am I to answer you until I have talked to my friends and read the criticisms in the morning papers?"
The paucity of measured tunes in the opera—which is melodious from beginning to end—caused many persons to say that it was wanting in melody.
The second nightFaustwas received more warmly than on the first, and at each succeeding representation it gained additional favour, until after the third performance the paying public, burning with desire to see a work from which they had hitherto been debarred, filled the theatre night after night. No further device was necessary for stimulating its curiosity; and the work was now to please and delight successive audiences by its own incontestable merit. It was given for ten nights in succession, and was constantly repeated until the termination of the season.
So successful wasFaustat Her Majesty's Theatre that Mr. Gye resolved to produce it at once; and he succeeded in getting it out by July 2nd.
The following was the cast of the work at the Royal Italian Opera:—"Margherita," Miolan-Carvalho (the creator of the part at the Théâtre Lyrique); "Siebel," Nantier Didiée; "Mephistopheles," Faure; "Valentine," Graziani; "Faust," Tamberlik.
The success ofFaustat the Royal Italian Opera was so great that it enabled the manager to keephis theatre open until long beyond the usual period. On the 15th May of the following yearFaustwas reproduced with Mdlle. Pauline Lucca and Signor Mario in place of Madame Miolan-Carvalho and Signor Tamberlik. Three weeks afterwards, June 7th, the part of "Margherita" was assumed for the first time by Adelina Patti.
Mr. Gye, who had purchased of M. Gounod "exclusive rights" over the work, sent to inform me that he did not wish to interfere with my arrangements during the season already begun, but that for each performance given at Her Majesty's Theatre he should expect in future to be paid, and that meanwhile he had a claim against me of £800 for performance of the work given in London and the provinces during 1863 and 1864. I, of course, resisted this extraordinary pretention on the part of Mr. Gye; for, as the reader has already been informed, I had, before producingFaust, purchased from the Paris publishers the right of performing it wherever I personally might think fit. Mr. Gye brought his action, of which the result was to establish the fact, painful enough for M. Gounod, that, owing to some defect in regard to registration, no exclusive rights of performance could be secured forFaustin England by anyone.
After the close of the season of 1863 I made a concert tour in the autumn, a recital ofFaustbeing the chief attraction. The company comprised Mdlle. Titiens, Mdme. Trebelli, Mdlle. Volpini, SignorBettini—who had just married Trebelli—and Signor Volpini. After we had been out about two or three weeks Signor Volpini became very ill, and whilst at Birmingham sent for a leading physician, who, on examining him, said he would require a deal of attention, but that he hoped to bring him round in about a couple of weeks. The patient replied that on no account would he separate himself from his wife, who had to travel to some fresh city daily, but that the doctor must do what he could for him until he left the following morning with the Company. This he insisted upon doing.
From Birmingham we went to Bristol, and on arriving the sick tenor was at once put to bed and the leading physician sent for, who, on examining him, asked who had been attending him. On the name of the Birmingham physician being mentioned, the Bristol physician rejoined: "A very able man. One of the very first in the profession." The patient had been in good hands.
But on seeing the last prescription the doctor was astonished that his predecessor should have written such a thing; in fact, he could scarcely believe it, and it was fortunate for the patient he had left Birmingham and come to place himself under his care.
The patient informed the physician that on no account could he part from his wife, and that he would have to move off with the Company the following morning to Exeter.
From Exeter we went to Plymouth, from Plymouth to Bath, from Bath to Oxford, and so on during a space of some two or three weeks, the sick tenor being carried from the hotel to the railway and from the railway to the hotel, and each medical man of eminence making the same observations with regard to his esteemed colleague in the previous town; each one exclaiming that had Volpini remained in the previous city he must have died. He was carried to London, and there he remained, as all thought, on his death-bed, at the Hôtel Previtali, Panton Square. He was not yet, however, destined to die, and, as I am about to relate, it was a miracle that saved his life.
About this time I had engaged Sims Reeves to sing therôleof "Faust" on certain evenings at Her Majesty's Theatre, and one day received a telegram from the eminent tenor, dated "Crewe," expressing his astonishment that I had announced him for that evening, when the engagement was for the following one.
I at once went off to Sims Reeves's house, and learned from the butler that his dinner had been ordered for half-past seven o'clock. I thereupon informed the man that the orders had been changed, and that the dinner was to be served at twelve o'clock instead of the time originally fixed. I ascertained that Mr. Reeves was to arrive at Euston Station, and there met him, accompanied by Mrs. Sims Reeves.
While she was busying herself about the general arrangements, I got the tenor to myself and told him the difficulty I was in, to which he replied that it was quite impossible for him to sing that evening, as he had ordered his dinner at home. I at once explained that I had postponed it for a few hours, and that a light dinner was being prepared for him in his dressing-room at the theatre.
The suddenness of my proposition seemed rather to amuse him, as he laughed; and I was delighted to get a kind of half-promise from him that, provided I mentioned the matter to his wife, he would consent.
At this moment she appeared, asking me what I was talking about to her husband. One of us began to state what the object in view was, when she exclaimed—
"It's all nonsense; but I can well understand. Mapleson is an impresario, and wants to ruin you by making you sing."
She then asked me how I could possibly think of such a thing when the chintz and the crumbcloth of his dressing-room had not been fixed?
It was the custom of Mrs. Reeves to hang the walls with new chintz and place a fresh-mangled white damask cloth on the floor the nights her husband sang; and on this occasion the sacred hangings had gone to the wash.
I explained that I had provided other chintz, but to no effect. Reeves was hurried to his broughamand driven away, his wife remarking as she looked scornfully at me: "He's only a manager!"
It being now half-past six I was in a nice state of mind as to how I could possibly replace the great tenor inFaust. Signor Bettini, it was true, had on the concert tour sung portions of the garden scene and the duet of the prison scene in the recital ofFaustwhich we had given throughout the provinces. Signor Volpini, moreover—only he was on his death bed—knew the introduction and the trio of the duel scene. Putting all this together I decided on my course of action.
First I called on Signor Bettini, requesting him to oblige me by going to the theatre.
I next presented myself at Volpini's hotel, when I was informed that I must step very quietly and say but few words. On entering I was told by the invalid in a faint whisper that it was very kind of me to call upon him; and he wished to know whether I had really come to spend the evening with him. I told him that I had been informed on entering that my visit must be a short one.
He asked me again and again what could possibly be done to save his life, as he had tried all the doctors, but in vain. I said I would give him my advice if he would only follow it. I then assured him that he had but one chance of recovery. He must first allow me to mix him a pint of Château Lafite and a couple of raw eggs, beaten up with powdered sugar, and come down with me to the theatre, where,after drinking it, if he was to die, he could die like a man before the footlights.
A faint smile came over his pallid countenance. Of course he thought I was joking. But in due course the Château Lafite appeared, and the eggs were beaten up, and I managed to make him swallow the stimulating beverage. I put him on his flannel dressing-gown, took the blankets off the bed, and, wrapping him up in them, carried him myself in a four-wheeler down to the theatre.
I explained to him that he would have very little to do, beginning simply with the few bars of the introduction; after that nothing but the music he had been in the habit of singing on the concert tour. I explained to him that although "Mephistopheles," the Prince of Darkness, would in the eyes of the public transform him from an old man into a young one, there would be no difficulty about this inasmuch as Bettini would continue the part. Later on he could sing the trio in the duel scene, where with his lovely voice a great effect would be produced.
The long and short of it was I induced him to dress; and all now seemed in good order. I explained the matter to Titiens, Trebelli, and Arditi; and as I had not touched a particle of food since nine o'clock that morning, I went next door to Epitaux's, where I ordered a very small repast, pending the commencement of the opera.
I had hardly seated myself at the table when myservant rushed in, stating that there was a general row going on amongst the artists, and that they were all going home. The doors of the theatre had been opened, and the apology for the absence of Sims Reeves, which I had posted on the outer doors, had been accepted by the public. This was evident from the fact that over £650 of money was now in the house. The audience must be already a little irritated by the disappointment, and I knew that any further one might be attended with serious consequences. I believed that there would be a riot unless the representation took place.
On entering the stage-door I met Mdlle. Titiens, who was about to step into her carriage, going home. She told me it was useless to think of performing. This was at ten minutes past eight. I begged her to remain. I gave orders to the hall-keeper not to let anyone out of the place, and to get two policemen to assist him. I then crossed the stage to the dressing-room, where high words were going on—first between the two tenors, and afterwards between their two pretty wives. Mdme. Volpini's voice was uppermost, and I heard her say to Trebelli—
"Of course you will rejoice! My poor sick husband brought out at the risk of his life, and then simply to undertake an old man's part, with grey hair and beard concealing his beauty; whilst your husband is to come on and make all the love in the garden scene, and get all the applause."
Mdme. Trebelli responded by snapping her fingers at Mdme. Volpini, and taking her husband, despite my entreaties, from the theatre. All this excitement tended to work Volpini up; and, like a true artist, he said he would do his best—even if he had to walk through the scenes in which he was unacquainted with the music—rather than let me be disappointed.
It was now half-past eight, and the opera was on the point of commencing. This I had ordered should be done punctually. Meanwhile I had followed Mdme. Trebelli to her apartments in Regent Street. The excitement had made her quite ill, and she was totally unable to appear in consequence. I appealed forcibly to her husband, begging him if he would not sing "Faust" to help me by taking the part of "Siebel." He was a very good musician, and as at this time he never quitted his wife's side I knew that he must be intimately acquainted with the music. I thereupon got him down to the theatre in time for the garden scene, had his moustache taken off, and put him into his wife's clothes. Everything went off brilliantly, the male "Siebel" and the dying "Faust" sharing with the admirable "Margherita" the applause of the evening.
The sudden exertion, the unwonted excitement, had really the effect of saving Volpini's life; and he lived happily for many years afterwards.
During the worst stage of poor Volpini's illness,when, as already set forth, he persisted in being moved from town to town, wherever his charming wife had to go, they were both astonished one night to find that their little girl, a child of three or four years of age, had got out of bed, and apparently was praying to a large travelling trunk which accompanied them on all their journeys. Kneeling before the huge box, the little thing was heard to say: "And make my dear papa well again, or I will believe in you no more."
The explanation of this touching mystery was that the little girl had been in the habit of saying her prayers before an image of the Holy Virgin, which the family carried with them from town to town. The image, or picture, was now enclosed within the travelling trunk which had not yet been unpacked, and the affectionate child addressed it where she knew it to be.
GARIBALDI VISITS THE OPERA—GIUGLINI'S TROUBLE AT ST PETERSBURG—GIUGLINI VISITED BY TITIENS—ALARM OF FIRE—PRODUCTION OF "MEDEA"—GRISI'S LAST APPEARANCE—AN ENRAGED TENOR.
GARIBALDI VISITS THE OPERA—GIUGLINI'S TROUBLE AT ST PETERSBURG—GIUGLINI VISITED BY TITIENS—ALARM OF FIRE—PRODUCTION OF "MEDEA"—GRISI'S LAST APPEARANCE—AN ENRAGED TENOR.
IN1864 my season opened brilliantly, and on the fifth night I induced Garibaldi, who was then in this country, to visit the theatre; which filled it to overflowing. On that evening Titiens and Giuglini really surpassed themselves; and at the close of the opera Garibaldi told me he had never witnessed such a spirited performance, and that he had been quite carried away by the admirable singing of the two eminent artists. The opera wasLucrezia Borgia.
Some few nights afterwards I placed Nicolai's opera, theMerry Wives of Windsor, before the public, under the name ofFalstaff, introducing a charming contralto named Bettelheim; who undertook therôleof "Mrs. Page," whilst Titiens impersonated "Mrs. Ford," Giuglini "Fenton," Bettini "Slender," Gassier "Mr. Page," Santley "Mr.Ford," &c., &c. The magnificent new scenery was by Telbin. The opera met with most unequivocal success, and was repeated for several consecutive nights. But, as with so many other operas, the public were so slow in expressing their approbation that it gradually had to drop out of therépertoire. Shortly afterwards I produced, remounted, Beethoven'sFidelio, with Titiens as the heroine, which was given some seven or eight nights in succession to the most crowded houses. In the winter I gave my usual extra performances in the provinces and in London.
Prior to the close of the London season of 1864 Giuglini signed an engagement for St. Petersburg, receiving a very large honorarium for his services. Regarding himself as the only representative of "Faust," he had not taken the precaution of stipulating for his appearance in this, or, indeed, any other part in hisrépertoire. On his arrival he was much mortified to find the Covent Garden artists, of whom there were several, always working and intriguing together; and to Giuglini's great dismay the part of "Faust" was assigned to Signor Tamberlik; Patti being the "Margherita" and Nantier Didiée the "Siebel." Now passed some two or three weeks before Giuglini could obtain adébut. One afternoon, about three o'clock, he was informed by the intendant that he was called upon to perform therôleof "Faust," Tamberlik being taken suddenly ill. This was indeed good news, and he set aboutarranging his costumes and looking over the music. Towards six o'clock he heard it rumoured that Madame Patti would be too indisposed to sing therôleof "Margherita," and that he would have to appear with somedébutante.
This thoroughly unnerved him, and he himself became indisposed, which he at once notified to the intendant. At the advice of some friends he was induced to take a walk, and pay a visit to some acquaintances to spend the evening.
About ten o'clock the door was rudely opened without any warning, and anemployéentered, accompanied by two officials, one of whom politely raised his hat and said, "Signor Giuglini, I believe?" to which the Signor replied that he was Giuglini. They thereupon immediately left. Nothing more was heard of this matter until about a fortnight afterwards. It being pay day for the principal artists, that afternoon the Imperial Treasurer called at Giuglini's house with a roll of rouble notes, requesting him to sign the receipt for his month's pay, which Giuglini at once did. But on leaving, the treasurer begged to draw his attention to the notes, as a deduction of £150 had been made from his monthly stipend in consequence of his having left the house on the day he was reported to be indisposed. He got into a towering fit of rage, requesting the balance to be handed to him, as he was allowed certain days of indisposition according to the terms of his contract. The treasurer repliedthat according to the provisions of that clause he should have remained at home in his house on the day of his reported illness. The arguments became very warm, and Giuglini, in a fit of rage, threw the whole bundle of rouble notes into the stove, which was then burning; and from that moment his reason seemed to have left him.
On the termination of my spring concert tour in 1865 we began a season of opera in the beginning of March at Dublin, Giuglini promising to join us at the conclusion of his St. Petersburg engagement, which ended about that time.
One morning at breakfast I received a telegram from London: "Come on at once. Giuglini arrived." I was indeed delighted, and, having notified the good news to the Dublin press, left immediately for London. On my arrival at Giuglini's house in Welbeck Street I was told that he was very much indisposed in consequence of the fatigues of the journey, and that his mind did not seem quite right. I went upstairs to him at once. He was very pleased to see me, but to my astonishment he had no trousers on. Otherwise he was all right.
I talked with him some time, and advised him to put on the necessary garment, so that we might start that evening for Dublin. By force of persuasion I at last obtained his consent to let me put his trousers on for him, and in the course of an hour succeeded in getting one leg in. I then ordered some oysters for him, and talked to himwhilst I was coaxing in the other leg. This I at length managed to do, when to my horror I found the first leg had come out again. After wasting the whole of the day I found myself too late to catch the Irish mail, and the Signor still with one leg only in his pantaloons.
Whilst Giuglini was sleeping I inquired as to the full particulars of his condition, and was informed that he had arrived from St. Petersburg in charge of a hired courier, who simply wanted a receipt for him. At the same time his magnificent fur coats and other costly clothing were all missing. He had made the journey in second-class, wearing a summer suit although it was the depth of winter; and on examining his jewel case I found that the stones had been taken out of everything he possessed, although the articles themselves were there. It was indeed a sad affair. I was advised to place him for a short time under the care of Dr. Tuke, and I had then to hurry back to Ireland.
On my return to London I went to pay Giuglini a visit at Chiswick, Mdlle. Titiens insisting on accompanying me. We waited some time during which we were particularly cautioned not to approach him. At length he entered; he was delighted to see us and talked quite rationally. We persuaded the doctor to allow us to take him for a drive, the signor at the same time expressing a wish to be driven to the Star and Garter, at Richmond, to dine. To this the keeper, who was on the box alongsidethe coachman, objected, promising Giuglini that if he would return to the doctor's he should have a nice large plate of meat, which seemed greatly to please him. Giuglini had previously complained to me that he was made to drink sherry, a wine which he particularly disliked, his ordinary drink being claret or claret and water. He afterwards sang us "Spirto gentil" from theFavorita, followed by "M'appari" fromMartha, singing both airs divinely. The only thing peculiar was that his tongue was drawn very much to the right, and that he had to stop after every ninth or tenth bar to straighten it.
When we got back to the doctor's Mdlle. Titiens and myself stayed to dinner. During the repast Giuglini, who had been looking forward to his plate of meat, came into the room exhibiting on a very small plate a very small piece of meat.
"Look what they have given me, Thérèse," he said to Titiens. "I am afraid to eat it," he added, in a tone of irony; "it might give me an indigestion."
My firm belief is that if I could have got both Giuglini's legs into his trousers the day that he arrived in London I should have saved him. Living something like his ordinary life, among his old companions, he would have had at least a chance of getting well.
Thus matters went on until the London season of 1865 opened, which took place on the Saturday night of the Easter week. I had made a series ofimprovements throughout the theatre, by reducing considerably the number of the private boxes, and enlarging those I retained. I likewise removed the twelve proscenium boxes, ten each side of the stage, thereby advancing the drop curtain some 16 feet nearer the public. This gave me much more room behind the scenes.
Amongst the new singers I introduced was Miss Laura Harris, who afterwards, as Mdme. Zagury, achieved brilliant success throughout the whole of Europe; also Mdlle. Ilma de Murska, a lady who at once took high rank from her phenomenal vocal qualities. I also presented Signor Foli, a young artist, who was engaged at the Italian Opera in Paris, and who soon became a public favourite; likewise Signor Rokitanski, another eminent basso. Despite the blow I had received in the loss of Giuglini I went to work with renewed energies, and presented to the public Beethoven'sFidelio, with a magnificent cast, including Titiens, the incomparable "Leonora." I, moreover, mounted in great style Mozart'sFlauto Magico, Titiens being the "Pamina," Ilma de Murska the "Queen of Night," Sinico the "Papagena," and Santley the "Papageno;" whilst the subordinate parts were all undertaken by principal artists.
During the last act an accident occurred, which might have been very serious, inasmuch as the house was crowded from the stalls right up to the back of the gallery. In preparing for the final scene someof the gauze, which had been used for clouds during the evening, caught fire over the gas battens. Instantly the alarm was given, when one of the flymen, at the risk of his neck, flung himself across the stage, balancing himself on a "batten" (a narrow strip of wood, some forty feet long), while he cut the ropes with his knife, causing the burning gauze to fall down on to the stage, where it was extinguished by the firemen. Mr. Santley, who was undertaking therôleof the "Bird-catcher," remained on the stage unmoved. He walked forward to the audience, and addressed them in these eloquent words—
"Don't act like a lot of fools. It's nothing."
This speech had an immediate effect; and Santley continued his song as if nothing had happened. But for his presence of mind the loss of life would have been most serious.
I likewise produced Cherubini's tragic opera,Medea; a work considered by musical amateurs one of the finest dramatic compositions ever written. No musician ever exercised more influence on his art than Cherubini. His compositions are of the first authority, so that no musical library, whether of the professor or the amateur, can claim to be considered complete without them. The part of "Medea" was represented by Mdlle. Titiens. In assuming thisrôleMdlle. Titiens certainly added the final touch of lustre to her lyric crown. I need scarcely say the opera was magnificently mounted,even to the smallest detail. It was particularly successful, and still retains its place in therépertoire. I was interested to find in what large numbers the relatives and descendants of Cherubini were attracted to my theatre by the announcement of his Medea. Naturally they all expected free admissions, even to great-grandchildren and third cousins.
The season was a very successful one. In the autumn I started the regular provincial opera tour, Mario being my principal tenor, vice Giuglini. We commenced in Manchester, where Mario's unrivalled performances inFaust, Rigoletto, Martha, Ballo in Maschera, andDon Giovanniattracted crowded houses. We afterwards visited Dublin, proceeding thence to Belfast, Liverpool, etc., terminating, as usual, about Christmas.
In the early part of January, 1866, I made a very successful concert tour, giving no less than one hundred and twenty concerts in some seventy cities in sixty successive days, with two very strong parties: Titiens, Trebelli, Santley, Stagno, and Bossi in one; and Grisi, Lablache, Mario, Foli, and Arditi in the other; ending up with a brilliant series of operas with casts combined from the two parties in the northern capital and at Glasgow, where Mdme. Grisi distinguished herself in therôlesof "Lucrezia Borgia," "Norma," "Donna Anna," etc.
Thus matters went on until the London season. On each occasion when I visited Giuglini I found no improvement, and it was ultimately decided thata sea trip might benefit him. He, therefore, left London in a sailing ship for Italy. I never saw him afterwards. I need scarcely add that his loss was irreparable.
I opened my London season of 1866 early in April, for which I engaged a very powerful Company, including Mdme. Grisi. I announced her engagement in the following terms:—
"Mr. Mapleson has the gratification to announce that he has prevailed on Mdme. Grisi to revisit the scene of her early triumphs, and again to appear at the Theatre, her previous connection with which formed one of the most brilliant epochs in operatic history. Mdme. Grisi will once more undertake some of the parts which she created, and in her impersonations of which will be revived the traditions obtained direct from Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini. These representations can only extend for a few nights, and they will derive additional interest from the fact that Mdlle. Titiens has consented to take part in them as a mark of respect to one who for so many years reigned absolutely without a rival on the lyric stage."
I was justified in making this announcement in consequence of the magnificent style in which Mdme. Grisi had been singing during our spring opera tour.
Grisi seemed interested and affected by her return to the old house of which she had taken leave twenty years previously. The oldhabituéscame inlarge numbers to see her, to hear her, and naturally to support her with their applause on her first (which proved also to be her last) appearance. This took place on the evening of May 5, 1866. The Prince and Princess of Wales were both present.
When the gondola came down, from which, in the first act ofLucrezia Borgia, the heroine makes her entry, there was breathless attention throughout the house. The great vocalist had the command of all her resources, and sang the two verses of "Com'è bello" admirably, omitting, according to her custom, thecabaletta, which Titiens and all other "Lucrezias" made a point of giving.
Well as she sang, I noticed some signs of nervousness. She had been visited by misgivings before the performance began. I had done my best, however, to reassure her, and was under the impression, judging from the apparent result, that I had succeeded. But her hands, I remember, just as she was going on, were extremely cold. I took them in my own, and found that they were like stone.
At the end of the first act, on the conclusion of the scene in which "Lucrezia" is taunted and reproached by her victims and their friends, Mdme. Grisi, accustomed to the stage of the Royal Italian Opera, remained too far in front, though at a point where, at Covent Garden, the curtain would have fallen between her and the audience. It was otherwise at Her Majesty's Theatre (I refer, of course, to the old building), where the stage advanced far intothe audience department; and when the curtain came down the "Lucrezia" of the evening found herself kneeling on the ground (in which attitude she had defied the conspirators) and cut off by the curtain from the stage behind. This placed the unfortunate singer in a ludicrous and, indeed, painful position; for she had a stiffness in one of her knees, and was unable on this occasion to rise without the help of the stage attendants.
Mdme. Grisi was, of course, much distressed by thiscontretemps. She had recourse, however, to the homeopathic remedies which she always carried with her, and after a time was herself again. These remedies were for the most part in the form of stimulants, which, however, Mdme. Grisi took only in the smallest quantities. Her medicine-chest contained a dozen half-pint wicker-covered bottles, which held, besides orgeat and other syrups, brandy, whisky, hollands, port-wine, and bottled stout.
In the second act Mdme. Grisi got on very well, especially in the scene with the bass preceding the famous trio. In the passionate duet with the tenor, just when the Duke, after administering the poison to "Gennaro," has gone away, she made an unsuccessful attempt to reach the A natural; and the failure caused her much confusion. She got through the performance; but she ran up to me immediately the curtain fell and exclaimed that it was all over with her, and that she never could appear again.
The notices next morning were sufficiently favourable; but it was evident that the career of the great vocalist was now, indeed, at an end. Let me here say a word about Mdme. Grisi's pecuniary affairs.
After the duel between her husband, M. de Meley, and Lord Castlereagh a separation took place; and the injured spouse made an arrangement by which he was to receive out of his wife's salary the moderate income of two thousand a year. This she was to pay as long as she remained on the stage. In order that the famous singer might enjoy the use of her own earnings, I made an agreement with her by which on my provincial tours she was to sing for me gratuitously, while I at the same time engaged to pay Signor Mario £300 a week. For this salary the two admirable artists were ready to sing as often as I liked. They were most obliging; full of good nature, and without any of the affectation or caprice from which so few singers at the present day are free. They took a pleasure in their performances, and thought nothing of playing three or four times a week. They would have sung every night had I been unreasonable enough to ask them to do so.
Far from insisting that she should never be called upon to do anything that was not expressly set down for her in her written contract, Mdme. Grisi would often volunteer her assistance in cases where it was really very useful. InDon Pasquale, for instance, while Mario was singing the beautifulserenade "Com'e gentil!" she would direct the chorus behind the scenes, singing herself and marking the time on the tambourine.
She was invaluable to Mario in many ways, not only in connection with his art, but also with the occupations of his ordinary life. She was always punctual, and, indeed, a little before the time; whereas Mario was invariably late. He had always his cravat to tie or a fresh cigar to light just when the last moment for catching the train had arrived. He was the most inveterate smoker I ever knew. He had always a cigar in his mouth, except when he was on the stage and actually in the presence of the audience. When he came off, if only for a moment, he would take a puff at his still burning cigar, which he had carefully left in the wings where he would be sure to find it again. "Faust" in the garden scene passes for a few moments behind some bushes at the back of the stage. During those moments Mario had just time to enjoy a few whiffs, after which he returned to continue his love-making.
Mario spent large sums of money on his favourite weed, and thought nothing of giving away a box of cigars to a friend for which he had paid (to some friendly tobacconist who had cheated him) £5 or £6 a hundred.
About this time I charged Mr. Telbin and his talented sons to paint me the whole of the scenery for Meyerbeer'sDinorah, which was brought out indue course, Ilma de Murska appearing as the demented heroine, Gardoni as "Corentino," and Santley as "Hoel." It was a truly magnificent performance, well worthy the reputation of the theatre.
Shortly afterwards I produced another classical opera, which was gladly welcomed by all musical amateurs. The work I refer to was Gluck'sIphigenia in Tauris—a work not less remarkable for its intrinsic merits than for having been the cause of one of the most fierce and prolonged artistic controversies on record. Paris, ever thechamp de batailleof such contests, was, figuratively speaking, shaken to its foundations by the antagonistic Gluckists and Piccinists; and the dispute was only ended by Gluck leaving France.
This work was likewise magnificently put upon the stage, Titiens, Santley, and Gardoni really surpassing themselves.
I afterwards had the honour of introducing Mozart's comic opera,Il Seraglio, in which Mdlle. Titiens appeared as "Constanza," the remaining personages being entrusted to Dr. Gunz, Signor, Stagno, Rokitanski, &c.
One evening, when the opera ofRigolettowas being performed, with Mongini as the "Duke," feeling tired, as I had been working in the theatre throughout the day, I went home just before the termination of the third act. I had been at home about three-quarters of an hour when my servanthurried up in a cab to inform me that the curtain had not yet risen for the final act, and that a dreadful disturbance was going on in consequence of some question with Mongini, who was brandishing a drawn sword and going to kill everybody. I immediately slipped on my clothes and went down to the theatre.
At the stage door, without her bonnet, I met the tenor's charming wife, the only person, as a rule, who could control him in any way; and she entreated me not to go near him, or there would be bloodshed. I insisted, however, on going to his room without delay, as the curtain was still down and the public was getting tumultuous. I took the precaution of buttoning my overcoat across my chest, and in I went, my first words being—
"This time, Mongini, I hear you are right (Questa volta sento che avete ragione)."
With this preliminary we got into conversation, but he still remained walking up and down the room with nothing but his shirt on and a drawn sword in his hand. I saw that I had to proceed very slowly with him, and began talking on indifferent matters. At last I asked him the details of all the trouble. He thereupon explained to me that the master tailor, who had been requested by him in the morning to widen his overcoat by two inches, had misunderstood, and contracted it by two inches. I wished to have a look at the dress, which, however, was lying on the floor torn topieces. I assured Mongini that the man should be cruelly punished, and he and his family put upon the streets to starve early the next morning.
He then got calmer, and I casually observed, "By-the-bye, is the opera over yet, Mongini?" to which he replied, "No, it is not."
"Never mind that," I continued; "the public can wait. Everyone, by the way, is talking of the magnificent style in which you have been singing to-night."
His eyes brightened, and he said he should like to go on with the opera.
"Not at all a bad idea!" I remarked.
"But I have no dress," said Mongini, rather sadly; "it is destroyed."
I suggested that he should wear the dress of the second act, putting on the breastplate and the steel gorget with the hat and feathers, and he would then be all right, and "La Donna e Mobile" would make amends for the delay. He dressed and followed me to the stage, when I made the sign for the stage manager to ring up the curtain, greatly to the astonishment of Mongini's wife, who was fully expecting to hear that I had been run through the body.
The next day at twelve o'clock, as per appointment, Mongini came to my office to be present at the punishment of the master tailor. I had taken the precaution to inform the tailor, who was a single man, that he had a wife and four children, and thathe was to be sure and recollect this. I called him into my room in the presence of Mongini, and told him gravely that he with his wife and children must now starve. There was no alternative after the treatment Mongini had received the previous evening.
Mongini at once supplicated me not to let the children die in the gutter, as it might injure him with the public, and he ended by promising that if I would retain the tailor in my service he would sing an extra night for nothing.