The Mapleson Memoirs, 1848-1888 Volume Ii Part 21

In the early part of January, 1888, I gave forty-two grand concerts in forty-two different cities, commencing in Dublin, where I was placed in a position of the greatest difficulty by the non-arrival of Padilla, the baritone, Ravelli, the tenor, and my princ.i.p.al soloist, Van Biene, who was laid up with rheumatism; so that it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could even make a beginning. In due course Ravelli arrived, but with such a cold that he was unable to speak. I, therefore, had to proceed to the south of Ireland minus a tenor and a baritone. I succeeded, however, in replacing the instrumentalist by M. Rudersdorf, the eminent violoncellist, who resides in Dublin.

Prior to going to Belfast, towards the latter part of the week, Signor Padilla joined us, and for the next evening in Dublin all was arranged for the appearance of Ravelli, who had been living the whole week with his wife in the hotel at my expense. On notifying him to go to the concert, he replied that he must be paid a week's salary for the time during which he had been sick or he would not open his mouth. He conducted himself in so disrespectful a manner that he deserved, I told him, to be taken to the concert-room by force. I had scarcely made a movement of my hand as in explanation when he thought I was going to strike him, and made a rush at me in a most violent way, kicking up in the French style in all directions, while his wife a.s.sisted him by coming behind me with a chair.

I knew that if I injured him in the slightest degree there would be no concert that night. Meanwhile he was going full tilt at me to strike me in any way he possibly could, and it taxed my ingenuity to stop all action on his part without injuring him. It was fortunate I did so, as, after he had calmed down, seeing me in earnest, he dressed himself and went on to the concert. All this occurred only half an hour before its commencement. Afterwards Ravelli sang with comparative regularity.

Business, however, was not what it ought to have been, in consequence of the absence of favourite names from the programme. The musical excellence of my Company was beyond question, but the public must have old names of some kind or other, whether with voices or not, to ensure an audience.

We reached Leicester some four days afterwards. On the Company arriving in a body at the hotel, the hostess looked at us with amazement, and asked me if I had not come to the wrong town, since no announcement whatever had appeared as to any concert taking place. I thereupon made inquiries and found the landlady's statement to be perfectly true. All the printed matter--bills and programmes--previously sent on was discovered hidden away; and the person who had undertaken the arrangement of the concert, being in difficulties, had been unable even to announce our coming in the newspapers.

I, of course, insisted upon giving the concert, and as evening approached some half-dozen people who were accidentally pa.s.sing purchased tickets. The performance proceeded in due form, and Ravelli, much to his disgust, obtained an encore from his audience of six.

In a hall adjoining I heard excellent singing, as if from a large chorus. I at once saw a way of giving encouragement to my artists, who were going on with the concert. On entering I found that the local Philharmonic Society was practising. It included many of the leading ladies and gentlemen of Leicester, and numbered altogether some two or three hundred singers.

I told the conductor that a capital concert was going on in the adjoining hall, to which I invited all present. If he would suspend the rehearsal they could go and help themselves to the best seats. Great astonishment was evinced amongst the six members of our public when they suddenly found the room filling with a well-dressed and distinguished audience, who were so delighted with the excellence of the performance that they encored every piece. Prior to the close of the concert I thought it was better to address a few words to my visitors, in which I stated that the concert, having been given secretly, without the knowledge of the town, I should look upon it as a private rehearsal only; and that it was my intention to return to Leicester some two or three weeks afterwards, when the public performance would take place. On leaving the hall my new audience booked some 20 or 30 worth of seats to make sure of obtaining places at my next visit.

When I returned shortly afterwards the Concert Hall was packed from floor to ceiling, and I was even requested to come back and give a third entertainment. The Press declared that no better concert had ever been given in Leicester.

We afterwards visited Cheltenham, Bristol, Exeter, and some twenty other cities, in each of which we were considerably handicapped by amateurs giving concerts for the entertainment of other amateurs; neither performers nor listeners seeming to have any high idea of art.

On reaching Cardiff Ravelli, without any reason, in the middle of the concert, said that he was indisposed, and walked home. As there was no other tenor present, and as it was impossible to continue the performance without one, I volunteered my services. I had previously notified the public; and after I had sung in the _Trovatore_ duet I was recalled twice, and on taking an encore was again twice recalled. This helped us for the moment. But I have no intention of again appearing as a vocalist.

Ravelli, after going home to bed, had requested me to send for a doctor, as he was in a desperate state. The next morning, prior to leaving the town, I gave instructions to the landlady that proper care should be taken of him, adding that I would return in three or four days to see how he was progressing. I requested her, moreover, to paste up the windows to prevent any draught blowing into the room.

I then started with the Company to Exeter. On reaching that city I received a telegram from the landlady, stating that after my departure Mr. Ravelli had gone to Paris by the next train with his wife.

From Exeter we pa.s.sed on to Plymouth and Torquay, where we gave a morning concert, remaining in that delightful watering-place till the following Monday morning, when we left for Salisbury; after which we visited Southampton, Southsea, Cambridge, Leicester, and Nottingham. The concert tour being now at an end, I returned to London.

Although both Mdme. Minnie Hauk and Signor Ravelli had left me on the plea of sickness without being seriously indisposed, I took no steps against either of them. For a time, I must admit, I thought of having recourse to the good services of my friend and solicitor--strange conjunction!--Mr. Russell Gole; who during my career as impresario has brought and defended for me actions innumerable, and invariably, I believe, with the best results that under the circ.u.mstances could have been obtained. The reader has already heard of Mr. Gole's ingenious suggestion at a time when for six minutes I was in the position of a bankrupt. During those memorable six minutes Mr. Registrar Hazlitt had occupied the position of an impresario, and it would be difficult to say whether at that momentous crisis he or I was most out of place. When Mr.

Gole reminded him that he was now _ex-officio_ the manager of Her Majesty's Theatre, and that advice was expected from him as to the cutting of _Lohengrin_, the making up of the ballet girls' petticoats, and the pacification of an insubordinate tenor, he sent for the Book of Practice, and after consulting it rescinded the order, observing that he did so "in the interest of the public."

Once more, only a few weeks ago, I stood in the presence of Mr.

Registrar Hazlitt, and, as in the days of Sir Michael Costa's disputed cheque, had Mr. Russell Gole by my side. Once more, too, when an order of bankruptcy was impending over me it was withdrawn partly through the instrumentality of my solicitor, but mainly, of course, through the goodwill of my creditors, who subscribed among themselves sufficient money to pay into Court a sum which was at once accepted in liquidation of all claims.

I am generally regarded and have got into the habit of looking upon myself as a manager of Italian Opera. But, accepting that character, I do not think I can be fairly accused of exclusiveness as towards the works of German or even of English composers. Nor can I well be charged with having neglected the masterpieces of the lyric drama by whomsoever composed. For a great many years past no manager but myself has given performances of Cherubini's _Medea_. _Fidelio_ is a work which, from the early days of Mdlle. t.i.tiens until my last year at Her Majesty's Theatre, with Mdlle. Lilli Lehmann in the princ.i.p.al part, I have always been ready to present. I was the first manager to translate Wagner's _Tannhauser_ and _Lohengrin_ into Italian, and the only one out of Germany who has been enterprising enough to produce the entire series of the _Ring des Nibelungen_.

As regards English Opera, Macfarren's _Robin Hood_ and Wallace's _Amber Witch_ owe their very existence to me. It was I who, at Her Majesty's Theatre in 1860-61, brought out both those works, which had been specially composed for the theatre. I myself adapted Balfe's _Bohemian Girl_ to the Italian stage, and in the course of my last provincial tour I gave for the first time in Italian, and with remarkable success, the _Maritana_ of Wallace.

Casting back my recollection over a long series of years I find that the only composer of undisputed influence and popularity whose propositions I could at no time accept were those of Jacques Offenbach; whom, however, in his own particular line I am far from undervaluing. The composer of _La grande d.u.c.h.esse de Gerolstein_, _La Belle Helene_, and a whole series of masterpieces in the burlesque style, tried to persuade me that his works were not so comic as people insisted on believing.

They had, according to him, their serious side; and he sought to convince me that _La Belle Helene_, produced at Her Majesty's Theatre with an increased orchestra, and with a hundred or more additional voices in the chorus, would prove a genuine artistic success. I must admit that I gave a moment's thought to the matter; but the project of the amiable _maestro_ was not one that I could seriously entertain. I may here remind the reader that Offenbach began life as a composer of serious music. He was known in his youth as an admirable violoncellist, playing with wonderful expression all the best music written for the instrument he had adopted. He was musical conductor, moreover, at the Theatre Francais in the days when the "House of Moliere" maintained an orchestra, and, indeed, a very good one. When Offenbach composed the choruses and incidental music for the _Ulysse_ of M. Ponsard he did so in the spirit of Meyerbeer, who had undertaken to supply the music of the piece; and he then showed his apt.i.tude for imitating the composer of _Les Huguenots_ in a direct manner, as he afterwards did in burlesquing him.

Offenbach was destined not to be appreciated as a serious composer, though in one of his works, the little-known _Contes d'Hoffmann_, there is much music which, if not learned or profound, is at least artistic.

Had I agreed to Offenbach's offer, I was also to accept his services as conductor; which would have been more, I think, than Sir Michael Costa, who would have had to direct on alternate nights, would have been able to stand. Sir Michael was not only peculiarly sensitive, but also remarkably vindictive; and the engagement of Offenbach at a theatre where he was officiating would certainly have caused him no little resentment. He forgave no slight, nor even the appearance of one in cases where no real slight could possibly have been intended. When he left the Royal Italian Opera he was of opinion that the late Mr.

Augustus Harris, who was Mr. Gye's stage manager at the time, should also have quitted the establishment; and carrying his hostile feelings in true vendetta fashion from father to son, he afterwards objected to the presence of the Augustus Harris of our own time, at any theatre where he, Sir Michael, might be engaged.

"Who is that young man?" he said to me one day when the future "Druriola.n.u.s" was acting as my stage manager. "He seems to know his business, but I think I heard you call him 'Harris.' Can he be the son of my enemy?"

I tried to explain to Sir Michael that the gentleman against whom he seemed to nourish some feeling of animosity could not be in any way his foe. But the great conductor would not see this. The father, he said, had shown himself his enemy, and he was himself the enemy of the son.

The hatred sometimes conceived by one singer for another of the same cla.s.s of voice and playing the same parts, is, if not more reasonable, at least more intelligible. I shall never forget the rage which the tenor Fancelli once displayed on seeing the name of the tenor Campanini inscribed on a large box at a railway station with these proud words appended to it: "Primo Tenore a.s.soluto, Her Majesty's Opera Company." It was the epithet "a.s.soluto" which, above all, raised Fancelli's ire. He rushed at the box, attacked the offending words with his walking-stick, and with the end of it tried to rub off the white letters composing the too ambitious adjective, "a.s.soluto."

"a.s.soluto" was an epithet which Fancelli reserved for his own private use, and to which he alone among tenors considered himself justly ent.i.tled. Unfortunately, he could not write the word, reading and writing being accomplishments which had been denied to him from his youth upwards. He could just manage to scribble his own name in large schoolboy characters. But his letter-writing and his "autographs" for admiring ladies were done for him by a chorister, who was remunerated for his secretarial work at the rate of something like a penny Pickwick per month. The chorister, however, in agreeing to work on these moderate terms, knew that he had the ill.u.s.trious tenor in his hands; and in moments of difficulty he would exact his own price and, refusing cheap cigars, accept nothing less than ready money.

Occasionally when the chorister was not at hand, or when he was called upon, to give his autograph in presence of other persons, Fancelli found himself in a sad plight; and I have a painful recollection of his efforts to sign his name in the alb.u.m of the Liverpool Philharmonic Society, which contains the signatures of a large number of celebrated singers and musicians. In this musical Book of Gold Fancelli made an earnest endeavour to inscribe his name, which with the exception only of the "c" and one of the "l's" he succeeded in writing without the omission of any of the necessary letters. He had learned, moreover, to write the glorious words "Primo tenore," and in a moment of aspiration tried to add to them his favourite epithet of "a.s.soluto." He had written a capital "A," followed by three "s's," when either from awkwardness or in order to get himself out of the sc.r.a.pe in which he already felt himself lost, he upset the inkstand over the page. Then he took up the spilt ink on his forefinger and transferred it to his hair; until at last, when he had obliterated the third "s," his signature stood in the book and stands now--

"FANELI PRIMO TENORE a.s.s--"

Some rude critics having declared of Signor Fancelli's singing that it would have been better if he had made a regular study of the vocal art, he spoke to me seriously about taking lessons. But he declared that he had no time, and that as he was making money by singing in the style to which he was accustomed it would be better to defer studying until he had finished his career, when he would have plenty of leisure.

About this time the strange idea occurred to him of endeavouring to master the meaning of the parts entrusted to him in the various operas.

"In _Medea_," he innocently remarked, "during the last two years I have played the part of a man named 'Jason'; but what he has to do with 'Medea,' I have never been able to make out. Am I her father, her brother, her lover, or what?"

Fancelli had begun life as a _facchino_ or baggage porter at Leghorn, so that his ignorance, if lamentable, was at least excusable. On retiring from the stage he really applied himself to study; with what success I am unable to say. At his death he left a large sum of money.

It has often astonished me that singers without any education, musical or other, should be able to remember the words and music of their parts.

Some of them resort to strange devices in order to supply the want of natural gifts; and one vocalist previously mentioned, Signor Broccolini, would write his "words" on whatever staff or stick he might happen to be carrying, or in default of any such "property," on the fingers and palm of his hand. In representing the statue of the Commander, in _Don Giovanni_, he inscribed beforehand the words he had to sing on the _baton_ carried by the Man of Stone; but to be able to read them it was necessary to know on which side in the scene of the cemetery the rays of the moon would fall. On one occasion he had majestically taken up his position on horseback, with the _baton_ grasped in his right hand, and reposing on his right hip, and was expecting a rush of moonlight from the left, when the position of the orb of night was suddenly changed, and he was unable to read one syllable of the words on which he depended. Having to choose between two difficulties, he at once selected the least, and, to the astonishment of the audience, transferred the Commander's _baton_ from the right hand to the left.

The vanity of an opera singer is generally in proportion to the lowness of his origin. This rule, however, does not seem to apply to dramatic artists, for I remember that when I once called upon Mdme. Ristori at Naples I found her princ.i.p.al actors and actresses, who had apparently begun life as domestic servants, continuing the occupations of their youth while at the same time impersonating on the stage the most exalted characters. "Sir Francis Drake" waited at table, the "Earl of Ess.e.x"

opened the street door, "Leicester" acted as butler; and I have reason to believe that "Dirce" dressed "Medea's" hair.

Two more anecdotes as to the caprices and the exactions of vocalists. My ba.s.so, Cherubini, on one occasion refused to go on with his part in _Lucia_ because he had not been applauded on entering.

An incident of quite an opposite character occurred at Naples during the t.i.tiens engagement. Armandi, a tenor of doubtful repute, who resided at Milan, always awaited the result of the various _fiascos_ of St.

Stephen's night (26th December) which marks the beginning of the Carnival season, when some hundreds of musical theatres throw open their doors. He had a large _repertoire_; and, after ascertaining by telegraph where his services were most in need, and where they would be best remunerated, he would accept an engagement as a kind of stop-gap until another tenor could be found. Generally, at the close of the first evening he was paid for his six performances and sent back to Milan.

But on the occasion I am speaking of Armandi had stipulated in his contract that he should be paid the six nights and sing the six nights as well; for he was tired, he said, of being systematically shelved after a single performance.

The part in which he had to appear at Naples, where the leading tenor of the establishment had hopelessly broken down, was that of "Pollio" in Norma; but every time he attempted to sing the public accompanied him with hisses, so that he soon became inaudible. At the close of the first act he came before the curtain, and after obtaining a hearing begged the audience to allow him to finish the opera in peace, when he would leave the city. If they continued hissing he warned them that he would sing the remaining five nights of his engagement.

The public took the candour of the man in such good part that they not only applauded him throughout the evening, but allowed him to remain the entire season.

FINAL CHAPTER.

Figures are dull and statistics fatiguing; or I might be tempted to give the reader particulars as to the number of miles that I have travelled, the sums of money I have received and spent during my career as manager; with other details of a like character. I may mention, however, that for many years during our operatic tours in the United Kingdom and in the United States, our average annual travelling with a large company of princ.i.p.al singers, choristers, dancers, and orchestral players amounted to some 23,000 miles, or nearly the length of the earth's circ.u.mference.

This naturally necessitated a great deal of preparation and forethought.

The average annual takings were during this period over 200,000. All this involved so much organization and such careful administration, that a mere impresario might, without disgrace, have proved unequal to the work. The financial department, in particular, of such an enterprise ought, to be thoroughly well managed, to enjoy the supervision of a Goschen.

Difficulties, however, are only obstacles set in one's way in order to be overcome, and mine have never caused me any serious trouble. I am disposed by nature to take a cheerful view of things, and I can scarcely think of any dilemma in which I have been placed, however serious, which has not presented its bright, or at least when I came to think of it, its amusing side. When, moreover, one has had, throughout a long career, difficulties, often of a very formidable character, to contend with, the little inconveniences of life are scarcely felt.

I remember one day dining with a millionaire of my acquaintance who got red in the face, stamped, swore, and almost went into convulsions because the salmon had been rather too much boiled. He had led too easy a life; or so trifling a mishap would have had no effect upon him.

Often when affairs looked almost tragic, I have been able to bear them by perceiving that they had also their comic aspect. The reader, indeed, will have seen for himself that some of my liveliest anecdotes are closely connected with very grave matters indeed. Of such anecdotes I could tell many more. But I feel that I have already taken up too much of the reader's time, and, having several important projects on hand which will take up the whole of mine, I must now conclude.