The Mapleson Memoirs, 1848-1888 Volume I Part 7

One evening, when the opera of _Rigoletto_ was 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 servant hurried 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 b.u.t.toning 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 to pieces. I a.s.sured 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 that he 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.

CHAPTER VIII.

PAYMENT AFTER PERFORMANCE--DISCOVERY OF MADGE ROBERTSON--MARIO AND THE SHERIFF--GENEROSITY OF THE GREAT TENOR--DeBUT OF CHRISTINE NILSSON--DESTRUCTION OF HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE--A GREAT PHILANTHROPIST.

AT the close of the London season of 1866 we went to Ireland for the usual autumn operatic tour, stopping _en route_ at Liverpool to give a morning concert. The rush was so great that all the metal cheques for the half-crown seats were exhausted and we had to use penny pieces.

Numbers of the public found out, therefore, a ready way of getting in without payment. As soon as I observed this, and as there were still many hundreds unable to obtain admission, I conducted them across to another door which led into the orchestra. There being no money-taker, I let some four hundred of them crowd in, impressing upon them that they would have to pay half-a-crown apiece as they came out; and I must add that every one paid up punctually.

We left Liverpool after the concert for Dublin, where we fulfilled a very profitable engagement.

After leaving Dublin we went, early in October, to Leeds, and afterwards to Hull, at which latter place I recollect well that a full rehearsal of _Les Huguenots_ was necessary in consequence of a new "Queen" having joined the company. Both Mario and t.i.tiens complained of the incident and wondered how they were to finish the rehearsal in time to dine by a quarter past three, it being a general rule with artists not to eat later than that hour when they have to sing the same evening. We began the rehearsal early; and it was not until after two that it was concluded. The dinner being nearly ready at the hotel, I went in a carriage to fetch Mario and t.i.tiens back from the theatre without loss of time. At a quarter past three I found them both seated in the stalls, witnessing a morning performance, at which a Miss Madge Robertson was playing in a piece called _A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing_. So rivetted to the spot were t.i.tiens and Mario--both exclaiming "Do not disturb us, let us wait a little longer"--that it was nearly five o'clock before I got them home, when it was, of course, too late to dine. Not that they regretted this. They both told me that I ought to write to every London manager telling them what a charming actress they had discovered. I need hardly say that the Miss Robertson of those days is now Mrs. Kendal, more perfect in her art than ever.

I again started my concert tour in the early part of January, 1867, with t.i.tiens, Trebelli, and others; and was as usual pre-eminently successful all along the line. Mario joined us about the 7th March in Scotland.

About this time he experienced considerable worry through being served with various writs for bills of exchange, for which he had received no consideration whatever, and which had been acc.u.mulating for many years.

In more prosperous times preceding the period in question he had frequently a.s.sisted young artists, painters, sculptors, and Italians generally, who had come to this country with recommendations to him, and who had nearly all proved most ungrateful. It was computed that over 40,000 had been distributed by the great tenor on various occasions amongst his compatriots and others seeking aid.

I recollect meeting at Fulham one Sunday at dinner a young sculptor who had arrived with a letter of recommendation to Mario, and who on presenting himself exclaimed that he had not come to borrow money, hearing how much victimized Mario had been by others. All he wanted was to bring a piece of sculpture from Rome to London, for which he already had a purchaser in view; and if Mario would but accept a bill at two months, which he then had with him, he would within a month have sold his work and the money could be put to Mario's credit, so that the bill would be punctually met. In fact, every possible device was resorted to by persons well acquainted with his generous nature--which brings me to the case in point.

We had gone through a most arduous tour, and Mario had been singing four times a week throughout the whole time, and with most brilliant voice.

As he had sung four nights running during the week I am speaking of, and was to be replaced the following evening (Sat.u.r.day) by Signor Tasca in the _Huguenots_, he devoted his last day to the packing of his luggage, intending to leave by an early train for York, whence, after a night's rest, he would go on to London, presenting himself on the Monday for rehearsal at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden, where the season was to commence on Tuesday.

In the hall at the Edinburgh Hotel, where Mario had put up, a Sheriff's officer was waiting for him with a writ or an attachment for 100; and I thought to help him out of the dilemma by the following device, knowing how delicate and sensitive he was. I called to bid him good-bye, taking with me a closed envelope containing a 100 note. I by degrees gave him to understand that I had been looking about the city for some little souvenir, but without success, and as his taste was so superior to mine, if he would select one in memory of the pleasant time we had spent together, I should feel obliged. I at the same time handed him the envelope. I was on the point of leaving the room when a note was brought to me, requesting me to come to the theatre at once, as Tasca, the new tenor, had been taken ill at the rehearsal, and was obliged to go home. Mario, noticing signs of displeasure across my brow, insisted upon knowing the reason; and after some pressure I informed him that the new tenor, who was to replace him, had fallen sick, and that I must be off to see how the matter could be remedied.

My dear friend patted me on the shoulder, and said he knew of a way. The opera to be performed being _Les Huguenots_, for the benefit of Mdlle.

t.i.tiens, he would try, he said, to satisfy the public in the part of "Raoul," and thus help me out of my difficulty. I readily acceded, and asked him to name any terms he liked; but he a.s.sured me that he should consider himself amply repaid if I would be present at Covent Garden on the following Tuesday, when he was to appear as the "Duke" in _Un Ballo in Maschera_, as that would encourage him. I thanked him, and was again leaving when he called me back to express his displeasure at my having offered him the hundred-pound note in the envelope, requesting me at once to take it back. This I, of course, declined to do, until at last he said--

"If no one is to have it, it had better go into the fire; but sing I do not unless you allow me to return it to you at once."

All argument was useless. Then reluctantly I left him.

The following Monday night I started for London, where I attended the opening of the Royal Italian Opera the next evening, and had the pleasure of applauding Mario, and complimenting him in his dressing-room, after the second act. He could not express sufficiently his delight at my being present.

The London season of 1867 was remarkable for the first performance in England of Verdi's _Forza del Destino_.

Prior to the commencement of this season my attention had been drawn to a young Swedish singer, named Christine Nilsson, who had appeared at the Theatre Lyrique of Paris, and was attracting a certain amount of attention. I went over and heard her in the _Magic Flute_, and was delighted with the purity of her voice. She was also singing _La Traviata_ and _Martha_. I at once concluded an engagement with her.

Before disclosing the fact to Arditi, or any other member of my Company, I invited Mdlle. t.i.tiens and Mdme. Trebelli, with Signor and Mdme.

Arditi, over to Paris for a fortnight's holiday prior to the commencement of our laborious London season. Amongst the places of amus.e.m.e.nt we visited was the Theatre Lyrique, where the Swedish singer was that night filling the _role_ of "Martha." I must say I was not impressed myself, whilst the remainder of the party thought nothing whatever of her. I, therefore, refrained from even hinting that I had already engaged her. As the time approached, the lady insisted on making her _debut_ as "Martha." I plainly foresaw that it would be the greatest possible mistake to acquiesce in her desire; and, after a lengthy discussion, Verdi's _Traviata_ was decided upon. I at once instructed a Bond Street dressmaker to make her four of the most elegant toilettes possible, discarding _in toto_ the costume of the 16th century so far as "Violetta" was concerned.

At all times it is a difficult thing for a manager to employ with advantage a.s.sistants placed among the audience to support either a new singer or a new piece; for grave mistakes are sure to be made, thus defeating the object for which the supporters were intended. I have often known singers send in friends to applaud; but they invariably begin their uproar on the appearance of the singer, even before he or she has uttered a sound.

On one occasion I recollect at Her Majesty's Theatre a singer appearing in _Il Trovatore_, and about a dozen bouquets falling at her feet from the top boxes before she had sung a note.

I saw that great judgment was necessary, while convinced in my own mind that I possessed a jewel of the first water. I, therefore, gave the very simplest instructions as to the amount of encouragement necessary for my fair Swede in order to ensure the rapture of London; knowing that when once serious attention had been drawn to her she could do the rest herself on her own merits. Being very fond of rowing in my spare time on the River Thames, I made an arrangement with the head-boatman at Ess.e.x Stairs, near where I resided, to supply me with some twenty-five h.o.r.n.y-handed watermen, who were merely told that they should receive one shilling apiece provided they did _not_ applaud Mdlle. Nilsson--the lady who would appear on the stage at the beginning of the opera, wearing a pink dress. They were moreover informed that when the first act was over and the curtain down, they would be paid a shilling apiece for each time they could get it up again; and I believe they succeeded some five or six times in their repeated attempts. That was all that was ever done for Mdlle. Nilsson; her extraordinary talent did the rest. At all events, it gave her a fair start, and her _debut_ was the talk of London.

Mdlle. Nilsson's performances were continued throughout the season with increasing success, she appearing successively as "Martha," "Donna Elvira," and the "Queen of Night" in the _Magic Flute_. She repeated the _Traviata_ again and again, bringing the season to a most brilliant termination.

After a short holiday I recommenced my regular autumn tour in Dublin, repeating the usual Liverpool morning concert with the usual success.

After visiting Liverpool and Manchester, I returned to London and opened my season on the 28th October.

In consequence of my having engaged a female harpist I received a round Robin from the orchestra, threatening to leave at the end of the week unless I at once replaced her by a male performer. I insisted on receiving the week's notice to which I was ent.i.tled, and, seeing evidence of a conspiracy, took out a summons against every member of my orchestra. On the day fixed for the hearing the musicians excused themselves, through their solicitor, from appearing, their case not being ready. Afterwards I myself was unable through indisposition to appear on the day to which the case had been adjourned. At this there was much groaning among the defendants, and threats were uttered. The Trade Unions were very active just then throughout the country, and the players had been promised unlimited support towards maintaining their menaced strike. At last the case was heard; but on the very day before the one fixed by the Magistrate for giving his decision an occurrence took place which rendered all further proceedings in the matter unnecessary.

Towards the end of November an insurance agent called upon me urging the necessity of effecting an insurance on my properties, scenery and dresses, which had been acc.u.mulating since the beginning of my tenancy.

I replied that in consequence of the high rate of premium it was better to let things take their chance. Besides, there was no probability, under my management, of the theatre ever being destroyed by fire.

Eventually we came to terms as to the rate to be charged.

About this time a proposition was made to let the theatre to Professor Risley for his j.a.panese performances, to run from Christmas to February.

A large sum of money was to be paid to me, and it was verbally agreed that my treasurer should be retained by the new-comers to superintend the front of the house and the monetary arrangements.

On the 7th December, during a rehearsal of _Fidelio_, my insurance agent called to complete the insurance. I showed him the inventories of the different departments, and agreed to insure for 30,000; but as the costumier's list was not at hand, and the costumier himself was out at dinner, the agent suggested my giving him 10 on account and keeping the matter open until the following Monday, when he would call again. Just as he was leaving the room my treasurer came in, stating that he had just heard that the j.a.panese people did not intend to avail themselves of his services after he had given them all the information respecting the working of his department.

I asked whom they _had_ engaged. He mentioned the name of Mr. Hingston, at which I started, and said--

"If Hingston is engaged, good-bye to the theatre. It will make the fifteenth that will have been burnt under his management."

On hearing this, the insurance agent stepped across the room and again suggested that I should hand him the 10 to keep me right till Monday.

I jokingly said: "There is no fear;" and he took his departure.

I remained working in my office at Pall Mall until about six o'clock that evening. As I was engaged to dine at Mdlle. t.i.tiens's in St. John's Wood, I had but a few moments to put my head into the box-office, which was just closing, and ask Mr. Nugent for some opera tickets for the following night. I did not, according to my custom, go through his office on to the stage (which I might have done while he was getting out the tickets), fearing I should be too late for the dinner.