Altogether I was in high spirits, smiling like Sergeant Young before a
battle. By the way, I do not know what has happened to Sergeant Young.
He has seemed sulky since the other day, when he left me so abruptly.
It pains me, for he is my particular chum. And save what is needed to
carry on he does not utter a single word to me.
But I must not let myself go into a diversion; I was speaking not of
Sergeant Young but of myself and of my high spirits. Yet you must not
believe that I was happy. I have already stated that I was altogether
happy only during our performance in front of Schubert. That sentiment
of perfect felicity never came back. And now, during the rehearsals of
_Lady Macbeth_ I was bitten by that "green-eyed monster, which doth
mock the meat it feeds on": jealousy.
As I am quoting _Othello_ I may as well say that the Cassio in my case
was the pretty Lieutenant Franz von Heidenbrunn. I suppose that you
have seen it coming a long time ago, and I have only to record how the
green-eyed monster was hatched. No Jago was necessary for me, nor was
there any handkerchief required.
The regiment in which the pretty officer held his high rank had been
shifted from Salzburg to Brünn. This was a coincidence, and you will
see a very unfortunate one for me.
Every morning, when there was a rehearsal, I went from Vienna to Brünn
by the eight o'clock train which makes the journey in a little over
an hour. I used to meet Mitzi at the Viennese Northern Station, and
we travelled together, which rendered that hour as short as it was
delightful. Rehearsals in Austria as in Germany begin at ten, and last
from three to four hours. Afterwards we had lunch and then we returned
by one of the numerous afternoon trains to Vienna.
Perhaps you wonder why I did not prefer to take up my quarters
altogether in Brünn. Well, first there was that double journey which
I would have lost, as well as the always pleasant company of my
_fiancée_. And in the second place there was Brünn.
This town boasts of being the Austrian Birmingham. I will not hurt
the feelings of my Birmingham readers, some of whom find their large
and busy city a fine and charming place. If I don't share their taste
entirely, it matters little. But Brünn! Brünn with its one inhabitant
to Birmingham's ten! Brünn with its wide and empty roads in the new
town, and with its narrow and crooked streets in the old one! Brünn
with its one and only beautiful building: the Jewish synagogue, and its
one and only curiosity: the lunatic asylum! Brünn with its population
of manufacturers--most worthy people no doubt, but with an interest
only in buttons, hooks and eyes, pins, steel pins, cotton spinning and
other kinds of engineering--Brünn was no place for me to enjoy myself
in the least.
Nor was it any better for Franz von Heidenbrunn and his sister Augusta,
who were both all the more bored with the place as the strict military
regulations did not allow the lieutenant to spend even an occasional
evening in Vienna. Their gratification at meeting Mitzi several times
a week may easily be imagined. I will only say that when Mitzi and I
lunched at the Grand Hotel, which is situated quite near the theatre,
covers were generally laid for four. Of course, I was always allotted
the Countess Augusta, who proved a rather insignificant girl, by whose
side I remained unfathomably calm, while Mitzi seemed to enjoy the
nuttish and, let me say it, silly conversation of her partner, which
is, I believe, a privilege of most lieutenants in Austria. I have,
now, an idea that the talk was also carried on under the table--what do
we keep feet for when dining?--but I was too well brought up by Daniel
Cooper & Co. to investigate the nether world.
Slowly the poison entered my blood. "Trifles light as air are to the
jealous confirmation strong." And soon I found myself burning as by
"the mines of sulphur." (How good of Shakespeare to have provided me
with all the terms necessary to describe my feelings.)
Had Mitzi been only my _fiancée_, I dare say that I would have put
a rapid end to the matter. But she was also my _Lady Macbeth_ in
formation, and this could not be forgotten even for one moment. So I
had to endure my secret sufferings. Besides, I must say, Mitzi was
never as sweet to me as during these days. Full of hope and confidence,
she always comforted and cheered me when I was disheartened, which
happened more than once. Poor Doblana, who on his side was busy
rehearsing _Aladdin_, had no such solace from her when he was dejected
as, I am sure, most composers are every other day. Our respective
works were to be performed nearly at the same time, _Aladdin_ only
about ten days after _Lady Macbeth_.
At last the morning of the great day arrived. I must have given you
a very wrong impression of Daniel Cooper if you do not know that he
arrived the day before with mater. They were very pleased with Mitzi,
although not a word was said about our betrothal. And Daniel Cooper was
greatly amused by being called the "great Mr. Cooper" by Doblana. It
was on this occasion only that I found out that the good horn-player,
who knew but few things save what belonged to horns and ballets,
mixing up Insurance and Cooperation, had, when I first told him about
my father's trade, thought that Daniel Cooper was the originator of
Cooperative Societies.
What Dad spent on that memorable evening wants a special historian. I
do not speak of his innumerable tips, nor of a basket of flowers which
had to be transported to Brünn by the first Viennese florist in a
specially hired motor lorry. I speak of such unexpected things as, for
instance, a magnificent set of diamonds he presented to my mother in
remembrance of my coming triumph. Needless to say that mater, on his
special order, was attired like a queen, and that Dad himself had a new
dress suit; an old one would never have been judged worthy by him of
listening to Patrick Cooper's music.
The house was not very full. Besides the one hundred and fifty
seats which I had judged to be too bad, there were about another
three hundred unoccupied, a fact which totally upset my unfinished
calculations. However, it is well-known that in German and Austrian
provincial towns first nights are not well attended, the general public
being rather mistrustful. But all my friends of the Round Table and
other acquaintances were present, and they did their _hand_ work well.
There was first--honour to whom honour is due--the _Herr Graf_, then
old Hammer, on whose account I had been obliged to invent a special
scheme so as to make him accept a railway ticket, for he would not have
been able to come otherwise without imposing great privations upon
himself, Doctor Bernheim, and even Giulay with his mother. Of course,
Doblana had made himself free in order to ascertain whether Miss
Amizia Dobanelli was really the she-cat that walked miaowing over the
boards. And he must have been deceived if he expected such a thing, for
hers was an unparallelled triumph.
Quite a lot of theatrical managers, from that of the Vienna Opera
downwards, had been invited, but only one, that of the Graz municipal
theatre had come.
The performance was good, as performances in Germany and even more
in Austria generally are. I am not afraid to state that a third-rate
theatre, as, for instance, that of Brünn, would be ashamed of most
of our conventional society performances at the Royal Theatre Covent
Garden, in spite of all the stars. Confound the stars, who can never be
brought to a complete, harmonious agreement, who sing their parts each
for his or her own sake, and never think for one moment of the work and
its meaning.
From what I have told already, you may have conjectured how very
necessary such harmonious ensemble playing was in my _Lady Macbeth_.
It was not a loud opera, and I could expect that the critics would
not reproach me with being too noisy in my orchestration. Indeed, it
was found too soft by those gentlemen, who never are satisfied. They
did not understand that this softness was required for the general
atmosphere of my opera.
The chief difficulty had been with the baritone Hetmann, who sang
_Macbeth_. I had great trouble in explaining him why he was never to
give full voice during the whole evening.
Macbeth must not appear at the beginning as a criminal. He is first
a courageous and truthful man. But he is a dreamer. "_Look, how our
partner's rapt_," says Banquo. He is a dreamer who struggles against
the image of his phantasy. Nearly all he says is aside. His reserve,
his taciturnity are awful. Whatever he speaks, must be uttered as
though against his own will. Berlioz, once, to obtain a very tragic
effect, had a drum covered with a cloth. Macbeth must be spoken with a
voice resembling the sound of such a drum. Nor must he talk aloud in
the banquet scene with the ghost, where on the contrary he ought to
become entirely benumbed. He is not without feelings, he speaks warmly
of King Duncan, and he loves his wife, knowing how much he needs her.
That performance of _Lady Macbeth_ was for me and, I think, for some of
the spectators, a foreshadowing of new times in the operatic art. It
was a unique, incessant horror for the audience as long as the fearful
score lasted--and it became the most attractive scandal for all the
people who search in art nothing but the baseness they find in every
day life.
My opera is but a short one, taking two hours to perform. Therefore
no necessity arose anywhere for pressing the movement. Bischoff, who
had staged it, had obtained most wonderful effects. The singers seemed
to be going through the nightmare in which they had a part. Scene
after scene seemed to shake with dread and terror. Bischoff knew how
to produce the biggest effects with small means. Thus I will never
forget that there was a sort of small lamp burning during the scene of
the murder. The trembling flame, now more reddish, now more bluish,
was flaring all the time. At the precise moment when the murder was
supposed to occur in the wings a sudden squall nearly extinguished the
light, and for a couple of seconds all became dark; but in the next
instant the flame seemed bigger, redder than ever and sooty. It was
frightful.
The prologue, namely, the scene of the witches and that where Macbeth
wins the title of Thane of Cawdor, went well. After this, while
the scenery was being built for the first act, Macbeth's castle at
Inverness, the orchestra played my paraphrase of the "Pibroch o' Donuil
Dhu," the only vigorous and energetic part of my score. Then the real
thing began, for only then Lady Macbeth appeared.
Whatever I may say of her, will not render justice to her incomparable
performance. Nobody could have resisted this Lady Macbeth. Even when
she had to deliver a reproach, she did it trembling with love. And
as Bischoff and I had taught her, she seemed to shudder at her hard,
fearful words.
She never seemed to sing, but to whisper, to inspire with the means of
the sweetest seduction. She turned round her Macbeth, embraced him,
clung to him so that sometimes they seemed to be but one being with two
souls. How she sang all the hideousness and atrocity of her part--how
she perfumed the blood of her words with sweetest promises! She was
what we had asked her to be--more a spoiled child, who foolishly craves
for evil, than a heartless criminal.
There was some applause after that act, but the public seemed awed, so
intense was the impression. As I was hurrying to the stage, I met dad.
"Oh, my boy!" said he and pressed both my hands so hard that I thought
he would break them. His eyes were shining and I could swear that there
were tears in them. That "Oh, my boy!" is the one beautiful memory I
have of that evening.
The next minute saw me at the door of Mitzi's dressing room. I knocked.
"Who is it?" asked a voice, not Mitzi's, but that of a woman I did not
know.
I gave my name. There was some whispering inside which I could
indistinctly perceive through the door, and then a woman came out,
opening the door so little that I could not even have a peep at the
inside.
"_Fräulein_ regrets," said the woman, as if I had been a mere stranger,
"she cannot see you now."
One is above all the son of one's country. I daresay no Englishman
would have acted otherwise than I did. I bowed to that dressing woman
as if she had been a noble lady and went on to the stage.
There I found the manager of the theatre chatting with his Graz
colleague. They both congratulated me, and the manager of the Graz
theatre complained about the coldness of the public.
"You will find no such frosty people in the south, in Graz," he told
me, "for if you are willing to let me have your opera at the same terms
as the ones you have here, I will play it within two months. I should
be pleased if I could secure Miss Dobanelli for the part of the Lady."
Yon may conceive how pleased I was and how warmly I thanked him for
such encouragement. But the entre-acte being nearly over we had to
leave the stage.
My way back to the audience led me past Mitzi's dressing room. Just as
I was going by, the door opened and.... Franz von Heidenbrunn came
out. I thought that my heart was going to stop. So Mitzi had received
him, while her door had remained closed for me. I went on as in a dream.
Before the door of his box I found dad and the mater.
"What has happened?" asked my old Daniel Cooper & Co. "Why are you so
pale?"