AT HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE--VERDI'S CANTATA--GIUGLINI AT THE
SEASIDE--POLLIO AND THE DRUM-STICK--AN OPERATIC
CONSPIRACY--CONFUSION OF THE CONSPIRATORS.
EARLY in the following spring, I succeeded in securing a promise of the
lease of Her Majesty's Theatre for 21 years, for which I deposited
£4,000 pending its preparation. I hastened to make public announcement
of the fact. Lord Dudley, however, kept varying the conditions of
payment, which I understood originally to have been a deposit of £4,000
to remain as security for the payment of the rent throughout the
tenancy. His lordship contended, however, that the sum deposited was in
part payment of the first year's rent, and that another £4,000 must be
paid before I could obtain possession.
This was indeed a terrible set-back to me, and I was at my wits' end
what to do. However, through the kindness of my friend Mitchell, who
subscribed largely, together with various members of the trade, I
secured the remainder; and on the first day of April--ominous day!--I
passed through the stage door with the key of the Opera in one pocket
and £2--my sole remaining balance--in the other. I stood in the middle
of the stage contemplating my position. I was encouraged by the
celebrated black cat of Her Majesty's; which, whether in good faith or
bad, rubbed herself in the most friendly manner against my knees.
Prior to the opening of my season of 1862 I made an increase in the
number of stalls from seven to ten rows, my predecessor having increased
them from four to seven. This removed the Duke of Wellington, who was an
old supporter of the house, much farther from the stage, it having
always been his custom to occupy the last number. Thus in Mr. Lumley's
time he occupied No. 82, in Mr. Smith's time 163, whilst this increase
of mine sent back His Grace to 280. Nothing but the last stall would
satisfy him; he did not care where it was.
Prior to my opening the most tempting offers were made by Mr. Gye to my
great prima donna Titiens. Her name, which closed my list of artists,
was mentioned in my prospectus with the subjoined prefatory remarks:
"The Director feels that with the following list of artists nothing more
need be said. Of one, however, a special word may not be out of place,
since she may without exaggeration be said to constitute the last link
of that chain of glorious prime donne commencing with Catalani. It is
seldom that Nature lavishes on one person all the gifts which are needed
to form a great soprano: a voice whose register entitles it to claim
this rank is of the rarest order. Melodious quality and power, which are
not less essential than extended register, are equally scarce. Musical
knowledge, executive finish, and perfect intonation are indispensable,
and to these the prima donna should add dramatic force and adaptability,
together with a large amount of personal grace. Even these rare
endowments will not suffice unless they are illumined by the fire of
genius. By one only of living artists has this high ideal been
reached--by Mdlle. Titiens."
The subscriptions began pouring in, and all appeared _couleur de rose_,
when Mr. Gye's envoy, the late Augustus Harris, again appeared, Titiens
not having yet signed her contract with me; and he produced a contract
signed by Mr. Gye with the amount she was to receive in blank. She was
to fill in anything she chose. It was indeed a trying moment, and
various members of her family urged her to give consideration to this
extraordinary proposal. She, however, replied in few words: "I have
given my promise to Mr. Mapleson, which is better than all contracts."
My season, therefore, commenced in due course.
I had got together a magnificent company, and as the public found that
the performances given merited their support and confidence, the
receipts gradually began to justify all expectations, and within a
short time I found myself with a very handsome balance at my bankers.
This may be accounted for by the very large influx of strangers who came
to London to visit the Exhibition of 1862. One day, about this time, in
coming from my house at St. John's Wood, I met Verdi, who explained to
me that he was very much disappointed at the treatment he had received
at the hands of the Royal Commissioners, who had rejected the cantata he
had written for the opening of the Exhibition. I at once cheered him up
by telling him I would perform it at Her Majesty's Theatre if he would
superintend its direction, Mdlle. Titiens undertaking the solo soprano
part. The cantata was duly performed, and the composer was called some
half-dozen times before the curtain. At the same time the work was
purchased by a London publisher, who paid a handsome price for it. Verdi
appeared very grateful, and promised me many advantages for the future.
Early in the season I produced the opera of _Semiramide_, in which the
sisters Marchisio appeared with distinction. Afterwards came Weber's
romantic opera of _Oberon_; J. R. Planché, the author of the libretto,
and Mr. Benedict, Weber's favourite pupil, taking part in its
reproduction.
This was followed by the remounting of Meyerbeer's _Robert le Diable_,
with Titiens in the part of "Alice," the whole of the scenery and
dresses being entirely new. Mdlle. (now Mdme.) Trebelli shortly
afterwards arrived, and on May 4th appeared with brilliant success as
"Maffio Orsini" in _Lucrezia Borgia_, her second appearance taking place
four days afterwards in the part of "Azucena" (_Trovatore_), when her
permanent reputation seemed to be already ensured, as it in fact was.
About this time I had a great deal of difficulty with the tenor,
Giuglini, who, like a spoilt child, did not seem to know what he really
required. He went down to Brighton accompanied by a certain notorious
lady, and all persuasion to induce him to return proved useless. He said
he had the "migraine." Thereupon I hit upon a device for making him
return, which succeeded perfectly.
On the day of my visit I announced the _Trovatore_ for performance, with
Naudin, the tenor whom I had introduced some two years previously to
London, in the principal _rôle_. I spoke to a friendly critic, who
promised, in the event of Naudin's meeting with the success which I
anticipated, to make a point of recording the fact; and on the following
morning at Brighton, as I was accidentally walking with Giuglini, I
purchased the paper in which my friend wrote and handed it to the lady
who was absorbing all Giuglini's attention. I casually observed that
Giuglini might now remain at Brighton for a lengthened period. In the
course of an hour the tenor was on his way to London, volunteering to
sing the same evening if necessary; adding, however, a condition which
really caused me some inconvenience.
He now informed me that he had written a better cantata than Verdi's,
and that unless I performed it I could no longer rely upon his services;
if, however, his work were given he would remain faithful to me for the
future. The work was duly delivered, in which I remember there was a
lugubrious character destined for Mdlle. Titiens, called "Una madre
Italiana." Giuglini further required 120 windows on the stage, from each
of which, at a given signal, the Italian flag was to appear; and no
smaller number than 120 would satisfy him. We were at our wits' end. But
the difficulty was met by arranging the scene in perspective; grown-up
people being at the windows nearest the public, then children at those
farther removed, until in the far distance little dolls were used.
At a given signal, when the orchestra struck up the Garibaldi hymn,
these were all to appear. I need scarcely say that the cantata was given
but for one night. Poor Arthur Bacon, of the Ship Hotel, backed up
Giuglini's own opinion when he declared it to be "a fine work."
The business meanwhile kept on increasing. In fact, I kept the theatre
open on and off until nearly Christmas time, and always to crowded
houses.
During my autumn provincial tour of 1862 I had much trouble in finding a
substitute for my contralto, at that time Mdlle. Borchardt, who was
suffering from a sudden attack of "grippe;" an illness which, at least
in the artistic world, includes influenza, low fever, and other maladies
hard to define. The opera announced was _Lucrezia Borgia_, and my
difficulty was to find a lady capable of singing the part of "Maffio
Orsini." I improvised a substitute who possessed good will, but was
without knowledge of music and had scarcely a voice. In an apology to
the public I stated that Mdlle. Borchardt being indisposed, another
artist had at a moment's notice kindly consented to sing the part of
"Maffio Orsini," but that "with the permission of the audience she would
omit the brindisi of the third act."
This seemed little enough to ask, though the part of "Maffio Orsini"
without the famous drinking song, "Il segreto per esser felice," was
only too much like the celebrated performance of _Hamlet_ with the part
of the Crown Prince of Denmark left out.
It being quite understood, however, that the brindisi was to be omitted,
the singer left out on her own account and by my special directions
(scarcely necessary, it must be admitted) the legend of the opening
scene. Cut out the legend and drinking song, and nothing of the part of
"Maffio Orsini" remains except the few bars of defiance which this
personage has to address to "Lucrezia Borgia" in the finale of the first
act. These, however, can be sung by some other artist, and an audience
unacquainted with the opera will probably not complain if they are not
sung at all. The brindisi of the banqueting scene could not, of course,
have been omitted without explanation. But the necessary apology having
been frankly made there was nothing more to be said about the matter.
I hoped that Mdlle. Borchardt would be sufficiently recovered to
undertake next evening the part of "Azucena" in _Il Trovatore_. But "la
grippe" still held her in its clutches. She would have sung had it been
possible to do so, but all power of singing had for the time left her,
and it was absolutely necessary to replace her in the part which she was
advertised to play.
In the first act of _Il Trovatore_ "Azucena" does not appear, and I had
reason to believe, or at least to hope, that before the curtain rose for
the second act I should succeed in persuading my _seconda donna_ to
assume in the second and succeeding acts--in which "Leonora's" confidant
is not wanted--the character of "Azucena."
At the last moment my eloquence prevailed, and the _seconda donna_
declared herself ready to undertake the part of the gipsy. As for
singing the music, that was a different question. Already instructed by
me, she was to get through the part as well as she could without
troubling herself to sing.
Meanwhile I had desired Titiens, Giuglini, and Aldighieri to exert
themselves to the utmost in the first act; and it was not until after
they had gained a great success in the trio which concludes this act
that I ventured to put forward an apology for my new and more than
inexperienced "Azucena."
It was necessary first of all to see to her "make up," and as soon as
the requisite permission had been given, I myself covered her face--and
covered it thickly--with red ochre. Unfortunately, in my haste and
anxiety I forgot to paint more than her face and the front part of her
neck. The back part of her neck, together with her hands and arms,
remained as nearly as possible a pure white. I had told my new "Azucena"
to sit on the sofa, resting her head upon her hands, and this, at the
risk of bringing into too great contrast the red ochre and the pearl
white, she obligingly did.
I had arranged that after the anvil chorus, the opening scene of the
second act should terminate; the duet between "Manrico" and "Azucena"
being thus left out. We passed at once to the "Count di Luna's" famous
solo, "Il balen," and so on to the finale of this act. In the third act
"Azucena" was simply brought before the Count and at once condemned to
imprisonment. In the fourth act she had been strictly enjoined to go to
sleep quietly on the ground, and not to wake up until "Manrico" was
decapitated.
Thus treated, the part of "Azucena" is not a difficult one to play; and
how else is it to be dealt with when the contralto of the Company is
ill, and no adequate substitute for her can possibly be found?
The devices, however, that I have set forth are obviously of a kind that
can only be resorted to once in a way under stress of difficulties
otherwise insurmountable.
Accordingly, when the third day came and Mdlle. Borchardt was still too
unwell to sing, there was nothing left for me but to announce an opera
which contained no contralto part. The one I selected was _Norma_, a
work for which our principal tenor, Signor Giuglini, had conceived a
special hatred and in which he had sworn by the Holy Virgin and Madame
Puzzi never to sing again. I must here break off for a moment to explain
the origin of this peculiar detestation.
About a year before Giuglini had been playing the part of "Pollio" to
the "Norma" of Mdlle. Titiens; and in the scene where the Druid
priestess summons by the sound of the gong an assembly which will have
to decide as to the punishment to be inflicted upon a guilty person
unnamed, Mdlle. Titiens, on the point of administering to the gong an
unusually forcible blow, threw back the drum-stick with such effect,
that coming into violent contact with the nose of Signor Giuglini, who
was close behind her, it drew from it if not torrents of blood, at least
blood in sufficient quantity to make the sensitive tenor tremble for his
life. He thought his last hour had come, and even when he found that he
was not mortally wounded still nourished such a hatred against the
offending drum-stick that he uttered the solemn combination oath already
cited, and required, moreover, that the drum-stick should never more be
brought into his presence. If not destroyed, it was at least to be kept
carefully locked up.
Mdme. Puzzi had been to Giuglini more than a mother. Frequently, indeed,
this lady helped him out of scrapes in which a mother would probably not
have cared to interfere. She rescued him, for instance, more than once
from enterprising young women, who, by dint of personal fascinations, of
flattery, and sometimes of downright effrontery, had got the
impressionable singer beneath their influence. When things were at their
worst, Giuglini would write or telegraph to "Mamma Puzzi," as he called
her; and his adopted mother, to do her justice, always came to his
relief, and by ingenuity and strength of will freed him from the tyranny
of whatever siren might for the time have got hold of him.
When, therefore, he swore by Madame Puzzi he was serious, and when he
pronounced his grand combination oath, "By the Holy Virgin and Madame
Puzzi," it was understood that he had spoken his last word, and that
nothing could ever move him from the determination arrived at under such
holy influences.
Giuglini was in many things a child. So, indeed, are most members of the
artistic tribe, and it is only by treating them and humouring them as
children that one can get them to work at all.
The only two things Giuglini really delighted in were kites and
fireworks. Give him kites to fly by day and rockets, roman candles, or
even humble squibs and crackers to let off at night, and he was
perfectly happy. Often in the Brompton Road, at the risk of being
crushed to death by omnibuses, he has been seen lost in admiration of
the kite he was flying, until at last the omnibus men came to know him,
and from sympathy, or more probably from pity for the joy he took in
childish pleasures, would drive carefully as they came near him.
His fireworks proved to him more than once a source of serious danger.
On one occasion, in Dublin, for instance, when he was coming home from
the theatre in company with Mademoiselle Titiens, who had just achieved
a triumph of more than usual brilliancy, the carriage, already stuffed
full of fireworks, was surrounded by a number of enthusiastic persons
who, heedless of the mine beneath them, smoked cigars and pipes as they
at the same time leaned forward and cheered.
Let us now return to the doings of Signor Giuglini in connection with
the opera of _Norma_, in which he had sworn his great oath never again
to appear.
I have said that the artist is often child-like; but with this
childishness a good deal of cunning is sometimes mixed up. The one thing
he cannot endure is life under regular conditions. Exciting incidents of
some kind he must have in order to keep his nerves in a due state of
tension, his blood in full circulation. It annoys him even to have his
salary paid regularly at the appointed time. He would rather have an
extra sum one day and nothing at all another. The gratuity will give
him unexpected pleasure, while the non-payment of money justly due to
him will give him something to quarrel about.
The artist is often suspicious, and in every Opera Company there are a
certain number of conspirators who are always plotting mischief and
trying to bring about misunderstandings between the manager on the one
hand, and on the other the vocalists, musicians, and even the minor
officials of the establishment.
Needless to say that the singer on the night he sings, his nerves
vibrating with music, cannot at the end of the performance go to bed and
get quietly to sleep; and on one occasion, at Edinburgh, I passed on my
way to my bed the room in which Signor Giuglini was reposing, with a
cigar in his mouth, between the sheets and listening to the tales, the
gossip, the scandal, and the malicious suggestions poured into his ears
by the _camorristi_ of whom I have above spoken.
All I heard was, uttered in exciting tones, such words as "extra
performance," "almanac," "imposition," "Mapleson," and so on.
I knew that some plot was being hatched against me, but what it could be
I was unable to divine; nor, to tell the truth, did I trouble myself
much about it.
Meanwhile I had spoken to Mr. Wyndham, manager of the Edinburgh Theatre,
about the necessity, should Mademoiselle Borchardt still remain ill, of
performing some opera in which there was no part for a contralto. He saw
the necessity of what I suggested, and agreed with me that _Norma_ would
be the best work to play. I, at the same time, informed him that
Giuglini had sworn "by the Holy Virgin and Madame Puzzi" never more to
appear in that work, and I had no reason for believing that he had
forgotten either his impressive oath or his bruised nose.
It was resolved, therefore, to announce Signor Corsi for the part of
"Pollio." This might have suited Giuglini, from the superstitious point
of view; but it put him out in the project which, prompted by the
_camorristi_, he had formed for extorting from me a certain sum of
money. He was engaged to play sixteen times a month at the rate of sixty
pounds a performance. I had wished to have his services four times a
week; and in signing for sixteen performances a month it did not occur
to me that now and then in the course of the year the tenor might be
called upon to give a seventeenth. This was the point which he and his
fellow-conspirators had been discussing in his bedroom on the night when
it had struck me that some sort of dark scheme was being prepared for my
confusion.
It had been pointed out to Giuglini that if he sang on the 31st of the
month, as I originally intended him to do, he would be singing once too
often--once more than had been stipulated for in his engagement; and
thereupon he would be in a position to enforce from me whatever penalty
be might choose to impose. This he deigned to fix at the moderate sum of
£160; and his claim was sent in to me just before--in consequence of the
continued illness of Mdlle. Borchardt--I had decided to change the
opera, and out of respect for Signor Giuglini's own feelings, to assign
the tenor part in _Norma_ not to him, but to an artist who was not bound
to keep clear of this opera either by a peculiarly solemn oath or by
painful recollections of a dab on the nose from a vigorously-handled
drum-stick.
The opera, then, was announced with Signor Corsi in the part of
"Pollio;" and there seemed to be no reason why the performance should
not go off successfully. I noticed, however, some ominous signs, and,
for one reason or another, it seemed to me that the carefully-laid mine,
if it exploded at all, would burst that evening.
Giuglini was in a very excited condition, and I knew that whenever he
felt unduly agitated he sent for "Mamma Puzzi" to come and soothe his
irritated nerves. I did not know where Mdme. Puzzi was; but I _did_ know
that she might at any moment arrive, and I therefore gave orders that
she was not, under any circumstances, to be admitted. The stage door was
closed absolutely against her. With or without explanations, she was not
to be let in.
When the night for the performance arrived I took care to see that
Signor Corsi, at the proper time, was fitly attired for the character
of "Pollio." He had often played the part before in company with Mdlle.
Titiens, and I saw no reason for believing that his performance would
not on this, as on previous occasions, be thoroughly satisfactory. The
house was crowded. "Oroveso" had sung his air, and was being warmly
applauded. I stood at the wing close to the first entrance and waited
for Corsi to appear. The music in announcement of "Pollio's" entry was
played; but no "Pollio" was to be seen. I motioned to Arditi, and the
introductory strains were heard again. Still no "Pollio."
I rushed to Corsi's room in order to find out the meaning of the delay,
when, to my consternation and horror, I saw Corsi seated in a chair with
Mdme. Puzzi--Mdme. Puzzi, to whom all access to the theatre had been so
strictly forbidden!--pulling off his fleshings (she had already divested
him of his upper garments) while Giuglini was hurriedly taking off his
costume of ordinary life in order to put on the uniform of the Roman
soldier.
Giuglini, I found, had some days before telegraphed to Mdme. Puzzi at
Turin begging his "mamma" to hurry to Edinburgh, where her child was in
a terrible difficulty; and to Edinburgh she had come.
Mdme. Puzzi, refused admission at the stage door, had before the raising
of the curtain gone round to the pit entrance, paid for her place,
climbed over into the stalls, and then clambered from the stalls to the
orchestra, and--most difficult of all these gymnastic
performances--from the orchestra to the stage. She had then made her way
to the dressing-rooms, and, finding Corsi already costumed for the part,
had by persuasion or force induced him to change clothes with the
excited tenor, who, by the very lady who was now helping him to break
his vow, had sworn never to play the part he was on the point of
undertaking.
The curtain, meantime, had been lowered, amidst deafening protests from
the audience; and it was difficult to know what to do, until Giuglini,
having, with due assistance from his "mamma," completed his toilette,
declared himself ready to sing the part of "Pollio" provided one hundred
pounds were stopped out of the receipts to pay him for his extra
performance!
On my afterwards taunting Giuglini with having broken his vow, he
declared that Mdme. Puzzi possessed the power to liberate him from it.
When the audience were informed that the part of "Pollio" would be
played by Signor Giuglini, they were naturally delighted. The
performance was begun again from the beginning. The drum-stick, however,
in accordance with Giuglini's earnest prayer, was kept in the
property-room under lock and key, and Mdlle. Titiens struck the gong
with her hand.
Afterwards Giuglini showed himself a little ashamed of his conduct; and
of the hundred pounds paid to him for the extra performance he
presented fifty to Mrs. Wyndham, with a request that she would expend
the money in the purchase of a shawl. Mrs. Wyndham, however, would do
nothing of the kind. She considered that I had been very badly treated,
and made over the sum to me.
The remaining fifty pounds had to be shared between Giuglini and the
conspirators who had put him up to the trick, each of them having
bargained beforehand for a share in such plunder as might be obtained.
Then a claim was put in by Mdme. Puzzi for her travelling expenses from
Turin. This her affectionate child was not prepared to allow, and some
violent language was exchanged between him and his "mamma." How the
delicate matter was ultimately arranged I forget; but in the end, when
he had satisfied all demands made upon him, Giuglini could scarcely have
gained much by his too elaborate stratagem.