RECEPTION OF A TENOR--BELOCCA AND LADY SPENCER--MARIMON'S
SUPERSTITIONS--HER LOVESICK MAID--AN ENCOURAGING TELEGRAM--MARIMON
IN THE CATHEDRAL--DISAPPEARANCE OF A TENOR
FOR my London season of 1879, in addition to Gerster, who was already a
prime favourite, Marie van Zandt, Clara Louise Kellogg, Minnie Hauk,
Ambré, Marie Roze, Caroline Salla, Hélène Crosmond, Trebelli, Nilsson,
etc., I engaged Fancelli, Brignoli, Frapolli, and Campanini. I moreover
concluded an engagement with Signor Masini, the renowned tenor, who
shortly afterwards arrived in London. I was informed the following
morning by his agent that he felt very much hurt that I myself, Sir
Michael Costa, and some of the leading artists of the theatre had not
met him at the station; the agent kindly adding that "If I would come
round to his hotel with Costa he might put the thing straight."
I told him we were too busy to do anything of the kind, but that I
should expect Signor Masini to call on me, when I would present him to
Sir Michael Costa.
We were within two days of his announced appearance, and I had not yet
seen him. That afternoon the agent, who was very anxious to keep things
pleasant, rushed in to tell me that Masini was passing along the
colonnade outside the theatre smoking a cigar, and that if I went out
quickly with Costa we might meet him, and so put an end to all
difficulties. I told him I was too busy, and that he had better bring
Masini into my office. The signor at length appeared, and in very few
words asked me in what opera he was to make his _début_. I told him he
had already been announced to appear as "Faust," in accordance with his
engagement; to which he replied that he should like to know who the
other singers were to be. I told him that Christine Nilsson would be
"Margherita," Trebelli "Siebel," and Faure "Mephistopheles," and that I
trusted this distribution of parts would suit him. He was good enough to
say that he would have no objection to sing with the artists I had
named. He then left.
A few minutes afterwards Sir Michael Costa entered the room, and I told
him what had happened. He ordered a rehearsal for the following morning
at twelve o'clock for all the artists. Nilsson, Faure, and Trebelli were
punctually at the theatre, but not Masini; and just as the rehearsal was
being dismissed in consequence of the tenor's non-attendance his agent
appeared with the suggestion that a rehearsal was not necessary. If Sir
Michael Costa would step round to the hotel Masini, said the envoy,
would show him the _tempi_ he wished to be observed in his performance
of the part of "Faust." Sir Michael Costa left the room, and never
afterwards made the least reference to this audacious proposition.
On going round to Masini's hotel the next morning to see how he was
getting on--for he was to perform that evening--I was informed that the
previous night he had taken flight, and that he was now on his way back
to Italy.
I afterwards heard that an influential friend of Masini's at the Italian
Embassy had frightened him by saying that Sir Michael Costa was a man of
considerable importance, who was not to be trifled with, and who would
probably resent such liberties as Masini had attempted to take with him.
Masini's flight put me to considerable inconvenience. I followed him up
on the Continent, harassing him in every city where he attempted to
play; though I ultimately let him off on his paying my costs, which came
to some £200.
The fact of Signor Masini's asking Sir Michael Costa to come round to
his hotel in order to hear the _tempi_ at which the arrogant tenor liked
his airs to be accompanied, must have taken my readers by surprise. But
in Italy, I regret to say, the practice is only too common for singers
to treat conductors as though they were not their directors, but their
subordinates. A popular tenor or prima donna receives a much larger
salary than an ordinary conductor--or for that matter a first-rate one;
and a favourite vocalist at the end of the season often makes a present
to the _maestro_ to reward him for not having objected to some effective
note or cadenza which is out of place, but which the "artist" is in the
habit of introducing with a view to some special effect. In his own
country it would have been nothing extraordinary for a tenor so eminent
as Signor Masini to ask the conductor to step in and learn from him how
the different _tempi_ should be taken.
On one occasion a renowned prima donna about to make her first
appearance in England took the liberty of enclosing to Sir Michael Costa
with her compliments a hundred-pound note. The meaning of this was that
she wished to be on good terms with the conductor in order that he might
not cut her short in any little embellishments, any slackening or
hastening of the time, in which she might think fit to indulge. On
receiving the note Sir Michael Costa requested the manager to return it
to the singer, and at the same time declared that he or the offending
vocalist must leave the Company. Needless to say that it was not the
conductor who left.
Another remark as to Signor Masini's having expected that Sir Michael
Costa, myself, and all the leading members of the Company would meet him
at the railway station on his arrival in London. This sort of thing is
not uncommon with artists of rank, and when Mdme. Patti comes to London
a regular "call" is sent to the various members of the Company directing
them, as a matter of duty, to be at the station at such an hour.
A good many artists, on the other hand, have a strong preference for not
being met at the station. They travel third-class and in costumes by no
means fair to see.
Costa would have been horrified at the way in which operatic enterprises
are now too frequently conducted--especially, I mean, in a musical point
of view; works hurriedly produced, and in some cases without a single
complete rehearsal. Often, no doubt, the prima donna (if sufficiently
distinguished to be allowed to give herself airs) is in fault for the
insufficient rehearsals or for rehearsals being altogether dispensed
with. When such singers as Mdme. Patti and Mdme. Nilsson stipulate that
"the utility of rehearsing" shall be left to their judgment--which means
that they shall never be called to any sort of rehearsal--all idea of a
perfect _ensemble_ must, in their case, be abandoned. Sir Michael would,
I am sure, have protested against the acceptance of such conditions.
Nothing would satisfy him but to go on rehearsing a work until
everything, and especially until the _ensemble_ pieces, were perfect.
Then he would have one final rehearsal in order to assure himself that
this perfection was maintained; and the opera could be played the night
afterwards. Costa was born with the spirit of discipline strong within
him. As a singer he would never have made his mark. In his original
occupation, that of second tenor, his remarkable qualities were lost. As
a conductor, on the other hand, his love of order, punctuality,
regularity in everything, stood him in excellent part.
At many operatic theatres the performance begins some five or ten
minutes after the time announced; at no theatre where Sir Michael Costa
conducted did it ever begin a minute late. The model orchestral chief
arrived with a chronometer in each of his waistcoat pockets; and when,
after consulting his timepieces, he saw that the moment for beginning
had arrived, he raised his _bâton_, and the performance began. He did
not even take the trouble to see that the musicians were all in their
places. He knew that, with the discipline he maintained, they must be
there.
Among other difficulties which an operatic manager has often to deal
with is one arising from questions of precedence between the singers.
Who is to have the best dressing-room at the theatre? Who the best suite
of apartments at the hotel? Naturally the prima donna. But suppose there
is more than one prima donna in the Company, or that the contralto
claims to be an artist of greater eminence than the principal soprano?
I remember once arriving at Dublin with a Company which included among
its members Mdlle. Salla, who played leading soprano parts, and Mdlle.
Anna de Belocca, a Russian lady, who played and sang with distinction
the most important parts written for the contralto voice. Mdlle. Belocca
and Mdlle. Salla entered at the same time the best suite of apartments
in the hotel; upon which each of them exclaimed: "These rooms will do
for me."
"For you?" said Mdlle. Salla. "The prima donna has, surely, the right of
choice, and I have said that I wish to have them."
"Prima donna!" exclaimed Belocca, with a laugh. "There are but two prime
donne: _moi et_ Patti."
"You will not have these rooms all the same," continued the soprano.
"We will see about that," returned the contralto. I was in despair, for
it was now a matter of personal dignity. Neither lady would give way to
the other. Leaving them for a time together I went downstairs to the
hotel-keeper, Mr. Maple, and said to him--
"Have you not another suite of rooms as good, or nearly so, as the one
for which these ladies are disputing?"
"I have a very good suite of rooms on the second floor," said Maple;
"quite as good, I think, as those on the first floor." These rooms had
already been pointed out to Mdlle. de Belocca through the window. But
nothing, she said, would induce her to go upstairs, were it only a step.
"Come with me, then," I said to Maple. "Mind you don't contradict me;
and to begin with, it must be understood that these rooms on the second
floor have been specially retained by Lady Spencer"--Lord Spencer was at
that time Viceroy of Ireland--"and cannot on any account, or under any
circumstances, be assigned even for a brief time to anyone else."
Maple seized my idea, and followed me upstairs.
"What is the meaning of this?" I said to him, when we were together, in
the presence of the two excited vocalists. "Are these the only rooms you
have to offer us? They will do for one of these ladies; but whichever
accepts them the other must be provided with a set of apartments at
least as good."
"I simply have not got them," replied Maple. "There is a charming set of
apartments on the floor above, but they are specially retained for the
Countess Spencer, and it would be more than my business is worth to let
anyone else take possession of them."
At these words Belocca opened her beautiful eyes, and seemed to be
struck with an idea.
"At least we could see them?" I suggested.
"You could see them," returned Maple, "but that is all."
"Let us go and have a look at them," I said.
Maple and myself walked upstairs. Belocca silently followed us. We
pretended not to see her, but as soon as the door of the apartments
reserved for the Countess Spencer was thrown open the passionate young
Muscovite rushed into them, shut the door, and locked it, declaring that
Lady Spencer must be provided for elsewhere.
On the conclusion of my London season of 1879 I immediately started for
the Continent in search of talent for my next New York and London
seasons, which both commenced on the 18th October.
On the issue of my New York prospectus, every box, together with
three-fourths of the _parquet_, likewise the first two rows of balcony,
were sold out for the season; so good an impression had my performances
left the previous spring.
I must here mention a circumstance which greatly inconvenienced me. On
the day of sailing from Liverpool I received notice that Mdme. Gerster
was in a delicate condition, which was confirmed afterwards by a cable
which reached me on my arrival in New York. I replied, entreating the
lady to come over, if only for a couple of months, when she could
afterwards return. All my proposals failed, though it was not until I
received five doctors' certificates from Italy sealed by the Prefetto
and viséd by the Consuls that I gave up begging her to appear.
I was really at my wits' ends, for there was no possibility of replacing
the favourite artist. I, however, engaged Mdlle. Valleria, also Mdlle.
Ambré, a Moorish prima donna of some ability and possessing great
personal charms.
Despite all I could do, the Press and the public became excited about
the absence of Gerster; and either she or Lucca or Nilsson, or someone
of equal calibre, was urgently wanted. It was too late for either of
these distinguished ladies to entertain my proposals. I, therefore,
addressed Mdlle. Marimon, who was then in Paris.
About this time the members of my orchestra, who all belonged to the
Musical Union, struck for a ten per cent. increase of pay in consequence
of the success I had met with the previous year. I flatly refused to
comply with their demand, whereupon the main body of the players
informed me that they would not enter the orchestra on my opening night,
unless their terms were conceded. I explained that the previous year I
had paid them no less than 50,000 dollars, being more than double the
price of my London orchestra, but it was all to no avail. However, I
induced them to play at my opening performance, leaving the matter to be
decided at a conference to be held in the course of a few days.
To return to Mdlle. Marimon; time being of importance, all our
correspondence had to be carried on by cable, I having to pay the
answers. As at the time I speak of the price was some fifty cents or two
shillings a word, and as the correspondence went on for over a
fortnight, I found at last that I had spent over £160 in cables alone.
The lady insisting that the money should be deposited beforehand at
Rothschild's, in Paris, this, too, had to be transmitted by cable.
At length a day was fixed for her departure, and I awaited with
impatience her arrival. Some four days later I received a cable from my
agent, Jarrett, who had gone over at my request to Paris, informing me
that Marimon had not started and that a new element of trouble had
arisen.
Mdlle. Marimon having lost her mother some time before in the foundering
of the _Pacific_ steamship was nervous about going to sea, and would not
start unless accompanied by her maid. The maid, however, objected to go
with her mistress to America on a visit which might last some months.
She was attached at the time to an actor at the Gymnase, and preferred
remaining in Paris. She knew her mistress to be very superstitious, and,
in order to avoid starting, resolved to play on her weak point.
Pretending, therefore, to be ignorant of Marimon's intentions, she
imparted to that lady the secret of a terrible dream with which she had
been visited three nights in succession, to the effect that she and her
mistress had embarked in a big ship for a long voyage, and that upon the
third day at sea the vessel had collided with another and both had gone
to the bottom. This fable had the desired effect. With blanched cheeks
the frightened Marimon, who was still in Paris, informed Jarrett that
it was impossible for her to go, and that she wished to have her
engagement cancelled. To this I refused to accede, the engagement being
complete and the money having been paid.
Volumes of cable messages were now again commenced. Here is a copy of
one of my replies:--
"Tranquil sea. Charming public. Elegant city. Luxurious living. For
Heaven's sake come, and duplicate your Drury Lane triumphs.--MAPLESON."
At length tact and diplomacy overcame her terrors, and she started in
the _City of Richmond_ the following day.
I was expecting her with the greatest anxiety, for several days had now
passed beyond the ordinary time, when on the morning of November 24th I
read in the morning papers the following telegram from Halifax:--
"The steamer _Circassia_ of the Anchor Line, with the American mail,
came into port this morning, having picked up the disabled ship the
_City of Richmond_, encountering heavy weather, with a broken shaft, off
Sable Island, 180 miles from Halifax, the second officer having been
washed overboard and lost. Amongst the saloon passengers were Mdlle.
Marimon and her maid."
I thereupon despatched messengers to Halifax, and in due course Mdlle.
Marimon reached New York.
On her arrival she immediately insisted on going to the Catholic
Cathedral, in Fiftieth Street, to offer up thanks and a candle for her
narrow escape. Despite all my entreaty to cease praying, in consequence
of the extreme cold in the vast Cathedral--it was now near the close of
November--madame remained prostrate for another half-hour, during which
time my rehearsal was waiting. I had hoped to get her to attend by
inviting her to have a look at the interior of the theatre where she was
to perform.
The result, meanwhile, of her devotions was that she caught a violent
cold and was obliged to lie in bed for a week afterwards.
I was next much troubled by a renewed outbreak in the orchestra, the
occasion being the first performance of _Linda di Chamouni_, when to my
astonishment more than half the musicians were absent. I was too
perplexed with other matters to worry beyond appealing to the public,
who sympathized with me.
A kind of operatic duel was now going on betwixt my two tenors,
Campanini and Aramburo. The latter, with his magnificent voice, had
quite conquered New York. Being a Spaniard, his own countrymen supported
him nightly by their presence in large numbers. But the tenor was
displeased at sundry hisses which came from unknown quarters of the
gallery, whilst two or three newspapers attacked him without any reason.
It was the eve of his performance in _Rigoletto_ when I was informed
that Senor Aramburo and the Gilda, Mdme. Adini (at that time his wife),
had suddenly sailed for Europe. The last I could trace of them was that
that very day they had both been seen in the city at five o'clock. Early
that morning Aramburo had come to me wanting to borrow 300 dollars. At
first I refused, but he pressed me, saying that he had property "in
Spain," and that he really needed money to close up certain business
transactions. I gave him the sum, and this was the last I saw of him. At
5.30, however, in the afternoon, I received a note from him, in which he
said that he would like five nice seats for that evening's performance,
as he wished to oblige some friends. I sent him the tickets, but by the
time they reached his address he must have packed up and gone.
At length the day for Mdlle. Marimon's appearance arrived. It was not
until Wednesday, 3rd December, that she made her _début_ in _La
Sonnambula_, when she was supported by Campanini as "Elvino," Del Puente
as "Conte Rodolfo," and Mdme. Lablache as the mother. Mdlle. Marimon
scored a positive success, and the ovations she received were something
unprecedented. I at once forgot all my troubles, for I now plainly
foresaw that she would replace Mdme. Gerster until the following year.
Anything like her success had not been witnessed since Gerster's. At one
bound, as it were, she leaped into the highest favour and esteem of the
music lovers of New York. I announced her reappearance for the following
Monday.
But the reaction consequent on the agitation caused to her by the perils
of the sea voyage now began to manifest itself. The nervousness from
which she had suffered at sea, in the belief that her maid's dream was
about to be verified, had caused such a disturbance to her nervous
system that this, coupled with the subsequent excitement due to her
brilliant success, caused the fingers of both her hands to be drawn up
as if with cramp. She found it impossible to reappear for several days;
and it was not until the 15th, some twelve days later, that she was able
to give her second performance. She afterwards sang the part of the
"Queen of Night," in _Flauto Magico_, which terminated the New York
season.
We afterwards left for Boston, where on the opening night Mdlle.
Marimon's success was again most marked; and from the beginning until
the end of the engagement there her receipts equalled those of Mdme.
Gerster. During the tour we visited Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis,
Detroit, and Cleveland. We afterwards made a second visit to
Philadelphia, the season concluding about the middle of March, 1880,
when we returned to Europe.
During our stay in Philadelphia Mdlle. Marimon, who had met with such
great success two evenings previously, was announced to appear as
"Dinorah." About six o'clock in the afternoon she sent word that she
would be unable to sing. All persuasion on my part was useless. However,
as I was descending the staircase of the hotel I met Brignoli, who on
hearing of my trouble declared that he had a remedy and that he felt
sure he could induce Mdlle. Marimon to sing. He made it a condition,
however, that in case of success I should re-engage him for the
approaching London season. To this I readily consented, and I was
greatly surprised at hearing within half an hour that Mdlle. Marimon and
her maid had gone on to the theatre. This was indeed a relief to me, as
nearly every seat in the theatre had been sold, Meyerbeer's romantic
opera not having been performed in Philadelphia for some twenty years.
On the rising of the curtain Mdlle. Marimon's voice was inaudible. She
was very warmly greeted, and went through all the gestures of the part;
played it, in short, pantomimically. At the close of the act I went
before the curtain, and announced that Mdlle. Marimon's voice, instead
of recovering itself, was going gradually from bad to worse; and that
the shadow scene in the second act would have to be omitted; but that,
to compensate the public for the disappointment, Signor Campanini, who
was then present in one of the boxes, had kindly consented, together
with Miss Cary, to give the concluding acts of _Il Trovatore_. This at
once restored the depressed spirits of the audience.
Miss Cary surprised everyone by the dramatic force of her "Azucena."
Galassi was equally effective in the _rôle_ of the "Count di Luna." But
Campanini, in _Di quella pira_, met with more than a success: it was a
triumph. The house broke into rapturous applause, and cheered the singer
to the echo. At the conclusion he was loaded with flowers. Thus I
avoided the misfortune of having to close the theatre.
On returning home to supper I discovered the "remedy" Brignoli had
employed, which was this: He presented himself on leaving me to Mdlle.
Marimon, and informed her that he understood Mapleson meant to close up
the Opera-house that evening, and charge her the value of the receipts,
then estimated at nearly £1,000. He, therefore, advised her to go to the
theatre, even if she walked through the part.
One or two newspapers the following morning insisted on regarding my
speech of the previous evening as a melancholy joke. I had announced
that Mdlle. Marimon was physically unable to fulfil the demands of her
_rôle_, and that she would omit the shadow song. But, said the papers,
her efforts throughout the evening had all been shadow songs, the little
lady having been absolutely voiceless.
Mdlle. Marimon, however, in settling up the account some weeks
afterwards, charged me £120 for this performance, arguing that she had
appeared and done her best under the circumstances.