THE MAPLESON MEMOIRS
VOL. I.

THE MAPLESON MEMOIRS

1848-1888

IN TWO VOLUMES

WITH PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR

VOL I

CHICAGO, NEW YORK, AND SAN FRANCISCO
BELFORD, CLARKE & CO.,
PUBLISHERS.
1888
[All rights reserved].

COPYRIGHT, 1888, by
JAMES H. MAPLESON

TROW'S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
NEW YORK.

PREFACE.

HAVING been repeatedly urged by numerous friends on both sides of the Atlantic to set forth a few of the difficulties attending the career of an impresario, who, during the last thirty years, has fought many operatic battles, I have undertaken the task, having at the present moment for the first time in my recollection a few weeks of comparative repose before again renewing my lyrical campaigns.

I willingly sat down to the work, trusting that an account of the few partial defeats and the many brilliant victories incident to my life may be found interesting.

This being my first appearance as an author, I am naturally unpractised in the artifices of style familiar to more experienced hands.

Some of my plain statements of facts will not, I fear, be fully appreciated by the personages to whom they refer; and in case they should feel offended by my frankness, I ask their pardon beforehand, convinced that they will readily accord it.

J. H. MAPLESON.

Junior Carlton Club,
21st September, 1888.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

QUALIFICATIONS FOR THE CAREER OF IMPRESARIO—MY FIRST APPEARANCE AS VIOLINIST—DÉBUT AS A VOCALIST—DIFFICULTIES AS A CRITIC—ENGAGED AT LODI AND VERONA—RADICAL OPERATION ON MY THROAT—I START AS MUSICAL AGENT—MEETING WITH MR. E. T. SMITH—MANAGEMENT OF DRURY LANE.

BEFORE beginning my thirty years' career as an operatic manager, I had already had a large and varied experience of music in the character of student, critic, violinist, vocalist, composer, concert director, and musical agent. At the age of fourteen I entered the Royal Academy of Music, where the Principal was at that time Cipriani Potter. I took as my first study the violin, my professor being Watson, under whom I made good progress. Harmony I studied under Lucas. My compositions are limited to two pianoforte pieces and a song, which I published soon after leaving the Academy, where I remained about two years.

I made my first public appearance among the first violins at Her Majesty's Theatre, where, during the Jenny Lind seasons of 1848 and a portion of 1849, I played from the same desk as Remenyi, the famous Hungarian violinist. Remenyi, too, shared my rooms, and often kept me up at night by his loud and passionate declamations on the subject of Hungarian independence, and of liberty generally. He had taken part in the revolutionary movement of 1848, and on its collapse had fled for his life to foreign parts. Fortunately, he had his violin to depend upon; and it was in London, I believe, that he first turned his remarkable talent to practical and pecuniary account.

Mr. [afterwards Sir Michael] Costa had left Her Majesty's Theatre two years previously to take part in establishing the Royal Italian Opera at Covent Garden, and the new conductor at Her Majesty's Theatre was our eminent composer M. W. Balfe. It had already occurred to me to quit the comparative obscurity of the orchestra for a brilliant position on the stage; and this idea was encouraged by Balfe, who, during the intervals of operatic business, gave me singing lessons. I also received instruction from Gardoni, the tenor, and Belletti, the baritone. As I had a tenor voice, Gardoni's lessons were particularly useful to me; and I was led to believe by each of my distinguished professors that I had in me the making of a primo tenore.

Long before I had completed my studies as a vocalist, an opportunity, indeed a necessity, for making my first appearance as a singer presented itself. Not to remain idle during the long months separating one opera season from another, I took out in the English Provinces in 1849 a company in which were included Sontag, Calzolari, Belletti, Lablache, and the famous pianist Thalberg. On one occasion, after giving a concert at Salisbury, the whole party paid a visit to Stonehenge, where Sontag sang "Casta diva," and Lablache a portion of Oroveso's solo music among the Druidical remains, so suggestive of the opera of Norma. I have now before me a handsome little clock which Madame Sontag presented to me at the end of the tour. It is inscribed: "To J. H. Mapleson from Madame Sontag (Countess Rossi)." I may mention in connection with this charming vocalist, whose good nature and good temper were on a par with her talent, a peculiarity which will perhaps astonish some of the concert singers of the present day. Instead of avoiding, according to the modern practice, the task of either beginning or ending a concert, she was ready and even anxious to sing both the first piece and the last. "If I do not begin the concert people will not come in time," she would say; "and if I do not end it they will go away before it is over."

In the autumn of 1850 I took on tour a company which included Roger and Madame Viardot, the famous representatives of "John of Leyden" and "Fidès" in Le Prophète. Meyerbeer was in constant correspondence with them. To avoid the expense of postage, he used to send his music written on such fine paper that to be able to read it with any ease it was necessary to place it on a back-ground of ordinary writing paper.

In a subsequent tour my leading tenor was one night for some reason or other not forthcoming. There was no one to replace him, and as I was myself a tenor I plunged boldly into the gap. I sang with success, but it occurred to me even as I was singing that I had need of further instruction. On my return to London I called on Sims Reeves, and sang to him; when he at once recommended me to go to Milan, and place myself under Signor Mazzucato, director and principal professor of singing at the celebrated Conservatorio. Reeves was kind enough to give me a letter to Mazzucato, under whom he had himself studied, with results which need not here be set forth.

Before taking farewell of England in order to go through a three years' course of training in Italy I did a little work as musical critic for a journal called the Atlas, which for years past has ceased to exist, but which, at the time I speak of, enjoyed a good reputation, especially in connection with literary and artistic matters. The proprietor, and ostensible editor, was a well-known journalist, Mr. George Francis, author of "The Orators of the Age," a series of papers which made some stir when, before appearing in book-form, they were published in the pages of Frazer's Magazine. Mr. Francis had, I believe, gained his experience of our British orators in the gallery of the House of Commons, where he was for many years one of the principal reporters of the Times staff. Mr. Francis was also a brilliant foreign correspondent, and it afterwards became a speciality of his to assist and preside at the birth of new journals. His fee as accoucheur on these occasions was, I believe, a considerable one. After a time nothing would satisfy him but to have a paper of his own. He bought the Atlas, and while entrusting most of the editorial work to a Mr. Joyce, who was my immediate chief, appropriated to himself all free admissions that reached the office. Accordingly, when it became my duty to write an account of the first production of Le Prophète at the Royal Italian Opera, I received instructions from my editor about sending in "copy," but was not furnished with a stall. I was to manage, somehow or other, to hear the opera, and I was in any case to send in a notice of it. I endeavoured to buy a ticket, but everything was sold.

In my despair I chanced to meet the American philanthropist, Mr George Peabody, well known by his charitable deeds, and who hastened on this occasion to perform a good work towards me. He assured me that the difficulty which troubled me was not so great as I imagined. It was now late in the afternoon. The performance was to take place that evening, and Mr. Peabody suggested that first of all the best thing I could do was to dine with him at the "Hummums." Thence, after finishing a bottle of excellent port, we walked quietly to the gallery entrance of the opera—at that time under the piazza, next door to the Bedford Hotel—bought our tickets, and found places in the very front row.

Soon, however, I was to start for Milan, where, studying constantly with Professor Mazzucato, I spent nearly three years. Then an engagement was offered to me at Lodi, where I was to make my first appearance on any stage as "Carlo" in Linda di Chamouni.

Manners and customs at the Lodi Opera-house were at that time rather peculiar. Refreshments of all kinds used to be served in the audience department between the acts. Every box was furnished with a little kitchen for cooking macaroni, baking or frying pastry, and so on. The wine of the country was drunk freely, not out of glasses, but in classical fashion from bowls. Attired in the brilliant uniform of my part I was in the middle of the pit draining one of these bowls, when suddenly the signal was given for the rising of the curtain. All seemed lost. But I hurried back to the stage, and fortunately was not very late for my entry.

My success in Lodi was such that I was offered four pounds a month to sing at Verona. Here my first duty was to replace Bettini (not the husband of Madame Trebelli Bettini, but the dramatic tenor of that name) in the important part of "Manrico." Il Trovatore had but lately been brought out, and was then in the first period of its success. I had never heard the work, but the tenor part had been sent to me, and I had to master it in four days, my final study being made in the diligence, with no musical instrument to aid me except a tuning-fork. I studied the part all day and, by the light of a candle, all night, and before I reached Verona knew it perfectly. The prima donna of the cast was Mdlle. Lotti, afterwards known in London and elsewhere as Madame Lotti Della Santa, the second part of her name being derived from her husband, Signor Della Santa, who, during my stay at Verona, played the part of the "Count di Luna" to the "Leonora" of his future wife. Bettini married a sister of Max Maretzek, afterwards well known as conductor and impresario in the United States. I made a sufficiently good impression at Verona to cause Signor Bettini, who on my arrival was seriously ill, to get perfectly well after I had made but two appearances.

Returning to London early in 1854, I gave a grand concert with the following eminent artists:—Mdme. Clara Novello, Miss Dolby, Mr. Sims Reeves, Herr Formes, and Mdme. Arabella Goddard. I also took part in it. My throat, however, had become affected, and after I had been very thoroughly operated upon by Dr. Billing, I found myself deprived alike of tonsils, uvula, and voice.

My path had now been marked out for me. For the future I might be a musical agent, a concert director, or an impresario; but not a vocalist.

In 1855 the two principal members of the touring party I was directing were Miss Hayes and Mdme. Gassier.

In the year 1856 I started a musical agency in the Haymarket, the first established in London. Both Mr. Lumley and Mr. Gye applied to me for singers. As I was well known in Italy, numbers of artists inscribed their names on my books. I did a good business, and was making a large income. My business relations bound me more particularly to Mr. Lumley, the manager of Her Majesty's Theatre, and he had enough confidence in me to entrust me with the work of adapting Balfe's Bohemian Girl to the Italian stage. This was about the time of the gala performances in honour of the marriage of the Crown Prince of Prussia (late Emperor of Germany) to the Princess Victoria of England, when a number of Shakespearian representations were given at Her Majesty's Theatre, with Mr. Phelps in the principal parts.

No Italian version of Balfe's work existed previously, and I received for mine the sum of £50. Operatic translations are often severely judged, but it is no easy matter to adapt the words of a song so that, while other more obvious requirements are duly fulfilled, the accents shall fall in exact accordance with the composer's music.

In the early part of this year (1858) the late E. T. Smith, then lessee of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, called upon me at my office, in the Haymarket, requesting me to aid him in the formation of an Italian Opera Company, which he wished to secure for his theatre during the coming summer months. He had so many enterprises on hand that he asked me to undertake the superintendence and management of the Italian Opera season he had in view. I explained to him that the business I was then carrying on required all my care and attention, and that it was far more profitable than any interest he could offer me in his contemplated enterprise.

But won over by his solicitations, and influenced by my love of the divine art, I consented, and found myself at once drawn into the artistic vortex. My knowledge and experience fitted me well enough for the conduct of the undertaking, which, however, I considered rather a hazardous one.

On the one hand would be ranged against me Her Majesty's Theatre, under the late Mr. Lumley's able management, with such artists as Piccolomini, Alboni, Giuglini, and the new and successful Thérèse Titiens, who had already fully captured London; and on the other hand the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden, newly rebuilt, under the skilful direction of Mr. Gye, with Grisi, Mario, Costa, and a host of celebrities. I felt the great responsibility of the position I had undertaken. I, however, set to work and engaged the services of Salvini-Donatelli, Viardot, Persiani, Naudin, Badiali, Marini, Rovere, Charles Braham and other tried artists.

My first object was to secure an able conductor. I discovered Signor Vianesi (afterwards of the Royal Italian Opera, and now of the Grand Opera, Paris), and appointed him to the post at a salary of £8 a month. Much trouble was experienced in forming an efficient orchestra on account of the two great Italian Operas, and still more in obtaining a stage military band. This latter difficulty I surmounted when one day in Leicester Square I lighted upon a very excellent one composed of itinerant Italian musicians performing in the open street.

The season opened in due course, and the public gave ample support to the undertaking. I will not fatigue the reader by entering into details with respect to that season, which I began five days before the opening of the new Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden, just rebuilt, in order that the singers might at all events give two public performances before the whole attention of the town would be centred on the new theatre.

On one occasion I encountered a slight difficulty, when the opera of La Traviata had, in consequence of the illness of one of the singers, to be suddenly substituted for the work originally announced. It was already half-past seven o'clock at night, and we were without a stage band.

I sent the call-boy down all the likely thoroughfares where my Italian wanderers might be playing, and I myself started to look for them in another direction. I ultimately traced them to a small restaurant in Soho, where they were eating macaroni. I gave them orders to come on immediately to the theatre to perform behind the scenes in La Traviata, and hurried back to the theatre. On arriving there I found the call-boy had brought another street band, which now refused to quit the stage. At one time things looked very serious, as the Italians of the opposing bands, with their stilettos drawn, vowed vengeance on one another. Ultimately all was satisfactorily arranged.

The interest of this first season was kept up until its close, in the latter part of July. The only other incident here worth mentioning was the performance, on the 17th July, of Mozart's Don Giovanni with the following powerful cast:—

The evening prior to its performance I met Mr. E. T. Smith, who horrified me by saying that in order to "strengthen up the bill," it being his benefit, he had added The Waterman, in which Charles Braham would play "Tom Tug," and moreover, introduce into the piece a new song dedicated by Mr. E. T. Smith to the Metropolitan Board of Works, who, said Smith, with a knowing wink, were "a most useful body."

I paid no attention to this at the time, thinking it was only a joke; but on looking at the Times newspaper on the day of the performance, I found that the announcement, as communicated to me by Mr. E. T. Smith, had really been made. The performance, too, of the Waterman, with the introduced song, was really given.

I waited with interest to see what the newspapers would say as to my closing representation. Only one paper mentioned the performance; and it confined itself to stating that Don Giovanni had been played the previous evening "by a body of singers whose united ages amounted to nearly 500 years."

Mr. E. T. Smith, the manager, had made money by our season; and he remunerated me very handsomely for my labours. In the meantime, notwithstanding the phenomenal success of Mdlle. Titiens at Her Majesty's Theatre, Mr. Lumley's difficulties had been constantly increasing; and Her Majesty's Theatre now closed, never to open again under his management.

CHAPTER II.

INJUNCTION AGAINST THE BIRDS ON THE TREES—DRURY LANE SEASON OF 1859—DÉBUTS OF VICTOIRE BALFE, MONGINI, AND GUARDUCCI—MY CONTRALTO MARRIES A DUKE—THE DUKE AND DUCHESS AT NAPLES.

EFFORTS were now made to obtain the lease of Her Majesty's theatre, but it was so entangled with legal difficulties that it was resolved, on my advice to remain another year at Drury Lane. I therefore set to work to secure a very powerful company for the London season of 1859.

During the latter part of 1858 the baritone Graziani had called repeatedly upon me, stating that as Mr. Gye had not renewed his engagement, and as there were some arrears outstanding, he was very desirous that I should engage him for the forthcoming season. After lengthy negotiations, some time during the month of March, 1859, I signed with him, and added him to the list of artists in the official programme.

On the prospectus being issued, law proceedings were immediately commenced by Mr. Gye, who asked for an injunction to restrain Graziani from appearing at Drury Lane.

Application was made before Vice-Chancellor Wood, and the most eminent counsel were engaged on both sides. Mr. Gye retained Rolt, Giffard, Martindale, etc., whilst Mr. E. T. Smith was represented by Sir Hugh Cairns, Hawkins, Swanstone, Serjeant Ballantine, Cottrell, Daniel, &c. The case was heard on the 11th and 12th May, 1859, when an injunction was granted. At this I felt somewhat astonished, inasmuch as Graziani's engagement had never been renewed by Mr. Gye, although in a period of more than eight months the eminent baritone had made more than a dozen applications for a renewal; neither had his salary been paid him.

I have repeatedly failed to obtain injunctions against my singers, both here and in America, though the engagements which they had broken were in every respect perfectly in order. I recollect a case in which one of my principal singers was announced to appear at the Crystal Palace in a concert, notwithstanding a written engagement whereby he contracted that I should have his exclusive services, and that he would sing nowhere without my written consent. No salary was owing to him, and I felt perfectly sure of obtaining an injunction, for which I duly applied, in order to restrain him from committing the contemplated breach of engagement.

A formal injunction was, in fact, granted; but the case was immediately afterwards brought before the Lords Justices for a full hearing. As I was very much occupied at the theatre with rehearsals, and felt sure the injunction would be confirmed, and, moreover, that the case would occupy but a few minutes, I did not attend; but at the end of my day's labours, feeling a little curious, I called on my solicitor on my way home, when I was informed by his clerk that he was still in Court and that my case was not concluded. I went there. Sure enough, there were the counsel still arguing. Two attendants were busily employed handing in law-books every minute or two, with pieces of paper between the leaves indicating pages for reference. The counsel on the other side was forcibly explaining the case by supposing a similar one between a vendor and a purchaser of sacks of flour. I could not believe that it was my case they were proceeding with.

Later on "—— v. ——, page ——," was quoted, and now sacks of corn and of linseed were brought in. The candles of the Court were burnt low down in the sockets, and the three Lords Justices were evidently very tired, when one of them spoke thus—

"I cannot conceive how Mr. Mapleson could expect to retain the exclusive services of any vocalist. In my opinion, sweet musical sounds should be for the benefit of everybody, and Mr. Mapleson might just as well apply for an injunction to restrain the birds from singing on the trees."

The other Justices concurred in the view that a singer must be free to sing where he liked.

In the United States I have been invariably unsuccessful in my applications for an injunction, or of even getting the Courts to define the meaning of a singer's engagement. The legal mind cannot grasp the idea. Were it a contract for the erection of buildings or machinery, or the sale of goods, or the exclusive manufacture of a piece of cotton printing, the matter would be clear enough. But no evidence on the part of musical experts is ever by any chance understood by the Court.

The Drury Lane season of 1859 opened on the 25th April with La Sonnambula, when I was fortunate enough to introduce two new singers, who both met with unequivocal success. One was Mdlle. Victoire Balfe (afterwards Lady Crampton, and subsequently Duchess de Frias), who appeared as "Amina;" the other, Signor Mongini, whose triumph was instantaneous in the part of "Elvino." This was his first appearance in England.

For this season two conductors had been engaged, Signor Arditi and Mr. (afterwards Sir Julius) Benedict. Both were excellent, but neither wished to be mistaken for the other. Both, moreover, were bald, and I remember on one occasion, when a grand combined performance was to take place, Benedict going into the prima donna's dressing-room, taking up a brush, and carefully arranging his scanty hair so as to cover as much as possible of his denuded cranium.

"What are you about, Benedict?" I asked.

"Nothing particular," he replied; "only I don't want, whilst wielding the baton, to be mistaken for Arditi."

Soon afterwards Arditi appeared, and with a couple of brushes began operating on his hair so as to leave as much as possible of his bare skull exposed to view. He explained his action by exclaiming—

"I don't want to be mistaken for Benedict."

On the following night I brought forward Mdlle. Guarducci, who appeared as "Leonora" in La Favorita, with Giuglini as "Fernando." Guarducci's success was instantaneous, her lovely voice being the object of universal admiration.

A very strange thing occurred in connection with Guarducci's début. She had arrived in London only two days before, in the belief that she would have two or three weeks to prepare the part which she had undertaken to perform. By a careful process of cramming we got her through; and she made one of the most marked successes London had witnessed for many years. I thereupon announced the opera for repetition four days afterwards, when to my great astonishment Guarducci informed me that she did not know a note of her part, and it took ten days' rehearsals for her to learn it in systematic style.

Later on I produced Mercadante's Giuramento, which, however, met with indifferent success. Mdlle. Titiens shortly afterwards appeared as "Lucrezia Borgia," when her phenomenal voice attracted such a house as had rarely been seen. Her performances throughout the remainder of the season were a series of triumphs never to be forgotten.

Arrangements were afterwards made for an operatic tour in the provinces, which we commenced in Dublin.

About this time the attentions of an Italian nobleman towards Mdlle. Guarducci became rather conspicuous, and at Mdlle. Titiens' suggestion I resolved to ask him what his intentions towards her really were. As no satisfactory answer could be obtained, Mdlle. Titiens took Guarducci entirely under her charge, and all communication with the Italian nobleman was put an end to.

Shortly afterwards he visited me, assuring me his intentions were most honourable, and begging me to intercede so that he might again meet Guarducci. Mdlle. Titiens' reply was—

"Yes, as her husband, not otherwise;" and to this ultimatum he consented.

In the course of a few days preparations were made for the marriage, but many difficulties presented themselves. The duke's father would have to be consulted, together with the Neapolitan Government, the Pope, and a few other powers.

About this time Mr. E. T. Smith appeared on the scene, and he assured the priests that of his certain knowledge the proposed marriage would be most agreeable to the duke's father; whilst I, on my side, induced the Consul of the then King of Naples and of the Two Sicilies to affix the Government stamp to the contract. I also had a marriage settlement drawn, whereby it was stipulated that if Mdlle. Guarducci at any time after the marriage should feel disposed she should have liberty to resume the exercise of her profession, and take the whole of the benefits she might derive therefrom for her own use; the duke engaging, moreover, that on the day he succeeded to his father's property and title he would assign to her £50,000 for her sole and separate use. The marriage was celebrated in the Metropolitan Church of Dublin, with full choral service, in which Piccolomini, Titiens, Aldighieri, Giuglini, and others took part. The scene was most impressive.

Within a week afterwards the marriage had made such a stir in Italy that the new duchess had to leave me, and, accompanied by the duke, take her departure for Italy.

I did not meet them afterwards until the year 1863, when at my hotel in Naples a gorgeous equipage drove up, in which were the Duke and Duchess di Cirilla, with a beautiful little child. It appeared that he had succeeded to his titles and estates, that he had already handed over the large sum of money promised in the settlement, and that they were the happiest couple in the world. They insisted upon my spending several days with them at their palace; and as it was the closing day of the Carnival we amused ourselves from the balcony of the Palazzo by throwing the most gorgeous sweetmeats, dolls, and other things at the heads of the populace. I was afterwards invited by the duke to a wild-boar hunt. He had charge of all the King's preserves at Caserta, and by his hospitable attentions he enabled me to pass the time most pleasantly.

Looking over my papers I find, what had really escaped my memory, that in order to ensure, so far as we could, the execution of the Duke's promise in regard to the settlement on his wife, Mr. E. T. Smith and myself made him sign a bond by which he bound himself, should he fail to fulfil his pledge, to pay to each of us the sum of £5,000.

Here is an exact copy of the deed; the like of which could scarcely be found in the archives of any Opera House in the world:—

"Know all Men by these Presents that I Alfonso Catalano Gonzaga de Duchi de Cirella formerly of Naples but now stopping at Gresham Hotel Dublin am held and firmly bound unto Edward Tyrrel Smith of Pensylvania Castle Dorset England and Lessee of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane London but now stopping at Gresham Hotel Dublin and James Henry Mapleson of 12 Haymarket London Gentleman but now stopping at Gresham Hotel Dublin in the sum of Ten thousand pounds sterling good and lawful money of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland to be paid to the said Edward Tyrrel Smith and James Henry Mapleson or their lawful Attorney Executors Administrators or assigns to the which payment to be made I do bind myself my heirs executors and administrators firmly by these presents Sealed with my seal and dated the eighth day of August in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-nine.

The Condition of the above obligation is such that if the above bound Alfonso Catalano Gonzaga de Duchi de Cirella his heirs executors or administrators shall and do well and truly pay or cause to be paid unto the above named Edward Tyrrel Smith and James Henry Mapleson their executors administrators or assigns the just and full sum of Five thousand pounds sterling of good and lawful money of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland according to the covenant on his part contained in a certain Indenture of Settlement bearing even date herewith and made between Carolina Guarducci of the first part the said Alfonso Catalano Gonzaga de Duchi de Cirella of the second part and the said Edward Tyrrel Smith and James Henry Mapleson of the third part and shall also fully perform all and singular the other covenants and agreements on the part of him the said Alfonso Catalano Gonzaga contained in the aforesaid Settlement without fraud or further delay that then the above obligation is to be void and of none effect or else to stand and remain in full force and virtue in law

ALFONSO CATALANO GONZAGA
DE DUCHI DE CIRELLA

Signed sealed and delivered in the presence of by Alfonso Catalano Gonzaga de Duchi de Cirella the same having been first truly read explained and interpreted to him by J H Mapleson

THOMAS FITZGERALD
Solicitor 20 Saint Andrew St Dublin
THOS SNOWE
Neapolitan Vice Consul

I hereby certify that the within named James Henry Mapleson took a solemn oath administered by me that he had truly read explained and interpreted the true contents of the annexed Bond to the within named Carolina Guarducci and Alfonso Catalano Gonzaga de Duchi de Cirella

Neapolitan Vice Consulate
Dublin 10th August 1859 (nine)
THOS SNOWE
V Consul"

CHAPTER III.

NOCTURNAL NEGOTIATIONS—REOPENING OF HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE—SAYERS AND HEENAN PATRONIZE THE OPERA—ENGLISH AND ITALIAN OPERA COMBINED—SMITH AND HIS SPECULATIONS—DISCOVERY OF ADELINA PATTI—MY MANAGEMENT OF THE LYCEUM.

EARLY in the spring of 1860 I opened negotiations again with Lord Dudley, on behalf of Mr. Smith, to obtain the lease of Her Majesty's Theatre. After spending two days at Witley Court with his lordship I returned to London with the lease, and loaded with game.

The next step was to secure the services of Mdlle. Titiens, Giuglini, and others who still were bound to Mr. Lumley; and for that purpose Mr. Smith and myself started for the Continent. Mr. Lumley met us at Boulogne; the Channel, as in the previous year, being still too breezy for him to cross.

On our arrival we found that Mr. Lumley had prepared a sumptuous banquet. Every kind of expensive wine was on the table, together with the most famous liqueurs. The Bordeaux, the Burgundy, the Champagne, the Chartreuse, the Curaçao, and the Cognac were for us; whilst Mr. Lumley, like a clever diplomatist, confined himself to spring water. After I had made several attempts to broach the subject of our visit, which Lumley pretended not to understand, he showed himself quite astonished when he heard that Mr. Smith contemplated engaging his artists. To me fell the duty of conducting the negotiations between these two wily gentlemen; and it was not until about three or four o'clock the following morning that things began to get into focus. Mr. Lumley, in the meantime, had kept ordering innumerable syphons and fines champagnes for Mr. Smith, before whom the bottles were perpetually empty. As Mr. Smith warmed up, he wanted extensions for the following autumn, to which Lumley, reluctantly, of course, agreed. In the end the transfer was to cost some £16,000—I having obtained a reduction of £3,000 or £4,000 from the original price insisted on by Lumley. I afterwards had to draw an engagement that would prove satisfactory to both parties; a matter which was not finally settled until nearly six o'clock in the morning.

Mr. Smith having observed that he would see to the financial part being promptly carried out, Mr. Lumley replied that he would prefer to have bills drawn and handed over to him at once, payable at different dates, for the whole of the amount. He feared, he said, that some hostile creditor might attach any moneys in Smith's hands payable to him. Smith regretted that in France they could not purchase bill stamps, otherwise he would have been delighted to meet Mr. Lumley's views. Mr. Lumley, however, in getting a brush from his little hand-bag found some papers he could not account for, but which had somehow got in there; and these, to the astonishment of both Lumley and Smith, proved to be bill stamps. The next thing was to draw the various bills; and Smith remarked before leaving the banqueting-room that it would be better to finish the remains of the bottle then before him, lest the hotel servants should do so and get drunk. Mr. Lumley, instead of going to bed, went back to Paris by the early morning train, while Smith and myself returned to London.

The company for the season of 1860 was a marvellously attractive one.

Admirable, too, were the works produced.

Mr. Smith about this time had acquired various restaurants in London, besides the Alhambra, Cremorne Gardens, Drury Lane, and a variety of other establishments. The management of the opera was, therefore, left entirely to me, except that I received occasional visits at the most unseasonable hours from Mr. Smith, who arrived with the strangest suggestions. About this time the celebrated fight for the championship took place between Sayers and Heenan, and as the Covent Garden people were getting rather ahead of us, Mr. Smith, with a view to increased receipts, insisted on my announcing that Messrs. Sayers and Heenan, who had fought the day previously, would attend the opera in their bruised state. It was with the greatest difficulty that I afterwards got the announcement withdrawn from the papers. Both men appeared, nevertheless, that evening—one worse-looking than the other—in a private box which Smith had prepared specially for them on the grand tier; one corner being filled with brandies and sodas, and the other with bottles of champagne. Both men were so fatigued with their business of the previous day that before the end of the first act they went home, much to my relief.

Shortly afterwards Smith proposed that the Champion's belt (which had been divided in two) should be presented on the stage between the acts of the opera. This, too, I overruled, and the ceremony ultimately took place at the Alhambra.

On another occasion Mr. Smith suggested to me an idea that had occurred to him for closing up Covent Garden, by giving a grand double performance of Il Trovatore without any increase of prices. He proposed dividing the stage into two floors, as in the opera of Aida, with the occupants as follows:—

The singers were alarmed, as the matter became serious. This project, however, like previous ones, I ultimately succeeded in setting aside. I pleaded that the preparations for the production of Oberon, now resolved upon, needed all my attention. Benedict, the favourite pupil of Weber, had undertaken to adapt the famous opera for the Italian stage by introducing recitative and excerpts from some of Weber's other works, whilst Planché, the author of the libretto, undertook the mise en scène. A really grand performance took place, with the following cast of characters:—

"Sir Huon," Mongini; "Scerasmin," Everardi; "Oberon,"
Belart; "Fatima," Alboni; "Rezia," Titiens.

Despite the artistic successes of the season, matters, as usual with operatic managers, did not go well in a financial sense. This, in a great measure, was to be accounted for by the drain on our exchequer caused by Mr. Smith's numerous outside speculations; for the receipts from the various establishments were all lumped into one banking account.

On one occasion I recollect having a deal of difficulty with the Sheriff's officers, who had got possession of the wardrobes. We were on the point of producing the Huguenots, and the whole of the dresses for that opera were under ban. One afternoon Smith came in; and after some little time it appeared that the officers had agreed not to take the Huguenots until we had had two performances out of it.

In fact, there was always some trouble going on, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we got through the season.

In the Boulogne contracts Lumley's artists were ceded not only for a summer, but also for an autumn season at Her Majesty's. As, however, they were to sing but three times a week, it occurred to me that English opera might be tried with advantage on the alternate nights. Arrangements were accordingly entered into, through the kindness of Mr. Thomas Chappell, with Mrs. L. Sherrington, Mr. Sims Reeves, and Mr. Santley. Charles Hallé was at the same time engaged as conductor.

Negotiations were also entered into with Macfarren for the production of an English work entitled Robin Hood, the libretto by Oxenford. The opera met with very great success, so much so that the chief attentions of the public were directed to the evenings on which Robin Hood was performed. I then opened negotiations with Vincent Wallace to prepare an opera to follow, entitled the Amber Witch, libretto by Chorley, in which Mr. Sims Reeves, Mrs. L. Sherrington, Santley, Patey, and others appeared.

But again the war cloud seemed to hover over the establishment, and again the Sheriff's officers appeared in force. It was thought advisable to transfer the Amber Witch to Drury Lane, leaving the myrmidons of the law in possession of the theatre and its belongings. The Amber Witch wardrobe (which somehow had fallen off the portico of the theatre early one Sunday morning) found its way to the other theatre. Here the part of the "Amber Witch" was undertaken by Madame Parepa, vice Sherrington.

Mr. Edward Tyrrel Smith, with whom I had business relations for some three or four years, was an extraordinary personage, whose like could only be met with in our own time, and in such capitals as London or Paris, where the population in general has certainly not the faintest idea how some small part of that population lives. Mr. E. T. Smith had made up his mind early in life to be the possessor, or at least the handler, of considerable sums of money; and he at one time found it worth his while, so as never to be without funds, to hire daily, at the rate of £1 a day, a thousand-pound note, which was obligingly entrusted to him by a money-lender of the period, one Sam Genese.

There are not many persons to whom such a loan would be worth the thirty-six and a half per cent. interest which Mr. E. T. Smith paid for it. He was an adept, however, at all kinds of business, and his thousand-pound note enabled him to make purchases on credit, which, without deposit money, he would have been unable to effect. Attending sales he would buy whatever happened to suit him, with a view to immediate resale, offering his thousand-pound note as a deposit, to discover, as a matter of course, that it could not be changed, and have the article for which he had bid marked down to him all the same. Then he would resell it, and pocket the difference.

The mere exhibition of the thousand-pound note secured him a certain amount of credit, and he was not likely ever to meet with an auctioneer able to change it. Before offering his (or rather Mr. Genese's) note he took care to write his name on the back of it. Afterwards his usurious friend would replace the note that had been endorsed by a brand new one, and occasions presented themselves in which it was a distinct advantage for E. T. Smith to be known as a gentleman who, in the course of a comparatively short space of time, had inscribed his name on several bank-notes, each for a thousand pounds.

Once, when St. Dunstan's Villa, in the Regent's Park, was knocked down to Smith for ten thousand pounds, the thousand-pound note which he had, as usual, in his waistcoat pocket was just what was wanted to satisfy the auctioneer's immediate demands. Smith handed up the note with the observation that he would turn the place into a second Cremorne Gardens, in which character it could not fail to attract thousands of people and bring in lots of money. At this announcement the auctioneer drew back and informed the apparently eager purchaser that the house could be converted to no such purpose.

One day, when I had run down to Brighton with Mr. Smith, then associated with me in the management of Drury Lane, we missed, by about half a minute, the return train we had intended to catch; and we had now two hours to wait. Smith could not remain idle, and strolling with me along the Parade his attention was attracted by a corner house which was for sale, and which, it at once struck him, might be turned to profitable account as a milliner's shop. He inquired as to the rent and other conditions, bought the house there and then, and at once ordered that the windows on the ground floor should be replaced by much larger ones of plate glass.

That night he started for Paris, and in the Passage du Saumon, where bonnets of almost the latest fashion can be purchased for moderate prices, laid in a stock of millinery for his Brighton "magasin des modes." While making his purchases in Paris he secured the services of two eligible young women, who were brought over to direct the Brighton establishment. This, within a very short time, he duly opened under the name of "Clémentine," and the house of Clémentine did such good business that a few weeks afterwards its spirited proprietor was able to sell it at seven hundred pounds' profit.

On the occasion of a melancholy event which compelled all the London managers to close their theatres, Mr. E. T. Smith saw in this day of national gloom a tempting opportunity for a masked ball. It was to be given at Her Majesty's Theatre, and earnestly as I sought to divert him from his project he insisted on carrying it out. I had no right of veto in the matter, and the masked ball took place. The sum of one guinea entitled a ticket-holder to entrance and supper, and a day or two before the entertainment fires were lighted in the property-room, the painting-room, and the wardrobes, in order to cook some hundreds of fowls which had been purchased in the market, after ordinary market hours, at a very cheap rate.

Wine would be an extra charge. In order to suit the tastes of connoisseurs, Mr. Smith made large purchases of Heidsieck, Pommery Greno, Perrier Jouet, and other favourite brands somewhere in Whitechapel, where they can be secured at a much less cost than at Epernay or Rheims. When the wine came in he showed it to me with a look of pride, and opened a bottle of someone's cuvée réservée in order to have my opinion. I told him frankly that the bottles, labels, and the names branded on the corks seemed all that could be desired, and that I found nothing bad except the wine. This he seemed to look upon as an unimportant detail, and the Whitechapel champagne was sold to infatuated dancers at ten and twelve shillings a bottle.

About this time I chanced to hear of an extraordinary young vocalist, who had been charming the Americans, and, although hardly nineteen, seemed to have obtained a firm hold on the sympathy and admiration of their public. I opened negotiations at once, in order to secure her services for the forthcoming season at Her Majesty's, and a contract was duly entered into on behalf of Mr. Smith, whereby the little lady undertook to sing four nights on approval, when, in case of success, she was to have a salary of £10 a week. I likewise concluded an engagement with Mario, whose term had expired at Covent Garden, and with Madame Grisi; while Costa undertook to join the following year on the expiration of his existing contract with Mr. Gye.

In fact, all looked very promising for the year 1861. But, as the time approached, I found more difficulty than ever in communicating with Mr. Smith, who seemed to be out of the way. I then accidentally learned that owing to the extreme financial difficulty in which he was placed through his numerous outside speculations he had been compelled to accept an offer from Mr. Gye of £4,000 on condition of his not opening.

In accordance with this arrangement Her Majesty's Theatre remained closed.

Some time in the month of April the little lady from America arrived and sent me up her card, bearing the name of Adelina Patti. She was accompanied by Maurice Strakosch, her brother-in-law. They wished to know when Mr. Smith's season was likely to begin. I could give them no information beyond the current report which they had already heard themselves. The little lady, who was then seated on a sofa at the Arundel Hotel, at the bottom of Norfolk Street, Strand, suggested that I should try the speculation myself, as she felt sure she would draw money. I thereupon asked her to let me hear her, that I might judge as to the quality of her voice, to which she responded by singing "Home, Sweet Home." I saw that I had secured a diamond of the first water, and immediately set about endeavouring to get Her Majesty's Theatre. But this was a hopeless business, as Smith, who still held the lease, was nowhere to be found. Shortly afterwards, however, I met Smith by chance, and proposed renting Drury Lane from him, without saying what for.

Two days later he brought me an agreement which he requested me to sign. I said that I should like first to glance over it. He pointed out to me that I might give operas, dramas, pantomimes, ballets, in fact everything; and that I should have no difficulty in making a very fine season. But on the top of the page overleaf my eye caught sight of a parenthesis, within which were the words "Italian Opera excepted." I thereupon put down the pen, raised some question about the deposit, and afterwards kept clear of Mr. Smith.

But many years after he had ceased to be connected with theatres I one day received a letter from him, in which he told me he was in the metal trade, and asked me to send him a couple of stalls for himself and his "old woman." The heading of the letter announced the character of his new business, and he added in a postscript: "Do you ever want any tin?"

Nothing now remained but to secure the Lyceum; the only other theatre available. This I did. It having been occupied but two or three years previously by the Royal Italian Opera, I considered the locale would be perfectly suited for my purpose. I thereupon started off to Paris to find Mr. Lumley, from whom I now wished to secure for myself the singers still engaged to him. Mr. Lumley had unfortunately left for Marseilles. I myself started for Marseilles, but in passing Avignon I thought I saw black whiskers in the passing train resembling those of Mr. Lumley. But I was not sure. I therefore continued my journey.

"Mr. Lumley, est parti," I was told on my arrival. I returned to Paris, and was informed that he had gone to England, which I knew was not possible, except on a Sunday. This being Saturday, I determined to stop at Boulogne and make inquiries; and in the same hotel where I had conducted the negotiations some two or three years previously I found him. I soon completed my arrangements, undertaking to give him half my total gross nightly receipts in exchange for Titiens and Giuglini. I undertook to provide the whole of the expenses, with Alboni, Patti, and others among my other singers. I returned joyfully to London, and at once went to the Arundel Hotel to inform Miss Patti and Strakosch of my good luck. They did not seem overjoyed, or in any way to participate in my exuberant delight.

Maurice Strakosch told me that as their last £5 note had been spent he had been obliged to borrow £50 of Mr. Gye, which intelligence at once reduced my height by at least two inches; and after a deal of difficulty I ascertained that he had signed a receipt for the said loan in a form which really constituted an engagement for the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden.

In short, I found myself manager of the Lyceum Theatre, with an expensive Company, and with Mdlle. Patti opposed to me in the immediate vicinity at Covent Garden.

My season opened at the Lyceum on Saturday, the 8th June, 1861, the opera being Il Trovatore, "Manrico," Signor Giuglini; "Il Conte di Luna," Signor delle Sedie, the eminent baritone, who made his first appearance in England; "Ferrando," Signor Gassier; whilst "Azucena" was Mdme. Alboni, and "Leonora," Mdlle. Titiens; Arditi conducting the orchestra, which was composed of the members of the Philharmonic Society and Her Majesty's private band. On the second night I gave Lucrezia Borgia, with Giuglini, Gassier, Alboni, and Titiens in leading parts.

In the meanwhile I placed Verdi's new opera, Un Ballo in Maschera, in rehearsal in order that I might have the honour of representing it for the first time in this country; and by dint of almost superhuman effort on the part of Arditi and the principal artists, I produced it some few days before Covent Garden, although it had been in rehearsal there for over six weeks. I well recollect how, after a fatiguing performance of such an opera as Les Huguenots, Lucrezia Borgia, or Norma, Mdlle. Titiens, Giuglini, and other artists would go in the direction of Eaton Square to take supper with Signor Arditi, and at about half-past one in the morning begin rehearsing. The rehearsals terminated, the full blaze of the sun would accompany us on our way home to bed. This was done night after night.

But our efforts were rewarded by the immense success the opera achieved at its first performance.

During the first weeks of my management I had a strong counter-attraction operating against me in the shape of a large fire raging in Tooley Street, which it seemed to be the fashionable thing to go and see. Thousands attended it every evening.

Before the close of the season I gave a grand combined performance composed of excerpts from various operas—a kind of representation never popular with the British public; but, this being the last night of my season, the house was crowded from top to bottom. During the evening the choristers had banded together, threatening to refuse their services unless I complied with an exorbitant claim which I considered they had no right to make.

Prior to the curtain rising for the final section of the performance—the entire fourth act of the Huguenots—I was sent for. All reasoning with the chorus singers was useless. I therefore left the room, telling them to remain until I returned, which they promised to do. I then instructed Mdlle. Titiens and Giuglini that the "Conspirators' Chorus" ("Bénédiction des Poignards") would be left out, and that the act must commence, as it was now very late, with the entry of "Raoul" and "Valentine" for the grand duet, whereby I dispensed with the services of the chorus altogether.

No sooner did they hear that the opera was proceeding than they one and all surrendered. I, however, had the pleasure of telling them that I should never require one of them again—and I never did.

This really was the origin, now common at both Opera-houses, of the introduction of choristers from Italy. I may mention that the members of my refractory chorus were people who had been some thirty or forty years, or even longer, at the Opera-houses and other theatres in London, and it was really an excellent opportunity for dispensing with their services.

At the close of the opera season, on balancing my accounts, I found myself a loser of some £1,800. Thereupon, I resolved to carry on the Opera again in a larger locale next year in order that I might get straight; vowing, as the Monte Carlo gambler constantly does, that as soon as I got quite straight I would stop, and never play again. I have been endeavouring during the last thirty years to get straight, and still hope to do so.

CHAPTER IV.

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.

CHAPTER V.

RUNNING OVER A TENOR—TITIENS IN ITALY—CASHING A CHEQUE AT NAPLES—A NEAPOLITAN BALL—APPROACHING A MINISTER—RETURN TO LONDON.

ONE afternoon about four o'clock, during the month of November, 1862, Giuglini sent word that he would be unable to sing the part of "Lionel" in Martha that evening, having had some dispute at home. All my persuasion was useless; nothing would induce him, and as at that period of the year there were no tenors to be found in London, I was at my wits' ends to know what to do, and I ultimately decided to close the theatre, having no alternative. I therefore got into a hansom and drove off to inform Mdme. Trebelli, also Mdlle. Titiens, who was dining at her house, that there would be no need of their coming down.

On turning the corner of the Haymarket, Piccadilly, the horse's head struck a gentleman and forced him back on to the pavement. The cab was stopped, and a policeman came up. The gentleman was not, however, injured, and to my great astonishment he turned out to be an English tenor, who had been lately in Italy. On learning this I politely took him into my cab and inquired what had brought him back to England. He said that he had been performing at various Italian theatres, and that he was now very desirous of obtaining a début in this country.

I at once informed him that nothing could be easier, and that it would be best for him to make his appearance immediately, without any further preparation, for thus he would have no time to reflect and get nervous. I then quite casually, as we were going along, asked him if he knew the opera of Martha, to which he replied that he knew nothing of the music and had never seen the work. This for the moment wrecked all my hopes as to saving my receipts that evening, the booking for which exceeded £600.

My impulse was to stop the cab and put him out; but first I sang to him a few bars of M'appari. This romance he said he knew, having occasionally sung it at concerts, but always with the English words. I thought no more of ejecting him from the cab, and continued my drive up to St. John's Wood.

On my relating to Mdlle. Titiens and Mdme. Trebelli how by good luck I had nearly run over a tenor they both said it was useless to think of attempting any performance.

I assured, however, my newly-caught tenor that if he would only be guided by me and appear forthwith he would make a great success. I at once set to work and showed him the stage business in the drawing-room, requesting Mdme. Trebelli to go through the acting of the part of "Nancy," and Mdlle. Titiens through that of "Martha." I explained to the tenor that on entering he merely had to come on with his friend "Plunkett," go to the inn table, seat himself, drink as much beer as he liked, and at a given signal hand over the shilling to enlist the services of "Martha" at the Richmond Fair, after which he would drive her away in a cart. This would complete Act I.

In Act II. he simply had to enter the cottage leading "Martha," and afterwards to attempt to spin (two drawing-room chairs served as spinning wheels), until at last the wheels would be taken away by the two ladies. When the spinning quartet began he was merely to laugh heartily and appear joyous. In the third act I explained that he might sing his song provided always that he confined himself to Italian words. It did not much matter, in view of the public, what he sang if he only kept clear of English; and I advised him to keep repeating M'appari as often as he felt inclined. This he did, and in consequence of a printed apology which I had previously circulated in the theatre, to the effect that Signor Giuglini had refused his services without assigning any reason, my new tenor was warmly applauded, receiving for his principal air a double encore, and afterwards a recall. In the last act there was, of course, nothing for him to do, and the newspapers of the next morning were unanimous in his praise.

The singer who rendered me these services was Mr. George Bolton, who some years later (his voice having by that time become a baritone) played with great success the part of "Petruchio" to Minnie Hauk's "Katherine" in Goetz's Taming of the Shrew.

In the course of the season, which ended about the 18th December, I had accepted an engagement for Mdlle. Titiens to sing at the San Carlo of Naples. The contract was made direct with the Prefect, at the recommendation of the "Commissione." The leading soprano engaged by the manager had not given satisfaction, and the "Commissione" had the power, before handing over the subvention, of insisting on the engagement of a capable artist so as to restore the fortunes of the establishment.

Naturally, then, on my arrival with the great prima donna every possible difficulty was thrown in our way. At length the début took place, when Titiens appeared as "Lucrezia Borgia." The vast theatre was crowded from floor to ceiling, the first four rows of stalls being occupied by the most critical "cognoscenti," who literally watched every breath and every phrase, ready in case of need to express hostile opinions. At length the boat came on, and "Lucrezia" stepped on to the stage amidst the most solemn silence; and it was not until the close of the cabaletta, of the first aria that the public manifested its approbation, when it seemed as if a revolution were taking place. Mdlle. Titiens' success went on increasing nightly, and the theatre was proportionately crowded.

I recollect on one occasion after I had made four or five applications to the Prefect for the money payable for the lady's services he handed me a cheque the size of a sheet of foolscap paper. The amount was £800 for her first eight nights' services. On presenting myself at the bank I was referred from one desk to another, until I was told that I must see the chief cashier, who had gone out to smoke a cigar, and would not return that day. I went again the following day, and after waiting a considerable time at length saw him, when he told me to go to a certain counter in the bank where I should be paid.

I endorsed the cheque in the presence of the cashier, who told me, however, that he could not hand me the money for it unless my signature was verified by the British Consul. On going to the British Consul I found that he had gone to Rome, and would not be back for a couple of days. At length I obtained the official verification of the signature, and presented myself for the seventh time at the bank, when I was invited by the cashier to go down into the cellars, where a man told me off the amount in bags of silver ducats, which he drew from a large iron grating. He did not count the sacks he was giving me, but only those remaining behind; which left me one bag short. This he did not care for; he only wanted his own remainder to be right.

Eventually the manager of the bank insisted on my having the amount stated in the cheque, and I was then left to myself, surrounded by my bags, with no porters to move them for me.

On my returning to the manager, who was very polite, and telling him that I wished for the money in gold napoleons, he said it would be very difficult, and that in the first place I must hire men to carry the bags of silver up into the gold department. Thereupon I bargained with four ill-looking individuals who were brought in out of the streets, and who moved the bags at my risk to the gold department, when a vast premium had to be paid. On my leaving the bank with the gold I saw my four lazzaroni who had helped to move the silver, with hundreds of others, all extending their hands and following me.

I drove with difficulty to the British Consul, who happened to be a banker, followed by this vast multitude; for such a sum of money had not been seen for a long time in or about Naples. I had now to pay another large premium to get a bill on London for my gold, and this concluded the matter, which had occupied me altogether seven days and a half.

After the next payment had become due I went three or four times to the Prefect, but could never find him. One day, however, about twelve o'clock, I was told he was within, but that he had a headache, and could not see anyone. I nevertheless insisted on the necessity of his receiving me, saying that otherwise the night's performance at the San Carlo might be jeopardized. I was invited upstairs, where his Excellency was eating macaroni in the grand ball-room, lying on a sofa, which had served as a bed, he having returned home too late to mount the stairs, whilst about eighty Bersaglieri were rehearsing a selection from Rigoletto for a ball he was going to give that evening. The sound was deafening.

The Prefect was very polite, and gave me another of those large cheques, which with a little manipulation I induced the British Consul to change, and get me a bill for it. The Prefect invited me very courteously to the ball he was giving, at which over 2,000 persons were present. It was a most magnificent affair, the four angles of the large room being occupied by wild boars roasted whole (with sundry fruits, wines, etc.), to which the guests after every dance or two helped themselves, and then continued their dancing.

At that time I was very anxious to secure the lease of the San Carlo Opera-house, and by the aid of my friend the Prefect so far advanced the matter, that it wanted but the sanction of the Minister at Turin to complete it. The pay-sheet of the orchestra contained over 150 names, but as the salaries varied from six to eight shillings a week I made no objection to this. The heaviest salary was that of the conductor Mercadante (composer of Il Giuramento, &c.), who received £5 a week.

On leaving Naples I went to Turin to present myself to the Marquis Braham, but before I could get my card forwarded, even to the first room, I was obliged to make a monetary advance. On reaching the second room I was referred to another room on the entresol. It was impossible to gain entrance, or even get my card sent further, without the help of a napoleon. On going into the fourth room another tax was laid upon me, and it being evening I thought it better to go home and reserve my money offerings towards meeting the Marquis Braham until the next day. I returned, armed with sundry five-franc pieces and napoleons; but it was not until the fourth day, when I gave an extra douceur, that I could approach him at all. It then appeared that someone had anticipated me, and I was recommended to wait another year. I left for England, and the matter dropped.

CHAPTER VI.

PRODUCTION OF GOUNOD'S "FAUST"—APATHY OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC—A MANAGERIAL DEVICE—DAMASK CRUMB CLOTH AND CHINTZ HANGINGS—HEROIC ATTITUDE OF A DYING TENOR—PRAYERS TO A PORTMANTEAU.

ON my return from Italy I set to work preparing for my grand London season of 1863, and entered into several important engagements. About this time I was told of an opera well worthy of my attention which was being performed at the Théâtre Lyrique of Paris. I started to see it, and at once decided that Gounod's Faust—the work in question—possessed all the qualities necessary for a success in this country. On inquiry I found that Mr. Thomas Chappell, the well-known music publisher, had acquired the opera for England. The late Mr. Frank Chappell, on the part of his brother, but acting in some measure on his own responsibility, had bought the Faust music for reproduction in England from M. Choudens, of Paris; and I have heard not only that he acquired this privilege for the small sum of £40 (1,000 francs), but moreover that he was remonstrated with on his return home for making so poor a purchase.

The music of an opera is worth nothing until the opera itself has become known, and Messrs. Chappell opened negotiations with Mr. Frederick Gye for the production of Faust at the Royal Italian Opera. The work, however, had not made much impression at the Théâtre Lyrique, and Mr. Gye, after going to Paris specially to hear it, assured his stage manager, the late Mr. Augustus Harris, who had formed a better opinion of Gounod's music than was entertained by his chief, that there was nothing in it except the "Chorus of Soldiers." After due consideration Mr. Gye refused to have anything to do with Faust, and the prospect of this opera's being performed in London was not improved by the fact that, in the Italian version, it had failed at Milan.

Meanwhile I had heard Faust at the Théâtre Lyrique, and, much struck by the beauty of the music, felt convinced that the work had only to be fitly presented to achieve forthwith an immense success in London. Mr. Chappell was ready to give £200 towards the cost of its production, and he further agreed to pay me £200 more after four representations, besides a further payment after ten representations.

Certain that I had secured a treasure, I went to Paris and bought from M. Choudens a copy of the score, the orchestral parts, and the right for myself personally of performing the work whenever I might think fit in England. I then visited Gounod, who for £100 agreed to come over and superintend the production of what he justly declared to be his masterpiece.

I was at that time (as indeed I always was when anything important had to be done) my own stage manager. My orchestral conductor was Arditi; Titiens undertook the part of "Margherita;" Giuglini that of "Faust;" Trebelli was "Siebel;" Gassier "Mephistopheles;" and Santley "Valentine."

Far from carrying out his agreement as to superintending the production of the work, Gounod did not arrive in London until nearly seven o'clock on the night of production; and all I heard from him was that he wanted a good pit box in the centre of the house. With this, for reasons which I will at once explain, I had no difficulty whatever in providing him.

One afternoon, a few days before the day fixed for the production of the opera, I looked in upon Mr. Nugent at the box-office and asked how the sale of places was going on.

"Very badly indeed," he replied.

Only thirty pounds' worth of seats had been taken.

This presaged a dismal failure, and I had set my mind upon a brilliant success. I told Mr. Nugent in the first place that I had decided to announce Faust for four nights in succession. He thought I must be mad, and assured me that one night's performance would be more than enough, and that to persist in offering to the public a work in which it took no interest was surely a deplorable mistake.

I told him that not only should the opera be played for four nights in succession, but that for the first three out of these four not one place was to be sold beyond those already disposed of. That there might be no mistake about the matter, I had all the remaining tickets for the three nights in question collected and put away in several carpet bags, which I took home with me that I might distribute them far and wide throughout the Metropolis and the Metropolitan suburbs. At last, after a prodigious outlay in envelopes, and above all postage stamps, nearly the whole mass of tickets for the three nights had been carefully given away.

I at the same time advertised in the Times that in consequence of a death in the family, two stalls secured for the first representation of Faust—the opera which was exciting so much interest that all places for the first three representations had been bought up—could be had at twenty-five shillings each, being but a small advance on the box-office prices. The stalls thus liberally offered were on sale at the shop of Mr. Phillips, the jeweller, in Cockspur Street, and I told Mr. Phillips that if he succeeded in selling them I would present him with three for the use of his own family. Mr. Phillips sold them three times over, and a like success was achieved by Mr. Baxter, the stationer, also in Cockspur Street.

Meanwhile demands had been made at the box-office for places, and when the would-be purchasers were told that "everything had gone," they went away and repeated it to their friends, who, in their turn, came to see whether it was quite impossible to obtain seats for the first performance of an opera which was now beginning to be seriously talked about. As the day of production approached the inquiries became more and more numerous.

"If not for the first night, there must surely be places somewhere for the second," was the cry.

Mr. Nugent and his assistants had, however, but one answer, "Everything had been sold, not only for the first night, but also for the two following ones."

The first representation took place on June 11th, and the work was received with applause, if not with enthusiasm. I had arranged for Gounod to be recalled; and he appeared several times on the stage, much, I think, to the annoyance of Arditi, to whom the credit of a good ensemble and a fine performance generally was justly due. The opinions expressed by several distinguished amateurs as to the merits of Gounod's admirable work were rather amusing. The late Lord Dudley said that the only striking pieces in the opera were the "Old Men's Chorus" and the "Soldiers' March;" which was going a step beyond Mr. Gye, who had seen nothing in the work but the "Soldiers' Chorus."

Another noble lord, when I asked him what he thought of Faust, replied—

"This demand is most premature. How am I to answer you until I have talked to my friends and read the criticisms in the morning papers?"

The paucity of measured tunes in the opera—which is melodious from beginning to end—caused many persons to say that it was wanting in melody.

The second night Faust was received more warmly than on the first, and at each succeeding representation it gained additional favour, until after the third performance the paying public, burning with desire to see a work from which they had hitherto been debarred, filled the theatre night after night. No further device was necessary for stimulating its curiosity; and the work was now to please and delight successive audiences by its own incontestable merit. It was given for ten nights in succession, and was constantly repeated until the termination of the season.

So successful was Faust at Her Majesty's Theatre that Mr. Gye resolved to produce it at once; and he succeeded in getting it out by July 2nd.

The following was the cast of the work at the Royal Italian Opera:—"Margherita," Miolan-Carvalho (the creator of the part at the Théâtre Lyrique); "Siebel," Nantier Didiée; "Mephistopheles," Faure; "Valentine," Graziani; "Faust," Tamberlik.

The success of Faust at the Royal Italian Opera was so great that it enabled the manager to keep his theatre open until long beyond the usual period. On the 15th May of the following year Faust was reproduced with Mdlle. Pauline Lucca and Signor Mario in place of Madame Miolan-Carvalho and Signor Tamberlik. Three weeks afterwards, June 7th, the part of "Margherita" was assumed for the first time by Adelina Patti.

Mr. Gye, who had purchased of M. Gounod "exclusive rights" over the work, sent to inform me that he did not wish to interfere with my arrangements during the season already begun, but that for each performance given at Her Majesty's Theatre he should expect in future to be paid, and that meanwhile he had a claim against me of £800 for performance of the work given in London and the provinces during 1863 and 1864. I, of course, resisted this extraordinary pretention on the part of Mr. Gye; for, as the reader has already been informed, I had, before producing Faust, purchased from the Paris publishers the right of performing it wherever I personally might think fit. Mr. Gye brought his action, of which the result was to establish the fact, painful enough for M. Gounod, that, owing to some defect in regard to registration, no exclusive rights of performance could be secured for Faust in England by anyone.

After the close of the season of 1863 I made a concert tour in the autumn, a recital of Faust being the chief attraction. The company comprised Mdlle. Titiens, Mdme. Trebelli, Mdlle. Volpini, Signor Bettini—who had just married Trebelli—and Signor Volpini. After we had been out about two or three weeks Signor Volpini became very ill, and whilst at Birmingham sent for a leading physician, who, on examining him, said he would require a deal of attention, but that he hoped to bring him round in about a couple of weeks. The patient replied that on no account would he separate himself from his wife, who had to travel to some fresh city daily, but that the doctor must do what he could for him until he left the following morning with the Company. This he insisted upon doing.

From Birmingham we went to Bristol, and on arriving the sick tenor was at once put to bed and the leading physician sent for, who, on examining him, asked who had been attending him. On the name of the Birmingham physician being mentioned, the Bristol physician rejoined: "A very able man. One of the very first in the profession." The patient had been in good hands.

But on seeing the last prescription the doctor was astonished that his predecessor should have written such a thing; in fact, he could scarcely believe it, and it was fortunate for the patient he had left Birmingham and come to place himself under his care.

The patient informed the physician that on no account could he part from his wife, and that he would have to move off with the Company the following morning to Exeter.

From Exeter we went to Plymouth, from Plymouth to Bath, from Bath to Oxford, and so on during a space of some two or three weeks, the sick tenor being carried from the hotel to the railway and from the railway to the hotel, and each medical man of eminence making the same observations with regard to his esteemed colleague in the previous town; each one exclaiming that had Volpini remained in the previous city he must have died. He was carried to London, and there he remained, as all thought, on his death-bed, at the Hôtel Previtali, Panton Square. He was not yet, however, destined to die, and, as I am about to relate, it was a miracle that saved his life.

About this time I had engaged Sims Reeves to sing the rôle of "Faust" on certain evenings at Her Majesty's Theatre, and one day received a telegram from the eminent tenor, dated "Crewe," expressing his astonishment that I had announced him for that evening, when the engagement was for the following one.

I at once went off to Sims Reeves's house, and learned from the butler that his dinner had been ordered for half-past seven o'clock. I thereupon informed the man that the orders had been changed, and that the dinner was to be served at twelve o'clock instead of the time originally fixed. I ascertained that Mr. Reeves was to arrive at Euston Station, and there met him, accompanied by Mrs. Sims Reeves.

While she was busying herself about the general arrangements, I got the tenor to myself and told him the difficulty I was in, to which he replied that it was quite impossible for him to sing that evening, as he had ordered his dinner at home. I at once explained that I had postponed it for a few hours, and that a light dinner was being prepared for him in his dressing-room at the theatre.

The suddenness of my proposition seemed rather to amuse him, as he laughed; and I was delighted to get a kind of half-promise from him that, provided I mentioned the matter to his wife, he would consent.

At this moment she appeared, asking me what I was talking about to her husband. One of us began to state what the object in view was, when she exclaimed—

"It's all nonsense; but I can well understand. Mapleson is an impresario, and wants to ruin you by making you sing."

She then asked me how I could possibly think of such a thing when the chintz and the crumbcloth of his dressing-room had not been fixed?

It was the custom of Mrs. Reeves to hang the walls with new chintz and place a fresh-mangled white damask cloth on the floor the nights her husband sang; and on this occasion the sacred hangings had gone to the wash.

I explained that I had provided other chintz, but to no effect. Reeves was hurried to his brougham and driven away, his wife remarking as she looked scornfully at me: "He's only a manager!"

It being now half-past six I was in a nice state of mind as to how I could possibly replace the great tenor in Faust. Signor Bettini, it was true, had on the concert tour sung portions of the garden scene and the duet of the prison scene in the recital of Faust which we had given throughout the provinces. Signor Volpini, moreover—only he was on his death bed—knew the introduction and the trio of the duel scene. Putting all this together I decided on my course of action.

First I called on Signor Bettini, requesting him to oblige me by going to the theatre.

I next presented myself at Volpini's hotel, when I was informed that I must step very quietly and say but few words. On entering I was told by the invalid in a faint whisper that it was very kind of me to call upon him; and he wished to know whether I had really come to spend the evening with him. I told him that I had been informed on entering that my visit must be a short one.

He asked me again and again what could possibly be done to save his life, as he had tried all the doctors, but in vain. I said I would give him my advice if he would only follow it. I then assured him that he had but one chance of recovery. He must first allow me to mix him a pint of Château Lafite and a couple of raw eggs, beaten up with powdered sugar, and come down with me to the theatre, where, after drinking it, if he was to die, he could die like a man before the footlights.

A faint smile came over his pallid countenance. Of course he thought I was joking. But in due course the Château Lafite appeared, and the eggs were beaten up, and I managed to make him swallow the stimulating beverage. I put him on his flannel dressing-gown, took the blankets off the bed, and, wrapping him up in them, carried him myself in a four-wheeler down to the theatre.

I explained to him that he would have very little to do, beginning simply with the few bars of the introduction; after that nothing but the music he had been in the habit of singing on the concert tour. I explained to him that although "Mephistopheles," the Prince of Darkness, would in the eyes of the public transform him from an old man into a young one, there would be no difficulty about this inasmuch as Bettini would continue the part. Later on he could sing the trio in the duel scene, where with his lovely voice a great effect would be produced.

The long and short of it was I induced him to dress; and all now seemed in good order. I explained the matter to Titiens, Trebelli, and Arditi; and as I had not touched a particle of food since nine o'clock that morning, I went next door to Epitaux's, where I ordered a very small repast, pending the commencement of the opera.

I had hardly seated myself at the table when my servant rushed in, stating that there was a general row going on amongst the artists, and that they were all going home. The doors of the theatre had been opened, and the apology for the absence of Sims Reeves, which I had posted on the outer doors, had been accepted by the public. This was evident from the fact that over £650 of money was now in the house. The audience must be already a little irritated by the disappointment, and I knew that any further one might be attended with serious consequences. I believed that there would be a riot unless the representation took place.

On entering the stage-door I met Mdlle. Titiens, who was about to step into her carriage, going home. She told me it was useless to think of performing. This was at ten minutes past eight. I begged her to remain. I gave orders to the hall-keeper not to let anyone out of the place, and to get two policemen to assist him. I then crossed the stage to the dressing-room, where high words were going on—first between the two tenors, and afterwards between their two pretty wives. Mdme. Volpini's voice was uppermost, and I heard her say to Trebelli—

"Of course you will rejoice! My poor sick husband brought out at the risk of his life, and then simply to undertake an old man's part, with grey hair and beard concealing his beauty; whilst your husband is to come on and make all the love in the garden scene, and get all the applause."

Mdme. Trebelli responded by snapping her fingers at Mdme. Volpini, and taking her husband, despite my entreaties, from the theatre. All this excitement tended to work Volpini up; and, like a true artist, he said he would do his best—even if he had to walk through the scenes in which he was unacquainted with the music—rather than let me be disappointed.

It was now half-past eight, and the opera was on the point of commencing. This I had ordered should be done punctually. Meanwhile I had followed Mdme. Trebelli to her apartments in Regent Street. The excitement had made her quite ill, and she was totally unable to appear in consequence. I appealed forcibly to her husband, begging him if he would not sing "Faust" to help me by taking the part of "Siebel." He was a very good musician, and as at this time he never quitted his wife's side I knew that he must be intimately acquainted with the music. I thereupon got him down to the theatre in time for the garden scene, had his moustache taken off, and put him into his wife's clothes. Everything went off brilliantly, the male "Siebel" and the dying "Faust" sharing with the admirable "Margherita" the applause of the evening.

The sudden exertion, the unwonted excitement, had really the effect of saving Volpini's life; and he lived happily for many years afterwards.

During the worst stage of poor Volpini's illness, when, as already set forth, he persisted in being moved from town to town, wherever his charming wife had to go, they were both astonished one night to find that their little girl, a child of three or four years of age, had got out of bed, and apparently was praying to a large travelling trunk which accompanied them on all their journeys. Kneeling before the huge box, the little thing was heard to say: "And make my dear papa well again, or I will believe in you no more."

The explanation of this touching mystery was that the little girl had been in the habit of saying her prayers before an image of the Holy Virgin, which the family carried with them from town to town. The image, or picture, was now enclosed within the travelling trunk which had not yet been unpacked, and the affectionate child addressed it where she knew it to be.

CHAPTER VII.

GARIBALDI VISITS THE OPERA—GIUGLINI'S TROUBLE AT ST PETERSBURG—GIUGLINI VISITED BY TITIENS—ALARM OF FIRE—PRODUCTION OF "MEDEA"—GRISI'S LAST APPEARANCE—AN ENRAGED TENOR.

IN 1864 my season opened brilliantly, and on the fifth night I induced Garibaldi, who was then in this country, to visit the theatre; which filled it to overflowing. On that evening Titiens and Giuglini really surpassed themselves; and at the close of the opera Garibaldi told me he had never witnessed such a spirited performance, and that he had been quite carried away by the admirable singing of the two eminent artists. The opera was Lucrezia Borgia.

Some few nights afterwards I placed Nicolai's opera, the Merry Wives of Windsor, before the public, under the name of Falstaff, introducing a charming contralto named Bettelheim; who undertook the rôle of "Mrs. Page," whilst Titiens impersonated "Mrs. Ford," Giuglini "Fenton," Bettini "Slender," Gassier "Mr. Page," Santley "Mr. Ford," &c., &c. The magnificent new scenery was by Telbin. The opera met with most unequivocal success, and was repeated for several consecutive nights. But, as with so many other operas, the public were so slow in expressing their approbation that it gradually had to drop out of the répertoire. Shortly afterwards I produced, remounted, Beethoven's Fidelio, with Titiens as the heroine, which was given some seven or eight nights in succession to the most crowded houses. In the winter I gave my usual extra performances in the provinces and in London.

Prior to the close of the London season of 1864 Giuglini signed an engagement for St. Petersburg, receiving a very large honorarium for his services. Regarding himself as the only representative of "Faust," he had not taken the precaution of stipulating for his appearance in this, or, indeed, any other part in his répertoire. On his arrival he was much mortified to find the Covent Garden artists, of whom there were several, always working and intriguing together; and to Giuglini's great dismay the part of "Faust" was assigned to Signor Tamberlik; Patti being the "Margherita" and Nantier Didiée the "Siebel." Now passed some two or three weeks before Giuglini could obtain a début. One afternoon, about three o'clock, he was informed by the intendant that he was called upon to perform the rôle of "Faust," Tamberlik being taken suddenly ill. This was indeed good news, and he set about arranging his costumes and looking over the music. Towards six o'clock he heard it rumoured that Madame Patti would be too indisposed to sing the rôle of "Margherita," and that he would have to appear with some débutante.

This thoroughly unnerved him, and he himself became indisposed, which he at once notified to the intendant. At the advice of some friends he was induced to take a walk, and pay a visit to some acquaintances to spend the evening.

About ten o'clock the door was rudely opened without any warning, and an employé entered, accompanied by two officials, one of whom politely raised his hat and said, "Signor Giuglini, I believe?" to which the Signor replied that he was Giuglini. They thereupon immediately left. Nothing more was heard of this matter until about a fortnight afterwards. It being pay day for the principal artists, that afternoon the Imperial Treasurer called at Giuglini's house with a roll of rouble notes, requesting him to sign the receipt for his month's pay, which Giuglini at once did. But on leaving, the treasurer begged to draw his attention to the notes, as a deduction of £150 had been made from his monthly stipend in consequence of his having left the house on the day he was reported to be indisposed. He got into a towering fit of rage, requesting the balance to be handed to him, as he was allowed certain days of indisposition according to the terms of his contract. The treasurer replied that according to the provisions of that clause he should have remained at home in his house on the day of his reported illness. The arguments became very warm, and Giuglini, in a fit of rage, threw the whole bundle of rouble notes into the stove, which was then burning; and from that moment his reason seemed to have left him.

On the termination of my spring concert tour in 1865 we began a season of opera in the beginning of March at Dublin, Giuglini promising to join us at the conclusion of his St. Petersburg engagement, which ended about that time.

One morning at breakfast I received a telegram from London: "Come on at once. Giuglini arrived." I was indeed delighted, and, having notified the good news to the Dublin press, left immediately for London. On my arrival at Giuglini's house in Welbeck Street I was told that he was very much indisposed in consequence of the fatigues of the journey, and that his mind did not seem quite right. I went upstairs to him at once. He was very pleased to see me, but to my astonishment he had no trousers on. Otherwise he was all right.

I talked with him some time, and advised him to put on the necessary garment, so that we might start that evening for Dublin. By force of persuasion I at last obtained his consent to let me put his trousers on for him, and in the course of an hour succeeded in getting one leg in. I then ordered some oysters for him, and talked to him whilst I was coaxing in the other leg. This I at length managed to do, when to my horror I found the first leg had come out again. After wasting the whole of the day I found myself too late to catch the Irish mail, and the Signor still with one leg only in his pantaloons.

Whilst Giuglini was sleeping I inquired as to the full particulars of his condition, and was informed that he had arrived from St. Petersburg in charge of a hired courier, who simply wanted a receipt for him. At the same time his magnificent fur coats and other costly clothing were all missing. He had made the journey in second-class, wearing a summer suit although it was the depth of winter; and on examining his jewel case I found that the stones had been taken out of everything he possessed, although the articles themselves were there. It was indeed a sad affair. I was advised to place him for a short time under the care of Dr. Tuke, and I had then to hurry back to Ireland.

On my return to London I went to pay Giuglini a visit at Chiswick, Mdlle. Titiens insisting on accompanying me. We waited some time during which we were particularly cautioned not to approach him. At length he entered; he was delighted to see us and talked quite rationally. We persuaded the doctor to allow us to take him for a drive, the signor at the same time expressing a wish to be driven to the Star and Garter, at Richmond, to dine. To this the keeper, who was on the box alongside the coachman, objected, promising Giuglini that if he would return to the doctor's he should have a nice large plate of meat, which seemed greatly to please him. Giuglini had previously complained to me that he was made to drink sherry, a wine which he particularly disliked, his ordinary drink being claret or claret and water. He afterwards sang us "Spirto gentil" from the Favorita, followed by "M'appari" from Martha, singing both airs divinely. The only thing peculiar was that his tongue was drawn very much to the right, and that he had to stop after every ninth or tenth bar to straighten it.

When we got back to the doctor's Mdlle. Titiens and myself stayed to dinner. During the repast Giuglini, who had been looking forward to his plate of meat, came into the room exhibiting on a very small plate a very small piece of meat.

"Look what they have given me, Thérèse," he said to Titiens. "I am afraid to eat it," he added, in a tone of irony; "it might give me an indigestion."

My firm belief is that if I could have got both Giuglini's legs into his trousers the day that he arrived in London I should have saved him. Living something like his ordinary life, among his old companions, he would have had at least a chance of getting well.

Thus matters went on until the London season of 1865 opened, which took place on the Saturday night of the Easter week. I had made a series of improvements throughout the theatre, by reducing considerably the number of the private boxes, and enlarging those I retained. I likewise removed the twelve proscenium boxes, ten each side of the stage, thereby advancing the drop curtain some 16 feet nearer the public. This gave me much more room behind the scenes.

Amongst the new singers I introduced was Miss Laura Harris, who afterwards, as Mdme. Zagury, achieved brilliant success throughout the whole of Europe; also Mdlle. Ilma de Murska, a lady who at once took high rank from her phenomenal vocal qualities. I also presented Signor Foli, a young artist, who was engaged at the Italian Opera in Paris, and who soon became a public favourite; likewise Signor Rokitanski, another eminent basso. Despite the blow I had received in the loss of Giuglini I went to work with renewed energies, and presented to the public Beethoven's Fidelio, with a magnificent cast, including Titiens, the incomparable "Leonora." I, moreover, mounted in great style Mozart's Flauto Magico, Titiens being the "Pamina," Ilma de Murska the "Queen of Night," Sinico the "Papagena," and Santley the "Papageno;" whilst the subordinate parts were all undertaken by principal artists.

During the last act an accident occurred, which might have been very serious, inasmuch as the house was crowded from the stalls right up to the back of the gallery. In preparing for the final scene some of the gauze, which had been used for clouds during the evening, caught fire over the gas battens. Instantly the alarm was given, when one of the flymen, at the risk of his neck, flung himself across the stage, balancing himself on a "batten" (a narrow strip of wood, some forty feet long), while he cut the ropes with his knife, causing the burning gauze to fall down on to the stage, where it was extinguished by the firemen. Mr. Santley, who was undertaking the rôle of the "Bird-catcher," remained on the stage unmoved. He walked forward to the audience, and addressed them in these eloquent words—

"Don't act like a lot of fools. It's nothing."

This speech had an immediate effect; and Santley continued his song as if nothing had happened. But for his presence of mind the loss of life would have been most serious.

I likewise produced Cherubini's tragic opera, Medea; a work considered by musical amateurs one of the finest dramatic compositions ever written. No musician ever exercised more influence on his art than Cherubini. His compositions are of the first authority, so that no musical library, whether of the professor or the amateur, can claim to be considered complete without them. The part of "Medea" was represented by Mdlle. Titiens. In assuming this rôle Mdlle. Titiens certainly added the final touch of lustre to her lyric crown. I need scarcely say the opera was magnificently mounted, even to the smallest detail. It was particularly successful, and still retains its place in the répertoire. I was interested to find in what large numbers the relatives and descendants of Cherubini were attracted to my theatre by the announcement of his Medea. Naturally they all expected free admissions, even to great-grandchildren and third cousins.

The season was a very successful one. In the autumn I started the regular provincial opera tour, Mario being my principal tenor, vice Giuglini. We commenced in Manchester, where Mario's unrivalled performances in Faust, Rigoletto, Martha, Ballo in Maschera, and Don Giovanni attracted crowded houses. We afterwards visited Dublin, proceeding thence to Belfast, Liverpool, etc., terminating, as usual, about Christmas.

In the early part of January, 1866, I made a very successful concert tour, giving no less than one hundred and twenty concerts in some seventy cities in sixty successive days, with two very strong parties: Titiens, Trebelli, Santley, Stagno, and Bossi in one; and Grisi, Lablache, Mario, Foli, and Arditi in the other; ending up with a brilliant series of operas with casts combined from the two parties in the northern capital and at Glasgow, where Mdme. Grisi distinguished herself in the rôles of "Lucrezia Borgia," "Norma," "Donna Anna," etc.

Thus matters went on until the London season. On each occasion when I visited Giuglini I found no improvement, and it was ultimately decided that a sea trip might benefit him. He, therefore, left London in a sailing ship for Italy. I never saw him afterwards. I need scarcely add that his loss was irreparable.

I opened my London season of 1866 early in April, for which I engaged a very powerful Company, including Mdme. Grisi. I announced her engagement in the following terms:—

"Mr. Mapleson has the gratification to announce that he has prevailed on Mdme. Grisi to revisit the scene of her early triumphs, and again to appear at the Theatre, her previous connection with which formed one of the most brilliant epochs in operatic history. Mdme. Grisi will once more undertake some of the parts which she created, and in her impersonations of which will be revived the traditions obtained direct from Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini. These representations can only extend for a few nights, and they will derive additional interest from the fact that Mdlle. Titiens has consented to take part in them as a mark of respect to one who for so many years reigned absolutely without a rival on the lyric stage."

I was justified in making this announcement in consequence of the magnificent style in which Mdme. Grisi had been singing during our spring opera tour.

Grisi seemed interested and affected by her return to the old house of which she had taken leave twenty years previously. The old habitués came in large numbers to see her, to hear her, and naturally to support her with their applause on her first (which proved also to be her last) appearance. This took place on the evening of May 5, 1866. The Prince and Princess of Wales were both present.

When the gondola came down, from which, in the first act of Lucrezia Borgia, the heroine makes her entry, there was breathless attention throughout the house. The great vocalist had the command of all her resources, and sang the two verses of "Com'è bello" admirably, omitting, according to her custom, the cabaletta, which Titiens and all other "Lucrezias" made a point of giving.