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.