At one of our pleasant annual theatre suppers, at which both gentlemen of the orchestra and chorus are present, in returning thanks for having my health proposed, I said I attributed the pleasure of being associated with them to the fact that, in the first instance, I would not let Mr. Carte have the opportunity of testing my vocal powers; for, if I had done so, I should never have effected my present engagement.
During D'Oyly Carte's visits to America, Mr. Michael Gunn, the lessee of the Dublin Theatre, and a great friend of both Carte and myself, used to act as our manager.
On one occasion Mr. Gunn had to try the voices of some candidates for the chorus. One gentleman, who called himself Signor Concertini, or some such name, sang all right; but he spoke with an affected broken-English accent, which I have found quite common amongst English foreign singers.
Mr. R. Barker, a kind but rather brusque stage-manager, addressing Signor Concertini, said:
"Look here, my boy, that accent won't do for sailors or pirates. Just give us a little less Mediterranean and a little more Whitechapel."
Mr. Gunn turned to the man and said: "What nationality are you? You don't sound Italian."
Signor Concertini suddenly dropped his accent, and, addressing Mr. Gunn in a broad Irish brogue, said:
"Sure, Mr. Gunn, I'm from the same country as yourself."
If any of the members of the chorus are absent through illness, they are supposed to bring a doctor's certificate the next day; but their word is usually taken.
One of the chorus gentlemen, a tenor, who had not distinguished himself by any great ability, but deemed his presence of infinite importance, sent a telegram to the stage manager: "Suffering from hoarseness; cannot appear to-night." I ascertained that he had informed several of his colleagues, confidentially, that he was the future Sims Reeves. I must confess, with the exception of the above telegram, I had detected no resemblance to the great tenor.