They met again in 1876, at the Walhalla in Berlin. The [p295] Hanlons were trying to mount a scene borrowed from the minstrels, the celebrated Do, mi, sol, do. They were made up like negroes.
“What can you do in this piece?” they asked Agoust.
He replied, “You have no conductor. I will place myself in the desk.”
The five Hanlons then accepted their old comrade as a partner in the place of their brother Thomas, who had died in America. Thomas Hanlon had fallen at Cincinnati whilst making the spring for life, and had broken his head against the balustrade. It had been mended somehow, but he suffered intense pain when his brothers jumped with both feet upon his head. He had complained, saying that he could not bear it, but he still continued this performance. At the end of a few months he went mad.
The brothers Hanlon were always a band of terribly hard workers. Every day, except Sunday, they rehearsed from ten in the morning, till two—and from four till six in the afternoons. When they were tired of vaulting they sat down and worked mentally.
“My boys, never drink before a performance,” George (the leader) would say to them. “After it is over, do whatever you like.”
The Hanlons were Irish, and were supposed to drink deeply sometimes after leaving the theatre. But if there were excesses they were utilised, for when they met on the following day, they related their dreams to each other and endeavoured to construct a play out of them.
Do, mi, sol, do met with extraordinary success at the Folies-Bergères. The Hanlons had been engaged for one [p296] month at a salary of £360, but the first evening after the performance, they signed an agreement for £600 per month, and played their pantomime for thirteen months running.
Do, mi, sol, do and the Journey in Switzerland were performed in Belgium and England with extraordinary success. In the latter country Agoust separated from his companions.
