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.