We remained at Boston two weeks, concluding, what was then supposed to be Patti's positive farewell to the Bostonians, with a magnificent performance of Linda di Chamouni.
At the conclusion of a representation of Mirella given the following morning we started for Philadelphia, where we had a very remunerative season, the house being crowded nightly to the ceiling.
The American theatres are much better kept than ours. They are dusted and cleaned every day, so that a lady in America can go to the play or to the opera without the least danger of getting her dress spoiled; which in England, if the dress be of delicate material, she scarcely can do. The American theatres, moreover, are beautifully warmed during the winter months; so that the risk of bronchitis and inflammation of the lungs to which the enterprising theatre-goers of our own country are exposed has in the United States no existence.
Apart from the risk of getting her dress injured by dirt or dust, a lady has no inducement to wear a handsome toilette at a London Opera-house, where the high-fronted boxes with their ridiculous curtains prevent the dresses from being seen. At the American Opera-houses the boxes are not constructed in the Italian, but in the French style. They are open in front, that is to say, so that those who occupy them can not only see, but be seen. As for the curtains, they are neither a French nor an Italian, but exclusively an English peculiarity. What possible use can they serve? They have absolutely no effect but to deaden the sound.
An interesting feature in every American Opera-house is the young ladies' box—a sort of omnibus box to which young ladies alone subscribe. The gentlemen who are privileged to visit them in the course of the evening are also allowed full liberty to supply them with bouquets, which are always of the most delicate and most expensive kind—costing in winter from £4 to £5 a-piece. The front of the young ladies' box is kept constantly furnished with the most beautiful flowers that love can suggest or money buy; and if, as it frequently does, it occurs to one or more of the young ladies to throw a few of the bouquets to the singers on the stage, their friends and admirers are expected at once to fill up the gaps.
Whilst at Philadelphia the head-waiter of the hotel informed me that a very grand concert was to take place, for which it was difficult to obtain tickets, but that a prima donna would sing there whom he considered worthy of my attention. In due course he got me a ticket, and I attended the concert, which was held in one of the extreme quarters of the city. On entering I was quite surprised to find an audience of some 1,500 or 2,000, who were all black, I being the only white man present. I must say I was amply repaid for the trouble I had taken, as the music was all of the first order.
In the course of the concert the prima donna appeared, gorgeously attired in a white satin dress, with feathers in her hair, and a magnificent diamond necklace and earrings. She moreover wore white kid gloves, which nearly went to the full extent of her arm, leaving but a small space of some four inches between her sleeve and the top of her glove. Her skin being black, formed, of course, an extraordinary contrast with the white kid.
She sang the Shadow Song from Dinorah delightfully, and in reply to a general encore gave the valse from the Romeo and Juliet of Gounod. In fact no better singing have I heard. The prima donna rejoiced in the name of Mdlle. Selika. Shortly afterwards a young baritone appeared and sang the "Bellringer," so as to remind me forcibly of Santley in his best days. I immediately resolved upon offering him an engagement to appear at the Opera-house in London as "Renato" in Un Ballo in Maschera, whom Verdi, in one version of the opera, intended to be a coloured man; afterwards to perform "Nelusko" in L'Africaine, and "Amonasro" in Aida. Feeling certain of his success, I intended painting him white for the other operas.
After some negotiation I was unable to complete the arrangement. He preferred to remain a star where he was.
After the final performance of our Philadelphia engagement we started at about 3 a.m. with the whole Company for New Orleans, our special train being timed to reach that city by the following Sunday. On arriving at Louisville the gauge was broken, and the track became narrow gauge, which necessitated the slinging of every one of my grand carriages to have new trollies put under them to fit the smaller gauge. This was so skilfully managed whilst the artists were asleep that they were unaware of the operation.