On the 29th October, being the centenary of Mozart's Don Giovanni, I was determined to celebrate the event with due circumstance; and the great opera was given with the following very efficient cast:—"Donna Anna," Mdlle. Louise Dotti; "Donna Elvira," Mdme. Rolla; "Zerlina," Mdme. Minnie Hauk; "Don Ottavio," Signor Ravelli; "Leporello," Signor Caracciolo; "Il Commendatore," M. Abramoff; "Masetto," Signor Rinaldini; and "Don Giovanni," Signor Padilla; conductor, Signor Arditi.
I had arranged at the close of the first act to place a bust of Mozart on the stage, executing at the same time the grand chorus of the Magic Flute while the High Sheriff of the County crowned the immortal composer. Alas! there was no bust of Mozart to be obtained. But the property-man reported that he had one of Parnell, which, by the removal of the beard and some other manipulation, could be made to resemble Mozart. The High Sheriff having declined to perform the ceremony in connection with the bust of Parnell, the Mayor of Cork immediately volunteered to replace him. The public soon got wind of what was going on; and, fearing a popular commotion—as this very day the city had been proclaimed in consequence of the Land League meetings—I had to content myself with performing the opera as Mozart originally intended.
The part of the dissolute "Don" was superbly rendered by Signor Padilla, the eminent Spanish baritone, whose appearance reminded me forcibly of Mario. He had just returned from Prague, where Mozart's centenary had been duly celebrated, the whole of the arrangements having been left in his hands. He told me many interesting stories concerning his researches in the museums and libraries that had been placed by the Government at his disposal during his stay there, which extended over some five or six weeks. He succeeded in ascertaining the correct date of the original production of Don Giovanni at Prague. The authorities in Paris insisted that it had been first performed on the 27th October, 1787, and they even went so far as to regulate their centenary performance by that day. Signor Padilla, however, obtained the original play-bill from the National Library, in which it was clearly set forth that Il Don Giovanni, Ossia, Il Dissoluto Punito was first produced on the 29th day of October, 1787.
In my representation the absurd scene of "Don Giovanni" surrounded by a lot of stage demons flashing their torches of resin all over him was, of course, omitted. He simply went below in the hands of the Uomo di Pietra.
This reminds me of an amateur operatic performance we once had at Woolwich, in which I took part for the benefit of some regimental charities.
I was dining at my Club with some friends when the performance was first suggested. It was decided to give Rigoletto, in which I was asked to undertake the part of the Duke; this to be followed by the last act of Don Giovanni.
I, of course, said "Yes," as I usually do to everything; and before the dinner was over so many bets had been made on the question whether or not I would appear as the "Duke of Mantua" that, on making up my book, I found I must either play the arduous part or pay some £300 or £400. I determined on the former course.
I, of course, kept the matter a profound secret from all connected with my theatre. On the night of the performance, on the rising of the curtain, I was horrified in the midst of my first aria at seeing Mdme. Titiens, Mdme. Trebelli, Sir Michael Costa, and Adelina Patti amongst the audience; and it required some nerve to pull myself together and continue the part. I succeeded, however, in obtaining the customary encore for the "La donna è mobile" and for the quartett; and on the whole I believe I acquitted myself well. So, at least, said the notices which, to my astonishment, appeared next morning in the daily papers.
A catastrophe occurred at the close of the last scene, where the late Colonel Goodenough, in the character of "Rigoletto," had to mourn over the corpse of the murdered "Gilda." At the rehearsal a man had been placed in the sack, but he was too heavy to be dragged out; and, as Colonel Goodenough was very nervous, the property-man made the sack lighter by placing inside some straw and two large bladders full of air. Just as the curtain was descending Goodenough, who was a very heavy man, threw himself for the final lament on to the corpse of his daughter, when a loud explosion took place, one of the bladders having burst.
The performance concluded with the last act of Don Giovanni, in which Colonel Stracey undertook the part of the dissolute "Don." The demons were gunners from the Royal Artillery. It was most ludicrous, every time the Colonel gave the slightest stage direction as to where these men were to go and when they were to take hold of him and carry him down, to see the eight demons all give the military salute at the same time. Stracey told them not to salute him, on which they said "No, Colonel!" and gave another salute.