Sixty years ago, since which time we are supposed to have made progress in musical as in other matters, the Royal Academy of Music, which has produced so many excellent singers, instrumentalists, and composers, was intimately connected with the King's Theatre. Its students sang in the Opera chorus, and every fortnight gave performances of their own, at which leading vocalists, choristers, and orchestra were exclusively from the Academy. These performances took place in the King's Concert Room, a sort of annexe to the theatre in which the performances of Italian Opera were given.
Nor in those days were singers who happened to be English ashamed to call themselves by their own names. The present custom of Italianizing English names as the only process by which they can be made fit for presentation to the public is much more modern than is generally known. Even in our own time two admirable vocalists, Mr. Sims Reeves and Mr. Santley, have had the manliness to reject all suggestions for Italianizing their names. The foreign musicians, often of the highest eminence, who have settled amongst us, seem, on the other hand, to have taken a pride in passing themselves off as Englishmen. Handel is always called in the bills of the period Mr. Handel; Costa (until he was knighted) was always Mr. Costa; Hallé (until he also was knighted) Mr. Hallé; Benedict (until the moment when he was empowered to adopt the "Sir"), Mr. Benedict; Herren Karl Rosa, August Manns, Alberto Randegger, Wilhelm Ganz, and Wilhelm Kuhe (whose knighthood has not yet reached them), are Mr. Carl Rosa, Mr. Manns, Mr. Randegger, Mr. Ganz, and Mr. Kuhe. It cannot be a disgrace even for a musician to be an Englishman, or so many foreign musicians of eminence would not so readily have called themselves "Mr."
An English vocalist, on the other hand, will not hesitate to pass himself off, so far as a name can assist him in his enterprise, as some sort of foreigner. My old pal, Jack Foley, becomes Signor Foli, and the Signor sticks to him through life. We have a Signor Sinclair, a name which seems to me as droll as that of Count Smith at the San Francisco Hotel. Provincial managers have often entreated me to use my influence with Mr. Santley in order to make him change his name to Signor Santalini, which they assured me would look better in the programme, and bring more money into the house. A Mr. Walker being engaged to appear at Her Majesty's Theatre, called himself on doing so Signor Valchieri (Signor Perambulatore would certainly have been better); and a well-known American singer, Mr. John Clarke, of Brooklyn, transformed himself on joining my Company into Signor Giovanni Chiari di Broccolini. The English and American young ladies who now sing in such numbers on the Italian stage take the prefix not of Signora or Signorina, but of Madame or Mademoiselle. This, also, is confusing.
CHAPTER XVII.
FIGHT WITH MR. AND MRS. RAVELLI—AN IMPROVISED PUBLIC—RAVELLI'S DANGEROUS ILLNESS—MR. RUSSELL GOLE—REAPPEARANCE OF MR. REGISTRAR HAZLITT—OFFENBACH IN ITALIAN—WHO IS THAT YOUNG MAN?—FANCELLI'S AUTOGRAPH—RISTORI'S ARISTOCRATIC HOUSEHOLD.
IN the early part of January, 1888, I gave forty-two grand concerts in forty-two different cities, commencing in Dublin, where I was placed in a position of the greatest difficulty by the non-arrival of Padilla, the baritone, Ravelli, the tenor, and my principal soloist, Van Biene, who was laid up with rheumatism; so that it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could even make a beginning. In due course Ravelli arrived, but with such a cold that he was unable to speak. I, therefore, had to proceed to the south of Ireland minus a tenor and a baritone. I succeeded, however, in replacing the instrumentalist by M. Rudersdorf, the eminent violoncellist, who resides in Dublin.
Prior to going to Belfast, towards the latter part of the week, Signor Padilla joined us, and for the next evening in Dublin all was arranged for the appearance of Ravelli, who had been living the whole week with his wife in the hotel at my expense. On notifying him to go to the concert, he replied that he must be paid a week's salary for the time during which he had been sick or he would not open his mouth. He conducted himself in so disrespectful a manner that he deserved, I told him, to be taken to the concert-room by force. I had scarcely made a movement of my hand as in explanation when he thought I was going to strike him, and made a rush at me in a most violent way, kicking up in the French style in all directions, while his wife assisted him by coming behind me with a chair.
I knew that if I injured him in the slightest degree there would be no concert that night. Meanwhile he was going full tilt at me to strike me in any way he possibly could, and it taxed my ingenuity to stop all action on his part without injuring him. It was fortunate I did so, as, after he had calmed down, seeing me in earnest, he dressed himself and went on to the concert. All this occurred only half an hour before its commencement. Afterwards Ravelli sang with comparative regularity.
Business, however, was not what it ought to have been, in consequence of the absence of favourite names from the programme. The musical excellence of my Company was beyond question, but the public must have old names of some kind or other, whether with voices or not, to ensure an audience.
We reached Leicester some four days afterwards. On the Company arriving in a body at the hotel, the hostess looked at us with amazement, and asked me if I had not come to the wrong town, since no announcement whatever had appeared as to any concert taking place. I thereupon made inquiries and found the landlady's statement to be perfectly true. All the printed matter—bills and programmes—previously sent on was discovered hidden away; and the person who had undertaken the arrangement of the concert, being in difficulties, had been unable even to announce our coming in the newspapers.