[Sidenote: A MANAGER IN THE BENCH.]

A complete History of the Opera would include a history of operatic music, a history of operatic dancing, a history of the chief operatic theatres, and a history of operatic society. I have made no attempt to treat the subject on such a grand scale; but though I shall have little to say about the princ.i.p.al lyrical theatres of Europe, or of the habits of opera-goers as a European cla.s.s, there is one great musical dramatic establishment, to whose fortunes I must pay some special attention, and concerning whose audiences much may be said that will at least interest an English reader. After several divided reigns at the Lincoln's Inn Theatre, at Covent Garden, at the Pantheon, and at the King's Theatre, Italian Opera found itself, in 1793, established solely and majestically at the last of these houses, which I need hardly remind the reader was its first home in England. The management was now exercised by Mr.

Taylor, the proprietor. This gentleman, who was originally a banker's clerk, appears to have had no qualification for his more exalted position, beyond the somewhat questionable one of a taste for speculation. He is described as having had "all Sheridan's deficiency of financial arrangement, without that extraordinary man's resources."

Nevertheless he was no bad hand at borrowing money. All the advances, however, made to him by his friends, to enable him to undertake the management of the Opera, are said to have been repaid. Mr. Ebers, his not unfriendly biographer, finds it difficult to account for this, and can only explain it by the excellent support the Opera received at the period. Mr. Taylor was what in the last century was called "a humorist."

Not that he possessed much humour, but he was a queer, eccentric man, and given to practical jokes, which, in the present day, would not be thought amusing even by the friends of those injured by them. On one occasion, Taylor having been prevailed upon to invite a number of persons to breakfast, spread a report that he intended to set them down to empty plates. He, moreover, recommended each of the guests, in an anonymous letter, to turn the tables on the would-be ingenious Taylor, by taking to the _dejeuner_ a supply of suitable provisions, so that the inhospitable inviter might be shamed and the invited enabled to feast in company, notwithstanding his machinations to the contrary. The manager enjoyed such a reputation for liberality that no one doubted the statement contained in the anonymous letter.

Each of the guests sent or took in his carriage a certain quant.i.ty of eatables, and when all had arrived, the happy Taylor found his room filled with all the materials for a monster picnic. Breakfast _had_ been prepared, the guests sat down to table, some amused, others disgusted at the hoax which had been practised upon them, and Taylor ordered the game, preserved meats, lobsters, champagne, &c., into his own larder and wine cellar.

Even while directing the affairs of the Opera, Taylor pa.s.sed a considerable portion of his time in the King's Bench, or within its "rules."

"How can you conduct the management of the King's Theatre," a friend asked him one day, "perpetually in durance as you are?"

"My dear fellow," he replied, "how could I possibly conduct it if I were at liberty? I should be eaten up, sir--devoured. Here comes a dancer,--'Mr. Taylor, I want such a dress;' another, 'I want such and such ornaments.' One singer demands to sing in a part not allotted to him; another, to have an addition to his appointments. No, let me be shut up and they go to Masterson (Taylor's secretary); he, they are aware, cannot go beyond his line; but if they get at _me_--pshaw! no man at large can manage that theatre; and in faith," he added, "no man that undertakes it ought to go at large."

Though Mr. Taylor lived within the "rules," the "rules" in no way governed him. He would frequently go away for days together into the country and amuse himself with fishing, of which he appears to have been particularly fond. At one time, while living within the "rules," he inherited a large sum of money, which he took care not to devote to the payment of his debts. He preferred investing it in land, bought an estate in the country (with good fishing), and lived for some months the quiet, peaceable life of an ardent, enthusiastic angler, until at last the sheriffs broke in upon his repose and carried him back captive to prison.

But the most extraordinary exploit performed by Taylor during the period of his supposed incarceration, was of a political nature. He went down to Hull at the time of an election and actually stood for the borough.

He was not returned--or rather he was returned to prison.

[Sidenote: THE PANTHEON.]

One way and another Mr. Taylor seems to have made a great deal of money out of the Opera; and at one time he hit upon a plan which looked at first as if it had only to be pursued with boldness to increase his income to an indefinite amount. This simple expedient consisted in raising the price of the subscribers' boxes. For the one hundred and eighty pound boxes he charged three hundred pounds, and so in proportion with all the others. A meeting of subscribers having been held, at which, although the expensive Catalani was engaged, it was decided that the proposed augmentation was not justified by the rate of the receipts and disburs.e.m.e.nts, and this decision having been communicated to Taylor, he replied, that if the subscribers resisted his just demands he would shut up their boxes. In consequence of this defiant conduct on the part of the manager, many of the subscribers withdrew from the theatre and prevailed upon Caldas, a Portuguese wine merchant, to re-open the Pantheon for the performance of concerts and all such music as could be executed without infringing the licence of the King's Theatre. The Pantheon speculation prospered at first, but the seceders from the King's Theatre missed their operas, and doubtless also their ballets. A sort of compromise was effected between them and Taylor, who persisted, however, in keeping up the price of his boxes; and the unfortunate Caldas, utterly deserted by those who had dragged him from his wine-cellars to expose him to the perils of musical speculation, became a bankrupt.

Taylor was now in his turn brought to account. Waters, his partner in the proprietorship of the King's Theatre, had been proceeding against him in Chancery, and it was ordered that the partnership should be dissolved and the house sold. To the great annoyance of the public, the first step taken in the affair was to close the theatre,--the chancellor, who is said to have had no ear for music, having refused to appoint a manager.

It was proposed by private friends that Taylor should cede his interest in the theatre to Waters; but it was difficult to bring them to any understanding on the subject, or even to arrange an interview between them. Waters prided himself on the decorum of his conduct, while Taylor appears to have aimed at quite a contrary reputation. All business transactions, prior to Taylor's arrest, had been rendered nearly impossible between them; because one would attend to no affairs on Sunday, while the other, with a just fear of writs before him, objected to show himself in London on any other day. The sight of Waters, moreover, is said to have rendered Taylor "pa.s.sionate and scurrilous;"

and while the negociations were being carried on, through intermediaries, between himself and his partner, he entered into a treaty with the lessee of the Pantheon, with the view of opening it in opposition to the King's Theatre.

Ultimately, the management of the theatre was confided, under certain restrictions, to Mr. Waters; but even now possession was not given up to him without a struggle.

[Sidenote: WITHIN THE "RULES."]

When Mr. Waters' people were refused admittance by Mr. Taylor's people, words led to blows. The adherents of the former partners, and actual enemies and rivals, fought valiantly on both sides, but luck had now turned against Taylor, and his party were defeated and ejected. That night, however, when the Watersites fancied themselves secure in their stronghold, the Taylorites attacked them; effected a breach in the stage door, stormed the pa.s.sage, gained admittance to the stage, and finally drove their enemies out into the Haymarket. The unmusical chancellor, whose opinion of the Opera could scarcely have been improved by the lawless proceeding of those connected with it, was again appealed to; and Waters established himself in the theatre by virtue of an order from the court.

The series of battles at the King's Theatre terminated with the European war. Napoleon was at Elba, Mr. Taylor still in the Bench, when Mr.

Waters opened the Opera, and, during the great season which followed the peace of 1814, gained seven thousand pounds.

Taylor appears to have ended his days in prison; profiting freely by the "rules," and when at head quarters enjoying the society of Sir John and Lady Ladd. The trio seem, on the whole, to have led a very agreeable prison life (and, though strictly forbidden to wander from the jail beyond their appointed tether, appear in many respects to have been remarkably free.) Taylor's great natural animal spirits increased with the wine he consumed; and occasionally his behaviour was such as would certainly have shocked Waters. On one occasion, his elation is said to have carried him so beyond bounds, that Lady Ladd found it expedient to empty the tea-kettle over him.

[Sidenote: MR. EBERS' MANAGEMENT.]

In 1816 the Opera, by direction of the Chancellor, (it was a fortunate thing that this time he did not order it to be pulled down,) was again put up for sale, and purchased out and out by Waters for seven thousand one hundred and fifty pounds. As the now sole proprietor was unable to pay into court even the first instalment of the purchase money,[78] he mortgaged the theatre, with a number of houses belonging to him, to Chambers the banker. Taylor, who had no longer any sort of connection with the Opera, at present amused himself by writing anonymous letters to Mr. Chambers, prophesying the ruin of Waters, and giving dismal but grotesque pictures of the manager's penniless and bailiff-persecuted position. Mr. Ebers, who was a great deal mixed up with operatic affairs before a.s.suming the absolute direction of the Opera, also came in for his share of these epistles, which every one seems to have instantly recognised as the production of Taylor. "If Waters is with you at Brompton," he once wrote to Mr. Ebers, "for G.o.d's sake send him away instantly, for the bailiffs (alias bloodhounds) are out after him in all directions; and tell Chambers not to let him stay at Enfield, because that is a suspected place; and so is Lee's in York Street, Westminster, and Di Giovanni, in Smith Street, and Reed's in Flask Lane--both in Chelsea. It was reported he was seen in the lane near your house an evening or two ago, with his eye blacked, and in the great coat and hat of a Chelsea pensioner." At another time, Mr. Chambers was informed that Michael Kelly, the singer, was at an hotel at Brighton, on the point of death, and desirous while he yet lived to communicate something very important respecting Waters. The holder of Waters' mortgage took a post chaise and four and hurried in great alarm to Brighton, where he found Michael Kelly sitting in his balcony, with a pine apple and a bottle of claret before him.

Taylor's prophecies concerning Waters, after all, came true. His embarra.s.sments increased year by year, and in 1820 an execution was put into the theatre at the suit of Chambers. Ten performances were yet due to the subscribers, when, on the evening of the 15th of August, bills were posted on the walls of the theatre, announcing that the Opera was closed. Mr. Waters did not join his former partner in the Bench, but retired to Calais.

Mr. Ebers's management commenced in 1821. He formed an excellent company, of which several singers, still under engagement to Mr. Waters, formed part, and which included among the singers, Madame Camporese, Madame Vestris, Madame Ronzi de Begnis; and M. M. Ambrogetti, Angrisani, Begrez, and Curioni. The chief dancers (as already mentioned in the previous chapter), were n.o.blet, f.a.n.n.y Bias, and Albert. The season was a short one, it was considered successful, though the manager but lost money by it. The selection of operas was admirable, and consisted of Paer's _Agnese_, Rossini's _Gazza Ladra_, _Tancredi_ and _Turco_ in _Italia_, with Mozart's _Clemenza di t.i.to_, _Don Giovanni_, and _Nozze di Figaro_. The manager's losses were already seven thousand pounds. By way of encouraging him, Mr. Chambers increased his rent the following year from three thousand one hundred and eighty pounds to ten thousand.

It is right to add, that in the meanwhile Mr. Chambers had bought up Waters's entire interest in the Opera for eighty thousand pounds.

Altogether, by buying and selling the theatre, Waters had cleared no less than seventy-three thousand pounds. Not contented with this, he no sooner heard of the excellent terms on which Mr. Chambers had let the house, than he made an application (a fruitless one), to the ever-to-be-tormented Chancellor, to have the deed of sale declared invalid.

During Mr. Ebers's management, from the beginning of 1821 to the end of 1827, he lost money regularly every year; the smallest deficit in the budget of any one season being that of the last, when the manager thought himself fortunate to be minus only three thousand pounds (within a few sovereigns).

After Mr. Ebers's retirement, the management of the Opera was undertaken by Messrs. Laporte and Laurent. Mr. Laporte was succeeded by Mr. Lumley, the history of whose management belongs to a much later period than that treated of in the present chapter.

[Sidenote: THE KING'S THEATRE IN 1789.]

During the early part of the last century, the character of the London Opera House, as a fashionable place of entertainment, and in some other respects, appears to have considerably changed. Before the fire in 1789, the subscription to a box for fifty representations was at the rate of twenty guineas a seat. The charge for pit tickets was at this time ten shillings and sixpence; so that a subscriber who meant to be a true habitue, and visited the Opera every night, saved five guineas by becoming a subscriber. At this time, too, the theatre was differently constructed, and there were only thirty-six private boxes, eighteen arranged in three rows on each side of the house. "The boxes," says Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe, in his "Musical Reminiscences," "were then much larger and more commodious than they are now, and could contain with ease more than their allotted subscribers; far different from the miserable pigeon-holes of the present theatre, into which six persons can scarcely be squeezed, whom, in most situations, two-thirds can never see the stage. The front," continues Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe, "was then occupied by open public boxes, or _amphitheatre_ (as it is called in French theatres), communicating with the pit. Both of these were filled, exclusively, with the highest cla.s.ses of society; all, without exception, in full dress, then universally worn. The audiences thus a.s.sembled were considered as indisputably presenting a finer spectacle than any other theatre in Europe, and absolutely astonished the foreign performers, to whom such a sight was entirely new. At the end of the performance, the company of the pit and boxes repaired to the coffee-room, which was then the best a.s.sembly in London; private ones being rarely given on opera nights; and all the first society was regularly to be seen there. Over the front box was the five shilling gallery; then resorted to by respectable persons not in full dress: and above that an upper gallery, to which the admission was three shillings.

Subsequently the house was encircled with private boxes; yet still the prices remained the same, and the pit preserved its respectability, and even grandeur, till the old house was burnt down in 1789."

[Sidenote: THE KING'S THEATRE IN 1789.]

When the Opera was rebuilt, the number of representations for the season, was increased to sixty, and the subscription was at the same time raised to thirty guineas, so that the admission to a box still did not exceed the price of a pit ticket. During the second year of Catalani's engagement, however, when she obtained a larger salary than had ever been paid to a singer before, the subscription for a whole box with accommodation for six persons, was raised from one hundred and eighty to three hundred guineas. This, it will, perhaps, be remembered, was to some extent a cunning device of Taylor's; at least, it was considered so at the time by the subscribers, though the expenses of the theatre had much increased, and the terms on which Catalani was engaged, were really enormous.[79] Dr. Veron, in his interesting memoirs (to which, by the way, I may refer all those who desire full particulars respecting the management of the French Opera during the commencement of the Meyerbeer period) tells us that, at the end of the continental war, the price of the _demi-ta.s.se_ in the cafes of Paris was raised from six to eight _sous_, and that it has never been lowered. So it is in taxation. An impost once established, unless the people absolutely refuse to pay it, is never taken off; and so it has been with the boxes at the London Opera House. The price of the best boxes once raised from one hundred and eighty to three hundred guineas, was never, to any considerable extent, diminished, and hence the custom arose of halving and sub-dividing the subscriptions, so that very few persons have now the sole ownership of a box. Hence, too, that of letting them for the night, and selling the tickets when the proprietor does not want them.

This latter practice must have had the effect of lessening considerably the profits directly resulting from the high sums charged for the boxes.

The price of admission to the pit being ten shillings and six-pence, the subscribers, through the librarians, and the librarians, who had themselves speculated in boxes, found it necessary in order to get rid of the box-tickets singly, to sell them at a reduced price. This explains why, for many years past, the ordinary price of pit tickets at the libraries and at shops of all kinds in the vicinity of the Opera, has been only eight shillings and six-pence. No one but a foreigner or a countryman, inexperienced in the ways of London, would think of paying ten shillings and six-pence at the theatre for admission to the pit; indeed, it is a species of deception to continue that charge at all, though it certainly does happen once or twice in a great many years that the public profit by the establishment of a fixed official price for pit tickets. Thus, during the great popularity of Jenny Lind, the box tickets giving the right of entry to the pit, were sold for a guinea, and even thirty shillings, and thousands of persons were imbecile enough to purchase them, whereas, at the theatre itself, anyone could, as usual, go into the pit by paying ten shillings and six-pence.

[Sidenote: THE KING'S THEATRE IN 1789.]

"Formerly," to go back to Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe's interesting remarks on this subject, "every lady possessing an opera box, considered it as much her home as her house, and was as sure to be found there, few missing any of the performances. If prevented from going, the _loan_ of her box and the gratuitous use of the tickets was a favour always cheerfully offered and thankfully received, as a matter of course, without any idea of payment. Then, too, it was a favour to ask gentlemen to belong to a box, when subscribing to one was actually advantageous. Now, no lady can propose to them to give her more than double the price of the admission at the door, so that having paid so exorbitantly, every one is glad to be re-imbursed a part, at least, of the great expense which she must often support alone. Boxes and tickets, therefore, are no longer given; they are let for what can be got; for which traffic the circulating libraries afford an easy accommodation. Many, too, which are not taken for the season, are disposed of in the same manner, and are almost put up to auction. Their price varying from three to eight, or even ten guineas, according to the performance of the evening, and other accidental circ.u.mstances." From these causes the whole style of the opera house, as regards the audience, has become changed. "The pit has long ceased to be the resort of ladies of fashion, and, latterly, by the innovations introduced, is no longer agreeable to the former male frequenters of it." This state of things, however, has been altered, if not remedied, from the opera-goers' point of view, by the introduction of stalls where the manager compensates himself for the slightly reduced price of pit tickets, by charging exactly double what was paid for admission to the pit under the old system.

[Sidenote: OPERA COSTUME IN 1861.]

On the whole, the Opera has become less aristocratic, less respectable, and far more expensive than of old. Those who, under the ancient system, paid ten shillings and six-pence to go to the pit, must now, to obtain the same amount of comfort, give a guinea for a stall, while "most improper company is sometimes to be seen even in the princ.i.p.al tiers; and tickets bearing the names of ladies of the highest cla.s.s have been presented by those of the lowest, such as used to be admitted only to the hindmost rows of the gallery." The last remark belongs to Lord Mount Edgc.u.mbe, but it is, at least, as true now as it was thirty years ago.

Numbers of objectionable persons go to the Opera as to all other public places, and I do not think it would be fair to the respectable lovers of music who cannot afford to pay more than a few shillings for their evening's entertainment, that they should be all collected in the gallery. It would, moreover, be placing too much power in the hands of the operatic officials, who already show themselves sufficiently severe censors in the article of dress. I do not know whether it is chiefly a disgrace to the English public or to the English system of operatic management; but it certainly is disgraceful, that a check-taker at a theatre should be allowed to exercise any supervision, or make the slightest remark concerning the costume of a gentleman choosing to attend that theatre, and conforming generally in his conduct and by his appearance to the usages of decent society. It is not found necessary to enforce any regulation as to dress at other opera houses, not even in St. Petersburgh and Moscow, where, as the theatres are directed by the Imperial Government, one might expect to find a more despotic code of laws in force than in a country like England. When an Englishman goes to a morning or evening concert, he does not present himself in the attire of a scavenger, and there is no reason for supposing that he would appear in any unbecoming garb, if liberty of dress were permitted to him at the Opera. The absurdity of the present system is that, whereas, a gentleman who has come to London only for a day or two, and does not happen to have a dress-coat in his portmanteau; who happens even to be dressed in exact accordance with the notions of the operatic check-takers, except as to his cravat, which we will suppose through the eccentricity of the wearer, to be black, with the smallest sprig, or spray, or spot of some colour on it; while such a one would be regarded as unworthy to enter the pit of the Opera, a waiter from an oyster-shop, in his inevitable black and white, reeking with the drippings of sh.e.l.l-fish, and the fumes of bad tobacco, or a drunken undertaker, fresh from a funeral, coming with the required number of shillings in his dirty hands, could not be refused admission. If the check-takers are empowered to inspect and decide as to the propriety of the cut and colour of clothes, why should they not also be allowed to examine the texture? On the same principle, too, the cleanliness of opera goers ought to be enquired into. No one, whose hair is not properly brushed, should be permitted to enter the stalls, and visitors to the pit should be compelled to show their nails.

I will conclude this chapter with an extract from an epistle from a gentleman, who, during Mr. Ebers's management of the King's Theatre, was a victim to the despotic (and, in the main, unnecessary) regulations of which I have been speaking. I cannot say I feel any sympathy for this particular sufferer; but his letter is amusing. "I was dressed," he says, in his protest forwarded to the manager the next morning, "in a _superfine blue coat_, with _gold b.u.t.tons_, a white waistcoat, fashionable tight drab pantaloons, white silk stockings, and dress shoes; _all worn but once a few days before at a dress concert at the Crown and Anchor Tavern_!" The italics, and mark of admiration, are the property of the gentleman in the superfine blue coat, who next proceeds to express his natural indignation at the idea of the manager presuming to "enact sumptuary laws without the intervention of the legislature,"

and threatens him with legal proceedings, and an appeal to British jury.

"I have mixed," he continues, "too much in genteel society, not to know that black breeches, or pantaloons, with black silk stockings, is a very prevailing full dress; and why is it so? Because it is convenient and economical, _for you can wear a pair of white silk stockings but once without washing, and a pair of black is frequently worn for weeks without ablution_. P. S. I have no objection to submit an inspection of my dress of the evening in question to you, or any competent person you may appoint."

[Sidenote: OPERA COSTUME IN 1861.]

If this gentleman, instead of being excluded, had been admitted into the theatre, the silent ridicule to which his costume would have exposed him, would have effectually prevented him from making his appearance there in any such guise again. It might also have acted as a terrible warning to others inclined to sin in a similar manner.

CHAPTER XVI

ROSSINI AND HIS PERIOD.

[Sidenote: ROSSINI.]

Innovators in art, whether corrupters or improvers, are always sure to meet with opposition from a certain number of persons who have formed their tastes in some particular style which has long been a source of delight to them, and to interfere with which is to shock all their artistic sympathies. How often have we seen poets of one generation not ignored, but condemned and vilified by the critics and even by the poets themselves of the generation preceding it. Musicians seem to suffer even more than poets from this injustice of those who having contracted a special and narrow admiration for the works of their own particular epoch, will see no merit in the productions of any newer school that may arrive. Byron, Sh.e.l.ley, Keats, Tennyson have one and all been attacked, and their poetic merit denied by those who in several instances had given excellent proofs of their ability to appreciate poetry. Almost every distinguished composer of the last fifty years has met with the same fate, not always at the hands of the ignorant public, for it is this ignorant public with its nave, uncritical admiration, which has sometimes been the first to do justice to the critic-reviled poets and composers, but at those of musicians and of educated amateurs.

Ignorance, prejudice, malice, are the causes too often a.s.signed for the non-appreciation of the artist of to-day by the art-lover, partly of to-day, but above all of yesterday. It should be remembered however, that there is a conservatism in taste as in politics, and that both have their advantages, though the lovers of noise and of revolution may be unable to see them; that the extension of the suffrage, the excessive use of imagery, the special cultivation of brilliant orchestral effects, may, in the eyes of many, really seem injurious to the true interests of government, poetry and music; finally that as in old age we find men still keeping more or less to the costumes of their prime, and as the man who during the best days of his life has habituated himself to drink port, does not suddenly acquire a taste for claret, or _vice versa_,--so those who had accustomed their musical stomachs to the soft strains of Paisiello and Cimarosa, _could not_ enjoy the sparkling, stimulating music of Rossini. So afterwards to the Rossinians, Donizetti poured forth nothing but what was insipid and frivolous; Bellini was languid and lackadaisical; Meyerbeer with his restlessness and violence, his new instruments, his drum songs, trumpet songs, fencing and pistol songs, tinder-box music, skating scenes and panoramic effects, was a noisy _charlatan_; Verdi, with his abruptness, his occasional vulgarity and his general melodramatic style, a mere musical Fitzball.

It most not be supposed, however, that I believe in the constant progress of art; that I look upon Meyerbeer as equal to Weber, or Weber as superior to Mozart. It is quite certain that Rossini has not been approached in facility, in richness of invention, in gaiety, in brilliancy, in constructiveness, or in true dramatic power by any of the Italian, French, or German theatrical composers who have succeeded him, though nearly all have imitated him one way or another: I will exclude Weber alone, an original genius, belonging entirely to Germany[80] and to himself. It is, at least, quite certain that Rossini is by far the greatest of the series of Italian composers, which begins with himself and seems to have ended with Verdi; and yet, while neither Verdi nor Bellini, nor Donizetti, were at all justly appreciated in this country when they first made their appearance, Rossini was--not merely sneered at and pooh-poohed; he was for a long time condemned and abused every where, and on the production of some of his finest works was hissed and hooted in the theatres of his native land. But the human heart is not so black as it is sometimes painted, and the Italian audiences who whistled and screeched at the _Barber of Seville_ did so chiefly because they did not like it. It was not the sort of music which had hitherto given them pleasure, and therefore they were not pleased.