THE SOVEREIGNTY OF WHIM.
THE first thing which strikes the reader of the Mapleson Memoirs, just published, is the peculiar light in which that most experienced purchaser of "talent" regards the great artists of the operatic stage. He admires their special gift very cordially, having been once a second tenor himself, before Providence condemned him, through a disease of the throat, to silence and money-making ; and he is quite willing to pet them, if only they will not charge so- much. But he evidently considers them children, and by no means good children either. Next to the salaries he had to pay them, salaries on which he descants with an amusingly. rueful pride, such as a pelican might exhibit when she had just fed her brood, the things he beat remembers are the artists' whims. Certainly they are memorable whims. With the exception of Mademoiselle Titiens, who appears to have been habitually sane, Signora Grisi, and perhaps one other, every artist with whom Mr. Mapleson came in contact appears to have wished first of all to illustrate the- sovereignty of whim. From Signor Mongini, who nearly killed the impresario because a stage coat had been delayed by the tailor, to a Russian singer who stole Lady Spencer's rooms in a Dublin- hotel because they were the best, and because Madame Patti had the only other first-class suite, every artist's delight appears to have been to show that he or she could indulge any caprice at will. No matter what the request, it must be granted at once, and at any cost, or singer and songstress broke contract, refused to enchant the public, or took themselves off by train, occasionally to far-distant lands. If their vanity in particular was wounded, nothing would control them; and a mere report that one songstress received a- few pounds more than another for a song, or the sight of her name in letters a little too mag- nificently " displayed," would drive her rival into a fury, childish but for the losses it usually' involved to the unlucky lessee. Mr. Mapleson had to exhibit every night that his theatre was open, all the ability of a diplomatist, to intrigue, bribe, cajole, and tell lies by the volume, and even then some- times' did not succeed, indeed, if the object of the caprice was money, he was almost invariably defeated, Mr. Mapleson is not usually malicious, unless his awn rival, Mr. Gys, is con- cerned, when he uses the scalpel with a will ; but the total effect of his stories, if they were told of any other set of men and women who lived to please, would-be a kind of disgust, an impression that if such people are to be accepted as sane, they were intolerably disagreeable men and women. If they had been children, as they seem to be, they would want a strict nurse ; and if she occasionally boxed their ears, most people would think she had only done her duty. That, how- ever, is not the impression of the general public, which per- mits to the great singers of either sex even moral aberrations it would denounce in any other human beings, and regards their caprices, their jealousies, their everlasting bursts of temper, their ravenings for money, even their vulgarities in the way of ostentation, as caprices both pardonable and pleasant,—indeed, as proofs of genius, and of the posses- sion of that "artistic temperament" which, it is silently conceded, is above all the rules that bind other mortals to exercise a little self-restraint, to keep their greedinesses, and hatreds, and desire to be insolent, a little in the shade. What is the cause of a tolerance so good-natured that the very subjects of Mr. Mapleson's stories know they will do them no harm, and will no more dream of bringing him up for libel
than of refusing his heavy cheques, should they again be offered ? Why are they not angry, and why will the public,
reading all those stories, throng to the opera where such wilful beings sing, with a readiness only increased by the grotesque
or scandalous or depreciatory character of the historiettes ?
, It is a puzzle all the deeper because of the existing temper of the public mind. Towards everybody except artists the world has grown unprecedentedly intolerant ; it will not hear of escapades in statesmen, or Sings who are immoral, sets down caprices in the great as signs of insanity, and holds up its hands with horror at extravagance in millionaires as a frightful sin against the unemployed. We do not care to quote instances in which Mr. Mapleson records against some musical artists acts we should have to describe as serious offences; but take this story, in which no one is morally to blame
"Several artists who had to perform that evening [in America] left for the town. Madame Patti went for a drive with Nicolini. During her absence a limited number of notabilities were allowed to inspect her car, which had cost £12,000. It was without doubt the most superb and tasteful coach on wheels anywhere in the world. The curtains were of heavy silk damask, the walls and ceilings covered with gilded tapestry, the lamps of rolled gold, the furni- ture throughout upholstered with silk damask of the most beauti- ful material. The drawing-room was of white and gold, and the ceiling displayed several figures painted by Parisian artists of eminence. The woodwork was sandal wood, of which likewise was the casing of a magnificent Steinway piano, which alone had cost 2,000 dollars. There were several panel oil-paintings in the drawing-room, the work of Italian artists. The bath, which was fitted for hot and cold water, was made of solid silver. The key of the outer door was of 18-carat gold."
Just imagine what would be said if a great noble indulged in senseless luxury of that kind, or spent " the living of two hundred families" for a whole year upon a travelling-car which could have been made luxuriously convenient for a fifteenth of the sum ! Yet, the occupant of the car being the queen of singers, not only is nothing said, but nothing is felt, and the Socialist, if an amateur, tolerates as completely as the millionaire. Why P The puzzle is the deeper because the sovereignty of whim in these singing men and women is so completely skin-deep. There is hardly any truth about it. The foundation of their minds-is hard, sometimes granite-hard, sense. Real whim is se nearly allied to insanity, so entirely at variance with men's fixed ideas about accountability, that the tolerance for it is not only explicable, but almost instinctive. It seems hard to oneself to be hard upon a creature capable of losing his or her self-control so utterly ; it is as if one were rough with a child or a semi-lunatic. But these artists are all singularly sane. Until they gain the huge incomes and universal worship which turn their heads, theyare as reasonable as other folk, and quite meek and modest to their employers and the public. Even when they have triumphed, and are drinking gold like wine, they work all the morning to secure the triumph of the night; they watch every rival with keen-judging eyes, and they display in pecuniary affairs the acumen of old City men. Sidonia, in " Coningsby," says he will not trust feminine finance ; but he knew nothing of the intellect of the Queens of Song. Poor Mr. Mapleson ! He says of himself that he seeks money, and he has the reputation of being able to make it ; but we cannot recall in the Memoirs a single artist of whom he got the better in a bargain. How should he, when artists bargain better than brokers on the Stock Exchange, and adhere to their contracts with the tenacity of West-End money-lenders? Take the following humorous story, in which Madame Patti insisted suc- cessfully on her rights, and judge if it would be possible to cheat her out of them. Mr. Mapleson had contracted to pay Madame Patti £1,000 a night for singing in New York, but one night he had only 2800 to offer. The great singer at once terminated the contract, but on reflection, thought of another
per:- .
" Two hours afterwards Signor Franchi reappeared. I cannot understand,' he said, how it is you get on so well with prime donne, and especially with Madame Patti. You are a marvellous man, and a fortunate one, too, I may add. Madame Patti does not wish to break her engagement with you, as she certainly would have done with any one else under the circumstances. Give me the £800 and she will make every preparation for going on to the stage. She empowers me to tell you that she will be at the theatre in good time for the beginning of the opera, and that she will be ready dressed in the costume of Violetta,' with the exception only of the shoes. You can let her have the balance when the doors open and the money comes in from the outside public ; and directly she receives it she will put her shoes on and at the proper moment make her appearance on the stage.' I thereupon handed him the J1900 I had already in hand as the result of subscriptions in advance. I congratulate you on your good luck,' said Signor Franchi as he departed with the money in his pocket. After the opening of the doors I had another visit from Signor Franchi. By this time an extra sum of £160 had come in. I handed it to my benevolent friend, and begged him to carry it without delay to the obliging prima donna, who, having received .8960, might, I thought, be induced to complete her toilette pending the arrival of the .210 balance. Nor was I altogether wrong in my hopeful -anticipations. With a beaming face, Signor Franchi came back and communicated to me the joyful intelligence that Madame Patti had got one shoe on. ' Send her the LW,' he added, 'and she will put on the other.' Ultimately, the other shoe was got on; but not, of course, until the last 410 had been paid. Then Madame Patti, her face radiant with benignant smiles, went on to the stage.; and the opera already begun was continued brilliantly until the end."
Not whim, but interest, dominates the great singers when money is in question, money, that is, which they are to receive. We do not blame them in the least; they have a clear right to get the best price they can for the exercise of their splendid gifts; they are often nobly charitable—Mario gave away B/0,000 to brother-artists, often rogues, who wanted help— and if they did not exact their bonds, the other parties to the ,contract would whittle their claims to nothing. But it is odd that the public, reading in one and the same book such proofs
of keenness of intellect and of caprice, should still pardon them the latter under a fancy that it is =controllable.
We suppose the chief reason is the bad one that the public is always lenient to all who minister to its pleasures, but we fanny there is.a subordinate one which has a considerable :though unconscious effect. Charles Lamb's defence for the dramatists of the Restoration, that their personages all lived in an unreal world outside the control of codes, though absurd as a moral defence, had thus much meaning in it. The public never quite judges actors and actresses, singers and songstresses, as if they were human beings like others, but accords to them in actual life some of the tolera- tion it accords to them on the stage. It never quite rids itself of the impression that they are acting, that the histrionic enters into all they do, that their virtues and vices, tempers and caprices, all so unreal-looking, are put into them by their authors and are not innate. Their acts are, in fact, separated from their characters, and they are judged not by the actual things they do or say, but by the way they do them. For the public therare always more orless in costume, and are no more considered bad or good for act or speech, than the actor who thrills the house as Othello is considered either a murderer or a fool. We suppose, if a Mario committed a murder, a jury would hang him; bat we should not feel sure if its members were all musical amateurs.
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