"Thereby hangs a tale," replied Benedict; "and it would take up too much of your time, perhaps, to listen to it." "Oh! let us hear it," said Mario. "I left my home and my position in Naples owing to Malibran, and to follow that erratic star. The last time she sang at St. Carlo, in 1834, she said, 'Au revoir à Londres; and mind, you must come.' She declared that my talent was wasted in Naples, and that she owed me reparation for all the trouble she had caused me, alluding to the following circumstance :-she had achieved an immense success in Norma,' and one very distinguished French lady, La Marquise Lagrange, living in a splended hotel in the Riviera di Chiaja, and my great patroness, expressed a desire to make Malibran's acquaintance. On communicating this wish to the eminent prima donna, she exclaimed in her usually impulsive way, 'I will dine with her the day after tomorrow!' forgetting she was to sing 'Semiramide' that evening. Of course the dinner which had been arranged could not come off, and was postponed for a week. On the day fixed for the feast-the dinner hour being six o'clock-when I arrived the guests were assembled, the only one not present being Malibran herself. Time passed: the hostess became impatient, and after waiting a full hour we sat down to table without the guest for whom the entertainment was really given. I was looked upon as the cause of the disappointment. I explained my innocence, and assured every one that illness alone could have prevented Malibran from coming; on saying which I was answered by a gentleman just arrived from the Teátro del Fondo, who declared he had seen Malibran a quarter of an hour before in a private box. This shut me up completely, and I took my departure with a firm resolution to lecture my talented friend for her heedless conduct. It was nearly eleven o'clock when I saw her at her hotel, just returned from the theatre, in the greatest spirits. "What have you done?' I exclaimed. 'How could you behave so foolishly ? ' 666 Done!' she replied. 'I went to see Madame Duprez' début in Ricci's "Colonello;" dressed her myself, and made the public applaud her.' "And Madame Lagrange?' said I. "What of her ?' asked Malibran. "And the twice-postponed dinner! And your promise to be exact!' ་ "Can it be? Is it possible?' she said, clasping her hands. 'It was surely tomorrow that the dinner was to be!' "Immediately recollecting that she had made a mistake, she insisted upon going to see the Marchioness. I observed that every one would be in bed; but she would not be pacified, and made ready to start. It was past twelve o'clock when we arrived at the Hotel Lagrange, which was closed for the night. After ringing some time, the sleepy porter made his appearance, saying that all had retired to rest, and that no one could be admitted. Nothing daunted, Malibran made me wait in the courtyard while she rushed up, in spite of all remonstrances, into the private apartments of the Marchioness. There awakening her by kissing her hand, and kneeling at her bedside, she implored forgiveness, and to such effect, that the supposed neglect was forthwith pardoned, and the two grandes dames du monde et de l'art became from that hour inseparable companions. This was one of the many instances where, by her impulsive nature, Malibran brought her very best friends into difficulties, and one of the few where she was able and willing to extricate them from their disagreeable position. "I received a letter," continued Benedict. "in the spring of 1835, telling me that my name was announced in De Beriot's concert on June 22nd of that year in London. Malibran wrote as well to my wife, saying that no excuse would be taken, and that I must come. Accordingly I started, and reached London on June 15, 1835. On the very evening of my arrival, I had to accompany her at a private concert. On June 22nd, the day of Lonmy don début, Grisi and Malibran for the first time sang together in the duet from Menadante's opera Idronico.' The success of that concert in Her Majesty's Theatre was unparalleled, and of course the duet between the two rivals in the prime of youth and beauty created an immense sensation. A great desire having been expressed for a second performance of the duet, Malibran and De Beriot asked me whether I would give a concert during July. Feeling that I was quite unknown in London, I hesitated, when Malibran asked me if I would be contented with a profit of eighty pounds, without any risk, which she would take upon herself. I at length yielded to her arguments, although very reluctantly, fearing that she would be a heavy loser by this generous arrangement. At Malibran's request Grisi consented to repeat the duet. The concert was given on 15th July, 1835, and the profits exceeded 3007. This was the commencement of my annual concerts. I was of course overjoyed at the result; but my surprise was increased when, on arriving in Paris a month afterwards, Troupenas, my publisher and Malibran's great friend, informed me that he had 5000 francs at my disposal, Malibran having given him her share of the concert to hand to me. On the evening after the concert in London, she invited me to a large party at Eagle Lodge, Brompton, where she introduced me to her enterprising Impresario, Alfred Bunn, and where it was agreed that the next opera for Drury Lane, after Balfe's Maid of Artois,' was to be composed by me and her husband, De Beriot. Her untimely death in 1836 prevented this plan being carried out, but Alfred Bunn considered himself bound by his promise to Malibran, and produced my Gipsy's Warning' in 1838." 6 "During the time you have been in this country," said the Impresario to Benedict, "do you think any great change is observable in the social position of musical professors ?" "A most decided improvement has taken place in that respect," replied Benedict. "It was formerly the custom not to listen to a single note at any of the fashionable réunions, and owing to the noise of conversation and of people moving about-there being no seats provided-the singers and instrumental performers could with difficulty hear themselves. Lablache once told me that a Mr. Gosikow, a performer on the Jew's harp, playing at one of the fashionable private concerts, produced the greatest sensation; a lady standing close to him, exclaiming, 'There is a man who plays on an instrument which cannot be heard.' A breathless silence followed; and while Grisi, Caradori Allen, Rubini, and Lablache had been singing in dumb show, Herr Gosikow, the performer on the inaudible instrument, carried away all the honours. The crowd was so great at the fashionable soirées of those days, that the guests used to sit on the pianoforte. To prevent this being done, or for other reasons, on one occasion the artists found themselves encircled, and isolated from the rest of the company by a silken cord. Malibran was of the concert party and greatly offended by what she supposed was an insult to herself and confrères. Asking for a pair of scissors, in the presence of all assembled she cut the silken cord, and removed the offending barrier. My complete ignorance of English custom during the first year of my stay in London led to endless mistakes. Thus I was shocked at the abbreviation of Miss, used when addressing a lady, and always corrected the supposed error by directing all my letters to Mistress So and So. Nor would I, in my extreme modesty, ever take wine when invited to do so at table, but always refused, much, I dare say, to the surprise of those who paid me the compliment. To show my dignity as an artist, when a card. with At home' upon it was left at my lodgings, I complained to my wife of the want of the civility of the proud ladies of this kingdom, who, apparently neglecting the conventional form of requesting the pleasure of my com-pany,' put a slight upon me, and treated me like a servant. In fashionable circles, artists of any distinction are now received with the greatest courtesy, and their performances listened to with attention, it being no longer à la mode to ignore a taste for music. There were, however, at the time of my first visit to England some distinguished amateurs, who loved music for its own sake, and encouraged the art and artists when and wherever they could do so. Amongst those whom I remember with the greatest gratitude were the Earl of Westmoreland, Lord Falmouth, the late Duke of Cambridge, Sir Andrew Barnard, and others, who, in their social position, gave the art encouragement and a great impetus to its advancement in their particular sphere of life." "You have told us," said the Impresario, addressing Mario, "the lowest sum you received in your professional career. Would it be an indiscreet question to ask what is the average income of a primo tenore, according to your experience ?" Taking one year with another," replied. Mario, "I should say I have made about a year since the Aguado engagement. London," he continued, calculating, certs tournée, -; then the winter engagement in Paris or Russia ; yes, about ——.” con Two or three hours had now elapsed since leaving Dublin, and anxiety was evinced by the party generally as to where they would lunch or dine. No satisfactory information could be obtained on the subject, until the cook-medico-basso, who had taken a carriage for himself and his patient, the baritone, in answer to inquiry, passed word that, in his capacity of purveyor to the party, he had foreseen the necessity for refreshment on the road, and brought an ample store of provisions. He ratified his statement by holding forth a roast fowl and a mysterious paper bag out of the window. This prudence met with great approbation, particularly from Amina's mamma, who twirled her thumbs and smiled happily, declaring the basso to be the most goodnatured fellow in the world. She had had a better view of the fowl and the mysterious bag, as they were held out of the window, than the rest of the party. All fear of starvation being thus removed, various games were commenced among the travellers. Gennaro set up his railway chessboard, and challenged Alfonso to a trial of skill, in which neither exhibited any very great prowess, although both were serious enough over the contest. Lucrezia looked on at the chess-board for a short time, but then went off into a doze, which lasted until it was disturbed by the fowl and mysterious bag, which Polonini thrust in at the window by means of a stick. The fowl was forthwith divided among the three ladies and Gennaro, who brought from the recesses of a handsome travellingbag all the requirements of a dining-table as far as regarded knife, fork, spoon, salt-box, and a drinking-cup. The mysterious bag was opened, and found to contain the remains of what had once been a well-looking pigeon pasty, but was now an indescribable mass of jelly and pie-crust. A request was passed to Polonini for some wine, whereupon the provident caterer handed out a bottle of claret, of which Amina's mamma took charge, and distributed in cupfuls to the others. The luncheon, notwithstanding the primitive mode in which it had been served, passed off well, and put everybody into good humour. 'Mamma declared she had enjoyed it immensely, and, in fact, could not be persuaded to leave her chicken bones, which she took up a second time, having had a very good share of the pigeon pie between whiles. At length everything was consumed, and nothing left of what the basso had provided, except the greasy bag and the empty claret bottle. These were handed back to him in token of how his provisions had been appreciated. Eating being over, chess was resumed, and lasted until the players were tired out, and took to smoking instead. A PASTORAL. I. WHERE soft grey hills in summer sheen All purple-stained, and streaked with gold, All vermeil dashed, and tender green, Their image in the lake behold. II. Where 'midst fair pastures browse the sheep, 11. Where by its dam the lambkin plays, IV. Where far away the eagle soars, V. O Phyllis, come! the wild thyme sweet VI. The skies are bright, and blossoms rare VII. And far and near their silvery mirth VIII. O Phyllis, come! Earth's rapturous voice IX. Ah! what is sweeter in this life X. Whilst reeds in gentle music bend, XI. O Phyllis, come! Each wind-waved leaf XII. And wood and mountain, wind and stream Of many an old-world legend tell, XIII. Whilst over hill, through dale, through grove, Shall Echo, with immortal tongue, XIV. O Phyllis, come! Sweet mistress, hear! Thy presence makes the earth divine, Take from my heart its love-born fear, Lest Echo's mournful fate be mine. JULIA GODDARD. |