INA KLOSKING worked night and day upon Siebel, in Gounod's "Faust," and upon the songs that had been added to give weight to the part.
She came early to the theater at night, and sat, half dressed, fatigued, and nervous, in her dressing-room.
Crash!--the first _coup d'archet_ announced the overture, and roused her energy, as if Ithuriel's spear had pricked her. She came down dressed, to listen at one of the upper entrances, to fill herself with the musical theme, before taking her part in it, and also to gauge the audience and the singers.
The man Faust was a German; but the musical part Faust seems better suited to an Italian or a Frenchman. Indeed, some say that, as a rule, the German genius excels in creation and the Italian in representation or interpretation. For my part, I am unable to judge nations in the lump, as some fine fellows do, because nations are composed of very different individuals, and I know only one to the million; but I do take on me to say that the individual Herr who executed Doctor Faustus at Homburg that night had everything to learn, except what he had to unlearn. His person was obese; his delivery of the words was mouthing, chewing, and gurgling;and he uttered the notes in tune, but without point, pathos, or passion;a steady lay-clerk from York or Durham Cathedral would have done a little better, because he would have been no colder at heart, and more exact in time, and would have sung clean; whereas this gentleman set his windpipe trembling, all through the business, as if palsy were passion. By what system of leverage such a man came to be hoisted on to such a pinnacle of song as "Faust" puzzled our English friends in front as much as it did the Anglo-Danish artist at the wing; for English girls know what is what in opera.
The Marguerite had a voice of sufficient compass, and rather sweet, though thin. The part demands a better _actress_ than Patti, and this Fraulein was not half as good: she put on the painful grin of a prize-fighter who has received a staggerer, and grinned all through the part, though there is little in it to grin at.
She also suffered by having to play to a Faust milked of his poetry, and self-smitten with a _tremolo_ which, as I said before, is the voice of palsy, and is not, nor ever was, nor ever will be, the voice of passion.
Bless your heart, passion is a manly thing, a womanly thing, a grand thing, not a feeble, quavering, palsied, anile, senile thing. Learn that, ye trembling, quavering idiots of song!
"They let me down," whispered Ina Klosking to her faithful Ashmead. "Ifeel all out of tune. I shall never be able. And the audience so cold. It will be like singing in a sepulcher.""What would you think of them, if they applauded?" said Ashmead.
"I should say they were good, charitable souls, and the very audience Ishall want in five minutes."
"No, no," said Ashmead, "all you want is a discriminating audience; and this is one. Remember they have all seen Patti in Marguerite. Is it likely they would applaud this tin stick?"Ina turned the conversation with feminine quickness. "Mr. Ashmead, have you kept your promise; my name is not in the programme?""It is not; and a great mistake too."
"I have not been announced by name in any way?""No. But, of course, I have nursed you a bit.""Nursed me? What is that? Oh, what have you been doing? No _charlatanerie,_ I hope.""Nothing of the kind," said Ashmead, stoutly; "only the regular business.""And pray what is the regular business?" inquired Ina, distrustfully.
"Why, of course, I sent on the manager to say that Mademoiselle Schwaub had been taken seriously ill; that we had been fearing we must break faith with the public for the first time; but that a cantatrice, who had left the stage, appreciating our difficulty, had, with rare kindness, come to our aid for this one night: we felt sure a Humbug audience--what am I saying?--a Homburg audience would appreciate this, and make due allowance for a performance undertaken in such a spirit, and with imperfect rehearsals, etc.--in short, the usual patter; and the usual effect, great applause. Indeed, the only applause that I have heard in this theater to-night. Ashmead ahead of Gounod, so far."Ina Klosking put both hands before her face, and uttered a little moan.
She had really a soul above these artifices. "So, then," said she, "if they do receive me, it will be out of charity.""No, no; but on your first night you must have two strings to your bow.""But I have only one. These cajoling speeches are a waste of breath. Asinger can sing, or she can _not_ sing, and they find out which it is as soon as she opens her mouth.""Well, then, you open your mouth--that is just what half the singers can't do--and they will soon find out you can sing.""I hope they may. I do not know. I am discouraged. I'm terrified. I think it is stage-fright," and she began to tremble visibly, for the time drew near.
Ashmead ran off and brought her some brandy-and-water. She put up her hand against it with royal scorn. "No, sir! If the theater, and the lights, and the people, the mind of Goethe, and the music of Gounod, can't excite me without _that,_ put me at the counter of a cafe', for Ihave no business here."
The power, without violence, and the grandeur with which she said this would have brought down the house had she spoken it in a play without a note of music; and Ashmead drew back respectfully, but chuckled internally at the idea of this Minerva giving change in a cafe'.
And now her cue was coming. She ordered everybody out of the entrance not very ceremoniously, and drew well back. Then, at her cue, she made a stately rush, and so, being in full swing before she cleared the wing, she swept into the center of the stage with great rapidity and resolution; no trace either of her sorrowful heart or her quaking limbs was visible from the front.