Читать книгу Canadian Performing Arts Bundle - Michelle Labrèche-Larouche - Страница 11

Emma was returning to London for a particularly personal reason: her approaching marriage. Her fans were taken completely unawares by the announcement; the letters and cheques the diva received from her numerous admirers had always been promptly sent back, with her father, Joseph Lajeunesse, usually carrying out that duty. Even so, rumours had been circulating that Albani was betrothed to a worldly Italian prince who had occasionally been privileged to escort her out to supper. The English public had been disconcerted by the danger of losing their favourite songstress to a foreigner. On the other hand, in the Victorian era, a woman who had not married before the age of thirty was viewed as an old maid, and Emma would turn thirty that November.

Albani on vacation in Scotland, with her husband Ernest Gye and their son Ernest Frederick, who was born in 1879.

Although she turned the tables on the gossips by revealing that they had been a long way off base, Albani provided more fodder for speculation by choosing Ernest Gye for her life's companion. She had known Frederick Gye's son since she first arrived in London, and the two had become well acquainted during Emma's tour of the United States. Ernest had taken over from his father as her impresario, and they had naturally grown closer to each other. Ernest had discreetly courted Emma for several months before asking her to marry him one evening as they sat together on a loveseat in the Gyes' drawing room. He punctiliously observed the proper form by asking her father to bless their union.

In the London artistic milieu, tongues wagged. “She's marrying him to advance her career”; “Gye Senior arranged the match to keep his star attraction at Covent Garden”; and “It's pure humbug! Ernest is really in love with Albani's sister – that's why Cornélia was sent off to teach music to the children of the Spanish Royal Family” were among the comments heard.

In spite of these malicious darts, the wedding took place as planned in London on August 6, 1878, at the Catholic Church of the Assumption, an imposing eighteenth-century building. The ceremony itself was simple, with only a few friends, relatives, and fellow singers in attendance.

A larger number of people were invited to Ernest and Emma's wedding reception held outdoors at the Gyes' country house, under a grand striped pavilion. Guests strolled among rosebushes on emerald-green lawns, and the couple received sumptuous wedding gifts, crystal and silverware vying in elegance.

The newlyweds set up residence at Boltons, a well-appointed house in Kensington, London. Their staff consisted of a secretary, a cook, and a chambermaid. When Cornélia's contract at the Spanish Court ended, she moved in with her sister and her husband and resumed her duties as Albani's accompanist. Nelly also gave piano lessons, receiving her pupils at home. “My sister is perched at the top of the ladder; I must hold it steady down below,” she would say.

Joseph Lajeunesse returned to Canada to spend the last years of his life in Chambly, in the comfortable little house that Emma had bought for him. He left England with his daughter's single-row harp; Queen Victoria had given her a magnificent two-row instrument a few years before.

In October, Albani suddenly felt ill after a performance; she barely managed to reach her dressing room before falling onto a sofa in a dead faint. After reviving her sister, Cornélia anxiously told her that she must see a doctor.

“No, Nelly, please, I'm fine – it's just a bit of over-work.”

“Could our prima donna be expecting a happy event?” asked the tenor of that evening's programme, with a wink at Cornélia.

The next morning, as well as the following three mornings, Emma felt distinctly nauseated. She consented to be examined by Dr. Bryant of Harley Street,who cheerfully confirmed her suspicions. “Congratulations, Madame Albani. You are expecting a child!”

Emma replied distractedly to the physician's warm good wishes, thinking: I'm leaving on tour to Moscow soon… I have a tendency to gain weight: will I ever get my figure back after a pregnancy? She comforted herself by thinking of the faithful Cornélia. Nelly will take care of it. She loves to knit. We'll have a nanny, of course, but Nelly will be quite happy to manage the baby, as she does the rest of the household. Emma also pictured the exquisite christening robe that the cloistered Sisters of the Sacred Heart would surely sew and embroider for the baby. A fleeting smile played about her lips, but abruptly, sharp anxiety halted her imaginings. Maman died in childbirth… the same thing might happen to me! As Emma and Ernest returned home in their carriage, Ernest was perplexed by his wife's apparent lack of excitement at the prospect.

Backstage, it was whispered that the diva did not want a child, at least not at that moment, when her career was at its height.

Albani left for Russia in November, ignoring warnings that she should curtail her activities. She had never forgotten the Tsar, and her heart beat fast at the thought of seeing him again, even though she was now married and was accompanied by her husband. The cantatrice brought crowds to their feet throughout the tour; she possessed the power of winning the spontaneous acclaim of the public, a gift reserved for heads of state and great artists.

In Moscow, she relived the same emotions she had felt on her first visit. She performed in the same theatre, although her repertoire was different; it included Tannhäuser, La traviata, and Faust this time. After her last performance of Faust in St Petersburg, Tsar Alexander sent her a colossal bouquet of flowers.

But on December 4, Ernest received a telegram informing him that his father had met with a serious hunting accident on the estate of his friend, Lord Dillon, in Oxfordshire. Ernest's parting words as he left Emma in the Tsar's capital were “Take care of yourself, my darling. Pray that I may arrive in time!” Unfortunately, Gye Senior was dead before his son reached England.

Distraught, Ernest was obliged to remain in London to see to his father's affairs. Taking up the reins from an exceptionally energetic and enterprising man like Frederick Gye was not an easy task.

Emma returned home at long last. She had several engagements left to fulfil before taking the first rest of her career: she would be away from the opera for a period of several months.

Ernest Frederick Gye was born on June 4, 1879. He was an undemanding infant who seemed to have inherited his father's placid temperament. Albani had controlled herself rigidly during his birth, even refraining from crying out so as not to injure her vocal chords. “I would prefer ten major opera roles over the experience of childbirth,” she declared. “I will not endure it a second time!”

News of the happy event reached Covent Garden the next morning, while the orchestra was rehearsing. In homage to the new scion of the Gye family, the conductor interrupted the rehearsal and launched the orchestra into an excerpt from Handel's oratorio, Judas Maccabaeus: “Hail, the Conquering Hero!”

Albani was now in full possession of her art. Her career was fulfilling every promise; marriage and motherhood seemed to have brought about a new blossoming in her. Full of confidence, Emma prevailed upon her husband: “Ernest, my sweet, I'd like you to organize a programme in Milan for me. I want to be the first Canadian soprano to sing at La Scala.”

The world's most celebrated opera house willingly engaged the Covent Garden sensation for a series of performances in 1880. After all, Albani had won remarkable critical successes in Florence, Nice, and Brussels, where she had sung her Italian opera roles in the original language while the rest of the company sang in French. La Scala audiences, however, were mistrustful of anyone or anything that was not Italian.

Albani's first appearance in Milan was in the difficult title role of Lucia di Lammermoor. Before the performance, she felt tired and the management of La Scala had suggested that she was “not in voice,” but nothing could convince her not to sing that night. The audience reacted coldly to her valiant effort, and she was hissed and hooted. The tenor, greatly offended, walked off the stage. The diva attempted to impose herself, but it was useless: the hissing and catcalls continued unabated. Emma abandoned the struggle and collapsed in tears backstage, convinced that jealous rivals had paid members of the audience to boo her off the stage.

Deeply mortified, she prepared to leave her beloved Italy. “Darling, it was your first and only fiasco,” said her husband, trying to console her. “You'll see: your London fans will set things right again.”

Ernest was not mistaken. Albani was warmly applauded at her first Covent Garden appearance of the 1880 season. The Daily Telegraph reported: “Miss Albani's return occasioned an enthusiastic welcome. An artist who upholds the dignity of her profession in the eyes of the public, and whose private life is irreproachable, she is appreciated by everyone.”

It was true that Emma's career was astonishingly free from scandal. Her conduct was prudish compared to that of some of the other famous singers and actresses of the period – Sarah Bernhardt, for example. La Grande Sarah was still being talked about after her visit to London during a tour of Great Britain with the Comédie Française. She had seduced the Prince of Wales and had let her pet leopard loose among the Prince's terrified servants.

The year after her Milan debacle, Emma's peace of mind was again deeply shaken when she learned that the Tsar had been assassinated in St Petersburg by a Nihilist bomb. “He was a marvellous man, and very humane,” said Emma to her sister. “He liberated the serfs in Russia, and was paid for it by being murdered. How unjust!”

Emma's desolate mood was reflected in her behaviour towards her domestic employees. One morning, she lost patience when the chambermaid failed to appear with her breakfast after she had repeatedly rung the electric bell to summon her. “Mary!” chided the mistress of the house when the breakfast tray was finally brought, “Don't these new bells ring loudly enough? One cannot be served properly anymore!”

“Please'm, forgive me,” answered Mary, pulling back the curtains to reveal the grey, drizzling morning outside. “I got the trays wrong; I had to go back to the kitchen to get yours, with your black tea. You're singing tonight, and I know milk is so bad for your voice!”

“On top of that,” snapped the diva, “I hardly slept at all! These tramways are atrociously noisy!”

Even while deploring the racket of the rattling trams, Emma appreciated many of the benefits of electricity. The Savoy Theatre of London was first theatre to be entirely equipped with electric lighting. Of course, the managers of the Savoy could afford it; their Gilbert and Sullivan productions filled the house – and the coffers – every evening. Emma fervently hoped that Covent Garden Theatre would follow suit, and the sooner the better.

“She's awfully touchy this morning,” thought Mary. “And usually, she's so kind. I'd better watch my step today!”

“Tonight,” said Emma, “I'm giving a private recital¹ at Lord and Lady Dudley's. You'll prepare my pigeon's-throat-grey dress,” she ordered.

The dress was ready for Emma when she went into her chamber to change for her evening engagement. Mary was on hand to dress her mistress's hair and to sponge her face and shoulders with warm water. Young Mrs. Gye submitted to these ministrations, then left the room, silently but for the swishing of silk.

Later that year, Albani was engaged to sing at a benefit concert in aid of the victims of a recent flood in the Low Countries. The King and Queen of Belgium were going to lend their presence to the event. Cornélia advised Emma: “There won't be any fee, but it will be good for your reputation.” Emma did not deign to reply. Decidedly, she was awfully touchy these days!

Albani sang the role of Tamara in Anton Rubinstein's The Demon. This opera, created six years before in St. Petersburg, was considered the composer's masterpiece, and he was directing it himself. It was the ideal performance situation; Emma forgot her unhappiness and immersed herself in her work.

Following this success, she sang at her beloved provincial festivals in England, and toured both Scotland and Ireland.

During the tour, Ernest brought her news of a special invitation.

“My darling, the director of the Berlin Royal Opera House has asked you to sing Lohengrin there, with the best Wagnerian singers.”

“In German, for the Germans! I feel I can carry off a triumph that hasn't been seen for a long time -one that will make everyone forget about Milan!”

Albani recovered all her former high spirits in this formidable German adventure. Berlin was a pompously grandiose and excitingly cosmopolitan city. Although he was not an opera-lover, Emperor Wilhelm I attended several of Emma's performances, and bestowed upon her the honorary title of Hofkammersängerin, or royal court singer. She would have a more marked success later with Wilhelm's successor, Kaiser Wilhelm II, a true opera connoisseur. However, the aged Empress Augusta did not miss any of Albani's performances; in spite of her fragile health, she would have herself pushed in a wheelchair along a special corridor that linked the palace to the opera house and the imperial box.

The Berliner Zeitung wrote: “Das Albani interpreted the very difficult and poetic character of Elsa with such consummate mastery that the audience was aroused by her to enthusiasm.”

The correspondent of The Times wired his byline to London: “Madame Albani appeared tonight as Elsa, singing her part in the native German. The house was crowded to the very ceiling and extravagant prices were paid for seats. Madame Albani achieved what may well be called a complete triumph, greater even than any she has won hitherto.”

Berlin high society showered the diva and her husband with invitations. The couple was asked to dine at the residence of the Austrian ambassador. At table, Emma found herself beside a man who was attached to the household of the Crown Princess Frederika. He told her: “Her Highness knew I would see you tonight. She asked me to give you this.” He handed Emma a telegram that Queen Victoria had cabled to her cousin a few days before. It read: “Am anxious to recommend Madame Albani to you. She is my Canadian subject, an excellent person, known to me, a splendid artiste and I take much interest in her. The Queen.”

The following day, the Crown Princess received Albani and her husband at home. She possessed a phonograph, recently invented, and showed them how it worked. She had a record of the diva performing, and thus, Albani heard herself singing for posterity for the first time. In spite of the distortion of the earliest recordings, this machine soon became all the rage and fascinated everyone who heard it.

Emma was given the opportunity to sing Gounod's oratorio, Rédemption, at the Birmingham Festival of 1882, under the composer's direction. Gounod liked the Canadian soprano's voice so much that he promised to compose a new work for her to create.

Not long into the new year, Emma learned that Richard Wagner, whose health had rapidly declined, was dying in Venice. She was affected by the sad news. “It is a terrible loss for modern music. If I had more time, we would take the train to Venice to contemplate the places he loved and wanted to see before bidding farewell to the world.” Daydreaming, she imagined herself in the dining car of the elegant Orient Express train with its mahogany panelling and crystal chandeliers, its waiters dressed in black and white transporting bottles of Champagne to tables covered in snowy linen and topped by vases of fresh-cut flowers.

Ernest brought his wife gently back to reality: “It would be better to prepare for your tour of the United States and Canada, my darling.”

Emma harboured a lingering bitterness towards her homeland. “My fellow Canadiens want to make it up to me,” she thought. “It's easy for them, now that I'm well-known all over the world: they don't have to take a chance on me.”

Wagner breathed his last while Albani and her husband, as well as fellow opera star Adelina Patti, her impresario, and their small troupe, were aboard the Pavonia, sailing from Liverpool to New York.² The two-week crossing was a bad one, and Emma spent all but two days of it in her bunk, prostrated by seasickness. She arrived in New York greatly weakened and late for her rehearsals. In spite of this, she was ready on time for the scheduled performances.

After her twenty-year absence, Emma was eagerly awaited in Montreal. She was welcomed as an official guest: a reception committee met her at the American border and brought her into the city on a private railway car. A crowd of ten thousand greeted her as the train drew into Bonaventure Station. The snow-covered streets appeared fairy-like; members of the Snowshoe Club, dressed in their sporting outfits and carrying flaming torches, lined each side of the street when Albani and company emerged from the building.

Emma whispered happily to Ernest: “Snow-shoeing was my favourite sport when I was a girl.” A brass band struck up the traditional “Vive la Canadienne” as Emma and her friends climbed into the two sleighs assigned to take them to the Windsor Hotel. Having performed in Boston the previous evening, Emma was exhausted, but how could she have resisted such a fervent salute? She forgot her aching head and smiled at the cheering crowds.

Emma's father was waiting at the hotel. After happy greetings on all sides, he told her that tickets for her concerts at Queen's Hall on March 27, 29, and 31 varied in price from three to five dollars, and that special trains had been scheduled for those evenings to bring people into the city from outlying areas.

A reception in Albani's honour was organized the next day at Montreal's city hall. Emma was seated on the mayor's throne. After the official speeches, Ernest spoke to express thanks on his wife's behalf. “Tell them how happy they've made me,” she whispered as he rose to his feet. The ceremony ended with the reading of an ode written for Emma by Louis-Honoré Fréchette, Quebec's most recognized poet. Her eyes blurred with tears as she listened to the last verse:

'Tis no matter; with the confession of our expiated sins, Allow us to lay at your feet, Albani, All our best wishes, which, tonight, merge as one! Yonder, you were given fame and fortune; Your country, proud of you, comes to offer in its turn Its most fervent tribute and its most tender love.

Emma remained on the dais for over two hours afterwards, shaking hands with hundreds of admirers. Montreal's stores and offices were closed that day, and the streets thronged with people celebrating her return home.

At her recitals, when Emma sang Souvenirs d'un jeune âge, an aria from the opera La Pré aux clercs by Ferdinand Hérold that ends with the words: “Rendez-moi ma patrie, ou laissez-moi mourir,”³ the audience would stand and applaud lustily, sometimes for more than five minutes. The score of this aria was republished, with Albani's photograph on the cover page, and it came to be considered a Québécois national song.

One journalist wrote: “Last night at Queen's Hall, the public was beside itself. There wasn't a seat left in the balcony, where several people remained standing for the entire performance. Madame Albani possesses a voice of exquisite tenderness.”

To show her appreciation for the way she had been welcomed in Montreal, the international star who had been “the little Lajeunesse girl” donated five hundred dollars from her concert takings to the mayor's office, to be distributed among the city's poor.

Fortunately, Emma had enough free time to see old friends and relatives. She visited her father, her brother Adélard, who was now a priest, and even her grandmother Rachel in the begonia-surrounded house in Chambly. And the great Emma Albani proudly went to sing Ave Maria in the chapel of the Sacred Heart Convent in Sault-au-Recollet, where she had sung so joyfully as a young pensionnaire many years before.

Naturally, Emma was moved by all this attention and heartfelt gestures of appreciation. However, for her, “home, sweet home” was now England.

Albani during one of her numerous Atlantic crossings, with her husband Ernest and (probably) her sister Cornélia.

1. Private concerts were very popular among the aristocracy; there was great competition to obtain the artists most in vogue for these musical soirées.

2. “Concert parties” were popular in these days: opera singers would go on tour with other singers and musicians.

3. “Give me back my country or let me die.”