HUMOURS OF THE MUSICAL PROFESSION.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 11028, 17 March 1914, Page 7

HUMOURS OF THE MUSICAL PROFESSION.

MADAME CALVE'S LAUGHABLE DEBUT. When I went to tho Theatre de la Monnaio in Brussels in 1881, I made my debut as Marguerite. My second performance was to be Cherubino. At that time T was very slight. My neck and arms were thin, and so, of course, were'my legs. I did not think I could possibly appear in breeches without something to make me look a lit tin plumper, so I went to the costumier of the theatre and told him I wanted some pads. He made them, according to his own ideas of what beautiful legs should be, and sent them to me so late that I had no time to try them on. I don't know what T. must have looked like when I stopped on tho stage, thin and girlish from tho waist up, and provided with tho most enormous calves.

After the first act the manager rushed around to my dressing room. "My heavens!" he exclaimed, "where in the world did you get those legs? They certainly are not your own." I admitted that they were not, and said I thought I was too thin to dispense with pads. "Don't you know, he said to me, " that a young girl With straight, slender legs, is far batter suited to the part of a page than when she disfigures herself with such things as these r 1 Take off the pads and go out in your legs." I decided to follow, his advice. When I came on the stage again I was thin, but at least symmetrical. The effect on the audience was startling. The conductor of the orchestra stared at mo as if his eyes would pop out of his head. After a moment or two the cause of the astonishing alteration in my looks seemed to be understood, and there was a titter of laughter through the audience. Since that time I hare never worn pads. MADAME MELBA.—CARUSO'S JOKE.

Signor Caruso hao a penchant for practical jokes, and sometimes, when I was playing the death scene in "La Boheme," he made it very difficult for me to refrain from laughing. I remember on one occasion at Covent Garden Signor Tosti was sitting in the front row of the stalls, wearing a fake moustache, and ©very time I looked his way he waggled it at me in a most grotesque manner. Signor Caruso Saw this, and tried to imitate him. You can understand how I felt when, as Mimi, I was supposed to be dying to heartrending strains. One American experience recurs to me at the moment. I had been appearing in "Faust' at Washington, and, getting into the train after the performance rather tired, was not unnaturally annoyed at finding my stateroom unprepared- I called the coloured attendant, who kept me waiting a long time before he condescended to appear. "Why is my berth not ready? I began. He looked me up and down indifferently. " I saw you play Margaret (Marguerite) this mornin'," he said, defiantly, " an' I thought you weren't a bit o' good. You'll hev to wait. But Plankon (Plancon) was fine," he added, as an afterthought.: Two years afterwards I received a letter from this sam© ebony critic. " 1 heard you last night as Manon Lescaut," it ran. "and it was real fine. You beat the band. I take it all back. 1 MADAME BLANCHE MARCHESI'S STORY OF THE MISFIT TROUSERS.

A few years ago I was on tour with a well-known tenor, a. very popular pianist, and eeveral N other clever artistes. One day we had to appear at a certain town, but on arriving found that there had been considerable delay in the delivery of our dress baskets and luggage, on account of a breakdown on the line. As a matter of fact it was not until shortly before the concert 1 began, when we were at our wits'eud to Know what to do, that the luggage turned. up. We had begun to breathe freely again when suddenly the pianist rushed into the room where we were pale and desperate, with the alarming intelligence that his trunk had not arrived at all. Here was a lively predicament—a pianist without a dress suit! What were we to do? It was impossible for him to go on the platform in his travelling suit of check brown and fawn. For a few moments we thought the concert would have to be abandoned, and then my husband, who was the only one of the whole travelling company who had not to appear, decided that the pianist must wear his best evening suit. The gentleman disappeared, Tiut soon we heard 60unds of loud laughter and expressions of distress, demands for safety i pins being shouted through the door. I must explain that my husband is rather stout, whilst the pianist friend at that timo was very slim. However, with the aid of many safety pins the trousers were adjusted, and the pianist went on the platform to play as beautifully as ever. Unfortunately, carried away by the fire of his execution, lie burst open several of the safety pins, and felt that an accident would assuredly happen if he were not careful when he got up from the stool. We were watching him from behind the door leading to the artists' rooms, and could not help laughing at the painful expression on his face as he realised his predicament. Rising from the stool, he < clutched the back of his trousers, bowed, and retired backwards; but an incorrigible member of the company, seeing that nothing would make the pianist turn his back to the audience, cruelly held the artistes' door so tightly that the unfortunate pianist had to turn round for a moment in order to open it, and as he clutched the handle in one hand and his trousers with the other, the audience, who at first began to titter, burst into loud roars of laughter. MR JOHN M'CORMACK. —AN ' "OPERATIC BOXER.

This is a story of my early days. As a college boy my voice was in demand for the college concerts, and it was after singing at one of these that I received my first and never-to-bo-xorgotten lesson in clear enunciation. Being by birth an Irishman, I, with true patriotic spirit, sang an Irish 60 ng. Later I interviewed Biddy, the Irish cook, to whom I had given a ticket for tli'e entertainment.

"Well, Biddy," I said, "how did you like the concert?" " Oh, sure, sir, you did sing beautifully," she replied; "but why ever did you sing in a foreign language. What ever was it? I did not know a word of it."

Crushing criticism indeed ! but it was a forcible lesson in elocution, and one that 1 Jiavo laid to heart.

Perhaps some readers will be interested _in the following incident. I am passionately fond of boxing. .Tn my opinion it is the greatest sport in the world. I 'remember that when Iron Hague and Langford met at the National Sporting Club some time ago, I was singing in Rigolotto at Covent Garden. I was so interested in the fight that I made arrangements with the firemen to let me know how it was going. I was singing 'when the fireman appeared after the first round and beckoned me to the wings. I kept on singing, and backed across the stage where 1 could hear him without the audience knowing. "Hague w;is knocked down in the first round," whispered the fireman, hoarsely. Then he sped back to the ringside again. It so happened that every time he reached the wings I was and we went through the same performonce. Hague was knocked down five times in the second, half a dozen times in the third, and so often in the fourth and last round that everybody lost track of the number. All tins was whispered to me during the time I was on the stage, the knock-out blow coming appropriately enough when Rigoletto drags the sack containing the body across the stage. i