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The online magazine of Theatre Heritage Australia
Kurt Gänzl

Kurt Gänzl

Kurt is one of the most important chroniclers of the world’s history of music and theatre. His numerous works on the subject include The Encyclopedia of the Musical Theatre (1994, 2001), The British Musical Theatre (1986), The Musical: a concise history (1997), Gänzl’s Book of the Musical Theatre (1988), Victorian Vocalists (2018) and biographies of such artists as Lydia Thompson (2002), Willie Gill (2002) and Emily Soldene (In Search of a Singer, 2007). Forthcoming works include Gilbert & Sullivan, the Players and the Plays (October 2021), and update of the 2007 University textbook, and a translation of the Rapsodies of Petrus Borel with his brother, poet John Gallas.

Thursday, 01 September 2022

Sara Flower: A flower from the north

KURT GÄNZL explores the life and career of the English-born contralto Sara Flower who spent much of her all-too-short career in Australia.

FLOWER, Sara [Elizabeth] (b. Grays, Essex 1820 x. 29 December 1820; d. 137 Victoria Street, Woolloomooloo, Sydney 20 August 1865)

Madame Sara FlowerOne of the few likenesses of Sara Flower. The image was published in The Australian Star (Sydney), 19 April 1902, p.3.Sara Flower has been a good deal written about, down the years, partly because of the remarkable and novel effect made by her extremely deep contralto voice, and partly because of her curious decision to quit Britain at the height of her career to establish herself as a performer and a teacher in Australia. However, although she has been written about, she has been written about in a pretty shallow fashion, and not without some basic errors.

We do not have a date of birth for Sara Flower. I suppose it is somewhere, in an Essex parish register, but neither I, nor anyone else who might have looked, has found it. It was said, and has been duly (correctly) repeated, that she was ‘the third daughter of William Lewis Flower of Grays, Essex’. William Flower was a grocer, who lived for half a century in Grays Thurrock in Essex. He married one Ruth Green, and produced a goodly number of children of whom we know of Sara and her singing sister, Elizabeth, plus Ellen, Thomas and the youngest, Anna (d. June 1850) who are still at home with their parents in the 1841 census. Mr. Flower didn’t make it to another census, dying on 27 September 1847, and although mother Ruth is visible in the next two censi, the only bit of apparent information we get is that Elizabeth [Hannah] (b.c.1814; d.1866) married (1847) barrister Timms Augustine Sargood (1815–1880) of the Bankruptcy and Insolvency Courts when she gave away singing. Mr. Sargood had, a few years earlier, been involved in ‘the extraordinary case of the abduction of Miss [Caroline] Wynne’, but that is another story.

Sara, I find not at all, and the only authority for guessing that she was born around 1822 is someone’s claim that, at her death in 1865, she was 43 years of age. I am pretty sure she was older, but, so far, haven’t found any way of proving it.

Brown and Stratton’s very iffy Dictionary of British Musicians claimed she was born in 1805.They then go on to say that our Flower sisters should not be confused with Sarah Fuller Flower (Mrs. William Bridges Adams), author of ‘Nearer my God, to thee’, and her musical sister, Eliza. Which, of course, is precisely what they have done. Mrs. Adams, born in 1805, died in 1848. And no-one could really confound her with Sara, the red-headed, raw-boned contralto, because, before Sara started her professional career, ‘Nearer my God’ Sarah was already not Miss Flower, but Mrs. Adams.

If Sara Flower was indeed born in 1822, she began singing at a very young age, for I am pretty sure that I spot her out on the concert platform as early as September 1836, at the London Choral Institute. I definitely spot ‘the Misses Flower’ on 20 October 1837 at the Aldersgate Institute, in a concert with Edwin Ransford, in 1838 at Uxbridge, illustrating a set of lectures by Charles Purday, and again with the Choral Harmonists. In a July concert, Sara is referred to as ‘Miss Flower of the extraordinary voice’.

Sara Flower would, when the time came for biogs and eulogies, be referred to as ‘a pupil of Crivelli and Mazzucato’ (she advertised herself as such), but neither of those gentlemen came into the picture for a good while yet (and the latter only briefly, anyway). Sara’s early teacher was the ubiquitous Tom Cooke, master, amongst others, in his time, of Sims Reeves, the Williams sisters and Miss Rainforth, and in her concerts, the ‘deep contralto … younger sister’ was billed as such. For, although the ‘Misses Flower’ appeared regularly as a pair, Sara was, on occasion, engaged alone. I notice her in 1839, singing at Miss Galbreath’s concert at the London Tavern and again at Charles Mangold’s on 10 June of the year. The sisters sang together, at the end of the year, when they made their ‘debut in Oxford’, but Sara also sang solo. And what did she sing? The baritone aria ‘Vi ravviso’ from La Sonnambula. Sara brought outVi ravviso’ on a number of occasions, but she could do better. In 1842, in a concert at Southampton, I note her singing no less a basso profondo classic than ‘Qui sdegno’ (Il flauto magico).

On 25 March 1840, the Misses Flower presented their own concert, at the Store Street Music Hall, with the Misses Woodyatt, Lanza and Bassano and Messrs Bennett, A. Giubilei, Purday and Stretton as the attractions. All that I can find related is that they sang a notturno by Blangini ‘nicely’.

But Miss Flower was beginning to attract serious attention. Oxford reckoned on a second hearing that Sara ‘bids fair to be, with strict cultivation, one of the finest voices of the day’ whilst a critic who attended a concert at the Western Institute, where the Misses Flower gave ‘I know a bank’, wrote ‘One of the young ladies possesses a sweet soprano voice the other a fine full contralto and both are extremely well schooled’.

By this stage, a good half dozen year since that first sighting at the Choral Institute, Sara Flower had become a student at the Royal Academy of Music, where she moved to the tuition of Crivelli. She would stay at the Academy through until 1844, by which time her career was well and truly under way.

Sara Flower was brought out on the operatic stage at the alleged age of twenty-two, at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in a hacked-around version of La gazza ladra (7 January 1843), playing Pippo to the Annetta of another debutante, Sabilla Novello, alongside Phillips, Stretton and Allen. Her exploits in concert had evidently gone unnoticed by the opera-house patrons, and ‘she completely astonished the audience by the depth of her voice’. ‘One of the finest contralto voices with which we are acquainted’, cried the Musical World, whilst The Times went on at greater length and with a little less emotion: ‘The young lady who played Pippo acted with such ease, confidence and smartness, that we looked twice at the announcement that it was her first appearance on any stage before we could believe our eyes. The only test that was given her musical powers was the celebrated duet with Annette in the last act of the opera. In the few introductory notes of recitative her notes were so exceedingly full and rich, her articulation so admirable, rare qualities in an English singer of recitative, that the audience were literally taken by surprise and uttered loud and continuous applause, which was frequently reiterated as the very superior quality of her voice was exhibited in the course of the duet. Her voice is a mezzo-soprano of singular volume, with some excellent contralto notes, which she touches with firmness. She was not always just in tune, but with an organ of such good natural quality she must be looked upon as a vocalist of considerable promise’.

Miss Flower moved promptly to a different level in the concert world, and on 3 April 1843 she was billed, with Miss Rainforth, at the concert of the Philharmonic Society. The two women gave ‘Ebben a te ferisci’, Sara sang ‘The Lord is mindful’ (St Paul), and the press followed up ‘With more cultivation than she has at present, Miss Flower may take a very high position as a vocalist. She has a full, clear voice which is completely unrivalled, being in fact a kind of female tenor’. The Musical World modified its original rapture ‘[Miss Flower] is improving, if she will just refine her style, her splendid voice will work its own triumph without forcing…’

A fortnight later, Sara Flower came out in a new ‘debut’, this time at the Princess’s Theatre. The opera selected was Tancredi, and the result was not perfect. ‘Miss S. Flower with her magnificent contralto voice, with her extraordinary depth, has not yet acquired sufficient facility of execution to make a satisfactory Tancredi. In her song at the Philharmonic concert, when the power of the voice was more called for than the skill of the artist, the impression she made was most unequivocal, but in Tancredi, where so much depends on a high degree of cultivation, the case is widely different. Her fine deep notes, full and rich and clear as they are, told whenever they were uttered as they always must, but the performance as a whole was unequal and crude, and the encore of ‘Di tanti palpiti’ was not instigated by the soundest judgment. It is to be hoped that Miss Flower, with that superb voice, which should raise her to a high position in the profession, will not run the risk of missing that position by an attempt to take it too soon. The audience, we should record, testified their approbation by two or three large bouquets, which they flung towards the young vocalist…’

Since the new tenorino, Belton, was not a success, and Miss Turpin was a deputy as Amenaide, the Princess’s Theatre Tancredi left something to be desired, and thing went better when the bill was switched to La gazza ladra with Sara playing opposite Emma Albertazzi.

The interest provoked by Sara’s voice meant that plenty of concert engagements were forthcoming, but although many of them were for her alone, the ‘Misses Flower’ duet act was still on wheels. The sisters made their annual visit to Oxford together, duetted ‘We come to thee, Savoy’, like every other set of singing sisters, at the Bridge Tavern, performed at Ransford’s concert at Covent Garden, and in a performance of The Messiah at Rochester in February 1844, they took the soprano and contralto solos respectively.

Sara was a feature of the West End concert scene over the next two seasons, appearing in dozens and dozens of concerts—from those, large and fashionable, of Julius Benedict, Josef Staudigl, Louis Lavenu, Madame Dulcken or Theodore Giubilei, or the Concerts of Ancient Music to those of young artists such as Moriatt O’Connor, the Misses Lyon, Miss Spence or Miss Steele, writers including Brinley Richards and W.T. Wrighton, and the brigade of Italianate concertisers—Magghioni, Cittadini or the Signor Gallinardi who billed himself, anguishingly large, as ‘the nephew of Rubini’. Her repertoire was not always of the most conventional—at Madame Dulcken’s she sang ‘Ah! Perfido’ in a boldly transposed down version—but her voice was now well enough known and understood that ballad writers were able to write to order for her, as Brinley Richards did with the glooming ‘Lost Hope’.

The last months of 1845, Sara Flower spent in Milan, and I assume this was when she added Signor Mazzucato to the tableau de chasse of her singing teachers, but she was unwell during a good part of her Italian sojourn and, on 10 January 1846, she returned home to number 57 Welbeck Street, before heading off to Dublin for her first concerts of the year. She spent the early part of the year singing in the London concerts, before in October opening a new operatic season at the Princess’s Theatre. The feature of that season was a new opera composed by Edward Loder, based on the story of Giselle, and entitled The Night Dancers. Emma Albertazzi was cast as Giselle, Allen as her hero, and Sara was cast as Bertha, the Queen of the Night Dancers, equipped with a rolling aria ‘Peace to the Dead’. The Musical World enthused: ‘We doubt if a more perfect contralto exists at the moment’.

The Night Dancers was a considerable success, and would be the keystone of the Princess’s season, but the other offerings of the season were not all negligible. On 19 December, a piece entitled The Seven Maids of Munich, or The Ghost’s Tower, with a score by Rodwell, was produced and Sara was cast as the heroine of the piece with an aria descriptive of ‘Yon ruined tower’. It was not The Night Dancers, but it did for a while. Much more substantial and suitable was a production of Anne Boleyn (January 1847) with Sara cast as Smeaton alongside the operatic debut of Louisa Bassano in the title-role.

On 3 March, the theatre put up The Merry Wives of Windsor in which Sara Flower played Mistress Page, and more The Night Dancers were scheduled, with the young Anne Romer taking the part created by Albertazzi. Miss Romer was also featured in a production of an Auber piece (April 1847) entitled Barcarolle in which Sara played ephemerally, and when A Midsummer Night’s Dream was given, Sara was Oberon to Miss Romer’s Titania. Miss Romer and Miss Flower, Allen and Bodda, then headed the Princess’s company out on the road to repeat the successes of the season plus, in Dublin, The Barber of Seville (Rosina).

During her operatic season, Sara Flower continued to sing in concert – on occasion alongside ‘her pupil Miss L. Marshall’, who was also a player in the Princess’s company—but, oddly, when she sang at the Adelaide Gallery, with the Pyreneean Singers, in December 1847 she was billed as being ‘of the Nobility’s Concerts’, as if ‘of the Princess’s Theatre’ was a secondary consideration.

Sara returned to the Princess’s Theatre once more, in February 1848, to play alongside Anna Thillon as Donna Olympia in The Young Guard (‘You chide me well’, ‘I’ll try to think with thee’), but the other items of Thillon’s repertoire apparently held no roles for her, and The Young Guard was her last role at the theatre where she had confirmed her place as a valuable member of the London English operatic corps. It would also be her last appearance on the London stage.

Through 1848 and into 1849, Sara Flower appeared only in concert. Perhaps her novelty value had waned a little, but these concerts were, I think, not quite of the level of the best in which she had been featured up till now. Then, in April 1849, she visited Liverpool for a ‘short operatic campaign’ under the management of Howard Glover. She played Macheath in The Beggar’s Opera, Count Almaviva in The Barber of Seville and the Gipsy Queen in The Bohemian Girl, alongside Anne Romer and Delevanti, and was said to be preparing to create Glover’s opera Aminta, which had originally been scheduled for the Princess’s with Abertazzi in the title-role. But Miss Flower became ‘indisposed’, and Aminta was again abandoned. It would, finally, be created three years down the line by Louisa Pyne, and made little effect.

The company moved on to Edinburgh, where Lucia di Lammermoor was played, and Sara Flower spared the role of Edgardo by the manager, who went on and sang it himself.

Back in London, I spot Sara Flower one more time on the concert platform, duetting Donizetti’s ‘Nel tasso’ with Evelina Garcia at the Hanover Square Rooms.

And then she was gone.

It is said that the musician, Stephen Marsh, was the person who persuaded Sara Flower that there was a future for her in Australia. It seems surprising that she didn’t think there was one for her in England, but maybe she knew something we don’t. Maybe what looked like a lull in her rise through the musical ranks over the past couple of seasons was something more than a lull. Certainly, in Australia at the time, there was no contralto singer who could come near to matching Miss Flower in ability, and she could and would have the field—such as it was—unchallengedly to herself.

She arrived in Australia in February 1850, and made her first appearance at the Mechanics Institute in Melbourne on 28 February 1850, at a concert mounted by Thomas Reed (father of German Reed). She was immediately successful, and Reed presented her in a series of concerts at the Theatre Royal and at Geelong with a typical mixture of songs: ‘Thou Art Gone from my gaze’, ‘The deep, deep Sea’, ‘The Cavalier’, ‘By the Sad Sea Waves’, ‘Terence’s Farewell’, ‘The Wishing Gate’, ‘Jeannette and Jeannot’ but also the English bass classic ‘The Last Man’ and Henry Russell’s picturesque ‘The Maniac’, before she moved on, in April, to Sydney.

There the Marsh brothers mounted a rather more lavish concert at the Royal Hotel (3 May). Sara swapped her ballads for Mercadante’s ‘Nume che feci mai’ (Nitocri), Schubert’s ‘The Wanderer’, ‘The Swiss Girl’ and the ‘Rataplan’ from Fille du régiment, on a bill with the Howson brothers and Mme Carandini, and the Australians, used to being fobbed off with vastly puffed, second-rate English singers, cheered that, this time, their hopes were ‘fully realised’.

Sara posted her shingle as a teacher in Sydney, and continued to give concerts in the city and environs, mostly with the same colleagues, delivering Donizetti, Rossini and Bellini, as well as ‘The Old Arm Chair’ or ‘Dermot Asthore’, and a flurry of new-to-Australia songs, which were printed and sold ‘as sung by Miss Sara Flower’.

On 1 May 1851, Sara took a Benefit at the Royal Victoria Theatre and made ‘her first appearance in the colonies in an operatic character’. She played Cinderella ‘with the whole of the music arranged by Mr. Gibbs’ and Emily in The Captain’s Not A-Miss. The Howsons supported, and Mr. Gibbs inserted ‘When a Little Farm We Keep’ for Sara and Frank Howson, ‘Tenor Trombone’ for John Howson, and loads of dances. And thus, presumably, left some Rossini out. But there was such a demand for tickets, that the Benefit had to be repeated the next night. And then again. And Sara was ‘engaged for the season’ at the Victoria.

On 29 May, she appeared as Lazarillo in Maritana alongside the Howsons and Mrs. Guerin, then in her role in The Night Dancers, as Stella in The Enchantress, as Diana Vernon in Rob Roy (with Carandini as Obaldistone), Rosetta in Love in a Village, Julia in Guy Mannering, Zelinda in The Slave, Pepino in The Devil’s Opera, Susanna in The Marriage of Figaro, and as the hero of The Daughter of the Regiment and of the burlesque of Don Giovanni, Hecate in Macbeth … Mr. Gibbs must have been kept busy transposing. She also appeared in concert giving such as the solos from La Sonnambula and ‘Bid me discourse’!

And on the 20 December 1851, Sara married the actor ‘Sam Howard’ (Samuel Howard Taylor).

She continued at the Victoria, without a pause, playing The Philosopher’s Stone and the favourite pieces of the previous year, and, on 16 February 1852, gave Australia’s first Norma, with Carandini as her Adalgisa. Norma became one of the most popular items of the theatre repertoire. For her Benefit she played the role of The Female Massaroni, and she also appeared in several plays.

In 1853 The Exile (Elizabeth), Inkle and Yarico (Narcisse), Joan of Arc (Florine), Cramond Brig (Marion), Family Jars (Emily, with songs), King Lear (Fool), Richard III (Lady Anne), A Winter’s Tale (Paulina), The Honeymoon (Zamora) were among the pieces played, and when not giving her Norma, her Lazarillo or her Stella, or performing as an actress, Madame Flower was nightly featured in ‘a favourite song’ between the pieces. For her husband’s Benefit, she appeared as Edward, the page, in Charles the Second and also sang ‘Casta Diva’.

In November 1853, Mr. and Mrs. Howard (‘the Australian Nightingale’!) visited Rowe’s Circus and the Theatre Royal (‘the Jenny Lind of the colony’) in Melbourne, proceeding to Geelong and Bendigo, and returning in mid-1854 to Sydney.

Catherine Hayes arrived in town, and Sara sang with her in concert, Miska Hauser arrived and Sara sang at his concerts, and 19 December 1854, the Royal Victoria began a new opera season. And they began it with The Night Dancers. Mrs. Guerin was again Giselle, Sara repeated her original role and ‘Peace to the Dead’, and a little English girl, Miss Julia Mathews, did a solo dance. The Waterman was given, and Sara played Tom Tug (‘with exquisite vocal powers’), and when the first Australia Lucia di Lammermoor was given (13 February 1855) she was Edgar to the Lucy of Mrs. Guerin.

Miss Hayes returned to Sydney in August and Sara was hired to support her. She gave Lisa in Sonnambula, Adalgisa to Catherine’s Norma (and stepped into the title-role when the star was ill) and the Gipsy Queen to her Bohemian Girl. And when the Irish lady left, she stepped back into her prima donna roles, until it was time to head for Melbourne and become seconda donna again. Or sometimes a primo uomo. Sara was cast as Edgar to Hayes’s Lucy, Pollio to her Norma, the Gipsy Queen, Polly in The Beggar’s Opera, Maffeo Orsini, Pierotto in Linda di Chamonix and even Theresa in La Sonnambula.

In the New Year Mr. and Mrs. Howard again went on the Bendigo-Geelong circuit, for an extended period, but 1857 found them back in Sydney, and Sara back in the opera. With Anna Bishop at the Princess’s, Melbourne. This time she was Adalgisa again, for Mrs. Bishop had engaged a tenor, Walter Sherwin. She gave her Maffeo Orsini, sang Isabelle to Bishop’s Alice in Robert the Devil, and when Ernani was given, she played the King! During her time in Melbourne, Mrs. Bishop also took part in the first Australian performance of Elijah at the Exhibition Building 24 June 1857. Sara sang the contralto part.

And then it was back to Sydney and the Royal Victoria Theatre. Mrs. Bishop had postponed her departure again, and was playing 18 performances in Sydney before quitting the colony. Sara gave her Orsini, Pierotto, Adalgisa, Lisa, Nancy in Martha, and took part in the concerts—which included the Stabat Mater and Mozart’s 12th Mass.

When Mrs. Bishop’s season ended, Sara returned to the Victoria to play Don Giovanni in the extravaganza The Ladykiller. But Mrs. Bishop still didn’t go, and next thing Sara was playing Ännchen to her Agnes in Der Freischütz (5 September). Then Adalgisa again. The Sydney Philharmonic Concerts … Then concerts in New South Wales and Victoria, and the title role in the burlesque The Invisible Prince and Queen Graciosa in The Yellow Dwarf at the Sydney Prince of Wales Theatre. When the house produced Macbeth, Sara was no longer Hecate: she was Lady Macbeth! When they did Rob Roy she was … Osbadistone. Her husband was Major Galbraith.

In June 1859, the Prince of Wales’s staged an opera season, and Sara got to play Azucena alongside Carandini and Sherwin.

In the 1860s, Madame Flower kept up her fervent schedule of concert appearances, singing much in oratorio, in festivals as well as in the concert hall, performing alongside such newer comers as Lucy Escott and Henry Squires. But nary a contralto to eclipse her. Mr. Marsh had been right. However, in these years she suffered much ill-health, and became increasingly unable to fulfil her engagements and her teaching duties.

She died ‘of rheumatism’ at her home in Sydney in 1865, at the stated age of 43. She was survived by her husband.

Sara Flowers tombMadame Sara Flower’s tomb. From Evening News (Sydney), 28 December 1895, p.1.

A chance find on eBay prompted KURT GÄNZL to take another look at Jennie and Louise Arnot, two sisters who spent some time in Australia as members of Marsh’s Juvenile Comedians in the 1860s.

ARNOT JennieJennie Arnot. Photograph by Bourne & Shepherd, India.

The brain of my computer is bulging with Stuff. Unfinished and abandoned books and projects, sketched articles and fun research going back to the days before computers were invented. Many, many thousands of pages of diggings from closed-down mines.

My own brain, happily and however, is still sufficiently functional to remember vaguely what is stored away in the tailings of my working life, and sometimes and for some reason I go back and quarry in one heap or another. Today was one such.

Amongst a pile of non-theatrical Victorian cartes de visite, I came upon one labelled ‘Jeannie Arnot’. Photographed in India. The brain went ‘click’ ...

Jennie

Some years ago, I researched and half-wrote a little book on the Lydia Thompson ‘British Blondes’. Then I was asked to do a piece for a learned Franco-German journal, so I gutted my Blondes book and published its heart of some 30 pages. The left-overs still sit amongst those tailings, and they include a biographical sketch of ‘Miss Jennie Arnot’ and her sister Lou. So I snipped out the section, updated it, and here it is, twinned with its relevant photo.

Talking about the American girls who joined the Thompson troupe:

Amongst the newcomers were two American sisters. Amazing how often there were sisters …

This pair were a somewhat better bargain than the multiple Logans, and they had been in show business with some success since an early age. They called themselves Louise and Jennie Arnot, but their real name was McLaughlin and they had begun their theatrical careers in the 1850s as members of the Marsh Children’s Comedians troupe ‘every one under 13 years of age’. Louise, who was with the company from 1854, latterly wasn’t under 13, but ‘Little Jenny Arnot[t]’, who seems to have joined up in 1859, was. In the 1860 census, when the troupe is playing Nevada, she is listed as 8 years old to Louise’s 15. Tut! Her date of birth was 11 July 1850.

Well, they were born in Rochester, NY, the daughters of and Irish boatman by name John McLaughlin and his wife Mary Jane. The McLaughlins were trusting parents, for their daughters traipsed off, in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, not only to New Orleans, Nevada and San Francisco—where Louisa played leading lady, from burlesque princes to Lady Macbeth, opposite the Marsh’s hugely puffed young son—but thence to Australia and New Zealand, where they stayed for a number of years.

The troupe of children, the ‘Arnot’ girls at their head, was highly successful, but Mrs. Marsh proved less than efficient as a duenna. In 1863, Louise climbed down an alleged knotted sheet, provided by her little companions, into a carriage occupied by a handsome star wire-walker, and zoomed off to get married. The wire-walker and all-round acrobat was a man of some notoriety who called himself ‘Henri (or Henry) Bartine’. The Australian records tell us he was actually named Mahan[y] or something approximating that, and that he couldn’t decide whether he was English or American. I see he actually arrived in Australia (‘equestrian’ ‘aged 24’) along with the Stoneham family, travelling steerage, in 1862. The previous year he had been, for three weeks, a 2nd Lieutenant in the New York Infantry. And I do see a record for a Henry Mahan and a Mary S. McLaughlin getting wed in Sydney in 1863. I think that might be Mary L.

Anyway, Henry and Louise had a daughter, Jennie Mahany (b. Fitzroy, 18 February 1864), and a son, Henry James ?Mahony Bartine (1865), who died aged one, before Henry apparently caught Louise in a seeming infidelity, whacked her, and she fled, in 1868, to a ship which was heading back to America. Bartine had her luggage unloaded, Louise went to court and got it reloaded … End of marital chapter, but not of her career.

‘Little’ Jennie apparently stuck with Louise, and we are told that she, too, acquired a brief Australian husband before they finally did quit the country. By 1869, they were back in San Francisco with the forgiving Mr. Marsh and his son and the latest version of the troupe. By the 1870 census, the two siblings, all husbands shed, can be seen in New York: Miss Louise Arnot (26) and daughter Miss Jennie scribble (6), plus Miss Jennie Arnot (20) and Mary Arnot (48), who I guess was mother. Doesn’t quite tally with the Nevada ages, but I guess when you are a member of a kiddie troupe you chop years off your age, and when you are a teenaged once-married mother you might add some on.

And their adult careers are about to begin. It is 1870 when I spot the two girls joining up with the Lydia Thompson troupe. Louise had been a leading lady with Marsh and in Australia, but as a full-blown performer she had to retreat to supporting roles behind somebody such as the Queen of Burlesque. Jennie had specialised in sprightly soubrette parts both in the juvenile troupe and, from her early teens, with such as Emily Jordan in burlesque: she carried right on playing the same sort of parts with the best burlesque troupe in the country. For both girls were decidedly useful. Marsh’s training had covered all aspects of theatre: acting, singing, dancing. The fine-looking Arnot girls could play in the burlesques, in the supporting comedies, sing and or dance solos, and Louise, with her strangely ‘mannish’ and deep voice was a natural for pants parts.

The troupe opened at Wood’s Museum, with Jennie cast as Cupid in Paris, Ochobrand in The Forty Thieves, and Brunette in St George and the Dragon, before heading out on the road.

In January 1871 the company presented Paris, Sindbad, Richard III or Bad Dickey and Lurline at New Orleans. Behind Eliza, Lizzie Kelsey, Minnie Walton and Kate Heathcote, Louise took the part of the heroine’s attendant, Wavelet, originally played by pretty Nellie Hope, but since by none other than Willie Edouin in travesty. ‘She is justly becoming a great favourite with our people’ commented the local press. She played William in Black-Eyed Susan and five characters in In and out of Place, appeared as the Sultan in Sindbad and Jupiter in Paris, and later took up the part of the Count to Jennie’s Lady Una in Lurline as the company went through its usual changes of personnel. She ‘possesses the happy facility of doing everything she touches well’ agreed the newspapers.

‘The captivating’ Jennie played in the afterpieces, supporting Lydia in A Day in Paris. The tour ended in June, and so did the Arnot girls’ time as Blondes. Lydia and her husband headed to England to stock up on ‘real’ British blondes, and the girls moved onwards to the next part of their long career.

That was where my original piece stopped. But not my curiosity. So when the photo of Jennie surfaced on eBay, I reactivated my search for the whatever happened to of the Arnot girls.

Louise

Louise quickly found a new husband. Quite when and where she acquired him I haven’t yet tracked down, but in February 1870, already, the Clipper states that she is the wife of John Wilson, a well-known Scots circus proprietor. Even though Tony Pastor seems to have continued to bill her as ‘Louise Bartine’. Wilson died in Hamburg in 1876, and Louise subsequently became Mrs. Thomas Patrick Gunn, wife of her much younger partner in her vaudeville sketches and sometime ‘stage director of the Lafayette Theatre’.

I have found her will. She died in Manhattan 19 August 1919 and her legatees were husband Thomas (b. 30 December 1872); daughter Jane or Jennie originally ‘Bartine’ or Mahanna (!), later Gunn, in 1860 Mrs. Edwin Frank Mayo (eg. Maguire, son of the actor Frank Mayo), at some stage ‘wife of Frank David of the Conried Co.’, then, it seems, Mrs. Jane Rasmussen (d. Brooklyn, 10 January 1929); and sister Jennie Bebus ...

I have also found a marriage listing for 10 May 1920 for Thomas P. Gunn and Jane Rasmussen! Marriage with deceased wife’s daughter??? Well, she was nevertheless, a decade older than he.

After her putative divorce from her mysterious Australian husband, Jennie married the actor, Davenport Bebus (b. 1848; d. NYC, 10 July 1897). Bebus was a gambler, convinced he could break the bookmakers’ bank, and when his losses got too great, he threw himself terminally into the North River at 81st Street ...  he was buried by the Actors' Fund. There were a daughter, Edith (b. NYC, 6 January 1887; d. Dunellen, 1960, Mrs. Schaefer) and a son Davenport (b. NYC, 2 October 1888; d. Bridgewater, NJ, 1959), from the marriage. Jennie Elizabeth Bebus aged 65 can be seen in the 1915 census of New York living in Church Avenue, Kings, listed as ‘mother’ of either one L.P. Kerr or his wife Daisy. Odd. In 1920 she’s in Franklin, NJ, then, till 1931, in Dunellen, Plainfield NJ where she died in the April at the age of 81.

Well, that’s the facts and figures all tied up pretty neatly. Both girls had plenty more career after their spell as Lydia Thompson satellites, but little to match those glory days. Louise was touring the vaudeville circuits with a company in sketches (Fun on the Bristol, Coon Hollow, Regan’s Luck, My Friend from India) up till 1907 and her sixties. Jennie seems to have retired in the 1880s after her (re-?) marriage and motherhood.

Postscript

Writing in the Territorial Enterprise (Viginia City), 13 January 1864, Mark Twain, the noted writer and humourist, offered the following account of Jennie Arnot:

Before the Legislature begins its labors, I will just mention that the Marsh Troupe will perform in Virginia to-morrow night (Thursday)—at the Opera House of course—for the benefit of Engine Company No. 2. They played here last night—Toodles, you know. Young George Marsh—whose theatrical costumes are ungainly enough, but not funny—took the part of Toodles, and performed it well - performed it as only cultivated talent, or genius, or which you please, or both, could enable him to do it. Little Jenny Arnot (she with the hideous—I mean affected—voice) appeared as Mrs. Toodles. Jenny is pretty—very pretty; but by the usual sign, common to all those of her sex similarly gifted, I perceive she knows it. Therefore, let us not speak of it. Jenny is smart - but she knows that too, and I grant you it is natural that she should. And behold you, when she does forget herself and make use of her own natural voice, and drop her borrowed one, it is the pleasantest thing in life to see her play. 

Continuing his exploration of lost nineteenth century Victorian singers, KURT GÄNZL takes a look at the career of Annetta Scasi, the daughter of an West End furnitue merchant, who changing her name from Isaacs to the more Italianate Scasi, enjoyed some success in the UK and Australia in comic opera.

unnamed CopyAnnetta Scasi, 1870s. Photo by London Stereoscopic Co.SCASI, Annetta [ISAACS, Hannah] (b. ?9 Phoenix Alley, Longacre, Covent Garden, c.1847; ??d. Australia)

IN 1871, the New York Clipper inserted a little article amid its gossipy pages.

‘Some little while ago there appeared at the Globe Theatre a lady singer named Miss Coralie D’Auban. A great splash was made in regard to her début by her indulgent friends, and every fence and wall in town duly broke out with the name of D’Auban who was represented as a foreigner of high birth and illustrious connections. A shower of little innocent paragraphs artfully inserted in the journals invited the public to this belief. When Mdlle D’Auban turned up at rehearsals at the Globe Theatre, Mr Hughes instantly recognised the ‘distinguished foreigner’ as Miss Solomons, a clever young Jewish maiden whose father kept a furniture shop hard by the theatre. She had been absent from London some three months on the continent and had returned to the paternal roof with her voice well cultivated and her mother tongue proportionately dislocated. At rehearsal Hughes remarked what a strange havoc a quarter of a year’s difference had made with her English ... [She complained about the ‘feelthy English climate’ and coughed a lot and finally Hughes decided] the lady was pushing her affectations too far and determined to put her up. ‘Come, come, Miss Solomons’, said he ‘I’ll tell you what to do for your cold. Go round to your father’s shop, swallow half a pail of furniture varnish and rub your chest with passover cake. I think that will bring you round’. From that moment on Miss Solomons instantly recovered.’

Names had been changed to ‘protect’ those involved, but C** D’A*** was obviously—to me—meant as Cornélie d’Anka, and ‘Mr Hughes’ was either Alfie St Albyn or Willie Worboys, and I said so, in my biography of Emily Soldene. But this crafty journalist had done a mixture. The furniture merchant’s daughter from Drury Lane was indeed in the cast of Falsacappa at the Globe Theatre, but she was not ‘Miss C d’A’. She was a lady by the name of ‘Annetta Scasi’. And her nom de théâtre spelled backwards told all. It was not Solomons, it was Isaacs.

Miss Isaacs’s father was Lewis Isaacs, a successful furniture dealer of 117 Drury Lane and subsequently 3 Queen Street, the father, with his wife Phoebe (née Davis), of a large family of which Hannah was one of the younger members.

Marguerite Debreux 1Marguerite Debreux, c.1871. Photographer unknown. Victoria & Albert Museum, LondonShe would later claim that she had trained at the Royal Academy of Music, at Paris and in Milan. Of these claims I have no supporting evidence. But I suppose it could be she, the ‘Mdlle Scasi’ who made a debut at the Théâtre des Italiens in November 1869, singing La Sonnambula and provoking the review: ‘Mlle Scasi is not a decided acquisition to the troupe’.

‘Mdlle Scasi’ first appears to practised eyes in an opera buffa troupe mounted at the Lyceum Theatre in January of 1871, with a repertoire including Bottesini’s Ali Baba, Crispino e la comare, and also Il Barbiere di Siviglia. Amalia Colombo, Enrichetta Bedetti Fuollo and Maria Callista were the leading soprani, and Mlle Scasi appeared briefly: ‘the little part of Berta was allotted to a Miss Scasi who strove earnestly to give effect to the quaint little air which is Berta’s sole chance of distinction’. Apart from a participation in conductor Tito Mattei’s Benefit at the end of the season (1 March), that seems to have been her contribution.

Soon after, she must have appeared at the Crystal Palace, for her press advertisements announces that she was ‘of the Royal Italian Opera Buffa, Lyceum Theatre, and the Crystal Palace’.

My next sighting of her, however, is in a Good Friday Concert at the Holborn Amphitheatre, singing ‘From Mighty Kings’ with ‘a pleasing command over the florid passages’.

After which, she was hired for the Globe Theatre, to sing the jeune première role in the first London performances in English of Offenbach’s Les Brigands (Falsacappa). Marguerite Debreux, from Paris, who had made something of a sexy hit in London’s Le Petit Faust sang Fragoletto, and Alfie St Albyn, a fine and versatile tenor with comic spirit, was the title bandit.

The production was only mildly liked, but Mlle Scasi—in spite of her apparent backstage antics—came out of it all right, being judged ‘a vocalist of considerable ability’, ‘the Signora Annetta Scasi whose accent is nevertheless decidedly English, has a good voice, sings fairly and acts with spirit’ (Daily News) ‘her surname spelt backwards could not sound more English than her accent … but [her] voice is pleasing, while her acting, though crude, is not wanting in spirit.’ Later on, the Daily News would claim Mlles Scasi and Debreux (the latter more known for her sex appeal than her voice!) as the best vocalists in the show.

Apparently backstage must have flared up again, for before the run ended, Mlle Scasi announced that she had ‘seceded from the company’.

An engagement of similar importance would take a while to come, but Mlle Scasi continued on, advertising ‘for opera, opéra-bouffe or burlesque, town or country’ and appearing in concert at Margate’s Hall by the Sea,  at Liverpool’s Theatre of Varieties, playing the little The Rose de l’Auvergne with William Terrott and J.A. Shaw, and playing Queen Barleysugar (‘with songs’) in the pantomime The King of the Peacocks at the Surrey Theatre.

In 1872, she spent some time on tour with L.J. Sefton’s London Comedy Company, singing the part of Graciosa, alongside Helen Maxse, Ambrose Perrini and T.B. Appleby in King Kokatoo (L’Ile de Tulipatan), but when the company took out a second tour, she had been replaced.

This time, however, it was not her backstage behaviour, it seems, that caused the change. Mlle Scasi had been cast in the star role of Robin Wildfire in the spectacular production of Offenbach’s Le Roi Carotte at the Alhambra.  Her ‘animated acting and brilliant singing’ apparently suited the hall, the vastly spectacularly produced grand opéra-bouffe-féerie suited it even better, and the result was a long run, and over 150 performances by Mlle Scasi as a star at the Alhambra.

But, once again, she did not follow up. She vanished, returning a year lady from what she announced had been her ‘tour of France and Italy’. Of this, I have yet to find trace.

Her first engagement back in Britain was at the Dublin Gaiety, where she played opposite Charlotte Saunders in the burlesque, The Good Woman in the Wood. After opening night, the local press wrote: ‘Mlle A.S. who is concerned chiefly with vocalism possesses a contralto of considerable richness and range and, while playing with skill, is still superior as a vocalist. Indeed, the lady would succeed better with a Dublin audience if her manner were less foreign and more pliant; if she were verbally audible and easier in attitude, if she were more inclined to sing songs than contrive effects ... as Prince Achmed’. Mlle Scasi was off on nights two and three. She went on to team with Miss Saunders in Rumpelstiltskin (into which she interpolated Bellini’s ‘Son Vergin vezzosa’).

At Christmas ‘billed as late of the Alhambra, the Lyceum, Globe and the principal Continental Theatres’, she played Morgiana in the pantomime The Forty Thieves at the Surrey Theatre (‘The Scasi Waltz’ by Amy Weddle), and sang at the Surrey Gardens in a production of the little Le Rajah de Mysore (‘acted with great animation and sang brilliantly’, in a tenor role).

In 1876, she took over briefly the management of a little company playing The Sleeping Queen, Fortunio’s Song and The Wedding Night, and at Christmas of the same year she played Romance in the Sanger’s Amphitheatre production of Gulliver on His Travels, alongside four elephants, two dromedaries, 2 camels, a heap of horses and 300 children. Needless to say, she ‘carried away the chief vocal honours’.

Thereafter, I spot her only at the Foresters Hall, doing a double act with Annette Solomon as ‘the Operatic Mimics’, singing duets with half of the Hartridge Sisters at the London Pavilion, and appearing with J.A. Cave at the Marylebone Theatre in his own piece The Burgomaster. The promising career of Mlle Scasi seemed to have foundered. In any case, in England it was finished.

In 1878, Phoebe (20 April) and Lewis Isaacs (22 April) both died, within forty-eight hours of each other. Their obituary notice in the Jewish papers remarked that they were the parents of barrister David Lewis Isaacs, and Mrs C Mordaunt Matthews, wife of a physician, but it did not mention Hannah. It just noticed ‘Australian Papers Please Copy’. Not without reason.

At some stage, she had left for Australia.

Mlle Scasi started her Australian career well, singing opposite Clara Thompson in the pantomime Alfred the Great (1878), at the Melbourne Academy of Music and, later in the year, when she appeared in Lallah Rookh at the Sydney Theatre Royal, the critic rather over-enthusiastically announced her ‘the best opéra-bouffe and burlesque artist we have had here’. She went on to play in burlesque, but once again, she seems not to have followed up. Or so I thought.

In 1886, a local paper reported of her performance that season at the Alhambra, Sydney: ‘when I first saw Miss Scasi—if you read her name backwards you get her real one—she was a burlesque artist with a big screw and an awful temper. Three years ago, I wandered into the Academy of Music, Sydney, and to my great surprise found an old friend greatly altered in vesta amor. She had evidently gone back to the old name now.’ She shows up in several concerts (‘Bid me discourse’ etc) in Sydney, and in 1888, I spot her in Brisbane, singing operatic arias between the plays at the local Opera House, while also took part in plays there—playing, amongst others, the role of the scolding wife in the Australian play Grif.

In 1891, she announced her return to Brisbane after ‘two successful years in the north’, and my last sighting of her is later that same year, taking the role of Josephine Corkarm in an HMS Pinafore burlesque entitled Mil Dew Ba (1 October 1891).

So did she end her career in Australia? And her life? Is she the Annie Isaacs, daughter of Louis of London and Dunedin, who died in Redfearn, Sydney 22 January 1918. It seems she was not, for a whole other story has emerged to fill in the gaps.

In The Grenfell Record and Lachlan District Advertiser of 14 December 1917, I find a mention of ‘Madame Scasi’ ‘who organised entertainments here and kept things on the move’ ‘one relic of [her] palmy days was an eighty guinea sealskin coat which she brought from London to Grenfell and which was viewed with considerable respect’. And it also tells us that she was the wife of John Craddock Towle. ‘Was’. Mr Towle, who operated as a doctor and/or chemist, was a widower from the Isle of Man, via Parke NSW. And he had died in Walgett, NSW in 1902 of ‘paralysis of the heart accelerated by intemperance’. So, when did she marry him? Goodness! 11 March 1878 … at St Mary, Lambeth, London! And the couple arrived in Australia 15 July 1878. With a ‘Master Lewis Towle aged 3’ in tow! In 1880, a George William Craddock Towle was born, and in 1882 the Grenfell press reported that Hannah was going back on the stage. Surrounded by press puffs about Drury Lane, Covent Garden and even La Scala, they visited New Zealand in 1884, and in 1886 a warrant for Towle’s arrest was issued for desertion. By the 1890s he was up in Queensland wanting a divorce and fathering a Mona Gladys and a Victoria May on one Margaret McBride.

Hannah didn’t keep little George. In 1890, aged 10, he was found living in a brothel in Sydney. The case came to court, and a stout motherly Mrs Ryan recounted that ‘Doctor’ Towle and his wife had separated three years ago and the boy had been entrusted to her care by the mother. She didn’t say what he was doing in a ‘house of ill-fame’.

As for Lewis Towle (it seems, né illegitimately Isaacs), unless he was the 5ft 2 chappie who became a jockey and ended up in jail …

In 1892, Towle sued for divorce, and the Townsville newspaper reported the gory details of his and her lives. Yes, she had a bastard before they married but he didn’t know that (strange, when the child travelled with them weeks later), she had worked as a barmaid and ... a prostitute … and she had had another illegitimate child … The doctor was brought into court to witness the fact. Other aliases surfaced. Mr Towle, of course, was white as snow.

In 1900 (‘dentist and chemist’) he went bankrupt, two years later he died of the drink, and in the meanwhile Hannah …?

Well, I spot her singing at a rugby club do at Gunnedah in 1895, and thereafter I see ‘Mrs J.C. Towle’ and ‘Madame Scasi’ no more. Perhaps she did go back to being Annie Isaacs and died in Redfearn. No. The gravestone in Rookwood cemetery reads ‘eldest daughter of the late Lewis Isaacs of Dunedin NZ’. Dunedin? I think not. Eldest daughter, no. Died 22 January 1918.

So Madame Scasi’s last resting place remains to be found. Sounds as if it may have been a gutter.

As KURT GÄNZL discovers, British tenor Walter Sherwin spent most of his short-lived career in Australia and New Zealand. Despite losing his arm in a shooting accident in 1866, he continued to tour, visiting California, China and Japan with Madame Marie Carandini.

SHERWIN, Walter [SHICKLE, John] (b. St Peter’s at Hungate, Norwich 17 April 1828; d. St Vincent’s Hospital, Darlinghurst, Sydney 22 September 1881).

Walter Sherwin SLVWalter Sherwin, c.1868. State Library Victoria, Melbourne.‘Walter Sherwin’ was born in Norwich, one of the numerous family of James Shickle, a plasterer and bricklayer ‘of 22 Prince’s Street’, and his third wife Mary née Dickinson (m. 4 May 1817). After James’s death, in 1833, Mary moved to London, where she can be seen in 1851, working as a dressmaker at 18 Soho Square, with her four youngest children, Charlotte (1826-1904), Adelaide (1830-1908, Mrs George Cunningham), Frederic (1833-1888) and John, who, the census tell us, is 22 and ‘a musician’.

I don’t know what he was doing in the musical world, and where. He wasn’t the Mr. [John Blythe] Shickle (1825-1876) of Norwich leading E.J. Loder’s orchestra at the Manchester Theatre Royal between 1852 and 1870; in fact I don’t see his name anywhere—as Shickle, Sherwin, or even Sherwin-Shickle—until 1855, when he pops up on the bill at the Canterbury Music Hall as ‘Mr Sherwin’. The only London credits I can find for him thereafter are illustrating Thirlwall’s lecture on popular music at the Deptford Institution (February 20, ‘Mr Shickle’) and as a soloist in the concerts given by Picco, the blind Sardinian Minstrel, at the Adelphi Theatre (17 March 1856). These were to be his last, and seemingly only, solo appearances in the London theatre. Three weeks later, he sailed, with Australian theatre manager John Black, and a little group of rather more experienced vocalists, on the James Baines for the southern hemisphere: soprano Julia Harland, her husband, actor William Hoskins, basso Robert Farquharson Smith and the Hoskins’s accompanist Linley Norman. Only Farquharson would return.

It seems that Sherwin made the trip alone. His wife, Sarah Emma née Amos (m. 27 May 1852) and his children, Charlotte Sarah (b. 6 March 1852) and Frederick John (x. 21 December 1856), apparently joined him later on.

The team arrived in Sydney on 30 June 1856, and on 8 July they opened in La Sonnambula, with locals Richard Stewart and Kate Ward in support. All three of the vocal stars were billed as being ‘of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane’, which in Sherwin’s case—unless he had been a chorister—seems most unlikely. But he was judged to have a ‘rich tenor of good compass, flexibility and sweetness’, and to be the tenor of the moment. The tenor who had, apparently, never sung in opera followed up with leading roles in Lucia di Lammermoor, The Bohemian Girl and Maritana, before the trio moved on to a few performances at the Melbourne Lyceum, then to Adelaide, before returning to Melbourne and its Theatre Royal for more opera—notably The Mountain Sylph—and for a Messiah, in which the trio were joined by a Mrs McDougall (late Miss Rose Joseph) ‘of the Liverpool Concerts’.

After a season in Ballarat, Sherwin and Farquharson went to the Melbourne Princess’s to support Anna Bishop in Norma, then Sherwin and Miss Harland visited Hobart and Launceston with Norma and their regular repertoire. In November 1857, the theatre where they were performing was burned down during the night. In 1858 they played at Geelong and Beechworth, adding The Elixir of Love to their programme, and returned once more to Melbourne, where they gave Fra Diavolo and the first Australian performances of Il Trovatore (21 October). The casting was, however, not quite what may have been expected. Sherwin was cast as Lorenzo while Fra Diavolo was played by Maria Carandini in travesty, and the same lady played Leonora to the Manrico of Anna Bishop’s tenor Mons Laglaise. Julia Harland was Azucena, and Sherwin sang … Ferrando! When Laglaise moved on, he dropped the bass part and took up the tenor, to general approval (‘has raised himself to a previously unattained position in the favour of the public’).

From 1858, he linked up with Mrs Carandini in an opera and concert troupe, including, at periods, Edward Hancock and his wife, Maria Chalker, Henry Wharton, the Howsons et al, and I spot them in the early 1860s at  Bendigo, Melbourne, Ballarat, Maryboro, Avoca, Carisbrook, Wangaratta, Beechworth, Chiltern, Tarrengower, et al. In 1863 they visited New Zealand.

In 1866 Walter lost a forearm in an shooting accident, but he continued to perform in concert in Australia and New Zealand, and in 1871 Maria Carandini, Sherwin and a bundle of her singing daughters visited California. At various times, Sherwin was reported to be married to Madame, or her daughter Fannie, but Sarah Shickle Sherwin and her children were still there in Melbourne. Sherwin was ‘the manager of the Carandini company’ and that was all. If it were all.

They toured indomitably through the 1870s, suffered shipwreck, visited China and Japan, but on their return from Asia, in 1881 Sherwin was taken ill, and he died soon after in hospital in Sydney.

Hid obituarist wrote ‘one of the most cultivated and thoroughly legitimate tenor singers heard in the colony. Possessing as he did a fine voice, of the robust order, of extensive compass in the upper register and being both an experienced singer and a well-trained musician…’ and reckoned that Henry Squires and Carmini Morley were the only tenors to compare with him. It was Squires, of course, as much as his accident, which had persuaded Sherwin from the stage. With the coming of Squires, he was no longer the top tenor in town, and he wisely did not court comparison.

His son, Frederick John Shickle-Sherwin (b. London 6 November 1855; d. Bondi, Sydney 27 March 1917) became a director and one of the business heads of the music business, W.H. Paling and Co., George-street. Daughter Charlotte became Mrs John B.J. Gwynne.

Sarah Shickle lived to the age of 83, and died in Oranjezicht, Capetown on 13 January 1911.

It may be that music went back one more generation. In the chorus listed for the 1824 Norwich Festival can be spied the name of ‘Mr. Shickle of Norwich’ (tenor). Right alongside the name of ‘Mr. Clabburn of Norwich’. Both forebears, or at least relations, of members of my thousand Victorian vocalists.

 

KURT GÄNZL continues his survey of nineteenth century vocalists by looking into the life and career of Julia Wallack. A member of one of America’s most celebrated theatrical families, she performed firstly as Julia Wallack, then as Julia Harland, and as the wife of a successful actor, was also known as Mrs William Hoskins.

Mrs HoskinsMrs William Hoskins, c.1860s. Private collection.HARLAND, Julia [WALLACK, Julia Susannah] (b. Washington, USA c.1819; d. 8 Hanover Street, Fitzroy, Victoria, Australia 19 August 1872)

Tracing the ‘who were they’ of so many Victorian singers can be an enormous (and not always successful) kind of ‘treasure hunt’. But with ‘Julia Harland’, there is very little problem. Why? Because her parents, her siblings, her cousins and, perhaps, even her aunts, were all much more celebrated members of the theatrical profession than she. Once you know that ‘Julia Harland’ was, for much of her career, a stage-name for the young lady born ‘Julia Wallack’ all is easy. Or should be. In fact, there are a couple of annoying odd details which don’t pop out as smoothly as I would like, plus the usual amount of reprinted third-hand rubbish, so there is still digging (and a cleaning of the internet stables) left to do here, for someone.

The Wallack dynasty of players descends from actor William Wallack (1760-1850) and his actress wife, Mrs Elizabeth Granger née Field (m. St Paul’s Covent Garden 8 July 1787), apparently formerly the wife of one Dr John Granger (m. Ayr 17 August 1776). Thanks to their descendants, they have been much written about over the years, and as usual the writers don’t seem quite to have been able to agree on the facts and figures. Mr William Winter, the dubiously correct biographer of Richard Mansfield, in Brander Matthews’s work on British Actors and Actresses, has gone about things in a precise way, but since he falls into error in his first few lines one clearly cannot trust him.

He states categorically that the couple had four children, two sons and two daughters, all of whom would go on the stage. Mary (‘Mrs Stanley’, ‘Mrs Hill’) and Elizabeth (Mrs Pincott) both have a place in historical recountings, but it was the two sons who were the stars of their generation, the sons known, on both sides of the Atlantic, as James William Wallack and Henry Wallack. Both sons were said to have been born in Lambeth, London. In Hercules Buildings, so it is recounted. James William is variously cited as being born 14 August 1794 and ('estimated' on his gravestone) 24 August 1795. Henry, who is the one who interests us, if he is Henry John Wallack, by William out of Elizabeth, was born 22 October 1792. And he was christened a month later, at the Nonconformist Church in Newcastle Upon Tyne.

Now, the acting Wallacks made numerous trips across the Atlantic during their busy theatrical careers, so they declared with great regularity their origins and their ages. Not, of course, being theatricals, that one expects them to have necessarily told the truth. Or even to be consistent. After all, James made one voyage out describing himself as ‘tragedian’ and came back labelled as ‘comedian’. But …

The trip that interests me is the voyage of the William, out of Hull, in 1821. It includes amongst its passengers one William Henry Wallack, comedian, aged 28, his wife (no name seemingly given) aged 24, a son James W. aged 3 and a daughter, Julia, aged 2. Our Julia. But ‘William Henry’? Yes, I have looked very closely to see if it could be ‘Mr’ Henry, but it isn’t. The William Henry Wallack who married Frances Jones 20 November 1814? That would fit, for the list looks like Frs rather than Mrs. So, they are the William Henry and Frances (m. 20 November 1814) who gave birth to James William who was christened at Hull 16 March 1818 …? William Henry, not Henry John. But it has to be the same person … so was Henry just assuming the name of William? It is very curious.

And it seems to run in the family. When James William (the first) married [Georgiana] Susannah Johnstone, 12 March 1818 at St Paul’s Covent Garden, he registered himself as James Richard Wallack. Susannah eh? Oh, what a load of Wallacks!

Julia Susannah Wallack was, so she said, born in Washington. That means that we have no way of finding out what her birth certificate says. But she is evidently (to me) the daughter of Henry Wallack (by whichever name he then chose) and Frances ka Fanny née Jones, who appear to have tarried a few years after their marriage before launching into children. But in 1819, Henry Wallack and his wife were indeed in America, having clearly popped across there with baby James in arms, and Henry was making his first appearances on the stage in Philadelphia and Baltimore ('a new star in our dramatic firmament'). And, thus, Julia Wallack first saw the light of day in America, as did her younger sister Fanny (b. ?1822; d. Edinburgh, 12 October 1856).

The Wallack marriage, however, was a distinct failure. The ‘graceful and delicate’ Fanny began to fall apart, the couple were divorced in 1833 and, a few years later (10 April 1836), she died, in New Orleans. In 1839, Wallack—as Henry John this time—remarried, his second wife being the vocalist Maria Turpin (b. Hawk St, Liverpool 18 June 1807; d. London 19 June 1860), and fathered further children, George (b. Kennington 1840; d. ?1873), William Henry James (b. Prince’s Place 21 April 1841; d. Brookwood February 1861) and Augustus Charles (b. Covent Garden, x. Norwich 15 November 1844; d. Brookwood February 1861).

Brother James was put on the stage as a child, but apparently Julia and Fanny were given more time. When they appeared at their father’s Benefit at the New Chatham Theatre on 23 December 1839, playing The Hunchback, with Julia as Julia and Fanny as Helen, it was announced as their first appearance on the stage. On 31 December, they took a Benefit of their own at which The Honeymoon was placed, with Julia as Juliana and Fanny as Violante.

During 1840, the ‘Misses Wallack’ were ‘walking ladies’ for Burton at the new National Theatre, where Julia appeared in supporting roles in opera (Zaida in Il Turco in Italia), and Fanny went on from there to make herself a considerable career as an actress, up till her marriage with comedian Charles H. Moorhouse and her subsequent early death. Julia, however, had inherited her mother’s talent for music and, on 13 April 1841, she made what seems to be a first operatic appearance, playing the part of Donna Elvira with the Seguin opera company, at the Park Theatre, alongside Miss Poole and Manvers. Later the same year, she was seen at Niblo’s, singing ‘Queen of the flowers’ and ‘Zephyr spread thy pinions high’ in the burletta Flora and Zephyr, playing with Chippendale in The Ladder of Love, and taking the role of Aldegonda, with the same company, in Horn’s short-lived opera Ahmed el Kamel, the Pilgrim of Love (‘Mild as the moonlight’). When Niblo’s staged ‘the laughable burletta’ The Valet de Sham, she interpolated the song, which she had made the hit of the opera, into the role of Miss Marchmont.

During 1842, the Wallack family was in England, where Henry played at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. James was at the Haymarket. I think that Julia must have been engaged at Norwich—for William Hoskins of the Theatre Royal company and his brother, lawyer Horatio Huntley Hoskins had written a play, De Valencourt, which was produced there and at Lynn, and Julia is listed in the printed copy as having played ‘Florinda, a waiting woman’. On 24 August 1842, Julia became the wife of the handsome Mr W. Hoskins.

William Hoskins hailed from Newton Solney in Derbyshire and was a son of a family of note. His grandfather, Abraham Hoskins (d. 1805) had been a solicitor in Burton-upon-Trent, and also a land speculator who had purchased the Newton Solney estate and, there, built Newton Park. He had had Sir Geoffrey Wyatville develop the so-called Bladon Castle, which his father, another Abraham, had converted into a home. Abraham junior produced nine children, spent his money liberally, constructed freely, but ‘through lavish hospitality, the breeding of greyhounds and, above all, by building Bladon Castle, found himself by 1836 unable to maintain either house and sold them and the estate to the Earl of Chesterfield ...’ His sister did better. She married the head of the Bass brewing firm.

William (b. 17 February 1816), having passed by Cambridge University and a legal career, was already on the stage, where his good looks more than any great acting ability would give him a respectable career in Britain before he headed to less competitive pastures in the southern hemisphere.

The couple crossed to America soon after their marriage, and on 21 October they appeared at the Park Theatre, Hoskins playing Felix in The Wonder, and Julia performing The Loan of a Lover. She was better liked than he was, but the experience evidently didn’t please and, quoting a ‘financial panic’ in New York, they quickly reversed back to England and the Theatre Royal, Norwich. Julia was seen in the protean role of Jenny Transit in Love’s Sacrifice, in which she ‘sang two new popular American songs’, as Gertrude in Loan of a Lover et al.

In August 1843, Henry Wallack took on the management of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, and he opened there 2 October with a company including son James and Mr Hoskins (‘a provincial actor’). However, the season was a quick failure. Although she was not apparently billed, I wonder if Julia had, in fact, also done something at Covent Garden. For when she went on to her next job, with the Bath and Bristol Theatre company she was billed as being ‘from Covent Garden’. She was not, by the way, the ‘Miss Wallack’ who appeared as Lisa in La Sonnambula at Southampton in October. That was Fanny ('we have not for years seen such a good Juliet').

In the last part of 1843 and the first months of 1844, she played at Bristol and at Bath mostly in drama and comedy (Flora in The Wonder, Chonchon in Linda the Pearl of Savoy, Abigail Holdforth in My Poll and Partner Joe, Kate Plowden in The Pilot, Nancy Spigot in The Double-Bedded Room, Christine in Stella Rittersdorf, Liska in Timour the Tartar, Miss Arlington (with songs) in The Hundred Pound Note etc), after which she and Hoskins turn up at Taunton in plays (Richelieu, Money &c), at Swansea and, in September, at Brighton where The Barber of Seville was amongst the pieces mounted. Julia sang Rosina to the Figaro of George Horncastle.

During 1845 and 1846, I spot the couple rarely. At Bath with the Keans, and husband and father are billed at the Manchester Theatre Royal in Shakespeare, but I finally catch up with them in late 1846, playing at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, where Julia is playing Loan of a Lover (‘very young, very pretty, and full of arch vivacity and rustic humour’). When she gave ‘Bid me discourse’ at a Benefit, the press wrote: ‘This young lady is in possession of a rich and melodious voice … her voice is clear, powerful and harmonious, but requires tuition..’. It was apparently what needed to be said. And it was the end of Julia Wallack. I spot her in February 1847, playing Pauline in The Lady of Lyons at the Newcastle Theatre Royal, back at Sadler’s Wells in March and April, playing in a musical interlude, The Rival Sergeants, with Mr Scharf and Mr H. Mellon (‘several incidental songs’), in Is He Jealous? with Hoskins and in Shocking Events and, in July, down at Gravesend for the season, but what she was mainly doing was taking singing lessons.

Henry Wallack had now moved his sphere of operations to the Princess’s Theatre, where a mixture of plays and operas was the bill of fare. The principal tenor of the establishment was a very fine vocalist, Henry Allen, and it was to him that Julia and her voice were entrusted.

Come November 1847, Allen was not to be seen in his accustomed place at the Princess’s. He was in Dublin, where he had engaged to sing a season of opera with a new soprano, ‘Miss Julia Harland’. Exit Miss Wallack, enter Miss Harland.  On 30 October 1847 Julia Harland played her ‘first performance in the lyric drama’ as Amina in La Sonnambula, with Allen as her Elvino and locals Henry Corri (sic) and Miss Mason in support. The next morning the Dublin press reported: ‘The debutante possesses most of the requisites for success on the stage. Without being strictly beautiful, she has a fine expressive face, a graceful figure, and an easy and elegant movement. Her voice is a mezzo-soprano, the range not very extensive; she is a little defective in the florid ornament of the Italian school, but she sings conscientiously and well. In the finale, ‘Do not mingle’, she was rapturously applauded and had to sing it three times. Her acting is particularly pleasing; she seems instinctively to have attained that familiarity with stage business which others gain by long study; every movement is easy, graceful, natural; in fact, as far as acting is concerned, we have seldom seen a gentler or more prepossessing Amina’.

Perhaps the reviewer was genuinely unaware that ‘Miss Harland’ had been more than half a dozen years on the dramatic stage, but his comment was one that would be often repeated during Julia’s operatic career. Whatever you thought of the voice, she was one of the country’s very best acting sopranos.

Suffice it, her Dublin debut was a success, and Sonnambula was duly followed by The Night Dancers, Lucia di Lammermoor and Maritana, before they headed off to Carlisle and dates beyond (‘the intention of Mr Allen is to perfect Miss Harland in the provinces previous to her making her appearance on the London boards…’), returning in March to Dublin, now with another pupil of Allen’s, a basso rejoicing in the noble name of Henry Percy, in tow. La Sonnambula, The Night Dancers and Lucia di Lammermoor were given again (even though Dublin had just had Miss Rainforth singing the repertoire), and I Puritani, Anna Bolena and The Young Guard, from the Anna Thillon repertoire at the Princess’s Theatre were added. 6 April 1848 they visited Cork, and at Easter Manchester, before, come 3 October and the opening of the new season at the Princess’s, Julia Harland made her London debut, at five pounds a week, alongside Allen, Weiss and John Gregg, in Lucia di Lammermoor. The debut was taken very seriously, and discussed at length in the press:

’as far as acting went, the best first appearance we have ever seen on the English stage’ voted one paper, but found nevertheless that she had perhaps been too ambitious in starting off with Lucia, ‘not without considerable promise … an uncertain singer, but she acts with some cleverness and has spirit and energy’.

The Era summed up: ‘her debut was highly satisfactory ... her voice is of considerable compass and good quality excepting in some few notes which require more management … Miss Harland displayed great ability, judgement and good taste … an agreeable countenance and a good figure...’.

It seemed that Miss Harland would be a useful member of the company at the Princess’s, but something went wrong. If the press liked her, manager John Medex Maddox soon decided he did not. Mlle de Roissi was sent on as Lucia, Captain Rafter’s The Heart of Midlothian, in which she had been cast, seemingly adeptly, to play Madge Wildfire, was postponed, and a fairly feeble piece called Marie or The Foundling of the Lake, with a ground up score of Hérold and Loder, substituted. Miss Poole played the title role, Miss Harland the second role of Emilie. Marie was a flop. Mr Maddox tried to trick her into missing a performance of The Waterman, but an actress working with her husband noticed her name up for the night’s bill, and so Julia turned up, only to be told that certainly she could go on as Wilhelmina, but her songs were all cut. Julia, in consequence, refused to go on, and Maddox gleefully sacked her. The Hoskinses promptly sued, the whole mucky affair (in which Allen’s name, noticeably, did not appear) was spilled out in court, and the affair cost Maddox—who claimed that the performer’s ‘incapability’ had caused the postponement of The Heart of Midlothian and been responsible for the failure of Marie—36 pounds 13 shillings plus his dignity. When The Heart of Midlothian did get on, Madge Wildfire was most oddly cast with the Americo-French soprano Dolores Nau, and it too was not a success. Julia couldn’t be blamed for that one.

Relations with Allen, who remained at the Princess’s seem to have been now severed, and Julia went off to take lessons with Emmanuel Garcia instead. At the same time it was announced that she had been engaged as ’leading singer at the Eagle Tavern’! From Lucia di Lammermoor to the Eagle Tavern? In fact, this was to be the best possible engagement for Julia Harland, and during it she would do some of the best and most appreciated work of her career. The Eagle Tavern was not just a hostelry or a beer garden: it had an ambitious and well-run theatre, known as the Grecian Saloon, attached to it, and the Grecian Saloon, manager Mr John Rouse, ambitioned productions of grand opera.

And thus it was, 3 November 1849, that Julia Harland opened once again as La Sonnambula, with an Elvino of the first rank—John Frazer—singing opposite her. The production was a full-blown success and she was a success in it. ‘Miss Harland is young, of good figure with well formed and striking features capable of much expression without having recourse to the ‘trick of face’. She has a good voice, something of a mezzo-soprano of excellent quality and more than ordinary compass and flexibility. Her execution is excellent, so also her musical education. From the beginning to the end of the opera she was not once out of tune’. Her acting was praised again as ‘graceful and natural, void of all attempts at point-making or straining after effect…’

Julia Harland and Mr Frazer (who also directed the productions), supported by the baritone Baldwin, a long-time employee of the place, Charles Horn, Eaton O’Donnell, Misses Crisp, Mary Ann Atkinson, and later Pat Corri, E.L. Hime and others, maintained the Grecian Saloon as a popular operatic house, through a long run of performances and productions. La Sonnambula was followed by The Syren (‘she did not lose a jot of the triumph she achieved as Amina’), Boisselot’s Touch not the Queen, The Crown Brilliants (sic), La gazza ladra, John of Paris, The Bohemian Girl (‘she has become an immense favourite’), Cinderella, Fra Diavolo, Don Pasquale, The Elixir of Love, Boieldieu’s Little Red Riding Hood, The Maid of Judah, The Daughter of the Regiment, Ma Part, Amilie, and, following Frazer’s departure, some less demanding pieces such as Clari the Maid of Milan, Brother and Sister, Guy Mannering, Midas, The Fairy Lake, The Duc d’Olonne, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Julia played Oberon), before changing to the extravaganza with Nobody in London (‘she ‘looked Venus admirably and sang as bewitchingly’), Planché’s The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood and Jason and Medea. By the time Julia Harland closed her association with the Grecian (which had, in the meanwhile, changed manager as well as fare), she had been there for two full years.

At Christmas she returned to Dublin, playing a mixture of traditional touring star’s musical playlets and burlesque extravaganza, during 1852 she was seen at Sadler’s Wells and at the Surrey in burlesque (Sir Lionel of the Silver Shield in The Three Perils of Man, or the Knights of the Round Table) and drama (Lestelle in The Flying Dutchman ‘with the original song’), and in June she joined Sims Reeves for a series of operatic performances at Drury Lane. When Reeves did La Sonnambula, Clara Novello sang Amina, and she was Lisa, and extremely well liked (‘Miss Julia Harland proved quite a card by the effectiveness of her Lisa. This young lady has histrionic powers of no common order, we are satisfied that she is not known at present in proportion to her merits’), when The Beggar’s Opera was done, Mrs Sims Reeves was Polly Peachum, and she scored again as Lucy Lockit. Over the next two years, Reeves would call regularly on the services of Miss Harland, to play alongside him in everything from La Sonnambula and Fra Diavolo (Lady Allcash) to The Waterman, Guy Mannering and Rob Roy, both in London and in his provincial and touring dates.

In between times, Julia appeared in London concerts (at Hoskins’ Benefit at Sadler’s Wells she delivered Rode’s fearsome ‘Air and Variations’), in an entertainment with Hoskins entitled Leaves from the Life and Lays from the Lyre of William Shakespeare, she sang at Drury Lane in a balletic piece entitled The Spirit of the Valley and in an ‘insipid’ role in a drama entitled St Marc, and played The Swiss Cottage at the Lyceum, The Beggar’s Opera at the Marylebone with Harriet Gordon as Macheath, and Lucy Bertram in Guy Mannering at the Haymarket, proving herself yet again a thoroughly attractive all-round artist.

In April 1854, she revisited Dublin to play a season with Harry Webb at the Queen’s Theatre playing mostly the standard provincial repertoire (A Roland for an Oliver, Giralda or the Miller’s Wife, The Camp at Queen’s, The Young Guard, The Foundling in the Forest, No!, The Swiss Cottage, The King’s Gardener, Midas, The King’s Wager, Villikind and his Dinah, The Water Man, Bluejackets, Loan of a Lover, Twas I, Ganem etc), and continued on to the Prince’s, Glasgow, where the repertoire was varied with the inevitable Rob Roy, before being recalled to London and some more Sims Reeves performances, including this time, The Bohemian Girl, in which she played the Gipsy Queen.

In 1855, Julia Harland went out to the provinces as the leading lady of Henri Corri’s English Opera Company, playing the standard repertoire alongside Corri, Eliot Galer, Fanny Reeves and Oliver Summers. Once again she gave her Lucia, her Sonnambula, The Bohemian Girl (now as Arline), Maritana, Cinderella and Norma, as the company toured lengthily through the year and into 1856.

And then Mr John Hall Wilton came into the Hoskins’s lives. Mr Wilton was a worldwide wanderer cum Mr Fixit who claimed, amongst many other things, to have negotiated P.T. Barnum’s famous deal with Jenny Lind. He had ended up in Australia, having apparently brokered the trip of Gustavus Brooke to the colonies and, his agency with Brooke ended, he advertised his return to Europe in the Australian papers, seeking commissions. Amongst the references he cited, apart from Barnum, Brooke and Miss Lind, were Tissaud, Charlotte Cushman, the Distins, Professor Anderson, Jullien, E.T. Smith and Mr J.W. Wallack.

So Mr Wilton and Mr John Black of the Melbourne theatres headed for England, and in England they engaged the backbone of an English Opera Company for the colonies. The prima donna was Julia Harland. It would later be said that it was Hoskins, whose career as a supporting actor in London had somewhat stalled, who was anxious for the opportunities that Australia offered, but whatever the truth of that tale, on 7 April 1856, Mr and Mrs Hoskins sailed for Australia on the ship James Baines in the company of Messrs Wilton and Black, Walter Sherwin, a music-hall tenor, the skilled bass Robert Farquharson and musical director Linley Norman.

The four musicians made their first appearance in Australia at Sydney’s English Opera House (ex-Prince of Wales Theatre) on 8 July in the inevitable La Sonnambula, and followed up with Lucia di Lammermoor. The performances went down well.

‘Miss Harland’s voice is a soprano of great power; she is a good musician and her execution is brilliant and correct. In the celebrated mad scene in Lucia she received the well merited applause of the audience and her rendering of the character was throughout given with excellent effect…’

They gave The Bohemian Girl ‘in its entirety for the first time in the colonies’, scenes from Don Pasquale, The Mountain Sylph, Maritana and in between times they gave concerts, but they did not draw, and panicky management did not help. They advertised ‘last performances’ when they had barely started, pretended they were closing and then stayed on, but still the public did not come. On 1 September they opened at ‘Our Lyceum’ (ex-Queen’s Theatre) in Melbourne, and John Gregg formerly of the Princess’s Theatre and Mrs Fiddes once Harriet Cawse joined to play supporting roles. Julia was liked ‘[her voice is] is superior certainly as regards freshness to that of any of her predecessors on the Melbourne boards’, ‘an actress of extraordinary calibre..’. The most recent soprano visitor to Melbourne had been the ageing Anna Bishop.

They traipsed on to the Victoria Theatre in Adelaide, returned for the official opera season in Melbourne during which they gave Masaniello … but the word was around ‘the opera troupe is a dead failure everywhere’.

But William Hoskins and Julia Harland stayed in Australia. Julia sang opera when there was opera to be sung, sang in concerts and in the occasional oratorio, trouped the diggings in every kind of entertainment and, generally, made do. ‘Making do’ was often what it was, and casting was not quite what it had been at the Eagle. When Mme Carandini sang Leonora in Trovatore, Julia was cast as Azucena (they later swapped), when Fra Diavolo was done ‘for the first time in the colonies (21 September 1858), she got to sing Zerlina, but the brigand was played not by Sherwin, but by Mme Carandini. When Eugenio and Giovannina Bianchi visited Australia and played Italian opera, Julia sang Adalgisa, Maffeo Orsini, Lisa and Flora in La Traviata, behind Mme Bianchi, as well as the leading roles in  Lucia and L’Elisir d’amore.

After the Bianchi season in 1861, Julia seems to have slid from the operatic scene, and she was seen for a while in burlesque (King Thrushbeard, The Bride of Abydos) and, often alongside her husband, in comedy (Lady Teazle was a favourite) and in Shakespeare (Ophelia, Tempest vocals). She also put on a great deal of weight. I last spot Julia Harland on the stage in a burlesque of the same La Sonnambula which had, so many times, been her ‘debut’ piece, at Sydney’s Prince of Wales Theatre in 1868. In burlesque fashion, of course, she played the boy part.

From 1869, Julia settled down as a vocal teacher in Fitzroy, Melbourne, advertising herself as ‘a pupil of Garcia’, but three years later, at the age of 51, she died ‘of dropsy’.

Hoskins remarried, his second wife being the Tasmanian actress known as Florence Colville (Mary Florence Rice, m. Christchurch, New Zealand, 27 January 1874). He was involved with theatre management on both sides of the Tasman and did not quit the stage until 1884. Two years later, he died (29 September 1886), at the age of seventy-one. He had been right to come to the colonies, for he had established himself there as one of the great characters of the Australian and New Zealand stage. Whether the relocation had been equally as good a move for Mrs Hoskins, is less certain.

 

Acknowledgements

With thanks to Allister Hardiman for his help with the photographs of Julia Harland and William Hoskins

Once again KURT GÄNZL delves into the life and career of a Victorian vocalist who deserves better recognition. Madame Lucy Escott was an American soprano who achieved success in her home country of America, even greater success on the stages of Europe and the UK, and spent some eight years in Australia with W.S. Lyster's opera troupe.

ESCOTT, Lucy [Evans] [EASTCOTT née GRANT] (b. Springfield, Mass 4 January 1829; d. Paris 26 November 1895)Escott SLNSWLucy Escott, 1863; photograph by Edward Dalton, Sydney. State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

Lucy Escott probably has the best claims, in retrospect, to be considered the ‘first American prima donna’ to make a successful career as an operatic soprano on the international stage.

A rather self-conscious article in the American press, in 1860, surveyed the field and came up with contenders: Madame Biscaccianti of Boston, Miss Withers of New York, Mrs Eastcott of Massachussetts, Miss [Maria Scovill] Brainerd of New York, Miss Wessler of Philadelphia, Miss Rosalie Durand of New York … Such as Mrs Sutton and Elisa Hensler didn’t even rate a mention. Anyhow, it was no contest. Only the career of Miss Withers aka Cora de Wilhorst approached that of Lucy Escott in quality, in success, and in travels, and by the time Cora made her debut Lucy was already wowing Naples with her performances.

Dwight of Boston had come to the same conclusion four years earlier: ‘She is, I believe, the only bona fide American prima donna who has appeared with continued success ...’.

Lucy was born Lucy Evans Grant, the daughter of Luther Grant of Springfield, Massachusetts, and his wife Lorinda née Williams, in 1829. Not 1832. She appears in the 1830 census. She was educated to music, and, as a teenager, was already a successful music teacher in Springfield. At the age of seventeen (24 March 1846) she married another local musician, the British-born Richard Eastcott (b. Broadwood x 15 October 1817; d. Springfield 19 August 1880), who had studied at the Royal Academy of Music from 1834 (and, allegedly, played at Victoria’s coronation)   before emigrating to America in 1839. He taught piano and violin in Worcester, Mass, and performed in concerts (‘a jolly and dapper little Englishman’) at the local Brinley Hall. I spot him, in 1843, playing in the orchestra at the Boston Handel and Haydn Society. ‘Miss Grant, pupil of E. Hamilton’ is to be seen concertising with him in 1845, and ‘Mrs Eastcott’ appears beside him, in concert, the month after their marriage.

The following year (while La Biscaccianti was, in her turn, making her first public appearances) she sang with Henri Herz and Camillo Sivori (11 October 1847) at the Tabernacle, NY, taking the part of Zerlina, alongside Mme Fleury Jolly, when they gave a selection from Don Giovanni. She followed up on programmes featuring the young pianist Richard Hoffman and the violinist Joseph Burke, from New York to Boston via Rochester, Albany and Syracuse (‘… a superb singer. Her voice is exceedingly deep and rich and she reminds us much of Mrs Bishop … we have had no such singing here since Mrs Bishop visited us…’) to their most recent home in Providence, RI. When she gave three concerts at Albany’s Bleeker Hall (12 November 1850, ‘Qui la voce’, ‘Non fu sogno’) the local press avowed ‘We have heard the best vocalists of this country but must acknowledge we have never witnessed a more splendid display’. 

Albany was the next place where they posted their shingle as teachers, and, there, Lucy became the soprano of St Paul’s Church, teamed with the young tenor, Henry Squires. Mr Squires would henceforth be part of her life, in one capacity or another, for as long as she would live. He appeared with Lucy in concert in New York where she sang on a number of programmes at Tripler Hall (Zorer’s ‘Joy and grief’, ‘Una voce poco fa’ as ‘Tyrant, soon I’ll burst thy chains’, Jenny Lind’s Song of Home, ‘O dolce concerto’), but the future team was sundered temporarily when the Eastcotts took the plunge and set off for Italy, where Lucy might further her studies.

They apparently settled on Florence, and an American abroad wrote back in August of 1852: ‘Mrs Eastcott, of Albany I believe, has been studying vocal music here and in Bologna for the year past. Mrs Eastcott has an organ of great power and compass—a soprano—remarkably sweet and pure in the upper notes. She has been very assiduous in her studies and her execution of the most difficult passages wins the heartiest applause, not only from those present, but from a large crowd of outsiders on the street below. She speaks the language with fluency and her style of singing is purely and thoroughly Italian … If Mrs Eastcott preserves her strength and voice, she is sure to make a sensation in the musical world.’

In April the following year, another report followed: ‘[Mrs Eastcott] formerly of Springfield, Mass, made her debut some months ago at one of the theatres here in the well-known letter scene from Il Barbiere. I witnessed it, and can testify that her success was very decided …  she is now singing as prima donna at one of the theatres in Naples…’

And indeed she was. Lucy had been taken on as prima donna at the Teatro Nuovo in Naples, where she had become a decided favourite. It seems she made her first appearance there, in a complete opera, on 10 January 1853, in the role of the heroine in Mercadante’s Violetta, and won sufficient success to allow it to be played 32 times. On 8 May 1853 she followed up as Emilia in Lillo’s new comic opera Ser Babbeo (‘giovane cantatrice americana che già piacque citanti’). She also played in the previous season’s hit Elena di Tolosa, Angiolina in Petrella’s Le Miniere di Freimberg, Il Barbiere di Siviglia, Il Trovatore, Norma, L’Elisir d’amore, Battista’s Ermelinda and, in January 1854, Giovanni Moretti’s Il Festino. She encountered the Draconian methods of the Italian theatres when she declined to play in Sarra’s Carmosina, which was written in Neapolitan dialect, and found herself in hot water.

The Morning Post reported from Naples on the sudden increase in striving Americans in the town and of their shining example: ‘In Naples we have an American lady, Mrs Escott, who draws every night at the Nuovo, and has really succeeded …’

And later: ‘The last thing one would expect of the Americans is that they should come and sing with success on the Italian stage. Nevertheless we have two examples in Naples at the present moment. Mrs Escott is an American lady who for more than a year has ‘drawn’ at the Nuovo. She came to Italy knowing nothing of the Italian language and only possessing such musical education as can be picked up in the United States, and yet within a few months she became the favourite at the Nuovo, a theatre which has schooled some of the best living artists. She has acquired the Italian school of singing and made the most of a delicate organ. With an unusual talent for acting, she has surpassed most Italian artists in dramatic excellence. She now leaves Naples for America where no doubt she will coin her fame into gold.’ The other American success, at a lesser theatre, was Henry Squires.

And Lucy, perhaps because of the vagaries of Italian pronunciation, had become definitively ‘Escott’.

The Escotts did not return to America. They progressed instead to England, where ‘a Madame Lucia Escott’ appeared at Helen Taylor’s concert at the Hanover Square Rooms in June. The English press commented ‘Her style is earnest and dramatic but not remarkable for finish’.

They then descended to the village of Antony, in Cornwall, where Richard’s family lived, and at Antony Farm, on 2 December 1854, Lucy gave birth to a son, [Louis] Edgar (d. Coos, Oregon 12 July 1940).

She came back to singing the following year, starting off with a concert at Plymouth’s St George’s Hall (‘Una voce, ‘Com’è bello’, ‘Lo, Here the gentle lark’,’ Charming May’), and appeared at Giacinto Marras’s concert in London, in June, with her Trovatore aria, and at the downmarket Newman Rooms, in music from Lucia di Lammermoor, with Allan Irving, before she was snapped up by E.T. Smith for the last nights of his Drury Lane opera season.

The opera chosen for her debut was La Donna del lago, in which she played alongside Fanny Huddart, Armandi, Flavio and Hamilton Braham. She scored a distinct success. ‘Her appearance in youthful and pleasing, Her figure is small and slight but very elegant; her features are delicate and feminine and her voice, a high soprano, is remarkably clear and flexible without that vibrating quality which conduces greatly to expression. Her intonation is beautifully true, and her execution and style those of a highly finished artist … her whole performance, full of refinement, spirit and sensibility was a continued triumph’.

On 10 July she took up the role of Lucia (previously played by Mme Gassier), before Smith’s season ended. But Lucy stayed right where she was. Joseph Stammers was the next tenant, playing an English opera season, and Lucy was hired as prima donna. She appeared on 21 July opposite Elliot Galer, as Arline (‘We have seldom seen a more agreeable representation of the gentle Arline’) and following up as Maritana, as Aeolia in The Mountain Sylph, Amina in La Sonnambula, and, when J W Wallack guested, sang one of the witches in his Macbeth. As the season stretched on, she caused ‘a furore’ as Galatea in Acis and Galatea, Adina in L’Elisir d’amore and sang her Lucia again, this time in English. At her Benefit, she introduced a new patriotic song ‘Victoria’ (S.W. New/Renton Nicholson) ‘dedicated to the forces of the Crimea’ and was praised as she  ‘not only sang the song exquisitely but acted every line of it’.

After the opera season, she repeated her Galatea at St Martin’s Hall, and appeared in concert from Covent Garden (Venzano waltz ‘with dashing facility’) to Greenwich to Carlisle and Islington, before returning to the theatre for a series of Stammers performances of The Bohemian Girl and La Sonnambula at Covent Garden. Stammers was succeeded, at Easter, by J.H. Tully and Frederick Kingsbury, and the Bohemian Girl performances were overtaken by the first English-language production of an opera which Lucy knew well from her Italian days. And thus, Lucy Escott became the world’s first English-language Leonora in Il Trovatore (24 March 1856). Lloyds newspaper summed up the situation: ‘Leonora is a difficult part, because it is less known and has fewer traditions than any which Miss Escott has yet attempted’, but ‘she sang and acted with her wonted energy and thoroughly entered into the spirit of the part’. ‘Madame Escott acquits herself with singular dexterity in the part of the heroine, the music of which, so profuse in the florid volubilties of the Italian school, she delivers with uncommon energy and freedom. We could not desire a more adequate executant of the ‘Tacea la notte’ or someone more decisive and vigorous in style’.

Once again, Lucy’s acting performance got the notices, but it was taken for granted that (apart from a dicky trill in Handel) her vocal talents were impeccable. America had sent a worthy ‘first American prima donna’ across the Atlantic.

The Mountain Sylph was revived (‘The cast has … probably never been excelled’) and on 30 June 1856 the company produced the Esmeralda of the ‘very Neapolitan’ composer Vincenzo Battista, which Lucy was said to have performed, improbably, 100 times in Naples. The press found it ‘trite and vulgar … below criticism’, but the cast drew appreciative notices. On the season’s 100th night Lucy contributed her ‘Miserere’ and the last act of The Enchantress.

In August the ‘National Opera Company’ (manager: Tully) went to the provinces, with Il Trovatore as its main offering, but with Maritana, Lucia di Lammermoor, Esmeralda, The Bohemian Girl, Cinderella Norma, Lucrezia Borgia, and, as the tour moved on, La Traviata, or the blighted flower amongst its baggage, until 1 June 1857 they came to rest at London’s Surrey Theatre:

‘The opera company which designates itself ‘National’ and has been singing in most of the English provinces has found its way to the Surrey Theatre where during the past week it has been playing La Traviata under circumstances of considerable force and efficiency. Miss Lucy Escott sustains the principal character and gives a very able and affecting version of the unfortunate heroine ... Her acting in this as in every opera she undertakes betrays great earnestness as well as a remarkable power of dramatic exemplification, while her singing is that of a clever and experienced artist’.

Lucy, tenor Haigh and baritone Durand, plus seconda donna Lizzie Dyer, still formed the backbone of the troupe, but Fanny Huddart was replaced by Rosalia Lanza, and a new tenor was added: Henry Squires.

After the Surrey season, the flourishing troupe hit the road again for another extended tour of the main centres, adding Loder’s The Night Dancers to their repertoire, in which Il Trovatore was still the main attraction, Rigoletto a novelty, and in which Esmeralda stayed stubbornly an item. They spent the festive season in Cork, where the local critic remarked ‘Lucy Escott’s reception was in the highest degree flattering, the audience displaying an amount of enthusiasm reserved only for prime favourites’ and finally came to a halt at Newport in June 1858.

In mid-September, Lucy, her husband, son Edgar and the members of her ‘National’ company: Emma Heywood, Charles Durand, Aynsley Cook and consort and Brookhouse Bowler, boarded the Prince Albert and sailed for America.

There, things went wrong. They were booked for three months, apparently through the agency of George Loder, for a season of their operas at Burton’s Theatre, following his Italian opera season with Pauline Colson and Gazzaniga. They opened with their celebrated Trovatore, which by now had been thoroughly done in New York. As the city echoed to the coming of Piccolomini and her ‘naughty’ Traviata, Burton immediately schemed to break their contract and closed them in a week. Richard Escott sued, and would eventually win $4,000, but the company’s New York season was finished.

For more than twelve months, Lucy and the remnant of her company wandered from concerts to small operatic performances around America. She teamed with the English tenor, David Miranda, in an opera company which finally came to grief in Cincinnati in early 1860. No fault, the press assured, of the prima donna ‘one of the best lyric actresses in English.’

But salvation from what looks severely like poor management was at hand. Mrs Escott was, as was Mr Squires, booked by the Lyster brothers for a season of opera in California.

It did not look like an outstanding company. Rosalie Durand, Georgia Hodson, the ill-fated Irishman John Haig aka Juan de Haga aka Camoens, or Fred Lyster were scarcely comparable with Charles Durand and the Aynsley Cooks as artists. But it worked.

The reaction of California was splendid. The troupe opened at Maguire’s Opera House with Lucia di Lammermoor (19 May 1860) and Lucy triumphed: ‘her style of singing is brilliant and enthusiastic the charm of which is increased by expressive features a pretty face and a good figure ... She sings easily without affectations or any of the assumptions which are generally the evidence of weakness. Sweetness of tone and purity of utterance are her great vocal merits. From first to last she was applauded to the echo … surpassed herself ...’. Never have artists been more cordially received in San Francisco’.

Lucy Escott had been something of a star in Naples, she had also conquered Drury Lane and Britain, but the epoch of her career was still coming, and the season in San Francisco was its beginning. The company played La Traviata, Maritana, Il Trovatore, I Puritani, Lucrezia Borgia, Ernani, The Rose of Castille, La Sonnambula, Rigoletto, Der Freischütz, La Favorita, Martha, Norma, The Bohemian Girl, Lurline and others in California, with two lengthy seasons in San Francisco, Lucy singing almost every night and—alongside her gentlemanly tenor—indubitably the star of every show.

Then, on 8 January, their successful time in California done, Mrs Escott, Squires and their colleagues—after many a rumour as to their plans—boarded the ship Achilles which carried ‘the first American opera company to visit Australia’ out of San Francisco. It was, indeed, the most consequent group yet to visit the Australian colonies, and from their arrival 1 March, and their first performance (Lucia di Lammermoor) in Melbourne on 25th of the same month, for some eight years, the Lyster opera company, Escott and Squires ever at their head, their repertoire swelled with versions of such works such as Les Huguenots, Oberon, Masaniello, Le Prophète, L’Africaine, Robert le diable, and Un ballo in maschera, played opera throughout Australia, establishing themselves as the most celebrated operatic performers of their time and place, and making themselves into key figures in the history of English opera, indeed of opera tout court, in Australia. And Lucy Escott into its virtual founding prima donna.

After an umpteenth ‘last performance’ in concert at the Sydney Prince of Wales Theatre 24 August 1868, the troupe as now constituted finally sailed back to San Francisco, and opened at the Metropolitan Theatre 21 December 1868 with their grandiose production of Les Huguenots. Their Australian success was not repeated and, when Lyster returned to Australia, Lucy and Henry remained in America.

Soon after (21 June 1870), Lucy Escott became Mrs Henry Squires. Since her husband was still alive in Massachusetts (where he died of the syphilis in 1880), presumably some sort of arrangement was arrived at. But singer-gossip columnist Blanche Roosevelt referred to ‘Mrs Henry Squires, our great prima donna, the first American to sing in Naples, and her husband Henry Squires the Albany tenor …’ and the press in Paris, to where the couple moved their home, noted the presence, singing in the Parisian salons in 1874, of ‘M et Mme Henry Squires, deux chanteurs de bonne école’.

After years of continental travels (duly chronicled in the Australian papers), M et Mme Squires settled permanently in Paris, where they lived in retirement until Lucy’s death in 1895. Henry returned to America, and died there, after a stroke, in 1907.

It had been quite a life and one hell of a career.

 

This article was first poublished in Victorian Vocalists by Kurt Gänzl, Routledge, 2018

Drawing on images in the Falk Album, KURT GÄNZL takes a look at the contralto, Marian Burton, who had a career truncated by personal considerations, but nevertheless made herself an enviable reputation on the both sides of the world.

Marian BurtonMarian Burton, 1890; photo by Falk Studios, Sydney. Theatre Heritage Australia, Falk Album, 030/3.

BURTON, Marian [BURTON, Mary Ann] (b. Bermondsey, c.1860; d. Sussex, 1939).

The details of her professional life are reasonably simple and clear, and were reported reasonably accurately in her lifetime, notably in the colonial press. However, one certainly cannot say the same of that private life, which effectively ended her career in Britain.

Mary Ann Burton was born in Bermondsey. She said so, her ‘parents’ said so, and why not? Nobody seems sure exactly when, and probably with reason. The 1861 census shows Robert Burton, packing-case maker, and his wife, Elizabeth, at 95 Chalton Street, with a 17 year-old daughter, Emma. Machinist. And a seven-months old Mary Ann. That’s her. Curious? And not registered anywhere that I can find. But I’ve seen this situation before. I’ll gamble that Mary Ann is an illegitimate child of 17-year-old Emma. Just to muddy things, there is Mary Ann born in Bermondsey in 1858, and according to her death registration she was born in 1856: so why would you say the infant was 7 months old in the 1861 census? And 12 in 1871. If it weren’t. Curious. Not straightforward anyhow.

Of her early life there is little to tell. She said in an Australian interview that she was first taught music by a gentleman named Merrick, later on by Randegger, and attended a nebulously named institution which is said, sometimes, to have been the Royal Academy of Music. Well, I don’t know about all that, at all. I first see Miss Marian Burton, on 8 February 1878, taking part in a concert in Brixton, alongside Edith Wynne, Miss Poole, Mrs Osborne Williams, Lloyd and Santley. Rich company for a beginner! Next up, she is performing at Steinway Hall, as a pupil of Lansdowne Cottell’s London Conservatoire (1 July 1879). That’s more like it! Emilie Petrelli, Frederic Wood, Eugenie Kemble and Walter Clifford are fellow pupils. She sang ‘The Old, Old Story’ and ‘The Lady of the Lea’ and made ‘a very favourable impression. She has a contralto voice of the most agreeable quality and her singing is decidedly good’. In the next years I spot her singing on Hastings Pier, at the Crystal Palace (10 November 1879, 21 August 1880), at the Town Hall, Emsworth, at city dinners (United Law Clerks Society, Licensed Victuallers’ Asylum), at the Angell Town Institute, the Royal Academy Banquet, and at several dos with a mayoral flavour, which, given future events may or may not be significant. Her regular pieces were the contralto warhorses ‘The Better Land’, ‘The Storm’ and ‘The Lost Chord’.

:In 1881, I spot her at Bristol, Swindon, in Elijah with Agnes Larkcom and St Paul with Annie Sinclair at Leamington Spa, at more dinners and again at the Crystal Palace. She took part in a concert party with Miss Sinclair/Annie Marriott, Henry Guy and F. Henry Horscroft which performed a number of dates (The Messiah, St Paul, Choral Symphony) and gave The Ancient Mariner and The Rose Maiden at Crystal Palace, in the early months of 1882.

In July, she sang at a Grenadier Guards concert at Rhyl (‘Better Land’, ‘Lost Chord’, There is a Green Hill’, ‘Minstrel Boy’) and the bills, for the first (and only?) time claimed her as ‘RAM’. When she moved on to Leicester and Wanstead, the qualification had gone. On 11 November 1882 she made a first appearance in Manchester, in de Jong’s concert at the Free Trade Hall. She sang ‘Quando a te lieta’, ‘Sleep my love’ and duetted the Venetian Boat Song with Clara Samuell, in ‘a strong contralto ‘, was judged ‘very enjoyable’ and encored. She would return regularly to sing for de Jong, in concert and oratorio, and it would seem that it was from there that her career took its decisive turning.

On 22 February 1883 she appeared with Henry Leslie’s choir, at St James’s Hall. The other vocalists were Santley, father and daughter, and the conductor was Randegger. Seemingly her first engagement in which he was involved. Which makes a bit of a mess of the stories told as to her arrival in the Carl Rosa company. For that was announced a few weeks later, and I am sure the impetus came from de Jong, who had a close association with the impresario.

The Rosa engagement was made, but it had to be delayed, for Marian was signed for the series of concerts christened the ‘Sims Reeves Farewell Tour’. The Reeves concerts were interleaved with others (Die erste Walpurgisnacht, The Woman of Samaria, The Rose Maiden) before Miss Burton returned to London for Rosa rehearsals.

The company opened on 16 August 1883 at Blackpool, playing Esmeralda, and Marion Burton made her first appearance, as the Gipsy Queen in The Bohemian Girl, before they set off for the tour proper, beginning in Dublin. In Dublin, she featured as Frederic in Mignon, the Gipsy Queen, and played Mercedes in Carmen, and the press praised ‘a most successful first appearance’, ‘exceedingly promising. She has a most agreeable contralto and her acting is marked by a wonderful aplomb for one so young and inexperienced’. As the tour progressed, she was also seen as Azucena: ‘A distinct success … an admirable portrayal of inexorable revenge’ and as Siebel in Faust. All five roles would become staples in her repertoire during her time with Rosa. In February, she took a night out to appear in the Schubert Mass in E Flat and Die erste Walpurgisnacht, with Bridson and Lloyd, with the Sacred Harmonic Society, and was praised for ‘good declamatory power and a intelligent manner of singing’.

When the company landed at Drury Lane, 14 April 1884, Miss Burton was seen as Lazarillo in Maritana, and as Dame Margery in Villiers Stanford’s new Canterbury Pilgrims (‘could not easily be improved upon’) but it was her Mignon which aroused the greatest enthusiasm. It would do so throughout her time on the opera stage. When the company produced Mefistofele she was Martha, when The Beggar Student was mounted she played the plum role of Palmatica, at Liverpool at Christmas 1884, she sang the Stabat Mater with Marie Roze, Barton McGuckin and Ludwig, and when The Lily of Killarney was revived, she played Mrs Cregan. Her reviews were invariably good, though some found her too young for Azucena and she was once accused of singing sharp.

The 1885 season saw the production of Manon, in which Miss Burton was cast as Rosette, 1886 brought the addition of Ruy Blas in which, as Casilda, ‘she threw into high relief a part which would have otherwise been feeble’, but when The Marriage of Figaro was brought back, she was given the role of Cherubino, and stole the show with her fine singing and boyish pranks. Mackenzie’s The Troubadour (Agalais) was the other item of the season, but it failed to take.

In 1887, she appeared in a Patti concert for de Jong at Liverpool (‘Voi che sapete’ ‘Three Fishers’), sang Elijah in Edinburgh, at the Free Trade Hall, and all the time continued to play her Carl Rosa Siebel, Lazarillo, Frederic, Gipsy Queen, Azucena and Cherubino, with a little time off for ‘indisposition’. When the new tour started from Dublin, there was a cast change. Carmen was produced, with Marion Burton in the title-role. ‘She approaches Minnie Hauk’ gasped the local critic, although she overacted less and ‘a certain soft richness in her voice … was not suitable’. Not conventional, anyway.

But something was afoot. Miss Burton collapsed on stage in mid-Maritana. And there were reports in the press that she had married John Payne, ex-of the Rosa orchestra. The reports were quite correct, but decidedly out of date. Three years late. The two had been married 22 April 1884. So why did this para appear now. Easy. Married Mrs Burton Payne was having an affair with a prominent man, Mr Herbert Jameson Waterlow, alderman of the city of London, sometime Sheriff of London, a member of the gentry … and married and a father of two. Mr Payne was their beard. Whether he had always been a beard (remember all those engagements at the Mansion House?) or only developed into one, I have no idea.

Anyway, word went out that Madame Burton had a lung complaint, and she would return to the Rosa company for the 1887-88 season. But she didn’t. Some time in the April quarter of 1888, a little Marjorie Waterlow Payne was born in Teddington. Followed by Adeline Waterlow Payne on 24 August 1889 in London.

Mother Waterlow Payne didn’t stop performing. When Agnes Huntington left the title-role which she had so famously played in Paul Jones in London, Madame Burton stepped in. But it was not for long. Things were clearly getting uncomfortable: and the couple took the traditional way out. A ship to Australia, leaving the world of John Payne, Mary Hannah Hill Waterlow, her son Mark and her daughter, Edith Grace, as far as it was possible to leave them behind.

Marian Burton made something of a sensation in the Antipodes. She was quickly acclaimed the finest contralto ever to have been heard in Australia (which was tough on Sara Flower and Lucy Chambers) as she cavalcaded from a concert (16 December 1889) at the Melbourne Liedertafel (‘Three Fishers’, ‘Home Sweet Home’), through a series of concerts and oratorios (The Messiah, Elijah) with Charles Santley, to a season with Nellie Stewart, starring in Paul Jones and Boccaccio. In October 1890, under the management of Australian impresario, R.S. Smythe, she crossed, with soprano Colbourne Baber, violinist Poussard and tenor Henry Stockwell, to New Zealand, where she triumphed in nine concerts in Auckland (‘Three Fishers’, Marzials, ‘A Summer Shower’ ‘Douglas Gordan’, ‘Home Sweet Home’, ‘Quis est homo’ ‘How beautiful are the Feet’, ‘Kerry Dance’ ‘Venetian Boat Song’, ‘Banks of Allan Water’, ‘Che faro’, ‘Lost Chord’, ‘The Children’s Home’, ‘Goodbye’) before heading off to the other main centres, and a few lesser ones. In December she performed Messiahs in both islands. Such was her success, it was said, that Janet Patey postponed an intended visit to New Zealand.

In Auckland, in May 1891, another Waterlow Payne daughter was born, and christened Hinemoa.

After one last Auckland concert (20 May), the couple and their new baby headed back to Australia on the Rotomahana. They were said to be going home. But Madame Burton was hired, along with Marie Fillunger, to support the Hallés in their concert tour of Australia. But, then, that was it, and the family returned to England where the widowed Elizabeth Burton has been caring for their two babes.

During their time in the south, ‘Mrs Waterlow’ had got into some momentary contractual strife with Australia’s sweetheart, Nellie Stewart. It had all been floralled over, and now Nellie was in England, trying to make her mark on the London stage. She was cast as Susan in a Blue-Eyed Susan with good credentials, and to play opposite her, as William, was hired … Marian Burton. Once again, Madame Burton scored splendidly, in spite of arousing the jealousy of star comedian Arthur Roberts who, in his traditional fashion, got her big moments wiped from the show. Blue-Eyed Susan did all right, but when it finished so did Madame. I don’t think she intended to: she kept advertising for work for some time, but then a son, Eric Waterlow Payne arrived to swell the family, followed by a Violette Marie (b. Brussels, 23 May 1896) and an Olga (b. Surrey, 24 October 1899).

The family moved home for a while to Brussels ‘in retirement’ but returned to end their days in Britain. Waterlow died in 1921 (13 November), his wife in 1927 (21 September) and his ‘wife’ in 1939. The opera world had seemingly forgotten ‘Marian Burton’, I have not found a single mention of her passing in the press of either hemisphere.

The Waterlow Payne children have had their details recorded minutely on the website www.jaggers-heritage.com. Suffice it to repeat here that son, Eric, was killed at Ypres (16 July 1918), and that the two eldest daughters went on the stage. Marjorie was successful, but succumbed to cancer at the age of 31. Adeline played in musical comedy, then married thrice. Her second was a widowed gentleman of rank.

 

Clara Merivale sang on the stages of four continents, and more countries, during a reasonably successful career. But as KURT GÄNZL discovers, this London-born singer not only performed in musical theatre during the 1870s to 1890s, but ran her own company and went on to become a noted suffragette railing against the White Slave trade.

 

MERIVALE, Clara [DOHERTY, Clara Catherine] (b. 14 Stanley Street, Paddington, 1854; d. unknown)

Clara Merivale   Clara Merivale as Falka in the comic opera of the same name, Sydney, 1893. Falk Album, Image 101/8. Clara Doherty was born in London, the third daughter and fifth child of Irish parents—Cornelius (b. 1825; d. Eversfield Hospital, St Leonards 8 January 1897) and Mary Ellen (b. 1825; d. 273 London Rd, St Leonards 1912) Doherty. When it came to peak-of-fame biog time, father Con was said to be ‘a sub-editor on the Irish Times’. Maybe he was at some stage. But the 1851 census shows him as a ‘commercial clerk’ and his wife as a ‘professor of music’. When the family moved back to Ireland, he appears mostly in a theatrical context: directing amateurs, organising concerts, and, ultimately, as the owner of Dublin’s Portobello Hotel, adjacent to the Gaiety Theatre. Michael Gunn of the Gaiety, one of his amateur actors, and backer of D’Oyly Carte, and Carl Rosa, numbered among his pals.

Two of the three Doherty daughters took to singing: the eldest [Mary] Caroline (b. Stanley Street, London 1849) and the youngest, Clara [Catherine]. They were, from an early age, prominent members of the Amateur Musical Society where, at the age of 15, Clara was noted for her ‘beautiful, full and rich contralto’. When local muso George Lee ventured into producing amateur opera, Clara was a 15-year-old Siebel in Faust (9 April 1870) and stole the show. The next year she sang Zerlina to the Don Giovanni of Leslie Crotty and the Elvira of sister Caroline.

Around this time, the girls spent time in Paris, having lessons with Pauline Viardot Garcia, for, when they appeared at Dublin’s Exhibition Palace, 28 August 1873, alongside the stars of the visiting Italian opera, in what was advertised as their ‘first appearance’, Mme Viardot was credited and their repertoire had taken a decided turn for the French. They sang Auber’s ‘Dans les défiles des montagnes’ (Les Diamants de la couronne) together, Caroline gave Gounod’s Serenade and Clara, Wekerlin’s ‘Les Saisons’. They sang more of the ilk (‘Fleur des Alpes’, ‘Il Segreto’) at the Dublin Exhibition, but then Clara must have gone travelling again, for in 1875, when father Doherty took a Benefit, at which the stars of the Carl Rosa company performed, only Caroline was in evidence.

However, Clara was back in Dublin 15 October 1877, for a double wedding. Sister Annie Merivale Doherty (1852-1878) married Arthur Crosse of the Paymaster General’s Office, and 23 year-old Clara married a certain George Curtis (b. Southampton, 1859; d. Washington DC, 21 August 1943). Aged 18. Mr Curtis was a son of an interesting family. His father, William [Shillito] Curtis had been a ship’s apprentice cook, who, landing in Yokohama, set up a market gardening and catering operation aimed exclusively at the English residents. He did very well, so young George—who had artistic ambitions—apparently went off to Paris, where he undoubtedly met Clara.

The double wedding was a double failure. Annie died giving birth, the next year, to her first child. Clara and George stayed together long enough to produce Violet Caroline Beatrice Curtis (b. Fulham April 1881; d. Melbourne 18 January 1922), but by the time Clara went on her international travels she was calling herself ‘widow’. Which she wasn’t. Both of them married, bigamously, again, and George—calling himself George Vaughan Curtis—had a long life and a modest career as a painter, latterly in America.

Clara, too, took what I have always assumed was her mother’s maiden name (although the family historians have a completely different ancestry for her) and went on the stage as ‘Clara Merivale’.

Her first engagement was with Carl Rosa, and she made her debut at Liverpool’s Royal Amphitheatre, 1 January 1878, singing Siebel, and then Lazarillo to the Maritana of Carina Clelland. When the company went to town, she sang the Gipsy Queen to the Bohemian Girl of Julia Gaylord.

The young singer caught on: she was hired for the Crystal Palace concerts (‘Nobil signor’, ‘a beautiful voice’), the Monday Pops (‘Lascia ch’io piango’, ‘Au printemps’), the Saturday Pops, the Boosey Ballad concerts, the Covent Garden proms (‘a pure voice, a correct style and sings with much expression’), the St James’s Hall Saturday Evenings, at Leeds with the Halle orchestra, and returned to Dublin to sing in Crotty’s leaving-for-Italy concert (26 April 1879).

Clara, it seems, left too, for I next spot her 13 September 1880 … in America. Playing Edith in The Pirates of Penzance with the Boston Ideal Opera Company, and later in the year, filling the same role in D’Oyly Carte’s company on tour in England, with Laura Clement as Mabel. From there, she went to Carte and Charles Wyndham’s Company to play Bathilde to the Olivette of Esme Lee, and in 1882 to the Strand Theatre, London, to take over the title-rôle in Manola, followed by that of La Mascotte with Francis Gaillard and Richard Mansfield.

Now firmly fixed in comic opera, she toured for Carte as Josephine, Mabel and Patience, as Germaine in Les Cloches de Corneville and La Mascotte for Hogarth and Barry, in Polly and with the German Reed troupe, before returning to London with that troupe to play A Pretty Bequest, In Cupid’s Court, A United Pair et al at St George’s Hall.

In 1886, she re-joined Carte to tour The Mikado on the Continent, but thereafter I spot her only in pantomime at Liverpool, at the Dublin Olympia with William Ludwig (‘Beautiful May’, ‘Dark are our sorrows’, ‘Eileen Alanna’, ‘I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls’), at the Covent Garden proms, and alongside Emily Soldene in concert.

It may have been the Soldene connection that won her her next job. In Australia. Nellie Stewart, leading lady of the J.C. Williamson, Garner and Musgrove company, fell ill, and the managers hurriedly imported Miss Merivale as a replacement. But Miss Stewart got better, so Clara only got to play after she left. She sang in The Yeomen of the Guard, Patience, Cinderella, Princess Ida and Dorothy in Australia and New Zealand in 1889-1890. And she also got married. Or ‘married’. On 24 January 1890 she went through a ceremony with Austrian immigrant, Gustavus Maria Mayer, a sometime ‘mercantile agent’. Oddly enough it is gazetted as two years earlier. Anyway, her second marriage would be less fruitful even than her first, and seems largely to have been made for monetary motives.

She stepped in to play the leading roles in Miss Esmeralda and Faust up to Date with the London Gaiety Theatre company during their Australian tour, and in 1893 (12 August) she punted her all on a production of The Queen’s Lace Handkerchief with Martin Simonsen. It folded, and so did her career.

Next seen, Clara Kathleen/Katherine Mayer, 121 Barry Street, Carlton, Vic., was a partner in ‘The Federal Manufacturing Company’ with one Francis Herbert Forrest, dealing in perfumery and pharmacy. Notwithstanding that she had been bankrupted (accompanied by unspecified ‘extraordinary revelations’) in 1891 and again over the Simonsen production.

Miss Merivale’s life still remained colourful. Daughter Violet attracted the attention of a wealthy mining and business man, and Mr Mayer became an embarrassment. So she dropped him. And in 1900, Violet [Curtis] became Mrs Alfred Edward Langford of Mentone, Balaclava. Her husband was later crushed to death by a tramcar in Chicago. I see a letter in the Melbourne Age in 1933 from a ‘Mrs J. Maclaren of Mentone’ speaking of ‘her mother, Clara Merivale’. But, the Argus records Violet’s death on 18 January 1922. Three weeks before her husband’s mishap in Chicago. In 1940, Beryl Violet Langford (b Cheltenham,Vic 18 August 1906; d Vermont 12 April 1972) ‘only daughter of the late Mr and Mrs Langford’ married Gerald C B Letts. ‘The bride was given away by her brother, Jack’. There were two more brothers…

And mother?  Well, Clara apparently went back to England in 1902. In 1908, Gustavus sued for divorce on the grounds of desertion. Of course, with George Curtis still alive, he didn’t need to, but he probably didn’t know that. Anyway, he went ahead and married, or ‘married’ again and I seem to see him and his lady at 452 St Kilda Road as late as 1936.

I don’t know where Clara went. The family historians shyly credit her with dying c.1890. Which we know is rubbish. In 1911, her mother (82, d. 1912) and sister Caroline (58, d. 1913), who is listed as ‘actress’ in 1891, can be seen living in St Leonards, England. They were previously in a ‘home for gentlefolk of limited means’ in Hastings. Mother registers that she had five children of whom four are alive. Since we know of the fate of Annie, that would mean Clara is still alive, somewhere. Mr Mayer and the Australian courts couldn’t find her and neither could I.

Until … A correspondent tipped me off to the 'Mrs Merivale Mayer' giving cooking lessons and being a suffragette in London in the 1910s, (https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/9f8d35ed-5335-4e0f-a0e8-b02f221e8dbe) the last of which mentions comes in 1918. In 1913 she is talking repeatedly at Dover, and she also gets awarded an 'Army Recruiting' button by Lord Kitchener. 'Hon Sec of the Australian and New Zealand Women Voters Association'. And there is this description in a 1914 suffragette diary ... ‘By the time the speakers, Miss Dransfield in the Chair, Mrs Merivale Mayer and Mr McKillop and Miss Fraser to help had arrived we were absolutely mobbed—and we got a huge gathering. The first Suffrage meeting of any kind which had been held in Isleworth. Mrs Mayer, as usual, was very disagreeable when she arrived, but it was really such a magnificent meeting she was quite pleased at the end, and, as usual, she spoke splendidly and we quite got the people round’

The last mention I find of the disagreeable Clara is less entrepreneurial:

‘THE COOKERY EXHIBITION. The cookery exhibition which was opened the Polytechnic, Hanworth-road, on the 4th inst., by Mrs. Merivale Mayer, closed on Saturday evening. During the week it was in progress nearly a thousand people attended the demonstrations.’

But I can’t find her in the 1911 census—maybe she was one of those suffragettes who hid under the bed when the census taker came? Unless she’s the Clara Mayer, aged 55, married, living alone ‘on private means’ at 8 Devonshire Rd, Holloway.

And, apparently, no death record in Britain  ... another effort to destabilise the British Empire ...? Maybe she’s the plain Clara Mayer who died in Wandsworth in 1933 with a couple of years chopped off her age. Maybe.

Could she be the Mrs Clara Mayer ‘housewife’ (address c/o National Provident Bank, London), aged 68, sailing in from the US of A in July 1921?

Anyway, after 1918, Clara seems to have renounced being in the forefront of anything available (‘Mrs Merivale Mayer on ‘The Sham of the White Slave Traffic Bill’ etc) ... which I assume means she died. There didn't seem to be any other way of keeping her quiet.

 

Of the 1000s of Victorian vocalists that have come under the microscope of theatre historian Kurt Gänzl, English tenor Henry Hallam must surely be one of the widest travelled and most married. In Australia during the 1870s he is best remembered for marrying soubrette Hattie Shepparde who died tragically in child birth aged only 26. But as Kurt discovers, this was just one incident in an event-filled career that took Henry Hallam from the grand and comic opera on stages of Britain, Australia, India and America to the film stages of Hollywood.


HALLAM, Henry [MAYER, Henry Samuel Hallam] (b. Clerkenwell, London, 7 August 1850; d. Manhattan, New York, 9 November 1921)

henry hallam 400Henry Hallam. Author's collection.I don’t know why the tenor Henry Hallam has never been biographized. Not even, would you believe it, by me. Oh, sure, I’ve written his name dozens of time in articles on other people but … well, I reckon the time has come to put his rather fascinating story on paper.

His career isn’t that difficult to follow, in spite of the fact that it was extremely, widely geographically, spread—Britain, Australia, New Zealand, China, India, both coasts of the United States of America—it just takes a bit of time and a lot of digging to gather all the fragments and jigsaw them together. Even the wives are pretty regular (only a short period of bigamy), but the family … oh. Not so regular. So let’s start with the family.

Henry was born Henry Samuel Hallam Mayer, in Clerkenwell, London on 7 August 1850. His mother was 28 (?) year-old Mrs Elizabeth Mayer, née Williams, the wife of furrier Martin Mayer of 8 Greystoke Place, Fetter Lane, and she had already borne to him three children, Martin Samuel (epileptic, suicidal, d. Fitzroy, Australia, 1913), Hector and Emma, seemingly dead in infancy, since their marriage on 11 June 1839. Strange, then, that 37 Upper Rosoman St, Clerkenwell, in the 1841 census houses Martin Mayer a foreign furrier, his son Martin 2, and his wife … Mary, 20. Strange, too, that in 1848 a Martin Mayer marries a Mary Donoven in Stepney, and that Elizabeth Mayer née Williams marries Henry Richard Hallam (b. London, 14 February 1820; d. Tilehurst, 26 April 1893), from Peartree Court, Clerkenwell, on Christmas Day 1854. Three years after the birth of what looks like their pre-marital son who was, nevertheless, christened as the son of Martin Mayer.

And Henry Richard was … guess what, a furrier and son of a furrier. Wife-swapping in Clerkenwell? Whatever the precise answer, there were, it seems, some furry question-marks around the birth of young Henry. Which may be why I can find none of the participants in the 1851 census. But, by 1861, the Hallams are there, still in the fur trade, with Henry (10) and Victoria (8, to be Mrs Hawes).

Over the next decade, I spy very little of young Henry. I have only one piece of ‘information’. His early singing teacher was J. Robinson. If true, that would tell us something else. He was in Liverpool, or else Dublin. There practised the two known Mr Joseph Robinsons of the 1850s vocal-coaching world. Joseph Bagot Robinson (d. Dublin, 1 August 1876), over a decade known as a singer in the midlands, operated from Hope Street, Liverpool, Joseph Robinson was vocal teacher in Dublin. I’m inclined to go for Liverpool. I wonder what Henry was doing as a teenage Liverpudlian.

He was back in London in 1870 (‘a tenor of some repute’ Australia urged in advance), however, giving a ‘farewell concert’ at the Barnsbury Institute. ‘Farewell’? Yes, Henry was following the latest rush to the diggings of Australia. He arrived in Melbourne 18 August 1870, and a fortnight later, aged 20, made his first appearance as a singer, at Prahran (3 September), alongside Florence Calzado, on a bill topped by ‘the Australian Tom Thumb’. In the next couple of years, he became a familiar name on Victorian bills (‘a young gentleman with a very pretty, very light tenor voice, extremely smooth and pleasing to the ear’), sharing bills with such established stars of the time and place as Sophia Cutter, Amelia Bailey, Mrs Fox, Alice May, Lucy Chambers, Armes Beaumont, a selection of Carandinis, Fanny Simonsen, David Miranda and wife, Mary Ann Christian, Amy Sherwin, ‘Juan de Haga’ et al. He made a first operatic foray at Charles Lascelles’ Benefit (October 1871) singing Tonio in an act of The Daughter of the Regiment, and performed The Messiah in Melbourne at Christmas of the year.

In 1872, he joined the Simonsen opera troupe, appearing as Fritz in The Grande-Duchesse and Manuel in The Rose of Castille, sang in ‘Operatic Concerts’ in Sydney with Agatha States, then switched genre and joined up with music-hall singer Harry Rickards, purveying tenor ballads through Australia and New Zealand (‘The Pilgrim of Love’, ‘The Irish Emigrant’, ‘The Death of Nelson’, ‘Come into the Garden Maud’, ‘Margharetta’, Thou art so near’, ‘Tell me Mary, how to woo thee’, ‘The Anchor’s Weighed’. ‘Molly Bawn’, ‘Happy be thy Dreams’, ‘My Guiding Star’, ‘You’ll remember me’, ‘The Nightingale’s Call’, ‘In this old chair’) between the comicalities. Rickards also popped the occasional short musical into his programme, so Henry got to play Pygmalion and Gala-Dear, Forty Winks, The Blind Beggars and suchlike.

After a year with Rickards, Hallam decided to branch out as a sharebroker. He lost all in weeks, and hurried back to singing teaching and then performing, in concert with Arabella Goddard and then as a member of the Alice May Opera Company. He also got married (8 November 1873). His bride was Miss Mary Harriet Langmaid or Langmead[e], known to the stage as ‘Hattie Shepparde’, a much-liked soubrette on the Sydney stage.

 The Alice May company, visited Wagga Wagga, and the Royal Victoria in Sydney with its repertoire of The Bohemian Girl, La Sonnambula, The Grande-Duchesse, The Daughter of the Regiment, Maritana and turned Geneviève de Brabant into a pantomime for Christmas before continuing with The Blind Beggars, The Lily of Killarney … each with Henry in the lead tenor role, before, in February 1874, the company (and Hattie) sailed for New Zealand. New Zealand had allegedly only once before had a whole opera company and, although much of Alice’s company was fairly average, they were welcomed for an initial five weeks in Dunedin and then around the country. Satanella, Fra Diavolo (a Hallam speciality). Der Freischütz, Cinderella, Martha, La Fille de Madame Angot, The Rose of Auvergne, The Crimson Scarf and Cox and Box (without Henry) swelled the repertoire.

Hattie had left the tour and returned home to give birth to her daughter, Hattie Cynisca Bella Shepparde Hallam in September. The mother died in childbirth and the child as an infant.

The May troupe retuned to Adelaide 6 April 1875, moved to Melbourne and on 10 August sailed for Bombay on the Almora. A fortnight out, a member of the company, gave birth to a daughter, Almora Howell Hallam (14 April 1876). Apparently the mother's real name was Margaret Hogan, but she was known on the stage as Maggie Christie, and she had been for several years a minor principal with the company. Anyway they got married 13 January 1877 in Calcutta, while the company was playing the Corinthian Theatre. It was later said the troupe had managed to get to Shanghai, Madras and Allahabad before they crumbled. Some went back to Australia, as best they could, but the Hallams didn’t. They carried on, to Britain.

Henry was swiftly into work, touring with Charles Durand’s opera company, before joining Kate Santley, who was purveying a butchered version of Orphée aux enfers in which Henry was Pluto, and briefly, a little piece entitled Happy Hampstead which is remembered 140 years later simply because it had a scorelet by one R. D’Oyly Carte. When Kate went on tour, she added Princess Toto, La Fille de Madame Angot and Trial by Jury to her repertoire. Next, Henry joined Hariel Becker’s touring company, with Rose Bell as star (John of Paris, Fra Diavolo, La Fille de Madame Angot), then visited the Park Theatre to play in Pom, during which time Maggie was delivered of a son, Henry Richard (b. Islington, 27 April 1878; d. Chicago, 3 October 1942).

He toured as Alain in Babiole, in October 1879 created the lead role in Stanislaus’s The Lancashire Witches, played in a production of Le Voyage en Chine, went on the road with Adelaide Newton and George Mudie (La Fille de Madame Angot, The Blind Beggars, As You Like It) and spent his time, in between, ladding it at the Urban Club. He returned to the West End in 1882, in an amateurish flop named Melita, rose to a leading role in the much happier The Merry Duchess and then to his best London role as Jan in the Alhambra’s Beggar Student. The leading man was played by Fannie Leslie in pants. He played de Lansac in François les bas-bleus, toured in Olivette with Emily Soldene, took a turn with Henry Wardroper in his variety show The Fancy Ball and then made an error. American composer Richard Stahl took the Standard Theatre to present his wife, Bertie Crawford, as a soubrette star of the Lotta species in an American-style ‘musical comedy’, Capers. They were shrieked off the stage, and the reviews were simply deadly; Stahl and wife tempested off to America … and Henry went too. His West End career was over.

He arrived in America on the Aurania on 8 December 1885, thirty-five years old, and began the third slice of his career playing Sylvio to The Enchantress of Alfa Norman (wife of the editor of the New York Dramatic Mirror). She wasn’t admired and the Clipper labelled Henry ‘weak and unsatisfactory’. They switched to The Mikado and The Bohemian Girl and by the time the company collapsed, Henry was off giving his Thaddeus in Baltimore summer season, with an almost entirely English cast. But much better was coming. Henry was picked up by the Casino Theater, to succeed to the juvenile lead, Eugene Marcel, in the musical-theatre hit of the era, Erminie. He was to stay with the Casino, America’s top comic opera management for over three years appearing as Count de Rosen in Nadgy, Fairfax in The Yeomen of the Guard, the Duke of Mantua in The Brigands, Fritz to the Grande-Duchesse of Lillian Russell, Goncalves in The Brazilian, Ange Pitou in La Fille de Madame Angot et al. The ‘golden’ period ended, however, and he went back on the road in more Erminie and Giroflé-Giroflà, to San Francisco, where he indulged an unfortunate effort in management at the Orpheum, turned up in New York once more, as Risotto in The Mountebanks, and got married again.

Unless I have got it wrong, he married Dutch-Canadian soprano Miss Josie Schoff (recte: Josephine Davidson Schoff) (b. McGillivray, Ontario, 1867), known for the stage as Josephine Stanton, in Illinois, 27 September 1893. Maggie got a divorce 26 July 1895.

The happy couple went on tour with Alfa Norman, still at it, played summer season at Milwaukee, and more Angot with David Henderson. Henry got mixed up with a flop piece called The Isle of Gold, trouped with A Stranger in New York, with Mathilde Cotrelly and with Milton Aborn and a group called ‘the Boston Lyric Company’ with which he played Pietro in Boccaccio, Pippo in La Mascotte, and featured opposite Josie in Fra Diavolo, The Fencing Master, Said Pasha … when their San Francisco season closed in one night, it was time for a change. Slice four was about to begin. On 10 March 1900, the Hallams left America for New Zealand, at the head of a rather motley ‘Josephine Stanton Opera Company’. The only well-known name amongst them was Carl Formes but, alas, it wasn’t the great German bass, only his comprimario son.

They opened in Auckland 28 May with a repertoire of Said Pasha, Fra Diavolo, The Fencing Master, Wang and Dorcas. It appears that they were rather approximate versions. Henry sang ‘Funiculi Funicula’ and his best song from The Lancashire Witches and Said Pasha. They traipsed round smalltown New Zealand—Feilding, Wanganui, Hawera, Napier, Timaru, Oamaru—and, having exhausted their prospects there, they proceeded to Australia and opened at the Sydney Criterion. By May, the splintering company had expired in Adelaide. However, Henry and Josie were employable, even if their company were not, and they were promptly snapped up by George Musgrove. Over the next eighteen months Henry featured as the Emperor Hang Chow in A Chinese Honeymoon, The Lord Mayor in The Thirty Thieves, General Korboy in The Fortune Teller, Tonio in The Daughter of the Regiment, and his regular role of Fra Diavolo, until the company's tour closed. On June 13 1904, they sailed for England.

The English stop-over lasted only a couple of years, during which the couple played sketches in the music-halls, before they sailed for Canada. On the shipping list, they admitted to 57 and 30. However, Henry, who was still looking fine, if a little beefy, would soon start chopping many years off his age.

For the next five years, I lose them. Retired? Oh no! In 1912, slice number five would begin. Henry Hallam, aged 62, but passing for a decade or more younger, made his first (silent) film short . I leave the complete list of his credits to the film historians, but over the next decade I have spotted him in seniorish roles as Uncle Tom in Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1913), in Home Run Bakers Double, The Brand, The Mystery of the Yellow Sunbonnet, The Scorpion’s Sting, Audrey, as Count Wolfenstein in a celluloid contraction of The Black Crook, The War Bride’s Secret, The Ill Thereof, A Girl Without a Soul, Bonnie Annie Lauri, as Colonel Henry Clay Riesener in Blue Jeans, Carolyn of the Corners, My Little Sister, The Lion and the Mouse, Help Help Police, Phil for Short and Tom Terriss’s 6-reel version of The Heart of Maryland.

Some months after the release of this last, Henry died. Some of the film websites still say that he was fifty-four years old at the time. He wasn’t, of course, he was 71. And he’d been more than half a century in show business.

I haven’t discovered yet what became of Josie. Or Maggie. But I’ve winkled out the children. Almora went on the stage, beginning, with her father, in A Stranger in New York. She toured America in farce-comedy, in comic opera and in vaudeville, and died in December 1918 aged 36. Henry Richard shows up in the census as a switchman on the railroads. It seems that Henry jr married Marjory Prudence O’Connor (Kankakee, 29 November 1910) and they had a daughter named Marjory Louise (b. 27 July 1913; d. 3 September 1996, Mrs Andrefsky dite Andry). Just before his death, he re-wed his landlady, Mabel Belle Pappas. She shows up still in 1954 in Kankakee, Illinois … I wonder if the line of Henry Mayer dit Hallam still continues.

 

This article first appeared on Kurt Gänzl’s blog page, 9 February 2019, https://kurtofgerolstein.blogspot.com/2019/02/one-tenor-fifty-years-four-continents.html

Theatre historian Kurt Gänzl continues his exploration of forgotten Victorian vocalists. In this article, he takes a look at English baritone Henri Wharton who enjoyed a successful (though relatively short career) with several prominent opera companies in England, the USA and Australia. During the 1860s, he spent six years in Australia as a member of William Saurin Lyster’s Opera Company.


WHARTON, Henri [WHARTON, William] (b.? Manchester c.1834; d. Manchester 26 September 1870)

Henry WhartonThe only known portrait of Henri Wharton, taken in the 1860s during his time in Australia. Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, Ward family collection: cartes de visite portraits (chiefly of entertainers), ca. 1862-1891, PXD 820.The baritone known as Henry or Henri Wharton (and where there is such a consistent difference, that usually means it’s a false name) has long been a bit of a mystery, particularly to scholars of the Australian operatic stage, on which some of his greatest successes were scored. I can’t say that I have fully solved the mystery, but I’ve got a little closer, and found a few interesting details, not previously mentioned in accounts of his career, which fill out the picture just a little.

So who was he and where did he come from?  Well, his surname may or may not have been Wharton, but his first name definitely wasn’t Henri. It was William. And he actually made his first appearance as a vocalist, at what appears to have been the age of twenty, as ‘William Wharton’ (of ‘Manchester’). Quite why he switched, we will never know, unless it was in homage to the seventeenth-century priest and savant of that name, or in imitation of the character out of the more recent Fennimore Cooper book, The Spy.

According to his entry (as ‘Henri Wharton’) in the 1861 census he was born in Manchester around the year 1834, and in 1857—as William Wharton—travelling to America on the ship Pomona—he duly admits to the age of 23. Interestingly, his travelling companion is ‘John Wharton, 25, musician’ so it does look as if the Wharton bit is for real.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any John Wharton with a brother William, a couple of years younger, in the censi of 1841 and 1851. In Manchester or anywhere else. I found a William (son of James the joiner) in New Street, Manchester, who fitted ... but his brother John is not older, but three years younger. I found a William (by John—another joiner—ex Ann) in Charlton upon Medlock and christened at Manchester Cathedral 28 December 1834, and a William Henry (Henry x Sarah) born, alas, in Birmingham … So there, for the moment rests all I know of the beginnings of ‘Henri Wharton’.

From various notices, advertisement and reviews, I have picked up that Henri was indeed ‘of Manchester’, that ‘he received part of his musical education in Leeds’ and, more worryingly, on one occasion he is referred to as Henry (sic) Wharton junior, as if his father had the same name. Maybe he did.

Anyway, Mr William Wharton first appears to my eyes as a vocalist on 18 September 1854 when he is billed (‘of Manchester’) at Liverpool’s Lord Nelson Street Concert Hall in a series of Prize Concerts (the prize was a piano) alongside the local Scotch vocalists, the Misses Wemyss, Mrs Keef and Mr and Mrs Steedman. Mr H.V. Lewis RAM conducts. It simply says that he is ‘of Manchester’ but nothing about a first appearance, so maybe it wasn’t.

It is a whole two years before I spy Mr William Wharton on a public stage again, and again it is in Liverpool, at a concert given by pianist Emma Jackson (18 November 1856), in the company of Belina Whitham and Ernest Perring. The following month he is in Manchester, ‘a new baritone’, ‘loudly applauded and encored’, singing for D.W. Banks at the Mechanics Institute, and from then on he is a regular on the programmes at the Free Trade Hall, singing with Mrs Sunderland, David Miranda, Delevanti and the other local favourites, as well as with such visitors as Charlotte Dolby, Mrs Newton Frodsham, Charles Braham and Sims Reeves. The programmes regularly included operatic excerpts, and Wharton was heard singing Luna’s music from Il Trovatore, Maritana, La Sonnambula, Locke’s Macbeth or Hatton’s Robin Hood, alongside such songs as Stephen Glover’s ‘The Good Time is Here’, the comical ‘I’m not myself at all’, Tully’s ‘The happy muleteer’, ‘O, would I were a boy again’, ‘Shall I wasting in despair’, ‘’Twas post meridian’ and ‘The Village Blacksmith’ but most frequently ‘The Tempest of the heart’ aka ‘Il balen’. He also took part in oratorio performances, sharing on occasion the bass music with Henry Phillips.

However the popular new baritone disappeared from Manchester, Preston and other Lancashire concert bills after only a few busy months. For now it was that he and brother John chose to quit Britain and head for America. They spent some eighteen months on the other side of the Atlantic, and I did not think that I would ever discover what—if anything—they got up to in that time, on the musical front. But thanks to one publisher of sheet music, I have found the answer. Henry/Henri (as he now was) joined up with the ‘New Orleans English Opera Company’, a well-established group headed by Miss Rosalie Durand, Miss Georgia Hodson and Mr Fred Lyster which, in fact, did not have any particular ongoing connection with New Orleans, but which toured fit-up opera around America with fair success. Quite what Wharton did in the Rosalie Durand company (as it then was) is not wholly clear, for Fred Lyster was himself a bass-baritone with comic tendencies. I see him only playing Arnheim in The Bohemian Girl when Lyster appeared as Devilshoof. However, in a company which had a mezzo-soprano (Miss Durand) as prima donna, and a soprano (Miss Hodson) as lead tenor, anything was doubtless possible.

Anyway, Wharton’s membership of the company—in whatever capacity—is immortalised in sheet music publicising ‘Mr Henri Wharton of the New Orleans English Opera Company’ singing ‘Good time is here’ (which he’d been singing for years), Frederic Shrivall’s ‘Day and Night I thought of thee’ and C.W. Glover’s ‘The bashful young gentleman’.

Wharton returned to England at the end of 1858, and moved straight into his first English operatic engagement, replacing Edmund Rosenthal, for a season at Manchester, as the baritone of the strong Tully Opera Company, alongside Henry Haigh, Lizzie Dyer and Fanny Huddart. The local press described him as: ‘formerly a popular favourite here and who had just arrived from two years professional sojourn in the United States. Mr Wharton’s voice has gained considerable power and he sings with energy and expression.’ He sang with the company in concert (‘The Happy Muleteer’, ‘Il balen’, ‘John Barleycorn’, Alexander Lee’s ‘La Napolitaine’, ‘The Sailor’s Journey’, ‘’Twas Post meridian’) and in concert versions of Il Trovatore, Martha, Maritana and The Bohemian Girl, but when they headed back to London, Rosenthal returned, and Wharton remained in the midlands to take part in a very heavy programme of further concerts (Lover’s ‘Over the way’, ‘Rage, thou angry storm’, ‘Home of my father’, ‘Farewell to the Mountain’, ‘The Peace of the Valley’, ‘Largo al factotum’, Rossini’s ‘La Danza’, ‘The Bell Ringer’, ‘Hearts of Oak’, ‘Widow Mahne’), further concert operas, oratorios and cantatas. He sang Rodolfo in La Sonnambula with George Perren and Belina Whitham, again with Jenny Baur, on several occasions with Mrs Wood’s star quartet of pupils (‘the celebrated baritone’), and on one occasion with a revived Mr Wood, and he sang Luna in Il Trovatore with Sara Dobson and Don Jose in Maritana with Richard Seymour (28 January 1860).

In December 1859 he sang The Messiah and in January 1860 he took the bass music in Elijah with the Leeds Choral Society—the press referred to Leeds as ‘the locality of his adoption’—joined Miss Crosland in Mr Wood's concert in Huddersfield ('My Cottage near Rochelle', 'Over the way', 'Largo al factotum'. 'Christmas comes but once a year'), went from the Marsden Mechanics Institution to the Huddersfield Philosophical Hall to the Town Hall, Holmfirth, sang The May Queen with Louisa Vinning at Bradford and at Easter time he was heard in The Messiah at the Free Trade Hall and in The Creation and a concert version of Iphigenia in Tauris (Thoas) with the Yorkshire Choral Society. His reviews were uniformly appreciative (‘very successful and awarded much praise’, ‘received unmistakeable token of the audience’s appreciation’) and he moved quickly onwards and upwards to his first London appearances.

In July, the Leeds papers announced: ‘Mr Wharton of this town, pupil of Mrs Wood, has we understand been engaged by the Pyne and Harrison Company as principal baritone’. ‘Pupil of Mrs Wood’!  And ‘of this town’? The previous year, they had chronicled ‘his debut in Leeds’. The Manchester press semi-retaliated: ‘Mr Wharton, so well-known in the Free Trade Hall Monday evening Concerts is rapidly rising in his profession ... Mr Wharton has devoted himself to his profession, possesses a fine voice along with considerable musical talent, and we doubt not will win the reward of earnest study and resolute perseverance.’

And on 1 October 1860, Henry Wharton made his British stage debut, as principal baritone (in succession to Charles Santley) with Pyne and Harrison, in the role of Rhineberg in Lurline. Press and public approved him: ‘a high baritone, the upper notes of which are particularly sweet’, ‘Mr Wharton has a nice voice—a high baritone—enunciates distinctly, sings with judgement, occasionally, indeed with true feeling ... and promises to be a valuable acquisition’, ‘a very favourable impression ... an intelligent speaker and an excellent singer ... a sweet and powerful baritone voice, a good method  and considerable energy’, ‘an agreeable vocalist possessing an excellent baritone’. The Era could not forbear to compare him to Santley and admitted that he had ‘peculiar difficulties to contend with’ in following the favourite baritone, but ‘he created a favourable impression, however, and sang the music allotted to him carefully and well, obtaining an encore in the sweet ballad ‘A father’s early love’. We think we may confidently predict that this gentleman will become a favourite with the public …’

In fact, Wharton was only one of several ‘principal baritones’ engaged for the Covent Garden season, and Alberto Laurence, Henri Corri, Wallworth and Distin took the relevant roles in other operas, but during the season he also appeared in Santley’s role of Julian in Victorine (‘he made the most of the small part … and sang as he always does sing, well and effectively’), Arimanes in Satanella (a Willoughby Weiss role) and created the part of Count Malespina in Bianca, the Bravo’s Bride (‘Chiefs on Might Relying’).

During the season, he visited Manchester to sing in The Messiah and the local press commented: ‘Since Mr Wharton’s departure from Manchester he has evidently been under good training for his voice has mellowed in tone, and he has gained facility of execution. He is now in a position at the Opera House, Covent Garden, that must greatly aid in onward progress ... Mr Wharton’s voice is generally lighter than some of the Messiah music demands, but he nevertheless sang with great care and met with a very gratifying reception.’

When the Pyne and Harrison company went on tour, Wharton went with them, taking on a number of additional roles (Don Salluste, the hunter in Dinorah) and, after a brief interlude, which included a series of concerts in Dublin, he switched his operatic allegiance first to Henry Cooper’s touring opera and then to Elliot Galer’s ‘London Grand English Opera Company’ with Hermine Rudersdorff as prima donna. When that engagement ended, on 25 March 1862, Henri Wharton had played his last role on the British stage.

He advertised for work, but, when it came to the point, he withdrew from an engagement to sing at Hull on 28 April. The Hull newspaper remarked that he ‘unfortunately could not appear in consequence of having to proceed to Sydney to fulfil an operatic engagement’. Henri Wharton’s operatic engagement in Sydney was without a doubt a consequence of his very first operatic engagement, in America. For the Rosalie Durand-Fred Lyster company (which had gone through a variety of titles) had ended its American tour in Australia where, with Fred’s brother William Saurin Lyster as its manager, and American vocalists Lucy Escott and Henry Squires as its stars, it had become established as the colony’s outstanding operatic troupe. Quite why Henri Wharton chose to abandon what was evidently a blossoming career in England, to exile himself to the southern hemisphere I cannot tell, but he did, and in so doing, put to an end that English career.

Henry Wharton arrived in Sydney (via Melbourne), on the steamship Wonga Wonga, in the company of Fred Lyster, Rosalie Durand and Frank Trevor, 19 June 1862, and was duly pre-puffed by his manager: ‘his agent in London has, at great expense, succeeded in procuring the services of Mr Henry Wharton, late Primo Baritono of the Pyne and Harrison company, who arrived by the last overland mail …’

He made his first appearance with the Lyster company at the Royal Victoria Theatre, Sydney, on 9 July, playing Don Pedro in The Rose of Castille, to the Elvira of Rosalie Durand, the Manuel of Henry Squires and the Salluste of Frank Trevor. The next morning the Sydney Morning Herald reported ‘The Don Pedro of Mr Henry Wharton was a careful performance, his voice is very rich and mellow, of good quality and compass, ranging from about F below the bass staff to A flat above the staff. What, however, most strikes the listener is the extreme purity of intonation proving that this gentleman has been well grounded in the Italian school ... Mr Wharton achieved his triumph in the song ‘Tho fortune darkly o’er me frown’ in the first act which he sang with great taste, the last verse of which he was compelled to repeat in obedience to an encore from all parts of the house …’ The Lyster company, at last, had a baritone worthy to put alongside Miss Escott and Mr Squires.

Wharton followed up as Count Arnheim in The Bohemian Girl, King Alphonso in La Favorita, Germont in La Traviata, Enrico in Lucia di Lammermoor, Malatesta in Don Pasquale, Rhineberg in Lurline, Don Jose in Maritana, the title-role in Don Giovanni, and Luna in Il Trovatore, during a season which ran till late September, before the company moved on to Melbourne. He added Carlo Quinto in Ernani, Le Nozze di Figaro, St Bris in Les Huguenots, the title-role in Rigoletto, Rodolfo in La Sonnambula, and the Count de Tienar in Amilie to his repertoire, and made what were advertised as ‘his first appearance in the concert room’ at the inauguration of the local St George’s Hall, and his ‘first appearance in oratorio’ in a Christmastide Messiah with the Melbourne Musical Union. His first, it goes without saying, in the colonies.

From Melbourne, the company proceeded to Hobart, before in mid-May returning to Sydney to start the whole round again with Duke Alfonso in Lucrezia Borgia, Dandini in Cinderella, Riccardo in I Puritani, and Danny Mann in The Lily of Killarney all included in Wharton’s list of roles.

During a hiatus in the Lyster operatic performances in Melbourne, from October 1863, Henry advertised for singing pupils, but kept well in the public view both in concerts and on the stage, singing the role of Hecate in Barry Sullivan’s performances of Macbeth and playing in Guy Mannering and a Christmas Cinderella at the local Theatre Royal.

The new Sydney season began (3 March 1864) with the production of Faust in which Wharton was cast, in the absence of a primo basso in the present company, as Mephistopheles. The experiment is said to have been not a success. Wharton was ill cast.

Whatever the cause, Wharton was soon off with a ‘severe illness’. ‘Severe’ it may have been (operatic illnesses in advertisements were always redundantly ‘severe’) but he was back on stage in ten days or so, singing La Favorita  (15 March), Maritana, Il Trovatore and Don Giovanni, in the first week, with apparently undiminished gusto. Faust remained in the repertoire, but Wharton was allegedly sidewound into the more suitable role of Valentine. Yet I spy playbills of 5 and 7 and 9th April in which he is indubitably listed to play the role of Mephistopheles. When Le Prophète was produced, before the end of the Sydney season, he played Oberthal.

On to Melbourne—with Wharton still playing Mephistopheles as well as Plunkett in Martha, to a six months tour of New Zealand, and to another period out, during which he was seen giving an Entertainment in conjunction with Mr and Mrs Frederick Younge at the Polytechnic Hall (20 April 1865). Henry’s contribution included ‘Many a Time and oft’, ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus’ and ‘The First Kiss’, plus duets with the lady.

In May 1865 it was Sydney again (Antonio in La gazza ladra, Beppo in Fra Diavolo, Pietro in Masaniello and now Valentine in Faust, then Brisbane, more Sydney (Belcore in L’Elisir d’amore) and back to Melbourne, to Hobart, Melbourne (Assur in Semiramide), with gaps in the schedule filled by teaching (‘a limited number of pupils for the art of singing and development of the voice’) …

In May, at the end of the Lyster troupe’s 1866 season in Sydney, an apparently unexpected announcement appeared in the press. ‘Mr Henry Wharton (baritone) begs to announce his intention to stay in Sydney and teach the art of singing’. There was no mention of  ’indisposition’: Henry had played the season to its last nights, but had decided then, after four hectic years of operatic touring, to put his stage career to an end. He installed himself at Mary Villa, Mary Street, Newton Road, and as if to emphasise his decision advertised: ‘Mr Henry Wharton having a large assortment of handsome fancy costumes can make arrangements to supply gentlemen going to the fancy ball …’.

On 16 October 1866 he put on ‘his first and only Benefit concert’ at the Masonic Hall. He sang ‘A tanto amor’, ‘Ever my queen’ from L’Africaine and the comic song ‘Barney Avourneen’ for what, it seems, was the last time. A week or so later, the advertisements seem to stop (‘pupils and intending pupils … has removed to Burrington House, Wellington Street, Kingston …’) and no further news of Henry Wharton can be found until 16 February 1867. On that date his erstwhile colleagues of the opera company gave a Benefit concert for him. He was, the advertisements record, ‘at present physically incapacitated from pursuing his profession’ and ‘anxious to return to England’.

Australian theatrical historico-mythology—apparently on the say-so of one Mr F.C. Brewer, author of a The Drama and Music in New South Wales (1892)—says that Wharton had a nervous and/or physical breakdown (‘affection of the brain’) over attempting the role of Mephistopheles, back in 1864. Harold Love, in his history of The Golden Age of Australian Opera, modifies that, by noticing that Wharton continued to perform with the company after the production of Faust. What he doesn’t say is that he continued to perform for two whole years, through Australia and, for six months, from one end to the other of New Zealand, playing the gamut of roles from St Bris, Pietro in Masaniello and Plunkett to Henry Ashton, Alphonse in Lucrezia Borgia and Germont.

I haven’t found the record of Henri Wharton’s return to Britain, but I imagine he went sooner rather than later. In February 1868 there is a nearly new piano for sale at his address, on 9 May, I see an advertisement in the Sydney Morning Herald, advertising his stage costumes for sale.

I have, however, found his death notice. Extremely curiously, not in the newspapers of Manchester, where he reportedly died ‘at his father’s home’, but in those of Sydney and Melbourne. According to them, he died at the age of 35 on 26 September 1870.

So I thought I would purchase his death certificate, and find out of just what he did die. But I couldn’t. There is, indeed, a Mr William Wharton listed amongst the Manchester deaths for the September quarter of 1870, but, according to the indices of the British nation, that Mr William Wharton was twenty-five not thirty-five years of age at his death. Is it a misprint (they do happen)? Is it he? And if it isn’t, does this mean he wasn’t a Wharton at all.

One more puzzle. At Wharton’s death, he is said to have left a widow. Now, he was ‘unmarried’ in 1861, and he arrived in Australia alone. So it is reasonable to suppose that if he wed, he wed during his time down under. There are a couple of William Whartons married in Victoria … one in 1862 (half of which, he wasn’t there), one in 1864 (some of which he was in New Zealand, and some more of which he was having his ‘severe indisposition’) ... and one Henry in 1865 (ditto) … there are three in New South Wales, too, but none looks promising … ah! there is ‘Mrs Wharton’ travelling with the Lyster company in July 1865. So she did exist!

I’m not getting anywhere. So back to the 1861 census. Henri is in Bath, with the Pyne and Harrison tour, but he’s advertising himself care of 146 Upper Brook Street, Manchester. So I looked up no 146: the head of the house is William Gibbon, timber merchant and carpenter (but not a joiner), from Cockfield, Durham, who gives no sign of being any kind of a relation: in 1851 he’s in Chesterfield, in 1871 in Hampshire. I’m afraid Mr Gibbon (who has a ‘lodger’ named Poole) must be a red herring. And then number 146 is ... sigh—the Plymouth Grove Post Office. I’m still not getting anywhere. Although the John the Joiner  (widower) is still living in Chorlton on Medlock with daughter Agnes and ... tiens, son John (45) ….

I thought, when I discovered that death notice, that everything about Mr ‘Henri Wharton’ would click easily into place. But it hasn’t. The search for the truth about William aka Henri Wharton continues.

 

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