The Last Call: A Romance (Vol. 3 of 3)

CHAPTER XXII

About this time Lavirotte made the acquaintance of Edward Fraser, a composer of music. Fraser took a great liking to the volatile Frenchman. He had him at his house frequently, and introduced him to many professional musicians. "You know," said he to Lavirotte, "I'd be delighted to do anything I could for you; but the fact is, all engagements are made, and beyond a few concerts I don't think I can help you much. You see, you want leading business, and that's not easy to be got, at the best of times. I don't exactly know what I'm going to do with my opera yet. But if I decide to produce it this season, I'll certainly give you the refusal of the tenor part." This was a great hope for Lavirotte. He hastened with it to Eugene. Eugene shook his hand, and congratulated him upon even a remote chance of such good luck. "It's a long way off, you know, even if it ever comes to anything. I wish to goodness, Eugene, you had something of the kind to look forward to." "I wish to goodness I had," said the other. "But one must learn to wait patiently. I suppose I shall get a turn sometime." "I wish there was room for two of us in the new opera," said Lavirotte dubiously. "You see, Eugene, as Fraser said, it's not easy to pick up leading business, and of course, nothing else would suit you." O'Donnell shook his head and laughed. "Beggars can't be choosers," he said gaily. "We wanted a hundred a night, you know, before we started from Milan; and now I'd be glad to go on at a pound a night. I would not then have thought of taking anything less than the first part. I would not now care to be tempted very much with an offer of a second part, supposing the part was any good. What is the second part in the new opera like?" "From what I heard of it," said Lavirotte, "it's the very thing for you, if you would take it-in fact, they are two excellent parts. I heard two very taking solos and a lot of the concerted parts. If you would entertain the notion, I'd speak to Fraser and introduce you. "To tell you the truth, Dominique, I'd be glad to get anything to do now. It's disgraceful that a fellow of my years should be taking money out of my father's very narrow means. "I'd be glad to earn four or five pounds a week anyway now. I suppose Fraser would give as much as that." "I'm sure he would," said Lavirotte. "More, I think. I have a notion he'd give his leading man ten pounds a week, and his second, six." "Well, if you could get me six, Dominique, I'd be delighted to take it." "I'll go back to him at once," said the Frenchman. "I won't lose a moment, Eugene. Come, put on your hat. We may as well go together. Chances like this don't grow on the hedge bushes. Between you and me, I think Fraser would hurry his share of the work if he were satisfied of being able to get good voices at this awkward time of the year. He tells me he knows where to get an excellent soprano, but that until he met me he was in despair about a tenor. A good contralto is, of course, not to be hoped for, and a sufficiently good baritone and bass will turn up, as a matter of course." By this time the two friends were in the street, hurrying off towards Fraser's house. They found the composer at home. "This is my friend O'Donnell, Fraser. You have often heard me speak of him. We were rival tenors in Glengowra and Rathclare. We were fellow-students at the Scala, and now we're going to be rival tenors in your opera, 'The Maid of Athens.'" Fraser laughed good-humouredly, and said: "All right. If, Mr. O'Donnell, you sing as well as our friend Lavirotte, we shall be very lucky in our tenors." "He sings better," said Lavirotte, with a slight darkening of the face. "There is one thing I cannot rival him in, certainly," said O'Donnell, "and that is generosity. I have no desire to compete with my dear friend as a tenor. He said there was a second part in your opera which I might suit. I haven't an engagement of any kind, and I am most anxious to get something to do. I'd rather lead the chorus than do nothing." "Oh," said Fraser, "if you sing anything like as well as Lavirotte, you must not think of leading a chorus." "Sing him something, Eugene, and then he'll be able to tell whether you sing better than I or not." "I won't sing if you put it that way, Dominique," said O'Donnell, colouring slightly. "You know very well I do not want to go into rivalry with you." "There is no rivalry at all, Mr. O'Donnell. Lavirotte is in one of his perverse moods. If I produce my opera this season, he shall have the refusal of the leading part. I have no one in my mind as the second tenor. Now, if you'll sing me something, please, I shall be able to tell you whether I think the music would suit you." "What would you like," asked Eugene, standing up to the piano. Fraser was sitting in front of it, running his fingers over the keys. "Whatever you think best. Whatever suits you best." "What shall I sing, Dominique?" "Oh, a ballad," said Lavirotte. "Shall I start you?" "Ay, give him a lead," said Fraser.

"The bright stars fade, the morn is breaking!"

"Damn it, Lavirotte, are you mad or possessed by devils!" Fraser had begun the accompaniment. He turned round in astonishment. "What on earth is the matter?" he said. "It's a good song, Mr. O'Donnell." Lavirotte was laughing slyly, stealthily, behind his hand. O'Donnell looked furiously at Lavirotte. He was thoroughly roused. He pointed at Lavirotte, and said: "He knows I do not sing that song. He knows it puts me out to speak of that song." The composer looked in amazement from one to the other. "Perhaps," he said, "you will sing something else, Mr. O'Donnell? If you had a breakdown on it once I don't think it kind of Lavirotte to remind you of it." "I never had a breakdown on it, Mr. Fraser," said Eugene, taking his eyes off Lavirotte, and fixing them on the composer. Then he spoke with enormous distinctness, "But, Mr. Fraser, whenever I hear that song it pains me cruelly. It pains me as though you thrust a knife into me." Lavirotte ceased to laugh. His hand fell from before his face. He turned ashy pale. "Eugene!" he cried, "you hit below the belt." "No, sir, I did not," said Eugene, indignantly. "You hit me unawares." "Gentlemen," said Fraser, "I am sure I am sorry any unpleasantness has arisen." "I beg your pardon, Mr. Fraser," said O'Donnell, "I forgot myself for a moment. I forgot where I was. Try to forgive me if you can, and to show you I have dismissed the thing from my mind, Dominique, will you forget and forgive?" he held out his hand to the Frenchman. Lavirotte took the hand slowly, pressed it between both his, kissed it, and said: "Eugene, I was wrong, you were right. That blow was delivered unawares, as another blow you remember." "That's right!" cried Fraser heartily. "That's right, men! Sit down, O'Donnell, you're not fit to sing for a while. Stop, I'll play you the overture to 'The Maid of Athens.' I have arranged it for the piano… Well, what do you think of it?" he cried when he had finished. "I fancy I can hear some of the melodies on the street organs, and to get my stuff on the street organs is the height of my ambition. That is fame. That is glory. Now, O'Donnell, what will you sing?" "'My pretty Jane,'" said Lavirotte. "Sing 'My pretty Jane,' Eugene." "All right," said Eugene. And Fraser played the introduction. When O'Donnell had ceased to sing, Fraser turned round, caught him enthusiastically by the hand, and said: "Positively lovely, my dear fellow! The quality is perfection. Have you much of it? Enough for the Grand?" "I'm afraid not," said O'Donnell, shaking his head. "I could manage in a small house very well. I haven't as much, you know, as Dominique here." "But the quality, my dear fellow, the quality is exquisite. It's a bit of Guiglini." O'Donnell coloured with pleasure. Lavirotte said: "You never sang that song better, Eugene." "It couldn't be sung better. Sims Reeves himself might be proud of such an art. Tenors are hard enough to get, but to get a tenor with brains and a heart is about the rarest thing in the world. You have brains, and a heart, O'Donnell, and of course I needn't say that I'd rather have a song delivered as you sang now than the biggest shout of a forty-six-inch chested Italian robusto." Lavirotte put his hand quickly up to his left breast. Again he turned ashy white. He seemed to gasp for breath. "Are you not well, Dominique?" cried Eugene, placing his hand on him. "Ah!" sighed Lavirotte, "it's gone. For an instant the pain was great, and I thought I should suffocate. It is gone now. Let us think no more of it. You are in splendid voice to-day, Eugene. It was stupid of me to get ill just at that moment when I should have been applauding your success. Fraser, I told you he could sing." "Sing! I should think he can. Try something else, O'Donnell; something a little stronger." "Very well," said O'Donnell, "I'll give you one of the melodies, 'The Bard's Legacy.'" Lavirotte shuddered. "I don't know it," said Fraser. "Hum it for me." Then O'Donnell began.

"When in death I shall calm recline,Oh, hear my heart to its mistress dear."

"Don't sing it, Eugene," said Lavirotte. "It's a gloomy beast of a song. When a fellow has just recovered from suffocation, it's not a good way to cheer him to shake shrouds before his eyes. Sing 'La donna e mobile.'" O'Donnell lifted his eyes slowly, and stared in a puzzled way at Lavirotte. "Are you ill still," he said, "or are you peculiarly dull to-day?" For the third time Lavirotte's face paled. "This time, I swear to you, Eugene, I am only dull. 'Pon my soul, I am only dull."

CHAPTER XXIII

"Mr. O'Donnell," said Fraser, "I hope you will not forget us now that you have once come. My wife is out, but I am sure she will be delighted to meet Mrs. O'Donnell. Remember, you are to bring your wife with you, too, when you come next time." These were the composer's last words as he stood at the hall door, bidding good-bye to Lavirotte and Eugene. When Mrs. Fraser returned, he said to her in his enthusiastic way: "My dear Harriet, you have missed a treat. Lavirotte's friend, O'Donnell, has been here. He has got a lovely voice, and sings exquisitely. He came to know if I would give him the second tenor part. I promised before I heard him sing, and now, by gad, Harriet, I'm in a deuce of a mess." "Why? You say he has a good voice, and sings well." "Yes, yes. But, you see, I have promised the leading part to Lavirotte. Now Lavirotte's voice is not to be compared with O'Donnell's, and, by gad, I don't know how to get out of the fix." "If," said Mrs. Fraser, "this new man is better for the part, why not give him the part?" "But you see, they are bosom friends. They have been friends for years, been at the Scala together, and so on. Why, while they were here there was very near being a scene between them. In fact there was a scene, in which Lavirotte did something that enraged O'Donnell, and O'Donnell said something that made Lavirotte grovel. I don't know what it was about, of course, but it looked very ugly while it lasted. I should not be at all surprised if Lavirotte is a bit jealous of O'Donnell's voice. I'm sure I don't know what to do. It would be a pity to throw away a voice like O'Donnell's in the second part; and how am I to get rid of Lavirotte?" "Then you are resolved to produce the opera soon?" "Oh, yes, if I can put O'Donnell in the leading part. You see, I was only half satisfied with Lavirotte. He is so hard, unsympathetic, metallic. I don't know how to manage it at all. You see, Harriet, I want to make a success with this 'Maid of Athens.' I am sure if O'Donnell sang it would be a success." "But can he not make a success in the second part?" "No, no," cried Fraser, excitedly "That would be impossible. Besides, the public would not stand it. They would guy the thing if they found the better man in the inferior part. Oh, what a misfortune I ever promised Lavirotte!" "Surely there is some way or other out of it," said Mrs. Fraser. "I can't see it, Harriet. I am in despair. It is the best chance there has been in London for years. At least I think so. Of course you can never tell really until you have tested the thing practically in the theatre, with the lights up and your audience in front. But I'm game to put down the last penny I have in the world, and my reputation, that O'Donnell could do the trick." "I cannot believe, Edward," said Mrs. Fraser hopefully, "that there is not some way of managing the matter. Could not Mr. Lavirotte understudy the leading part?" "Eh? Say that again, little woman," said the composer, sitting down to the piano and improvising a fantasia. He always quieted his mind in this way. "There may be something in what you say, Harriet. An understudy! But would Lavirotte consent? You know we couldn't ask him to sing in any other but the leading part, once it was offered to him. And then, to take a practical view of it, even if he would consent to understudy, he would be eating his head off the whole time. The management wouldn't get the least value for their money. In any case, I don't think Lavirotte would consent. You know, those new men are always dying to get an 'appearance,' and I'm sure Lavirotte would rather take a situation down a coal mine than cool his heels in the wings, while O'Donnell had the boards." "Well, but if you say there is a great chance of O'Donnell making a success of the opera, it would be a thousand pities you lost that chance because of any hasty promise you made to Lavirotte." "I don't think Lavirotte has a particularly sweet temper; and, to tell you the truth, there is something in the man's eye which I do not like-something which makes me distrust him. I asked him to-day to give O'Donnell a lead, and he started 'Good-bye, Sweetheart,' and, by gad, I thought for a minute that O'Donnell would throttle him." "It seems to me," said the little woman, "that you are somewhat unfortunate in having come across this pair. A moment ago you appeared to think there was something dangerous about Lavirotte, and now you say that O'Donnell looked as if he wanted to do something dreadful to the other." "Throttle him, my dear. Throttle him was the word I used. A capital word, but not a woman's word, I own." "But surely it would be no harm for you to try if Lavirotte would consent to understudy, if you are certain that the difference between the two men is so great. Aren't they both very anxious to get engagements? and don't both want to earn money?" "Yes, but everyone wants to earn money, and I have no doubt that Lavirotte would rather take two guineas a week and sing the part than ten for walking about. Stop," cried the composer. "Something might be done with that." "Pray, what is that? I have not the gift of second sight." The composer rose from the piano, approached his wife, put his arm round her, kissed her, and said: "You're not half as stupid as you look, Harriet. You sometimes get hold of a capital idea. But you require the great male intellect" – tapping his forehead-"to shape it for you. Lavirotte, when he was here, nearly fainted. I have heard him complain before of certain attacks of this kind which he is subject to. You see, it would never do to have a man in such a position as first tenor, if that man were liable to faint. Why, the very excitement of a first night sometimes knocks over strong men who have had years of experience. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll throw myself on Lavirotte's generosity, and say that what I saw here to-day has so disquieted me that, etc. You understand. I'll put it as nicely as I can. It isn't very easy to put such a thing nicely, but I shall do my best." Here the matter dropped between husband and wife. That evening Fraser wrote a note to Lavirotte, asking him to call next day. In the gentlest and most considerate way, Fraser explained to Lavirotte that a first night of a new piece was most trying on the singers, and that to ensure success, it was essential all taking prominent parts in it should be, as near as possible, in perfect health. "I noticed here yesterday," said the composer, "that you almost fainted under the excitement of something which occurred between you and O'Donnell. I think, too, I heard you say before you have now and then been seized with physical weakness. We have not spoken of business terms in connection with the opera. Of course you know I am not finding the money. But I shall make all the engagements. Now, if you like I'll give you your engagement at once, ten pounds a week for the run, on one condition." "What is that?" cried Lavirotte eagerly. "That you allow some other man to create the part and sing until you have become so accustomed to it that there will be no fear of your suffering from this little ailment, whatever it is." Lavirotte's lips got suddenly dry. He drew them backward over his teeth, and breathed a few hard breaths. "You mean," said he, in a low voice, "to let O'Donnell create the part?" "I have said nothing to him about it, as yet, nor should I say anything to him without first speaking to you. I gave you my word you were to create the part if the opera was produced. After seeing what occurred yesterday, and knowing the great excitement of a first night, I would rather have the opera in that drawer than risk it if there were the least chance of a breakdown." "And you think," said Lavirotte, "that I could consent to take the money, when my health did not allow me to earn it?" "Now, my dear Lavirotte, you must not be offended where no offence is meant. The first night is what I dread. You shall understudy the part, or, rather, the part shall be yours, and O'Donnell, the understudy, run on at the last moment. Stop, I have it. I shall engage you to create the part. I shall engage O'Donnell if he will consent to understudy the part. We shall go on rehearsing on these lines, and if, three days before the first night, a first-class medical man says you are fit to go on, you shall go on. This need not be embodied in the agreement. We can keep our words, as men of honour, and we can keep this arrangement secret. Even O'Donnell shall not know; and his salary shall be six guineas a week, whether he sings or not. Come, you can't ask me to do more than that. O'Donnell has a wife and child to keep." "Damn his wife and child," thought Lavirotte. Fraser was firm, and although it took an hour to get Lavirotte to consent, he at length consented. And there and then the agreement was drawn up and signed. "Now," thought Fraser, "it's neck or nothing with me. I am sure it would be dangerous to let him go on the first night, and if I can only secure O'Donnell, 'The Maid of Athens' will be the foundation of my fortune." When Lavirotte got back to the tower, he threw himself, in a rage, on his bed. "This thing may kill me," he said, "but I'll sing the part as sure as heaven is above and hell beneath. Damn O'Donnell, his wife, and child."

CHAPTER XXIV

Edward Fraser was not the man to let grass grow under his feet. He set about the production with the utmost vigilance and despatch. The first thing he did was to call on O'Donnell. He was introduced to Mrs. O'Donnell. He found her simply divine, he said, the greatest beauty in London, by gad. And, as to the boy (he himself was childless) he afterwards declared to his wife, that it was the handsomest, the most engaging, the most endearing little fellow in Europe. As soon as he was free to talk about business he said: "O'Donnell, I have firmly made up my mind to produce 'The Maid of Athens' with the least possible delay. Before I had seen you I had, of course, arranged with Lavirotte. Will you understudy Lavirotte's part at six guineas a week? Of course, if there is a chance of your singing it, you shall go on, and I could not think of putting you second. But you know what our climate is like, and that a fellow may get a cold any minute." "You know," said Eugene, colouring with pleasure, "I want an engagement, and I am not in a position to refuse one if I could possibly take it. But Dominique and I have been such great friends all our lives, I could not think of taking any position which might seem to undermine his." "But, you see, that is the very thing I offer you-a position which will not seem to undermine his. So long as he is singing, of course you will not sing. But if he gets a cold, or anything of that kind, you take his place and keep it warm for him until he is quite well again. What can be more friendly than that?" "Men are always jealous of those who understudy them, for they think that the understudies are always wishing for some accident to the men who are singing the parts. Have you spoken of the matter to Dominique?" "Oh, yes! I have arranged it all with him. He agrees to what I suggest. I am sorry I cannot offer you as good terms as he is getting; but we could not afford more than six to one in such a position as yours. Lavirotte's agreement is all drawn up and signed on the understanding that if I can secure you I will do so." After some more talk, Eugene agreed to accept Fraser's offer, and the composer went home greatly delighted with the day's work and the new acquaintance he had made. "Harriet," he said when he got home, "I have fallen in love with Mrs. O'Donnell, and you must fall in love with her too. She is simply perfect. You must worship the boy. I know, if you saw him, you would never let him out of your arms." Mrs. Fraser simply shook her head, and sighed to think she had no boy of her own. The preparations for the production of the new opera were hastened, the Oberon Theatre secured, the rest of the company engaged, and the opera put in rehearsal. Everyone who was privileged to hear the music agreed that the opera ought to be a great success, and most of the people thought that Lavirotte would make a hit in his part. Fraser was to conduct the opera himself, and he took the minutest care that nothing should be left undone to court success. About a month before the day fixed for the first appearance, O'Donnell came to Fraser's private room at the theatre, and said: "I want to ask you a question about my own business." "Fire away, my dear fellow!" cried the hearty composer. "Anything you like." "I am, as you know, Fraser, at present in lodgings with my wife and child. We were thinking of taking a small house, and what I want you to tell me is, do you think I would be justified in doing so? Do you think my engagement with you will be worth anything like six pounds a week for a considerable portion of the year?" "My dear O'Donnell, I'm very glad you spoke to me upon the subject. Take a small house, by all means; get what furniture is just necessary. I'll be guarantee for it. And, I'll tell you what I'm game to do this minute: I'll undertake, if you like, in writing, that you shall not average less than six pounds a week for the next twelve months, Under existing circumstances, I cannot, at present, offer you more money than is in your agreement, but you can have the engagement, if you like, about the twelve months." O'Donnell was delighted. "You really don't say so, my dear Fraser!" "I do," he said. "You need not speak of this matter to anyone. I mean to stick to you. You are sure to make a mark. You are sure to make money. And, look here, I say, you know it isn't my money that's going into this speculation, and I have a little money of my own. Never be hard up for a fiver. We like your wife, your boy, and yourself; and by gad, sir, we mean that you shall be a success." O'Donnell went home in the highest spirits. That very day he and his wife set out house-hunting, and within a week they were settled in a little semi-detached house in Cecil Street, Hoxton. Among the furniture there was, of course, a piano, and O'Donnell felt unexpectedly relieved to be able, as he expressed it, to shout and hammer the keys against the detached wall of his own house, where there was no fear of disturbing lodgers or neighbours. Here, with his wife and child, and the old and faithful nurse who had looked after him when he was a child, he felt as though life was opening afresh to him, and as if there was more sunshine in the air than ever he had noticed before. "The first thing we have to do, Nellie, is to get the Frasers and Dominique here to dinner, on the earliest day possible. Of course I should never have known Fraser but for Dominique; and, indeed, half my good luck at the Oberon, or more than half, is due to Lavirotte." So it was arranged that on the first Saturday after the O'Donnells were settled in their home, the Frasers and Lavirotte should dine with them. The dinner passed off in the pleasantest manner. Mark dined at the table, and Lavirotte insisted on attending to the boy and giving him all the delicacies he could filch, to the great jealousy of Mrs. Fraser, who had taken an extraordinary liking to the mother and child. Lavirotte seemed in better spirits and health than of late. He was quite cheerful, quite amusing. He made pretty compliments to the women, said good-humoured, whimsical, blunt things to the men, and when dinner was over and the men were alone, he threw himself into a chair and declared he had not enjoyed any little dinner so much, for a century. "You know, Eugene, I was best man at your marriage, and godfather to your boy, and I really think I have forgotten my duty towards him. I never gave him a knife and fork, or even a mug. It was beastly neglectful of me. I feel in the best of spirits to-day. Wasn't I in good voice at the rehearsal?" "Capital!" said both men. "Nothing could have been better." "You'll bring down the house, Lavirotte," cried Eugene. "I shall do my very best," said Lavirotte. "I think my health has greatly improved within the past fortnight or so. I have not felt that old sensation of faintness, and going up and down the stairs to my eyrie does not distress me as it used. By Jove, Eugene, I feel as well as before that terrible time in the tower. No, I won't have any more. I'll go and look after my boy." Lavirotte left the room. Fraser shifted uneasily in his chair. "Are you perfect in the part?" he said to Eugene. "I think so," said the latter. "Because," said Fraser, "although Lavirotte seems in better health than he was some time ago, no one knows what may happen." Lavirotte did not go straight to the small drawing-room where the two women were seated. He went out to the little kitchen, and said to old Bridget, the servant: "Is the boy in bed?" "Yes, he is, sir, and asleep," said the old woman. "Let me go up and look at him before I join the ladies." "Certainly, sir. I'll show you the room." She led the way upstairs. The boy was sleeping in a cot, his rosy cheek resting on his pink arm, his yellow hair hanging all about his head. There was another bed in the room. "That is yours, no doubt," said Lavirotte, pointing to the second bed. "Yes," she said, "I sleep here to mind him in the night; but he's no trouble." "And this window looks into what?" "The side passage." The old woman had turned up the paraffin lamp, and was holding it over the sleeping child. "You have no gas in the house?" "No; the master does not like gas." "You ought to be very careful with that lamp. Many a sad thing happens owing to the use of paraffin lamps, where children are." He stooped over the sleeping child, kissed the boy's cheek, and then descended to the little drawing-room where the two wives sat.