CHAPTER X
"LOHENGRIN" IN BERLIN
Table of Contents I had had a great wish to sing "Lohengrin" in Berlin, but knew that if I did so it must be in German. Accordingly I took advantage of a little spare time, went to Germany, and restudied the whole part in German. When I arrived in Berlin, therefore, I was ready with two or three operas in Italian and "Lohengrin" in German.
It might have been thought a risky adventure to sing an opera for the first time in my life in German before the Germans, but I am happy to think that the result justified the hard work I had gone through and the courage I had summoned to my aid, for this was one of the most important events of my career. Some of the critics were kind enough to call it a "triumph."
The late Emperor William I. was present, with the Empress, and many members of their Court. The Emperor was pleased to summon me to the Royal box after the second act, when he complimented me most graciously, and bestowed on me the title of "Hofkammersängerin" (Royal Court Singer). In spite of the deep feeling of gratification this caused me, my natural nervousness, inseparable from the ordeal of a first appearance before a German audience in a German opera, was increased rather than allayed. I had to appear in my costume as Elsa before their Majesties and their Court in the Royal box, and in face of an audience which, on that night, filled the opera house from floor to ceiling.
I had been recalled before the curtain five or six times, and my fellow-artistes were also most kind and cordial to me; they complimented me very much, and were almost as pleased as I was myself.
This evening was at once a great and most pleasurable event for me, and it was also an exceptional occasion for the theatre, as it was one of the last appearances of Herr Niemann, the great German tenor, who sang the part of Lohengrin magnificently and looked it to perfection. Fraulein Brandt was the Ortrud, and Herr Betz, an old favourite of the Berliners, was Telramund.
I am sincerely averse to quoting from newspaper articles, but upon this, for me, very special occasion, I hope I may be forgiven, and that my readers will remember that I was a stranger and an interloper in the musical life of Berlin, and that therefore there can be no idea of favouritism in the criticism which appeared in the Berlin papers.
The Berlin Zeitung wrote:
"It may certainly be denominated an important event in the domain of dramatic vocal art that an artist like Madame Albani, who was brought up to the use of the French language, first embodies before the Berlin public, with a perfection all her own, various creations--musically never to be forgotten--by means of the Italian idiom; and finally in German opera, and in the German tongue, conjures up the most poetical, but likewise most difficult, character of Elsa in 'Lohengrin,' with such consummate mastery that the audience are aroused by her to enthusiasm."
A telegram from the Berlin correspondent of the Times ran as follows:
"Madame Albani appeared to-night as Elsa in Wagner's 'Lohengrin,' singing her part in the native German. The house was crowded to the very ceiling, and extravagant prices were paid for seats. The Emperor and his Court were present, and all the leaders of Berlin society. Madame Albani achieved what may well be called a complete triumph, greater even than any she has won hitherto. After the first and second acts she was recalled thrice, and when the curtain finally dropped, four times, the audience cheering enthusiastically."
That I returned to my hotel both thankful and most happy I need hardly add, and I was able to celebrate my first performance of "Lohengrin" in German by placing my night's salary in the hands of the Emperor for charitable purposes.
And here I may recount a touching incident which evidences the gracious kindness and thoughtfulness of our late beloved Queen Victoria. My husband and I were dining at the Austrian Embassy, and next to me at table was a gentleman attached to the household of the Empress Frederick (then Crown Princess). He turned to me and said, "The Princess knew that I should meet you this evening, and she told me to give you this." He handed me a telegram, which I found to be from our late Queen to Her Royal Highness, and which ran as follows:
"Am anxious to recommend Madame Albani to you. She is my Canadian subject, an excellent person, known to me, a splendid artiste, and I take much interest in her.
"The Queen."
I could hardly speak for pleasure, for I had no idea the Queen was aware of my being in Berlin or having intended to go there, but I managed to say, "Pray tell the Princess that I shall keep and treasure this."
Of those also of whose great kindness I would speak is the Crown Princess (afterwards Empress Frederick), who sent for me and received my husband and myself most kindly, showing us a phonograph, an instrument then only lately invented, in which Her Royal Highness said she had heard me sing. Two of the Princesses, her daughters, were present, and we were received with the simple and natural kindness for which the members of our Royal Family are proverbial. To the Crown Prince I had the honour of being presented at one of the Court concerts at which I sang.
And of the kindness of Lord Amp thill, then Lord Odo Russell, whose distinguished diplomatic career had shortly before led to his appointment as British Ambassador in Berlin, it would be impossible to speak too gratefully. Both he and Lady Amp thill were most cordial to my husband and myself, and it was at once a personal and an intellectual pleasure to find oneself in the home-like but highly cultivated society of them both. Lady Ampthill was a daughter of the late Lord Clarendon, and both by nature and tradition had inherited from her father the attractiveness and diplomatic amiability for which he was renowned.
Lord Ampthill was one of the kindest-hearted as well as one of the most intellectual people I have ever known. A "gentleman" in the most complete sense of the word, he was also a perfect linguist, a musician of considerable attainments, a litérateur of widely read and liberal views, and a man the charm of whose manner and expression fascinated all who came in contact with him. My remembrance of this friendship will remain with me always, mingled with a deep regret for his loss.
At this time the Empress Augusta was already an invalid and able to do very little socially, but she used to come to the opera wheeled in her chair along the private corridor of the palace which communicated with the Royal box, and she would remain for an act, or more, as her health might permit. Her Majesty sent for me to sing to her at the palace, and I arrived feeling very nervous and rather tired, as I had sung "Faust" the night before. I was met by an old lady-in-waiting, to whom I explained this and added that I hoped my voice would not sound tired. The old lady only looked at me and said, "Oh! don't be so vain!" which made me feel more nervous than before. I was then ushered into the presence of the Empress Augusta, who was reclining in her chair, most beautifully dressed, I remember, in a deep red velvet and silk gown, but pale, very thin, and looking ill, the bright intelligence of her eyes, however, preserving the natural vivacity of her expression.
Her Majesty received me most graciously, and I sang for her "Qui la voce," "Pur Dicesti," and "Robin Adair." She made me sit by her and entered into conversation, speaking of our own Queen, for whom she had a profound admiration and respect, and whose photograph she sent me to see in the next room. Her lady-in-waiting was also desired to show me a large blue-and-gold vase from the Royal Manufactory at Berlin, of which the Empress was making me a present, and Her Majesty said, "You must notice the picture on it of the palace; the windows of this red drawing-room are those in the corner, and," she added, "I shall always remember hearing you sing, and also Sarasate play, in this room."
Before I left Berlin the Empress Augusta sent for me to say good-bye, and on this occasion she received me entirely alone, and said that the Emperor also intended coming in to see me. In a short time the door opened and His Majesty entered the room. He was looking thin and pale, and the Empress said to him, "Have you been out?" "Yes, I have," he replied. "But did not the doctors forbid you to go?" "Yes, they did, but I went all the same," and he took a chair on my other side, so that I was seated between this great Emperor and Empress, who, in their Royal simplicity, were as friendly, kind, and natural in their conversation with me as the most unsophisticated of human beings. I remember how pleased the Empress was to hear that I always read the Revue des deux Mondes, for she was familiar with all the best authors and books of the day, as well as with most current subjects.
The Emperor gave me his large Jubilee medal, which was struck to commemorate the eightieth year of his military service, and also his photograph signed and framed, and both he and the Empress shook me warmly by the hand in expressing the great pleasure I had been able to give them, and in wishing me "good-bye" and "au revoir." The next morning a servant arrived from the palace at our hotel, carrying a large and beautiful china casket filled with the most lovely pink roses. The Empress had sent it to me as a present.
MADAME ALBANI'S DECORATIONS.
I afterwards sent a donation to the hospital in Berlin of which she was patroness, and received the following kind letter in return:
"Berlin,
"8 Janvier 1884.
"Madame Albani,
"Acceptez tous mes remercîments pour la généreuse...
