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Musical Courier 1893-09-27: Vol 27 Iss 707, 1893
113 lines. Read by computer on 20 September 2026. Printed page 14. See the scan on archive.org.
1A Piano Piecemeal.
3FROM Pearl street to the river there was not a more attractive girl than Mag O'Brien. Her hair might have been termed red, but it was the red of a highly polished brick and the sunbeams became entangled in the locks. Mag was the belle of Cherry street, the social leader of the district, and when she said "Naw" it went. The Bolivar gang made up her band of loyal knights and were ever in attendance, but Patsy Dugan the leader, was her own especial cavalier. Patsy wore not his heart upon his sleeve, but he carried a chip upon his shoulder for Mag's sweet sake. And Patsy was a terror when he got going.
5One soft August evening they sat upon the string piece of a wharf and watched the bobbing lights in the flood below. A picnic barge passed and the sweet strains of "Comrades" floated across the tide, whereat Mag sighed as one who longeth for the unattainable.
7"Say, Mag, what's de matter?" asked Patsy, in a solicitous whisper.
9But Mag only looked across at the dark shadows of Brooklyn, and sighed again.
11"Whatcher want?" again asked Patsy. "Tell us an' I'll git it, see?"
13"I want a pianny," sighed Mag, as though she feared to breathe the wish. The silence that followed was broken only by the ripple of the waters, and the gloom of the night seemed to gather like a frown, which reproved the enormity of the girl's ambition. Suddenly Patsy put up one foot on the wharf, preparatory to rising.
15"Now look-a-here," he said in a strong whisper, "don't say nawthin an' I'll get de pianny, see?"
17The deep shadows closed about his retreating form, and Mag sighed again. She had learned to rely on Patsy's word, but that he should keep it in this instance seemed almost too good to be true. She wended her lonely, homeward way deeply engrossed in unusual thought. It was after midnight when the voice of Patsy was heard outside her door, and Mag opened it full of doubt and fear. There stood Patsy with his arms encircling some huge burden, and as he staggered into the moonlight that sifted through the dirty window panes the girl saw that he carried one leg of the coveted instrument.
19"I know where dey grows," panted Patsy, "an' I'se got one dat's near ripe. Now, don't say naw't nown—wait. See?" and Patsy departed, giving vent to intermittent grunts that suggested "Comrades." To Mag and Patsy the strains of a piano were like those of the steam calliope on that excursion boat which passed up the river occasionally. They knew the sound well, and Mag had seen the man playing on the boat, and the music she expected to call forth from her new idol would be those homelike warbles that would fill the street and electrify the tenement in which she lived.
21Mag waited and waited, but Patsy did not return, and when at last she fell asleep her dreams were freighted with pianos that were all legs, but she woke in the morning with an abiding faith in her cavalier. The one leg in the corner was something at any rate, and Mag, not being familiar with the natural history of pianos, didn't know but what a full fledged instrument would grow forth from the solitary limb. She examined the highly polished wood, and smiled at herself in the bright surface, which smile was reflected and distorted a score of times in the angles and edges of the wood.
23Late that night Patsy brought in another leg, and then the smile that Mag had worn all day became brighter and wider, for she seemed to understand his scheme. It was evident that Patsy procured the piano on the instalment plan, as Mag had often seen advertised, and she wondered if he worked during the day. The idea of work troubled her, and her heart was touched at the thought of this knightly devotion. Her hand trembled as she assisted him in with the third load on the third night.
25"Dis is a'nawful job," sighed Patsy, depositing leg three in the corner, "but yer'll hev de pianny, Mag, or—" and the brow of the young knight clouded as he thought of the consequences if—
27Day after day passed on devoid of incident.
29Night after night added another and one more chapter to the tender romance, until on the fourth floor (rear) of the old tenement stood the massive frame of the grand piano—lacking only the interior arrangements which produce the sounds.
31"Termorner," said Patsy, as he deposited the salmon plush stool in front of the yawning instrument, "we'll hev a dance," and Mag's bright eyes glistened. The morrow would bring the fulfilment of her hopes, her wildest dreams and ambitions! She sat down before the piano and pounded on the dumb keys, while Patsy tried to imitate the calliope, and grunted very fairly.
33"Oh, Patsy!" said Mag, at parting.
35Slowly passed the next day; the eventide was slower still. The early hours of the night lingered and hesitated, but at last midnight came. The fateful hour brought no Patsy.
37The dawn lighted the Brooklynward sky, the street lamps were extinguished and the rattle of the early milk wagon was heard, but her errant lover came not.
39Before the skeleton frame, which was but a dumb mockery of her hopes, sat Mag lost in wonder. She knew not why her cavalier should linger—she started at every noise, sitting, a picture of grief, before the unfinished monument of Patsy's love. She thought how tenderly he had brought in each piece—the sides, the pedals, the tops, the ivory keys—and fixed them together with an air of professional pride. Where was he now?
41As if in answer to her thought a stealthy step was heard outside, and Patsy entered, wearied—wan—with no portion of the piano. He scarcely looked at Mag, but hurried toward the piano, and lifting the cover crawled into the empty frame. Then from the interior came one whistled strain from Patsy's lips, and Mag repeated the words that accompanied it: "They're After Me."
43Then tread—tread—came up the stairs and stopped at the door. A moment and the door opened, and two stalwart men, each wearing a brown derby and heavy black mustache, entered. They stood appalled before the beauty of Mag, and both removed their hats.
45"Excuse us, Miss," said the foremost one, "but me friend is lookin' for a pianny. Will you kindly let him play us a tune? We won't be but a minute, 'cause the pianny dat he wants is fer a deaf man, an' he can tell what it is right away." Here he winked at Mag, who stood like a statue.
47"Set down, Tom," continued the speaker, pointing to the piano stool, which stood there in its salmon plush glory. Tom obeyed. He swung around on the stool once or twice, and then addressed his friend:
49"Say, Bill," he asked, grinning broadly, "did you hear about dat feller up'n Fifth avenue what had his pianny stolen? Yes, sir—man big enough in this town to steal a pianny—great town this!"
51Mag returned the smile directed at her with a look of anger, and then Bill spoke:
53"Give us 'Comrades,' Tom," he said.
55Tom's huge, brawny hand came down on the keys with a thump, and from the interior of the instrument came a smothered sound like a steam calliope in the distance—"Oodle-oodle-oodle-dee-do."
57Mag clapped her hands in delight. The imitation of Patsy was expert, perfect—these intruders would never know but what she had a real piano—complete in every detail, and Patsy would escape. But the two men burst into a roar of laughter.
59"Oodle-de-do-de-do." Mag grew frightened. What was it?
61"Oh, Bill!" cried Tom.
63"Oh, Tom!" cried Bill, and they laughed loud and long. Then they grew suddenly severe; the rattle of a chain caused Mag to look in their direction, and she gave a shriek and fainted, for a glittering pair of handcuffs met her eyes.
65"About three years, I guess," remarked Bill, going toward the piano, holding a revolver before him.—"The Club."
67Goring Thomas' "Golden Web."
69LAST month at the Royal Court Theatre the late Goring Thomas' opera, "The Golden Web," was announced to be performed for the first time in public. The work has a somewhat curious history. It was commenced in 1887 to the order of Carl Rosa, and it was intended that it should follow "Paul Jones" at the Prince of Wales' Theatre. The success of "Paul Jones" had given Carl Rosa an idea that a light operatic enterprise on an elaborate scale could be established in London, and with the thoroughness that characterized him he set about the task of forming a repertory. Mr. Corder, the librettist, has placed it on record that Goring Thomas set the lines to the very charming music, but "with the small difficulty that none of his ideas would consent to fit the lyrics, so that all these, without exception, had to be rewritten."
71Then Rosa, after his practice, began overhauling the dialogue. The two comic pirates in "Paul Jones" pleased the public, and Rosa thought that something of the sort should be introduced into the "The Golden Web." It is perhaps to this cause that the presence in the cast of the Fleet parson's clerk and the peer's valet may be attributed. This working up of the dialogue was given to a well-known comedian. His identity can be guessed, but his anonymity shall be respected. On Rosa's death the light operatic scheme passed into other hands, and so, as Mr. Corder has said, "the opera was then transferred from one manager to another, and one theatre to another. It has been in rehearsal, and it has been in print, music and words." It is now said that the similarity of its plot with that of Mr. Walter Besant's "Chaplain of the Fleet" is a mere fancy, but Mr. B. C. Stephenson was subsequently retained to revise the whole book, which, save as to the lyrics, was practically rewritten. This necessitated some further music, and Goring Thomas committed suicide before he had completed the score. Consequently the final revision of the music was given into the hands of Mr. Waddington, Mendelssohn scholar, who happened to be residing in Paris, and might be supposed to be in sympathy with a composer whose music was nothing if not French in style.
73The story of "The Golden Web," which is in three acts, is simple enough. "The Golden Web" itself is a public house in Fleet Market, the headquarters of "Dr. Manacle," a Fleet parson, who has grown rich upon the celebration of irregular marriages. There are choruses of touts, who seize upon ill assorted couples, candidates for Fleet matrimony, and finally we are introduced to "Dr. Manacle" and his clerk "Spindle," to "Smug," valet to "Lord Silvertop," and to the hero, "Geoffrey Norreys." "Geoffrey" has in a course of dissipation run through his inheritance, and consequently he is an unfit aspirant to the hand of the wealthy "Amabel Bullion," the niece of "Bullion," a wealthy London merchant, and of "Dr. Manacle," the Fleet parson, himself. The middle aged beau, "Lord Silvertop" is the lover favored by old "Bullion," and it is "Smug's" errand to bribe the Fleet parson to induce "Geoffrey" into a Fleet marriage with somebody else, so that his dangerous candidature for "Amabel" may be at an end. On the day of his marriage "Geoffrey" will have £5,000. Hopeless therefore of securing "Miss Amabel," he thinks this sum would pay his creditors, and consequently consents to a marriage with a masked unknown. The audience are of course aware that the lady in question is no other than "Amabel" herself. Upon the marriage the curtain falls on the first act, the music of which includes the opening chorus and couplets; a chorus of brawlers introducing "Geoffrey;" a trio between the young man, the Fleet parson and his clerk; the first air of "Amabel" searching for her "Aunt Pamela;" a contralto song for that lady:
75I knew a love song years ago;
76Ah, well-a-day, 'tis nigh forgot;
77There were broken hearts in it I trow,
78Ah, well-a-day, 'tis the common lot.
80and a somewhat lengthy though not by any means elaborate finale.
82In the second act we are transported to Old Ranelagh Gardens, period of the play being 1750. According to Mr. Corder, the revelers in those days warbled prettily—
84Oh, scented air of summer night,
85Oh, picture fair of gardens bright,
86taking their pleasures, by the way, somewhat more sadly than their descendants at a modern music hall. The scene is a reproduction of an old engraving, and it includes a procession of maskers and a spectacle in which four boats represent the Four Seasons. A ballet is danced, and then "Lord Silvertop" is induced to give a song, full of puns, and frequently interrupted by the populace. Here is a specimen:
88A maiden who, as maidens do,
89Refused his proffered suit so true,
90Though he had rank and riches, too,
91So-ho, so-ho, with him she would not dwell.
93MRS. SCATTERWELL.—If 'twas Soho I'm not surprised,
94So wholly she his love despised.
96Then again, "Sing high-born, low-born" is mistaken by the crowd for "Sing High Holborn," while, although the lady dwelt in Hatton Garden,
98He bore her to a distant strand;
99She sighed, and yielded him her hand.
100Oh, joy
102MRS. SCATTERWELL.—Excuse me; I don't quite understand.
103MRS. PONCEBY.—No, no; High Holborn.
104MRS. SCATTERWELL.—Soho, Soho.
106The principal business of the act, however, is the interview between "Geoffrey" and "Amabel," and the abortive attempt of "Lord Silvertop" to carry off the lady and force her into a Fleet marriage. It is some months since the escapade at "The Golden Web," and "Geoffrey" meanwhile has inherited a baronetcy. His grief is sincere that his unlucky Fleet marriage is now an insuperable bar to his union with "Amabel," and the young lady, who from the first was a party to the deception, refuses, as yet to undeceive him. In the last act, however, when we are back again in the Fleet Market, the truth is told, while "Lord Silvertop" proves to be the victim of another masked marriage, the bride in this case being "Amabel's" elderly aunt.
108The best of Goring Thomas' music lies in the second act, including the opening chorus, the ballet, the song to which allusions has already been made, a burlesque love duet between the disguised valet and "Aunt Pamela," a baritone solo for the Fleet parson, a duet between "Geoffrey" and the heroine, and the music attending the scene of the abortive abduction. The last act opens with a bright chorus of revelers in "The Golden Web," followed by a humorous song for the valet, who has carried off "Aunt Pamela," and has been severely punished by that muscular lady. There is also another song for the heroine, and a melodious little love duet. "The Golden Web" is not supposed to be grand opera, and its style, while thoroughly unpretentious, should prove an agreeable foil to some of the more severe items of the Carl Rosa repertory.—London "Figaro."
110Marie Roze.—At the Promenade Concerts, Covent Garden, Mrs. Marie Roze made last month her first appearance for many months. She had a splendid reception and was in excellent voice, singing two songs and an encore.
112A Scottish Dictionary.—A dictionary of Scottish musicians, from the year 1400 to the present day, is now on the press.
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