TALES OF THE ILL-FATED VICAR
by Charles A. Hooey
Liza Lehmann's opera The Vicar Of Wakefield sprang to life in London
at the Prince of Wales Theatre just prior to Christmas in 1906. From its
early tryout in Manchester to the final curtain, it lived a mere nine weeks.
Lehmann first delighted music-lovers in 1896 with a charming and unique song
cycle, In A Persian Garden, following with In Memoriam for
bass voice and piano in 1899 and The Daisy Chain in 1900, both fine
successes; then she set her sights on creating a comic opera based on Oliver
Goldsmith's immortal tale. But fate would intervene.
Operas and musicals try and fail on a regular basis so why is the
Vicar so special? The answer: the music, which was universally acclaimed.
The work's demise stemmed from a series of miscues as is apparent from the
writings of three participants: composer Lehmann, David Bispham, who sang
the Vicar, and Edith Clegg, his younger daughter, Sophia.
Why did Liza choose this story? Goldsmith penned it in 1764 for his own amusement
after toiling during the day as proof-reader of others' writings. His doodlings
were taken up by Dr. Johnson and converted into 60 pounds, a princely sum
that freed Goldsmith from penury. The VICAR proved an instant hit, the author's
whimsical treatment placing him instantly amongst his nation's leading
humourists. Basing her opera on such a popular tale seemed a wise move indeed.
In her book, she recalled those heady days, "When I first conceived the idea
of a musical version of The Vicar Of Wakefield, Mr. Arthur Boosey,
to whom I intended to offer the music for publication, at once commissioned
Mr. Housman to write the book and lyrics." Bispham, who also acted as producer,
added, "It was intrusted to Laurence Housman, to whom and to his sister had
been traced the authorship of the beautiful anonymous work, 'An Englishwoman's
Love Letters', which added a luster to a name already made famous by their
brother, Alfred Edward Housman, author of "The Shropshire Lad."' Laurence
it seems was a gifted wordsmith.
The music was duly composed and the dialogue created and deemed excellent,
but too lengthy. "At the first rehearsals," Liza noted, "it had become apparent
that there were far too many long dialogues without music. My original intention
had been "opéra comique" as given in Paris - that is, almost continuous
music with very little spoken dialogue. Our author had apparently not understood
this, and, as his long drawn conversations naturally destroyed the musical
continuity, he was asked to reduce them. Mr. Housman was away in the country,
and wrote back that he could not personally undertake any excisions or revisions,
but gave us carte blanche to do anything that was found necessary, and said
he would attend the dress rehearsal as a spectator."
There was a casting problem as Bispham described: "I had trouble in finding
a tenor for the part of Squire Thornhill and was about to engage Walter Hyde
when Madame Lehmann begged me first to hear a young man whose voice had been
brought to her attention. Accordingly, one Sunday afternoon in September
1906, I went with my conductor, the late Hamish MacCunn, and my manager,
Bram Stoker, so long Sir Henry Irving's right-hand man, to Madame Lehmann's
house at Wimbledon... After he had sung, my dear Liza took me into the next
room and enthusiastically said, `David, if you don't engage him you're a
fool. He has an angel's voice.' `True,' said I, `but he has an Irishman's
brogue.' `He can get over that,' said she fervently."
Liza soon had ruefully to agree, "He proved, however, to be so inexperienced
as regards the stage, and his Irish brogue was at that time so unquenchable
and out of the character of the young squire, that after a few rehearsals
it was mutually agreed the part did not suit him."
Edith Clegg worded the scene best: "His first sentence in the play was his
undoing. Phwoi! Phwat's the matter-r-r?' was felt to be out of keeping in
the ultra-English Squire Thornleigh, and despite his lovely voice, after
a few rehearsals it was found necessary to engage another artist."
Squire Thornhill (or "Thornleigh" to Edith), had to be English so re-enter
Walter Hyde, a young tenor from Birmingham who had scored mightily in the
musical My Lady Molly. Edith again: "I had the pleasure of working
for this first time with my old friend Walter Hyde who took up the part and
had a great personal success with it."
Bispham saw the others as ideal, "Mr. Richard Temple was admirable as Mr.
Burchell and Mr. Lander played the part of the rascally Jenkinson, which
fitted like a glove, Mrs. Primrose, the vicar's wife, was played to perfection
by that most sympathetic of comediennes, Mrs Theodore Wright; the daughter
Sophia and the boys Moses, Dick and Bill were performed as if Goldsmith's
characters had come to life; while in the charming Miss Isabel Jay I had
the one woman on the London stage who filled the eye as well as the ear in
her rendering of the part of the wayward but captivating Olivia."
However the Vicar was the star. "How charming he was," Edith said, "especially
when he gave up wearing the false nose. The strain of keeping that nose in
position was dreadful, and many a time during a performance did he inquire
in his best canonical whisper, `Sophy, is my nose straight?'"
At the dress rehearsal, as promised, Housman turned up but soon became severely
agitated. Liza wrote "with considerable flow of eloquence (he) told Mr. Bispham
that he could not recognize his play, and that it was utterly ruined." He
threatened to sue, and to force an injunction to restrain performance. "This
was a horrible position for all of us at the eleventh hour, and under the
circumstances we could not see that Mr. Housman had any earthly right to
take such action. In an atmosphere of threats and counter-threats, the work
enjoyed considerable success during its preliminary tour of two or three
weeks in provincial theatres."
Edith's memories were vivid: "We opened in December at the Prince's Theatre,
Manchester. How well I remember that day! (It was 12 November) It began with
a thick fog - a regular pea-souper, and I was staying in rooms - my first
experience of `theatrical digs.' My sister rang for matches to light the
gas and after repeated peals, punctuated by long waits, a very dirty little
maid with a bad attack of adenoids came panting into the room to say - `The
Bissis says you boosn't rig the bell so booch. I'mb cleadig the step and
I can't coob!' Poor child! I am afraid I was a little hard on her. It is
difficult enough to keep clean in Manchester at any time, and the atmosphere
that day was appalling." Soprano Violet Londa sang Olivia at this stage.
Presumably with every wrinkle ironed out, the production arrived in London
and opened on the 12th to a packed and expectant house. Housman,
ensconced in his complimentary box seat, "laughed derisively" during a moment
of sentiment in the first act, causing the theatre manager to rise up and
hurry to quell the disturbance. At first he failed to recognize him, but
after a loud exchange, Housman was ejected. The next day The Daily Chronicle
screamed: DISOWNED OPERA - Author Ejected From The Theatre - `First Night'
scenes. The controversy thus created continued to boil while at the theatre,
audiences went on applauding wildly. Alas, the negative publicity proved
devastating and after a few weeks, the Vicar closed.
Summing up, Liza lamented: "Apart from the length of the dialogue, which,
even after the offending liberties had been taken with the text, still needed
an active pruning knife, we had chosen the wrong time of year for this type
of entertainment. It was just before Christmas; the winter was a particularly
severe one, and the snow was piled up in the streets, making them almost
impassible. And then the Pantomines burst forth, and the receipts at the
box office, which had started splendidly, began to languish. By the time
the poor Vicar was to make his parting bow, `business' had already begun
to recover, and the whole company offered to continue playing at half-salaries,
as they believed in ultimate victory." But theatre management had other plans,
deeming a comedy by Paul Rubens a far safer card, and no other suitable theatre
was available.
And yet press reaction was universally favourable, The Daily Telegraph view
being typical, "Oliver Goldsmith's simple but fascinating story has been
turned to musical account by Madame Liza Lehmann, and the result of her efforts
is altogether delicious. Number follows number, each more pleasing than the
other, while the orchestration (which she attributed to her husband Herbert
Bedford) is of a particularly delicate yet rich description."
To Edith Clegg it had a weakness: "The music was charming, but the book lacked
humour, and being `light' not `grand' opera, a funny man was essential to
its financial success. The humour we did get was sometimes unintentional.
I had a delightful little song to a blackbird. A real bird was tried at first,
but the poor thing was terrified by the lights and a stuffed one was substituted.
One night, just before I had to bring the cage down to the footlights, one
of the men in the orchestra called up, `Sophy! Your blackbird's hanging on
his perch!' I just had time to put him right side up before my cue for the
song." Possibly she was right but Liza likely rejected any outright comic
touches, thinking both situation and music were comic enough.
Clearly the main problem was the inadequacy of the dialogue; it lacked the
flow of good opera. One wonders why Housman was chosen as his writing credentials
seemed unsuited to opera, or as Liza felt, he failed to understand his purpose.
And why did he choose to absent himself during the work's crucial formative
stage?
Housman possessed a somewhat different view, for according to Kurt Gänzl
in the Encyclopedia of the Musical Theatre, he "flounced angrily out when
his overlong book was cut to make room for the vast amount of music his composer
had supplied." Whatever was true vis-à-vis libretto vs music, Liza
must share some blame in that her lack of operatic expertise meant that she
was unable to spot potential trouble soon enough nor able to resolve it in
time.
The cast seems to have done well. Although Walter Hyde presented a squire
to the manor born, one wonders if the other Irish tenor's splendid voice
would have tipped the scales favourably, presuming his brogue was sufficiently
tamed. Probably not. Most will have guessed he was none other than John
McCormack.
Was Liza really an operatic composer? No one now can really say but Steuart
Bedford, her grandson, affirms "I do have a score of the piece and it contains
many charming numbers. Dick's song, `It was a lover and his lass' is particularly
characteristic." So, to conclude on a positive note, in fact, it is possible
for the Vicar to be reawakened. © Charles A Hooey
Sources: The Life Of Liza Lehmann by herself, published by
T. Fisher Unwin, London, in 1919; A Quaker Singer's Recollections
by David Bispham, published by the MacMillan Company, New York, in 1920;
"As It Was In My Beginning," an article by Edith Clegg in Opera Vol.
1, No 11, November, 1923. Also thanks to Jim McPherson for providing Mr
Gänzl's report.
