shadow of britain

Chapter 904 Hastings: An Unparalleled Musical Genius

For Londoners, the theater is far more than just a place for artsy young people to relax.

It was a salon where the upper class exchanged glances, commented on new plays, and made connections with the powerful; it was also a classroom for middle-class families to cultivate "art appreciation skills"; and it was a place where the working class, after a day's work, would take off their aprons, put on long woolen coats, and laugh and shout in the back seat.

In the upscale theaters of Covent Garden and Drury Lane, box seats often cost six to nine shillings, and sometimes require reservations several days in advance through a butler. In more down-to-earth places, such as the small theaters of Soho or the ballad rooms in the Strand Street pubs, you can sit on a wooden bench for just one shilling and listen to a whole night of local jokes or adapted Shakespearean plays.

Of course, if you don't even want to pay a shilling, you can consider the cheapest penny ticket.

For just a penny or two, one could stand in the back row of the standing room, squeezed together with a group of newsboys, apprentices, and shoeshine men, munching on cold meat pies and jeering at the actors for any slip-ups in their lines.

If an actor's performance is too mediocre, they will be subjected to all sorts of hurled attacks.

However, if the villain actor performs too well, it may not be a good thing, because he might even be surrounded and attacked on the spot.

In most theaters, catering has long been an integral part of the theater program.

During intermission, bartenders in the theater would walk through the aisles wearing aprons, hawking fried chicken, raisins, nuts, and small beers.

More upscale theaters also have small tea pavilions in the lounges, offering port wine and cheese for guests in the boxes to relax.

Alternatively, if you don't like the taste of the theater food, wealthy gentlemen can dine at a café on Oxford Street or Belleville Street before the show begins, and then take their seats with the lingering aroma of cigars.

Poorer audiences preferred the kind of hot pot offal stalls outside the theater that sold beef offal stew for three pence a piece, and would eat there before queuing to enter.

Drama, operetta, ballet, mime, popular stage plays, and even slapstick comedies—from Covent Garden to Strand Street, from St. James to Paddington, from the Royal Theatre in the West End to the cheap circus tents in the East End, every night, around 50,000 people fill the theaters in London. Every ticket they buy can determine the fate of a playwright, an actor, or even a politician.

Just as a stonemason sculpts each statue and a blacksmith forges each suit of armor, the prosperity of British theater culture is not achieved overnight.

From the Globe Theatre, which hosted countless premieres of Shakespeare's plays during the reign of Elizabethan I, to the two major theatres granted royal franchises after Charles II restored the monarchy, and then to the opera craze of the eighteenth century, London's stage has been the most distinctive, most restless, and most controversial cultural engine of this empire for three hundred years.

Despite the restrictions imposed on London theaters by the Drama Act of 1737, as social attitudes became more relaxed during the reigns of George IV and William IV, the entertainment needs of the middle class surged, and new theaters naturally sprang up on street corners like mushrooms after rain.

With population growth and the rise of the middle class, the repertoire of plays on the theater stage has become more diverse than ever before.

On the one hand, the audience's aesthetic tastes have begun to diverge, with some preferring the lofty halls of power and others enamored with the distant world of martial arts.

On the other hand, technological advancements have made theaters more "controllable." Bright gas lamps have replaced dim oil lamps, mechanical sets have replaced hand-pulled curtains, and advancements in piano and string instruments have made music in theaters no longer just interludes, but a main attraction that can independently draw the audience.

This is why London in 1837 was called "the pinnacle of European theatrical civilization" by many foreign travelers.

French actors come here to learn how to control their emotions, Italian singers try to make a name for themselves on the London stage, and even Americans, who say one thing but mean another, begin to imitate London theaters' tiered ticket prices and promotional mechanisms, trying to turn New York's Broadway into "Drury Lane of the New World".

It is no exaggeration to say that in this new era following Queen Victoria's accession to the throne, London's theater culture is entering an unprecedented golden age.

And the company most qualified to reap the benefits of this era is self-evident.

Sir Arthur Hastings, Chairman of the Board of Directors of Imperial Publishing, recently declared at a board meeting: "With the Belgian Telegraph project now largely settled, Imperial Publishing plans to fully enter the theatrical performance field within the next five years. We will not only manage the plays written by writers, but also take over the stages in London and Paris."

In a brief and restrained interview with The Economist, Sir Arthur finalized the outlines of two deals in less than twenty words: “The collaboration with Mr. Dumas’s Théâtre Historica in Paris has been agreed, and the company is currently planning to restructure the board of directors of St. James’s Theatre in London.”

The news immediately sparked heated discussions in the City of London.

Some have sarcastically remarked that Imperial Publishing has finally stopped even allowing actors freedom.

Some have jokingly remarked that the new advertisements in front of St. James's Theatre will likely soon be replaced with a portrait of Sir Arthur Hastings, just like Scotland Yard.

However, industry observers see things more clearly. It is not surprising that Imperial Publishing Company was able to acquire the Théâtre Historica in Paris, because many people on Rue de Fleet know that Alexandre Dumas, the owner of the Théâtre Historica, is himself a director of Imperial Publishing Company. This collaboration is just an expected alliance of two strong companies.

Furthermore, the difficulty of this collaboration did not lie in persuading Alexandre Dumas to agree, but in how to circumvent the chartered theater system that France had inherited since the Napoleonic era.

According to relevant laws, all theaters in France must be approved by the French government to operate, and even changes in operators require registration with the government. Foreign capital cannot directly own public performance venues in France as legal entities, especially theaters named after the country, region, or history.

Therefore, according to the so-called cooperation agreement, the ownership of the historical theater rightfully still belongs to the French citizen Alexandre Dumas, but the management rights, repertoire operation rights, and financial control rights of the theater were quietly transferred to a cultural partnership established in Belgium in a "Theater Asset Trust Deed" drafted by a British law firm.

The registered and legal representative of this partnership, named "European Culture and Arts Development Trust," is Mr. Guillaume Gieves, a renowned Belgian sculptor, while its main guarantor is the Brussels office of the English Electromagnetic Telegraph Company.

As for why Mr. Guillaume Gifs is the legal representative?
I think it was mostly because Sir Arthur Hastings greatly admired this gentleman's sculptural art.

Furthermore, Arthur also highly praised the exquisite painting skills of his wife, Fanny Gifs, an Irish-Belgian painter.

Of course, as prudent financial investors, we cannot rule out some peripheral factors.

For example, one of Fanny Gifs' close friends happened to be a French princess and Queen of Belgium.

However, these secrets are often known only to the most seasoned investors, such as the two major shareholders of Imperial Publishing Company, Rothschild Bank and Barings Bank.

Compared to the collaboration between Imperial Publishing and the Paris Historic Theatre, most people focused their attention on their acquisition of the St. James Theatre.

Indeed, St. James Theatre is in a prime location, situated between Whitehall and Belleville Street, diagonally opposite St. James's Palace, and very close to the Royal Household. As early as 1835, when St. James Theatre was first built, some members of parliament privately referred to it as "the closest informal stage to Parliament."

But for some reason, the theater never became as popular as its founder, John Brabham, had predicted.

Several new plays for which the theater had invested heavily have suffered major box office failures.

In recent years, the theater has only been able to make money from two plays, both of which are by Charles Dickens: the comedy "The Strange Gentleman" and "Oliver Twist".

In an effort to reverse the downward trend, at the beginning of this year, Brabham spared no expense in inviting France's most famous theater company to visit and perform, hoping to make a final push with this performance.

Unsurprisingly, he lost this gamble again.

Instead of turning his fortunes around, Brabham found himself burdened with huge debts and fell into financial distress. To pay off his debts, he had no choice but to put the St. James's Theatre up for sale.

Although St. James's Theatre has poor performance, its location is still a significant advantage.

Therefore, as soon as the news of the theater being put up for sale was released, it received numerous letters of intent to acquire it.

Among the bidders, the most promising candidate seemed to be Alfred Bunn, the manager of the Super Theatre, known in London as the "Great Dictator of Drury Lane and Covent Garden."

Surprisingly, after Empire Publishing entered the picture, the usually tough-minded Bonn actually yielded. He not only agreed to "condescend" to jointly acquire St. James's Theatre with Empire Publishing, but also planned to resign from his positions as manager of Drury Lane Theatre and Covent Garden Theatre, and devote himself entirely to the operation of St. James's Theatre.

It is said that Bonn made this decision formally after meeting with Sir Arthur Hastings, chairman of the board of Imperial Publishing Company.

But what exactly they discussed remains perhaps the biggest unsolved mystery in London's theatre industry this year.

That evening, before dusk had fully fallen on the south bank of the Thames, the newly owned St. James's Theatre was already brightly lit.

On stage, the organist is familiarizing himself with the new keys, the violinist is practicing the main melody repeatedly, while backstage the carpenter is dragging the unfinished wooden frame of the backdrop, cursing his missing hammer amidst the sawdust.

The stage lights hadn't been dimmed yet, but the entire theater was already enveloped in a tense atmosphere on the eve of a major upheaval.

The gentleman shouting loudly in the center of the stage, "Brass! Brass, move half a step to the left!" is none other than Mr. Alfred Bunn, who has just relinquished his dual duties at Drury Lane and Covent Garden Theatre and is now fully immersed in the new battlefield of St. James's Theatre.

Lithograph of Alfred Bunn, created by British lithographer Richard Lane in 1837.

This brilliant manager, who became a theater manager at the age of 29, was once ridiculed by actors as "a madman who could train actors like typesetters." But perhaps it was precisely because of this theater tyrant's iron-fisted style and obsessive personality that every theater under Bond's management achieved tremendous success. Today, more than half of the well-known actors in London are almost all made famous by Bond.

Doing things in front of this tyrant inevitably makes one tremble with fear.

However, just as Bonn was about to berate the next trumpeter who was off-key, a sound of boots hitting the ground suddenly came from the foyer.

Walking through the dusty, renovation-filled corridor, Arthur removed his gloves and stood smiling at the end of the passageway, looking like a country gentleman inspecting his newly purchased estate.

On stage, Bonn spotted the patron immediately. Instead of waiting for someone to come up to him as usual, the tyrant jumped off the stage and jogged over, even showing a rare display of friendliness on his face.

“Sir.” Bonn opened his arms, still holding the conductor’s baton used for rehearsals in his hand. “I was wondering if you would be able to come over tonight, but I didn’t expect you to actually come.”

Arthur nodded and asked with a smile, "So? Is this theater enough for you to perform in?"

“To be honest, it’s more complicated than I thought,” Bonn answered frankly. “The acoustic reverberation in the roof is problematic, and the whirlpool in the backstage corridor is designed too short, which may affect the scene transition speed. Also, the ceiling and picture frames in the lounge are so ugly that it’s hard to describe them.”

However, despite his complaints, Bonn's yearning for a bright future remained undiminished.

After a lifetime of working as a theater manager, he can finally own a theater that truly belongs to him.

even if……

He only owns 30% of the shares in this theater.

However, in Bonn's view, these sacrifices were all worthwhile.

The entry of Imperial Publishing Company not only saved him a lot of money, but also brought countless new plays to St. James's Theatre.

Of course, the most gratifying thing was having Sir Arthur Hastings as a powerful patron.

After all, having new dramas isn't enough; the real skill is getting them approved for censorship!
With Sir Arthur's connections within the royal family, getting Lord Cunningham, the Lord Chancellor of the House, to approve a few new shows for him would be a piece of cake.
Thinking of this, Bonn couldn't stop smiling: "Fortunately, our theater finally has a backbone. Ever since the new Imperial Publishing sign was hung up here, the actors have been rehearsing with extra effort, and even the backstage workers don't dare to dawdle."

“They’re not afraid of the Imperial Publishing brand,” Arthur smiled. “Mr. Bonn, they’re afraid of you.”

Bonn paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, tucking his baton into his waistband: "Fear or respect, the key is to get people moving. St. James's can no longer be that kind of showy theater. We have to get it selling tickets, making money, generating news, producing reviews, and signing touring contracts. Sooner or later, we'll outshine Drury Lane and Covent Garden."

"How's the rehearsal for 'Wellington March' going? We can put the other performances on hold for now, but we absolutely have to finish this piece as soon as possible." Arthur paused, then looked up at the stage: "The Buckingham Palace concert is just around the corner. Whether our St. James's Theatre can make a splash depends entirely on this piece."

“Jazz.” Bonn waved his hand toward the stage: “When you came in just now, the band had already rehearsed the first movement.”

"Oh?" Arthur raised an eyebrow slightly.

"You wait, I'll have them play it again."

After speaking, Bonn turned and gestured towards the stage with his baton.

Upon seeing the signal from Bonn, the brass section, timpani, violin, and cello almost instantly aligned themselves.

The next second, the brass instruments blared in unison, the rhythm was vigorous, and a familiar and powerful melody resounded throughout the stage.

Arthur stood at the end of the corridor, listening quietly. He didn't react much to the melody, after all, he had heard it countless times before.

Bonn, however, was not so calm.

When the entire piece was finished, he involuntarily opened his mouth slightly.

Having been immersed in the theater performance industry for so many years, Bonn has heard at least hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces of music.

However, such a magnificent and inspiring piece of music has indeed reached a level that can rival those classic pieces that have been around for centuries.

In fact, if it were based on personal preference, Bonn would even be willing to put the Wellington March first.

However, it's not surprising that Bonn would think that way.

After all, this "Wellington March" is just a renamed version of the "Radetzky March," the closing piece of the Vienna New Year's Concert over the years.

Bonn turned his head and stared intently at Arthur, as if afraid that the knight was mocking him: "Sir...excuse my intrusion, but did you really write this piece?"

Arthur nodded calmly and said, "I started it. His Highness Albert helped me with the brass fittings."

Upon hearing this, Bonn took a deep breath and then exhaled forcefully, as if to expel the lingering sound of the drumbeats from his lungs: "I've seen plenty of grand performances and served hundreds of concerts, but this piece... jazz, please forgive my bluntness, it's not good in the ordinary sense. It's... it's the kind of thing you remember after hearing it once, start clapping along after hearing it twice, and want to buy tickets, applaud, and stand up after hearing it three times. Please believe me, I'm really not just flattering you."

At this point, Bonn joked, "If you were to actually perform this at a concert at Buckingham Palace... I'm afraid the Queen would award you a medal right away."

Arthur smiled upon hearing this, but did not argue further. He simply asked, "Have you sent someone to invite His Highness Albert?"

“Of course!” Bonn said. “By the way, everything has been done as you suggested. The Wellington March will be rehearsed tonight. I’ve already asked little Kron to handle the arrangements with Prince Albert. Judging from the time, he should arrive in about half an hour.”

(End of this chapter)