|
THE HIPPODROME HORROR. A Nightmare Drama by LEILA WADDELL.
Published in the International New York, New York, U.S.A. (page 94)
Hautboy—Hello, is that you Central? Please give me my friend Yvonne. Morning, Yvonne. This is Hautboy.
Yvonne—Good. What's the news?
Hautboy—Oh, were you at the Hippodrome last night?
Yvonne—Unfortunately, no; were you?
Hautboy—Sure.
Yvonne—My dear, how lucky you were; what did you think of Galli-Curci?
Hautboy—I hardly like to say — it's really a very delicate question.
Yvonne—Whatever do you mean; was she off voice?
Hautboy—No, my dear, off stage
Yvonne—Do you mean she sang off stage—how very strange!
Hautboy—No, my dear, she was in the woods singing to the Russian children.
Yvonne—Oh, please, please, don't tease me any more. I feel very serious regarding Galli-Curci; she must be wonderful to have made such a sensation.
Hautboy—You certainly have struck it, Yvonne—for she made some sensation on Sunday by her absence. The fact is that everybody went to the Hippodrome to hear the Italian prima donna. The question of French and Italian orphans came second. Enthusiasts had paid speculators from $8 to $12 per seat—pour moi I invested my last $2. The Hip was crowded almost to suffocation; you never saw such standing room. At 8:15 the curtain rose, displaying the Chicago Opera Orchestra; out walked Campanini with a careless grace all his own, and conducted the threadbare Semiramide. However, we all agreed not to interrupt him in his simple pleasures—we were ready to tolerate any little indiscretion until the appearance of the famous prima donna. Exit Campanini—enter a person whom we all grew to dislike intensely, for he had appallingly disagreeable things to say. Ladies and gentlemen, Mme. Rosa Raisa will be unable to appear. Signor Blankia will take her place. Also Genevieve Vix will not appear, and Mme. Galli-Curci is in bed with a cold and will not appear Oh, ma foi! Some bomb! some shrapnel! As the Katzenjammer kids once remarked—to the Russian children—"There comes a time in a man's life when the end is the limit"—and believe me this proved so, for the audience was simply stunned and showed its disapproval by booing and hissing for fifteen minutes.
Yvonne—My dear, how thrilling and how horrible—but one moment, didn't the management have a printed announcement of Galli-Curci's indisposition at the box office?
Hautboy—No, Yvonne, they carefully omitted to do so.
Yvonne—But that doesn't strike me as a straight deal!
Hautboy—Yes, many people felt the same about it.
Yvonne—And how did they react?
Hautboy—By leaving the building immediately and visiting the box office to demand their money back.
Yvonne—But, my dear, it was a charity performance.
Hautboy—Yes, but you can't fool the populace even under a charity heading.
Yvonne—Well, I'm rather surprised people expected their money back
Hautboy—Great Scot, they were perfectly justified. Galli-Curci and the orphans were mixed up together on this auspicious occasion, and the psychologists of the Hippodrome management were or were not far seeing enough to observe this fact—hence accordingly the attitude of the public.
Yvonne—Oh, well, tell me, was the money refunded?
Hautboy—Well, let me explain: Fifteen minutes after the announcement had been made the entrance to the Hip resembled a football scrimmage between the sexes—some sight, my dear! Dear old ladies and gentlemen in full evening dress, musical comedy stars in diamond-studded opera cloaks, vivacious Italian flappers, French, Hungarian and German enthusiasts, all struggling to reach the box office—all determined to get their money refunded. Suddenly the ticket windows were closed with a bang, and tall, ferocious looking men frowned most unromantically, helping to frighten the people away. But this did not happen; so the police were called in to restore order, and if possible to induce the people to go away. By this time the sidewalk was crowded also, and the police hardly knew the best method to adopt with this particular crowd.
However, a tall Irish officer opened the conversation thusly: "Now then, folks, let's thin this crowd; we can't have the entrance packed up." (Chorus, we want our money back.) Officer: "Now, listen ter me, and I'll tell yer you're all intelligent people, and I want yer to go home." (Roars of laughter.)
"Ah, go on, officer, we ain't intelligent, we're just wise, and we want our money back." "Well now yer must realize I've nothin' to do with that, but I must restore some order." "Well, we won't move till we get our money."
Then one of the terrible, ferocious men at the ticket office whispered something to one policeman, who in turn passed the message along, and the good-natured Irishman informed the people that if they would get into single lines—both inside and outside the entrance—green coupons would be given and these, together with the butt ends of tickets, must be presented next day, when the money would be refunded. Just at this moment two musical comedy stars stepped out of their limousine, having arrived just in time to hear Galli-Curci—her place on the program being before the intermission. They really couldn't understand the crowds, and asked the Irish officer to make room for them to enter. "Now, ladies, don't try anything on me. I've enough bothers at this moment." "But don't you understand, we've come to hear Galli-Curci." "God be praised, ladies, she's safely home in bed—and it's envying her I am—and without wishing her any harm I wish she had remained in Italy, or else I'd never left the County Limerick, for, God knows, it's the most unpleasant job I've handled for some time. Now, good people, will yer get into line? That's yer one chance."
At this moment an old Irishwoman, who lived in a room opposite the Hippodrome and had observed the swarming masses of humanity, tried to push her way into the corridor.
"Will yer be after tellin' me if it's true the Kaiser has landed at this theatre in a balloon?" she asked. God almighty, said the officer to himself, was a man ever so tried? "Now, quit yer foolishness," he answered; "this is no time to joke." "Will yer answer me," she interrupted, "if all these people are waiting to see the Kaiser, why shouldn't I see him?" "Oh, God knows why yer shouldn't, excepting he isn't here yet—and, God forgive me, I've nearly reached the stage of distraction where if he did I'd ask him to take me along with him and get me out of this mess. I repeat again, May God forgive me!" |