Many of the people of Budapest will still remember his figure, who dined at the «Blumenstöckl» in the seventies. He was a huge fat Falstaff, his round, smooth-shaven face ending in a triple holster, which, in addition to the natural gift, might have created a lasting practice: he had the throat of the largest caliber, both in terms of what goes down on it and on what it comes out on it. He was the first and most infamous bass player in the round world.
In the 1940s, the audience at the Carinthian Gate Opera House in Vienna admired his incomparably clear-sounding deep voice. It is rumored that he once silenced the lioness of the Schönbrunn Zoo in the midst of his furiest roar with a soundtrack. But why he was particularly gracious to the Viennese audience was the beautiful Lerchenfeld dialect, which he asserted in all his roles in all his unadulterated nature. Whether Sarastro, Bartolo, Oroveso, or Don Sylva came under his hands, it all had to recite its recitation in a beautiful way.
Too bad he abused his oratory talent. A singer should never do that. The singer should sing; but do not recite.
During the forty-eight movements, Müller flocked to folk speakers. One could see his portrait exposed to the suburban shop windows in those days, as he stood on top of the barricade, with a Calabrian hat on his head, a long one on his right,-57- basket-handled schläger with a tricolor flag on its left. Then he let out a mustache and a beard.
This guest appearance was, of course, taken badly by the intendature, and when Windischgrätz returned, the hero Müller was also sought everywhere. However, Müller suspected it was his throat. And as a kind of singer who is afraid of his voice, he saw a warmer climate. Fortunately, Germany has an opera house enough. He performed as a guest at the court theater of the residence of a small Reichsunmittelbar principality. I really liked his voice and singing, but the audience continued to laugh at his pronunciation.
After the performance, the reigning prince sent his wing aide to the guest artist to interpret his highest satisfaction. Both the play and the singing were very nice; the only thing the Durchlaucht would like if the artist were to come a little closer to the real German in the matter of dialect.
And no one will allow the Achilles heel to be insulted.
The self-conscious artist responded to the nail-biting scene with a real bassist phlegm:
«Wensz eám liver lerchenfeldrs ned schneidi gnua isz, szo kann er szi den Kraxeldorn von hepn Puckel holn; werd i mi vor so an Firstn schenirn, ter szi von an Milimari a Rosz auszlájgn thuad, wenn er af a Wachtparad will. »2)
The flügeladjutant looked at him, “he didn’t understand a word of what was being said to him.” “I will not fail to give your lord’s most humble response to your serenissime.”
However, the prince contracted Müller to the theater, -58-erased from his roles his most abandoned3) he made the recitatives with his hands and thus made his performance enjoyable even for language-sensitive ears.
However, Müller was not left at the Duodez ruler’s court for long; he took the fame of the Berlin intendatura and contracted it. They paid the grief for it. When he said goodbye, his potent told him, “Well, then, if Müller is beaten from Berlin, I’ll take him back.”
“I need grief money again, right?”
From Berlin, however, it was not only that they were not deceived, but even greatly condemned. It became a favorite of the yard and the audience. His whims, his whims, were as great as those of a prima donna. But they were tolerated by the board with inexhaustible generosity. Afterwards, so that he would not be forced to meet with the other singers outside the stage, they were given a separate entrance to his dressing room, for which only he had the key: no one else was allowed to cross the threshold.
It was a secret he would not allow to be brought to light. And that was how many glasses of beer do you drink during a performance?
When it comes to a glass, it is to be understood as the tower-shaped pint vessel which has the corner zinc lid; like a real tower dome. Rinsing its contents on a flap is not the last virtue.
Müller had an extra proverbial goblet, from which he drew the enthusiasm needed for his roles.
They were once given Macbeth. Müller played Banquot. He had already been killed in order; only his soul still had to walk on the ground. Compared to his instructions, at the beginning of the third act, the soul has to sit in the armchair, in the recess under the stage, and wait until the supervisor signals the bell with the bell that he is now drinking a blessing.-59-Macbeth is the absent Banquora. Then they push him up in a chair together at the same time.
– Is that Macheth already drinking? Asked the underground soul impatiently.
– Don’t drink! There’s another aria in the meantime.
– Well, if it doesn’t drink, then I do. Run for my glass in my locker room.
The mechanic ran the track with a quick foot; and he came back full of billiards.
The comforted soul was well pleased with this consolation.
However, many may know from experience that a dead person has a great tendency to fall asleep, especially if in hell he can get a big glass of beer in his hand.
The engineer hurried to his machine. Banquo, meanwhile, fell asleep, the watcher’s bell signaling: Macbeth’s toast sounds.
You can imagine King Macbeth’s extra-horror when, at once, the horror figure of his murdered victim emerges from the throat of hell at once, with a large foolish beer jug between his two embracing arms.
Müller only woke up when he was already on stage.
However, he was not embarrassed in the slightest; he pretty quietly tucked the beer jug under his throne. Damned souls used to do this.
Even this was written down in his favor.
Once upon a time, however, the heir to the Russian throne (later Emperor Alexander II) delighted the royal court in Berlin with his highest visit. In honor of him, a lecture was organized in the opera house: “Hugonottas” was set.
One of Müller’s featuring roles was Marcel.
When he sees the scene in the morning, he goes to the headmaster.
– I’m not singing today.-60-
The director runs desperately to him:
– What’s wrong, Müller?
– I’m fine.
– Why don’t you want to sing?
– Because I can not.
– Can not?
– Yes: I can’t sing to the musk.
The headmaster took out all his eloquence, encouraged, threatened: it was all a failed effort. Müller stood firmly beside him, leaving the muscles not singing.
The director was very embarrassed: the piece is advertised, changing the performance will be a big scandal; the last time he resorted to that aid was to suddenly pull out the second bassist and perform it in the role of Marcel. In addition to the promise of fifty thalers extra play prizes, the young singer undertook the task, and «Hugonották» was lucky to go to the show performance.
In the evening, however, the good Müller found his right mind and thought it would be a strange comedy when the Russian heir to the throne found out that Müller had severed diplomatic ties with Russia and decided to sacrifice his principles to maintain European peace – this once. He told no one: he went up to the theater just in time; he slipped into his locker room through his separate entrance; he enlightened himself and then waited for his appearance during the familiar arias.
Then comes Marcel’s appearance and two of Marcel’s two opposite colors pop into the stage, and they both start singing the familiar aria – in a duo.
A t. cz. audience, the highest lords are just watching, just listening to what will become of this? For the last time, the young bassist saw that he should be allowed to be smarter, especially if his voice is weaker; – and evaporated from the stage. Müller then sang the Hugonots with great bravura.-61-
But this joke was really overwhelmed by the burkus. Müller was issued his travel letter.
Then he became angry, snatched the whole rotten old world by himself, and sailed across America.
When he returned, he was able to tell his acquaintances at home about his patronage of New World artists. For example, one of the most believable.
– I was in Chicago, contracted for six performances. Huge theater. Lots of audiences. Huge revenue. Money is not counted, but measured with glaze. We gave a “magic flute.” When I step out on stage and start «In diesen heiligen Hallen»… all of a sudden a shot sounds and a bullet whistles next to my ear; another shot pops on the other side, and the ball ricochettoz from the borehole hat onto the stage; then two or three shots at a time from here and there! – Well, I wasn’t embarrassed either. I pull my revolver out of my pocket and «piff-paff» I shoot a couple back into the audience and continue my aria… Kennt man die Rache nicht! “But they would have heard that applause!” “Fortunately, the bullets in Chicago revolvers are made of paper-machée.
However, it seems that the waist Müller was even bored with the flood of dollars and longing for the same tiny empire in Germany that had once formed an island in its ocean of artists.
The prince was still a patron of the same art patron; but now he wore a wig and changed his lodge. Once on the first floor was the courtyard lodge; After a series of years, the prince ate himself in the immediate vicinity of the stage, in such a form that he could elbow the client on the stage, during our very advantageous position, especially during ballet performances.
Here, then, the rare artist was highly esteemed: the beer was also extremely good. He could have been satisfied anyway.
One evening in Blumenstöckli, Budapest, a group of artists had fun: including a former conductor, -62-who knew many foreign stages. In this restaurant, folk singers usually produce themselves. – In the middle of dinner there is a lively movement among the regulars: “He is coming!” And a Sylen figure with a huge bass on his back was dusting on the door. – You start with how damn hot it is! the soul of the poor buggy will be broken, while he will climb on so many garages! A waiter immediately serves him a glass of beer. The glass is double-tipped. The crook grabs the pitcher by his ear and pulls it out in one pull without breathing. The audience rivals «da capot»: the waiter brings a second pitcher to it. The virtuoso also returns it blank.
– I know you about this trait! believe you waist Müller.
– Of course it’s me! Why wouldn’t I be if they weren’t replaced.
– The chamber singer of the Grand Duke of X-Haus?
– It was just that! Tempi passati! They were caught.
– For what reason?
“Well, because I spat on the Grand Duke’s nose.”
– Don’t tell me anymore.
– The biz is like this: – you know that it is our custom for us singers, when something big aria is approaching, to clear our throats first, and if something grates our larynx, we turn back and spit it out. Well, in my great zeal, I forgot that the Grand Duke’s lodge opens onto the stage, and his duchy elbows there. My aria is coming, I feel like I have something «fetzli» on my throat. One cracks, I turn around, «pfthű» and the misfortune happened. They broke out the next day.
“And now you’ve placed yourself here.”
“Believe me, I’ve never had such a good thing now.” I get to drink, how much I need, and add ten forints for an evening. I have never had so much extra money since I have lived.-63-
And with that, he began to sing all sorts of humorous couplets, with his phenomenal bell-deep sound, like what you would expect for a long time, accompanied his songs with the brugo himself.
But because he had so much extra money, he never carried Müller’s waist so much that he had more coats than what was on his body.
One evening, in great sadness, he found his most loyal patron, the innkeeper of Blumenstöckl. Ask him what’s wrong?
– My poor good wife is dead.
“She was a blessed good woman: God reassure me.” Who makes such a good ham omelette for me after that!
“You see, you could come to his funeral tomorrow.”
“I’d love to do it: it would be a great pleasure for me.” But you see, I don’t have a black coat for such a mourning.
– I have two, I’ll lend one to them.
– It’ll be so good. I’ll be lucky tomorrow.
– I’m lucky.
The innkeeper is intact with such a richly blessed stature as the artist; the black coat seemed to have just been tailored to Müller.
But after the funeral, Müller did not return with his coat.
He didn’t even come to sing anymore, but got into one of the orpheums.
After several weeks of waiting, the humane innkeeper finally ran out of patience and went to the singer one night later, receiving it in his favorite pub, as he sat intact at the tarot.
– Good evening, Mr. Müller!
– Shut up! Not a word if your life is kind! Tiz tarokk tous les trois, pagat ultimo.
And only after the last blow of his fist was heard on the card table did he turn to him.-64-
– Recite now! What is Schlagwort?
– Well, my coat! My black coat, which I have had for three weeks, that I had lent to the Lord for mourning, and he had not yet brought it back.
– Because I know the higher etiquette. Court mourning lasts for six weeks. It’s not over yet, just three.
And with that, he shared in peace.
Then again, he just longed to return to beautiful America. He sang himself through the ocean. – But he couldn’t sing back.
Never in his life has there been such a hard fate as it would have shaken him; but the old string bounced off his bass during his once best playing, the moment he was hit by the guta. He couldn’t stand that.