Episode 4: Alone on the High Cs

In this deeply personal episode, I trace Nellie Stewart’s return to Australia in 1893 - not as the adored “Rose of Australia,” but as a new mother travelling incognito across the world with her six-week-old baby. From triumph and tragedy at Melbourne’s Princess Theatre to a gruelling 45-day voyage aboard the SS Doric, this chapter reveals a woman balancing ambition, secrecy, love and survival.

As I uncover a long-forgotten shipboard journal and search in vain for her daughter’s birth certificate, the distance between performer and private woman narrows. Alone on the high seas, Nellie’s story becomes one of resilience, reinvention and the cost of returning to the stage when everything has changed

Recorded on the traditional lands of the Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung and Bunurong Peoples of the Kulin Nation, written and hosted by Ali McGregor. Script editing by Maeve Marsden and musical excerpts by Matthew Floyd Jones. 

This podcast was created wth the generosity of The Frank Van Straten Fellowship, supported by ‘The Van Straten and Turley Foundation', with the help and guidance of Claudia Funder at the Australian Performing Arts Collection. Massive thanks also go to Elaine Marriner of Marriner Theatres for the initial and continued inspiration and support. 

https://www.alimcgregor.com/nellie

Transcript

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I'm coming to you today from the attic of the Princess Theatre in Spring Street, Melbourne, a venue steeped in history. Established in 1854, it was rebuilt after becoming run down in 1886 to a design commissioned by the Triumvirate of JC Williamson, George Musgrove, and Arthur Garner by famed Melbourne architect William Pitt. Its opulence reflects the post-gold fever boom of marvellous Melbourne, and after rebuilding, it had opulent features like marble staircases and grand foyers, and such modern technologies as electric lighting and even the world's first sliding ceiling, which on hot nights would be rolled back, giving the effect of an open-air theatre. The current theatre was opened on 18th of December 1886 with the hit Gilbert and Sullivan operetta The Micado, starring Australia's beloved Nellie Stewart. As I sit here beneath the old timber eaves, I can't help but wonder if I might be visited by one of the princess's most famous ghosts, Nellie's colleague Frederico Federici, who is said to haunt the grand theatre to this day. Welcome back to Sweet Nell, the story of Australia's Rose. This is episode four, Alone on the High Seas. Nellie Stewart and her partner in both life and work, George Musgrove, returned to Melbourne aboard the Britannia. In our last episode, I speculated, based on court papers and intuition, that George and Nellie may have lost a child near to term in London in August 1887. The truth may never be fully known, but either way, upon their return to Melbourne, they immediately threw themselves back into their work, and soon they were rehearsing one of their biggest home successes yet. Alfred Selyer, a renowned composer and conductor born in England in 1844, played a pivotal role in this next chapter of Nelly's career. A contemporary and occasional collaborator of Arthur Sullivan of the famed Gilbert and Sullivan Partnership, Sellier had ghostwritten some of Sullivan's best love songs. He was known to freely claim that he was the actual composer of one of the biggest hit songs from the Pirates of Pantance, Poor Wandering One. But he was also a composer in his own right, known for light opera and operettas. His opera Dorothy had flopped initially in London, but it became a major success after a rewrite, eventually becoming the longest-running show in the West End, running for 931 performances, outlasting even the Mikado. JC Williamson brought Dorothy to Australia, and to his dismay, its first run in August 1887 was also unsuccessful. But when George Musgrove brought Cellier himself to Australia to conduct and cast Nellie Stewart in the title role, the show reopened a hit, marking Nellie's triumphant return to the stage. The audience greeted her with a prolonged, rapturous ovation, and reviews praised her appearance, those ankles got a mention again, graceful expression, and a voice that seemed to have grown even more powerful and refined during her time abroad. She recalled how she quickened the tempo of her big number, Tally Ho and received even more applause as she cracked her whip and hit the final high notes. Along with Dorothy at the Princess, the two orphans was doing great business at Her Majesty's Opera House later to become the Tivoli Theatre. Famous Circus Troop Worths was at the Alexander Theatre on Exhibition Street, which is now Her Majesty's Theatre. Romeo and Juliet was playing at the Bijoux, and JC Williamson and Maggie Moore were doing yet another revival of their incredibly popular show Struck Oil at the Theatre Royal. There were also shows bringing in big houses at St George's Hall, which was next to the Theatre Royal, and Victoria Hall, both on Burke Street, Melbourne. The city was thriving. Amid all this success, Alfred Sellier, always immaculately dressed in kid gloves, became increasingly fond of Nellie's on-stage charisma. He even suggested she take on the role of Marguerite in Faust, a role she'd fallen in love with after seeing the composer Guno conduct his new opera in Paris. After working with Karl Rose's music director in London, Nellie felt ready to expand her vocal range and embrace a more operatic style. But tragedy struck when, at the conclusion of his performance, Frederici, seemingly dazed, uttered the chilling words, The devil claims his own. And by the time he'd fallen through the trapdoor, he was dead from a heart attack. But news spread early the next day when the theatre remained dark, with flags flying at half-mast in his honour. If the tragedy cast a shadow over the production, it did not affect sales. In fact, one can only wonder if they were a unique selling point. As Faust still ran for a record-breaking twenty-four consecutive nights. It's said that this gruelling schedule eventually took a toll on Nellie's voice. Although I suspect the cause of her vocal decline was more complex than mere overwork. As we'll see, the years following this event were filled with personal and professional struggles. After Faust, Nellie immediately dove into another role in the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta Yeoman of the Guard. George, meanwhile, continued producing a non-stop slate of shows with J.C. Williamson and Arthur Garner. But by 1889, tension began to mount within the powerful trio of Williamson, Musgrove, and Garner. In that year, Nellie's father, Richard Stewart, approached J. C. Williamson to negotiate a pay raise for his daughter. She'd been earning£15 a week, which is about$2,500 Australian dollars in today's money. A figure far below her true worth, given her acclaim and the audience she was attracting. George Musgrove, possibly out of fear of seeming biased, didn't officially step in to support the request. And JC Williamson flat out refused, even suggesting that he could replace her with two other prima donnas for less money. Shocked, Nellie asked her father to go back and appeal again, but the damage had been done. And in 1890, George Musgrove made the difficult decision to leave the most successful partnership of his career and strike out on his own. Together with Nellie and her father, they formed the Nellie Stewart Opera Company. Their first production was Paul Jones at the Opera House. English contralto Marian Burton had suggested they produce Plonquette's comic opera Circus, which had been a smash in London and in New York under the English title Paul Jones. And this French nautical farce became their debut show. A side note here for context. Marian Burton was a contralto from London who had been the toast of the town until the rumour of an affair with a prominent member of the aristocracy, a London sheriff and a married father of two. Miss Burton had taken a rest from the stage, citing a lung complaint. When she decided to return to the stage after the rather unsurprising birth of her first child, the social stigma was enough that a few short years later the devoted couple left on an extended tour of the Antipodes, leaving their now two small children with Marianne's mother. In what may have seemed like sweet vengeance, the show was a hit. With Marian Burton playing the title role and Nellie as the female lead. But this success irked JC Williamson, who was losing valuable talent to Nellie's new opera company. One day, when another star dancer defected, Williamson stormed into the opera house and demanded a meeting with George Musgrove. The confrontation was intense, and Nellie and George soon decided to remove themselves from the drama and return to London, where George felt he could easier go out on his own. After a disastrous first trip together to London, with, as I positioned in the last episode, the possible loss of a child and the bitter feud with the Doyley Cart Opera Company over Nellie's role in the Nouch Girl, it's no wonder that Nellie was worried about returning to London. She posted a statement in the paper that says Ladies and gentlemen, my heart is too full to speak tonight. I've received several offers to appear in London, but I've always refused them on account of family reasons. But the offer was so good that I was ultimately persuaded by my brother artist and friends to accept it. It is the most splendid offer ever given to an Australian, and I promise you to do my best. Indeed, I will work and study hard to make a success and to deserve the confidence you have always placed in me. My ambition is to make one success only, one in London, and then how proud I will be, and how gladly I shall return to my native country and once more appear before you. I beg to publicly offer my thanks to the principals and to the orchestra and chorus of this unrivaled company for their assistance in helping me to make this most successful season ever known in Melbourne. And also to you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very kind encouragement. And now I must say goodbye and bless you. That, my friends, is called hedging your bets. Nellie's time in London, as feared, was a letdown. The one role she was going to London to play was the principal boy role in The Blue-Eyed Susan, opposite her now dear friend Marian Burton. She later recalled this period as one of the greatest disappointments of her career. She was plagued with gossip columns on her previous falling out with Doyle Cart, and a feeling that the part was too serious and not suited to her more comical talents. The theatre climate in London was cold and uninviting, and she struggled with the air and the atmosphere. George had returned to Melbourne earlier than expected as his business ventures in Australia were faltering, and to make matters worse, once he got there, the Theatre Royal in Sydney burned down. Another side note, theatres burned down with remarkable regularity, even after the advent of electric light. Theatres have always been tinderboxes in every imaginable way. When George finally returned to London, he brought news of financial difficulties back home, but also the relief of finding financial security. But despite these woes, Nellie's life took a bright turn as she found herself pregnant. This long-awaited joy was tinged with a bit of anxiety, though, with some worrying news from home. In May 1893, the Australian banks collapsed, bringing financial ruin to many people, including Nellie's parents and sister. But while this is happening at home, Nellie moves quietly into a cottage in Chingford, Essex, and eagerly awaits the birth of her and George's child. She was enjoying the simplicity of domestic life, but she missed George, who was in America most of the time, searching for a new show to help turn their fortunes around. He was back by her side, though, on June 19, 1893, when Nellie gave birth to a healthy daughter, Nancy Doris. Despite a first few weeks together as a family in relative Italy, there was much work to do to restore their fortunes. So after just six weeks in this baby bubble, they all left for Australia. George took the quicker passage through the new Suez Canal, and Nellie, on doctor's orders, found herself travelling past the Cape of Good Hope, alone with her infant daughter on the SS Doric, right where our story began. New fruit, new smells, new air. How could I tell by fool with the sun the devil was lurking there? By day like playhouse scenes, the shore slipped past our sleepy eyes. By night those soft, lascivious stars leered from those velvet skies. Roger Kipling's MacAndrews hymn conjures the intoxicating sights and smells of ocean travel, the illusion of freedom, the unseen dangers lurking beneath. And fittingly, its setting is the very ship on which we now find Nellie Stewart, the SS Doric. A vessel that carried countless passengers between London and the Antipodes now carries her and her child towards an uncertain fate. No matter how many times I read about this journey, I can never quite grasp what it must have been like. I I've made the twenty-four-hour journey between Melbourne and London countless times, but forty-five days on a boat must have been brutal, even in first class. What it would have been like in the lower classes, I can't even imagine. For years Nellie had lived in the public eye, adored and celebrated. But after two years of quiet exile in the English countryside, she was returning home. This time, though, everything had changed. She was a mother. She and the man she loved were both married, but not to each other. Her family's fortune had crumbled with the Great Bank Collapse of 1893. Her once golden voice was not as effortless as it had been, and she knew that if she were to survive, she would have to throw herself into work with a fevered determination. While researching Nellie Stewart's life, I was desperate to find two unknowns. The first was her daughter's birth certificate, which would explain how Nellie and George defined their loving but socially illegitimate family. The second was information on her solo crossing from London to Australia in 1893 with her newborn baby Nancy. These two unknowns were, of course, linked. I wondered what these parents put on the birth certificate at a time when birth outside marriage was legally and morally very tenuous. I wondered about her state of mind as she travelled alone with her new baby, fearing that life at home, where public morality was so integral to social standing might never be quite the same. I imagined Nellie going home, knowing in her heart that George loved her, but aware that without that official piece of paper, her status would always be tenuous. If something were to happen to George, she and her daughter would have no legal status or support. I wondered if this was the impetus to take this long, arduous journey and go straight into one of her life's most taxing performance periods. My quest for the birth certificate has, despite strenuous searches in every record I can find, been fruitless. I've searched all the official documents, telephoned the parish where Nancy was born in Essex, England, and even looked in records here in case they waited until they got home to register her birth. I tried every configuration of her name, but found nothing. The second unknown, the details of the crossing she made in 1893, led me down a surprising rabbit hole. One that took me to the Maritime Museum in London's Greenwich, and led me to possibly the closest thing I have to peeking behind the carefully drafted public persona that Nelly created for herself. In an age where personal photos were rare, the only images I have of Nelly, except for a grainy photo of her and Nancy in the distance at their property in London, are the production shots and portraits taken in character, collected by fans and saved in countless lovingly kept scrapbooks. I saw them in the Performing Arts archive, and here in the Princess Theatre's attic in Melbourne. I've seen a few personal letters, and of course we have her autobiography. But that says more in what was left unsaid than it does about anything on the page. I've found little snippets of the real Nelly here and there, an article written by a journalist that captured her backstage at what must have been a weak moment after a show where she gossips and overshares, a postcard to a friend later in life where she expresses her heartbreak and loss, and a journal of a young man travelling in the first class saloon alongside Nelly on this passage in 1893. In her book, she mentioned the SS Doric, how trying this crossing was, and how kind one gentleman, Reginald Long Innes, was to her, and the reason for the trip. Mother had to take her place as an actress again. She also mentioned that they arrived back to Melbourne exactly three months to the day after Nancy's birth. So knowing that she was born on the 21st of June 1893, and knowing that a crossing at this time was around 40 days, I was able to backtrack and find the SS Doric's departure from Plymouth and its arrival in Australia. But I couldn't find Nellie's name on the register. I did find Reginald Innes, so I knew it was the right ship. Now there was only one infant in the first class saloon, and that infant was travelling with a Mrs. Howe and a nurse. So this has to be Nellie, right? Remembering that at this time after her ill-fated marriage to Richard Rowe, her name was still officially Eleanor Rowe spelled ROW on her marriage certificate, but sometimes spelled R-O-W-E. And a cursive capital R looks very similar to a cursive capital H. So was this a typo that she didn't bother to correct? The shipping news with passenger lists were always printed in the major newspapers, and the saloon passengers' comings and goings were eagerly read by all and sundry. This is how George and Nellie made their social coming out in 1887. So it doesn't surprise me that Nellie would want to keep her arrival with her new baby a secret. So whether by design or by happenstance, she travelled incognito. I looked to see if I could find any letters or writings from Reginald Long Innes to no avail. So I started going down the list of all the other passages in the first saloon and searching in public records for any mention of them. And halfway down, with a young man called E. B. Firth, I hit the jackpot. A journal kept in the Maritime Museum in Greenwich, perfectly preserved and carefully scanned. Edward Firth was a 21-year-old wool merchant's son from the north of England, who'd decided to go on a grand adventure around the world with two of his mates. Not unlike countless 21-year-olds now taking a gap year to go backpacking around the globe. They left Plymouth, made it to the Southern Hemisphere, but unlike Nellie and the other passengers, they stayed on the SS Doric and went back to London via South America, circumnavigating the world.

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B. Firth's journal is delicious. He starts with lots of facts how heavy the cargo, how fast the knots, the captain's name, the stats of the journey. But then he soon starts talking about his fellow travellers. One elderly lady, Mrs. Rust, has taken a great fancy to me, and jaws like fun, i.e., talks a great deal, flatters me up a deal. Okay. I'm proof against that, eh? I believe the garrulous old female is off her chump. And then he says of Mrs. Howe A lady with a good figure and a baby doesn't bother much with anyone. I have to confess I found it almost impossible to read his cursive writing and had to call on the generous help of the librarians at the State Library here in Melbourne, much more attuned to this ancient scroll, to help me with some of the pages. It's no wonder that this journal has been kept so well in a museum's collection, as it gives such a glorious insight into travelling those long distances by sea. I can't imagine how exciting it must have been to stop at so many foreign ports. But he describes the sights and smells in great detail. He explains the diversions the passengers would create for themselves to while the time away and distract themselves from seasickness and boredom. He describes sporting events, a newsletter that a group of them decided to produce, there's even a copy stuck in the pages of the journal. Firth and one of his travelling companions were editors, Mrs. Long Innes was the gossip columnist, and Mrs. Howe was general correspondent. Most interestingly for me, they put on little recitals and shows. Evie Firth even mentioned how prettily Mrs. Howe sang, and I can't imagine how delightful it must have been for this professional singer to pretend she didn't have 30 years' experience on the stage. I myself have been partial to a little karaoke hustling and remember once in Malaysia, acting like I was too shy to sing before ripping out a pretty decent version of Whitney's I Will Always Love You and bask in the audience's unexpected delight. I love how, even when trying to be incognito, Nellie Couldn't help but get involved in these theatrical pastimes. Once a theatre kid, always a theatre kid. There's a fascinating entry describing how Mrs. Howe forgot her lines and couldn't go on in one of the rehearsals, which for a performer known to have never let her understudy get a look in seems very telling to me. Nellie does say in her autobiography that she found this journey very taxing. Was Nancy a fussy baby? Was feeding her becoming draining? Were they getting seasick? As someone living in an age where every annoying aspect of motherhood is so freely discussed, I find this lack of detail in her story really frustrating. I suppose one was expected never to complain and certainly never talk publicly about the mess and vulnerabilities of women's business. When the SS Doric arrives at port in Christchurch, New Zealand, over a month after they left England, it seems that Nellie's ruse was up. It doesn't say if someone boards the ship and recognises her, but she'd certainly toured to New Zealand plenty of times and was very well known and loved there. Whatever the reason, E. B. Firth excitedly declares in his journal. Whilst in New Zealand, I learned that Mrs. Howe was none other than Miss Nellie Stewart, a famous Australian actress. The Dorothy of Australia. Her proper name is Mrs. Rowe. Her apparent disinterestedness and unawareness of acting were evidently a ruse to the real facts. And as soon as the facade had been dropped, Nellie is all too welcome to divulge her secrets. I am Australia's Dorothy. Dorothy was a huge hit show in London at the time, so would certainly have meant something to Firth. I was the original noch girl, don't you know? She adds, referring to what seems to be a regret she's still holding on to years after she turned down the role of a lifetime. She frequently mentions this fact in interviews over the years. The most beautiful page in the book for me is the one where four leather leaves have been signed by members of the unofficial theatre group and posted into the journal. And there she is. Nell Eileen Howe. As soon as Nellie and her young baby arrived in Melbourne, they head to Sydney to start a new contract. She performed nine roles in nine weeks, with eight shows a week. Every opera represented a new or comparatively new study for her, as she'd been off the Australian stage for almost three years by now. Many people have attributed her decline in vocal health to her famous 24 consecutive performances of Marguerite in Faust in 1891. However, I feel that this journey and the subsequent period of strenuous work for a new 34-year-old mother must have had a significant impact also. If I'm right about Nellie losing a baby near term six years earlier, the pregnancy and early months with a new baby would have been tinged with an extra anxiety and perhaps even grief. There have been so many times while researching Nellie's life when I've keenly felt the crossover with my own experience. I had my first child at 35, just a few months older than Nellie was when Nancy was born. I remember the doctor telling me I was considered a geriatric pregnancy in 2010. I can't imagine how Nellie would have been viewed in 1893 as a first-time unwed mother at 34. Like Nellie, I too went straight back into performing and touring with my baby and my voice suffered as a result. After having an unknown vocal bleed a few years previously, my vocal health suffered from overwork and the stresses of being a new mother. I ended up having surgery to fix a burst blood vessel of my vocal cords. I could still sing, but my stamina and clarity were going downhill rapidly. And without modern medical technology, I would have undoubtedly lost my singing voice. So when Nellie describes these very same problems arising, I suspect she may have been in the same boat, forgive the unintentional pun. But of course, medical science was not on her side. In my experience, singing the same role night after night is tiring but not nearly as exhausting as singing multiple new roles. Add to this a new baby keeping you up at night. I always felt that people saying that her long run in her first serious opera was more a slight on her being too low in status for high opera, rather than an accurate description of her vocal stamina. Of course, to sing high opera over a large orchestra takes a lot of breath power and stamina. Opera singers even then would not be expected to sing more than three times a week. For the same salary a singer in comic opera was expected to sing six shows a week minimum, but they would be paid a seventh of their weekly wage for each extra day working. To the uninitiated in the hierarchy of the high arts, there are a few layers to the operatic genre. Sitting up the top are the opera seria, the grand themes, grand voices, think stories of kings and gods, Wagnerian voices that can strip wallpaper at forty paces. In the middle, the romantic and lyric operas, singers singing love songs and being bohemian, and the early music voices with serious mythological themes and tragic fates. And then at the bottom of this mammoth art form is comic or light opera. Gilbert and Sullivan are the most well known today. This subsection of the genre led directly to what we now know as music theatre. Believe it or not, there's no Hamilton without Yeoman of the Guard. Even today, certain art forms are regarded as high art, including ballet, orchestral and chamber music, the fine arts of painting and sculpture, serious theatre such as Ibsen or Shakespeare, and opera. These art forms typically require some education before they can be genuinely appreciated. They're filled with complex themes and multilayered with symbolism and nuance. They're often expensive to partake in, and to that end they're often seen as more legitimate or true. The lower arts, such as live pop, rock, folk music, pantomime, burlesque, circus, cabaret, light opera or musical theatre, are perceived as easier to listen to and understand and are often considered less refined. From someone who's worked extensively in both the high and low arts, I can tell you that they both require the same amount of skill, dedication, and study, although that study might be conducted in late-night comedy clubs rather than a university. When good, they both need as much honesty, layered nuance, and complexity, even if that complexity seems simple to the outside eye. I will happily rate Radioheads creep up there with Vesti La Gubbia from Ippagliacci for songs that capture the inner turmoil of feeling like an outsider. And it's just as hard to make a tent full of people laugh and feel connected as it is to make an audience feel romantic longing in a concert hall. I've given a lot of thought to pondering why Dame Nellie Melba has been so well remembered in Australia. Her legacy remains visible, and items named after her in her lifetime are still recognised as such, Melba toast, peach Melba. Portraits hang in multiple galleries, her home preserved. But Nellie Stewart, arguably as well loved in Australia during her lifetime, whose signature bangle was one of the biggest fashion trends of the 1800s, in Anita Boyd's fabulously extensive article on this topic, she intuitively says, Embraced as Australia's darling and the rose of Australia, she was a deeply loved popular cultural figure. Paradoxically, it may be for this very reason that she was a popular rather than a high cultural figure, that despite her longevity, once her loving audiences disappeared, so also, to a significant extent, did cultural memory of her. The fleeting nature of popularity aside, to look at the two famous Nellies of this era, Melba and Stuart. Nellie Melba was the daughter of a well-to-do wool merchant, and upon the realization of an unsatisfactory marriage and the desire to sing, her father sent her to train with the best opera teacher in Europe with letters of introduction to people of note. Her natural singing talent was allowed to thrive and her extraordinary career blossomed on an international stage. Affairs and romantic ambiguity were brushed aside without too much fear of retribution. Nellie Stewart, on the other hand, was possibly fifth-generation theatre folk. She played in pantomimes and sewed most of her own costumes. Although she was lucky enough to get an education, it was in a charter school rather than with private tutors. She was a full-time actress from the age of 19. Her ambiguous romantic situation was something that was carefully guarded and publicly managed. The only home she ever owned was inherited from her married lover of 30 years. I mention this as an aside because I feel that this class division still exists and has a lot to do with why the arts in general are falling out of funding streams, becoming more elitist and expensive to enjoy. As a result, the artists working most are the ones who have had more opportunities and privileges. This division between high and low arts is becoming, like so much in our lives, further divided. The high arts become less relevant and the low arts less funded. But back in 1893, when Nellie and her baby finally arrived back in Australia and hot footed up to Sydney to get back onto stage, back earning her keep, back to being the prima donna. But now she's to do all of that with a tiny baby in toe. I'm Allie McGregor and this has been episode four of Sweet Nell: The Story of Australia's Rose. In the next episode, Nellie moves into a more mature stage of her career. A stage that is remarkable because it highlights her extraordinary ability to adapt to circumstance. There's also an earthquake, a divorce, and the selling of oranges in a theatre foyer. This podcast was recorded on the traditional lands of the Warangeri, Wojwarong, and Bunerong peoples of the Kulin Nation. Written, hosted, and edited by myself. Script editing by Maeve Marston, and musical excerpts played by Matthew Floyd Jones. The podcast was created with the generosity of the Frank Van Straten Fellowship, supported by the Vanstraten and Turley Foundation, with the help and guidance of Claudia Fonda at the Australian Performing Arts Collection. Massive thanks also go to Elaine Mariner of Mariner Theatres for the initial and continued inspiration and support.