No bed of roses was the life of a virtuoso. No limos, no lux hotels, food indifferent, weather doubtful, attendance problematic.

Thalberg, Liszt and their kin were faced with making long arduous tours in order to flesh out their earnings. Liszt concertized for around a dozen years; Thalberg spent 30 odd years on the road; Chopin rarely performed to the general public. It needs to be noted that there were several types of performance: The general concert was to a small house party of the monied... a couple of dozen to several hundred. The large concert filling the huge 19th century theatres were rare until Liszt's time. The virtuoso probably preferred playing at small gatherings, where they were also the guest of honor.

They also served as a kind of musical billboard for the piano firms of Pleyel, Beckstein, Broadwood, and Steinway. These concerns would try to see that pianos awaited them at he proper time and place. But transport being a sometime thing, nothing was sure.

Thalberg made two tours of the U.S. and took in pots of money. P.T. Barnum tried to entice Liszt to come over on tour. However Liszt could not quite see playing his arrangement of the William Tell Overture hundreds of times while fighting off the natives. Instead he made two long tours of England, Russia and all over the continent.

The concerts were mostly warm-up performances before the headliner appeared, rather like a Vaudeville bill or a Las Vegas lounge show. The star of the evening could be expected to play one or two pieces. Sometimes they might even join an orchestra.

The performer might be faced with helping to push the coach out of mud or snow. There may or may not have been a bed provided at the end of the trip. Food could not always be trusted.

Imagine a long day riding in a crowded coach with smelly, noisy travelers. You prayed that your luggage had stayed aboard. If you were lucky you had an attendant who might have been able to go on ahead to smooth the path. The new railroads were a welcomed relief. Thalberg probably traveled first class. Liszt always traveled second class. The people who planned the concert might have sticky hands in the till, so being part lawyer and bully was to insure that you got paid. To get to the concert hall you were on your own, unless a rich patron loaned you a coach. And, if you were really lucky, you might be invited to stay in one of their houses. Oh joy!

Language could be a problem, although a command of various tongues was rather common. Thalberg was fluent in five; Liszt in those, and a smattering of Latin and Hungarian. Why everyone "parleyed vous Francais", didn't they? Both Thalberg and Liszt played for Queen Victoria. She and her consort were thought excellent musicians and were, of course, very comfortable speaking German. Other aristocrats could be expected to be handy with, at least, well... French.

With all the strains that touring could offer, is it a wonder that performers were, at times, thought "strange"? One of the strangest was the actor, Julius Brutus Booth (the father of Edwin and James Wilkes Booth). He was famous for his portrayals of Shakespearean characters... Richard III being thought his best. Perhaps his weak grasp on reality spilled over to his murderous son.

Booth came from England to the U.S. in 1821. He walked 25 miles to his first rehearsal. By 1927, he showed strange behavioral patterns. After his drinking spells the management had to advertise for him. He was very superstitious. Once he was found aboard a ship, leveling a gun at the captain who was on his knees with a large bowl in his hands. Booth in tragic tones said, "Drink, sir, drink. You're bilious and require physic. I know it by your eyes, your skin; drink or I'll send you to another an a better world." The captain had already been forced to drink six bowls and was afraid another would kill him. Booth had found the medicine cabinet and was giving Epsom salts to the captain.

One time Booth dressed as Hamlet, he road a circus horse around Philadelphia addressing the people on their way to church: "Ladies and gentlemen, I intend to perform Hamlet tonight... for the benefit of the poor, and a good play is worth more than forty sermons, both for morals and reformation. Join in the chorus, citizens and sing... O 'tis my delight, of a shining night, in the season of the year."

He wrote to a young clergyman regarding burial of a friend in his churchyard. When the clergyman called, Booth recited the Ancient Mariner and actually believed he was the mariner. They talked of poetry, the Bible, etc.. Finally, Booth asked if the clergyman would like to see the remains his dead friend. He was shown, spread upon a large sheet, a bushel of pigeons.

Once, after the fight in Richard III, he chased the Richmond out the stage door and up the street (both clad in clanking armor).

And, finally, one night when opening in King Lear he was found drunk. As he was being lead across the stage to his dressing room he heard the audience calling for the play to begin. He put his head through the curtains and yelled, "Shut up! Keep quiet. You just keep still and in ten minutes I'll give you the best &*%#$ King Lear you ever saw in your life!"

In spite of it all, he was a devoted husband--he fathered ten children, by his second wife--and played, Andromache, in French, with a New Orleans company.

Touring was not for the weak.