I used the knife to practise a stabbing motion with the American baritone Kimm Julian, who was playing Silvio. As we rehearsed the scene, he had a way of arching his body and pulling in his stomach which just didn’t look right. After about 12 attempts, the director suggested we try it in slow motion. At the crucial moment, just as I’d done 12 times before, I pushed the button to make the blade retract. But when I looked down, I saw to my amazement that the blade was still out. I hadn’t felt any resistance when I stabbed Kimm, so I thought everything must be okay. I asked him, “I didn’t get you, did I?” and he answered: “No.” I just had time to think, “Thank God,” when I saw Kimm’s face turn white. He was sweating. He put his hand inside his waistcoat to his stomach, then took it out and looked at it, saw that it was bloodstained, and collapsed. I looked at the knife again — it was clean. But then I saw blood oozing from around his navel and soaking into his shirt and jeans. It was horrible.
The emergency services arrived along with the police. By then I was in tears — almost hysterical — thinking I’d killed Kimm. What happened next was like a mixture of farce and verismo [realism in opera], as the director described to the police how I’d just found out that my wife was having an affair with this guy, so I’d stabbed him. He was giving them the plot of the opera, but the police took it seriously. They grabbed me and marched me off into another room. They were wearing holsters with guns. I felt very threatened. The next thing I knew, I was being questioned about how long I’d known that this guy had been having an affair with my wife. Farce was turning into nightmare. I tried to explain that Nedda wasn’t my real wife — Diana was at home in England with our children. But the police started accusing me of being someone’s lover. After pleading with them to let me call Diana, they took me to a phone. Convinced by now that I had killed Kimm, I cried down the phone to her, and the police stood nearby listening to every word.
Eventually they realised their mistake and I was released. But the story leaked out, and while Kimm was undergoing surgery for a wound that had missed his stomach by millimetres, I was being hassled by TV and radio stations. Back home in England, reporters turned up at our house, desperate to interview Diana and the children. Our nanny was hounded by a journalist asking her: “Is he aggressive at home?” Then they got hold of our gardener, and he said: “David? Oh yes, he’s good with a knife.”
This happened quite some time ago, but I only just read about it and searched for other articles on the story, which took me to the 2005 item above.
Ah, the dangerous sport of opera.
