This is what was _said_; and it seemed to me like a very good scheme.

The director of the railway between Rome and Naples, M. De la Haute, put his private car at our disposal. In the present era of cars equipped with baths and barber shops, libraries and writing rooms, it would seem primitive, but it was quite the last word in the railroad luxury of that period. I was charmed with the Italian scenery as we steamed through it and, above all, with the highly pictorial peasants that we pa.s.sed. Their clothes, of quaint cut and vivid hues, were exactly like stage costumes.

"Why," I exclaimed excitedly, peering from the car window, "they are all just out of scenes from _Fra Diavolo_!"

We were, indeed, going through the mountains of the _Fra Diavolo_ country, where the inhabitants lived in continual fear of the bands of brigands that infested the mountains. Zerlina and Fra Diavolo were literally in their midst.

M. De la Haute gave a delightful breakfast for us on one of the terraces outside Naples with the turquoise blue bay beneath, the marvellous Italian sky overhead, and Vesuvius before us. Albert Bierstadt, the American artist, was of the company, and afterwards turned up in Rome, whither we went next. When we made the ascent of Vesuvius, my mother recounts in her diary: "There must have been at least a hundred Italian devils jumping about and screaming to take us up. It seemed as if they must have just jumped out of the burning brimstone."

In Rome we dined with Charlotte Cushman. This was, of course, some years before her death and she was not yet ravaged by her tragic illness. She was very full of anecdotes of her friends, the Carlyles, Tennyson, and others, whom she had just left in England. To our little party was added Emma Stebbins, who had been doing famously in sculpture, and, also, Harriet Hosmer, the artist, as well as one or two clever men. It was Carnival Week, and so I had my first glimpse of a true Continental _festa_. I had never before seen any real Latin merriment. The Anglo-Saxon variety is apt to be heavy, rough, or vulgar. But those fascinating people had the wonderful power of being genuinely and innocently gay. They became like happy children at play. They threw confetti, sang and laughed, and tossed flowers about. It was a veritable lesson in joy to us more sober and commonplace Americans who looked on.

While I was in Rome I was presented to the Pope, Pius IX, a most lovely and genial personality with a delightful atmosphere about him. I was told that he had very much wanted to be made Pope and had played the invalid so that the Cardinals would not think it was very important whether they elected him or not; so that they could say (as they did say), "Let us elect him:--he'll die anyhow!" He was duly elected and, just as soon as he was in the Pontifical Chair, his health became miraculously restored! When we were presented I could not help being amused at the extraordinary articles brought by people for the good man to bless. One woman had a pair of marble hands. Another offered the Pontiff a photograph of himself; and his Holiness had evident difficulty in keeping a straight face as he explained to her that really he could not bless a likeness of himself. Etiquette at these Vatican receptions is very strict as to what one must wear, what one must do, and where one must stand. Sebasti, of Sebasti e Reali, the famous Roman bankers, has the tale to tell of a Hebrew millionaire from America who contrived to secure an invitation to one of these select audiences and, not being able to see the Pope clearly on account of the crowd, climbed upon a chair to get a better view. In the twinkling of an eye a dozen attendants were after him, whispering harshly, "Giu! Giu! Giu!" ("Get down! Get down! Get down!") and the Israelite climbed down exclaiming in crestfallen accents: "How did you know it?"

I have never been presented to the present Pope, but I gather from my friends in Rome that his administration is, as usual, a rather complicated affair. The ruling power is Cardinal Rampolla, the Mephisto of the Church, for whom a distinguished Marchesa has a _salon_ and entertains, so that, in this way, he can meet people on neutral ground.

On our return trip we crossed Mont Cenis by diligence. From Lombardy, with the smell of orange flowers all about us, we mounted up and up until the green growing things became fewer and frailer, and the air chillier and more rarified. Between six and seven thousand feet up we struck snow and changed to a sleigh. We made the whole trip in eleven hours--a record in those days. Think of it, you modern tourists who cross Mont Cenis in three! But you will do well to envy us our diligence and sleigh just the same, for you--oh, horrors!--have to do it through a tunnel instead of over a mountain pa.s.s! We felt quite adventurous, for it was generally considered a rather hazardous undertaking. By March first we were back again in Paris and, before the end of the month, Mr.

Jarrett and Arditi joined us with my renewed contract with Colonel Mapleson.

It seemed to me a very short period before it was time for me to go back to Drury Lane for the real London season. Spring had come and Mapleson was ready to make a record opera season; so we said good-bye to our friends in Paris and turned once more toward England.

CHAPTER XVI

FELLOW-ARTISTS

My mother's diary reads as follows:

_March 25_ Left Paris for London accompanied by Arditi and Mr.

Jarrett. Came by Dover and Calais. Very sick. Had a band on the boat to entice the pa.s.sengers into the idea that everything was lovely and there is no such thing as seasickness. Arrived in London at ten minutes before six.

_28._ Went out house-hunting. Rooms too small.

_29._ House-hunting. Dirty houses. A vast difference between American and English housekeeping. Couldn't stand it. Visited ten.

Col. Chandler came in the evening. Miss Jarrett went with us.

_30._ Went again. Saw a highfalutin Lady who said she wanted to get a _fancy price_ for her house. Couldn't see it.

_April 1st._ Miss Jarrett, Lou and I started again and had about given up the ship when Louise discovered a house with "to let" on it. So we ventured in without cards. Lovely! _Neat_ and _nice_.

Beautiful large garden, lawn, etc. We were taken to see the Agent who had it in charge. When we got outside we 3 embraced each other and I screamed with _joy_. She (the Landlady) was the first to have a house "to let" that was not painted and powdered an inch thick.

_2._ Rehearsal of _Traviata_ for the 4th. Three hours long.

Bettini, Santley, Poley and "Miss Kellogg."

_3._ Stage rehearsal.

_4._ First appearance in the regular season of Miss Kellogg in _Traviata_. Prince of Wales came down end of 2nd act and congratulated her warmly. Also brought the warmest congratulations from the Princess--splendid--called out three times--received 8 bouquets. Forgot powder--sent Annie home--too late--hurried, daubed, nervous, out of breath. Couldn't get champagne opened quick enough--rushed and tore--delayed orchestra 5 minutes--got on all right--at last--went off splendidly. Miss Jarrett, Mr. Jarrett, Arditi, Mr. Bennett of the Press [critic of _The Daily Telegraph_]

came and congratulated Louise. The Prince of Wales was very kind--said he remembered the hospitality of the Americans to him years agone. [Louise] Had a new ball room dress--all white with red camilias.

This somewhat incoherent record as jotted down by my mother is sketchy but true in spirit. Never in my life, before or since, was I ever so nervous as at our opening performance in London of _Traviata_; no, not even had my American _debut_ tried me so sorely. Everything in the world went wrong that could go wrong on this occasion. I forgot my powder and the skirt of my dress, and Annie, my maid, had to rush home in a cab to get them. I tore my costume while making my first entrance and had to play the entire act with a streamer of silk dangling at my feet. I went on half made up, daubed, nervous, out of breath. _Never_ was I in such a state of nerves. But to my astonishment I made a very big success. There was a burst of applause after the first act and I could hardly believe my ears. It struck me as most extraordinary that what I considered so unsatisfactory should please the house. Several of the artists singing with me came to me during the evening much upset.

"Don't you know why everything on the stage has been going so badly to-night?" they said. "We've a _jettatura_ in front!"

Madame Erminie Rudersdorf, the mother of Richard Mansfield, was in one of the boxes; and she was generally believed to have the Evil Eye. The Italian singers took it very seriously indeed and made horns all through the opera (that is, kept their fingers crossed) to ward off the satanic influence! Madame Rudersdorf was a tall, heavy, and swarthy Russian with ominously brilliant eyes; and one of the most commanding personalities I ever came in contact with. Although she had a dangerously bad temper, I never saw any evidences of it, nor of the _jettatura_ either. She came that night and congratulated me:--and it meant something from her.

My professional vocation has brought me up against almost every conceivable superst.i.tion, from Brignoli's stuffed deer's head to the more commonplace fetish against thirteen as a number. But I never saw any one more obsessed by an idea of this sort than Christine Nilsson.

She actually would not sing unless some one "held her thumbs" first.

"Holding thumbs" is quite an ancient way of inviting good luck. One promises to "hold one's thumbs" for a friend who is going through some ordeal, like a first night or an operation for appendicitis or a wedding or anything else desperate. Nilsson was the first person I ever knew who practised the charm the other way about. Before she would even go on the stage somebody, if only the stage carpenter, had to take hold of her two thumbs and press them. She was convinced that the mystic rite brought her good fortune. Many of the Italian artists that I knew believed in the efficacy of coral as a talisman and always kept a bit of it about them to rub "for luck" just before they went on for their part of the performance. Somebody has told me that Emma Trentini had a queer individual superst.i.tion: when she was singing for Hammerstein she would never go on the stage until he had given her a quarter of a dollar!

Ridiculous as all these _idees fixes_ appear when writing them down, I am convinced that they do help some people. A sense of confidence is a great, an invaluable thing, and whatever can bring that about must necessarily, however foolish in itself, make for a measure of success. I caught Nilsson's "holding thumbs" trick myself without ever believing in it, and often have done it to people since in a sort of general luck-wishing, friendly spirit. The last time I was in Algiers I entered an antique shop that I always visit there and found the little woman who kept it in a somewhat indisposed and depressed state of mind:--so much so in fact that when I left I pinched her thumbs for luck. Not long afterwards I had the sweetest letter from her. "I cannot thank you enough," she wrote; "you did something--whatever it was--that has brought me luck. I feel sure it is all through you!"

To return to my mother's diary after our first performance of _Traviata_ in London:

_Sunday._ Sat around. Afternoon drove through Hyde Park.

_Monday 6th._ Rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_. I went all over to find dress for Linda--failed.

_Tuesday._ Moved out to 48 Grove End Road--8 guineas a week.

Received check on County Bank from Mapleson for 100. Drew the money.

_Wednesday 8th._ Heard rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_. Remained in theatre till 5.25 P.M. fitting costume. Rode home in 22 minutes.

_Thursday 9th._ Saw Linda. Magnificent. Best thing. Called out three times. Bouquet--dress--yellow. _Moire_ blue satin ap.r.o.n--pink roses--gay!

_Friday--Good Friday._ Regulated house. In the evening _Don Giovanni_ was performed. Louise wore her Barber dress--pink satin one--made by Madame Vinfolet in New York--splendid! Poli told me that in the height of the Messiah Season he often made 75 guineas a week. He looked at his operatic engagement as secondary.

_Sunday 12._ Louise received basket of Easter eggs with a beautiful bluebird over them from Mrs. McHenry--Paris--beautiful--shall take it to America. Mrs. G---- dined with us at 5.

_13th._ Rehearsal of _G. Ladra_--3 hours. I took cold waiting in cold room. No letters.

_Tuesday 14._ Letters from Mary Gray, Nell and Leonard and Carter.

Pay day at Theatre but it didn't come. 3 hours rehearsal. At 4 P.M.

Louise, Mr. S---- and I called by appointment upon the d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset. Met her 3 nieces and the Belgian Minister--a splendid affair--tea was served at 5--went home--dined at 6--went to Covent Garden to hear Mario & Fionetti, the latter said to be the best type of Italian school. Louise thought little of it. Didn't know whether to think less of Davidson's judgment or more of her own.

_21st._ Green room rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_. _Don Giovanni_ in the evening--fine house.

_22nd._ Rehea.r.s.ed one act of _Gazza Ladra_. Louise tired and nervous. Rained. Santley rode part way home with us.

_23rd._ _Rigoletto_--full house--Duke of Newcastle brought Lord Duppelin for introduction. Opera went off splendidly. Check for 100. Saw the G.o.dwins--Bryant's son-in-law.

_24th. Friday._ Drew the money. Reception at the Langs.

_25th._ Louise went to new Philharmonic to rehearsal. In the evening went to Queen's Theatre to see Toole in _Oliver Twist_--splendid. Mr. Santley went to Paris.

_26th. Sunday._ Dr. Quinn, Mr. Fechter and Arditi called. Louise and Miss Jarrett washed the dog! [This pet was one of the puppies of t.i.tjiens's tiny and beautiful Pomeranian and I had it for a long time and adored it.] The 3 Miss Edwards called. Letter from Sarah.