“You did not begin with grand opera, after all?”
“No, I did not. It was not a perfect conclusion of my dreams, but it
was a great deal. My old instructor, Mr. O’Neill, took it worse than I
did. He regarded my ambitions as having all come to naught. I remember
that he wrote me a letter in which he thus called me to account:
“After all my training, my advice, that you should come to
this! A whole lifetime of ambition and years of the hardest
study consumed to fit you to go on the road with a brass
band! Poh!
“I pocketed the sarcasm in the best of humor, because I was sure of
my dear old teacher’s unwavering faith in me, and knew that he wrote
only for my own good. Still, I felt that I was doing wisely in getting
before the public, and so decided to wait quietly and see if time would
not justify me.
“When the season was over Mr. Gilmore came to me again. He was the most
kindly man I ever knew. His manner was as gentle and his heart as good
as could be.
“‘I am going to Europe,’ he said. ‘I am going to London and Paris and
Vienna and Rome, and all the other big cities. There will be a fine
chance for you to see all those places and let Europeans hear you. They
appreciate good singers. Now, little girl, do you want to come? If you
do, you can.’
“I talked it over with my mother and Madame Maretzek, and decided to
go; and so, the next season, we were in Europe.”
“Did it profit you as you anticipated?”
“Very much. We gave seventy-eight concerts in England and France. We
opened the Trocadero at Paris, and mine was the first voice of any kind
to sing there.
“This European tour of the American band really was a great and
successful venture. American musicians still recall the _furore_ which
it created and the prestige which it gained at home. Mr. Gilmore was
proud of his leading soloists. In Paris, where the great audiences went
wild over my singing, he came to praise me personally in unmeasured
terms. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘you are going to be a great singer. You are
going to be crowned in your own country yet. Mark my words: they are
going to put diamonds on your brow!’
“At the end of that tour I decided to spend some of my earnings on
further study in Italy. Accordingly, I went to Milan, to the singing
teacher San Giovanni. On arriving there, I visited the old teacher and
stated my object. I said that I wanted to sing in grand opera.
“WHY DON’T YOU SING IN GRAND OPERA?”
“‘All right!’ he answered; ‘let me hear your voice.’
“I sang an _aria_ from ‘Lucia’; and when I was through, he said dryly:
‘You want to sing in grand opera?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Well, why don’t you?’
“‘I need training.’
“‘Nonsense!’ he answered. ‘We will attend to that. You need a few
months to practice Italian methods—that is all.’
“So I spent three months with him. After much preparation, I made my
_début_ as Violetta in Verdi’s opera, ‘La Traviata,’ at the Teatro
Grande, in Brescia.”
The details of Madame Nordica’s Italian appearance are very
interesting. Her success was instantaneous. Her fame went up and
down the land, and across the water—to her home. She next sang in
Gounod’s “Faust,” at Geneva, and soon afterwards appeared at Navarro,
singing Alice in Meyerbeer’s “Roberto,” the enthusiastic and delighted
subscribers presenting her with a handsome set of rubies and pearls.
After that she was engaged to sing at the Russian capital, and
accordingly went to St. Petersburg, where, in October, 1881, she made
her _début_ as La Filma in “Mignon.”
There, also, her success was great. She was the favorite of the society
of the court, and received pleasant attentions from every quarter.
Presents were made her, and inducements for her continued presence
until two winters had passed. Then she decided to revisit France and
Paris.