“I wanted to sing in grand opera at Paris,” she said to me. “I wanted
to know that I could appear successfully in that grand place. I counted
my achievements nothing until I could do that.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. In July, 1882, I appeared there.”
This was her greatest triumph. In the part of Marguerite she took
the house by storm, and won from the composer the highest encomiums.
Subsequently, she appeared with equal success as Ophélie, having been
specially prepared for both these rôles by the respective composers,
Charles Gounod and Ambroise Thomas.
“You should have been satisfied after that,” I said.
“I was,” she answered. “So thoroughly was I satisfied that, soon
afterwards, I gave up my career and was married. For two years I
remained away from the public, but, after that time, my husband having
died, I decided to return. I made my first appearance at the Burton
Theater in London, and was doing well enough when Colonel Mapleson
came to me. He was going to produce grand opera—in fact, he was going
to open Covent Garden, which had been closed for a long time, with a
big company. He was another interesting character. I found him to be
generous and kind-hearted and happy-spirited as anyone could be. When
he came to me it was in the most friendly manner. ‘I am going to open
Covent Garden,’ he said. ‘Now, here is your chance to sing there.
All the great singers have appeared there—Patti, Gerster, Nilsson,
Tietjens—now it’s your turn—come and sing.’
“‘How about terms?’ I asked.
“‘Terms!’ he exclaimed; ‘terms! Don’t let such little details stand in
your way. What is money compared to this? Ignore money. Think of the
honor, of the memories of the place, of what people think of it;’ and
then he waved his arms dramatically.
“Well, we came to terms, not wholly sacrificial on my part, and the
season began. Covent Garden had not been open for a long time. It was
in the spring of the year, cold and damp. There was a crowded house,
though, because fashion accompanied the Prince of Wales there. He came,
night after night, and heard the opera through with an overcoat on.
“It was no blessed task for me, or healthy, either, but the Lord has
blessed me with a sound constitution. I sang my parts, as they should
be sung, some in bare arms and shoulders, with too little clothing for
such a temperature. But it was Covent Garden, and so I bore up under
it.”
“What was the next venture?”
“Nothing much more interesting. The summer after that season I visited
Ems, where the De Reszkes were. One day they said: ‘We are going to
Bayreuth to hear the music, don’t you want to go along?’
“I thought it over, and decided that I did. My mother and I packed up
and departed. When I got there and saw those splendid performances I
was entranced. It was perfectly beautiful. Everything was arranged
after an ideal fashion. I had a great desire to sing there, and boasted
to my mother that I would. When I came away I was fully determined to
carry out that boast.”
“Could you speak German?”
“Not at all. I began, though, at once, to study it; and when I could
talk it sufficiently I went to Bayreuth and saw Madame Wagner.”