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 passengers 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 superstition, 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 superstition: 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 L100. 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 apron--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 Duchess 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._ Rehearsed 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
L100. Saw the Godwins--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 Titjiens's tiny and beautiful Pomeranian and I had it for a long
time and adored it.] The 3 Miss Edwards called. Letter from Sarah.
_27._ Louise and I go to Rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_ and to hear Mr.
Fechter in _No Thoroughfare_. He thinks more of himself than of the
thoroughfare--good performance though. Letter from George
Farnsworth.
_28._ Clear and cold. Rehearsed _Gazza Ladra_.
_29._ [Louise] sang at Philharmonic--duet _Nozze di Figaro_ with
Foli.
_30th._ Long rehearsal of Gazza. Dined at Duchess of Somerset's at
8 P.M. Met many best men of London. Duke of Newcastle took Louise
in to dinner. Col. Williams took me. Duchess is an old tyrant--sang
Louise to death--unmerciful--I despise her for her selfishness.
Indeed, every minute of those spring weeks was occupied and more than
occupied. I never was so busy before and never had such a good time. The
"season" was a delightful one; and certainly no one had a more varied
part in it than I. Thanks to the Dowager Duchess and our friends we went
out frequently; and I was singing four and five times a week counting
concerts. Private concerts were a great fad that season and I have often
sung at two or three different ones in the same evening.
Colonel Mapleson was in great feather, having three _prime donne_ at his
disposal at once, for Christine Nilsson had soon joined us, that
curious mixture of "Scandinavian calm and Parisian elegance" as I have
heard her described. No two singers were ever less alike, either
physically or temperamentally, than she and I; yet, oddly enough, we
over and over again followed each other in the same _roles_. Titjiens,
Nilsson, and I sang together a great deal that season, not only in opera
but also in concert. Our voices went well together and we always got on
pleasantly. Madame Titjiens was no longer at the zenith of her great
power, but she was very fine for all that. I admired Titjiens greatly as
an artist in spite of her perfunctory acting. Cold and stately, she was
especially effective in purely classic music, having at her command all
its traditions:--Donna Anna for instance, and Fidelio and the Contessa.
I sang with her in the Mozart operas. Particularly do I recall one night
when the orchestra was under the direction of Sir Michael Costa. Both
Titjiens and Nilsson were singing with me, and the former had to follow
me in the _recitative_. Where Susanna gives the attacking note to the
Contessa Sir Michael's 'cello gave me the wrong chord. I perceived it
instantly, my absolute pitch serving me well, but I hardly knew what to
do. I was singing in Italian, which made the problem even more
difficult; but, as I sang, my sixth sense was working subconsciously. I
was saying over and over in my brain: "_I've got to give Titjiens the
right note or the whole thing will be a mess. How am I going to do it?_"
I sang around in circles until I was able to give the Contessa the
correct note. Titjiens gratefully caught it up and all came out well.
When the number was over, both Titjiens and Nilsson came and
congratulated me for what they recognised as a good piece of
musicianship. But Sir Michael was in a rage.
"What do you mean," he demanded, "by taking liberties with the music
like that?"
One cannot afford to antagonise a conductor and he was, besides, so
irascible a man that I did not care to mention to him that his 'cello
had been at fault. He was a most indifferent musician as well as a
narrow, obstinate man, although London considered him a very great
leader. He only infuriated me the more by remarking indulgently, one
night not long after, as if overlooking my various artistic
shortcomings: "Well, well,--you're a very pretty woman anyway!" It was
his "anyway" that irrevocably settled matters between us. He disliked
Nilsson too. He declared both in public and in private that her use of
her voice was mere "charlatanry and trickery" and not worthy to be
called musical. Nilsson was not, in fact, a good musician; few _prime
donne_ are. On one occasion she did actually sing one bar in advance of
the accompaniment for ten consecutive measures. This is almost
inconceivable, but she did it, and Sir Michael never forgave her.
Mapleson was planning as a _tour de force_ with which to stun London a
series of operas in which he could present all of us. "All-star casts"
were rare in those days. Most managers saved their singers and doled
them out judiciously, one at a time, in a very conservative fashion. But
Mapleson had other notions. Our "all-star" Mozart casts were the wonder
of all London. Think of _Don Giovanni_ with Santley as the Don and
Titjiens as Donna Anna; Nilsson as Donna Elvira, Rockitanski of Vienna
the Leporello, and myself as Zerlina! Think of _Le Nozze di Figaro_ with
Titjiens as the Countess, Nilsson Cherubino, Santley the Count, and me
as Susanna! These were casts unequalled in all Europe--almost, I
believe, in all time!
Gye, of Covent Garden, declared that we were killing the goose that laid
the golden egg by putting all our _prime donne_ into one opera. He said
that this made it not only impossible for rival houses to draw any
audiences, but that it also cut off our own noses. Nobody wanted to go
on ordinary nights to hear operas that had only one _prima donna_ in
them when they could go on star nights and hear three at once. However,
Colonel Mapleson found that the scheme paid and our "triple-cast"
performances brought us most sensational houses. Personally, as I have
already said, I never liked Mapleson, and I had many causes for
resentment in a business way. I remember one battle I had with him and
the stage manager about a dress I was to wear in _Le Nozze di Figaro_. I
do not recall what it was they wanted me to wear; but I know that,
whatever it was, I would not wear it. I left in the middle of rehearsal,
drove home in an excited state of indignation, and seized upon poor
Colonel Stebbins, always my steady help in time of trouble. He went,
saw, fought, and conquered, after which the rehearsals went on more or
less peaceably.
Undoubtedly we had some fine artists at Her Majesty's, but occasionally
Mapleson missed a big chance of securing others. One day we were putting
on our wraps after rehearsal when my mother and I heard a lovely
contralto voice. On inquiry, we learned that Colonel Mapleson and Arditi
were trying the voice of a young Italian woman who had come to London in
search of an engagement. The Colonel and the Director sat in the
orchestra while the young woman sang an _aria_ from _Semiramide_. When
the trial was over the girl went away at once and I rushed out to speak
to Mapleson.
"Surely you engaged that enchanting singer!" I exclaimed.
"Indeed I didn't," he replied.
She went directly to Gye at Covent Garden, who engaged her promptly and,
when she appeared two weeks later, she made a sensation. Her name was
Sofia Scalchi.
Besides the private concerts of that season there were also plenty of
public concerts, a particularly notable one being a Handel Festival at
the Crystal Palace on May 1st, when I sang _Oh, had I Jubal's Lyre_!
Everything connected with that occasion was on a large scale. There were
seven thousand people in the house, the largest audience by far that I
had ever sung to before. The place was so crowded that people hung about
the doors trying to get in even after every seat was filled; and not one
person left the hall until after I had finished--a remarkable record in
its way! Some time later, when I was on my way home to America and
wanted to buy some antiques, I wandered into a little, odd Dickens-like
shop in Wardour Street. I wanted to have some articles sent on approval
to meet me at Liverpool, but hesitated to ask the old man in the shop to
take such a risk without knowing me. To my surprise he smiled at me a
kindly, wrinkled smile and said, with the prettiest old-fashioned bow:
"Madame, you are welcome to take any liberties you will with my entire
stock. I heard you sing 'Jubal's Lyre.' I shall never forget it, nor be
able to repay you for the pleasure you gave me!"
I always felt this to be one of my sincerest tributes. Perhaps that is
partly why the night of my first Crystal Hall Concert remains so clearly
defined in my memory.
My mother's diary of this period continues:
_May 4._ Mr. Santley dined with us. Played Besique in the evening.
_I beat_.
_5._ Louise and I went to St. James Hall rehearsal. After went to
Theatre. Learned Nilsson did not have as good a house 2nd night as
Louise's first one in _La Gazza Ladra_. Mr. Arditi came to rehearse
the waltz.
_6th._ _La Gazza Ladra._ Full house--enthusiasm--Duke of Newcastle
came in.
_7._ Arditi's rehearsal for his concert at his house at 5
P.M.--went--house full--hot and funny. Mr. S---- came in the
evening--played one game Besique.
_8._ Intended to go to Haymarket Theatre but Miss J---- had
headache. Santley came in the afternoon to practise Susanna.
_9._ Santley called. McHenry and Stebbins, with another Budget of
disagreeables from Mapleson who, not satisfied with cheating her
[Louise] out of $500., deliberately asked her to give him 3 nights
more! Shall have his money if we have to go to law about it.
_Monday._ [Louise] Sang at Old Philharmonic flute song from _The
Star_. Mr. Stebbins went to Jarrett and told him Miss Kellogg would
sing no longer than the 15th--her engagement closes then--but that
Mapleson must pay her what he owed her--that he would have the
checks that day or sue him.
_Tuesday._ Just got the second check of L150, showing that a little
_hell fire and brimstone administered in large doses_ is a good
thing. The Englishman has not outwitted the Yankee yet!
_12._ Louise sang _Don Giovanni_--Titjiens "Donna Anna," Santley
"Don Giovanni," Nilsson "Elvira." Crowded house--seats sold at a
premium--Louise received all the honours--everything encored--4
bouquets. Nilsson and Titjiens were encored only for the grand
trio. The applause on _Batti Batti_ was something unequalled.
_13._ Went to photographers. Miss Jarrett, Santley and ourselves
dined at Mr. Stebbins'--went to hear Lucca in _Fra Diavolo_--was
delighted--she was not pretty but intelligent--sang well--not
remarkable, but showed great cleverness--full of talent--acted it
well--filled out the scenes--kept the thing going. The Tenor was
good. I remained through the second act. Dropped my fan onto a bald
head. Went over to Drury Lane--heard one act of _The Hugenots_.
_14._ Mr. S---- dined with us--played Besique in the
evening--Louise beat of course.
_15._ [Louise] Sang _Don Giovanni_ to a full house. Bennett came
and Smith and Mapleson and Duke of Newcastle.
_16._ Santley sang in rehearsal _Le Nozze di Figaro_. Mr. Stebbins
dined with us. Played solitaire in the evening with the new Besique
box.
I sang several times at the Crystal Palace Concerts with Sims Reeves,
the idolised English tenor. Never have I heard of or imagined an artist
so spoiled as Reeves. The spring was a very hot one for London, although
to us who were accustomed to the summer heat of America, it seemed
nothing. But poor Sims Reeves evidently expected to have heat
prostration or a sunstroke, for he always wore a big cork helmet to
rehearsals, the kind that officers wear on the plains of India. The
picture he made sitting under his huge helmet with a white puggaree
around it, fanning himself feebly, was one never to be forgotten. He had
a somewhat frumpy wife who waited on him like a slave. I had little
patience with him, especially with his trick of disappointing his
audiences at the eleventh hour. But he could sing! He was a real artist,
and, when he was not troubling about the temperature, or his diet, he
was an artist with whom it was a privilege to sing. I remember singing
with him and Mme. Patey at a concert at Albert Hall. Mme. Patey was an
admirable contralto and gifted with a superb technique. We three sang a
trio without a rehearsal and, when it was over, Reeves declared that it
was really wonderful the way in which we all three had "taken breath" at
exactly the same points, showing that we were all well trained and could
phrase a song in the only one correct way. This was also noticed and
remarked upon by several professionals who were present.
I also sang with Alboni. At an Albert Hall concert on my second visit to
England a year or two later, I said to her:
"Madame, I cannot tell you how honoured I feel in singing on the same
programme with you."
She bowed and smiled. She was a very, very large woman, heavily built,
but she carried her size with remarkable dignity. I was considerably
amused when she replied:
"Ah, Mademoiselle, I am only a shadow of what I have been!"
My most successful song that season was my old song _Beware_. It was
unusual to see a _prima donna_ play her own accompaniment, which I
always did to this song and to most _encores_. The simple, rather
insipid melody was written by Moulton, the first husband of the present
Baronne de Hegeman, and it was not long before it was the rage in the
sentimental younger set of London. How tired I became of that ridiculous
sign-post cover and the "As Sung by Miss Clara Louise Kellogg" staring
up at me! And how much more tired of the foolish tune:
[Illustration: Musical notation; I know a maid-en fair to see, Take
care! Take care!]
One of the greatest honours paid me was the command to sing in one of
the two concerts at Buckingham Palace given each season by the reigning
sovereign. I have always kept the letter that told me I had been chosen
for this great privilege. Cusins, from whom it came, was the Director of
the Queen's music at the Palace.