I also had a course of mise-en-scène, or preparation for the stage, with an excellent teacher, Madame Martini, an artist of repute and an excellent instructor in the traditional sense of the word. For instance, Madame would say: "After ten bars, lift the right hand; two more, then point it at the villain; walk slowly toward the hero; raise your eyes at the twentieth bar toward heaven; and conclude your aria with a sweeping gesture of denial, sinking gently to the floor."
Alas, my progress was not brilliant along such lines. I could not study grimaces in the mirror; I could not walk hours following a silly chalk line, and I refused to repeat one gesture a hundred times at the same phrase or bar of music. Discussion and argument were very frequent—also tears. Nevertheless, I did learn much from so well-grounded a teacher, and often have occasion to think pleasantly of her first lessons with my rather difficult nature.
In the spring I heard that Nordica was in Paris with her husband, Mr. Zoltan Döme. I was in a fever of anxiety to see her, and have her hear me sing since studying abroad. But how could I find her? By chance I heard that she drove daily in the Bois; so I persuaded a friend who had a very elegant equipage to invite me of an afternoon to drive, so that by some happy chance I might speak to Nordica.
Around my neck I wore a talisman which I had worn for many years—a little silver locket for which I had paid two dollars in Melrose when I was a schoolgirl. At that time my cash allowance for pin money was twenty-five cents a week. One day I saw this locket in a jewelry store window. I said nothing, but saved enough to buy the simple trinket, which I wore as a talisman, with Nordica's picture in it. Naturally, therefore, I wore this in the hope that it would bring me luck in my search for her, and soon to my joy I saw the famous singer approaching in her open carriage, with Mr. Döme. Of course, she did not recognize me, but as she drove by I stood up and threw the precious locket into her lap to attract her attention.
Mr. Döme picked it up, and to Nordica's amazement she recognized her own picture. While her carriage turned around, I waited on the path, and soon my idol was actually allowing me to talk with her and renewing once more the interest she had shown while I was in New York.
She invited me to come and sing for her in her beautiful home in the Bois, and, when we parted, she handed back my precious talisman. "Don't throw it away again," she said with a smile.
"But it has brought me such good luck!" I replied happily.
Next day, and many times thereafter, I visited Madame Nordica, and both she and Mr. Döme were genuinely interested in my vocal welfare. The question of my future was discussed, and, contrary to the idea I had of going to Italy and following the usual procedure of enlisting in a provincial theater there for experience, Mr. Döme suggested my studying with a Russian-Italian, Graziani, in Berlin, whose book upon vocal study he had recently received and found unusual and beneficial.
I was not at all keen upon abandoning Italy for Germany, but Madame Nordica's advice was paramount, and, armed with some nice letters from her to various friends whom she had learned to know during her triumphs in Bayreuth, we made plans to break up our Paris home.