In October, 1904, before the opening of the regular season in Berlin, I went to fulfill a special engagement in Warsaw. An incident characteristic of the impetuous Poles occurred on the train, which resulted in more than a year's annoyance of rather an amusing character.
My mother and I were traveling in a private compartment, with the door open on the main corridor of the train. A tall, handsome, bearded gentleman had passed that door no less than a dozen times. Finally he passed just at the moment when my mother wished the train porter to change German gold into Russian money. The porter did not have the change. Here was the chance of the bearded man's lifetime. He projected himself into the compartment, he made the change, he introduced himself gracefully, and calmly announced that he knew me all the time as "Die Farrar aus Berlin," the singer, and he wished to do everything in his power to make us comfortable during our stay in Warsaw. He turned out to be Count Ischki P——, a very wealthy nobleman with a most romantic temperament and also with the persistence of fly-paper.
We could not disengage ourselves from his courtesy on the train, and he became doubly irksome when he bombarded my apartments in the Hotel Bristol,—the magnificent hostelry, by the way, which Paderewski built and owns in Warsaw,—sending me flowers, sweetmeats, candies, and even attempting to send me jewelry. The poor Count Ischki wanted me to look with favor upon his suit. Never, outside the pages of a novel, have I met any one quite so ardent, in so many languages.
The climax came one afternoon when I was reading in my apartment.
There was a knock at the door; it opened instantly, and in came a procession of bell-boys—each carrying flowers, enormous boxes of candy or tributes of some kind. All these were carefully deposited at my feet without a word. Then, as the boys withdrew, the Count Ischki himself, faultlessly dressed, entered and threw himself upon his knees before me in the midst of his offerings. It was a perfect setting for the stage. I had all I could do to keep serious as the Polish count poured out the story of his mad love, and declared that, unless I would marry him, he would quickly die the death of a madman.
Gently I motioned for him to arise and depart. "I fear I am only a cold, heartless, American girl," I replied. "I love only my art, and I shall never marry anybody."
The night I left Warsaw the poor Count Ischki was at the station to see me off, and, though I felt sorry for him, I was happy at escaping from so trying an emotional character. For almost a year, however, he followed me over Europe, popping up most unexpectedly at different places, always with a renewed declaration of his love. His attentions at Monte Carlo finally became so embarrassing that I threatened to appeal to the police. Then he ultimately accepted his congé, and I was relieved of this all-too-ardent nobleman.
The season of 1904-05 in Berlin (my fourth season) was made notable by the first appearance there of Caruso, who made his début in "Rigoletto." His coming created a great sensation. I was delighted to sing opposite him again, but there was a complication of which the public knew nothing. With the "king of tenors" singing on the stage with me, I knew there was another—Franz Naval—who had sung opposite me for three seasons, sitting in a box in the background. However, I compromised with the two by usually having tea with Franz and dinner with Enrico during his stay in Berlin, and the artistic world rolled smoothly on.
Many interesting things happened during my fourth season in Berlin. For one thing the marriage of the Crown Prince to the Grand Duchess Cécile took place, thereby permanently putting an end to the little annoyances to which his kindly admiration of me as an artist had subjected me. I am proud and happy to state that soon after the return of the royal couple to the Palace at Potsdam, I was invited to sing for the Crown Princess and, as a result of this meeting, a cordial and friendly intimacy sprang up between us, which often led to informal musicales at the Palace when the Crown Princess played the piano, the Crown Prince the violin, and I sang.
