I cannot remember the time when I did not intend to sing and act. As soon as I was a little older it was decided that I should take piano lessons.
But at once I made strenuous objection to the necessary restraint, an objection which in after years manifested itself in much that I attempted. I could not force myself to study according to rule or tradition. I wanted to try out things my own way, according to impulse, just when and how the spirit within me moved. I could not drudge at scales, and therefore found the lessons irksome. I preferred to improvise upon the piano, and I had a strange fondness for playing everything upon the black keys.
"Why do you use only the black keys?" my mother asked me once.
"Because the white keys seem like angels and the black keys like devils, and I like devils best," I replied. It was the soft half-tones of the black keys which fascinated me, and to this day I prefer their sensuous harmony to that of the more brilliant "angels."
My mother offered me a tricycle—one of those weird three-wheeled vehicles in vogue at the time—if I would learn my piano lessons according to rule; but I had all too little patience and my father gave me the tricycle anyhow, as well as a pony later. These were some of my few amusements. In fact, I cared little for child's play at any time in my early youth, and nothing for outdoor sports. I spent most of my time with books and music, or playing with animals.
Among my animal friends was a large Newfoundland dog. One day my mother came into the back yard and found me trying to make him act as a horse, attached by a rough harness to an improvised plough I had made of wood to dig up the back garden. I loved dogs, and once my mother had me photographed seated on a large painted wooden dog.
Another childish amusement was to put fantastic costumes on the cats and pretend that they were actors or actresses. In time there were added to the cats and dog a chameleon, a pair of small alligators, guinea-pigs, rabbits, a bullfinch, and a robin with a broken wing. I was passionately fond of flowers as well, and my own small garden was a source of pride and pleasure.
The world of make-believe was becoming very real to me by this time. I dramatized everything. I had the utmost confidence in my choice to become a great singer, for at all times I was busy with music, either alone or with my mother. It did not occur to me that I could possibly fail in achieving my object, and yet I was so sincere and felt so impelled to try to "touch the stars" that I do not believe it could be called conceit. Young as I was, I felt that with my song I could soar to another world and revel in poetry and music.