Thus I early learned that maybe I could not always win, could not always be first; that perseverance must aid natural talents; and that it is cowardly to drop a thing when at first you don't succeed. The sting of adverse criticism may often prove the best of tonics! I have since found it so.
CHAPTER III
I RESOLVE TO SING CARMEN
Each spring in Melrose there was a May Carnival. One of the features of the carnival in 1894, when I was twelve years old, was a pageant of famous women impersonated by local talent. I was selected to represent Jenny Lind and was told by the committee that I must sing "Home, Sweet Home," but with characteristic disregard for the expected tradition I decided to sing an aria in Italian first. The prima donna of my dreams would naturally dazzle her hearers with a selection in some foreign tongue, and then graciously respond to the clamorous multitude with a simple ballad.
I had this stage effect quite planned in my mind. I didn't know a word of Italian; but studied one song by myself from "Faust"—Siebel's song which Scalchi used to sing in the old days and one seldom heard now. My Italian may have been incomprehensible to a native, certainly it did not disconcert Melrosians; my aplomb was richly rewarded by numerous recalls, just as I had dared to hope, and "Home, Sweet Home" was given with due seriousness. I was happy and excited; I was "arriving" at last! Also I wore my first low-neck dress.
Incidentally, this episode in the Melrose Town Hall is made vivid in my memory by two notable happenings. The first is—shades of vanity!—that I wore a new pair of perfectly lovely shoes that were too tight for me (but looked so nice); so, after singing the encore, I was obliged to retire behind a stout lady on the stage and take them off. When the carnival was over, I found to my distress that I could not get them on again, and I walked home in my stocking feet!
The second episode of this day really marked a turning point in my career. A friend who heard me sing happened to be a pupil of Mrs. J. H. Long, the best-known singing teacher in Boston at that time, and this friend insisted that I must go into Boston and sing for Mrs. Long. I was tremulous with joy (still in my stocking feet), and my mother and I—breathless—told my father the news that arrangements were to be made for me to sing at last before a real singing teacher!
My father eyed us and shook his head thoughtfully, looking at my mother as though to say: "She's encouraging the child in all this tomfoolery." For, while he himself had a splendid natural voice and loved music and was proud of my childish achievements, I doubt if at that time he could foresee the practical side of a musical career. But my mother and I were heart and soul for the idea, and sing I would and must.
Finally came the "day of days," and it poured. Alas for the favorable impression I had hoped to create! My hair had been tightly rolled in lead all night to obtain the desired "crimps"; I hadn't closed an eye from the discomfort and nervousness; and here was the fateful hour at hand, with no vestige of a "crimp," my face pale with excitement, though I pinched my cheeks cruelly to make the "roses" come, and my muslin frock out of the question in such weather. I felt like a veritable Cinderella in my plain, dark suit.
However, off we started, half an hour's ride on the train. What I suffered in apprehension; how dizzy I felt, and what a queer feeling I had in the pit of my stomach! I could have wept from the tension. Could this drooping young person be the erstwhile very confident embryo prima donna?