Whilst occupied one morning in my room on the fourth story at the Palace Hotel, counting with my treasurers several thousands of pounds, the atmosphere suddenly became dark. A sort of wind was blowing round the apartment, and my senses seemed to be leaving me. I could not make out what it was. The Hotel rocked three inches one way and then three inches another; the plates and knives and forks jumping off on to the floor, whilst my money was rolling in all parts of the room. I made a rush for the door, and then for the street, realizing now that there was an earthquake. Although it lasted but ten seconds the time appeared at least half an hour. On leaving the hotel I met the landlord.
"Don't be frightened," he said.
"Well, but I am."
"Nonsense! My hotel is earthquake-proof as well as fire-proof," he said, handing me a card, on which I found this inscribed: "The Palace Hotel. Fire-proof and earthquake-proof."
He afterwards explained to me that everything employed in the construction of the building was either wood or iron, no plaster or stone being used. Indeed, although this hotel is six stories high, with open corridors looking into the main courtyard the length of the entire building, it is wound round the exterior with no less than four miles of malleable iron bands. The proprietor, Mr. Sharon, said it might move into another street, but could not fall down.
To such an extent had Patti's superstitious feeling with regard to Gerster been developed that she at once ascribed the earthquake to Gerster's evil influence. It was not merely a malicious idea of hers, but a serious belief.
Meanwhile money was no consideration to those amateurs who had it. Tickets were gold. They were seized with avidity apart from any question about price. Hundreds were content to wait throughout the night, with money in their hands, to ensure the possession of even standing room, whilst thousands who, in their impecuniosity, could not hope to cross the threshold of the musical Valhalla, where Patti and Gerster were the divinities presiding, thronged the side walks, and gazed longingly at the dumb walls of the theatre, and the crowd of idolaters pouring in to worship.
At eight o'clock a.m. a second line of enthusiasts began to occupy the centre of the road leading to the Grand Opera, although the doors were not to be thrown open until six hours afterwards. A line was formed down Mission and Third Street, extending almost to Market Street. Ticket speculators passed up and down the line, and did a brisk business, tickets in some instances reaching £20 apiece.
Captain Short again arrived with 60 extra policemen, but he was pushed out with all his men, the crowd quite overpowering them. The 17 nights' performances produced £40,000. The receipts of the first Patti night did not fall far short of £5,000.
On the morning of our departure from San Francisco four young men were arrested, charged with the wholesale forgery of opera tickets. They had issued 60 bogus tickets for the opening night alone, and this caused all the confusion and wrangling. They were proved to have made a purchase of printer's ink, and to have bought one Patti ticket as a model, from which they had copied the remainder. They were duly convicted.