Wednesday:—In “Traviata” I sang “Violetta,” and coughed virtuos-tuberculos, my life away.
Thursday:—As “Selika” (in l’Africaine) died from the poisonous odor of the Manzanillen tree.
Friday:—Sang the “Jewess,” and as a finale was thrown into a kettle of boiling oil.
Saturday:—As “Sulamithe” in the “Queen of Saba” was suffocated in the Simoom of the desert.
Sunday:—“Hamlet” and I as “Ophelia” drowned—under a storm of applause—in the brook. How beautiful it is, to be able to devote one’s art and one’s life to give pleasure to one’s fellow-men!
Deep Mourning
Count:—“Gracious lady, are you not dancing to-night?”
Lady:—“Not till after midnight, Count.”
Count:—“Why not until then?”