“It was a fine fancy, but it would not have been possible. O’Neill was a fine musician. Under him I studied the physiology of the voice, and practiced singing oratorios. I also took up Italian, familiarizing myself with the language, with all the songs and endless arias. In fact, I made myself as perfect in Italian as possible. In three years I had been greatly improved. Mr. O’Neill, however, employed methods of making me work which discouraged me. He was a man who would magnify and storm over the slightest error, and make light of or ignore the sincerest achievements. He put his grade of perfection so high that I began to consider it unattainable, and lost heart. Finally, I gave it up and rested awhile, uncertain of everything.
“After I had thought awhile and regained some confidence, I came to New York to see Mme. Maretzek. She was not only a teacher, but also a singer quite famous in her day, and she thoroughly knew the world of music. She considered my voice to be of the right quality for the highest grade of operatic success; and gave me hope that, with a little more training, I could begin my career. She not only did that, but also set me to studying the great operas, ‘Lucia’ and the others, and introduced me to the American musical celebrities. Together we heard whatever was worth hearing in New York.
“When the renowned Brignola came to New York, she took me to the Everett House, where he was stopping and introduced me. They were good friends, and, after gaining his opinion on the character of my voice, she had him play ‘Faust.’ That was a wonderful thing for me. To hear the great Brignola! It fired my ambition. As I listened I felt that I could also be great and that people, some day, might listen to me as enraptured as I then was by him.”
“IT PUT NEW FIRE INTO ME
and caused me to fairly toil over my studies. I would have given up all my hours if only I had been allowed or requested.
“So it went, until after several years of study, Madame Maretzek thought I was getting pretty well along and might venture some important public singing. We talked about different ways of appearing and what I would sing, and so on, until finally Gilmore’s band came to Madison Square Garden. He was in the heyday of his success then, and carried important soloists with him. Madame Maretzek decided that she would take me to see him and get his opinion; and so, one day, toward the very last of his Madison Square engagement, we went to see him. Madame Maretzek was on good terms with him also. I remember that she took me in, one morning, when he was rehearsing. I saw a stout, kindly, genial-looking man who was engaged in tapping for attention, calling certain individuals to notice certain points, and generally fluttering around over a dozen odds and ends. Madame Maretzek talked with him a little while and then called his attention to me. He looked toward me.
“‘Thinks she can sing, eh? Yes, yes. Well, all right! Let her come right along.’
“Then he called to me,—‘Come right along now. Step right up here on the stage. Yes, yes. Now, what can you sing?’
“I told him I could sing almost anything in oratorio or opera, if he so wished. He said: ‘Well, well, have a little from both. Now, what shall it be?’
“I shall never forget his kindly way. He was like a good father, gentle and reassuring, and seemed really pleased to have me there and to hear me. I went up on the platform and told him that I would begin with ‘Let the Bright Seraphim,’ and he called the orchestra to order and had them accompany me.”