“I was slightly nervous at first, but recovered my equanimity and sang up to my full limit of power. When I was through, he remarked, ‘Very good! very good!’ and ‘Now, what else?’ I next sang an aria from ‘Somnambula.’ He did not hesitate to express his approval, which was always, ‘Very good! very good! Now, what you want to do,’ he said, ‘is to get some roses in your cheeks, and come along and sing for me.’ After that, he continued his conference with Madame Maretzek and then we went away together.”
“I WAS TRAVELING ON AIR
when I left, I can assure you. His company was famous. Its engagement had been most successful. Madame Poppenheim was singing with it, and there were other famous names. There were only two more concerts to conclude his New York engagement, but he had told Madame Maretzek that if I chose to come and sing on these occasions, he would be glad to have me. I was more than glad of the opportunity and agreed to go. We arranged with him by letter, and, when the evening came, I sang. My work made a distinct impression on the audience, and pleased Mr. Gilmore wonderfully. After the second night, when all was over, he came to me, and said: ‘Now, my dear, of course there is no more concert this summer, but I am going West in the fall. Now, how would you like to go along?’
“I told him that I would like to go very much, if it could be arranged; and, after some negotiation, he agreed to pay the expenses of my mother and myself, and give me one hundred dollars a week besides. I accepted, and when the western tour began, we went along.
“I gained thorough control of my nerves upon that tour, and learned something of audiences, and of what constitutes distinguished ‘stage presence.’ I studied all the time, and, with the broadening influence of travel, gained a great deal. At the end of the tour, my voice was more under my control than ever before, and I was a better singer all around.”
“You did not begin with grand opera, after all?”
“No, I did not. It was not a perfect conclusion of my dreams, but it was a great deal. My old instructor, Mr. O’Neill, took it worse than I did. He regarded my ambitions as having all come to naught. I remember that he wrote me a letter in which he thus called me to account:—
“‘After all my training, my advice, that you should come to this! A whole lifetime of ambition and years of the hardest study consumed to fit you to go on the road with a brass band! Poh!’
“I pocketed the sarcasm in the best of humor, because I was sure of my dear old teacher’s unwavering faith in me, and knew that he wrote only for my own good. Still, I felt that I was doing wisely in getting before the public, and so decided to wait quietly and see if time would not justify me.
“When the season was over, Mr. Gilmore came to me again. He was the most kindly man I ever knew. His manner was as gentle and his heart as good as could be.