Mrs. Jeanette Thurber also came in (when I was flagging) with her large heart and full hands; so our old friends—Mrs. Gilbert, James Lewis, John Drew, George Clark, Kitty Cheatham, and Ada Rehan—played, as the Jenkins of the day announced, "to a large, brilliant, and fashionable house." I added to each of my satin souvenirs for "the cast" a quotation from Shakespeare. Ada Rehan played "The Wife of Socrates" as an afterpiece. On her souvenir was printed in gold:—
"Be she as shrewd
... As Socrates' Xantippe,"
"She hath a tear for Pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity."
When the time arrived for Mr. Chickering to give me his hall for a concert, I was beginning to feel a little weary, and was glad to enlist the interest of Professor Ogden Doremus, formerly president of the Philharmonic Society. I wrote letters which brought many offers. "How many?" asked Dr. Doremus. "A hatful," I answered. We poured them out on a table and made a selection. "These," said the doctor, "are fine, fine! But we must have a star! I'll go out to-morrow and sweep the skies for comets. The great planets will not work for nothing."
At night he wrote me: "No hope for a star! Everybody wants money! We must manage with our amateurs."
The next day I drove up boldly to the Metropolitan Opera House and asked for Mr. Stanton. I told him my story, and begged him to "help me, to help my poor countrymen."
"I'll give you Alvary!" he exclaimed. "Nothing is too good for your cause!" "Oh," I faltered,—for I was astounded,—"I'm sure Alvary will not condescend to sing with a company of amateurs, to the accompaniment of one piano." "Will not?" said Mr. Stanton; "it is my impression Alvary will do what I order him to do." He continued, however, as Colonel Mapleson had done with Patti, to say that, although this was all true, it would be wise for me to request Alvary to sing. This I did, receiving a gracious, acquiescent reply.
Mrs. Shaw, the famous siffleuse, had just returned from England, where she had whistled for the Prince of Wales, and I was delighted at her offer to contribute to the concert. The programme was arranged, Mr. Chickering notified, and twelve hundred tickets sent me to be sold. We set the stage magnificently, borrowing rugs, choice furniture, pictures, hangings. We furnished a greenroom with refreshments, cigars, and flowers,—and a remoter private room for the great tenor,—had the banners extraordinarily handsome, and advertised our programme for Friday night, October 12.