We went one night to the “Eden Concert.” Between the acts Sergy left his seat for a few moments to bring me bonbons, and all at once a handsome woman, in showy dark style, who had been staring at me through her lorgnette in such a nasty way that I became quite uncomfortable, came up and sat by me and gave me her address, entreating me to call upon her the next day. At that very moment my husband returned to his place, very much astonished to see it occupied by that strange person, who gave up her seat very unwillingly, and continued to throw approving glances at me. Funny sort of type that woman!
Another night we went to the theatre to see “Serge Panine,” the comedy in vogue. I liked the play, but the spectators did not seem to understand it, and giggled in the most pathetic places. We were very much amused when a dog, who was promenading between the chairs, mounted on the stage and stretched himself comfortably before the prompter’s box.
At the end of August we left Trouville and started on our homeward journey.
CHAPTER LII
MOSCOW
Many renowned artistes visited our old capital this winter, among them Tamagno, the celebrated tenor, whose fame was just then ringing all the world over. After a concert-tour in America he came to Moscow to collect a new harvest of laurels. But I didn’t admire particularly his thundering voice, a veritable Jericho trumpet! Ferni-Germano, the ideal “Carmen,” for whom Bizet had composed his opera, made a clamorous appearance after Tamagno. She came to see us with a letter of recommendation given to her by one of our friends living in St. Petersburg, but didn’t find us at home. I wanted to see her close and went to the hotel where she had put up to pay her a visit. The “diva” didn’t gain on close acquaintance; she couldn’t stand the ordeal of pitiless sunshine, and sat with her back to the light in discreet semi-obscurity. I saw, nevertheless, that she hadn’t had time to rub off the powder which lay an inch thick on her nose. Eleonora Duse, the great Italian tragédienne, had come to Moscow to give a few performances. I saw her in “La Dame aux Camelias,” and was immensely pleased with her acting. In all my life I had never seen anything so perfectly beautiful. She seemed to have absolutely converted herself into “Violetta,” whom she represented, and put all her soul in her part; most of the women in the audience were in tears. I was also in rapture with Marcella Sembrich, who sang at the Imperial Opera; her beautiful well-trained voice was something marvellous. I had also the opportunity of seeing the famous ballet-dancer, Virginia Zucchi, in “Esmeralda,” and Nikita, a rising young star, recently out of her teens, with whom Europe and America had been enraptured, and who looked like a delicate piece of Dresden china, and was entirely bewitching with her long locks hanging loosely over her shoulders. I enjoyed her singing very much, her voice went straight to the heart of her listeners, and her high notes were as clear as a bird’s. Nikita had a brilliant future before her. She was born in America, and sang in public for the first time at the age of six.
There was a gala performance at the Opera-House in honour of Nasr-ed-Ding, Shah of Persia, who appeared in his box wearing his tall Astrakhan cap and literally ablaze with diamonds. He seemed to have a special appetite for the ladies of the ballet and stared at them fixedly through his opera-glasses, all the time regretting, doubtless, that he could not carry them away to his harem. I was perfectly dazzled by the aspect of the audience in the brilliantly lighted theatre, which presented a most magnificent sight; the gentlemen in brilliant uniforms and the ladies in beautiful toilets and superb jewels, showed to their greatest advantage.
The Countess Keller, one of the lady patronesses of Moscow, was getting up a charity affair in the hall of the Assembly, an amateur play and “Tableaux.” She called upon me to beg me to take part in these Tableaux, and would hear of no refusal. I asked for a day’s consideration, for Sergy rather disapproved of the whole thing, but the Countess sent me a note that same evening, imploring me to say “Yes” directly, and Sergy, who was always willing to accede to any wish I expressed, and had not the heart to refuse me anything, gave in.
Our Tableau named “Serenade” in the programme, represented a scene of Venetian life in the sixteenth century. A large gondola was to be moored to the side of a lagoon, with a lady dressed as the wife of a Doge of Venice in it, surrounded by the ladies of her suite, two gondoliers, and a street dancing girl, standing in the middle of the gondola. I was to appear as the dancing girl, in a lovely costume, the exact copy of a well known picture. According to the looking-glass it suited me very well, with my hair hanging down, adorned with a gold net intermingled with pearls. I had been given the choice between a harp, a lyre and a mandoline. The latter I selected for my instrument. We had two rehearsals and everything went smoothly, except that I made several bitter enemies. The next Tableau was to represent the exit of a troup of masqueraders with their masks off, from a fancy-dress ball. One of my would-be friends took part in that Tableau, she had a tongue as sharp as a sword, and if she could say a bitter thing to wound someone, she never lost the opportunity of doing it. She told me a good many things concerning our Tableau, most of which were more or less disagreeable. Notwithstanding her “darling Vava” here, and “darling Vava” there, she tried to sting me and to spoil my pleasure as thoroughly as possible, in hinting that our gondola was in great danger of being sunk, having such a lot of occupants. As my temper was not of the sweetest that day, I warmed up and paid her back in her own coin by suggesting, that the staircase on which she was to stand during the Tableau representing the exit from a masked ball, was in far greater danger of giving way, because our Tableau had only ten performers in it whereas a crowd of forty figures appeared in hers. This was a stab which didn’t please the young lady; she drew in her claws and bit her lips in vexation that she had been using her weapons in a wrong direction, and that her aim to sting me was not attained. I was mistress of the situation and amply avenged.
Our Tableau was a great success. The curtain fell amid loud applause and went up several times to the sound of an orchestra playing Moschkowsky’s “Mandolinata.” It was with a sigh of relief that I found myself home. I removed the grease paint off my face and got out of my costume as quickly as I could.