Part 13 (1/2)

From a photograph by Stereoscopic Co.]

On the 9th we repeated _Faust_ and on the 11th we gave _Traviata_. This also, I feel sure, must have irritated Adelina. It is a curious little fact that, while the opera of _Traviata_ was not only allowed but also greatly liked in London, the play _La Dame aux Camilias_--which as we all know is practically the _Traviata libretto_--had been rigorously banned by the English censor! _Traviata_ brought me more curtain calls than ever. The British public was really growing to like me!

_Martha_ followed on the 15th. This was another _role_ in which I had to challenge comparison with Nilsson, who was fond of it, although I never liked her cla.s.sic style in the part. It was given in Italian; but I sang _The Last Rose of Summer_ in English, like a ballad, and the people loved it. I wore a blue satin gown as Martha which, alas! I lost in the theatre fire not long after.

Then came _Linda di Chamounix_, the second _role_ that I had ever sung.

I was glad to sing it again, and in England, and the newspapers spoke of it as ”a great and crowning success” for me. As soon as we had given this opera, Gye, the _impresario_ at Covent Garden, decided it was time to show off Patti in that _role_. So he promptly--hastily, even--revived Linda for her. I have always felt, however, that Linda was tacitly given to me by the public. Arditi, our conductor at Her Majesty's, wrote a waltz for me to sing at the close of the opera, _The Kellogg Waltz_, and I wore a charming new costume in the part, a simple little yellow gown, with a blue moire silk ap.r.o.n and tiny pale pink roses. The combination of pink and yellow was always a favourite one with me. I wore it in my early appearance as Violetta and, later, also in _Traviata_, I wore a variant of the same colour scheme that was called by my friends in London my ”rainbow frock.” It was composed of a _grosgrain_ silk petticoat of the hue known as apricot, trimmed with mauve and pale turquoise shades; the overskirt was caught back at either side with a turquoise bow and the train was of plain turquoise. I took a serious interest in my costumes in those days--and, indeed, in all days! This latter gown was one of Worth's creations and met with much admiration.

More than once have I received letters asking where it was made.

The English public was most cordial and kindly toward me and unfailingly appreciative of my work. But I believe from the bottom of my heart that, inherently and permanently, the English are an unmusical people. They do not like fire, nor pa.s.sion, nor great moments in either life nor art.

Mozart's music, that runs peacefully and simply along, is precisely what suits them best. They adore it. They likewise adore Rossini and Handel.

They think that the cras.h.i.+ng emotional climaxes of the more advanced composers are extravagant; and, both by instinct and principle, they dislike the immoderate and the extreme in all things. They are in fact a simple and primitive people, temperamentally, actually, and artistically. I remember that the first year I was in London all the women were singing:

My mother bids me bind my hair And lace my bodice blue!

It wandered along so sweetly and mildly, not to say insipidly, that of course it was popular with Victorian England.

Finally, came _Don Giovanni_ on December 3d. I played Zerlina as I had done in America. Later I came to prefer Donna Anna. But in London t.i.tjiens did Donna Anna. Santley was the Almaviva and Mme. Sinico was the Donna Elvira. The following spring when we gave our ”all star cast”

Nilsson was the Elvira. I had no Zerlina costume with me and the decision to put on the opera was made in a hurry, so I got out my old Rosina dress and wore it and it answered the purpose every bit as well as if I had had a new one.

The opera went splendidly, so splendidly that, two days later, on the 5th, we gave it again at a matinee, or, as it was the fas.h.i.+on to say then, a ”morning performance.” The success was repeated. I caught a most terrible cold, however, and returned in a bad temper to Miss Edward's Hotel to nurse myself for a few days and get in condition for the next performance. But there was destined to be no next performance at the old Drury Lane.

The following evening at about half-past ten, my mother, Colonel Stebbins, and I were talking in our sitting-room with the window-shades up. Suddenly I saw a red glow over the roofs of the houses and pointed it out.

”It's a fire!” I exclaimed.

”And it's in the direction of the theatre!” said Colonel Stebbins.

”Oh, I hope that Her Majesty's is in no danger!” cried my mother.

We did not think at first that it could be the theatre itself, but Colonel Stebbins sent his valet off in a hurry to make enquiries. While he was gone a messenger arrived in great haste from the d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset asking for a.s.surances of my safety. Then came other messages from friends all over London and soon the man servant returned to confirm the reports that were reaching us. Her Majesty's had caught fire from the carpenter's shop underneath the stage and, before morning, had burned to the ground.

Arditi had been holding an orchestra rehearsal there at the time and the last piece of music ever played in the old theatre was _The Kellogg Waltz_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: =Mr. McHenry=

From a photograph by Brady]

CHAPTER XIV

ACROSS THE CHANNEL

t.i.tjiens had smelled smoke and she had been told that it was nothing but shavings that were being burned. Luckily, n.o.body was hurt and, although some of our costumes were lost, we artists did not suffer so very much after all. But of course our season was summarily put an end to and we all scattered for work and play until the spring season when Mapleson would want us back.

My mother and I went across to Paris without delay. I had wanted to see ”the Continent” since I was a child and I must say that, in my heart of hearts, I almost welcomed the fire that set me free to go sightseeing and adventuring after the slavery of dressing-rooms and rehearsals.

Crossing the Channel I was the heroine of the boat because, while I was just a little seasick, I was not enough so to give in to it. I can remember forcing myself to sit up and walk about and even talk with a grim and savage feeling that I would die rather than admit myself beaten by a silly and disgusting _malaise_ like that; and after crossing the ocean with impunity too. Everyone else on board was abjectly ill and I expect it was partly pride that kept me well.

In Paris we went first to the Louvre Hotel where we were nearly frozen to death. As soon as we could, we moved into rooms where we might thaw out and become almost warm, although we never found the temperature really comfortable the whole time we lived in French houses. We saw any number of plays, visited cathedrals and picture galleries, and bought clothes. In fact we did all the regulation things, for we were determined to make the most of every minute of our holiday. Rather oddly, one of the entertainments I remember most distinctly was a production of _Gulliver's Travels_ at the Theatre Chatelet. It was the dullest play in the world; but the scenery and effects were splendid.

I was not particularly enthusiastic over the French theatres. Indeed, I found them very limited and disappointing. I had gone to France expecting every theatrical performance in Paris to be a revelation.