Part 15 (2/2)

This somewhat incoherent record as jotted down by my mother is sketchy but true in spirit. Never in my life, before or since, was I ever so nervous as at our opening performance in London of _Traviata_; no, not even had my American _debut_ tried me so sorely. Everything in the world went wrong that could go wrong on this occasion. I forgot my powder and the skirt of my dress, and Annie, my maid, had to rush home in a cab to get them. I tore my costume while making my first entrance and had to play the entire act with a streamer of silk dangling at my feet. I went on half made up, daubed, nervous, out of breath. _Never_ was I in such a state of nerves. But to my astonishment I made a very big success. There was a burst of applause after the first act and I could hardly believe my ears. It struck me as most extraordinary that what I considered so unsatisfactory should please the house. Several of the artists singing with me came to me during the evening much upset.

”Don't you know why everything on the stage has been going so badly to-night?” they said. ”We've a _jettatura_ in front!”

Madame Erminie Rudersdorf, the mother of Richard Mansfield, was in one of the boxes; and she was generally believed to have the Evil Eye. The Italian singers took it very seriously indeed and made horns all through the opera (that is, kept their fingers crossed) to ward off the satanic influence! Madame Rudersdorf was a tall, heavy, and swarthy Russian with ominously brilliant eyes; and one of the most commanding personalities I ever came in contact with. Although she had a dangerously bad temper, I never saw any evidences of it, nor of the _jettatura_ either. She came that night and congratulated me:--and it meant something from her.

My professional vocation has brought me up against almost every conceivable superst.i.tion, from Brignoli's stuffed deer's head to the more commonplace fetish against thirteen as a number. But I never saw any one more obsessed by an idea of this sort than Christine Nilsson.

She actually would not sing unless some one ”held her thumbs” first.

”Holding thumbs” is quite an ancient way of inviting good luck. One promises to ”hold one's thumbs” for a friend who is going through some ordeal, like a first night or an operation for appendicitis or a wedding or anything else desperate. Nilsson was the first person I ever knew who practised the charm the other way about. Before she would even go on the stage somebody, if only the stage carpenter, had to take hold of her two thumbs and press them. She was convinced that the mystic rite brought her good fortune. Many of the Italian artists that I knew believed in the efficacy of coral as a talisman and always kept a bit of it about them to rub ”for luck” just before they went on for their part of the performance. Somebody has told me that Emma Trentini had a queer individual superst.i.tion: when she was singing for Hammerstein she would never go on the stage until he had given her a quarter of a dollar!

Ridiculous as all these _idees fixes_ appear when writing them down, I am convinced that they do help some people. A sense of confidence is a great, an invaluable thing, and whatever can bring that about must necessarily, however foolish in itself, make for a measure of success. I caught Nilsson's ”holding thumbs” trick myself without ever believing in it, and often have done it to people since in a sort of general luck-wis.h.i.+ng, friendly spirit. The last time I was in Algiers I entered an antique shop that I always visit there and found the little woman who kept it in a somewhat indisposed and depressed state of mind:--so much so in fact that when I left I pinched her thumbs for luck. Not long afterwards I had the sweetest letter from her. ”I cannot thank you enough,” she wrote; ”you did something--whatever it was--that has brought me luck. I feel sure it is all through you!”

To return to my mother's diary after our first performance of _Traviata_ in London:

_Sunday._ Sat around. Afternoon drove through Hyde Park.

_Monday 6th._ Rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_. I went all over to find dress for Linda--failed.

_Tuesday._ Moved out to 48 Grove End Road--8 guineas a week.

Received check on County Bank from Mapleson for 100. Drew the money.

_Wednesday 8th._ Heard rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_. Remained in theatre till 5.25 P.M. fitting costume. Rode home in 22 minutes.

_Thursday 9th._ Saw Linda. Magnificent. Best thing. Called out three times. Bouquet--dress--yellow. _Moire_ blue satin ap.r.o.n--pink roses--gay!

_Friday--Good Friday._ Regulated house. In the evening _Don Giovanni_ was performed. Louise wore her Barber dress--pink satin one--made by Madame Vinfolet in New York--splendid! Poli told me that in the height of the Messiah Season he often made 75 guineas a week. He looked at his operatic engagement as secondary.

_Sunday 12._ Louise received basket of Easter eggs with a beautiful bluebird over them from Mrs. McHenry--Paris--beautiful--shall take it to America. Mrs. G---- dined with us at 5.

_13th._ Rehearsal of _G. Ladra_--3 hours. I took cold waiting in cold room. No letters.

_Tuesday 14._ Letters from Mary Gray, Nell and Leonard and Carter.

Pay day at Theatre but it didn't come. 3 hours rehearsal. At 4 P.M.

Louise, Mr. S---- and I called by appointment upon the d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset. Met her 3 nieces and the Belgian Minister--a splendid affair--tea was served at 5--went home--dined at 6--went to Covent Garden to hear Mario & Fionetti, the latter said to be the best type of Italian school. Louise thought little of it. Didn't know whether to think less of Davidson's judgment or more of her own.

_21st._ Green room rehearsal of _Gazza Ladra_. _Don Giovanni_ in the evening--fine house.

_22nd._ Rehea.r.s.ed one act of _Gazza Ladra_. Louise tired and nervous. Rained. Santley rode part way home with us.

_23rd._ _Rigoletto_--full house--Duke of Newcastle brought Lord Duppelin for introduction. Opera went off splendidly. Check for 100. Saw the G.o.dwins--Bryant's son-in-law.

_24th. Friday._ Drew the money. Reception at the Langs.

_25th._ Louise went to new Philharmonic to rehearsal. In the evening went to Queen's Theatre to see Toole in _Oliver Twist_--splendid. Mr. Santley went to Paris.

_26th. Sunday._ Dr. Quinn, Mr. Fechter and Arditi called. Louise and Miss Jarrett washed the dog! [This pet was one of the puppies of t.i.tjiens's tiny and beautiful Pomeranian and I had it for a long time and adored it.] The 3 Miss Edwards called. Letter from Sarah.

<script>