Part 31 (2/2)
Of course in the larger ones French was spoken, and also German, but in the small places where ”notions” were sold, or writing materials, only Russian was understood. To facilitate the shopping of foreigners, little pictures of every conceivable thing for sale were hung outside the shops. All one had to do was to point to the reproduction of a spool, or a safety pin, or an egg, or a trunk, and produce a pocketbook.
One day my mother wanted some shoe b.u.t.tons and we wagered that she could not buy them unaided. I felt sure there would be no painting of a shoe b.u.t.ton on the shop wall. But she came back victoriously with the b.u.t.tons, quite proud of herself because she had thought of pointing to her own boots instead of wasting time hunting among the pictures.
It was the collection of Colonel Villiers that first awakened in me an interest in old silver, and the beginning I made in Russia that winter ended in my possessing a collection of value and beauty. Villiers was a member of the Duke of Buckingham's family and was a Queen's Messenger, a position of responsibility and trust. And I had several other friends at the British Emba.s.sy. Lord and Lady Dufferin I knew; and one of the secretaries, Mr. Alan, now Sir Alan Johnston, who married Miss Antoinette Pinchot, sister of Gifford Pinchot, I had first met in Vienna. The night that Villiers arrived in Petersburg (before I had met him) some of the English _attaches_ had been invited to dine with us; but the First Secretary arrived at the last moment to explain that the Queen's Messenger was expected with private letters and that they had to be received in person and handed in at Court promptly.
”It's the only way they have of sending really private letters, you see,” he explained. ”Alexandra probably wants to tell Dagmar about the children's last attacks of indigestion, so we have to stay at home to receive the letters!”
Well--the glad day did finally come when my mother and I turned our backs on Russia and its eternal twilight and repaired to Nice for a little amus.e.m.e.nt and recuperation after the Petersburg season. A number of our friends were there, and it was unusually gay. I was warmly welcomed and congratulated, for Petersburg had put the final _cachet_ upon my success. Although I might win other honours, I could win none that the world appraised more highly than those that had come to me that year. In a letter to my father, from Nice, my mother says:
The Grand Duke Nicholas has been here in our hotel a month, and his two sons and suite, doctor, _Aide-de-camp_. and servants. There is an inside balcony running two sides of the hotel which is lovely: but the whole is square with other rooms--this width carpeted--sofa--chairs--table--a gla.s.s roof. We all a.s.semble there after dinner, and sit around and talk, take _cafe_ and tea on little tables.... We sat every day after dinner close to the Grand Duke (the Czar's brother) and his suite; knew his doctor and finally the Duke and his sons. I was sitting on the balcony, because I could see everybody who came in or who went out, and I was looking down and saw the Grand Duke receive the despatch of the a.s.sa.s.sination--and the commotion and emotion was the most exciting thing I ever witnessed. The Grand Duke is a most amiable gentleman, sweet and good as a man can be; his son, sixteen, was the loveliest and most gentle and affectionate of sons. I looked at the Duke all the time. I was almost upset myself by the excitement. Despatches came every twenty minutes. I looked on--sat there _seven hours_. As the Russians outside heard of it they would come in--I saw two women cry--the Duke stayed in his room--I heard that he had fainted--he is in somewhat delicate health.... It seemed as if the others were looking around for their friends and for sympathy, as was natural. I had not talked much with the Doctor because I never felt equal to it in French--especially on ordinary subjects of conversation--but he looked up and saw me on the balcony and came directly to me. I took both his hands--the tears came into his eyes--and we _talked_--the words came to me, enough to show him we were his friends. I said America would sympathise with Russia. He seemed pleased and said, ”Yes; but Angleterre, no!” I did not have much to say to that. But I did him good. He told Louise and me the particulars. We both knew the very spot near the bridge where the Czar had fallen. Our sympathy was mostly with the man whose brother had been murdered and his friends. There was a long book downstairs in which people who came in wrote their names from time to time. I do not understand it exactly, but Louise says it contains the names of those who feel an allegiance. Many Russians came in the day of the a.s.sa.s.sination and wrote their names. Our Consul wrote his, and a beautiful sentence of sympathy. He wanted to lower our flag, but dared not, quite. Louise and I went down and wrote ours--and, while standing, the Duke's physician said to us that there had not been one English name signed. The hotel is all English, nearly. It was an interesting, eventful day. The Duke was pleased when Louise told him his people had been very kind to her in Russia at Petersburg.
They all left day before yesterday at 6 P.M.
The a.s.sa.s.sination of the Czar took place three weeks to the day from that Sunday when I had seen him. It all came back to me very clearly, of course--the troops, the crowding people, and the snow. No wonder they were watchful of him, poor man!
The bottom dropped out of the season at Nice and people began to flit away. The tragedy of the Czar's death spread a shadow over everything.
n.o.body felt much like merry-making or recreation, and, again, I was becoming restless--restless in a new way.
”Mother,” I said, ”let's go back to America. I have had enough of Nice and Petersburg and Paris and Vienna and London. I'm tired to death of foreign countries and foreign ways and foreign audiences and foreign honours. I want to go home!”
”Thank G.o.d!” said my mother.
CHAPTER x.x.xIII
THE LAST YEARS OF MY PROFESSIONAL CAREER
At Villefranche, on our way to Nice, I had been given a formal reception by the officers of the flags.h.i.+p _Trenton_, that was then lying in the harbour. Admiral Dahlgren was in command, and the reception was more of a tribute to the _prima donna_ than a personal tribute. It was arranged under the auspices of Lieutenant Emory and Lieutenant Clover; and I did not sing. Emory was a natural social leader and the whole affair was perfect in detail. A much more interesting reception, however, arranged by Lieutenant Emory, was the informal one given me by the same hosts not long after. Although informal, it was conducted on the same lines of elegance that marked every social function with which Emory was ever connected. As soon as we appeared on the gun deck, accompanied by Lieutenant-Commander Gridley, to be presented to Captain Ramsay, the orchestra greeted us with the familiar strains of _Hail, Columbia!_ At the end of the _dejeuner_ the whole crew contemplated us from afar as I conversed with our hosts, and, realising what might be expected of me, I sang, as soon as the orchestra had adjusted their instruments, the solo of Violetta from _Traviata_: _Ah force e lui che l'anima_. As an _encore_ I sang _Down on the Suwanee River_. The orchestra not being able to accompany me, I accompanied myself on a banjo that happened to be handy. I was told afterwards that ”the one sweet, familiar plantation melody was better to us than a dozen Italian cavatinas.” After the _Suwanee River_, I sang yet another negro melody, _The Yaller Gal Dressed in Blue_, which was received with much appreciative laughter.
On our way from Nice we went to Milan to visit the Exposition, which was an artistically interesting one, and at which we happened to see the father and mother of the present King of Italy. From Milan we went to Aix-les-Bains; and from there to Paris.
I returned to America without an engagement; but on October 5th the Kellogg Concert Company, under the management of Messrs. Pond and Bachert, gave the first concert of a series in Music Hall, Boston. I was supported by Brignoli, the ”silver-voiced tenor,” Signer Tagliapietra, and Miss Alta Pease, contralto. With us, also, were Timothie Adamowski, the Polish violinist; Liebling, the pianist, and the Weber Quartette. My reception in America, after nearly two years' absence abroad, was, really, almost an ovation. But I want to say that Boston has always been particularly gracious and cordial to me. By way of showing how appreciative was my reception, I cannot resist giving an extract from the _Boston Transcript_ of the following morning:
Her singing of her opening number, Filina's _Polonaise_ in _Mignon_, showed at once that she had brought back to us unimpaired both her voice and her exquisite art; that she is now, as formerly, the wonderfully finished singer with the absolutely beautiful and true soprano voice. Her stage experience during the past few years, singing taxing grand soprano parts, so different and more trying to the vocal physique than the light florid parts, the Aminas, Zerlinas, and Elviras, she began by singing, seems to have had no injurious effect upon the quality and trueness of her voice, which has ever been fine and delicate; just the sort of beautiful voice which one would fear to expose to much intense dramatic wear and tear. Its present perfect purity only proves how much may be dared by a singer who can trust to a thoroughly good method.
In the following May I sang with Max Strakosch's opera company in Providence to an exceptionally large audience. One of the daily newspapers of the city said, in reference to this occasion:
Miss Kellogg must take it as a compliment to herself personally, for the other artists were unknown here, and therefore it must have been her name that attracted so many. She has always been popular here, and has made many personal as well as professional friends.
She must have added many more of the latter last night, for she never appeared to better advantage. She was well supported by Signor Giannini as Faust [we gave _Faust_ and I was Marguerite] and Signor Mancini as Mephistopheles.
This same year, 1882, I went on a concert trip through the South. In New Orleans I had a peep into the wonderful p.a.w.nshops, large, s.p.a.cious, all filled with beautiful things. I had long been a collector of pewter and silver and old furniture and, on this trip, took advantage of some of my opportunities. For instance, I bought the bureau that had belonged to Barbara Frietchie, and a milk jug and some spoons that had belonged to Henry Clay. Also, I visited Libby Prison and various other prisons, a battle-field, and several cemeteries. One cemetery was half filled with the graves of boys of seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen years of age, showing that in the Civil War the South could not have kept it up much longer. The sight was pitiful!
In 1884 I went on a concert tour with Major Pond in the West, making of it so far as we could, as Pond said, something of a picnic. We crossed by the Northern Pacific, seeing, I remember, the ranch of the Duc de Morney, son of the Duc de Morney who was one of Louis Philippe's creations, and who had married the daughter of a wealthy ranchman, Baron von Hoffman. The house of his ancestor in the Champs elysees and the house next door that he built for his mistress were points of interest in Paris when I first went there. In Miles City, on the way to Helena, Montana, we visited some of the gambling dens, and were interested in learning that the wildest and worst one in the place was run by a Harvard graduate. The streets of the town were strangely deserted and this we did not understand until a woman said to me:
”Umph! they don't show themselves when respectable people come along!”
My memory of the trip and of the Yellowstone Park consists of a series of strangely beautiful and primitive pictures. We pa.s.sed through a prairie fire, when the atmosphere was so hot and dense that extra pressure of steam was put on our locomotive to rush our train through it. Never before had I seen Indian women carrying their papooses. I particularly recall one settlement of wigwams on a still, wonderful evening, the chiefs gorgeous in their blankets, when the fires were being lighted and the spirals of smoke were ascending straight up into the clear atmosphere. One day a couple of Indians ran after the train.
They looked very fine as they ran and finally succeeded in getting on to the rear platform, where they rode for some distance. At Deer Lodge I sang all of one evening to two fine specimens of Indian manhood. We went down the Columbia River in a boat, greatly enjoying the impressive scenery. One of my most vivid mental impressions was that of an Indian fisherman, standing high out over the rus.h.i.+ng waters, at least forty feet up, on a projection of some kind that had been built for the purpose of salmon fis.h.i.+ng, his graceful, vigorous bronze form clearly silhouetted against the background of rock and foliage and sky. On the banks of the river farther along we saw a circus troupe boiling their supper in a huge caldron and smoking the _kalama_ or peace pipe. I was so hungry I wanted to eat of the caldron's contents but, on second thoughts, refrained. And we stopped at Astoria where the canning of salmon was done, a town built out over the river on piles. The forest fires had caused some confusion and, for one while, we could hardly breathe because of the smoke. Indeed we travelled days and days through that smoke. The first cowboy I ever saw drove me from the station of Livingston through Yellowstone Park. In b.u.t.te City my company went down into the Clarke Copper Mine, but I did not care to join them in the undertaking. Our first sight of Puget Sound was very beautiful. And it was at Puget Sound that I first saw half-, or, rather, quarter-breeds. I remember Pond saying how quickly the half-breeds die of consumption.
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