was assigned to me, to my great delight, for any one with a sense of humor must revel in such a "fat" part. Then followed Lord Allcash in "Fra Diavolo" and our performances of "The Mastersingers" attracted renewed attention.

In the performances of "Lohengrin" that year at Covent Garden we began first to sing Wagner in German. Jean and Edouard de Reszke, both Poles, accustomed to Italian or French, Madame Albani, a French Canadian, as Elsa, and myself, an American, as Telramund, all singing in German; Fräulein Meisslinger, the only German of the cast, sang Ortrud, and extremely well she did it.

It was at the dress rehearsal for our first performance of "Lohengrin " that I suggested to Jean de Reszke that our contest should look more like a fight, and less of a foregone conclusion for the divinely endowed Knight of the Swan. He readily fell in with my wishes and from that time on there was given - what was in my experience lacking in all previous performances - a significant reason for the overthrow of the malevolent Telramund. This is a character which, by the way, I invariably associate with Macbeth, for he is as certainly under the domination of a strong and evil-minded woman as ever Macbeth was, and each is ready to commit any deed at the behest of the more powerful will.

That season Jean de Reszke assumed for the first time the part, perhaps his greatest, of Tristan, with his brother Edouard as the King; and with Madame Albani as Isolde. I once more assumed, as I was to do many times thereafter, my beloved part of the faithful, dog-like Kurwenal.

In the preparation of this opera I suggested again that some reasonable pretext should be afforded for Kurwenal's death. The management of the fight at the castle gate was turned over to me, and I instructed two of the supernumeraries to work their way around behind me, and as I was engaged in defending my master, to stab me in the back with their spears. This was done and, as Quince says, I " died most gallant for love." In doing so I almost caused the death of one of my opponents in the chorus. Though the action was clearly understood, in the excitement of a rehearsal he unexpectedly lowered the shield upon which my heavy blow aimed at his head was to have fallen, and he felt the full power of my strong right arm as my weighty sword, no stage makeshift on this occasion, cut deep into his cheek bone. There was almost a riot among the chorus and supers, but it was soon realized - and no one realized any more quickly than the injured man himself that he alone was to blame for the accident. I saw that his wound received careful attention and the distribution of a little pourboire at the luncheon interval helped to calm the indignant multitude; but though the fight always went very well in subsequent performances, I managed to die thereafter without bringing any one else down with me.

In the revival of "Les Huguenots" that season Madame Melba sang the part of Marguerite de Valois, and Madame Albani was truly superb as Valentina. She sang it as well as any one in Europe, and in such a part was more at home than as Isolde which she had but recently studied. Among the men there was a shifting of parts. My former rôle of de Nevers was sung by Ancona, while I assumed the part of San Bris, and Pol Plançon took the grateful part of Marcello.

This great basso, though he had sung in London for many seasons and continued to be a favorite both there and in America, never accomplished anything in the English language beyond the few words that sufficed to procure the necessities of life.

Looking over my programs, it is amusing to recall the State Concert that year at Buckingham Palace, when Madame Eames, an American, sang in French; I sang in Italian; Madame Mantelli, an Italian, sang in French; Alvarez, a Spaniard, sang a German love song in French; while at the request of the Prince of Wales, Plançon, Frenchman, sang "The Lost Chord" in English.

This was written down for him so that he could sing the equivalent syllables, which meant less than nothing, from an amazing page of script that would have puzzled the most accomplished comparative philologist. The Prince, who had seen the words as transcribed, went into convulsions of laughter behind his program, while the whole Court wondered what was provoking such royal mirth. It was this:

Si-ted ouan dei at dhi or-ganne
Ai ouaz oui-ri an dil ah tiz
Ahnd mai fin-gerz ouann-der daid-li
O-vaire dhi no-izi kiz, etc., etc.,

CHAPTER XXII

MY AIN COUNTRIE

God sent His singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth.
- Longfellow.

In the autumn of 1896 with a light heart I gave my farewell London concert for that season at St. James's Hall and before long found myself on my way to my native land, filled with artistic hope and an enthusiasm which had never forsaken me. It was the tenth time that I had crossed the Atlantic Ocean, frequently in storms or disagreeable weather, but upon this occasion everything was bright, and the sea almost as calm as a millpond from shore to shore. As I stood in the prow of the vessel one day alone, trying to peer beyond the rounded edge of the world, my imagination outran the swiftly moving ship and I seemed to see the vast expanse of North America and to realize in some measure for the first time the responsibility before me.

I was then the only American man singing upon the stage of either continent in grand opera. I felt that my position was unique and must be upheld as worthily as lay in my power. And I earnestly hoped that I might be enabled to maintain my standing with dignity, whatever I did, and to be the influence for good in American musical art that my mother would have wished had she been alive to greet me.

I owe it, I am sure, to Jean de Reszke, who always took an interest in my work and for whom I felt the warmest friendship, that Maurice Grau, who for some time had been directing the fortunes of the Covent Garden Opera after the death of Sir Augustus Harris, invited me to go to America to become a member of the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York, where all my confrères had for at least two years before been delighting the public. At last I had sufficiently made myself one of them, artistically speaking, to be considered able to hold my own on the operatic boards of fastidious New York.

In making my contract with Mr. Grau, I naturally tried to do as well for myself as possible, for I may say that by this time my earning capacity had advanced to considerably more than the small sum I had received in my uncle's office at home. Grau was a close calculator, but an agreement once made he stuck to it whatever it was, but would do no more than he had undertaken to do in writing. It was said of him that though he would give a man a fine cigar, he would not offer him a match to light it with unless such generosity had been nominated in the bond. But, as I was holding out for an emolument greater than that which he had suggested, I gained my point in a way that I had not looked for. Though Grau was willing that I should take as many concerts as I could fit in between the operas which he guaranteed me, he was inclined to be rather close as to my salary until I urged the extent and variety of my repertory and my willingness to appear frequently, and often unexpectedly. He suddenly turned to me and said: "Very well, let it be as you say. I will give you what you ask, for in all my experience as a manager I have never had an artist so reliable as yourself. I wish you every good fortune in your native country and I predict success for you.