by. And not only Sembrich's part and shoes had to be considered, but Sembrich's costume, for Nordica had brought nothing of the sort with her, never expecting, of course, to be called upon in this way.

Many were the consultations in the old Shoreham Hotel between Sembrich downstairs and Nordica several floors up. Messengers were kept going between the manager and the prima donnas, both of them popular, but knowing the risk of disappointing a public. To relearn an old part is not a light task, but it is no less difficult to change an operatic bill and still conform to the singers' contracts. Those who sang a night or two before may flatly decline to appear again until the time and in the rôle set down in the understanding. There is the orchestra; there is the conductor; there is the chorus; everybody but the one person needed, who will not budge a hair's breadth to oblige the distraught impresario.

Nordica was willing, but was she able? If willing and able, could she get into Sembrich's clothes? Their maids were called in. Nordica's accompanist began teaching her the music afresh, playing and humming over page after page, because it would never do to rehearse all day in full voice the piece to be done that night. Doctor Stengel, Madame Sembrich's husband, haunted Nordica's door, anxiously inquiring how the part was progressing.

Twelve o'clock came, two o'clock came, messengers came and went to and fro, hurrying and scurrying hither and thither with notes to this or that member of the company, who might be able to oblige in the embarrassing moment. But no! Unless the opera were changed Nordica would have to sing; and Nordica had not said yes. All the time, however, she was doing her best, fitting herself into her old part while Sembrich's clothes were being fitted on her as she stood by the piano. As Nordica, becoming more familiar with her rôle, began to act it, moving to and fro in the room, she accidentally bumped into the tall workbasket as it stood by the open window, knocked it over and out on the balcony, sending its contents through the latticework to be blown by the stiff breeze all over the street several stories below.

Returning from the theatre after seeing whether I should be required in case of a change of opera, I found in front of the hotel silk and velvet, linings and brocades, skeins of varied colors and spools of thread, scissors and thimbles, scattered over the sidewalk in process of collection by maids, bell boys, Doctor Stengel, street urchins and newsboys, negro porters and cabmen, all called into the chase as the wind merrily blew the treasures up and down. At last all were corralled, the costumes fitted, and Nordica assured Mr. Grau that she knew the part. It was sung accordingly and the day was saved; and if the day was saved the night was a triumph for one of the most beautiful and obliging prima donnas that America ever produced.

Madame Lilli Lehmann joined the company that season, and then New York heard after a lapse of several years one of the greatest artists that ever adorned the European stage. I had seen her many times in Germany, admiring her immensely from the audience; now I had the pleasure of appearing with her when she sang Fricka, Sieglinde, and the Brünnhildes, Ortrud, and Isolde. Artists have their individual ways. Accustomed as they are to their work, some are never at ease unless being prompted from the little round box down in front of the footlights; and, though the public should not hear his

voice, it is comforting to a person like me to find such an ever present help in time of trouble. But Lilli Lehmann would have none of it. I have seen her walk to the prompter's box and request that she be not prompted in anything at any time, and with a stern look on her handsome face declare that she knew her part and that any interference only embarrassed rather than helped her in rendering it.

This superb woman lived with her sister Marie in an apartment in the Metropolitan Opera House building, where several of us also had lodgings, including the barytone Maurel. Calling one afternoon upon Lilli Lehmann I found her domestically darning the barytone's stockings and greatly enjoying the home-like service. He was not arrayed for conquest as was his wont, and she was not expecting visitors. The apron that adorned her queenly form and the gray hair that crowned her regal head came to me as something of a shock, in spite of my knowledge that artists beneath their disguises are nothing but mortals.

That winter Maurel's apartment was set on fire. My rooms were a few floors above his and up the stairway and elevator shaft were wafted great clouds of pungent smoke from the transom of his sitting-room. He had gone out while his servant was preparing a posset to fortify his master against the evening performance. The concoction was on the hob to simmer. The man forgot the mixture when he left the room, and returned to find the door broken in by the fire department. The mess had boiled over, set the rug on fire, climbed the mantelpiece, and generally created a tempest in a teapot, one result being that Maurel was sued for damages by the lady from whom he had rented the room while she was off on a concert tour. One may well say, "Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth."

Among my programs I find one bearing the following in regard to the performance of "The Rheingold" of January 27, 1899: "Special notice. - Miss Marie Brema is suffering from a slight cold and begs the kind indulgence of the public." Miss Brema's cold became so bad that she could not sing and Madame Lilli Lehmann took the part of Fricka to study at four o'clock in the afternoon and sang it that night for the first time. She told me this herself. On this occasion the great artist needed not only the prompter, but all the prompting she could get, and every help was given her to get her through the evening as comfortably as possible. One or another of the assistant conductors stood ready to give the word at the least sign of trouble, to whichever side of the stage she moved. Her sister Marie was rendering a similar service, and to her Madame Lehmann chiefly looked. The sister told me later that Lilli had sung in "The Ring" so often and in so many parts that she was already somewhat familiar with the rôle; but let me say that there is not one artist in a thousand, perhaps not another in the world, physically, nervously, mentally, and musically able to perform such a feat or, if able to perform it, willing to do so to help another artist and assist the management in its duty to the public.

Goldsmith says in "She Stoops to Conquer," " Women and music should never be dated," but though she has now passed the threescore years and ten allotted to mortals, there is certainly no artist in the history of the modern lyric stage who has performed so great a number of parts or performed them with such uniform distinction as Madame Lilli Lehmann.

CHAPTER XXX

THE UNFLYING DUTCHMAN

As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Coleridge.

I HAVE spoken of the square dealing of Maurice Grau in certain matters, though in others he was almost parsimonious. On our tour that year, Grau, desiring to save as much as possible in the transportation of scenery, communicated with the managers of the theatres we were to visit, asking what scenery of theirs could be used, to save us the expense of bringing our own.

If I mistake not, it was in Baltimore, when I was performing in "Lohengrin," that an incident occurred of which the German stage manager had a perfect right to complain. The curtain rose on the first act and everything went on musically to perfection. We, the participants, were facing the audience, with the chorus on the elevated parts of the stage behind us. At the approach of the Knight of the Swan the chorus moves aside as Telramund goes up stage and hurls defiance at Lohengrin when he is magically drawn in on his boat by the swan, along the river Scheldt near Antwerp. But, turning, what greeted my eyes, those of my associates and of the astonished audience, was the river Thames at Henley crowded with house boats for the famous regatta! This was the river scene asked for from the New York