MELBA'S MEMOIRS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 19195, 8 December 1925, Page 6

MELBA'S MEMOIRS.

SAN FRANCISCO FRIENDS.

THRILLING incident. (Copyright). I CHAPTER XIV (Continued.) " Madame —look ! ' look ! We're in Paradise!" I rubbed mv eyes, and found my little maid, Caroline, standing by the window of my sleeping compartment, en routs for California. I followed her gaze, and for a moment, indeed, I felt inclined to believe that we were in Paradise. We had left behind the dreary snows and clouds of the eastern States, but here, like a dies in, lay orchards of peach blossom, glittering in the sunshine, and green fields and the full beauty of spring. That vision has always remained with me, and whenever 1 am depressed I close my eyes and call it up again. There is something so amazingly happy about Californians that all my friends there seemed to have perpetual smiles upon their faces. Memories of many parties crowd in on me, one which was given at the Bohemiam Club by Mr. Waiter Martin. with a peach tree buried in the floor and climbing over the table, and others which were given at the house of Mrs. \Y. /N. Crocker or Burlingaime, or when I was staying with Mr. Tobin and Mrs. Joseph Tobin at Saint Matteo, where we would go up after lunch to the verandah and watch the polo matches. Nor can I forget Mr. Bowie, who had been American Minister in Japan, and came back with all the skill of the Japanese in his fingertips, painting divine little sketches which he hung ail over the house. The houses of the Californians were amazing. You could see in California in those days, even as you can see now, a house that might have come straight out of an old English village; a palazzo that might have been lifted bodily from Florence ; a villa that made you think you were in the Riviera. After a time I became more or less used to these shocks, but most English people took a good time to realise that the house they were visiting was not actually a French house or an Italian palazzo, but was entirely American, W r hen Sir Johnston Forbes-Robert-son was touring in California, he went to have tea with a Mr. and Mrs. Ivohl, who were renowned for their hospitality, and as he entered the hall, with its clustering old oak beams, and its quaint lattice windows, he turned to his hostess and said: " What an exquisite old house you have! Do you mind telling me how old it is ? " " Exactly ten days," said Mrs. Kohl calmly. So that was that. One of the very nicest people in California was' Mr. John Mackay, the moving spirit and financial genius of the great system of commercial cables which were stretching from America to the other world. When I arrived he sent me a huge box of orchids, and inside the box a letter telling me of a characteristic gift, viz., that any cables that I wished to send I was to accept as a gift from him with his homage. It so happened that a few days afterwards at a party given by Mrs. de Young I sat down on a settee in the middle of the floor which had one of its casters missing. As I sat down the settee tipped slowly to one side and knocked down a big bronze bust which was just behind me, grazing my head and rendering me unconscious for several minutes. It was an unpleasant enough experience, and the news of it spread like wild-fire, not only in California, but to England and to France and Australia. It was rumored that I was killed, that I was seriously ill, and sometimes even that I was buried. And cables began to pour in on me asking for news. Naturally I had to reply to them, and it was then that I remembered Mr. Mackay's promise. I felt that I could not possibly avail myself of his offer in view of the extraordinary number of cables that I would have to send, and I wrote and told him so. He wired back saving, "If you don't 1 .shall never speak to you again." It was in California, too, that I first 'met that fine artist, Madame SchumannHeink. Madame Schumann-Heink had a face which was possibly more interesting for character than remarkable for beauty, and I am afraid that she did not at that time pay very much attention to her dress. And I always think that it is a very remarkable tribute to her art that in spite of these difficulties she has held audiences spellbound all over the world. At that time Madame Schumann-Heink had not yet made so great a reputation as she was later to have, and when I went to hear her in Paris afterwards I was interested to know what the French people would think about her. As soon as she came on to the. stage my heart sank, and I bit my lips with pain at the fear of what the French people would think of her, for it was an afternoon concert, and Madame Schumann-Heink was in evening dress—and presented an appearance which the Parisians evidently considered very odd. Knowing the hypercritical attitude of the Parisian public, I trembled for her. And then she began to sing, and before she had finished her recitatif in the Mozart Aria, the whole house rose to their feet and cheered her. They had forgotten everything but her artistry.

When I arrived at San Francisco it was to find a city in the grip of the fever of w-ar. The crisis which had long brooded between Spain and the United States was reaching its climax. Great headlines denouncing the Spanish policy flared across the tops of the newspapers, demonstrations were held in the streets, and the question on all men's lips was " When will war be declared

I coukl not have chosen any part of the States more inopportune for the commencement of an opera season than San Francisco, because, as you are probably aware, this city was tiie centre of Spanish settlement in days gone by, and even at that time many descendants of Castilian pioneers still lived in the city. However 'that was not what troubled me. The most agitating problem before rne was the fact that I was due to open in " The Barber of Seville," to sing the leading role in an intensely Spanish opera in a city where the very name of Spain was anathema. What should I do? Would there be a public demonstration against me? Would 1 iicr6 even vorsc* —be ct demonstration of Spaniards i» favour of their national ideals. 1 sat in my liotek, sent wires right and left to try" and alter the perV'finance, saw my manager, held corifert.ves with the leading artists—all to tio purpose. It was too late. Ihe Bar,ber" had been announced, and we must /go through with it. War was declared. In the ha.rbour of the Golden (late itself we heard something of the echo of the strife. All day .-.ml all night there was marching and ; counter-marching in the streets. It seemed incredible that I should ever sing the role of Ilosina without some untoward event. However, I shrugged my shoulders and noped lor the best. " After all," I said myself, "I am no t a politician or a

diplomat. lam an artist. SIC !S international, and this opera shall bo one in which no echo of tho war shall be heard." , . , ~ How little I anticipated what actually happened when I said these words! How little I looked forward to tho extraordinary scene in which 1 was about to play a leading part! . , -r, if vou are acquainted with The Barber of Seville," vou will, of course, icmember that, in tho second act occurs a scene in which Rosina, tho heroine, is jeing given a singing lesson. Rossini, ttie composer, with his well-known laziness, left this sceno a blank, leaving it to the discretion of the prima-donna to sing u la - ever song she chose during tho lesson, was rather a charming innovation in opera, and in the part I had often left the song I was going to sing till tho last jnmu e, choosing "Mattinata," " Still wo die Nacht," or even the Mad sceno from Lucia, as the mood suited me. I was still undecided as fo the song I should sing during the Lesson Scene whe/u i went on the stage. 1 was too preoccupied with tho mentality of the audi* ence. An uncanny silence hung over the vast auditorium, crammed though it was to capacity. All the artists were nervous I felt, I 'know not how—that instead of the usual electric chain of sympathy which I had been used to creating between the audience and myself, there was a cloud of sudden hostility, which needed only the most trivial incident to cause it to break. The first act passed by without any serious trouble, but every minute tho atmosphere was becoming more electric. As the curtain rose on the second actstood in the wings, in my gaudy Spanish dress, thinking furiously. Was there any means by which I could stop tho demonstration that was looming all too clean) ahead? , The cue for mv entrance was played, and with a heavy heart 1 went on to (he stage. Mechanically I sang the music that precedes the Lesson Scene, noticing, as I did so, that the audience was becoming more restive. Suddenly I remembered that I had not vet decided which song I should sing during the lesson. I bit my lip with vexation, and quickly ran through in my mind a selection of songs that might be suitable on this most disastrous of nights. Suddenly at the very moment that 1 had to walk to the piano, an idea flashed through my mind. Whether it was right or wrong, I know not, but I determined to put it into practice. Trembling with emotion I found my way to the piano, sat down, and instead of the aria which the audience were expecting, I played the opening bars of tho " Star Spangled Banner." The effect was miraculous. As my voice floated out 1 could hear the sound of tho vast gathering rising to their feet. By the end of the first few lines every man and woman in the audience was shouting their National Anthem, and my own voice was drowned and inaudible. But indeed, in any case, I should have been unable to go on. For once in a way my voice would not obey me. Excitements, like misfortunes, never seem to come singly, and tho theatre at San Francisco was, not long afterwards, to provide me with yet another thrill of the first order. I was singing separate acts of opera, and during the whole of the first part of the evening it, seemed to me that some sort of commotion was going on in the theatre which I could not understand. There was a strange knocking underneath the stage, and a certain restiveness among the audience which thoroughly got on my nerves. And then—it happened! I was just going on for the Mad Scene in " Lucia," when suddenly I saw a long flame burst through one "of the gallery windows as quickly as the thrust of a knife. There was a scream of "Fire! Fire," a scuffle, and for a moment it seemed that there might be a panic. I looked up at the boxes. The occupants, women, as well as men, were sitting there, quite calmly, and quietly without any attempt to move, I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to them, for their example had communicated itself to the audience. I stepped forward, moved by a sudden impulse. ' 1 Please —PLEASE, X cried, "go out quietly. There is no danger." I am afraid I was telling a lie, because there WAS danger —however, the lie was in a good cause. Then I noticed a figure hastily endeavouring to scramble up out of the orchestra on to the stage. It proved to be Bimboni, the chef d'orchestre. I was so furious with him that I said sharply: " Stay where you are, Bimboni." And as he* continued to climb up I leant forward arid gave him a resounding crack on the head. I shall never forget the indignant expression on his face as he sank back on to his seat. Well, that theatre was burnt to the ground. And the total damage to human life was exactly one sprained ankle and a lost coat. I always think that is a wonderful tribute to A'merican discipline. But I thought it an equally wonderful tribute to American energy to discover, on leaving the theatre, that the newspaper had already brought out a special edition about the fire, containing a great deal more information than we knew ourselves. And so —home to our hotels in all our war paint : some as Mephistopheles, some as Lucia, some as courtiers, some as soldiers. But all of us must have looked clowns. (To-morrow: Meeting the Kaiser).