ld order of
opera singer was often trained by such schooling. But Mary Garden had
opened my eyes to the new order of singing actors, and the old method
was no help to me. I longed for a real stage on which to try out my own
ideas, and find by experience whether they were right or wrong. I wanted
to gain that subtle quality, "authority," which is nearly as important
as voice itself, that routine which makes one forget the four long bones
of the body, and blends all its members into an instrument of
expression, homogeneous and harmonious.

In my researches into the life-stories of French singers, I heard much
of "the French provinces" as a training school, and turned my attention
to accumulating all the information on that subject that I could gather.
I heard tales of southern audiences who cheered their singers to the
echo, waited in a mob to tear the horses from their carriages after a
performance, pelted them with flowers and expressed their approval in
other picturesque fashions. The reverse side of these tales is of
directly opposite character, when benches are torn up and flung over the
gallery by the "gods," disappointed at not hearing a favourite singer,
and the head of the unlucky substitute is the target for their missiles
till he makes good with a high note loud enough to pierce the din of
their protestation. If a wretched singer clears his throat loud enough
to be heard, he will be greeted at each entrance by a chorus of
throat-clearing from the gallery. If his acting of a part strikes them
as being pretentious or over-solemn, groans and cries of
"Shakespear-r-r-e" reward his efforts. To crack on a high note is the
certain signal for a riot of yelling and jeers, but the unhappy singer
must stick it out at any cost, for if he leaves the stage, they wait for
him outside and set upon him bodily.

"If you've made the round of the Provinces," as Harry Weldon, who has
done so, once said to me, "you can sing in Hell!"

Of course, not all provincial audiences are so "temperamental" as the
southerners, but, as far as I could learn, paid performances and
protection seemed to exist everywhere in greater or less degree. The
repertoire was limited and old-fashioned--the standard French operas,
"Faust," "Mignon," "Carmen," "Hamlet," were performed, with "Traviata,"
"Trovatore," "Aida," "The Barber," some Meyerbeer, and many of the
lighter works, like "La Fille du Regiment." Among the more modern works
were "Werther" and