r. Conried was obdurate, however; he said I must be
presented in a spectacular production, and so I had to give in.

I shall always remember my first rehearsal in the dimly-lighted ladies'
parlor. The suave and elegant Pol Plancon (the Friar) and my friend,
Josephine Jacoby, greeted me, and then Rousseliere, of Monte Carlo days,
who was making his debut as well, as my "Romeo." We were both
frightfully nervous and longed for the day to be over.

November 26, 1906, however, did finally arrive. I drove to the opera and
slipped into my gown--not the usual conventional robe of stiff white
satin, but a heavenly concoction that my clever wizard of a dressmaker
had faithfully and beautifully modeled after a Botticelli painting. A
misty veiling of rose delicately traced with silken flowers and
sprinkled with tiny diamonds sheathed my figure of fortunate slenderness
(thanks be!), while a jeweled fillet of gold rested on my own dark hair,
and a tiny curling feather waved alertly on my forehead. And so "La
Bella Simonetta" came to life, along the Capulet halls, transported for
the nonce to the twentieth century and Broadway. A rain of welcoming
applause greeted me and told me that so far all was well!

I cannot remember distinctly all that occurred that auspicious evening.
There seemed to be cart-loads of flowers; and again and again I smiled
out from the great yellow curtains. Mr. Conried congratulated me, and
the great evening was over!

I was at home.

Now I was to drag out some uninspiring weeks in such operas as "La
Damnation de Faust," "Faust," and "Juliette," all of no particular
interest to me.

The real bright spot in the season was the first production of "Madame
Butterfly" on the 11th of February, 1907. This charming opera was to
endear me later to all my audiences and firmly establish me in the favor
of the whole country. However, at the time no such encouraging and
pleasing vision was vouchsafed me.

[Illustration: "ADORABLE, UNFORGETTABLE BLOSSOM OF JAPAN"]

I slaved with ardor and enthusiasm, studying Oriental characteristics
and gestures with a clever little Japanese actress, Fu-ji-Ko, and
incorporating as much as was possible of her counsels in my portrayal
of the hapless "Cio-cio-San." _Maestros_ came and went, as did Mr.
Ricordi, the publisher, and Mr. Puccini. Everybody had a hand in the
pie, till I was nearly out of my mind with all the many advisers. But I
left nothing undone (that I could imagine!) t