She was entirely generous and charming to me when we were
living for some weeks together in the same New York hotel. One wonderful
Sunday evening I remember dining with her, and she sang and sang for me,
as if she could never grow tired. One thing she said she had never sung
so well before, and she laughed in her delicious rapturous way and sang
it all over again.
Her enthusiasm for acting, music, and her fellow-artists was
magnificent. Oh, what a lovable creature! Such soft dark eyes and
entreating ways, such a beautiful mixture of nobility and "calinerie"!
She would laugh and cry all in a moment like a child. That year in New
York she was raved about, but all the excitement and enthusiasm that she
created only seemed to please and amuse her. She was not in the least
spoiled by the fuss.
I once watched Patti sing from behind scenes at the Metropolitan Opera
House, New York. My impression from that point of view was that she was
actually a _bird_! She could not help singing! Her head, flattened on
top, her nose tilted downwards like a lovely little beak, her throat
swelling and swelling as it poured out that extraordinary volume of
sound, all made me think that she must have been a nightingale before
she was transmigrated into a human being! Near, I was amazed by the
loudness of her song.
Pages:
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480