To every opera-goer of the past ten years the name of Nordica has become almost as familiar as that of Patti was during the last generation. Nordica, or rather, Giglia Nordica, was the name assumed by Lillian Norton when she made her debut on the operatic stage. She was born in Farmington, Me., and at the age of fifteen, giving great promise as a singer, she entered the New England Conservatory in Boston, Mass., where she studied voice under John O’Neil. Three years later she graduated from the Conservatory with honors. She was remarkable for her beauty and amiability as much as for her voice, which was a soprano of the purest kind. During her years of study at the Conservatory she gained much experience by singing in church and in concerts, and for a time she accompanied Samuel R. Kelley’s Tableaux d’Art Company, receiving for her services as vocalist the modest compensation of five dollars an evening.

On leaving the Conservatory, she was invited to sing in concerts in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cleveland, St. Louis, and New York, where she took leading parts in the oratorios of “Elijah,” “Creation,” “Messiah,” etc. In 1873 she was engaged for a concert tour in England, Scotland, Ireland, Belgium, Holland, and France, during which her repertoire consisted of classical music only. During this tour she sang at the Crystal Palace, near London, and at the Trocadero in Paris. She then went to Milan, where she studied opera under Signor Sangiovanni, and made her operatic debut at Brescia, in “Traviata.”

In October, 1880, she was engaged at Genoa for fifteen performances of “Faust,” in which she took the part of Marguerite. She next sang at Novara, where she took the part of Alice in “Roberto,” and was afterwards engaged for thirty-five performances at Aquila in “Faust,” “Rigoletto,” and “Lucia.”

Her next engagement was in St. Petersburg, where she sang in “L’Africaine,” taking the role of Inez, in “The Marriage of Figaro” as Cherubino, in “Mignon” as Filina, in “Ugonotti” as Queen Marguerite, in “Don Giovanni” as Zerlina, and in “Il Propheto” as Berta, besides other operas. Thus she acquired in a comparatively short time, and by dint of extremely hard work, quite an extensive repertoire.

In 1882 she endured the crucial test of the Grand Opera House in Paris, where, in spite of the “Claque,” which is so frequently organized to kill off new singers, she made a grand success, and an engagement for three years ensued. Some years later, however, in spite of the renown which she had gained, fickle Paris grew cold, and critics were laconic. At this time Nordica did not need the approval of Paris, for she was well established among the great singers of the period, and it is recognized that, while a success in Paris is considered an important conquest, a failure counts for little. The firm establishment of the “Claque,” which is so well described by Mr. Sutherland Edwards, and the proverbial caprice of Parisian audiences, are sufficient to take the edge off of defeat. At the termination of her engagement in Paris, in 1883, Nordica married Mr. Frederick A. Gower, who shortly afterwards was supposed to have lost his life while attempting to cross the English Channel in a balloon. This matter remained a mystery for many years, for, while there was no doubt that he started on the perilous journey, nothing was ever after seen or heard of him or of the balloon. The question of his death, therefore, remained in doubt, and when, after a lapse of more than a dozen years, it was announced that Madame Nordica was about to enter the bonds of matrimony a second time, she suffered much annoyance from the rumors which were spread about to the effect that Mr. Gower was in various parts of the world. These rumors never proved to have any foundation, and, except for the annoyance, must have been somewhat flattering as evidence of the interest taken in the prima donna by the public.

In 1887 Nordica sang in Berlin, and made a complete capture of the Berlinese, a most unusual achievement for an American prima donna. She also appeared in London at Drury Lane, and by the sweetness and freshness of her voice, and by the alternating charm and intensity of her style as an actress, she won a firm and lasting hold on the British public. She now enjoyed the most marked social attentions, and sang at a state concert at Buckingham Palace before an audience composed of princes, princesses, dukes, Indian royalties, etc. The Princess of Wales came forward and thanked her, the prince added his word, and her triumph was complete. The climax was reached, however, when she was commanded by the queen to sing in Westminster Abbey. She sang “Let the bright Seraphim,” which selection has for years been the standard for state occasions. Indeed, it may be said that when a prima donna has been commanded to sing “Let the bright Seraphim,” in Westminster Abbey, she has achieved the highest honor possible in England. Madame Albani has exceeded this in having had the honor of lunching with the queen, but this latter was more a tribute to her worth as a woman than as an artist.

One of Nordica’s greatest assumptions has been that of the role of Elsa in “Lohengrin.” She has the feeling, the artistic understanding, which, combined with beautiful vocal gifts, brings out the most delicate shading of the part. It is doubtful whether any greater representations of “Lohengrin” have been given than when Nordica sang Elsa, and Jean de Reszke the title role.

Her success in such parts led her to devote her attention more particularly to Wagnerian roles, and in 1894 she sang with great success at Bayreuth.

Nordica has for several seasons visited the United States as a member of the Abbey and Grau Opera Company, which contained such singers as Emma Eames, Melba, Calve, Scalchi, the De Reszkes, Plancon, and Lassalle. In 1897, when Abbey and Grau failed, Madame Nordica was a creditor to the extent of $5,000. When the affairs of the company were arranged, an agreement was reached with Madame Nordica, by which she was to receive $1,000 a night. To her surprise, she afterwards discovered that Melba was to receive $1,200, Calve $1,400, Jean de Reszke $1,200, with an additional percentage of the receipts. To add to her humiliation, the part of Brunhilde was given to Madame Melba, whose health, by the way, collapsed suddenly after her first performance of that part, and necessitated a speedy departure for Paris. Nordica left the company, and in doing so had the moral support of the public, for, while there were many complaints about the excessive salaries demanded by opera singers, there seemed to be no reason why Madame Nordica should not insist upon her share. Statements were also made to the effect that Jean de Reszke would never again sing with Nordica.

The years 1896 and 1897 were years of much financial depression in the United States, a fact which does not seem to have been fully appreciated by opera singers, for the collapse of the season seems to have given rise to considerable bitterness of feeling.

Madame Nordica took unto herself Madame Scalchi, the contralto, and Barron Berthald, a young tenor, who in a night achieved fame, and toured the country giving concerts, but with little success. Whatever truth there may have been in the reported coolness between Madame Nordica and Jean de Reszke, either diplomacy or the exigencies of the opera singer’s hard lot brought about an ostensible reconciliation; for in London, during the opera season of 1898, Jean de Reszke sang Tristan with Madame Nordica as Isolde, when a critic wrote, “We have so often been told that this music cannot be sung, and we have so often heard it shouted and declaimed by Tristans who could not sing, and by Isoldes without a voice, that it was a double joy, not only to hear it sung, but to hear it superbly sung, with all the confidence and apparent ease one is accustomed to in a Schubert song, or a Massenet romance.”

Madame Nordica is now in her prime. What new honors she may win we cannot foresee, but she now stands high in the front rank of the great singers of the day. In 1896 she married Mr. Zoltan Doehme. The engagement, which had been once broken off, came to a sudden climax while Nordica was in Indianapolis. Mr. Doehme suddenly appeared, having travelled from Germany, and in a few hours they were married without any display or previous announcement.

Madame Nordica wins many friends by frank, engaging cordiality of manner, while her impulsive nature and enthusiasm help her over many difficulties. One may imagine the consternation caused in the Boston Symphony Orchestra by her startling declaration, at a rehearsal, that they were like a Kalamazoo band. Perhaps the sore is still open, but her winning manners will close it the next time that she comes among them.

One of the most brilliant singers among the number of Americans who have, during the latter half of this century, won distinction on the operatic stage, is Emma Nevada. She is the daughter of a physician named William Wallace Wixom, of Nevada City, Cal.

As a child she was so musical that she sang in public when only three years old. Her mother died when she was quite young, and she received her education at a seminary in Oakland, California. She was now consumed by a desire to go to Europe and make a study of voice, and she became one of a party of girls under the care of a Doctor Eberl, who was to escort them and keep them under his protection in Berlin. When the vessel anchored in the Elbe, the passengers were transferred to a smaller steamer to be landed. Dr. Eberl went on board the little steamer with the rest, walked into the cabin and died. This was a terrible calamity for the party under his care, but Emma Wixom succeeded in finding her way to Berlin, where she sought advice with regard to her voice, and was recommended to go to Marchesi at Vienna.

It is said that on reaching Vienna she found her funds exhausted, but she sought Madame Marchesi and told her her circumstances. Marchesi was so much captivated by her voice and manners that she offered her a home and took care of her until her debut.

Through Marchesi’s influence an engagement was secured for her in London, where she made her debut in “Sonnambula” in 1880. On making her appearance in public, Miss Wixom followed the custom of assuming the name of her native place, and so became Emma Nevada. Concerning her debut a critic of the time wrote: “Mapleson has brought a new prima donna, Mlle. Nevada, who is gifted with a very light voice, which is, however, extremely flexible, and is used very effectively in the upper registers. The great merits of her voice lie in her staccato effects, chromatic runs, which she gives with great purity, and notes in altissimo. The defects are excessive lightness of tone, lack of good lower notes, and a rather imperfect trill. She won many friends by her refined manners and culture, and if not a great singer she is certainly an agreeable one.”

Another admirer tells us about a performance of “Lucia.” In the roulade duet between the flute and the voice, after the competition was ended and her full, firm shake, as effortless as the simplest strain, was about half over, she ran off the stage, the shake continuing just as perfect all the way, and as she disappeared left a final note away up among the clouds. But with all this brilliant execution she delighted as much by her sustained notes, which were of beautiful, flutelike quality. She also won the affection and respect of all her associates, by her kindly ways.

A staccato polka was written for Mlle. Nevada, with a view to exhibiting her voice, and her rendering of it was considered a marvellous exhibition of vocal technique.

Although her voice was criticised as being too light for grand opera, Mlle. Nevada was engaged at once to sing in Italy, after which she sang in 1883 at the Opera Comique in Paris, and has had an exceptionally successful career, both in Europe and America, where, in 1885, she was warmly welcomed. In April, 1898, Emma Nevada sang in Paris after a tour through Holland, showing no diminution of her artistic powers.

A little anecdote was told concerning a performance of “Lucia” in Paris, which tends to show the kindly disposition, of the young prima donna. She was, in the mad scene, accompanied in a most delicious manner by the flutist in the orchestra. One was often puzzled during the celebrated duet to determine which were the notes of the flute and which were those of the singer. Now and then a pathetic vibration would reveal the human voice and cause it to rise triumphant above the instrument. She taxed the skill of the musician to the uttermost to follow her through the intricate mazes of sound. When, through nervousness, she for a moment forgot the words of her song, the humble musician came to her rescue and improvised a few sparkling variations to enable her to regain her breath and recollect the lost phrases. At the end of the duet, two powdered footmen advanced from the wings with a gigantic basket of flowers which had been sent to her from Rome by some friends. She selected the finest rose, and, advancing to the footlights, handed it to the leader of the orchestra to be passed on to the flute player. The action was taken with much grace and spontaneity, and brought down a storm of applause, while the poor flutist, unaccustomed to the recognition of his talent, was overcome with joy at such a graceful acknowledgment.

One of her trials took place when the Edgardo (Gayarre), who more than simulated jealous rage, knocked her about in good earnest. His violence made her forget everything but her part, and she had no chance to think of the public while trying to keep her wrists out of his reach.

In 1884 Mlle. Nevada had a disagreement with M. Carvalho about a costume. He offered to cancel her contract, and she joyfully accepted the offer, after which they both had ample time to repent of their hasty action. The following year she married Doctor Raymond Palmer, a surgeon practising in the west of England, a big, bluff, handsome Englishman. She was small, slight, and graceful.

The marriage, which took place in Paris, in October, 1885, was a great social event in the American colony in Paris. Speeches were made by Consul-General Walker and others. Ambroise Thomas, the composer, was there, and called her “Mignon, my dear interpreter,” on which she rose from her seat, went to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. The wedding presents were many and valuable, and the descriptions thereof filled many columns of the newspapers. Never before had an American prima donna been the centre of so much excitement.

After a short honeymoon, a concert tour in the United States was undertaken. Madame Nevada did not retire from the stage, but after fifteen years she is still as popular as ever, though her voice is too light to be effective in any of the grand operas of modern times.

Unquestionably the greatest artist of her school on the opera stage at the present day is Emma Calve, whose proper name is Emma Roquer. She was born in 1866, at Decazeville in the Aveyron, her father being a civil engineer, and a member of a good Spanish family. He unfortunately died when his daughter Emma was sixteen years of age, and left his family in poor circumstances. Emma, who was the eldest child, was brought up in a convent, the quiet life of which was very attractive to her, but she was prevented from taking the veil because her mother needed her help at home.

A gentleman from Paris, who heard her sing one day in the convent chapel, urged her mother to send her to Paris for musical training, and much against her own wishes the young singer began the course of training which led to her appearance on the operatic stage.

Life has not been all sunshine for Emma Calve. She has acquired her art in the school of adversity. Her early stage experiences were not highly successful, though she was reengaged. Her debut was made at Brussels at the Theatre de Monnaie, as Marguerite in “Faust,” in 1881. During this season she received a salary of a hundred and forty dollars a month, which was increased the next year to two hundred and forty. In 1884 she went to Paris, where she created the leading part in “Aben Hamet,” by Dubois, at the Theatre Italien, and was decidedly successful.

Her teachers up to this time had been a tenor named Puget, and Laborde, but she now began to study under Madame Marchesi, and then followed a successful tour in Italy, during which she gained much by association with the Italian people, and cultivated her dramatic instincts. Here she saw Eleanora Duse, the great actress, whose impersonations made a great impression on the young singer. Calve’s impassioned acting, her magnetic personality, and beautiful voice, won for her the greatest success at La Scala. In 1889 she returned to Paris, and continued her career of hard work and success, but the day of her greatness had not yet come.

In 1891 she created the part of Suzel in “L’Amico Fritz,” at Rome, an event which added greatly to her renown, and when “Cavalleria Rusticana” was given in Paris for the first time in 1892, Calve was selected as the most fitting interpreter of the part of Santuzza. Her success in this part was something phenomenal, and was gained after much study of the story, the close intercourse she had made with the Italian people, and by the aid of some suggestions from Mascagni, the composer.

Her success as Santuzza was repeated in London, and, after ten years of unremitting labor, Calve found herself acknowledged as a great artist. Notwithstanding the excellent quality of her voice, and her mastery of technique, her victories have been gained by her dramatic impulses.

Her next triumph was achieved in the character of Carmen. In order to study for this part she went to Spain, where she learned the Spanish dances, associated with the Spanish people, and learned as much as possible of the character of the Spanish peasant.

In 1894 she appeared at the Opera Comique in Paris, as Carmen. Her triumph has become a matter of history. It was one of the greatest events in the annals of the lyric stage. Patti had played Carmen, Minnie Hauk had played Carmen, Madame Galli-Marie had played Carmen, and all had achieved success in the part; but Calve was Carmen. Her conception of the character was a revelation. Her fascinating gestures, her complete abandon, the grace of her dances, her dazzling beauty, all combined to make her Carmen one of the most wonderful impersonations ever given in opera. She has been criticised as uncertain, as giving different interpretations at different times, but the fact remains that Calve stands pre-eminent in the world of operatic art. Her swinging, graceful walk, her fascinating half Oriental dances, her gestures, her infectious, reckless mirth, all help to make up the dazzling impersonation with which her name is associated.

Of Calve’s voice little has been said, because, in the perfection of her art, the voice is not obtrusive. It is light and sympathetic, rich in quality, and she never forces it. She frequently misses what many singers would seize as a vocal opportunity, for the sake of dramatic effect, and yet her singing has a marvellous charm. The “Havanaise,” as sung by Calve, is something to remember for a lifetime.

Calve has a superb, lithe form, and her large, dark eyes and delicately modelled features give her a charming appearance. She is frank, cordial, young-spirited, easy-going, and is intensely admired, both by her associates at the theatre, and in the drawing-room. She is a curious combination of the developed woman and the simple girl. No one can prevent her from saying and doing as she pleases, but her impulses are seldom unkind. She believes thoroughly in spiritualism, theosophy, and astrology. Whenever she sings, she carries with her an amulet from Hindostan, and nothing can induce her to appear without it.

Her first visit to America was in the season of 1893-94, during which she appeared as Mignon, in Boston, for the first time in any part of the world. Her reception during that tour was splendid. She did not again visit America until the season of 1895-96, but she returned the following season, when her appearance as Marguerite in “Faust” was one of the leading events of the season. During her absence she had improved wonderfully in vocal form and appearance, and the critics gave her unstinted praise. Her impersonation of Carmen again created a furore, and, notwithstanding the superb array of talent exhibited during those seasons, “Calve” was, above all, the subject of interest to opera-goers.

She makes her home in Paris, but her vacations are spent at a picturesque little place called Chateau Cambrieres, situated in the shadow of the Pyrenees. Calve is not yet at her prime, and with genius such as she possesses it is likely that she will eclipse the achievements of the greatest dramatic singers of the past.

Of the numerous successors of Patti, Madame Melba seems to have more fully met the requirements than any other. In many respects she has exceeded them, for her voice is fuller and more powerful than Patti’s ever was, but she has the same easy vocalization and marvellous spontaneity that constituted the great charm in Patti’s singing.

Melba is the daughter of a wealthy citizen of Melbourne in Australia, and in that city, from which she takes her stage name, Nellie Mitchell was born in 1865. There was much musical talent in the family, but it was exercised for their own enjoyment only, for they were of Scotch Presbyterian descent, and the idea of the stage was objectionable to them. For this reason, while their daughter was given every advantage in the study of the pianoforte, violin, and harp, her voice was not cultivated. Singing was nevertheless her chief delight, and her great desire was to take lessons.

In 1883 Miss Mitchell married a Captain Armstrong, but the marriage was not a happy one, and when her father, shortly afterwards, was appointed commissioner from Australia to the Colonial exhibition in London, she went there with him, and soon found herself able to enter upon study for a musical career.

She went to Paris, where at one of Marchesi’s receptions she sang and was heard by the manager of the Brussels opera house, who offered her an engagement, and, after only nine months’ training, she made her debut. She had been previously offered a five years’ engagement by Maurice Strakosch, but his death prevented the carrying out of the contract.

It was in 1887 that she made her first appearance in Brussels, and the following year her Parisian debut was successfully accomplished. She was rapturously received, and at once found herself classed among the great singers of the century. Her career in Europe and in America was a succession of triumphs. Her voice is rich, sympathetic, and powerful. In flexibility it may be compared with that of Patti, and her trills and cadenzas are accomplished with the ease and brilliancy that belong to naturally gifted singers.

Perhaps the most severe ordeal through which she ever had to pass was in 1893, when she made her debut in Milan. The Milanese are very jealous of their independence of opinion, and while they will accept leniently a beginner, the artist whose reputation has been gained out of Italy is likely to fare badly at their hands. When it was announced that Melba was to sing at Milan, a feeling hostile to her at once made itself manifest. When Melba arrived, the musicians and critics did their best to keep out of the way and avoid an introduction. Stories went forth, when rehearsals began, that her voice was like a steam whistle, and everything that could contribute towards a failure was done. Madame Melba’s friends endeavored to keep all this from her, and for a time they succeeded, but now she began to be pestered with anonymous letters making threats of various kinds. This so unnerved the prima donna that it was found advisable to acquaint the prefect of the police with the details of the matter, and the intrigue was stopped. On the eventful evening the house was packed, and there was an air of hostile expectancy. The opera was “Lucia.” The singer appeared amidst silence which was interrupted now and then by hissing sounds. Hardly had her first notes been heard when it was evident that a change of opinion had taken place in the audience, and the ovation which she received after the mad scene was tremendous. The press extolled her incomparable singing, and her victory was complete.

Melba is not a great actress; she holds her audience entranced with her marvellous vocalization, and her greatest triumphs have always been in those operas which make the smallest demands upon the dramatic powers of the singer. Adelina Patti could not sing in Wagnerian opera, and was too wise to make the attempt. Melba, advised by her friends, once appeared as Brunhilde and was not a success, and she must rest content with being considered the greatest vocalist of the day.

Madame Melba has visited America several times, and during the seasons of 1895-96 and 1896-97 was under the management of Abbey and Grau. After the collapse of that company she became the star of a small opera company travelling as far as the Pacific coast. She makes her home in Paris, where she spends a portion of each year with her son. She is simple and frank in manner, generous by nature, and not given to malice or jealousy.

California added a star to the operatic firmament in Sybil Sanderson, who made her debut in 1888, under an assumed name, at The Hague, in “Manon.” She was successful, and in a few months came out at the Opera Comique in Paris, creating the role of Esclarmonde, which Massenet had written for her, and in which she had the advantage of the composer’s instruction.

Probably no opera singer has ever had greater advantages in the preparation for the stage than those which Miss Sanderson enjoyed. She is the daughter of a lawyer of high repute, who became judge of the Supreme Bench, and later chief counsellor of the Union Pacific Railroad. She was taken by her mother, at an early age, to Paris, where she and her sisters received the best education possible. She desired to become a prima donna, and had every assistance that the wealth of her parents could provide.

Her voice is of the kind for which American prima donnas have become celebrated, light, pure, and flexible. Its surpassing excellence lies in the upper register, her G in alt being in itself a phenomenal production. Miss Sanderson is a finished actress, having received the most careful training at the hands of Massenet, who wrote also “Thais” for her. Saint-Saens entrusted to her the creation of the title role of “Phryne,” and, in token of his delight at her performance, presented her with a valuable necklace.

Miss Sanderson became very popular in Paris and in St. Petersburg, but met with less favor in London and New York. Once when she sang in London, Van Dyck was the tenor. At the rehearsal he sang sotto voce in order to save himself, and he supposed that she was doing likewise. In the evening, at the performance, the opera was “Manon,” which Miss Sanderson sang in Europe two hundred and fifty times, she was overwhelmed by the power of his voice. Van Dyck, hearing her small, clear tones, and thinking that she was nervous, came near to offer encouragement, and urged her to “let out your voice.” “This is all the voice I have,” she replied, and he, still thinking she needed encouragement, sang all the louder. Her great personal charm makes itself felt across the footlights, and while she was heavily handicapped in having to sing with such a tremendous tenor, she was yet able to captivate the audience by her sincerity.

Ella Russell, who made her debut in Provo, Italy, is a native of Cleveland, Ohio. Her voice is large, rich, and even, she has an imposing stage presence and much beauty and dignity. She travelled in Europe with success, and finally made her appearance at Covent Garden in 1885.

Another American debutante of 1885 was Marie Engle, a native of Chicago, who at present is one of the opera company at Covent Garden. She has a light voice, high and flexible. Her first appearance was at the Academy of Music in New York, in a concert given by pupils, assisted by members of the Mapleson Opera Company. Colonel Mapleson made her an offer which was accepted, and she went with his company to San Francisco, where she made her debut, and afterwards to London, where she has appeared for several seasons.

She has so far followed the conventional domestic life of the prima donna as to marry and secure a divorce. Her husband was Gustav Amburg, a theatrical manager, whom she married in 1889. Her life with him was not happy, and he continually ill-treated her. At last she found that he had a wife living in Germany, and she secured her divorce in 1896.

In the Abbey and Grau opera company of 1894 a singer who attracted considerable attention was Madame Sigrid Arnoldson. She was the daughter of a Swedish tenor and was born in Stockholm. She made her debut in grand opera in London, in 1887, but had already become well known at Stockholm, where, in 1885, so great was the desire to hear her that 2,000 people stood in line all night in order to buy tickets. No singer had been so popular since the days of Jenny Lind and Nilsson. She sang “Mignon,” and at the conclusion of the performance she was presented by King Oscar with a decoration exactly like those given to Lind and Nilsson. Madame Arnoldson is petite, piquant and picturesque on the stage, and has dark hair and eyes. She is an excellent linguist, speaking four languages.

When she was a small child she would sing like a bird while alone, but could never be induced to sing before strangers. Her father taught her until she was old enough to determine whether she would really have a fine voice. Then she became a pupil of Maurice Strakosch, whose nephew, Robert Fischoff, she married.

The appearance of a new singer from America is now looked upon as nothing unusual, for the list of those who have acquired distinction is already long. Clara Louise Kellogg, Annie Louise Cary, Adelaide Phillips, Marie Litta, Minnie Hauk, Marie Van Zandt, Alwina Valleria, Emma Nevada, Marie Engle, Sybil Sanderson, Lillian Nordica, yes, the list might easily be increased even without enumerating the large number of tenors and basses. The year 1890 witnessed the debut of one who is already acknowledged as a great artist, and who adds to her laurels each season. One who, to a glorious voice and attractive personality, adds dramatic power and intelligence of a high order.

Emma Eames was born in China, but at a very early age was brought by her mother to Boston, where she received her education. Mrs. Eames was a highly accomplished musician, and was her daughter’s earliest music teacher. As her voice developed, she began to sing in church choirs and in concerts, where the beauty of her singing attracted a good deal of attention. After she went to Paris, she experienced considerable difficulty in obtaining an engagement. The road to the opera is full of intrigue and machination. Miss Eames made her way to the front by sheer talent. She was first engaged to sing at the Opera Comique, but, for some reason best known to itself, the management repented of having opened its doors to an unknown singer, and gave her no part. She therefore asked that her contract might be annulled, and her request was granted.

A pure, fresh voice, flexible and expressive, remarkably good intonation, and an attractive personality, were the qualities with which Miss Eames ruled the stage. Her fault at first was a degree of calmness in the more vehement scenes. This was noticed particularly in “Faust,” and yet her interpretation of the role of Marguerite is considered exceptionally fine.

In 1891 she accomplished the difficult feat of singing the part of Elsa in “Lohengrin,” after only one rehearsal, but her greatest assumption is that of Elizabeth in “Tannhaeuser,” in which she appeared in 1895, and gained a reputation for originality of conception which the greatest Wagnerian singers had never developed.

During the season of 1898 in London she gained new laurels. In 1891 Miss Eames caused a sensation by marrying Mr. Julian Wetmore Story, a young artist of much promise. The circumstances of the marriage were rather romantic, and gave rise at the time to a good deal of newspaper comment. Miss Eames, whose mother was somewhat opposed to her marriage, eluded the vigilance of her natural protector, and was quietly married in the old church at Bray, which dates back 1,000 years. This marriage has turned out very happily. Mr. Story has acquired a high reputation as an artist, and by no means occupies the conventional position of “prima donna’s husband,” but has an individuality of his own. Their home in Paris is the centre of musical and artistic society, and Madame Eames-Story has become a kind of deity amongst American students in Paris.

Only once have there been reports circulated attributing to Madame Eames the feelings of jealousy which seem to permeate the prima donna sisterhood. In Boston there was supposed to have been a coolness between Madame Eames and Calve, and the latter lady, under the rack of the newspaper reporter, made some disagreeable remarks. Whatever cause there may have been, Madame Eames met Madame Calve afterwards in Paris, and offered her hand frankly, as if nothing had happened, and it was accepted in the same generous manner.

Madame Eames has several times been obliged in her own interests to maintain an independent position in dealing with managers, and when, after her great American successes, the Abbey, Schoeffel, and Grau Company would not offer her what she considered just terms, she would not retreat from the stand which she had taken, and the company decided to punish her by letting her alone. The result was, that Madame Eames reaped a golden harvest in Europe, and built up a reputation so great that her name is now mentioned as one of the four great sopranos, Melba, Calve, Nordica, and Eames.

With this slight sketch of an interesting career we must be content, for a word must be added about Mlle. Zelie de Lussan, who made herself popular to Americans during her connection with the Boston Ideal Opera Company, from 1885-88, when she secured an engagement in London, and is rapidly building a great reputation. Her great part is Carmen, and in this and Mignon she has delighted the Parisians. She is piquant and brilliant, and has the faculty of charming the audience by her grace and personal magnetism. Mlle. de Lussan was born in New York of French parents, and received her musical education from her mother, who was once a well-known singer.