rs me inwardly), and it was particularly abysmal, the
day after _Waltraute_. One never sings just as one would like to, and in
my head I hear the phrase so much more beautifully done than any one but
Caruso can do it. That day I sat at lunch with my faithful Marjorie, who
always puts up with me. We were lunching in a little place near us, and
I was deep in the blues. Marjorie's eye fell on the _Daily Telegraph_
and we saw a wonderful criticism by Robin Legge; just a few words, but
so sincere and appreciative. It helped such a lot. Criticism can mean so
much to one for good or evil. The thought of a cruelly amusing phrase
the critic has coined, unable to resist the very human temptation, will
come winging to you the next time you step out on the stage to sing the
same role, and you feel that sardonic wave striking you afresh and
jangling your already quivering nerves. It takes courage after that to
go on. On the contrary, a few words of appreciation of what you have
tried so hard, through such long years to do, will tide you over many
black hours of discouragement, and you think: "I can't be so absolutely
rotten, didn't X---- write that about me? and he's supposed to know
something about it." An intelligent constructive criticism is the most
helpful thing possible, and stimulates one to work to correct one's
faults. Personal remarks wound one's feelings deeply, and one is obliged
to swallow hard and go bravely on, but the policeman's life is not a
happy one.

[Illustration: CARUSO'S CARICATURE OF KATHLEEN HOWARD]

The Royal Opera is in the middle of the vegetable market, and on the
days when produce arrives, the streets are full of cockney porters. It
was rather amusing one day, going to rehearsal. I was dressed in my new
black satin suit from Paris, and a smart little white hat. A porter
caught sight of me, pushed back the other men on both sides of me, and
said, "Get out of the loidy's wy, cahn't yer, Bill? That's roight, Miss,
I always loikes to see the lydies wen Ahm workin', that's right, Miss,
very neat, too." The next day it was raining and I was not so smart, and
the same man saw me and said with an air of disappointment, "Ah don't
like it 'aaf so well as yisterdy, Miss."

I have often heard of American singers who could "bluff" or "hypnotize"
directors into giving them chances which they thought they were entitled
to, and from which they always emerged with flying colours. This is the
tale of how I once, and o