la" from
which to copy the French words. It had an inscription from Saint-Saens
"A M. Bouhy, _grand pretre et grand artiste_." He created the role of
the Grand Priest.

The only time I ever saw him upset was one day after the Opera class. We
all thought him safely out riding as he always was on Mondays. My
letter, written at that time to my mother, says:

"This morning in the opera class we had rather an unpleasant time.
Little N., with the beautiful tenor voice, has learned in one week the
first half of the _Samson_ duet for me. He has had to learn it from a
score which has only his voice part written in it. He is frightfully
down on his luck and with the gorgeous voice and speaking French can't
get anything to do, and has no money, not a cent to his name. We had
done that, some one else had sung, and having ten minutes left, Valdejo
told N. to sing again if he would. He was tired, but jumped up and began
the first part of "Faust." He kept forgetting it. Suddenly the door
opened and in walked Bouhy as white as a sheet. He commanded N. to stop
singing and to learn his things before coming again to the class. Said,
why did he sing like a baritone when he was a tenor, mocked him, told
him he was ashamed to have such sounds made _chez lui_, that he had been
a year on "Faust." What example was he to the others? Every one else had
always worked seriously. He stormed for five long minutes, N. standing
quite still, with his brown dog's eyes fixed on him--then he left the
room. It was frightfully uncomfortable for us too. I am sure I have
done just such rotten work so it may be my turn next. Of course Bouhy
was right. N. has been there a year and ought to know it; but he is just
tired out, and never sleeps he says. They say Bouhy is beginning to show
his age. This week he bounced his cook whom he has had for years."

I had two French lessons a week, and should have had at least one
diction lesson besides, but for an invaluable course which I had taken
in New York with the Yersin sisters. These lessons were a nerve-racking
experience from which I used to emerge with my feathers all rubbed the
wrong way from the strain of trying to imitate the intangible
differences between the various French "e's." But I have always been
grateful for this rigid training, from the time when I first reached
Paris, and, though speaking very little French, could give an address to
a _cocher_ without having to repeat it, until now, when I can thank