have a sufficient repertoire to begin
my apprenticeship on the stage; but I did not see my way to a _debut_
quite so clearly. I talked with the other pupils, to get their ideas of
progression. They all said, "When I make my _debut_ at the Opera," or
"the Comique." They were all sure of an opening at the top and
apparently would consider nothing less than leading roles in a world
capital. That was not my idea at all. I did not care about a _debut_. I
wanted to learn to act, to do my big parts over and over again before an
audience, to sing them into my voice, to learn to make voice, face, and
my whole body an articulate expression of all that the role had to say.

I tried to find out how the singers of the two operas had made their
careers. Some, I learned, though doing leading work, still paid for
their performances by taking so and so many francs worth of seats every
time they sang. Some had gained a hearing by the influence of their
teachers. Some were there by "protection." The Russian girl's sister was
very beautiful, but she was not very gifted either vocally or
histrionically, and I wondered at her engagement, until I heard that she
was the _protegee_ of a certain rich man. The winners of the first prize
at the Conservatoire had a chance given them, and one or two had made
good to a certain extent, and still sang occasionally. But, I thought,
if the debutantes of the Conservatoire must be given an opportunity,
there can be very little room for other inexperienced singers, and
certainly none for foreigners. The "France for the French" spirit had
impressed me tremendously, as it must all foreigners in Paris. Generous
as the city is to them, she rightly gives her rewards to those of her
own race first.

The opera class was another source of annoyance to me. The one idea was
"copy what I show you"--make a faithful imitation whether it expresses
what you feel or not; it doesn't matter what you feel so long as you
pour everything into the same moulds and turn out neat little shapes,
labelled "love," "hate," "despair," all ready for use, and all "true to
the traditions of the French school." The first lessons of all were in
standing and walking, and there began my sadness. The traditions
demanded that one's feet be set eternally at "ten minutes to two." Mine
would deviate from this rule, and I aided and abetted them in their
mutiny. My instinct was to sit down occasionally with my knees together,
instead of always drap