Dorothy Nevill, that distinguished lady of the old school--what a
picture of a woman!--was always a fine theater-goer. Her face always
cheered me if I saw it in the theater, and she was one of the most
clever and amusing of the Beefsteak Room guests. As a hostess, sitting
in her round chair, with her hair dressed to _become_ her, irrespective
of any period, leading this, that and the other of her guests to speak
upon their particular subjects, she was simply the _ideal_.

Singers were often among Henry Irving's guests in the Beefsteak
Room--Patti, Melba, Calve, Albani, Sims Reeves, Tamagno, Victor Maurel,
and many others.

Calve! The New York newspapers wrote "Salve Calve!" and I would echo
them. She is the best singer-actress that I know. They tell me that
Grisi and Mario were fine dramatically. When I saw them, they were on
the point of retiring, and I was a child. I remember that Madame Grisi
was very stout, but Mario certainly acted well. Trebelli was a noble
actress; Maria Gay is splendid, and oh! Miss Mary Garden! Never shall I
forget her acting in "Griselidis." Yet for all the talent of these
singers whom I have named, and among whom I should surely have placed
the incomparable Maurel, whose Iago was superb, I think that the arts of
singing and acting can seldom be happily married. They quarrel all the
while! A few operas seem to have been written with a knowledge of the
difficulty of the conventions which intervene to prevent the expression
of dramatic emotion; and these operas are contrived with amazing
cleverness so that the acting shall have free play. Verdi in "Othello,"
and Bizet in "Carmen" came nearest solving the problem.

To go back to Calve. She has always seemed to me a darling, as well as a
great artist. 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