neglected. If it
is not reported on every page it is because it is always present, never
forgotten. This is the one price every great artist must pay for his or
her position. What a commentary on our American haste to reach results
does Madam Urso's life-work present? She has genius. Genius without
labor is worse than vain.

In June Madam Urso sailed in the China from Boston and passing through
London returned once more to France her native land. Returned to live in
dear old Paris but not in the Rue Lamartine. The city of her childhood
sorrows and trials now became the city of her triumph. Her reputation
both as a wonder-child and an artist had been almost wholly American.
Now she was to take a bolder flight and win a European reputation. The
opinions of our musical people were to be more than confirmed at Paris.

Her first appearance in Paris was at the invitation of the Count of
Niewerkerke, then Minister of fine arts. The concert was a private one
given at the Louvre before a select audience of artists, authors,
musicians, officers and members of the government, diplomatic corps,
etc. Every one appeared in uniform or decorated with medals or other
insignia of rank, "and the young woman from America" whom nobody knew,
and nobody ever heard, whose name even, was hardly known quietly took a
seat in a corner as if she was only some stray person who had wandered
into the grand assembly by some mistake. No little surprise was
manifested when the Count sought her out and offered his arm to the
young stranger to escort her to the seat of honor. Her violin case. It
laid at her feet on the floor. If he would kindly ask a servant to
bring it? Servant, indeed! No, he would be proud to carry it himself.
And he did while the interest and curiosity was roused to unusual
excitement, and every one asked who the young American could be that she
should receive such attention. A prophet is always without honor in his
own country, and the poor flute player's daughter who had struggled
through their own famous Conservatory as a child was almost unknown as a
young woman. Rumors of an American reputation had invaded Paris, but who
were the Americans that they should venture to hold opinions concerning
Art. What did they know about music? Nothing, of course. How could such
a wild, barbarous country know anything at all?

The violin was taken out and with a few strokes of her bow the almost
unknown young woman was admitted to be a peer amo