im and the company immediately at
Naples.

Ah, that journey to the end of Italy! Shall I ever forget it?
Fortunately, Mr. Gatti had been able to assemble all his songsters--with
the exception of Gilly, our French barytone, a prisoner of war in
Austria--and we were to enjoy an agreeable and uneventful ocean trip
home.

It was while on shipboard, discussing the repertoire, that Toscanini
suggested the immediate preparation of "Carmen" for my first appearance
of the season. I jumped at the idea, the more so since I should have a
role I had always longed to sing and which favored me as I had rarely
been favored. Here was indeed an occasion to refute many an unkind rumor
that I had lost my voice and would never sing again. And as for the
acting, and looking--well, I smiled into the miserable little glass in
my stateroom that did duty as a mirror, and blew myself a kiss of
congratulation! Daily rehearsals were called, and I worked like a slave
in the little stuffy dining-room of the ship to the accompaniment of a
piano no better than it should be.

Many a gypsy had come and gone, leaving New York mildly indifferent.
There had been but one fascinating, unforgettable creature within our
memory, the incomparable Calve! Not one leaf of her coronet of laurel
had so much as quivered!

[Illustration: WORK AND PLAY IN CALIFORNIA]

The eventful evening came at last, and I need not dwell upon the
wonderful success that attended the brilliant revival of this well-loved
opera under Toscanini's splendid direction.

Later in the same season was to come the amusing "Madame Sans Gene,"
chiefly interesting for its novelty and touches of comedy.

Added to the fortunate operatic successes, I had made several concert
_tournees_, my contract with the record-makers had been rigidly kept,
and to succeed in all these artistic directions, the well-being of the
voice had ever primarily to be considered.

When the fateful time came that I paid the toll of overwork and my
throat was temporarily crippled, my mind was doubly alive and in acute
anguish. Inactivity to me has always been something not to be borne. I
must have a vital interest with which to stimulate my energies and
fancies.

It was during those discouraging days that I bethought me of the very
ardent advances that had been made to me relative to the moving
pictures. Perhaps there was another field of expression, not to mention
the very flattering financial considerations that wer