Prima Donna

by Megan Chance

  APRIL 10, 1871—Today we boarded the train for the tour. It was my first train ride ever, and it was very noisy and bumpy and dirty. The cars rocked from side to side until I was almost sick, and when I put down the window, soot and ash flew in like snow and a live coal fell on my sleeve and nearly burnt a hole in it! Mrs. Follett told me that if I insisted on acting like a country bumpkin, she would have to move elsewhere and bade me close the window again, which I was glad to do, not because of her but because the ash was like to ruin my dress. Everything passed by so quickly it made me think of when I was little and Barret would chase me down the street and I would run so fast everything was a blur.

  The whole company was on the train. Here I shall list them all: the minstrels, of course, who are all men and very silly and who flirt with all the women, though not with me because Barret and Gideon told them not to. There are six of them. Then there is the violinist, Mr. Arriete, who is dark haired and very round and quiet, and his wife is like a little Dresden doll and much younger than he is, though she is as retiring as her husband. Then Mrs. Follett and Mr. Cone and Mr. Wilson, of course.

  Our lead tenor is Paolo Rinzetti. He is quite nice and very handsome. He is Italian, and he has dark hair and eyes and very white teeth and he is the vainest man I have ever known, but he is very honest about it, so one cannot help but like him. I wondered at first that he had the lead tenor roles, and Gideon the comprimario ones, but Mrs. Follett prefers Paolo, and the truth is that Gideon is so fine with the different character parts—it seems so easy for him to change his voice and his demeanor to make none of them like the other—that it is best for him to do it. And I’m happier for that, because it means that he and I have duets together, which would not be the case if he were the lead.

  Then there is Senor Barto, our basso, who comes from Venezuela and who does not speak very good English. He is quite old, his hair more gray than brown, and he has a nose the size of a squash, and has mostly nothing to say to me.

  And here is the best part! I have a hotel room to myself in Philadelphia! Mrs. Arriete shares her husband’s, of course, and Mrs. Follett will not share hers, and because I am the only other woman I have my own and the bed is to be mine alone!!! I am sure it will seem strange without Willa, but I am happy to accommodate! Gideon and Barret and Paolo must all room together, and Barret says Paolo is very messy, and I told him he was welcome to throw a pallet in my room, but as much as I love my brother, I was glad when he refused.

  Then we went to the theater to rehearse before the show. It is nearly as small as the Manchetti, but I don’t care because I saw the placard out front and it was so exciting. It said:

  I was not mentioned, of course, but Gideon says it’s only a matter of time before my name is above Mrs. Follett’s and then my name alone.

  When I saw the sets upon the stage they seemed almost magic. Though I’ve seen them a hundred times during rehearsals, I said to Gideon, “Gott im Himmel, it’s so beautiful!” and he told me not to speak German, that we weren’t in Kleindeutschland anymore, and Barret said we weren’t ashamed of being German, and Gideon said, “You don’t need to be ashamed of it. Just don’t advertise it. Don’t give them a reason to dismiss Sabine,” and Paolo said all the Germans knew how to do was make sausage, that real art belonged to the Italians, and we all laughed, but I think Gideon is right, and I am determined not to speak German again until I am home.

  * * *

  Oh Oh Oh!! Tonight my career began! I do not think I can write it all without my fingers growing tired and sore! But I shall try, because I don’t want to forget one moment of it, and it is very late and I cannot sleep at all. It feels as if my blood is jumping through my veins!

  To start at the beginning: Mrs. Follett has her dressing room, and all the men theirs, and so I was given a shed of a room that was obviously meant for the corps de ballet, though I was the only one in it. The floors were warped and worn and stained with spilled rouge. There were cracks in the walls that let in the damp evening air, and the large mirror was cracked too so that I looked like some gorgon with one side of my face higher than the other. There were only two rough benches for furniture, and one of them rocked unevenly when I sat upon it. But it is my first dressing room!

  I wore the rose satin gown and did my hair as Gideon told me to, with some of it pinned high upon the crown and the rest loose, and with my powder and rouge I looked quite garish. Even Barret looked startled when he came to give me a little posy of flowers for good luck.

  Then the stagehand knocked on the door and said, “Full house, Miss Conrad,” and Barret smiled at me and it was not until that moment that I felt nervous at all. But suddenly I was, and when Barret and I went into the wings, it was very hot and the minstrel players were milling about in their blackface and practicing their dance steps, the prop boys dashing through us and leaning against the ropes that controlled the curtains and the backdrops and people bumping into the sets and whispering sotto voce. Even through all that, I could hear the audience talking and coughing and the creak of the seats as they settled, and though I’d sung before audiences many times before, I must confess I was nervous. In the Völksstadt there was shouting and drinking and singing along and children running about half drunk themselves, and much of the time the crowd was so busy talking they did not pay much attention, but this was different. It occurred to me then that these people had paid to see us! I had never sung before a paying audience who expected good value for their money, and suddenly I was so afraid.

  The stagehand yelled out, “One minute!” and the minstrels began lining up and Barret and I got pushed back near the ropes. I heard the audience grow quiet and then Mr. Cone announced us, and the stagehand pulled on the rope and the curtain whooshed open and the glare of the gaslights was blinding and reflecting onto the faces of the audience, so I could see them from the wings, a sea of faces, and I cannot even describe the extent of my terror!

  I started to run back to my dressing room with Barret coming after me, shouting “Sabine!” in a hoarse whisper. Before I got far, there was Mrs. Follett and Paolo and Gideon, looking in my distress like monsters with their heavily kohled eyes and reddened mouths. I was sweating, and I felt sick, and Barret said, “Sabine, what’s wrong?” and I truly thought I might vomit there in the hallway and it would be the end of my career. How disappointed Papa would be! Barret tried to hold me and reassure me. He kept saying, “What is it? What’s wrong?” as if he didn’t know what else to say, and he was pounding clumsily on my back and looking as frightened as I was and not helpful at all. He gave Gideon a panicked look I did not miss and I heard him whisper above my head, “What do I do?” when he thought I couldn’t hear.

  Then Gideon whispered something to Barret and took me into a corner and I looked into his face, and in his makeup, with his dark hair shining strangely red in the light and his slashing brows, he was both beautiful and terrifying. He pulled me into his arms and held me so tight against his chest I could hear his heart beating, and he whispered, “Sweetheart, how can I go on myself without you?” He kissed my forehead, and then rubbed off the rouge he’d left there with his thumb, and suddenly I was ready to go on and my nervousness seemed only a bad dream.

  And then … oh, how to describe the most sublime experience of my life? Simply to say it was pure joy to go upon that stage, that the moment I began to sing, I was transported. I felt the love of the audience and I felt as if I were singing that love back to them as purely and sweetly as I ever had before, and when it came time to hit the A I hardly thought about it at all, but sang it as easily as I ever had. They made me sing it four times!!! Four!!!! Even Mrs. Follett was only asked to sing her best aria twice, and Paolo not at all, and Gideon’s smile was so large when they applauded my part in our duet that I don’t think he minded. After we took our bows, he whooped and twirled me about in his arms and said, “You did it, sweetheart! They loved you!!!”

  Now I must go, because Mr. Cone and Mr. Wilson are taking us all to dinner and w
e are going to celebrate our success!

  PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 11, 1871—I have a terrible headache from too much wine, and no sleep, and also I fear from a terrible distress.

  This is what happened: after dinner, Gideon took me aside and said I had been such a brilliant diamond out there on the stage that it had hurt his eyes to look at me. I told him that I owed it all to him, and he said it was only that he understood me so much better than did anyone else. I know this is true; after all, I have known him such a very long time … two years at least! and he has always looked out for me. I was a bit drunk and when he smiled at me he was so beautiful I thought how lucky Willa was to have him, and—oh, I was more than a bit drunk, I think!—in an excess of passion I said that this was only the beginning, that I meant to have the whole world at my feet.

  He didn’t laugh. He said: “If it’s the world you want, Sabine, I’ll bring it to you. I promise it.”

  His words were still in my head as we left. I confess I was nearly swaying on the way back to the hotel, so Barret had to take my arm to keep me from falling on meine hinterteile—oh yes, I am not to speak German!—I mean my ass.

  We all went to our rooms, but I was too excited still to sleep, and the music would not leave me and the night played itself out before my eyes. I wished for someone to talk to—even Willa would have done, with her disapproving eyes and her constant “There are other things in life than music, Sabine.” Then I heard footsteps in the hall and as the whole company is on this floor I thought it must be one of us, and so I went to my door to peek out, and it was Gideon. He was barefoot, and he wore only his trousers and his shirt. I was about to call out to him when he knocked on Mrs. Follett’s door, which opened quickly, as if she were expecting him, and she was hardly dressed at all! I was so startled I gasped aloud, but luckily they did not hear me, because they were kissing, and then she pulled him into her room and closed the door.

  Oh, what shall I tell Willa?

  APRIL 12, 1871—Today I told Barret what I had seen last night and discovered that he has known about it all along! He seemed very embarrassed and tried to explain to me that sometimes men had other women and that it meant nothing. I told him I doubted Willa would think that, and Barret sighed and said I was still very young and couldn’t understand. “Things are different here, Bina. It isn’t real life.”

  It feels the opposite to me, as if my life in Kleindeutschland was the unreal one, and I don’t understand why he would keep this from Willa, who is waiting at home for Gideon to come back and marry her. But when I asked Barret if it wouldn’t be best for her to know the truth, he became quite serious and said that if she breaks off with Gideon, Papa will call us both home, which I know is true, because the only reason I was allowed to go on tour is because Papa thinks of Gideon as his future son and trusts him more than he trusts Barret. I thought of my vow to Willa, but I do not want to go home, and so I have promised not to say anything yet.

  APRIL 13, 1871—The reviews are in!! I am the “jewel of the evening,” and the reviewer compared me to Adelina Patti! I am beside myself with joy, and so was Barret, who brought me the newspaper, and Mr. Cone and Mr. Wilson were very pleased.

  Mrs. Follett was not.

  When she saw the reviews this morning it occasioned such a screaming and cursing that it brought nearly the entire company out into the hallway to witness her. I would have thought she was performing the mad scene from Lucia and when she saw Gideon she screamed that it was his fault for bringing me to the company, and slapped him across the face so hard she left the imprint of her hand. She called me a little whore and accused me of taking everything away from her and I called her a tone-deaf braying donkey and she lunged at me as if she would scratch my eyes out, but Barret stepped between us. Then Gideon told her she was making a fool of herself, and she said she was the prima donna and it was best if none of us forgot it.

  That was when Mr. Cone and Mr. Wilson arrived. She told them she would not do another performance with me. Mr. Cone said she was the Manchetti Company prima donna and not to worry, and she seemed to calm then, and he escorted her back into her room and I wished I had not called her a braying donkey, because then perhaps she would not have said she wouldn’t share the stage with me, and I was afraid I would be sent home.

  Then Mr. Wilson said to Gideon, “You couldn’t keep the paper from her until she’d had her coffee?” and I realized they all knew that he was Mrs. Follett’s lover, and I was so angry I could hardly stand to look at anyone, and when Mr. Wilson said, “I’m so sorry, Miss Conrad, that you had to witness such a scene. Please think nothing of it,” I turned on my heel and marched back into my room without a word.

  From the Philadelphia Eagle, dated April 12, 1871.

  AMUSEMENTS

  Manchetti Company’s First Night at the Periquot Theater

  THE Manchetti Company performed the first of five nights at the Periquot Theater on Monday, April 10, and conquered their audience with a success hardly paralleled at any small theater in the city. Chief among the delights of the evening was the debut of heretofore unknown seconda donna Miss Sabine Conrad, singing various roles in selections from Ernani, La Sonnambula, Die Zauberflöte, and Don Giovanni. Miss Conrad so electrified the audience with the sublimity of her pure and luscious soprano that there was demanded four encores, each sung as beautifully as the last. Her tone is rich, consummately clear and strong and with the creaminess and range of the most lauded sopranos among us. The presence upon the stage of the young and comely Miss Conrad demands the eye as has no one since Adelina Patti, and her dramatic instincts are unparalleled even by sopranos with much more experience.

  The rest of the company, including Mrs. Olive Follett, a prima donna of longstanding reputation, were adequate and well suited enough for their parts, and the program included the well-known violinist Owen Arriete and the Manchetti Minstrels, each of whom engaged the audience fully.

  The jewel of the evening, however, was Miss Conrad, and it is to be hoped that the Manchetti Company soon realizes the depth of talent in the young lady and elevates her to the prima donna status she de serves. There is no doubt in the opinion of this critic that we are destined to hear very great things from Miss Conrad in the future.

  The program continues through the 15th, with two shows scheduled for Saturday.

  At that moment I did not care if I spoke to any of them again. But then there was a knock on my door, and it opened before I could answer. I turned to tell Barret to get out and leave me alone, but it wasn’t Barret at all. It was Gideon, and he looked so wary and guilty at the same time that it was obvious he’d deceived me on purpose. I screamed “How dare you!” and ran at him. He caught my hands before I could touch him, and held me away, and that made me angry too, so I kicked him, and he let me kick him and struggle until my breath was gone.

  Then he pulled me into his chest and whispered he was sorry and could he explain? I told him I didn’t want to hear his explanations, that he had betrayed my sister and my family, and I didn’t know how I could sing with him knowing what a liar he was.

  He told me Follett had taken a fancy to him on their last tour and that he must be with her for now, because if she were to leave this tour would be over and we would be sent home. He said he was working to make us famous and that meant he must sometimes do things that he did not like to do.

  Then he said that if I wished it, he would end things with Follett today, and we could go back to New York and see about getting on with another tour, though it would be difficult, as most of them are already gone for the summer, and it would be a pity because I am getting such good reviews that he thought I had a chance for an audition with Mr. Maretzek in the fall. But that could wait until next year, because the only thing that mattered now was my trust in him. He looked so repentant and sad I could not bear it.

  I did not realize how important he was to the tour. How could I make a decision that would ruin things for everyone? This is such an opportunity for me as well; surely Wil
la would forgive if she knew? Would she really ask me to give up the only thing I love? I cannot believe she would. And to have the chance to sing on such a stage as that at the Academy of Mu sic, before all the best of society … It would bring me the fame I’ve wished so long for, and Gideon cares nothing for Follett—he told me so, and I must believe him, because she is so old, and Willa is so young and pretty. Gideon’s affair with Follett will be over the moment the tour is. He has promised it. Why should I hurt my sister over something that will make no difference in the end?

  So I told him I did not wish to leave, and that I did not doubt him.

  CHAPTER 3

  Seattle, Washington Territory—February 1881

  They came in as they always did, half drunk already, shaking off the rain like dogs. It was a Saturday night, which meant that the Palace was full, because Saturday was when the miners and lumbermen got paid, and every girl we had was working, alternating between the stage and the floor and the boxes lining the balcony opposite—ten of them, more than any other boxhouse in Seattle, each curtained on the side that faced the stage so that one could watch the show if one were so inclined, though in the two years since we’d added the boxes, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen that happen. It had been my idea to change the Palace from the rough saloon it had been into a boxhouse. My first year here, I’d scrubbed the floors until my hands were raw and spent nearly every night in Johnny’s room, and waited for him to tire of me. He hated my scar and the brittle coarseness of my dark hair (“What the hell d’you do to it?”), and marveled that he wanted me at all. In bed, I performed for him the way I’d been taught, a trained monkey now, willing to do whatever I must to survive, and he had marveled too at my skill. He would say, “The men watch you, you know. There ain’t no one in this place who wouldn’t want to be where I am right now. Even Duncan. There’s something … it’s like you expect people to look at you—suppose you tell me why that is?”