When I knew that I was to make my _début_ as Gilda, in Verdi's opera of _Rigoletto_, I settled down to put myself into that part. I studied for nine months, until I was not certain whether I was really Gilda--or only myself! I was taking lessons in acting with Scola then, in addition to my musical study. And, besides Scola's regular course, I closely observed the methods of individuals, actors, and singers. I remember seeing Brignoli in _I Puritani_, during that "incubating period" before my first appearance in opera. I was studying gesture then,--the free, simple, _inevitable_ gesture that is so necessary to a natural effect in dramatic singing; and during the beautiful melody, _A te, o cara_, which he sang in the first act, Brignoli stood still in one spot and thrust first one arm out, and then the other, at right angles from his body, twenty-three consecutive times. I counted them, and I don't know how many times he had done it before I began to count! "Heavens!" I said, "that's one thing not to do, anyway!" Languages were a very important part of my training. I had studied French when I was nine years old, in the country, and as soon as I began taking singing lessons I began Italian also. Much later, when I sang in _Les Noces de Jeannette_, people would speak of my French and ask where I had studied. But it was all learned at home. I never studied German. There was less demand for it in music than there is now. America practically had no "German opera;" and Italian was the accepted tongue of dramatic and tragic music, as French was the language of lighter and more popular operas. Besides, German always confused me; and I never liked it. Many years later than the time of which I am now writing, I was charmed to be confirmed in my anti-German prejudices when I went to Paris. After the Franco-Prussian War the signs and warnings in that city were put up in every language in the world except German! The German way of putting things was too long; and, furthermore, the French people didn't care if Germans did break their legs or get run over. Of course, all this is changed--and in music most of all. For example, there could be no greater convert to Wagnerism than I! My mother hated the atmosphere of the theatre even though she had wished me to become a singer, and always gloried in my successes. To her rigid and delicate instinct there was something dreadful in the free and easy artistic attitude, and she always stood between me and any possible intimacy with my fellow-singers. I believe this to have been a mistake. Many traditions of the stage come to one naturally and easily through others; but I had to wait and learn them all by experience. I was always working as an outsider, and, naturally, this attitude of ours antagonised singers with whom we appeared.