My seasons in Chicago and Boston had been profitable, but many cities in the South, with the exception of New Orleans, which gave me a wonderful welcome, could not pay expenses, as the theatres were too small and my company too large and literally too good. In New Orleans we played an entire week at the old St. Charles Theatre. The dressing-rooms for the chorus were in the cellar and just before the first performance the women of the chorus ran shrieking up on the stage, vowing that they would not return, as rats as large as good-sized rabbits were scampering around the cellar. I could not believe them until I went down and saw those horrible creatures with my own eyes. Our last performance was to have been on Saturday night, but on that day I received a petition signed by a number of citizens asking whether we could give them a “Fidelio” performance with Madame Klafsky on Sunday morning. As our train was to leave at three P. M. on that day, we had to begin this performance at eleven o’clock in the morning. The announcement that this extra performance was to be given was made only the night before and in the Sunday morning papers. By eleven o’clock the house was sold out. I took the company as far west as Denver and everywhere virtually introduced for the first time the “Trilogy,” “Tristan,” and “Die Meistersinger” to the public. I remember a performance in Providence, Rhode Island, where, in default of a theatre, the armory had been adapted for us by an improvised stage which was, however, so low that the orchestra could easily see what was going on. The opera was “Lohengrin,” and just before the scene in the last act, when _Godfrey_, the little brother of _Elsa_, appears in place of the magic swan to rush into the outstretched arms of _Elsa_, the stage-manager suddenly discovered that the little ballet girl who always assumed the rôle was not present. What to do? In the emergency he grabbed Hans, son of my prompter and at that time a kind of assistant to everybody as call-boy, assistant librarian, etc., etc. He was only fourteen and small of stature but with the excessive length of arms and legs characteristic of that age. By some painful process he was forced into the costume of _Godfrey_ and pushed on the stage just in the nick of time. I suddenly noticed a commotion among my orchestra, and as I followed their astonished but delighted gaze I saw the uncanny apparition of Hans as a counterfeit _Godfrey_ standing on the stage evidently frightened out of his wits. Gadski, who sang _Elsa_, with great presence of mind, stretched her arms wide and not only welcomed, but extinguished him beneath the voluminous folds of her cloak and I doubt whether the public realized that the real princely brother had not made his appearance. When we finally arrived in New York, I had already lost a great deal of the large profits of the year before, and this loss was further increased by my season at the Academy of Music.