PATTI IN THE STATES.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 479, 11 June 1890, Page 3

PATTI IN THE STATES.

An Interview at the Hoffman House.

Patti sat surrounded by a group of friends and adorers in her room at the Hoffman House. The diva, writes an enthusiastic correspondent in the ‘ Press,’ sab in a spacious chair between a great window, which was crowded and heaped with huge baskets of roses and bouquets, souvenirs of her first night’s triumph. She wore a princess gown of velvet, whose tones changed from red to grey. It was bordered with a band of fur, and vest, collars, and cuffs of gold lib up its darker tints. A pair of monstrous diamonds (continues the enraptured reporter) shook in the little ears, a tiny watch swayed from her belt, and quaint bangles clasped the slender wrists.

‘ What shall I tell you ?’ she asked in that pretty, hesitating way, 4 My trip ? Oh, it was heavenly—a dream—such a charming remembrance 1 But 1 am so glad to be back in New York—New York which I love—where 1 was born. You must know the season was finished in Chicago. No one knows that, bub it is true. This is an extra season which Mr Abbey tacked on. Fifty times I sang on my tour—l sing only twelve or fourteen more. My plans? I must sail in time for my concert at Albert Hall in London, the 14th of May. After that 1 rest until n6xb October ; then begins my concert season.

4 You must see my pets. See, this is one,’ pointing bo a Mexican hairless dog which lay cosily coiled on iier velvet gown, 4 and there is my mocking bird, which was given me on my trip, and yonder is my parrot) given me by a Mexican lady. Besides these there is another dog somewhere.’ Just here came a knock at the door and matlame said vivaciously to one of her lady friends, 4 Sara.youmust scream out “Come in.” I shall not scream again, for I am going to sing to-morrow night.’ Sara screamed as she x was and little Marion Foster, the lame artist, was wheeled in by her attendant. It was charming to see Patti’s sweetness and tenderness to this little lady. Indeed, it is worth going miles to hear the diva call one of her friends 4 darling.’ 4 What do you love best, madame, alter M. Nicolini ?’

The diva laughed and cast an affectionate glance at Ernesto, a short, thick-set, largenosed man, with intensely black eyes and pointed beard, who was explaining to some Italian friends how extremely ill ho had been. ‘Next to my husband, I love my beautiful home in Wales. I am interested in our lovely theatre which is building there. I love my singing, I love my painting, my banjo, and my zither, and ah! the dear public. Don’t forget to put that in.’ gi 4 What are your pet superstitions, madame ?’

1 Oh, Fridays, of course. Unlucky day. I will not sign a contract on that day.’ ‘ And your fads V 4 I have a craze for old china, and have a most rare and enchanting collection. But one possession which I prize most dearly is the doll I played with when I was a little girl.’ ‘ What is the routine of your life, madame ?’

4 Well, at home I generally rise at eight; but while I am travelling I do not rise until ten o'clock. I have my bath and a cup of buillon, but I do not breakfast until twelve o’clock—a light meal without tea or coffee, neither of which I ever drink. In the afternoon I drive or receive my friends or amuse myself with my banjo, and after an early dinner I rest until I go to, the theatre. V’la. ’ Having assured his readers that 1 the hair —that hair which occasioned an international commotion—was piled high on the proud little head ; the big lustrous eyes have not last one gleam of brilliancy, and the marvellous complexion still holds its own,’ the impressionable reporter does not forget to let the curious into the secret of these triumps of the toilette. 4 About my hair ?’ says the diva with characteristic naivete. 4 Well, I’ll tell you a secret. It was done in New York. Everybody thinks it was done abroad. It was only begun there, all the finishing touches were all put on here. See, is it nob beautiful ? You cannot see a dark hair anywhere—nob even the roots,’ and sho bent her pretty head and allowed me to part the thick locks and search in vain for any dusky tresses (! !) ‘And your complexion, madame, how do you preserve its freshness ?’— 4 By creams and lotions with which one New York firm supplies me. I remove the stage cosmetics with cold cream, and I wash my face with lukewarm water and wipe it with a soft cloth.’