Chapter IV: Part 4

It is better to leave the study of repertoire until later years; that is, until the study of voice has been pursued for a sufficient time to insure regular progress in the study of repertoire. Personally, I am opposed to those methods which take the student directly to the study of repertoire without any previous vocal drill. The voice, to be valuable to the singer, must be able to stand the wear and tear of many seasons. It is often some years before the young singer is able to achieve real success and the profits come with the later years. A voice that is not carefully drilled and trained, so that the singer knows how to get the most out of it, with the least strain and the least expenditure of effort, will not stand the wear and tear of many years of opera life.

After all, the study of repertoire is the easiest thing. Getting the voice properly trained is the difficult thing. In the study of repertoire the singer often makes the mistake of leaping right into the more difficult roles. She should start with the simpler roles; such as those of some of the lesser parts in the old Italian operas. Then, she may essay the leading roles of, let us say, _Traviata_, _Barber of Seville_, _Norma_, _Faust_, _Romeo and Juliet_, and _Carmen_.

Instead of simple roles, she seems inclined to spend her time upon _Isolde_, _Mimi_, _Elsa_ or _Butterfly_. It has become so, that now, when a new singer comes to me and wants to sing _Tosca_ or some role that (sic) the so-called new or _verissimo_ Italian school, I almost invariably refuse to listen. I ask them to sing something from _Norma_ or _Puritani_ or _Dinorah_ or _Lucia_ in which it is impossible for them to conceal their vocal faults. But no, they want to sing the big aria from the second act of _Madama Butterfly_, which is hardly to be called an aria at all but rather a collection of dramatic phrases. When they are done, I ask them to sing some of the opening phrases from the same role, and ere long they discover that they really have nothing which an impresario can purchase. They are without the voice and without the complete knowledge of the parts which they desire to sing.

Then they discover that the impresario knows that the tell-tale pieces are the old arias from old Italian operas. They reveal the voice in its entirety. If the breath control is not right, it becomes evident at once. If the quality is not right, it becomes as plain as the features of the young lady's face. There is no dramatic--emotional--curtain under which to hide these shortcomings. Consequently, knowing what I do, I would insist upon my daughter having a thorough training in the old Italian arias.

HER TRAINING IN ACTING

Her training in acting would depend largely upon her natural talent. Some children are born actors--natural mimics. They act from their childhood right up to old age. They can learn more in five minutes than others can learn in years. Some seem to require little or no training in the art of acting. As a rule they become the most forceful acting singers. Others improve wonderfully under the direction of a clever teacher.

The new school of opera demands higher histrionic ability from the singer. In fact, we have come to a time when opera is a real drama set to music which is largely recitative and which does not distract from the action of the drama. The librettos of other days were, to say the least, ridiculous. If the music had not had a marvelous hold upon the people they could not have remained in popular favor. To my mind it is an indication of the wonderful power of music that these operas retain their favor. There is something about the melodies which seems to preserve them for all time; and the public is just as anxious to hear them to-day as it was twenty-five and fifty years ago.

Richard Wagner turned the tide of acting in opera by his music dramas. Gluck and von Weber had already made an effort in the right direction; but it remained for the mighty power of Wagner to accomplish the final work. Now we are witnessing the rise of a school of musical dramatic actors such as Garden, Maurel, Renaud, and others which promises to raise the public taste in this matter and which will add vastly to the pleasure of opera going, as it will make the illusion appear more real.

This also imposes upon the impresario a new contingency which threatens to make opera more and more expensive. Costumes, scenery and all the settings nowadays must be both historically authentic and costly. The collection of wigs, robes, and armor, together with a few sets of scenery, often with the chairs and other furniture actually painted on the scenes, which a few years ago were thought adequate for the equipment of an opera company, have now given way to equipment more elaborate than that of a Belasco or a Henry Irving. Nothing is left undone to make the picture real and beautiful. In fact operatic productions, as now given in America, are as complete and luxurious as any performances given anywhere in the world.

MME. EMMA EAMES

BIOGRAPHICAL

Mme. Emma Eames was born at Shanghai, China. Her father, a graduate of Harvard Law School, had been a sea-captain and had been in business in the Chinese city. At the age of five she was brought back to the home of her parents at Bath, Maine. Her mother was an accomplished amateur singer who supervised her early musical training. At sixteen she went to Boston to study with Miss Munger. At nineteen she became a pupil of Marchesi in Paris and remained with the celebrated teacher for two years. At twenty-one she made her debut at the Grand Opera in Paris in _Romeo et Juliette_. Two years later she appeared at Covent Garden, London, with such success that she was immediately engaged for the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. Few singers ever gained such a strong hold upon the American and English public. Her voice is a fine flexible soprano, capable of doing _Marguerite_ or _Elisabeth_ equally well. Her husband, Emilio de Gogorza, with whom it is our privilege to present a conference later in this book, is one of the foremost baritones of our time.

HOW A GREAT MASTER COACHED OPERA SINGERS

MME. EMMA EAMES

GOUNOD AN IDEALIST

One does not need to review the works of Charles Gounod to any great extent before discovering that above all things he was an idealist. His whole aspect of life and art was that of a man imbued with a sense of the beautiful and a longing to actualize some noble art purpose. He was of an age of idealists. Coming at the artificial period of the Second Empire, he was influenced by that artistic atmosphere, as were such masters of the brush as Jean August Ingres and Eugene Delacroix. This, however, was unconscious, and in no way affected his perfect sincerity in all he did.

FIRST MEETING WITH GOUNOD

I was taken to Gounod by my master, Mme. Mathilde Marchesi, who, perhaps, had some reason to regret her kindness in introducing me, since Gounod did not favor what he conceived as the Italian method of singing. He had a feeling that the Italian school, as he regarded it, was too obvious, and that French taste demanded more sincerity, more subtlety, better balance and a certain finesse which the purely vocal Italian style slightly obscured. Mme. Marchesi was very irate over Gounod's attitude, which she considered highly insulting; whereas, as a matter of fact, Gounod was doing the only thing that a man of his convictions could do, and that was to tell what he conceived as the truth.

Gounod's study was a room which fitted his character perfectly. His very pronounced religious tendencies were marked by the stained glass windows which cast a delicate golden tint over the little piano he occasionally used when composing. On one side was a pipe organ upon which he was very fond of playing. In fact, the whole atmosphere was that of a chapel, which, together with the beautiful and dignified appearance of the master himself, made an impression that one could not forget. His great sincerity, his lofty aims, his wonderful earnestness, his dramatic intensity, were apparent at once. Many composers are hopelessly disappointing in their appearance, but when one saw Gounod, it was easy to realize whence come the beautiful musical colors which make _Romeo et Juliette_, _Faust_ and _The Redemption_ so rich and individual. His whole artistic character is revealed in a splendid word of advice he gave to me when I first went to him: "Anyone who is called to any form of musical expression must reveal himself only in the language that God has given him to speak with. Find this language yourself and try, above all things, to be sincere--never singing down to your public."

Gounod had a wonderful power of compelling attention. While one was with him his personality was so great that it seemed to envelop you, obliterating everything else. This can be attributed not only to magnetism or hypnotism, but also to his own intense, all-burning interest in whatever he was engaged upon. Naturally the relationship of teacher and pupil is different from that of comradeship, but I was impressed that Gounod, even in moments of apparent repose, never seemed to lose that wonderful force which virtually consumed the entire attention of all those who were in his presence.

He had remarkable gifts in painting word-pictures. His imagination was so vigorous that he could make one feel that which he saw in his mind's eye as actually present. I attribute this to the fact that he himself was possessed by the subject at hand and spoke from the fountains of his deepest conviction. First he made you see and then he made you express. He taught one that to convince others one must first be convinced. Indeed, he allowed a great variety of interpretations in order that one might interpret through one's own power of conception rather than through following blindly his own.

During my lessons with Gounod he revealed not only his very pronounced histrionic ability, but also his charming talent as a singer. I had an accompanist who came with me to the lessons and when I was learning the various roles, Gounod always sang the duets with me. Although he was well along in years, he had a small tenor voice, exquisitely sweet and sympathetic. He sang with delightful ease and with invariably perfect diction, and perfect vision. If some of our critics of musical performances were more familiar with the niceties of pronunciation and accentuation of different foreign languages, many of our present-day singers would be called upon to suffer some very severe criticisms. I speak of this because Gounod was most insistent upon correct pronunciation and accent, so that the full meaning of the words might be conveyed to every member of the audience.

A HEARING AT THE OPERA

When I went to the opera for my hearing or _audition_, Gounod went with me and we sang the duets together. The director, M. Gailhard, refused my application, claiming that I was a debutante and could not expect an initial performance at the Grand Opera despite my ability and musical attainments. It may be interesting for aspiring vocal students to learn something of the various obstacles which still stand in the way of a singer, even after one has had a very thorough training and acquired proficiency which should compel a hearing. Alas! in opera, as in many other lines of human endeavor, there is a political background that is often black with intrigue and machinations. I was determined to fight my way on the merit of my art, and accordingly I was obliged to wait for nearly two years before I was able to make my debut. These were years filled with many exasperating circumstances.

I went to Brussels after two years' study with Marchesi, having been promised my debut there. I was kept for months awaiting it and was finally prevented from making an appearance by one who, pretending to be my friend and to be doing all in her power to further my career, was in reality threatening the directors with instant breaking of her contract should I be allowed to appear. I had this on the authority of Mr. Gevaert, the then director of the Conservatoire and my firm friend. The artist was a great success and her word was law. It was on my return that I was taken to Gounod and I waited a year for a hearing.

Gounod's opera, _Romeo et Juliette_, had been given at the Opera Comique many times but there was a demand for performances at the Grand Opera. Accordingly Gounod added a ballet, which fitted it for performance at the Opera. Apropos of this ballet, Gounod said to me, with no little touch of cynicism, "Now you shall see what kind of music a _Ga Ga_ can write" (Ga Ga is the French term for a very old man, that is, a man in his dotage). He was determined that I should be heard at the Grand Opera as Juliette, but even his influence could not prevent the director from signing an agreement with one he personally preferred, which required that she should have the honor of making her debut at the Grand Opera in the part. Then it was that I became aware that it was not only because I was a debutante that I had been denied. Gounod would not consent to this arrangement, insisting on her making her debut previously in _Faust_, and fortunate it was, since the singer in question never attained more than mediocre success. Gounod still demanded as a compromise that the first six performances of the opera should be given to Adelina Patti, and that they should send for me for the subsequent ones.

In the meantime I was engaged at the Opera Comique. There Massenet looked with disfavor upon my debut before that of Sybil Sanderson. Massenet had brought fortunes to the Opera Comique through his immensely popular and theatrically effective operas. Consequently his word was law. I waited for some months and no suggestion of an opportunity for a performance presented itself. All the time I was engaged in extending my repertoire and becoming more and more indignant at the treatment I was receiving in not being allowed to sing the operas thus acquired. My year's contract had still three months to run when I received an offer from St. Petersburg. Shortly thereafter I received a note from M. Gailhard announcing that he wished to see me. I went and he informed me that Gounod was still insistent upon my appearance in the role of _Juliette_. I was irritated by the whole long train of aggravating circumstances, but said, "Give me the contract, I'll sign it." Then I went directly to the Opera Comique and asked to see the director. I was towering with indignation--indeed, I felt myself at least seven feet tall and perhaps quite as wide. I demanded my contract. To his "Mais, Mademoiselle--" I commanded, "Send for it." He brought the contract and tore it up in my presence, only to learn next morning to his probable chagrin that I was engaged and announced for an important role at the Grand Opera. The first performance of a debutante at the Grand Opera is a great ordeal, and it is easy to imagine that the strain upon a young singer might deprive her of her natural powers of expression. The outcome of mine was most fortuitous and with success behind me I found my road very different indeed. However, if I had not had a friend at court, in the splendid person of Charles Gounod, I might have been obliged to wait years longer, and perhaps never have had an opportunity to appear in Paris, where only a few foreigners in a generation get such a privilege. It is a great one, I consider, as there is no school of good taste and restraint like the French, which is also one where one may acquire the more intellectual qualities in one's work and a sense of proportion and line.

GOUNOD AS A MODERNIST

I have continually called attention to Gounod's idealism. There are some to-day who might find the works of Gounod artificial in comparison with the works of some very modern writers. To them I can only say that the works of the great master gave a great deal of joy to audiences fully as competent to judge of their artistic and aesthetic beauty as any of the present day. Indeed, their flavor is so delicate and sublimated that the subsequent attempts at interpreting them with more realistic methods only succeeds in destroying their charm.

It may be difficult for some who are saturated with the ultra-modern tendencies in music to look upon Gounod as a modernist, but thus he was regarded by his own friends. One of my most amusing recollections of Gounod was his telling me--himself much amused thereby--of the first performance of _Faust_. His friends had attended in large numbers to assist at the expected "success," only to be witnesses of a huge failure. Gounod told me that the only numbers to have any success whatsoever were the "Soldiers' Chorus," and that of the old men in the second part of the first act. He said that all his friends avoided him and disappeared or went on the other side of the street. Some of the more intimate told him that he must change his manner of writing as it was so "unmelodious" and "advanced." This seems to me a most interesting recollection, in view of the "cubist" music of Stravinsky and Co. of to-day.

In thinking of Gounod we must not forget his period and his public. We must realize that his operatic heroes and heroines must be approached from an altogether idealistic attitude--never a materialistic one. See the manner in which Gounod has taken Shakespeare's _Juliette_ and translated her into an atmosphere of poetry. Nevertheless he constantly intensifies his dramatic situations as the dramatic nature of the composition demands.

His _Juliette_, though consistent with his idea of her throughout, is not the _Juliet_ of Shakespeare. As also his _Marguerite_ is that of Kaulbach and not the Gretchen of Goethe.

Of course, a great deal depends upon the training and school of the artist interpreting the role. In my own interpretations I am governed by certain art principles which seem very vital indeed to me. The figure of the Mediaeval Princess _Elsa_ has to be represented with a restraint quite opposed to that of the panting savage _Aida_. Also, the palpitating, elemental _Tosca_ calls for another type of character painting than, for instance, the modest, gestureless, timid and womanly Japanese girl in Mascagni's _Iris_. These things are not taught in schools by teachers. They come only after the prolonged study which every conscientious artist must give to her roles. Gounod felt this very strongly and impressed it upon me. All music had a meaning to him--an inner meaning which the great mind invariably divines through a kind of artistic intuition difficult to define. I remember his playing to me the last act of _Don Giovanni_, which in his hands gained the grandeur and depth of Greek tragedy. He had in his hands the power to thrill one to the very utmost. Again he was keenly delighted with the most joyous passages in music. He was exceptionally fond of Mozart. _Le Nozze di Figaro_ was especially appreciated. He used to say, after accompanying himself in the aria of Cherubino the Page, from the 1st act, "Isn't that Spring? Isn't that youth? Isn't that the joy of life? How marvelously Mozart has crystallized this wonderful exuberant spirit in his music!"

ONE REASON FOR GOUNOD'S EMINENCE

One reason for Gounod's eminence lay in his great reverence for his art. He believed in the cultivation of reverence for one's art, as the religious devotee has reverence for his cult. To Gounod his art was a religion. To use a very expressive colloquialism, "He never felt himself above his job." Time and again we meet men and women who make it a habit to look down upon their work as though they were superior to it. They are continually apologizing to their friends and depreciating their occupation. Such people seem foreordained for failure. If one can not regard the work one is engaged upon with the greatest earnestness and respect--if one can not feel that the work is worthy of one's deepest _reverence_, one can accomplish little. I have seen so much of this with students and aspiring musicians that I feel that I would be missing a big opportunity if I did not emphasize this fine trait in Gounod's character. I know of one man in particular who has been going down and down every year largely because he has never considered anything he has had to do as worthy of his best efforts. He has always been "above his job." If you are dissatisfied with your work, seek out something that you think is really deserving of your labor, something commensurate with your idea of a serious dignified occupation in which you feel that you may do your best work. In most cases, however, it is not a matter of occupation but an attitude of mind--the difference between an earnest dignified worker and one who finds it more comfortable to evade work. This is true in music as in everything else. If you can make your musical work a cult as Gounod did, if you have talent--vision--ah! how few have vision, how few can really and truly see--if you have the understanding which comes through vision, there is no artistic height which you may not climb.

One can not hope to give a portrait of Gounod in so short an interview. One can only point out a few of his most distinguishing features. One who enjoyed his magnificent friendship can only look upon it as a hallowed memory. After all, Gounod has written himself into his own music and it is to that we must go if we would know his real nature.

MME. FLORENCE EASTON

BIOGRAPHICAL

Mme. Florence Easton was born at Middleborough, Yorkshire, England, Oct. 25, 1887. At a very early age she was taken to Toronto, Canada, by her parents, who were both accomplished singers. She was given a musical training in youth with the view of making her a concert pianist. Her teacher was J. A. D. Tripp, and at the age of eleven she appeared in concert. Her vocal talents were discovered and she was sent to the Royal Academy at London, England, where her teachers were Reddy and Mme. Agnes Larkom, a pupil of Garcia. She then went to Paris and studied under Eliot Haslam, an English teacher resident in the French metropolis. She then took small parts in the well-known English Opera organization, the Moody-Manners Company, acquiring a large repertoire in English. With her husband, Francis Maclennen, she came to America to take the leading roles in the Savage production of _Parsifal_, remaining to sing the next season in _Madama Butterfly_. The couple were then engaged to sing for six years at the Berlin Royal Opera and became wonderfully successful. After three years at Hamburg and two years with the Chicago Opera Company she was engaged for dramatic roles at the Metropolitan, and has become a great favorite.

(C) Mishkin.]

THE OPEN DOOR TO OPERA

MME. FLORENCE EASTON

What is the open door to opera in America? Is there an open door, and if not, how can one be made? Who may go through that door and what are the terms of admission? These are questions which thousands of young American opera aspirants are asking just now.

The prospect of singing at a great opera house is so alluring and the reward in money is often so great that students center their attentions upon the grand prize and are willing to take a chance of winning, even though they know that only one in a very few may succeed and then often at bitter sacrifice.

The question is a most interesting one to me, as I think that I know what the open door to opera in this country might be--what it may be if enough patriotic Americans could be found to cut through the hard walls of materialism, conventionalism and indifference. It lies through the small opera company--the only real and great school which the opera singer of the future can have.

THE SCHOOL OF PRIME DONNE

In European countries there are innumerable small companies capable of giving good opera which the people enjoy quite as thoroughly as the metropolitan audiences of the world enjoy the opera which commands the best singers of the times. For years these small opera companies have been the training schools of the great singers. Not to have gone through such a school was as damaging an admission as that of not having gone through a college would be to a college professor applying for a new position. Lilli Lehmann, Schumann-Heink, Ruffo, Campanini, Jenny Lind, Patti, all are graduates of these schools of practice.

In America there seems to have existed for years a kind of prejudice, bred of ignorance, against all opera companies except those employing all-star casts in the biggest theatres in the biggest cities. This existed, despite the fact that these secondary opera companies often put on opera that was superior to the best that was to be heard in some Italian, German and French cities which possessed opera companies that stood very high in the estimation of Americans who had never heard them. It was once actually the case that the fact that a singer had once sung in a smaller opera company prevented her from aspiring to sing in a great opera company. America, however, has become very much better informed and much more independent in such matters, and our opera goers are beginning to resemble European audiences in that they let their ears and their common sense determine what is best rather than their prejudices and their conventions regarding reputation. It was actually the case at one time in America that a singer with a great reputation could command a large audience, whereas a singer of far greater ability and infinitely better voice might be shut out because she had once sung in an opera company not as pretentious as those in the big cities. This seemed very comic indeed to many European singers, who laughed in their coat sleeves over the real situation.

In the first place, the small companies in many cities would provide more singers with opportunities for training and public appearances. The United States now has two or three major opera companies. Count up on your fingers the greatest number of singers who could be accommodated with parts: only once or twice in a decade does the young singer, at the age when the best formative work must be done, have a chance to attain the leading roles. If we had in America ten or twenty smaller opera companies of real merit, the chances would be greatly multiplied.

The first thing that the singer has to fight is stage fright. No matter how well you may know a role in a studio, unless you are a very extraordinary person you are likely to take months in acquiring the stage freedom and ease in working before an audience. There is only one cure for stage fright, and that is to appear continually until it wears off. Many deserving singers have lost their great chances because they have depended upon what they have learned in the studio, only to find that when they went before a great and critical audience their ability was suddenly reduced to 10 per cent., if not to zero. Even after years of practice and experience in great European opera houses where I appeared repeatedly before royalty, the reputation of the Metropolitan Opera House in New York was so great that at the time I made my debut there I was so afflicted by stage fright that my voice was actually reduced to one-half of its force and my other abilities accordingly. This is the truth, and I am glad to have young singers know it as it emphasizes my point.

Imagine what the effect would have been upon a young singer who had never before sung in public on the stage. Footlight paralysis is one of the most terrifying of all acute diseases and there is no cure for it but experience.

THE BEST BEGINNING

In the Moody Manners Company in England, the directors wisely understood this situation and prepared for it. All the singers scheduled to take leading roles (and they were for the most part very young singers, since when the singer became experienced enough she was immediately stolen by companies paying higher salaries) were expected to go for a certain time in the chorus (not to sing, just to walk off and on the stage) until familiar with the situation. Accordingly, my first appearance with the Moody Manners Company was when I walked out with the chorus. I have never heard of this being done deliberately by any other managers, but think how sensible it is!

Again, it is far more advantageous for the young singer to appear in the smaller opera house at first, so that if any errors are made the opera goers will not be unforgiving. There is no tragedy greater than throwing a young girl into an operatic situation far greater than her experience and ability can meet, and then condemning her for years because she did not rise to the occasion. This has happened many times in recent years. Ambition is a beautiful thing; but when ambition induces one to walk upon a tight rope over Niagara, without having first learned to walk properly on earth, ambition should be restrained. I can recollect several singers who were widely heralded at their first performances by enthusiastic admirers, who are now no longer known. What has become of them? Is it not better to learn the profession of opera singing in its one great school, and learn it so thoroughly that one can advance in the profession, just as one may advance in every other profession? The singer in the small opera company who, night after night, says to herself, "To-morrow it must be better," is the one who will be the Lilli Lehmann, the Galli-Curci, or the Schumann-Heink of to-morrow; not the important person who insists upon postponing her debut until she can appear at the Metropolitan or at Covent Garden.

Colonel Henry W. Savage did America an immense service, as did the Aborn Brothers and Fortune Gallo, in helping to create a popular taste for opera presented in a less pretentious form. America needs such companies and needs them badly, not merely to educate the public up to an appreciation of the fact that the finest operatic performances in the world are now being given at the Metropolitan Opera House, but to help provide us with well-schooled singers for the future.

NECESSITY OF ROUTINE

Nothing can take the place of routine in learning operas. Many, many opera singers I have known seem to be woefully lacking in it. In learning a new opera, I learn all the parts that have anything to do with the part I am expected to sing. In other words, I find it very inadvisable to depend upon cues. There are so many disturbing things constantly occurring on the stage to throw one off one's track. For instance, when I made my first appearance in Mascagni's _Lodoletta_ I was obliged to go on with only twenty-four hours' notice, without rehearsal, in an opera I had seen produced only once. I had studied the role only two weeks. While on the stage I was so entranced with the wonderful singing of Mr. Caruso that I forgot to come in at the right time. He said to me quickly _sotto voce_--

"_Canta! Canta! Canta!_"

And my routine drill of the part enabled me to come in without letting the audience know of my error.

The mere matter of getting the voice to go with the orchestra, as well as that of identifying cues heard in the unusual quality of the orchestral instruments (so different from the tone quality of the piano), is most confusing, and only routine can accustom one to being ready to meet all of these strange conditions.

One is supposed to keep an eye on the conductor practically all of the time while singing. The best singers are those who never forget this, but do it so artfully that the audience never suspects. Many singers follow the conductor's baton so conspicuously that they give the appearance of monkeys on a string. This, of course, is highly ludicrous. I don't know of any way of overcoming it but experience. Yes, there is another great help, and that is musicianship. The conductor who knows that an artist is a musician in fact, is immensely relieved and always very appreciative. Singers should learn as much about the technical side of music as possible. Learning to play the violin or the piano, and learning to play it well is invaluable.

WATCHING FOR OPPORTUNITIES

The singer must be ever on the alert for opportunities to advance. This is largely a matter of preparation. If one is capable, the opportunities usually come. I wonder if I may relate a little incident which occurred to me in Germany long before the war. I had been singing in Berlin, when the impresario of the Royal Opera approached me and asked me if I could sing _Aida_ on a following Monday. I realized that if I admitted that I had never sung _Aida_ before, the thoroughgoing, matter-of-fact German Intendant would never even let me have a chance. Emmy Destinn was then the prima donna at the Royal Opera, and had been taken ill. The post was one of the operatic plums of all Europe. Before I knew it, I had said "Yes, I can sing _Aida_." It was a white lie, and once told, I had to live up to it. I had never sung _Aida_, and only knew part of it. Running home I worked all night long to learn the last act. Over and over the role hundreds and hundreds of times I went, until it seemed as though my eyes would drop out of my head. Monday night came, and thanks to my routine experience in smaller companies, I had learned _Aida_ so that I was perfectly confident of it. Imagine the strain, however, when I learned that the Kaiser and the court were to be present. At the end I was called before the Kaiser, who, after warmly complimenting me, gave me the greatly coveted post in his opera house. I do not believe that he ever found out that the little Toronto girl had actually fibbed her way into an opportunity.

TALES OF STRAUSS

Strauss was one of the leading conductors while I was at the Royal Opera and I sang under his baton many, many times. He was a real genius,--in that once his art work was completed, his interest immediately centered upon the next. Once while we were performing _Rosenkavalier_ he came behind the scenes and said:

"Will this awfully _long_ opera never end? I want to go home." I said to him, "But Doctor, you composed it yourself," and he said, "Yes, but I never meant to conduct it."

Let it be explained that Strauss was an inveterate player of the German card game, Scat, and would far rather seek a quiet corner with a few choice companions than go through one of his own works night after night. However, whenever the creative instinct was at work he let nothing impede it. I remember seeing him write upon his cuffs (no doubt some passing theme) during a performance of _Meistersinger_ he was conducting.

THE SINGER'S GREATEST NEED

The singer's greatest need, or his greatest asset if he has one, is an honest critic. My husband and I have made it a point never to miss hearing one another sing, no matter how many times we have heard each other sing in a role. Sometimes, after a big performance, it is very hard to have to be told about all the things that one did not do well, but that is the only way to improve. There are always many people to tell one the good things, but I feel that the biggest help that I have had through my career has been the help of my husband, because he has always told me the places where I could improve, so that every performance I had something new to think about. An artist never stands still. He either goes forward or backward and, of course, the only way to get to the top is by going forward.

The difficulty in America is in giving the young singers a chance after their voices are placed. If only we could have a number of excellent stock opera companies, even though there had to be a few traveling stars after the manner of the old dramatic companies, where everybody had to start at the bottom and work his way up, because with a lovely voice, talent and perseverance anyone can get to the top if one has a chance to work. By "work" I mean singing as many new roles as possible and as often as possible and not starting at a big opera house singing perhaps two or three times during a season. Just think of it,--the singer at a small opera house has more chance to learn in two months than the beginner at a big opera house might have in five years. After all, the thing that is most valuable to a singer is time, as with time the voice will diminish in beauty. Getting to the top via the big opera house is the work of a lifetime, and the golden tones are gone before one really has an opportunity to do one's best work.

GERALDINE FARRAR

BIOGRAPHICAL

Although one of the youngest of the noted American singers, none has achieved such an extensive international reputation as Miss Farrar. Born February 28, 1882, in Melrose, Mass., she was educated at the public schools in that city. At the school age she became the pupil of Mrs. J. H. Long, in Boston. After studying with several teachers, including Emma Thursby, in New York, and Trabadello, in Paris, she went to Lilli Lehmann in Berlin, and under this, the greatest of dramatic singers of her time, Miss Farrar received a most thorough and careful training in all the elements of her art. She made her debut as Marguerite in _Faust_ at the Royal Opera in Berlin, October 15th, 1901. Later, after touring European cities with ever increasing successes, she was engaged at the Opera Comique and Grand Opera, Paris, and then at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, where she has been the leading soprano for many seasons. The many enticing offers made for appearances in moving pictures led to a new phase of her career. In many pictures she has appeared with her husband, M. Lou Tellegen, one of the most distinguished actors of the French school, who at one time was the leading man for Sarah Bernhardt.

The following conference is rich in advice to any young woman who desires to know what she must do in order to become a prima donna.

WHAT MUST I GO THROUGH TO BECOME A PRIMA DONNA?

MME. GERALDINE FARRAR

What must I do to become a prima donna? Let us reverse the usual method of discussing the question and begin with the artist upon the stage in a great opera house like the Metropolitan in New York, on a gala night, every seat sold and hundreds standing. It is a modern opera with a "heavy" score. What is the first consideration of the singer?

Primarily, an artist in grand opera must _sing_ in some fashion to insure the proper projection of her role across the large spaces of the all-too-large auditoriums. Those admirable requisites of clear diction, facial expression and emotional appeal will be sadly hampered unless the medium of sound carries their message. It is only from sad experience that one among many rises superior to some of the disadvantages of our modern opera repertoire. Gone are the days when the facile vocalist was supported by a small group of musicians intent upon a discreet accompaniment for the benefit of the singer's vocal exertions. Voices trained for the older repertoire were not at the mercy of an enlarged orchestra pit, wherein the over-zealous gentlemen now fight--_furioso ad libitum_--for the supremacy of operatic effects.

An amiable musical observer once asked me why we all shouted so in opera. I replied by a question, asking if he had ever made an after-dinner speech. He acquiesced. I asked him how many times he rapped on the table for attention and silence. He admitted it was rather often. I asked him why. He said, so that he might be heard. He answered his own question by conceding that the carrying timbre of a voice cannot compete successfully against even banquet hall festivities unless properly focused out of a normal speaking tone. The difference between a small room and one seating several hundred is far greater than the average auditor realizes. If the mere rattling of silver and china will eclipse this vocal effort in speech I leave to your imagination what must transpire when the singer is called upon to dominate with one thread of song the tremendous onslaught of an orchestra and to rise triumphant above it in a theater so large that the faithful gatherers in the gallery tell me we all look like pigmies, and half the time are barely heard. Since the recesses where we must perform are so exaggerated everything must be in like proportion, hence we are very often too noisy, but how can it be otherwise if we are to influence the eager taxpayer in row X? After all, he has not come to hear us _whisper_, and his point of vantage is not so admirable as if he were sitting at a musical comedy in a small theater. For this condition the size of the theater and the instrumentation imposed by the composer are to be censured, and less blame placed upon the overburdened shoulders of the vocal competitor against these odds. Little shading in operatic tone color is possible unless an accompanying phrase permits it or the trumpeter swallows a pin!

LUCIA OR ZAZA

If your repertoire is _The Barber_, _Lucia_, _Somnambula_ and all such Italian dainties, well and good. Nothing need disturb the complete enjoyment of this lace-work. But if your auditors weep at _Butterfly_ and _Zaza_ or thrill to _Pagliacci_, they demand you use a quite different technic, which comes to the point of my story.

I believe it was Jean de Reszke who advocated the voice "in the mask" united to breath support from the diaphragm. From personal observation I should say our coloratura charmers lay small emphasis on that highly important factor and use their head voices with a freedom more or less God given. But the power and life-giving quality of this fundamental cannot be too highly estimated for us who must color our phrases to suit modern dramatics and evolve a carrying quality that will not only eliminate the difficulty of vocal demands, but at the same time insure immunity from harmful after-effects. This indispensable twin of the head voice is the dynamo which alone must endure all the necessary fatigue, leaving the actual voice phrases free to float unrestricted with no ignoble distortions or possible signs of distress. Alas! it is not easy to write of this, but the experience of years proves how vital a point is its saving grace and how, unfortunately, it remains an unknown factor to many.

To note two of our finest examples of greatness in this marvelous profession, Lilli Lehmann and Jean de Reszke, neither of whom had phenomenal vocal gifts, I would point out their remarkable mental equipment, unceasing and passionate desire for perfection, paired with an unerring instinct for the noble and distinguished such as has not been found in other exponents of purely vocal virtuosity, with a few rare exceptions, as Melba and Galli-Curci, for instance, to mention two beautiful instruments of our generation.

The singing art is not a casual inspiration and it should never be treated as such. The real artist will have an organized mental strategy just as minute and reliable as any intricate machinery, and will under all circumstances (save complete physical disability) be able to control and dominate her gifts to their fullest extent. This is not learned in a few years within the four walls of a studio, but is the result of a lifetime of painstaking care and devotion.

There was a time when ambition and overwork so told upon me that mistakenly I allowed myself to minimize my vocal practice. How wrong that was I found out in short time and I have returned long since to my earlier precepts as taught me by Lilli Lehmann.

KEEP THE VOICE STRONG AND FLEXIBLE

In her book, _How to Sing_, there is much for the student to digest with profit, though possible reservations are advisable, dependent upon one's individual health and vocal resistance. Her strong conviction was, and is, that a voice requires daily and conscientious exercise to keep it strong and flexible. Having successfully mastered the older Italian roles as a young singer, her incursion into the later-day dramatic and classic repertoire in no wise became an excuse to let languish the fundamental idea of beautiful sound. How vitally important and admirably _bel canto_ sustained by the breath support has served her is readily understood when one remembers that she has outdistanced all the colleagues of her earlier career and now well over sixty, she is as indefatigable in her daily practice as we younger singers should be.

This brief extract about Patti (again quoting Lilli Lehmann) will furnish an interesting comparison:

In Adelina Patti everything was united--the splendid voice paired with great talent for singing, and the long oversight of her studies by her distinguished teacher, Strakosch. She never sang roles that did not suit her voice; in her earlier years she sang only arias and duets or single solos, never taking part in ensembles. She never sang even her limited repertory when she was indisposed. She never attended rehearsals, but came to the theater in the evening and sang triumphantly, without ever having seen the persons who sang or acted with her. She spared herself rehearsals, which, on the day of the performance or the day before, exhaust all singers because of the excitement of all kinds attending them, and which contribute neither to the freshness of the voice nor to the joy of the profession.

Although she was a Spaniard by birth and an American by early adoption, she was, so to speak, the greatest Italian singer of my time. All was absolutely good, correct and flawless, the voice like a bell that you seemed to hear long after its singing had ceased. Yet she could give no explanation of her art, and answered all her colleagues' questions concerning it with "Ah, je n'en sais rien!" She possessed unconsciously, as a gift of nature, a union of all those qualities that other singers must attain and possess consciously. Her vocal organs stood in the most favorable relations to each other. Her talent and her remarkably trained ear maintained control over the beauty of her singing and her voice. Fortunate circumstances of her life preserved her from all injury. The purity and flawlessness of her tone, the beautiful equalization of her whole voice constituted the magic by which she held her listeners entranced. Moreover, she was beautiful and gracious in appearance. The accent of great dramatic power she did not possess, yet I ascribe this more to her intellectual indolence than to her lack of ability.

But how few of us would ever make a career if we waited for such favors from Nature!

LESSONS MUST BE ADEQUATE

Bearing in mind the absolute necessity and real joy in vocal work, it confounds and amazes me that teachers of this art feel their duty has been accomplished when they donate twenty minutes or half an hour to a pupil! I do not honestly believe this is a fair exchange, and it is certainly not within reason to believe that within so short a time a pupil can actually benefit by the concentration and instruction so hastily conferred upon her. If this be very plain speaking, it is said with the object to benefit the pupil only, for it is, after all, _they_ who must pay the ultimate in success or failure. An hour devoted to the minute needs of one pupil is not too much time to devote to so delicate a subject. An intelligent taskmaster will let his pupil demonstrate ten or fifteen minutes and during the same period of rest will discuss and awaken the pupil's interest from an intelligent point of view, that some degree of individuality may color even the drudgery of the classroom. A word of counsel from such a mistress of song as Lehmann or Sembrich is priceless, but the sums that pour into greedy pockets of vocal mechanics, not to say a harsher word, is a regretable proceeding. Too many mediocrities are making sounds. Too many of the same class are trying to instruct, but, as in politics, the real culprit is the people. As long as the public forbear an intelligent protest in this direction, just so long will the studios be crowded with pathetic seekers for fame. What employment these infatuated individuals enjoyed before the advent of grand opera and the movies became a possible exhaust pipe for their vanity is not clear, but they certainly should be discouraged. New York alone is crowded with aspirants for the stage, and their little bag of tricks is of very slender proportions. Let us do everything in our power to help the really worthy talent; but it is a mistaken charity, and not patriotic, to shove singers and composers so called, of American birth, upon a weary public which perceives nothing except the fact that they are of native birth and have no talent to warrant such assumption.

I do not think the musical observers are doing the cause of art in this country a favor when columns are written about the inferior works of the non-gifted. An ambitious effort is all right in its way, but that is no reason to connect the ill-advised production with American hopes. On the contrary, it does us a bad turn. I shall still contend that the English language is not a pretty one for our vocal exploitations, and within my experience of the past ten years I have heard but one American work which I can sincerely say would have given me pleasure to create, that same being Mr. Henry Hadley's recently produced _Cleopatra's Night_. His score is rich and deserving of the highest praise.

In closing I should like to quote again from Mme. Lehmann's book an exercise that would seem to fulfill a long-felt want:

"The great scale is the most necessary exercise for all kinds of voices. It was taught me by my mother. She taught it to all her pupils and to us."

Here is the scale as Lehmann taught it to me.

It was sung upon all the principal vowels. It was extended stepwise through different keys over the entire range of the two octaves of the voice. It was not her advice to practice it too softly, but it was done with all the resonating organs well supported by the diaphragm, the tone in a very supple and elastic "watery" state. She would think nothing of devoting from forty minutes to sixty minutes a day to the slow practice of this exercise. Of course, she would treat what one might call a heavy brunette voice quite differently from a bright blonde voice. These terms of blonde and brunette, of course, have nothing to do with the complexion of the individual, but to the color of the voice.

THE ONLY CURE

Lehmann said of this scale: "It is the only cure for all injuries, and at the same time the most excellent means of fortification against all over-exertion. I sing it every day, often twice, even if I have to sing one of the heaviest roles in the evening. I can rely absolutely upon its assistance. I often take fifty minutes to go through it once, for I let no tone pass that is lacking in any degree in pitch, power, duration or in single vibration of the propagation form."

Personally I supplement this great scale often with various florid legato phrases of arias selected from the older Italians or Mozart, whereby I can more easily achieve the vocal facility demanded by the tessitura of _Manon_ or _Faust_ and change to the darker-hued phrases demanded in _Carmen_ or _Butterfly_.

But the open secret of all success is patient, never-ending, conscientious _work_, with a forceful emphasis on the _WORK_.

MME. JOHANNA GADSKI

BIOGRAPHICAL