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VOCAL MASTERY
TALKS WITH MASTER SINGERS AND TEACHERS
COMPRISING INTERVIEWS WITH CARUSO, FARRAR, MAUREL, LEHMANN, AND OTHERS
BY
HARRIETTE BROWER
Author of "Piano Mastery, First and Second Series," "Home-Help in Music
Study," "Self-Help in Piano Study"
WITH TWENTY PORTRAITS
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS
1917,
by OLIVER DITSON COMPANY
1918, 1919,
by THE MUSICAL OBSERVER COMPANY
1920,
by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
FOREWORD
It has long been a cherished desire to prepare a series of Talks with
famous Singers, which should have an equal aim with Talks with Master
Pianists, namely, to obtain from the artists their personal ideas
concerning their art and its mastery, and, when possible, some inkling
as to the methods by which they themselves have arrived at the goal.
There have been unexpected and untold difficulties in the way of such an
undertaking. The greater the artist the more numerous the body-guard
which surrounds him--or her; the more stringent the watch over the
artist's time and movements. If one is able to penetrate this barrier
and is permitted to see the artist, one finds usually an affable
gentleman, a charming woman, with simple manners and kindly intentions.
However, when one is fortunate enough to come in touch with great
singers, one finds it difficult to draw from them a definite idea of the
process by which they have achieved victory. A pianist can describe his
manner of tone production, methods of touch, fingering, pedaling; the
violinist can discourse on the bow arm, use of left hand, on staccato
and pizzicati; but the singer is loath to describe his own instrument.
And even if singers could analyze, the description might not fit any
case but their own. For the art of singing is an individual art, the
perfecting an instrument hidden from sight. Each artist must achieve
mastery by overcoming difficulties which beset his own personal path.
Despite these obstacles, every effort has been put forth to induce
artists to speak from an educational standpoint. It is hoped the various
hints and precepts they have given, may prove of benefit to singers and
teachers. Limitations of space prevent the inclusion of many other
artists and teachers.
HARRIETTE BROWER.
150 West 80 Street, New York City.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
ENRICO CARUSO ... The Value of Work
GERALDINE FARRAR ... The Will to Succeed a Compelling Force
VICTOR MAUREL ... Mind Is Everything
A VISIT TO MME. LILLI LEHMANN
AMELITA GALLI-CURCI ... Self-teaching the Great Essential
GIUSEPPE DE LUCA ... Ceaseless Effort Necessary for Artistic Perfection
LUISA TETRAZZINI ... The Coloratura Voice
ANTONIO SCOTTI ... Training American Singers for Opera
ROSA RAISA ... Patience and Perseverance Win Results
LOUISE HOMER ... The Requirements of a Musical Career
GIOVANNI MARTINELLI ... "Let Us Have Plenty of Opera in America"
ANNA CASE ... Inspired Interpretation
FLORENCE EASTON ... Problems Confronting the Young Singer
MARGUERITE D'ALVAREZ ... The Message of the Singer
MARIA BARRIENTOS ... Be Your Own Critic
CLAUDIA MUZIO ... A Child of the Opera
EDWARD JOHNSON (EDOUARDO DI GIOVANNI) ... The Evolution of an Opera Star
REINALD WERRENRATH ... Achieving Success on the Concert Stage
SOPHIE BRASLAU ... Making a Career in America
MORGAN KINGSTON ... The Spiritual Side of the Singer's Art
FRIEDA HEMPEL ... A Lesson with a Prima Donna
WITH THE MASTER TEACHERS
DAVID BISPHAM ... The Making of Artist Singers
OSCAR SAENGER ... Use of Records in Vocal Study
HERBERT WITHERSPOON ... Memory, Imagination, Analysis
YEATMAN GRIFFITH ... Causation
J.H. DUVAL ... Some Secrets of Beautiful Singing
THE CODA ... A Resume
ILLUSTRATIONS
Enrico Caruso _Frontispiece_
Geraldine Farrar
Victor Maurel
Amelita Galli-Curci
Giuseppe de Luca
Luisa Tetrazzini
Antonio Scotti
Rosa Raisa
Louise Homer
Giovanni Martinelli
Anna Case
Florence Easton
Marguerite d'Alvarez
Maria Barrientos
Claudia Muzio
Edward Johnson
Reinald Werrenrath
Sophie Braslau
Morgan Kingston
Frieda Hempel
VOCAL MASTERY
I
=ENRICO CARUSO=
THE VALUE OF WORK
Enrico Caruso! The very name itself calls up visions of the greatest
operatic tenor of the present generation, to those who have both heard
and seen him in some of his many roles. Or, to those who have only
listened to his records, again visions of the wonderful voice, with its
penetrating, vibrant, ringing quality, the impassioned delivery, which
stamps every note he sings with the hall mark of genius, the tremendous,
unforgettable climaxes. Not to have heard Caruso sing is to have missed
something out of life; not to have seen him act in some of his best
parts is to have missed the inspiration of great acting. As Mr. Huneker
once wrote: "The artistic career of Caruso is as well known as that of
any great general or statesman; he is a national figure. He is a great
artist, and, what is rarer, a genuine man."
And how we have seen his art grow and ripen, since he first began to
sing for us. The date of his first appearance at the Metropolitan Opera
House, New York, was November 23rd, 1903. Then the voice was marvelous
in its freshness and beauty, but histrionic development lagged far
behind. The singer seemed unable to make us visualize the characters he
endeavored to portray. It was always Caruso who sang a certain part; we
could never forget that. But constant study and experience have
eliminated even this defect, so that to-day the singer and actor are
justly balanced; both are superlatively great. Can any one who hears and
sees Caruso in the role of Samson, listen unmoved to the throbbing wail
of that glorious voice and the unutterable woe of the blind man's
poignant impersonation?
IN EARLY DAYS
Enrico Caruso was born in Naples, the youngest of nineteen children. His
father was an engineer and the boy was taught the trade in his father's
shop, and was expected to follow in his father's footsteps. But destiny
decreed otherwise. As he himself said, to one listener:
"I had always sung as far back as I can remember, for the pure love of
it. My voice was contralto, and I sang in a church in Naples from
fourteen till I was eighteen. Then I had to go into the army for awhile.
I had never learned how to sing, for I had never been taught. One day a
young officer of my company said to me: 'You will spoil your voice if
you keep on singing like that'--for I suppose I was fond of shouting in
those days. 'You should learn _how_ to sing,' he said to me; 'you must
study.' He introduced me to a young man who at once took an interest in
me and brought me to a singing master named Vergine. I sang for him, but
he was very discouraging. His verdict was it would be hopeless to try to
make a singer out of me. As it was, I might possibly earn a few lire a
night with my voice, but according to his idea I had far better stick to
my father's trade, in which I could at least earn forty cents a day.
"But my young friend would not give up so easily. He begged Vergine to
hear me again. Things went a little better with me the second time and
Vergine consented to teach me.
RIGID DISCIPLINE
"And now began a period of rigid discipline. In Vergine's idea I had
been singing too loud; I must reverse this and sing everything softly.
I felt as though in a strait-jacket; all my efforts at expression were
most carefully repressed; I was never allowed to let out my voice. At
last came a chance to try my wings in opera, at ten lire a night
($2.00). In spite of the regime of repression to which I had been
subjected for the past three years, there were still a few traces of my
natural feeling left. The people were kind to me and I got a few
engagements. Vergine had so long trained me to sing softly, never
permitting me to sing out, that people began to call me the Broken
Tenor.
THE FIRST REAL CHANCE
"A better chance came before long. In 1896 the Opera House in Salerno
decided to produce _I Puritani_. At the last moment the tenor they had
engaged to sing the leading role became ill, and there was no one to
sing the part. Lombardi, conductor of the orchestra, told the directors
there was a young singer in Naples, about eighteen miles away, who he
knew could help them out and sing the part. When they heard the name
Caruso, they laughed scornfully. 'What, the Broken Tenor?' they asked.
But Lombardi pressed my claim, assured them I could be engaged, and no
doubt would be glad to sing for nothing.
"So I was sent for. Lombardi talked with me awhile first. He explained
by means of several illustrations, that I must not stand cold and stiff
in the middle of the stage, while I sang nice, sweet tones. No, I must
let out my voice, I must throw myself into the part, I must be alive to
it--must live it and in it. In short, I must act as well as sing.
A REVELATION
"It was all like a revelation to me. I had never realized before how
absolutely necessary it was to act out the character I attempted. So I
sang _I Puritani_, with as much success as could have been expected of a
young singer with so little experience. Something awoke in me at that
moment. From that night I was never called a 'Broken Tenor' again. I
made a regular engagement at two thousand lire a month. Out of this I
paid regularly to Vergine the twenty-five per cent which he always
demanded. He was somewhat reconciled to me when he saw that I had a real
engagement and was making a substantial sum, though he still insisted
that I would lose my voice in a few years. But time passes and I am
still singing.
RESULTS OF THE REVELATION
"The fact that I could secure an opera engagement made me realize I had
within me the making of an artist, if I would really labor for such an
end. When I became thoroughly convinced of this, I was transformed from
an amateur into a professional in a single day. I now began to take care
of myself, learn good habits, and endeavored to cultivate my mind as
well as my voice. The conviction gradually grew upon me that if I
studied and worked, I would be able one day to sing in such a way as to
satisfy myself."
THE VALUE OF WORK TO THE SINGER
Caruso believes in the necessity for work, and sends this message to all
ambitious students: "To become a singer requires work, work, and again
work! It need not be in any special corner of the earth; there is no one
spot that will do more for you than other places. It doesn't matter so
much where you are, if you have intelligence and a good ear. Listen to
yourself; your ear will tell you what kind of tones you are making. If
you will only use your own intelligence you can correct your own
faults."
CEASELESS STUDY
This is no idle speech, voiced to impress the reader. Caruso practices
what he preaches, for he is an incessant worker. Two or three hours in
the forenoon, and several more later in the day, whenever possible. He
does not neglect daily vocal technic, scales and exercises. There are
always many roles to keep in rehearsal with the accompanist. He has a
repertoire of seventy roles, some of them learned in two languages.
Among the parts he has prepared but has never sung are: _Othello, Fra
Diavolo, Eugen Onegin, Pique Dame, Falstaff_ and _Jewels of the
Madonna_.
Besides the daily review of opera roles, Caruso examines many new songs;
every day brings a generous supply. Naturally some of these find their
way into the waste basket; some are preserved for reference, while the
favored ones which are accepted must be studied for use in recital.
I had the privilege, recently, of spending a good part of one forenoon
in Mr. Caruso's private quarters at his New York Hotel, examining a
whole book full of mementos of the Jubilee celebration of March, 1919,
on the occasion when the great tenor completed twenty-five years of
activity on the operatic stage. Here were gathered telegrams and
cablegrams from all over the world. Many letters and cards of greeting
and congratulation are preserved in this portly volume. Among them one
noticed messages from Mme. Schumann-Heink, the Flonzaley Quartet,
Cleofonte Campanini and hosts of others. Here, too, is preserved the
Jubilee Programme booklet, also the libretto used on that gala occasion.
Music lovers all over the world will echo the hope that this wonderful
voice may be preserved for many years to come!
A LAST WORD
The above article was shown to Mr. Caruso, at his request, and I was
asked a few days later to come to him. There had been the usual
rehearsal at the Opera House that day. "Ah, those rehearsals," exclaimed
the secretary, stopping his typewriter for an instant; "no one who has
never been through it has any idea of what a rehearsal means." And he
lifted hands and eyes expressively. "Mr. Caruso rose at eight, went to
rehearsal at ten and did not finish till after three. He is now resting,
but will see you in a moment."
Presently the great tenor opened the door and entered. He wore a
lounging coat of oriental silk, red bordered, and on the left hand
gleamed a wonderful ring, a broad band of dull gold, set with diamonds,
rubies and sapphires. He shook hands, said he had read my story, that it
was quite correct and had his entire approval.
"And have you a final message to the young singers who are struggling
and longing to sing some day as wonderfully as you do?"
"Tell them to study, to work always,--and--to sacrifice!"
His eyes had a strange, inscrutable light in them, as he doubtless
recalled his own early struggles, and life of constant effort.
And so take his message to heart:
"Work, work--and--sacrifice!"
II
=GERALDINE FARRAR=
THE WILL TO SUCCEED A COMPELLING FORCE
"To measure the importance of Geraldine Farrar (at the Metropolitan
Opera House, New York) one has only to think of the void there would
have been during the last decade, and more, if she had not been there.
Try to picture the period between 1906 and 1920 without Farrar--it is
inconceivable! Farrar, more than any other singer, has been the
triumphant living symbol of the new day for the American artist at the
Metropolitan. She paved the way. Since that night, in 1906, when her
Juliette stirred the staid old house, American singers have been added
year by year to the personnel. Among these younger singers there are
those who will admit at once that it was the success of Geraldine Farrar
which gave them the impetus to work hard for a like success."
[Illustration: GERALDINE FARRAR]
These thoughts have been voiced by a recent reviewer, and will find a
quick response from young singers all over the country, who have been
inspired by the career of this representative artist, and by the
thousands who have enjoyed her singing and her many characterizations.
I was present on the occasion of Miss Farrar's debut at the greatest
opera house of her home land. I, too, was thrilled by the fresh young
voice in the girlish and charming impersonation of Juliette. It is a
matter of history that from the moment of her auspicious return to
America she has been constantly before the public, from the beginning to
end of each operatic season. Other singers often come for part of the
season, step out and make room for others. But Miss Farrar, as well as
Mr. Caruso, can be depended on to remain.
Any one who gives the question a moment's thought, knows that such a
career, carried through a score of years, means constant, unremitting
labor. There must be daily work on vocal technic; repertoire must be
kept up to opera pitch, and last and perhaps most important of all, new
works must be sought, studied and assimilated.
The singer who can accomplish these tasks will have little or no time
for society and the gay world, inasmuch as her strength must be devoted
to the service of her art. She must keep healthy hours, be always ready
to appear, and never disappoint her audiences. And such, according to
Miss Farrar's own words is her record in the service of art.
While zealously guarding her time from interruption from the merely
curious, Miss Farrar does not entrench herself behind insurmountable
barriers, as many singers seem to do, so that no honest seeker for her
views of study and achievement can find her. While making a rule not to
try voices of the throng of young singers who would like to have her
verdict on their ability and prospects, Miss Farrar is very gracious to
those who really need to see her. Again--unlike others--she will make an
appointment a couple of weeks in advance, and one can rest assured she
will keep that appointment to the day and hour, in spite of many
pressing calls on her attention.
To meet and talk for an hour with an artist who has so often charmed you
from the other side of the footlights, is a most interesting experience.
In the present instance it began with my being taken up to Miss Farrar's
private sanctum, at the top of her New York residence. Though this is
her den, where she studies and works, it is a spacious parlor, where all
is light, color, warmth and above all, _quiet_. A thick crimson carpet
hushes the footfall. A luxurious couch piled with silken cushions, and
comfortable arm chairs are all in the same warm tint; over the grand
piano is thrown a cover of red velvet, gold embroidered. Portraits of
artists and many costly trifles are scattered here and there. The young
lady who acts as secretary happened to be in the room and spoke with
enthusiasm of the singer's absorption in her work, her delight in it,
her never failing energy and good spirits. "From the day I heard Miss
Farrar sing I felt drawn to her and hoped the time would come when I
could serve her in some way. I did not know then that it would be in
this way. Her example is an inspiration to all who come in touch with
her."
In a few moments Miss Farrar herself appeared, and the young girl
withdrew.
And was this Farrar who stood before me, in the flush of vigorous
womanhood, and who welcomed me so graciously? The first impression was
one of friendliness and sincerity, which caused the artist for the
moment to be forgotten in the unaffected simplicity of the woman.
Miss Farrar settled herself comfortably among the red silk cushions and
was ready for our talk. The simplicity of manner was reflected in her
words. She did not imply--there is only one right way, and I have found
it. "These things seem best for my voice, and this is the way I work.
But, since each voice is different, they might not fit any one else. I
have no desire to lay down rules for others; I can only speak of my own
experience."
THE QUESTION OF HEALTH
"And you would first know how I keep strong and well and always ready?
Perhaps the answer is, I keep regular hours and habits, and love my
work. I have always loved to sing, as far back as I can remember. Music
means everything to me--it is my life. As a child and young girl, I was
the despair of my playmates because I would not join their games; I did
not care to skate, play croquet or tennis, or such things. I never
wanted to exercise violently, and, to me, unnecessarily, because it
interfered with my singing; took energy which I thought might be better
applied. As I grew older I did not care to keep late hours and be in an
atmosphere where people smoked and perhaps drank, for these things were
bad for my voice and I could not do my work next day. My time is always
regularly laid out. I rise at half past seven, and am ready to work at
nine. I do not care to sit up late at night, either, for I think late
hours react on the voice. Occasionally, if we have a few guests for
dinner, I ask them, when ten thirty arrives, to stay as long as they
wish and enjoy themselves, but I retire.
TECHNICAL STUDY
"There are gifted people who may be called natural born singers. Melba
is one of these. Such singers do not require much technical practice, or
if they need a little of it, half an hour a day is sufficient. I am not
one of those who do not need to practice. I give between one and two
hours daily to vocalizes, scales and tone study. But I love it! A scale
is beautiful to me, if it is rightly sung. In fact it is not merely a
succession of notes; it represents color. I always translate sound into
color. It is a fascinating study to make different qualities of tonal
color in the voice. Certain roles require an entirely different range of
colors from others. One night I must sing a part with thick, heavy,
rich tones; the next night my tones must be thinned out in quite another
timbre of the voice, to fit an opposite character."
Asked if she can hear herself, Miss Farrar answered:
"No, I do not actually hear my voice, except in a general way; but we
learn to know the sensations produced in muscles of throat, head, face,
lips and other parts of the anatomy, which vibrate in a certain manner
to correct tone production. We learn the _feeling_ of the tone.
Therefore every one, no matter how advanced, requires expert advice as
to the results.
WITH LEHMANN
"I have studied for a long time with Lilli Lehmann in Berlin; in fact I
might say she is almost my only teacher, though I did have some
instruction before going to her, both in America and Paris. You see, I
always sang, even as a very little girl. My mother has excellent taste
and knowledge in music, and finding I was in danger of straining my
voice through singing with those older than myself, she placed me with a
vocal teacher when I was twelve, as a means of preservation.
"Lehmann is a wonderful teacher and an extraordinary woman as well.
What art is there--what knowledge and understanding! What intensity
there is in everything she does. She used to say: 'Remember, these four
walls which inclose you, make a very different space to fill compared to
an opera house; you must take this fact into consideration and study
accordingly.' No one ever said a truer word. If one only studies or
sings in a room or studio, one has no idea of what it means to fill a
theater. It is a distinct branch of one's work to gain power and control
and to adapt one's self to large spaces. One can only learn this by
doing it.
"It is sometimes remarked by listeners at the opera, that we sing too
loud, or that we scream. They surely never think of the great size of
the stage, of the distance from the proscenium arch to the footlights,
or from the arch to the first set of wings. They do not consider that
within recent years the size of the orchestra has been largely
increased, so that we are obliged to sing against this great number of
instruments, which are making every possible kind of a noise except that
of a siren. It is no wonder that we must make much effort to be heard:
sometimes the effort may seem injudicious. The point we must consider
is to make the greatest possible effect with the least possible
exertion.
"Lehmann is the most painstaking, devoted teacher a young singer can
have. It is proof of her excellent method and her perfect understanding
of vocal mastery, that she is still able to sing in public, if not with
her old-time power, yet with good tone quality. It shows what an artist
she really is. I always went over to her every summer, until the war
came. We would work together at her villa in Gruenewald, which you
yourself know. Or we would go for a holiday down nearer Salzburg, and
would work there. We always worked wherever we were.
MEMORIZING
"How do I memorize? I play the song or role through a number of times,
concentrating on both words and music at once. I am a pianist anyway;
and committing to memory is very easy for me. I was trained to learn by
heart from the very start. When I sang my little songs at six years old,
mother would never let me have any music before me: I must know my songs
by heart. And so I learned them quite naturally. To me singing was like
talking to people.
CONTRASTING COLORATURA AND DRAMATIC SINGING
"You ask me to explain the difference between the coloratura and the
dramatic organ. I should say it is a difference of timbre. The
coloratura voice is bright and brilliant in its higher portion, but
becomes weaker and thinner as it descends; whereas the dramatic voice
has a thicker, richer quality all through, especially in its lower
register. The coloratura voice will sing upper C, and it will sound very
high indeed. I might sing the same tone, but it would sound like A flat,
because the tone would be of such totally different timbre.
TO THE YOUNG SINGER
"If I have any message to the young singer, it would be: Stick to your
work and study systematically, whole-heartedly. If you do not love your
work enough to give it your best thought, to make sacrifices for it,
there is something wrong with you. Then choose some other line of work,
to which you can give undivided attention and devotion. For music
requires this. As for sacrifices, they really do not exist, if they
promote the thing you honestly love most.
"Do not fancy you can properly prepare yourself in a short time to
undertake a musical career, for the path is a long and arduous one. You
must never stop studying, for there is always so much to learn. If I
have sung a role a hundred times, I always find places that can be
improved; indeed I never sing a role twice exactly in the same way. So,
from whatever side you consider the singer's work and career, both are
of absorbing interest.
"Another thing; do not worry, for that is bad for your voice. If you
have not made this tone correctly, or sung that phrase to suit yourself,
pass it over for the moment with a wave of the hand or a smile; but
don't become discouraged. Go right on! I knew a beautiful American in
Paris who possessed a lovely voice. But she had a very sensitive nature,
which could not endure hard knocks. She began to worry over little
failures and disappointments, with the result that in three years her
voice was quite gone. We must not give way to disappointments, but
conquer them, and keep right along the path we have started on.
MODERN MUSIC
"Modern music requires quite a different handling of the voice and makes
entirely different demands upon it than does the older music. The old
Italian operas required little or no action, only beautiful singing. The
opera houses were smaller and so were the orchestras. The singer could
stand still in the middle of the stage and pour out beautiful tones,
with few movements of body to mar his serenity. But we, in these days,
demand action as well as song. We need singing actors and actresses. The
music is declamatory; the singer must throw his whole soul into his
part, must act as well as sing. Things are all on a larger scale. It is
a far greater strain on the voice to interpret one of the modern Italian
operas than to sing one of those quietly beautiful works of the old
school.
"America's growth in music has been marvelous on the appreciative and
interpretive side. With such a musical awakening, we can look forward to
the appearance of great creative genius right here in this country,
perhaps in the near future. Why should we not expect it? We have not yet
produced a composer who can write enduring operas or symphonies.
MacDowell is our highest type as yet; but others will come who will
carry the standard higher.
VOICE LIMITATIONS
"The singer must be willing to admit limitations of voice and style and
not attempt parts which do not come within the compass of her
attainments. Neither is it wise to force the voice up or down when it
seems a great effort to do so. We can all think of singers whose natural
quality is mezzo--let us say--who try to force the voice up into a
higher register. There is one artist of great dramatic gifts, who not
content with the rich quality of her natural organ, tried to add several
high notes to the upper portion. The result was disastrous. Again, some
of our young singers who possess beautiful, sweet voices, should not
force them to the utmost limit of power, simply to fill, or try to fill
a great space. The life of the voice will be impaired by such injurious
practice.
VOCAL MASTERY
"What do I understand by vocal mastery? It is something very difficult
to define. For a thing that is mastered must be really perfect. To
master vocal art, the singer must have so developed his voice that it is
under complete control; then he can do with it whatsoever he wishes. He
must be able to produce all he desires of power, pianissimo, accent,
shading, delicacy and variety of color. Who is equal to the task?"
Miss Farrar was silent a moment; then she said, answering her own
question:
"I can think of but two people who honestly can be said to possess vocal
mastery: they are Caruso and McCormack. Those who have only heard the
latter do little Irish tunes, have no idea of what he is capable. I have
heard him sing Mozart as no one else I know of can. These two artists
have, through ceaseless application, won vocal mastery. It is something
we are all striving for!"
III
=VICTOR MAUREL=
MIND IS EVERYTHING
Mr. James Huneker, in one of his series of articles entitled "With the
Immortals," in the New York _World_, thus, in his inimitable way
characterizes Victor Maurel:
"I don't suppose there is to be found in musical annals such diversity
of aptitudes as that displayed by this French baritone. Is there an
actor on any stage to-day who can portray both the grossness of Falstaff
and the subtlety of Iago? Making allowance for the different art medium
that the singing actor must work in, and despite the larger curves of
operatic pose and gesture, Maurel kept astonishingly near to the
characters he assumed. He was Shakespearian; his Falstaff was the most
wonderful I ever saw."
[Illustration: VICTOR MAUREL]
And then Iago: "In the Maurel conception, Othello's Ancient was not
painted black in black--the heart of darkness, but with many nuances,
many gradations. He was economical of gesture, playing on the jealous
Moor as plays a skillfully handled bow upon a finely attuned violin. His
was truly an objective characterization. His Don Giovanni was broadly
designed. He was the aristocrat to the life, courtly, brave, amorous,
intriguing, cruel, superstitious and quick to take offense. In his best
estate, the drinking song was sheer virtuosity. Suffice to add that
Verdi intrusted to him the task of "originating" two such widely
sundered roles as Iago and Falstaff. An extraordinary artist!"
One evening we were discussing the merits of various famous singers of
the past and present. My friend is an authority whose opinion I greatly
respect. He is not only a singer himself but is rapidly becoming a
singing master of renown.
After we had conferred for a long time, my friend summed it all up with
the remark:
"You know who, in my opinion, is the greatest, the dean of them all, a
past master of the art of song--Victor Maurel."
Did I not know! In times gone by had we not discussed by the hour every
phase of Maurel's mastery of voice and action? Did we not together
listen to that voice and watch with breathless interest his investiture
of Don Giovanni, in the golden days when Lilli Lehmann and the De
Reszkes took the other parts. Was there ever a more elegant courtly Don,
a greater Falstaff, a more intriguing Iago?
In those youthful days, my friend's greatest ambition was to be able to
sing and act like Maurel. To this end he labored unceasingly. Second
only to this aim was another--to know the great baritone personally, to
become his friend, to discuss the finest issues of art with him, to
consult him and have the benefit of his experience. The consummation of
this desire has been delayed for years, but it is one of the "all
things" which will surely come to him who waits. Maurel is now once more
on American soil, and doubtless intends remaining for a considerable
period. My friend is also established in the metropolis. The two have
met, not only once but many times--indeed they have become fast friends.
"I will take you to him," promised friend Jacque,--knowing my desire to
meet the "grand old man"; "but don't ask for too many of his opinions
about singers, as he does not care to be quoted."
Late one afternoon we arrived at his residence. At the moment he was in
his music room, where, for the last hour he had been singing
_Falstaff_! If we could only have been hidden away in some quiet corner
to listen! He came running down the stairway with almost the agility of
a boy, coming to meet us with simple dignity and courtesy. After the
first greetings were over we begged permission to examine the many
paintings which met the eye everywhere. There was a large panel facing
us, representing a tall transparent vase, holding a careless bunch of
summer flowers, very artistically handled. Near it hung an out-of-door
sketch, a garden path leading into the green. Other bits of landscape
still-life and portraits made up the collection. They had all been
painted by the same artist--none other than Maurel himself. As we
examined the flower panel, he came and stood by us.
"Painting is a great art," he said; "an art which requires profound
study. I have been a close student of this art for many years and love
it more and more."
"M. Maurel aims now to express himself through the art of color and
form, as he has always done through voice and gesture," remarked my
friend.
"Art is the highest means of expression," went on the master, "whether
through music, painting, sculpture, architecture or the theater. The
effort to express myself through another art-medium, painting, has long
been a joy to me. I have studied with no teacher but myself, but I have
learned from all the great masters; they have taught me everything."
He then led the way to his music room on the floor above. Here were more
paintings, many rare pieces of furniture and his piano. A fine portrait
of Verdi, with an affectionate autograph, stood on a table; one of
Ambroise Thomas, likewise inscribed, hung near. "A serious man, almost
austere," said Maurel, regarding the portrait of Verdi thoughtfully,
"but one of the greatest masters of all time."
Praying us to be seated, he placed himself on an ottoman before us. The
talk easily drifted into the subject of the modern operatic stage, and
modern operas of the Italian school, in which one is so often tempted to
shout rather than sing. The hero of Mozart's Don Giovanni, who could
sing his music as perhaps no one else has ever done, would not be likely
to have much patience with the modern style of explosive vocal
utterance.
"How do you preserve your voice and your repertoire?" I questioned.
M. Maurel gazed before him thoughtfully.
"It is entirely through the mind that I keep both. I know so exactly
how to produce tone qualities, that if I recall those sensations which
accompany tone production, I can induce them at will. How do we make
tones, sing an aria, impersonate a role? Is not all done with the mind,
with thought? I must think the tone before I produce it--before I sing
it; I must mentally visualize the character and determine how I will
represent it, before I attempt it. I must identify myself with the
character I am to portray before I can make it _live_. Does not then all
come from thinking--from thought?
"Again: I can think out the character and make a mental picture of it
for myself, but how shall I project it for others to see? I have to
convince myself first that I am that character--I must identify myself
with it; then I must convince those who hear me that I am really that
character." Maurel rose and moved to the center of the room.
"I am to represent some character--Amonasro, let us say. I must present
the captive King, bound with chains and brought before his captors. I
must feel with him, if I am really going to represent him. I must
believe myself bound and a prisoner; then I must, through pose and
action, through expression of face, gesture, voice, everything--I must
make this character real to the audience."
And as we looked, he assumed the pose of the man in chains, his hands
seemed tied, his body bent, his expression one in which anger and
revenge mingled; in effect, he was for the moment Amonasro.
"I have only made you see my mental concept of Amonasro. If I have once
thoroughly worked out a conception, made it my own, then it is mine. I
can create it at any moment. If I feel well and strong I can sing the
part now in the same way as I have always sung it, because my thought is
the same and thought produces. Whether I have a little more voice, or
less voice, what does it matter? I can never lose my conception of a
character, for it is in my mind, and mind projects it. So there is no
reason to lose the voice, for that also is in mind and can be thought
out at will.
"Suppose I have an opposite character to portray,--the elegant Don
Giovanni, for example"; and drawing himself up and wrapping an imaginary
cloak about him, with the old well-remembered courtly gesture, his face
and manner were instantly transformed at the thought of his favorite
character. He turned and smiled on us, his strong features lighted, and
his whole appearance expressed the embodiment of Mozart's hero.
"You see I must have lived, so to say, in these characters and made them
my own, or I could not recall them at a moment's notice. All
impersonation, to be artistic, to be vital, must be a part of one's
self; one must get into the character. When I sing Iago I am no longer
myself--I am another person altogether; self is quite forgotten; I am
Iago, for the time being.
"In Paris, at the Sorbonne, I gave a series of lectures; the first was
on this very subject, the identification of one's self with the
character to be portrayed. The large audience of about fifteen hundred,
contained some of the most famous among artists and men of letters"; and
Maurel, with hands clasped about his knee, gazed before him into space,
and we knew he was picturing in mental vision, the scene at the
Sorbonne, which he had just recalled.
After a moment, he resumed. "The singer, though trying to act out the
character he assumes, must not forget to _sing_. The combination of fine
singing and fine acting is rare. Nowadays people think if they can act,
that atones for inartistic singing; then they yield to the temptation
to shout, to make harsh tones, simply for effect." And the famous
baritone caricatured some of the sounds he had recently heard at an
operatic performance with such gusto, that a member of the household
came running in from an adjoining room, thinking there must have been an
accident and the master of the house was calling for help. He hastily
assured her all was well--no one was hurt; then we all had a hearty
laugh over the little incident.
And now we begged to be allowed to visit the atelier, where the
versatile artist worked out his pictures. He protested that it was in
disorder, that he would not dare to take us up, and so on. After a
little he yielded to persuasion, saying, however, he would go up first
and arrange the room a little. As soon as he had left us my friend
turned to me:
"What a remarkable man! So strong and vigorous, in spite of his advanced
age. No doubt he travels those stairs twenty times a day. He is as alert
as a young man; doubtless he still has his voice, as he says. And what a
career he has had. You know he was a friend of Edward the Seventh; they
once lived together. Then he and Verdi were close friends; he helped
coach singers for Verdi's operas. He says it was a wonderful
experience, when the composer sat down at the piano, put his hands on
the keys and showed the singers how he wanted his music sung!
"Early in his career Maurel sang in Verdi's opera, _Simone Boccanegra_,
which one never hears now, but it has a fine baritone part, and a couple
of very dramatic scenes, especially the final scene at the close. This
is the death scene. Maurel had sung and acted so wonderfully on a
certain occasion that all the singers about him were in tears. Verdi was
present at this performance and was deeply moved by Maurel's singing and
acting. He came upon the stage when all was over, and exclaimed, in a
voice trembling with emotion: 'You have created the role just as I would
have it; I shall write an opera especially _for you_!' This he did; it
was _Othello_, and the Iago was composed for Maurel. In his later years,
when he seldom left his home, the aged composer several times expressed
the wish that he might go to Paris, just to hear Maurel sing once more.
"It is very interesting that he was led to speak to us as he did just
now, about mental control, and the part played by mind in the singer's
study, equipment and career. It is a side of the question which every
young singer must seriously consider, first, last and always. But here
he comes."
Again protesting about the appearance of his simple studio, the master
led the way up the stairways till we reached the top of the house, where
a north-lighted room had been turned into a painter's atelier. With
mingled feelings we stepped within this modest den of a great artist,
which held his treasures. These were never shown to the casual observer,
nor to the merely curious; they were reserved for the trusted few.
The walls were lined with sketches; heads, still life, landscapes, all
subjects alike interested the painter. A rugged bust of Verdi, over life
size, modeled in plaster, stood in one corner. On an easel rested a
spirited portrait of Maurel, done by himself.
"My friends tell me I should have a larger studio, with better light;
but I am content with this, for here is quiet and here I can be alone,
free to commune with myself. Here I can study my art undisturbed,--for
Art is my religion. If people ask if I go to church, I say No, but I
worship the immortality which is within, which I feel in my soul, the
reflection of the Almighty!"
In quiet mood a little later we descended the white stairway and passed
along the corridors of this house, which looks so foreign to American
eyes, and has the atmosphere of a Paris home.
The artist accompanied us to the street door and bade us farewell, in
his kindly dignified manner.
As the door closed and we were in the street, my friend said:
"A wonderful man and a rare artist. Where shall we find his like
to-day?"
IV
A VISIT TO MME. LILLI LEHMANN
A number of years before the great war, a party of us were spending a
few weeks in Berlin. It was midsummer; the city, filled as it was for
one of us at least, with dear memories of student days, was in most
alluring mood. Flowers bloomed along every balcony, vines festooned
themselves from windows and doorways, as well as from many unexpected
corners. The parks, large and small, which are the delight of a great
city, were at their best and greenest--gay with color. Many profitable
hours were spent wandering through the galleries and museums, hearing
concerts and opera, and visiting the old quarters of the city, so
picturesque and full of memories.
Two of us, who were musicians, were anxious to meet the famous dramatic
soprano, Lilli Lehmann, who was living quietly in one of the suburbs of
the city. Notes were exchanged, and on a certain day we were bidden to
come, out of the regular hours for visitors, by "special exception."
How well I remember the drive through the newer residential section of
Berlin. The path before long led us through country estates, past
beautifully kept gardens and orchards. Our destination was the little
suburb of Gruenewald, itself like a big garden, with villas nestling
close to each other, usually set back from the quiet, shaded streets.
Some of the villas had iron gratings along the pathway, through which
one saw gay flowers and garden walks, often statuary and fountains.
Other homes were secluded from the street by high brick walls,
frequently decorated on top by urns holding flowers and drooping vines.
Behind such a picturesque barrier, we found the gateway which led to
Mme. Lehmann's cottage. We rang and soon a trim maid came to undo the
iron gate. The few steps leading to the house door did not face us as we
entered the inclosure, but led up from the side. We wanted to linger and
admire the shrubs and flowering plants, but the maid hastened before us
so we had to follow.
From the wide entrance hall doors led into rooms on either hand. We were
shown into a salon on the left, and bidden to await Madame's coming.
In the few moments of restful quiet before she entered, we had time to
glance over this sanctum of a great artist. To say it was filled with
mementos and _objets d'art_ hardly expresses the sense of repleteness.
Every square foot was occupied by some treasure. Let the eye travel
around the room. At the left, as one entered the doorway, stood a fine
bust of the artist, chiseled in pure white marble, supported on a
pedestal of black marble. Then came three long, French windows, opening
into a green garden. Across the farther window stood a grand piano,
loaded with music. At the further end of the room, if memory serves,
hung a large, full length portrait of the artist herself. A writing
desk, laden with souvenirs, stood near. On the opposite side a divan
covered with rich brocade; more paintings on the walls, one very large
landscape by a celebrated German painter.
Before we could note further details, Mme. Lehmann stood in the doorway,
then came forward and greeted us cordially.
How often I had seen her impersonate her great roles, both in Germany
and America. They were always of some queenly character. Could it be
possible this was the famous Lehmann, this simple housewife, in black
skirt and white blouse, with a little apron as badge of home keeping.
But there was the stately tread, the grand manner, the graceful
movement. What mattered if the silver hair were drawn back severely from
the face; there was the dignity of expression, classic features,
penetrating glance and mobile mouth I remembered.
After chatting a short time and asking many questions about America,
where her experiences had been so pleasant, our talk was interrupted,
for a little, by a voice trial, which Madame had agreed to give. Many
young singers, from everywhere, were anxious to have expert judgment on
their progress or attainments, so Lehmann was often appealed to and gave
frequent auditions of this kind. The fee was considerable, but she never
kept a penny of it for herself; it all went to one of her favorite
charities. The young girl who on this day presented herself for the
ordeal was an American, who, it seemed, had not carried her studies very
far.
EXAMINING A PUPIL
Mme. Lehmann seated herself at the piano and asked for scales and
vocalizes. The young girl, either from fright or poor training, did not
make a very fortunate impression. She could not seem to bring out a
single pure steady tone, much less sing scales acceptably.
Madame with a resigned look finally asked for a song, which was given.
It was a little song of Franz, I remember. Then Lehmann wheeled around
on the stool and said to us, in German:
"The girl cannot sing--she has little or no voice to begin with, and has
not been rightly trained." Then to the young girl she said, kindly, in
English:
"My dear young lady, you have almost everything to learn about singing,
for as yet you cannot even sing one tone correctly; you cannot even
speak correctly. First of all you need physical development; you must
broaden your chest through breathing exercises; you are too thin
chested. You must become physically stronger if you ever hope to sing
acceptably. Then you must study diction and languages. This is
absolutely necessary for the singer. Above all you must know how to
pronounce and sing in your own language. So many do not think it
necessary to study their own language; they think they know that
already; but one's mother tongue requires study as well as any other
language.
"The trouble with American girls is they are always in a hurry. They are
not content to sit down quietly and study till they have developed
themselves into something before they ever think of coming to Europe.
They think if they can just come over here and sing for an artist, that
fact alone will give them prestige in America. But that gives them quite
the opposite reputation over here. American girls are too often looked
upon as superficial, because they come over here quite unprepared. I say
to all of them, as I say to you: Go home and study; there are plenty of
good teachers of voice and piano in your own land. Then, when you can
_sing_, come over here, if you wish; but do not come until you are
prepared."
After this little episode, we continued our talk for a while longer.
Then, fearing to trespass on her time, we rose to leave. She came to the
door with us, followed us down the steps into the front garden, and held
the gate open for us, when we finally left. We had already expressed the
hope that she might be able to return to America, at no very distant
day, and repeat her former triumphs there. Her fine face lighted at the
thought, and her last words to us were, as she held open the little iron
wicket. "I have a great desire to go to your country again; perhaps, in
a year or two--who knows--I may be able to do it."
She stood there, a noble, commanding figure, framed in the green of her
garden, and waved her handkerchief, till our cab turned a corner, and
she was lost to our view.
THE MOZART FESTIVAL
Several years later, a year before the world war started, to be exact,
we had the pleasure of meeting the artist again, and this time, of
hearing her sing.
It was the occasion of the Mozart Festival in Salzburg. It is well known
that Lehmann, devoted as she has always been to the genius of Mozart,
and one of the greatest interpreters of his music, had thrown her whole
energy into the founding of a suitable memorial to the master in his
native city. This memorial was to consist of a large music school, a
concert hall and home for opera. The Mozarteum was not yet completed,
but a Festival was held each year in Salzburg, to aid the project.
Madame Lehmann was always present and sang on these occasions.
We timed our visit to Mozart's birthplace, so that we should be able to
attend the Festival, which lasted as usual five days. The concerts were
held in the Aula Academica, a fine Saal in the old picturesque quarter
of the city.
At the opening concert, Lehmann sang a long, difficult Concert Aria of
Mozart. We could not help wondering, before she began, how time had
treated this great organ; whether we should be able to recognize the
famous Lehmann who had formerly taken such high rank as singer and
interpreter in America. We need not have feared that the voice had
become impaired. Or, if it had been, it had become rejuvenated on this
occasion. Mme. Lehmann sang with all her well-remembered power and
fervor, all her exaltation of spirit, and of course she had a great
ovation at the close. She looked like a queen in ivory satin and rare
old lace, with jewels on neck, arms and in her silver hair. In the
auditorium, three arm chairs had been placed in front of the platform.
The Arch-duke, Prince Eugen, the royal patron of the Festival, occupied
one. When Madame Lehmann had finished her Aria, she stepped down from
the platform. The Prince rose at once and went to meet her. She gave him
her hand with a graceful curtesy and he led her to the armchair next his
own, which had evidently been placed in position for her special use.
At the close of the concert we had a brief chat with her. The next day
she was present at the morning concert. This time she was gowned in
black, with an ermine cape thrown over her shoulders. The Arch-duke sat
beside her in the arm chair, as he had done the evening before. We had a
bow and smile as she passed down the aisle.
We trust the Mozarteum in Salzburg, for which Mme. Lehmann has labored
with such devotion, will one day fulfill its noble mission.
LEHMANN THE TEACHER
As a teacher of the art of singing Madame Lehmann has long been a
recognized authority, and many artists now actively before the public,
have come from under her capable hands. Her book, "How to
Sing,"--rendered in English by Richard Aldrich--(Macmillan) has
illumined the path, for many a serious student who seeks light on that
strange, wonderful, hidden instrument--the voice. Madame Lehmann, by
means of many explanations and numerous plates, endeavors to make clear
to the young student how to begin and how to proceed in her vocal
studies.
BREATHING
On the important subject of breathing she says: "No one can sing
without preparing for it mentally and physically. It is not enough to
sing well, one must know how one does it. I practice many breathing
exercises without using tone. Breath becomes voice through effort of
will and by use of vocal organs. When singing emit the smallest quantity
of breath. Vocal chords are breath regulators; relieve them of all
overwork.
"At the start a young voice should be taught to begin in the middle and
work both ways--that is, up and down. A tone should never be forced.
Begin piano, make a long crescendo and return to piano. Another exercise
employs two connecting half tones, using one or two vowels. During
practice stand before a mirror, that one may see what one is doing.
Practice about one hour daily. Better that amount each day than ten
hours one day and none the next. The test will be; do you feel rested
and ready for work each morning? If not you have done too much the day
before."
REGISTERS
In regard to registers Madame Lehmann has this to say: "In the formation
of the voice no registers should exist or be created. As long as the
word is kept in use, registers will not disappear."
PHYSIOLOGY
In spite of the fact there are many drawings and plates illustrating the
various organs of head and throat which are used in singing, Madame
Lehmann says:
"The singer is often worried about questions of physiology, whereas she
need--must--know little about it.
THE NASAL QUALITY
"The singer must have some nasal quality, otherwise the voice sounds
colorless and expressionless. We must sing toward the nose: (not
necessarily through the nose).
"For many ills of the voice and tone production, I use long, slow
scales. They are an infallible cure.
USE OF THE LIPS
"The lips play a large part in producing variety of tone quality. Each
vowel, every word can be colored, as by magic, by well controlled play
of the lips. When lips are stiff and unresponsive, the singing is
colorless. Lips are final resonators, through which tones must pass,
and lip movements can be varied in every conceivable manner."
POWER AND VELOCITY
She humorously writes: "Singers without power and velocity are like
horses without tails. For velocity, practice figures of five, six, seven
and eight notes, first slowly, then faster and faster, up and down."
V
=AMELITA GALLI-CURCI=
SELF-TEACHING THE GREAT ESSENTIAL
No singer can rise to any distinction without the severest kind of
self-discipline and hard work. This is the testimony of all the great
vocalists of our time--of any time. This is the message they send back
from the mountain top of victory to the younger ones who are striving to
acquire the mastery they have achieved. Work, work and again--work! And
if you have gained even a slight foothold on the hill of fame, then work
to keep your place. Above all, be not satisfied with your present
progress,--strive for more perfection. There are heights you have not
gained--higher up! There are joys for you--higher up, if you will but
labor to reach them.
[Illustration: _Photo by De Strelecki, N.Y._ AMELITA GALLI-CURCI]
Perhaps there is no singer who more thoroughly believes in the gospel of
work, and surely not one who more consistently practices what she
preaches, than Amelita Galli-Curci. She knows the value of work, and she
loves it for its own sake. There is no long cessation for her, during
summer months, "to rest her voice." There is no half-day seclusion after
a performance, to recover from the fatigue of singing a role the night
before. No, for her this event does not spell exhaustion but happiness,
exhilaration. It is a pleasure to sing because it is not wearisome--it
is a part of herself. And she enjoys the doing! Thus it happens that the
morning after a performance, she is up and abroad betimes, ready to
attend personally to the many calls upon her time and attention. She can
use her speaking voice without fear, because she has never done anything
to strain it; she is usually strong and well, buoyant and bright. Those
soft, dark eyes are wells of intelligent thinking; the mouth smiles
engagingly as she speaks; the slight figure is full of life and energy.
Yet there is a deep sense of calm in her presence. A brave, bright
spirit; a great, wonderful artist!
These thoughts faintly glimpse my first impression of Mme. Galli-Curci,
as she entered her big, sunny parlor, where I was waiting to see her.
Her delicate, oval face was aglow with the flush of healthful exercise,
for she had just come in from a shopping expedition and the wintry air
was keen. "I love to go shopping," she explained, "so I always do it
myself."
She bade me sit beside her on a comfortable divan, and at once began to
speak of the things I most wished to hear.
"I am often asked," she began, "to describe how I create this or that
effect, how I produce such and such tones, how I make the voice float to
the farthest corner, and so on. I answer, that is my secret. In reality
it is no secret at all, at least not to any one who has solved the
problem. Any one possessing a voice and intelligence, can acquire these
things, who knows how to go to work to get them. But if one has no
notion of the process, no amount of mere talking will make it plain.
Singing an opera role seems such an easy thing from the other side of
the footlights. People seem to think, if you only know how to sing, it
is perfectly natural and easy for you to impersonate a great lyric role.
And the more mastery you have, the easier they think it is to do it. The
real truth of the matter is that it requires years and years of
study--constant study, to learn how to sing, before attempting a big
part in opera.
"There are so many organs of the body that are concerned in the process
of breathing and tone production; and most of these organs must be, if
not always, yet much of the time, relaxed and in an easy pliable
condition when you sing. There is the diaphragm--then the throat,
larynx, the lungs, nose, lips--all of them help to make the tone.
Perhaps I might say the larynx is the most important factor of all. If
you can manage that, you have the secret. But no human being can tell
you exactly how to do it. Some singers before the public to-day have no
notion of how to manage this portion of their anatomy. Others may do so
occasionally, but it may only be by accident. They sometimes stumble
upon the principle, but not understanding how they did so, they cannot
reproduce the desired effects at will. The singer who understands her
business must know just how she produces tones and vocal effects. She
can then do them at all times, under adverse circumstances, even when
nervous, or not in the mood, or indisposed.
SELF-STUDY
"How did I learn to know these things? By constant study, by constant
listening--for I have very keen ears--by learning the sensations
produced in throat and larynx when I made tones that were correctly
placed, were pleasing and at the same time made the effects I was
seeking.
"Milan is my home city--beautiful Milano under the blue Italian skies,
the bluest in the world. As a young girl, the daughter of well-to-do
parents, I studied piano at the Royal Conservatory there, and also
musical theory and counterpoint. I shall ever be grateful I started in
this way, with a thorough musical foundation, for it has always been of
great advantage to me in further study. When my father met with
reverses, I made good use of my pianistic training by giving piano
lessons and making a very fair income for a young girl.
"But I longed to sing! Is it not the birthright of every Italian to have
a voice? I began to realize I had a voice which might be cultivated. I
had always sung a little--every one does; song is the natural,
spontaneous expression of our people. But I wished to do more--to
express myself in song. So I began to teach myself by singing scales and
vocalizes between my piano lessons. Meanwhile I studied all the books on
singing I could lay hands on, and then tried to put the principles I
learned in this way in practice. In trying to do this I had to find out
everything for myself. And that is why I know them! I know exactly what
I am about when I sing, I know what muscles are being used, and in what
condition they ought to be; what parts of the anatomy are called into
action and why. Nature has given me two great gifts, a voice and good
health; for both these gifts I am deeply grateful. The first I have
developed through arduous toil; the second I endeavor to preserve
through careful living, regular hours and plenty of exercise in the
fresh air. I have developed the voice and trained it in the way that
seemed to me best for it. There are as many kinds of voices as there are
persons; it seems to me each voice should be treated in the way best
suited to its possessor. How can any other person tell you how that
should be done?" And the singer gave me a bright look, and made a pretty
deprecating gesture. "You yourself must have the intelligence to
understand your own case and learn how to treat it.
NEVER STRAIN THE VOICE
"A singer who would keep her voice in the best condition, should
constantly and reasonably exercise it. I always do a half hour or so of
exercises, vocalizes and scales every morning; these are never
neglected. But I never do anything to strain the voice in any way. We
are told many fallacies by vocal teachers. One is that the diaphragm
must be held firmly in order to give support to the tone. It seems to me
this is a serious mistake. I keep the diaphragm relaxed. Thus tone
production, in my case, is made at all times with ease; there is never
any strain. You ask if it is not very fatiguing to sing against a large
orchestra, as we have to, and with a temperamental conductor, like
Marinuzzi, for instance, I do not find it so; there is a pure, clear
tone, which by its quality, placement and ease of production, will carry
farther than mere power ever can. It can be heard above a great
orchestra, and it _gets over_.
USE OF THE VOWELS
"Young singers ask me what vowels to use in vocal practice. In my own
study I use them all. Of course some are more valuable than others. The
O is good, the E needs great care; the Ah is the most difficult of all.
I am aware this is contrary to the general idea. But I maintain that the
Ah is most difficult; for if you overdo it and the lips are too wide
apart, the result is a white tone. And on the other hand, if the lips
are nearer--or too near together, or are not managed rightly, stiffness
or a throaty quality is apt to result; then the tone cannot 'float.' I
have found the best way is to use the mixed vowels, one melting into the
other. The tone can be started with each vowel in turn, and then mingled
with the rest of the vowels. Do you know, the feathered songster I love
best--the nightingale--uses the mixed vowels too. Ah, how much I have
learned from him and from other birds also! Some of them have harsh
tones--real quacks--because they open their bills too far, or in a
special way. But the nightingale has such a lovely dark tone, a 'covered
tone,' which goes to the heart. It has the most exquisite quality in the
world. I have learned much from the birds, about what not to do and what
to do.
MEMORIZING
"In taking up a new role I begin with the story, the libretto, so I may
first learn what it is about, its meaning and psychology. I take it to
bed with me, or have it by me if lying down, because I understand
musical composition and can get a clear idea of the composer's meaning
without going to the instrument. After a short time I begin to work it
out at the piano, in detail, words and music together. For a great role
like the _Somnambula_ or _Traviata_, I must spend three or four years,
perhaps more, in preparation, before bringing it to public performance.
It takes a long time to master thoroughly an operatic role, to work it
out from all sides, the singing, the acting, the characterization. To
the lay mind, if you can sing, you can easily act a part and also
memorize it. They little know the labor which must be bestowed on that
same role before it can be presented in such a shape as to be adequate,
in a way that will get it across. It does not go in a few weeks or even
months; it is the work of years. And even then it is never really
finished, for it can always be improved with more study, with more care
and thought.
THE NECESSITY FOR LANGUAGES
"We hear much about need for study of languages by the singer, and
indeed too much stress cannot be placed on this branch of the work. I
realize that in America it is perhaps more difficult to impress people
with this necessity, as they have not the same need to use other
languages in every day life. The singer can always be considered
fortunate who has been brought up from earliest years to more than one
language. My mother was Spanish, my father Italian, so this gave me
both languages at home. Then in school I learned French, German and
English, not only a little smattering of each, but how to write and
speak them."
"You certainly have mastered English remarkably well," I could not help
remarking, for she was speaking with great fluency, and with hardly any
accent. This seemed to please her, for she gave me one of those flashing
smiles.
COLORATURA AND DRAMATIC
"Would you be pleased," I asked, "if later on your voice should develop
into a dramatic soprano?"
Mme. Galli-Curci thought an instant.
"No," she said, "I think I would rather keep the voice I have. I
heartily admire the dramatic voice and the roles it can sing. Raisa's
voice is for me the most beautiful I know. But after all I think, for
myself, I prefer the lyric and coloratura parts, they are so beautiful.
The old Italian composers knew well how to write for the voice. Their
music has beauty, it has melody, and melodic beauty will always make its
appeal. And the older Italian music is built up not only of melody and
fioriture, but is also dramatic. For these qualities can combine, and
do so in the last act of _Traviata_, which is so full of deep feeling
and pathos.
BREATH CONTROL
"Perhaps, in Vocal Mastery, the greatest factor of all is the breathing.
To control the breath is what each student is striving to learn, what
every singer endeavors to perfect, what every artist should master. It
is an almost endless study and an individual one, because each organism
and mentality is different. Here, as in everything else, perfect ease
and naturalness are to be maintained, if the divine song which is the
singer's concept of beauty, is to be 'floated on the breath,' and its
merest whisper heard to the farthest corner of the gallery.
THE MATTER IN A NUTSHELL
"To sum up then, the three requirements of vocal mastery are: a,
Management of the Larynx; b, Relaxation of the Diaphragm; c, Control of
the Breath. To these might be added a fourth; Mixed Vowels.
"But when all these are mastered, what then? Ah, so much more it can
never be put into words. It is self-expression through the medium of
tone, for tone must always be a vital part of the singer's
individuality, colored by feeling and emotion. Tone is the outlet, the
expression of all one has felt, suffered and enjoyed. To perfect one's
own instrument, one's medium of expression, must always be the singer's
joy and satisfaction."
"And you will surely rest when the arduous season is over?"
"Yes, I will rest when the summer comes, and will return to Italy this
year. But even though I seem to rest, I never neglect my vocal practice;
that duty and pleasure is always performed."
And with a charming smile and clasp of the hand, she said adieu.
VI
=GIUSEPPE DE LUCA=
CEASELESS EFFORT NECESSARY FOR ARTISTIC PERFECTION
"A Roman of Rome" is what Mr. Giuseppe De Luca has been named. The very
words themselves call up all kinds of enchanting pictures. Sunny Italy
is the natural home of beautiful voices: they are her birthright. Her
blue sky, flowers and olive trees--her old palaces, hoary with age and
romantic story, her fountains and marbles, her wonderful treasures of
art, set her in a world apart, in the popular mind. Everything coming
from Italy has the right to be romantic and artistic. If it happens to
be a voice, it should of necessity be beautiful in quality, rich,
smooth, and well trained.
[Illustration: To Mrs. Harriette Brower cordially Giuseppe De Luca]
While all singers who come from the sunny land cannot boast all these
qualifications, Mr. De Luca, baritone of the Metropolitan Opera House,
New York, can do so. Gifted with a naturally fine organ, he has
cultivated it arduously and to excellent purpose. He began to study in
early youth, became a student of Saint Cecilia in Rome when fifteen
years of age, and made his debut at about twenty. He has sung in opera
ever since.
In 1915,--November 25th to be exact--De Luca came to the Metropolitan,
and won instant recognition from critics and public alike. It is said of
him that he earned "this success by earnest and intelligent work.
Painstaking to a degree, there is no detail of his art that he neglects
or slights--so that one hesitates to decide whether he is greater as a
singer or as an actor." Perhaps, however, his most important quality is
his mastery of "_bel canto_"--pure singing--that art which seems to
become constantly rarer on the operatic and concert stage.
"De Luca does such beautiful, finished work; every detail is carefully
thought out until it is as perfect as can be." So remarked a member of
the Metropolitan, and a fellow artist.
Those who have listened to the Roman baritone in the various roles he
has assumed, have enjoyed his fine voice, his true _bel canto_ style,
and his versatile dramatic skill. He has never disappointed his public,
and more than this, is ever ready to step into the breach should
necessity arise.
A man who has at least a hundred and twenty operas at his tongue's end,
who has been singing in the greatest opera houses of the world for more
than twenty years, will surely have much to tell which can help those
who are farther down the line. If he is willing to do so, can speak the
vernacular, and can spare a brief hour from the rush of constant study
and engagement, a conference will be possible. It was possible, for time
was made for it.
THE MUSICAL GIFT
Mr. De Luca, who speaks the English language remarkably well, greeted
the writer with easy courtesy. His genial manner makes one feel at home
immediately. Although he had just come from the Opera House, where he
had sung an important role, he seemed as fresh and rested as though
nothing had happened.
"I think the ability to act, and also, in a measure, to sing, is a
gift," began the artist. "I remember, even as a little child, I was
always acting out in pantomime or mimicry what I had seen and felt. If I
was taken to the theater, I would come home, place a chair for audience,
and act out the whole story I had just seen before it. From my youngest
years I always wanted to sing and act.
A REMARKABLE TEACHER
"As early as I could, at about the age of fifteen, I began to study
singing, with a most excellent teacher; who was none other than Signor
Wenceslao Persischini, who is now no longer living. He trained no fewer
than seventy-four artists, of which I was the last. Battestini, that
wonderful singer, whose voice to-day, at the age of sixty-five, is as
remarkable as ever, is one of his pupils. We know that if a vocal
teacher sings himself, and has faults, his pupils are bound to copy
those faults instinctively and unconsciously. With Persischini this
could not be the case; for, owing to some throat trouble, he was not
able to sing at all. He could only whisper the tones he wanted,
accompanying them with signs and facial grimaces." And Mr. De Luca
illustrated these points in most amusing fashion. Then he continued:
"But he had unerring judgment, together with the finest ear. He knew
perfectly how the tone should be sung and the student was obliged to do
it exactly right and must keep at it till it was right. He would let
nothing faulty pass without correction. I also had lessons in acting
from Madame Marini, a very good teacher of the art.
THE ARTIST LIFE
"After five years of hard study I made my debut at Piacenza, as
Valentine, in _Faust_, November 6th, 1897. Then, you may remember, I
came to the Metropolitan in the season of 1915-1916, where I have been
singing continually ever since.
"The artist should have good health, that he may be always able to sing.
He owes this to his public, to be always ready, never to disappoint. I
think I have never disappointed an audience and have always been in good
voice. It seems to me when one is no longer able to do one's best it is
time to stop singing."
"It is because you study constantly and systematically that you are
always in good voice."
"Yes, I am always at work. I rise at eight in the morning, not later.
Vocalizes are never neglected. I often sing them as I take my bath. Some
singers do not see the necessity of doing exercises every day; I am not
one of those. I always sing my scales, first with full power, then
taking each tone softly, swelling to full strength, then dying away--in
mezza voce. I use many other exercises also--employing full power.
English is also one of the daily studies, with lessons three times a
week.
CONSTANTLY ON THE WATCH
"When singing a role, I am always listening--watching--to be conscious
of just what I am doing. I am always criticizing myself. If a tone or a
phrase does not sound quite correct to me as to placement, or
production, I try to correct the fault at once. I can tell just how I am
singing a tone or phrase by the feeling and sensation. Of course I
cannot hear the full effect; no singer ever can actually hear the effect
of his work, except on the records. There he can learn, for the first
time, just how his voice sounds.
LEARNING A NEW ROLE
"How do I begin a new part? I first read over the words and try to get a
general idea of their meaning, and how I would express the ideas. I try
over the arias and get an idea of those. Then comes the real work--the
memorizing and working out the conception. I first commit the words, and
know them so well I can write them out. Next I join them to the music.
So far I have worked by myself. After this much has been done, I call in
the accompanist, as I do not play the piano very well; that is to say,
my right hand will go but the left lags behind!
ALWAYS BEING SURE OF THE WORDS
"Yes, as you say, it requires constant study to keep the various roles
in review, especially at the Metropolitan, where the operas are changed
from day to day. Of course at performance the prompter is always there
to give the cue--yet the words must always be in mind. I have never yet
forgotten a word or phrase. On one occasion--it was in the _Damnation of
Faust_, a part I had already sung a number of times--I thought of a word
that was coming, and seemed utterly unable to remember it. I grew quite
cold with fear--I am inclined to be a little nervous anyway--but it was
quite impossible to think of the word. Luckily at the moment when I
needed the word I was so fearful about, it suddenly came to me.
NATURAL ANXIETY
"Of course there is always anxiety for the artist with every public
appearance. There is so much responsibility--one must always be at
one's best; and the responsibility increases as one advances, and begins
to realize more and more keenly how much is expected and what depends on
one's efforts. I can assure you we all feel this, from the least to the
greatest. The most famous singers perhaps suffer most keenly.
"I have always sung in Italian opera, in which the language is easy for
me. Latterly I have added French operas to my list. _Samson and
Delilah_, which I had always done in Italian, I had to relearn in
French; this for me was very difficult. I worked a long time on it, but
mastered it at last.
"This is my twenty-second season in opera. I have a repertoire of about
one hundred and twenty roles, in most of which I have sung many times in
Italy. Some I wish might be brought out at the Metropolitan. Verdi's
_Don Carlos_, for instance, has a beautiful baritone part; it is really
one of the fine operas, though it might be considered a bit
old-fashioned to-day. Still I think it would be a success here. I am
preparing several new parts for this season; one of them is the
Tschaikowsky work--_Eugene Onegin_. So you see I am constantly at work.
"My favorite operas? I think they are these"; and Mr. De Luca hastily
jotted down the following: _Don Carlos, Don Giovanni, Hamlet, Rigoletto,
Barbier, Damnation of Faust_, and last, but not least, _Tannhauser_.
GROWTH OF MUSICAL APPRECIATION IN AMERICA
Asked if he considered appreciation for music had advanced during his
residence in America, his answer was emphatically in the affirmative.
"The other evening I attended a reception of representative American
society, among whom were many frequenters of the Metropolitan. Many of
them spoke to me of the opera _Marouf_. I was surprised, for this modern
French opera belongs to the new idiom, and is difficult to understand.
'Do you really like the music of _Marouf_?' I asked. 'Oh, yes indeed,'
every one said. It is one of my longest parts, but not one of my special
favorites.
"In the summer! Ah, I go back to my beloved Italy almost as soon as the
Metropolitan season closes. I could sing in Buenos Aires, as the season
there follows the one here. But I prefer to rest the whole time until I
return. I feel the singer needs a period of rest each year. To show you
how necessary it is for the singer to do daily work on the voice, I
almost feel I cannot sing at all during the summer, as I do no
practicing, and without vocalizes one cannot keep in trim. If I am asked
to sing during vacation, I generally refuse. I tell them I cannot sing,
for I do not practice. It takes me a little while after I return, to get
the vocal apparatus in shape again.
"Thus it means constant study, eternal vigilance to attain the goal,
then to hold what you have attained and advance beyond it if possible."
VII
=LUISA TETRAZZINI=
THE COLORATURA VOICE
Luisa Tetrazzini has been called the greatest exponent of coloratura
singing that we have at the present time. Her phenomenal successes in
various quarters of the globe, where she has been heard in both opera
and concert, are well known, and form pages of musical history, full of
interest. This remarkable voice, of exquisite quality and development,
is another proof that we have as beautiful voices to-day, if we will but
realize the fact, as were ever known or heard of in the days of famous
Italian songsters.
[Illustration: LOUISA TETRAZZINI]
Portraits often belie the artist, by accentuating, unduly, some
individuality of face or figure, and Tetrazzini is no exception. From
her pictures one would expect to find one of the imperious, dominating
order of prima donnas of the old school. When I met the diva, I was at
once struck by the simplicity of her appearance and attire. There was
nothing pompous about her; she did not carry herself with the air of
one conscious of possessing something admired and sought after by all
the world, something which set her on a high pedestal apart from other
singers. Not at all. I saw a little lady of plump, comfortable figure, a
face which beamed with kindliness and good humor, a mouth wreathed with
smiles. Her manner and speech were equally simple and cordial, so that
the visitor was put at ease at once, and felt she had known the great
singer for years.
Before the conference could begin a pretty episode happened, which
showed the human side of the singer's character, and gave a glimpse into
her every day life. Mme. Tetrazzini was a little late for her
appointment, as she had been out on a shopping expedition, an occupation
which she greatly enjoys. Awaiting her return was a group of
photographers, who had arranged their apparatus, mirrors and flash-light
screen, even to the piano stool on which the singer was to be placed.
She took in the situation at a glance, as she entered, and obediently
gave herself into the hands of the picture makers.
"Ah, you wish to make me beautiful," she exclaimed, with her pretty
accent; "I am not beautiful, but you may try to make me look so." With
patience she assumed the required poses, put her head on this side or
that, drew her furs closer about her or allowed them to fall away from
the white throat, with its single string of pearls. The onlooker
suggested she be snapped with a little black "Pom," who had found his
way into the room and was now an interested spectator, on his vantage
ground, a big sofa. So little "Joy" was gathered up and held in
affectionate, motherly arms, close against his mistress' face. It was
all very human and natural, and gave another side to the singer's
character from the side she shows to the public.
At last the ordeal was over, and Madame was free to leave her post and
sit in one of the arm chairs, where she could be a little more
comfortable. The secretary was also near, to be appealed to when she
could not make herself intelligible in English. "My English is very
bad," she protested; "I have not the time now to learn it properly; that
is why I speak it so very bad. In the summer, or next year, I will
really learn it. Now, what is it I can tell you? I am ready."
FOR THE DEBUTANTE
To ask such a natural born singer how she studies and works, is like
asking the fish swimming about in the ocean, to tell you where is the
sea! She could not tell you how she does it. Singing is as the breath of
life to Tetrazzini--as natural as the air she breathes. Realizing this,
I began at the other end.
"What message have you, Madame, for the young singer, who desires to
make a career?"
"Ah, yes, the debutante. Tell her she must practice much--very much--"
and Madame spread out her hands to indicate it was a large subject; "she
must practice several hours every day. I had to practice very much when
I began my study--when I was sixteen; but now I do not have to spend
much time on scales and exercises; they pretty well go of themselves";
and she smiled sweetly.
"You say," she continued, "the debutante--the young singer--does not
know--in America--how much she needs the foreign languages. But she
should learn them. She should study French, Italian and Spanish, and
know how to speak them. Because, if she should travel to those
countries, she must make herself understood, and she must be able to
sing in those languages, too.
"Besides the languages, it is very good for her to study piano also;
she need not know it so well as if she would be a pianist, but she
should know it a little; yet it is better to know more of the piano--it
will make her a better musician."
THE COLORATURA VOICE
"You love the coloratura music, do you not, Madame?"
"Ah, yes, I love the coloratura,--it suits me; I have always studied for
that--I know all the old Italian operas. For the coloratura music you
must make the voice sound high and sweet--like a bird--singing and
soaring. You think my voice sounds something like Patti's? Maybe. She
said so herself. Ah, Patti was my dear friend--my very dear friend--I
loved her dearly. She only sang the coloratura music, though she loved
Wagner and dramatic music. Not long before she died she said to me:
'Luisa, always keep to the coloratura music, and the beautiful _bel
canto_ singing; do nothing to strain your voice; preserve its velvety
quality.' Patti's voice went to C sharp, in later years; mine has
several tones higher. In the great aria in Lucia, she used to substitute
a trill at the end instead of the top notes; but she said to
me--'Luisa, _you_ can sing the high notes!'"
"Then the breathing, Madame, what would you say of that?"
"Ah, the breathing, that is very important indeed. You must breathe from
here, you know--what you call it--from the diaphragm, and from both
sides; it is like a bellows, going in and out," and she touched the
portions referred to. "One does not sing from the chest,--that would
make queer, harsh tones." She sang a few tones just to show how harsh
they would be.
"You have shown such wonderful breath control in the way you sustain
high tones, beginning them softly, swelling then diminishing them."
"Ah, yes, the coloratura voice must always be able to do those things,"
was the answer.
"Should you ever care to become a dramatic singer?" she was asked.
Tetrazzini grew thoughtful; "No, I do not think so," she said, after a
pause; "I love my coloratura music, and I think my audience likes it
too; it goes to the heart--it is all melody, and that is what people
like. I sing lyric music also--I am fond of that."
"Yes, and you sing songs in English, with such good diction, that we
can all understand you--almost every word."
Madame beamed.
"I promise you I will learn English better next year; for I shall come
back to my friends in America next autumn. I shall be in Italy in the
summer. I have two homes over there, one in Italy and one in
Switzerland.
"Do I prefer to sing in opera or concert, you ask? I believe I like
concert much better, for many reasons. I get nearer to the audience; I
am freer--much freer, and can be myself and not some other person. There
is no change of costume, either; I wear one gown, so it is easier; yes,
I like it much more.
"In traveling over your big country--you see I have just been out to
California and back--I find your people have advanced so very much in
appreciation of music; you know so much more than when I was here
before; that was indeed a long time ago--about twelve years,--" and
Madame made a pretty little gesture.
"But in one way your great big country has scarcely advanced any if at
all; you have not advanced in providing opera for your music lovers. You
need permanent opera companies in all the larger cities. The opera
companies of New York and Chicago are fine, oh yes,--but they cannot
give opera to the whole country. There are a few traveling companies
too, which are good. But what are they in your big country? You should
have opera stock companies all over, which would give opera for the
people. Then your fine American girls would have the chance to gain
operatic experience in their own country, which they cannot get now.
That is why the foreign singer has such a chance here, and that is why
the native singer can hardly get a chance. All the American girls' eyes
turn with longing to the Metropolitan Opera House; and with the best
intentions in the world the Director can only engage a small number of
those he would like to have, because he has no room for them. He can not
help it. So I say, that while your people have grown so much in the
liking and in the understanding of music, you do not grow on this side,
because your young singers are obliged to travel to a foreign land to
get the practice in opera they are unable to get at home. You need to do
more for the permanent establishing of opera in the large and small
cities of your country."
Madame did not express her thoughts quite as consecutively as I have set
them down, but I am sure she will approve, as these are her ideas of
the musical situation in this country.
As I listened to the words of this "second Patti," as she is called, and
learned of her kindly deeds, I was as much impressed by her kindness of
heart as I had been by her beautiful art of song. She does much to
relieve poverty and suffering wherever she finds it. As a result of her
"vocal mastery," she has been able to found a hospital in Italy for
victims of tuberculosis, which accommodates between three and four
hundred patients. The whole institution is maintained from her own
private income. During the war she generously gave of her time and art
to sing for the soldiers and aided the cause of the Allies and the Red
Cross whenever possible. For her labors of love in this direction, she
has the distinction of being decorated by a special gold medal of honor,
by both the French and Italian Governments; a distinction only conferred
on two others beside herself.
After our conference, I thanked her for giving me an hour from her
crowded day. She took my hand and pressed it warmly in both hers.
"Please do not quite forget me, Madame."
"Indeed not, will you forget me?"
"No, I shall always remember this delightful hour."
"Then, you see, I cannot forget you!" and she gave my hand a parting
squeeze.
VIII
=ANTONIO SCOTTI=
TRAINING AMERICAN SINGERS FOR OPERA
A singer of finished art and ripe experience is Antonio Scotti. His
operatic career has been rich in development, and he stands to-day at
the top of the ladder, as one of the most admired dramatic baritones of
our time.
One of Naples' sons, he made a first appearance on the stage at Malta,
in 1889. Successful engagements in Milan, Rome, Madrid, Russia and
Buenos Aires followed. In 1899 he came to London, singing _Don Giovanni_
at Covent Garden. A few months thereafter, he came to New York and began
his first season at the Metropolitan. His vocal and histrionic gifts won
instant recognition here and for the past twenty years he has been one
of the most dependable artists of each regular season.
CHARACTERIZATION
[Illustration: [handwritten note] To Miss Harriette Brower Cordially A
Scotti New York 1920]
With all his varied endowments, it seldom or never falls to the lot of a
baritone to impersonate the lover; on the contrary it seems to be his
metier to portray the villain. Scotti has been forced to hide his true
personality behind the mask of a Scarpia, a Tonio, an Iago, and last but
not least, the most repulsive yet subtle of all his villains--Chim-Fang,
in _L'Oracolo_. Perhaps the most famous of them all is Scarpia. But what
a Scarpia, the quintessence of the polished, elegant knave! The
refinement of Mr. Scotti's art gives to each role distinct
characteristics which separate it from all the others.
OPPORTUNITY FOR THE AMERICAN SINGER
Mr. Scotti has done and is doing much for the young American singer, by
not only drilling the inexperienced ones, but also by giving them
opportunity to appear in opera on tour. To begin this enterprise, the
great baritone turned impresario, engaged a company of young singers,
most of them Americans, and, when his season at the Metropolitan was at
an end, took this company, at his own expense, on a southern trip,
giving opera in many cities.
Discussing his venture on one occasion, Mr. Scotti said:
"It was an experiment in several ways. First, I had an all-American
company, which was indeed an experiment. I had some fine artists in the
principal roles, with lesser known ones in smaller parts. With these I
worked personally, teaching them how to act, thus preparing them for
further career in the field of opera. I like to work with the younger
and less experienced ones, for it gives me real pleasure to watch how
they improve, when they have the opportunity.
"Of course I am obliged to choose my material carefully, for many more
apply for places than I can ever accept.
ITALIAN OPERA IN AMERICA
"So closely is Italy identified with all that pertains to opera," he
continued, "that the question of the future of Italian opera in America
interests me immensely. It has been my privilege to devote some of the
best years of my life to singing in Italian opera in this wonderful
country of yours. One is continually impressed with the great advance
America has made and is making along all musical lines. It is marvelous,
though you who live here may not be awake to the fact. Musicians in
Europe and other parts of the world, who have never been here, can form
no conception of the musical activities here.
"It is very gratifying to me, as an Italian, to realize that the
operatic compositions of my country must play an important part in the
future of American musical art. It seems to me there is more intrinsic
value--more variety in the works of modern Italian composers than in
those of other nations. We know the operas of Mozart are largely founded
on Italian models.
"Of the great modern Italian composers, I feel that Puccini is the most
important, because he has a more intimate appreciation of theatrical
values. He seems to know just what kind of music will fit a series of
words or a scene, which will best bring out the dramatic sense.
Montemezzi is also very great in this respect. This in no way detracts
from what Mascagni, Leoncavallo and others have accomplished. It is only
my personal estimate of Puccini as a composer. The two most popular
operas to-day are _Aida_ and _Madame Butterfly_, and they will always
draw large audiences, although American people are prone to attend the
opera for the purpose of hearing some particular singer and not for the
sake of the work of the composer. In other countries this is not so
often the case. We must hope this condition will be overcome in due
time, for the reason that it now often happens that good performances
are missed by the public who are only attracted when some much heralded
celebrity sings."
AMERICAN COMPOSERS
Asked for his views regarding American operatic composers, Mr. Scotti
said:
"American composers often spoil their chances of success by selecting
uninteresting and uninspired stories, which either describe some doleful
historic incident or illustrate some Indian legend, in which no one of
to-day is interested, and which is so far removed from actual life that
it becomes at once artificial, academic and preposterous. Puccini spends
years searching for suitable librettos, as great composers have always
done. When he finds a story that is worthy he turns it into an opera.
But he will wait till he discovers the right kind of a plot. No wonder
he has success. In writing modern music dramas, as all young Americans
endeavor to do, they will never be successful unless they are careful to
pick out really dramatic stories to set to music."
OPERATIC TRAINING
On a certain occasion I had an opportunity to confer with this popular
baritone, and learn more in regard to his experiences as impresario.
This meeting was held in the little back office of the Metropolitan, a
tiny spot, which should be--and doubtless is--dear to every member of
the company. Those four walls, if they would speak, could tell many
interesting stories of singers and musicians, famed in the world of art
and letters, who daily pass through its doors, or sit chatting on its
worn leather-covered benches, exchanging views on this performance or
that, or on the desirability or difficulty of certain roles. Even while
we were in earnest conference, Director Gatti-Casazza passed through the
room, stopping long enough to say a pleasant word and offer a clasp of
the hand. Mr. Guard, too, flitted by in haste, but had time to give a
friendly greeting.
Mr. Scotti was in genial mood and spoke with enthusiasm of his
activities with a favorite project--his own opera company. To the
question as to whether he found young American singers in too great
haste to come before the public, before they were sufficiently prepared,
thus proving they were superficial in their studies, he replied:
"No, I do not find this to be the case. As a general rule, young
American singers have a good foundation to build upon. They have good
voices to start with; they are eager to learn and they study carefully.
What they lack most--those who go in for opera I mean--is stage routine
and a knowledge of acting. This, as I have said before, I try to give
them. I do not give lessons in singing to these young aspirants, as I
might in this way gain the enmity of vocal teachers; but I help the
untried singers to act their parts. Of course all depends on the
mentality--how long a process of training the singer needs. The
coloratura requires more time to perfect this manner of singing than
others need; but some are much quicker at it than others.
"It is well I am blessed with good health, as my task is extremely
arduous. When on tour, I sing every night, besides constantly rehearsing
my company. We are ninety in all, including our orchestra. It is indeed
a great undertaking. I do not do it for money, for I make nothing
personally out of it, and you can imagine how heavy the expenses are;
four thousand dollars a week, merely for transportation. But I do it for
the sake of art, and to spread the love of modern Italian opera over
this great, wonderful country, the greatest country for music that
exists to-day. And the plan succeeds far beyond my hopes; for where we
gave one performance in a place, we now, on our second visit, can give
three--four. Next year we shall go to California.
"So we are doing our part, both to aid the young singer who sorely needs
experience and to educate the masses and general public to love what is
best in modern Italian opera!"
IX
=ROSA RAISA=
PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE WIN RESULTS
To the present day opera goers the name of Rosa Raisa stands for a
compelling force. In whatever role she appears, she is always a
commanding figure, both physically, dramatically and musically. Her
feeling for dramatic climax, the intensity with which she projects each
character assumed, the sincerity and self forgetfulness of her
naturalistic interpretation, make every role notable. Her voice is a
rich, powerful soprano, vibrantly sweet when at its softest--like a
rushing torrent of passion in intense moments. At such moments the
listener is impressed with the belief that power and depth of tone are
limitless; that the singer can never come to the end of her resources,
no matter how deeply she may draw on them. There are such moments of
tragic intensity, in her impersonation of the heroine in _Jewels of the
Madonna_, in _Sister Angelica_, in _Norma_, as the avenging priestess,
in which role she has recently created such a remarkable impression.
[Illustration: Rosa Raisa]
A PRIMA DONNA AT HOME
If one has pictured to one's self that because the Russian prima donna
can show herself a whirlwind of dynamic passion on the stage, therefore
she must show some of these qualities in private life, one would quickly
become disabused of such an impression when face to face with the
artist. One would then meet a slender, graceful young woman, of gentle
presence and with the simplest manners in the world. The dark, liquid
eyes look at one with frankness and sincerity; the wide, low brow, from
which the dark hair is softly drawn away, is the brow of a madonna. In
repose the features might easily belong to one of Raphael's saints.
However, they light up genially when their owner speaks.
Mme. Raisa stood in the doorway of her New York apartment, ready to
greet us as we were shown the way to her. Her figure, clad in
close-fitting black velvet, looked especially slender; her manner was
kind and gracious, and we were soon seated in her large, comfortable
salon, deep in conference. Before we had really begun, the singer's pet
dog came bounding to greet us from another room. The tiny creature, a
Mexican terrier, was most affectionate, yet very gentle withal, and
content to quietly cuddle down and listen to the conversation.
"I will speak somewhat softly," began Mme. Raisa, "since speaking seems
to tire me much more than singing, for what reason I do not know. We
singers must think a little of our physical well being, you see. This
means keeping regular hours, living very simply and taking a moderate
amount of exercise.
"Yes, I always loved to sing; even as a little child I was constantly
singing. And so I began to have singing lessons when I was eight years
old. Later on I went to Italy and lived there for a number of years,
until I began to travel. I now make my home in Naples. My teacher there
was Madame Marchesio, who was a remarkable singer, musician and
teacher--all three. Even when she reached the advanced age of eighty,
she could still sing wonderfully well. She had the real _bel canto_,
understood the voice, how to use it and the best way to preserve it. I
owe so much to her careful, artistic training; almost everything, I may
say.
THE SINGER'S LIFE
"One cannot expect to succeed in the profession of music without giving
one's best time and thought to the work of vocal training and all the
other subjects that go with it. A man in business gives his day, or the
most of it, to his office. My time is devoted to my art, and indeed I
have not any too much time to study all the necessary sides of it.
"During the season, I do regular vocal practice each day and keep the
various roles in review. During the summer I study new parts, for then I
have the time and the quiet. That is what the singer needs--quiet. I
always return to Naples for the vacation, unless I go to South America
and sing there. Then I must have a little rest too, that I may be ready
for the labors of the following season.
VOCAL TRAINING
"Even during the busiest days technic practice is never neglected.
Vocalizes, scales, terzetta--what you call them--broken thirds, yes, and
long, slow tones in _mezza di voce_, that is, beginning softly, swelling
to loud then gradually diminishing to soft, are part of the daily
regime. One cannot omit these things if one would always keep in
condition and readiness. When at work in daily study, I sing softly, or
with medium tone quality; I do not use full voice except occasionally,
when I am going through a part and wish to try out certain effects.
"ONE VOICE"
"I was trained first as a coloratura and taught to do all the old
Italian operas of Bellini, Rosini, Donizetti and the rest of the florid
Italian school. This gives the singer a thorough, solid training--the
sort of training that requires eight or ten years to accomplish. But
this is not too much time to give, if one wishes to be thoroughly
prepared to sing all styles of music. In former days, when singers
realized the necessity of being prepared in this way, there existed I
might say--_one voice;_ for the soprano voice was trained to sing both
florid and dramatic music. But in these days sopranos are divided into
High, Lyric, Coloratura and Dramatic; singers choose which of these
lines seems to suit best their voice and temperament.
COLORATURA AND DRAMATIC
"It is of advantage to the singer to be trained in both these arts. In
the smaller opera houses of Italy, a soprano, if thus trained, can sing
_Lucia_ one night and _Norma_ the next; _Traviata_ one night and
_Trovatore_ the next.
"Modern Italian opera calls for the dramatic soprano. She must be an
actress just as well as a singer. She must be able to express in both
voice and gesture intense passion and emotion. It is the period of storm
and stress. Coloratura voices have not so much opportunity at the
present time, unless they are quite out of the ordinary. And yet, for
me, a singer who has mastery of the beautiful art of _bel canto,_ is a
great joy. Galli-Curci's art is the highest I know of. For me she is the
greatest singer. Melba also is wonderful. I have heard her often--she
has been very kind to me. When I hear her sing an old Italian air, with
those pure, bell-like tones of hers, I am lifted far up; I feel myself
above the sky.
DO NOT YIELD TO DISCOURAGEMENT
"The younger singer need not yield to discouragement, for she must know
from the start, that the mastery of a great art like singing is a long
and arduous task. If the work seems too difficult at times, do not give
up or say 'I cannot.' If I had done that, I should have really given up
many times. Instead I say; 'I can do it, and not only I can but I will!'
MUSICIANSHIP
"There are so many sides to the singer's equipment, besides singing
itself"; and Mme. Raisa lifted dark eyes and spread out her graceful
hands as though to indicate the bigness of the subject. "Yes, there is
the piano, for instance; the singer is much handicapped without a
knowledge of that instrument, for it not only provides accompaniment but
cultivates the musical sense. Of course I have learned the piano and I
consider it necessary for the singer.
"Then there are languages. Be not content with your own, though that
language must be perfectly learned and expressed, but learn others."
"You of course speak several languages?" questioned the listener.
"Yes, I speak eight," she answered modestly. "Russian, of course, for I
am Russian; then French, Italian, German, Spanish, Polish, Roumanian and
English. Besides these I am familiar with a few dialects.
HAVE PATIENCE
"So many young singers are so impatient; they want to prepare themselves
in three or four years for a career," and Madame frowned her
disapproval. "Perhaps they may come before the public after that length
of time spent in study; but they will only know a part--a little of all
they ought to know. With a longer time, conscientiously used, they would
be far better equipped. The singer who spends nine or ten years in
preparation, who is trained to sing florid parts as well as those which
are dramatic--she indeed can sing anything, the music of the old school
as well as of the new. In Rome I gave a recital of old music, assisted
by members of the Sistine Chapel choir. We gave much old music, some of
it dating from the sixth century.
"Do I always feel the emotions I express when singing a role? Yes, I can
say that I endeavor to throw myself absolutely into the part I am
portraying; but that I always do so with equal success cannot be
expected. So many unforeseen occurrences may interfere, which the
audience can never know or consider. One may not be exactly in the mood,
or in the best of voice; the house may not be a congenial space, or the
audience is unsympathetic. But if all is propitious and the audience
with you--then you are lifted up and carry every one with you. Then you
are inspired and petty annoyances are quite forgotten.
VOCAL MASTERY
"You ask a very difficult question when you ask of what vocal mastery
consists. If I have developed perfect control throughout the two and a
half octaves of my voice, can make each tone with pure quality and
perfect evenness in the different degrees of loud and soft, and if I
have perfect breath control as well, I then have an equipment that may
serve all purposes of interpretation.
"Together with vocal mastery must go the art of interpretation, in which
all the mastery of the vocal equipment may find expression. In order to
interpret adequately one ought to possess a perfect instrument,
perfectly trained. When this is the case one can forget mechanism,
because confident of the ability to express whatever emotion is
desired."
"Have you a message which may be carried to the young singers?" she was
asked.
"Tell them to have patience--patience to work and patience to wait for
results. Vocal mastery is not a thing that can be quickly accomplished;
it is not the work of weeks and months, but of years of consistent,
constant effort. It cannot be hurried, but must grow with one's growth,
both mentally and physically. But the reward of earnest effort is sure
to come!"
X
=LOUISE HOMER=
THE REQUIREMENTS OF A MUSICAL CAREER
Madame Louise Homer is a native artist to whom every loyal American can
point with pardonable pride. Her career has been a constant, steady
ascent, from the start; it is a career so well known in America that
there is hardly any need to review it, except as she herself refers to
it on the rare occasions when she is induced to speak of herself. For
Mme. Homer is one of the most modest artists in the world; nothing is
more distasteful to her than to seek for publicity through ordinary
channels. So averse is she to any self-seeking that it was with
considerable hesitation that she consented to express her views to the
writer, on the singer's art. As Mr. Sidney Homer, the well known
composer and husband of Mme. Homer, remarked, the writer should prize
this intimate talk, as it was the first Mme. Homer had granted in a very
long time.
[Illustration: LOUISE HOMER]
The artist had lately returned from a long trip, crowded with many
concerts, when I called at the New York residence of this ideal musical
pair and their charming family. Mme. Homer was at home and sent down
word she would see me shortly. In the few moments of waiting, I seemed
to feel the genial atmosphere of this home, its quiet and cheer. A
distant tinkle of girlish laughter was borne to me once or twice; then a
phrase or two sung by a rich, vibrant voice above; then in a moment
after, the artist herself descended and greeted me cordially.
"We will have a cup of tea before we start in to talk," she said, and,
as if by magic, the tea tray and dainty muffins appeared.
How wholesome and fresh she looked, with the ruddy color in her cheeks
and the firm whiteness of neck and arms. The Japanese robe of "midnight
blue," embroidered in yellows, heightened the impression of vigorous
health by its becomingness.
FOR THE GIRL WHO WANTS TO MAKE A CAREER
"There is so much to consider for the girl who desires to ente |
