Great Singers on the Art of Singing
by James Francis Cooke · English · Gutenberg #33358 · 430,372 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Great Singers on the Art of Singing
Author: James Francis Cooke
Release date: August 6, 2010 [eBook #33358]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT SINGERS ON THE ART OF SINGING ***
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
GREAT
SINGERS ON THE
ART _of_ SINGING
EDUCATIONAL CONFERENCES
WITH FOREMOST ARTISTS
BY
JAMES FRANCIS COOKE
A SERIES
OF PERSONAL STUDY TALKS WITH
THE MOST RENOWNED OPERA
CONCERT AND ORATORIO
SINGERS OF THE TIME
_ESPECIALLY PLANNED FOR
VOICE STUDENTS_
[Illustration]
THEO. PRESSER CO.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY THEO. PRESSER CO.
INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT SECURED
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 5
THE TECHNIC OF OPERATIC PRODUCTION 21
WHAT THE AMERICAN GIRL SHOULD
KNOW ABOUT AN OPERATIC CAREER _Frances Alda_ 31
MODERN VOCAL METHODS IN ITALY _Pasquale Amato_ 38
THE MAIN ELEMENTS OF INTERPRETATION
_David Bispham_ 45
SUCCESS IN CONCERT SINGING _Dame Clara Butt_ 58
THE VALUE OF SELF-STUDY IN VOICE
TRAINING _Giuseppe Campanari_ 68
ITALY, THE HOME OF SONG _Enrico Caruso_ 79
MODERN ROADS TO VOCAL SUCCESS _Julia Claussen_ 90
SELF-HELP IN VOICE STUDY _Charles Dalmores_ 100
IF MY DAUGHTER SHOULD STUDY FOR
GRAND OPERA _Andreas Dippel_ 110
HOW A GREAT MASTER COACHED
OPERA SINGERS _Emma Eames_ 121
THE OPEN DOOR TO OPERA _Florence Easton_ 133
WHAT MUST I GO THROUGH TO BECOME
A PRIMA DONNA? _Geraldine Farrar_ 144
THE MASTER SONGS OF ROBERT
SCHUMANN _Johanna Gadski_ 154
TEACHING YOURSELF TO SING _Amelita Galli-Curci_ 166
THE KNOW HOW IN THE ART OF SINGING
_Mary Garden_ 176
BUILDING A VOCAL REPERTOIRE _Alma Gluck_ 185
OPPORTUNITIES FOR YOUNG CONCERT
SINGERS _Emilio de Gogorza_ 191
THOROUGHNESS IN VOCAL PREPARATION
_Frieda Hempel_ 200
COMMON SENSE IN TRAINING AND
PRESERVING THE VOICE _Dame Nellie Melba_ 207
SECRETS OF BEL CANTO _Bernice de Pasquali_ 217
HOW FORTUNES ARE WASTED IN VOCAL
EDUCATION _Marcella Sembrich_ 227
KEEPING THE VOICE IN PRIME CONDITION _Ernestine Schumann-Heink_ 235
ITALIAN OPERA IN AMERICA _Antonio Scotti_ 251
THE SINGER'S LARGER MUSICAL PUBLIC _Henri Scott_ 260
SINGING IN CONCERT AND WHAT IT MEANS _Emma Thursby_ 269
NEW ASPECTS OF THE ART OF SINGING
IN AMERICA _Reinald Werrenrath_ 283
HOW I REGAINED A LOST VOICE _Evan Williams_ 292
INTRODUCTION
VOCAL GOLD MINES AND HOW THEY ARE DEVELOPED
Plutarch tells how a Laconian youth picked all the feathers from the
scrawny body of a nightingale and when he saw what a tiny thing was left
exclaimed,
"_Surely thou art all voice
and nothing else!_"
Among the tens of thousands of young men and women who, having heard a
few famous singers, suddenly determine to follow the trail of the
footlights, there must be a very great number who think that the success
of the singer is "voice and nothing else." If this collection of
conferences serves to indicate how much more goes into the development
of the modern singer than mere voice, the effort will be fruitful.
Nothing is more fascinating in human relations than the medium of
communication we call speech. When this is combined with beautiful music
in song, its charm is supreme. The conferences collected in this book
were secured during a period of from ten to fifteen years; and in every
case the notes have been carefully, often microscopically, reviewed and
approved by the artist. They are the record of actual accomplishment and
not mere metempirical opinions. The general design was directed by the
hundreds of questions that had been presented to the writer in his own
experience in teaching the art of singing. Only the practical teacher of
singing has the opportunity to discover the real needs of the student;
and only the artist of wide experience can answer many of the serious
questions asked.
The writer's first interest in the subject of voice commenced with the
recollection of the wonderfully human and fascinating vocal organ of
Henry Ward Beecher, whom he had the joy to know in his early boyhood.
The memory of such a voice as that of Beecher is ineradicable. Once, at
the same age, he was taken to hear Beecher's rival pulpit orator, the
Rev. T. de Witt Talmage, in the Brooklyn Tabernacle. The harsh, raucous,
nasal, penetrating, rasping, irritating voice of that clergyman only
served to emphasize the delight in listening to Beecher. Then he heard
the wonderful orotund organ of Col. Robert J. Ingersoll and the
sonorous, mellow voice of Edwin Booth.
Shortly he found himself enlisted as a soprano in the boy choir of a
large Episcopal church. While there he became the soloist, singing many
of the leading arias from famous oratorios before he was able to
identify the musical importance of such works. Then came a long training
in piano and in organ playing, followed by public appearances as a
pianist and engagements as an organist and choirmaster in different
churches. This, coupled with song composition, musical criticism and
editing, experience in conducting, managing concerts, accompanying noted
singers and, later, in teaching voice for many years, formed a
background that is recounted here only to let the reader know that the
conferences were not put down by one unacquainted with the actual daily
needs of the student, from his earliest efforts to his platform
triumphs.
WHAT MUST THE SINGER HAVE?
What must the singer have? A voice? Of course. But how good must that
voice be? "Ah, there's the rub!" It is this very point which adds so
much fascination to the chances of becoming a great singer; and it is
this very point upon which so many, many careers have been wrecked. The
young singer learns that Jenny Lind was first refused by Garcia because
he considered her case hopeless; he learns that Sir George Henschel told
Bispham that he had insufficient voice to encourage him to take up the
career of the singer; he learns dozens of similar instances; and then he
goes to hear some famous singer with slender vocal gifts who, by force
of tremendous dramatic power, eclipses dozens with finer voices. He
thereupon resolves that "voice" must be a secondary matter in the
singer's success.
There could not be a greater mistake. There must be a good vocal basis.
There must be a voice capable of development through a sufficient gamut
to encompass the great works written for such a voice. It must be
capable of development into sufficient "size" and power that it may fill
large auditoriums. It must be sweet, true to pitch, clear; and, above
all, it must have that kind of an individual quality which seems to
draw the musical interest of the average person to it.
THE PERFECT VOICE
Paradoxically enough, the public does not seem to want the "perfect"
voice, but rather, the "human" voice. A noted expert, who for many years
directed the recording laboratories of a famous sound reproducing
machine company, a man whose acquaintance with great singers of the time
is very wide, once told the writer of a singer who made records so
perfect from the standpoint of tone that no musical critic could
possibly find fault with them. Yet these records did not meet with a
market from the general public. The reason is that the public demands
something far more than a flawless voice and technically correct
singing. It demands the human quality, that wonderful something that
shines through the voice of every normal, living being as the soul
shines through the eyes. It is this thing which gives individuality and
identity to the voice and makes the widest appeal to the greatest number
of people.
Patti was not great because her dulcet tones were like honey to the ear.
Mere sweetness does not attract vast audiences time and again. Once, in
a mediaeval German city, the writer was informed that a nightingale had
been heard in the _glacis_ on the previous night. The following evening
a party of friends was formed and wandered through the park whispering
with delight at every outburst from the silver throat. Never had bird
music been so beautiful. The next night someone suggested that we go
again; but no one could be found who was enthusiastic enough to repeat
the experience. The very perfection of the nightingale's song, once
heard, had been sufficient.
THE LURE OF INDIVIDUALITY
Certain performers in vaudeville owe their continued popularity to the
fascinating individuality of their voices. Albert Chevalier, once heard,
could never be forgotten. His pathetic lilt to "My Old Dutuch" has made
thousands weep. When he sings such a number he has a far higher artistic
control over his audience than many an elaborately trained singer
trilling away at some very complicated aria.
A second-rate opera singer once bemoaned his fate to the writer. He
complained that he was obliged to sing for $100.00 a week,
notwithstanding his years of study and preparation, while Harry Lauder,
the Scotch comedian, could get $1000 a night on his tours. As a matter
of fact Mr. Lauder, entirely apart from his ability as an actor, had a
far better voice and had that appealing quality that simply commandeers
his auditors the moment he opens his mouth.
Any method or scheme of teaching the art of singing that does not seek
to develop the inherent intellectual and emotional vocal complexion of
the singer can never approach a good method. Vocal perfection that does
not admit of the manifestation of the real individual has been the death
knell of many an aspiring student. Nordica, Jean de Reszke, Victor
Maurel, Plancon, Sims Reeves, Schumann-Heink, Garden, Dr. Wuellner, Evan
Williams, Galli-Curci, and especially our greatest of American singers,
David Bispham, all have manifested a vocal individuality as unforgetable
to the ear as their countenances are to the eye.
If the reader happens to be a young singer and can grasp the
significance of the previous paragraph, he may have something more
valuable to him than many lessons. The world is not seeking merely the
perfect voice but a great musical individuality manifested through a
voice developed to express that individuality in the most natural and at
the same time the most comprehensive manner possible. Therefore, young
man and young woman, does it not seem of the greatest importance to you
to develop, first of all, the _mind and the soul_, so that when the
great hour comes, your audience will hear through the notes that pour
from your throat something of your intellectual and emotional character?
They will not know how, nor will they ask why they hear it,--but its
manifestation will either be there or it will not be there. Upon this
will depend much of your future success. It can not be concealed from
the discerning critics in whose hands your progress rests. The high
intellectual training received in college by Ffrangcon Davies, David
Bispham, Plunkett Greene, Herbert Witherspoon, Reinald Werrenrath and
others, is just as apparent to the intelligent listener, in their
singing at recitals, as it would be in their conversation. Others have
received an equivalent intellectual training in other ways. The young
singer, who thinks that in the future he can "get by" without such a
training, is booked for disappointment. Get a college education if you
can; and, if you can not, fight to get its equivalent. No useful
experience in the singer's career is a wasted one. The early
instrumental training of Melba, Sembrich, Campanari, Hempel, Dalmores,
Garden, and Galli-Curci, shows out in their finished singing, in
wonderful manner. Every singer should be able to play the piano well. It
has a splendid effect in the musical discipline of the mind. In European
conservatories, in many instances, the study of the piano is compulsory.
YOUR PHILOSOPHY OF SINGING
The student of singing should be an inveterate reader of "worthwhile"
comments upon his art. In this way, if he has a discriminating mind, he
will be able to form a "philosophy of singing" of his own. Richard
Wagner prefaced his music dramas with lengthy essays giving his reasons
for pursuing a certain course. Whatever their value may be to the
musical public at this time, it could not have been less than that to
the great master when he was fighting to straighten out for his own
satisfaction in his own mind just what he should do and how he should do
it. Therefore, read interminably; but believe nothing that you read
until you have weighed it carefully in your own mind and determined its
usefulness in its application to your own particular case.
The student will find the following books of real value in his quest for
vocal truth: _The Philosophy of Singing_, Clara Kathleen Rogers; _The
Vocal Instructor_, E. J. Myer; _The Psychology of Singing_, David C.
Taylor; _How to Sing_, Lilli Lehmann; _Reminiscences of a Quaker
Singer_, David Bispham; _The Art of the Singer_, W. J. Henderson.
The student should also read the biographies of famous singers and keep
in touch with the progress of the art, through reading the best
magazines.
THE HISTORY OF SINGING
The history of singing parallels the history of civilization. Egypt,
Israel, Greece and Rome made their contributions; but how they sang and
what they sang we can not definitely know because of the destruction of
the bridge between ancient and modern notation, and because not until
Thomas Edison invented the phonograph in 1877, was there any tangible
means of recording the voices of the singers. The wisdom of Socrates,
Plato and Caesar is therefore of trifling significance in helping us to
find out more than how highly the art was regarded. The absurd antics of
Nero, in his ambition to distinguish himself as a singer, indicated in
some more or less indefinite way the importance given to singing in the
heyday of Rome. The incessant references to singing, in Greek
literature, tell us that singing was looked upon not merely as an
accomplishment but as one of the necessary arts.
Coincident with the coming of Italian opera, about 1600, we find a
great revival of the art of singing; and many of the old Italian masters
have bequeathed us some fairly instructive comments upon the art of _bel
canto_. That these old Italian teachers were largely individualists and
taught empirically, with no set methods other than that which their own
ears determined, seems to be accepted quite generally by investigators
at this date. The _Osservazione sopra il Canto figurato_ of Pietro
Francesco Tosi (procurable in English), published in 1723, and the
_Reflessioni pratichi sul Canto figurato_, published in 1776, are
valuable documents for the serious student, particularly because these
men seemed to recognize that the so-called registers should be
equalized. With them developed an ever-expanding jargon of voice
directions which persist to this day among vocal teachers. Such
directions as "sing through the mask" (meaning the face); "sing with the
throat open"; "sing as though you were just about to smile"; "sing as
though you were just about to experience the sensation of swallowing"
(_come bere_); "support the tone"; etc., etc., are often more confusing
than helpful. Manual Garcia (1805-1906), who invented the laryngoscope
in 1855, made an earnest effort to bring scientific observation to the
aid of the vocal teacher, by providing a tiny mirror on the end of a
rod, enabling the teacher to see the vocal cords during the process of
phonation. How much this actually helped the singing teacher is still a
moot point; but it must be remembered that Garcia had many extremely
successful pupils, including the immortal Jenny Lind.
The writer again advises the serious student of singing to spend a great
deal of time in forming his own conception of the principles by which he
can get the most from his voice. Any progressive artist teacher will
encourage him in this course. In other words, it is not enough in these
days that he shall sing; but he must know how he produces his results
and be able to produce them time and time again with constantly
increasing success. Note in the succeeding conferences how many of the
great singers have given very careful and minute consideration to this.
The late Evan Williams spent years of thought and study upon it; and the
writer considers that his observations in this volume are among the most
important contributions to the literature of voice teaching. This was
the only form in which they appeared in print. Only one student in a
hundred thousand can dispense with a good vocal teacher, as did the
brilliant Galli-Curci or the unforgetable Campanari. A really fine
teacher of voice is practically indispensable to most students. This
does not mean that the best teacher is the one with the greatest
reputation. The reputation of a teacher only too often has depended upon
his good fortune early in life in securing pupils who have made
spectacular successes in a short time. There are hundreds of splendid
vocal teachers in America now, and it is very gratifying to see many of
their pupils make great successes in Europe without any previous
instruction "on the other side."
Surely nothing can be more helpful to the ambitious vocal student than
the direct advice, personal suggestions and hints of the greatest
singers of the time. It is with this thought that the writer takes
especial pride in being the medium of the presentation of the following
conferences. It is suggested that a careful study of the best
sound-reproducing-machine records of the great singers included will add
much to the interest of the study of this work.
The enormous incomes received from some vocal gold mines, such as
Caruso, John McCormack, Patti, Galli-Curci, and others, have made the
lure of the singer's career so great that many young vocalists are
inclined to forget that all of the great singers of the day have
attained their triumphs only after years of hard work. Galli-Curci's
overwhelmingly successful American debut followed years of real labor,
when she was glad to accept small engagements in order to advance in her
art. John McCormack's first American appearances were at a side show at
the St. Louis World's Fair. Sacrifice is often the seed kernel of large
success. Too few young singers are willing to plant that kernel. They
expect success to come at the end of a few courses of study and a few
hundred dollars spent in advertising. The public, particularly the
American public, is a wary one. It may be possible to advertise
worthless gold mining stock in such a way that thousands may be swindled
before the crook behind the scheme is jailed. But it is impossible to
sell our public a so-called golden-voiced singer whose voice is really
nothing more than tin-foil and very thin tin-foil at that.
Every year certain kinds of slippery managers accept huge fees from
would-be singers, which are supposed to be invested in a mysterious
formula which, like the philosopher's stone, will turn a baser metal
into pure gold. No campaign of advertising spent upon a mediocrity or an
inadequately prepared artist can ever result in anything but a
disastrous waste. Don't spend a penny in advertising until you have
really something to sell which the public will want. It takes years to
make a fine singer known; but it takes only one concert to expose an
inadequate singer. Every one of the artists represented in this book has
been "through the mill" and every one has triumphed gloriously in the
end. There is one road. They have defined it in remarkable fashion in
these conferences. The sign-posts read, "Work, Sacrifice, Joy, Triumph."
With the multiplicity of methods and schemes for practice it is not
surprising that the main essentials of the subject are sometimes
obscured. That such discussions as those included in this book will
enable the thinking student to crystallize in his own mind something
which to him will become a method long after he has left his student
days, can not be questioned. One of the significant things which he will
have to learn is perfect intonation, keeping on the right pitch all the
time; and another thing is freedom from restriction, best expressed by
the word poise. William Shakespeare, greatest of English singing
teachers of his day, once expressed these important points in the
following words:
"The Foundations of the Art of Singing are two in number:
"First: (A) How to take breath and (B) how to press it out slowly. (The
act of slow exhalation is seen in our endeavor to warm some object with
the breath.)
"Second: How to sing to this controlled breath pressure.
"It may be interesting at this point to observe how the old singers
practiced when seeking a full tone while using little breath. They
watched the effect of their breath by singing against a mirror or
against the flame of a taper. If a note required too much pressure the
command over the breath was lost--the mirror was unduly tarnished or the
flame unduly puffed. 'Ah' was their pattern vowel, being the most
difficult on account of the openness of the throat--the vowel which, by
letting more breath out, demanded the greatest control. The perfect
poise of the instrument on the controlled breath was found to bring
about _three_ important results to the singer:
"_First result_--Unerring tuning. As we do not experience any sensation
of consciously using the muscles in the throat, we can only judge of the
result by listening. When the note sounds to the right breath control it
springs unconsciously and instantaneously to the tune we intended. The
freedom of the instrument not being interfered with, it follows through
our wishing it--like any other act naturally performed. This unerring
tuning is the first result of a right foundation.
"_Second result_--The throat spaces are felt to be unconscious and
arrange themselves independently in the different positions prompted by
the will and necessary to pronounciation, the factors being freedom of
tongue and soft palate, and freedom of lips.
"_Third result_--The complete freedom of the face and eyes which adapt
themselves to those changes necessary to the expression of the emotions.
"The artist can increase the intensity of his tone without necessarily
increasing its volume, and can thus produce the softest effect. By his
skill he can emit the soft note and cause it to travel as far as a loud
note, thus arousing emotions as of distance, as of memories of the past.
He produces equally well the more powerful gradations without
overstepping the boundary of noble and expressive singing. On the other
hand, an indifferent performer would scarcely venture on a soft effect,
the absence of breath support would cause him to become inaudible and
should he attempt to crescendo such a note the result would be throaty
and unsatisfactory."
Another most important subject is diction, and the writer can think of
nothing better than to quote from Mme. Lilli Lehmann, the greatest
Wagnerian soprano of the last century.
"Let us now consider some of the reasons why some American singers have
failed to succeed. How do American women begin their studies? Many
commence their lessons in December or January. They take two or three
half-hour lessons a week, even attending these irregularly, and ending
their year's instruction in March or, at the latest, in April. Surely
music study under such circumstances is little less than farcical. The
voice, above all things, needs careful and constant attention. Moreover,
many are lacking lamentably in the right preparations. Some are
evidently so benighted as to believe that preparation is unnecessary. Or
do they believe that the singing teacher must also provide a musical and
general education?
"Is there one among them, for instance, who can enunciate her own
language faultlessly; that is, as the stage demands? Many fail to
realize that they should, first of all, be taught elocution (diction) by
teachers who can show them how to pronounce vowels purely and
beautifully, and consonants correctly and distinctly, so as to give
words their proper sounds. How can anyone expect to sing in a foreign
language when he has no idea of his own language--no idea how this
wonderful member, the tongue, should be used--to say nothing of the
terrible faults in speaking? I endorse the study of elocution as a
preparatory study for all singing. No one can realize how much simpler
and how much more efficient it would make the work of the singing
teacher."
Finally, the writer feels that there is much to be inferred from the
popular criticism of the man in the street--"There is no music in that
voice." Mr. Hoipolloi knows just what he means when he says that. As a
matter of fact, the average voice has very little music in it. By music
the man means that the pitch of the tones that he hears shall be so
unmistakable and so accurate, that the quality shall be so pure and the
thought of the singer so sincere and so worth-while, that the auditor
feels the wonderful human emotion that comes only from listening to a
beautiful human voice. Put real music in every tone and your success
will not be far distant.
JAMES FRANCIS COOKE.
Bala, Pa.
THE TECHNIC OF OPERATIC PRODUCTION
WHAT THE STUDENT WHO ASPIRES TO GO INTO OPERA SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THE
MECHANICAL SIDE OF GIVING AN OPERATIC PERFORMANCE
Even after one has mastered the art of singing there is still much that
the artist must learn about the actual working of the opera house
itself. This of course is best done by actual experience; but the writer
has found that much can be gained by insight into some of the conditions
that exist in the modern opera house.
In the childhood of hundreds of people now living opera was given with
scenery and costumes that would be ridiculed in vaudeville if seen
to-day. Pianos, lamps, chairs and even bird cages were often painted
right on the scenery. One set of costumes and properties was made to do
for the better part of the repertoire in such a way that even the most
flexible imagination was stretched to the breaking point several times
during the performance. Now, most of this has changed and the modern
opera house stage is often a mechanical and electrical marvel.
It is most human to want to peep behind the scenes and see something of
the machinery which causes the wonderful spectacle of the stage. We
remember how, as children, we longed to open the clock and see the
wheels go round. Behind the asbestos curtain there is a world of ropes,
lights, electrical and mechanical machinery, paints and canvas, which
is always a territory filled with interest to those who sit in the seats
in front.
Much of the success of the opera in New York, during the early part of
the present century, was due to the great efficiency of the Director,
Giulio Gatti-Casazza. Gatti-Casazza was a graduate of the Royal Italian
Naval Academy at Leghorn, and had been intended for a career as a naval
engineer before he undertook the management of the opera at Ferrara.
This he did because his father was on the board of directors of the
Ferrara opera house, and the institution had not been a great success.
His directorship was so well executed that he was appointed head
director of the opera at La Scala in Milan and astonished the musical
world with his wonderful Italian productions of Wagner's operas under
the conductorship of Toscanini. In New York many reforms were
instituted, and later took the New York company to Paris, giving
performances which made Europe realize that opera in New York is as fine
as that in any music center in the world, and in some particulars finer.
The New York opera is more cosmopolitan than that of any other country.
Its company included artists from practically every European country,
but fortunately includes more American singers and musicians to-day than
at any time in our operatic history. We are indebted to the staff of the
Metropolitan Opera House, experts who, with the kind permission of the
director, furnished the writer with the following interesting
information:
[Illustration: PROFILE OF THE PARIS GRAND OPERA. (NOTE THAT THE STAGE
SECTION IS LARGER THAN THE AUDITORIUM. ALSO NOTE THE IMMENSE SPACE GIVEN
TO THE GRAND ENTRANCE STAIRWAY.)]
A WORLD OF DETAIL
Few people have any idea of how many persons and how many departments
are connected with the opera and its presentation. Considering them in
order, they might be classed as follows:
The General Manager and his assistants.
The Musical Director and his assistants.
The Stage Director and his assistants.
The Technical Director and his assistants.
The Business Director and his assistants.
The Wardrobe Director and his assistants.
The Master of Properties and his assistants.
The Head Engineer and his assistants.
The Accountant and his assistants.
The Advertising Manager and his assistants.
The Press Representatives and his assistants.
The Superintendent and his assistants.
The Head Usher and his assistants.
The Electrician and his assistants.
Few of these important and necessary factors in the production ever
appear before the public. Like the miners who supply us with the wealth
of the earth, they work, as it were, underground. No one is more
directly concerned with making the production than the Technical
Director. In that we are fortunate in having the views of Mr. Edward
Siedle, Technical Director of the Metropolitan Opera Company, of New
York. The complete picture that the public sees is made under the
supervision of Mr. Siedle, and during the actual production he is
responsible for all of the technical details. His experience has
extended over a great many years in different countries. He writes:
THE TECHNIC OF THE PRODUCTION
I understand you wish me to give you some idea of the technicalities
involved in producing the stage pictures which go to form an opera. Let
us suppose it is an opera by an American composer. My first procedure
would be to place myself in touch with the author and composer. After
having one or two talks with them I secure a libretto. When a mutual
understanding is agreed upon between us as to the character of the
scenes required and the positions of particular things in relation to
the business which has to take place during the performance, I make my
plans accordingly, and look up all the data available bearing upon the
subject.
It is now time to call in the scenic artist, giving him my views and
ideas, so that he can start upon the designing and painting of the
scenery. His first design would be in the form of a rough sketch and a
more clearly worked-out ground plan. After further discussion and
alterations we should definitely agree upon a scheme, and he would
proceed to make a scale model. When this model is finished it is a
perfect miniature scene of the opera as it will appear on the night the
opera is produced.
The author and composer are then called in to meet the impresario and
myself for a final consultation. We now finally criticize our plans,
making any alterations which may seem necessary to us. When these
alterations are completed the plans are handed over to the carpenter,
who immediately starts making his frames and covering them with canvas,
working from the scale model. The scenic artist is now able to commence
his work in earnest.
The "properties" are our next consideration. Sketches and patterns are
made, authorities are consulted, and everything possible is done to aid
the Property Master in doing his part of the work.
Unless the opera in question calls for special mechanical effects, or
special stage machinery, the scene is adapted to the stage as it is. If
anything exceptional has to be achieved, however, special machinery is
constructed.
The designing of the costumes is gone over in much the same way as the
construction of the scenery. The period in which the opera is laid, the
various characters and their station in life, are all well talked over
by the composer, author and myself. The costume designer is then called
in, and after listening to what every one has to say and reading the
libretto, he submits his designs. These, when finished, are criticized
by the impresario, the composer, the author and myself, and any
suggestion which will improve them is accepted by the designer, and
alterations are made until everything is satisfactory. The designs are
then sent to the costume maker.
The important matter of lighting and electrical effects is not dealt
with until after the scenery has been completed, painted and set up on
the stage, except in the case when exceptional effects are demanded. The
matter is then carefully discussed and arranged so that the apparatus
will be ready by the time the earlier rehearsals are taking place.
The staff required by a Technical Director in such an institution as the
Metropolitan Opera House is necessarily a large one. He needs an able
scenic artist with his assistants and an efficient carpenter with his
assistants to complete the scenic arrangements as indicated in the
models. The completed scenery is delivered over to the stage carpenter
who has a large body of assistants, and is held responsible for the
running of the opera during rehearsals and performances. The stage
carpenter has also under his control a body of carpenters who work all
night, commencing their duties after the opera is over, removing all the
scenery used in the opera just finished from the opera house and
bringing from the various storehouses the scenery required for the next
performance or rehearsal. The electrician is an important member of my
staff, and he, of course, has a number of assistants. The Property
Master and his assistants and the Wardrobe Mistress and her assistants
also are extremely important. Then the active engineer who is
responsible for the heating and ventilating, and also for many of the
stage effects, is another necessary and important member. In all, the
Opera House, when in full swing, requires for the technical or stage
detail work alone about 185 people.
[Illustration: HOW AN OPERATIC STAGE LOOKS FROM BEHIND.]
Thus far we have not considered the musical side of the production. This
is, of course, under the management of the General Director and the
leading Musical Director. Very little time at best is at the disposal of
the musical director. A director like Toscanini would, in a first-class
opera house, with a full and competent company, require about fifteen
days to complete the rehearsals, and other preparations for such a
production as _Aida_, should such a work be brought out as a novelty. A
good conductor needs at least four orchestra rehearsals. _Pelleas et
Melisande_ would require more extensive rehearsing, as the music is of a
new order and is, in a sense, a new form of art.
IMPORTANT REHEARSALS
While the head musical director is engaged with the principals and the
orchestra, the Chorus-master spends his time training the chorus. If his
work is not efficiently done, the entire production is greatly impeded.
The assistant conductors undertake the work of rehearsing the soloists
prior to their appearance in connection with the orchestra. They must
know the Head Director's ideas perfectly, and see that the soloists do
not introduce interpretations which are too much at variance with his
ideas and the accepted traditions. In all about ten rehearsals are given
to a work in a room set aside for that purpose, then there are five
stage rehearsals, and finally four full ensemble rehearsals with
orchestra. In putting on an old work, such as those in the standard
repertoire, no rehearsals are demanded.
The musical forces of the Metropolitan Opera House, for instance, make a
company of at least two leading conductors, twelve assistant conductors,
about ninety soloists, a chorus numbering at least one hundred and
twenty-five singers, thirty musicians for stage music, about twenty
stage attendants and an orchestra of from eighty to one hundred
performers, to say nothing of the costume, scenic and business staff,
making a little industry all in itself.
The General Director, the Stage Manager, and often the Musical Director
make innumerable suggestions to the singers regarding the proper
histrionic presentation of their roles. As a rule singers give too
little attention to the dramatic side of their work and demand too much
of the stage manager. In recent years there has been a great improvement
in this. Prior to the time of Gluck, Weber and Wagner, acting in opera
was a matter of ridicule.
THE BALLET
About seventy or one hundred persons make up the ballet of a modern
grand opera. At least ten years of continuous study are required to make
a finished ballet dancer in the histrionic sense. Many receive very
large fees for their services. The art of stage dancing also has
undergone many great reforms in recent years; and the ballets of to-day
are therefore much more popular than they were in the latter part of the
last century. The most popular ballets of to-day are the _Coppelia_ and
_Sylvia_ of Delibes. The ballets from the operas of _La Gioconda_,
_Samson et Delila_, _Armide_, _Mephistophele_, _Aida_, _Orfeo_,
_L'Africaine_, and _The Damnation of Faust_ also are very popular.
At a modern opera house like the Metropolitan in New York City the
number of employees will be between six hundred and seven hundred, and
the cost of a season will be about one million dollars.
FRANCES ALDA
(MME. GIULIO GATTI-CASAZZA)
BIOGRAPHICAL
Mme. Frances Alda was born at Christ Church, New Zealand, May 31st,
1883. She was educated at Melbourne and studied singing with Mathilde
Marchesi in Paris. Her debut was made in Massenet's _Manon_, at the
Opera Comique in Paris in 1904. After highly successful engagements in
Paris, Brussels, Parma and Milan (where she created the title role in
the Italian version of _Louise_), she made her American debut at the
Metropolitan Opera House in New York as Gilda in Verdi's _Rigoletto_.
Since her initial success in New York she has been connected with the
Metropolitan stage every season. In 1910 she married Giulio
Gatti-Casazza, manager of the Metropolitan Opera House, and is probably
better able to speak upon the subject herewith discussed than any one in
America. She has also appeared with great success in London, Warsaw,
Buenos Aires and other cities, in opera and in concert. Many of the most
important leading roles in modern opera have been created by her in
America.
[Illustration: MME. FRANCES ALDA.
(C) Underwood & Underwood.]
WHAT THE AMERICAN GIRL SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AN OPERATIC CAREER
MME. FRANCES ALDA (MME. GATTI-CASAZZA)
REGULARITY AND SUCCESS
To the girl who aspires to have an operatic career, who has the
requisite vocal gifts, physical health, stage presence and--most
important of all--a high degree of intelligence, the great essential is
regular daily work. This implies regular lessons, regular practice,
regular exercise, regular sleep, regular meals--in fact, a life of
regularity. The daily lesson in most cases seems an imperative
necessity. Lessons strung over a series of years merely because it seems
more economical to take one lesson a week instead of seven rarely
produce the expected results. Marchesi, with her famous wisdom on vocal
matters, advised twenty minutes a day and then not more than ten minutes
at a time.
For nine months I studied with the great Parisian maestra and in my
tenth month I made my debut. Of course, I had sung a great deal before
that time and also could play both the piano and the violin. A thorough
musical knowledge is always valuable. The early years of the girl who is
destined for an operatic career may be much more safely spent with
Czerny exercises for the piano or Kreutzer studies for the violin than
with Concone Solfeggios for the voice. Most girls over-exercise their
voices during the years when they are too delicate. It always pays to
wait and spend the time in developing the purely musical side of study.
MODERATION AND GOOD SENSE
More voices collapse from over-practice and more careers collapse from
under-work than from anything else. The girl who hopes to become a prima
donna will dream of her work morning, noon and night. Nothing can take
it out of her mind. She will seek to study every imaginable thing that
could in any way contribute to her equipment. There is so much to learn
that she must work hard to learn all. Even now I study pretty regularly
two hours a day, but I rarely sing more than a few minutes. I hum over
my new roles with my accompanist, Frank La Forge, and study them in that
way. It was to such methods as this that Marchesi attributed the
wonderful longevity of the voices of her best-known pupils. When they
followed the advice of the dear old maestra their voices lasted a long,
long time. Her vocal exercises were little more than scales sung very
slowly, single, sustained tones repeated time and again until her
critical ear was entirely satisfied, and then arpeggios. After that came
more complicated technical drills to prepare the pupil for the fioriture
work demanded in the more florid operas. At the base of all, however,
were the simplest kind of exercises. Through her discriminating sense of
tone quality, her great persistence and her boundless enthusiasm, she
used these simple vocal materials with a wizardry that produced great
_prime donne_.
THE PRECIOUS HEAD VOICE
Marchesi laid great stress upon the use of the head voice. This she
illustrated to all her pupils herself, at the same time not hesitating
to insist that it was impossible for a male teacher to teach the head
voice properly. (Marchesi herself carried out her theories by refusing
to teach any male applicants.) She never let any pupil sing above F on
the top line of the treble staff in anything but the head voice. They
rarely ever touched their highest notes with full voice. The upper part
of the voice was conserved with infinite care to avoid early breakdowns.
Even when the pupils sang the top notes they did it with the feeling
that there was still something in reserve. In my operatic work at
present I feel this to be of greatest importance. The singer who
exhausts herself upon the top notes is neither artistic nor effective.
THE AMERICAN GIRL'S CHANCES IN OPERA
The American girl who fancies that she has less chances in opera than
her sisters of the European countries is silly. Look at the lists of
artists at the Metropolitan, for instance. The list includes twice as
many artists of American nationality as of any other nation. This is in
no sense the result of pandering to the patriotism of the American
public. It is simply a matter of supply and demand. New Yorkers demand
the best opera in the world and expect the best voices in the world.
The management would accept fine artists with fine voices from China or
Africa or the North Pole if they were forthcoming. A diamond is a
diamond no matter where it comes from. The management virtually ransacks
the musical marts of Europe every year for fine voices. Inevitably the
list of American artists remains higher. On the whole, the American
girls have better natural voices, more ambition and are willing to study
seriously, patiently and energetically. This is due in a measure to
better physical conditions in America and in Australia, another free
country that has produced unusual singers. What is the result? America
is now producing the best and enjoying the best. There is more fine
music of all kinds now in New York during one week than one can get in
Paris in a month and more than one can get in Milan in six months. This
has made New York a great operatic and musical center. It is a wonderful
opportunity for Americans who desire to enter opera.
THE NEED FOR SUPERIOR INTELLIGENCE
There was a time in the halcyon days of the old coloratura singers when
the opera singer was not expected to have very much more intelligence
than a parrot. Any singer who could warble away at runs and trills was a
great artist. The situation has changed entirely to-day. The modern
opera-goer demands great acting as well as great singing. The opera
house calls for brains as well as voices. There should properly be great
and sincere rivalry among fine singers. The singer must listen to other
singers with minute care and patience, and then try to learn how to
improve herself by self-study and intelligent comparison. Just as the
great actor studies everything that pertains to his role, so the great
singer knows the history of the epoch of the opera in which he is to
appear, he knows the customs, he may know something of the literature of
the time. In other words, he must live and think in another atmosphere
before he can walk upon the stage and make the audience feel that he is
really a part of the picture. Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree gave a
presentation that was convincing and beautiful, while the mediocre
actor, not willing to give as much brain work to his performance, falls
far short of an artistic performance.
A modern performance of any of the great works as they are presented at
the Metropolitan is rehearsed with great care and attention to
historical detail. Instances of this are the performances of _L'Amore di
Tre Re_, _Carmen_, _Boheme_, and _Lohengrin_, as well as such great
works as _Die Meistersinger_, and _Tristan und Isolde_.
PHYSICAL STRENGTH AND SINGING
Few singers seem to realize that an operatic career will be determined
in its success very largely through physical strength, all other factors
being present in the desired degree. That is, the singer must be strong
physically in order to succeed in opera. This applies to women as well
as to men. No one knows what the physical strain is, how hard the work
and study are. In front of you is a sea of highly intelligent, cultured
people, who for years have been trained in the best traditions of the
opera. They pay the highest prices paid anywhere for entertainment. They
are entitled to the best. To face such an audience and maintain the high
traditions of the house through three hours of a complicated modern
score is a musical, dramatic and intellectual feat that demands, first
of all, a superb physical condition. Every day of my life in New York I
go for a walk, mostly around the reservoir in Central Park, because it
is high and the air is pure and free. As a result I seldom have a cold,
even in mid-winter. I have not missed a performance in eight years, and
this, of course, is due to the fact that my health is my first daily
consideration.
[Illustration: PASQUALE AMATO.
(C) Mishkin.]
PASQUALE AMATO
BIOGRAPHICAL
Pasquale Amato, for so many years the leading baritone at the
Metropolitan Opera House in New York, was born at Naples March 21st,
1878. He was intended for the career of an engineer and was educated at
the Instituto Tecnico Domenico. He then studied at the Conservatory of
Naples from 1896 to 1899. His teachers there were Cucialla and Carelli.
He made his debut as Germont in _La Traviata_ in the Teatro Bellini at
Naples in 1900. Thereafter his successes have been exceptionally great
in the music centers of South America, Italy, Russia, England, Egypt,
and Germany. He has created numerous roles at the Metropolitan Opera
House, among them Jack Rance in the _Girl of the Golden West_; Golaud in
_Pelleas and Melisande_ (Milan); _L'Amore di Tre Re_; _Cyrano_
(Damrosch); _Lodoletta_ (Mascagni); _Madame Sans Gene_. He has visited
South America as an artist no less than ten times. His voice is
susceptible of fine dramatic feeling.
MODERN VOCAL METHODS IN ITALY
PASQUALE AMATO
When I was about sixteen years of age my voice was sufficiently settled
to encourage my friends and family to believe that I might become a
singer. This is a proud discovery for an Italian boy, as
singing--especially operatic singing--is held in such high regard in
Italy that one naturally looks forward with joy to a career in the great
opera houses of one's native country and possibly to those over the sea.
At eighteen I was accordingly entered in the conservatory, but not
without many conditions, which should be of especial interest to young
American vocal students. The teachers did not immediately accept me as
good vocal material. I was recognized to have musical inclinations and
musical gifts and I was placed under observation so that it might be
determined whether the state-supported conservatory should direct my
musical education along vocal lines or along other lines.
This is one of the cardinal differences between musical education in
America and musical education in Italy. In America a pupil suddenly
determines that he is destined to become a great opera singer and
forthwith he hires a teacher to make him one. He might have been
destined to become a plumber, or a lawyer, or a comedian, but that has
little to do with the matter if he has money and can employ a teacher.
In Italy such a direction of talents would be considered a waste to the
individual and to the state. Of course the system has its very decided
faults, for a corps of teachers with poor or biased judgment could do a
great deal of damage by discouraging real talent, as was, indeed, the
case with the great Verdi, who at the age of eighteen was refused
admission to the Milan Conservatory by the director, Basili, on the
score of lack of talent.
However, for the most part the judges are experienced and skilful men,
and when a pupil has been under surveillance for some time the liability
of an error in judgment is very slight. Accordingly, after I had spent
some time in getting acquainted with music through the study of
Notation, Sight-singing, Theory, Harmony, Piano, etc., I was informed at
the end of two years that I had been selected for an operatic career. I
can remember the time with great joy. It meant a new life to me, for I
was certain that with the help of such conservative masters I should
succeed.
On the whole, at this time, I consider the Italian system a very wise
one for it does not fool away any time with incompetence. I have met so
many young musicians who have shown indications of great study but who
seem destitute of talent. It seems like coaxing insignificant shrubs to
become great oak trees. No amount of coaxing or study will give them
real talent if they do not have it, so why waste the money of the state
and the money of the individual upon it. On the other hand, wherever in
the world there is real talent, the state should provide money to
develop it, just as it provides money to educate the young.
ITALIAN VOCAL TEACHING
So much has been said about the Old Italian Vocal Method that the very
name brings ridicule in some quarters. Nothing has been the subject for
so much charlatanry. It is something that any teacher, good or bad, can
claim in this country. Every Italian is of course very proud indeed of
the wonderful vocal traditions of Italy, the centuries of idealism in
search of better and better tone production. There are of course certain
statements made by great voice teachers of other days that have been put
down and may be read in almost any library in large American cities. But
that these things make a vocal method that will suit all cases is too
absurd to consider. The good sense of the old Italian master would hold
such a plan up to ridicule. Singing is first of all an art, and an art
can not be circumscribed by any set of rules or principles.
The artist must, first of all, know a very great deal about all possible
phases of the technic of his art and must then adjust himself to the
particular problem before him. Therefore we might say that the Italian
method was a method and then again that it was no method. As a matter of
fact it is thousands of methods--one for each case or vocal problem. For
instance, if I were to sing by the same means that Mr. Caruso employs it
would not at all be the best thing for my voice, yet for Mr. Caruso it
is without question the very best method, or his vocal quality would
not be in such superb condition after constant years of use. He is the
proof of his own method.
I should say that the Italian vocal teacher teaches, first of all, with
his ears. He listens with the greatest possible intensity to every shade
of tone-color until his ideal tone reveals itself. This often requires
months and months of patience. The teacher must recognize the vocal
deficiencies and work to correct them. For instance, I never had to work
with my high tones. They are to-day produced in the same way in which I
produced them when I was a boy. Fortunately I had teachers who
recognized this and let it go at that.
Possibly the worst kind of a vocal teacher is the one who has some set
plan or device or theory which must be followed "willy-nilly" in order
that the teacher's theories may be vindicated. With such a teacher no
voice is safe. The very best natural voices have to follow some patent
plan just because the teacher has been taught in one way, is
inexperienced, and has not good sense enough to let nature's perfect
work alone. Both of my teachers knew that my high tones were all right
and the practice was directed toward the lower tones. They worked me for
over ten months on scales and sustained tones until the break that came
at E flat above the Bass Clef was welded from the lower tones to the
upper tones so that I could sing up or down with no ugly break audible.
I was drilled at first upon the vowel "ah." I hear American vocal
authorities refer to "ah" as in father. That seems to me too flat a
sound, one lacking in real resonance. The vowel used in my case in Italy
and in hundreds of other cases I have noted is a slightly broader vowel,
such as may be found half-way between the vowel "ah" as in father, and
the "aw" as in law. It is not a dull sound, yet it is not the sound of
"ah" in father. Perhaps the word "doff" or the first syllable of Boston,
when properly pronounced, gives the right impression.
I do not know enough of American vocal training to give an intelligent
criticism, but I wonder if American vocal teachers give as much
attention to special parts of the training as teachers in Italy do. I
hope they do, as I consider it very necessary. Consider the matter of
staccato. A good vocal staccato is really a very difficult
thing--difficult when it is right; that is, when on the pitch--every
time, clear, distinct, and at the same time not hard and stiff. It took
me weeks to acquire the right way of singing such a passage as _Un di,
quando le veneri_, from _Traviata_, but those were very profitable
weeks--
[Illustration: musical notation
Un di, quan-do le ve-ne-ri il
tem-po a-vra fu-ga-te
]
Accurate attack in such a passage is by no means easy. Anyone can sing
it--but _how it is sung_ makes the real difference.
The public has very odd ideas about singing. For instance, it would be
amazed to learn that _Trovatore_ is a much more difficult role for me to
sing and sing right than either _Parsifal_ or _Pelleas and Melisande_.
This largely because of the pure vocal demands and the flowing style.
The Debussy opera, wonderful as it is, does not begin to make the vocal
demands that such a work as _Trovatore_ does.
When the singer once acquires proficiency, the acquisition of new roles
comes very easy indeed. The main difficulty is the daily need for
drilling the voice until it has the same quality every day. It can be
done only by incessant attention. Here are some of the exercises I do
every day with my accompanist:
[Illustration: musical notation
_First time forte second time piano._]
DAVID BISPHAM
BIOGRAPHICAL
David Bispham, in many ways the most distinguished of all American
singers, was born in Philadelphia January 5th, 1857. Educated at
Haverford College, Pa. At first a highly successful amateur in
Philadelphia choirs and theatricals, he went to Milan in 1886, studying
with Vannuccini, Lamperti and later in London with Shakespeare and
Randegger. His operatic debut was made in Messager's _Basoche_ at the
Royal English Opera House, 1891. In 1892 he appeared as Kurvenal and met
with great favor. His Wagnerian roles have been especially distinctive
since the start. From 1896 to 1909 he sang alternately at the
Metropolitan in New York and at Covent Garden in London, and was
admittedly one of the foremost attractions of those great companies in
the golden era of our operatic past. He was also immensely in demand as
a recital and as an oratorio singer and as a dramatic reader. Few
singers have shown the versatility and mastery of David Bispham and few
have been so justly entitled to the academic honors LL.D., B.A., and
Mus. Doc., which he had earned. He was the author of numerous articles
on singing--the very successful autobiography, "A Quaker Singer's
Reminiscences," and the collections, "David Bispham's Recital Album,"
"The David Bispham Song Book" (for schools). He was also ever a strong
champion of the use of the English language in singing. He died in New
York City Oct. 2d, 1921.
[Illustration: DAVID BISPHAM.]
THE MAIN ELEMENTS OF INTERPRETATION
DAVID BISPHAM
So many things enter into the great problem of interpretation in singing
that it is somewhat difficult to state definitely just what the young
singer should consider the most important. Generally speaking, the
following factors are of prime significance:
1. Natural Aptitude.
2. General Education and Culture.
3. Good Musical Training.
4. Accurate Vocal Training.
5. Familiarity with Traditions.
6. Freedom of Mind.
7. Good Health.
8. Life Experience.
9. Personal Magnetism--one of the most essential,--and
10. Idealism.
1. _Natural Aptitude._--You will notice that foremost consideration is
given to those broad general qualities without which all the technical
and musical training of the world is practically worthless. The success
of the art worker in all lines depends first upon the nature of the man
or woman. Technical training of the highest and best kind is essential,
but that which moves great audiences is not alone the mechanics of an
art, but rather the broad education, experience, ideals, culture, the
human sympathy and magnetism of the artist.
2. _The Value of Education and Culture._--I cannot emphasize too
strongly the value of a good general education and wide culture for the
singer. The day has passed when a pretty face or a well-rounded ankle
could be mistaken for art on the operatic stage. The public now demands
something more than the heroic looking young fellow who comes down to
the footlights with the assurance of youth and offers, for real vocal
art, a voice fresh but crudely trained, and a bungling interpretation.
Good education has often been responsible for the phenomenal success of
American singers in European opera houses. Before the last war, in
nearly all of the great operatic centers of the Continent, one found
Americans ranking with the greatest artists in Europe. This was a most
propitious condition, for it meant that American audiences have been
compelled to give the long-delayed recognition to our own singers, and
methods of general and vocal education.
In most cases the young people of America who aspire to operatic
triumphs come from a somewhat better class than singers do in Europe.
They have had, in most cases, better educational, cultural and home
advantages than the average European student. Their minds are trained to
study intelligently; they are acquainted with the history of the great
nations of the world; their tastes are cultivated, and they are filled
with the American energy which is one of the marvels of the centuries.
More than this, they have had a kind of moral uplift in their homes
which is of immense value to them. They have higher ideals in life, they
are more businesslike and they keep their purposes very clearly in view.
This has created jealousy in some European centers; but it is simply a
case of the survival of the fittest, and Europe was compelled to bow in
recognition of this. Vocal art in our own land is no longer to be
ignored, for our standards are as high as the highest in the world, and
we are educating a race of singers of which any country might be proud.
3. _Good Musical Training._--A thorough musical training--that is, a
training upon some musical instrument such as the piano--is extremely
desirable, but not absolutely essential; for the instrument called the
Human Voice can be played on as effectively as a violin. The singer who
is convinced of his ability, but who has not had such advantages in
early youth, should not be discouraged. He can acquire a thorough
knowledge of the essentials later on, but he will have to work very much
harder to get his knowledge--as I was obliged to do. Artistic ability is
by no means a certain quality. The famous art critic, Vassari, has
called our attention to the fact that one painter who produced wonderful
pictures had an exhaustive technical training, another arising at his
side who also achieved wonderful results had to secure them by means of
much bungling self-study. It is very hard to repress artistic ability.
As the Bible says: "Many waters cannot quench love." So it is with
music; if the ability is there, it will come to the front through fire
and water.
4. _Accurate and Rational Vocal Training._--I have added the word
rational for it seems a necessary term at a time when so much vocal
teaching is apparently in the hands of "faddists." There is only one way
to sing, that is _the right way_, the way that is founded upon natural
conditions. So much has been said in print about breathing, and placing
the voice, and resonance, that anything new might seem redundant at this
time. The whole thing in a nutshell is simply to make an effort to get
the breath under such excellent control that it will obey the will so
easily and fluently that the singer is almost unconscious of any means
he may employ to this end. This can come only through long practice and
careful observation. When the breath is once under proper control the
supply must be so adjusted that neither too much nor too little will be
applied to the larynx at one time. How to do this can be discovered only
by much practice and self-criticism. When the tone has been created it
must be reinforced and colored by passing through the mouth and nose,
and the latter is a very present help in time of vocal trouble. This
leads to a good tone on at least twenty-six steps and half-steps of the
scale and with twenty or more vowel sounds--no easy task by any means.
All this takes time, but there is no reason why it should take an
interminable amount of time. If good results are not forthcoming in from
nine months to a year, something is wrong with either the pupil or the
teacher.
The matter of securing vocal flexibility should not be postponed too
long, but may in many instances be taken up in conjunction with the
studies in tone production, after the first principles have been
learned. Thereafter one enters upon the endless and indescribably
interesting field of securing a repertoire. Only a teacher with wide
experience and intimacy with the best in the vocal literature of the
world can correctly grade and select pieces suitable to the
ever-changing needs of the pupil.
No matter how wonderful the flexibility of the voice, no matter how
powerful the tones, no matter how extensive the repertoire, the singer
will find all this worthless unless he possesses a voice that is
susceptible to the expression of every shade of mental and emotional
meaning which his intelligence, experience and general culture have
revealed to him in the work he is interpreting. At all times his voice
must be under control. Considered from the mechanical standpoint, the
voice resembles the violin, the breath, as it passes over the vocal
cords, corresponding to the bow and the resonance chambers corresponding
to the resonance chambers in the violin.
5. _Familiarity With Vocal Traditions._--We come to the matter of the
study of the traditional methods of interpreting vocal masterpieces. We
must, of course, study these traditions, but we must not be slaves to
them. In other words, we must know the past in order to interpret
masterpieces properly in the present. We must not, however, sacrifice
that great quality--individuality--for slavery to convention. If the
former Italian method of rendering certain arias was marred by the
tremolo of some famous singers, there is no good artistic reason why any
one should retain anything so hideous as a tremolo solely because it is
traditional.
There is a capital story of a young American singer who went to a
European opera house with all the characteristic individuality and
inquisitiveness of his people. In one opera the stage director told him
to go to the back of the stage before singing his principal number and
then walk straight down to the footlights and deliver the aria. "Why
must I go to the back first?" asked the young singer. The director was
amazed and blustered: "Why? Why, because the great Rubini did it that
way--he created the part; it is the tradition." But the young singer was
not satisfied, and finally found an old chorus man who had sung with
Rubini, and asked him whether the tradition was founded upon a custom of
the celebrated singer. "Yes," replied the chorus man, "da gretta Rubini
he granda man. He go waya back; then he comea front; then he sing. Ah,
grandissimo!" "But," persisted the young American, "_Why did he go to
the back before he sang?_" "Oh!" exclaimed the excited Italian; "Why he
go back? He go to spit!"
Farcical as this incident may seem, many musical traditions are founded
upon customs with quite as little musical or esthetic importance. Many
traditions are to-day quite as useless as the buttons on the sleeves of
our coats, although these very buttons were at one time employed by our
forefathers to fasten back the long cuffs. There are, however, certain
traditional methods of rendering great masterpieces, and particularly
those marked by the florid ornamentation of the days of Handel, Bach and
Haydn, which the singer must know. Unfortunately, many of these
traditions have not been preserved in print in connection with the
scores themselves, and the only way in which the young singer can
acquire a knowledge of them is through hearing authoritative artists, or
from teachers who have had wide and rich experience.
6. _Freedom of Mind._--Under ideal conditions the mind should be free
for music study and for public performance. This is not always possible;
and some artists under great mental pressure have done their best work
solely because they felt that the only way to bury sorrow and trouble
was to thrust themselves into their artistic life and thus forget the
pangs of misfortune. The student, however, should do everything possible
to have his mind free so that he can give his best to his work. One who
is wondering where the next penny is coming from is in a poor condition
to impress an audience. Nevertheless, if the real ability is there it is
bound to triumph over all obstacles.
7. _Good Health._--Good health is one of the great factors of success in
singing. Who needs a sounder mind than the artist? Good health comes
from good, sensible living. The singer must never forget that the
instrument he plays upon is a part of his body and that that instrument
depends for its musical excellence and general condition upon good
health. A $20,000 Stradivarius would be worthless if it were placed in a
tub of water; and a larynx that earns for its owner from $500 to $1,500
a night is equally valueless when saturated with the poisons that come
from intemperate or unwise living. Many of the singer's throat troubles
arise from an unhealthy condition of the stomach caused by excesses of
diet; but, aside from this, a disease localized in any other part of the
body affects the throat sympathetically and makes it difficult for the
singer to get good results. Recital work, with its long fatiguing
journeys on railroads, together with the other inconveniences of travel
and the responsibility and strain that come from knowing that one person
alone is to hold from 1,000 to 5,000 people interested for nearly two
hours, demands a very sound physical condition.
8. _Life Experience._--Culture does not come from the schoolroom alone.
The refining processes of life are long and varied. As the violin gains
in richness of tone and intrinsic value with age, so the singer's life
experience has an effect upon the character of his singing. He must have
seen life in its broadest sense, to place himself in touch with human
sympathy. To do this and still retain the freshness and sweetness of his
voice should be his great aim. The singer who lives a narrow and bigoted
existence rarely meets with wide popular approval. The public wants to
hear in a voice that wonderful something that tells them that it has
had opportunities to know and to understand the human side of song, not
giving parrot-like versions of some teacher's way of singing, but that
the understanding comes from the very center of the mind, heart and
soul. This is particularly true in the field of the song recital. Most
of the renowned recital singers of the last half century, including
Schumann-Heink, Sembrich, Wuellner, the Henschels and others, were
considerably past their youth when they made their greatest successes. A
painting fresh from the artist's brush is raw, hard and uninteresting,
till time, with its damp and dust, night and day, heat and cold, gives
the enriching touch which adds so wonderfully to the softness and beauty
of a picture. We singers are all living canvases. Time, and time only,
can give us those shades and tints which reveal living experience. The
young artist should hear many of the best singers, actors, and speakers,
should read many of the best books, should see many beautiful pictures
and wonderful buildings. But most of all, he should know and study many
people and learn of their joys and their sorrows, their successes and
their failures, their strength and their weaknesses, their loves and
their hates. In all art human life is reflected, and this is
particularly true in the case of vocal art. For years, in my youth, I
never failed to attend all of the musical events of consequence in my
native city. This was of immense value to me, since it gave me the means
of cultivating my own judgment of what was good or bad in singing. Do
not fear that you will become _blase_. If you have the right spirit
every musical event you attend will spur you on.
You may say that it is expensive to hear great singers, and that you can
only attend recitals and the opera occasionally. If this is really the
case you still have a means of hearing singers which you should not
neglect. I refer to the reproducing machines which have grown to be of
such importance in vocal education. Phonograph records are nothing short
of marvelous, and my earnestness in this cause is shown by the fact that
I have long advocated their employment in the public schools, and have
placed the matter before the educational authorities of New York. I
earnestly urge the music teachers of this country, who are working for
the real musical development of our children, to take this matter up in
all seriousness. I can assure them that their efforts will bring them
rich dividends in increased interest in musical work of their pupils,
and the forming of a musical public. But nothing but the classics of
song must be used. The time for the scorning of "high-brow" songs is
past, and music must help this country to rid itself of the vogue of the
"low-brow" and the "tough." Let singers strive to become educated
ornaments of their lofty profession.
9. _Personal Magnetism._--One of the most essential. The subject of
"personal magnetism" is ridiculed by some, of course, but rarely laughed
at by the artist who has experienced the astonishing phenomena in the
opera house or the concert room. Like electricity it is intangible,
indefinable, indescribable, but makes its existence known by
manifestations that are almost uncanny. If personal magnetism does not
exist, how then can we account for the fact that one pianist can sit
down to the instrument and play a certain piece, and that another
pianist could play the same piece with the same technical effect but
losing entirely the charm and attractiveness with which the first
pianist imbued the composition? Personal magnetism does not depend upon
personal beauty nor erudition nor even upon perfect health. Henry Irving
and Sarah Bernhardt were certainly not beautiful, but they held the
world of the theater in the palm of their hand. Some artists have really
been in the last stages of severe illness but have, nevertheless,
possessed the divine electric spark to inspire hundreds, as did the
hectic Chopin when he made his last famous visit to England and
Scotland.
Personal magnetism is not a kind of hypnotic influence to be found
solely in the concert hall or the theater. Most artists possess it to a
certain degree. Without this subtle and mysterious force, success with
the public never comes.
10. _Idealism._--Ideals are the flowers of youth. Only too often they
are not tenderly cared for, and the result is that many who have been on
the right track are turned in the direction of failure by materialism.
It is absolutely essential for the young singer to have high ideals.
Direct your efforts to the best in whatever branch of vocal art you
determine to undertake. Do not for a moment let mediocrity or the
substitution of artificial methods enter your vision. Holding to your
ideal will mean costly sacrifices to you; but all sacrifices are worth
while if one can realize one's ideal. The ideal is only another term for
Heaven to me. If we could all attain to the ideal, we would all be in a
kind of earthly Paradise. It has always seemed to me that when our Lord
said "The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand," he meant that it is at hand for
us to possess now; that is the _ideal_ in life.
[Illustration: DAME CLARA BUTT.]
DAME CLARA BUTT
BIOGRAPHICAL
Dame Butt was born at Southwick, Sussex, February 1, 1873. Her first
lessons were with D. W. Rootham in Bristol.
In 1889 she won a scholarship at the Royal College of music where the
teacher was J. H. Blower. Later she studied for short periods with Bouhy
in Paris and Etelka Gerster in Berlin. Her debut was made as Ursula in
Sullivan's setting of the Longfellow poem, _Golden Legend_. Her success
was immediate and very great. She became in demand at all of the great
English musical festivals and also sang before enormous audiences for
years in the great English cities. In 1900 she married the noted English
baritone R. Kennerly Rumford and together they have made many tours,
including a tour of the world, appearing everywhere with continued
success. Her voice is one of rich, full contralto quality with such
individual characteristics that great English composers have written
special works to reveal these great natural gifts. Dame Butt received
her distinction of "Dame" from King George in 1920. Her happy family
life with her children has won her endless admirers among musical people
everywhere.
SUCCESS IN CONCERT SINGING
DAME CLARA BUTT
HEALTH AND SINGING
It must be obvious to all aspiring vocal students that splendid good
health is well nigh indispensable to the singer. There have been
singers, of course, who have had physical afflictions that have made
their public appearances extremely painful, but they have succeeded in
spite of these unfortunate drawbacks. In fact, if the young singer is
ambitious and has that wonderful gift of directing her efforts in the
way most likely to bring fortunate results, even physical weakness may
be overcome. By this I mean that the singer will work out some plan for
bringing her physical condition to the standard that fine singing
demands. I believe most emphatically that the right spirit will conquer
obstacles that often seem impassable. One might safely say that
nine-tenths of the successes in all branches of artistic work are due to
the inextinguishable fire that burns in the heart and mind of the art
worker and incites him to pass through any ordeal in order to deliver
his message to the world.
MISDIRECTED EFFORT
The cruel part of it all is that many aspire to become great singers who
can never possibly have their hopes realized. Natural selection rather
than destiny seems to govern this matter. The ugly caterpillar seems
like an unpromising candidate for the brilliant career of the butterfly,
and it oftentimes happens that students who seem unpromising to some
have just the qualities which, with the right time, instruction and
experience, will entitle them to great success. It is the little ant who
hopes to grow iridescent wings, and who travels through conservatory
after conservatory, hoping to find the magic chrysalis that will do
this, who is to be pitied. Great success must depend upon special gifts,
intellectual as well as vocal. Oh, if we only had some instinct, like
that possessed by animals, that would enable us to determine accurately
in advance the safest road for us to take, the road that will lead us to
the best development of our real talents--not those we imagine we may
have or those which the flattery of friends have grafted upon us! Mr.
Rumford and I have witnessed so much very hard and very earnest work
carried on by students who have no rational basis to hope for success as
singers, that we have been placed in the uncomfortable position of
advising young singers to seek some other life work.
WHEN TO BEGIN
The eternal question, "At what age shall I commence to study singing?"
is always more or less amusing to the experienced singer. If the
singer's spirit is in the child, nothing will stop his singing. He will
sing from morning until night, and seems to be guided in most cases by
an all-providing Nature that makes its untutored efforts the very best
kind of practice. Unless the child is brought into contact with very bad
music he is not likely to be injured. Children seem to be trying their
best to prove the Darwinian theory by showing us that they can mimic
quite as well as monkeys. The average child comes into the better part
of his little store of wisdom through mimicry. Naturally if the little
vocal student is taken to the vaudeville theatre, where every imaginable
vocal law is smashed during a three-hour performance, and if the child
observes that the smashing process is followed by the enthusiastic
applause of the unthinking audience, it is only reasonable to suppose
that the child will discover in this what he believes to be the most
approved art of singing.
It is evident then that the first thing which the parent of the musical
child should consider is that of teaching him to appreciate what is
looked upon as good and what is looked upon as bad. Although many
singers with fine voices have appeared in vaudeville, the others must be
regarded as "horrible" examples, and the child should know that they are
such. On the other hand, it is quite evident that the more good singing
that the child hears in the impressionable years of its youth the
greater will be the effect upon the mind which is to direct the child's
musical future. This is a branch of the vocalist's education which may
begin long before the actual lessons. If it is carefully conducted the
teacher should have far less difficulty in starting the child with the
actual work. The only possible danger might be that the child's
imitative faculty could lead it to extremes of pitch in imitating some
singer. Even this is hardly more likely to injure it than the shouting
and screaming which often accompanies the play of children.
The actual time of starting must depend upon the individual. It is never
too early for him to start in acquiring his musical knowledge.
Everything he might learn of music itself, through the study of the
piano or any other instrument would all become a part of his capital
when he became a singer. Those singers are fortunate whose musical
knowledge commenced with the cradle and whose first master was that
greatest of all teachers, the mother. Speaking generally, it seems to be
the impression of singing teachers that voice students should not
commence the vocal side of their studies until they are from sixteen to
seventeen years of age. In this connection, consider my own case. My
first public appearance with orchestra was when I was fourteen. It was
in Bristol, England, and among other things I sang _Ora Pro Nobis_ from
Gounod's _Workers_.
I was fortunate in having in my first teacher, D. W. Rootham, a man too
thoroughly blessed with good British common sense to have any "tricks."
He had no fantastic way of doing things, no proprietary methods, that
none else in the world was supposed to possess. He listened for the
beautiful in my voice and, as his sense of musical appreciation was
highly cultivated, he could detect faults, explain them to me and show
me how to overcome them by purely natural methods. The principal part of
the process was to make me realize mentally just what was wrong and then
what was the more artistic way of doing it.
LETTING THE VOICE GROW
After all, singing is singing, and I am convinced that my master's idea
of just letting the voice grow with normal exercise and without excesses
in any direction was the best way for me. It was certainly better than
hours and hours of theory, interesting to the student of physiology, but
often bewildering to the young vocalist. Real singing with real music is
immeasurably better than ages of conjecture. It appears that some
students spend years in learning how they are going to sing at some
glorious day in the future, but it never seems to occur to them that in
order to sing they must really use their voices. Of course, I do not
mean to infer that the student must omit the necessary preparatory work.
Solfeggios, for instance, and scales are extremely useful. Concone,
tried and true, gives excellent material for all students. But why spend
years in dreaming of theories regarding singing when everyone knows that
the theory of singing has been the battleground for innumerable talented
writers for centuries? Even now it is apparently impossible to reconcile
all the vocal writers, except in so far as they all modestly admit that
they have rediscovered the real old Italian school. Perhaps they have.
But, admitting that an art teacher rediscovered the actual pigments
used by Leonardo da Vinci, Rembrandt or Raphael, he would have no little
task in creating a student who could duplicate _Mona Lisa_, _The Night
Watch_ or the _Sistine Madonna_.
After leaving Rootham, I won the four hundred guinea scholarship at the
Royal College of Music and studied with Henry Blower. This I followed
with a course with Bouhy in Paris and Etelka Gerster in Berlin. Mr.
Rumford and I both concur in the opinion that it is necessary for the
student who would sing in any foreign language to study in the country
in which the language is spoken. In no other way can one get the real
atmosphere. The preparatory work may be done in the home country, but if
one fails to taste of the musical life of the country in which the songs
came into being, there seems to be an indefinable absence of the right
flavor. I believe in employing the native tongue for songs in recital
work. It seems narrow to me to do otherwise. At the same time, I have
always been a champion for songs written originally with English texts,
and have sung innumerable times with programs made from English lyrics.
PREPARING A REPERTOIRE
The idea that concert and recital work is not as difficult as operatic
work has been pretty well exploded by this time. In fact, it is very
much more difficult to sing a simple song well in concert than it is to
sing some of the elaborate Wagnerian recitatives in which the very
complexities of the music make a convenient hiding place for the
artist's vocal shortcomings. In concert everything is concentrated upon
the singer. Convention has ever deprived him of the convenient gestures
that give ease to the opera singer.
The selection of useful material for concert purposes is immensely
difficult. It must have artistic merit, it must have human interest, it
must suit the singer, in most cases the piano must be used for
accompaniment and the song must not be dependent upon an orchestral
accompaniment for its value. It must not be too old, it must not be too
far in advance of popular tastes. It is a bad plan to wander
indiscriminately about among countless songs, never learning any really
well. The student should begin to select numbers with great care,
realizing that it is futile to try to do everything. Lord Bolingbroke,
in his essay on the shortness of human life, shows how impossible it is
for a man to read more than a mere fraction of a great library though he
read regularly every day of his life. It is very much the same with
music. The resources are so vast and time is so limited that there is no
opportunity to learn everything. Far better is it for the vocalist to do
a little well than to do much ineffectually.
Good music well executed meets with very much the same appreciation
everywhere. During our latest tour we gave almost the very same programs
in America as those we have been giving upon the European Continent. The
music-loving American public is likely to differ but slightly from that
of the great music centers of the old world. Music has truly become a
universal language.
In developing a repertoire the student might look upon the musical
public as though it were a huge circle filled with smaller circles, each
little circle being a center of interest. One circle might insist upon
old English songs, such as the delightful melodies of Arne, Carey,
Monroe. Another circle might expect the arias of the old Italian
masters, Carissimi, Jomelli, Sacchini or Scarlatti. Another circle would
want to hear the German Lieder of such composers as Schumann, Schubert,
Brahms, Franz and Wolf. Still another circle might go away disappointed
if they could not hear something of the ultra modern writers, such as
Strauss, Debussy or even that freak of musical cacophony, Schoenberg.
However diverse may be the individual likings of these smaller circles,
all of the members of your audience are united in liking music as a
whole.
The audience will demand variety in your repertoire but at the same time
it will demand certain musical essentials which appeal to all. There is
one circle in your audience that I have purposely reserved for separate
discussion. That is the great circle of concert goers who are not
skilled musicians, who are too frank, too candid, to adopt any of the
cant of those social frauds who revel in Reger and Schoenberg, and just
because it might stamp them as real connoisseurs, but who really can't
recognize much difference between the _Liebestod_ of _Tristan und
Isolde_ and _Rule Britannia_,--but the music lovers who are too honest
to fail to state that they like the _Lost Chord_ or the lovely folk
songs of your American composer, Stephen Foster. Mr. Plunkett Greene, in
his work upon song interpretation, makes no room for the existence of
songs of this kind. Indeed, he would cast them all into the discard.
This seems to me a huge mistake. Surely we can not say that music is a
monopoly of the few who have schooled their ears to enjoy outlandish
disonances with delight. Music is perhaps the most universal of all the
arts and with the gradual evolution of those who love it, a natural
audience is provided for music of the more complicated sort. We learn to
like our musical caviar with surprising rapidity. It was only yesterday
that we were objecting to the delightful piano pieces of Debussy, who
can generate an atmosphere with a single chord just as Murillo could
inspire an emotion with a stroke of the brush.
It is not safe to say that you do not like things in this way. I think
that even Schoenberg is trying to be true to his muse. We must remember
that Haydn, Beethoven, Wagner and Brahms passed through the fire of
criticism in their day. The more breadth a singer puts into her work the
more likely is she to reap success. Time only can produce the
accomplished artist. The best is to find a joy in your work and think of
nothing but large success. If you have the gift, triumph will be
yours.
[Illustration: GIUSEPPE CAMPANARI.
(C) Dupont.]
GIUSEPPE CAMPANARI
BIOGRAPHICAL
Giuseppe Campanari was born at Venice, Italy, Nov. 17th, 1858. His
parents were not particularly musical but were very anxious for the boy
to become a musician. At the age of nine he commenced to study the piano
and later he entered the Conservatory of Milan, making his principal
instrument the violoncello. Upon his graduation he secured a position in
the 'cello section of the orchestra at "La Scala." Here for years he
heard the greatest singers and the greatest operas, gaining a musical
insight into the works through an understanding of the scores which has
seldom if ever been possessed by a great opera singer. His first
appearance as singer was at the Teatro dal Verme in Milan. Owing to
voice strain he was obliged to give up singing and in the interim he
took a position as a 'cellist in the Boston Symphony Orchestra,
remaining with that organization some years. He then made appearances
with the Emma Juch Opera Company, the Heinrichs Opera Company, and
eventually at the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York, where he
achieved his greatest triumphs as leading baritone. Mr. Campanari long
since became an American citizen and has devoted his attention to
teaching for years.
His conference which follows is particularly interesting, as from the
vocal standpoint he is almost entirely self taught.
THE VALUE OF SELF-STUDY IN VOICE TRAINING
GIUSEPPE CAMPANARI
So much has been written upon the futility of applying one method to all
cases in vocal instruction that it seems useless for me to say anything
that would add to the volume of testimony against the custom of trying
to teach all pupils in the same manner. No one man ever has had, has, or
ever will have, a "method" superior to all others, for the very simple
reason that the means one vocalist might employ to reach artistic
success would be quite different from that which another singer, with an
entirely different voice, different throat and different intellect,
would be obliged to employ. One of the great laws of Nature is the law
of variation; that is, no two children of any parents are ever exactly
alike. Even in the case of twins there is often a great variation. The
great English philosopher, Darwin, made much of this principle. It is
one which all voice students and teachers should consider, for although
there are, from the nature of things, many foundation principles which
must remain the same in all cases, the differences in individual cases
are sufficient to demand the greatest keenness of observation, the
widest experience and an inexhaustible supply of patience upon the part
of the teacher.
Please understand, I am not decrying the use of books of exercises such
as those of Concone, Marchesi, Regine, Panofka and others. Such books
are necessary. I have used these and others in teaching, suiting the
book to the individual case. The pupil needs material of this kind, and
it should be chosen with the greatest care and consideration not only of
the pupil's voice, but of his intellectual capacity and musical
experience. These books should not be considered "methods." They are the
common property of all teachers, and most teachers make use of them. My
understanding of a "method" is a set of hard and fast rules, usually
emanating from the mind of some one person who has the effrontery to
pass them off upon an all too gullible public as the one road to a vocal
Parnassus. Only the singer with years of experience can realize how
ridiculous this course is and how large is the percentage of failure of
the pupils of teachers whose sole claim to fame is that they teach
the---- method. Proud as I am of the glorious past of vocal art in the
country of my birth, I cannot help being amused and at the same time
somewhat irritated when I think of the many palpable frauds that are
classed under the head of the "Real Old Italian Method" by inexperienced
teachers. We cannot depend upon the past in all cases to meet present
conditions. The singers of the olden day in Italy were doubtless great,
because they possessed naturally fine voices and used them in an
unaffected, natural manner. In addition to this they were born speaking
a tongue favorable to beautiful singing, led simple lives and had
opportunities for hearing the great operas and the great singers
unexcelled by those of any other European country. That they became
great through the practice of any set of rules or methods is
inconceivable. There were great teachers in olden Italy, very great
teachers, and some of them made notes upon the means they employed, but
I cannot believe that if these teachers were living to-day they would
insist upon their ideas being applied to each and every individual case
in the same identical manner.
THE VALUE OF OPERA
This leads us to the subject at hand. The students in Italy in the past
have had advantages for self-study that were of greatest importance. On
all sides good singing and great singing might be heard conveniently and
economically. Opera was and is one of the great national amusements of
Italy. Opera houses may be found in all of the larger cities and in most
of the smaller ones. The prices of admission are, as a rule, very low.
The result is that the boys in the street are often remarkably familiar
with some of the best works. Indeed, it would not be extravagant to say
that they were quite as familiar with these musical masterpieces as some
of the residents of America are with the melodramatic doings of Jesse
James or the "Queen of Chinatown." Thus it is that the average Italian
boy with a fair education and quick powers of observation reaches his
majority with a taste for singing trained by many opportunities to hear
great singers. They have had the best vocal instruction in the world,
providing, of course, they have exercised their powers of judgment. Thus
it is that it happens that such a singer as Caruso, certainly one of the
greatest tenors of all time, could be accidentally heard by a manager
while singing and receive an offer for an engagement upon the spot.
Caruso's present art, of course, is the result of much training that
would fall under the head of "coaching," together with his splendid
experience upon the operatic stage itself.
I trust that I have not by this time given the reader of this page the
impression that teachers are unnecessary. This is by no means the case.
A good teacher is extremely desirable. If you have the good fortune to
fall into the hands of a careful, experienced, intelligent teacher, much
may be accomplished; but the teacher is by no means all that is
required. The teacher should be judged by his pupils, and by nothing
else. No matter what he may claim, it is invariably the results of his
work (the pupil's) which must determine his value. Teachers come to me
with wonderful theories and all imaginable kinds of methods. I always
say to them: "Show me a good pupil who has been trained by your methods
and I will say that you are a good teacher."
Before our national elections I am asked, "Which one of the candidates
do you believe will make the best President?" I always reply, "Wait four
years and I will pass my opinion upon the ability of the candidate the
people select." In other words, "the proof of the pudding is in the
eating."
SINGERS NOT BORN, BUT MADE
We often hear the trite expression, "Singers are born, not made." This,
to my mind, is by no means the case. One may be born with the talent and
deep love for music, and one may be born with the physical
qualifications which lead to the development of a beautiful voice, but
the singer is something far more than this. Given a good voice and the
love for his music, the singer's work is only begun. He is at the
outstart of a road which is beset with all imaginable kinds of
obstacles. In my own case I was extremely ambitious to be a singer.
Night after night I played 'cello in the orchestra at La Scala, in
Milan, always wishing and praying that I might some day be one of the
actors in the wonderful world behind the footlights. I listened to the
famous singers in the great opera house with the minutest attention,
making mental notes of their manner of placing their voices--their
method of interpretation, their stage business, and everything that I
thought might be of any possible use to me in the career of the singer,
which was dearest to my heart. I endeavored to employ all the common
sense and good judgment I possessed to determine what was musically and
vocally good or otherwise. I was fortunate in having the training of the
musician, and also in having the invaluable advantage of becoming
acquainted with the orchestral scores of the famous operas. Finally the
long-awaited opportunity came and I made my debut at the Teatro dal
Verme, in Milan. I had had no real vocal instruction in the commonly
accepted sense of the term; but I had really had a kind of instruction
that was of inestimable value.
NOT GIVEN TO ALL TO STUDY SUCCESSFULLY WITHOUT A TEACHER
Success brought with it its disadvantages. I foolishly strained my voice
through overwork. But this did not discourage me. I realized that many
of the greatest singers the world has ever known were among those who
had met with disastrous failure at some time in their careers. I came to
America and played the violoncello in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. All
the time I was practicing with the greatest care and with the sole
object of restoring my voice. Finally it came back better than ever and
I sang for Maurice Grau, the impresario of the Metropolitan Opera House,
in New York. He engaged me and I sang continuously at the Metropolitan
for several years. Notwithstanding this varied experience, I will seek
to learn, and to learn by practical example, not theory. The only opera
school in the world is the opera house itself. No school ever "made" a
great singer or a great artist. The most they have done has been to lay
the foundation. The making of the artist comes later.
In order to do without instruction one must be very peculiarly
constituted. One must be possessed of the pedagogical faculty to a
marked degree. One must have within oneself those qualities for
observing and detecting the right means leading to an artistic end which
every good teacher possesses. In other words, one must be both teacher
and pupil. This is a rare combination, since the power to teach, to
impart instruction, is one that is given to very few. It is far better
to study alone or not at all than with a poor teacher. The teacher's
responsibility, particularly in the case of vocal students, is very
great. So very much depends upon it. A poor teacher can do incalculable
damage. By poor teachers I refer particularly to those who are carried
away by idiotic theories and quack methods. We learn to sing by singing
and not by carrying bricks upon our chest or other idiotic antics.
Consequently I say that it is better to go all through life with a
natural or "green" voice than to undergo the vocal torture that is
sometimes palmed off upon the public as voice teaching. At best, all the
greatest living teacher can do is to put the artist upon the right track
and this in itself is responsibility enough for one man or one woman to
assume.
SINGERS MAKE THEIR OWN METHODS
As I have already said, most every singer makes a method unto himself.
It is all the same in the end. The Chinese may, for instance, have one
name for God, the Persians another, the Mohammedans another, and the
people of Christian lands another. But the God principle and the worship
principle are the same with all. It is very similar in singing. The
means that apply to my own case may apparently be different from those
of another, but we are all seeking to produce beautiful tones and
interpret the meaning of the composer properly.
One thing, however, the student should seek to possess above all things,
and this is a thorough foundation training in music itself. This can not
begin too early. In my own home we have always had music. My children
have always heard singing and playing and consequently they become
critical at a very early age.
I can not help repeating my advice to students who hope to find a vocal
education in books or by the even more ridiculous correspondence method.
Books may set one's mental machinery in motion and incite one to observe
singers more closely, but teach they can not and never can. The
sound-reproducing machines are of assistance in helping the student to
understand the breathing, phrasing, etc., but there is nothing really to
take the place of the living singer who can illustrate with his voice
the niceties of placing and _timbre_.
My advice to the voice students of America is to hear great singers.
Hear them as many times as possible and consider the money invested as
well placed as any you might spend in vocal instruction. The golden
magnet, as well as the opportunities in other ways offered artists in
America, has attracted the greatest singers of our time to this country.
It is no longer necessary to go abroad to listen to great singers. In
no country of the world is opera given with more lavish expenditure of
money than in America. The great singers are now by no means confining
their efforts to the large Eastern cities. Many of them make regular
tours of the country, and students in all parts of this land are offered
splendid opportunities for self-help through the means of concerts and
musical festivals. After all, the most important thing for any singer is
the development of the critical sense. Blind imitation is, of course,
bad, but how is the student to progress unless he has had an opportunity
to hear the best singers of the day? In my youth I heard continually
such artists as La Salle, Gayarre, Patti, De Reszke and others. How
could I help profiting by such excellent experiences?
GREAT VOICES ARE RARE
One may be sure that in these days few, if any, great voices go
undiscovered. A remarkable natural voice is so rare that some one is
sure to notice it and bring it to the attention of musicians. The
trouble is that so many people are so painfully deluded regarding their
voices. I have had them come to me with voices that are obviously
execrable and still remain unconvinced when I have told them what seemed
to me the truth. This business of hearing would-be singers is an
unprofitable and an uncomfortable one; and most artists try to avoid the
ordeal, although they are always very glad to encourage real talent.
Most young singers, however, have little more than the bare ambition to
sing, coupled with what can only be described by the American term, "a
swelled head." Someone has told them that they are wonderfully gifted,
and persons of this kind are most always ready to swallow flattery
indiscriminately. Almost everyone, apparently, wants to go into opera
nowadays. To singers who have not any chance whatever I have only to say
that the sooner this is discovered the better. Far better put your money
in bank and let compound interest do what your voice can not.
ENRICO CARUSO
BIOGRAPHICAL
Enrico Caruso was born at Naples, February 25th, 1873. His fondness for
music dates from his earliest childhood; and he spent much of his spare
money in attending the opera at San Carlo and hearing the foremost
singers of his time in many of the roles in which he appeared later on.
His actual study, however, did not start until he was eighteen, when he
came under the tuition of Guglielmo Vergine. In 1895 he made his debut
at the Teatro Cimarosa in _Caserta_. His first appearances drew
comparatively little attention to his work and his future greatness was
hardly suspected by many of those who heard him. However, by dint of
long application to his art he gained more and more recognition. In 1902
he made his debut in London. The following year he came to New York,
where the world's greatest singers had found an El Dorado for nearly a
quarter of a century. There he was at once proclaimed the greatest of
all tenors and from that time his success was undeviating. Indeed his
voice was so wonderful and so individual that it is difficult to compare
him with any of his great predecessors; Tamagno, Campanini, de Reszke
and others. In Europe and in America he was welcomed with acclaim and
the records of his voice are to be found in thousands of homes of music
lovers who have never come in touch with him in any other way. Signor
Caruso had a remarkable talent for drawing and for sculpture. His death,
August 2d, 1921, ended the career of the greatest male singer of
history.
[Illustration: ENRICO CARUSO.]
ITALY, THE HOME OF SONG
ENRICO CARUSO
OPERA AND THE PUBLIC IN ITALY
Anyone who has traveled in Italy must have noticed the interest that is
manifested at the opening of the opera season. This does not apply only
to the people with means and advanced culture but also to what might be
called the general public. In addition to the upper classes, the same
class of people in America who would show the wildest enthusiasm over
your popular sport, base-ball, would be similarly eager to attend the
leading operatic performances in Italy. The opening of the opera is
accompanied by an indescribable fervor. It is "in the air." The whole
community seems to breathe opera. The children know the leading
melodies, and often discuss the features of the performances as they
hear their parents tell about them, just as the American small boy
retails his father's opinions upon the political struggles of the day or
upon the last ball game.
It should not be thought that this does not mean a sacrifice to the
masses, for opera is, in a sense, more expensive in Italy than in
America; that is, it is more expensive by comparison in most parts of
the country. It should be remembered that monetary values in Italy are
entirely different from those in America. The average Italian of
moderate means looks upon a lira as a coin far more valuable than its
equivalent of twenty cents in United States currency. His income is
likely to be limited, and he must spend it with care and wisdom. Again,
in the great operatic centers, such as Milan, Naples or Rome, the prices
are invariably adjusted to the importance of the production. In
first-class productions the prices are often very high from the Italian
standpoint. For instance, at La Scala in Milan, when an exceptionally
fine performance is given with really great singers, the prices for
orchestra chairs may run as high as thirty lira or six dollars a seat.
Even to the wealthy Italian this amount seems the same as a much larger
amount in America.
To give opera in Italy with the same spectacular effects, the same casts
composed almost exclusively of very renowned artists, the same _mise en
scene_, etc., would require a price of admission really higher than in
America. As a matter of fact, there is no place in the world where such
a great number of performances, with so many world-renowned singers, are
given as at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. There is no
necessity for any one to make a special trip to Europe to hear excellent
performances in these days. Of course such a trip would be interesting,
as the performances given in many European centers are wonderfully fine,
and they would be interesting to hear if only from the standpoint of
comparing them with those given at the Metropolitan. However, the most
eminent singers of the world come here constantly, and the performances
are directed by the ablest men obtainable, and I am at loss to see why
America should not be extremely proud of her operatic advantages. In
addition to this the public manifests a most intelligent appreciation of
the best in music. It is very agreeable to sing in America, as one is
sure that when he does well the public will respond at once.
ITALIAN, THE LANGUAGE OF MUSIC
Perhaps the fact that in Italy the audiences may understand the
performances better because of their knowledge of their native language
may add to the pleasure of opera-going. This, however, is a question,
except in the case of some of the more modern works. The older opera
librettos left much to be desired from the dramatic and poetic
standpoints. Italian after all is the language of music. In fact it is
music in itself when properly spoken. Note that I say "when properly
spoken." American girls go to Italy to study, and of course desire to
acquire a knowledge of the language itself, for they have heard that it
is beneficial in singing. They get a mere smattering, and do not make
any attempt to secure a perfect accent. The result is about as funny as
the efforts of the comedians who imitate German emigrants on the
American stage.
If you start the study of Italian, persist until you have really
mastered the language. In doing this your ear will get such a drill and
such a series of exercises as it has never had before. You will have to
listen to the vowel sounds as you have never listened. This is
necessary because in order to understand the grammar of the language you
must hear the final vowel in each word and you must hear the consonants
distinctly.
There is another peculiar thing about Italian. If the student who has
always studied and sung in English, German or French or Russian,
attempts to sing in Italian, he is really turning a brilliant
searchlight upon his own vocal ability. If he has any faults which have
been concealed in his singing in his own language, they will be
discovered at once the moment he commences to study in Italian. I do not
know whether this is because the Italian of culture has a higher
standard of diction in the enunciation of the vowel sounds, or whether
the sounds themselves are so pure and smooth that they expose the
deficiencies, but it is nevertheless the case. The American girl who
studies Italian for six months and then hopes to sing in that language
in a manner not likely to disturb the sense of the ridiculous is
deceiving herself. It takes years to acquire fluency in a language.
AUDIENCES THE SAME THE WORLD AROUND
Audiences are as sensitive as individuals. Italy is known as "the home
of the opera"; but I find that, as far as manifesting enthusiasm goes,
the world is getting pretty much the same. If the public is pleased, it
applauds no matter whether it be in Vienna, Paris, Rome, Buenos Aires,
New York, or Oshkosh. An artist feels his bond with his audience very
quickly. He knows whether his auditors are delighted, whether they are
merely interested or whether they are indifferent a few seconds after he
has been upon the stage. I can judge my own work at once by the attitude
of the audience. No artist sings exactly alike on two successive nights.
That would be impossible. Although every sincere artist tries to do his
best at all times, there are, nevertheless, occasions when one sings
better than at others. If I sing particularly well the audience is
particularly enthusiastic; if I am not feeling well and my singing
indicates it, the audience will let me know at once by not being quite
so enthusiastic. It is a barometer which is almost unfailing. This is
also an important thing for the young singer to consider. Audiences
judge by real worth and not by reputation.
Reputation may attract money to the box office, but once the people are
inside the opera house the artist must really please them or suffer.
Young singers should not be led to think that anything but real worth is
of any lasting value. If the audience does not respond, do not blame the
audience. It would respond if you could sing so beautifully that you
could compel a response that you know should follow real artistic
achievement. Don't blame your teacher or your lack of practice or
anything or anybody but yourself. The verdict of the audience is better
than the examination of a hundred so-called experts. There is something
about an audience that makes it seem like a great human individual,
whether in Naples or in San Francisco. If you touch the heart or please
the sense of beauty, the appetite for lovely music--common to all
mankind--the audience is yours, be it Italian, French, German or
American.
OPERATIC PREPARATION IN ITALY
The American student with a really good voice and a really fine vocal
and musical training, would have more opportunities for engagements in
the smaller Italian opera houses, for the simple reason that there are
more of these opera houses and more of these opera companies. Bear in
mind, however, that opera in Italy depends to a large extent upon the
standing of the artists engaged to put on the opera. In some cities of
the smaller size the municipality makes an appropriation, which serves
as a guarantee or subsidy. An impresario is informed what operas the
community desires and what singers. He tries to comply with the demand.
Often the city is very small and the demand very slightly indicated in
real money. As a result the performances are comparatively mediocre. The
American student sometimes fails to secure engagements with the big
companies and tries to gain experience in these small companies.
Sometimes he succeeds, but he should remember before undertaking this
work that many native Italian singers with realty fine voices are
looking for similar opportunities and that only a very few stand any
chance of reaching really noteworthy success.
OPERA WILL ALWAYS BE EXPENSIVE
He should, of course, endeavor to seek engagements with the big
companies if his voice and ability will warrant it. Where the most money
is, there will be the salaried artists and the finest operatic
spectacle. That is axiomatic. Opera is expensive and will always be
expensive. The supply of unusual voices has always been limited and the
services of their possessors have always commanded a high reward. This
is based upon an economic law which applies to all things in life. The
young singer should realize that, unless he can rise to the very top of
his profession, he will be compelled to enlist in a veritable army of
singers with little talent and less opportunity.
One thing exists in Italy which is very greatly missed in America. Even
in small companies in Italy a great deal of time is spent in rehearsals.
In America rehearsals are tremendously expensive and sometimes first
performances have suffered thereby. In fact, I doubt whether the public
realizes what a very expensive thing opera is. The public has little
opportunity to look behind the scenes. It sees only the finished
performance, which runs smoothly only when a tremendous amount of
mental, physical and financial oil has been poured upon the machinery. I
often hear men say here in New York, "I had to pay fifty dollars for my
seat to-night." That is absurd--the money is going to speculators
instead of into the rightful channels. This money is simply lost as far
as doing any service whatever to art is concerned. It does not go into
the opera house treasury to make for better performances, but simply
into the hands of some fellow who had been clever enough to deprive the
public of its just opportunity to purchase seats. The public seems to
have money enough to pay an outrageous amount for seats when necessary.
Would it not be better to do away with the speculator at the door and
pay say $10.00 for a seat that now costs $7.00? This would mean more
rehearsals and better opera and no money donated to the undeserving
horde at the portals of the temple.
THE STUDENT'S PREPARATION
I am told that many people in America have the impression that my vocal
ability is kind of a "God-given" gift; that is, something that has come
to me without effort. This is so very absurd that I can hardly believe
that sensible people would give it a moment's credence. Every voice is
in a sense the result of a development, and this is particularly so in
my own case. The marble that comes from the quarries of Carrara may be
very beautiful and white and flawless, but it does not shape itself into
a work of art without the hand, the heart, and the intellect of the
sculptor.
Just to show how utterly ridiculous this popular opinion really is, let
me cite the fact that at the age of fifteen everybody who heard me sing
pronounced me a bass. When I went to Vergine I studied hard for four
years. During the first three years the work was for the most part
moulding and shaping the voice. Then I studied repertoire for one year
and made my debut. Even with the experience I had had at that time it
was unreasonable to expect great success at once. I kept working hard
and worked for at least seven years more before any really mentionable
success came to me. All the time I had one thing on my mind and that was
never to let a day pass without seeing some improvement in my voice. The
discouragements were frequent and bitter; but I kept on working and
waiting until my long awaited opportunities came in London and in New
York. The great thing is, not to stop. Do not think that, because these
great cities gave me a flattering reception, my work ceased. Quite on
the contrary, I kept on working and am working still. Every time I go
upon the stage I am endeavoring to discover something that will make my
art more worthy of public acceptance. Every act of each opera is a new
lesson.
DIFFERENT ROLES
It is difficult to invest a role with individuality. I have no favorite
roles. I have avoided this, because the moment one adopts a favorite
role he becomes a specialist and ceases to be an artist. The artist does
all roles equally well. I have had the unique experience of creating
many roles in operas such as _Fedora_, _Adrienne_, _Germania_, _Girl of
the Golden West_, _Maschera_. This is a splendid experience, as it
always taxes the inventive faculties of the singing actor. This is
particularly the case in the Italian opera of the newer composers, or
rather the composers who have worked in Italy since the reformation of
Wagner. Whatever may be said, the greatest influence in modern Italian
opera is Wagner. Even the great Verdi was induced to change his methods
in _Aida_, _Otello_, and _Falstaff_--all representing a much higher art
than his earlier operas. However, Wagner did nothing to rob Italy of its
natural gift of melody, even though he did institute a reform. He also
did not influence such modern composers as Puccini, Mascagni, and
Leoncavallo to the extent of marring their native originality and
fertility.
[Illustration: MME. JULIA CLAUSSEN.]
MME. JULIA CLAUSSEN
BIOGRAPHICAL
Mme. Julia Claussen was born at Stockholm, Sweden, the land of Jenny
Lind and Nilsson. Her voice is a rich, flexible mezzo-soprano, with a
range that has enabled her to assume some contralto roles with more
success than the average so-called contralto. In her childhood she
studied piano, but did not undertake the serious study of voice until
she was eighteen, when she became a student at the Royal Academy of
Music, under Professor Lejdstrom (studying harmony and theory under the
famous Swedish composer Sjogren). Her debut was made at the Royal Opera,
at the age of twenty-two, in _La Favorita_, singing the role in Swedish.
Later she went to Berlin, where she was coached in German opera by
Professor Friedrich at the Royal High School of Music. Her American
debut was made in 1912, in Chicago, where she made an immediate success
in such roles as _Ortrud_, _Brunnhilde_ and _Carmen_. She was then
engaged at Covent Garden and later sang at the Champs Elysee Theatre,
under Nikisch, in Paris. For two years she appeared at the Metropolitan.
She has received the rare distinction of being awarded the Jenny Lind
Medal from her own government and also of being admitted to the Royal
Academy of Sweden, the youngest member ever elected to that august
scientific and artistic body. She has also been decorated by King
Gustavus V of Sweden with Literis et Artibus. In America she has made an
immense success as a concert singer.
MODERN ROADS TO VOCAL SUCCESS
MME. JULIA CLAUSSEN
WHY SWEDEN PRODUCES SO MANY SINGERS
The question, "Why does Sweden produce so many singers?" is often asked
me. First it is a matter of climate, then a matter of physique, and
lastly, because the Swedish children do far more singing than any one
finds in many other countries. The air in Sweden is very rarefied, clear
and exhilarating. Owing to frugal living and abundant systematic
exercise, the people become very robust. This is not a matter of one
generation or so, but goes back for centuries. The Swedes are a strong,
energetic, thorough race; and the same attributes of industry and
precision which have made them famous in science are applied to the
study of music.
The Swedish child is made to understand that singing is a needful,
serious part of his life. His musical training begins very early in the
schools, with a definite scheme. All schools have competent, experienced
teachers of singing. In my childhood another factor played a very
important part. There was never the endless round of attractions, toys,
parties, theatres and pastimes (to say nothing of the all-consuming
movies). Life was more tranquil and therefore the pursuit of good music
was far more enjoyable. American life moves at aeroplane speed. The poor
little children hardly have time to breathe, let alone time to study
music. Ragtime is the musical symptom of this American craving for speed
and incessant excitement. In a blare and confusion of noises, like
bedlam broken loose, what chance has a child to develop good taste? It
is admittedly fascinating at times; but is without rhyme, reason or
order. I never permit my children to pollute my piano with it. They may
have it on the talking machine, but they must not be accomplices in
making it.
Of course, things have changed in Sweden, too; and American ragtime,
always contagious, has now infected all Europe. This makes the music
teacher's task in this day far more difficult than formerly. I hear my
daughters practicing, and now and then they seem to be putting a dash of
ragtime into Bach. If I stop them I find that "Bach is too slow, I don't
like Bach!" This is almost like saying, "I don't like Rubens, Van Dyke
or Millet; please, teacher, give me Mutt and Jeff or the Katzenjammer
Kids!" American children need to be constantly taught to reverence the
great creators of the land. Why, Jenny Lind is looked upon as a great
national heroine in Sweden, much as one might regard George Washington
in America. Before America can go about musical educational work
properly, the teachers must inculcate this spirit, a proper appreciation
of what is really beautiful, instead of a kind of wild, mob-like orgy of
blare, bang, smash and shriek which so many have come to know as ragtime
and jazz.
SELF-CRITICISM
If one should ask me what is the first consideration in becoming a
success as a singer, I should say the ability to criticise one's self.
In my own case I had a very competent musician as a teacher. He told me
that my voice was naturally placed and did very little to help place it
according to his own ideas. Perhaps that was well for me, because I knew
myself what I was about. He used to say, "That sounds beautiful," but
all the time I knew that it sounded terrible. It was then that I learned
that my ear must be my best teacher. My teacher, for instance, told me
that I would never be able to trill. This was very disheartening; but he
really believed, according to his conservative knowledge, that I should
never succeed in getting the necessary flexibility.
By chance I happened to meet a celebrated Swedish singer, Mme. Oestberg,
of the old school. I communicated to her the discouraging news that I
could never hope to trill. "Nonsense, my dear," she said, "someone told
me that too, but I determined that I was going to learn. I did not know
how to go about it exactly, but I knew that with the proper patience and
will-power I would succeed. Therefore I worked up to three o'clock one
morning, and before I went to bed I was able to trill."
I decided to take Mme. Oestberg's advice, and I practiced for several
days until I knew that I could trill, and then I went back to my teacher
and showed him what I could do. He had to admit it was a good trill,
and he couldn't understand how I had so successfully disproved his
theories by accomplishing it. It was then that I learned that the singer
can do almost anything within the limits of the voice, if one will only
work hard enough. Work is the great producer, and there is no substitute
for it. Do not think that I am ungrateful to my teacher. He gave me a
splendid musical drilling in all the standard solfeggios, in which he
was most precise; and in later years I said to him, "I am not grateful
to you for making my voice, but because you did not spoil it."
After having sung a great deal and thought introspectively a great deal
about the voice, one naturally begins to form a kind of philosophy
regarding it. Of course, breathing exercises are the basis of all good
singing methods, but it seems to me that singing teachers ask many of
their pupils to do many queer impractical things in breathing, things
that "don't work" when the singer is obliged to stand up before a big
audience and make everyone hear without straining.
If I were to teach a young girl right at this moment I would simply ask
her to take a deep breath and note the expansion at the waist just above
the diaphragm. Then I would ask her to say as many words as possible
upon that breath, at the same time having the muscles adjacent to the
diaphragm to support the breath; that is, to sustain it and not collapse
or try to push it up. The trick is to get the most tone, not with the
most breath but with the least breath, and especially the very least
possible strain at the throat, which must be kept in a floating,
gossamer-like condition all the time. I see girls, who have been to
expensive teachers, doing all sorts of wonderful calisthenics with the
diaphragm, things that God certainly did not intend us to do in learning
to speak and to sing.
Any attempt to draw in the front walls of the abdomen or the intercostal
muscles during singing must put a kind of pneumatic pressure upon the
breath stream, which is sure to constrict the throat. Therefore, in my
own singing, I note the opposite effect. That is, there is rather a
sensation of expansion instead of contraction during the process of
expiration. This soon becomes very comfortable, relieves the throat of
strain, relieves the tones of breathiness or all idea of forcing. There
is none of the ugly heaving of the chest or shoulders; the body is in
repose, and the singer has a firm grip upon the tone in the right way.
The muscles of the front wall of the abdomen and the muscles between the
lower ribs become very strong and equal to any strain, while the throat
is free.
In the emission of the actual tone itself I would advise the sensation
of inhaling at first. The beginner should blow out the tone. Usually
instead of having a lovely floating character, with the impression of
control, the tone starts with being forced, and it always remains so.
The singer oversings and has nothing in reserve. When I am singing I
feel as though the farther away from the throat, the deeper down I can
control the breath stream, the better and freer the tone becomes.
Furthermore, I can sing the long, difficult Wagnerian roles, with their
tremendous demands upon the vocal organs, without the least sensation of
fatigue. Some singers, after such performances, are "all in." No wonder
they lose their voices when they should be in their prime.
For me the most difficult vowel is "ah." The throat then is most open
and the breath stream most difficult to control properly. Therefore I
make it a habit to begin my practice with "oo, oh, ah, ay, ee" in
succession. I never start with sustained tones. This would give my
throat time to stiffen. I employ quick, soft scales, always remembering
the basic principle of breath control I have mentioned, and always as
though inhaling. This is an example of what I mean. To avoid shrillness
on the upper tone I take the highest note with oo and descend with oo.
[Illustration: musical notation: Ex. 1]
The same thought applied to an arpeggio would be:
[Illustration: musical notation: Ex. 2]
These I take within comfortable limits of my voice, always remembering
that the least strain is a backward step. These exercises are taken
through all possible keys. There can never be too much practice of a
scale or arpeggio exercise. Many singers, I know, who wonder why they do
not succeed, cannot do a good scale, the very first thing they should be
able to do. Every one should be like perfect pearls on a thread.
AMERICA'S FATAL AMBITION
One of the great troubles in America is the irrepressible ambition of
both teachers and pupils. Europe is also not untinged with this.
Teachers want to show results. Some teachers, I am told, start in with
songs at the first or second lesson, with the sad knowledge that if they
do not do this they may lose the pupil to some teacher who will peddle
out songs. After four or five months I was given an operatic aria; and,
of course, I sang it. A year of scales, exercises and solfeggios would
have been far more time-saving. The pupils have too much to say about
their education in this way. The teacher should be competent and then
decide all such questions. American girls do not want this. They expect
to step from vocal ignorance to a repertoire over night. When you study
voice, you should study not for two years, but realize you will never
stop studying, if you wish to keep your voice. Like any others, without
exercise, the singing muscles grow weak and inefficient. There are so
many, many things to learn.
Of course, my whole training was that of the opera singer, and I was
schooled principally in the Wagnerian roles. With the coming of the war
the prejudice against the greatest anti-imperialist (with the possible
exception of Beethoven) which music ever has known--the immortal
Wagner--became so strong that not until now has the demand for his
operas become so great that they are being resumed with wonderful
success. Therefore, with the exception of a few Italian and French
roles, my operatic repertoire went begging.
It was necessary for me to enter the concert field, as the management of
the opera company with which I had contracts secured such engagements
for me. It was like starting life anew. There is very little opportunity
to show one's individuality in opera. One must play the role. Therefore
I had to learn a repertoire of songs, every one of which required
different treatment and different individuality. With eighteen members
on the program, the singer has a musical, mental and vocal task which
devolves entirely upon herself without the aid of chorus, co-singers,
orchestra, costumes, scenery and the glamour of the footlights. It was
with the greatest delight that I could fulfill the demands of the
concert platform. American musical taste is very exacting. The audiences
use their imagination all the time, and like romantic songs with an
atmospheric background, which accounts for my great success with songs
of such type as Lieurance's _By the Waters of Minnetonka_. One of the
greatest tasks I ever have had is that of singing my roles in many
different languages. I learned some of them first in Swedish, then in
Italian, then in French, then in German, then in English; as I am
obliged to re-learn my Wagnerian roles now.
The road to success in voice study, like the road to success in
everything else, has one compass which should be a consistent guide, and
that is common sense. Avoid extremes; hold fast to your ideals; have
faith in your possibilities, and work! work!! work!!!
[Illustration: CHARLES DALMORES IN MASSENET'S HERODIADE.
(C) Mishkin.]
CHARLES DALMORES
BIOGRAPHICAL
M. Charles Dalmores was born at Nancy, France, December 31st, 1871. His
musical education was received at the Nancy Conservatoire under
Professor Dauphin, and it was his intention to become a specialist in
French horn. He also played the 'cello. When he applied to the Paris
Conservatoire he was refused admission to the singing course because "he
was too good a musician to waste his time with singing." He became
professor of French horn at the Lyons Conservatory; but his love for
opera led him to study by himself until he made his debut at Rouen in
1899. He then sang at the Theatre de la Monnaie in Brussels, Covent
Garden, Bayreuth, New York, and Chicago, with ever-increasing success.
Dalmores is a dramatic tenor, and his musicianship has enabled him to
take extremely difficult roles of the modern type and achieve real
artistic triumphs. He is one of the finest examples of the self-trained
vocalist.
SELF-HELP IN VOICE STUDY
CHARLES DALMORES
It is always a pleasure to talk upon self-help and not self-study,
because I believe most implicitly in the former and very much doubt the
efficacy of the latter in actual voice study. The voice, of all things,
demands the assistance of a good teacher, although in the end the
results all come from within and not from without. That is, the voice is
an organ of expression; and what we make of it depends upon our own
thought a thousand times more than what we take in from the outside.
It is the teacher who stimulates the right kind of thinking who is the
best teacher. The teacher who seeks to make his pupils parrots rarely
meets with success. My whole career is an illustration of this, and when
I think of the apparently insurmountable obstacles over which I have
been compelled to climb I cannot help feeling that the relation of a few
of my own experiences in the way of self-help could not fail to be
beneficial.
AT THE PARIS CONSERVATORY
I was born at Nancy on the 31st of December, 1871. I gave evidences of
having musical talent and my musical instruction commenced at the age of
six years. I studied first at the Conservatory at Nancy, intending to
make a specialty of the violin. Then I had the misfortune of breaking my
arm. It was decided thereafter that I had better study the French horn.
This I did with much success and attribute my control of the breath at
this day very largely to my elementary struggles with that most
difficult of instruments. At the age of fourteen I played the second
horn at Nancy. Finally, I went, with a purse made up by some citizens of
my home town, to enter the great Conservatory at Paris. There I studied
very hard and succeeded in winning my goal in the way of receiving the
first prize for playing the French horn.
For a time I played under Colonne, and between the ages of seventeen and
twenty-three in Paris I played with the Lamoureaux Orchestra. All this
time I had my heart set upon becoming a singer and paid particular
attention to all of the wonderful orchestral works we rehearsed. The
very mention of the fact that I desired to become a singer was met with
huge ridicule by my friends, who evidently thought that it was a form of
fanaticism. For a time I studied the 'cello and managed to acquire a
very creditable technic upon that instrument.
A DISCOURAGING PROSPECT
Notwithstanding the success I had with the two instruments, I was
confronted with the fact that I had before me the life of a poor
musician. My salary was low, and there were few, if any, opportunities
to increase it outside of my regular work with the orchestra. I was
told that I had great talent, but this never had the effect of swelling
my pocketbook. In my military service I played in the band of an
infantry regiment; and when I told my companions that I aspired to be a
great singer some day they greeted my declaration with howls of
laughter, and pointed out the fact that I was already along in years and
had an established profession.
At the sedate age of twenty-three I was surprised to find myself
appointed Professor of French Horn at the Conservatory of Lyons. Lyons
is the second city of France from the standpoint of population. It is a
busy manufacturing center, but is rich in architectural, natural and
historical interest; and the position had its advantages, although it
was away from the great French center, Paris. The opera at Nancy was
exceedingly good, and I had an opportunity to go often. Singing and the
opera were my life. My father had been manager at Nancy and I had made
my first acquaintance with the stage as one of the boys in _Carmen_.
A TEST THAT FAILED
I have omitted to say that at Paris I tried to enter the classes for
singing. My voice was apparently liked, but I was refused admission upon
the basis that I was too good a musician to waste my time in becoming an
inferior singer. Goodness gracious! Where is musicianship needed more
than in the case of the singer? This amused me, and I resolved to bide
my time. I played in opera orchestras whenever I had a chance, and thus
became acquainted with the famous roles. One eye was on the music and
the other was on the stage. During the rests I dreamt of the time when I
might become a singer like those over the footlights.
Where there is a will there is usually a way. I taught solfeggio as well
as French horn in the Lyons Conservatory. I devised all sorts of
"home-made" exercises to improve my voice as I thought best. Some may
have done me good, others probably were injurious. I listened to singers
and tried to get points from them. Gradually I was unconsciously paving
the way for the great opportunity of my life. It came in the form of an
experienced teacher, Dauphin, who had been a basso for ten years at the
leading theatre of Belgium, fourteen years in London, and later director
at Geneva and Lyons. He also received the appointment of Professor at
the Lyons Conservatory.
A FAMOUS OPPORTUNITY
One day Dauphin heard me singing and inquired who I was. Then he came in
the room and said to me, "How much do you get here for teaching and
playing?" I replied, proudly, "six thousand francs a year." He said,
"You shall study with me and some day you shall earn as much as six
thousand francs a month." Dauphin, bless his soul, was wrong. I now earn
six thousand francs every night I sing instead of every month.
I could hardly believe that the opportunity I had waited for so long had
come. Dauphin had me come to his house and there he told me that my
success in singing would depend quite as much upon my own industry as
upon his instruction. Thus one professor in the conservatory taught
another in the art he had long sought to master. Notwithstanding
Dauphin's confidence in me, all of the other professors thought that I
was doing a perfectly insane thing, and did all in their power to
prevent me from going to what they thought was my ruin.
DISCOURAGING ADVICE
Nevertheless, I determined to show them that they were all mistaken.
During the first winter I studied no less than six operas, at the same
time taking various exercises to improve my voice. During the second
winter I mastered one opera every month, and at the same time did all my
regular work--studying in my spare hours. At the end of my course I
passed the customary examination, receiving the least possible
distinction from my colleagues who were still convinced that I was
pursuing a course that would end in complete failure.
This brought home the truth that if I was to get ahead at all I would
have to depend entirely upon myself. The outlook was certainly not
propitious. Nevertheless I studied by myself incessantly and disregarded
the remarks of my pessimistic advisers. I sang in a church and also in a
big synagogue to keep up my income. All the time I had to put up with
the sarcasm of my colleagues who seemed to think, like many others, that
the calling of the singer was one demanding little musicianship, and
tried to make me see that in giving up the French horn and my
conservatory professorship I would be abandoning a dignified career for
that of a species of musician who at that time was not supposed to
demand any special musical training. Could not a shoemaker or a
blacksmith take a few lessons and become a great singer? I, however,
determined to become a different kind of a singer. I believed that there
was a place for the singer with a thorough musical training, and while I
kept up my vocal work amid the rain of irony and derogatory remarks from
my mistaken colleagues, I did not fail to keep up my interest in the
deeper musical studies. I had a feeling that the more good music I knew
the better would be my work in opera. I wish that all singers could see
this. Many singers live in a little world all of their own. They know
the music of the footlights, but there their experience ends. Every
symphony I have played has been molded into my life experience in such a
way that it cannot help being reflected in my work.
A CRITICAL MOMENT
Finally the time came for my debut in 1899. It was a most serious
occasion for me; for the rest of my career as a singer depended upon it.
It was in Rouen, and my fee was to be fifteen hundred francs a month. I
thought that that would make me the richest man in the world. It was the
custom of the town for the captain of the police to come before the
audience at the end and inquire whether the audience approved of the
artist's singing or whether their vocal efforts were unsatisfactory.
This was to be determined by a public demonstration. When the captain
held up the sign "Approved," I felt as though the greatest moment in my
life had arrived. I had worked so long and so hard for success and had
been obliged to laugh down so much scorn that you can imagine my
feelings. Suddenly a great volume of applause came from the house and I
knew in a second what my future should be.
Then it was that I realized that I was only a little way along my
journey. I wanted to be the foremost French tenor of my time. I knew
that success in France alone, while gratifying, would be limited, so I
set out to conquer new worlds. Wagner, up to that time, had never been
sung by any French tenor, so I determined to master German and become a
Wagner singer. This I did, and it fell to me to receive that most
coveted of Wagnerian distinctions, "soloist at Beyreuth," the citadel of
the highest in German operatic art. In after years I sang in all parts
of Germany with as much success as in France. Later I went to London and
then to America, where I sang for many seasons. It has been no small
pleasure for me to return to Paris, where I once lived in penury, and to
receive the highest fee ever paid to a French singer in the French
capital.
THE NEED FOR GREAT CARE
I don't know what more I can say upon the subject of self-help for the
singer. I have simply told my own story and have related some of the
obstacles that I have overcome. I trust that no one who has not a voice
really worth while will be misled by what I have had to say. The voice
is one of the most intricate and wonderful of the human organs. Properly
exercised and cared for, it may be developed to a remarkable degree; but
there are cases, of course, where there is not enough voice at the start
to warrant the aspirant making the sacrifices that I have made to reach
my goal. This is a very serious matter and one which should be
determined by responsible judges. At the same time, the singers may see
how possible it is for even experienced musicians, like my colleagues in
Lyons, to be mistaken. If I had depended upon them and not fought my own
way out, I would probably be an obscure teacher in the same old city
earning the munificent salary of one hundred dollars a month.
FIGHTING YOUR OWN WAY
The student who has to fight his own way has a much harder battle of it;
but he has a satisfaction which certainly does not come to the one who
has all his instruction fees and living expenses paid for him. He feels
that he has earned his success; and, by the processes of exploration
through which the self-help student must invariably pass, he becomes
invested with a confidence and "I know" feeling which is a great asset
to him. The main thing is for him to keep busy all the time. He has not
a minute to spare upon dreaming. He has no one to carry his burden but
himself; and the exercise of carrying it himself is the thing which will
do most to make him strong and successful.
The artists who leap into success are very rare. Hundreds who have held
mediocre positions come to the front, while those who appear most
favored stay in the background. Do not seek to gain eminence by any
influence but that of real earnest work; and if you do not intend to
work and to work hard, drop all of your aspirations for operatic
laurels.
[Illustration: ANDREAS DIPPEL.
(C) Dupont.]
ANDREAS DIPPEL
BIOGRAPHICAL
Andreas Dippel was born at Cassel, 1866. His father was a manufacturer
who had the boy educated at the local gymnasium, with the view to making
him a banker. After five years in a banking house he decided to become a
singer and studied with Mme. Zottmayr. Later he went to Berlin, Milan
and Vienna, where he studied with Julius Hey, Alberto Leoni and Johann
Ress. In 1887 he made his debut at Bremen, in _The Flying Dutchman_. He
remained with that company until 1892. In the meantime, however, he had
appeared at the Metropolitan in New York, with such success that he
toured America as a concert singer with Anton Seidl, Arthur Nikisch, and
Theodore Thomas. From 1893 to 1898 he was a member of the Imperial Court
Opera at Vienna. In 1898 he returned to America to the Metropolitan. In
1908 he was appointed administrative manager of the Metropolitan
Company, later becoming the manager of the Philadelphia-Chicago Opera
Company. Mr. Dippel is a fine dramatic tenor with the enormous
repertoire of 150 works in four different languages. He is a fine actor
and has been equally successful in New York, London, and Beyreuth. He
also has a repertoire of 60 oratorios.
IF MY DAUGHTER SHOULD STUDY FOR GRAND OPERA
ANDREAS DIPPEL
The training of the girl designed to become a great prima donna is one
of the most complex problems imaginable. You ask me to consider the case
of an imaginary daughter designed for the career in order to make my
opinions seem more pertinent. Very well. If my daughter were studying
for grand opera, and if she were a very little girl, I should first
watch her very carefully to see whether she manifested any
uncontrollable desire or ambition to become a great singer. Without such
a desire she will never become great. Usually this ambition becomes
evident at a very early age. Then I should realize that the mere desire
to become a great singer is only an infinitesimal part of the actual
requirements.
She must have, first of all, fine health, abundant vitality and an
artistic temperament. She must show signs of being industrious. She
should have the patience to wait until real results can be accomplished.
In fact, there are so many attributes that it is difficult to enumerate
them all. But they are all worth considering seriously. Why? Simply
because, if they are not considered, she may be obliged to spend years
of labor for which she will receive no return except the most bitter
disappointment conceivable. Of the thousands of girls who study to
become prima donnas only a very few can succeed, from the nature of
things. The others either abandon their ambitions or assume lesser roles
from little parts down to the chorus.
You will notice that I have said but little about her voice. During her
childhood there is very little means of judging of the voice. Some
girls' voices that seem very promising when they are children turn out
in a most disappointing manner. So you see I would be obliged to
consider the other qualifications before I even thought of the voice. Of
course, if the child showed no inclination for music or did not have the
ability to "hold a tune," I should assume that she was one of those
frequent freaks of nature which no amount of musical training can save.
Above all things I should not attempt to force her to take up a career
against her own natural inclinations or gifts. The designing mother who
desires to have her own ambitions realized in her daughter is the bane
of every impresario. With a will power worthy of a Bismarck she maps out
a career for the young lady and then attempts to force the child through
what she believes to be the proper channels leading to operatic success.
She realizes that great singers achieve fame and wealth and she longs to
taste of these. It is this, rather than any particular love for her
child, that prompts her to fight all obstacles. No amount of advice or
persuasion can make her believe that her child cannot become another
Tetrazzini, or Garden, or Schumann-Heink, if only the impresario will
give her a chance. In nine cases out of ten Fate and Nature have a
conspiracy to keep the particular young lady in the role of a
stenographer or a dressmaker; and in the battle with Fate and Nature
even the most ambitious mother must be defeated.
HER VERY EARLY TRAINING
Once determined that she stood a fair chance of success in the operatic
field I should take the greatest possible care of her health, both
physically and intellectually. Note that I lay particular stress upon
her physical training. It is most important, as no one but the
experienced singer can form any idea of what demands are made upon the
endurance and strength of the opera singer.
Her general education should be conducted upon the most approved lines.
Anything which will develop and expand the mind will be useful to her in
later life. The later operatic roles make far greater demands upon the
mentality of the singer than those of other days. The singer is no
longer a parrot with little or nothing to do but come before the
footlights and sing a few beautiful tones to a few gesticulations. She
is expected to act and to understand what she is acting. I would lay
great stress upon history--the history of all nations--she should study
the manners, the dress, the customs, the traditions, and the thought of
different epochs. In order to be at home in _Pelleas and Melisande_, or
_Tristan und Isolde_, or _La Boheme_ she must have acquainted her mind
with the historical conditions of the time indicated by the composer and
librettist.
HER FIRST MUSICAL TRAINING
Her first musical training should be musical. That is, she should be
taught how to listen to beautiful music before she ever hears the word
technic. She should be taught sight reading, and she ought to be able to
read any melody as easily as she would read a book. The earlier this
study is commenced with the really musical child, the better. Before it
is of any real value to the singer her sight reading should become
second nature. She should have lost all idea of the technic of the art
and read with ease and naturalness. This is of immense assistance. Then
she should study the piano thoroughly. The piano is the door to the
music of the opera. The singer who is dependent upon some assistant to
play over the piano scores is unfortunate. It is not really necessary
for her to learn any of the other instruments; but she should be able to
play readily and correctly. It will help her in learning scores, more
than anything else. It will also open the door to much other beautiful
music which will elevate her taste and ennoble her ideals.
She should go to the opera as frequently as possible in order that she
may become acquainted with the great roles intuitively. If she cannot
attend the opera itself she can at least gain an idea of the great
operatic music through the talking machines. The "repertory" of records
is now very large, but of course does not include all of the music of
all of the scenes.
She should be taught the musical traditions of the different historical
musical epochs and the different so-called music schools. First she
should study musical history itself and then become acquainted with the
music of the different periods. The study of the violin is also an
advantage in training the ear to listen for correct intonation; but the
violin is by no means absolutely necessary.
LANGUAGES
All educators recognize the fact that languages are attained best in
childhood. The child's power of mimicry is so wonderful that it acquires
a foreign language quite without any suggestion of accent, in a time
which will always put their elders to shame. Foreign children, who come
to America before the age of ten, speak both then-native tongue and
English with equal fluency.
The first new language to be taken up should be Italian. Properly
spoken, there is no language so mellifluous as Italian. The beautiful
quantitative value given to the vowels--the natural quest for euphony
and the necessity for accurate pronunciation of the last syllable of a
word in order to make the grammatical sense understandable--is a
training for both the ear and the voice.
Italy is the land of song; and most of the conductors give their
directions in Italian. Not only the usual musical terms, but also the
other directions are denoted in Italian by the orchestral conductors;
and if the singer does not understand she must suffer accordingly.
After the study of Italian I would recommend, in order, French and
German. If my daughter were studying for opera, I should certainly leave
nothing undone until she had mastered Italian, French, German and
English. Although she would not have many opportunities to sing in
English, under present operatic conditions, the English-speaking people
in America, Great Britain, Canada, South Africa, and Australia are great
patrons of musical art; and the artist must of course travel in some of
these countries.
THE STUDY OF THE VOICE ITSELF
Her actual voice study should not commence before she is seventeen or
eighteen years of age. In the hands of a very skilled and experienced
teacher it might commence a little earlier; but it is better to wait
until her health becomes more settled and her mature strength develops.
At first the greatest care must be taken. The teacher has at best a
delicate flower which a little neglect or a little over training may
deform or even kill. I can not discuss methods, as that is not pertinent
to this conference. There is no one absolutely right way; and many
famous singers have traveled what seem quite different roads to reach
the same end. However, it is a historic fact that few great singers have
ever acquired voices which have had beautiful quality, perfect
flexibility and reliability, who have not sung for some years in the old
Italian style. Mind you, I am not referring to an old Italian school of
singing here, but more to that class of music adopted by the old Italian
composers--a style which permitted few vocal blemishes to go by
unnoticed. Most of the great Wagnerian singers have been proficient in
coloratura roles before they undertook the more complicated parts of the
great master at Beyreuth.
It is better to leave the study of repertoire until later years; that
is, until the study of voice has been pursued for a sufficient time to
insure regular progress in the study of repertoire. Personally, I am
opposed to those methods which take the student directly to the study of
repertoire without any previous vocal drill. The voice, to be valuable
to the singer, must be able to stand the wear and tear of many seasons.
It is often some years before the young singer is able to achieve real
success and the profits come with the later years. A voice that is not
carefully drilled and trained, so that the singer knows how to get the
most out of it, with the least strain and the least expenditure of
effort, will not stand the wear and tear of many years of opera life.
After all, the study of repertoire is the easiest thing. Getting the
voice properly trained is the difficult thing. In the study of
repertoire the singer often makes the mistake of leaping right into the
more difficult roles. She should start with the simpler roles; such as
those of some of the lesser parts in the old Italian operas. Then, she
may essay the leading roles of, let us say, _Traviata_, _Barber of
Seville_, _Norma_, _Faust_, _Romeo and Juliet_, and _Carmen_.
Instead of simple roles, she seems inclined to spend her time upon
_Isolde_, _Mimi_, _Elsa_ or _Butterfly_. It has become so, that now,
when a new singer comes to me and wants to sing _Tosca_ or some role
that (sic) the so-called new or _verissimo_ Italian school, I almost
invariably refuse to listen. I ask them to sing something from _Norma_
or _Puritani_ or _Dinorah_ or _Lucia_ in which it is impossible for them
to conceal their vocal faults. But no, they want to sing the big aria
from the second act of _Madama Butterfly_, which is hardly to be called
an aria at all but rather a collection of dramatic phrases. When they
are done, I ask them to sing some of the opening phrases from the same
role, and ere long they discover that they really have nothing which an
impresario can purchase. They are without the voice and without the
complete knowledge of the parts which they desire to sing.
Then they discover that the impresario knows that the tell-tale pieces
are the old arias from old Italian operas. They reveal the voice in its
entirety. If the breath control is not right, it becomes evident at
once. If the quality is not right, it becomes as plain as the features
of the young lady's face. There is no dramatic--emotional--curtain under
which to hide these shortcomings. Consequently, knowing what I do, I
would insist upon my daughter having a thorough training in the old
Italian arias.
HER TRAINING IN ACTING
Her training in acting would depend largely upon her natural talent.
Some children are born actors--natural mimics. They act from their
childhood right up to old age. They can learn more in five minutes than
others can learn in years. Some seem to require little or no training in
the art of acting. As a rule they become the most forceful acting
singers. Others improve wonderfully under the direction of a clever
teacher.
The new school of opera demands higher histrionic ability from the
singer. In fact, we have come to a time when opera is a real drama set
to music which is largely recitative and which does not distract from
the action of the drama. The librettos of other days were, to say the
least, ridiculous. If the music had not had a marvelous hold upon the
people they could not have remained in popular favor. To my mind it is
an indication of the wonderful power of music that these operas retain
their favor. There is something about the melodies which seems to
preserve them for all time; and the public is just as anxious to hear
them to-day as it was twenty-five and fifty years ago.
Richard Wagner turned the tide of acting in opera by his music dramas.
Gluck and von Weber had already made an effort in the right direction;
but it remained for the mighty power of Wagner to accomplish the final
work. Now we are witnessing the rise of a school of musical dramatic
actors such as Garden, Maurel, Renaud, and others which promises to
raise the public taste in this matter and which will add vastly to the
pleasure of opera going, as it will make the illusion appear more real.
This also imposes upon the impresario a new contingency which threatens
to make opera more and more expensive. Costumes, scenery and all the
settings nowadays must be both historically authentic and costly. The
collection of wigs, robes, and armor, together with a few sets of
scenery, often with the chairs and other furniture actually painted on
the scenes, which a few years ago were thought adequate for the
equipment of an opera company, have now given way to equipment more
elaborate than that of a Belasco or a Henry Irving. Nothing is left
undone to make the picture real and beautiful. In fact operatic
productions, as now given in America, are as complete and luxurious as
any performances given anywhere in the world.
MME. EMMA EAMES
BIOGRAPHICAL
Mme. Emma Eames was born at Shanghai, China. Her father, a graduate of
Harvard Law School, had been a sea-captain and had been in business in
the Chinese city. At the age of five she was brought back to the home of
her parents at Bath, Maine. Her mother was an accomplished amateur
singer who supervised her early musical training. At sixteen she went to
Boston to study with Miss Munger. At nineteen she became a pupil of
Marchesi in Paris and remained with the celebrated teacher for two
years. At twenty-one she made her debut at the Grand Opera in Paris in
_Romeo et Juliette_. Two years later she appeared at Covent Garden,
London, with such success that she was immediately engaged for the
Metropolitan Opera House in New York. Few singers ever gained such a
strong hold upon the American and English public. Her voice is a fine
flexible soprano, capable of doing _Marguerite_ or _Elisabeth_ equally
well. Her husband, Emilio de Gogorza, with whom it is our privilege to
present a conference later in this book, is one of the foremost
baritones of our time.
[Illustration: MME. EMMA EAMES.]
HOW A GREAT MASTER COACHED OPERA SINGERS
MME. EMMA EAMES
GOUNOD AN IDEALIST
One does not need to review the works of Charles Gounod to any great
extent before discovering that above all things he was an idealist. His
whole aspect of life and art was that of a man imbued with a sense of
the beautiful and a longing to actualize some noble art purpose. He was
of an age of idealists. Coming at the artificial period of the Second
Empire, he was influenced by that artistic atmosphere, as were such
masters of the brush as Jean August Ingres and Eugene Delacroix. This,
however, was unconscious, and in no way affected his perfect sincerity
in all he did.
FIRST MEETING WITH GOUNOD
I was taken to Gounod by my master, Mme. Mathilde Marchesi, who,
perhaps, had some reason to regret her kindness in introducing me, since
Gounod did not favor what he conceived as the Italian method of singing.
He had a feeling that the Italian school, as he regarded it, was too
obvious, and that French taste demanded more sincerity, more subtlety,
better balance and a certain finesse which the purely vocal Italian
style slightly obscured. Mme. Marchesi was very irate over Gounod's
attitude, which she considered highly insulting; whereas, as a matter of
fact, Gounod was doing the only thing that a man of his convictions
could do, and that was to tell what he conceived as the truth.
Gounod's study was a room which fitted his character perfectly. His very
pronounced religious tendencies were marked by the stained glass windows
which cast a delicate golden tint over the little piano he occasionally
used when composing. On one side was a pipe organ upon which he was very
fond of playing. In fact, the whole atmosphere was that of a chapel,
which, together with the beautiful and dignified appearance of the
master himself, made an impression that one could not forget. His great
sincerity, his lofty aims, his wonderful earnestness, his dramatic
intensity, were apparent at once. Many composers are hopelessly
disappointing in their appearance, but when one saw Gounod, it was easy
to realize whence come the beautiful musical colors which make _Romeo et
Juliette_, _Faust_ and _The Redemption_ so rich and individual. His
whole artistic character is revealed in a splendid word of advice he
gave to me when I first went to him: "Anyone who is called to any form
of musical expression must reveal himself only in the language that God
has given him to speak with. Find this language yourself and try, above
all things, to be sincere--never singing down to your public."
Gounod had a wonderful power of compelling attention. While one was with
him his personality was so great that it seemed to envelop you,
obliterating everything else. This can be attributed not only to
magnetism or hypnotism, but also to his own intense, all-burning
interest in whatever he was engaged upon. Naturally the relationship of
teacher and pupil is different from that of comradeship, but I was
impressed that Gounod, even in moments of apparent repose, never seemed
to lose that wonderful force which virtually consumed the entire
attention of all those who were in his presence.
He had remarkable gifts in painting word-pictures. His imagination was
so vigorous that he could make one feel that which he saw in his mind's
eye as actually present. I attribute this to the fact that he himself
was possessed by the subject at hand and spoke from the fountains of his
deepest conviction. First he made you see and then he made you express.
He taught one that to convince others one must first be convinced.
Indeed, he allowed a great variety of interpretations in order that one
might interpret through one's own power of conception rather than
through following blindly his own.
During my lessons with Gounod he revealed not only his very pronounced
histrionic ability, but also his charming talent as a singer. I had an
accompanist who came with me to the lessons and when I was learning the
various roles, Gounod always sang the duets with me. Although he was
well along in years, he had a small tenor voice, exquisitely sweet and
sympathetic. He sang with delightful ease and with invariably perfect
diction, and perfect vision. If some of our critics of musical
performances were more familiar with the niceties of pronunciation and
accentuation of different foreign languages, many of our present-day
singers would be called upon to suffer some very severe criticisms. I
speak of this because Gounod was most insistent upon correct
pronunciation and accent, so that the full meaning of the words might be
conveyed to every member of the audience.
A HEARING AT THE OPERA
When I went to the opera for my hearing or _audition_, Gounod went with
me and we sang the duets together. The director, M. Gailhard, refused my
application, claiming that I was a debutante and could not expect an
initial performance at the Grand Opera despite my ability and musical
attainments. It may be interesting for aspiring vocal students to learn
something of the various obstacles which still stand in the way of a
singer, even after one has had a very thorough training and acquired
proficiency which should compel a hearing. Alas! in opera, as in many
other lines of human endeavor, there is a political background that is
often black with intrigue and machinations. I was determined to fight my
way on the merit of my art, and accordingly I was obliged to wait for
nearly two years before I was able to make my debut. These were years
filled with many exasperating circumstances.
I went to Brussels after two years' study with Marchesi, having been
promised my debut there. I was kept for months awaiting it and was
finally prevented from making an appearance by one who, pretending to be
my friend and to be doing all in her power to further my career, was in
reality threatening the directors with instant breaking of her contract
should I be allowed to appear. I had this on the authority of Mr.
Gevaert, the then director of the Conservatoire and my firm friend. The
artist was a great success and her word was law. It was on my return
that I was taken to Gounod and I waited a year for a hearing.
Gounod's opera, _Romeo et Juliette_, had been given at the Opera Comique
many times but there was a demand for performances at the Grand Opera.
Accordingly Gounod added a ballet, which fitted it for performance at
the Opera. Apropos of this ballet, Gounod said to me, with no little
touch of cynicism, "Now you shall see what kind of music a _Ga Ga_ can
write" (Ga Ga is the French term for a very old man, that is, a man in
his dotage). He was determined that I should be heard at the Grand Opera
as Juliette, but even his influence could not prevent the director from
signing an agreement with one he personally preferred, which required
that she should have the honor of making her debut at the Grand Opera in
the part. Then it was that I became aware that it was not only because I
was a debutante that I had been denied. Gounod would not consent to this
arrangement, insisting on her making her debut previously in _Faust_,
and fortunate it was, since the singer in question never attained more
than mediocre success. Gounod still demanded as a compromise that the
first six performances of the opera should be given to Adelina Patti,
and that they should send for me for the subsequent ones.
In the meantime I was engaged at the Opera Comique. There Massenet
looked with disfavor upon my debut before that of Sybil Sanderson.
Massenet had brought fortunes to the Opera Comique through his immensely
popular and theatrically effective operas. Consequently his word was
law. I waited for some months and no suggestion of an opportunity for a
performance presented itself. All the time I was engaged in extending my
repertoire and becoming more and more indignant at the treatment I was
receiving in not being allowed to sing the operas thus acquired. My
year's contract had still three months to run when I received an offer
from St. Petersburg. Shortly thereafter I received a note from M.
Gailhard announcing that he wished to see me. I went and he informed me
that Gounod was still insistent upon my appearance in the role of
_Juliette_. I was irritated by the whole long train of aggravating
circumstances, but said, "Give me the contract, I'll sign it." Then I
went directly to the Opera Comique and asked to see the director. I was
towering with indignation--indeed, I felt myself at least seven feet
tall and perhaps quite as wide. I demanded my contract. To his "Mais,
Mademoiselle--" I commanded, "Send for it." He brought the contract and
tore it up in my presence, only to learn next morning to his probable
chagrin that I was engaged and announced for an important role at the
Grand Opera. The first performance of a debutante at the Grand Opera is
a great ordeal, and it is easy to imagine that the strain upon a young
singer might deprive her of her natural powers of expression. The
outcome of mine was most fortuitous and with success behind me I found
my road very different indeed. However, if I had not had a friend at
court, in the splendid person of Charles Gounod, I might have been
obliged to wait years longer, and perhaps never have had an opportunity
to appear in Paris, where only a few foreigners in a generation get such
a privilege. It is a great one, I consider, as there is no school of
good taste and restraint like the French, which is also one where one
may acquire the more intellectual qualities in one's work and a sense of
proportion and line.
GOUNOD AS A MODERNIST
I have continually called attention to Gounod's idealism. There are some
to-day who might find the works of Gounod artificial in comparison with
the works of some very modern writers. To them I can only say that the
works of the great master gave a great deal of joy to audiences fully as
competent to judge of their artistic and aesthetic beauty as any of the
present day. Indeed, their flavor is so delicate and sublimated that the
subsequent attempts at interpreting them with more realistic methods
only succeeds in destroying their charm.
It may be difficult for some who are saturated with the ultra-modern
tendencies in music to look upon Gounod as a modernist, but thus he was
regarded by his own friends. One of my most amusing recollections of
Gounod was his telling me--himself much amused thereby--of the first
performance of _Faust_. His friends had attended in large numbers to
assist at the expected "success," only to be witnesses of a huge
failure. Gounod told me that the only numbers to have any success
whatsoever were the "Soldiers' Chorus," and that of the old men in the
second part of the first act. He said that all his friends avoided him
and disappeared or went on the other side of the street. Some of the
more intimate told him that he must change his manner of writing as it
was so "unmelodious" and "advanced." This seems to me a most interesting
recollection, in view of the "cubist" music of Stravinsky and Co. of
to-day.
In thinking of Gounod we must not forget his period and his public. We
must realize that his operatic heroes and heroines must be approached
from an altogether idealistic attitude--never a materialistic one. See
the manner in which Gounod has taken Shakespeare's _Juliette_ and
translated her into an atmosphere of poetry. Nevertheless he constantly
intensifies his dramatic situations as the dramatic nature of the
composition demands.
His _Juliette_, though consistent with his idea of her throughout, is
not the _Juliet_ of Shakespeare. As also his _Marguerite_ is that of
Kaulbach and not the Gretchen of Goethe.
Of course, a great deal depends upon the training and school of the
artist interpreting the role. In my own interpretations I am governed by
certain art principles which seem very vital indeed to me. The figure of
the Mediaeval Princess _Elsa_ has to be represented with a restraint
quite opposed to that of the panting savage _Aida_. Also, the
palpitating, elemental _Tosca_ calls for another type of character
painting than, for instance, the modest, gestureless, timid and womanly
Japanese girl in Mascagni's _Iris_. These things are not taught in
schools by teachers. They come only after the prolonged study which
every conscientious artist must give to her roles. Gounod felt this very
strongly and impressed it upon me. All music had a meaning to him--an
inner meaning which the great mind invariably divines through a kind of
artistic intuition difficult to define. I remember his playing to me the
last act of _Don Giovanni_, which in his hands gained the grandeur and
depth of Greek tragedy. He had in his hands the power to thrill one to
the very utmost. Again he was keenly delighted with the most joyous
passages in music. He was exceptionally fond of Mozart. _Le Nozze di
Figaro_ was especially appreciated. He used to say, after accompanying
himself in the aria of Cherubino the Page, from the 1st act, "Isn't that
Spring? Isn't that youth? Isn't that the joy of life? How marvelously
Mozart has crystallized this wonderful exuberant spirit in his music!"
ONE REASON FOR GOUNOD'S EMINENCE
One reason for Gounod's eminence lay in his great reverence for his art.
He believed in the cultivation of reverence for one's art, as the
religious devotee has reverence for his cult. To Gounod his art was a
religion. To use a very expressive colloquialism, "He never felt himself
above his job." Time and again we meet men and women who make it a habit
to look down upon their work as though they were superior to it. They
are continually apologizing to their friends and depreciating their
occupation. Such people seem foreordained for failure. If one can not
regard the work one is engaged upon with the greatest earnestness and
respect--if one can not feel that the work is worthy of one's deepest
_reverence_, one can accomplish little. I have seen so much of this with
students and aspiring musicians that I feel that I would be missing a
big opportunity if I did not emphasize this fine trait in Gounod's
character. I know of one man in particular who has been going down and
down every year largely because he has never considered anything he has
had to do as worthy of his best efforts. He has always been "above his
job." If you are dissatisfied with your work, seek out something that
you think is really deserving of your labor, something commensurate with
your idea of a serious dignified occupation in which you feel that you
may do your best work. In most cases, however, it is not a matter of
occupation but an attitude of mind--the difference between an earnest
dignified worker and one who finds it more comfortable to evade work.
This is true in music as in everything else. If you can make your
musical work a cult as Gounod did, if you have talent--vision--ah! how
few have vision, how few can really and truly see--if you have the
understanding which comes through vision, there is no artistic height
which you may not climb.
One can not hope to give a portrait of Gounod in so short an interview.
One can only point out a few of his most distinguishing features. One
who enjoyed his magnificent friendship can only look upon it as a
hallowed memory. After all, Gounod has written himself into his own
music and it is to that we must go if we would know his real nature.
MME. FLORENCE EASTON
BIOGRAPHICAL
Mme. Florence Easton was born at Middleborough, Yorkshire, England, Oct.
25, 1887. At a very early age she was taken to Toronto, Canada, by her
parents, who were both accomplished singers. She was given a musical
training in youth with the view of making her a concert pianist. Her
teacher was J. A. D. Tripp, and at the age of eleven she appeared in
concert. Her vocal talents were discovered and she was sent to the Royal
Academy at London, England, where her teachers were Reddy and Mme. Agnes
Larkom, a pupil of Garcia. She then went to Paris and studied under
Eliot Haslam, an English teacher resident in the French metropolis. She
then took small parts in the well-known English Opera organization, the
Moody-Manners Company, acquiring a large repertoire in English. With her
husband, Francis Maclennen, she came to America to take the leading
roles in the Savage production of _Parsifal_, remaining to sing the next
season in _Madama Butterfly_. The couple were then engaged to sing for
six years at the Berlin Royal Opera and became wonderfully successful.
After three years at Hamburg and two years with the Chicago Opera
Company she was engaged for dramatic roles at the Metropolitan, and has
become a great favorite.
[Illustration: MME. FLORENCE EASTON.
(C) Mishkin.]
THE OPEN DOOR TO OPERA
MME. FLORENCE EASTON
What is the open door to opera in America? Is there an open door, and if
not, how can one be made? Who may go through that door and what are the
terms of admission? These are questions which thousands of young
American opera aspirants are asking just now.
The prospect of singing at a great opera house is so alluring and the
reward in money is often so great that students center their attentions
upon the grand prize and are willing to take a chance of winning, even
though they know that only one in a very few may succeed and then often
at bitter sacrifice.
The question is a most interesting one to me, as I think that I know
what the open door to opera in this country might be--what it may be if
enough patriotic Americans could be found to cut through the hard walls
of materialism, conventionalism and indifference. It lies through the
small opera company--the only real and great school which the opera
singer of the future can have.
THE SCHOOL OF PRIME DONNE
In European countries there are innumerable small companies capable of
giving good opera which the people enjoy quite as thoroughly as the
metropolitan audiences of the world enjoy the opera which commands the
best singers of the times. For years these small opera companies have
been the training schools of the great singers. Not to have gone through
such a school was as damaging an admission as that of not having gone
through a college would be to a college professor applying for a new
position. Lilli Lehmann, Schumann-Heink, Ruffo, Campanini, Jenny Lind,
Patti, all are graduates of these schools of practice.
In America there seems to have existed for years a kind of prejudice,
bred of ignorance, against all opera companies except those employing
all-star casts in the biggest theatres in the biggest cities. This
existed, despite the fact that these secondary opera companies often put
on opera that was superior to the best that was to be heard in some
Italian, German and French cities which possessed opera companies that
stood very high in the estimation of Americans who had never heard them.
It was once actually the case that the fact that a singer had once sung
in a smaller opera company prevented her from aspiring to sing in a
great opera company. America, however, has become very much better
informed and much more independent in such matters, and our opera goers
are beginning to resemble European audiences in that they let their ears
and their common sense determine what is best rather than their
prejudices and their conventions regarding reputation. It was actually
the case at one time in America that a singer with a great reputation
could command a large audience, whereas a singer of far greater ability
and infinitely better voice might be shut out because she had once sung
in an opera company not as pretentious as those in the big cities. This
seemed very comic indeed to many European singers, who laughed in their
coat sleeves over the real situation.
In the first place, the small companies in many cities would provide
more singers with opportunities for training and public appearances. The
United States now has two or three major opera companies. Count up on
your fingers the greatest number of singers who could be accommodated
with parts: only once or twice in a decade does the young singer, at the
age when the best formative work must be done, have a chance to attain
the leading roles. If we had in America ten or twenty smaller opera
companies of real merit, the chances would be greatly multiplied.
The first thing that the singer has to fight is stage fright. No matter
how well you may know a role in a studio, unless you are a very
extraordinary person you are likely to take months in acquiring the
stage freedom and ease in working before an audience. There is only one
cure for stage fright, and that is to appear continually until it wears
off. Many deserving singers have lost their great chances because they
have depended upon what they have learned in the studio, only to find
that when they went before a great and critical audience their ability
was suddenly reduced to 10 per cent., if not to zero. Even after years
of practice and experience in great European opera houses where I
appeared repeatedly before royalty, the reputation of the Metropolitan
Opera House in New York was so great that at the time I made my debut
there I was so afflicted by stage fright that my voice was actually
reduced to one-half of its force and my other abilities accordingly.
This is the truth, and I am glad to have young singers know it as it
emphasizes my point.
Imagine what the effect would have been upon a young singer who had
never before sung in public on the stage. Footlight paralysis is one of
the most terrifying of all acute diseases and there is no cure for it
but experience.
THE BEST BEGINNING
In the Moody Manners Company in England, the directors wisely understood
this situation and prepared for it. All the singers scheduled to take
leading roles (and they were for the most part very young singers, since
when the singer became experienced enough she was immediately stolen by
companies paying higher salaries) were expected to go for a certain time
in the chorus (not to sing, just to walk off and on the stage) until
familiar with the situation. Accordingly, my first appearance with the
Moody Manners Company was when I walked out with the chorus. I have
never heard of this being done deliberately by any other managers, but
think how sensible it is!
Again, it is far more advantageous for the young singer to appear in the
smaller opera house at first, so that if any errors are made the opera
goers will not be unforgiving. There is no tragedy greater than throwing
a young girl into an operatic situation far greater than her experience
and ability can meet, and then condemning her for years because she did
not rise to the occasion. This has happened many times in recent years.
Ambition is a beautiful thing; but when ambition induces one to walk
upon a tight rope over Niagara, without having first learned to walk
properly on earth, ambition should be restrained. I can recollect
several singers who were widely heralded at their first performances by
enthusiastic admirers, who are now no longer known. What has become of
them? Is it not better to learn the profession of opera singing in its
one great school, and learn it so thoroughly that one can advance in the
profession, just as one may advance in every other profession? The
singer in the small opera company who, night after night, says to
herself, "To-morrow it must be better," is the one who will be the Lilli
Lehmann, the Galli-Curci, or the Schumann-Heink of to-morrow; not the
important person who insists upon postponing her debut until she can
appear at the Metropolitan or at Covent Garden.
Colonel Henry W. Savage did America an immense service, as did the Aborn
Brothers and Fortune Gallo, in helping to create a popular taste for
opera presented in a less pretentious form. America needs such companies
and needs them badly, not merely to educate the public up to an
appreciation of the fact that the finest operatic performances in the
world are now being given at the Metropolitan Opera House, but to help
provide us with well-schooled singers for the future.
NECESSITY OF ROUTINE
Nothing can take the place of routine in learning operas. Many, many
opera singers I have known seem to be woefully lacking in it. In
learning a new opera, I learn all the parts that have anything to do
with the part I am expected to sing. In other words, I find it very
inadvisable to depend upon cues. There are so many disturbing things
constantly occurring on the stage to throw one off one's track. For
instance, when I made my first appearance in Mascagni's _Lodoletta_ I
was obliged to go on with only twenty-four hours' notice, without
rehearsal, in an opera I had seen produced only once. I had studied the
role only two weeks. While on the stage I was so entranced with the
wonderful singing of Mr. Caruso that I forgot to come in at the right
time. He said to me quickly _sotto voce_--
"_Canta! Canta! Canta!_"
And my routine drill of the part enabled me to come in without letting
the audience know of my error.
The mere matter of getting the voice to go with the orchestra, as well
as that of identifying cues heard in the unusual quality of the
orchestral instruments (so different from the tone quality of the
piano), is most confusing, and only routine can accustom one to being
ready to meet all of these strange conditions.
One is supposed to keep an eye on the conductor practically all of the
time while singing. The best singers are those who never forget this,
but do it so artfully that the audience never suspects. Many singers
follow the conductor's baton so conspicuously that they give the
appearance of monkeys on a string. This, of course, is highly ludicrous.
I don't know of any way of overcoming it but experience. Yes, there is
another great help, and that is musicianship. The conductor who knows
that an artist is a musician in fact, is immensely relieved and always
very appreciative. Singers should learn as much about the technical side
of music as possible. Learning to play the violin or the piano, and
learning to play it well is invaluable.
WATCHING FOR OPPORTUNITIES
The singer must be ever on the alert for opportunities to advance. This
is largely a matter of preparation. If one is capable, the opportunities
usually come. I wonder if I may relate a little incident which occurred
to me in Germany long before the war. I had been singing in Berlin, when
the impresario of the Royal Opera approached me and asked me if I could
sing _Aida_ on a following Monday. I realized that if I admitted that I
had never sung _Aida_ before, the thoroughgoing, matter-of-fact German
Intendant would never even let me have a chance. Emmy Destinn was then
the prima donna at the Royal Opera, and had been taken ill. The post was
one of the operatic plums of all Europe. Before I knew it, I had said
"Yes, I can sing _Aida_." It was a white lie, and once told, I had to
live up to it. I had never sung _Aida_, and only knew part of it.
Running home I worked all night long to learn the last act. Over and
over the role hundreds and hundreds of times I went, until it seemed as
though my eyes would drop out of my head. Monday night came, and thanks
to my routine experience in smaller companies, I had learned _Aida_ so
that I was perfectly confident of it. Imagine the strain, however, when
I learned that the Kaiser and the court were to be present. At the end I
was called before the Kaiser, who, after warmly complimenting me, gave
me the greatly coveted post in his opera house. I do not believe that he
ever found out that the little Toronto girl had actually fibbed her way
into an opportunity.
TALES OF STRAUSS
Strauss was one of the leading conductors while I was at the Royal Opera
and I sang under his baton many, many times. He was a real genius,--in
that once his art work was completed, his interest immediately centered
upon the next. Once while we were performing _Rosenkavalier_ he came
behind the scenes and said:
"Will this awfully _long_ opera never end? I want to go home." I said to
him, "But Doctor, you composed it yourself," and he said, "Yes, but I
never meant to conduct it."
Let it be explained that Strauss was an inveterate player of the German
card game, Scat, and would far rather seek a quiet corner with a few
choice companions than go through one of his own works night after
night. However, whenever the creative instinct was at work he let
nothing impede it. I remember seeing him write upon his cuffs (no doubt
some passing theme) during a performance of _Meistersinger_ he was
conducting.
THE SINGER'S GREATEST NEED
The singer's greatest need, or his greatest asset if he has one, is an
honest critic. My husband and I have made it a point never to miss
hearing one another sing, no matter how many times we have heard each
other sing in a role. Sometimes, after a big performance, it is very
hard to have to be told about all the things that one did not do well,
but that is the only way to improve. There are always many people to
tell one the good things, but I feel that the biggest help that I have
had through my career has been the help of my husband, because he has
always told me the places where I could improve, so that every
performance I had something new to think about. An artist never stands
still. He either goes forward or backward and, of course, the only way
to get to the top is by going forward.
The difficulty in America is in giving the young singers a chance after
their voices are placed. If only we could have a number of excellent
stock opera companies, even though there had to be a few traveling stars
after the manner of the old dramatic companies, where everybody had to
start at the bottom and work his way up, because with a lovely voice,
talent and perseverance anyone can get to the top if one has a chance to
work. By "work" I mean singing as many new roles as possible and as
often as possible and not starting at a big opera house singing perhaps
two or three times during a season. Just think of it,--the singer at a
small opera house has more chance to learn in two months than the
beginner at a big opera house might have in five years. After all, the
thing that is most valuable to a singer is time, as with time the voice
will diminish in beauty. Getting to the top via the big opera house is
the work of a lifetime, and the golden tones are gone before one really
has an opportunity to do one's best work.
[Illustration: GERALDINE FARRAR.]
GERALDINE FARRAR
BIOGRAPHICAL
Although one of the youngest of the noted American singers, none has
achieved such an extensive international reputation as Miss Farrar. Born
February 28, 1882, in Melrose, Mass., she was educated at the public
schools in that city. At the school age she became the pupil of Mrs. J.
H. Long, in Boston. After studying with several teachers, including Emma
Thursby, in New York, and Trabadello, in Paris, she went to Lilli
Lehmann in Berlin, and under this, the greatest of dramatic singers of
her time, Miss Farrar received a most thorough and careful training in
all the elements of her art. She made her debut as Marguerite in _Faust_
at the Royal Opera in Berlin, October 15th, 1901. Later, after touring
European cities with ever increasing successes, she was engaged at the
Opera Comique and Grand Opera, Paris, and then at the Metropolitan Opera
House in New York, where she has been the leading soprano for many
seasons. The many enticing offers made for appearances in moving
pictures led to a new phase of her career. In many pictures she has
appeared with her husband, M. Lou Tellegen, one of the most
distinguished actors of the French school, who at one time was the
leading man for Sarah Bernhardt.
The following conference is rich in advice to any young woman who
desires to know what she must do in order to become a prima donna.
WHAT MUST I GO THROUGH TO BECOME A PRIMA DONNA?
MME. GERALDINE FARRAR
What must I do to become a prima donna? Let us reverse the usual method
of discussing the question and begin with the artist upon the stage in a
great opera house like the Metropolitan in New York, on a gala night,
every seat sold and hundreds standing. It is a modern opera with a
"heavy" score. What is the first consideration of the singer?
Primarily, an artist in grand opera must _sing_ in some fashion to
insure the proper projection of her role across the large spaces of the
all-too-large auditoriums. Those admirable requisites of clear diction,
facial expression and emotional appeal will be sadly hampered unless the
medium of sound carries their message. It is only from sad experience
that one among many rises superior to some of the disadvantages of our
modern opera repertoire. Gone are the days when the facile vocalist was
supported by a small group of musicians intent upon a discreet
accompaniment for the benefit of the singer's vocal exertions. Voices
trained for the older repertoire were not at the mercy of an enlarged
orchestra pit, wherein the over-zealous gentlemen now fight--_furioso ad
libitum_--for the supremacy of operatic effects.
An amiable musical observer once asked me why we all shouted so in
opera. I replied by a question, asking if he had ever made an
after-dinner speech. He acquiesced. I asked him how many times he rapped
on the table for attention and silence. He admitted it was rather often.
I asked him why. He said, so that he might be heard. He answered his own
question by conceding that the carrying timbre of a voice cannot compete
successfully against even banquet hall festivities unless properly
focused out of a normal speaking tone. The difference between a small
room and one seating several hundred is far greater than the average
auditor realizes. If the mere rattling of silver and china will eclipse
this vocal effort in speech I leave to your imagination what must
transpire when the singer is called upon to dominate with one thread of
song the tremendous onslaught of an orchestra and to rise triumphant
above it in a theater so large that the faithful gatherers in the
gallery tell me we all look like pigmies, and half the time are barely
heard. Since the recesses where we must perform are so exaggerated
everything must be in like proportion, hence we are very often too
noisy, but how can it be otherwise if we are to influence the eager
taxpayer in row X? After all, he has not come to hear us _whisper_, and
his point of vantage is not so admirable as if he were sitting at a
musical comedy in a small theater. For this condition the size of the
theater and the instrumentation imposed by the composer are to be
censured, and less blame placed upon the overburdened shoulders of the
vocal competitor against these odds. Little shading in operatic tone
color is possible unless an accompanying phrase permits it or the
trumpeter swallows a pin!
LUCIA OR ZAZA
If your repertoire is _The Barber_, _Lucia_, _Somnambula_ and all such
Italian dainties, well and good. Nothing need disturb the complete
enjoyment of this lace-work. But if your auditors weep at _Butterfly_
and _Zaza_ or thrill to _Pagliacci_, they demand you use a quite
different technic, which comes to the point of my story.
I believe it was Jean de Reszke who advocated the voice "in the mask"
united to breath support from the diaphragm. From personal observation I
should say our coloratura charmers lay small emphasis on that highly
important factor and use their head voices with a freedom more or less
God given. But the power and life-giving quality of this fundamental
cannot be too highly estimated for us who must color our phrases to suit
modern dramatics and evolve a carrying quality that will not only
eliminate the difficulty of vocal demands, but at the same time insure
immunity from harmful after-effects. This indispensable twin of the head
voice is the dynamo which alone must endure all the necessary fatigue,
leaving the actual voice phrases free to float unrestricted with no
ignoble distortions or possible signs of distress. Alas! it is not easy
to write of this, but the experience of years proves how vital a point
is its saving grace and how, unfortunately, it remains an unknown factor
to many.
To note two of our finest examples of greatness in this marvelous
profession, Lilli Lehmann and Jean de Reszke, neither of whom had
phenomenal vocal gifts, I would point out their remarkable mental
equipment, unceasing and passionate desire for perfection, paired with
an unerring instinct for the noble and distinguished such as has not
been found in other exponents of purely vocal virtuosity, with a few
rare exceptions, as Melba and Galli-Curci, for instance, to mention two
beautiful instruments of our generation.
The singing art is not a casual inspiration and it should never be
treated as such. The real artist will have an organized mental strategy
just as minute and reliable as any intricate machinery, and will under
all circumstances (save complete physical disability) be able to control
and dominate her gifts to their fullest extent. This is not learned in a
few years within the four walls of a studio,
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