Photo of Sarah Bernhardt. Signed: À la charmante Farrar souvenir d'une grande amitié, Sarah Bernhardt, 1915
But I had my New England "thinking-cap" firmly set on my shoulders. A little of this charming frivolity was enough, and one fine day I disappeared—back to the simple life of study and quiet with the great Lehmann; I shed the iridescence of my butterfly wings and became, for the nonce, a hard-working grub!
My stay in Paris was memorable to me as well by reason of the meeting with Sarah Bernhardt.
My admiration for this wonderful woman had ever been of the most fervent heroine worship, and when Madame Grau said: "Sarah wants to know you; when will you lunch with her?" I set the following day, for fear she might change her mind and I might thereby lose this privilege.
I see her still, standing slim and white in her long curling draperies at the entrance to her home, her keen eyes appraising me, her voice raised in cordial greeting. How we chattered! What things she had to say, and with what joy I listened!
She knew all about "Juliet"—much to my surprise—even to details, such as dress, innovationsinmise-en-scène, and how I tried to infuse the modern dramatic spirit into the measures of the opera. Then the conversation wandered to personalities; among the most cherished, our mutual great-hearted friend Coquelin, now, alas! gone to his last sleep these many years; books, and her obstreperous dogs, most conspicuous by their noisy presence. I was to enjoy her friendship from that day on. As I write, a recent photograph stands before me, bearing a tender inscription. A smile plays upon her face, despite her recent tragic affliction. She is in truth an element, ageless, fearless, dauntless!
It was good to be back for a short season in the autumn in Berlin, previous to my second departure for New York. The demonstration of the loyal Berliners at my return was beautiful, despite successes elsewhere. I was always to them "unsere Farrar."
Mysecond Metropolitan season opened pleasantly with a neat little success in the comparatively small rôle of Marguerite in "Mefistofele," which was produced for the benefit of Chaliapine, the great Russian basso. Unfortunately, owing to his dissatisfaction and disappointment at musical matters in general, nothing would induce him to return to America, and we thereby lost an artist unique in all he attempted and unparalleled in some of his typical Russian creations, such as "Boris" and "Ivan the Terrible."
January, 1908, saw me on my native heath in Boston. I sang four performances in six days—"Faust," "Madame Butterfly," "Elizabeth," "Pagliacci"—and the reception was a tornado of enthusiasm, to which the historic walls of the old Boston Theater resounded. The conservative Hub did not deserve such an appellation in the case of my welcome. I was filled with pride and gratitude.
My own home town also wanted to share in the festivities; whereupon a concert was arranged, andI returned to sing in the brick town hall that had first sheltered my early efforts. At the close of the programme I shook hands with every man, woman, and child who desired a close scrutiny and personal greeting—and you may be sure I was not allowed to abandon my place on the stage till all had availed themselves of this invitation.
The following morning the Mayor and several prominent townspeople called for me, and we visited the pupils of my former schools. They were all ready, in line, to greet me, flags in their hands.
When an address was suggested, I arose with alacrity—and introduced my friend Kate Douglas Wiggin, as speaker. Despite her surprise she rose gracefully to the occasion in a most flattering little speech, to the delight of her youthful hearers. I was, indeed, most fortunate to have had a Mistress of Ceremonies of such tact and charm.
Meanwhile Mr. Conried's failing health was necessitating a change of management at the Metropolitan, and the choice fell upon Mr. Gatti-Casazza, of La Scala, Milan, in conjunction with Andreas Dippel, the latter a member of our company and very popular with New York audiences. With contracts for Berlin, Paris, and New York, the old cry of "overwork" was dinned into myears, but less than ever was the moment for immediate rest possible. I was about to make a new contract with the Metropolitan under a different management, new artists were engaged who might reasonably be supposed to share some of the repertoire which I had not yet sung.
"AS PRETTY A FLOCK OF BIRDS AS ONE COULD FIND ON ANY FARM""AS PRETTY A FLOCK OF BIRDS AS ONE COULD FIND ON ANY FARM"
It behooved me to keep well within the public eye and to make my position as advantageous as I could under the new régime.
Not having acquaintance with Mr. Gatti-Casazza, I preferred signing my engagement with Mr. Dippel; but all our arguments came to naught when he found I was firm in my proposals to improve upon the old contract, and I sailed away in May with no more definite answer than "Au revoirin Paris" to him.
While singing there at the Opéra Comique, we again went over the same ground—futilely; and it was not till the following July in Berlin that I was able to arrange a several years' engagement which, in the light of the last years, I may reasonably conclude has been to nobody's dissatisfaction.
My third Metropolitan season started unhappily. I arrived ill and fagged; lamentable altercations took place between the new conductor, Mr. Toscanini, and myself, each having quite opposite ideasas to the merits of conductor and prima donna, respectively. The estrangement was complete after the opening performance of "Madame Butterfly," when we both lost our manners and our tempers in high-handed fashion.
Outside influences fanned resentment to a white heat, at least on my part; I was in a fury. The papers gave space to stupid fabrications and stories purporting to emanate from those speaking with authority, whose names, however, one could never discover.
Ill in mind and health, I was vexed enough to offer to buy my release from such bondage as I now lived in artistically. I was far from happy, and when I am not happy I cannot sing well. My one idea was to escape from all this turbulence and what seemed to me to be a hotbed of intrigue. I was a rebel, yes; but I was no dissembler, and I hated to come into contact with those in authority under present conditions. Every performance was an occasion of dread; things looked very dark for my peace of mind.
THE GOOSE GIRL IN "KÖNIGSKINDER"THE GOOSE GIRL IN "KÖNIGSKINDER"
Needless to say, I was not granted a release, but must struggle on during the closing weeks of the spring. I resigned myself to finish the season as best I could, but I was quite decided that whenthe roll call came the following autumn I would spend my winter quietly in Berlin. That was all to be changed, however, by the very unexpected and friendly overtures which Mr. Toscanini, to my great surprise, made one memorable evening of "Madame Butterfly" in Chicago.
When two ardent and honest workers are desirous of eliminating misunderstandings it is not difficult to arrive at a solution. The various phases of the seething disquiet that had prevailed between us were discussed with commendable frankness on both sides. I need not add that the result was a happy one, and I thereby gained a firm friend and an invaluable ally in my work.
We sealed our differences in a joint curtain call, that same evening, before a jammed house that was fully aware of the significance of our unusual appearance together, and gave way to tumultuous and approving applause.
It would be difficult to estimate justly the influence Mr. Toscanini has had in the musical development of our opera, the artistic direction of which he rightly controls. Personally I am, as in the case of Lilli Lehmann, far more indebted to him than I can properly place in words, certainly more than he, with a morbid dislike for any publicattention to himself, would perhaps allow me to admit.
Lehmann—Bernhardt—Toscanini! These are names to conjure with in the career of a young artist!
Events in the operatic aviary were now destined to proceed more or less smoothly for me—for a while at least. In the spring of 1909 I was urged to give some special performances of "La Tosca" at the Opéra Comique in Paris, with Antonio Scotti in his admirable characterization of Scarpia. The success of the opera was most gratifying, and was in no wise overshadowed by the presence of the Metropolitan Company, which had come from the United States to sing in Paris at the same time.
That same spring, before sailing, Toscanini had asked me to sing Puccini's "Manon" with the Metropolitan Company during its Paris season. But the rôle was unfamiliar to me, and as I had monopolized the more popular Massenet's "Manon," I felt I could not undertake its preparation in six days of ocean travel, together with my promised performances of Tosca at another theater. Toscanini quite understood this, made no further insistence, and the charming Lucretia Bori wasintroduced to the Parisian public and later came to delight her New York admirers.
Photo of Kate Douglas Wiggin
What transpired to offend Puccini I never knew, but the trivial question of my not singing his "Manon" provoked our first argument relative to "The Girl of the Golden West." The production of this long-awaited opera from the popular composer was the one topic of discussion and speculation in musical circles, itspremièrebeing scheduled for the following autumn in New York.
While I had never had the promise of the rôle, the very subject and its appeal to the American public would seem to have indicated the choice of a native prima donna. Not only I, but a large majority of an interested public expected it. However, Puccini himself dispelled any such illusion by opening an argument, while I was singing in a drawing-room, to the effect that I had refused to sing his "Manon" because I had not been asked to create "The Girl." This was really a little too much, and I retorted that such was not the case, but that it might be well for him to consider the eventual popularity of his work with an American singer as the heroine, and that I was not aware he had changed his usual suave style of composition to such an extent that the most popular "Madame Butterfly"could not cope with its difficulties. With this I sailed out of the room.
Possibly the crowded aspect of the house at some performances at which I sang the following autumn, and which he attended, modified his opinion, for he was effusive in compliments and photographs, and the slight cloud blew over without further parley.
Afterward I was to be consoled by as gratifying a success as my heart could wish as the "Goose Girl." December 28, 1910, saw thepremièreof the charming "Königskinder," which enchanted the audience by reason of its lovely simplicity and the introduction of live geese—no less!
MISS FARRAR AND CARUSO IN "JULIAN"MISS FARRAR AND CARUSO IN "JULIAN"
Professor Humperdinck was not a little taken aback when I first mentioned that I intended having these live geese which were, according to my plan, to move naturally and unconfined about the stage. Mr. Hertz, the conductor, was much perturbed and objected to the noise and confusion they might create; but Mr. Gatti was resigned to my whim and gave assent. So with the help of our technical director and the "boys" behind the stage I had as pretty a flock of birds as one could find on any farm. When the curtain rose upon that idyllic forest scene, with the goose girl in the grass, thegeese unconcernedly picking their way about, now and again spreading snowy wings, unafraid, the house was simply delighted and applauded long and vigorously. Not to be overlooked was the sympathetic appeal of the children's beloved Fiddler, in the person of Goritz. This operatic fairy-tale held an enviable place in the regular repertoire for three years, and was one of my happiest successes.
Following this I was to create a work of a type quite different from any other I had ever essayed. Had it not been for Toscanini's urging I should hardly have chosen "Ariane et Barbe Bleue" as a medium for my ambitions. While the production was highly interesting, I cannot say that I am much in sympathy with the vague outlines of the modern French lyric heroines; "Mélisande" and "Ariane" I think can be better entrusted to artists of a less positive type.
Theseason of 1913-14 came very near proving disastrous for me. After repeated danger signals, at last overtaxed Nature took her revenge. I was unable to cope successfully with a bad attack of bronchitis, which made me lose the opening night. Some days afterward, still ill, I was obstinate enough to insist on a "Madame Butterfly" performance, and I collapsed completely in a "Faust" performance later that same week.
I shall never forget my state of mind. Despair overcame me. The awful nightmare had come to pass. I should probably never sing again! Then there flashed through my mind: How should I endure this enforced inactivity? Daily, hourly, I waited, and watched, and coaxed a betterment of my physical condition, which, after all, was at the bottom of my minor vocal troubles. Outside, a generous and affectionate public had not forgotten me, while Mr. Gatti was most kind and patient with this fretful songbird.
"CARMEN""CARMEN"
One day I judged myself at last ready to venture a performance. Upon my appearance I was greeted with such welcoming applause as threatened to interfere with my continuance of the opera. My heart was full of gratitude as I bowed and bowed my thanks. By dint of care and caution I was able to finish the season with credit, even taking the fatiguing trip to Atlanta, Georgia, prior to sailing, in order not to disappoint that loyal and enthusiastic public. That year, too, was the Americanpremièreof the long-awaited sequel to "Louise"—"Julian," a hodge-podge of operatic efforts that brought little satisfaction to anybody concerned in it. To my surprise the repellent characterization of the gutter-girl in its last act moved some critical craniums to speculate favorably on the ultimate success of "Carmen," should I ever attempt this rôle.
My summer was a long one of quiet and absolute rest. When I was ready to sail home Europe was beginning to seethe in her terrible conflict. I raced from Munich to Amsterdam to get an available neutral steamer; but the prevailing confusion and panic occasioned by the fall of Antwerp and mine disasters in the northern waters made it advisable for me to follow Mr. Gatti's insistent message to join him and the company immediately at Naples.
Ah, that journey to the end of Italy! Shall I everforget it? Fortunately, Mr. Gatti had been able to assemble all his songsters—with the exception of Gilly, our French barytone, a prisoner of war in Austria—and we were to enjoy an agreeable and uneventful ocean trip home.
It was while on shipboard, discussing the repertoire, that Toscanini suggested the immediate preparation of "Carmen" for my first appearance of the season. I jumped at the idea, the more so since I should have a rôle I had always longed to sing and which favored me as I had rarely been favored. Here was indeed an occasion to refute many an unkind rumor that I had lost my voice and would never sing again. And as for the acting, and looking—well, I smiled into the miserable little glass in my stateroom that did duty as a mirror, and blew myself a kiss of congratulation! Daily rehearsals were called, and I worked like a slave in the little stuffy dining-room of the ship to the accompaniment of a piano no better than it should be.
Many a gypsy had come and gone, leaving New York mildly indifferent. There had been but one fascinating, unforgettable creature within our memory, the incomparable Calvé! Not one leaf of her coronet of laurel had so much as quivered!
WORK AND PLAY IN CALIFORNIA
WORK AND PLAY IN CALIFORNIWORK AND PLAY IN CALIFORNIA
The eventful evening came at last, and I need not dwell upon the wonderful success that attended the brilliant revival of this well-loved opera under Toscanini's splendid direction.
Later in the same season was to come the amusing "Madame Sans Gêne," chiefly interesting for its novelty and touches of comedy.
Added to the fortunate operatic successes, I had made several concerttournées, my contract with the record-makers had been rigidly kept, and to succeed in all these artistic directions, the well-being of the voice had ever primarily to be considered.
When the fateful time came that I paid the toll of overwork and my throat was temporarily crippled, my mind was doubly alive and in acute anguish. Inactivity to me has always been something not to be borne. I must have a vital interest with which to stimulate my energies and fancies.
It was during those discouraging days that I bethought me of the very ardent advances that had been made to me relative to the moving pictures. Perhaps there was another field of expression, not to mention the very flattering financial considerations that were to accompany the offer, did I allow myself to be persuaded.
No small amount of half-hearted condemnationand significant shoulder shrugging accompanied the announcement that I might seriously consider such a proposal.
"Oh, Geraldine! How can you?" I heard on every hand.
But why shouldn't I? I have never been the overcautious prima donna, swathed in cotton, silent, save for singing, for fear of undue fatigue upon the voice—the human vocalizer! No. I like the novel and the unusual always, and Iadoreto act!
My friendship with the family of David Belasco, and his son-in-law, Mr. Gest, having large interests in the moving pictures, led me finally to accede to their request; and I signed a contract which promised to be (and fulfilled happily!) as successful a venture as any I have ever undertaken.
My arrival in Los Angeles, the beautifully appointed house there, the special studio built for my privacy and convenience are of too recent an interest to reiterate here. The experience itself was novel and refreshing, with its own unusual dramatic procedure. I sang and declaimed my rôle in French or Italian as I chose. There was no curtain to go up! The director-general replaced the harassed stage manager and gave the signal: "Camera! Go!" No fiery leader overwhelmed me with the feverish tempest of his orchestra; just a watchful operator warily turning the crank of his machine while I evolved my "scenes" as I wished.
My "Carmen" has made her screen début, and many of you have doubtless seen it. I have been delighted at its success, and feel that its artistic excellence and the enthusiastic approbation it has met speak loudly enough in favor of my departure from the usual routine of the prima donna.
I have been asked, in summing up these experiences of my artistic career, so far, if it has all been worth while? From my point of view, yes. That is, what you believe to be the most complete fulfillment of yourself and the gratification of your ambitions is always worth while. Fortunately for me the adventurous and inquiring turn of my mind does not allow my ambitions to become narrowed or stationary, and that may possibly account for the unusual phases in my musical career.
It is, however, distinctlynotworth while, to my mind, unless Fortune smiles upon you in abundance, for art is not the medium stratum of life, but its flowered inspiration and emotional poetry: it demands and obtains its sacrifices and sorrows which modify and chasten its glory, and your own soul best knows the toll you pay.
Personally I would not encourage the graduate of the church choir, or the youthful miss with the pretty voice and smug mind, to embark upon a grand-opera career, such as I have come to understand it. By that, I mean the exceptional career that demands the big outlook and risk in all one attempts—the sacrifices, the unceasing toil, an iron constitution, invulnerable nerves, to say nothing of the financial security involved, according to the magnitude of the undertaking. With the many who earn a comfortable livelihood by their agreeable song I have no question, being, as I said before, solely concerned with the exceptional gift that will not be denied, that brushes aside all obstacles, to proceed on the path of wide appeal in any branch of art or occupation.
When intelligent people will begin to open their minds and refuse to be cajoled by flattery and hypocrisy as to what constitutes "an artistic career," it may be better for American art in general and easier for the girl who cherishes high ambitions.
How many aimless letters fill the musical columns with admirable advice on a profession of which the writers betray their naïve ignorance by the general vacuity of their remarks, when presuming to measure an artist's impulses and inspirationsby their own personal standards and emotions! Let the artist develop in his own orbit, according to his light, nor criticize the method of the fruition of those gifts he so generously flings to his hearers.
MISS FARRAR AND MR. LOU TELLEGENMISS FARRAR AND MR. LOU TELLEGEN
And now, in closing, I have purposely left till the last, my affectionate tribute of gratitude and remembrance toward that vital factor in these later years of my career, whose esteem constantly spurs me on to my best efforts and whose support I trust I may enjoy for many years to come: the discerning, generous and appreciative American public!
Note:Soon after writing the last pages of this book Miss Farrar announced her engagement to Mr. Lou Tellegen, a talented young actor well known to Americans since he first came here five or six years ago as leading man with Madame Sarah Bernhardt. The picture on the preceding page was taken at the City Hall, New York, just after Miss Farrar and Mr. Tellegen had secured their marriage license. They were married at Miss Farrar's home February 8.
Note:Soon after writing the last pages of this book Miss Farrar announced her engagement to Mr. Lou Tellegen, a talented young actor well known to Americans since he first came here five or six years ago as leading man with Madame Sarah Bernhardt. The picture on the preceding page was taken at the City Hall, New York, just after Miss Farrar and Mr. Tellegen had secured their marriage license. They were married at Miss Farrar's home February 8.
The Riverside PressCAMBRIDGE—MASSACHUSETTSU. S. A