Andreas Dippel. © Dupont.Andreas Dippel.© Dupont.
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 début at Bremen, inThe 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.
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 mostbitter 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 rôles 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 rôle of a stenographer or a dressmaker; and in the battle with Fate and Nature even the most ambitious mother must be defeated.
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 rôles 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 inPelleas and Melisande, orTristan und Isolde, orLa Bohêmeshemust have acquainted her mind with the historical conditions of the time indicated by the composer and librettist.
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 rôles 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.
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 usualmusical 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.
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 beautifulquality, 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 rôles 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 rôles. She should start with the simpler rôles; such as those of some of the lesser parts in the old Italian operas.Then, she may essay the leading rôles of, let us say,Traviata,Barber of Seville,Norma,Faust,Romeo and Juliet, andCarmen.
Instead of simple rôles, she seems inclined to spend her time uponIsolde,Mimi,ElsaorButterfly. It has become so, that now, when a new singer comes to me and wants to singToscaor some rôle that (sic) the so-called new orverissimoItalian school, I almost invariably refuse to listen. I ask them to sing something fromNormaorPuritaniorDinorahorLuciain which it is impossible for them to conceal their vocal faults. But no, they want to sing the big aria from the second act ofMadama 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 rôle, 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 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 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 début at the Grand Opera in Paris inRomeo 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 doingMargueriteorElisabethequally 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.
Mme. Emma Eames.Mme. Emma Eames.
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 Eugène Delacroix. This, however, was unconscious, and in no way affected his perfect sincerity in all he did.
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 wasvery 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 makeRomeo et Juliette,FaustandThe Redemptionso 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 sogreat 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 rôles, 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 perfectdiction, 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.
When I went to the opera for my hearing oraudition, 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 Opéra 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 début. These were years filled with many exasperating circumstances.
I went to Brussels after two years' study with Marchesi, having been promised my début there. I waskept 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. Gevaërt, 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 Opéra Comique many times but there was a demand for performances at the Grand Opéra. Accordingly Gounod added a ballet, which fitted it for performance at the Opéra. Apropos of this ballet, Gounod said to me, with no little touch of cynicism, "Now you shall see what kind of music aGa Gacan 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 début at the Grand Opéra 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 début previously inFaust, and fortunate it was, since the singer in question never attained more than mediocre success. Gounod still demandedas 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 Opéra Comique. There Massenet looked with disfavor upon my début before that of Sybil Sanderson. Massenet had brought fortunes to the Opéra 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 rôle ofJuliette. 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 Opéra 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 rôle at theGrand Opéra. The first performance of a debutante at the Grand Opéra 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.
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 æsthetic 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 uponGounod 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 ofFaust. 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'sJulietteand translated her into an atmosphere of poetry. Nevertheless he constantly intensifies his dramatic situations as the dramatic nature of the composition demands.
HisJuliette, though consistent with his idea of her throughout, is not theJulietof Shakespeare. As also hisMargueriteis that of Kaulbach and not the Gretchen of Goethe.
Of course, a great deal depends upon the trainingand school of the artist interpreting the rôle. In my own interpretations I am governed by certain art principles which seem very vital indeed to me. The figure of the Mediæval PrincessElsahas to be represented with a restraint quite opposed to that of the panting savageAïda. Also, the palpitating, elementalToscacalls for another type of character painting than, for instance, the modest, gestureless, timid and womanly Japanese girl in Mascagni'sIris. These things are not taught in schools by teachers. They come only after the prolonged study which every conscientious artist must give to her rôles. 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 ofDon 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 Figarowas 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 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 deepestreverence, 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 earnestdignified 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 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 rôles in the Savage production ofParsifal, remaining to sing the next season inMadama 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 rôles at the Metropolitan, and has become a great favorite.
Mme. Florence Easton. © Mishkin.Mme. Florence Easton.© Mishkin.
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.
In European countries there are innumerable small companies capable of giving good opera which the people enjoy quite as thoroughly as the metropolitanaudiences 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 offar 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 rôles. 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 rôle 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 whereI appeared repeatedly before royalty, the reputation of the Metropolitan Opera House in New York was so great that at the time I made my début 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.
In the Moody Manners Company in England, the directors wisely understood this situation and prepared for it. All the singers scheduled to take leading rôles (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 début 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 nowbeing given at the Metropolitan Opera House, but to help provide us with well-schooled singers for the future.
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'sLodolettaI 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 rôle 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 quicklysotto 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.
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 singAïdaon a following Monday. I realized that if I admitted that I had never sungAïdabefore, 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 singAïda." It was a white lie, and once told, I had to live up to it. I had never sungAïda, and only knew part of it. Running home I worked all night long to learn the last act. Over and over the rôle 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 learnedAïdaso 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.
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 performingRosenkavalierhe came behind the scenes and said:
"Will this awfullylongopera 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 farrather 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 ofMeistersingerhe was conducting.
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 rôle. 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 rôles 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.