Geraldine Farrar.Geraldine Farrar.
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 début as Marguerite inFaustat 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 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 mustsingin some fashion to insure the proper projection of her rôle 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 uswhisper, 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 overburdenedshoulders 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!
If your repertoire isThe Barber,Lucia,Somnambulaand all such Italian dainties, well and good. Nothing need disturb the complete enjoyment of this lace-work. But if your auditors weep atButterflyandZazaor thrill toPagliacci, they demand you use a quite different technic, which comes to the point of my story.
I believe it was Jean de Reszke who advocated the voice "in the mask" united to breath support from the diaphragm. From personal observation I should say our coloratura charmers lay small emphasis on that highly important factor and use their head voices with a freedom more or less God given. But the power and life-giving quality of this fundamental cannot be too highly estimated for us who must color our phrases to suit modern dramatics and evolve a carrying quality that will not only eliminate the difficulty of vocal demands, but at the same time insure immunity from harmful after-effects. This indispensable twin of the head voice is the dynamo which alone must endure all the necessary fatigue, leaving the actual voice phrases free to float unrestricted with no ignoble distortions or possible signs of distress. Alas! it is not easy to write of this, but the experience of years proves how vital a point is its saving grace and how, unfortunately, it remains an unknown factor to many.
To note two of our finest examples of greatness in this marvelous profession, Lilli Lehmann and Jean de Reszke, neither of whom had phenomenal vocal gifts, I would point out their remarkable mental equipment, unceasing and passionate desire for perfection, paired with an unerring instinct for the noble and distinguished such as has not been found in other exponents of purely vocal virtuosity, with a few rare exceptions, as Melba and Galli-Curci, for instance, to mention two beautiful instruments of our generation.
The singing art is not a casual inspiration and it should never be treated as such. The real artist will have an organized mental strategy just as minute and reliable as any intricate machinery, and will under all circumstances (save complete physical disability) be able to control and dominate her gifts to their fullest extent. This is not learned in a few years within the four walls of a studio, but is the result of a lifetime of painstaking care and devotion.
There was a time when ambition and overwork so told upon me that mistakenly I allowed myself to minimize my vocal practice. How wrong that was I found out in short time and I have returned long since to my earlier precepts as taught me by Lilli Lehmann.
In her book,How to Sing, there is much for the student to digest with profit, though possible reservations are advisable, dependent upon one's individual health and vocal resistance. Her strong conviction was, andis, that a voice requires daily and conscientious exercise to keep it strong and flexible. Having successfully mastered the older Italian rôles as a young singer, her incursion into the later-day dramatic and classic repertoire in no wise became an excuse to let languish the fundamental idea of beautiful sound. How vitally important and admirablybel cantosustained by the breath support has served her is readily understood when one remembers that she has outdistanced all the colleagues of her earlier career and now well over sixty, she is as indefatigable in her daily practice as we younger singers should be.
This brief extract about Patti (again quoting Lilli Lehmann) will furnish an interesting comparison:
In Adelina Patti everything was united—the splendid voice paired with great talent for singing, and the long oversight of her studies by her distinguished teacher, Strakosch. She never sang rôles that did not suit her voice; in her earlier years she sang only arias and duets or single solos, never taking part in ensembles. She never sang even her limited repertory when she was indisposed. She never attended rehearsals, but came to the theater in the evening and sang triumphantly, without ever having seen the persons who sang or acted with her. She spared herself rehearsals, which, on the day of the performance or the day before, exhaust all singers because of the excitement of all kinds attending them, and which contribute neither to the freshness of the voice nor to the joy of the profession.
Although she was a Spaniard by birth and an American by early adoption, she was, so to speak, the greatest Italian singer of my time. All was absolutely good, correct and flawless, the voice like a bell that you seemed to hear long after its singing had ceased. Yet she could give no explanation of her art, and answered all her colleagues' questions concerning it with "Ah, je n'en sais rien!" She possessed unconsciously, as a gift of nature, a union of all those qualities that other singers must attain and possess consciously. Her vocal organs stood in the most favorable relations to each other. Her talent and her remarkably trained ear maintained control over the beauty of her singing and her voice. Fortunate circumstances of her life preserved her from all injury. The purity and flawlessness of her tone, the beautiful equalization of her whole voice constituted the magic by which she held her listeners entranced. Moreover, she was beautiful and gracious in appearance. The accent of great dramatic power she did not possess, yet I ascribe this more to her intellectual indolence than to her lack of ability.
But how few of us would ever make a career if we waited for such favors from Nature!
Bearing in mind the absolute necessity and real joy in vocal work, it confounds and amazes me that teachers of this art feel their duty has been accomplished when they donate twenty minutes or half anhour to a pupil! I do not honestly believe this is a fair exchange, and it is certainly not within reason to believe that within so short a time a pupil can actually benefit by the concentration and instruction so hastily conferred upon her. If this be very plain speaking, it is said with the object to benefit the pupil only, for it is, after all,theywho must pay the ultimate in success or failure. An hour devoted to the minute needs of one pupil is not too much time to devote to so delicate a subject. An intelligent taskmaster will let his pupil demonstrate ten or fifteen minutes and during the same period of rest will discuss and awaken the pupil's interest from an intelligent point of view, that some degree of individuality may color even the drudgery of the classroom. A word of counsel from such a mistress of song as Lehmann or Sembrich is priceless, but the sums that pour into greedy pockets of vocal mechanics, not to say a harsher word, is a regretable proceeding. Too many mediocrities are making sounds. Too many of the same class are trying to instruct, but, as in politics, the real culprit is the people. As long as the public forbear an intelligent protest in this direction, just so long will the studios be crowded with pathetic seekers for fame. What employment these infatuated individuals enjoyed before the advent of grand opera and the movies became a possible exhaust pipe for their vanity is not clear, but they certainly should be discouraged. New York alone is crowded with aspirants for the stage, and their little bag of tricks is of very slender proportions. Let us do everything in our power to help the really worthy talent; but it is amistaken charity, and not patriotic, to shove singers and composers so called, of American birth, upon a weary public which perceives nothing except the fact that they are of native birth and have no talent to warrant such assumption.
I do not think the musical observers are doing the cause of art in this country a favor when columns are written about the inferior works of the non-gifted. An ambitious effort is all right in its way, but that is no reason to connect the ill-advised production with American hopes. On the contrary, it does us a bad turn. I shall still contend that the English language is not a pretty one for our vocal exploitations, and within my experience of the past ten years I have heard but one American work which I can sincerely say would have given me pleasure to create, that same being Mr. Henry Hadley's recently producedCleopatra's Night. His score is rich and deserving of the highest praise.
In closing I should like to quote again from Mme. Lehmann's book an exercise that would seem to fulfill a long-felt want:
"The great scale is the most necessary exercise for all kinds of voices. It was taught me by my mother. She taught it to all her pupils and to us."
Here is the scale as Lehmann taught it to me.
musical notation: Breath Breath Breath Breath
It was sung upon all the principal vowels. It was extended stepwise through different keys over the entirerange of the two octaves of the voice. It was not her advice to practice it too softly, but it was done with all the resonating organs well supported by the diaphragm, the tone in a very supple and elastic "watery" state. She would think nothing of devoting from forty minutes to sixty minutes a day to the slow practice of this exercise. Of course, she would treat what one might call a heavy brunette voice quite differently from a bright blonde voice. These terms of blonde and brunette, of course, have nothing to do with the complexion of the individual, but to the color of the voice.
Lehmann said of this scale: "It is the only cure for all injuries, and at the same time the most excellent means of fortification against all over-exertion. I sing it every day, often twice, even if I have to sing one of the heaviest rôles in the evening. I can rely absolutely upon its assistance. I often take fifty minutes to go through it once, for I let no tone pass that is lacking in any degree in pitch, power, duration or in single vibration of the propagation form."
Personally I supplement this great scale often with various florid legato phrases of arias selected from the older Italians or Mozart, whereby I can more easily achieve the vocal facility demanded by the tessitura ofManonorFaustand change to the darker-hued phrases demanded inCarmenorButterfly.
But the open secret of all success is patient, never-ending, conscientiouswork, with a forceful emphasis on theWORK.
Johanna Gadski.Johanna Gadski.
Mme. Gadski was born at Anclam, Prussia, June 15, 1872. Her studies in singing were principally with Mme. Schroeder-Chaloupha. When she was ten years old she sang successfully in concert at Stettin. Her operatic début was made in Berlin, in 1889, in Weber'sDer Freischütz. She then appeared in the opera houses of Bremen and Mayence. In 1894 Dr. Walter Damrosch organized his opera company in New York and engaged Mme. Gadski for leading rôles. In 1898 she became high dramatic soprano with the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York, and the following year appeared at Covent Garden. She was constantly developing as a singer of Wagner rôles, notablyBrunhildeandIsolde. Her repertoire included forty rôles in all, and the demand for her appearance at festivals here and abroad became more and more insistent. She sang at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York until 1917, when the notoriety caused by the activities of her husband, Captain Hans Tauscher, American agent for large German weapon manufacturers, forced her to resign. Mme. Gadski made a close study of the Schumann Songs for years; and the following can not fail to be of artistic assistance to the singer.
One cannot delve very far into the works of Schumann without discovering that his gifts are peculiarly lyric. His melodic fecundity is all the more remarkable because of his strong originality. Even in many of his piano pieces, such asWarum?,Träumereior the famousSlumber Song, the lyric character is evident. Beautiful melodies which seem to lend themselves to the peculiar requirements of vocal music crop up every now and then in all his works. This is by no means the case with many of the other great masters. In some of Beethoven's songs, for instance, one can never lose sight of the fact that they are instrumental pieces. It was Schumann's particular privilege to be gifted with the acute sense of proportion which enabled him to estimate just what kind of an accompaniment a melody should have. Naturally some of his songs stand out far above others; and in these the music lover and vocal student will notice that there is usually a beautiful artistic balance between the accompaniment and the melody.
Another characteristic is the sense of propriety with which Schumann connected his melodies with the thought of the poems he employed. This is doubtlessdue to the extensive literary training he himself enjoyed. It was impossible for a man of Schumann's life experience to apply an inappropriate melody to any given poem. With some song writers, this is by no means the case. The music of one song would fit almost any other set of words having the same poetic metre. Schumann was continually seeking after a distinctive atmosphere, and this it is which gives many of his works their lasting charm.
Most of the greater Schumann songs are of a deliciously ultimate and delicate character. By this no one should infer that they are weak or spineless. Schumann was a deep student of psychology and of human life. In the majority of cases he eschewed the melodramatic. It is true that we have at least one song,The Two Grenadiers, which is melodramatic in the extreme; but this, according to the greatest judges, is not Schumann at his best. It was the particular delight of Schumann to take some intense little poem and apply to it a musical setting crowded full of deep poetical meaning. Again, he liked to paint musical pastels such asIm wunderschönen Monat Mai,FrühlingsnachtandDer Nussbaum. These songs are redolent with the fragrance of out-of-doors. There is not one jarring note. The indefinable beauty and inspiration of the fields and forests have been caught by the master and imprisoned forever in this wonderful music.
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, which comes from theDichterliebecycle, is indescribably delicate. It should be sung with great lightness and simplicity. Any effort toward a striving for effect would ruin this exquisite gem.Frühlingsnachtwith its wonderful accompaniment, which Franz Liszt thought so remarkable that he combined the melody and the accompaniment, with but slight alterations, and made a piano piece of the whole—is a difficult song to sing properly. If the singer does not catch the effervescent character of the song as a whole, the effect is lost. Any "dragging" of the tones destroys the wonderful exuberance which Schumann strove to connote. The balance between the singer and the accompanist must be perfect, and woe be to the singer who tries to singFrühlingsnachtwith a lumbering accompanist.
Der Nussbaumis one of the most effective and "thankful" of all the Schumann songs. Experienced public singers almost invariably win popular appreciation with this song. It is probably my favorite of all the Schumann songs. Here again delicacy and simplicity reign supreme. In fact simplicity in interpretation is the great requirement of all the art songs. The amateur singer seems to be continually trying to secure "effect" with these songs and the only result of this is affectation. If amateurs could only realize how hard the really great masters tried to avoid results that were to be secured by the cheap methods of "affectation" and "show," they would make their singing more simple. Success in singing art songs comes through theability of the artist to bring out the psychic, poetical and musical meaning of the song. There is no room for cheap vocal virtuosity. The great songs bear the sacred message of the best and finest in art. They represent the conscientious devotion of their composers to their loftiest ideals.
I have mentioned three songs which are representative, but there are numberless other songs which reveal the intimate and personal character of Schumann's works. One popular mistake regarding these songs which is quite prevalent is that of thinking that they can only be sung in tiny rooms and never in large auditoriums. Time and again I have achieved some of the best results I have ever secured on the concert stage with delicate intimate works sung before audiences of thousands of people. The size of the auditorium has practically nothing to do with the song. The method of delivery is everything. If the song is properly and thoughtfully delivered, the audience, though it be one of thousands, will sit "quiet as mice" and listen reverently to the end. However, if one of these songs were to be sung in a flamboyant, bombastic manner, by some singer infected with the idea that in order to impress a multitude of people an exaggerated style is necessary, the results would be ruinous. If overdone, they are never appreciated. Art is art. Rembrandt in one of his master paintings exhibits just the right artistic balance. A copy of the same painting might become a mere daub, with a few twists of some bungling amateur's brush. Let the young singer rememberthat the results that are the most difficult to get in singing the art song are not those by which she may hope to make a sensational impression by means of show, but those which depend first and always upon sincerity, simplicity and a deep study of the real meaning of the masterpiece.
Up to the time Schumann was thirty years of age (1840), his compositions were confined to works for the piano. These piano works include some of the very greatest and most inspired of his compositions for the instrument. In 1840 Schumann married Clara Wieck, daughter of his former pianoforte teacher. This marriage was accomplished only after the most severe opposition imaginable upon the part of the irate father-in-law, who was loath to see his daughter, whom he had trained to be one of the foremost pianists of her sex, marry an obscure composer. The effect of this opposition was to raise Schumann's affection to the condition of a kind of fanaticism. All this made a pronounced impression upon his art and seemed to make him long for expression through the medium of his love songs. He wrote to a friend at this time, "I am now writing nothing but songs great and small. I can hardly tell you how delightful it is to write for the voice, as compared with instrumental composition; and what a tumult and strife I feel within me as I sit down to it. I have brought forth quite new things in this line." In letters to his wife he is quite as impassionedover his song writing as the following quotations indicate: "Since yesterday morning, I have written twenty-seven pages of music (something new of which I can tell you nothing more than that I have laughed and wept for joy in composing them). When I composed them my soul was within yours. Without such a bride, indeed no one could write such music; once more I have composed so much that it seems almost uncanny. Alas! I cannot help it: I could sing myself to death like a nightingale."
During the first year of his marriage Schumann wrote one hundred of the two hundred and forty-five songs that are attributed to him. In the published collections of his works, there are three songs attributed to Schumann which are known to be from the pen of his talented wife. As in his piano compositions Schumann avoided long pieces and preferred collections of comparatively short pieces, such as those in theCarnaval,Kreisleriana,Papillons, so in his early works for the voice Schumann chose to write short songs which were grouped in the form of cycles. Seven of these cycles are particularly well known. They are here given together with the best known songs from each group.
Critics seem to be agreed that Schumann's talent gradually deteriorated as his mental disease increased. Consequently, with but few exceptions his best song works are to be found among his early vocal compositions. I have tried repeatedly to bring forth some of the lesser known songs of Schumann and have time and again devoted long periods to their study, butapparently the public, by an unmistakable indication of lack of approval, will have none of them.
Evidently, the songs by which Schumann is now best known are his best works from the standpoint of popular appreciation. Popular approval taken in the aggregate is a mighty determining factor. The survival of the fittest applies to songs as well as to other things in life. This is particularly so in the case of the four famous songs,Die beiden Grenadiere,Widmung,Der NussbaumandIch grolle nicht, which never seem to diminish in popularity.
Schumann's fervid imagination readily led to a love for the romantic. His early fondness for the works of Jean Paul developed into a kind of life tendency, which resulted in winning him the title of the "Tone-Poet of Romanticism." Few of his songs, however, are really dramatic.Waldesgespräch, which Robert Franz called a pianoforte piece with a voice part added, is probably the best of Schumann's dramatic-romantic songs. I have always found that audiences are very partial to this song; and it may be sung by a female voice as well as the male voice. TheTwo Grenadiersis strictly a man's song.Ich grolle nicht, while sung mostly by men, may, like theErl-Kingof Schubert, be sung quite as successfully by women singers possessing the qualities of depth and dramatic intensity.
I have already mentioned the necessity for simplicity in connection with the interpretation of the Schumann songs. I need not tell the readers of these pages that the proper interpretation of these songs requires a much more extensive and difficult kind of preparatory work than the more showy coloratura works which to the novice often seem vastly more difficult. The very simplicity of the Schubert and Schumann songs makes them more difficult to sing properly than the works of writers who adopted a somewhat more complicated style. The smallest vocal discrepancies become apparent at once and it is only by the most intense application and great attention to detail that it is possible for the singer to bring her art to a standard that will stand the test of these simple, but very difficult works. Too much coloratura singing is liable to rob the voice of its fullness and is not to be recommended as a preparation for the singer who would become a singer of the modern art songs. This does not mean that scales and arpeggios are to be avoided. In fact the flexibility and control demanded of the singers of art songs are quite as great as that required of the coloratura singer. The student must have her full quota of vocal exercises before she should think of attempting the Schumann Lieder.
Americans seem to be particularly fond of Schumann. When artists are engaged for concert performances it is the custom in this country to present optional programs to the managers of the local concert enterprises. These managers represent all possible kinds of taste. It is the experience of most concert artists that the Schumann selections are almost invariably chosen. This is true of the West as well as of the South and East. One section of the program is without exception devoted to what they call classical songs and by this they mean the best songs rather than the songs whose chief claim is that they are from the old Italian schools of Carissimi, Scarlatti, etc. I make it a special point to present as many songs as possible with English words. The English language is not a difficult language in which to sing; and when the translation coincides with the original I can see no reason why American readers who may not be familiar with a foreign tongue should be denied the privilege of understanding what the song is about. If they do not understand, why sing words at all? Why not vocalize the melodies upon some vowel? Songs, however, were meant to combine poetry and music; and unless the audience has the benefit of understanding both, it has been defrauded of one of its chief delights.
Some German poems, however, are almost untranslatable. It is for this reason that many of the works of Löwe, for instance, have never attained wide popularity.The legends which Löwe employed are often delightful, but the difficulties of translation are such that the original meaning is either marred or destroyed. The songs or ballads of Löwe, without the words, do not seem to grasp American audiences and singers find it a thankless task to try to force them upon the public.
I have been so long in America that I feel it my duty to share in popularizing the works of the many talented American composers. I frequently place MacDowell's beautiful songs on my programs; and the works of many other American composers, including Mrs. H. H. A. Beach, Sidney Homer, Frank Le Forge and others make fine concert numbers. It has seemed to me that America has a large future in the field of lyric composition. American poets have long since won their place in the international Hall of Fame. The lyrical spirit which they have expressed verbally will surely be imbued in the music of American composers. The opportunity is already here. Americans demand the best the world can produce. It makes no difference what the nationality of the composer. However, Americans are first of all patriotic; and the composer who produces real lyric masterpieces is not likely to be asked to wait for fame and competence, as did Schubert and Schumann.
Mme. Amelita Galli-Curci. © Victor Georg.Mme. Amelita Galli-Curci.© Victor Georg.
Mme. Galli-Curci was born at Milan, November 18th, 1889, of a family distinguished in the arts and in the professions. She entered the Milan Conservatory, winning the first prize and diploma in piano playing in 1903. For a time after her graduation she toured as a pianist and then resolved to become a singer. She is practically self-taught in the vocal art. Her début was made in Rome at the Teatro Constanzi, in the rôle ofGildainRigoletto. She was pronouncedly successful from the very start. During the next six years she sang principally in Italy, South America (Three Tours), and in Spain, her success increasing with every appearance. In 1916 she appeared at Chicago with the Chicago Opera Company, creating a furore. The exceptionally beautiful records of her interpretations created an immense demand to hear her in concert, and her successes everywhere have been historic. Not since Patti has there been a singer upon whom such wide-spread critical comment has been made in praise of her exquisite velvety quality of tone, vocal technic and interpretative intelligence. Hailed as "Patti's only successor," she has met with greater popular success in opera and concert than any of the singers of recent years. In 1921 she married the gifted American composer, Homer Samuels, who for many years had been the pianist upon her tours.
Just what influence heredity may have upon the musical art and upon musicians has, of course, been a much discussed question. In my own case, I was fortunate in having a father who, although engaged in another vocation, was a fine amateur musician. My grandfather was a conductor and my grandmother was an opera singer of distinction in Italy. Like myself, she was a coloratura soprano, and I can recollect with joy her voice and her method of singing. Even at the age of seventy-five her voice was wonderfully well preserved, because she always sang with the greatest ease and with none of the forced throat restrictions which make the work of so many singers insufferable.
My own musical education began at the age of five, when I commenced to play the piano. Meanwhile I sang around the house, and my grandmother used to say in good humor: "Keep it up, my dear; perhaps some day you may be a better singer than I am." My father, however, was more seriously interested in instrumental music, and desired that I should become a pianist. How fortunate for me! Otherwise, I should never have had that thorough musical drill which gave me an acquaintance with the art which I cannot believe could come in any other way. Mascagni was avery good friend of our family and took a great interest in my playing. He came to our house very frequently, and his advice and inspiration naturally meant much to a young, impressionable girl.
My general education was very carefully guarded by my father, who sent me to the best schools in Milan, one of which was under the management of Germans, and it was there that I acquired my acquaintance with the German language. I was then sent to the Conservatorio, and graduated with a gold medal as a pianist. This won me some distinction in Italy and enabled me to tour as a pianist. I did not pretend to play the big, exhaustive works, but my programs were made up of such pieces as theAbegof Schumann, studies by Scharwenka, impromptus of Chopin, the four scherzos of Chopin, the first ballade, the nocturnes (the fifth in the book was my favorite) and works of Bach. (Of course, I had been through the Wohltemperiertes Clavier.) In those days I was very frail, and I had aspired to develop my repertoire so that later I could include the great works for the piano requiring a more or less exhaustive technic of the bravura type.
Once I went to hear Busoni, and after the concert, came to me like a revelation, "You can never be such a pianist as he. Your hand and your physical strength will not permit it." I went home in more or less sadness, knowing that despite the success I had had in my piano playing, my decision was a wise one. Figuratively,I closed the lid of my piano upon my career as a pianist and decided to learn how to sing. The memory of my grandmother's voice singing Bellini'sQui la Vocewas still ringing in my ears with the lovely purity of tone that she possessed. Mascagni called upon us at that time, and I asked him to hear me sing. He did so, and threw up his hands, saying, "Why in the world have you been wasting your time with piano playing when you have a natural voice like that? Such voices are born. Start to work at once to develop your voice." Meanwhile, of course, I had heard a great deal of singing and a great deal of so-called voice teaching. I went to two teachers in Milan, but was so dissatisfied with what I heard from them and from their pupils that I was determined that it would be necessary for me to develop my own voice. Please do not take this as an inference that all vocal teachers are bad or are dispensable. My own case was peculiar. I had been saturated with musical traditions since my babyhood. I had had, in addition, a very fine musical training. Of course, without this I could not have attempted to do what I did in the way of self-training. Nevertheless, it is my firm conviction that unless the student of singing has in his brain and in his soul those powers of judging for himself whether the quality of a tone, the intonation (pitch), the shading, the purity and the resonance are what they should be to insure the highest artistic results, it will be next to impossible for him to secure these. This is what is meant by the phrase—"singers are born and notmade." The power of discrimination, the judgment, etc., must be inherent. No teacher can possibly give them to a pupil, except in an artificial way. That, possibly, is the reason why so many students sing like parrots: because they have the power of mimicry, but nothing comes from within. The fine teacher can, of course, take a fine sense of tonal values, etc., and, provided the student has a really good natural voice, lead him to reveal to himself the ways in which he can use his voice to the best advantage. Add to this a fine musical training, and we have a singer. But no teacher can give to a voice that velvety smoothness, that liquid fluency, that bell-like clarity which the ear of the educated musician expects, and which the public at large demands, unless the student has the power of determining for himself what is good and what is bad.
It was no easy matter to give up the gratifying success which attended my pianistic appearances to begin a long term of self-study, self-development. Yet I realized that it would hardly be possible for me to accomplish what I desired in less than four years. Therefore, I worked daily for four years, drilling myself with the greatest care in scales, arpeggios and sustained tones. The colorature facility I seemed to possess naturally, to a certain extent; but I realized that only by hard and patient work would it be possible to have all my runs, trills, etc., so that they always would be smooth, articulate and free—that is,unrestricted—at any time. I studied the rôles in which I aspired to appear, and attended the opera faithfully to hear fine singing, as well as bad singing.
As the work went on it became more and more enjoyable. I felt that I was upon the right path, and that meant everything. If I had continued as a pianist I could never have been more than a mediocrity, and that I could not have tolerated.
About this time came a crisis in my father's business; it became necessary for me to teach. Accordingly, I took a number of piano pupils and enjoyed that phase of my work very much indeed. I gave lessons for four years, and in my spare time worked with my voice, all by myself, with my friend, the piano. My guiding principles were:
There must be as little consciousness of effort in the throat as possible.There must always be the Joy of Singing.Success is based upon sensation, whether it feels right to me in my mouth, in my throat, that I know, and nobody else can tell me.
There must be as little consciousness of effort in the throat as possible.
There must always be the Joy of Singing.
Success is based upon sensation, whether it feels right to me in my mouth, in my throat, that I know, and nobody else can tell me.
I remember that my grandmother, who sangUna voce poco faat seventy-five, always cautioned me to never force a single tone. I did not study exercises like those of Concone, Panofka, Bordogni, etc., because they seemed to me a waste of time in my case. I did not require musical knowledge, but needed special drill. I knew where my weak spots were. What was the use of vocal studies which required me to do alot of work and only occasionally touched those portions of my voice which needed special attention? Learning a repertoire was a great task in itself, and there was no time to waste upon anything I did not actually need. Because of the natural fluency I have mentioned, I devoted most of my time to slower exercises at first. What could be simpler than this?
musical notation: Ex. 1
These, of course, were sung in the most convenient range in my voice. The more rapid exercises I took from C to F above the treble staff.
musical notation: Ex. 2
Even to this day I sing up to high F every day, in order that I may be sure that I have the tones to E below in public work. Another exercise which I used very frequently was this, in the form of a trill. Great care was taken to have the intonation (pitch) absolutely accurate in the rapid passages, as well as in the slow passages.
musical notation: Ex. 3
When I had reached a certain point, I determined that it might be possible for me to get an engagement. I was then twenty, and my dear mother was horrified at the idea of my going on the stage so young. She was afraid of evil influences. In my own mind I realized that evil was everywhere, in business, society, everywhere, and that if one was to keep out of dirt and come out dean, one must make one's art the object first of all. Art is so great, so all-consuming, that any one with a deep reverence for its beauties, its grandeur, can have but little time for the lower things of life. All that an artist calls for in his soul is to be permitted to work at his best in his art. Then, and then only, is he happiest. Because of my mother's opposition, and because I felt I was strong enough to resist the temptations which she knew I might encounter, I virtually eloped with a copy ofRigolettounder my arm and made my way for the Teatro Constanzi, the leading Opera House of Rome.
I might readily have secured letters from influential musical friends, such as Mascagni and others, but I determined that it would be best to secure an engagement upon my own merits, if I could, and then I would know whether or not I was really prepared to make my début, or whether I had better study more. I went to the manager's office and, appealing to his business sense, told him that, as I was a young unknown singer, he could secure my services for little money, and begged for permission to sing for him. I knew he was beset by such requests, but he immediately gave me a hearing,and I was engaged for one performance ofRigoletto. The night of the début came, and I was obliged to singCaro Nomeagain in response to a vociferous encore. This was followed by other successes, and I was engaged for two years for a South American tour, under the direction of my good friend and adviser, the great operatic director, Mugnone. In South America there was enthusiasm everywhere, but all the time I kept working constantly with my voice, striving to perfect details.
At the end of the South American tour I desired to visit New York and find out what America was like. Because of the war Europe was operatically impossible (it was 1916), but I had not the slightest idea of singing in the United States just then. By merest accident I ran into an American friend (Mr. Thorner) on Broadway. He had heard me sing in Italy, and immediately took me to Maestro Campanini, who was looking then for a coloratura soprano to sing for only two performances in Chicago, as the remainder of his program was filled for the year. This was in the springtime, and it meant that I was to remain in New York until October and November. The opportunity seemed like an unusual accident of fate, and I resolved to stay, studying my own voice all the while to improve it more and more. October and the début inRigolettocame. The applause astounded me; it was electric, like a thunderstorm. No one was more astonished than I. Engagements and offers came from everywhere, but not enough, I hope, to ever induce me not to believe that inthe vocal art one must continually strive for higher and higher goals. Laziness, indifference and lassitude which come with success are the ruin of Art and the artist. The normal healthy artist with the right ideals never reaches his Zenith. If he did, or if he thought he did, his career would come to a sudden end.