Giuseppe Campanari. © Dupont.Giuseppe Campanari.© Dupont.
Giuseppe Campanari was born at Venice, Italy, Nov. 17th, 1858. His parents were not particularly musical but were very anxious for the boy to become a musician. At the age of nine he commenced to study the piano and later he entered the Conservatory of Milan, making his principal instrument the violoncello. Upon his graduation he secured a position in the 'cello section of the orchestra at "La Scala." Here for years he heard the greatest singers and the greatest operas, gaining a musical insight into the works through an understanding of the scores which has seldom if ever been possessed by a great opera singer. His first appearance as singer was at the Teatro dal Verme in Milan. Owing to voice strain he was obliged to give up singing and in the interim he took a position as a 'cellist in the Boston Symphony Orchestra, remaining with that organization some years. He then made appearances with the Emma Juch Opera Company, the Heinrichs Opera Company, and eventually at the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York, where he achieved his greatest triumphs as leading baritone. Mr. Campanari long since became an American citizen and has devoted his attention to teaching for years.
His conference which follows is particularly interesting, as from the vocal standpoint he is almost entirely self taught.
So much has been written upon the futility of applying one method to all cases in vocal instruction that it seems useless for me to say anything that would add to the volume of testimony against the custom of trying to teach all pupils in the same manner. No one man ever has had, has, or ever will have, a "method" superior to all others, for the very simple reason that the means one vocalist might employ to reach artistic success would be quite different from that which another singer, with an entirely different voice, different throat and different intellect, would be obliged to employ. One of the great laws of Nature is the law of variation; that is, no two children of any parents are ever exactly alike. Even in the case of twins there is often a great variation. The great English philosopher, Darwin, made much of this principle. It is one which all voice students and teachers should consider, for although there are, from the nature of things, many foundation principles which must remain the same in all cases, the differences in individual cases are sufficient to demand the greatest keenness of observation, the widest experience and an inexhaustible supply of patience upon the part of the teacher.
Please understand, I am not decrying the use of books of exercises such as those of Concone, Marchesi, Regine, Panofka and others. Such books are necessary. I have used these and others in teaching, suiting the book to the individual case. The pupil needs material of this kind, and it should be chosen with the greatest care and consideration not only of the pupil's voice, but of his intellectual capacity and musical experience. These books should not be considered "methods." They are the common property of all teachers, and most teachers make use of them. My understanding of a "method" is a set of hard and fast rules, usually emanating from the mind of some one person who has the effrontery to pass them off upon an all too gullible public as the one road to a vocal Parnassus. Only the singer with years of experience can realize how ridiculous this course is and how large is the percentage of failure of the pupils of teachers whose sole claim to fame is that they teach the—— method. Proud as I am of the glorious past of vocal art in the country of my birth, I cannot help being amused and at the same time somewhat irritated when I think of the many palpable frauds that are classed under the head of the "Real Old Italian Method" by inexperienced teachers. We cannot depend upon the past in all cases to meet present conditions. The singers of the olden day in Italy were doubtless great, because they possessed naturally fine voices and used them in an unaffected, natural manner. In addition to this they were born speaking a tongue favorable to beautifulsinging, led simple lives and had opportunities for hearing the great operas and the great singers unexcelled by those of any other European country. That they became great through the practice of any set of rules or methods is inconceivable. There were great teachers in olden Italy, very great teachers, and some of them made notes upon the means they employed, but I cannot believe that if these teachers were living to-day they would insist upon their ideas being applied to each and every individual case in the same identical manner.
This leads us to the subject at hand. The students in Italy in the past have had advantages for self-study that were of greatest importance. On all sides good singing and great singing might be heard conveniently and economically. Opera was and is one of the great national amusements of Italy. Opera houses may be found in all of the larger cities and in most of the smaller ones. The prices of admission are, as a rule, very low. The result is that the boys in the street are often remarkably familiar with some of the best works. Indeed, it would not be extravagant to say that they were quite as familiar with these musical masterpieces as some of the residents of America are with the melodramatic doings of Jesse James or the "Queen of Chinatown." Thus it is that the average Italian boy with a fair education and quick powers of observation reaches his majority with a taste for singing trained by manyopportunities to hear great singers. They have had the best vocal instruction in the world, providing, of course, they have exercised their powers of judgment. Thus it is that it happens that such a singer as Caruso, certainly one of the greatest tenors of all time, could be accidentally heard by a manager while singing and receive an offer for an engagement upon the spot. Caruso's present art, of course, is the result of much training that would fall under the head of "coaching," together with his splendid experience upon the operatic stage itself.
I trust that I have not by this time given the reader of this page the impression that teachers are unnecessary. This is by no means the case. A good teacher is extremely desirable. If you have the good fortune to fall into the hands of a careful, experienced, intelligent teacher, much may be accomplished; but the teacher is by no means all that is required. The teacher should be judged by his pupils, and by nothing else. No matter what he may claim, it is invariably the results of his work (the pupil's) which must determine his value. Teachers come to me with wonderful theories and all imaginable kinds of methods. I always say to them: "Show me a good pupil who has been trained by your methods and I will say that you are a good teacher."
Before our national elections I am asked, "Which one of the candidates do you believe will make the best President?" I always reply, "Wait four years and I will pass my opinion upon the ability of the candidatethe people select." In other words, "the proof of the pudding is in the eating."
We often hear the trite expression, "Singers are born, not made." This, to my mind, is by no means the case. One may be born with the talent and deep love for music, and one may be born with the physical qualifications which lead to the development of a beautiful voice, but the singer is something far more than this. Given a good voice and the love for his music, the singer's work is only begun. He is at the outstart of a road which is beset with all imaginable kinds of obstacles. In my own case I was extremely ambitious to be a singer. Night after night I played 'cello in the orchestra at La Scala, in Milan, always wishing and praying that I might some day be one of the actors in the wonderful world behind the footlights. I listened to the famous singers in the great opera house with the minutest attention, making mental notes of their manner of placing their voices—their method of interpretation, their stage business, and everything that I thought might be of any possible use to me in the career of the singer, which was dearest to my heart. I endeavored to employ all the common sense and good judgment I possessed to determine what was musically and vocally good or otherwise. I was fortunate in having the training of the musician, and also in having the invaluable advantage of becoming acquainted with the orchestral scores of thefamous operas. Finally the long-awaited opportunity came and I made my début at the Teatro dal Verme, in Milan. I had had no real vocal instruction in the commonly accepted sense of the term; but I had really had a kind of instruction that was of inestimable value.
Success brought with it its disadvantages. I foolishly strained my voice through overwork. But this did not discourage me. I realized that many of the greatest singers the world has ever known were among those who had met with disastrous failure at some time in their careers. I came to America and played the violoncello in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. All the time I was practicing with the greatest care and with the sole object of restoring my voice. Finally it came back better than ever and I sang for Maurice Grau, the impresario of the Metropolitan Opera House, in New York. He engaged me and I sang continuously at the Metropolitan for several years. Notwithstanding this varied experience, I will seek to learn, and to learn by practical example, not theory. The only opera school in the world is the opera house itself. No school ever "made" a great singer or a great artist. The most they have done has been to lay the foundation. The making of the artist comes later.
In order to do without instruction one must be very peculiarly constituted. One must be possessed of thepedagogical faculty to a marked degree. One must have within oneself those qualities for observing and detecting the right means leading to an artistic end which every good teacher possesses. In other words, one must be both teacher and pupil. This is a rare combination, since the power to teach, to impart instruction, is one that is given to very few. It is far better to study alone or not at all than with a poor teacher. The teacher's responsibility, particularly in the case of vocal students, is very great. So very much depends upon it. A poor teacher can do incalculable damage. By poor teachers I refer particularly to those who are carried away by idiotic theories and quack methods. We learn to sing by singing and not by carrying bricks upon our chest or other idiotic antics. Consequently I say that it is better to go all through life with a natural or "green" voice than to undergo the vocal torture that is sometimes palmed off upon the public as voice teaching. At best, all the greatest living teacher can do is to put the artist upon the right track and this in itself is responsibility enough for one man or one woman to assume.
As I have already said, most every singer makes a method unto himself. It is all the same in the end. The Chinese may, for instance, have one name for God, the Persians another, the Mohammedans another, and the people of Christian lands another. But the God principle and the worship principle are the samewith all. It is very similar in singing. The means that apply to my own case may apparently be different from those of another, but we are all seeking to produce beautiful tones and interpret the meaning of the composer properly.
One thing, however, the student should seek to possess above all things, and this is a thorough foundation training in music itself. This can not begin too early. In my own home we have always had music. My children have always heard singing and playing and consequently they become critical at a very early age.
I can not help repeating my advice to students who hope to find a vocal education in books or by the even more ridiculous correspondence method. Books may set one's mental machinery in motion and incite one to observe singers more closely, but teach they can not and never can. The sound-reproducing machines are of assistance in helping the student to understand the breathing, phrasing, etc., but there is nothing really to take the place of the living singer who can illustrate with his voice the niceties of placing andtimbre.
My advice to the voice students of America is to hear great singers. Hear them as many times as possible and consider the money invested as well placed as any you might spend in vocal instruction. The golden magnet, as well as the opportunities in other ways offered artists in America, has attracted the greatest singers of our time to this country. It is no longer necessary to go abroad to listen to great singers. Inno country of the world is opera given with more lavish expenditure of money than in America. The great singers are now by no means confining their efforts to the large Eastern cities. Many of them make regular tours of the country, and students in all parts of this land are offered splendid opportunities for self-help through the means of concerts and musical festivals. After all, the most important thing for any singer is the development of the critical sense. Blind imitation is, of course, bad, but how is the student to progress unless he has had an opportunity to hear the best singers of the day? In my youth I heard continually such artists as La Salle, Gayarre, Patti, De Reszke and others. How could I help profiting by such excellent experiences?
One may be sure that in these days few, if any, great voices go undiscovered. A remarkable natural voice is so rare that some one is sure to notice it and bring it to the attention of musicians. The trouble is that so many people are so painfully deluded regarding their voices. I have had them come to me with voices that are obviously execrable and still remain unconvinced when I have told them what seemed to me the truth. This business of hearing would-be singers is an unprofitable and an uncomfortable one; and most artists try to avoid the ordeal, although they are always very glad to encourage real talent. Most young singers, however, have little more than the bare ambitionto sing, coupled with what can only be described by the American term, "a swelled head." Someone has told them that they are wonderfully gifted, and persons of this kind are most always ready to swallow flattery indiscriminately. Almost everyone, apparently, wants to go into opera nowadays. To singers who have not any chance whatever I have only to say that the sooner this is discovered the better. Far better put your money in bank and let compound interest do what your voice can not.
Enrico Caruso was born at Naples, February 25th, 1873. His fondness for music dates from his earliest childhood; and he spent much of his spare money in attending the opera at San Carlo and hearing the foremost singers of his time in many of the rôles in which he appeared later on. His actual study, however, did not start until he was eighteen, when he came under the tuition of Guglielmo Vergine. In 1895 he made his début at the Teatro Cimarosa inCaserta. His first appearances drew comparatively little attention to his work and his future greatness was hardly suspected by many of those who heard him. However, by dint of long application to his art he gained more and more recognition. In 1902 he made his début in London. The following year he came to New York, where the world's greatest singers had found an El Dorado for nearly a quarter of a century. There he was at once proclaimed the greatest of all tenors and from that time his success was undeviating. Indeed his voice was so wonderful and so individual that it is difficult to compare him with any of his great predecessors; Tamagno, Campanini, de Reszke and others. In Europe and in America he was welcomed with acclaim and the records of his voice are to be found in thousands of homes of music lovers who have never come in touch with him in any other way. Signor Caruso had a remarkable talent for drawing and for sculpture. His death, August 2d, 1921, ended the career of the greatest male singer of history.
Enrico Caruso.Enrico Caruso.
Anyone who has traveled in Italy must have noticed the interest that is manifested at the opening of the opera season. This does not apply only to the people with means and advanced culture but also to what might be called the general public. In addition to the upper classes, the same class of people in America who would show the wildest enthusiasm over your popular sport, base-ball, would be similarly eager to attend the leading operatic performances in Italy. The opening of the opera is accompanied by an indescribable fervor. It is "in the air." The whole community seems to breathe opera. The children know the leading melodies, and often discuss the features of the performances as they hear their parents tell about them, just as the American small boy retails his father's opinions upon the political struggles of the day or upon the last ball game.
It should not be thought that this does not mean a sacrifice to the masses, for opera is, in a sense, more expensive in Italy than in America; that is, it is more expensive by comparison in most parts of the country. It should be remembered that monetary values in Italy are entirely different from those in America.The average Italian of moderate means looks upon a lira as a coin far more valuable than its equivalent of twenty cents in United States currency. His income is likely to be limited, and he must spend it with care and wisdom. Again, in the great operatic centers, such as Milan, Naples or Rome, the prices are invariably adjusted to the importance of the production. In first-class productions the prices are often very high from the Italian standpoint. For instance, at La Scala in Milan, when an exceptionally fine performance is given with really great singers, the prices for orchestra chairs may run as high as thirty lira or six dollars a seat. Even to the wealthy Italian this amount seems the same as a much larger amount in America.
To give opera in Italy with the same spectacular effects, the same casts composed almost exclusively of very renowned artists, the samemise en scene, etc., would require a price of admission really higher than in America. As a matter of fact, there is no place in the world where such a great number of performances, with so many world-renowned singers, are given as at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. There is no necessity for any one to make a special trip to Europe to hear excellent performances in these days. Of course such a trip would be interesting, as the performances given in many European centers are wonderfully fine, and they would be interesting to hear if only from the standpoint of comparing them with those given at the Metropolitan. However, the most eminent singers of the world come here constantly,and the performances are directed by the ablest men obtainable, and I am at loss to see why America should not be extremely proud of her operatic advantages. In addition to this the public manifests a most intelligent appreciation of the best in music. It is very agreeable to sing in America, as one is sure that when he does well the public will respond at once.
Perhaps the fact that in Italy the audiences may understand the performances better because of their knowledge of their native language may add to the pleasure of opera-going. This, however, is a question, except in the case of some of the more modern works. The older opera librettos left much to be desired from the dramatic and poetic standpoints. Italian after all is the language of music. In fact it is music in itself when properly spoken. Note that I say "when properly spoken." American girls go to Italy to study, and of course desire to acquire a knowledge of the language itself, for they have heard that it is beneficial in singing. They get a mere smattering, and do not make any attempt to secure a perfect accent. The result is about as funny as the efforts of the comedians who imitate German emigrants on the American stage.
If you start the study of Italian, persist until you have really mastered the language. In doing this your ear will get such a drill and such a series of exercises as it has never had before. You will have to listen to the vowel sounds as you have never listened. This isnecessary because in order to understand the grammar of the language you must hear the final vowel in each word and you must hear the consonants distinctly.
There is another peculiar thing about Italian. If the student who has always studied and sung in English, German or French or Russian, attempts to sing in Italian, he is really turning a brilliant searchlight upon his own vocal ability. If he has any faults which have been concealed in his singing in his own language, they will be discovered at once the moment he commences to study in Italian. I do not know whether this is because the Italian of culture has a higher standard of diction in the enunciation of the vowel sounds, or whether the sounds themselves are so pure and smooth that they expose the deficiencies, but it is nevertheless the case. The American girl who studies Italian for six months and then hopes to sing in that language in a manner not likely to disturb the sense of the ridiculous is deceiving herself. It takes years to acquire fluency in a language.
Audiences are as sensitive as individuals. Italy is known as "the home of the opera"; but I find that, as far as manifesting enthusiasm goes, the world is getting pretty much the same. If the public is pleased, it applauds no matter whether it be in Vienna, Paris, Rome, Buenos Aires, New York, or Oshkosh. An artist feels his bond with his audience very quickly. He knows whether his auditors are delighted, whetherthey are merely interested or whether they are indifferent a few seconds after he has been upon the stage. I can judge my own work at once by the attitude of the audience. No artist sings exactly alike on two successive nights. That would be impossible. Although every sincere artist tries to do his best at all times, there are, nevertheless, occasions when one sings better than at others. If I sing particularly well the audience is particularly enthusiastic; if I am not feeling well and my singing indicates it, the audience will let me know at once by not being quite so enthusiastic. It is a barometer which is almost unfailing. This is also an important thing for the young singer to consider. Audiences judge by real worth and not by reputation.
Reputation may attract money to the box office, but once the people are inside the opera house the artist must really please them or suffer. Young singers should not be led to think that anything but real worth is of any lasting value. If the audience does not respond, do not blame the audience. It would respond if you could sing so beautifully that you could compel a response that you know should follow real artistic achievement. Don't blame your teacher or your lack of practice or anything or anybody but yourself. The verdict of the audience is better than the examination of a hundred so-called experts. There is something about an audience that makes it seem like a great human individual, whether in Naples or in San Francisco. If you touch the heart or please thesense of beauty, the appetite for lovely music—common to all mankind—the audience is yours, be it Italian, French, German or American.
The American student with a really good voice and a really fine vocal and musical training, would have more opportunities for engagements in the smaller Italian opera houses, for the simple reason that there are more of these opera houses and more of these opera companies. Bear in mind, however, that opera in Italy depends to a large extent upon the standing of the artists engaged to put on the opera. In some cities of the smaller size the municipality makes an appropriation, which serves as a guarantee or subsidy. An impresario is informed what operas the community desires and what singers. He tries to comply with the demand. Often the city is very small and the demand very slightly indicated in real money. As a result the performances are comparatively mediocre. The American student sometimes fails to secure engagements with the big companies and tries to gain experience in these small companies. Sometimes he succeeds, but he should remember before undertaking this work that many native Italian singers with realty fine voices are looking for similar opportunities and that only a very few stand any chance of reaching really noteworthy success.
He should, of course, endeavor to seek engagements with the big companies if his voice and ability will warrant it. Where the most money is, there will be the salaried artists and the finest operatic spectacle. That is axiomatic. Opera is expensive and will always be expensive. The supply of unusual voices has always been limited and the services of their possessors have always commanded a high reward. This is based upon an economic law which applies to all things in life. The young singer should realize that, unless he can rise to the very top of his profession, he will be compelled to enlist in a veritable army of singers with little talent and less opportunity.
One thing exists in Italy which is very greatly missed in America. Even in small companies in Italy a great deal of time is spent in rehearsals. In America rehearsals are tremendously expensive and sometimes first performances have suffered thereby. In fact, I doubt whether the public realizes what a very expensive thing opera is. The public has little opportunity to look behind the scenes. It sees only the finished performance, which runs smoothly only when a tremendous amount of mental, physical and financial oil has been poured upon the machinery. I often hear men say here in New York, "I had to pay fifty dollars for my seat to-night." That is absurd—the money is going to speculators instead of into the rightful channels. This money is simply lost as far as doing anyservice whatever to art is concerned. It does not go into the opera house treasury to make for better performances, but simply into the hands of some fellow who had been clever enough to deprive the public of its just opportunity to purchase seats. The public seems to have money enough to pay an outrageous amount for seats when necessary. Would it not be better to do away with the speculator at the door and pay say $10.00 for a seat that now costs $7.00? This would mean more rehearsals and better opera and no money donated to the undeserving horde at the portals of the temple.
I am told that many people in America have the impression that my vocal ability is kind of a "God-given" gift; that is, something that has come to me without effort. This is so very absurd that I can hardly believe that sensible people would give it a moment's credence. Every voice is in a sense the result of a development, and this is particularly so in my own case. The marble that comes from the quarries of Carrara may be very beautiful and white and flawless, but it does not shape itself into a work of art without the hand, the heart, and the intellect of the sculptor.
Just to show how utterly ridiculous this popular opinion really is, let me cite the fact that at the age of fifteen everybody who heard me sing pronounced me a bass. When I went to Vergine I studied hard forfour years. During the first three years the work was for the most part moulding and shaping the voice. Then I studied repertoire for one year and made my début. Even with the experience I had had at that time it was unreasonable to expect great success at once. I kept working hard and worked for at least seven years more before any really mentionable success came to me. All the time I had one thing on my mind and that was never to let a day pass without seeing some improvement in my voice. The discouragements were frequent and bitter; but I kept on working and waiting until my long awaited opportunities came in London and in New York. The great thing is, not to stop. Do not think that, because these great cities gave me a flattering reception, my work ceased. Quite on the contrary, I kept on working and am working still. Every time I go upon the stage I am endeavoring to discover something that will make my art more worthy of public acceptance. Every act of each opera is a new lesson.
It is difficult to invest a rôle with individuality. I have no favorite rôles. I have avoided this, because the moment one adopts a favorite rôle he becomes a specialist and ceases to be an artist. The artist does all rôles equally well. I have had the unique experience of creating many rôles in operas such asFedora,Adrienne,Germania,Girl of the Golden West,Maschera. This is a splendid experience, as it always taxes theinventive faculties of the singing actor. This is particularly the case in the Italian opera of the newer composers, or rather the composers who have worked in Italy since the reformation of Wagner. Whatever may be said, the greatest influence in modern Italian opera is Wagner. Even the great Verdi was induced to change his methods inAïda,Otello, andFalstaff—all representing a much higher art than his earlier operas. However, Wagner did nothing to rob Italy of its natural gift of melody, even though he did institute a reform. He also did not influence such modern composers as Puccini, Mascagni, and Leoncavallo to the extent of marring their native originality and fertility.
Mme. Julia Claussen.Mme. Julia Claussen.
Mme. Julia Claussen was born at Stockholm, Sweden, the land of Jenny Lind and Nilsson. Her voice is a rich, flexible mezzo-soprano, with a range that has enabled her to assume some contralto rôles with more success than the average so-called contralto. In her childhood she studied piano, but did not undertake the serious study of voice until she was eighteen, when she became a student at the Royal Academy of Music, under Professor Lejdstrom (studying harmony and theory under the famous Swedish composer Sjogren). Her début was made at the Royal Opera, at the age of twenty-two, inLa Favorita, singing the rôle in Swedish. Later she went to Berlin, where she was coached in German opera by Professor Friedrich at the Royal High School of Music. Her American début was made in 1912, in Chicago, where she made an immediate success in such rôles asOrtrud,BrünnhildeandCarmen. She was then engaged at Covent Garden and later sang at the Champs Elysée Theatre, under Nikisch, in Paris. For two years she appeared at the Metropolitan. She has received the rare distinction of being awarded the Jenny Lind Medal from her own government and also of being admitted to the Royal Academy of Sweden, the youngest member ever elected to that august scientific and artistic body. She has also been decorated by King Gustavus V of Sweden with Literis et Artibus. In America she has made an immense success as a concert singer.
The question, "Why does Sweden produce so many singers?" is often asked me. First it is a matter of climate, then a matter of physique, and lastly, because the Swedish children do far more singing than any one finds in many other countries. The air in Sweden is very rarefied, clear and exhilarating. Owing to frugal living and abundant systematic exercise, the people become very robust. This is not a matter of one generation or so, but goes back for centuries. The Swedes are a strong, energetic, thorough race; and the same attributes of industry and precision which have made them famous in science are applied to the study of music.
The Swedish child is made to understand that singing is a needful, serious part of his life. His musical training begins very early in the schools, with a definite scheme. All schools have competent, experienced teachers of singing. In my childhood another factor played a very important part. There was never the endless round of attractions, toys, parties, theatres and pastimes (to say nothing of the all-consuming movies). Life was more tranquil and therefore the pursuit of good music was far more enjoyable. American life moves at aeroplane speed. The poor little childrenhardly have time to breathe, let alone time to study music. Ragtime is the musical symptom of this American craving for speed and incessant excitement. In a blare and confusion of noises, like bedlam broken loose, what chance has a child to develop good taste? It is admittedly fascinating at times; but is without rhyme, reason or order. I never permit my children to pollute my piano with it. They may have it on the talking machine, but they must not be accomplices in making it.
Of course, things have changed in Sweden, too; and American ragtime, always contagious, has now infected all Europe. This makes the music teacher's task in this day far more difficult than formerly. I hear my daughters practicing, and now and then they seem to be putting a dash of ragtime into Bach. If I stop them I find that "Bach is too slow, I don't like Bach!" This is almost like saying, "I don't like Rubens, Van Dyke or Millet; please, teacher, give me Mutt and Jeff or the Katzenjammer Kids!" American children need to be constantly taught to reverence the great creators of the land. Why, Jenny Lind is looked upon as a great national heroine in Sweden, much as one might regard George Washington in America. Before America can go about musical educational work properly, the teachers must inculcate this spirit, a proper appreciation of what is really beautiful, instead of a kind of wild, mob-like orgy of blare, bang, smash and shriek which so many have come to know as ragtime and jazz.
If one should ask me what is the first consideration in becoming a success as a singer, I should say the ability to criticise one's self. In my own case I had a very competent musician as a teacher. He told me that my voice was naturally placed and did very little to help place it according to his own ideas. Perhaps that was well for me, because I knew myself what I was about. He used to say, "That sounds beautiful," but all the time I knew that it sounded terrible. It was then that I learned that my ear must be my best teacher. My teacher, for instance, told me that I would never be able to trill. This was very disheartening; but he really believed, according to his conservative knowledge, that I should never succeed in getting the necessary flexibility.
By chance I happened to meet a celebrated Swedish singer, Mme. Östberg, of the old school. I communicated to her the discouraging news that I could never hope to trill. "Nonsense, my dear," she said, "someone told me that too, but I determined that I was going to learn. I did not know how to go about it exactly, but I knew that with the proper patience and will-power I would succeed. Therefore I worked up to three o'clock one morning, and before I went to bed I was able to trill."
I decided to take Mme. Östberg's advice, and I practiced for several days until I knew that I could trill, and then I went back to my teacher and showedhim what I could do. He had to admit it was a good trill, and he couldn't understand how I had so successfully disproved his theories by accomplishing it. It was then that I learned that the singer can do almost anything within the limits of the voice, if one will only work hard enough. Work is the great producer, and there is no substitute for it. Do not think that I am ungrateful to my teacher. He gave me a splendid musical drilling in all the standard solfeggios, in which he was most precise; and in later years I said to him, "I am not grateful to you for making my voice, but because you did not spoil it."
After having sung a great deal and thought introspectively a great deal about the voice, one naturally begins to form a kind of philosophy regarding it. Of course, breathing exercises are the basis of all good singing methods, but it seems to me that singing teachers ask many of their pupils to do many queer impractical things in breathing, things that "don't work" when the singer is obliged to stand up before a big audience and make everyone hear without straining.
If I were to teach a young girl right at this moment I would simply ask her to take a deep breath and note the expansion at the waist just above the diaphragm. Then I would ask her to say as many words as possible upon that breath, at the same time having the muscles adjacent to the diaphragm to support the breath; that is, to sustain it and not collapse or try to push it up. The trick is to get the most tone, not with the mostbreath but with the least breath, and especially the very least possible strain at the throat, which must be kept in a floating, gossamer-like condition all the time. I see girls, who have been to expensive teachers, doing all sorts of wonderful calisthenics with the diaphragm, things that God certainly did not intend us to do in learning to speak and to sing.
Any attempt to draw in the front walls of the abdomen or the intercostal muscles during singing must put a kind of pneumatic pressure upon the breath stream, which is sure to constrict the throat. Therefore, in my own singing, I note the opposite effect. That is, there is rather a sensation of expansion instead of contraction during the process of expiration. This soon becomes very comfortable, relieves the throat of strain, relieves the tones of breathiness or all idea of forcing. There is none of the ugly heaving of the chest or shoulders; the body is in repose, and the singer has a firm grip upon the tone in the right way. The muscles of the front wall of the abdomen and the muscles between the lower ribs become very strong and equal to any strain, while the throat is free.
In the emission of the actual tone itself I would advise the sensation of inhaling at first. The beginner should blow out the tone. Usually instead of having a lovely floating character, with the impression of control, the tone starts with being forced, and it always remains so. The singer oversings and has nothing in reserve. When I am singing I feel as though the farther away from the throat, the deeper down I cancontrol the breath stream, the better and freer the tone becomes. Furthermore, I can sing the long, difficult Wagnerian rôles, with their tremendous demands upon the vocal organs, without the least sensation of fatigue. Some singers, after such performances, are "all in." No wonder they lose their voices when they should be in their prime.
For me the most difficult vowel is "ah." The throat then is most open and the breath stream most difficult to control properly. Therefore I make it a habit to begin my practice with "oo, oh, ah, ay, ee" in succession. I never start with sustained tones. This would give my throat time to stiffen. I employ quick, soft scales, always remembering the basic principle of breath control I have mentioned, and always as though inhaling. This is an example of what I mean. To avoid shrillness on the upper tone I take the highest note with oo and descend with oo.
musical notation: Ex. 1
The same thought applied to an arpeggio would be:
musical notation: Ex. 2
These I take within comfortable limits of my voice, always remembering that the least strain is a backward step. These exercises are taken through all possiblekeys. There can never be too much practice of a scale or arpeggio exercise. Many singers, I know, who wonder why they do not succeed, cannot do a good scale, the very first thing they should be able to do. Every one should be like perfect pearls on a thread.
One of the great troubles in America is the irrepressible ambition of both teachers and pupils. Europe is also not untinged with this. Teachers want to show results. Some teachers, I am told, start in with songs at the first or second lesson, with the sad knowledge that if they do not do this they may lose the pupil to some teacher who will peddle out songs. After four or five months I was given an operatic aria; and, of course, I sang it. A year of scales, exercises and solfeggios would have been far more time-saving. The pupils have too much to say about their education in this way. The teacher should be competent and then decide all such questions. American girls do not want this. They expect to step from vocal ignorance to a repertoire over night. When you study voice, you should study not for two years, but realize you will never stop studying, if you wish to keep your voice. Like any others, without exercise, the singing muscles grow weak and inefficient. There are so many, many things to learn.
Of course, my whole training was that of the opera singer, and I was schooled principally in the Wagnerianrôles. With the coming of the war the prejudice against the greatest anti-imperialist (with the possible exception of Beethoven) which music ever has known—the immortal Wagner—became so strong that not until now has the demand for his operas become so great that they are being resumed with wonderful success. Therefore, with the exception of a few Italian and French rôles, my operatic repertoire went begging.
It was necessary for me to enter the concert field, as the management of the opera company with which I had contracts secured such engagements for me. It was like starting life anew. There is very little opportunity to show one's individuality in opera. One must play the rôle. Therefore I had to learn a repertoire of songs, every one of which required different treatment and different individuality. With eighteen members on the program, the singer has a musical, mental and vocal task which devolves entirely upon herself without the aid of chorus, co-singers, orchestra, costumes, scenery and the glamour of the footlights. It was with the greatest delight that I could fulfill the demands of the concert platform. American musical taste is very exacting. The audiences use their imagination all the time, and like romantic songs with an atmospheric background, which accounts for my great success with songs of such type as Lieurance'sBy the Waters of Minnetonka. One of the greatest tasks I ever have had is that of singing my rôles in many different languages. I learned some of them first in Swedish, then in Italian, then in French, then in German, then inEnglish; as I am obliged to re-learn my Wagnerian rôles now.
The road to success in voice study, like the road to success in everything else, has one compass which should be a consistent guide, and that is common sense. Avoid extremes; hold fast to your ideals; have faith in your possibilities, and work! work!! work!!!
Charles Dalmores in Massenet's Herodiade. © Mishkin.Charles Dalmores in Massenet's Herodiade.© Mishkin.
M. Charles Dalmores was born at Nancy, France, December 31st, 1871. His musical education was received at the Nancy Conservatoire under Professor Dauphin, and it was his intention to become a specialist in French horn. He also played the 'cello. When he applied to the Paris Conservatoire he was refused admission to the singing course because "he was too good a musician to waste his time with singing." He became professor of French horn at the Lyons Conservatory; but his love for opera led him to study by himself until he made his début at Rouen in 1899. He then sang at the Theatre de la Monnaie in Brussels, Covent Garden, Bayreuth, New York, and Chicago, with ever-increasing success. Dalmores is a dramatic tenor, and his musicianship has enabled him to take extremely difficult rôles of the modern type and achieve real artistic triumphs. He is one of the finest examples of the self-trained vocalist.
It is always a pleasure to talk upon self-help and not self-study, because I believe most implicitly in the former and very much doubt the efficacy of the latter in actual voice study. The voice, of all things, demands the assistance of a good teacher, although in the end the results all come from within and not from without. That is, the voice is an organ of expression; and what we make of it depends upon our own thought a thousand times more than what we take in from the outside.
It is the teacher who stimulates the right kind of thinking who is the best teacher. The teacher who seeks to make his pupils parrots rarely meets with success. My whole career is an illustration of this, and when I think of the apparently insurmountable obstacles over which I have been compelled to climb I cannot help feeling that the relation of a few of my own experiences in the way of self-help could not fail to be beneficial.
I was born at Nancy on the 31st of December, 1871. I gave evidences of having musical talent and my musical instruction commenced at the age of six years. I studied first at the Conservatory at Nancy, intendingto make a specialty of the violin. Then I had the misfortune of breaking my arm. It was decided thereafter that I had better study the French horn. This I did with much success and attribute my control of the breath at this day very largely to my elementary struggles with that most difficult of instruments. At the age of fourteen I played the second horn at Nancy. Finally, I went, with a purse made up by some citizens of my home town, to enter the great Conservatory at Paris. There I studied very hard and succeeded in winning my goal in the way of receiving the first prize for playing the French horn.
For a time I played under Colonne, and between the ages of seventeen and twenty-three in Paris I played with the Lamoureaux Orchestra. All this time I had my heart set upon becoming a singer and paid particular attention to all of the wonderful orchestral works we rehearsed. The very mention of the fact that I desired to become a singer was met with huge ridicule by my friends, who evidently thought that it was a form of fanaticism. For a time I studied the 'cello and managed to acquire a very creditable technic upon that instrument.
Notwithstanding the success I had with the two instruments, I was confronted with the fact that I had before me the life of a poor musician. My salary was low, and there were few, if any, opportunities to increase it outside of my regular work with the orchestra.I was told that I had great talent, but this never had the effect of swelling my pocketbook. In my military service I played in the band of an infantry regiment; and when I told my companions that I aspired to be a great singer some day they greeted my declaration with howls of laughter, and pointed out the fact that I was already along in years and had an established profession.
At the sedate age of twenty-three I was surprised to find myself appointed Professor of French Horn at the Conservatory of Lyons. Lyons is the second city of France from the standpoint of population. It is a busy manufacturing center, but is rich in architectural, natural and historical interest; and the position had its advantages, although it was away from the great French center, Paris. The opera at Nancy was exceedingly good, and I had an opportunity to go often. Singing and the opera were my life. My father had been manager at Nancy and I had made my first acquaintance with the stage as one of the boys inCarmen.
I have omitted to say that at Paris I tried to enter the classes for singing. My voice was apparently liked, but I was refused admission upon the basis that I was too good a musician to waste my time in becoming an inferior singer. Goodness gracious! Where is musicianship needed more than in the case of the singer? This amused me, and I resolved to bide my time. I played in opera orchestras whenever I had achance, and thus became acquainted with the famous rôles. One eye was on the music and the other was on the stage. During the rests I dreamt of the time when I might become a singer like those over the footlights.
Where there is a will there is usually a way. I taught solfeggio as well as French horn in the Lyons Conservatory. I devised all sorts of "home-made" exercises to improve my voice as I thought best. Some may have done me good, others probably were injurious. I listened to singers and tried to get points from them. Gradually I was unconsciously paving the way for the great opportunity of my life. It came in the form of an experienced teacher, Dauphin, who had been a basso for ten years at the leading theatre of Belgium, fourteen years in London, and later director at Geneva and Lyons. He also received the appointment of Professor at the Lyons Conservatory.
One day Dauphin heard me singing and inquired who I was. Then he came in the room and said to me, "How much do you get here for teaching and playing?" I replied, proudly, "six thousand francs a year." He said, "You shall study with me and some day you shall earn as much as six thousand francs a month." Dauphin, bless his soul, was wrong. I now earn six thousand francs every night I sing instead of every month.
I could hardly believe that the opportunity I had waited for so long had come. Dauphin had me come to his house and there he told me that my success insinging would depend quite as much upon my own industry as upon his instruction. Thus one professor in the conservatory taught another in the art he had long sought to master. Notwithstanding Dauphin's confidence in me, all of the other professors thought that I was doing a perfectly insane thing, and did all in their power to prevent me from going to what they thought was my ruin.
Nevertheless, I determined to show them that they were all mistaken. During the first winter I studied no less than six operas, at the same time taking various exercises to improve my voice. During the second winter I mastered one opera every month, and at the same time did all my regular work—studying in my spare hours. At the end of my course I passed the customary examination, receiving the least possible distinction from my colleagues who were still convinced that I was pursuing a course that would end in complete failure.
This brought home the truth that if I was to get ahead at all I would have to depend entirely upon myself. The outlook was certainly not propitious. Nevertheless I studied by myself incessantly and disregarded the remarks of my pessimistic advisers. I sang in a church and also in a big synagogue to keep up my income. All the time I had to put up with the sarcasm of my colleagues who seemed to think, like many others, that the calling of the singer was one demandinglittle musicianship, and tried to make me see that in giving up the French horn and my conservatory professorship I would be abandoning a dignified career for that of a species of musician who at that time was not supposed to demand any special musical training. Could not a shoemaker or a blacksmith take a few lessons and become a great singer? I, however, determined to become a different kind of a singer. I believed that there was a place for the singer with a thorough musical training, and while I kept up my vocal work amid the rain of irony and derogatory remarks from my mistaken colleagues, I did not fail to keep up my interest in the deeper musical studies. I had a feeling that the more good music I knew the better would be my work in opera. I wish that all singers could see this. Many singers live in a little world all of their own. They know the music of the footlights, but there their experience ends. Every symphony I have played has been molded into my life experience in such a way that it cannot help being reflected in my work.
Finally the time came for my début in 1899. It was a most serious occasion for me; for the rest of my career as a singer depended upon it. It was in Rouen, and my fee was to be fifteen hundred francs a month. I thought that that would make me the richest man in the world. It was the custom of the town for the captain of the police to come before the audience at theend and inquire whether the audience approved of the artist's singing or whether their vocal efforts were unsatisfactory. This was to be determined by a public demonstration. When the captain held up the sign "Approved," I felt as though the greatest moment in my life had arrived. I had worked so long and so hard for success and had been obliged to laugh down so much scorn that you can imagine my feelings. Suddenly a great volume of applause came from the house and I knew in a second what my future should be.
Then it was that I realized that I was only a little way along my journey. I wanted to be the foremost French tenor of my time. I knew that success in France alone, while gratifying, would be limited, so I set out to conquer new worlds. Wagner, up to that time, had never been sung by any French tenor, so I determined to master German and become a Wagner singer. This I did, and it fell to me to receive that most coveted of Wagnerian distinctions, "soloist at Beyreuth," the citadel of the highest in German operatic art. In after years I sang in all parts of Germany with as much success as in France. Later I went to London and then to America, where I sang for many seasons. It has been no small pleasure for me to return to Paris, where I once lived in penury, and to receive the highest fee ever paid to a French singer in the French capital.
I don't know what more I can say upon the subject of self-help for the singer. I have simply told my own story and have related some of the obstacles that I have overcome. I trust that no one who has not a voice really worth while will be misled by what I have had to say. The voice is one of the most intricate and wonderful of the human organs. Properly exercised and cared for, it may be developed to a remarkable degree; but there are cases, of course, where there is not enough voice at the start to warrant the aspirant making the sacrifices that I have made to reach my goal. This is a very serious matter and one which should be determined by responsible judges. At the same time, the singers may see how possible it is for even experienced musicians, like my colleagues in Lyons, to be mistaken. If I had depended upon them and not fought my own way out, I would probably be an obscure teacher in the same old city earning the munificent salary of one hundred dollars a month.
The student who has to fight his own way has a much harder battle of it; but he has a satisfaction which certainly does not come to the one who has all his instruction fees and living expenses paid for him. He feels that he has earned his success; and, by the processes of exploration through which the self-help student must invariably pass, he becomes invested with aconfidence and "I know" feeling which is a great asset to him. The main thing is for him to keep busy all the time. He has not a minute to spare upon dreaming. He has no one to carry his burden but himself; and the exercise of carrying it himself is the thing which will do most to make him strong and successful.
The artists who leap into success are very rare. Hundreds who have held mediocre positions come to the front, while those who appear most favored stay in the background. Do not seek to gain eminence by any influence but that of real earnest work; and if you do not intend to work and to work hard, drop all of your aspirations for operatic laurels.