SECTION XIX

EXTENSION OF THE COMPASS AND EQUALIZATION OF REGISTERS

The whole secret of both consists in the proper raising and lowering of the soft palate, and the pillars of the fauces connected with it. This divides into two resonating divisions the breath coming from the source of supply, and forced against the chest, whereby it is put under control, as it escapes vocalized from the larynx. It consists also in the singer's natural adaptability and skill, in so placing the palate and resonance of the head cavities, or keeping them in readiness for every tone, as the pitch, strength, and duration of the individual tones or series of connected tones, with their propagation form, shall demand.



SECTION XX

THE TREMOLO

Big voices, produced by large, strong organs, through which the breath can flow in a broad, powerful stream, are easily disposed to suffer from the tremolo, because the outflow of the breath against the vocal cords occurs too immediately. The breath is sent directly out from the lungs and the body, instead of being driven by the abdominal pressure forward against the chest and the controlling apparatus. Not till this has been done, should it be admitted, in the smallest amounts, and under control to the vocal cords. It does not pause, but streams through them without burdening them, though keeping them always more or less stretched, in which the muscular power of contraction and relaxation assists. Streaming gently out from the vocal cords, it is now led, with the support of the tongue, to its resonance chambers, all the corners of which it fills up equally. Even the strongest vocal cords cannot for any length of time stand the uncontrolled pressure of the breath. They lose their tension, and the result is the tremolo.

In inhaling, the chest should be raised not at all or but very little. (For this reason exercises for the expansion of the chest must be practised.) The pressure of the breath against the chest must be maintained as long as it is desired to sustain a tone or sing a phrase. As soon as the pressure of the abdomen and chest ceases, the tone and the breath are at an end. Not till toward the very end of the breath, that is, of the tone or the phrase, should the pressure be slowly relaxed, and the chest slowly sink.

While I am singing, I must press the breath against the chest evenly, for in this way alone can it be directed evenly against the vocal cords, which is the chief factor in a steady tone and the only possible and proper use of the vocal cords.

The uninterrupted control of the breath pressure against the chest gives to the tone, as soon as it has found a focal point on the raised palate at the attack, the basis, the body, which must be maintained even in the softest pianissimo. Control of the breath should never cease. The tone should never be made too strong to be kept under control, nor too weak to be kept under control. This should be an inflexible rule for the singer.

I direct my whole attention to the pressure against the chest, which forms the door of the supply chamber of breath. Thence I admit to the vocal cords uninterruptedly only just so much as I wish to admit. I must not be stingy, nor yet extravagant with it. Besides giving steadiness, the pressure against the chest (the controlling apparatus) establishes the strength and the duration of the tone. Upon the proper control depends the length of the breath, which, without interruption, rises from here toward the resonating chambers, and, expelled into the elastic form of the resonating apparatus, there must obey our will.



It can now be seen how easily the vocal cords can be injured by an uncontrolled current of breath, if it is directed against them in all its force. One need only see a picture of the vocal cords to understand the folly of exposing these delicate little bands to the explosive force of the breath. They cannot be protected too much; and also, they cannot be too carefully exercised. They must be spared all work not properly theirs; this must be put upon the chest tension muscles, which in time learn to endure an out-and-out thump.

Even the vibrato, to which full voices are prone, should be nipped in the bud, for gradually the tremolo, and later even worse, is developed from it. Life can be infused into the tone by means of the lips—that is, in a way that will do no harm. But of that later.

Vibrato is the first stage, tremolo the second; a third and last, and much more hopeless, shows itself in flat singing on the upper middle tones of the register. Referable in the same way to the overburdening of the vocal cords is the excessive straining of the throat muscles, which, through continual constriction, lose their power of elastic contraction and relaxation because pitch and duration of the tone are gained in an incorrect way, by forcing. Neither should be forced; pitch should be merely maintained, as it were, soaring; strength should not be gained by a cramped compression of the throat muscles, but by the completest possible filling with breath of the breath-form and the resonance chambers, under the government of the controlling apparatus.

Neglect of the head tones (overtones) is paid for dearly.

The more violent exertions are made to force them, and to keep them, the worse are the results. For most of the unhappy singers who do this, there is but one result: the voice is lost. How pitiful!

If the first and second stages of tremolo are difficult to remedy, because the causes are rarely understood and the proper measures to take for their removal still more rarely, the repair of the last stage of the damage is nothing less than a fight, in which only an unspeakable patience can win the victory.



SECTION XXI

THE CURE

There are no magic cures for the singer. Only slowly, vibration upon vibration, can the true pitch be won back. In the word "soaring" lies the whole idea of the work. No more may the breath be allowed to flow uncontrolled through the wearied vocal cords; it must be forced against the chest, always, as if it were to come directly out thence. The throat muscles must lie fallow until they have lost the habit of cramped contraction; until the overtones again soar as they should, and are kept soaring long, though quite piano. At first this seems quite impossible, and is indeed very difficult, demanding all the patient's energy. But it is possible, and he cannot avoid it, for it is the only way to a thorough cure. The patient has an extremely disagreeable period to pass through. If he is industrious and careful, he will soon find it impossible to sing in his old way; but the new way is for the most part quite unfamiliar to him, because his ear still hears as it has previously been accustomed to hear. It may be that years will pass before he can again use the muscles, so long maltreated. But he should not be dismayed at this prospect. If he can no longer use his voice in public as a singer, he certainly can as a teacher—for a teacher must be able to sing well. How should he describe to others sensations in singing which he himself never felt? Is it not as if he undertook to teach a language that he did not speak himself? or an instrument that he did not play himself? When he himself does not hear, how shall he teach others to hear?

The degree of the evil, and the patient's skill, naturally have much to do with the rapidity of the cure. But one cannot throw off a habit of years' standing like an old garment; and every new garment, too, is uncomfortable at first. One cannot expect an immediate cure, either of himself or of others. If the singer undertakes it with courage and energy, he learns to use his voice with conscious understanding, as should have been done in the beginning.

And he must make up his mind to it, that even after a good cure, the old habits will reappear, like corns in wet weather, whenever he is not in good form physically. That should not lead to discouragement; persistence will bring success.

As I have already said, singers with disabled voices like best to try "magic cures"; and there are teachers and pupils who boast of having effected such magic cures in a few weeks or hours.

Of them I give warning! and equally, of unprincipled physicians who daub around in the larynx, burn it, cut it, and make everything worse instead of better.

I cannot comprehend why singers do not unite to brand such people publicly and put an end to their doings once for all.

There is no other remedy than a slow, very careful study of the causes of the trouble, which in almost all cases consist in lack of control of the stream of breath through the vocal cords, and in disregard of the head tones, that is, of the overtones; as well as in forcing the pitch and power of the tone upon a wrong resonating point of the palate, and in constricting the throat muscles. In these points almost invariably are all mistakes to be looked for; and in the recognition of them the proper means for correcting them are already indicated.

The cure is difficult and tedious. It needs an endless patience on the part of the sufferer as well as of the physician—that is, of the pupil and the singing teacher (the only proper physician for this disease)—because the nerves of the head are already sufficiently unstrung through the consciousness of their incapacity; yet they should be able to act easily and without effort in producing the head tones.

The repairing of a voice requires the greatest sympathetic appreciation and circumspection on the part of the teacher, who should always inspire the pupil with courage; and on the part of the pupil, all his tranquillity, nervous strength, and patience, in order to reach the desired goal.

Where there is a will there is a way!



SECTION XXII

THE TONGUE

Since it is the function of the tongue to conduct the column of breath above the larynx to the resonance chambers, too much attention cannot be given to it and its position, in speaking as well as in singing. If it lies too high or too low, it may, by constricting the breath, produce serious changes in the tone, making it pinched or even shutting it off entirely.

It has an extremely delicate and difficult task to perform. It must be in such a position as not to press upon the larynx. Tongue and larynx must keep out of each other's way, although they always work in cooeperation; but one must not hamper the other, and when one can withdraw no farther out of the way, the other must take it upon itself to do so. For this reason the back of the tongue must be raised high, the larynx stand low.

The tongue must generally form a furrow. With the lowest tones it lies relatively flattest, the tip always against and beneath the front teeth, so that it can rise in the middle.

As soon as the furrow is formed, the mass of the tongue is put out of the way, since it stands high on both sides. It is almost impossible to make drawings of this; it can best be seen in the mirror. As soon as the larynx is low enough and the tongue set elastically against the palate and drawn up behind (see plate a), the furrow is formed of itself. In pronouncing the vowel ah (which must always be mixed with [=oo] and o), it is a good idea to think of yawning.

The furrow must be formed in order to allow the breath to resonate against the palate beneath the nose, especially in the middle range; that is, what a bass and a baritone (whose highest range is not now under consideration) would call their high range, all other voices their middle.

Without the furrow in the tongue, no tone is perfect in its resonance, none can make full use of it. The only exception is the very highest head and falsetto tones, which are without any palatal resonance and have their place solely in the head cavities. Strong and yet delicate, it must be able to fit any letter of the alphabet; that is, help form its sound. It must be of the greatest sensitiveness in adapting itself to every tonal vibration, it must assist every change of tone and letter as quick as a flash and with unerring accuracy; without changing its position too soon or remaining too long in it, in the highest range it must be able almost to speak out in the air.

With all its strength and firmness this furrow must be of the utmost sensitiveness toward the breath, which, as I have often said, must not be subjected to the least pressure above the larynx or in the larynx itself. Pressure must be limited to the abdominal and chest muscles; and this might better be called stress than pressure.

Without hindrance the column of breath, at its upper end like diverging rays of light, must fill and expand all the mucous membranes with its vibrations equally, diffuse itself through the resonance chambers and penetrate the cavities of the head.

When the back of the tongue can rise no higher, the larynx must be lowered. This often happens in the highest ranges, and one needs only to mingle an oo in the vowel to be sung, which must, however, be sounded not forward in the mouth but behind the nose. When the larynx must stand very low, the tongue naturally must not be too high, else it would affect the position of the larynx. The mass of the tongue must then be disposed of elsewhere; that is, by the formation of a furrow (see plate). One must learn to feel and hear it. To keep the larynx, the back of the tongue, and the palate always in readiness to offer mutual assistance, must become a habit. I feel the interplay of tongue and larynx in my own case as shown in the plates.

As soon as we have the tongue under control,—that is, have acquired the habit of forming a furrow,—we can use it confidently as a support for the breath and the tone, and for vowels.

On its incurving back it holds firmly the vowels; with its tip, many of the consonants. With all its elasticity, it must be trained to great strength and endurance.

I, for instance, after every syllable, at once jerk my tongue with tremendous power back to its normal position in singing; that is, with its tip below the front teeth and the base raised . That goes on constantly, as quick as a flash. At the same time my larynx takes such a position that the tongue cannot interfere with it, that is, press upon it. By quickly raising the tongue toward the back, it is taken out of the way of the larynx, and the mass of the tongue is cleared from the throat. In the middle range, where the tongue or the larynx might be too high or too low, the furrow, which is of so much importance, is formed, in order to lead the vocalized breath first against the front of the palate beneath the nose, then slowly along the nose and behind it. Then when the highest point (the peak, which is extremely extensible) is reached, the pillars of the fauces are lowered, in order to leave the way for the head tones to the head cavities entirely free. In doing this, the sides of the tongue are raised high. Every tongue should occupy only so much space as it can occupy without being a hindrance to the tone.

The bad, bad tongue! one is too thick, another too thin, a third too long, a fourth much too short.

Ladies and gentlemen, these are nothing but the excuses of the lazy!



SECTION XXIII

PREPARATION FOR SINGING

No one can sing properly without first preparing for it, mentally and physically, with all the organs concerned in the production of the voice.

We have in this to perform three functions, simultaneously:—

First, to draw breath quietly, not too deeply; to force the breath against the chest and hold it there firmly till the upward and outward streaming—that is, singing—begins. (See plate, The Path of the Breath.)

Second, to raise the soft palate at the same time toward the nose, so that the breath remains stationary until the singing begins.

Third, to jerk the tongue backward at the same time, its back being thus raised, and elastic, ready to meet all the wishes of the singer,—that is, the needs of the larynx. The larynx must not be pressed either too low or too high, but must work freely. The breath is enabled to stream forth from it like a column, whose form is moulded above the larynx by the base of the tongue.

When these three functions have been performed, all is ready. Now the pitch of the tone is to be considered, as the singing begins.

The consummation (Hoehepunkt) of the tone, above the palate, gives the point of attack itself, under the palate.

Now further care must be given that the point of attack on the palate—that is, the focal point of the breath—be not subjected to pressure, and that the entire supply of breath be not expended upon the palatal resonance.

For this the palate must remain elastic, for it has a twofold duty to perform. It must not only furnish resistance for the focal point of the breath,—except in the very highest head tones,—around which it can be diffused; the same resistance, which stands against the stream of breath from below, must also afford a firm, pliant, and elastic floor for the overtones, which, soaring above the palate, shift, as is needed, to or above the hard and soft palate, or are divided in the nose, forehead, and head cavities. It can easily be seen how any pressure in singing can be dangerous everywhere, and how careful the singer is forced to be to avoid such mistakes.



SECTION XXIV

THE POSITION OF THE MOUTH (CONTRACTION OF THE MUSCLES OF SPEECH)

What must my sensations be with the muscles of speech? How shall I control them?

The best position of the mouth, the means of securing the proper use of the muscles of speech and of the vocal organs, is established by pronouncing the vowel ā, not too sharply, in the middle range of the voice, and trying to retain the position of the muscles after the sound has ceased.

This cannot be done without a smiling position of the mouth, consequently with a strong contraction of the muscles of the mouth, tongue, and throat, which can be felt to be drawn up as far as the ears.

In doing so the tongue—as far as the tip—lies of a pretty nearly even height to the back , the soft palate soars without arching, but rather somewhat depressed over it.

In pronouncing the vowels ā and ē, the bright vowels, the full stream of the breath, in the given position, can only partly pass between the tongue and the palate. The other part is forced—unless the larynx stands too high and can choke it off—above the palate into the nasal cavities, to seek its opportunity for resonance.

The path for ā and ē above the palate is worthy of all attention as a place for the overtones of the middle voice. If the soft palate, in the lower middle tones, is forced too far toward the hard palate, the covered tones are without vibrancy. One must needs secure the help of the nose especially, when the palate is sunk beneath the nose, by inflating the nostrils and letting air stream in and out of them.

I repeat the warning, not to force several tones upon the same resonating point, but to see that upon each tone the form necessary for succeeding tones is prepared. Neglect of this will sooner or later be paid for dearly.

Notwithstanding the strong muscular contraction that the vocal organs must undergo in pronouncing the vowel ā, the breath must be able to flow gently and without hindrance through its form, in order completely to fill up its resonance chambers. Again, and always, attention must be given that in singing, and in speaking as well, nothing shall be cramped or held tense, except the pressure of the breath against the chest. It is of the utmost importance to maintain this position for all vowels, with the least possible perceptible modifications.

How can this be done? A and e are bright vowels, must be sung with a pleasant, almost smiling, position of the mouth. U and o, on the contrary, are dark vowels, for which the lips must be drawn into a sort of spout. Look at the position of the throat in these vowels: (1) as they are usually sung and spoken; (2) as I feel it, in singing, as I sing them, and as they must be sung and felt.



SECTION XXV

CONNECTION OF VOWELS

How do I connect them with each other? If I wish to connect closely together two vowels that lie near to or far from each other, I must first establish the muscular contractions for ā, and introduce between the two vowels, whether they lie near together or far apart, a very well-defined y. Then (supposing, for instance, that I want to connect ā and ē) I must join the ā closely to the y, and the y closely to the ē, so that there is not the least resonating space between the two that is not filled during the changes in the position of the organs, however carefully this is undertaken. There must be no empty space, no useless escape of breath, between any two of the sounds.

o ā ah

oo o ē y ah y ā y]

o ā ah

Good. oo o ē ah ā]

o ā ah

Right. oo o ē ah ā]

At first only two, then three and four, and then all the vowels in succession must be so practised:—

A-ye, a-ye-yu, a-ye-yoo-yue, a-ye-yo-yue-yu-ye-yah.

But there must be never more than so much breath at hand as is needed to make the vowel and the tone perfect. The more closely the vowels are connected with the help of the y, the less breath is emitted from the mouth unused, the more intimate is the connection of tone, and the less noticeable are the changes of the position of the organs in relation to each other.

When I pass from yā-yē to yoo, I am compelled to develop very strongly the muscular contraction of the lips, which are formed into a long projecting spout; and this movement cannot be sufficiently exaggerated. With every new y I must produce renewed muscular contractions of the vocal organs, which gradually, through continuous practice, are trained to become almost like the finest, most pliable steel, upon which the fullest reliance may be placed. From yoo it is best to go to yue, that lies still farther forward and requires of the lips an iron firmness; then to yo, touching slightly on the e that lies above the o; then return to yā, and not till then going to ye-ah, which must then feel thus:—

e oo-o ah-ā y

The y is taken under the ah, that the word may not slide under; for usually the thought of ah relaxes all the organs: the tongue lies flat, the larynx becomes unsteady, is without definite position, and the palate is not arched and is without firmness. In this way ah becomes the most colorless and empty vowel of the whole list.

With every change of vowel, or of any other letter, there are changes in the position of the organs, since tongue, palate, and larynx must take different positions for different sounds.

With ā and ē the larynx stands higher, the palate is sunk, or in its normal position.

With oo, o, and ah the larynx stands low, the palate is arched.

With a, e, and ah the lips are drawn back.

With oo, o, ue, and oe they are extended far forward.

The auxiliary sound y connects them all with each other, so that the transitions are made quite imperceptibly. Since it is pronounced with the tongue drawn high against the palate, it prevents the base of the tongue from falling down again.

This should be practised very slowly, that the sensations may be clearly discerned, and that no vibration that gives the vowel its pitch and duration may escape attention.

The muscular contraction described comprises the chief functions of the vocal organs, and is as necessary for singing as the breath is for the tone. Year in and year out every singer and pupil must practise it in daily exercises as much as possible, on every tone of the vocal compass.

In the lowest as well as in the highest range the sharpness of the a is lost, as well as the clear definition of all single vowels. A should be mingled with oo, ah, and e. In the highest range, the vowels are merged in each other, because then the principal thing is not the vowel, but the high sound.

Even the thought of ā and ē, the latter especially, raises the pitch of the tone. The explanation of this is that ā and ē possess sympathetic sounds above the palate that lead the breath to the resonance of the head cavities.

For this reason tenors often, in high notes, resort to the device of changing words with dark vowels to words with the bright vowel e. They could attain the same end, without changing the whole word, by simply thinking of an e.

ē ueoo oahē]

Without over-exertion, the singer can practise the exercises given above twenty times a day, in periods of ten to fifteen minutes each, and will soon appreciate the advantage of the muscular strengthening they give. They make the voice fresh, not weary, as doubtless many will suppose.

What, then, can be expected of an untrained organ? Nothing!

Without daily vocal gymnastics no power of endurance in the muscles can be gained. They must be so strong that a great operatic role can be repeated ten times in succession, in order that the singer may become able to endure the strain of singing in opera houses, in great auditoriums, and make himself heard above a great orchestra, without suffering for it.

When I, for instance, was learning the part of Isolde, I could without weariness sing the first act alone six times in succession, with expression, action, and a full voice. That was my practice with all my roles. After I had rehearsed a role a thousand times in my own room, I would go into the empty theatre and rehearse single scenes, as well as the whole opera, for hours at a time. That gave me the certainty of being mistress of my resonances down to the last note; and very often I felt able to begin it all over again. So must it be, if one wishes to accomplish anything worth while.

Another end also is attained by the same exercise,—the connection, not only of the vowels, but of all letters, syllables, words, and phrases. By this exercise the form for the breath, tone, and word, in which all the organs are adjusted to each other with perfect elasticity, is gradually established. Slowly but surely it assures greatest endurance in all the organs concerned in speaking and singing, the inseparable connection of the palatal resonance with the resonance of the head cavities. In this way is gained perfection in the art of singing, which is based, not on chance, but on knowledge; and this slow but sure way is the only way to gain it.

By the above-described method all other alphabetical sounds can be connected, and exercises can be invented to use with it, which are best adapted to correct the mistakes of pupils, at first on one, then step by step on two and three connected tones, etc.

At the same time it is necessary to learn to move the tongue freely, and with the utmost quickness, by jerking it back, after pronouncing consonants, as quick as a flash, into the position in which it conducts the breath to the resonating chambers for the vowels. With all these movements is connected the power of elastically contracting and relaxing the muscles.



SECTION XXVI

THE LIPS

Of special importance for the tone and the word are the movements of the lips, which are so widely different in the bright and in the dark vowels. These movements cannot be too much exaggerated in practising. The same strength and elasticity to which we have to train the muscles of the throat and tongue must be imparted to the lips, which must be as of iron. Upon their cooeperation much of the life of the tone depends, and it can be used in many shadings, as soon as one is able to exert their power consciously and under the control of the will.

Every vowel, every word, every tone, can be colored as by magic in all sorts of ways by the well-controlled play of the lips; can, as it were, be imbued with life, as the lips open or close more or less in different positions. The lips are the final cup-shaped resonators through which the tone has to pass. They can retard it or let it escape, can color it bright or dark, and exert a ceaseless and ever varying influence upon it long before it ceases and up to its very end.

No attempt should be made to use the play of the lips until complete mastery of the absolutely even, perfect tone, and of the muscular powers, has been acquired. The effect must be produced as a result of power and practice; and should not be practised as an effect per se.



SECTION XXVII

THE VOWEL-SOUND AH

There is much discussion as to whether ah, oo, or some other vowel is the one best adapted for general practice. In former times practice was entirely on the vowel-sound ah. The old Italians taught it; my mother was trained so, and never allowed her pupils to use any other vowel during the first months of their instruction. Later, to be sure, every letter, every word, was practised and improved continually, till it was correct, and had impressed itself upon the memory, as well as the ear, of the pupil for all time.

I explain the matter thus:—

The singer's mouth should always make an agreeable impression. Faces that are forever grinning or showing fish mouths are disgusting and wrong.

The pleasing expression of the mouth requires the muscular contractions that form the bright vowel ah.

Most people who are not accustomed to using their vocal resonance pronounce the ah quite flat, as if it were the vowel-sound lying lowest. If it is pronounced with the position of the mouth belonging to the bright vowels, it has to seek its resonance, in speaking as well as in singing, in the same place as the dark vowels, on the high-arched palate. To permit this, it must be mingled with oo. The furrows in the tongue must also be formed, just as with oo and o, only special attention must be given that the back of the tongue does not fall, but remains high, as in pronouncing ā. In this way ah comes to lie between oo-o'ah'yā, and forms at the same time the connection between the bright and the dark vowels, and the reverse.

For this reason it was proper that ah should be preferred as the practice vowel, as soon as it was placed properly between the two extremes, and had satisfied all demands. I prefer to teach it, because its use makes all mistakes most clearly recognizable. It is the most difficult vowel. If it is well pronounced, or sung, it produces the necessary muscular contractions with a pleasing expression of the mouth, and makes certain a fine tone color by its connection with oo and o. If the ah is equally well formed in all ranges of the voice, a chief difficulty is mastered.

Those who have been badly taught, or have fallen into bad ways, should practise the vocal exercise I have given above, with ya-ye-yah, etc., slowly, listening to themselves carefully. Good results cannot fail; it is an infallible means of improvement.

Italians who sing well never speak or sing the vowel sound ah otherwise than mixed, and only the neglect of this mixture could have brought about the decadence of the Italian teaching of song. In Germany no attention is paid to it. The ah, as sung generally by most Italians of the present day, quite flat, sounds commonplace, almost like an affront. It can range itself, that is connect itself, with no other vowel, makes all vocal connection impossible, evolves very ugly registers; and, lying low in the throat, summons forth no palatal resonance. The power of contraction of the muscles of speech is insufficient, and this insufficiency misleads the singer to constrict the throat muscles, which are not trained to the endurance of it; thereby further progress is made impossible. In the course of time the tone becomes flat at the transitions. The fatal tremolo is almost always the result of this manner of singing.

Try to sing a scale upward on ah, placing the tongue and muscles of speech at the same time on ā, and you will be surprised at the agreeable effect. Even the thought of it alone is often enough, because the tongue involuntarily takes the position of its own accord.

I remember very well how Mme. Desiree Artot-Padilla, who had a low mezzo-soprano voice, used to toss off great coloratura pieces, beginning on the vowel-sound ah, and then going up and down on a, ee, aueoah. At the time I could not understand why she did it; now I know perfectly,—because it was easier for her. The breath is impelled against the cavities of the head, the head tones are set into action.

Behind the a position there must be as much room provided as is needed for all the vowels, with such modifications as each one requires for itself. The matter of chief importance is the position of the tongue in the throat, that it shall not be in the way of the larynx, which must be able to move up and down, even though very slightly, without hindrance.

All vowels must be able to flow into each other; the singer must be able to pass from one to another without perceptible alteration, and back again.



SECTION XXVIII

ITALIAN AND GERMAN

How easy it is for the Italians, who have by nature, through the characteristics of their native language, all these things which others must gain by long years of practice! A single syllable often unites three vowels; for instance, "tuoi" (tuoyē), "miei" (myeayē), "muoja," etc.

The Italians mingle all their vowels. They rub them into and color them with each other. This includes a great portion of the art of song, which in every language, with due regard to its peculiar characteristics, must be learned by practice.

To give only a single example of the difficulty of the German words, with the everlasting consonant endings to the syllables, take the recitative at the entrance of Norma:—

"Wer laesst hier Aufruhrstimmen, Kriegsruf ertoenen, wollt Ihr die Goetter zwingen, Eurem Wahnwitz zu froehnen? Wer wagt vermessen, gleich der Prophetin der Zukunft Nacht zu lichten, wollt Ihr der Goetter Plan vorschnell vernichten? Nicht Menschenkraft Koennen die Wirren dieses Landes schlichten."

Twelve endings on n!

"Sediziosi voci, voci di guerra, avvi [Transcriber's Note: corrected "avoi" in original] chi alzar si attenta presso all'ara del Dio! V'ha chi presume dettar responsi alla vegente Norma, e di Roma affrettar il fato arcano. Ei non dipende, no, non dipende da potere umano!"

From the Italians we can learn the connection of the vowels, from the French the use of the nasal tone. The Germans surpass the others in their power of expressiveness. But he who would have the right to call himself an artist must unite all these things; the bel canto, that is, beautiful—I might say good—singing, and all the means of expression which we cultivated people need to interpret master works of great minds, should afford the public ennobling pleasure.

A tone full of life is to be produced only by the skilful mixture of the vowels, that is, the unceasing leaning of one upon the others, without, however, affecting any of its characteristics. This means, in reality, only the complete use of the resonance of the breath, since the mixture of the vowels can be obtained only through the elastic conjunction of the organs and the varying division of the stream of breath toward the palatal resonance, or that of the cavities of the head, or the equalization of the two.

The larynx must rise and descend unimpeded by the tongue, soft palate and pillars of the fauces rise and sink, the soft palate always able more or less to press close to the hard. Strong and elastic contractions imply very pliable and circumspect relaxation of the same.

I think that the feeling I have of the extension of my throat comes from the very powerful yet very elastic contraction of my muscles, which, though feeling always in a state of relaxability, appear to me like flexible steel, of which I can demand everything,—because never too much,—and which I exercise daily. Even in the entr'actes of grand operas I go through with such exercises; for they refresh instead of exhausting me.

The unconstrained cooeperation of all the organs, as well as their individual functions, must go on elastically without any pressure or cramped action. Their interplay must be powerful yet supple, that the breath which produces the tone may be diffused as it flows from one to another of the manifold and complicated organs (such as the ventricles of Morgagni), supporting itself on others, being caught in still others, and finding all in such a state of readiness as is required in each range for each tone. Everything must be combined in the right way as a matter of habit.

The voice is equalized by the proper ramification of the breath and the proper connection of the different resonances.

The tone is colored by the proper mixture of vowels; oo, o, and ah demanding more palatal resonance and a lower position of the larynx, a and e more resonance of the head cavities and a higher position of the larynx. With oo, o, ue, and ah the palate is arched higher (the tongue forming a furrow) than with ā, ē, and ue, where the tongue lies high and flat.

There are singers who place the larynx too low, and, arching the palate too high, sing too much toward oo. Such voices sound very dark, perhaps even hollow; they lack the interposition of the ā,—that is, the larynx is placed too low.

On the other hand, there are others who press it upward too high; their a position is a permanent one. Such voices are marked by a very bright, sharp quality of tone, often like a goat's bleating.

Both are alike wrong and disagreeable. The proper medium between them must be gained by sensitive training of the ear, and a taste formed by the teacher through examples drawn from his own singing and that of others.

If we wish to give a noble expression to the tone and the word, we must mingle its vocal sound, if it is not so, with o or oo. If we wish to give the word merely an agreeable expression, we mingle it with ah, ā, and ē. That is, we must use all the qualities of tonal resonance, and thus produce colors which shall benefit the tone and thereby the word and its expression.

Thus a single tone may be taken or sung in many different ways. In every varying connection, consequently, the singer must be able to change it according to the expression desired. But as soon as it is a question of a musical phrase, in which several tones or words, or tones alone, are connected, the law of progression must remain in force; expression must be sacrificed, partly at least, to the beauty of the musical passage.

If he is skilful enough, the singer can impart a certain expression of feeling to even the most superficial phrases and coloratura passages. Thus, in the coloratura passages of Mozart's arias, I have always sought to gain expressiveness by crescendi, choice of significant points for breathing, and breaking off of phrases. I have been especially successful with this in the Entfuehrung, introducing a tone of lament into the first aria, a heroic dignity into the second, through the coloratura passages. Without exaggerating petty details, the artist must exploit all the means of expression that he is justified in using.



SECTION XXIX

AUXILIARY VOWELS

Like the auxiliary verbs "will" and "have," ā, ē, and oo are auxiliary vowels, of whose aid we are constantly compelled to avail ourselves. It will perhaps sound exaggerated when I present an example of this, but as a matter of fact pronunciation is consummated in this way; only, it must not become noticeable. The method seems singular, but its object is to prevent the leaving of any empty resonance space, and to obviate any interruptions that could affect the perfection of the tone.

For example, when I wish to sing the word "Fraeulein," I must first, and before all else, think of the pitch of the tone, before I attack the f. With the f, the tone must be there already, before I have pronounced it; to pass from the f to the r I must summon to my aid the auxiliary vowel oo, in order to prevent the formation of any unvocalized interstices in the sound. The r must not now drop off, but must in turn be joined to the oo, while the tongue should not drop down behind, but should complete the vibrations thus, in a straight line. (See plate.)



It is very interesting to note how much a word can gain or lose in fulness and beauty of tone. Without the use of auxiliary vowels no connection of the resonance in words can be effected; there is then no beautiful tone in singing, only a kind of hacking. Since it must be quite imperceptible, the use of auxiliary vowels must be very artistically managed, and is best practised in the beginning very slowly on single tones and words, then proceeding with great care to two tones, two syllables, and so on. In this way the pupil learns to hear. But he must learn to hear very slowly and for a long time, until there is no failure of vibration in the tone and word, and it is all so impressed upon his memory that it can never be lost. The auxiliary vowels must always be present, but the listener should be able to hear, from the assistance of the oo, only the warmth and nobility of the tone, from the a and e only the carrying power and brilliancy of it.



SECTION XXX

RESONANT CONSONANTS

K, l, m, n, p, s, and r at the end of a word or syllable must be made resonant by joining to the end of the word or syllable a rather audible ĕ (eh); for instance, Wandel^e, Gretel^e, etc.

A thing that no one teaches any longer, or knows or is able to do, a thing that only Betz and I knew, and with me will probably disappear entirely, is the dividing and ending of syllables that must be effected under certain conditions. It may have originated with the Italian school.

I was taught it especially upon double consonants. When two come together, they must be divided; the first, as in Him-mel, being sounded dull, and without resonance, the syllable and tone being kept as nasal as possible, the lips closed, and a pause being made between the two syllables; not till then is the second syllable pronounced, with a new formation of the second consonant.

And this is done, not only in case of a doubling of one consonant, but whenever two consonants come together to close the syllable; for instance, win-ter, dring-en, kling-en, bind-en; in these the nasal sound plays a specially important part.

The tediousness of singing without proper separation of the syllables is not appreciated till it has been learned how to divide the consonants. The nasal close of itself brings a new color into the singing, which must be taken into account; and moreover, the word is much more clearly intelligible, especially in large auditoriums, where an appreciable length of time is needed for it to reach the listener. By the nasal close, also, an uninterrupted connection is assured between the consonant and the tone, even if the latter has to cease, apparently, for an instant.

I teach all my pupils thus. But since most of them consider it something unheard of to be forced to pronounce in this way, they very rarely bring it to the artistic perfection which alone can make it effective. Except from Betz, I have never heard it from any one. After me no one will teach it any more. I shall probably be the last one. A pity!



SECTION XXXI

PRACTICAL EXERCISES

The practical study of singing is best begun with single sustained tones, and with preparation on the sound of ah alone, mingled with o and oo. A position as if one were about to yawn helps the tongue to lie in the right place.

In order not to weary young voices too much, it is best to begin in the middle range, going upward first, by semitones, and then, starting again with the same tone, going downward. All other exercises begin in the lower range and go upward.

The pupil must first be able to make a single tone good, and judge it correctly, before he should be allowed to proceed to a second. Later, single syllables or words can be used as exercises for this.

The position of the mouth and tongue must be watched in the mirror. The vowel ah must be mingled with o and oo, and care must be taken that the breath is forced strongly against the chest, and felt attacking here and on the palate at the same time. Begin piano, make a long crescendo, and gradually return and end on a well-controlled piano. My feeling at the attack is as shown in the plate.

At the same instant that I force the breath against the chest, I place the tone under its highest point on the palate, and let the overtones soar above the palate—the two united in one thought. Only in the lowest range can the overtones, and in the highest range the undertones (resonance of the head cavities and of the palate), be dispensed with.

With me the throat never comes into consideration; I feel absolutely nothing of it, at most only the breath gently streaming through it. A tone should never be forced; never press the breath against the resonating chambers, but only against the chest; and NEVER hold it back. The organs should not be cramped, but should be allowed to perform their functions elastically.

The contraction of the muscles should never exceed their power to relax. A tone must always be sung, whether strong or soft, with an easy, conscious power. Further, before all things, sing always with due regard to the pitch.

In this way the control of the ear is exercised over the pitch, strength, and duration of the tone, and over the singer's strength and weakness, of which we are often forced to make a virtue. In short, one learns to recognize and to produce a perfect tone.



In all exercises go as low and as high as the voice will allow without straining, and always make little pauses to rest between them, even if you are not tired, in order to be all the fresher for the next one. With a certain amount of skill and steady purpose the voice increases its compass, and takes the proper range, easiest to it by nature. The pupil can see then how greatly the compass of a voice can be extended. For amateurs it is not necessary; but it is for every one who practises the profession of a singer in public.

For a second exercise, sing connectedly two half-tones, slowly, on one or two vowels, bridging them with the auxiliary vowels and the y as the support of the tongue, etc.

Every tone must seek its best results from all the organs concerned in its production; must possess power, brilliancy, and mellowness in order to be able to produce, before leaving each tone, the propagation form for the next tone, ascending as well as descending, and make it certain.

No exercise should be dropped till every vibration of every tone has clearly approved itself to the ear, not only of the teacher, but also of the pupil, as perfect.

It takes a long time to reach the full consciousness of a tone. After it has passed the lips it must be diffused outside, before it can come to the consciousness of the listener as well as to that of the singer himself. So practise singing slowly and hearing slowly.



SECTION XXXII

THE GREAT SCALE

This is the most necessary exercise for all kinds of voices. It was taught to my mother; she taught it to all her pupils and to us. But I am probably the only one of them all who practises it faithfully! I do not trust the others. As a pupil one must practise it twice a day, as a professional singer at least once.

[Music illustration]

The breath must be well prepared, the expiration still better, for the duration of these five and four long tones is greater than would be supposed. The first tone must be attacked not too piano, and sung only so strongly as is necessary to reach the next one easily without further crescendo, while the propagation form for the next tone is produced, and the breath wisely husbanded till the end of the phrase.

The first of each of the phrases ends nasally in the middle range, the second toward the forehead and the cavities of the head. The lowest tone must already be prepared to favor the resonance of the head cavities, by thinking of ā, consequently placing the larynx high and maintaining the resonating organs in a very supple and elastic state. In the middle range, ah is mingled particularly with oo, that the nose may be reached; further, the auxiliary vowel e is added to it, which guides the tone to the head cavities. In descending the attack must be more concentrated, as the tone is slowly directed toward the nose on oo or o, to the end of the figure.

When oo, a, and e are auxiliary vowels, they need not be plainly pronounced. (They form an exception in the diphthongs, "Trauuum," "Leiiid," "Lauuune," "Feuyer," etc.) As auxiliary vowels they are only means to an end, a bridge, a connection from one thing to another. They can be taken anywhere with any other sound; and thence it may be seen how elastic the organs can be when they are skilfully managed.

The chief object of the great scale is to secure the pliant, sustained use of the breath, precision in the preparation of the propagation form, the proper mixture of the vowels which aid in placing the organs in the right position for the tone, to be changed for every different tone, although imperceptibly; further, the intelligent use of the resonance of the palate and head cavities, especially the latter, whose tones, soaring above everything else, form the connection with the nasal quality for the whole scale.

The scale must be practised without too strenuous exertion, but not without power, gradually extending over the entire compass of the voice; and that is, if it is to be perfect, over a compass of two octaves. These two octaves will have been covered, when, advancing the starting-point by semitones, the scale has been carried up through an entire octave. So much every voice can finally accomplish, even if the high notes must be very feeble.

The great scale, properly elaborated in practice, accomplishes wonders: it equalizes the voice, makes it flexible and noble, gives strength to all weak places, operates to repair all faults and breaks that exist, and controls the voice to the very heart. Nothing escapes it.

By it ability as well as inability is brought to light—something that is extremely unpleasant to those without ability. In my opinion it is the ideal exercise, but the most difficult one I know. By devoting forty minutes to it every day, a consciousness of certainty and strength will be gained that ten hours a day of any other exercise cannot give.

This should be the chief test in all conservatories. If I were at the head of one, the pupils should be allowed for the first three years to sing at the examinations only difficult exercises, like this great scale, before they should be allowed to think of singing a song or an aria, which I regard only as cloaks for incompetency.

For teaching me this scale—this guardian angel of the voice—I cannot be thankful enough to my mother. In earlier years I used to like to express myself freely about it. There was a time when I imagined that it strained me. My mother often ended her warnings at my neglect of it with the words, "You will be very sorry for it!" And I was very sorry for it. At one time, when I was about to be subjected to great exertions, and did not practise it every day, but thought it was enough to sing coloratura fireworks, I soon became aware that my transition tones would no longer endure the strain, began easily to waver, or threatened even to become too flat. The realization of it was terrible! It cost me many, many years of the hardest and most careful study; and it finally brought me to realize the necessity of exercising the vocal organs continually, and in the proper way, if I wished always to be able to rely on them.

Practice, and especially the practice of the great, slow scale, 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 greatest roles in the evening. I can rely absolutely on its assistance.

If I had imparted nothing else to my pupils but the ability to sing this one great exercise well, they would possess a capital fund of knowledge which must infallibly bring them a rich return on their voices. I often take fifty minutes to go through it only once, for I let no tone pass that is lacking in any degree in pitch, power, and duration, or in a single vibration of the propagation form.



SECTION XXXIII

VELOCITY

Singers, male and female, who are lacking velocity and the power of trilling, seem to me like horses without tails. Both of these things belong to the art of song, and are inseparable from it. It is a matter of indifference whether the singer has to use them or not; he must be able to. The teacher who neither teaches nor can teach them to his pupils is a bad teacher; the pupil who, notwithstanding the urgent warnings of his teacher, neglects the exercises that can help him to acquire them, and fails to perfect himself in them, is a bungler. There is no excuse for it but lack of talent, or laziness; and neither has any place in the higher walks of art.

To give the voice velocity, practise first slowly, then faster and faster, figures of five, six, seven, and eight notes, etc., upward and downward.

If one has well mastered the great, slow scale, with the nasal connection, skill in singing rapid passages will be developed quite of itself, because they both rest on the same foundation, and without the preliminary practice can never be understood.

Put the palate into the nasal position, the larynx upon oe; attack the lowest tone of the figure with the thought of the highest; force the breath, as it streams very vigorously forth from the larynx, toward the nose, but allow the head current entire freedom, without entirely doing away with the nasal quality; and then run up the scale with great firmness.

In descending, keep the form of the highest tone, even if there should be eight to twelve tones in the passage, so that the scale slides down, not a pair of stairs, but a smooth track, the highest tone affording, as it were, a guarantee that on the way there shall be no impediment or sudden drop. The resonance form, kept firm and tense, must adapt itself with the utmost freedom to the thought of every tone, and with it, to the breath. The pressure of the breath against the chest must not be diminished, but must be unceasing.

To me it is always as if the pitch of the highest tone were already contained in the lowest, so strongly concentrated upon the whole figure are my thoughts at the attack of a single tone. By means of ah-e-ā, larynx, tongue, and palatal position on the lowest tone are in such a position that the vibrations of breath for the highest tones are already finding admission into the head cavities, and as far as possible are in sympathetic vibration there.

The higher the vocal figures go the more breath they need, the less can the breath and the organs be pressed. The higher they are, the more breath must stream forth from the epiglottis; therefore the ā and the thought of e, which keep the passages to the head open. But because there is a limit to the scope of the movement of larynx and tongue, and they cannot rise higher and higher with a figure that often reaches to an immense height, the singer must resort to the aid of the auxiliary vowel oo, in order to lower the larynx and so make room for the breath:

[Music illustration]

A run or any other figure must never sound thus:

[Music illustration]

but must be nasally modified above, and tied; and because the breath must flow out unceasingly in a powerful stream from the vocal cords, an h can only be put in beneath, which makes us sure of this powerful streaming out of the breath, and helps only the branch stream of breath into the cavities of the head. Often singers hold the breath, concentrated on the nasal form, firmly on the lowest tone of a figure, and, without interrupting this nasal form, or the head tones, that is, the breath vibrating in the head cavities, finish the figure alone. When this happens the muscular contractions of the throat, tongue, and palate are very strong.

[Music illustration: L'oiselet. Chopin-Viardat]

The turn, too, based on the consistent connection of the tonal figure with the nasal quality,—which is obtained by pronouncing the oo toward the nose,—and firmly held there, permits no interruption for an instant to the vowel sound.

How often have I heard the ha-ha-ha-haa, etc.,—a wretched tumbling down of different tones, instead of a smooth decoration of the cantilena. Singers generally disregard it, because no one can do it any more, and yet even to-day it is of the greatest importance. (See Tristan und Isolde.)

The situation is quite the same in regard to the appoggiatura. In this the resonance is made nasal and the flexibility of the larynx,—which, without changing the resonance, moves quickly up and down—accomplishes the task alone. Here, too, it can almost be imagined that the thought alone is enough, for the connection of the two tones cannot be too close. But this must be practised, and done consciously.

[Music illustration: Adelaide, by Beethoven

A-bend-lueft-chen im zar-ten Lau-be flue-stern]

[Transcriber's Note: Corrected "L'au-be" in original to "Lau-be"]



SECTION XXXIV

TRILL

There still remains the trill, which is best practised in the beginning as follows:—

[Music illustration]

The breath is led very far back against the head cavities by the ā, the larynx kept as stiff as possible and placed high. Both tones are connected as closely, as heavily as possible, upward nasally, downward on the larynx, for which the y, again, is admirably suited. They must be attacked as high as possible, and very strongly. The trill exercise must be practised almost as a scream. The upper note must always be strongly accented. The exercise is practised with an even strength, without decrescendo to the end; the breath streams out more and more strongly, uninterruptedly to the finish.

Trill exercises must be performed with great energy, on the whole compass of the voice. They form an exception to the rule in so far that in them more is given to the throat to do—always, however, under the control of the chest—than in other exercises. That relates, however, to the muscles.

The breath vibrates above the larynx, but does not stick in it, consequently this is not dangerous.

The exercise is practised first on two half, then on two whole, tones of the same key (as given above), advancing by semitones, twice a day on the entire compass of the voice. It is exhausting because it requires great energy; but for the same reason it gives strength. Practise it first as slowly and vigorously as the strength of the throat allows, then faster and faster, till one day the trill unexpectedly appears. With some energy and industry good results should be reached in from six to eight weeks, and the larynx should take on the habit of performing its function by itself. This function gradually becomes a habit, so that it seems as if only one tone were attacked and held, and as if the second tone simply vibrated with it. As a matter of fact, the larynx will have been so practised in the minute upward and downward motion, that the singer is aware only of the vibrations of the breath that lie above it, while he remains mindful all the time only of the pitch of the upper note.

One has the feeling then as of singing or holding only the lower tone (which must be placed very high), while the upper one vibrates with it simply through the habitude of the accentuation. The union of the two then comes to the singer's consciousness as if he were singing the lower note somewhat too high, halfway toward the upper one. This is only an aural delusion, produced by the high vibrations. But the trill, when fully mastered, should always be begun, as in the exercise, on the upper note.

Every voice must master the trill, after a period, longer or shorter, of proper practice. Stiff, strong voices master it sooner than small, weak ones. I expended certainly ten years upon improving it, because as a young girl I had so very little strength, although my voice was very flexible in executing all sorts of rapid passages.

To be able to use it anywhere, of course, requires a long time and much practice. For this reason it is a good plan to practise it on syllables with different vowels, such as can all be supported on ā, and on words, as soon as the understanding needed for this is in some degree assured.

If the larynx has acquired the habit properly, the trill can be carried on into a piano and pianissimo and prolonged almost without end with crescendi and decrescendi, as the old Italians used to do, and as all Germans do who have learned anything.



SECTION XXXV

HOW TO HOLD ONE'S SELF WHEN PRACTISING

In practising the singer should always stand, if possible, before a large mirror, in order to be able to watch himself closely. He should stand upright, quietly but not stiffly, and avoid everything that looks like restlessness. The hands should hang quietly, or rest lightly on something, without taking part in the interpretation of the expression. The first thing needed is to bring the body under control, that is, to remain quiet, so that later, in singing, the singer can do everything intentionally.

The pupil must always stand in such a way that the teacher can watch his face, as well as his whole body. Continual movements of the fingers, hands, or feet are not permissible.

The body must serve the singer's purposes freely and must acquire no bad habits. The singer's self-possession is reflected in a feeling of satisfaction on the part of the listener. The quieter the singer or artist, the more significant is every expression he gives; the fewer motions he makes, the more importance they have. So he can scarcely be quiet enough. Only there must be a certain accent of expression in this quietude, which cannot be represented by indifference. The quietude of the artist is a reassurance for the public, for it can come only from the certainty of power and the full command of his task through study and preparation and perfect knowledge of the work to be presented. An artist whose art is based on power cannot appear other than self-possessed and certain of himself. An evident uneasiness is always inartistic, and hence does not belong where art is to be embodied. All dependence upon tricks of habit creates nervousness and lack of flexibility.

Therefore the singer must accustom himself to quietude in practising, and make his will master of his whole body, that later he may have free command of all his movements and means of expression.

The constant playing of single tones or chords on the piano by the teacher during the lesson is wrong, and every pupil should request its discontinuance. The teacher can hear the pupil, but the latter cannot hear himself, when this is done; and yet it is of the utmost importance that he should learn to hear himself. I am almost driven distracted when teachers bring me their pupils, and drum on the piano as if possessed while they sing. Pupils have the same effect on me when they sit and play a dozen chords to one long note.

Do they sit in the evening when they sing in a concert?

Do they hear themselves, when they do this? Unfortunately, I cannot hear them.

Poor pupils!

It is enough for a musical person to strike a single note on the piano when he practises alone, or perhaps a common chord, after which the body and hands should return to their quiet natural position. Only in a standing posture can a free deep breath be drawn, and mind and body be properly prepared for the exercise or the song to follow.

It is also well for pupils to form sentences with the proper number of syllables upon which to sing their exercises, so that even such exercises shall gradually gain a certain amount of expressiveness. Thus the exercises will form pictures which must be connected with the play of the features, as well as with an inner feeling, and thus will not become desultory and soulless and given over to indifference. Of course not till the mere tone itself is brought under complete control, and uncertainty is no longer possible, can the horizon of the pupil be thus widened without danger.

Only when a scene requires that a vocal passage be sung kneeling or sitting must the singer practise it in his room long before the performance and at all rehearsals, in accordance with dramatic requirements of the situation. Otherwise the singer should always STAND. We must also look out for unaccustomed garments that may be required on the stage, and rehearse in them; for instance, hat, helmet, hood, cloak, etc. Without becoming accustomed to them by practice, the singer may easily make himself ridiculous on the stage. Hence comes the absurdity of a Lohengrin who cannot sing with a helmet, another who cannot with a shield, a third who cannot with gauntlets; a Wanderer who cannot with the big hat, another who cannot with the spear, a Jose who cannot with the helmet, etc. All these things must be practised before a mirror until the requirements of a part or its costume become a habit. To attain this, the singer must be completely master of his body and all his movements.

It must be precisely the same with the voice. The singer must be quite independent of bad habits in order consciously to exact from it what the proper interpretation of the work to be performed requires.

He should practise only so long as can be done without weariness. After every exercise he should take a rest, to be fresh for the next one. After the great scale he should rest at least ten minutes; and these resting times must be observed as long as one sings.

Long-continued exertion should not be exacted of the voice at first; even if the effects of it are not immediately felt, a damage is done in some way. In this matter pupils themselves are chiefly at fault, because they cannot get enough, as long as they take pleasure in it.

For this reason it is insane folly to try to sing important roles on the stage after one or two years of study; it may perhaps be endured for one or two years without evil results, but it can never be carried on indefinitely.

Agents and managers commit a crime when they demand enormous exertions of such young singers. The rehearsals, which are held in abominably bad air, the late hours, the irregular life that is occasioned by rehearsals, the strain of standing around for five or six hours in a theatre,—all this is not for untrained young persons. No woman of less than twenty-four years should sing soubrette parts, none of less than twenty-eight years second parts, and none of less than thirty-five years dramatic parts; that is early enough. By that time proper preparation can be made, and in voice and person something can be offered worth while. And our fraternity must realize this sooner or later. In that way, too, they will learn more and be able to do more, and fewer sins will be committed against the art of song by the incompetent.



SECTION XXXVI

CONCERNING EXPRESSION

When we wish to study a role or a song, we have first to master the intellectual content of the work. Not till we have made ourselves a clear picture of the whole should we proceed to elaborate the details, through which, however, the impression of the whole should never be allowed to suffer. The complete picture should always shine out through all. If it is too much broken into details, it becomes a thing of shreds and patches.

So petty accessories must be avoided, that the larger outline of the whole picture shall not suffer. The complete picture must ever claim the chief interest; details should not distract attention from it. In art, subordination of the parts to the whole is an art of itself. Everything must be fitted to the larger lineaments that should characterize a masterpiece.

A word is an idea; and not only the idea, but how that idea in color and connection is related to the whole, must be expressed. Therein is the fearsome magic that Wagner has exercised upon me and upon all others, that draws us to him and lets none escape its spell. That is why the elaboration of Wagner's creations seems so much worth while to the artist. Every elaboration of a work of art demands the sacrifice of some part of the artist's ego, for he must mingle the feelings set before him for portrayal with his own in his interpretation, and thus, so to speak, lay bare his very self. But since we must impersonate human beings, we may not spare ourselves, but throw ourselves into our task with the devotion of all our powers.



SECTION XXXVII

BEFORE THE PUBLIC

In the wide reaches of the theatre it is needful to give an exaggeration to the expression, which in the concert hall, where the forms of society rule, must be entirely abandoned. And yet the picture must be presented by the artist to the public from the very first word, the very first note; the mood must be felt in advance. This depends partly upon the bearing of the singer and the expression of countenance he has during the prelude, whereby interest in what is coming is aroused and is directed upon the music as well as upon the poem.

The picture is complete in itself; I have only to vivify its colors during the performance. Upon the management of the body, upon the electric current which should flow between the artist and the public,—a current that often streams forth at his very appearance, but often is not to be established at all,—depend the glow and effectiveness of the color which we impress upon our picture.

No artist should be beguiled by this into giving forth more than artistic propriety permits, either to enhance the enthusiasm or to intensify the mood; for the electric connection cannot be forced. Often a tranquillizing feeling is very soon manifest on both sides, the effect of which is quite as great, even though less stimulating. Often, too, a calm, still understanding between singer and public exercises a fascination upon both, that can only be attained through a complete devotion to the task in hand, and renunciation of any attempt to gain noisy applause.

To me it is a matter of indifference whether the public goes frantic or listens quietly and reflectively, for I give out only what I have undertaken to. If I have put my individuality, my powers, my love for the work, into a role or a song that is applauded by the public, I decline all thanks for it to myself personally, and consider the applause as belonging to the master whose work I am interpreting. If I have succeeded in making him intelligible to the public, the reward therefor is contained in that fact itself, and I ask for nothing more.

Of what is implied in the intelligent interpretation of a work of art, as to talent and study, the public has no conception. Only they can understand it whose lives have been devoted to the same ideals. The lasting understanding of such, or even of a part of the public, is worth more than all the storm of applause that is given to so many.

All the applause in the world cannot repay me for the sacrifices I have made for art, and no applause in the world is able to beguile me from the dissatisfaction I feel over the failure of a single tone or attempted expression.

What seems to me bad, because I demand the greatest things of myself, is, to be sure, good enough for many others. I am, however, not of their opinion. In any matter relating to art, only the best is good enough for any public. If the public is uncultivated, one must make it know the best, must educate it, must teach it to understand the best. A naive understanding is often most strongly exhibited by the uncultivated—that is, the unspoiled—public, and often is worth more than any cultivation. The cultivated public should be willing to accept only the best; it should ruthlessly condemn the bad and the mediocre.

It is the artist's task, through offering his best and most carefully prepared achievements, to educate the public, to ennoble it; and he should carry out his mission without being influenced by bad standards of taste.

The public, on the other hand, should consider art, not as a matter of fashion, or as an opportunity to display its clothes, but should feel it as a true and profound enjoyment, and do everything to second the artist's efforts.

Arriving late at the opera or in the concert hall is a kind of bad manners which cannot be sufficiently censured. In the same way, going out before the end, at unfitting times, and the use of fans in such a way as to disturb artists and those sitting near, should be avoided by cultivated people. Artists who are concentrating their whole nature upon realizing an ideal, which they wish to interpret with the most perfect expression, should not be disturbed or disquieted.

On the other hand, operatic performances, and concerts especially, should be limited in duration and in the number of pieces presented. It is better to offer the public a single symphony or a short list of songs or pianoforte pieces, which it can listen to with attention and really absorb, than to provide two or three hours of difficult music that neither the public can listen to with sufficient attention nor the artist perform with sufficient concentration.



SECTION XXXVIII

INTERPRETATION

Let us return to the subject of Expression, and examine a song; for example,

"Der Nussbaum" by Schumann.

The prevailing mood through it is one of quiet gayety, consequently one demanding a pleasant expression of countenance. The song picture must rustle by us like a fairy story. The picture shows us the fragrant nut tree putting forth its leaves in the spring; under it a maiden lost in reverie, who finally falls asleep, happy in her thoughts. All is youth and fragrance, a charming little picture, whose colors must harmonize. None of them should stand out from the frame. Only one single word rises above the rustling of the tree, and this must be brought plainly to the hearing of the listening maiden—and hence, also, of the public—the second "next" year. The whole song finds its point in that one word. The nut tree before the house puts forth its green leaves and sheds its fragrance; its blossoms are lovingly embraced by the soft breezes, whispering to each other two by two, and offer their heads to be kissed, nodding and bowing; the song must be sung with an equal fragrance, each musical phrase in one breath: that is, with six inaudible breathings, without ritenuto.

They whisper of a maiden who night and day is thinking, she knows not of what herself. Between "selber" and "nicht was" a slight separation of the words can be made, by breaking off the r in "selber" nasally; and holding the tone nasally, without taking a fresh breath, attacking the "nicht" anew. In this way an expression of uncertainty is lent to the words "nicht was."

But now all becomes quite mysterious. "They whisper, they whisper"—one must bend one's thoughts to hear it; who can understand so soft a song? But now I hear plainly, even though it be very soft—the whisper about the bridegroom and the next year, and again quite significantly, the next year. That is so full of promise, one can scarcely tear one's self away from the thoughts, from the word in which love is imparted, and yet that, too, comes to an end!

Now I am the maiden herself who listens, smiling in happiness, to the rustling of the tree, leaning her head against its trunk, full of longing fancies as she sinks to sleep and to dream, from which she would wish never to awaken.

"Feldeinsamkeit" by Brahms.

This song interprets the exalted mood of the soul of the man who, lying at rest in the long grass, watches the clouds float by, and whose being is made one with nature as he does so. A whole world of insects buzzes about him, the air shimmers in the bright sunlight, flowers shed their perfume; everything about him lives a murmuring life in tones that seem to enhance the peace of nature, far from the haunts of men.

As tranquil as are the clouds that pass by, as peaceful as is the mood of nature, as luxurious as are the flowers that spread their fragrance, so tranquil and calm must be the breathing of the singer, which draws the long phrases of the song over the chords of the accompaniment, and brings before us in words and tones the picture of the warm peace of summer in nature, and the radiant being of a man dissolved within it.

I mark the breathing places with V. "Ich liege still im Nohen gruenen Gras V und sende lange meinen Blick V nach oben V [and again comfortably, calmly] nach oben.

"Von Grillen rings umschwaermt V ohn' Unterlass V von Himmelsblaeue wundersam umwoben V von Himmelsblaeue V wundersam umwoben."

Each tone, each letter, is connected closely with the preceding and following; the expression of the eyes and of the soul should be appropriate to that of the glorified peace of nature and of the soul's happiness. The last phrase should soar tenderly, saturated with a warm and soulful coloring.

"Die schoenen weissen Wolken zieh'n dahin V durch's tiefe Blau V, [I gaze at it for a moment] wie schoene, stille Traeume V [losing one's self] wie schoene stille Traeume. V [A feeling of dissolution takes away every thought of living and being.] Mir ist V als ob V ich laengst V gestorben bin! [The whole being is dissolved in the ether; the end comes with outstretched wings soaring above the earth.] und ziehe selig mit V durch ew'ge Raeume V und ziehe selig mit V durch ew'ge Raeume. [Dissolution of the soul in the universe must sound forth from the singer's tone.]

"The Erlking," by Schubert.

For him who is familiar with our native legends and tales, the willows and alders in the fields and by the brooks are peopled with hidden beings, fairies, and witches. They stretch out ghostly arms, as their veils wave over their loose hair, they bow, cower, raise themselves, become as big as giants or as little as dwarfs. They seem to lie in wait for the weak, to fill them with fright.

The father, however, who rides with his child through the night and the wind, is a man, no ghost; and his faithful steed, that carries both, no phantom. The picture is presented to us vividly; we can follow the group for long. The feeling is of haste, but not of ghostliness. The prelude should consequently sound simply fast, but not overdrawn. The first phrases of the singer should be connected with it as a plain narrative.

Suddenly the child hugs the father more closely and buries his face in terror in his bosom. Lovingly the father bends over him; quietly he asks him the cause of his fear.

Frightened, the child looks to one side, and asks, in disconnected phrases, whether his father does not see the Erlking, the Erlking with his crown and train. They had just ridden by a clump of willows. Still quietly, the father explains smilingly to his son that what he saw was a bank of fog hanging over the meadow.

But in the boy's brain the Erlking has already raised his enticing whisper.[3] The still, small voice, as though coming from another world, promises the child golden raiment, flowers, and games.

[Footnote 3: The voice of the Erlking is a continuous, soft, uninterrupted stream of tone, upon which the whispered words are hung. The Erlking excites the thoughts of the fever-sick boy. The three enticements must be sung very rapidly, without any interruption of the breath. The first I sing as far as possible in one breath (if I am not hampered by the accompanist), or at most in two; the second in two, the third in three; and here for the first time the words "reizt" and "branch ich Gewalt" emerge from the whispered pianissimo.]

Fearfully he asks his father if he does not hear the Erlking's whispered promises.

"It is only the dry leaves rustling in the wind." The father quiets him, and his voice is full of firm and loving reassurance, but he feels that his child is sick.

For but a few seconds all is still; then the voice comes back again. In a low whisper sounds and words are distinguished. Erlking invites the boy to play with his daughters, who shall dance with him and rock him and sing to him.

In the heat of fever the boy implores his father to look for the Erlking's daughters. The father sees only an old gray willow; but his voice is no longer calm. Anxiety for his sick child makes his manly tones break; the comforting words contain already a longing for the journey's end—quickly, quickly, must he reach it.

Erlking has now completely filled the feverish fancy of the child. With ruthless power he possesses himself of the boy—all opposition is vain—the silver cord is loosened. Once more he cries out in fear to his father, then his eyes are closed. The man, beside himself, strains every nerve—his own and his horse's; his haste is like a wild flight. The journey's end is reached; breathless they stop—but the race was in vain.

A cold shudder runs through even the narrator; his whole being is strained and tense, he must force his mouth to utter the last words.



SECTION XXXIX

IN CONCLUSION

The class of voice is dependent upon the inborn characteristics of the vocal organs. But the development of the voice and all else that appertains to the art of song, can, providing talent is not lacking, be learned through industry and energy.

If every singer cannot become a famous artist, every singer is at least in duty bound to have learned something worth while, and to do his best according to his powers, as soon as he has to appear before any public. As an artist, he should not afford this public merely a cheap amusement, but should acquaint it with the most perfect embodiments of that art whose sole task properly is to ennoble the taste of mankind, and to bestow happiness; to raise it above the miseries of this workaday world, withdraw it from them, to idealize even the hateful things in human nature which it may have to represent, without departing from truth.

But what is the attitude of artists toward these tasks?

CLEVELAND, January 11, 1902.



NOTE

A Good Remedy for Catarrh and Hoarseness

Pour boiling hot water into a saucer, and let a large sponge suck it all up. Then squeeze it firmly out again. Hold the sponge to the nose and mouth, and breathe alternately through the nose and mouth, in and out.

I sing my exercises, the great scale, passages, etc., and all the vowels into it, and so force the hot steam to act upon the lungs, bronchial tubes, and especially on the mucous membranes, while I am breathing in and out through the sponge. After this has been kept up for ten or fifteen minutes, wash the face in cold water. This can be repeated four to six times a day. The sponge should not be full of water, but must be quite squeezed out. This has helped me greatly, and I can recommend it highly. It can do no injury because it is natural. But after breathing in the hot steam, do not go out immediately into the cold air.

THE END