"Ah, yes, the coloratura voice must always be able to do those things," was the answer.

"Should you ever care to become a dramatic singer?" she was asked.

Tetrazzini grew thoughtful; "No, I do not think so," she said, after a pause; "I love my coloratura music, and I think my audience likes it too; it goes to the heart—it is all melody, and that is what people like. I sing lyric music also—I am fond of that."

"Yes, and you sing songs in English, with such good diction, that we can all understand you—almost every word."

Madame beamed.

"I promise you I will learn English better next year; for I shall come back to my friends in America next autumn. I shall be in Italy in the summer. I have two homes over there, one in Italy and one in Switzerland.

"Do I prefer to sing in opera or concert, you ask? I believe I like concert much better, for many reasons. I get nearer to the audience; I am freer—much freer, and can be myself and not some other person. There is no change of costume, either; I wear one gown, so it is easier; yes, I like it much more.

"In traveling over your big country—you see I have just been out to California and back—I find your people have advanced so very much in appreciation of music; you know so much more than when I was here before; that was indeed a long time ago—about twelve years,—" and Madame made a pretty little gesture.

"But in one way your great big country has scarcely advanced any if at all; you have not advanced in providing opera for your music lovers. You need permanent opera companies in all the larger cities. The opera companies of New York and Chicago are fine, oh yes,—but they cannot give opera to the whole country. There are a few traveling companies too, which are good. But what are they in your big country? You should have opera stock companies all over, which would give opera for the people. Then your fine American girls would have the chance to gain operatic experience in their own country, which they cannot get now. That is why the foreign singer has such a chance here, and that is why the native singer can hardly get a chance. All the American girls' eyes turn with longing to the Metropolitan Opera House; and with the best intentions in the world the Director can only engage a small number of those he would like to have, because he has no room for them. He can not help it. So I say, that while your people have grown so much in the liking and in the understanding of music, you do not grow on this side, because your young singers are obliged to travel to a foreign land to get the practice in opera they are unable to get at home. You need to do more for the permanent establishing of opera in the large and small cities of your country."

Madame did not express her thoughts quite as consecutively as I have set them down, but I am sure she will approve, as these are her ideas of the musical situation in this country.

As I listened to the words of this "second Patti," as she is called, and learned of her kindly deeds, I was as much impressed by her kindness of heart as I had been by her beautiful art of song. She does much to relieve poverty and suffering wherever she finds it. As a result of her "vocal mastery," she has been able to found a hospital in Italy for victims of tuberculosis, which accommodates between three and four hundred patients. The whole institution is maintained from her own private income. During the war she generously gave of her time and art to sing for the soldiers and aided the cause of the Allies and the Red Cross whenever possible. For her labors of love in this direction, she has the distinction of being decorated by a special gold medal of honor, by both the French and Italian Governments; a distinction only conferred on two others beside herself.

After our conference, I thanked her for giving me an hour from her crowded day. She took my hand and pressed it warmly in both hers.

"Please do not quite forget me, Madame."

"Indeed not, will you forget me?"

"No, I shall always remember this delightful hour."

"Then, you see, I cannot forget you!" and she gave my hand a parting squeeze.



VIII

ANTONIO SCOTTI

TRAINING AMERICAN SINGERS FOR OPERA

A singer of finished art and ripe experience is Antonio Scotti. His operatic career has been rich in development, and he stands to-day at the top of the ladder, as one of the most admired dramatic baritones of our time.

One of Naples' sons, he made a first appearance on the stage at Malta, in 1889. Successful engagements in Milan, Rome, Madrid, Russia and Buenos Aires followed. In 1899 he came to London, singing Don Giovanni at Covent Garden. A few months thereafter, he came to New York and began his first season at the Metropolitan. His vocal and histrionic gifts won instant recognition here and for the past twenty years he has been one of the most dependable artists of each regular season.

CHARACTERIZATION

To Miss Harriette Brower Cordially A Scotti New York 1920]

With all his varied endowments, it seldom or never falls to the lot of a baritone to impersonate the lover; on the contrary it seems to be his metier to portray the villain. Scotti has been forced to hide his true personality behind the mask of a Scarpia, a Tonio, an Iago, and last but not least, the most repulsive yet subtle of all his villains—Chim-Fang, in L'Oracolo. Perhaps the most famous of them all is Scarpia. But what a Scarpia, the quintessence of the polished, elegant knave! The refinement of Mr. Scotti's art gives to each role distinct characteristics which separate it from all the others.

OPPORTUNITY FOR THE AMERICAN SINGER

Mr. Scotti has done and is doing much for the young American singer, by not only drilling the inexperienced ones, but also by giving them opportunity to appear in opera on tour. To begin this enterprise, the great baritone turned impresario, engaged a company of young singers, most of them Americans, and, when his season at the Metropolitan was at an end, took this company, at his own expense, on a southern trip, giving opera in many cities.

Discussing his venture on one occasion, Mr. Scotti said:

"It was an experiment in several ways. First, I had an all-American company, which was indeed an experiment. I had some fine artists in the principal roles, with lesser known ones in smaller parts. With these I worked personally, teaching them how to act, thus preparing them for further career in the field of opera. I like to work with the younger and less experienced ones, for it gives me real pleasure to watch how they improve, when they have the opportunity.

"Of course I am obliged to choose my material carefully, for many more apply for places than I can ever accept.

ITALIAN OPERA IN AMERICA

"So closely is Italy identified with all that pertains to opera," he continued, "that the question of the future of Italian opera in America interests me immensely. It has been my privilege to devote some of the best years of my life to singing in Italian opera in this wonderful country of yours. One is continually impressed with the great advance America has made and is making along all musical lines. It is marvelous, though you who live here may not be awake to the fact. Musicians in Europe and other parts of the world, who have never been here, can form no conception of the musical activities here.

"It is very gratifying to me, as an Italian, to realize that the operatic compositions of my country must play an important part in the future of American musical art. It seems to me there is more intrinsic value—more variety in the works of modern Italian composers than in those of other nations. We know the operas of Mozart are largely founded on Italian models.

"Of the great modern Italian composers, I feel that Puccini is the most important, because he has a more intimate appreciation of theatrical values. He seems to know just what kind of music will fit a series of words or a scene, which will best bring out the dramatic sense. Montemezzi is also very great in this respect. This in no way detracts from what Mascagni, Leoncavallo and others have accomplished. It is only my personal estimate of Puccini as a composer. The two most popular operas to-day are Aida and Madame Butterfly, and they will always draw large audiences, although American people are prone to attend the opera for the purpose of hearing some particular singer and not for the sake of the work of the composer. In other countries this is not so often the case. We must hope this condition will be overcome in due time, for the reason that it now often happens that good performances are missed by the public who are only attracted when some much heralded celebrity sings."

AMERICAN COMPOSERS

Asked for his views regarding American operatic composers, Mr. Scotti said:

"American composers often spoil their chances of success by selecting uninteresting and uninspired stories, which either describe some doleful historic incident or illustrate some Indian legend, in which no one of to-day is interested, and which is so far removed from actual life that it becomes at once artificial, academic and preposterous. Puccini spends years searching for suitable librettos, as great composers have always done. When he finds a story that is worthy he turns it into an opera. But he will wait till he discovers the right kind of a plot. No wonder he has success. In writing modern music dramas, as all young Americans endeavor to do, they will never be successful unless they are careful to pick out really dramatic stories to set to music."

OPERATIC TRAINING

On a certain occasion I had an opportunity to confer with this popular baritone, and learn more in regard to his experiences as impresario. This meeting was held in the little back office of the Metropolitan, a tiny spot, which should be—and doubtless is—dear to every member of the company. Those four walls, if they would speak, could tell many interesting stories of singers and musicians, famed in the world of art and letters, who daily pass through its doors, or sit chatting on its worn leather-covered benches, exchanging views on this performance or that, or on the desirability or difficulty of certain roles. Even while we were in earnest conference, Director Gatti-Casazza passed through the room, stopping long enough to say a pleasant word and offer a clasp of the hand. Mr. Guard, too, flitted by in haste, but had time to give a friendly greeting.

Mr. Scotti was in genial mood and spoke with enthusiasm of his activities with a favorite project—his own opera company. To the question as to whether he found young American singers in too great haste to come before the public, before they were sufficiently prepared, thus proving they were superficial in their studies, he replied:

"No, I do not find this to be the case. As a general rule, young American singers have a good foundation to build upon. They have good voices to start with; they are eager to learn and they study carefully. What they lack most—those who go in for opera I mean—is stage routine and a knowledge of acting. This, as I have said before, I try to give them. I do not give lessons in singing to these young aspirants, as I might in this way gain the enmity of vocal teachers; but I help the untried singers to act their parts. Of course all depends on the mentality—how long a process of training the singer needs. The coloratura requires more time to perfect this manner of singing than others need; but some are much quicker at it than others.

"It is well I am blessed with good health, as my task is extremely arduous. When on tour, I sing every night, besides constantly rehearsing my company. We are ninety in all, including our orchestra. It is indeed a great undertaking. I do not do it for money, for I make nothing personally out of it, and you can imagine how heavy the expenses are; four thousand dollars a week, merely for transportation. But I do it for the sake of art, and to spread the love of modern Italian opera over this great, wonderful country, the greatest country for music that exists to-day. And the plan succeeds far beyond my hopes; for where we gave one performance in a place, we now, on our second visit, can give three—four. Next year we shall go to California.

"So we are doing our part, both to aid the young singer who sorely needs experience and to educate the masses and general public to love what is best in modern Italian opera!"



IX

ROSA RAISA

PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE WIN RESULTS

To the present day opera goers the name of Rosa Raisa stands for a compelling force. In whatever role she appears, she is always a commanding figure, both physically, dramatically and musically. Her feeling for dramatic climax, the intensity with which she projects each character assumed, the sincerity and self forgetfulness of her naturalistic interpretation, make every role notable. Her voice is a rich, powerful soprano, vibrantly sweet when at its softest—like a rushing torrent of passion in intense moments. At such moments the listener is impressed with the belief that power and depth of tone are limitless; that the singer can never come to the end of her resources, no matter how deeply she may draw on them. There are such moments of tragic intensity, in her impersonation of the heroine in Jewels of the Madonna, in Sister Angelica, in Norma, as the avenging priestess, in which role she has recently created such a remarkable impression.



A PRIMA DONNA AT HOME

If one has pictured to one's self that because the Russian prima donna can show herself a whirlwind of dynamic passion on the stage, therefore she must show some of these qualities in private life, one would quickly become disabused of such an impression when face to face with the artist. One would then meet a slender, graceful young woman, of gentle presence and with the simplest manners in the world. The dark, liquid eyes look at one with frankness and sincerity; the wide, low brow, from which the dark hair is softly drawn away, is the brow of a madonna. In repose the features might easily belong to one of Raphael's saints. However, they light up genially when their owner speaks.

Mme. Raisa stood in the doorway of her New York apartment, ready to greet us as we were shown the way to her. Her figure, clad in close-fitting black velvet, looked especially slender; her manner was kind and gracious, and we were soon seated in her large, comfortable salon, deep in conference. Before we had really begun, the singer's pet dog came bounding to greet us from another room. The tiny creature, a Mexican terrier, was most affectionate, yet very gentle withal, and content to quietly cuddle down and listen to the conversation.

"I will speak somewhat softly," began Mme. Raisa, "since speaking seems to tire me much more than singing, for what reason I do not know. We singers must think a little of our physical well being, you see. This means keeping regular hours, living very simply and taking a moderate amount of exercise.

"Yes, I always loved to sing; even as a little child I was constantly singing. And so I began to have singing lessons when I was eight years old. Later on I went to Italy and lived there for a number of years, until I began to travel. I now make my home in Naples. My teacher there was Madame Marchesio, who was a remarkable singer, musician and teacher—all three. Even when she reached the advanced age of eighty, she could still sing wonderfully well. She had the real bel canto, understood the voice, how to use it and the best way to preserve it. I owe so much to her careful, artistic training; almost everything, I may say.

THE SINGER'S LIFE

"One cannot expect to succeed in the profession of music without giving one's best time and thought to the work of vocal training and all the other subjects that go with it. A man in business gives his day, or the most of it, to his office. My time is devoted to my art, and indeed I have not any too much time to study all the necessary sides of it.

"During the season, I do regular vocal practice each day and keep the various roles in review. During the summer I study new parts, for then I have the time and the quiet. That is what the singer needs—quiet. I always return to Naples for the vacation, unless I go to South America and sing there. Then I must have a little rest too, that I may be ready for the labors of the following season.

VOCAL TRAINING

"Even during the busiest days technic practice is never neglected. Vocalizes, scales, terzetta—what you call them—broken thirds, yes, and long, slow tones in mezza di voce, that is, beginning softly, swelling to loud then gradually diminishing to soft, are part of the daily regime. One cannot omit these things if one would always keep in condition and readiness. When at work in daily study, I sing softly, or with medium tone quality; I do not use full voice except occasionally, when I am going through a part and wish to try out certain effects.

"ONE VOICE"

"I was trained first as a coloratura and taught to do all the old Italian operas of Bellini, Rosini, Donizetti and the rest of the florid Italian school. This gives the singer a thorough, solid training—the sort of training that requires eight or ten years to accomplish. But this is not too much time to give, if one wishes to be thoroughly prepared to sing all styles of music. In former days, when singers realized the necessity of being prepared in this way, there existed I might say—one voice; for the soprano voice was trained to sing both florid and dramatic music. But in these days sopranos are divided into High, Lyric, Coloratura and Dramatic; singers choose which of these lines seems to suit best their voice and temperament.

COLORATURA AND DRAMATIC

"It is of advantage to the singer to be trained in both these arts. In the smaller opera houses of Italy, a soprano, if thus trained, can sing Lucia one night and Norma the next; Traviata one night and Trovatore the next.

"Modern Italian opera calls for the dramatic soprano. She must be an actress just as well as a singer. She must be able to express in both voice and gesture intense passion and emotion. It is the period of storm and stress. Coloratura voices have not so much opportunity at the present time, unless they are quite out of the ordinary. And yet, for me, a singer who has mastery of the beautiful art of bel canto, is a great joy. Galli-Curci's art is the highest I know of. For me she is the greatest singer. Melba also is wonderful. I have heard her often—she has been very kind to me. When I hear her sing an old Italian air, with those pure, bell-like tones of hers, I am lifted far up; I feel myself above the sky.

DO NOT YIELD TO DISCOURAGEMENT

"The younger singer need not yield to discouragement, for she must know from the start, that the mastery of a great art like singing is a long and arduous task. If the work seems too difficult at times, do not give up or say 'I cannot.' If I had done that, I should have really given up many times. Instead I say; 'I can do it, and not only I can but I will!'

MUSICIANSHIP

"There are so many sides to the singer's equipment, besides singing itself"; and Mme. Raisa lifted dark eyes and spread out her graceful hands as though to indicate the bigness of the subject. "Yes, there is the piano, for instance; the singer is much handicapped without a knowledge of that instrument, for it not only provides accompaniment but cultivates the musical sense. Of course I have learned the piano and I consider it necessary for the singer.

"Then there are languages. Be not content with your own, though that language must be perfectly learned and expressed, but learn others."

"You of course speak several languages?" questioned the listener.

"Yes, I speak eight," she answered modestly. "Russian, of course, for I am Russian; then French, Italian, German, Spanish, Polish, Roumanian and English. Besides these I am familiar with a few dialects.

HAVE PATIENCE

"So many young singers are so impatient; they want to prepare themselves in three or four years for a career," and Madame frowned her disapproval. "Perhaps they may come before the public after that length of time spent in study; but they will only know a part—a little of all they ought to know. With a longer time, conscientiously used, they would be far better equipped. The singer who spends nine or ten years in preparation, who is trained to sing florid parts as well as those which are dramatic—she indeed can sing anything, the music of the old school as well as of the new. In Rome I gave a recital of old music, assisted by members of the Sistine Chapel choir. We gave much old music, some of it dating from the sixth century.

"Do I always feel the emotions I express when singing a role? Yes, I can say that I endeavor to throw myself absolutely into the part I am portraying; but that I always do so with equal success cannot be expected. So many unforeseen occurrences may interfere, which the audience can never know or consider. One may not be exactly in the mood, or in the best of voice; the house may not be a congenial space, or the audience is unsympathetic. But if all is propitious and the audience with you—then you are lifted up and carry every one with you. Then you are inspired and petty annoyances are quite forgotten.

VOCAL MASTERY

"You ask a very difficult question when you ask of what vocal mastery consists. If I have developed perfect control throughout the two and a half octaves of my voice, can make each tone with pure quality and perfect evenness in the different degrees of loud and soft, and if I have perfect breath control as well, I then have an equipment that may serve all purposes of interpretation.

"Together with vocal mastery must go the art of interpretation, in which all the mastery of the vocal equipment may find expression. In order to interpret adequately one ought to possess a perfect instrument, perfectly trained. When this is the case one can forget mechanism, because confident of the ability to express whatever emotion is desired."

"Have you a message which may be carried to the young singers?" she was asked.

"Tell them to have patience—patience to work and patience to wait for results. Vocal mastery is not a thing that can be quickly accomplished; it is not the work of weeks and months, but of years of consistent, constant effort. It cannot be hurried, but must grow with one's growth, both mentally and physically. But the reward of earnest effort is sure to come!"



X

LOUISE HOMER

THE REQUIREMENTS OF A MUSICAL CAREER

Madame Louise Homer is a native artist to whom every loyal American can point with pardonable pride. Her career has been a constant, steady ascent, from the start; it is a career so well known in America that there is hardly any need to review it, except as she herself refers to it on the rare occasions when she is induced to speak of herself. For Mme. Homer is one of the most modest artists in the world; nothing is more distasteful to her than to seek for publicity through ordinary channels. So averse is she to any self-seeking that it was with considerable hesitation that she consented to express her views to the writer, on the singer's art. As Mr. Sidney Homer, the well known composer and husband of Mme. Homer, remarked, the writer should prize this intimate talk, as it was the first Mme. Homer had granted in a very long time.



The artist had lately returned from a long trip, crowded with many concerts, when I called at the New York residence of this ideal musical pair and their charming family. Mme. Homer was at home and sent down word she would see me shortly. In the few moments of waiting, I seemed to feel the genial atmosphere of this home, its quiet and cheer. A distant tinkle of girlish laughter was borne to me once or twice; then a phrase or two sung by a rich, vibrant voice above; then in a moment after, the artist herself descended and greeted me cordially.

"We will have a cup of tea before we start in to talk," she said, and, as if by magic, the tea tray and dainty muffins appeared.

How wholesome and fresh she looked, with the ruddy color in her cheeks and the firm whiteness of neck and arms. The Japanese robe of "midnight blue," embroidered in yellows, heightened the impression of vigorous health by its becomingness.

FOR THE GIRL WHO WANTS TO MAKE A CAREER

"There is so much to consider for the girl who desires to enter the profession," began Mme. Homer, in response to my first query. "First, she must have a voice, there is no use attempting a career without the voice; there must be something to develop, something worth while to build upon. And if she has the voice and the means to study, she must make up her mind to devote herself exclusively to her art; there is no other way to succeed. She cannot enter society, go to luncheons, dinners and out in the evening, and at the same time accomplish much in the way of musical development. Many girls think, if they attend two or three voice lessons a week and learn some songs and a few operatic arias, that is all there is to it. But there is far more. They must know many other things. The vocal student should study piano and languages; these are really essential. Not that she should strive to become a pianist; that would not be possible if she is destined to become a singer; but the more she knows of the piano and its literature, the more this will cultivate her musical sense and develop her taste.

HOW AN ARTIST WORKS

"I am always studying, always striving to improve what I have already learned and trying to acquire the things I find difficult, or that I have not yet attained to. I do vocal technic every day; this is absolutely essential, while one is in the harness. It is during the winter that I work so industriously, both on technic and repertoire, between tours. This is when I study. I believe in resting the voice part of the year, and I take this rest in the summer. Then, for a time, I do not sing at all. I try to forget there is such a thing as music in the world, so far as studying it is concerned. Of course I try over Mr. Homer's new songs, when they are finished, for summer is his time for composition.

"Since the voice is such an intangible instrument, the singer needs regular guidance and criticism, no matter how advanced she may be. As you say, it is difficult for the singer to determine the full effect of her work; she often thinks it much better than it really is. That is human nature, isn't it?" she added with one of her charming smiles.

THE START IN OPERA

"How did you start upon an operatic career?" the singer was asked.

Just here Mr. Homer entered and joined in the conference.

"I do not desire to go into my life-history, as that would take too long. In a few words, this is how it happened—years ago.

"We were living in Boston; I had a church position, so we were each busy with our musical work. My voice was said to be 'glorious,' but it was a cumbersome, unwieldy organ. I could only sing up to F; there were so many things I wanted to do with my voice that seemed impossible, that I realized I needed more training. I could have remained where I was; the church people were quite satisfied, and I sang in concert whenever opportunity offered. But something within urged me on. We decided to take a year off and spend it in study abroad. Paris was then the Mecca for singers and to Paris we went. I plunged at once into absorbing study; daily lessons in voice training and repertoire; languages, and French diction, several times a week, and soon acting was added, for every one said my voice was for the theater. I had no idea, when I started out, that I should go into opera. I had always loved to sing, as far back as I can remember. My father was a Presbyterian clergyman, and when we needed new hymn books for church or Sunday School, they used to come to our house. I would get hold of every hymn book I could find and learn the music. So I was always singing; but an operatic career never entered my thought, until the prospect seemed to unfold before me, as a result of my arduous study in Paris. Of course I began to learn important arias from the operas. Every contralto aspires to sing the grand air from the last act of Le Prophete; you know it of course. I told my teacher I could never do it, as it demanded higher tones than I had acquired, going up to C. He assured me it would be perfectly easy in a little while, if I would spend a few moments daily on those high notes. His prediction was correct, for in a few months I had no trouble with the top notes.

"I studied stage deportment and acting from one of the greatest singing actors of the French stage, Paul Lherie. What an artist he was! So subtle, so penetrating, so comprehensive. The principles he taught are a constant help to me now, and his remarks often come back to me as I study a new role.

"As I say, I studied this line of work, not knowing what would grow out of it; I did it on faith, hoping that it might prove useful."

"It seems to me," remarked the composer, "that young singers would do well to make a study of acting, along with languages and piano. Then, if the voice developed and an operatic career opened to them, they would be so much better prepared; they would have made a start in the right direction; there would not be so much to learn all at once, later on."

"If the girl could only be sure she was destined for a stage career," said Mme. Homer, thoughtfully, "she might do many things from the start that she doesn't think of doing before she knows.

"To go on with my Paris story. I kept faithfully at work for a year, preparing myself for I knew not just what; I could not guess what was in store. Then I got my first opera engagement, quite unexpectedly. I was singing for some professional friends in a large saale. I noticed a man standing with his back to me, looking out of one of the long windows. When I finished, he came forward and offered me an engagement at Vichy, for the summer season. The name Vichy only suggested to my mind a kind of beverage. Now I learned the town had a flourishing Opera House, and I was expected to sing eight roles. Thus my stage career began."

WHAT ARE THE ASSETS FOR A CAREER?

"And what must the girl possess, who wishes to make a success with her singing?" was asked.

"First of all, as I have already said, she must have a voice; she can never expect to get very far without that. Voice is a necessity for a singer, but it rests with her what she will do with it, how she will develop it.

"The next asset is intelligence; that is as great a necessity as a voice. For through the voice we express what we feel, what we are; intelligence controls, directs, shines through and illumines everything. Indeed what can be done without intelligence? I could mention a young singer with a good natural voice, who takes her tones correctly, who studies well; indeed one can find no fault with the technical side of her work; but her singing has no meaning—it says absolutely nothing; it only represents just so many notes."

"That is because she has not a musical nature," put in Mr. Homer. "To my mind that is the greatest asset any one can have who wishes to become a musician in any branch of the art. What can be done without a musical nature? Of course I speak of the young singer who wishes to make a career. There are many young people who take up singing for their own pleasure, never expecting to do much with it. And it is a good thing to do so. It gives pleasure to their family and friends—is a healthful exercise, and last but not least, is financially good for the teacher they employ.

"But the trouble comes when these superficial students aspire to become opera singers, after a couple of seasons' study. Of course they all cast eyes at the Metropolitan, as the end and aim of all striving.

"Just as if, when a young man enters a law office, it is going to lead him to the White House, or that he expects it will," said Mr. Homer.

"Then," resumed the artist, "we have already three requirements for a vocal career; Voice, Intelligence and a Musical Nature. I think the Fourth should be a Capacity for Work. Without application, the gifts of voice, intelligence and a musical nature will not make an artist. To accomplish this task requires ceaseless labor, without yielding to discouragement. Perhaps the Fifth asset would be a cheerful optimism as proof against discouragement.

"That is the last thing the student should yield to—discouragement, for this has stunted or impaired the growth of many singers possessed of natural talent. The young singer must never be down-hearted. Suppose things do not go as she would like to have them; she must learn to overcome obstacles, not be overcome by them. She must have backbone enough to stand up under disappointments; they are the test of her mettle, of her worthiness to enter the circle with those who have overcome. For she can be sure that none of us have risen to a place in art without the hardest kind of work, struggle and the conquering of all sorts of difficulties.

"The sixth asset ought to be Patience, for she will need that in large measure. It is only with patient striving, doing the daily vocal task, and trying to do it each day a little better than the day before, that anything worth while is accomplished. It is a work that cannot be hurried. I repeat it; the student must have unlimited patience to labor and wait for results.

COLORATURA AND DRAMATIC

"I would advise every student to study coloratura first. Then, as the voice broadens, deepens and takes on a richer timbre, it will turn naturally to the more dramatic expression. The voice needs this background, or foundation in the old Italian music, in order to acquire flexibility and freedom. I was not trained to follow this plan myself, but my daughter Louise, who is just starting out in her public career, has been brought up to this idea, which seems to me the best.

MEMORIZING

"I memorize very easily, learning both words and music at the same time. In taking up a new role, my accompanist plays it for me and we go over it carefully noting all there is in language and notes. When I can take it to bed with me, and go over it mentally; when I can go through it as I walk along the street, then it has become a part of me; then I can feel I know it."

"Mme. Homer holds the banner at the Metropolitan, for rapid memorizing," said her husband. "On one occasion, when Das Rheingold was announced for an evening performance, the Fricka was suddenly indisposed and unable to appear. Early in the afternoon, the Director came to Mme. Homer, begging her to do the part, as otherwise he would be forced to close the house that night. A singer had tried all forenoon to learn the role, but had now given it up as impossible. Mme. Homer consented. She started in at three o'clock and worked till six, went on in the evening, sang the part without rehearsal, and acquitted herself with credit. This record has never been surpassed at the Metropolitan." "I knew the other Frickas of the Ring," said Madame, "but had never learned the one in the Rheingold; it is full of short phrases and difficult to remember, but I came through all right. I may add, as you ask, that perhaps Orfeo is my favorite role, one of the most beautiful works we have."

VOCAL MASTERY

"What do I understand by Vocal Mastery? The words explain themselves. The singer must master all difficulties of technic, of tone production, so as to be able to express the thought of the composer, and the meaning of the music."

"Don't forget that the singer must have a musical nature," added Mr. Homer, "for without this true vocal mastery is impossible."



XI

GIOVANNI MARTINELLI

"LET US HAVE PLENTY OF OPERA IN AMERICA"

Said the Professor: "How well I remember the first time I heard Martinelli. We were traveling in Italy that summer, and had arrived in Verona rather late in the afternoon. The city seemed full of people, with many strangers, and we could not at first secure accommodations at the hotel. Inquiring the cause, the answer was: 'Does not the signer know that to-day is one holiday, and to-night, in the Amphitheater, Aida will be sung, under the stars.' We finally secured rooms, and of course heard the opera that night. Young Martinelli was the Rhadames, and I shall never forget how splendidly his voice rang out over those vast spaces of the Arena. It was a most unusual experience to hear that music sung in the open—'under the stars,' and it was unforgettable."



Giovanni Martinelli, who has been for several years one of the leading tenors at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, has warmly entrenched himself in the hearts of music lovers in America. To be a great singer, as some one has said, requires, first, voice; second, voice; third, voice. However, at the present hour a great singer must have more than voice; we demand histrionic ability also. We want singing actors as well as great singers.

Mr. Martinelli is the possessor of a beautiful voice and, moreover, is a fine actor and an excellent musician. He was, first of all, a clarinetist before he became a singer, and so well did he play his chosen instrument that his services were in great demand in his home town in Italy. Then it was discovered he had a voice and he was told he could make a far greater success with that voice than he ever could playing the clarinet. He set to work at once to cultivate the voice in serious earnest and under good instruction. After a considerable time devoted to study, he made his debut in Milan, in Verdi's Ernani. His success won an engagement at Covent Garden and for Monte Carlo.

A visit to the singer's New York home is a most interesting experience. He has chosen apartments perched high above the great artery of the city's life—Broadway. From the many sun-flooded windows magnificent views of avenue, river and sky are visible, while at night the electrical glamour that meets the eye is fairy-like. It is a sightly spot and must remind the singer of his own sun lighted atmosphere at home.

The visitor was welcomed with simple courtesy by a kindly, unaffected gentleman, who insists he cannot speak "your English," but who, in spite of this assertion, succeeds in making himself excellently well understood. One feels his is a mentality that will labor for an object and will attain it through force of effort. There is determination in the firm mouth, which smiles so pleasantly when speaking; the thoughtful brow and serious eyes add their share to the forceful personality. The Titian-tinted hair indicates, it is said, a birthplace in northern Italy. This is quite true in the case of Mr. Martinelli, as he comes from a village not far from Padua and but fifty miles from Venice—the little town of Montagnana.

DAILY STUDY

"You ask about my daily routine of study. In the morning I practice exercises and vocalizes for one hour. These put the voice in good condition, tune up the vocal chords and oil up the mechanism, so to speak. After this I work on repertoire for another hour. I always practice with full voice, as with half voice I would not derive the benefit I need. At rehearsals I use half voice, but not when I study. In the afternoon I work another hour, this time with my accompanist; for I do not play the piano myself, only just enough to assist the voice with a few chords. This regime gives me three hours' regular study, which seems to me quite sufficient. The voice is not like the fingers of a pianist, for they can be used without limit. If we would keep the voice at its best, we must take care not to overwork it.

TREATMENT OF THE VOICE

"In regard to the treatment of the voice, each singer must work out his own salvation. A great teacher—one who understands his own voice and can sing as well as teach—may tell how he does things, may explain how he treats the voice, may demonstrate to the student his manner of executing a certain phrase or passage, or of interpreting a song. But when this is done he can do little more for the student, for each person has a different mentality and a different quality of voice—indeed there are as many qualities of voice as there are people. After general principles are thoroughly understood, a singer must work them out according to his own ability. This does not mean that he cannot be guided and helped by the greater experience of a master higher up, who can always criticize the result of what the student is trying to do. The voice is a hidden instrument, and eventually its fate must rest with its possessor.

A NEW ROLE

"When I take up a new part I read the book very carefully to get a thorough idea of the story, the plot and the characters. Then comes the study of my own part, of which I memorize the words first of all. As soon as the words are committed I begin on the music. When these are both well in hand, work with the accompanist follows.

"I have many tenor roles in my repertoire and am working on others. If you ask for my favorite opera, or operas, I would answer, as most Italians would do, that I enjoy singing the music of Verdi more than that of any composer. I love his Aida perhaps best of all. Ernani is a beautiful opera, but maybe would be thought too old-fashioned for New York. I sing various roles in French as well as Italian—Faust, Sans Gene, and many more. In Italy we know Wagner very well—Lohengrin, Tannhauser, Tristan and Meistersinger,—but of course they are always sung in Italian.

OPERA IN EVERY CITY

"The Metropolitan is one of the greatest opera houses in the world—but it is only one. You have a wonderful country, yet most of its cities must do without opera. Do not forget that in Italy every city and town has its opera house and its season of opera, lasting ten weeks or more. Of course the works are not elaborately produced, the singers may not be so great or high-salaried, but the people are being educated to know and love the best opera music. Performances are given Wednesdays and Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays; the singers resting the days between. They need to as they are obliged to sing at every performance.

"Ah, if you would follow some such plan in America! It would create a great love for good music in the smaller cities and towns where people hear so little, and so seldom this kind of music. You do so much for music in every other style, but not for opera. Of course I must except the half dozen cities large enough and rich enough to be favored with a season of extended operatic performances; these are the real music centers of your country.

"I will show you what we do for opera in Italy. Here is an Italian musical journal, which I have just received." Mr. Martinelli took up a single-sheet newspaper which lay upon his desk. "You will find all the large cities and most of the small ones reported here. Accordingly, accounts are given of what works are being performed, what artists are singing and where, and how long each season will last. Thus we can glance over the whole field and keep in touch with every singer. Naturally, the time and length of the seasons of performance differ widely in the different places. Thus a singer of reputation can make engagements in various places, then go from one town to another in a complete tour, without conflicting.

"I have had the pleasure of singing a number of seasons at the Metropolitan. During the summer I do not always go back to Italy when the season is over here; last year I sang in Buenos Aires. This keeps me at work the whole year. Buenos Aires is a beautiful city, and reminds one of Milan. Yes, I like New York. It is more commercial, of course, but I have grown accustomed to that side of it."

As the visitor was leaving, courteously conducted through the corridor by Mr. Martinelli, a small chariot was encountered, crammed with dolls and toys, the whole belonging to little Miss Martinelli, aged eleven months.

"Shall you make a singer of the little lady?" the artist was asked.

"Ah, no; one singer in a family is enough," was the quick response. "But who can tell? It may so happen, after all."



XII

ANNA CASE

INSPIRED INTERPRETATION

Anna Case, known from one end of our land to the other, in song recital, is surely one hundred per cent. American. She was born in the little State of New Jersey, and received her entire vocal training right here in New York City, of a single teacher. No running about from one instructor to another, "getting points" from each, for this singer. She knew from the first moment that she had found the right teacher, one who understood her, what she wanted to do, and could bring her to the goal.

And when one has discovered just the right person to develop talent, one should have the good sense and loyalty to stick to that person. This is exactly what Miss Case has done, for along with other gifts she has the best gift of all—common sense. "Mme. Ostrom-Renard has been my only teacher," she says; "whatever I am or have accomplished I owe entirely to her. She has done everything for me; I feel she is the most wonderful teacher in the world."



A life of constant travel and almost daily concerts and recitals, lies before Miss Case from early in the Autumn to the end of Spring, with but a few breathing places here and there, between the tours, when she returns home to rest up.

During one of these oases it was a pleasant experience to meet and talk with the charming young singer, in her cozy New York apartment. She had just come in from a six weeks' trip, which had included concerts in Texas and Mexico, where the usual success had attended her everywhere.

It must surely give a sense of relief to know that the quiet home is awaiting one's return; that there are to be found one's favorite books, music, piano, the silken divan, soft lights, pictures,—all the familiar comforts one is deprived of on the road.

The visitor, coming in from the biting winds without, was impressed with the comfort and warmth of the small salon, as the mistress of it entered. Clad in soft draperies of dull blue, which but thinly veiled the white arms and fell away from the rounded throat, Miss Case was just as beautiful to look upon as when she stands in bewildering evening gown before a rapt audience. And, what is much more to the point, she is a thoroughly sensible, sincere American girl, with no frills and no nonsense about her.

After greetings were over, the singer settled herself among the silken cushions of her divan ready for our talk.

"I believe I always wanted to sing, rather than do anything else in the way of music. I studied the piano a little at first, but that did not exactly appeal to me. I also began the violin, because my father is fond of that instrument and wanted me to play it. But the violin was not just what I wanted either, for all the time I longed to sing. Singing is such a part of one's very self; I wanted to express myself through it. I had no idea, when I started, that I should ever make a specialty of it, or that, in a comparatively few years I should be singing all over the country. I did not know what was before me, I only wanted to learn to sing.

"Now I cannot tell just how I do the different things one must do to sing correctly. I know that, if I have to master some subject, I just sit down and work at that thing till I can do it—till it is done. My teacher knows every organ in the anatomy, and can describe the muscles, bones and ligaments found in the head, face and throat. She can make a diagram of the whole or any part. Not that such knowledge is going to make a singer, but it may help in directing one's efforts."

TONE PLACEMENT

"Can you describe tone placement?" she was asked.

"For the deeper tones—as one makes them—they seem to come from lower down: for the middle and higher tones, you feel the vibrations in facial muscles and about the eyes, always focused forward, just at the base of the forehead, between the eyes. It is something very difficult to put into words; the sensations have to be experienced, when making the tones. The singer must judge so much from sensation, for she cannot very well hear herself. I do not really hear myself; I mean by this I cannot tell the full effect of what I am doing."

WHEN TO PRACTICE

"No doubt you do much practice—or is that now necessary?"

Miss Case considered this thoughtfully.

"I never practice when I am tired, for then it does more harm than good. It is much better for the voice to rest and not use it at all, than to sing when not physically fit. One must be in good condition to make good tones; they will not be clear and perfect if one is not strong and in good health. I can really study, yet not sing at all. For the whole work is mental anyway.

USING FULL VOICE

"When I work on the interpretation of a song, in the quiet of my music room here, I try to sing it just as I would before an audience; I have not two ways of doing it, one way for a small room and another for a large one. If your tone placement is correct, and you are making the right effects, they will carry equally in a large space. At least this is my experience. But," she added, smiling, "you may find other artists who would not agree to this, who would think quite differently. Each one must see things her own way; and singing is such an individual thing after all.

THE SUBJECT OF INTERPRETATION

"The interpretation of a role, or song, is everything—of course. What are mere notes and signs compared to the thoughts expressed through them? Yet it is evident there are people who don't agree to this, for one hears many singers who never seem to look deeper than the printed page. They stand up and go through their songs, but the audiences remain cold; they are not touched. The audiences are blamed for their apathy or indifference, but how can they be warmed when the singer does not kindle them into life?

"To me there is a wonderful bond of sympathy between the audience and myself. I feel the people, in a sense, belong to me—are part of my family. To them I pour out all my feelings—my whole soul. All the sorrow of the sad songs, all the joy of the gay ones, they share with me. In this spirit I come before them; they feel this, I am sure. It awakens a response at once, and this always inspires me. I put myself in a receptive mood; it has the desired effect; my interpretation becomes inspired through their sympathy and my desire to give out to them.

THE WORDS OF A SONG PARAMOUNT

"I feel the greatest thing about a song is the words. They inspired the music, they were the cause of its being. I cannot imagine, when once words have been joined to music, how other words can be put to the same music, without destroying the whole idea. The words must be made plain to the audience. Every syllable should be intelligible, and understood by the listener. I feel diction is so absolutely essential. How can a singer expect the audience will take an interest in what she is doing, if they have no idea what it is all about? And this applies not only to English songs but to those in French as well. In an audience there will be many who understand French. Shall the singer imagine she can pronounce a foreign tongue in any old way, and it will go—in these days? No, she must be equally careful about all diction and see that it is as nearly perfect as she can make it; that it is so correct that anybody can understand every word. When she can do this, she has gone a long way toward carrying her audience with her when she sings.

"When the diction is satisfactory, there is yet something much deeper; it is the giving out of one's best thought, one's best self, which must animate the song and carry it home to the listener. It touches the heart, because it comes from one's very inmost being. I am a creature of mood. I cannot sing unless I feel like it. I must be inspired in order to give an interpretation that shall be worth anything.

GROWTH OF APPRECIATION

"In traveling over the country, I have found such wonderful musical growth, and it seems to increase each year. Even in little places the people show such appreciation for what is good. And I only give them good music—the best songs, both classical and modern. Nothing but the best would interest me. In my recent trip, down in Mexico and Oklahoma, there are everywhere large halls, and people come from all the country round to attend a concert. Men who look as though they had driven a grocery wagon, or like occupation, sit and listen so attentively and with such evident enjoyment. I am sure the circulation of the phonograph records has much to do with America's present wonderful advancement in musical understanding."

Just here a large cat slipped through the doorway; such a beautiful creature, with long gray and white fur and big blue eyes.

"It is a real chinchilla, of high degree," said Miss Case, caressing her pet. "I call her Fochette. I am so fond of all animals, especially dogs and cats."

"You must know the country well, having been over it so much."

"Yes, but oh, the long distances! It often takes so many hours to go from one place to another. I think there is a reason why foreign singers are apt to be rather stout; they are not worn out by traveling great distances, as cities are so much nearer together than over here!" And Miss Case smiled in amusement. "But, in spite of all discomforts of transportation and so on, the joy of bringing a message to a waiting audience is worth all it costs. I often think, if one could just fly to Chicago or Philadelphia, for instance, sing one's program and return just as quickly, without all these hours of surface travel, how delightful it would be! I had a wonderful experience in an airplane last summer. Flying has the most salutary effect on the voice. After sailing through the air for awhile, you feel as though you could sing anything and everything, the exhilaration is so great. One takes in such a quantity of pure air that the lungs feel perfectly clear and free. One can learn a lesson about breathing from such an experience."

Before parting a final question was asked:

"What, in your opinion, are the vital requisites necessary to become a singer?"

Almost instantly came the reply:

"Brains, Personality, Voice."

With this cryptic answer we took leave of the fair artist.



XIII

FLORENCE EASTON

PROBLEMS CONFRONTING THE YOUNG SINGER

English by birth, American by marriage, beloved in every country where her art is known, Florence Easton, after ten years of activity in the music centers of Europe, is now making her home in America. Mme. Easton is a singer whose attitude towards music is one of deepest sincerity. No one could witness her beautiful, sympathetic investiture of the Saint Elizabeth, of Liszt, or some of her other important roles, without being impressed with this complete, earnest sincerity. It shines out of her earnest eyes and frank smile, as she greets the visitor; it vibrates in the tones of her voice as she speaks. What can even a whole hour's talk reveal of the deep undercurrents of an artist's thought? Yet in sixty minutes many helpful things may be said, and Mme. Easton, always serious in every artistic thing she undertakes, will wish the educational side of our talk to be uppermost.

THE YOUNG SINGER

"I have a deep sympathy for the American girl who honestly wishes to cultivate her voice. Of course, in the first place, she must have a voice to start with; there is no use trying to train something which doesn't exist. Given the voice and a love for music, it is still difficult to tell another how to begin. Each singer who has risen, who has found herself, knows by what path she climbed, but the path she found might not do for another.

"There are quantities of girls in America with good voices, good looks and a love for music. And there are plenty of good vocal teachers, too, not only in New York, but in other large cities of this great country. There is always the problem, however, of securing just the right kind of a teacher. For a teacher may be excellent for one voice but not for another.

THE STUDIO VERSUS THE CONCERT ROOM



"The American girl, trained in the studio, has little idea of what it means to sing in a large hall or opera house. In the small room her voice sounds very pretty, and she can make a number of nice effects; she may also have a delicate pianissimo. These things are mostly lost when she tries them in a large space. It is like beginning all over again. She has never been taught any other way but the studio way. If young singers could only have a chance to try their wings frequently in large halls, it would be of the greatest benefit. If they could sing to a public who only paid a nominal sum and did not expect great things; a public who would come for the sake of the music they were to hear, because they wanted the enjoyment and refreshment of it, not for the sake of some singers with big names, they would judge the young aspirant impersonally, which would be one of the best things for her.

VALUE OF HONEST CRITICISM

"Frequently the trouble with the young singer is that her friends too often tell her how wonderful she is. This is a hindrance instead of a help. She should always have some one who will criticize her honestly. The singer cannot really hear herself, that is, not until she is well advanced in her work. Therefore she should always have the guidance of a teacher. I never think of giving a program without going through it for criticism. The office of critic is a very difficult one, especially if you are to criticize some one you are fond of. Mr. Maclennan and I try to do it for each other. I assure you it is no easy task to sing a program knowing some one is listening who will not spare you, and will tell you all your faults. I know this is all very salutary, but it is human nature to wish to hear one's good points rather than the poor ones. I sometimes say: 'Do tell me the good things I did.' But he says he does not need to speak of those; I only need to know my faults in order that they may be corrected.

"It is so easy to overdo a little, one way or the other. For instance, you make a certain effect,—it goes well. You think you will make it a little more pronounced next time. And so it goes on, until before you know it you have acquired a definite habit, which the critics will call a mannerism and advise you to get rid of. So the artist has to be constantly on the watch, to guard against these incipient faults."

BREATHING EXERCISES

Asked what kind of breathing exercises she used, Mme. Easton continued: "No doubt each one has her own exercises for the practice and teaching of breath control. For myself, I stand at the open window, for one should always breathe pure air, and I inhale and exhale slowly, a number of times, till I feel my lungs are thoroughly clear and filled with fresh air. Then I frequently sing tones directly after these long inhalations. A one-octave scale, sung slowly in one breath, or at most in two, is an excellent exercise. You remember Lilli Lehmann's talks about the 'long scale'? But the way in which she uses it perhaps no one but a Lehmann could imitate. What a wonderful woman she was—and is! She has such a remarkable physique, and can endure any amount of effort and fatigue. Every singer who hopes to make a success in any branch of the musical profession, should look after the physical side, and see that it is cared for and developed.

"STUDY THE PIANO!"

"If a girl is fond of music, let her first of all study the piano, for a knowledge of the piano and its music is really at the bottom of everything. If I have a word of advice to mothers, it should be: 'Let your child study the piano.' All children should have this opportunity, whether they greatly desire it or not. The child who early begins to study the piano, will often—almost unconsciously—follow the melody she plays with her voice. Thus the love of song is awakened in her, and a little later it is discovered she has a voice that is worth cultivating. How many of our great singers began their musical studies first at the piano.

"On the other hand, the girl with a voice, who has never worked at the piano, is greatly handicapped from the start, when she begins her vocal studies. As she knows nothing of the piano, everything has to be played for her,—she can never be independent of the accompanist; she loses half the pleasure of knowing and doing things herself."

FULL OR HALF VOICE

Asked if she used full or half voice for practice, Mme. Easton replied:

"I do not, as a rule, use full voice when at work. But this admission, if followed, might prove injurious to the young singer. In the earlier stages of study, one should use full voice, for half voice might result in very faulty tone production. The advanced singer, who has passed the experimental stage can do many things the novice may not attempt, and this is one of them.

IN REGARD TO MEMORIZING

"Here again my particular method of work can hardly be of value to others, as I memorize with great rapidity. It is no effort for me; I seem to be able to visualize the whole part. Music has always been very easy to remember and with sufficient concentration I can soon make the words my own. I always concentrate deeply on what I am doing. Lately I was asked to prepare a leading role in one of the season's new operas, to replace a singer at short notice, should this be necessary. I did so and accomplished the task in four days. Mr. Caruso laughingly remarked I must have a camera in my head. I know my own parts, both voice and accompaniment. In learning a song, I commit both voice and words at the same time.

FEELING DEEPLY DURING PERFORMANCE

"I feel the meaning of the music, the tragedy or comedy, the sadness or gayety of it each time I perform it, but not, as a rule, to the extent of being entirely worn out with emotion. It depends, however, on the occasion. If you are singing in a foreign language, which the audience does not understand, you make every effort to 'put it over,' to make them see what you are trying to tell them. You strive to make the song intelligible in some way. You may add facial expression and gesture, more than you would otherwise do. All this is more wearing because of the effort involved.

LANGUAGE

"This brings us to another point, the study of languages. The Italian sings nearly all his roles in his own tongue, with a few learned in French. With the Frenchman, it is the same: he sings in his own tongue and learns some parts in Italian. But we poor Americans are forced to learn our parts in all three languages. This, of itself, greatly adds to our difficulties. We complain that the American sings his own language so carelessly. An Italian, singing his own language for his own people, may not be any more careful than we are, but he will make English, if he attempts it, more intelligible than we do, because he takes extra care to do so. The duty is laid upon Americans to study other languages, if they expect to sing. I know how often this study is neglected by the student. It is another phase of that haste to make one's way which is characteristic of the young student and singer.

"Take, for example, the girl in the small town, who is trying to do something with her voice. She believes if she can get to New York, or some other music center, and have six months' lessons with some well known teacher, she will emerge a singer. She comes and finds living expenses so great that only one lesson a week with the professor is possible. There is no chance for language or diction study, or piano lessons; yet all these she ought to have. And one vocal lesson a week is entirely inadequate. The old way of having daily lessons was far more successful. The present way vocal teachers give lessons is not conducive to the best development. The pupils come in a hurry, one after another, to get their fifteen or twenty minutes of instruction. Yet one cannot blame the teacher for he must live.

THE IDEAL WAY

"The ideal way is to have several lessons a week, and not to take them in such haste. If the pupil arrives, and finds, on first essay, that her voice is not in the best of trim, how much better to be able to wait a bit, and try again; it might then be all right. But, as I said, under modern conditions, this course seems not to be possible, for the teacher must live. If only vocal lessons could be free, at least to the talented ones! It seems sad that a gifted girl must pay to learn to sing, when it is a very part of her, as much as the song of the bird. Ah, if I had plenty of money, I would see that many of them should have this privilege, without always looking at the money end of it.

AMOUNT OF DAILY PRACTICE

"It seems to me the young singer should not practice more than two periods of fifteen or twenty minutes each. At most one should not use the voice more than an hour a day. We hear of people practicing hours and hours daily, but that is probably in books. The voice cannot be treated as the pianist or violinist does his fingers. One must handle the voice with much more care.

OPPORTUNITIES FOR THE YOUNG SINGER IN AMERICA

"The chances for the American singer to make a career in concert and recital are abundant. In no other country in the world do such opportunities exist. If she can meet the requirements, she can win both fame and fortune on the concert stage.

"In opera, on the other hand, opportunities are few and the outlook anything but hopeful. Every young singer casts longing eyes at the Metropolitan, or Chicago Opera, as the goal of all ambition. But that is the most hopeless notion of all. No matter how beautiful the voice, it is drill, routine, experience one needs. Without these, plus musical reputation, how is one to succeed in one of the two opera houses of the land? And even if one is accepted 'for small parts,' what hope is there of rising, when some of the greatest artists of the world hold the leading roles? What the American singer needs is opportunity to gain experience and reputation in smaller places. Several years' drill and routine would fit the aspirant for a much broader field. This would give her command over her resources and herself, and perfect her voice and impersonations, if she has the gifts and constantly studies to improve them. Even England, so small compared to America, has seven opera companies that travel up and down the land, giving opera; they have done this during all the years of the war.

"This question of providing opportunity for operatic experience in America, is one which has long been discussed and many experiments have been tried, without arriving at satisfactory results. What is needed is to awaken interest in opera in small places—just little out-of-the-way towns. My idea would be to have a regular stock local opera company, and have the standard operas studied. Have a little orchestra of about twenty and a small chorus. The small parts to be learned by the most competent singers in the place. Then have the few principal roles taken by 'guest artists,' who might make these engagements in regular route and succession. It seems to me such a plan could be carried out, and what a joy it would be to any small community! But people must gradually awake to this need: it will take time."



XIV

MARGUERITE D'ALVAREZ

THE MESSAGE OF THE SINGER

A great podium backed with green, reminding one of a forest of palms; dim lights through the vast auditorium; a majestic, black-robed figure standing alone among the palms, pouring out her voice in song; a voice at once vibrant, appealing, powerful, filled now with sweeping passion, again with melting tenderness; such was the stage setting for my first impression of Mme. Marguerite d'Alvarez, and such were some of the emotions she conveyed.

Soon after this experience, I asked if I might have a personal talk with the artist whose singing had made such a deep impression upon me. It was most graciously granted, and at the appointed hour I found myself in a charmingly appointed yet very home-like salon, chatting with this Spanish lady from Peru, who speaks such beautiful English and is courtesy itself.

This time it was not a somber, black-robed figure who came forward so graciously to greet me, for above a black satin walking skirt, Madame had added a blouse of soft creamy lace, which revealed the rounded curves of neck and arms; the only ornament being a string of pearls about the full throat. Later in our talk I ventured to express my preference for creamy draperies instead of black, for the concert room; but the singer thought otherwise. "No," she said; "my gown must be absolutely unobtrusive—negative. I must not use it to heighten effect, or to attract the audience to me personally. People must be drawn to me by what I express, by my art, by what I have to give them."

But to begin at the beginning. In answer to my first question, "What must one do to become a singer?" Madame said:



"To become a singer, one must have a voice; that is of the first importance. In handling and training that voice, breathing is perhaps the most vital thing to be considered. To some breath control seems to be second nature; others must toil for it. With me it is intuition; it has always been natural. Breathing is such an individual thing. With each person it is different, for no two people breathe in just the same way, whether natural or acquired. Just as one pianist touches the keys of the instrument in his own peculiar way, unlike the ways of all other pianists. For instance, no two singers will deliver the opening phrase of 'My heart at thy sweet voice,' from Samson, in exactly the same way. One will expend a little more breath on some tones than on others; one may sing it softer, another louder. Indeed how can two people ever give out a phrase in the same way, when they each feel it differently? The great thing is to control the management of the breath through intelligent study. But alas,"—with a pretty little deprecating gesture,—"many singers do not seem to use their intelligence in the right way. They need to study so many things besides vocalizes and a few songs. They ought to broaden themselves in every way. They should know books, pictures, sculpture, acting, architecture,—in short everything possible in the line of art, and of life. For all these things will help them to sing more intelligently. They should cultivate all these means of self-expression. For myself, I have had a liberal education in music—piano, harmony, theory, composition and kindred subjects. And then I love and study art in all its forms and manifestations."

"Your first recital in New York was a rich and varied feast," I remarked.

"Indeed I feel I gave the audience too much; there was such a weight of meaning to each song, and so many! I cannot sing indifferent or superficial songs. I must sing those which mean much, either of sadness or mirth, passion or exaltation. No one knows (who has not been through it) what it means to face a great audience of strangers, knowing that something in you must awake those people and draw them toward you: you must bare your very soul to them and bring theirs to you, in answering response, just by your voice. It is a wonderful thing, to bring to masses of people a message in this way. I feel this strongly, whenever I stand before a large audience, that with every note I sing I am delivering something of the God-given gift which has been granted to me—that I can do some good to each one who hears. If they do not care for me, or if they misunderstand my message, they may hate me—at first. When they do understand, then they adore me.

SENTIMENT VERSUS TEMPERAMENT

"You can well believe it is far more difficult to sing a recital program than to do an operatic role. In the recital you are absolutely alone, and entirely responsible for your effect on the audience. You must be able to express every variety of emotion and feeling, must make them realize the difference between sorrow and happiness, revenge or disdain; in short, make them, for the moment, experience these things. The artist who can best vivify these varying emotions must have temperament. On the piano, you may hear players who express sentiment, feeling, fine discrimination in tone color and shading; but comparatively few possess real temperament. There is great difference between that quality and sentiment. The one can be learned, to a certain extent; but temperament is one's very life and soul, and is bound to sweep everything before it. Of this one thing I am very sure; the singer cannot express all these emotions without feeling them to the full during performance. I always feel every phrase I sing—live it. That is why, after a long and exhausting program, I am perfectly limp and spent. For I have given all that was in me. Friends of Sara Bernhardt say that after a performance, they would find her stretched prone on a couch in her dressing room, scarcely able to move or speak. The strain of a public appearance, when one gives one's heart's blood, is beyond words"; and Madame's upturned face and expressive gesture denoted how keenly alive she was to this experience.

After a little pause, I said: "Let us come down to earth, while you tell me just how you study. No doubt you do some daily technical practice."

MASSAGE THE VOICE

"Oh, yes, technic is most important; one can do nothing without it. When I begin to study in the morning, I give the voice what I call a massage. One's voice cannot be driven, it must be coaxed, enticed. This massage consists of humming exercises, with closed lips. Humming is the sunshine of the voice." The singer illustrated the idea with a short musical figure, consisting of three consecutive tones of the diatonic scale, ascending and descending several times; on each repetition the phrase began on the next higher note of the scale. "You see," she continued, "this little exercise brings the tone fully forward. As you feel the vibration, it should be directly between the eyes.

"Now, after you have coaxed the voice forward in this way, and then opened your lips to sing a full tone, this tone should, indeed must, be right in the same place where the humming tones were,—it cannot be anywhere else." Madame illustrated again, first humming on one tone, then letting it out with full resonance, using the vowel Ah, which melted into O, and later changed into U, as the tone died away. "This vibration in the voice should not be confounded with a tremolo, which is, of course, very undesirable. A voice without vibrato, would be cold and dead, expressionless. There must be this pulsing quality in the tone, which carries waves of feeling on it.

"Thus the singer entices the voice to come forward and out, never treating it roughly or harshly, never forcing or straining it. Take pleasure in every tone you make; with patience and pleasure much is accomplished. I could not give you a more useful tip than this."

"Will you tell me how you learn a song?" she was asked.

"I first read over the text and get a good idea of its meaning. When I begin to study the song, I never separate the music from the words, but learn both together. I play the piano of course, and thus can get a good idea of the accompaniment, and of the whole ensemble.

"I feel so strongly that real art, the highest art, is for those who truly understand it and its mission. A dream of mine is one day to found a school of true art. Everything in this school shall be on a high plane of thought. The instructors shall be gifted themselves and have only lofty ideals. And it will be such a happiness to watch the development of talent which may blossom into genius through having the right nurture. I shall watch this work from a distance, for I might be too anxious if I allowed myself to be in the midst of the work. But this is my dream, and I hope it will one day come true."



XV

MARIA BARRIENTOS

BE YOUR OWN CRITIC

It is often remarked that the world has grown far away from coloratura singing; that what we want to-day is the singing actor, the dramatic singer, who can portray passion—tear it to tatters if need be—but at least throw into voice gesture and action all the conflicting emotions which arise when depicting a modern dramatic character. It is said, with much truth, composers do not write coloratura parts in these days, since audiences do not care to listen to singers who stand in the middle of the stage, merely to sing beautiful arias and tonal embroideries. Therefore there are very few coloratura singers at present, since their opportunities are so limited.

To the last objection it can be answered that audiences do still flock to hear a great coloratura artist, for they know they will hear pure, beautiful melodies when they listen to the old Italian operas. And melody proves to be a magnet every time; it always touches the heart.

Again, the coloratura singer is not obliged to stand in the middle of the stage, while she warbles beautiful tones, with seemingly little regard for the role she is enacting. The coloratura singer, who is an artist, can act as well as sing. Tetrazzini, as she moves about the room, greeting her guests, as she does in Traviata or Lucia, can at the same time keep right on with her florid song, proving she can think of both arts at once.

It is quite true there are not many coloratura singers of the first rank to-day. When you have mentioned Galli-Curci, Tetrazzini, Barrientos, and Frieda Hempel—the last is both lyric and coloratura—you have named all the great ones who are known to us here in America. There are a couple of younger artists, Garrison and Macbeth, who are rapidly gaining the experience which will one day place them in the charmed circle.



Consider for an instant the three first named singers. They stand at the very top of their profession; they are each and all great in their chosen line, to which they are fitted by reason of their special vocal gifts. Yet how absolutely different is each from the other! They cannot even be compared. They all sing the great florid arias, but each with her own peculiar timbre of voice, her individual nuance and manner of expression. And it is well this should be so. We would not have all coloratura singing of the same pattern of sameness or quality, for we find uniformity is monotonous. There is one peculiar mode of mastery for Galli-Curci, another for Tetrazzini, still another for Barrientos; each in her particular genre is unique, apart.

Perhaps this is especially the case with the Spanish prima donna, Barrientos, who has for several years past come to the Metropolitan for part of the season. She lives very quietly—almost in seclusion—in the great city, keeping very much to herself, with her mother and the members of her household, and does not care to have the simple routine she plans for herself interrupted by any outside demands on her crowded days.

Thus it happens that very few come face to face with the Spanish artist except her personal friends. But once in a while she breaks the strict rule, and will consent to speak with a serious questioner about her manner of study, how she happened to take up a musical career, also some of the characteristics of her country, its people and its musical art.

As her own art of song is most delicate and pure, as her instrument is the most fragile and ethereal of any of the voices of her class, so the singer herself is of slight and delicate physique. Her oval face, with its large luminous eyes, has a charm more pronounced than when seen on the other side of the footlights. Her manner is simple and sincere, in common with that of all great artists.

"Although I always loved singing, I never expected to become a singer," began Mme. Barrientos, as we were seated on a comfortable divan in her artistic music room. "As a very young girl, hardly more than a child, my health became delicate. I had been working very hard at the Royal Conservatory of Music, in Barcelona, my native city, studying piano, violin and theory, also composition. I was always a delicate child, and the close application required for these studies was too much for me. Singing was prescribed in order to develop my chest and physique; I took it up as a means of health and personal pleasure, without the slightest idea to what it might lead.

"You speak of the responsibility of choosing a good and reliable vocal instructor. This is indeed a difficult task, because each teacher is fully persuaded that his method is the only correct one. But there are so many teachers, and some of them do not even sing themselves at all. Can you imagine a vocal teacher who cannot sing himself, who is so to say voiceless, unable to demonstrate what he teaches? A piano or violin teacher must play his instrument, or he will not be able to show the pupils how it ought to be done. But the vocal teacher thinks to instruct without demonstrating what he is trying to impart.

BEGINNING VOCAL STUDY WITH OPERA

"So I did not begin my studies with a regular vocal teacher, but with a dilettante—I do not know just how you say that in English. This gentleman was not a professional; he was a business man who at the same time was a good musician. Instead of starting me with a lot of scales and exercises, we began at once with the operas. I was twelve years old when I began, and after one year of this kind of study, made my debut in the role of Inez, in L'Africaine. About this time I lost my kind instructor, who passed away. I then worked by myself until I was sixteen, when I began to study technic systematically. As you see, then, I am practically self-taught. It seems to me, if one has voice and intelligence, one can and should be one's own teacher. No one else can do as much for you as you can do for yourself. You can tell what the sensations are, what parts are relaxed and what parts are firm, better than any one else. You can listen and work on tone quality until it reaches the effect you desire. I do not neglect vocal technic now, for I know its value. I do about three quarters of an hour technical practice every day—scales and exercises.

MEMORIZING

"I memorize very easily; it only takes a few weeks to learn an operatic role. I spent three weeks on Coq d'Or, and that is a difficult part, so many half tones and accidentals. But I love that music, it is so beautiful; it is one of my favorite roles. Some parts are longer and more difficult than others. Of course I know most of the Italian operas and many French ones. I should like to sing Mireille and Lakme here, but the Director may wish to put on other works instead.