HOW TO SING

                           LUISA TETRAZZINI

                            [Illustration:

                    © _Photo by E. F. Foley, N. Y._

                    Signature: _Luisa Tetrazzini_]




                              HOW TO SING

                                  BY

                           LUISA TETRAZZINI


                   NEW [Illustration: colophon] YORK

                        GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


                           COPYRIGHT, 1923,
                      BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

                       [Illustration: colophon]

                            HOW TO SING. II

                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                                             PAGE

     I  DON’T WAIT TO BE “FOUND”                                       9

    II  YOUR AIM                                                      12

   III  WHY SINGERS ARE SCARCE                                        15

    IV  PERIOD OF TRAINING                                            18

     V  QUALITIES NEEDED                                              21

    VI  GENERAL CULTURE                                               24

   VII  STUDY AN INSTRUMENT                                           27

  VIII  VOICE                                                         30

    IX  GOOD AND BAD “MAESTRI”                                        33

     X COMPASS AND QUALITY                                            39

    XI  AGE TO START TRAINING                                         42

   XII  ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY                                        43

  XIII  BREATHING                                                     47

   XIV  VOCAL CORDS                                                   51

    XV  PLACING THE VOICE                                             59

   XVI  REGISTERS                                                     64

  XVII  FAULTS                                                        70

 XVIII  COLORATURA SINGING                                            73

   XIX  ENUNCIATION                                                   80

    XX  LANGUAGE                                                      85

   XXI  STYLE AND INTERPRETATION                                      93

  XXII  HOW I SING AN ARIA                                            97

 XXIII PRACTISING                                                    103

  XXIV THE ARTIST AND THE GRAMOPHONE                                 111

   XXV STUDYING A RÔLE                                               115

  XXVI CHOICE OF DÉBUT WORK                                          120

 XXVII REHEARSALS                                                    124

XXVIII CONTRACTS                                                     126

  XXIX CONCERT WORK                                                  129

   XXX HEALTH, DIET, ETC.                                            133




HOW TO SING




CHAPTER I

DON’T WAIT TO BE “FOUND”


Every day of my life I receive letters from men and women, mostly women,
whom I do not know personally, asking me to advise them how best to use
their vocal talents. Some of my correspondents also request me to give
them an audition so that they can demonstrate their claim to be
embryonic stars.

It is manifestly impossible for me to spend all my time listening to
persons unknown to me, in the hope of finding new Carusos, new Pattis
and, shall I say it?--new Tetrazzinis. If I were to do so I should have
little time for my own practice. Nevertheless, whenever I am able, I do
give an audition to a young aspirant to musical fame, as I consider it
my duty to help, to the best of my ability, those who are to come after
me.

To those correspondents whom I have been unable to see personally let me
say that star singers are not necessarily discovered by stars. It is
quite true that from time to time it has been my fortunate experience to
discover a tenor or a baritone or a soprano. But they had already been
more or less discovered before I found them.

True at Covent Garden I found John McCormack singing a very minor rôle
and was instrumental in having him elevated to the position of principal
tenor. And other _prime donne_ have acted similarly.

Nevertheless these artists would doubtless have come to the front in
their own time without being “discovered” by a _prima donna_. Most big
artists of to-day were not found by any one: they found themselves. I,
for instance, was nobody’s find. When the _prima donna_ failed to appear
at the opening night of an opera in my native Florence I volunteered to
take the part, and in so doing discovered myself.

My readers will therefore understand that to be discovered by a great
singer is not essential to becoming a great artist, and that because I
am unable to give auditions to all who ask me I am not hindering them
from becoming successful.

But for the benefit of those numerous correspondents who have expressed
to me a desire that I should help all interested in training their
voices, especially in their attempts to climb the difficult ladder of
successful singing in public, I have consented to publish the following
hints, and I hope sincerely they will be useful to all who read them.

I do not claim that I have given an exhaustive treatise--no one ever has
done so--on the art of singing, but I am sure that any one possessing a
voice who cares to put into practice the suggestions I am now making,
will be benefited thereby.

From this handbook I have purposely excluded the story of my
professional life. That is already published under the title of “My Life
of Song” (Cassell and Co., London; Dorrance, Philadelphia, U. S. A.).

It will be observed that I use the word “he” all the way through when
meaning “he or she.” This is merely because I understand there is no
English word which expresses the both. It would have been more modern to
have used “she” in every case, but perhaps less modest. My lady readers
will, however, understand that I am writing at least as much, if not
more, for their benefit than for our lords and masters.




CHAPTER II

YOUR AIM


Singers may be divided into two classes. No, I do not mean, as some
might suppose, those who can sing and those who cannot, though that is a
possible classification. I mean in this case those who sing for mere
pleasure and those who intend to make a career in this way. It is for
both that these pages are intended.

As we have often been told, whatever is worth doing at all is worth
doing well, and there is no reason why the singers who practise our
beautiful art only for the enjoyment of themselves and their friends
should not make the most of the powers which the good God has given
them. I think, indeed, that it is their plain duty to do so, if only in
the interests of their hearers. And I am glad to think that nowadays
many see the matter in this light.

However it may be in the case of professional singers--upon which point
I shall have something to say presently--there is, I suppose, no doubt
that the standard of amateur singing has enormously improved during
recent years.

The days when it was thought that anyone, however poorly equipped, had
the right to stand up and perform in public, have passed away, and in
those circles, at all events, where there is any kind of pretension to
general intelligence and culture it is expected that all who come
forward in this way shall show themselves to be possessed of at least
some knowledge of the rudiments of the art.

As to the general necessity for study on the part of those who aspire to
sing, few words, I suppose, are necessary. If every one can sing after a
fashion, there is, I venture to say, no branch of the art of music which
demands a more arduous apprenticeship and more prolonged study, if all
of its higher possibilities are to be realised.

Precisely, however, because singing is in itself such a purely natural
proceeding, this elementary fact is too often overlooked. “Singing,” it
has been well said, “derives its power from nature, but owes its
perfection to art,” and this is a fact which, I am afraid, is too often
forgotten.

People, who would not dream of attempting to play the violin or give a
piano solo in public without thorough preparation, will have no
hesitation in standing up and attempting to sing, although they may be
just as little qualified in the one case as in the other. They do not
realise that the voice is, in reality, one of the most delicate and
difficult of all instruments and demands in consequence no less study
and practice than any other before it can be really artistically
employed.

There is, moreover, another aspect of the singer’s art which should
never be forgotten. I allude to the fact that the singer is necessarily
a reproductive artist--one whose business it is from the nature of the
case to reproduce and interpret the music of others.

This imposes a duty and an obligation which should never be lost sight
of. A singer has not only his own reputation to consider, but also that
of the composer whose music he interprets, and for this reason alone,
therefore, he can never take his art too seriously.

As to those contemplating a professional career, no words of mine will
be necessary, I hope, to impress upon them the necessity of the sternest
self-discipline and the most unremitting application if they are ever to
succeed in accomplishing anything worth doing.




CHAPTER III

WHY SINGERS ARE SCARCE


The career of a singer is one offering a certain number of prizes but
many, many blanks, and only those possessed of the most unmistakable
natural gifts and ready to work tremendously hard should ever be
encouraged to embark upon it. Hard work, beyond everything, is essential
if success is to be achieved, and it is here, I am afraid, that so many
of our modern students fail.

Imbued with the eager impatient spirit of these headlong days, they want
to do things too quickly, and are unwilling to submit to the toil and
drudgery which are none the less as necessary as ever if really solid
results are to be achieved. It has even been suggested that to this
circumstance may be traced that scarcity of great singers nowadays of
which we hear so often.

True, more vocalists than ever before, probably, are inviting attention
at the present time, but how few of them can be reckoned in the first
class? Doubtless it is easy to exaggerate in this matter. Seen through
the mists of time the figures of the past always tend to assume heroic
proportions.

Making due allowance, however, in this respect, are we really the
victims of hallucination in thinking that great singers are fewer
nowadays than formerly? It would be pleasant to think so, but I am
afraid that the facts point the other way.

What, then, is the explanation? Different authorities would doubtless
suggest different answers, but most, I fancy, would agree that lack of
adequate study has had not a little to do with the matter.

Porpora, we all know, kept Caffarelli for five years to one page of
exercises, and at the end of that time told him that he was the greatest
singer in Europe. It would be amusing to learn the experience of a
modern teacher who proposed to one of his pupils the adoption of the
same course. The great Patti, who told me I was her successor, also said
to me that we artists will still be learning when we are too old to
sing.

The average vocal student of to-day considers himself a finished artist
at a time when he would be reckoned just qualified to begin serious
study by the teachers of an earlier period.

While no amount of training will make fine voices out of poor material,
the history of singing furnishes numerous instances--that of Pasta is
one of the best known--in which limited natural powers have been
developed to an astonishing degree by study and training. Nowadays I am
afraid it is the converse of this which is more frequently illustrated,
and one hears only too often of fine natural voices which have been
steadily ruined by the manner in which they are used.

Modern music has also, no doubt, had its influence--not so much because
it is harmful to the voice in itself, but simply because it is possible
to sing it (after a fashion) without such prolonged study and exercise
as that of the older school absolutely necessitated.

Rossini, Donizetti, Bellini, and the rest of the old masters have indeed
been avenged in a wholly unanticipated manner. Precisely as the music of
their school has fallen in favour has the power been lost of singing
that of the so-called higher kind which has taken its place.




CHAPTER IV

PERIOD OF TRAINING


For this melancholy state of affairs the only remedy is a return to
sounder views. The fact must be recognised that there are no short cuts
to perfection in singing any more than in any other art, and that those
who wish to sing like the great ones of the past must be prepared to
work and study as they did, in order to attain this end.

What period of training should be considered sufficient to equip a vocal
student? In former days eight, nine, or even ten years were not
considered too much for this purpose. I need hardly say how very
different are the views prevailing nowadays, when students consider
themselves qualified to appear in public at the end of a year or two of
hasty and necessarily superficial training. Needless to say, no
satisfactory results can possibly be achieved in this length of time. I
consider a minimum of four years necessary to become a professional
singer.

Lilli Lehmann has put the matter happily. At least six years, she says,
should be considered the minimum period allowable--to which, she says
further, there should then be added an entire lifetime for further study
and improvement!

This is not to say that many great singers have not perfected their art
and even attained the very highest positions in a much shorter time. In
my own case my period of actual systematic training in the strict sense
of the term was comparatively brief--six months. But then in another
sense I was learning from my childhood. Moreover, I was exceptionally
lucky in that my voice was pitched just right, and had not to be trained
to do what is usually regarded as difficult.

Almost from my infancy it was my ambition to become an operatic singer,
and circumstances enabled me to benefit to the utmost extent by the
constant hearing of opera, and also the constant criticism of singers by
competent judges, so that I might be considered to have been studying
and gaining experience for my after career all my life.

Most students, however, are not so fortunately situated, and for them I
cannot urge too strongly the necessity of giving ample time to their
studies if they hope to make the best of their powers and to establish
their art on a firm foundation.

One can hardly write differently as to the period of training for the
amateur than for the professional. If Patti said that she was still
learning when she had retired from professional singing, no amateur can
hope ever to have learned all there is to be known about the art of
singing. And since he will always be a lover of song he will always be
anxious to learn.




CHAPTER V

QUALITIES NEEDED


Next comes the question: What are the qualities which the vocal
aspirant, professional or amateur, should possess?

A famous teacher who was once asked this question made answer: “Voice!
Voice! Voice!” I agree, and in the case of the professional I should be
inclined to add also: “Work! Work! Work!” and then Faith, Hope, and
Charity. Without hard work nothing can be done, and the practice of
these three virtues will undoubtedly prevent one growing weary in his
effort to attain the highest success.

But the truth is, of course, that many other qualities besides voice and
industry are necessary here. There are, indeed, so many that I hardly
know which to name first.

Lamperti on this point used to say: “First there must be a voice and
good ear, but also an artistic soul and a musical disposition.” Further,
he used to insist upon sound judgment, deep conscientiousness in study,
and untiring industry.

Very necessary also are general intelligence and keen perception,
because no matter how good a teacher may be the greater part of the work
must be done through the brain of the student himself.

On the necessity of sound health it is hardly necessary to insist, while
good looks and a fine presence naturally go for much also, though these
are not absolutely indispensable, as many notable instances have gone to
show.

Then, in addition, there are those temperamental qualities which mean so
much: imagination and feeling, sympathy and insight, magnetism and
personality. Perhaps, indeed, next to voice and ear these are the most
important qualities of all. But unfortunately they cannot be acquired by
any amount of study.

How often has it not happened, indeed, that artists have been endowed in
all other respects but these! They may have the most beautiful voices,
they may sing with the most finished art, but for lack of these
incommunicable attributes of the soul they never attain the highest
places. They leave their audiences cold because they are cold
themselves.

These are artists of the type which Lamperti used to refer to as mere
“voice machines”--singers who, as Gounod once put it, are not artists at
all in the true sense of the word, but merely people who “play upon the
larynx,” achieving great results perhaps in the purely vocal and
mechanical sense, but never touching the hearts of their hearers for
lack of those elemental human qualities which are essential if this
result is to be attained.

Let the student do all in his power, therefore, to develop the higher
side of his nature. By the study of literature and art, by the reading
of fine poetry, by going to good plays, and in every other way let him
cultivate his imagination and give play to his finer sensibilities.

For though such qualities as I have referred to may not be acquired when
they are non-existent, they may be drawn out and developed if they are
merely latent; and in the case of members of the northern races
especially this is not infrequently the case.

Another quality of a different kind which is none the less very
valuable, indeed essential, is the power of self-criticism; and I attach
great importance also to having abundant faith in oneself. Even if it be
pushed to the point of vanity and conceit--as I am afraid it
occasionally is--this helps enormously when it is a case of withstanding
the jolts and jars almost inseparable from the practice of vocal art.




CHAPTER VI

GENERAL CULTURE


Of course, too, wide general culture is very necessary. Everything that
can be possibly acquired in this way helps, and is, indeed, almost more
necessary to the singer than in the case of any other branch of the
profession.

For the art of the singer is brought into immediate relation with all
the other arts. The singer has to deal with poetry and literature and
the drama--if he takes up opera--in a way quite unknown to the mere
instrumentalist.

A man might be a great pianist or a fine violinist--he might even be a
great composer--without ever concerning himself at all with the other
arts. But in the case of the singer this would be quite impossible.

For it is the singer’s business to interpret poetry in song and to play
his part in drama on the stage, and it is obvious that he cannot hope to
do these things properly without making himself acquainted with those
arts also in addition to his own.

How can one hope, for instance, for a fine interpretation of a great
song if the words themselves mean nothing to the singer? He may sing
the notes, but he cannot possibly do justice to his task unless he
enters completely into the spirit of the words and the meaning of the
poet.

And in the same way how can one hope to give a satisfactory
impersonation of a part in an opera except by studying carefully the
drama as a whole, grasping the intentions of the author, making oneself
acquainted with the period of the action, and generally entering into it
and all the literary, dramatic, historical, and other details of the
work as well as considering it from the purely musical point of view?

I am well aware that the opposite practice has often enough been
followed. I have heard, indeed, of artists who have sung in such an
opera as “Il Trovatore” for years without having ever troubled to
understand the course of the action as a whole, and who were
consequently in a state of total ignorance as to what it was all about.

But I cannot believe that any one who addressed himself to his task in
that unintelligent spirit would ever be likely to give an interpretation
of his own part of much significance or value.

In my own case I go so far as to study not only, as a whole, any opera
in which I have to take part, but even to learn, or at all events
familiarise myself with, all of the other rôles. And I may add that I
have found the practice helpful not only to myself but also to my
fellow-artists before now, when perhaps some nervous tenor or timid
débutante has temporarily “dried up,” and I have been enabled to come to
the rescue and relieve the situation. This, however, merely _en
passant_.

The main point I am insisting on for the moment is that the vocalist who
wishes to make the most of his powers cannot have too solid a foundation
in the way of general knowledge and culture. There may be no direct
connection between the one thing and the other, but his art will benefit
none the less--will gain in depth and force and subtlety--in virtue of
the fact that it is the outcome of a cultivated nature and the product
of a mind which has thought and pondered over the deeper problems of
existence.




CHAPTER VII

STUDY AN INSTRUMENT


I may add, too, that there is no excuse for singers to neglect the
cultivation of their minds, inasmuch as they have so much more time for
this purpose than many of their fellow-students in other branches of the
profession.

Thus, while a pianist or a violinist can, and indeed must, practise many
hours a day, a singer cannot and should not do this, and therefore they
have so much the more time available for the purpose of other study,
including, I need hardly say, not only art and literature, but also the
other branches of musical culture.

I know that singers have often been reproached in this matter and, I am
afraid, not without good reason in earlier days, but I trust and believe
that that time is passing away, and that vocalists nowadays are no
longer looked upon as being necessarily lacking in general musical
knowledge.

To which I need hardly add that many instances could be quoted of famous
singers who are or have been admirably equipped also in other respects.
The late Madame Sembrich was, for instance, a brilliant all-round
musician who played both the piano and the violin with the ability of a
professional. Madame Lilli Lehmann, still happily with us, although now
advanced in years, is another whose accomplished art was based on fine
general musicianship.

In point of fact the vocal student can hardly be too well equipped in
the musical sense. He cannot hear too much good instrumental music; he
cannot be too well acquainted with the works of the great masters; and,
in short, cannot have too wide a basis of general musical knowledge as a
foundation for his own specialised branch of the art.

To this end the study of an instrument is, of course, invaluable. The
violin is an excellent instrument, though not so helpful from a vocal
point of view as the piano. The piano naturally suggests itself as the
most useful one for the purpose, since it helps directly in the pupil’s
vocal studies and makes him independent to some extent of an
accompanist. It also gives every facility for obtaining a thorough
knowledge of harmony.

It should be employed to further the service of general musical study on
the lines above suggested.

Nor should the musical training of the vocalist stop at playing the
piano, for he should know something of composition and general theory. A
musical education is, indeed, almost indispensable to the singer of the
present day if he is to deal successfully with difficult modern music.

In short, the days have gone by when a singer’s accomplishments were
summed up in the familiar formula of “_Vox et praeterea nihil_,” and he,
or she, who expects to achieve a place in the front ranks at the present
time must be prepared to use brains as well as vocal cords.




CHAPTER VIII

VOICE


Next comes the question of voice. That this is a fundamental requisite
you will not expect me to tell you, although it may be noted, in
passing, that some of the greatest singers have started comparatively
ill-equipped in this respect--or apparently so.

Of Pasta, for instance, we read that her voice at the outset was heavy
and strong, but unequal and very hard to manage. It is said, indeed,
that she never to the end of her career succeeded in producing certain
notes without some difficulty.

Yet, as the result of incessant study and practice, sometimes pursued in
retirement for long periods, she gradually subdued her rebellious and
intractable organ, and was eventually recognised as one of the very
greatest singers of her time. Jenny Lind’s voice at the outset was also
very unmanageable.

I might even quote the case of Caruso himself as another example. Caruso
was one of my greatest friends. But he gave little promise in his
younger days of the wonderful career which was in store for him.

Thus we are told that among his fellow-students at the Scuola Vergina he
was known as “_Il tenore vento_,” meaning a thin reedy tenor, and when
he had completed his studies neither his master nor any one else had any
expectation that he was going to do anything out of the way.

Vergine even remarked humorously of him that if there was any gold in
his voice it could only be likened to that at the bottom of the Tiber,
inasmuch as it was not worth drawing out. Little did he guess in those
days how much rich gold his unpromising pupil was destined to draw in
time out of his wonderful organ!

Nor did his earliest appearances impress outside critics any more
favourably. The general opinion was that his voice was sympathetic in
quality but rather small, and that he himself was lacking in
temperament. Caruso lacking in temperament! How odd it seems to us who
knew him later! But that was the impression which he produced at first.

All of which goes to show that it is not always easy to say in the
beginning how any given voice will turn out in the end.

At the same time I do not wish to encourage the belief that one should
begin with a poor voice, or that every mediocre student can hope, with
study, to become a Caruso. For this would certainly be a disastrous
notion to disseminate.

Such cases as Caruso’s are indeed quite exceptional, and in the ordinary
way a pupil can take it that if his voice shows no promise at the outset
he is not likely to do very much with it later.

On the other hand, what does happen only too frequently, as I have
suggested before, is that a pupil starts with a fine voice which,
however, through faulty training, want of application, or some other
cause, eventually comes to nothing; and it is this which is to be most
carefully guarded against.

Sad, it is, indeed, to think of the fine voices which have been lost to
the world in this way! Nor need one look very far for instances. Hardly
a day passes, indeed, but what one reads or hears of some wonderful
voice which has been “discovered” in this place or that. Alas! how few
of these wonderful voices eventually justify the hopes which they have
aroused! Either the other necessary qualities are lacking, or--too
often, I am afraid--their training is entrusted to the wrong hands and
they come to nothing.




CHAPTER IX

GOOD AND BAD “MAESTRI”


As to the absolute necessity of a teacher there can, I suppose, hardly
be two opinions. Much can be learnt from books, no doubt; by listening
to other singers; and by working things out for oneself, so far as
possible. Also it is a fact, doubtless, that some of the world’s
greatest singers have had remarkably little formal instruction.

Mario, for instance, never had a lesson in his life except when
Meyerbeer taught him the part of Raymond in “Robert le Diable”--and
Meyerbeer, it is hardly necessary to say, was not a singing master.

But such cases are the exceptions, and in the ordinary way there cannot
be the slightest doubt that the services of a teacher are absolutely
essential to sound progress. There are exceptions, of course. One of
these is the great Chaliapine, who represents his own school and has
never had any instruction as we understand it. He is by nature endowed
with a beautiful voice, and obtains his fine effects by long hours of
deep thought and reflection. I have asked him when and how he prepared,
and he replied: “I think out my work in the silence of my bedchamber,
when I am waiting for sleep, or in the mornings before I rise. In fact,
during all my hours of wakefulness I am always visualising the stage,
the actors, the audiences, and contriving how best to obtain effects
emotional, sentimental, dramatic.”

Grave indeed are the risks run by any student who attempts to supply his
own requirements in this matter and to dispense with the skilled advice
which only the trained expert can supply--entailing possibly the ruin of
his entire career.

It was for lack of such advice in her earlier days that Jenny Lind’s
voice was almost ruined at the outset, so that when she went to García
for advice his verdict was: “It is quite useless for me to think of
teaching you, since you have no voice left.”

Fortunately rest and proper training saved the situation in that case,
as we all know, but how easily it might have been otherwise. Other fine
voices have, indeed, been irretrievably destroyed by faulty methods
continued too long.

A famous case was that of Duprez, a well-known tenor who flourished some
seventy or eighty years ago. “I have lost my voice,” he wrote in despair
to Rubini, “how have you kept yours?” Rubini replied: “My dear Duprez,
you have lost your voice because you have sung with your capital; I
have kept mine because I have sung only with the interest.” And there is
a world of instruction in this pithy way of putting it.

See to it at all costs, therefore, that you put yourself in the right
hands. By which I do not necessarily mean a teacher of world-wide
repute--for there are many equally good who do not happen to be so
generally known. The supremely important thing is that whoever you go to
shall be a man--or a woman, as the case may be--of honour and integrity,
who can be trusted to deal faithfully with you, and not a quack or a
charlatan.

The teaching of singing is indeed a much simpler matter--though
difficult enough--than is commonly supposed, especially nowadays when,
as the result of scientific study and research, the underlying
physiological principles are so much more thoroughly understood than
formerly. Yet there will always be those, I suppose, who find it to
their advantage to deal with it as something mysterious and occult; and
apparently there will always be those confiding souls willing to take
these folk at their own valuation and to put good money into their
pockets.

Wonderful indeed are the tales which are told of some of these gentry.
In New York, for instance, there is said to be a practitioner of this
type who sells to his pupils, in order to give timbre to their voices,
bottles (at two dollars each) of Italian water. Beware of the confidence
tricksters of the musical profession who claim to transform your voice
by some quack method or theory of “nasal resonance” and so on. These
people have ruined more voices than one could enumerate.

But one need not go to America to find examples. I am afraid, indeed,
that even in my own native land the same sort of thing is not entirely
unknown. I have even heard of a teacher in Milan who makes his pupils
swear on a crucifix not to reveal the secret of his wonderful “method,”
and I have heard of another whose practice it was to make his pupils tie
to the legs of the piano pieces of elastic which they were instructed to
pull out and let go again, in order to “feel” the gradations of
_crescendo_ and _diminuendo_.

But even he seems to have been excelled in invention by another
“Professor”--again hailing from the Land of the Stars and
Stripes!--whose custom it was to illustrate the art of _mezzo voce_ by
means of an umbrella which he opened and closed as his happy pupils,
standing before him, swelled and diminished on the chosen note.

Such things, you may say, sound laughable enough, but they are no
laughing matter for the unfortunate pupils who happen to be the victims
of such monstrous quackery, and I cannot urge too earnestly upon all my
readers the supreme importance of choosing a teacher who is above all
suspicion--for preference one possessed of a satisfactory diploma
obtained at a recognised institution.

Then you may be sure that whether the teacher be better or worse in the
purely technical sense, he will at least be an honest man and not one
who makes his calling a mere pretext for the plundering of the ignorant
and unwary.

Another important question which arises in this connection is as to the
advisability of studying at home or abroad, and this, I am afraid, is
one of those perplexing matters in the case of which there is a good
deal to be said on both sides. I myself have naturally a prejudice in
favour of my beloved Italy, the traditional Land of Song, where, I am
proud to think, the art of Bel Canto still finds its finest exponents
and teachers, and where also there are greater facilities, I suppose,
for hearing fine singing than in any other country in the world.

At the same time I am quite prepared to admit that there is a good deal
to be said on the other side. It is a great undertaking and
responsibility, for instance, sending a young girl to study abroad. The
teacher selected may not be a good one, or may not be suited to her
particular requirements, when she gets there--although by saying this I
do not mean to express agreement with those who contend that a special
kind of teaching is required for the singers of every nationality.
Whether you study at home or abroad, let your teacher be the best you
can obtain.




CHAPTER X

COMPASS AND QUALITY


Having found your teacher, the next thing you will want to know is
precisely what sort of voice you have--and this is a matter, curiously
enough, which cannot always be determined off-hand. The strangest
mistakes have, indeed, not infrequently been made in this respect--as in
the well-known instance of Jean de Reszke, who actually began his public
career as a baritone and continued singing for some years before he
finally came to the conclusion that his voice was, in reality, a tenor.

The important task of discovering whether a voice is bass, baritone,
tenor, contralto, mezzo-soprano, or soprano, and the exact character of
the general ranges of these voices is a matter of great delicacy, and
cannot be decided at one hearing. It is largely individual, and
sometimes a matter of health and circumstances. The ranges of different
classes of the human voice may be generally stated as follows. In the
bass voice two octaves of E, the contralto two octaves of E with a tone
and a half more in the upper notes leading to G; the tenor, which
sounds an octave lower than the soprano, and the soprano voice itself
two octaves of C. There are also the baritone and mezzo-soprano voices,
the former of which is neither bass nor tenor, and the latter neither
contralto nor soprano. The average range covers two octaves of G or A in
baritones and mezzo-sopranos.

In all cases there are, of course, exceptions, as, for example, the bass
that extends to a melodious low C and can even reach the baritone top F.
There is a further classification which has relation to the _timbre_, or
colour, which distinguishes whether the artist is dramatic or purely
lyric. If of a lyric tendency the artist will do well to avoid dramatic
declamation until maturity and experience has taught him this difficult
side of our art and _vice versa_.

It is not a question of compass only, but of compass in addition to the
distinctive character and quality of the voice. But compass is
undoubtedly essential, and in regard to this Lamperti’s practice was to
judge not only by the notes which could be taken, but by the facility
with which words could be enunciated on them at the same time.

Thus, in the case of a girl student, if she could not only sing the
upper G, but could also enunciate words easily on that note, he
considered that she was a true soprano; and so on with all the other
voices. Thus a baritone might be able to take notes almost as high as a
tenor. But if he could not pronounce words comfortably on those notes he
was not, in Lamperti’s judgment, to be classed as anything but a
baritone.

But, as a general rule, your teacher will not have much difficulty in
deciding as to the classification of your voice, and, presuming this to
have been decided, we must consider next the question of training it.

Here I feel that I must go carefully, for if there is one thing more
certain than another, in my opinion, it is that the pupil who hopes to
get the best results from his training must place himself unreservedly
in his teacher’s hands, since otherwise he cannot possibly hope to do
justice to his teaching. That is to say, he should not confuse his mind
by accepting the advice and instruction of other people--so far, at all
events, as concerns what may be called the strictly technical side of
his training.

Therefore, I shall confine myself to general hints and observations
only, based on my own experiences and herewith offered for what they are
worth.




CHAPTER XI

AGE TO START TRAINING


As to the age to start training the voice, this depends to some extent
upon the individual, but speaking generally it may be said that in the
case of boys the voice matures at about the ages of from fourteen to
sixteen, and that no serious work should be undertaken until after this
period. Although choir-singing for boys affords wonderful training--in
some cases, at all events, if not in all--it should not be persisted in
too long.

If boys are allowed to sing on in the choir until their voices change,
they may easily find, finally, that they have totally ruined their vocal
organs for the rest of their lives. The utmost caution should be
exercised, therefore, in this matter, and it should be the duty of every
choirmaster to see that none of his choristers are permitted to run this
grave risk by continuing their services too long.

In the case of girls, teaching may begin about the age of sixteen or
seventeen, but not much earlier.




CHAPTER XII

ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY


To what extent a vocal student should be instructed in matters
anatomical and physiological is a question which has often been raised,
and upon which the most contradictory views have been expressed. It is
argued by some, that having in mind all the great singers of the past
who flourished before the laryngoscope was thought of that the less the
student knows about such things the better. It is contended that he will
surely become self-conscious and unnatural by thinking about the
physiological mechanism of processes which should be absolutely
instinctive and automatic; and possibly in some instances this does
occur.

I do not think, however, that if the instruction is properly given it
need have any such effect, and I thoroughly believe, myself, in the
student being given at least a general idea as to the construction of
the vocal organs and the manner in which they function.

To precisely what extent the student should be instructed in what a
famous singer once humorously referred to as “thoracic,
crico-thyroideal, and epiglottic matters” may be a question for
consideration, but as to the desirability of his being acquainted in a
general way with the working of the vocal apparatus I have no sort of
doubt.

The truth is that the whole business of singing, if reduced to its
elements, is much simpler and easier to understand than is sometimes
supposed, and there is not the slightest reason why any difficulty need
be experienced in explaining the matter in its general outlines. I would
go further, indeed, and say that he is not likely to prove a very
intelligent pupil who is not sufficiently curious and interested to wish
to know something upon the subject.

At the same time, it is, no doubt, perfectly true that many of the
greatest singers of the past have been destitute of the slightest
knowledge of such matters. In which connection one may recall the famous
saying of Patti when interrogated as to her method: “Je n’en sais rien.”
But it does not follow that others not possessed of her marvelous
natural gifts should follow her example in this respect. For she did
unconsciously and instinctively what in the case of most others only
comes as the result of laborious study and practice.

One may recall, in this connection, the saying of that profound student
of the art on the technical side, who was also in her day such a great
executant, Lilli Lehmann, that it is not enough to sing well, one must
be told also the how and why, and be given a firm foundation, if
permanent results are to be hoped for. For otherwise one will

[Illustration: ROUGH SECTION OF NOSE, MOUTH, AND PHARYNX, SUGGESTING BY
DOTTED LINES HOW THE TONE PASSES FROM THE LARYNX THROUGH THE MOUTH AND
PASSAGES OF THE HEAD.]

run the risk of coming to grief when for some reason or other an
unexpected strain is put upon one’s resources and there is no sound
knowledge and understanding to fall back upon.

How can one properly understand, for instance, the all-important subject
of breathing, if one has not at least some idea as to the natural
processes involved? Vocal teachers and students of voice production are
often twitted upon the conflicting character of the views which they
hold and the principles which they lay down, but here is one subject, at
all events, upon which there is universal agreement, namely, the supreme
importance of right breathing as the very foundation of the singer’s
art.




CHAPTER XIII

BREATHING


He who breathes properly sings properly, it has been said; and there is
not a single authority of any weight, I venture to say, who does not
endorse that statement. The old Italian masters used to say, indeed,
that the art of singing _is_ the art of breathing; and the same idea was
put by Lamperti in another way when he observed that “the attainment of
proper respiration should be the first object of the student of
singing.”

On the same subject the words of a famous English singing teacher,
William Shakespeare, may be quoted. In his well-known work on the Art of
Song he lays down as the two fundamental aims to be set before himself
by the student: 1, how to take a breath and how to press it out slowly;
and, 2, how to sing to this controlled breath pressure.

It is when we come to consider the views of the different theorists in
detail that divergencies will be found to arise. But on certain
fundamental matters there will, I think, be found pretty general
agreement nowadays.

The great guiding principle to be borne in mind, in my opinion, is ease
and naturalness. This is one of those matters in regard to which nature
can be trusted much more safely than theorists and professors. I refer,
of course, to the actual process of breathing. As regards the subsequent
production of tone there is, of course, plenty to be taught. But the
actual process of inspiration and exhalation should be as natural and as
easy as possible.

[Illustration: LARYNX, WHERE THE VOICE BEGINS.

THE PIPE, UP WHICH THE AIR IS PUMPED TO THE LARYNX AND ON UP INTO THE
HEAD.

LUNGS, OR THE VOCAL BELLOWS.

ROUGH DIAGRAM OF THE LARYNX, TRACHEA AND LUNGS.]

Some wise words of Salvatore Marchesi may be quoted on this point: “When
explaining the physical, mechanical process of breathing to beginners
it is essential to make them understand that natural laws have provided
for its independence of our will, as is observed in sleeping. Therefore,
every intentional preparation or effort made in order to draw more air
into the lungs will produce the contrary result, hindering the freedom
of the natural process.”

But this is not to imply that breathing capacity cannot be cultivated
and developed by practice. On the contrary, a vast amount can be done in
this way, just as in the case of any other organ of the body, by means
of systematic exercise and practice. Everyone has heard, for instance,
of the wonderful way in which the breathing capacity of native divers in
the tropics is developed in the course of their calling, or of that old
man in the Bay of Naples who stops under the water with a watch in hand
for 35 seconds. Singers can acquire something of the same power, and
must do so, indeed, if they hope ever to achieve the best results. For
the production of good sustained tone is impossible if the art of
breathing is not properly understood and acquired.

Among modern singers no one attached more importance to breathing and
breath control than the late Signor Caruso, and no one, certainly,
attained more wonderful results in this way. He developed his powers to
such an extent indeed in this respect, that it was said that he could
move a grand piano by the expansion of the muscles of his diaphragm! And
whether this be true or not it is certain that his wonderful breathing
capacity was, as he himself used to declare, in large measure the secret
of his consummate art.

Try to avoid breathing through the mouth. Inhalation through the
nostrils purifies and warms the air before it reaches the throat.
Breathing through the mouth dries the throat and makes the voice husky.
Nevertheless, in singing declamatory music what are called half-breaths
through the mouth are necessary.

When practising avoid taking sudden breaths, though this may also be
necessary when performing publicly.

Practise once daily before a looking-glass and so correct faults of
breathing and grimaces.

Don’t heave the shoulders when taking breath. There should be no visible
movement of the body.

When practising breathing--and this should be done every day--inhale a
long slow breath to the full lung capacity, hold for one or two seconds,
and then exhaust in the same slow gentle way. This is rather exhausting,
and two or three periods of five minutes with an interval of say fifteen
minutes should be sufficient for each day.




CHAPTER XIV

VOCAL CORDS


But, of course, breathing alone is not sufficient. After the breathing
capacity has been developed the power thus acquired must be rightly
applied, and here the first principle is right emission, and in
particular the rule that the release of the breath and the attack of the
tone must take place simultaneously. In other words, no breath at all
must be permitted to escape before the production of tone.

It is to attain this result that the so-called _coup de glotte_, or
“shock of the glottis,” has been advocated. To appreciate this term it
is necessary to understand exactly how vocal tone is produced.

I will not attempt to go into the matter fully, but the general
principles involved are quite easily grasped.

Taken broadly, then, it will be understood that vocal sound is produced
by a column of air passing from the lungs through a small aperture
formed by the vocal cords within the larynx (see diagrams). When we
breathe in the ordinary way the air passes in and out as we inspire and
exhale, without any sound being produced. This is because the passage
through the larynx is then quite clear. No obstruction is offered to the
air current, and in consequence the process is quite noiseless.

When, however, we wish to utter a sound, Nature provides for this by
enabling us to interpose an obstruction to the air current by means of
the vocal cords, and the air then has to pass through a small slit or
aperture, sometimes called the “vocal chink,” formed by their being
drawn closely together curtainwise, as it were.

[Illustration: GLOTTIS AND OPENING BETWEEN THE VOCAL CORDS

VOCAL CORDS OPEN

BONES TO WHICH VOCAL CORDS ARE ATTACHED

THE VOCAL CORDS DURING DEEP BREATHING.]

When the vocal cords--or ligaments, as they are perhaps better
described--are drawn together in this manner the passage of the air is
so restricted that it can only pass in short rapid pulsations, instead
of, as before, in a continuous stream, and the result of these pulses
or vibrations is the production of sound or tone.

The aperture, or chink, is called the glottis, and the character of the
tone resulting, in particular the pitch of it, is regulated by the
precise disposition and proximity to one another of the two bands or
cords or ligaments--sometimes they are known as the vocal lips--by which
the chink or opening is formed.

[Illustration: THE VOCAL CORDS DURING THE SINGING OF A HIGH NOTE.]

The process itself of regulating the opening of the vocal cords in this
way is entirely automatic and subconscious. We merely _will_, to produce
a tone of a certain pitch and the vocal cords automatically, and without
any conscious effort on our part, are brought together to precisely the
right degree necessary to produce that particular tone.

From this it will be understood that every note that is uttered, every
inflection even of the speaking voice, however minute, requires a
slightly different adjustment of these infinitely delicate threadlike
membranes which are provided for this purpose within the box-like
larynx; and this extraordinarily delicate adjustment is all effected
quite automatically and instinctively by the mere operations of the
will.

The brain intimates, so to speak, that it requires a certain note to be
produced and forthwith, without the slightest conscious act of
adjustment on the part of the singer or speaker, the vocal ligaments
adapt themselves precisely in the manner required and the particular
note desired is duly produced.

And these notes may issue forth through that tiny aperture and from the
throat of the singer to the number of a dozen or more in a second--each
one requiring a separate adjustment of the aperture and the said
adjustment being effected in every instance, in the case of a properly
trained singer, absolutely perfectly and exactly.

Surely of all the many wonderful contrivances which go to the making of
the mechanism of the human body there is none which is more wonderful
than this! It is, indeed, necessary only to consider the elaboration of
the means and the complexity of the muscular adjustments necessary to
achieve similar results in the case of a violin, say, or a piano, in
order to realise the amazing ingenuity and efficiency of the means
employed by Nature.

But I am wandering from the _coup de glotte_, which I set out to
explain. Let it be understood, therefore, that the _coup de glotte_ is
merely a name for a particular method of bringing together the lips of
the vocal cords and certain subordinate muscles, known as the
ventricular bands, with a view to a better and cleaner production of
tone, and with a view especially to the avoidance of the particular
fault above referred to, namely, the emission of air before the
production of the note.

In the result the “attack” is certainly very sharp and clean, but
personally I cannot recommend this particular method of achieving that
result, since the effect is anything but agreeable to the ear, and there
is good reason for thinking that the practice, besides being
unnecessary, is also injurious to a vocal organ.

I will not go further into the matter, however, since all such technical
details are for the teacher to explain and illustrate and cannot be
satisfactorily dealt with in print.

Certain general principles may, however, be touched on, amongst which
the first is, perhaps, that there should never be at any time the
smallest conscious strain or effort. Relaxation, looseness, ease, should
be the watchwords all the time. Rigidity, tightening of the muscles,
stiffness, contraction, are fatal to the production of beautiful tone.
Here, as so often in art, when grace and beauty are the objects aimed
at, economy of effort is the grand secret.

There should never be any strain or forcing of any sort or kind, and on
the same principle, it may be noted, is the rule as to the amount of
breath emitted, which should always be the smallest quantity possible
which suffices to produce the tone required. Let out enough breath and
no more--keeping the remainder in reserve--that is one of the
fundamental secrets of beautiful tone production.

Lilli Lehmann puts the same point in another way when she insists on the
supreme importance of emitting “as little breath as possible.” Perhaps I
may be permitted to quote, also, in this connection some interesting
remarks of Signor Salvatore Fucito, in a recently published volume, in
reference to the practice of Caruso in this regard.

“Caruso governed the expiratory flow of the breath with such mastery
that not a particle of it escaped without giving up its necessary
equivalent in tone. Caruso emitted for each musical phrase, or for each
note, just enough breath to produce that phrase or note musically and
_no more_. The remaining breath he kept in reserve, which made the
enchanted hearer feel that the master was still far from the limit of
his resources, that he had still ample motive power in reserve for
whatever the occasion might require.”

Another great master of breathing is Battistini. One hears him singing
long phrases, one after the other, without perceiving when or how he
fills his lungs, so completely has he covered up all traces of the
physical effort. There is no puffing and panting, no discoloration or
distortion of the face.

I am myself often asked how I manage to find the breath for the long
florid passages which I so often have to sing, and my reply usually is
that I have a good pair of bellows which I make a point of always
keeping well filled with air.

This can be done, I may add, in the case of such passages as I have
mentioned by taking at times only partial breaths instead of full ones.
These can naturally be taken much more quickly than complete
inspirations, and by their means the “bellows” can be kept constantly
replenished even when the heaviest demands are being made upon their
contents.

But while it is essential to maintain a good pressure of air behind the
tone, this does not mean that the lungs must be filled to distention,
for this produces the worst possible result. Madame Lilli Lehmann has
recorded, for instance, in her valuable treatise on singing, that she
made this mistake in the first instance, with the result that she
always felt as if she must release some of her superfluous breath before
beginning to sing.

“Undoubtedly,” she writes, “I took in too much air in breathing and
cramped various muscles, thereby depriving my breathing organs and
muscles of their elasticity. I often had, with all my care and
preparation for inhalation, too little breath, and sometimes, when not
giving special thought to it, more than enough.” And others not
infrequently commit the same error under the mistaken impression that
they must get as much air into their lungs as possible.




CHAPTER XV

PLACING THE VOICE


An all-important part of the student’s training is that in relation to
what is called the “placing” of the voice. This somewhat vague term has
been the subject of a good deal of misunderstanding, and the most
curious notions have gained currency as to its actual meaning. Yet this
is, in reality, quite simple.

Tone is made in the first instance, as I have already explained, by the
breath passing through the vocal cords. The precise _quality_ of the
tone depends, however, on the formation and disposition of the various
parts of the vocal apparatus--throat, palate, tongue, and so on--through
which the breath afterwards passes before issuing from the mouth.

The disposition of these various parts can be varied by the individual,
and the placing of the voice consists in finding how best to adjust them
in order to get the most satisfactory tone, and in acquiring the power
always to produce tone in this way and in no other.

To assist in attaining this result it is usual to instruct the pupil to
sing “forward,” “dans le masque,” and so on, but it should be clearly
understood that though such terms are useful from the practical point of
view, they are none the less only a _façon de parler_, and a means of
instructing the pupil how to adjust and adapt the whole vocal apparatus,
so to speak, in the most effective way.

You can really produce a tone in your face or in your throat. It is all
produced by the vocal cords, and nowhere else, and merely receives its
specific quality or character, so to speak, by, in part, the natural
formation, and, in part, the conscious adjustment of the passages
through which it passes on its way to the mouth.

But by thinking of the face or the throat and, so to speak, _apparently_
fixing it there, you can modify the disposition of the various parts in
question and so influence the quality of the tone produced. This
mysterious placing of the voice means, therefore, in reality, nothing
more than finding out in each individual instance the best position of
the vocal organs for getting the best results.

This, again, is one of those matters in regard to which little help can
be derived from advice in books. Only by direct instruction from a
capable master can a pupil possibly be made to understand completely
what is required in this respect.

It is, indeed, essentially one of those matters in the case of which an
ounce of practice and example is worth a ton of theory, and happy is the
student who has the good fortune to go to a master capable of
instructing him rightly on the point.

Some fortunate ones, like myself, have voices which are quite perfectly
placed by Nature. That is to say, they are the lucky possessors of
voices which they produce naturally and unconsciously in the most
advantageous manner, so that they require to make no alteration at all.

This will, of course, be perceived at once by a capable master, who will
be only too careful in such cases to leave well enough alone. A
charlatan or impostor, on the other hand, can work irremediable harm by
interfering with such voices and attempting to modify or improve them.

A singer with a perfect light soprano voice may, for instance, have the
misfortune to fall into the hands of such a teacher, who will persuade
her that she can sing the rôles of a dramatic soprano, and by misguided
advice and training succeed in ruining a beautiful natural voice in the
attempt to improve it.

In the vast majority of cases, however, the pupil’s voice is not
naturally placed so as to give the best results. That is to say, by
proper instruction and training it can be made to produce better
results--tones more smooth, more round, more resonant, and so on--and
it is here that the services of an experienced and capable teacher are
beyond price. The problem is one of great complexity, for so many
different factors enter into it. The palate, the tongue, the teeth, the
lips, as well as the natural and unalterable formation of the throat,
and so forth, all play their part in determining the issue, and the
slightest modifications in anyone may easily effect the greatest
differences in the results.

It is easy to understand, therefore, how impossible it is to lay down
any general rules in the matter, but it is perhaps safe to say that the
less the pupil is called upon to depart from his, or her, natural and
instinctive procedure, the more likely are good results to be
achieved--the ideal case being, of course, the one in which no
alterations whatsoever are required.

I may add, perhaps, that some authorities attach great importance in
this connection to the language used by the pupil in the earlier stages
of his training--that is, when his voice is undergoing the process of
being placed. That accomplished singer Signor Bonci is, for instance,
one who holds strong views on this point.

According to him it is very injurious for singers at this stage of their
studies to sing in more than one language. I may perhaps venture to
quote what he has written on the subject: “When a tone is properly
placed the word need not affect it, but a great deal of harm is caused
by applying the word too early and beyond this by using several
languages. It is a question, and a serious one, whether those who teach
singing understand the application of the word to the tone, and the
dangers are obvious in languages where nasals and gutturals prevail.”




CHAPTER XVI

REGISTERS


Closely allied with the question of “placing” is that of “registers,”
which has been the subject of so much controversy at various times.
There is not even agreement as to how many registers there are--or even
if there are any at all.

For while some take the view that there are no such things, others speak
variously of two, three, four, and even more natural and inevitable
divisions in the range of the average voice which can only be properly
distinguished from one another in this way.

Some, I believe, even maintain that each individual note should properly
be regarded as a different register. But this suggestion I think can
scarcely be intended seriously. For if each individual note really does
constitute a separate register, what is gained by talking of registers
at all?

There is, however, no denying that there are certain marked differences
in the case of every voice in the quality of the tone produced at
different parts of its range or compass--differences of tone quality
which are accompanied also by different sensations on the part of the
singer; and to these different sections of the vocal range the name of
registers has been given.

Usually three are recognised--chest, medium, and head, the term chest
register being applied to the lowest notes, medium to the middle
portion, and head to the highest.

The terms chest, medium, and head are derived from the sensations
experienced by the singer in producing the different notes referred
to--the lower ones giving the feeling of having been produced in the
chest, the middle ones in the throat, and the highest ones of all in the
head. But it should be understood that in actual fact there is no
difference in the manner in which the various notes are produced.

All the notes of the voice, whether high or low, are in reality produced
in the same way, namely, in the manner already described--by the passage
of the air from the lungs through the “chink” formed by the vocal cords.
In the case of the lower notes, however, owing to certain physiological
causes, the vibrations are felt by the singer most strongly in and about
the chest, and in the case of the higher ones in the head--whence,
therefore, the somewhat misleading terms in use have been adopted.

At the same time the fact that these different sensations are
experienced by the singer may be taken as the best possible evidence of
the fact that there are definite differences in the method of tone
production to account for them; and this view of the matter is in fact
confirmed by the researches of physiologists.

There is no need, of course, for vocalists to concern themselves with
the matter in detail, for the process involved is, of course, entirely
(or almost entirely) automatic. But it is none the less explained by the
physiologists quite clearly why there is, at a certain point, this
difference of feeling on the part of the singer in passing from the
lower notes to the higher ones.

Without going too minutely into the matter, the reason broadly stated is
that the vocal cords are differently disposed in the two cases. Up to a
certain point the successive tones are produced in one uniform way, and
then above that point the method is modified; and it is this difference
accordingly which is accountable for the distinctive sensations
experienced by the singer--sensations, it may be added, which have been
recognised and discussed ever since the art of singing has been studied.

Hence, it is quite a mistake to suggest, as has been done by some, that
the whole notion of registers is a delusion. These different registers
do undoubtedly exist, and it becomes one of the most important problems
consequently to get rid of the “break,” or change in the tone quality,
which occurs when the voice passes from one to the other. At the same
time it does not follow that violent and artificial methods should be
adopted for this purpose.

On the contrary, little else than steady and properly directed practice
is required in the ordinary way to accomplish this. In fact if you get
your breathing right and your tone production in general right, the
register difficulty will probably solve itself. To put it in another
way, if you ensure that each individual tone is right, the problem of
the registers need not seriously trouble you; and this is a matter of
paying attention to the general rules of sound tone production.

Special exercises are, however, usually given for the purpose of
“equalising” the voice, as it is called, that is to say, for the purpose
of ensuring a perfectly even and uniform quality of tone throughout the
scale and avoiding the break at the change of register which has been
referred to; and these exercises are no doubt useful.

Most of the best authorities are agreed that proper breathing has as
much to do with the matter as anything, some even going so far as to say
that the matter should not be mentioned to the student at all. This is
perhaps a somewhat extreme statement, but the underlying principle is
sound. And here, as always, the principle of absolute ease and
relaxation and the avoidance of all unnatural muscular contraction or
violent effort is at once all important.

The following is generally conceded to be a well-thought-out method of
uniting the voice wherever the “break” occurs.

[Illustration]

Sing this passage _Messa di Voce_ ascending and descending, commencing
where the break is first noticeable. If this is practised consistently
for two or three periods of twenty minutes a day it should be effective
in preventing this unpleasant defect. Begin firmly, using “ay,” “oh,” or
“ee,” and swell out to fullest capacity. Then let the tone die away
imperceptibly and be careful not to use falsetto. By doing the foregoing
we have augmented the head tones to such an extent that instead of
having falsetto, we have a head voice capable of being allied to the
chest voice with practically no distinguishable break in the whole
compass.

Contraltos are the greatest sinners with the “break.” Very few
contraltos are able to change the registers or sing two octaves without
a perceptible gap. At one time this vulgar habit was considered a
virtue when in reality it is a clear indication of lack of study and
practice.

Remember that no matter where the “break” occurs it is only by
cultivating the head voice that a cure can be attained.

Then, again, almost everybody has one or two tones more or less
defective, and wherever these occur special attention must be given them
so that they can be built up until the singer can safely overcome the
“break.”




CHAPTER XVII

FAULTS


A few words on faults--and the correction of them. No, I am not going to
attempt a catalogue of all the faults which are possible, but name just
a few: faulty intonation; faulty phrasing; imperfectly attacking notes;
“scooping” up to notes; “digging” or arriving at a note from a semitone
beneath it; singing off the key or out of tune and tremolo. All of these
faults are unforgivable, but the last two are crimes. And I could name
numbers more. I have heard vocalists who have been horrified when I told
them that they arrived at a note after attacking it from a fourth below,
especially when singing _pianissimo_. Consequently I cannot
over-emphasise the supreme need for the student to recognise his faults
and follies if he hopes ever to make progress.

Nay, this is not putting it strongly enough. He should not merely be
ready to recognise his faults, but eager to discover them. He should be
ever on the lookout to realise his deficiencies and to regard as his
best friends those who are kind enough to tell him of them.

This may sound self-obvious, but I am afraid that in practice the
attitude of the average student--and not of the student only, but also
of the experienced artist--is very different. A fatal self-satisfaction
seems, for some reason or other, to be one of the commonest failings of
the average singer. One fairly well-known singer invited my criticism of
her voice, and when I obliged and told her what she must do to become a
great artist she replied, “But I am a great artist.” At which I bowed
and said, “I beg your pardon, madam.”

Yet it is hardly necessary to say--we can all realise it indeed in the
case of others--that there is no form of weakness more absolutely fatal
to artistic progress. Let the student beware, therefore, of this
dangerous form of vanity and self-sufficiency, and learn from all who
can teach him.

How often have I not heard of students--alike young and old--who have
been foolish enough to throw over good teachers because they have been
honest enough and courageous enough to tell them unpalatable truths!
They think they know better. They are so supremely well pleased with
themselves--so foolishly satisfied with their own achievements--that
they regard it as an offence when their errors are pointed out.

Of course they do not put it--even to themselves--in this way. They
prefer to persuade themselves that their teacher is at fault. They
explain that they do not like his “method.” Or they say that he does
not “understand” their particular voice. And so they come to the
conclusion that they had better make a change and go to some other
master instead.

It is all very human but very foolish, and I cannot impress this too
strongly upon all who read this book. Your best friend is one who will
tell you faithfully, not how beautifully you sing but how badly!

Some are, of course, wise enough to realise this. And you will generally
find that they are the ones who get on. Such a one was Caruso, who, to
the end of his day, never ceased to practise, to study, to reflect upon
his art, and even to worry and agitate himself over his supposed
deficiencies--deficiencies which were unperceived by his hearers but
which he, with his fastidious and ultra-sensitive artistic conscience,
persuaded himself were there.




CHAPTER XVIII

COLORATURA SINGING


I suppose there is no question which I am more frequently asked by vocal
students and others interested than how to acquire agility, but I am
afraid my answer is usually disappointing. For I can only repeat that it
is simply a case of perseverance and hard work, plus, of course,
whatever natural abilities in that direction you may possess.

It is obvious that all singers are not equally endowed in this respect.
The mere fact that there is such a difference in this matter between the
various classes of voices is sufficient to prove that. No one ever
expects a contralto voice to have the same facility in this regard as a
light soprano, and still less a bass or a baritone.

The most unceasing practice would never have enabled an Alboni or a
Lablache, say, to achieve the dazzling runs and fioriture of a Patti or
a Catalani. And to a less marked degree there are similar differences
between individual voices of the same class. All are not equally capable
in this particular even when in other respects they may be equally
good.

Some experienced teachers indeed recognise this fact so clearly that
they do not advise even soprano singers to cultivate coloratura singing
unless they have the necessary natural facility to begin with. I think
myself, however, that all should endeavour to acquire the maximum
agility, even if they do not attempt to sing coloratura in public,
simply for the benefits which they will derive from it in other
respects. After all the voice cannot be possessed of too much
flexibility whatever style of music be attempted; and there is no way in
which flexibility can be more surely developed than by the practice of
coloratura.

For the rest I can only repeat that, given the right kind of voice in
the first place, there is only one way to acquire agility, and that is
by practice. No short cuts are possible here, and I have no trade
secrets to impart.

And the necessary exercises themselves are all of the simplest
character, at all events in the beginning; just simple scales--or rather
portions of scales--in the first instance, with others more elaborate in
due course. But the scales are the foundation, and if they are properly
mastered the rest will follow without difficulty.

An important feature of good coloratura singing is, of course, not only
that the notes shall be cleanly sung, but also that they shall be
absolutely in tune and of good tone quality. One not infrequently hears
singers who possess the necessary agility to sing the note, but are
lacking in these other qualities. Their runs will lack brilliancy
because the notes will not be perfectly in tune, and the quality of them
will be so hard and disagreeable sometimes as to give more pain than
pleasure.

The cause of this will usually have been a desire to make progress too
hastily in the earlier stages. They will not have devoted sufficient
attention at the outset to practising _slowly_, and so ensuring
absolutely just intonation and satisfactory tone quality. Therefore, it
is emphatically a case here of “more haste less speed.” You cannot
acquire velocity quickly. I will not repeat again the well-worn story of
Porpora and Caffarelli. But that illustrates the point.

I cannot refrain from adding a few words while on this subject in
defence of coloratura, which is so often contemptuously spoken of in
these days by those who do not possess the power of singing it. We all
know the kind of way in which it is referred to. Coloratura music is
false, showy, superficial, unworthy, dramatically unreal, and so on. But
what nonsense this is!

What is the difference in principle, I would ask, between the fioriture
passages of the vocalist and those introduced as a matter of course in
the most serious instrumental music? Why should a cadenza for the voice
be reckoned less worthy than a similar passage for the violin or the
’cello? All the greatest masters have introduced florid passages in
plenty in the noblest instrumental music. Yet the view is very generally
adopted that these are inadmissible, or, at all events, belong to an
inferior phase of the art when the instrument employed happens to be the
voice.

No doubt the quality of the works more particularly identified with
vocal music of this order has had something to do with the matter. Yet
it is hardly necessary to recall that vocal fioriture is by no means
confined to the music of Donizetti, Bellini, and the like.

Bach, for one, had no sort of prejudice on the point, as is demonstrated
often enough even in his most solemn work, while Handel, again, revelled
in coloratura, alike in the case of his operas, containing some of the
most wonderful florid music ever written, and of his oratorios, to which
no less applied.

That Mozart can be reckoned in the same category it is hardly necessary
to recall, while even Beethoven did not disdain to utilise the arts of
vocal decoration in many of the numbers of “Fidelio.” If, therefore,
coloratura singing is sometimes spoken of disrespectfully, it is not
from lack of distinguished names which can be cited in its defence.

Nor is it only among the ancients that such are to be found. In the
modern Russian School we have Rimsky-Kosakoff’s “Hymn to the Sun” from
“Coq d’Or.” And have we not also such an eminently serious master as
Richard Strauss challenging comparison in our own time with the most
extravagant productions of the past in this particular genre in the
music of Zerbinetta in his “Ariadne”? One of his latest songs, “Amor,”
is purely for coloratura singers.

As to the charge that coloratura in dramatic music is unnatural and
undramatic, those who argue thus surely overlook the fact that all opera
might with equal justice be disposed of in the same manner. People do
not express themselves in song in real life, any more than they speak in
blank verse, as they are made to do in Shakespearean drama.

Yet we are glad to have “Don Giovanni” and “King Lear” none the less! It
is, indeed, truly straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel to condemn
coloratura while accepting opera as a whole.

I go further than this, for I venture to say that coloratura can be not
only delightful to the ear but also thoroughly appropriate and
dramatically expressive. What could be more suitable to give expression
to the madness of Lucia than the roulades which Donizetti gives to her?
Or how could the joy of Marguérite be more exquisitely expressed than in
the strains of Gounod’s “Jewel Song”?

I might point in this connection, did modesty permit it, to what people
have been good enough to say concerning my own treatment of coloratura
in “La Traviata” and elsewhere. I recall that when I first appeared in
London it was upon this point particularly that all my critics dwelt.

They were all more especially struck by the manner in which I managed,
while singing Verdi’s florid music brilliantly and effectively in the
purely vocal sense, at the same time to make it expressive; and this I
took as the greatest possible compliment which could be bestowed on me.
For that I think is what coloratura properly sung should be.

It should please the ear by its brilliance, but at the same time it
should not, and need not, obscure the dramatic significance of what is
sung. I might on this point quote that great artist once again, Lilli
Lehmann, who, notwithstanding her strong leaning to music of the more
serious class, including Wagner, in which she was so wonderful, was yet
a great coloratura singer herself in her younger days, and who has
strongly insisted upon the possibility of making even the most florid
music expressive also when it is sung in the right way.

She writes: “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 ‘Entführung,’ introducing a
tone of lament in the first aria, a heroic dignity into the second,
through the coloratura passages.”

But happily I do not think there is any likelihood of coloratura ever
going out of fashion, whatever its detractors may say, so long, at all
events, as singers shall be forthcoming who are capable of responding to
its demands.




CHAPTER XIX

ENUNCIATION


After the fundamental problems of breathing, tone production and so
forth have been dealt with, there is nothing to which the student should
pay greater attention than the question of diction, or right
enunciation. Yet I am afraid it is rare to find that this view of the
matter is acted upon. On the contrary, this question of diction appears
to be one of the last to which most singers are disposed to give any
serious attention.

Hence the unintelligible sounds which are so often heard proceeding from
vocalists, alike in the concert room and on the stage, so that one
sometimes can scarcely tell even in what language they are supposed to
be singing.

This is, of course, a deplorable state of affairs, but yet one so well
established that in nine cases out of ten it is hardly thought worthy of
remark by the average hearer. It is taken as a matter of course, in
other words, that only a word or two, here and there, of those sung
shall be understood by the audience, and one may listen attentively to
an entire opera without having more than a vague idea at the end as to
what it was all about.

Yet in the case of certain singers one may understand without difficulty
practically every word they sing, the fact being thereby demonstrated
that there is not the slightest real necessity for the incredibly
slovenly and defective enunciation which is permitted with such
surprising and lamentable tolerance by the public at large.

So far as opera is concerned, I think that the blame rests largely with
the managers. If they would adopt the practice of deputing some
trustworthy representative at every rehearsal to sit in the topmost
gallery and relentlessly pull up every singer whose words could not be
clearly understood, the difficulty, I am convinced, would speedily
disappear. And operatic directors, I am sure, would find it greatly to
their advantage to adopt this course if only on account of the greater
popularity which opera would enjoy if it could always be followed, as it
should be, as easily as a spoken play.

I believe that in England especially, where opera in the native language
is, as I am delighted to see, making such steady headway, its acceptance
by the general public is hindered more on this account than by any other
reason. Yet there is not the slightest necessity for the presentation of
the drama, which is sung instead of being spoken, to be hampered and
handicapped in this grievous fashion, and it only needs more vigorous
action on the part of the directing powers, I am persuaded, to remedy
matters.

So long, however, as singers are left to themselves in this respect, the
difficulty will always remain, since their inevitable tendency is to
sacrifice diction to tone quality--in other words, to achieve the best
effects in the purely vocal sense and let the words look after
themselves.

And this brings us at once to the root of the diction problem, namely,
the undoubted difficulty which presents itself at times in reconciling
the claims of good tone and clear enunciation. When a pupil is studying
he practises upon the easiest vowel sounds and syllables which can be
selected; and many singers, I am afraid, would like nothing better than
to be allowed to continue singing upon these agreeable and grateful
vocables to the end of their day.

Unfortunately, however, this is not quite possible, and so too many try
to get over the difficulty by singing the words not in the way in which
they should be pronounced, but in the manner most convenient to
themselves. It is hardly necessary to say that this is all wrong and
most inartistic, besides being quite unnecessary.

It may be said that it is easy for an Italian to speak thus, and it must
certainly be agreed that we Italians are greatly favoured in having the
most vocal and melodious of all languages to sing. With our open vowels
we may be considered, indeed, to have every advantage in this respect,
just as the Germans with their multiplicity of harsh and difficult and,
to Italian ears, almost impossible consonants, have every disadvantage.

Yet the principle remains unaffected that every singer, in whatever
language, who wishes to be considered a master of his art must contrive
to reconcile the claims of good tone with those of accurate and
intelligible diction, and the student cannot pay too much attention to
this matter from the very moment that he begins to clothe his tones in
words.

“Sing as you speak,” is a saying which I have heard ascribed to that
great master, Jean de Reszke, and though the advice cannot, perhaps, be
taken quite literally, it certainly indicates the ideal to be kept in
view. It is not feasible to obey the injunction quite literally because
it is almost physically impossible to sing certain sounds on certain
notes. On this account many teachers--Lamperti himself was one of
them--sanction the deliberate modification of the proper vowel sounds
or, preferably, the substitution of a more convenient word. But the
object should certainly be to keep as near as may be practicable to the
correct, natural pronunciation, whereas some seem to make it their aim
almost to depart from this as far as possible.

One of the worst examples of execrable enunciation was given by one
singer when giving an otherwise creditable rendering of Maude Valerie
White’s “Devout Lover.” The words intended were “Burn at her altar,”
which were given “Burnateralter.”

Some English singers have the habit of putting a vowel after a
consonant, as in the word “Good-bye,” which becomes “Goodabye” and which
is absurd.

Baritones often have a habit of emphasising wrong words, of which one of
the best examples is “Trumpeter, what _are_ you sounding now?” Another
absurdity.

One could multiply these examples indefinitely.




CHAPTER XX

LANGUAGE


“Italian is the easiest language to sing, then comes Russian, and I
should put English next. All languages affect the tone, unless the tone
is first able to carry the weight of the language. A singer may study in
any language, but in only one until after the tone is placed beyond any
possibility of being affected by the demands of the different
languages.”

I am disposed to think that there is a good deal of truth in this. How
serious is the influence exercised by the language used upon the quality
of the tone produced is illustrated by German vocalism and American
intonation. For here you have entire nations who, in the vocal sense,
may be said to illustrate the evil effect upon tone of a harsh and nasal
language.

German singing seems to be different, not merely in degree, but even in
kind from that of other lands. In the case of even its best exponents
there is a harshness and a tonelessness about it which differentiates it
from that of any other race. German singers often have strong, lusty
voices, likewise plenty of intelligence and dramatic feeling; but for
beauty of tone and all the finer qualities of vocalism one listens for
them in vain.

The fact is strange, but it can hardly be denied even by those least
disposed to admit it. That one of the most musical nations in Europe
should also be that of all others least dowered with the gift of song is
a remarkable paradox which is not a little difficult to understand.

It is not a case of differences of taste. The point is that the German
voice, as such, is indisputably inferior in point of quality to that of
practically all the other European races. There is no discredit in the
circumstance. It implies no reflection on anyone. It is merely an
unfortunate physiological fact which must be accepted like any other of
those decrees of Nature which are not to be gainsaid.

Such being the fact, how is it to be explained? Why is it that German
singing is of this strange quality? How has it come about that so
musical a race has been so shabbily treated by Nature in this important
regard?

Various theories have been advanced. According to some the explanation
is that it is the German language with its explosive consonants, harsh
gutturals, and other unmelodious characteristics, which is at the bottom
of the trouble.

Students of voice production will prove to you by ingenious experiments
that the disposition of the vocal organs, breathing, and so forth,
required for the utterance of the German language, are in themselves
incompatible with the emission of a beautiful quality of vocal tone; and
however this may be, it is hardly to be disputed that regarded from the
standpoint of euphony, pure and simple, the German language is certainly
not to be called melodious.

It seems quite a plausible theory, therefore, that harshness of language
and harshness of voice are not disconnected, especially when the
suggestion is fortified by the converse association of the most
beautiful voices with the most mellifluous language, in the case of the
Italians.

And if so much be admitted, it is obvious that it may indeed be a
question of importance, as Signor Bonci has suggested, what language is
employed by the student in that critical initial stage when his voice is
being “placed.”

For the rest it may be noticed that another great modern tenor, namely
Caruso, insisted especially, when discussing this question of placing,
upon the supreme necessity of freedom and ease and the absence of all
unnecessary contractions of the muscles.

Signor Fucito tells us that on this point he expressed himself as
follows: “It is necessary through the aid of self-study and the help of
a good singing teacher to become aware of every physical defect--such as
contractions of the muscles of the throat, of the face, or of the
jaw--which can hinder the tone from being emitted in all its fullness
and purity. These rigid muscular contractions bring about a throaty
tone, which lacks support and is incapable of purity and amplitude....
The singer should apply himself to his study with great naturalness and
relaxation; this is the _sine qua non_ of beautiful cantilena singing.”

With every word of these remarks I heartily agree. Indeed, I imagine
that they would gain the universal assent of all qualified to write on
the subject.

The pronunciation of foreign languages is a point to which the student
can hardly give too much attention. It also affords another argument in
favour of study abroad, since it is certain that a foreign language
cannot possibly be acquired so effectually anywhere as in the land where
it is spoken. And foreign languages are indispensable to a singer
nowadays who aspires to be equal to all the requirements of the modern
répertoire.

True it may not be necessary to possess the linguistic powers of a
Mingotti, who spoke German, French, Italian, English, and Spanish. But
at least it may be laid down as an inexorable rule that no one should
ever attempt to sing in a foreign tongue until he has acquired absolute
command over every detail of its pronunciation by means of study, if not
in the land itself, at any rate with a native.

Otherwise the result can only be a travesty of the composer’s--or at all
events of the poet’s--intentions and a source of mirth to all hearers.
Little do some artists realise, indeed, the impressions which they
produce at times when, with misplaced assurance, they venture on songs
in tongues with which they are imperfectly acquainted.

Even in the case of the best equipped it is a proceeding attended with
risk to sing in a foreign language; but without complete knowledge there
is no more certain way of exposing one’s self to ridicule.

And I am afraid that it must be said that, contrary perhaps to the
general belief, Italian suffers no less than any other language from
misguided attempts of this kind. The idea is commonly entertained that
Italian is “easy” to speak, but of course this is not the case if it is
really to be properly spoken.

To which I may add that few peoples seem to experience more difficulty
in mastering its subtleties than the English. It may be recalled, too,
that this was also the view of Lamperti. Of all the European nations, he
declared, the English, and especially Londoners, pronounced Italian
worst. The sounds that they produce, he remarked, are nearly all
guttural, the vowels being excessively weak, while their accent was
entirely wrong--the men, he added, being even worse than the women.

The Scotch, on the other hand, were not quite so bad in his judgment,
while the Irish were best of all. Indeed, he agreed that the latter with
study could learn to speak Italian quite wonderfully--as is illustrated,
I may say, at the present time by Mr. John McCormack, who has a most
admirable Italian diction. But it certainly is not often that one can
speak in similar terms of the average English artist.

If anyone doubts this, let him read and ponder over some caustic remarks
once made on this very point by the late Sir Charles Santley. Nothing
was more deplorable, he said, than to hear the atrocious manner in which
the beautiful Italian language was murdered at times by untrained
English singers, and if, he added, they had any notion of the effect
which they produced by such attempts upon such of their hearers as
happened to be really familiar with the language, they would assuredly
never make themselves so ridiculous again. Better a thousand times, he
concluded, to sing all your life in your own tongue rather than make
yourself a laughing-stock by attempting a task beyond your power.

To which I need hardly add that the same applies no less to French and
German, though I am myself less qualified to speak concerning those
languages.

It is not for me, perhaps, to say much about Wagner singing, which is so
far removed from my own chosen province, but I may be permitted,
perhaps, while on the subject of diction, to point to the appalling
manner in which the divine art of singing has been perverted by
Wagnerian singers under the mistaken notion that they were in this way
carrying out the wishes of the sublime master.

I say “under the mistaken notion” because it is well known by those
acquainted with the fact that the so-called “Bayreuth method” was as far
removed as possible from Wagner’s actual ideas. It is true that he
attached the utmost importance to clear and emphatic enunciation of the
words so that the course of the drama might be quite clearly understood,
and therein he was quite right. But there is little reason to suppose
that he was in reality satisfied with the actual results achieved by the
German singers by whom his works were originally presented.

It is, indeed, an utter mistake to suppose that the harsh and strident
singing of the average German vocalist was of a kind to commend itself
to Wagner. On the contrary, it was one of his pet schemes, if I have not
been misinformed, in connection with Bayreuth, to institute a School of
Singing which might lead to better things; and the kind of singing at
which he aimed may be gathered from the fact that the teacher whom he
wished to secure to carry out his views was none other than that famous
exponent of Bel Canto, the late Señor Manuel García!

In the same connection, too, may be recalled the remark made by the
composer after hearing a performance of “Lohengrin” (with the great
Italian Wagnerian tenor Borgatti) on one occasion at Bologna. Almost for
the first time, he said, he had heard his music really sung. All of
which suggests how far they are from actually fulfilling the wishes of
the master in continuing at Bayreuth the horrible vocal methods which
had become so unfortunately associated with his name.




CHAPTER XXI

STYLE AND INTERPRETATION


Diction, it may be said, is included in Style; but Style means a good
deal more than diction.

Style may be said, indeed, to mean everything that the singer adds to
the bare notes and directions of the printed page. These notes and
directions are admittedly incomplete--a mere approximation to the
composer’s complete meaning. He supplies in this way the bare facts with
such additional hints as to expression and interpretation as an
imperfect system of notation allows. It is the duty of his interpreters
to supply what is missing--to breathe the spirit of life into the dry
bones and to convert dead printed notes into living human music.

To this end the singer must possess first of all the requisite insight
and understanding to grasp the composer’s purpose, next the personality
and magnetism to be able to realise it for his hearers, and lastly the
musical taste and knowledge required in order to present it in
conformity with the appropriate rules and traditions. In other words,
the singer must not merely sing the right notes, but sing them in the
right way--with the right accent, the right phrasing, and in the right
manner.

What is required may be best realised, perhaps, by comparing the
delivery of a fine piece of poetry by a schoolgirl or schoolboy, say,
with the delivery of the same lines by an accomplished actor or
elocutionist. The words will be the same in both cases, but what a
difference in the result! So in the case of music the notes sung will be
the same whoever sings them, but the effect will be vastly different
when they are sung by the trained artist.

Here it is that the student’s general culture will bear fruit, in the
imaginative insight and understanding, the good taste and the
expression, which he brings to his task. And here, too, will his musical
knowledge and intelligence be more particularly illustrated by the
manner in which he conforms to the requirements of the particular kind
of music which he is interpreting. For to do this aright a knowledge of
the notes alone will not suffice.

He must be familiar also with the varying needs of the different schools
of music, with the historical traditions associated with them, and so
forth. Opera demands one kind of singing, oratorio another, German
_Lieder_ another, and so on throughout; and each of these general
classifications can be subdivided in turn.

How different are the requirements of each is best exemplified by the
fact that so few succeed in all. One singer will be great in opera,
another in oratorio, a third in _Lieder_; but only in the rarest
instances will you find one and the same artist excelling in all. Why is
this? Simply because their respective requirements are so different.

For this reason the average artist will, I think, usually be well
advised to confine himself to the class of work more particularly suited
to his talent. While it is well to cultivate versatility so far as
possible, it is a mistake to sing music of a kind for which you are not
suited. Patti loved Wagner, for instance, and was a frequent visitor to
Bayreuth. But she did not sing his music. She liked to hear it sung by
others, but she realised that it was not for her. Voice, personality,
training, temperament, all impose necessary limitations.

People blame me sometimes, for instance, for confining myself mainly to
music of a certain school. But I think I know best as to this, and that
I am exercising sound judgment in adopting this course. There is much
music which I admire and love, but I do not always try to sing it. In
the same way I may admire frocks which I see on other women, but I do
not necessarily try to wear the same myself. I have the good sense to
recognise that they would not suit me.

Moreover, the field of music is so vast that to cultivate one or two
departments thoroughly will be more than sufficient to tax the energy of
the most ambitious. Make yourself master or mistress in your own chosen
province, and you will have accomplished quite as much as any one need
wish to.

And whatever style you cultivate get as near to perfection in it as you
can possibly. Catalani said of Sontag: “_Elle est la première dans son
genre; mais son genre n’est pas le premier_.” This may or may not have
been true. But Sontag was probably well pleased, in any case, to be “_la
première_.”




CHAPTER XXII

HOW I SING AN ARIA


To sing a song or a big aria well you must, for the time, be both the
vocalist and composer of the words and music you wish to express. If I
wish to sing, say, “Home Sweet Home,” I must imagine how far I am away
from sunny Italy, and forget all the kindness and attention with which I
am surrounded here. Then, I begin to feel the mood and homesickness
coming to aid me, vocal control must do the rest in making the song
effective.

Or, again, if I wish to do justice to Sir Frederick Cowen’s charming
little song, “The Swallows,” I must think of a lovely sunny morning and,
mentally, “Open wide my lattice, letting in the laughing breeze,”
imagining all the joyous sense of life that the arrival of the swallows
brings to my naturally vivacious Southern nature.

Let us, however, take the Recitative and Polonaise from that brilliantly
sparkling opera “Mignon,” by Ambroise Thomas. First of all, I have to
study the setting of this great aria, and then study the words, which,
in English begin,

    “Yes! for to-night I am Queen of the Fairies,
     And here my golden sceptre see;
     And behold these, my trophies!”

[Illustration: Musical notation: Yes; for to-night I am queen of the
fairies! And here my golden sceptre see; And behold these my trophies]

I ask myself what I might feel like were I able to become a fairy.
Giving myself free rein, I sing the whole recitative much as I would
speak it, only having in mind the notes, I attack them firmly, letting
the conductor punctuate the whole with the accompaniment somewhat
freely. In recitative, one must have fire and imagination, and, although
reasonable attention must be paid to the valuation of notes--the full
five beats, for example, on the long note of bars 6 and 7--it is the
part of the accompanist to feel your pulse, as it were, and go with you.
Now, on the same long note, be careful to carry a sense of increasing
wonder, by making a _diminuendo_, then, with increasing verve, make a
clean “turn” on beat four of the 8th bar, capped by a triumphant pause,
and, a clean interval of the fifth with the word “trophies,” on beats
one and two of bar 9.

Now we come to the actual Polacca, in which _tempo_ must be observed and
all the tricks of brilliant vocal agility put into play. Remember, all
these “runs” and bravura passages must be clear--every note like a fresh
pea out of a pod or bullet out of a machine gun! Observe the boldness of
“picking up” at the beginning of the polacca movement, and in bar 3 of
this movement how smoothly the detached notes have to be sung.

Moderato tempo di Polacca (96♩)

[Illustration: Musical Notation: I am Titania, queen fairy, I am]

Here, again, there must be no scooping up an octave, but a clear rise of
the octave, giving the sense of all, as it were, one piece. Thus, “I--I
_am_ Titania,” and repeat the same words with even greater fervour,
treating all the words and music with the same mentality and as vital to
the whole.

Many so-called intellectual singers prefer _Lieder_, because they cannot
vocalise the fine, dashing, graceful runs of florid music, not because
of its lack of intellectual requirements. What could better express the
vivacious joy of a fairy queen than the triplet passages on the
exclamation “_Ah!_” bars 14 and 15 of the polacca movement.

[Illustration: ry! Ah!]

When we come to bars 29 and 30, there is the chance of a lifetime with
the cadenza-like string of fifteen notes, in the neatest sets of three,
and they should be as perfect as though played by Kreisler on the
violin.

[Illustration: fairy! Ah!]

Later on we come to some roulade passages of six notes on the same
exclamation “Ah!” (bars 43, 44, and 45) which must be sung with
increasing verve, so that the wood wind of the orchestra comes running
up perfectly in tune and tempo, as it were from right under your last
note. Here, much depends upon the cue of the conductor, but, changing
one’s manner and keeping up the growing joyfulness, you begin a new era,
as it were, with the words, “Bright troops of fairies hover round me.”
Thus, the aria works on, until, on the last beat of bar 54 and bar 55
there is a suggestion of

[Illustration: Musical notation: _leggiero ed accentato._

Bright troops of fairies hover round me!]

a fairy call. A dream-like waltz, in wide contrast, follows. Unless one
feels this, the brilliance we have worked up is losing the value of
contrast with

[Illustration: Musical notation: dawn of day. Amid the]

this shimmer, as it were, of gleaming moonlight. On this breaks the
brilliant passages of the flute, which may be the task of some fairy
worker in the

[Illustration: Musical notation: I am Titania!

Ah!]

real fairyland! I must be wafted along in smooth subservience to the
brilliance of the accompaniment for the next few bars, until I repeat
the lovely melody at bar 62 when I begin to add--as scored in the
part--some grace notes and florid passages, and gradually awaken until,
at bar 79, I have ascended to a full top B, preceded by a “trill” or
“shake,” that leads up to the brilliant burst of the orchestra back to
the polacca-like movement, and to the finale. This must be one
increasing triumph, over the much-talked-of top E flat, the roulades,
grace notes, trills, and cadenza-like passages for sheer _joie de
vivre_. Yet all this depends upon how well you have conditioned
yourself, practised those tiring vowel sounds, scales, sustained

[Illustration: ah!

ah!]

passages, to which I commend you before essaying the brilliant Polonaise
from “Mignon” that has given me many triumphs, yet still calls for all I
can give, as it will to the end of the chapter.




CHAPTER XXIII

PRACTISING


Is it necessary to say that daily practice is indispensable to the
student--as it is also to the finished artist? A celebrated violinist
used to say, “If I cease practising for one day I know it when I next
play; if for two days my enemies know it; if for three the public know
it.” It is the same with the voice, although some voices, no doubt,
require less daily exercising than others.

Some fortunate ones, indeed, have been able to dispense with it almost
entirely. On the day of a performance the great Chaliapine warms his
voice up for a period of thirty or forty minutes only. On other days and
when on vacation he rarely practises, except for getting up new music,
and even this is more of a mental process. It is said of Mario also that
at the height of his fame he never practised more than ten minutes a
day, and that just before he was leaving for the Opera House, while his
servant would be standing, watch in hand, assuring him that he would be
late for the performance if he did not start at once. But that, of
course, was an exceptional case.

On the other hand, Battistini is most lavish with his practising and
rarely a day passes that he does not put in one or two hours of solid
singing. This no doubt accounts for the extraordinary command he has
over tone, phrasing and breathing. There is great truth in the saying
that practice makes perfect, but how many of us have the robust and
natural organ that Battistini is blessed with. I always thought that the
reason of this was the fact that Battistini, who could well have trained
as a tenor, elected to become a baritone, thus evading the strain of
forcing high “C’s” out of his voice.

At the same time even practising should not be carried to excess. Many
singers have, indeed, often done their voices great harm by practising
too much. The vocal cords are exceedingly delicate and cannot be used
too carefully. There can be no doubt that the wonderful preservation of
Patti’s voice was due in large measure to the extraordinary prudence and
care with which she husbanded it. By never singing at rehearsals, by
never singing when she was in the least degree out of health or tired,
and so on, she added years probably to the length of her career. And all
singers should act as far as possible on the same principle.

There should never be the smallest strain in practising, for instance.
For this reason it is advisable to practise with the half voice mostly
and only rarely at the extremities of the compass--and then with great
care and discretion. In the same way there should never be any sense of
fatigue, still less of hoarseness, after practice.

It is, indeed, in the ordinary way a sure sign that something is wrong,
either with your vocal organs or with your methods, if this occurs
often, and the matter should be investigated accordingly--even to the
extent of changing your teacher if necessary.

If, however, the trouble is only temporary, a brief suspension of
exercising may be all that is necessary. But in this case be careful not
to resume your practising until the trouble has completely disappeared.
Far better drop your practising for a week, or a month, if necessary,
than attempt to sing when your organs are not in perfect order.

That is to say, if there is really definite trouble. If, on the other
hand, it is merely a little hoarseness, such as many singers are subject
to, then _judicious_ exercising--please notice that I emphasise
judicious--may be the best thing for it. This is, however, essentially a
matter upon which you must be guided by your teacher--or even if
necessary by a doctor.

Madame Lilli Lehmann prescribes, for instance, what she calls the Great
Scale as an invaluable remedy for all manner of vocal ills--meaning
simply long slow scales of sustained notes steadily repeated. Here is
what she said, for instance, on this point:

“The great scale properly employed in practice accomplishes wonders. It
equalises the voice, makes it flexible and noble, gives strength to all
weak places, operates to repair all breaks and faults that exist, and
controls the voice to the very heart. Nothing escapes it. It is the
Guardian Angel of the voice. I sing it every day, often twice, even if I
have to sing one of my greatest rôles in the evening. I can rely
absolutely on its assistance.”

And, as I have said, she prescribed this very exercise not only for
daily practice when one is well, but also as a remedy for troubles when
the voice is out of order. I may be permitted, perhaps, to quote in this
connection another interesting passage:

“I myself had to sing ‘Norma’ in Vienna some years ago and got up in the
morning quite hoarse. By nine o’clock I tried my invaluable remedy, but
could not sing above A flat, although in the evening I should have to
reach high D flat and E flat. I was on the point of giving up because
the case seemed to be so desperate. Nevertheless, I practised till 11
o’clock, half an hour at a time, and noticed that I was gradually
getting better. In the evening I had my D flat and E flat at my command
so that people said they had seldom heard me sing so well.”

I have quoted this advice of Lilli Lehmann because it is of interest and
value as coming from so great an authority, but I do not wish it to be
understood that this has been my own precise practice, for this is not
the case. But as to the general value of scales for practising purposes
there is, of course, no possible doubt. Scales are, indeed, the
foundation of all useful practice, especially at first.

Marchesi, for instance, relied on them almost exclusively in the earlier
stages--long sustained tones, repeated again and again until her
fastidious ear was satisfied; and no pupil can possibly fail to benefit
from such exercise. Even for the acquisition of velocity, as I have said
elsewhere, scales--and quite slow ones at first--are indispensable.

Of more elaborate exercises there are none better, so far as I know,
than those to be found in Concone, while for advanced pupils well-chosen
numbers from the great Italian operatic masters, Rossini, Donizetti,
Bellini, and the rest, can be utilised with great advantage. This
includes mezzo-sopranos, contraltos, as well as sopranos. My maestro
would make them all sing “Una voce poco fa” transposed, saying that it
was a vocal massage.

But it is rather a matter for the individual teacher to prescribe what
is required in this way, since all voices will not need the same.

As to the period and duration of practising, my own plan is to practise
twice a day--at ten in the morning for an hour, with intervals of rest;
and again in the afternoon, before dinner, for the same time. But the
beginner should not practise for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a
time, and should leave off immediately his voice begins to feel tired.

To which, I would add, that it is of the utmost importance not only what
one practises but _how_. Ten minutes’ practice with the maximum of
thought and concentration will be of more value than a whole hour of
mere mechanical scales and arpeggi, sung without thought and care.

The pupil, while practising, should listen to himself with the utmost
vigilance all the time--criticising ruthlessly every tone, and seeking
always to eradicate every fault and blemish. It is for lack of this
_mental_ effort that pupils so often practise in vain--improving
themselves in certain respects perhaps, but never acquiring that beauty
of tone and perfection of execution which should be the foundation of
all.

I would repeat here, indeed, what I have said before, that unsparing
self-criticism is the root of all progress. Nor should this ever cease.
As a great artist remarked in some words which I quoted earlier, the
true artist will continue studying and practising and improving to the
end of his day.

Read, for instance, what Signor Fucito tells us of Caruso:

“No one could have been a severer critic of Caruso’s art than Caruso
himself. He worked with tremendous concentration, and his acute ear was
ever ready to descry the slightest flaw in the tone production, in
quality or the interpretation of a musical passage.”

And again:

“There were times when he refused to rest, singing a passage or phrase
over and over again, each time with another vocal modulation of
colouring until he got the expression and quality that satisfied his
exacting musical taste.”

It is interesting to note, by the way, that Caruso practised always, or
nearly always, with the full voice--a procedure which is not, however,
as I have already said, to be generally recommended.

Incidentally in practising the student should avoid the acquisition of
bad habits of standing, undesirable movements with the hands, and so
on, and should also keep careful check upon his facial expressions. For
the latter purpose it is an excellent plan to practise before a mirror,
since this is the surest way to avoid the unconscious cultivation of
undesirable tricks which, once they have been acquired, may prove most
difficult to get rid of.

In the case of operatic artists it is a good plan also to practise in
costume in order to become accustomed to the dress which one will be
wearing in the actual performance, and thus to avoid any sense of
awkwardness which may be otherwise experienced. And for the same reason
when any particular number has to be sung in any special manner from the
physical point of view, as, for instance, sitting down, or kneeling, it
is well to become accustomed to this also beforehand.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE ARTIST AND THE GRAMOPHONE


Before leaving the subject of practising I should like to add a word as
to the value of the gramophone to the intelligent student. This is,
indeed, a truly invaluable adjunct. If to hear the greatest singers is
the finest of all experiences for the student, how can it indeed be
otherwise? For here in the most convenient manner possible is the means
provided for doing this. In the earlier pages of this volume I have
recorded what inestimable advantages I derived in my own case from the
constant hearing of fine singing from my earliest childhood. Now, by
means of the gramophone, the same advantage is at the command of every
one wheresoever he, or she, may happen to reside.

In my younger days only those dwelling in the great capitals could hope
to hear such artists as Patti, Tamagno, Caruso, Battistini, and so
forth, and even those only if means permitted, which was not often in
the case of poor students.

To-day any one can enjoy this priceless privilege, wherever he may
happen to reside, for a comparatively small outlay through the agency
of the gramophone.

And he can hear them not only now and again, but as often as ever he
likes and by his own fireside. If he happens to be studying some
particular rôle he can be “coached” in this most practical and
unrivalled manner by all the greatest artists of the day. He can take a
particular aria and hear it sung by Caruso again and again until he is
familiar with every detail of his rendering--can note his breathing, his
phrasing, and every other detail in a manner which would be quite
impossible by any other means.

And having heard Caruso he can then hear the same number sung by various
other great artists if he chooses, and benefit still more by comparing
their respective readings--by noting how they resemble one another or
how they differ, as the case may be, incidentally learning in the
process how widely one interpretation may differ from another and still
be of the highest order.

Not only this, but he can familiarise himself with entire operas in the
same way, for certain of the companies issue complete albums of the best
known works which are reproduced in their entirety--vocal parts,
orchestra, and all in this marvellous manner. One would think, indeed,
that the coming generation should provide us with fine singers in such
plenty as the world has never known before with the aid of such
priceless help.

Whether it will be so or not remains to be seen. But certainly it may be
said that never before have students been so wonderfully helped. I
myself have pleasure in testifying that I have derived the greatest
benefit as well as delight from the records of Patti, while Mr. John
McCormack has similarly acknowledged his indebtedness to the wonderful
renderings of Caruso.

And I hope in all modesty that students of the present generation may
derive similar help in turn from the records which I myself have made.
Beyond a doubt the gramophone should be the guide, philosopher, and
friend--the most trusted and most competent aid and coadjutor--not only
to every student, but also to every teacher of the present day.

Of course, the pupil is only human and often reluctant to believe that
there are grave faults in his voice. Whilst others can detect his
mistakes, the pupil cannot listen intelligently to his own faulty
emission while singing.

But take him to a recording-room and get him to sing into the
recording-horn, and let him listen as the operator tries over the record
he has made. He is sure to be surprised to find how many faults there
are.

His production may be throaty, nasal, or what you will. It is all
brought out clearly by the gramophone.

There is no instrument that is so calculated to remove the conceit from
a young artist as the gramophone. To watch his face as he first listens
to his own voice is usually to enjoy a miniature pantomime.

Nevertheless, the gramophone is a spur to drive the artist forward to
perfection, and, of course, a great aid to the music professor.




CHAPTER XXV

STUDYING A RÔLE


Different artists have different methods of studying their parts, but
all I think will be agreed on one point, namely, that they cannot
possibly be learned too thoroughly. Marvellous stories are told, no
doubt, of difficult rôles having been completely mastered by prodigious
efforts in a fabulously short time. But he is taking terrible risks who
attempts a _tour de force_ of this kind, and in my own opinion no artist
should ever be asked to do this. To master a rôle in the proper way
should be a matter of weeks and months, not to say years, of careful
study so that it becomes part and parcel, as it were, of the very being
of the artist. Then, and then only, can it be attempted on the stage
with that absolute confidence and assurance and that entire freedom from
anxiety without which the best results cannot possibly be hoped for.

Very foolish, or at all events very courageous, is the young artist who
for the sake of an appearance at all costs essays a part which he, or
she, has not thoroughly prepared beforehand--for that way disaster
lies. A part simply cannot be too well studied if failure and mishaps
are to be absolutely assured against.

Let it be remembered especially by the student who runs through a part
so easily in the privacy of his study with the aid of a friendly
accompanist at the piano, how infinitely more difficult are the
conditions on the actual stage--alike in the psychological and purely
material senses.

There is the consciousness, in the first place, of being part now of a
huge inexorable organisation which admits of no error or failure under
any circumstances, and that at first has an almost paralysing effect
upon the faculties. There is the consciousness of that eager, critical
public on the other side of the footlights and of all that there is at
stake should any failure occur. There is the difficulty in the physical
sense of hearing the orchestra properly, which seems so far off and so
infinitely less helpful than the friendly homely piano. There are the
perturbing factors of one’s costume, action, business. In short, the
whole thing is utterly different, and for this reason, therefore, the
young artist cannot be too firmly grounded in his rôle if he is to be
proof against all the possibilities of failure and all mischances and
mishaps in the hour of trial.

As to the actual process of mastering a rôle I believe thoroughly in the
practice of studying it at the outset apart from the music. Read the
whole book through and master the story and the drama completely in the
first instance. Get every twist and turn and every detail of it into
your mind. Try to visualise and represent it to yourself as
realistically as possible.

Imagine that it all actually occurred and that you were, in fact, the
character whose part you are to represent. Learn all you can about the
period of the story, the scene of the action, the circumstances of the
time, and so on, so as to realise it all as vividly as possible.

And then, having done this, study with equal thoroughness every detail
of your own part. It may be only a small one. Never mind. You can make
it just as lifelike and as perfect in its way as one of more importance
if you make the most of it.

It was in this way that Mario always studied his parts, and most other
great artists, I think, will be found to adopt a similar method. We read
of Mario that no trouble was too great and no research too laborious to
ensure that any rôle which he had undertaken should be represented as
correctly and as perfectly as possible. Nor did his fastidious care end
there, for he paid the greatest attention to his words also and even
rewrote every line of his part in Gounod’s “Faust” because the words of
the original Italian version were not sufficiently singable to please
him.

It was Mario, also, who said that unless he had all that he was singing
about in his head as well as in his throat he could never hope to do
justice to his part.

It is the old, old story. The greatest results in anything are only to
be obtained by unsparing labour. It may not be a complete statement of
the case to say that genius is only an infinite capacity for taking
pains. But it is certainly true to say that that capacity is almost
always associated with the highest genius. Caruso supplied a more recent
instance. He took endless pains to get his parts right in every detail.
He was as careful, we read, about creating the proper make-up for the
character which he was impersonating as he was about studying the proper
gestures, declamation, and musical expression.

Signor Fucito writes:

“He pondered the mental, emotional and moral traits of the character as
they were revealed not only in his own lines and music, but throughout
the entire opera. If he found that insufficient he searched
elsewhere--in art, in literature, in history. When he was preparing the
rôle of Samson he went to the Bible for additional enlightenment on that
legendary hero in order that he might visualise him more vividly; and
when he was studying Eleazar he sought advice on Jewish customs from a
prominent Yiddish actor of New York.”

Respecting “make-up” this should be done as carefully and artistically
as possible, bearing in mind always that although some of the audience
may be a long way off, others will be much nearer, while opera glasses
will further help to abridge the distance and to reveal every detail.




CHAPTER XXVI

CHOICE OF DÉBUT WORK


As regards the choice of opera for début purposes I need hardly say that
this is a matter of great importance which should be most carefully
considered. If you happen to be exceptionally gifted and possess the
advantage of powerful connections you may perhaps be able to appear at
once in a rôle of the first importance, but my opinion is that it is
usually much better to begin with smaller parts and acquire the
necessary stage experience before attempting one of the more exacting
rôles.

You may, of course, have such natural gifts and be so well trained and
coached for the purpose that you may achieve success at a bound, but the
chances are against this, and it is much more likely that you will fall
short of your expectations and thereby imperil your career at the outset
by making a false start. _C’est le premier pas_, etc., and it is much
better to begin modestly and learn your business thoroughly before
attempting the higher flights. Then when you are properly qualified and
have acquired the necessary experience you can take a more important
part with the assurance that you will be able at least to do full
justice to yourself and to make the utmost of your natural powers.

There is another reason, too, why it is a mistake, as a rule, to attempt
the heavier rôles too soon--namely, the fact that the voice and the
general physique, apart from the question of training and experience,
are seldom ready for these at first. I have, indeed, known more than one
case in which a career of promise has been ruined after a brilliant
start by subjecting a young singer too soon to the heavy strain of the
most important parts.

Study these rôles by all means and have them ready--or one or two of
them--in case some exceptional or unexpected opportunity should present
itself. But do not be in too great a hurry to appear in them. It is a
much safer course, as a rule, to make good at first in those of a less
ambitious kind; and you need never be afraid that good work in these
will go unnoticed or unrewarded. But whichever part you choose for the
purpose it should naturally be one which is well suited to your capacity
and in which you are confident of being able to do your best.

If the novice can attach himself or herself to some provincial opera
company at a nominal salary for the purpose of training and experience,
this is often a good plan. In Italy almost every provincial city has a
small season of opera, and impresarios in most cases are ready to give a
promising singer a début without pay in order to reduce their expenses.
But in some instances if a singer desires to make a début in a certain
rôle and imposes this on the impresario she will be required to help to
finance the opera by the payment of a few thousand lire. This is often
done, but in some instances with sad results, because it is usually an
indifferent artist who forces a début in this way, often against the
better judgment of the manager.

I have known instances, indeed, where a singer has obtained a début on
these terms, and the audience, after hearing the singer, has protested
so vigorously that the unfortunate novice has had to be withdrawn in
favour of a more satisfactory substitute in order to pacify the public.

In one instance I remember a Canadian tenor of tremendous size, but with
a voice more like a mad bull’s than that of a human being, who thought
he would make an ideal Othello. He was wealthy and paid the management
25,000 lire for a début. After the first act such a commotion was
created in the theatre that the carabinieri had to step in and decide
that either the show should be stopped or else continued by another
artist.

Shortly afterwards columns appeared in the American papers about the
harsh treatment of foreign singers in Italy. I can only say, however,
that in my judgment it is utterly wrong to force on the public artists
who are manifestly incapable, and that in this particular case the
punishment fitted the crime!

In cases where there really are voice and merit such methods should be
quite unnecessary, since managers are only too eager to secure fresh
talent and to offer suitable opportunities for appearing before the
public to those who possess it.

Just another suggestion. Don’t be induced to accept a dramatic rôle if
your voice is purely lyric. Don’t even be tempted. Certain _maestri_ are
always looking for voices that can be heard above their orchestras. They
never find one, because it doesn’t exist; but the path of their search
is strewn with wrecked voices.




CHAPTER XXVII

REHEARSALS


Rehearsals are a necessary evil and the sensible artist will try to make
the best of them. Undoubtedly they are very tedious and trying, but they
are quite unavoidable unless you happen to have attained sufficient
eminence to be dispensed attendance at them. And even then it is not
always wise to avoid them if you wish to procure the best results.

Patti, throughout the greater part of her career, never attended any
rehearsals. But then she always sang in the best-known operas with
thoroughly experienced fellow-artists who were carefully instructed as
to her requirements. But it is hardly necessary to say that her case was
exceptional.

Some artists are very trying at rehearsals by coming with their parts
imperfectly prepared, by arriving late, and so on, and in such cases the
company in general is fortunate if the manager is sufficiently firm to
insist on proper discipline being observed.

A strict conductor who allows no trifling of this kind is, indeed, the
truest friend of the artists, and his authority should be recognised
accordingly by one and all. It is of the utmost importance that artists
should be thoroughly acquainted with their parts, and they should take
advantage of rehearsals to master every detail of their action,
business, and so on, leaving absolutely nothing to chance.

There is, however, no need to sing with full voice at rehearsals;
indeed, this is not desirable. But one should naturally sing loud enough
to indicate quite clearly one’s intentions. Nor should the inexperienced
artist show any reluctance to take advice from the stage manager when it
is given. For his judgment will probably be better than yours, and in
any case it is your business to do as he directs.




CHAPTER XXVIII

CONTRACTS


In the case of young singers with very promising voices, impresarios are
often found who are willing to finance the period of instruction for a
term of say five years. Their calculations are that in the last few
years of this period the artist will become a profitable investment for
them.

In the case of a poor artist this is often a very good plan, since it is
to the interest of the impresario to assist in making a name and a
position for the artist as well as in seeing that he has a proper
training. And the latter may easily find himself the gainer by the
arrangement therefore.

Speaking generally, however, I am not very much in favour of such
contracts, for the simple reason that, the career of an artist being so
short, he ought not to be placed in the position of expending his powers
for the benefit of another person. I have known artists drawing £100 a
performance who were receiving a mere £10 a week under such an agreement
as I have described; and this is, of course, a very unsatisfactory and
even heartbreaking state of things.

Caruso was one, it will be remembered, who entered into such a contract
as a student which, however, he finally succeeded in getting rescinded,
though not before he had had recourse to the law courts for this
purpose.

As to contracts made later, when a proper position has been secured, the
artist will not usually need much advice regarding these, since he is
generally quite able to look after himself. “Too well, indeed,” it is
sometimes said, by directors and managers.

Yet it must be remembered that, as noted above, the vocalist’s career is
usually very brief. The years of gain may be from five to twenty, but
are rarely much more than ten. I have known great artists who have
lasted for but a few seasons. On the other hand, I can recall some like
Battistini who have had over forty years of lucrative employment. But
this is very rare.

Are they not justified, therefore, in requiring generous payment while
they can obtain it? Also it must be remembered that great singers are
exceptionally endowed, and as such are entitled to demand exceptional
rewards. In which connection one may recall the famous reply of the
dancer Gabrielli to the Empress Catherine of Russia. The Empress was
staggered by the terms which she demanded and declared that not even her
Field-Marshals received so much. Whereupon Gabrielli recommended the
Empress to get her Marshals to dance for her.

Some of the most exacting contracts ever made by a singer were, I
suppose, those of Catalani. In her agreements when she was singing in
London she used to stipulate for half of the receipts throughout the
entire season, while she inserted further such conditions as the
following: “Madame Catalani shall choose and direct the operas which she
is to sing; she shall likewise have the choice of the performers in
them; and she will have no orders to receive from anyone.”

Madame Patti in turn received as much as £1000 a performance from
Mapleson in America. But then Patti was--Patti! Most artists are content
with less! And to such I would say as my final word on this point: “Do
not forget during the days of your necessarily brief prosperity to make
provision at all costs for the future.”




CHAPTER XXIX

CONCERT WORK


If I have spoken largely about opera in these pages, this is because
with my experience it comes most naturally to me to do this. But concert
work--of which also I have done my share--is of course equally
important, and a few words on this subject, therefore, may not come
amiss.

It is hardly necessary to say that the kind of singing which is suitable
for the stage is not always equally in keeping on the platform. It is
the difference here between acting and recitation.

On the stage you are actually impersonating the character you represent,
and the fullest amount of realism is therefore permissible--indeed,
essential. On the platform the same amount of licence is not allowable.
You are here not impersonating, but interpreting at one remove, so to
speak.

You are not pretending to represent the actual character of the song;
you are reproducing in _your own personality_ the feelings and emotions
involved. Or as one might put it, the art of the stage is
representative; that of the concert platform is reproductive.

All this must be borne in mind, therefore, by the artist who turns from
the stage to the concert room. The effect produced may be just as great,
but it must be achieved in a different way--without action, without
gesture even, but with the maximum of intensity none the less--secured
by means of the voice, the expressiveness of the singing and the
personality and temperament of the singer alone.

And these will be all-sufficient for those who know their business; nor
should they be exceeded in the ordinary way. Yet if it comes naturally
to you to go a little further now and again, I do not know that it need
be condemned.

Observe, however, that I say “if it comes naturally to you.” Otherwise,
it will be forced and theatrical and will certainly not achieve its
purpose. It is purely a question of temperament. Be natural and
spontaneous and you will not go far astray. Northern peoples indulge
sparingly in gestures on the concert platform, but yet get great results
without their aid.

We Latin races are less restrained in this respect because this is in
accordance with our natural temperaments. It is the difference between
one who gesticulates freely in ordinary speech and one who never stirs a
finger. One would not counsel the Englishman to copy the foreigner’s
gestures for it would not come naturally to him to do this; but one
would not have a Frenchman or an Italian without them.

And so it is in singing. If an occasional gesture comes naturally to you
there is no need to repress it, even if you cannot be recommended to go
as far in this respect in the concert room as Jenny Lind did on one
occasion if report may be trusted. It is recorded that once when singing
Agathe’s prayer from “Der Freischütz” at a concert at Norwich she was so
carried away that she actually fell on her knees on the platform and so
finished the air! That was, perhaps, overdoing things. Certainly I have
never heard of even an Italian concert-singer going quite so far.

I need hardly add, while on the subject of concert deportment, that a
pleasing and ingratiating manner is also much to be desired, though this
is a matter that seems to be strangely overlooked too often by young
artists of the present day. One might think almost from the manners of
some of them that they consider themselves to be conferring the greatest
possible favour upon their hearers by condescending to sing to them.

And doubtless in many cases they actually do think this! But they should
endeavour not to indicate the fact quite so clearly by their demeanour.
I have seen artists of this self-sufficient type who actually make not
the slightest response, or barely any, when an audience is good enough
to applaud them! This sort of thing is quite incomprehensible to me,
and I am sure that if those who behave thus had any conception of the
impression which they produce they would speedily mend their manners.




CHAPTER XXX

HEALTH, DIET, ETC.


Good health is essential to a singer, and it must be most carefully
preserved. To this end you should live as wholesome and regular an
existence as possible, seeing that you get plenty of fresh air and
taking such exercise as may be found convenient, but without overdoing
things in the latter respect, since undue muscular exertion is sometimes
prejudicial.

Moderation in diet is also advisable, avoiding especially all highly
seasoned dishes, pepper, pickles, and the like, and in the matter of
alcohol, if this be taken, confining one’s self to the lightest kinds of
wines.

As for smoking I prohibit it entirely, as I consider it to be the
greatest enemy of the vocal cords, although I am well aware, of course,
that some of the most famous singers have been inveterate smokers.

Of Mario, for instance, we are told that he was never seen without a
cigar in his mouth except when he was eating. He smoked, it is recorded,
even in his bath, although it may be noted that even he expressly
avoided cigarettes, confining himself exclusively to cigars.

Caruso, again, was another tremendous smoker, and I suppose there are
few male vocalists, at any rate, who deny themselves in this respect
entirely. But I have no doubt that it would be better for their vocal
organs if they did so all the same.

Coughs and colds are, of course, the greatest bugbear of the singer, and
to assist in securing immunity from these do not allow your throat to
become too sensitive by wrapping up too much. Bathing the throat with
cold water helps also towards this end. When overheated and perspiring
never delay changing into dry clothes and be especially careful always
to keep the feet dry.

Yet with all the precautions in the world the time will come when
concerts or performances must be given under unfavourable conditions,
and in these circumstances the art and the courage of the singer alone
will carry her through.

Often I have undertaken a concert rather than disappoint the public when
suffering from a bad cold. But I have been able by will power to do
wonders in these circumstances, and more often than not I have been
rewarded by a Press which said that I had never sung better.

I have known Caruso, under such circumstances, the morning before a
widely advertised concert, at which an audience of perhaps 10,000 people
was likely to be present, to wake up and find himself entirely without
voice.

In the instance I have in mind he telegraphed for a celebrated throat
specialist in New York to come immediately to Pittsburg, where just
previous to the concert he underwent heroic treatment. This meant the
administering of a stimulant to the vocal cords which contracted them
for a period of a few hours.

Thereby he was enabled to fulfil his engagement, though the
after-results put him out of action for at least a week.

A singer cannot hope always to be absolutely at his best, and this fact
should be realised from the first by young artists. Frequently, prior to
a performance, if the artist cannot bring off certain customary effects
he, or she, will be thrown immediately into a state of distraction and
despair. This, however, is all wrong.

Engagements must be kept, and more often than not, as I have suggested,
the artist will find when the time comes that his apprehension has been
quite uncalled for. Strung up by the needs of the case, and making a
special call upon all his resources, mental and emotional as well as
merely vocal, he will very likely do even better than usual.

He should bear this in mind, therefore, another time, and never lose his
head even though he may think that he has lost his voice!

At the same time this is not to say that really serious voice trouble
should be ignored, and I myself make it a practice in every large town
where I am accustomed to stay for any length of time to learn of a
suitable medical man or voice specialist to whom I can repair for advice
in case of need.

As to one’s régime on the day when one is actually singing this merits a
few words perhaps. Having gone to bed betimes the day before, so as to
secure a long night of unbroken rest, I myself do not usually rise until
about ten or eleven, when I have a light breakfast of tea and toast and
soft-boiled eggs. For lunch, if one may call it such, after a short
walk, I have merely a cup of cocoa and a little fruit, and nothing more
until after the concert. Most other artists of my acquaintance do
likewise.