Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table March 3 1896 Vol. XVII. No. 853 by Various

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The second episode of this day really marked a turning point in my career. A friend who heard me sing happened to be a pupil of Mrs. J. H. Long, the best-known singing teacher in Boston at that time, and this friend insisted that I must go into Boston and sing for Mrs. Long. I was tremulous with joy , and my mother and I--breathless--told my father the news that arrangements were to be made for me to sing at last before a real singing teacher!

My father eyed us and shook his head thoughtfully, looking at my mother as though to say: "She's encouraging the child in all this tomfoolery." For, while he himself had a splendid natural voice and loved music and was proud of my childish achievements, I doubt if at that time he could foresee the practical side of a musical career. But my mother and I were heart and soul for the idea, and sing I would and must.

Finally came the "day of days," and it poured. Alas for the favorable impression I had hoped to create! My hair had been tightly rolled in lead all night to obtain the desired "crimps"; I hadn't closed an eye from the discomfort and nervousness; and here was the fateful hour at hand, with no vestige of a "crimp," my face pale with excitement, though I pinched my cheeks cruelly to make the "roses" come, and my muslin frock out of the question in such weather. I felt like a veritable Cinderella in my plain, dark suit.

However, off we started, half an hour's ride on the train. What I suffered in apprehension; how dizzy I felt, and what a queer feeling I had in the pit of my stomach! I could have wept from the tension. Could this drooping young person be the erstwhile very confident embryo prima donna?

Mrs. Long, of fond memory, put me at once at my ease with her kindly manner. Her great brown eyes looked into mine and inspired me with such confidence that soon I was warbling as freely as if I were at home alone. I no longer heeded the rain, my appearance, or my surroundings. To my delight I was accepted at once as a pupil, and it is to this excellent and thorough teacher that I can give thanks for proper guidance in my early years. My aversion and distaste for the drudgery of scales and routine manifested itself quickly, but Mrs. Long knew the best arguments for my rebellious little soul, and, as I really did wish to become a great and noble singer, I worked as faithfully at my tasks as I could.

Meanwhile I began to sing occasionally in the Congregational Church in Melrose. My mother from this time kept a scrapbook of newspaper notices concerning me, for I was now beginning to become known as a local celebrity. The first clipping in my mother's scrapbook is from the "Melrose Journal" of May 21, 1895, and is as follows:--

Miss Geraldine Farrar, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Farrar, has a voice of great power and richness. Many who heard her for the first time, at the Vesper service last Sunday afternoon, were greatly surprised. She is only thirteen years of age, but has a future of great promise, and it is believed that Melrose will some day be proud of her attainments in the world of music.

As a result of the church singing and the fact that I was actually studying in Boston under the famous Mrs. Long, I was invited to sing at my first regular concert. The programme, carefully preserved by my mother, shows that it was organized by Miss Eudora F. Parkhurst in aid of the piano fund for the Melrose Highlands Congregational Vestry and that it took place on Wednesday evening, January 15, 1896, in the Town Hall of Melrose. I sang two numbers, "Non conosci il bel suol," from "Mignon" , and Auguste's "Bird on the Wing." Of this interesting event, my first public appearance in concert, the "Melrose Journal" of the next day said:--

Miss Eudora Parkhurst's concert in aid of the piano fund of the Highland Congregational Church, given in the Town Hall Wednesday evening, attracted a small audience. Miss Parkhurst, who is a very young lady and herself a musician of considerable ability, put a great deal of work into the concert and its details, and it is to be regretted that it could not have been better patronized. Miss Geraldine Farrar was the leading attraction, rendering her two solos with great confidence and ability. For her first number she sang "Non conosci il bel suol," from "Mignon," rendering the difficult music with surprising ease and fidelity, receiving a recall. Her second number, "Bird on the Wing," was also well received. The Alpine Quartet, of Woburn, Miss Cora Cummings, banjo soloist, Miss Welma Cummings and Miss Parkhurst, violinists, and Miss Bessie Adams, reciter, were the other attractions. Mr. Grant Drake presided at the piano as accompanist.

I find in my personal notes of comment on this interesting programme that I disliked the banjo as an instrument, though Miss Cummings played well, and that Mr. Drake, the pianist, was "very nice." Even in those days I was given to analysis.

My success at this recital led directly to another public appearance--February 5, 1896--in the Y.M.C.A. Hall at Melrose, at a concert given by Miss Jennie Mae Spencer, a Boston contralto, through whose friendship and advice I had gone to study with Mrs. Long. This was the first time my name appeared in large type as one of the principal singers, and I was greatly pleased.

This was the first paying professional appearance I ever made; for singing one number and a duet with Miss Spencer I received the magnificent sum of ten dollars. But this concert called me to the attention of the music critics of Boston, and the critic of the "Boston Times" wrote:--

Miss Geraldine Farrar is a young girl who has a phenomenal soprano voice and gives promise of becoming a great singer.

My marginal criticism on this concert programme shows that Mr. J. C. Bartlett, the tenor, was "fine"; Miss Bell Temple, reader, was "good"; Mr. Wulf Fries, the 'cellist, was "elegant"; and Mr. Drake, the pianist, was "nice," as usual.

These two concerts were followed by further careful study under Mrs. Long, and then at last came the eventful night when I made my real d?but in Boston at the annual recital given by her pupils. I shall never forget the date, Tuesday evening, May 26, 1896. I was fourteen at the time, having celebrated my birthday in February. The recital took place in Association Hall, and I wore a simple little white dress with green trimmings. On the programme of this memorable event, carefully pasted in a scrapbook by my mother, I find this comment written in my own hand: "This is what I made my d?but in, very calm and sedate, not the least nervous."

Following my critical tendencies at the other concerts, I find the programme of this first recital filled with marginal comments. Most of my remarks were very flattering to my fellow pupils. Concerning Miss Leveroni, who afterward studied abroad and returned to America to sing with Henry Russell's grand opera company, I wrote: "Very nice, gestures natural." Others were "pretty good," "very fine," or "very nervous," and only one pupil was criticized as "Bad, off key."

The Boston newspapers always gave extended notices to the recitals of Mrs. Long's pupils, and this was no exception. I was mentioned favorably, but it remained for the dear old "Melrose Reporter" to give me a most extraordinary and almost prophetic criticism. I quote from the newspaper clipping so carefully preserved by my mother:--

The Cavatina from "Il Barbiere," sung by Miss Geraldine Farrar, will interest those in Melrose who were not able to attend the recital. For many months musical people have waited the gradual development of this phenomenal voice, a God-given power which the child has sent forth with a freedom, compass, and quality that has demanded the admiration of our best Boston critics. Notwithstanding the florid and extreme difficulties of the Cavatina, the execution and reserved force, absolutely fresh and firm for each attack, was a triumph and a revelation of tone power. She sang without notes, and embraced the beautiful flowers showered upon her, as unconscious of her success as though she had stood among her mates and told a simple story. With hopeful anticipation, her many loving friends will follow her future which seems already unfolding, and as the child glides to womanhood, our little twinkling star may rise by and by from dear Melrose, and become resplendent in the musical firmament, where all the world will love to listen and do her homage.

The first flowers sent to me at this recital, carefully dried and pressed, are still one of my dearest souvenirs; and I also treasure carefully the first card of good wishes sent to me on that occasion. It bears the carefully engraved name of "Mr. John E. Pilling," and underneath is written: "May success always attend you." I hope Mr. Pilling, if he ever sees these lines, will accept the long-deferred thanks of the little Melrose girl to whom he sent such an encouraging message.

In my last year of study under Mrs. Long I reveled for the first time in the joys of grand opera. That winter in Boston, the Castle Square Opera Company, an excellent organization managed by Henry W. Savage, was presenting grand opera in English at the old Castle Square Theater. The leading singers were J. K. Murray and his wife, Clara Lane. I became a subscriber to this excellent company's performances on Wednesday matin?es. To me these matin?es were meat and drink; all performances were well supported by music-lovers in the vicinity. It was Clara Lane whom I first heard sing "Carmen," a r?le which has recently figured so successfully in my own repertoire at the Metropolitan in New York. During these enjoyable weeks I heard this company sing most of the grand opera repertoire, in English, and I was thrilled and fascinated.

Then came another great and unexpected joy. The Maurice Grau Grand Opera Company, from the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, visited Boston for a spring season at Mechanics Hall. My mother decided that I must hear Calv? sing "Carmen." The cast included Jean de Reszke, then at the height of his success; Emma Eames, Saleza, Pol Plan?on as the toreador, and of course the wonderful Calv?. I completely lost my head over this remarkable performance. For days and nights I reveled in the memories of that magnificent representation. This, then, was the visualization of all my dreams of years. This triumph I had witnessed was that toward which all my hopes, fears, and prayers had been directed. This wonderful creature was what I hoped--nay, intended--to become. And then and there was born within me a fervent and earnest decision that, come what may, I too must some day sing "Carmen" with the most wonderful cast of grand opera artists in the world, at the Metropolitan in New York.

MY FIRST DAYS IN MY DREAM WORLD

My meeting with Jean de Reszke is stamped vividly in my memory, since he was the first personage from that beautiful dream world of opera that it was my privilege to meet. Music lovers of America need no reminder of his tremendous vogue as a man and his wonderful career as an artist. I had the opportunity to sing for him through Jehangier Cola, a Hindu professor who at the time was interesting Boston society with his Oriental teachings. Just how I met him I cannot recall, but he had personal acquaintance with many of the artists, both here and abroad; and so one rainy morning my mother and I, escorted by Professor Cola, descended at the Parker House where the de Reszke brothers, Jean and Edouard, were stopping.

I remember that I played my own accompaniment and sang rather indifferently; the inspiring "mood" was not to be commanded. Mr. de Reszke listened politely, probably having been bored often by many such young aspirants, and gave me sensible advice that could apply to the average girl of intelligence and enthusiastic musical ambitions. I recall that I listened attentively and seriously, quite realizing that Mr. de Reszke could hardly glean other than the most superficial of impressions after hearing a stranger for half an hour, and then hardly at her best.

Upon his advice to go to New York and consult a teacher of whom he had heard excellent reports, my mother and I made plans for such an immediate change. My father listened in passive amazement, but acquiesced, as he always has, in the belief that whatever emotional tornado should overtake me, my mother's steadying influence would maintain the necessary equilibrium.

The teacher who had been recommended to me for this visit to New York was dear old Louisa Cappiani, bless her! She who had been the teacher of many of the light-opera singers was greatly pleased at my singing, and wanted me to sign a three years' exclusive contract with her, but my mother decided that I was too young to have my future controlled in any way.

The arrival of hot weather drove us to the country; so with great regret I said good-bye to Cappiani, and we started for Greenacre, Maine, and it was there that I met Miss Emma Thursby. She occupied an enviable position in New York musical circles and was recognized as an excellent authority on voice. She was kind enough to say that she would be glad to have me study with her when she returned to New York, and so it happened that the following autumn found us back there, and I commenced my studies with her.

That winter of 1897-98 was full of excitement and thrills for me. In addition to my studies with Miss Thursby I went to the opera and theaters as often as I could afford it. And what a whirlwind of emotions it was! Melba in "Faust," "Romeo and Juliet," and "Lucia"; Calv?, the peerless "Carmen"; magnificent Lehmann ; the incomparable Jean de Reszke; handsome Pol Plan?on; sprightly Campanari in the "Barber"--memories crowd in upon me!--not forgetting the versatile Bauermeister of all r?les. I rarely had a seat, but was one of the army of "standees," eager, enthusiastic, oblivious to all save the dream world these wonderful beings unfolded before me.

There was one upon whom I lavished all the ardor of my youthful, heroine-worshiping years--our own lovely Nordica, who became my ideal for beauty, accomplishment, and perseverance. Later I was to owe to her friendship and that of her husband, Zoltan D?me, the valuable and timely advice that diverted my path from a provincial theater in Italy to the magnificent Royal Opera in Berlin, and subsequent friendships that have proved so potent as well as so spectacular a feature in my career.

Among the plays which I saw that winter were "The Devil's Disciple," with Richard Mansfield in the star r?le; Julia Marlowe in "The Countess Valeska," and Ada Rehan in "The Country Girl" and as Lady Teazle in "The School for Scandal" --all wonderful plays for a schoolgirl still in her teens.

It was at this time also that I first met Melba, who was in New York, and it was Miss Thursby who took me to sing for her. Much of my former nervousness had worn away. I had worked hard and was anxious for Melba's approval, and her impartial judgment as to the advisability of immediate study abroad. That day, too, the sun was radiant, I was in excellent humor, and, all in all, everything pointed toward a happy and favorable meeting.

I remember Melba's enthusiasm and generosity with gratitude, though I have not seen her these many years to tell her so. I sang unusually well, to my own accompaniment, and she was so genuinely interested as to propose that I should at once sing for her manager, C. A. Ellis, of Boston, of whose opera company, in association with Walter Damrosch, she was the scintillating luminary. So a few days later my mother and I joined her there at a hotel which was the temporary home of the songbirds.

Perhaps you can picture my delight. I floated in fairyland; to lunch and dine in the intoxicating proximity of these wonderful people; to watch them, like gods and goddesses, deign to descend to the earth of ordinary mortals--it was like living in a dream.

The eventful day came when I finally sang for Mr. Ellis. It was in the Boston Theater, and Melba, Mr. Damrosch, and many others were present. I was a little anxious at the idea of singing in such a large, empty auditorium, and feared that my voice would not be heard to advantage in such an enormous place; yet, after the ordeal was over, Madame Melba took me in her arms and embraced me with enthusiasm and affection. She predicted such splendid things as even I scarcely dared hope. I was elated and grateful indeed at the general commendation, for Mr. Ellis offered me an engagement, and that night, at the hotel, Melba wished me to sign a contract of several years to place myself under her tutelage and appear later in opera subject to her advice.

My dreams were fast becoming realities. But, as usual, my mother's good sense dominated the situation. While thoroughly appreciative of the advantages that Melba could offer me in her generous impulse, my mother felt that I was far too young to restrict my actions and bind my future career in any manner. Besides, with all the excitement of the winter, my intense emotional nature and the interest I had aroused in musical circles, she wisely thought it best for me to be withdrawn for a time from this all-too-stimulating atmosphere, which might later prove unwholesome and detrimental to serious study. In consequence, I was placed in the household and under the guidance of a dear friend, Mrs. Perkins, in Washington, District of Columbia, to continue other studies in addition to my singing, while I was impatiently waiting to "grow up."

In the spring of 1898, when the war spirit spread over the country like wildfire, my mother and I were taken to the White House one pleasant afternoon to call upon Mrs. McKinley. The President's wife received us in the Blue Room, while Mr. McKinley was occupied in his private office with engrossing business connected with the war. Suddenly the official news came of Dewey's great victory at Manila. The President, with the official dispatches in his hand, entered the room where his devoted wife was surrounded by a sympathetic group of friends. In turn we were each presented to Mr. McKinley, and then, thrilled by the announcement of the victory, Mrs. McKinley asked me to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."

There was a piano in the room, for Mrs. McKinley was intensely devoted to music. I played my own accompaniment, and, stirred by the glorious news and inspired by the presence of the President and his wife and the compliment of being asked to sing the national anthem in the White House, I sang with all the ardor and intensity of which my nature was capable. I have sung "The Star-Spangled Banner" many times since, but only once under such inspiring circumstances, when, at that dramatic moment after the tragedy of the Lusitania, I called upon the crowded house at the Metropolitan Opera to join me in our national hymn. Garbed in Columbia's robes, with two Red Cross nurses at my side, the tableau awoke thunderous applause and the great house joined in the singing with a will!

I REFUSE TO SING AT THE METROPOLITAN

Through Miss Thursby I met Dr. Holbrook Curtis, the eminent New York throat specialist, and became his patient; his unfailing, kindly interest and loyal friendship did much for me. One of the amusing events of that early spring of 1898 was a society puppet show which Dr. Curtis staged in New York. There were tableaux and songs and recitations, all for charity, and then came the puppet show itself, in which I appeared as Calv? in a "Carmen" costume.

Imagine a long stretch of painted canvas across the stage, with the costumes painted grotesquely beneath openings through which the performers' heads appeared. Dr. Curtis himself assumed the r?le of Maurice Grau, director of the Metropolitan, and his make-up was splendid; various other amateurs impersonated Melba, Jean de Reszke, and other stars. The idea of the skit was to show the trouble Mr. Grau had in managing his company of stars. There was much amusing dialogue, and I remember my complaint, as Calv?, was that I was asked to sing for nothing at all-too-many benefits.

In Dr. Curtis's office I soon afterward met Mrs. Grau, wife of the famous director, and she insisted that I should sing for her husband. It was proposed to stage a big special performance of "Mignon" at the Metropolitan, with Melba as "Philine," and a star cast, for the benefit of the families of the victims of the Maine disaster, and Mrs. Grau thought that should I please her husband he might consider the occasion a propitious one to introduce me in grand opera, as the r?le of "Mignon" was admirably suited to my youth and vocal abilities. I had studied "stage deportment" with Victor Capoul, and knew the opera backward and forward in both French and Italian.

I own I was greatly tempted, and eager to make so auspicious a beginning. Such an offer to a sixteen-year-old girl, I think, would be calculated to twist any young woman's head awry. Fortunately, upon reflection, good sense intervened and saved me from what might have been a very unwise step. Granted that I made a successful appearance, at best it could be but the sensation of a few hours; and I had no mind to be a singing Cinderella for one night. When my triumph should come, if it ever did, it must be the beginning of a well-defined career, and I was far too young and ignorant to tread this difficult and dazzling path so soon.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Grau made an appointment for me to sing for her husband--privately, as I thought. But when I appeared on the stage of the Metropolitan, I found him surrounded by a great many people, members of the Metropolitan Company, business associates and advisers, and others. What my emotions were when I passed in through the stage door I cannot describe. Curiously enough, this time the empty house did not intimidate, but inspired me. Perhaps I felt the encouraging shadows of the great ones hovering about me; at any rate, I sang as I believe I had never sung before. To every one's amazement I dismissed the accompanist whose laborious efforts were more of a hindrance than an aid to my "audition," and, seating myself at the piano, I continued singing to my own accompaniment, as was invariably my habit.

Mr. Grau was exceedingly pleased with the promise I showed and especially predicted a brilliant future in operatic singing; but he seconded my mother's sensibly planned course for me to study more quietly, less in public view, and wait till a few years of hard work and experience had passed over my ambitious little head. As a kind afterthought he added, no doubt to soften the sting of my disappointment: "Would you like to sing in one of our Sunday night concerts?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Grau," I replied.

"But it might be valuable to you to have your name on the billboards of the Metropolitan Opera House," he urged good-naturedly.

"You will see it there some day," I replied with firm conviction.

He laughed, and certainly had no more reason to take me more seriously than dozens of other young "hopefuls" who dreamed of some day storming the Metropolitan doors.

Quite without my knowledge or consent, various reports of this and other incidents in regard to my singing reached the newspapers, and I experienced a distinct shock when I read in the New York "Herald" the following amusing yet caustic criticism:--

If half of what Miss Geraldine Farrar's enthusiastic friends say of her vocal and dramatic talents is true, then this sixteen-year-old girl from Boston is the dramatic soprano for whom we have all been waiting these many years. With all due respect to the young lady, a lot of rubbish has been circulated as to her marvelous, not to say miraculous, vocal gifts and accomplishments, and she cannot do better than include, in the nightly prayers which all good girls say, an earnest invocation to Heaven to preserve her from her friends, that she may be saved from the results of overpraise.

That Miss Farrar has a wonderful gift of song has been attested by so many discreet judges that it is doubtless true. But when alleged admirers of the young singer tack on all sorts of trimmings, such as that Madame Melba wept with joy upon hearing her, and that Madame Nordica said, "This is the voice of which I have dreamed," and that Miss Emma Thursby refused to be comforted until Miss Farrar consented to come and live with her, it is about time to add, "and then she woke up."

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