"You love the coloratura music, do you not, Madame?"
"Ah, yes, I love the coloratura,--it suits me; I have always studied for
that--I know all the old Italian operas. For the coloratura music you
must make the voice sound high and sweet--like a bird--singing and
soaring. You think my voice sounds something like Patti's? Maybe. She
said so herself. Ah, Patti was my dear friend--my very dear friend--I
loved her dearly. She only sang the coloratura music, though she loved
Wagner and dramatic music. Not long before she died she said to me:
'Luisa, always keep to the coloratura music, and the beautiful _bel
canto_ singing; do nothing to strain your voice; preserve its velvety
quality.' Patti's voice went to C sharp, in later years; mine has
several tones higher. In the great aria in Lucia, she used to substitute
a trill at the end instead of the top notes; but she said to
me--'Luisa, _you_ can sing the high notes!'"
"Then the breathing, Madame, what would you say of that?"
"Ah, the breathing, that is very important indeed. You must breathe from
here, you know--what you call it--from the diaphragm, and from both
sides; it is like a bellows, going in and out," and she touched the
portions referred to. "One does not sing from the chest,--that would
make queer, harsh tones." She sang a few tones just to show how harsh
they would be.
"You have shown such wonderful breath control in the way you sustain
high tones, beginning them softly, swelling then diminishing them."
"Ah, yes, the coloratura voice must always be able to do those things,"
was the answer.
"Should you ever care to become a dramatic singer?" she was asked.
Tetrazzini grew thoughtful; "No, I do not think so," she said, after a
pause; "I love my coloratura music, and I think my audience likes it
too; it goes to the heart--it is all melody, and that is what people
like. I sing lyric music also--I am fond of that."
"Yes, and you sing songs in English, with such good diction, that we
can all understand you--almost every word."
Madame beamed.
"I promise you I will learn English better next year; for I shall come
back to my friends in America next autumn. I shall be in Italy in the
summer. I have two homes over there, one in Italy and one in
Switzerland.
"Do I prefer to sing in opera or concert, you ask? I believe I like
concert much better, for many reasons. I get nearer to the audience; I
am freer--much freer, and can be myself and not some other person. There
is no change of costume, either; I wear one gown, so it is easier; yes,
I like it much more.
"In traveling over your big country--you see I have just been out to
California and back--I find your people have advanced so very much in
appreciation of music; you know so much more than when I was here
before; that was indeed a long time ago--about twelve years,--" and
Madame made a pretty little gesture.
"But in one way your great big country has scarcely advanced any if at
all; you have not advanced in providing opera for your music lovers. You
need permanent opera companies in all the larger cities. The opera
companies of New York and Chicago are fine, oh yes,--but they cannot
give opera to the whole country. There are a few traveling companies
too, which are good. But what are they in your big country? You should
have opera stock companies all over, which would give opera for the
people. Then your fine American girls would have the chance to gain
operatic experience in their own country, which they cannot get now.
That is why the foreign singer has such a chance here, and that is why
the native singer can hardly get a chance. All the American girls' eyes
turn with longing to the Metropolitan Opera House; and with the best
intentions in the world the Director can only engage a small number of
those he would like to have, because he has no room for them. He can not
help it. So I say, that while your people have grown so much in the
liking and in the understanding of music, you do not grow on this side,
because your young singers are obliged to travel to a foreign land to
get the practice in opera they are unable to get at home. You need to do
more for the permanent establishing of opera in the large and small
cities of your country."
Madame did not express her thoughts quite as consecutively as I have set
them down, but I am sure she will approve, as these are her ideas of
the musical situation in this country.
As I listened to the words of this "second Patti," as she is called, and
learned of her kindly deeds, I was as much impressed by her kindness of
heart as I had been by her beautiful art of song. She does much to
relieve poverty and suffering wherever she finds it. As a result of her
"vocal mastery," she has been able to found a hospital in Italy for
victims of tuberculosis, which accommodates between three and four
hundred patients. The whole institution is maintained from her own
private income. During the war she generously gave of her time and art
to sing for the soldiers and aided the cause of the Allies and the Red
Cross whenever possible. For her labors of love in this direction, she
has the distinction of being decorated by a special gold medal of honor,
by both the French and Italian Governments; a distinction only conferred
on two others beside herself.
After our conference, I thanked her for giving me an hour from her
crowded day. She took my hand and pressed it warmly in both hers.
"Please do not quite forget me, Madame."
"Indeed not, will you forget me?"
"No, I shall always remember this delightful hour."
"Then, you see, I cannot forget you!" and she gave my hand a parting
squeeze.