Madame Louise Homer is a native artist to whom every loyal American can
point with pardonable pride. Her career has been a constant, steady
ascent, from the start; it is a career so well known in America that
there is hardly any need to review it, except as she herself refers to
it on the rare occasions when she is induced to speak of herself. For
Mme. Homer is one of the most modest artists in the world; nothing is
more distasteful to her than to seek for publicity through ordinary
channels. So averse is she to any self-seeking that it was with
considerable hesitation that she consented to express her views to the
writer, on the singer's art. As Mr. Sidney Homer, the well known
composer and husband of Mme. Homer, remarked, the writer should prize
this intimate talk, as it was the first Mme. Homer had granted in a very
long time.
[Illustration: LOUISE HOMER]
The artist had lately returned from a long trip, crowded with many
concerts, when I called at the New York residence of this ideal musical
pair and their charming family. Mme. Homer was at home and sent down
word she would see me shortly. In the few moments of waiting, I seemed
to feel the genial atmosphere of this home, its quiet and cheer. A
distant tinkle of girlish laughter was borne to me once or twice; then a
phrase or two sung by a rich, vibrant voice above; then in a moment
after, the artist herself descended and greeted me cordially.
"We will have a cup of tea before we start in to talk," she said, and,
as if by magic, the tea tray and dainty muffins appeared.
How wholesome and fresh she looked, with the ruddy color in her cheeks
and the firm whiteness of neck and arms. The Japanese robe of "midnight
blue," embroidered in yellows, heightened the impression of vigorous
health by its becomingness.