A great podium backed with green, reminding one of a forest of palms;
dim lights through the vast auditorium; a majestic, black-robed figure
standing alone among the palms, pouring out her voice in song; a voice
at once vibrant, appealing, powerful, filled now with sweeping passion,
again with melting tenderness; such was the stage setting for my first
impression of Mme. Marguerite d'Alvarez, and such were some of the
emotions she conveyed.
Soon after this experience, I asked if I might have a personal talk with
the artist whose singing had made such a deep impression upon me. It was
most graciously granted, and at the appointed hour I found myself in a
charmingly appointed yet very home-like salon, chatting with this
Spanish lady from Peru, who speaks such beautiful English and is
courtesy itself.
This time it was not a somber, black-robed figure who came forward so
graciously to greet me, for above a black satin walking skirt, Madame
had added a blouse of soft creamy lace, which revealed the rounded
curves of neck and arms; the only ornament being a string of pearls
about the full throat. Later in our talk I ventured to express my
preference for creamy draperies instead of black, for the concert room;
but the singer thought otherwise. "No," she said; "my gown must be
absolutely unobtrusive--negative. I must not use it to heighten effect,
or to attract the audience to me personally. People must be drawn to me
by what I express, by my art, by what I have to give them."
But to begin at the beginning. In answer to my first question, "What
must one do to become a singer?" Madame said:
[Illustration: MARGUERITE D'ALVAREZ]
"To become a singer, one must have a voice; that is of the first
importance. In handling and training that voice, breathing is perhaps
the most vital thing to be considered. To some breath control seems to
be second nature; others must toil for it. With me it is intuition; it
has always been natural. Breathing is such an individual thing. With
each person it is different, for no two people breathe in just the same
way, whether natural or acquired. Just as one pianist touches the keys
of the instrument in his own peculiar way, unlike the ways of all other
pianists. For instance, no two singers will deliver the opening phrase
of 'My heart at thy sweet voice,' from _Samson_, in exactly the same
way. One will expend a little more breath on some tones than on others;
one may sing it softer, another louder. Indeed how can two people ever
give out a phrase in the same way, when they each feel it differently?
The great thing is to control the management of the breath through
intelligent study. But alas,"--with a pretty little deprecating
gesture,--"many singers do not seem to use their intelligence in the
right way. They need to study so many things besides vocalizes and a few
songs. They ought to broaden themselves in every way. They should know
books, pictures, sculpture, acting, architecture,--in short everything
possible in the line of art, and of life. For all these things will help
them to sing more intelligently. They should cultivate all these means
of self-expression. For myself, I have had a liberal education in
music--piano, harmony, theory, composition and kindred subjects. And
then I love and study art in all its forms and manifestations."
"Your first recital in New York was a rich and varied feast," I
remarked.
"Indeed I feel I gave the audience too much; there was such a weight of
meaning to each song, and so many! I cannot sing indifferent or
superficial songs. I must sing those which mean much, either of sadness
or mirth, passion or exaltation. No one knows (who has not been through
it) what it means to face a great audience of strangers, knowing that
something in you must awake those people and draw them toward you: you
must bare your very soul to them and bring theirs to you, in answering
response, just by your voice. It is a wonderful thing, to bring to
masses of people a message in this way. I feel this strongly, whenever I
stand before a large audience, that with every note I sing I am
delivering something of the God-given gift which has been granted to
me--that I can do some good to each one who hears. If they do not care
for me, or if they misunderstand my message, they may hate me--at first.
When they do understand, then they adore me.