I was taken to Gounod by my master, Mme. Mathilde Marchesi, who,
perhaps, had some reason to regret her kindness in introducing me, since
Gounod did not favor what he conceived as the Italian method of singing.
He had a feeling that the Italian school, as he regarded it, was too
obvious, and that French taste demanded more sincerity, more subtlety,
better balance and a certain finesse which the purely vocal Italian
style slightly obscured. Mme. Marchesi was very irate over Gounod's
attitude, which she considered highly insulting; whereas, as a matter of
fact, Gounod was doing the only thing that a man of his convictions
could do, and that was to tell what he conceived as the truth.
Gounod's study was a room which fitted his character perfectly. His very
pronounced religious tendencies were marked by the stained glass windows
which cast a delicate golden tint over the little piano he occasionally
used when composing. On one side was a pipe organ upon which he was very
fond of playing. In fact, the whole atmosphere was that of a chapel,
which, together with the beautiful and dignified appearance of the
master himself, made an impression that one could not forget. His great
sincerity, his lofty aims, his wonderful earnestness, his dramatic
intensity, were apparent at once. Many composers are hopelessly
disappointing in their appearance, but when one saw Gounod, it was easy
to realize whence come the beautiful musical colors which make _Romeo et
Juliette_, _Faust_ and _The Redemption_ so rich and individual. His
whole artistic character is revealed in a splendid word of advice he
gave to me when I first went to him: "Anyone who is called to any form
of musical expression must reveal himself only in the language that God
has given him to speak with. Find this language yourself and try, above
all things, to be sincere--never singing down to your public."
Gounod had a wonderful power of compelling attention. While one was with
him his personality was so great that it seemed to envelop you,
obliterating everything else. This can be attributed not only to
magnetism or hypnotism, but also to his own intense, all-burning
interest in whatever he was engaged upon. Naturally the relationship of
teacher and pupil is different from that of comradeship, but I was
impressed that Gounod, even in moments of apparent repose, never seemed
to lose that wonderful force which virtually consumed the entire
attention of all those who were in his presence.
He had remarkable gifts in painting word-pictures. His imagination was
so vigorous that he could make one feel that which he saw in his mind's
eye as actually present. I attribute this to the fact that he himself
was possessed by the subject at hand and spoke from the fountains of his
deepest conviction. First he made you see and then he made you express.
He taught one that to convince others one must first be convinced.
Indeed, he allowed a great variety of interpretations in order that one
might interpret through one's own power of conception rather than
through following blindly his own.
During my lessons with Gounod he revealed not only his very pronounced
histrionic ability, but also his charming talent as a singer. I had an
accompanist who came with me to the lessons and when I was learning the
various roles, Gounod always sang the duets with me. Although he was
well along in years, he had a small tenor voice, exquisitely sweet and
sympathetic. He sang with delightful ease and with invariably perfect
diction, and perfect vision. If some of our critics of musical
performances were more familiar with the niceties of pronunciation and
accentuation of different foreign languages, many of our present-day
singers would be called upon to suffer some very severe criticisms. I
speak of this because Gounod was most insistent upon correct
pronunciation and accent, so that the full meaning of the words might be
conveyed to every member of the audience.