It was no easy matter to give up the gratifying success which attended
my pianistic appearances to begin a long term of self-study,
self-development. Yet I realized that it would hardly be possible for me
to accomplish what I desired in less than four years. Therefore, I
worked daily for four years, drilling myself with the greatest care in
scales, arpeggios and sustained tones. The colorature facility I seemed
to possess naturally, to a certain extent; but I realized that only by
hard and patient work would it be possible to have all my runs, trills,
etc., so that they always would be smooth, articulate and free--that
is, unrestricted--at any time. I studied the roles in which I aspired
to appear, and attended the opera faithfully to hear fine singing, as
well as bad singing.
As the work went on it became more and more enjoyable. I felt that I was
upon the right path, and that meant everything. If I had continued as a
pianist I could never have been more than a mediocrity, and that I could
not have tolerated.
About this time came a crisis in my father's business; it became
necessary for me to teach. Accordingly, I took a number of piano pupils
and enjoyed that phase of my work very much indeed. I gave lessons for
four years, and in my spare time worked with my voice, all by myself,
with my friend, the piano. My guiding principles were:
_There must be as little consciousness of effort in the throat as
possible._
_There must always be the Joy of Singing._
_Success is based upon sensation, whether it feels right to me in
my mouth, in my throat, that I know, and nobody else can tell me._
I remember that my grandmother, who sang _Una voce poco fa_ at
seventy-five, always cautioned me to never force a single tone. I did
not study exercises like those of Concone, Panofka, Bordogni, etc.,
because they seemed to me a waste of time in my case. I did not require
musical knowledge, but needed special drill. I knew where my weak spots
were. What was the use of vocal studies which required me to do a lot
of work and only occasionally touched those portions of my voice which
needed special attention? Learning a repertoire was a great task in
itself, and there was no time to waste upon anything I did not actually
need. Because of the natural fluency I have mentioned, I devoted most of
my time to slower exercises at first. What could be simpler than this?
[Illustration: musical notation: Ex. 1]
These, of course, were sung in the most convenient range in my voice.
The more rapid exercises I took from C to F above the treble staff.
[Illustration: musical notation: Ex. 2]
Even to this day I sing up to high F every day, in order that I may be
sure that I have the tones to E below in public work. Another exercise
which I used very frequently was this, in the form of a trill. Great
care was taken to have the intonation (pitch) absolutely accurate in the
rapid passages, as well as in the slow passages.
[Illustration: musical notation: Ex. 3]
When I had reached a certain point, I determined that it might be
possible for me to get an engagement. I was then twenty, and my dear
mother was horrified at the idea of my going on the stage so young. She
was afraid of evil influences. In my own mind I realized that evil was
everywhere, in business, society, everywhere, and that if one was to
keep out of dirt and come out dean, one must make one's art the object
first of all. Art is so great, so all-consuming, that any one with a
deep reverence for its beauties, its grandeur, can have but little time
for the lower things of life. All that an artist calls for in his soul
is to be permitted to work at his best in his art. Then, and then only,
is he happiest. Because of my mother's opposition, and because I felt I
was strong enough to resist the temptations which she knew I might
encounter, I virtually eloped with a copy of _Rigoletto_ under my arm
and made my way for the Teatro Constanzi, the leading Opera House of
Rome.
I might readily have secured letters from influential musical friends,
such as Mascagni and others, but I determined that it would be best to
secure an engagement upon my own merits, if I could, and then I would
know whether or not I was really prepared to make my debut, or whether I
had better study more. I went to the manager's office and, appealing to
his business sense, told him that, as I was a young unknown singer, he
could secure my services for little money, and begged for permission to
sing for him. I knew he was beset by such requests, but he immediately
gave me a hearing, and I was engaged for one performance of
_Rigoletto_. The night of the debut came, and I was obliged to sing
_Caro Nome_ again in response to a vociferous encore. This was followed
by other successes, and I was engaged for two years for a South American
tour, under the direction of my good friend and adviser, the great
operatic director, Mugnone. In South America there was enthusiasm
everywhere, but all the time I kept working constantly with my voice,
striving to perfect details.
At the end of the South American tour I desired to visit New York and
find out what America was like. Because of the war Europe was
operatically impossible (it was 1916), but I had not the slightest idea
of singing in the United States just then. By merest accident I ran into
an American friend (Mr. Thorner) on Broadway. He had heard me sing in
Italy, and immediately took me to Maestro Campanini, who was looking
then for a coloratura soprano to sing for only two performances in
Chicago, as the remainder of his program was filled for the year. This
was in the springtime, and it meant that I was to remain in New York
until October and November. The opportunity seemed like an unusual
accident of fate, and I resolved to stay, studying my own voice all the
while to improve it more and more. October and the debut in _Rigoletto_
came. The applause astounded me; it was electric, like a thunderstorm.
No one was more astonished than I. Engagements and offers came from
everywhere, but not enough, I hope, to ever induce me not to believe
that in the vocal art one must continually strive for higher and higher
goals. Laziness, indifference and lassitude which come with success are
the ruin of Art and the artist. The normal healthy artist with the right
ideals never reaches his Zenith. If he did, or if he thought he did, his
career would come to a sudden end.
[Illustration: MARY GARDEN.
(C) Mishkin.]