Dedicated to Lady Margaret, with much love, by Mary Alice Sanford.
Christmas, 1909.
Singing forever from morn until night,
From low and sad to high and bright,
The voice of my Lady resounds in the air,
And tells all the world to put aside care.
As if watching the distant horizon blue,
We finally see the ships come in view,
We hear the soft music rise to her lips,
And those beautiful tones are our stately ships.
But listen again! Now what do we hear?
Why the rippling of the waters clear,
Or the lark's sweet song in yonder skies.
Or the soft flight of the butterflies.
The low murmuring of the breeze,
The nodding of the leaves on trees,
The blushing rose, the lily pure,
Is sung by a voice which can never be truer.
The anger of the stormy water,
The passion of lovers who never falter,
The insanity of a jealous husband's rage
Is sung by the marvelous voice of the age.
Her voice is borne on the wings of a dove,
With many kind thoughts and praises of love,
She has sung to us all, and we'll never forget
The beautiful voice of my Lady Margaret.
The writer of this poem, Mary Alice Sanford, came into my life in
1908. Her family moved into the flat above mine some time in August of
that year. Her mother informed me that she was musical, and from the
way she spoke I expected to see a young woman of about nineteen or
twenty years. I was surprised, instead, a few days later, to see a
slip of a schoolgirl looking at me in a timid way and rather reserved
in manner. Later I invited her into the studio and I asked her if she
liked music, to which she said yes. During the call she said she
wished to sing. She had never had any instruction, her music was
instrumental altogether. After she had given me an example of her
instrumental work I said she should sing also, but at this she
informed me she could not afford the vocal with the other, but her
desire was to sing as well as play. I asked her what ability she had
for reading or accompanying. She informed me she read her notes
rapidly. At this I handed her the fifty lessons by Concone and opened
to the first exercises, asked her to play while I sang for her. I
thought perhaps the first lessons were too easy so I gave her a more
difficult one, and I found she could read the most difficult lessons
in the book and accompany with the greatest ease. I asked her her age,
and she informed me in a month she would be sixteen years old. I asked
her if she would like to earn her own lessons. She looked at me
surprised at my proposition. Before her visit was over it was agreed
she should be accompanist for my students, who needed her services.
This was glorious news to her mother, who so greatly desired her to
sing but was unable to give her both branches at this time, and she
had also just pride that her daughter was able through her musical
knowledge to give herself the much longed for opportunity which had
come to her so unexpectedly. Everything was complete now, and the
lessons began at once.
I found in her a real student, a most attentive listener, a voice
small but clear and high. Later on in the development it proved very
elastic, nothing acceptable below middle C. A pure lyric soprano, it
was constantly developing higher in the tones. I often cautioned her
not to sing so high, it would not do, when she would reply, "I cannot
help it, it just goes there." I paid my closest attention to her for
the period of four years. In that time she had not only learned to
sing and play, but also studied harmony and languages. Latin and
German she studied in school, Italian in the studio with Professor
Arena, Spanish from her father, who is a linguist. With all this
colossal work for this young mind and her achievements in technic and
languages I was yet dissatisfied, for I had not yet received a
response that I had longed and hoped for while she was drinking in all
this vast amount of knowledge. She never gave out to let me see any
result of all this accumulation of musical knowledge which I knew she
possessed, never asking a question or advancing any question or
enthusiastic outburst of expression. Being romantic in my
interpretation of song I hoped she had imbibed also a strain of it
which she lacked, as I noticed in the beginning. I was at my wits'
ends to find the spring, but she resisted all my efforts. I knew she
was excessively shy but did not think that would prevent her in
showing in some way her appreciation of the instruction and her idea
of what she had formed of all this teaching, explanation and example
in these years.
Her songs were accurately sung in any language with which she was
familiar. Her singing was highly complimented upon, yet there was
something I had not yet found. I sang many hours for her the old and
the new songs and she accompanied with musicianly art, but no
expression came to me from her. I got an idea from her mother which
songs she liked best and I soon found she had supplied herself with
those she did like and I had sung for her in practice. In December,
1909, I at last reaped my reward. She, with other pupils, remembered
me, and before bringing her gift she felt as though she had not given
me enough, and at last she said, "I must do something more," and
entered her room, and closed the door for a half hour. She had given
me in verse what she could not say to me. Her excessive shyness
prevented her, much as she appreciated my singing and teaching and the
interpretation of song and its different modes of expression, whether
it be sacred, descriptive, florid or romantic. She portrayed these
lines with a poet's art--never did Tennyson write his first efforts
with more beautiful description than this young poetess has written in
these beautiful lines which I cannot read without emotion. She gave me
her affectionate expression in this poem which I appreciate more
highly than rubies, and with pride I place her offering in this book
of memoirs for all to read and for all young persons who are students
to feel that a conscientious teacher deserves their love and
appreciation in return for their efforts to develop the highest
perfection in the pupil. They cannot all be poets but they can at
least honor the master by showing appreciation.
In these four years of study she had outdistanced all of those who
began with her in 1908. She plays the organ each Sabbath at the
English Lutheran Church. She has several piano pupils and once a week
practices two hours in a private ensemble club, violins, cello and
piano; has completed the course of harmony of three months, has
studied composition, writes songs and the words for them. She has
written a number of instrumental pieces for both hands, and two
numbers for the left hand. I have been honored with the gift of two of
her songs, one sacred and the other a lullaby. She began in earnest to
compose some time ago and these pieces have been the result. She
practices the piano about four hours daily. Her compositions are very
meritorious. It is my opinion if she keeps up her work that it will
not be long before the public of California will have another musician
to add to the already great number gone before her. There is but one
regret in the makeup of this young aspirant. It is her self-consciousness
or excessive shyness, whether physical or mental, in relation to the
opinion of others. She is so thoroughly conscientious she will not do
anything unless it is just right. If she can overcome this malady in
her contact with people there is nothing left in her pathway to
prevent her successful career. It has been difficult for me to bear
with patience this affliction, for I see too well her future. Shyness
is no respecter of persons. Many of our great men like Charles
Matthews, Garrick, Sir Isaac Newton, Byron, were afflicted with it and
shunned all notoriety. She has fought successfully her other battles,
let us hope she will conquer this obstacle also. I, her instructor,
will be the first to rejoice in her victory and her Lady Margaret will
compel her to write another song. But this time it will be a song of
rejoicing and victory.
[Illustration:
Ruth A. Hitchcock
Anita Osborn
Christine Hermansen
Ilma Jones
Grace Cooke
Leo Dowling