I RESOLVE TO SING CARMEN
Each spring in Melrose there was a May Carnival. One of the features of
the carnival in 1894, when I was twelve years old, was a pageant of
famous women impersonated by local talent. I was selected to represent
Jenny Lind and was told by the committee that I must sing "Home, Sweet
Home," but with characteristic disregard for the expected tradition I
decided to sing an aria in Italian first. The prima donna of my dreams
would naturally dazzle her hearers with a selection in some foreign
tongue, and then graciously respond to the clamorous multitude with a
simple ballad.
I had this stage effect quite planned in my mind. I didn't know a word
of Italian; but studied one song by myself from "Faust"--Siebel's song
which Scalchi used to sing in the old days and one seldom heard now. My
Italian may have been incomprehensible to a native, certainly it did not
disconcert Melrosians; my _aplomb_ was richly rewarded by numerous
recalls, just as I had dared to hope, and "Home, Sweet Home" was given
with due seriousness. I was happy and excited; I was "arriving" at
last! Also I wore my first low-neck dress.
Incidentally, this episode in the Melrose Town Hall is made vivid in my
memory by two notable happenings. The first is--shades of vanity!--that
I wore a new pair of perfectly lovely shoes that were too tight for me
(but looked so nice); so, after singing the encore, I was obliged to
retire behind a stout lady on the stage and take them off. When the
carnival was over, I found to my distress that I could not get them on
again, and I walked home in my stocking feet!
The second episode of this day really marked a turning point in my
career. A friend who heard me sing happened to be a pupil of Mrs. J. H.
Long, the best-known singing teacher in Boston at that time, and this
friend insisted that I must go into Boston and sing for Mrs. Long. I was
tremulous with joy (still in my stocking feet), and my mother and
I--breathless--told my father the news that arrangements were to be made
for me to sing at last before a real singing teacher!
My father eyed us and shook his head thoughtfully, looking at my mother
as though to say: "She's encouraging the child in all this tomfoolery."
For, while he himself had a splendid natural voice and loved music and
was proud of my childish achievements, I doubt if at that time he could
foresee the practical side of a musical career. But my mother and I were
heart and soul for the idea, and sing I would and must.
Finally came the "day of days," and it poured. Alas for the favorable
impression I had hoped to create! My hair had been tightly rolled in
lead all night to obtain the desired "crimps"; I hadn't closed an eye
from the discomfort and nervousness; and here was the fateful hour at
hand, with no vestige of a "crimp," my face pale with excitement, though
I pinched my cheeks cruelly to make the "roses" come, and my muslin
frock out of the question in such weather. I felt like a veritable
Cinderella in my plain, dark suit.
However, off we started, half an hour's ride on the train. What I
suffered in apprehension; how dizzy I felt, and what a queer feeling I
had in the pit of my stomach! I could have wept from the tension. Could
this drooping young person be the erstwhile very confident embryo prima
donna?
Mrs. Long, of fond memory, put me at once at my ease with her kindly
manner. Her great brown eyes looked into mine and inspired me with such
confidence that soon I was warbling as freely as if I were at home
alone. I no longer heeded the rain, my appearance, or my surroundings.
To my delight I was accepted at once as a pupil, and it is to this
excellent and thorough teacher that I can give thanks for proper
guidance in my early years. My aversion and distaste for the drudgery of
scales and routine manifested itself quickly, but Mrs. Long knew the
best arguments for my rebellious little soul, and, as I really did wish
to become a great and noble singer, I worked as faithfully at my tasks
as I could.
Meanwhile I began to sing occasionally in the Congregational Church in
Melrose. My mother from this time kept a scrapbook of newspaper notices
concerning me, for I was now beginning to become known as a local
celebrity. The first clipping in my mother's scrapbook is from the
"Melrose Journal" of May 21, 1895, and is as follows:--
Miss Geraldine Farrar, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Farrar, has a
voice of great power and richness. Many who heard her for the first
time, at the Vesper service last Sunday afternoon, were greatly
surprised. She is only thirteen years of age, but has a future of
great promise, and it is believed that Melrose will some day be
proud of her attainments in the world of music.
As a result of the church singing and the fact that I was actually
studying in Boston under the famous Mrs. Long, I was invited to sing at
my first regular concert. The programme, carefully preserved by my
mother, shows that it was organized by Miss Eudora F. Parkhurst in aid
of the piano fund for the Melrose Highlands Congregational Vestry and
that it took place on Wednesday evening, January 15, 1896, in the Town
Hall of Melrose. I sang two numbers, "Non conosci il bel suol," from
"Mignon" (I note my Italian had improved), and Auguste's "Bird on the
Wing." Of this interesting event, my first public appearance in concert,
the "Melrose Journal" of the next day said:--
Miss Eudora Parkhurst's concert in aid of the piano fund of the
Highland Congregational Church, given in the Town Hall Wednesday
evening, attracted a small audience. Miss Parkhurst, who is a very
young lady and herself a musician of considerable ability, put a
great deal of work into the concert and its details, and it is to
be regretted that it could not have been better patronized. Miss
Geraldine Farrar was the leading attraction, rendering her two
solos with great confidence and ability. For her first number she
sang "Non conosci il bel suol," from "Mignon," rendering the
difficult music with surprising ease and fidelity, receiving a
recall. Her second number, "Bird on the Wing," was also well
received. The Alpine Quartet, of Woburn, Miss Cora Cummings, banjo
soloist, Miss Welma Cummings and Miss Parkhurst, violinists, and
Miss Bessie Adams, reciter, were the other attractions. Mr. Grant
Drake presided at the piano as accompanist.
[Illustration: THE GOOSE GIRL AND HER FLOCK]
I find in my personal notes of comment on this interesting programme
that I disliked the banjo as an instrument, though Miss Cummings played
well, and that Mr. Drake, the pianist, was "very nice." Even in those
days I was given to analysis.
My success at this recital led directly to another public
appearance--February 5, 1896--in the Y.M.C.A. Hall at Melrose, at a
concert given by Miss Jennie Mae Spencer, a Boston contralto, through
whose friendship and advice I had gone to study with Mrs. Long. This was
the first time my name appeared in large type as one of the principal
singers, and I was greatly pleased.
This was the first paying professional appearance I ever made; for
singing one number and a duet with Miss Spencer I received the
magnificent sum of ten dollars. But this concert called me to the
attention of the music critics of Boston, and the critic of the "Boston
Times" wrote:--
Miss Geraldine Farrar is a young girl who has a phenomenal soprano
voice and gives promise of becoming a great singer.
My marginal criticism on this concert programme shows that Mr. J. C.
Bartlett, the tenor, was "fine"; Miss Bell Temple, reader, was "good";
Mr. Wulf Fries, the 'cellist, was "elegant"; and Mr. Drake, the pianist,
was "nice," as usual.
These two concerts were followed by further careful study under Mrs.
Long, and then at last came the eventful night when I made my real debut
in Boston at the annual recital given by her pupils. I shall never
forget the date, Tuesday evening, May 26, 1896. I was fourteen at the
time, having celebrated my birthday in February. The recital took place
in Association Hall, and I wore a simple little white dress with green
trimmings. On the programme of this memorable event, carefully pasted in
a scrapbook by my mother, I find this comment written in my own hand:
"This is what I made my debut in, very calm and sedate, not the least
nervous."
Following my critical tendencies at the other concerts, I find the
programme of this first recital filled with marginal comments. Most of
my remarks were very flattering to my fellow pupils. Concerning Miss
Leveroni, who afterward studied abroad and returned to America to sing
with Henry Russell's grand opera company, I wrote: "Very nice,
gestures natural." Others were "pretty good," "very fine," or "very
nervous," and only one pupil was criticized as "Bad, off key."
[Illustration: CALVE AS CARMEN]
The Boston newspapers always gave extended notices to the recitals of
Mrs. Long's pupils, and this was no exception. I was mentioned
favorably, but it remained for the dear old "Melrose Reporter" to give
me a most extraordinary and almost prophetic criticism. I quote from the
newspaper clipping so carefully preserved by my mother:--
The Cavatina from "Il Barbiere," sung by Miss Geraldine Farrar,
will interest those in Melrose who were not able to attend the
recital. For many months musical people have waited the gradual
development of this phenomenal voice, a God-given power which the
child has sent forth with a freedom, compass, and quality that has
demanded the admiration of our best Boston critics. Notwithstanding
the florid and extreme difficulties of the Cavatina, the execution
and reserved force, absolutely fresh and firm for each attack, was
a triumph and a revelation of tone power. She sang without notes,
and embraced the beautiful flowers showered upon her, as
unconscious of her success as though she had stood among her mates
and told a simple story. With hopeful anticipation, her many loving
friends will follow her future which seems already unfolding, and
as the child glides to womanhood, our little twinkling star may
rise by and by from dear Melrose, and become resplendent in the
musical firmament, where all the world will love to listen and do
her homage.
The first flowers sent to me at this recital, carefully dried and
pressed, are still one of my dearest souvenirs; and I also treasure
carefully the first card of good wishes sent to me on that occasion. It
bears the carefully engraved name of "Mr. John E. Pilling," and
underneath is written: "May success always attend you." I hope Mr.
Pilling, if he ever sees these lines, will accept the long-deferred
thanks of the little Melrose girl to whom he sent such an encouraging
message.
In my last year of study under Mrs. Long I reveled for the first time in
the joys of grand opera. That winter in Boston, the Castle Square Opera
Company, an excellent organization managed by Henry W. Savage, was
presenting grand opera in English at the old Castle Square Theater. The
leading singers were J. K. Murray and his wife, Clara Lane. I became a
subscriber to this excellent company's performances on Wednesday
matinees. To me these matinees were meat and drink; all performances
were well supported by music-lovers in the vicinity. It was Clara Lane
whom I first heard sing "Carmen," a role which has recently figured
so successfully in my own repertoire at the Metropolitan in New York.
During these enjoyable weeks I heard this company sing most of the grand
opera repertoire, in English, and I was thrilled and fascinated.
[Illustration: JEAN DE RESZKE]
Then came another great and unexpected joy. The Maurice Grau Grand Opera
Company, from the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, visited Boston
for a spring season at Mechanics Hall. My mother decided that I must
hear Calve sing "Carmen." The cast included Jean de Reszke, then at the
height of his success; Emma Eames, Saleza, Pol Plancon as the toreador,
and of course the wonderful Calve. I completely lost my head over this
remarkable performance. For days and nights I reveled in the memories of
that magnificent representation. This, then, was the visualization of
all my dreams of years. This triumph I had witnessed was that toward
which all my hopes, fears, and prayers had been directed. This wonderful
creature was what I hoped--nay, intended--to become. And then and there
was born within me a fervent and earnest decision that, come what may, I
too must some day sing "Carmen" with the most wonderful cast of grand
opera artists in the world, at the Metropolitan in New York.