MY FIRST DAYS IN MY DREAM WORLD
My meeting with Jean de Reszke is stamped vividly in my memory, since he
was the first personage from that beautiful dream world of opera that it
was my privilege to meet. Music lovers of America need no reminder of
his tremendous vogue as a man and his wonderful career as an artist. I
had the opportunity to sing for him through Jehangier Cola, a Hindu
professor who at the time was interesting Boston society with his
Oriental teachings. Just how I met him I cannot recall, but he had
personal acquaintance with many of the artists, both here and abroad;
and so one rainy morning (dismal weather always seemed to accompany such
ventures) my mother and I, escorted by Professor Cola, descended at the
Parker House where the de Reszke brothers, Jean and Edouard, were
stopping.
[Illustration: EMMA THURSBY]
I remember that I played my own accompaniment and sang rather
indifferently; the inspiring "mood" was not to be commanded. Mr. de
Reszke listened politely, probably having been bored often by many
such young aspirants, and gave me sensible advice that could apply to
the average girl of intelligence and enthusiastic musical ambitions. I
recall that I listened attentively and seriously, quite realizing that
Mr. de Reszke could hardly glean other than the most superficial of
impressions after hearing a stranger for half an hour, and then hardly
at her best.
Upon his advice to go to New York and consult a teacher of whom he had
heard excellent reports, my mother and I made plans for such an
immediate change. My father listened in passive amazement, but
acquiesced, as he always has, in the belief that whatever emotional
tornado should overtake me, my mother's steadying influence would
maintain the necessary equilibrium.
I shall never forget my excitement and curiosity upon our arrival in New
York. The first thing I wanted to see was the Metropolitan Opera House.
The great yellow building at the corner of Broadway and Thirty-ninth
Street seemed to promise all kinds of wonderful possibilities and the
fulfillment of my dreams. Little thrills of hope made my heart sing and
my spirits soar as I looked at the billboards and whispered to myself:
"Some day I _will_, I _must_, sing there. My name shall adorn those
walls and spell enchantment to the passing crowd." I walked on air,
absorbed in the rosy future I was planning so confidently for myself.
The teacher who had been recommended to me for this visit to New York
was dear old Louisa Cappiani, bless her! She who had been the teacher of
many of the light-opera singers was greatly pleased at my singing, and
wanted me to sign a three years' exclusive contract with her, but my
mother decided that I was too young to have my future controlled in any
way.
The arrival of hot weather drove us to the country; so with great regret
I said good-bye to Cappiani, and we started for Greenacre, Maine, and it
was there that I met Miss Emma Thursby. She occupied an enviable
position in New York musical circles and was recognized as an excellent
authority on voice. She was kind enough to say that she would be glad to
have me study with her when she returned to New York, and so it happened
that the following autumn found us back there, and I commenced my
studies with her.
[Illustration: MELBA AS MARGUERITE]
That winter of 1897-98 was full of excitement and thrills for me. In
addition to my studies with Miss Thursby I went to the opera and
theaters as often as I could afford it. And what a whirlwind of
emotions it was! Melba in "Faust," "Romeo and Juliet," and "Lucia";
Calve, the peerless "Carmen"; magnificent Lehmann (later to become my
revered teacher and dear friend); the incomparable Jean de Reszke;
handsome Pol Plancon; sprightly Campanari in the "Barber"--memories
crowd in upon me!--not forgetting the versatile Bauermeister of all
roles. I rarely had a seat, but was one of the army of "standees,"
eager, enthusiastic, oblivious to all save the dream world these
wonderful beings unfolded before me.
There was one upon whom I lavished all the ardor of my youthful,
heroine-worshiping years--our own lovely Nordica, who became my ideal
for beauty, accomplishment, and perseverance. Later I was to owe to her
friendship and that of her husband, Zoltan Doeme, the valuable and timely
advice that diverted my path from a provincial theater in Italy to the
magnificent Royal Opera in Berlin, and subsequent friendships that have
proved so potent as well as so spectacular a feature in my career.
Among the plays which I saw that winter were "The Devil's Disciple,"
with Richard Mansfield in the star role; Julia Marlowe in "The Countess
Valeska," and Ada Rehan in "The Country Girl" and as Lady Teazle in "The
School for Scandal" (how I did love her as Lady Teazle!)--all wonderful
plays for a schoolgirl still in her teens.
It was at this time also that I first met Melba, who was in New York,
and it was Miss Thursby who took me to sing for her. Much of my former
nervousness had worn away. I had worked hard and was anxious for Melba's
approval, and her impartial judgment as to the advisability of immediate
study abroad. That day, too, the sun was radiant, I was in excellent
humor, and, all in all, everything pointed toward a happy and favorable
meeting.
I remember Melba's enthusiasm and generosity with gratitude, though I
have not seen her these many years to tell her so. I sang unusually
well, to my own accompaniment, and she was so genuinely interested as to
propose that I should at once sing for her manager, C. A. Ellis, of
Boston, of whose opera company, in association with Walter Damrosch, she
was the scintillating luminary. So a few days later my mother and I
joined her there at a hotel which was the temporary home of the
songbirds.
Perhaps you can picture my delight. I floated in fairyland; to lunch and
dine in the intoxicating proximity of these wonderful people; to watch
them, like gods and goddesses, deign to descend to the earth of
ordinary mortals--it was like living in a dream.
[Illustration: MISS FARRAR AND HER MOTHER]
The eventful day came when I finally sang for Mr. Ellis. It was in the
Boston Theater, and Melba, Mr. Damrosch, and many others were present. I
was a little anxious at the idea of singing in such a large, empty
auditorium, and feared that my voice would not be heard to advantage in
such an enormous place; yet, after the ordeal was over, Madame Melba
took me in her arms and embraced me with enthusiasm and affection. She
predicted such splendid things as even I scarcely dared hope. I was
elated and grateful indeed at the general commendation, for Mr. Ellis
offered me an engagement, and that night, at the hotel, Melba wished me
to sign a contract of several years to place myself under her tutelage
and appear later in opera subject to her advice.
My dreams were fast becoming realities. But, as usual, my mother's good
sense dominated the situation. While thoroughly appreciative of the
advantages that Melba could offer me in her generous impulse, my mother
felt that I was far too young to restrict my actions and bind my future
career in any manner. Besides, with all the excitement of the winter, my
intense emotional nature and the interest I had aroused in musical
circles, she wisely thought it best for me to be withdrawn for a time
from this all-too-stimulating atmosphere, which might later prove
unwholesome and detrimental to serious study. In consequence, I was
placed in the household and under the guidance of a dear friend, Mrs.
Perkins, in Washington, District of Columbia, to continue other studies
in addition to my singing, while I was impatiently waiting to "grow up."
In the spring of 1898, when the war spirit spread over the country like
wildfire, my mother and I were taken to the White House one pleasant
afternoon to call upon Mrs. McKinley. The President's wife received us
in the Blue Room, while Mr. McKinley was occupied in his private office
with engrossing business connected with the war. Suddenly the official
news came of Dewey's great victory at Manila. The President, with the
official dispatches in his hand, entered the room where his devoted wife
was surrounded by a sympathetic group of friends. In turn we were each
presented to Mr. McKinley, and then, thrilled by the announcement of the
victory, Mrs. McKinley asked me to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
There was a piano in the room, for Mrs. McKinley was intensely devoted
to music. I played my own accompaniment, and, stirred by the glorious
news and inspired by the presence of the President and his wife and the
compliment of being asked to sing the national anthem in the White
House, I sang with all the ardor and intensity of which my nature was
capable. I have sung "The Star-Spangled Banner" many times since, but
only once under such inspiring circumstances, when, at that dramatic
moment after the tragedy of the Lusitania, I called upon the crowded
house at the Metropolitan Opera (a benefit performance of "Carmen") to
join me in our national hymn. Garbed in Columbia's robes, with two Red
Cross nurses at my side, the tableau awoke thunderous applause and the
great house joined in the singing with a will!