ON TOUR: MONTE CARLO AND STOCKHOLM
In discussing the plans for my third season at the Berlin Opera, it had
been decided that I should create Massenet's "Manon." I determined to
meet Massenet, if possible, in order to get all possible suggestions for
the role. This was accomplished through the Baroness de
Hegermann-Lindencrone, formerly Lillie Greenough, of Boston, who was the
wife of the Danish Ambassador to Berlin. I went to Paris, and on May 26,
1903, I called on the composer at his suburban home near the French
capital, where I found him in tears. It was the day after the funeral of
Sybil Sanderson, the American singer who had won such success abroad,
and Massenet wept at the loss of such a delightful artist and friend,
who had created so many of his roles. Several days later, when he was
more composed, I saw him again. He was kind and sympathetic, and I
studied with him with enthusiasm. He was most interested in the Berlin
production, and quite amused at the German translation of the French
text which Lilli and I had revised.
[Illustration: "I STUDIED WITH HIM WITH ENTHUSIASM"
PHOTO OF MASSENET, signed:
Je pense a l'admirable Geraldine Farrar
a ses triomphes,
"Manon"!..
Massenet]
During this visit to Paris it was arranged that I should sing for
Gailhard, the Director of the Paris Opera, and at this audience were
three other notable directors who were destined to figure in my career.
There was Maurice Grau, already relinquishing the reins of management in
New York, but still hoping, he said, to take me back to America as an
operatic star in the near future; there was Heinrich Conried, his
successor, whom I then met for the first time; and there was Raoul
Gunsberg, the Director of the Opera at Monte Carlo. Gailhard offered me
a flattering engagement at the Paris Opera, but I explained that I was
under contract for at least one more year in Berlin. Gunsberg was very
enthusiastic in his praise; Conried was quiet and formal. If I made any
impression on him, he gave no indication of it.
My third season in Berlin opened November 14, 1905, in "Traviata," when
I had my usual charming partner in Franz Naval. I now sang all of my
roles in German save "Traviata," and, in deference to me, all the
company sang "Traviata" in Italian, which I thought a pretty compliment.
The Berlin _premiere_ of "Manon" took place on December 1, 1903, and was
a wild riot of enthusiasm, but my best reward was a large photo of
Lilli with half a yard of dedication written underneath. By this
time--the middle of my third season in Berlin--I had become quite well
known in certain operatic circles; I had sung in Paris for four big
directors; I had won the real affection and regard of the opera-goers of
Berlin; I was now _Die Farrar aus Berlin_, and the Berlin public owned
me.
Herr Gunsberg, at Monte Carlo, always on the lookout for novelty,
decided he must have the American prima donna who was attracting so much
attention in Berlin. One morning in midwinter I received this
characteristic telegram from him:--
Offer you debut Boheme or Pagliacci. If you accept this telegram
serves as contract. Four thousand francs a night.
Eight hundred dollars a night! It was indeed a fine offer. I replied at
once:--
Boheme. When shall I come?
I had visions already of international triumphs. Monte Carlo, the
show-place of the world! From there it was only a step to the leading
capitals of Europe. Yet I had no wish to leave my beloved Berlin
permanently. Therefore, in renewing my contract with the Intendant of
the Berlin Opera (a contract, by the way, which is still in force), it
was stipulated that I was to sing so many performances each season in
Berlin unless excused by special arrangement; that I should have leave
of absence whenever requested under certain conditions; but that at all
times I should be subject to the rules and regulations of the Royal
Opera in Berlin.
[Illustration: SIGNED PHOTO OF GUGLIELMO MARCONI
Alla Signorina Geraldina Farrar
Con devota amicizia e sincera ammirazione
Guglielmo Marconi
6 maggio 1912]
I remember discussing the subject with His Majesty on one occasion when
we were entertained at the Palace prior to my departure. I had asked
(and received) permission for rather an unusual amount of leave of
absence, and the Intendant, who usually conveyed such a request to His
Majesty on my behalf, said this time he really did not have the courage
to ask again so soon.
"Very well," said I laughingly, "I will ask him myself, to spare you the
embarrassment."
"But why should you wish to leave Berlin?" inquired the Kaiser. "We are
glad to have you with us; we admire you; we love you. What more can you
gain elsewhere?"
"Pardon me, Your Majesty," I replied gayly. "Already I have become
accustomed as a spoiled prima donna of luxurious habits to ride in
automobiles, and I don't wish to have to walk when I am an old lady and
when this" (touching my throat significantly) "has ceased to interest
the public. In the words of the great Napoleon, Your Majesty, 'Beyond
the Alps lies Italy.' Yes, and there is a white chateau by the sea where
the golden shower is just waiting to be coaxed into my pockets. May I
not then go and sing a little among the palms and the flowers?"
I went.
* * * * *
Ah, that first rehearsal of "Boheme" in Monte Carlo, in March, 1904! I
was introduced for the first time to a tenor of whom I had never heard
before. He was somewhat stout, not over-tall, but with a wonderful voice
and a winning smile. His name was Enrico Caruso. It was his debut in
Monte Carlo. He had sung in Milan, in South America, and the preceding
winter in New York. But he had not then attained even a small part of
his present great fame.
At this first rehearsal in Monte Carlo an interested listener was Jean
de Reszke, who was kind enough to say that he remembered me as the
little Boston girl who had sung for him some years previously, and that
he was delighted to see that I was meeting with the success he had
predicted.
[Illustration: ENRICO CARUSO]
My Monte Carlo debut occurred on the night of March 10, 1904. Although I
had rehearsed with Caruso, the tenor had never used his voice fully
at the rehearsals, and on the night of the actual performance, when I
heard those rich and glorious tones rise above the orchestra, I was
literally stricken dumb with amazement and admiration. I forgot that I,
too, was making a debut, that I was on the stage of the Opera House,
until the conductor, Vigna, rapped sharply with his baton to bring me
back to my senses. Then I put forth every ounce of strength to match if
possible that marvelous voice singing opposite to me. I copy the
following extract _verbatim_ from my diary of that night:--
Tremendous reception on my debut. After the third act, and in full
view of the audience, Caruso lifted me bodily and carried me to my
dressing-room in the general wave of enthusiasm.
The Monte Carlo engagement was limited, and on March 28, I reappeared in
Berlin, being received so cordially that I then and there made up my
mind that I would never leave Berlin for good. The reports of the Monte
Carlo engagement led directly to a most flattering offer from Stockholm,
and on May 6 I arrived in the Swedish capital. My mother, of course, was
with me on all my travels.
My debut, which took place on the evening of May 9, was as Marguerite
in "Faust." It was an enthusiastic, sympathetic audience headed by the
venerable and adorable King Oscar. An incident of the performance worth
recording is that I sang opposite to Herr Oedman, the tenor, who had sung
as a young man with Jenny Lind and Christine Nilsson. He was then almost
sixty years old, but he gave a most interesting performance and was
extremely vain of his figure in "Romeo" and "Faust." I must say he would
put many a younger man to shame in the costume of this romantic period,
withal being a sweet singer and excellent artist.
Two days after my debut the Royal Intendant of the Opera called to
notify me that the King would be glad to receive me at a special
audience. The royal carriage was sent to the hotel for us; my mother and
I drove first to the Palace in Stockholm, and then, after we had been
cordially received by His Majesty, the King invited us to go with him
and inspect a beautiful suburban castle just outside of Stockholm, which
is one of the show-places of the world. His Majesty had known and
admired Lilli Lehmann, and one reason for the personal interest he took
in me was because he knew I was Lilli's pupil.
[Illustration: "THE VENERABLE AND ADORABLE KING OSCAR"
PHOTO SIGNED, OSCAR.]
On the last night of the Stockholm season I sang "Traviata" before a
packed and enthusiastic house. His Majesty was present as usual. He
never missed a performance while I sang in Stockholm. During the
performance the Intendant notified me that His Majesty desired to
receive me at the Palace after the performance at a special audience.
Wondering and surprised, my mother and I drove to the Palace in
obedience to the royal command. We were ushered into a small audience
chamber, where perhaps two dozen members of the Court were already in
waiting.
Presently His Majesty entered and, with a few words, decorated me with
the gold cross of the Order of Merit, which he personally pinned upon my
gown. He explained at the time that only two other singers had
previously received this honor--Melba and Nilsson.
After that there was a real Swedish celebration of farewell which lasted
until long past midnight--only, as the nights were almost as bright as
day in that far northern country, it was difficult to tell the time. I
remember that after supper I suddenly recalled that Caruso had written,
asking me to secure him a complete set of Swedish stamps, as he was a
postage-stamp fiend. When I told His Majesty of this, the King sent out
and secured a complete set of stamps, which I forwarded to Enrico with
the compliments of the King of Sweden.
As I was leaving and saying farewell, for we were to go on the morrow,
His Majesty said: "Next year, Mademoiselle Farrar, you must sing again
in Stockholm."
"I shall be delighted, Your Majesty," I replied.
"Meanwhile, you sing only in Berlin?"
"Oh, no," I answered, "I have been offered a reengagement for Monte
Carlo next March."
"Monte Carlo, eh?" And His Majesty laughed. "My dear Mademoiselle
Farrar, my physician has been urging me to visit Monte Carlo. I shall
time my trip so that I shall be sure to hear you sing there."
What a perfect darling old King Oscar was!