MISUNDERSTANDINGS
My second Metropolitan season opened pleasantly with a neat little
success in the comparatively small role of Marguerite in "Mefistofele,"
which was produced for the benefit of Chaliapine, the great Russian
basso. Unfortunately, owing to his dissatisfaction and disappointment at
musical matters in general, nothing would induce him to return to
America, and we thereby lost an artist unique in all he attempted and
unparalleled in some of his typical Russian creations, such as "Boris"
and "Ivan the Terrible."
January, 1908, saw me on my native heath in Boston. I sang four
performances in six days--"Faust," "Madame Butterfly," "Elizabeth,"
"Pagliacci"--and the reception was a tornado of enthusiasm, to which the
historic walls of the old Boston Theater resounded. The conservative Hub
did not deserve such an appellation in the case of my welcome. I was
filled with pride and gratitude.
My own home town also wanted to share in the festivities; whereupon a
concert was arranged, and I returned to sing in the brick town hall
that had first sheltered my early efforts. At the close of the programme
I shook hands with every man, woman, and child who desired a close
scrutiny and personal greeting--and you may be sure I was not allowed to
abandon my place on the stage till all had availed themselves of this
invitation.
The following morning the Mayor and several prominent townspeople called
for me, and we visited the pupils of my former schools. They were all
ready, in line, to greet me, flags in their hands.
When an address was suggested, I arose with alacrity--and introduced my
friend Kate Douglas Wiggin, as speaker. Despite her surprise she rose
gracefully to the occasion in a most flattering little speech, to the
delight of her youthful hearers. I was, indeed, most fortunate to have
had a Mistress of Ceremonies of such tact and charm.
Meanwhile Mr. Conried's failing health was necessitating a change of
management at the Metropolitan, and the choice fell upon Mr.
Gatti-Casazza, of La Scala, Milan, in conjunction with Andreas Dippel,
the latter a member of our company and very popular with New York
audiences. With contracts for Berlin, Paris, and New York, the old cry
of "overwork" was dinned into my ears, but less than ever was the
moment for immediate rest possible. I was about to make a new contract
with the Metropolitan under a different management, new artists were
engaged who might reasonably be supposed to share some of the repertoire
which I had not yet sung.
[Illustration: "AS PRETTY A FLOCK OF BIRDS AS ONE COULD FIND ON ANY
FARM"]
It behooved me to keep well within the public eye and to make my
position as advantageous as I could under the new regime.
Not having acquaintance with Mr. Gatti-Casazza, I preferred signing my
engagement with Mr. Dippel; but all our arguments came to naught when he
found I was firm in my proposals to improve upon the old contract, and I
sailed away in May with no more definite answer than "_Au revoir_ in
Paris" to him.
While singing there at the Opera Comique, we again went over the same
ground--futilely; and it was not till the following July in Berlin that
I was able to arrange a several years' engagement which, in the light of
the last years, I may reasonably conclude has been to nobody's
dissatisfaction.
My third Metropolitan season started unhappily. I arrived ill and
fagged; lamentable altercations took place between the new conductor,
Mr. Toscanini, and myself, each having quite opposite ideas as to the
merits of conductor and prima donna, respectively. The estrangement was
complete after the opening performance of "Madame Butterfly," when we
both lost our manners and our tempers in high-handed fashion.
Outside influences fanned resentment to a white heat, at least on my
part; I was in a fury. The papers gave space to stupid fabrications and
stories purporting to emanate from those speaking with authority, whose
names, however, one could never discover.
Ill in mind and health, I was vexed enough to offer to buy my release
from such bondage as I now lived in artistically. I was far from happy,
and when I am not happy I cannot sing well. My one idea was to escape
from all this turbulence and what seemed to me to be a hotbed of
intrigue. I was a rebel, yes; but I was no dissembler, and I hated to
come into contact with those in authority under present conditions.
Every performance was an occasion of dread; things looked very dark for
my peace of mind.
[Illustration: THE GOOSE GIRL IN "KOENIGSKINDER"]
Needless to say, I was not granted a release, but must struggle on
during the closing weeks of the spring. I resigned myself to finish the
season as best I could, but I was quite decided that when the roll
call came the following autumn I would spend my winter quietly in
Berlin. That was all to be changed, however, by the very unexpected and
friendly overtures which Mr. Toscanini, to my great surprise, made one
memorable evening of "Madame Butterfly" in Chicago.
When two ardent and honest workers are desirous of eliminating
misunderstandings it is not difficult to arrive at a solution. The
various phases of the seething disquiet that had prevailed between us
were discussed with commendable frankness on both sides. I need not add
that the result was a happy one, and I thereby gained a firm friend and
an invaluable ally in my work.
We sealed our differences in a joint curtain call, that same evening,
before a jammed house that was fully aware of the significance of our
unusual appearance together, and gave way to tumultuous and approving
applause.
It would be difficult to estimate justly the influence Mr. Toscanini has
had in the musical development of our opera, the artistic direction of
which he rightly controls. Personally I am, as in the case of Lilli
Lehmann, far more indebted to him than I can properly place in words,
certainly more than he, with a morbid dislike for any public attention
to himself, would perhaps allow me to admit.
Lehmann--Bernhardt--Toscanini! These are names to conjure with in the
career of a young artist!
* * * * *
Events in the operatic aviary were now destined to proceed more or less
smoothly for me--for a while at least. In the spring of 1909 I was urged
to give some special performances of "La Tosca" at the Opera Comique in
Paris, with Antonio Scotti in his admirable characterization of Scarpia.
The success of the opera was most gratifying, and was in no wise
overshadowed by the presence of the Metropolitan Company, which had come
from the United States to sing in Paris at the same time.
That same spring, before sailing, Toscanini had asked me to sing
Puccini's "Manon" with the Metropolitan Company during its Paris season.
But the role was unfamiliar to me, and as I had monopolized the more
popular Massenet's "Manon," I felt I could not undertake its preparation
in six days of ocean travel, together with my promised performances of
Tosca at another theater. Toscanini quite understood this, made no
further insistence, and the charming Lucretia Bori was introduced to
the Parisian public and later came to delight her New York admirers.
[Illustration: KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN]
What transpired to offend Puccini I never knew, but the trivial question
of my not singing his "Manon" provoked our first argument relative to
"The Girl of the Golden West." The production of this long-awaited opera
from the popular composer was the one topic of discussion and
speculation in musical circles, its _premiere_ being scheduled for the
following autumn in New York.
While I had never had the promise of the role, the very subject and its
appeal to the American public would seem to have indicated the choice of
a native prima donna. Not only I, but a large majority of an interested
public expected it. However, Puccini himself dispelled any such illusion
by opening an argument, while I was singing in a drawing-room, to the
effect that I had refused to sing his "Manon" because I had not been
asked to create "The Girl." This was really a little too much, and I
retorted that such was not the case, but that it might be well for him
to consider the eventual popularity of his work with an American singer
as the heroine, and that I was not aware he had changed his usual suave
style of composition to such an extent that the most popular "Madame
Butterfly" could not cope with its difficulties. With this I sailed out
of the room.
Possibly the crowded aspect of the house at some performances at which I
sang the following autumn, and which he attended, modified his opinion,
for he was effusive in compliments and photographs, and the slight cloud
blew over without further parley.
Afterward I was to be consoled by as gratifying a success as my heart
could wish as the "Goose Girl." December 28, 1910, saw the _premiere_ of
the charming "Koenigskinder," which enchanted the audience by reason of
its lovely simplicity and the introduction of live geese--no less!
[Illustration: MISS FARRAR AND CARUSO IN "JULIAN"]
Professor Humperdinck was not a little taken aback when I first
mentioned that I intended having these live geese which were, according
to my plan, to move naturally and unconfined about the stage. Mr. Hertz,
the conductor, was much perturbed and objected to the noise and
confusion they might create; but Mr. Gatti was resigned to my whim and
gave assent. So with the help of our technical director and the "boys"
behind the stage I had as pretty a flock of birds as one could find on
any farm. When the curtain rose upon that idyllic forest scene, with the
goose girl in the grass, the geese unconcernedly picking their way
about, now and again spreading snowy wings, unafraid, the house was
simply delighted and applauded long and vigorously. Not to be overlooked
was the sympathetic appeal of the children's beloved Fiddler, in the
person of Goritz. This operatic fairy-tale held an enviable place in the
regular repertoire for three years, and was one of my happiest
successes.
Following this I was to create a work of a type quite different from any
other I had ever essayed. Had it not been for Toscanini's urging I
should hardly have chosen "Ariane et Barbe Bleue" as a medium for my
ambitions. While the production was highly interesting, I cannot say
that I am much in sympathy with the vague outlines of the modern French
lyric heroines; "Melisande" and "Ariane" I think can be better entrusted
to artists of a less positive type.