festival in 1876, he had the greatest difficulty in securing a
sufficient number of competent interpreters for the different rôles
of the trilogy, though he had all the German opera companies to choose
from. His private letters and essays are full of lamentations
regarding the rarity of singers able to interpret, not only his works,
but those of Weber, Gluck, or Mozart. Good singers, he says in one
place, are so rare that the managers have to pay their weight in gold
and jewelry. But the cause of this, he continues, is not the lack of
good voices, but their improper training in the wrong direction.
German teachers have tried to adapt the voices of their pupils to the
Italian _canto_, which is incompatible with the German language.
"Hitherto," he says in another place, "the voice has been trained
exclusively after the model of Italian songs; there was no other. But
the character of Italian songs was determined by the general spirit of
Italian music, which, in the time of its full bloom, was best
exemplified by the sopranists, because the aim of this music was mere
enjoyment of the senses, without any regard for genuine depth of
feeling--as is also shown by the fact that the voice of young manhood,
the tenor voice, was hardly used at all at this period, and later only
in a sopranistic way, as falsetto. Now, the spirit of modern music,
under the undisputed leadership of German genius, especially
Beethoven, has succeeded in first rising to the true dignity of art,
by bringing within the sphere of its incomparable expressiveness, not
only what is agreeable to the senses, but also an energetic
spirituality and emotional depth." Evidently, he concludes, a singer
trained in the spirit of the old-fashioned, merely sensuous music, is
unable to cope with modern dramatic music, and the result is the
failure and premature collapse of so many promising singers, who might
have become great artists had they been rationally instructed.
Misinformed or prejudiced critics have told us countless times that
Wagner assigned the voice a secondary place in his works because he
cared less for it than for the orchestra, and did not understand its
nature and uses. The fact is that no one can read his essays,
especially those on Schnorr von Carolsfeld, and on Actors and
Vocalists, without being impressed with his unbounded admiration for
the voice, and his practical knowledge of its highest functions and
correct use. As a vocal teacher, Wagner has perhaps never had an
equal. A few words from him regarding tone emission, breathing, or
phrasing, have often sufficed to show to a singer that a passage which
he had considered unsingable, was really the easiest thing in the
world, if only the poetic sense were properly grasped and the breath
economized. It is difficult to realize how much of their art and
popularity the greatest dramatic singers of the period owe to Wagner's
personal instruction. Materna, Malten, Brandt, Tichatschek, Schnorr
von Carolsfeld, Niemann, Vogl, Winkelmann, Betz, Scaria, Reichmann,
and many others have had the benefit of his advice; and if Wagner
could have carried out his plans of establishing a college of dramatic
singing at Bayreuth--a plan which was frustrated by the lack of
funds--the cause of dramatic art would have gained immeasurably. We
speak with scornful contempt of the Viennese of a former generation,
who allowed a rare genius like Schubert to starve; but posterity will
look back with quite as great astonishment on the sluggishness of a
generation which did not eagerly accept the offer of the greatest
dramatic composer of all times, to instruct gratuitously a number of
pupils in his own style and those of Gluck, Mozart, and Weber.
Leaving out of consideration the instructions which they personally
received from Wagner, the greatest dramatic singers of the time may be
regarded as self-made men and women. Experience taught them their art,
other teacher they had none; for it is only within a few years that a
few teachers have begun to realize that the old methods of instruction
are partly incorrect, and partly insufficient for the demands of
contemporary art. Such teachers as Mme. Viardot-Garcia and Mme.
Marchesi have done much good, and trained many excellent lyric
vocalists; but Mme. Marchesi herself admits that the great demand
to-day is for dramatic, and not for lyric, singers. Formerly, it was
the _bravura_ singer who bought dukedoms with his shekels; to-day,
with the solitary exception of Patti, it is the _dramatic_ soprano or
tenor that gets from $500 to $1,000 a night. When will teachers and
pupils wake up and recognize the new situation? When will American
girls cease flocking by the hundreds to Milan to learn such rôles as
_Lucia_ or _Amina_, for which there is now no demand, either in Europe
or America, if we except the wild Western audiences to which Emma
Abbott caters. A good _Elsa_ or _Brünnhilde_ will get an engagement
ten times sooner than a good _Lucia_; and young vocalists whose voices
have not sufficient volume and power to cope with German dramatic
music, will do well to devote their attention to the better class of
French operas, for which there is a growing demand, as the French
style has always been much more like the German than like the Italian,
owing to the great attention paid by French composers, especially
since the days of Gluck, to vigorous declamation and distinct
enunciation. Wagner especially recommends the works of the older
French schools as a preparation for his own more difficult operas.
Director Stanton, of the Metropolitan Opera House, in New York, is
obliged every summer to make a trip to Germany and look about for
dramatic singers wherewith to replenish his casts. As a number of
American singers have already won fame here and abroad, the time no
doubt will come when he will be able to find the dramatic singers he
needs at home, and when opera in English will have supplanted foreign
opera, so far as the language is concerned. But until that happy epoch
arrives every aspirant to operatic honors cannot be too strongly urged
to begin his or her studies by learning the French and German
languages. Almost all the greatest singers of the century have been
able not only to sing but to speak in several languages. Above all
things, students of song should learn to speak their own language. Mr.
H.C. Deacon remarks that "no nation in the civilized world speaks its
language so abominably as the English.... Familiar conversation is
carried on in inarticulate smudges of sound which are allowed to pass
current for something, as worn-out shillings are accepted as
representatives of twelvepence.... When English people begin to study
singing, they are astonished to find that they have never learned to
speak."
Mr. Deacon's strictures do not apply in all their force to Americans,
for the average American speaks English more distinctly than the
average Englishman; yet there is room for vast improvement in the
enunciation of our singers. Now, the great value of the German style
to English students lies in this, that it emphasizes above all things
the importance of correct and distinct speech in song. Julius Hey, of
Munich, who has just published a vocal method which will mark an epoch
in the teaching of singing, devotes the whole of his first volume to
an analysis of the elements of speech, and to exercises in speaking.
The second and third volumes contain vocal exercises for male and
female voices, while the fourth volume, which has just appeared,
discusses the special characteristics of the German dramatic method,
and gives detailed instructions for the development and training of
each variety of voice, together with an appendix in which some of the
most popular operatic rôles are analyzed and described. It is a book
which no teacher or student who wishes to keep abreast of the times
can afford to be without.
Although Herr Hey is a disciple of Wagner, he is a cosmopolitan
admirer of all that is good in every style of the past and present. In
the elaborate scheme for the establishment of a conservatory in Munich
which Wagner submitted to King Ludwig, he dwells on the fact that
every student of song, whatever his ultimate aims, should be
instructed in Italian singing, in conjunction with the Italian
language. Herr Hey, too, admits that there is no branch of the Italian
method which the German teachers can afford to ignore. In the emission
of a mellow tone, the use of the portamento, in the treatment of
scales, of trills, and of other ornaments, and in facile vocalization
in general, all nations can learn from the Italians. But the Italian
method does not go far enough. It does not meet the demands of the
modern opera and the modern music-drama. It delights too much in
comfortable solfeggios, in linked sweetness long drawn out, which soon
palls on the senses. The modern romantic and dramatic spirit demands
more characteristic, more vigorous, more varied accents than Italian
song supplies. These dramatic accents are supplied by the German
method, and in this chiefly lies its superiority over the Italian
method.
Herr Hey uses a very happy comparison in trying to show the bad
consequences of relying too much on the Italian principles of vocal
instruction which have been current until lately in Germany as in all
other countries. Students, he says, are taught to fence with a little
walking-cane, and when it comes to the decisive battle they are
expected to wield a heavy sword. A most happy illustration this, I
repeat, for it indicates exactly what vocal teachers of the old school
are doing. They choose the easiest of the vowels and the easiest
melodic intervals, and make the pupils exercise on those constantly,
ignoring the more difficult ones; and the consequence is, that when,
subsequently, the pupils are confronted with difficult intervals in a
dramatic rôle, they sing them badly and make the ludicrous protest
that the composer "doesn't know how to write for the voice;" and when
they come across difficult vowels they either change them into easier
ones, and thus make the text unintelligible, or else they emit a crude
tone because they have never learned to sing a sonorous U, I, or E
(Latin).
The German principle, on the other hand, is that all vowels (and the
German language has a greater number of them than the Italian) must be
cultivated equally, the difficult ones all the more because they are
difficult. Herr Hey has found in practice that not only can the vowels
which at first sound dull and hollow, like U, be made as sonorous as A
(Ah), but that, by practising on U, the A itself is rendered more
sonorous than it can ever become by exclusive practice on it alone.
Not only does the German method in this way secure a greater variety
of sonorous vowel sounds, useful for the expression of different
dramatic moods, but the registers are equalized, and there is a great
gain in the power and endurance of the voice, which is of immense
importance to-day in grand opera.
Prof. Stockhausen, the distinguished vocal teacher, recently remarked
in the _Frankfurter Zeitung_ that "the _mezza voce_ is the natural
song, the constant loud singing being only a struggle with unequal
weapons against our modern orchestra." No doubt he is right. But the
orchestra has become such an important factor in modern opera that
musicians would be unwilling to have it reduced in size--the tendency
being, in fact, the other way; and at the same time opera is such an
expensive luxury that it can only be made to pay in a very large
theatre, which obliges the singers to have stentorian voices.
Consequently, the German method, which develops the power and the
sonority of the voice on _every_ vowel, is the method of the future,
all the more because the English language, which is the world language
of the future, is even more difficult for vocal purposes than the
German, and calls for similar treatment.
In the treatment of consonants, the German method marks a still
greater advance on the Italian method. Professor Ehrlich thinks that
the reason why Italians care so much for melody and so little for
harmony is because they are too indolent to make the mental effort
which is required to follow a complicated harmonic score. They are,
certainly, too lazy to pronounce any harsh or difficult consonants,
and the Italian language therefore presents a picture of sad
effeminate degeneracy compared with the more vigorous Latin and even
Spanish. Now the English language and the English character have much
more of German vigor and masculine strength than of the Italian
_dolce far niente_: hence, the English vocal style of the future will
have to be modelled after the German style, which, instead of shirking
difficult consonants boldly tackles and utilizes them. It will never
be possible to sing so sweetly in the English and German languages as
in Italian; but it is possible to sing with much more vigor, dramatic
definiteness, and variety of emotional expression.
At the same time, the harshness of the consonants in German and
English song must not be too much emphasized. Wagner has shown in his
music-dramas, and Hey in his vocal method, that by means of a proper
division of syllables and correct articulation, the harshness of
consonants can be toned down as much as is desirable. On the
desirability and effectiveness of strong consonants Liszt has some
admirable remarks in speaking of the Polish language, which is noted
for its melodious beauty, although it bristles with consonants: "The
harshness of a language," he says, "is by no means always conditioned
by the excessive number of consonants, but rather by the way in which
they are united; one might almost say that the weak, cold color of
some languages is due to the lack of characteristic and strongly
accented sounds. It is only an unharmonious combination of dissimilar
consonants that offends a refined ear. The frequent return of certain
well-united consonants gives shading, rhythm, and vigor to language;
whereas the predominance of vowels produces a certain pallor in the
coloration, which needs the contrast of darker tints."
Those who are always ready to insist on the superiority of the Italian
language for song, would do well to ponder these remarks of Liszt, who
knew what he was talking about, as he spoke a number of modern
languages fluently. And when they have done that, they should procure
a few of Wagner's later vocal scores and note the extremely ingenious
manner in which he has made the peculiarities of German consonants
subservient to his dramatic purposes. I refer especially to his use of
alliteration--the repetition of a consonant in the same or in
consecutive lines. This not only insures a smooth, melodious flow, but
enables the composer to heighten the effect of any situation by
choosing consonants that harmonize with it. What, for instance, could
be more delightfully descriptive than the words sung by the three
Rhine daughters as they merrily swim and gambol under the water in
"Rheingold:"
"Weia! Waga!
Woge, du Welle,
Walle zur Wiege!
Wagalaweia!
Wallala, weiala, weia!"
One need only look at this, without understanding the language, to
feel the rhythmic motion of the water, and imagine the song of the
merry maidens. Again, in the famous love duo in the "Walküre," note
the repetition of the liquid consonants, the l's and m's, which give
the sound such a soft and sentimental background. Does it not seem
incredible that the Italian operatic composers should have ignored
such poetic means of deepening the emotional color of their songs?
But this is by no means all. In the same scene in "Rheingold" to which
reference has just been made, the ugly Nibelung _Alberich_ appears
presently and tries to catch one of the lovely maidens. But they elude
his grasp and he angrily complains that he slips and slides on the
slimy soil. Note the slippery character of these sounds:
"Garstig glatter
Glitschriger Glimmer!
Wie Gleit ich aus!
Mit Händen und Füssen
Nicht fasse noch halt'ich
Das schlecke Geschlüpfer."
_There_ is a real Volapük for you--a world language which all can
understand, for it is onomatopoetic realism.
Of course it is not "beautiful;" but is that a reasonable objection?
What would you say to an artist who painted dramatic battle-scenes,
but made all the soldiers' faces as pretty as he could and adorned
with sweet smiles? _That_ is precisely what the Italian opera
composers have done in stage music; and it is because Wagner taught
the singer to express not only _sweet_ sentiments but _all_ dramatic
emotions, whether harsh or agreeable, that his new style marks an
epoch in the evolution of the art of singing. At the same time, even
these harsher passages in Wagner's vocal music are not really ugly,
that is, disagreeable to the ear, _when properly sung_. Just as a
homely face becomes attractive when it expresses a vivid emotion, so
the harshest vocal measures in the realistic music-drama become a
source of enjoyment if they are sung _with expression_.
Unfortunately, there are only a few artists as yet who have
sufficiently caught Wagner's intentions to be able to sing in this
manner. Carl Hill, who created the part of the magician _Klingsor_ at
the Parsifal Festival, in 1882, was one of these exceptions. He
reflected the spirit of the gruesome text assigned to him so admirably
that Wagner was delighted; but afterward he complained that Hill's
fine impersonation was not so widely appreciated as it deserved to be;
and why? Apparently, because _Klingsor's_ melodic intervals were not
pleasing, nor his sentiments sympathetic.
We must conclude from this that, in regard to dramatic singing, many
opera-goers are still a good deal like the honest Scotchman who, on
his first visit to a theatre, climbed on the stage and administered
the villain of the play a sound thrashing; or, like the Bowery
audiences, which applaud the good man in the play, no matter how badly
he acts, and hiss the villain, though he be a second Salvini.
Until operatic audiences begin to understand that singing is
commendable in proportion as it gives realistic expression, not only
to sweet and pleasing moods, but to various kinds of dramatic emotion,
the full grandeur and value of Wagner's vocal style cannot be
appreciated. A real epicure does not care to eat cakes and candy all
the time; he loves olives and caviare too. These may be acquired
tastes, but all taste for high art is acquired. And the time is,
apparently, not very distant when Wagner's realistic vocal style will
no longer be caviare even to the public at large, but will be more
enjoyed--even when it gives expression to emotions of anger, jealousy,
and revenge--than the cloying, sugar-coated melodies of Bellini and
Rossini, or those meaningless embroideries which even some of the best
of the older Italians (Tosi, for example) regarded as the most
beautiful part of song.
The great enthusiasm frequently shown at performances of Wagner's
operas in other countries as well as in Germany, seems to argue that
the public at large _has_ already entered into the real spirit and
meaning of the Wagnerian style of singing. But numerous experiences
lead me to believe the contrary. Allow me to quote, for example, an
extract from one of those letters, abusive or censorious, which
musical editors receive almost daily. "Is it not undeniable," writes a
correspondent, "that as long as the world lasts, one of its greatest
delights will consist in listening to the music furnished by the human
voice? The more highly cultivated, pure, sweet, and flexible the
voice, the more the enjoyment derived. And is it not equally true that
Wagner's style of music discourages singing of this sort, or, in fact,
singing of any sort? Are not the principal features of Wagner's operas
the orchestra, acting, and general _mise-en-scène_, and does not
singing, pure and simple, have but little part in it?"
If the writer of these questions had asked them in Wagner's presence I
believe that Wagner would have jumped up and boxed his ears. Nothing
so irritated him as this notion that the singing in his operas is
subordinate to the orchestra, or, in other words, that he puts the
statue in the orchestra and the pedestal on the stage. As early as
1850, he complained to Liszt about his friend Dingelstedt, who, in his
article on the first performance of "Lohengrin," had expressed a
similar opinion. And many years later, in writing of Schnorr von
Carolsfeld's wonderful impersonation of _Tristan_, he begs the reader
to note that the last act of this work contains "an exuberance of
orchestral devices, such as no simple instrumental composer has ever
had occasion to call into use. Then assure yourself," he continues,
"that this complete gigantic orchestra, considered from an operatic
point of view, is, after all, only related as _accompaniment_ to the
'solo' part represented by the monologue of the vocalist, who lies on
his couch; and infer from this the significance of Schnorr's
impersonation, if I call to witness every conscientious spectator at
those Munich performances, that, from the first bar to the last, the
attention and interest of all was centred on the vocalist actor, was
chained to him, and never allowed a single word of the text to escape
through a momentary absence of mind; and that the orchestra, as
compared with the singer, completely disappeared, or, more correctly
speaking, seemed to be a constituent part of his song."
I have never had the privilege of hearing Schnorr, but I heard Scaria
repeatedly at Bayreuth and Vienna, and he always impressed on me, in
the manner here described by Wagner, the supreme importance of the
vocal part in his scores. Not a word of the text was lost, and in the
most difficult intervals his voice was always beautifully and
smoothly modulated. He enabled me to realize for the first time, the
truth of what Wagner said regarding his vocal style, in the following
words: "In my operas there is no difference between phrases that are
'declaimed' and 'sung,' but my declamation is at the same time song,
and my song declamation." Scaria's method also afforded an eloquent
illustration of the wonderful manner in which, in Wagner's vocal
style, the melodic accent always falls on the proper rhetorical accent
of each word of the text, which is one of the secrets of clear
enunciation. He emphasized important syllables by dwelling on them,
thus producing that dramatic _rubato_ which Wagner considered of such
great importance in his operas that, when he brought out "Tannhäuser"
in Dresden, he actually had the words of the text copied into the
parts of all the orchestral players, in order that they might be able
to follow these poetic licenses in the dramatic phrasing of the
singer. This dramatic _rubato_ is, of course, a very different thing
from the freedom which Italian singers often allow themselves on
favorable high notes, which they prolong, not in order to emphasize an
emotion but to show off the beauty and sustaining power of their
voices.
Scaria, unfortunately, was never heard in opera in this country. But
we have had Materna and Niemann and Brandt and Fischer, and Alvary
and Lehmann, who have given us correct ideas of the German vocal
style. Surely no one can say, on listening to Lehmann's _Brünnhilde_,
or Fischer's _Hans Sachs,_ or Alvary's _Siegfried_, that the vocal
part is inferior in beauty or importance to the orchestral. When
Alvary sang _Siegfried_ for the first time in New York, he presented a
creditable but uneven impersonation, not having sufficiently mastered
the details of the acting to feel quite at ease, and not being able to
husband his vocal resources for the grand duo at the close. But at the
end of the season, at the eleventh performance, he had become a
full-fledged _Siegfried_, acting the part as by instinct, while his
voice was as fresh at the close of the opera as at the beginning: thus
affording a striking proof of Wagner's assertion, that the greatest
vocal difficulties of his rôles can be readily mastered if the singer
will only take the pains to enter thoroughly into the spirit of the
text and the dramatic situations. Alvary spent a whole year in
learning this rôle, availing himself of the hints given him by Herr
Seidl, who has the Wagnerian traditions by heart; and to-day he might,
if he felt so inclined, amass wealth and win honor by travelling about
Europe and singing nothing but this one rôle. Vienna and Brussels made
strenuous efforts to entice him away from New York after his great
success as _Siegfried_.