previously, he had been only a second-rate singer. It was his
conscientious and prolonged study of the German vocal style that
enabled him to win his present lucrative and honorable position. If
there were a few more young singers like him the operatic problem might
be considered solved, for it is the rarity of well-trained singers that
causes all the financial embarrassment in our opera-houses. They are so
scarce, that as soon as one is discovered he is hurried on the stage,
after a year's hasty preparation, and if his untrained voice soon gives
out--as it must under the circumstances--the blame is laid on Wagner's
shoulders. But, as Mme. Lucca remarks, "neither Wagner nor any other
composer spoils the voice of any one who knows how to sing." She thinks
that at least six years of faithful study are necessary to develop the
voice in accordance with artistic principles. Herr Hey is somewhat more
lenient, three years of thorough training sufficing, in his opinion, as
a preparation for the stage. Much, of course, depends on individuals,
and the number of hours given to study every day. In the old Italian
vocal schools, two centuries ago, the pupils were kept busy six or
eight hours a day, devoting one hour to difficult passages, another to
trills and to accuracy of intonation, others to expression, to
counterpoint, composition and accompaniment, etc. They often practised
before a mirror in order to study the position of the soft parts in the
mouth, and to avoid grimaces; and sometimes they sang at places where
there was a good echo, so as to hear their own faults, as if some one
else were singing. Yet, as we have seen, the main stress was laid on
agility of technical execution, whereas the modern German method,
without in the least neglecting technique, calls upon pupils to devote
more attention to the principles of soulful expression and dramatic
accentuation. A singer who wishes to appear to advantage as _Euryanthe_
or _Lohengrin_ or _Tristan_ must not only be entirely familiar with his
own vocal parts but he ought to be as familiar with the orchestral
score as the conductor himself: for, only then, can he acquire that
ease which is necessary for producing a deep impression. As he has not
the conductor's advantage of looking on the printed score while
singing, he must therefore have an excellent memory. As Dr. Hanslick
remarks, "the artists who sing 'Tristan and Isolde' by heart, if they
do nothing more than sing the notes correctly, deserve our most sincere
admiration. That they can do to-day what seemed almost impossible
twenty years ago is indeed Wagner's achievement, an achievement which
has hardly been noted hitherto." Let me add that in modern German
music, _everything_ is difficult to the singer--the consonants of the
language, the unusual intervals and accents, the necessity of being
actor and singer at the same time, etc. Hence we ought to be charitable
and condone an occasional slip. But the average opera-goer in this
country is anything but charitable. If one of these dramatic singers,
thus hampered by difficulties, makes the slightest lapse from tonal
beauty (which may be even called for) he is judged as unmercifully as
if he were a representative of the _bel canto_, whose art consists in a
mere voice without emotion--_vox et præterea nihil_. This is as unfair
as it is to judge Wagner's dramas by the music alone, and is, indeed a
consequence of this attitude.
It has been too much the habit in America and in England to sneer at
German singers; and it is customary if a German singer has a good
mellow voice to attribute that to his Italian method, while his
shortcomings are ascribed to the German method. This, again, is as
absurd as it is unjust; for, as I have endeavored to show, the real
German method, by insisting on an equal treatment of all the vowels,
develops a richer and more sonorous voice than the Italian method;
and, indeed, the reason why powerful dramatic voices are so rare among
Italians, is because of their one-sided preference, in their
exercises, for the easiest vowels.
When Mendelssohn travelled in Italy he noted that there were very few
good singers at the opera-houses, and that one had to go to London
and Paris to find them. To-day few of them can be found even in London
and Paris; and, indeed, I could easily show, by giving lists of the
famous singers of the past and present, that the Italians constitute a
small minority as compared with the German, French, and Scandinavian
singers of the first rank. The custom so long followed by singers of
all nationalities of adopting Italian stage names has confused the
public on the subject. And, finally, I could name a dozen German
singers who have won first-class honors in Italian opera; but where is
there an Italian _Tannhäuser_ or _Brünnhilde_ or _Wotan_? All honor,
therefore, to the versatility of German singers, who, like Lilli
Lehmann, for instance, can sing _Norma_ and _Isolde_ equally well.
And still more honor to the German composers who have restored the
true function of song. Everybody knows that in the popular songs, or
folk songs, of _all_ nations, including the Italian, the words are
quite as important as the melody. It was only in the artificial songs
of the Netherland school and the Italian opera composers that the
voice was degraded to the function of a mere inarticulate instrument;
and it remained for Wagner, following the precedence of Gluck, to
restore it to its rank as the inseparable companion of poetry. And
what led him to do this was not abstract reflection but artistic
instinct and experience. He does not even claim the honor of having
originated the true vocal style, but confesses with pride that it was
a _woman_, Frau Schroeder-Devrient, who first revealed to him the
highest possibilities of dramatic singing, and he boasts that he was
the only one that learned this lesson of the great German singer, and
developed the hints regarding the correct vocal style unconsciously
given by her.
It must not be forgotten, however, that side by side with the
music-drama and partly preceding it, another form of vocal music grew
up in Germany, which in a very similar manner restored the voice to
its true sphere as the wedded wife of poetry. I refer, of course, to
the _Lied_, or parlor song, to which, indeed, I might have devoted
this whole essay, quite as well as to the music-drama, if there were
anything in Italian music that might have been compared to the songs
of Schubert, Schumann, Franz, Brahms, Liszt, Rubinstein, etc.
As Sir George Grove poetically puts it, in Schubert's songs "the music
changes with the words as a landscape does when the sun and clouds
pass over it. And in this Schubert has anticipated Wagner, since the
words in which he writes are as much the absolute basis of his songs
as Wagner's librettos are of his operas." Liszt, too, notes somewhere
that Schubert doubtless exerted an indirect influence on the
development of the opera by means of the dramatic realism which
characterizes the melody and accompaniment of his parlor songs (such
as the "Erl King," the "Doppelgänger," etc.)--a realism which becomes
still more pronounced in Schumann, Franz, and Liszt, in whose songs
every word of the poem colors its bar of music with its special
emotional tint, instead of merely serving, as in the old _bel canto_,
as an artificial and meaningless scaffolding for the construction and
execution of a melody.
This parallel evolution of the parlor song and the music-drama cannot
be too strongly emphasized: for the same tendency being followed by so
many of the greatest geniuses (some of whom are not Germans) affords
cumulative evidence of the fact that the German style (which, as I
have explained, includes all that is valuable in the Italian method)
is the true vocal style, the style of the future, the style which
cosmopolitan American art will have to adopt. I have been told that
since the revival of German opera in New York, the Italian teachers in
the city have lost many of their pupils. Obviously, if they wish to
regain them they will have to adopt the best features of the German
method, just as the Germans have adopted all that is good in the
Italian method. It cannot be denied that the pupils turned out by the
average vocal teachers are quite unable to sing a Franz or even a
Schubert song correctly and with proper emotional expression. Now, it
is evident, as Ehlert says, that "that art of singing which abides
with the _bel canto_ and is unable to sing Bach, Beethoven, and
Schumann, has not attained to the height of their period. It becomes
its task to adapt itself to these new circumstances, to renounce the
comfortable solfeggios and acquire the poetic expression that they
accept."
The famous tenor Vogl, a contemporary of Schubert, wrote in his diary
the following significant words: "Nothing shows so plainly the want of
a good school of singing as Schubert's songs. Otherwise, what an
enormous and universal effect must have been produced throughout the
world, wherever the German language is understood, by these truly
divine inspirations, these utterances of a musical clairvoyance! How
many would have comprehended, probably for the first time, the meaning
of such expressions as 'Speech and Poetry in Music,' 'Words in
Harmony,' 'ideas clothed in music,' etc., and would have learned that
the finest poems of our greatest poets may be enhanced and even
transcended when translated into musical language." It is humiliating
to be obliged to confess that good schools of singing, the absence of
which Vogl deplored, are still lamentably rare, although he himself,
by his example, did much to develop the correct method. We have just
seen how Wagner obtained valuable hints from Schroeder-Devrient.
Similarly, we find that Schubert learned from his friend Vogl, who
alone at first could sing his songs properly, and by showing that they
_could_ be sung encouraged Schubert in developing his original style.
It seems to me that these facts ought to be extremely gratifying and
encouraging to students of vocal music, because they refute the notion
that vocalists can only be interpretative and not creative, and their
fame and influence, therefore, merely ephemeral. On the contrary, they
can, like Vogl and Schroeder-Devrient, even aspire to guide composers
and help to mark out new paths in art: which surely, ought to be more
gratifying to their pride than the cheap applause which the sopranists
and prima donnas of the _bel canto_ period used to receive for the
meaningless colorature arias which they compelled the enslaved
composers to write, or manufactured for themselves. And there is
another way in which singers of the new style can become creative.
Chopin speaks in one of his letters of a violoncellist who played a
certain poor piece so remarkably well that it actually appeared to be
good music. Similarly, a good vocalist (like Fräulein Brandt, for
instance, who is very clever in this respect) can put so much art and
feeling into the weaker parts and episodes of songs and operas as to
make them entertaining where they are naturally tiresome. When we
bear in mind these high possibilities of singing, we must admit that
there is no nobler profession than that of a conscientious vocalist--a
profession without which some of the deepest feelings that stir the
human soul would remain unknown to the world.
VI
GERMAN OPERA IN NEW YORK
Perhaps it is not generally known that Mr. Theodore Thomas some years
ago entertained the project of reviving German opera in New York, in a
manner that should eclipse all previous operatic enterprises in this
country. It was his intention to give in the leading American cities a
series of performances of Wagner's Nibelung Tetralogy, and he looked
forward to this as the crowning achievement of his busy life. For
years he never gave a concert without having at least one Wagner
selection on the programme, no matter how much some of the critics and
patrons protested. In 1884 he considered the public sufficiently
weaned of Italian sweets to stand a strong dose of Wagner; so he
imported the three leading singers of the Bayreuth festivals--Materna,
Winkelmann, and Scaria--for a number of festival concerts. The
extraordinary success of these concerts seemed to indicate that the
time was ripe for a complete theatrical production of Wagner's later
music-dramas, and Mr. Thomas was already elaborating his plans when an
accident frustrated them and took the whole matter out of his hands.
This accident was the signal failure of Italian opera at the
Metropolitan Opera House during the first season of its existence. As
Mr. Abbey lost over a quarter of a million dollars by this disaster,
no other manager could be found willing to take his place and risk
another fortune. Since Mr. Abbey's company included several of the
most popular artists--Nilsson, Sembrich, Scalchi, Campanini, Del
Puente, etc., and his repertory embraced the usual popular operas, the
conclusion seemed inevitable that the public wanted a complete change.
Dr. Damrosch was accordingly appealed to at the eleventh hour, and he
hastened to Germany and brought over a company that scored an
immediate success, surprising even to those who had long advocated the
establishment of a German opera in New York. And this success became
still more pronounced in the following seasons, when a better company
was secured, with Herr Seidl as conductor.
Perhaps it is fortunate that Mr. Thomas's project was never realized.
Had he succeeded, New York and several other cities would no doubt
have enjoyed a series of interesting Wagner performances for one or
two seasons; but after the first curiosity had been satisfied, it is
very likely that the enterprise would have come to an end for lack of
funds. For it is a well-established fact that grand opera, if given
with the best singers, artistic scenery, and an orchestra of sixty to
one hundred men, cannot be made self-supporting, however generously
the public may contribute to it. The Paris opera is kept afloat by
means of an annual subsidy of eight hundred thousand francs, and the
imperial opera-houses of Berlin and Vienna, although similarly
endowed, are burdened with large annual deficits which have to be
covered by additional contributions from the imperial exchequers. New
York can hardly claim so large a public interested in high-class opera
as Vienna and Berlin; hence it would be unreasonable to expect that
grand opera should fare better here. It was, therefore, one of the
most lucky accidents in the history of American music that the
Metropolitan Opera House was built, in opposition to the Academy of
Music, by a number of the richest people in New York, who had made up
their minds to spare no cost to make it successful and to annihilate
the rival house. Having once built the new opera-house, it became
necessary to continue giving in it the only kind of opera adapted to
the vast dimensions of its auditorium, unless the stockholders should
become willing to pay the high annual rent without any return at all.
And thus German opera has been established in New York, if not for all
time, at least for years to come.
The fact cannot be too much emphasized that, properly speaking, there
is _no deficit_ at the Metropolitan Opera House. True, the total
expenses of the operatic season of 1886-1887 were about four hundred
and forty-two thousand dollars, and the receipts only two hundred and
thirty-five thousand dollars, thus necessitating an assessment of two
thousand five hundred dollars on each stockholder. But it must be
borne in mind that this assessment simply represents the sum that the
stockholders paid for their boxes. As there were forty-five
subscription nights, and as each box holds six seats, the price of
each was nine dollars, which can hardly be deemed too much for the
best seats in the house, considering that outsiders have to pay ten
dollars for these same seats, or sixty dollars for a box. A large part
of the assessment (about one thousand dollars for each stockholder)
would remain for covering the general expenses of the building
(including the mortgage bonds), even if no opera were given at all;
and surely the box-holders would be foolish if they refused to pay the
extra sum (four dollars and eighty-eight cents for each seat), which
insures them forty-five evenings of social and musical entertainment.
To persons of their wealth this extra sum is, after all, a mere
trifle; and it enables them to bask in the proud consciousness of
taking the place, in this country, of royalty abroad in supporting a
form of art that has always been considered pre-eminently
aristocratic.
Some of the stockholders make no secret of the fact that they would
very much prefer Italian to German opera, which is Sanskrit to them;
and every year, at the directors' meetings, the question of reviving
Italian opera is warmly debated. There is also a considerable number
of amateurs, editors, and correspondents who are eagerly waiting for
some signs showing that German opera is losing ground, so that they
may raise a war-whoop in behalf of Italian opera. But the powers that
rule the destinies of the Metropolitan Opera House are too wise to
heed the arguments of these prophets. They know that Italian opera can
never again be successfully revived in New York, and that the only
alternative for the present lies between German opera and no opera at
all. Signor Angelo and Mr. Mapleson were as unsuccessful in their last
efforts in behalf of Italian opera as Mr. Abbey. And although Mme.
Patti fared better at her last appearance, it was only because a large
number of people believed that she _really_ was singing in New York
for the last time; for when she returned a fortnight later for
_another_ "farewell," the sale of seats was so small that the spoiled
prima donna refused to sing, and only one performance was given
instead of two.
The lovers of vocal tight-rope dancing and threadbare orchestral
accompaniments who insist that Wagner is merely a fashion, and that
ere long there will be a return to the saccharine melodies of Rossini
and Bellini, show thereby that they have never studied the history of
the opera. This history teaches a curious lesson, viz., that operas
which had a great vogue at one time and subsequently lost their
popularity can _never_ be galvanized into real life again. What has
become of the threescore and more operas of Donizetti, and the forty
of Rossini--some of which for years monopolized the stage so
completely the world over that Weber and Beethoven were ignored even
in Vienna and the German capitals? They are dead, and all efforts to
revive them have been futile. These operas had sprung into _sudden_
popularity, whereas "Fidelio," "Euryanthe," "Lohengrin," and
"Tannhäuser," which for years had to fight for every inch of ground,
are now masters of the situation, and gaining in popularity every
year. And this brings us to the second lesson taught by the history of
the opera--that the works that thus had to _fight_ their way into the
hearts of the public are the immortal operas that are sure to gain
more and more favor as years go by. Moreover, the statistics of German
opera-houses show that Wagner's operas, from the "Flying Dutchman" to
the "Nibelung's Ring," have been gaining in popularity and frequency
of repetition, year by year, with a constancy that might almost be
expressed with mathematical exactness by means of a _crescendo_: <.
And we are by no means at the biggest end of the _crescendo_ yet. For
there are scores of cities where Wagner would be even more popular
than he is, were it not for the woful rarity of competent dramatic
singers and conductors.
There is, therefore, no hope for the _Italianissimi_, who sigh for
their maccaroni arias and their "Ernani" and "Gazza Ladra" soup.
Italian opera has ceased to exist in New York, Paris, Berlin, Vienna,
and St. Petersburg, and even in Italy dramatic music of the modern
school is gradually driving out the old-fashioned lyric and florid
opera.
In New York, moreover, the press is almost unanimous in favor of
German opera, and the press, as a rule, is omnipotent in theatrical
matters. I am convinced, for instance, that one of the principal
reasons why Wagner was more rapidly acclimated in New York than in the
German capitals is that most of the leading German critics are old
men--too old to submit readily to Wagner's revolutionary tendencies;
whereas in New York all the critics are young men, who only needed to
hear a few good performances of Wagner's operas to be filled with an
enthusiasm for them, with which many of their readers could not help
being infected.
Still another important point must be borne in mind: the fact that
the vastness of the Metropolitan auditorium makes it impossible to
hear the weak voices and the thin scores of Italians to advantage.
_Ergo_, if this house remains the centre of music in New York, there
can be no question that, as I have just stated, the prospect for the
next decade or two is, either German Opera or No Opera.
A series of interviews published in the newspapers indicate that the
indifference of the stockholders to German music has been greatly
exaggerated; and the vote that was taken on January 27, 1888, stood
forty to nine in favor of continuing German opera, with an assessment
of three thousand two hundred dollars on each box. Not a few of the
stockholders would, indeed, prefer "Siegfried" to "Ernani," even if
"Ernani" could be depended on for as large audiences as Wagner's
opera, which is far from being the case; and I have myself heard some
of them confess that after repeatedly hearing Wagner's later operas,
they discovered in them a constant stream of melody where all had
seemed to them at first a mere chaos of sound. Some of the
stockholders, on the other hand, are so absolutely unmusical that they
do not know the meaning of the words "tenor" and "soprano," and if
blindfolded could not tell if "Faust" or "Aïda" was being sung. (This
is a real fact that I might prove by an amusing anecdote, were it not
too personal.) To this class of stockholders what difference can it
make whether they have German or Italian opera? They merely go to the
opera because it is a very fashionable thing to do so, and because the
ownership of an opera-box confers on them a social distinction almost
equal to an order, or a title of nobility, in foreign countries.
Many of the stockholders have converted the ante-rooms to their boxes
into luxurious parlors, into which they can retire and talk if the
music bores them. But, unfortunately, there are some black sheep among
them and their invited guests who do not make use of this privilege,
but give the rest of the audience the benefit of their conversational
accomplishments. The parquet often resents these interruptions, and
hisses lustily until quiet is restored. There are not a few lovers of
music who, although able to pay for parquet seats, frequent the upper
galleries for fear of being annoyed by the conversation in the boxes.
In the highest gallery the quiet of a tomb reigns supreme, and woe to
any one who comes late, or whispers, or turns the leaves of his score
too noisily: he is immediately pierced with a volley of indignant
hisses.
It must be admitted, however, that there is much less talking in the
opera-house at present than there was a few years ago. This difference
is especially noticeable on Wagner nights, and the change is simply
one of the numerous operatic reforms introduced by Wagner and his
followers. It must be borne in mind that in Italian opera conversation
frequently is not at all out of place, but is a factor of the
entertainment _recognized even by the composer_! Wagner brings out
this point clearly in the following remarks: "In Italian opera," he
says, "the public gives its attention only to the most brilliant
numbers sung by the popular prima donna or her vocal rival; the rest
of the opera it ignores almost entirely, and devotes the evening to
mutual visits in the boxes and loud conversation. This attitude of the
public led the composers of yore to confine their efforts at artistic
creation to the solo numbers referred to, and to fill up deliberately
all intermediate portions, the choruses and minor parts, with
commonplace and empty phrases that had no other purpose than that of
serving as noise to sustain the conversation of the audience."