de l'Isle (who sang Mercedes before she sang Carmen), Cécile Thévenet,
Jenny Passama, Claire Friché, Marguerite Sylva, Mme. Lafargue, Mlle.
Vix, Mlle. Brohly, Mlle. Charbonnel, Sigrid Arnoldson, Mlle. Mérentié,
and Lucienne Bréval, whom Zuloaga painted twice in the part. One of
these painting hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
The other belongs to Mme. Bréval. I have not seen Mme. Bréval in
_Carmen_ but I have seen her in other operas and I think I am safe in
saying that Zuloaga's conception of her is more gipsy-like than her
performance.... One of the latest of the Paris Carmens has been Mary
Garden.
[Illustration: ZULOAGA'S PORTRAIT OF LUCIENNE BRÉVAL AS CARMEN. ACT II]
_By permission of the Hispanic Society of America_
I think Col. Mapleson brought _Carmen_ to London. The first performance
was given June 22, 1878, at Her Majesty's Theatre. He was fortunate
in having as his leading interpreter Minnie Hauk of Brooklyn, who,
I believe, had been heard in the part in Brussels before she sang
it in London. She is said to have been fascinating in the rôle and
straightway made it pretty much her own. Mapleson in his "Memoirs"
tells what a time he had with the other interpreters. Campanini
returned the part of José, giving as his explanation that he had no
romance and no love duet except with the _seconda donna_. Del Puente
suggested that the part of Escamillo must have been intended for one of
the chorus. Mlle. Valleria made a similar remark in regard to Micaela.
However, the wily Colonel managed to get the singers to come to a
rehearsal or two and in a short time they became infatuated with their
rôles.
It has been generally taken for granted and indeed you will find
it so stated in most of the books, that Minnie Hauk was the first
American Carmen, but Clara Louise Kellogg in her "Memoirs" denies
this, asserting that she preceded Miss Hauk here in the rôle by
several months.[4] One thing is certain, that Miss Hauk made more of an
impression as Carmen on her contemporaries than Mme. Kellogg. An early
international exponent of the rôle was Marie Roze, who according to H.
Sutherland Edwards, at first could scarcely be persuaded to undertake
a character of so vile a nature. She finally succumbed to the lure,
however. Edwards says of her: "Marie Roze brought forward the gentle
side of the character. Carmen has something of the playfulness of the
cat, something also of the ferocity of the tigress; and the ferocious
side of Carmen's disposition could not find a sympathetic exponent in
Madame Marie Roze." Clara Louise Kellogg gives us, as is her wont, a
more forceful description: "When she (Marie Roze) was singing _Carmen_
she was the gentlest mannered gipsy that was ever stabbed by a jealous
lover--a handsome Carmen but too sweet and good for anything."
Christine Nilsson is said to have decided that the rôle was not pure
enough for her, but Adelina Patti, who has stated publicly that Wagner
wrote _Parsifal_ for her and that she had refused the rôle of Kundry,
could not forego the chance to appear as the Mérimée-Bizet gipsy. Her
failure was abysmal. H. E. Krehbiel says she was seen "and occasionally
heard" in the part. She "ignored its dramatic elements entirely, and
cared only for the music, and only for the music in which she sang
alone." But Pauline Lucca sang the part with success, I believe.
Carmen was a rôle that Lilli Lehmann had frequently sung in Germany
before she came to America and she made her American début in the part.
Here is Mr. Krehbiel's description of her performance ("Chapters of
Opera"):
"Lehmann as the gipsy cigarette maker, with her Habanera and
Seguidilla, with her errant fancy wandering from a sentimental
brigadier to a dashing bull-fighter, is a conception which will not
come easy to the admirers of the later Brünnhilde and Isolde; and,
indeed, she was a puzzling phenomenon to the experienced observers of
that time. Carmen was already a familiar apparition to New Yorkers,
who had imagined that Minnie Hauk had spoken the last word in the
interpretation of that character. When Fräulein Lehmann came her
tall stature and erect, almost military, bearing, were calculated
to produce an effect of surprise of such a nature that it had to be
overcome before it was possible to enter into the feeling with which
she informed the part. To the eye, moreover, she was a somewhat more
matronly Carmen than the fancy, stimulated by earlier performances
of the opera or the reading of Mérimée's novel, was prepared to
accept; but it was in harmony with the new picture that she stripped
the character of the flippancy and playfulness popularly associated
with it, and intensified its sinister side. In this, Fräulein Lehmann
deviated from Mme. Hauk's impersonation and approached that of Mme.
Trebelli.... In her musical performance she surpassed both of those
admired and experienced artists."
Mme. Trebelli, referred to in the last paragraph, was a popular Carmen
here in the eighties, but it was not until Emma Calvé appeared at the
Metropolitan Opera House in 1893-4 that _Carmen_ became a fetish. The
Frenchwoman so completely fascinated the public in this rôle that she
was seldom allowed to appear in any other, although her Santuzza, her
Cherubino, her Anita, and her Ophélie were probably more artistic
achievements. She was beautiful and wanton and wayward and thoroughly
fascinating when she first appeared here in the rôle. Whether she
became enamoured of herself in it later, or merely tired of it, does
not appear to be certain; at any rate she allowed her mannerisms
full sway and soon completely stepped out of the picture, the more
completely as she frequently distorted the rhythms of the music. Calvé
had the power, as few singers have possessed it, to colour her voice to
express different emotions, and her vocal treatment of the part in the
beginning was a delight. Her costumes were very wonderful. I have read
criticisms of her and other Carmens, bearing on this point. But Carmen
was a smuggler, a thief, even a murderess; she often had plenty of
money, and she frequently dressed extravagantly. Mérimée does not leave
us any room for doubt in this matter. The second time José sees her she
is described thus: "Elle était parée, cette fois, comme une châsse,
pomponnée, attifée, tout or et tout rubans. Une robe à paillettes, des
souliers bleus à paillettes aussi, des fleurs et des galons partout."
How many Carmens have we seen since Calvé! Zélie de Lussan, who gave
an exquisite opéra-comique performance, with a touch of savagery
and a charming sense of humour! Fanchon Thompson, who attempted
to sing the part in English with Henry W. Savage's company at the
Metropolitan Opera House but who broke down and left the stage after
she had sung a few bars. Olive Fremstad, who had appeared in the part
many times in Munich (all contraltos sing the part in Germany; even
Ernestine Schumann-Heink has sung it there) was the Metropolitan Opera
House Carmen for a season or two. Her interpretation followed that
of Lilli Lehmann. It was very austere, almost savage, and with very
little humour. Olive Fremstad was applauded in the rôle but she never
succeeded in making the opera popular.
[Illustration: OLIVE FREMSTAD AS CARMEN. ACT I]
_from an early photograph by Lützel, Munich_
But Clotilde Bressler-Gianoli sang the part fifteen times in Oscar
Hammerstein's first Manhattan Opera House season; the performance of
_Carmen_ at this theatre, indeed, saved the first season, as Mary
Garden and Luisa Tetrazzini saved the second. Mme. Bressler-Gianoli,
who had been heard at the Paris Opéra-Comique in the rôle, and indeed
once with the New Orleans Opera Company at the New York Casino, gave
a delightful interpretation; its chief charm was its absolute freedom
from self-consciousness; it was so natural that it became real.
Calvé sang the part four times at the end of this season. Mme.
Gerville-Réache was another Manhattan Opera House Carmen and Lina
Cavalieri was a fourth. Mme. Cavalieri was particularly charming in the
dances, but she made a very unconvincing gipsy. In no part that she
has ever played before or since has she produced such an impression
of girlish innocence. Mariette Mazarin sang Carmen here before she
was heard in _Elektra_. Her Carmen was brazen and diabolic, electric
and strident; I think it might be included among the great Carmens;
it was very original. Marguerite Sylva's Carmen is traditional and
pleasant; in tone very like that of Zélie de Lussan. It has been
sufficiently appreciated.... María Gay, the Spanish Carmen, attempted
realistic touches such as expectoration; a well-sung, well-thought-out,
consistent performance, but lacking in glamour.
Although the Century Theatre with Kathleen Howard and others, and
sundry small Italian companies had offered Carmen in New York the work
was missing from the répertoire of the Metropolitan Opera House for
several seasons until Geraldine Farrar brought it back in 1914-15.[5]
The scenery and costumes were new. By way of caprice the Spanish army
was dressed in Bavarian blue although José is several times referred
to as _canari_ in the text. Caruso sang José, as he had with Mme.
Fremstad, and Mr. Toscanini conducted. With the public Carmen has
become one of Mme. Farrar's favourite rôles, sharing that distinction
with Butterfly.
Other Carmens who may be mentioned are Anna de Belocca, Stella Bonheur,
Kirkby-Lunn, Ottilie Metzger, Emmy Destinn, Marie Tempest, Selina
Dolaro, Camille Seygard, Alice Gentle, Eleanora de Cisneros, Jane
Noria, Ester Ferrabini, Margarita d'Alvarez, Tarquinia Tarquini.... It
might be said in passing that some Carmens do not get nearer to the
Giralda Tower in Seville than Stanford White's imitation in Madison
Square.
Although Mary Garden brought to America three of the best parts in her
répertoire, Mélisande, Thais, and Louise, six rôles, at least, she has
sung for the first time in this country, Sapho, Natoma, Dulcinée in
_Don Quichotte_, Prince Charmant in _Cendrillon_, Salome, and Carmen.
She first identified herself with the Spanish gipsy at the Philadelphia
Opera House on November 3, 1911. On February 13, 1912, with the
Philadelphia Company, she was heard in Bizet's opera in New York. I
attended both of these performances and found much to admire in each
of them. Something, however, was lacking; something was wrong; nobody
seemed to know exactly what. The general impression was that Mary
Garden had failed at last and it was generally bruited about that she
would never sing Carmen again. However, Miss Garden is not one of those
who permits herself to fail; it may be that she remembers Schumann's
saying, "He who sets limits to himself will always be expected to
remain within them."... In any case I was not surprised to learn that
Miss Garden was singing Carmen at the Opéra-Comique in Paris during the
season of 1916-17. In the fall of 1917 she sang the part in Chicago and
on February 8, 1918, with the Chicago Opera Company, she reappeared
in the part in New York. This occasion may be regarded as one of the
greatest triumphs a singer has ever achieved. For Mary Garden had so
entirely reconceived the rôle, so stepped into its atmosphere, that she
had now made it not merely one of her great parts (it ranks with her
Mélisande, her Monna Vanna, and her Thais) but also she had made it
_her_ part. There is indeed no Carmen of the moment who can be compared
with her.
A feral gipsy from Triana, this apparition; a _cigarrera_ in the
Fábrica de Tobacos for the sake of the "affairs of Egypt"; a true
gitana in her _saya_ "with many rows of flounces." Any day in the
streets of Seville could you have seen her like, peering through the
gratings into the patios, ready to tell _bahi_. "Eyes of a gipsy,
eyes of a wolf" is a Spanish proverb, according to Mérimée, and
Borrow tells us that a gitano can always be detected by his eye: "Its
peculiarity consists chiefly in a strange staring expression, which
to be understood must be seen, and in a thin glaze which steals over
it when in repose, and seems to emit phospheric light."... So, did it
seem to me, had become the eyes of Mary Garden. This discinct creature,
instinctively paradoxical, would be equally at home in the spinnies of
the arid Spanish plains, on the dirty stage of a _maison de danses_ at
Triana, or, gaily bedecked and spangled, like a "bedizened butterfly
of commerce" in a box of the Plaza de Toros. Sensuous and caline, as
in the Seguidilla, rubbing her velvet back against the _canari_; proud
and magnetic (she must have carried a piece of the _bar lachi_ about
with her), she drew her lovers to her side; she did not advance to meet
them. White hot in anger: other Carmens have hurled the helmet after
the departing José; Mary Garden _shot_ it at him like a bursting hand
grenade. Fatalist: cabalistic signs smouldering in purple flame on
her breast, in the end published this motto in Roman letters: "_Je ne
crains rien!_" When she danced she scarcely lifted her feet from the
floor, tapping her heels rhythmically and sensuously into the hidden
chambers of our brains; so the inquisitors maddened their victims
with the endless drop, drop, drop of water. Her manipulation of her
fan, a monstrous Spanish fan, coral on one side and with tauromachian
decorations on the other, was in itself a lesson in diabolic grace. She
made the fan a part of herself, a part of her movement, as a Spanish
woman would.... The climax was fitting enough; her answer to José in
the last act, "_Non, je ne t'aime plus_," sung not with force, not in
anger, but with a sort of amused contempt.... So does the gipsy regard
the busno ... _with a sort of amused contempt_. Fatalist, humourist,
enchantress, panther, savage, _gamine_, in turn, this Carmen suggested
the virgin brutality of Spain, the austere portentous passion of
Persephone, the frivolous devilments of Hell itself.
_June 20, 1918._
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It must be remembered that Mérimée and Borrow were writing nearly
a century ago; what was true then may not be true today. Borrow,
himself, says (in "The Zincali"): "It is, of course, by inter-marriage
alone that the two races will ever commingle, and before that event is
brought about, much modification must take place amongst the Gitanos,
in their manners, in their habits, in their affections, and their
dislikes, and, perhaps, even in their physical peculiarities; much must
be forgotten on both sides, and everything is forgotten in the course
of time."
[2] Nevertheless _Carmen_ is frequently sung in Spain, even in Seville,
although probably more often in Italian than in French or Spanish.
[3] There is a picturesque account of this Fábrica de Tobacos in Baron
Ch. Davillier's "l'Espagne" (Hachette; Paris; 1874).
[4] According to W. J. Henderson (in his introduction to _Carmen_;
Dodd, Mead and Co., 1911), who is usually as accurate as anybody can
be about such matters, "_Carmen_ was first performed in New York
(in Italian) at the Academy of Music, October 23, 1878, under the
management of Col. J. H. Mapleson. The principal singers were Minnie
Hauk as Carmen, Italo Campanini as Don José, and Giuseppe del Puente as
Escamillo." However it should be noted that Mme. Kellogg does not say
that she was the first _New York_ Carmen.
[5] Mr. Henderson gives an interesting and probably authentic
reason for the disappearance of _Carmen_ from the répertoire of the
Metropolitan Opera House: "It has not been performed as much in America
in recent seasons as it has in Europe because American audiences have
learned to expect a very striking impersonation of the heroine and do
not eagerly go to hear the opera when such an impersonation is not
offered." And again: "Mme. Calvé's bold, picturesque and capricious
impersonation of the gipsy became the idol of the American imagination,
and thereby much harm was wrought, for whereas the gifted performer
began the season with a consistent and well-executed characterization,
she speedily permitted success to turn her head and lead her to
abandon genuine dramatic art for catch-penny devices directed at the
unthinking. The result has been that opera-goers have found correct
impersonations of Carmen uninteresting."
Notes on the Text
Notes on the Text
P. 13. "why it was abandoned I have never learned": Oscar Hammerstein
has since told me: "The score called for a large number of guitar
players, more than I could get together readily. I should have been
obliged to have engaged all the barbers in New York."... Raoul Laparra
has spoken to me with enthusiasm about the orchestration of _La
Dolores_: "The guitars produce an extraordinary effect."
P. 14. "There are probably other instances": During the season of
1916-17 at least two attempts were made by Spanish companies to give
New York a taste of the zarzuela. In December at the Amsterdam Opera
House Arrieta's _Marina_ and Chapí's _El Puñao de Rosas_ were sung on
one evening and Valverde's _El Pobre Valbuena_ and somebody else's
_America para los Americanos_ on another. In April a company came to
the Garden Theatre and gave Chapí's _La Tempestad_ and perhaps some
others. Both of these experiments were made in the most primitive
manner and were foredoomed to failure.... _The Land of Joy_ was
the first Spanish musical piece of any pretension (save the dull
_Goyescas_) to be presented in New York.
P. 14. "_La Gran Vía_": I heard a performance of this zarzuela in
Italian at the People's Theatre on the Bowery, July 1, 1918. The work
is a favourite with itinerant Italian opéra-bouffe companies, probably
on account of the very delightful _Pickpockets' Jota_ in which the
rogues outwit policemen in a dozen different ways. This strikes a truly
picaresque note, redolent of folklore. The music of this number, too,
is the best in the score, aside from the _Tango de la Menegilda_. This
performance was primitive and certainly not in the Spanish manner but
it was very gay and delightful from beginning to end.
P. 15. "the earlier vogue of Carmencita": This list could be extended
almost indefinitely. I have made no mention of Lola Montez, who danced,
acted, lectured, and died in this country. However, her pretensions to
Spanish blood were mostly pretensions. Her father was the son of Sir
Edward Gilbert of Limerick, although she had some Spanish blood on her
mother's side. She spent some time in Spain and studied Spanish dancing
there, but there is no evidence that she ever achieved proficiency in
this art.... I believe both Otero and La Tortajada have appeared in
this country. But neither of these women could help the cause abroad
of Spanish music or dancing. Of these two I can speak personally as
I have seen them both. Elvira de Hidalgo, a Spanish soprano, sang a
few performances at the Metropolitan Opera House and the New Theatre
at the end of the season of 1909-10. One of her rôles was Rosina,
which is a greater favourite with Spanish women singers than Carmen.
Margarita d'Alvarez, a Peruvian contralto born in Liverpool, sang in
Oscar Hammerstein's last Manhattan Opera House season. Tortola Valencia
danced for a short time during the season of 1917-18 in a revue at
the Century Theatre. As for painters Francis Picabia, the Cuban, and
Henry Caro-Delvaille, who is almost wholly Spanish in sympathy and
appearance, but quite French in his art, are both living in this
country at present ... and the work of Pablo Picasso is well-known here.
P. 16. To these should be added Juan Nadal, tenor with the Chicago
Opera Company, José Mardones, bass, Hipolito Lazaro, tenor, and Rafaelo
Diaz, tenor, with the Metropolitan Opera Company.
P. 18. "Where are they?": Pedrell's _La Celestina_ has found many
admirers. Camille Bellaigue in "Notes Brèves" recommends it warmly to
the director of the Opéra-Comique in Paris: "Aussi bien, après tant de
'saisons' russes, italiennes, allemandes, pourquoi ne pas en avoir une
espagnole?"... Manuel de Falla's _La Vida Breve_ was produced in Paris
before it was heard in Madrid. G. Jean-Aubry praises it highly.... And
José María Usandizaga's _Las Golindrinas_ has proved immensely popular
in Spain.
Pianists have not been slow to realize the value and beauty of Spanish
music which they have placed on their programs, if not in profusion, at
least in no niggardly manner ... but so far as I know no Spanish music
has yet been played by our New York symphony societies, although works
of Granados, and possibly those of other Spanish composers, have been
heard elsewhere in America. This neglect is not only lamentable; it
is stupid. Whether the music is good or bad, interesting or dull, New
York should be permitted to hear some of it. I should suggest, to begin
with, Albéniz's _Catalonia_, Joaquín Turina's _La Procesión del Rocio_,
Conrado del Campo's _Divina Comedia_, Pérez Casas's _Suite Murcienne_,
and Manuel de Falla's _Noches en los Jardines de España_. Of these I
should prefer to hear the second and last.
P. 18. "It is doubtful, indeed, if the zarzuela could take root in any
theatre in New York": No longer doubtful. Now that we have heard _The
Land of Joy_ it is certain that a group of zarzuelas, presented by a
good company with a good orchestra in the Spanish fashion, would be
greeted here with enthusiasm.
P. 18. "in Spain Italian and German operas are much more popular than
Spanish": This situation must be quite familiar to any American or
Englishman, for neither in America nor in England has English opera any
standing. See note to Page 70.
P. 24. "_Don Quixote_": Anton Rubinstein wrote a tone-poem with this
title.... This list could be made much longer. The second of Debussy's
_Estampes_ for piano, _La Soirée dans Grenade_ should certainly be
mentioned here.... Pablo Casals ('cellist) and Ruth Deyo (pianist)
played Loeffler's _Poème Espagnol_ at a concert in Boston March 24,
1917.
P. 25. "Raoul Laparra": This composer, of Basque blood, has been
almost constantly obsessed with the idea of Spain and has probably
written more consistently Spanish music than some Iberian composers
who might be mentioned. There is to be another dance-opera, he
writes me, to add to _La Habanera_ and _La Jota_, to be called _Le
Tango et la Malagueña_, thus completing the series of "three dramas
suggested by three dances." Mr. Laparra married an American and is
at present living in America. He has completed an opera entitled _Le
Conquistador_, which obviously has do with the Spanish occupation of
America. He has also written a book, "La Musique Populaire en Espagne"
(Delagrave; Paris). "The best Spanish composer _is_ the people," is his
phrase.
At a concert in Aeolian Hall, January 6, 1917, Harold Bauer played
Laparra's _Rhythmes Espagnols_ (announced as the first performance
in New York). These proved to be a series of characteristic dance
impressions. The composer supplied the following comment:
"There exists a world in Spain, little known outside the Iberian
peninsula itself, made up of these people with their schools, their
traditions. That is what I have tried to seize, that is what I
am passionately interested in. Without the use of native tunes I
have moulded my music on the native rhythms and forms and thereby
endeavoured to interpret the spirit of the people. Thus _Petenera_ is
conceived in the characteristic style and rhythm created by the singer
of that name, an Andalusian woman, who lived in the last century.
Old singers who had heard her told me that she sang 'like an angel.'
Nobody could tell the date of her birth or death, and she has become
a legendary character for whom all Andalusia wept and still weeps,
although her beauty and her voice caused many men much unhappiness.
"_Tientos_ reproduces the impression of those mysterious comments of
the guitar before or during the singer's sobbing melodic figures. The
singer and the guitar-player improvise together and, strangely enough,
always in harmony, as though animated by a single impulse.