Style in Singing

The slight modifications, or pointages, asked from Verdi, were not, I was assured by Madame Saxe, of a character to alter either the rôle or the opera, and she remarked (I quote her own words): “Why should Verdi have shown himself more unreasonable or less yielding than Meyerbeer or Wagner?” (plus intransigeant, plus intraitable que Meyerbeer ou Wagner?).

In tradition, however, there is the true or accepted tradition—so called because believed to have been sanctioned by the composer himself, or approved of by competent authorities and its use warranted by time—and the false. This latter is simply an accumulation of excrescences superimposed on the original by individual whim or personal fancy. These have been invented by singers desirous of bringing into relief certain special and peculiar gifts, or who have mistaken, perhaps forgotten, the original and authentic tradition. Thus their artistic heritage has become so altered and disfigured by successive additions, or “machicotage,” as to bear no resemblance to the original, this being buried under a heap of useless complications.

But it may be asked, are there no authoritatively correct printed editions of such classics with the accepted traditions and the proper mode of their performance expressed in modern musical notation? Yes: but they are incomplete, being for the most part confined to airs and other excerpts, instead of the complete works themselves. In this connection, I may cite the admirable edition of the “Gloires d’Italie” by the late erudite musician and authority, Gevaert, for so many years Director of the Conservatoire at Brussels. These editions are characterized by a scrupulous fidelity to the composers’ text as it was understood when written, as well as by great taste and musical sense of what is appropriate and fitting, in such ornaments as the editor has introduced, when these have been left to the discretion of the singer. The solo parts for the principal singers in Mozart’s operas of Don Giovanni and Le Nozze di Figaro, edited and revised for performance by the well-known singing-master and excellent musician, Signor Randegger, are also admirable. But other editions exist which do not bear the same imprint of authority, or conscientious care in their revision, as do the versions just mentioned.

In the edition of the well-known air “J’ai perdu mon Eurydice” (che farò senza Euridice?) from Orphée (Gluck), revised by Madame Pauline Viardot-Garcia, no mention is made of two traditions which have been used and handed down by a number of the most famous singers of the rôle of Orphée. I give them here:

[Listen]

The change on the third repetition of the principal theme is quite in accordance with the license then accorded in such airs.

In a special version of the opera Armide (Gluck), revised and edited by the late Sir Charles Hallé, the first bars of the great air of Armide in the first scene of the fourth act, “Ah! si la liberté” (Ah! if my liberty must from me then be taken), are printed thus:

[Listen]

The situation is where Armide perceives the knight Renaud in the gardens of her enchanted palace, whither he has come to destroy the sorceress on account of her magic arts. Although the enchantress knows that the mission of the knight is to deprive her of liberty, she herself succumbs to the fatal passion of love. I have briefly described the scene in order that my meaning may be clear. In the second half of the first bar, the acciaccatura was never intended by the composer to be actually sung as printed. It was his only way of indicating the sob or sigh whereby Armide finishes her exclamation, “Ah!” The effect is called “the Dramatic sob,” and is known to every opera-singer. Here is the composer’s meaning, as far as it is possible to convey it in writing:

[Listen]

(A portamento must be made from the first note to the next, when the breath must be taken quickly to give the idea of a sob or sigh.)

Again, in a recent edition of the same air by the distinguished composer Vincent d’Indy (Nouvelle Édition Française de Musique Classique), occurs the following:

[Listen]

The effect of the F sharp in the last bar, if sung against the harmony given, in which the preceding chord is resolved, would be intolerable. Surely, the composer intended a pronounced rallentando on the latter half of the bar, and a carrying of the voice by a portamento to the last note. Thus:

[Listen]

In the edition of the immortal air in the opera of Xerxes, universally known as the “Largo of Handel,” also revised and edited by d’Indy, may be noticed the following:

[Listen]

Of course, every operatic conductor knows that the chord in the orchestra must be played “after the voice,” as the technical phrase has it. But not every pianist or organist is familiar with this usage, and the effect would be very disagreeable if given as written. It should be performed thus:

[Listen]

Besides, why claim that a certain edition is “revised and edited,” when all the care and musical knowledge seem to have been expended on the harmonies only? Surely, the voice-part in these classics is not without its need of elucidation.

An edition of The Messiah, revised for performance, can scarcely be called accurate when such defects as the following occur:

The following is the authentic mode of performing the phrase:

In the same edition for the solo singers occurs: (“Behold and see”):

[Listen]

But by a slight syllabic rearrangement, the disagreeable accent on the last syllable of “un-to” is avoided, and the accent placed on the word “His,” to which it belongs, while the composer’s music remains untouched.

[Listen]

Again, in the same air occurs:

[Listen]

While recognizing the benefits conferred by some of these specially prepared editions, there remains still more to be accomplished in this direction before the work is complete. A flood of light has been thrown on the dark and nebulous places of the instrumental classics by various distinguished and highly competent musicians. It is sincerely to be hoped, in the interests of this branch of the æsthetics of vocal art, that those competent to speak with authority will do so, in order that in this direction also “the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain.”

I admit that this question of revising the composer’s written text is an exceedingly delicate and difficult one. It should be attempted only by those possessed of the requisite authority, those who combine tact and taste with judgment and experience. To these qualities should be added a sincere and reverential desire to place in the highest relief the meaning of both poet and composer.

I have said that the license formerly accorded by composers to singers—particularly operatic singers—manifested itself in a twofold form. The second of these phases was the introduction in the body of a theme or melody, and also at its close, of embellishments. Sometimes the composer briefly sketched these ornaments; at other times their places only were indicated. The ornaments in the body of an air are known as abbellimenti or fioriture; those at its close, as cadenze.

Here is an example of the former, taken from the duet in Elisa e Claudio by Mercadante:

[Listen]

The following is the same passage ornamented:

[Listen]

(As sung by Mme. Malibran. Quoted from “Mécanisme des Traits,” by de La Madelaine, 1868.)

The rôle of Rosina in Rossini’s Il Barbiere has long been a favourite peg with prime donne on which to hang interpolated ornaments for the display of their vocal agility. Some of these are not always in good taste, being trivial or banal in character, thus concealing the natural charm of the original melody under a species of Henri Herz variations. Others, however, such as those used by the Patti and the Sembrich, for instance, are of great originality and excellent effect.

Here are some of the traditional ornaments and cadenzas sung by certain famous singers of the past in Rosina’s entrance cavatina: “Una voce poco fa.” This air was originally written by Rossini in E major, the part of Rosina being intended for a mezzo-soprano, and was thus sung by the late Paulina Viardot-Garcia. This exceptionally gifted artist, possessing a voice of very great compass, was enabled to sing not only the rôles assigned to mezzo-soprano contraltos, such as Orphée, or Fidès (Le Prophète), which she created, but also the parts given to dramatic sopranos. Mme. Viardot was thus able, with some slight modifications, to sing Norma, Desdemona (Otello: Rossini), Rachel (La Juive), etc.

The rôle of Rosina has now definitely passed into the possession of florid or coloratura sopranos; much, therefore, of the music is of necessity transposed, the air in question being now sung one half-tone higher, in the key of F.

Here is a change used by Mme. Cinti-Damoreau, who sang the music in the original key. The composer wrote:

[Listen]

Mme. Cinti-Damoreau sang thus:

[Listen]

In the same bar Mlle. Henrietta Sontag, who sang the air a semitone higher, introduced the following:

[Listen]

Rossini wrote no cadenza to the air:

[Listen]

Cadenza of Mlle. Sontag:

[Listen]

I have already spoken of the bad taste exhibited by some mediocre singers in covering a coloratura air with so many roulades, etc., as to render it barely recognizable. It was after hearing one of his own arias overloaded and disfigured in this manner that Rossini, who was noted for his biting wit and stinging sarcasms, is said to have remarked: “What charming music! Whom is it by?”

Bellini, Donizetti, and composers of their school, sometimes did little more than hand over to the singer engaged to create their works a rough sketch, as it were, which the artists were supposed to fill in and perfect. Singers were expected to add such fioriture, or “flowers,” as would best display their salient points of style and individual characteristics. The Cavatina, or slow movement of the aria, was the medium which called for the qualities of expressive singing, while the Cabaletta was a vehicle for the display of virtuosity and technical mastery. In this latter movement, the equivalent of the Rondo in instrumental music, the performer was left perfectly free to use such embellishments as set forth his own gifts to the greatest advantage. Some singers excelled in bold and rapid flights of scales, chromatic and diatonic; others, in the neat and clean-cut execution of involved traits or figures. It must be remembered, that the great singers of the past were perfectly competent to add these ornaments themselves, as they possessed a complete and sound musical education.

More: sometimes these singers even collaborated with the composers. Crescentini, the last famous male sopranist, is reputed by history or legend—the two are not infrequently synonymous—to have been himself the composer of the well-known aria “Ombra adorata,” introduced by him in Zingarelli’s opera Romeo e Giulietta, as also of the prayer sung by Romeo in the same work. His singing of it is said to have moved his audience to tears, and gained for him the decoration of the Iron Crown, conferred upon him by Napoleon I. The Emperor also induced him, by the offer of a large salary, to settle in Paris as professor of singing.

When these great artists—their career as public singers being ended—began in turn to form pupils, they were admirably fitted for the task of imparting instruction, being excellent musicians, and, as I have said, composers of no insignificant merit. They had a sound theoretical knowledge, compared with which that of many of our modern singers seems but a pale and feeble reflection.

The collaboration of composer and interpreter is not altogether unknown in the domain of instrumental music. Is it not historical that Mendelssohn profited largely from the wise counsels of the celebrated violinist Ferdinand David in the composition of his concerto for violin and orchestra? This does not mean that David contributed any musical phrases or ideas to the work; but that his practical knowledge of the special characteristics and capabilities of the solo instrument enabled him to suggest how the composer’s thoughts might be most fittingly presented.

Returning to the question of the introduction of ornaments, etc., into a composer’s work, the following extract may be of interest to the musical student. It is from a volume of criticism, now out of print, a copy of which is possessed by the present writer. The article appeared in La Patrie more than forty years ago, and was called forth by the ornaments written by the then well-known singer and teacher of great ability, Stéphan de La Madelaine. These changes were for the great air of Agathe in the second act of Der Freischütz, and were the cause of much discussion among the music-critics of the time.

“Following the example of celebrated vocal virtuosi whom he had formerly known, and availing himself of the license then permitted, the master (de La Madelaine) has introduced several alterations (changements). These, however, in no sense clash with the original character of the air itself.

“That the introduction of such ornaments has caused an outcry, is not surprising. We should remember, however, that the Freischütz was written at a period when, in certain places, the composer left the field entirely open to the singer, permitted him to make such changes as he might deem necessary. It must not be thought that in so doing the interpreter corrects the composer: he simply seeks to express, to the utmost of his abilities, the intention of the author.

“The operas of Bellini, of Rossini, and, in general, of all the Italian masters, are full of these intentional gaps (lacunes) which were filled in by the singers. Nay, in the earliest days of the Neapolitan school, still greater liberty was allowed; the recitatives were all improvised by the executants, and were not even noted down. Each singer made his own, which the maestro al cembalo accompanied with a few simple chords.

“In the cavatina in Norma, each cantatrice introduces her own changes on the recurrence of the principal theme, and the public applauds. Why then this outcry against the same procedure in Der Freischütz?

“That this custom or practice might lead to great abuse and that it is necessary to uproot it gradually, is our opinion. But this radical reform can be realized only in forthcoming works; those of the ancient school ought to be interpreted by following the conventions which the composer himself has respected.

“That the changements written by M. de La Madelaine for the air of the Freischütz are permissible, is proved by the fact that Weber himself has sanctioned and approved them, as, if need be, a great number of contemporaries can attest.” (Franck-Marie.)

Whoever has had the good fortune to hear Mme. Marcella Sembrich in the rôle of Amina, in Bellini’s La Sonnambula, will have heard an excellent example of remarkable technical skill or virtuosity, with irreproachable taste regulating its display. The ornaments and changes used by her in the rondo finale, “Ah, non giunge,” are models of their genre. What else could be expected of an artist so gifted as to be able to perform the lesson-scene in Rossini’s Il Barbiere (introducing therein the air with variations by Proch) in Italian; and in the course of the same scene sing, in German, “Ich liebe dich,” by Grieg, and play the Andante and Rondo Russe, for violin, by de Bériot, and a valse by Chopin on the piano?

The opera, La Sonnambula, requires much rearrangement both of the music and of the verbal text, to which it is badly fitted. The greater part of the music written for Elvino has to be transposed, mostly a third lower, in order to make it practicable under existing conditions.

No effect whatever could be made were a cantatrice to follow implicitly the written notes of this opera, such being merely a rough sketch, as it were, of the composer’s ideas, which the singer is supposed to complete. Several instances from the andante “Ah! non credea mirarti,” will suffice to prove this. The following is the printed version.

[Listen]

This is but a suggestion of the composer’s idea. The artist will therefore not follow too closely the printed version; but following the evident indications for a pathetic and expressive cantabile will perform it thus:

[Listen]

Again a brief outline, as printed:

[Listen]

which, if sung as follows, fills in the details:

[Listen]

Also the passage in the same aria, where Amina sobs as she slowly lets fall to the ground the blossoms given her in the first act by Elvino, requires an entire rearrangement of the syllables to bring out the composer’s meaning.

[Listen]

Let any one go over this passage carefully, and he will be convinced that it is, as I have said, merely a sketch of the composer’s idea. As it stands in the published version it is impossible of execution, and if it were possible, would be devoid of all effect: the syllables being wrongly placed, no opportunity for breathing is given the singer, and the final cadenza is marred by being allotted to the word “amore.” Here is a revision of the latter, the cadenza being one I wrote for a pupil, Mme. Easton-Maclennan, of the Royal Opera, Berlin:

[Listen]

It will thus be seen, from the numerous foregoing examples, that these ornaments and interpolations are not added from a vulgar idea of correcting or improving the composer’s music, but are strictly in accordance with certain conventions thoroughly understood by both composer and singer. To omit them, or follow too closely the printed text, would be to ignore the epoch, school and character of the music; a careful study of which forms one of the cornerstones of Interpretation. A skilled artist will always strive to analyze and interpret the intentions of the author. If one to whom is confided the vocal part of a composer’s work were to limit himself to a mathematically correct reproduction of the written notes only, instead of searching below the surface for the author’s meaning, his performance would merely resemble the accurate execution of a solfeggio by a conscientious scholar. It would have the same relation to high artistic effort as the photographic reproduction of a landscape bears to the same scene as viewed and transmitted to canvas by a great painter.

The sincere artist will carefully consider every detail. He will not be content to study his own part only, but will study the orchestral score which accompanies it. He will, in fact, follow the example set by good string-quartet players, who listen attentively to the other instruments during rehearsals, so that the perfect welding together of the different parts may form a homogeneous whole. Such an artist, in complete possession of the mechanical resources of his art, will utilize them all to embody perfectly that which, with the composer, existed only as a mental concept, inadequately transcribed, owing to the limitations of his media—pen, ink and paper.

And it is only when in possession of the authentic traditions of Oratorio and Opera that the singer, such as I have supposed, will be able to vivify these great creations, will be able to invest them with warmth and colour, and thus make clear all their meaning, reveal all their beauty.

CHAPTER V

Répertoire

The case is different where a soprano who may have begun by singing the florid rôles of opera, has so gained in volume of voice and breadth of style as to warrant her devoting these acquisitions to characters requiring more dramatic force than was needed, or could be utilized, in coloratura rôles. Mlle. Emma Calvé, Mesdames Lilli Lehmann and Nordica, are notable examples of this. Each of these distinguished artists began her career by singing what are known as “Princess” rôles, before successfully portraying Carmen or the Brünnhildes. As a rule, it is by singing many different rôles that the lyric artist gains the skill and sureness that may ultimately render him famous in a few. Mlle. Grandjean, now principal first dramatic soprano at the Paris Opéra, began her career there—after a few appearances at the Opéra-Comique—by singing the very small part of the nurse Magdalene in Wagner’s Die Meistersinger. Perseverance, if allied to ability, can accomplish much.

When the type of voice and the natural temperament of the singer do not accord—as sometimes happens—he would be unwise not to adhere to the work for which his vocal means, not his preference, are best adapted. To follow the contrary path, and essay rôles requiring for their fitting expression more dramatic fire and intensity than his vocal instrument can supply, would be to shorten his career, owing to the certain deterioration and possible extinction of the voice. There are sufficient voiceless examples to prove, were proof needed, the truth of this assertion; and their atonic condition is due to the cause mentioned.

The first requisite for the aspirant who wishes to follow the operatic career is undoubtedly a voice possessed of the three essential factors of Quality, Power and Compass; what is termed in Italy a “voce di teatro,” or voice for the theatre.

But an opera-singer is actor as well as singer, and in this direction more—much more—is now demanded of him than formerly. But to those possessed of what is known as the Instinct of the Theatre, or Scenic Instinct, the gestures and attitudes of the operatic stage, being largely conventional, are soon acquired. Scenic accomplishments are undoubtedly necessary to the stage-singer, but his mimetic studies should not preclude him from making himself a thorough master of the vocal side of his art. There is a difference between an actor who sings, and a singer who acts.

Besides the mimetic faculty, certain physical gifts are also needed by the opera-singer, according to the requirements of the line of rôles to which he is inevitably assigned by the nature and type of his particular voice. It is true that stage artifice has now reached great perfection; but it has its limits, and cannot accomplish miracles.

It requires much imagination and great generosity on the part of the public to accept a tenor, whose waist-girth would not unfit him for the part of Sir John Falstaff, as a youthful and romantic Romeo, or a half-starved and emaciated Rodolphe. Illusion is rudely shaken, if not absolutely dispelled, in witnessing a soprano, whose age and embonpoint are fully in evidence, impersonate a girlish Gilda or a consumptive Traviata. Such discrepancies may be overlooked by the public in the case of old established favourites, but it would be unfortunate for the débutant to commence with these drawbacks. And yet there have been a few famous artists whose extraordinary vocal talent atoned for other very pronounced defects. Such an one was the Pisaroni, a celebrated contralto, said to have been so ill-favoured that she always forwarded her likeness to any opera director to whom she was personally unknown, who offered her an engagement. But so exceptional were her voice and talent, that certain of her contemporary artists have declared that by the time Pisaroni had reached the end of her first phrase, the public was already conquered.

As personal preference is very often mistaken for aptitude or natural fitness, a lyric artist is not always the best judge as to which of the rôles in his répertoire are really fitted to display his abilities to the best advantage. The singer combines in himself both instrument and performer; therefore he rarely, if ever, hears himself quite as does another person. Until possessed of the ripened judgment gained by experience, he would do well to be guided in this matter by one who, to the knowledge required, adds taste and discernment. That a liking or preference is sometimes mistaken for the aptitude and gifts necessary for the successful carrying out of certain work, is too well known to be even questioned. It is the constantly recurring case of the low comedian who wishes to play Hamlet. A young tenor whose great vocal and physical advantages made him an ideal Duke in Rigoletto, a fascinating Almaviva in Il Barbiere, found but little enjoyment in life because his director refused to allow him to try Otello and Tannhäuser, for which he was vocally unfitted. Never show the public what you cannot do, is the best advice that can be given in such cases. Even the finest and most experienced singers are occasionally liable to make mistakes in the choice of rôles. Madame Patti once sang Carmen, and Madame Melba essayed Brünnhilde; but I am not aware that either of these famous cantatrices repeated the experiment.

For those who intend to follow a concert-singer’s career, there is a vast literature of vocal music specially written for this purpose, from which to select. There are few modern operatic excerpts which do not suffer somewhat by being transplanted from the stage to the concert-platform. In no case is this more clearly proved than in the selections so frequently given from Wagner’s music-dramas. Of course, I am speaking more particularly of those extracts which require the services of a vocalist. Such selections given in the concert-room are in distinct violation of the composer’s own wishes, frequently expressed. Besides lacking the necessary adjuncts of gesture, costume and scenery, the musical conditions of the concert-room are very unfavourable to the unfortunate singer. He has to struggle to make himself heard above the sonorities of a powerful orchestra generally numbering over a hundred musicians, and placed directly around and behind him, instead of on a lower level, as in the case of a lyric theatre. Besides which, Wagner’s works can now be heard in all large cities under the conditions necessary for their proper presentment, and as intended by their author-composer. Therefore, there is no longer the same reason as may have existed years ago, for the performance of extracts at purely symphonic concerts.

In cases where the singer has to select numbers for a symphonic concert and to be accompanied by an orchestra, there is a mine of wealth, not yet exhausted, in the operas of the older classic composers. These, being less heavily orchestrated than the ultra modern works written for the theatre, do not suffer in the same degree from the different disposition of the orchestral instruments.

There are also a few vocal numbers with orchestral accompaniments written in the form of a “scena,” such as the “Ah, perfido” of Beethoven, and the “Infelice” of Mendelssohn, which might possibly form an agreeable change to the frequenters of symphonic concerts, jaded a little, perhaps, with the oft-repeated “Dich theure Halle” and “Prayer” from Tannhäuser.

In order to render them more in keeping with the conditions of symphonic concerts, orchestral accompaniments, to many songs by the classic composers, have been made by excellent musicians from the original piano-part. The ethical question involved in the presentation of such works in a form other than that written by the composer, need not be considered here. Each artist must decide the matter for himself.

So far as songs with accompaniments for the piano are concerned, there is a mine practically inexhaustible and from which new treasures are constantly brought to light. For Recital purposes, the choice and sequence of a programme is second in importance only to its execution. And although suppleness and adaptability are valuable, even necessary, qualities, in a concert-singer, he will sometimes find that certain songs—admirable in themselves—are unsuited to him, for reasons which it is not always possible to define. In such cases it is not a matter of compass, or tessitura, of voice, or even temperament; there is some hidden lack of sympathy between the composer and his interpreter. A song should seem like a well-fitting garment; not only admirably made, but specially designed for the person who wears it.

CHAPTER VI

Conclusion

Singing, which is speech conveyed through music, similarly reached its highest point of technical excellence when the voice of the singer was considered as little more than a mechanical instrument; when beauty of tone-quality and perfect virtuosity were the only ends for which to strive. This period was at its height with Farinelli, Caffarelli, Gizziello, and ended perhaps with Crescentini. That these singers possessed extraordinary technical skill, or execution, is amply attested by the exercises and airs, still extant, written for them by Porpora, Hasse, Veracini, and others. That they also had musical sentiment or expression, is authoritatively proved from the emotion caused in their auditors by their performance of a slow movement or cantabile. But it was musical expression only, and as if performed on a solo instrument, as a flute or violin, which does not possess the faculty of uttering words. The operas in which these singers appeared had some plot or story, it is true; but its importance was of the slightest—analogous to, and of the same value as, the subject in painting and sculpture at corresponding periods of their history.

But singing, like these two sister-arts, has passed the period when it was, or could be, appreciated purely for the perfection of its technique. It has developed and broadened in other directions, and more now is demanded of the singer than mere mechanical perfection. Composers—notably Gluck—began to perceive the great possibilities to be attained by the development of the Greek lyric ideal; that is, the presentation of the Poetic idea by, and through the medium of, music; instead of being, as formerly, merely its excuse, a framework for the musician upon which to hang melodies.

Although Gluck, like all innovators, was considered by his contemporaries as a revolutionary and iconoclast, he only strove to develop and perfect an art that had already existed in a primitive form. This was the art of animating a poetic idea by means of melopœia; which Wagner later developed still further.

Gradually, two essentials of good singing—tone-quality and truth of intonation—began to be neglected. But why should either of these two factors be less essential to a singer than to an instrumentalist?

Of late it has been tacitly assumed, if not boldly claimed, that sentiment, passion, temperament, atoned for—even if they did not entirely replace—voice and lack of skill in the artist. But what constitutes an artist? Art has been defined by an English lexicographer as “Doing something, the power for which is acquired by experience, study or observation;” and an artist, as “One skilled in the practice of any art.” The French writer d’Alembert says, “L’art s’acquiert par l’étude et l’exercice” (Art is acquired by study and practice). If these definitions of art be accepted, its external expression or manifestation is essential through some vehicle or medium, otherwise there is neither art nor artist. Concepts or ideals have their genesis in mind, but were they to remain there, the poet, painter, sculptor or musician (composer or interpreter) would have no right to the title of artist, because his concepts remained in thought-form only, and unexpressed. Therefore, as a composer can be accepted as artist only when he has given that to the world which entitles him to the distinction, how can his so-called interpreter be considered an artist when, through insufficiency of technical ability, he is unable to present satisfactorily the author’s concept? No matter in what abundant measure such a performer may possess the good qualities of earnestness, conviction and sincerity, he is not an artist. “Poeta nascitur, non fit,” has long been accepted as a truism; and similarly, it is supposed that the artist also is born, not made. But seeing that the mechanical side of any art is learned by experience, study, or observation—still to quote the definition—without which an adequate manifestation of that art is impossible, then certainly the artist is made. He is born with certain qualities necessary for the artist, it is true; but failing his technical skill, these other gifts can never be fully utilized.

It is to be deplored that the studies of many vocal aspirants are not conducted on the same plan that is followed by those who desire to attain perfection on a musical instrument. These acquire a technique, and learn or study many works which may broaden or perfect their style, before commencing to prepare a répertoire. The opposite course is followed by many students of singing, who study rôles, instead of learning first how to sing. The full meaning of the highest examples of the modern lyric drama can be made apparent only by those who have fully mastered the vocal, as well as the mimetic, side of lyric art. Too much importance is, in my opinion, attached to the latter branch, at the cost of the former. I repeat, an opera-singer should be a singer who acts, not an actor who sings.

On the occasion of the bestowal of awards at the Paris Conservatoire in August, 1905, M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, Under-Secretary for the Fine Arts, in his address to the students made pointed allusion to the difference of results between the instrumental classes and those for singing. Said the orator: “It is claimed that singing is in a state of decadence, and that the cause is largely due to the style of modern music. It is rather owing to the fact that this art is not studied at present with the same methodic diligence that formerly obtained. I would remind the students of singing that they gain nothing by neglecting the earlier studies, and that their professional future would be better assured if it rested on a solid basis of vocal technique. It is, therefore, in their interest that, with a view to assure this important point, certain reforms will be instituted.”[6]

The professors of the classes for singing were also advised to draw more on the great classic writers for the voice, instead of confining themselves principally to the operatic répertoire.

Every art reaches its apex of perfection, and then seems to decline; it may even temporarily disappear. But, being immortal, it is never lost. It finds other modes of manifestation, and reappears in other forms. The principles on which it is founded do not change; but constantly changing conditions necessitate a new application of these principles. This necessity was acknowledged for poetry itself by André Chénier:

“Sur des pensées nouveaux, faisons des vers antiques.” (Let us embody modern thoughts in classic verse.)

Music follows the great laws of development to which all things are subject. It would be foolish, nay, impossible, to try to resuscitate an old form of art. Foolish, because the art itself would have lost all except its archaic charm or interest; impossible, because conditions have so completely changed that the attempt would be merely the galvanizing of a corpse, not its reanimation.

Similarly, the art of singing can be successful only in proportion as it recognizes the existence of other conditions. These it meets by observing the old principles, but changing their mode of application.

The education of the singer of to-day requires to be conducted on broader and more comprehensive lines than in the past, on account of the different conditions which have presented themselves. Singing—that is, the alliance and utterance of Music and Poetry—is one of the highest manifestations of the Beautiful, and is man’s supreme and greatest creation. Therefore, singing will not seek in future to rival a mechanical instrument. It will, it is evident, give to the poetic idea a prominent, though not a predominant, place. But this poetic idea can be revealed to the listener only by a singer who is master of all the technical phases of his art. These component parts of his vocal education must of necessity comprise—as was laid down in the opening chapter of this work—Pose of Voice, Technique, Style, and Répertoire.

It has been demonstrated that the first of these elements is essential, because the other stones of the complete structure cannot be successfully laid on an insecure foundation. The singer must have the second, or he will be unable to materialize his concept, like an unskilled carver who possesses the necessary material and tools, but lacks the technical ability to utilize either. He must possess Colour, whereby his vocal palette is set with the varied tints necessary for the different sentiments to be expressed; Accent, so that character may be given to the music and appropriate emphasis to the text; and Phrasing, in order that he may punctuate the music effectively and the words intelligently.

Perfect master of these, he is in possession of all that goes to make up Style. And, if these premises be accepted, it must be evident that he is in possession of the qualities that were necessary to make singers great in the past, and are indispensable to make them great in the future.

FOOTNOTES