CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

WITH MY PUPILS

WILLIAM H. KEITH

MR. KEITH was born in the sixties in San Francisco. As a young man he held for several years the position of manager of the art department of Shreve's, corner of Montgomery and Sutter streets. He began his voice lessons with Moretti. After a period he discontinued and began his studies with Madam Blake-Alverson. After studying with her some time, he decided to adopt music as his profession. He went to Paris in 1890 where, upon the advice of Jean de Reszke, he studied several years with Sbriglia and then prepared himself for opera under Giraudet of the Conservatory of Music. He then went to London and prepared himself for oratorio under Randegger. His European career was one of continuous success and he sang in London, Edinburg, Berlin, Dresden, Paris, etc. His first great work in American concerts was at the Worcester musical festival in company with Madam Melba, Mme. Lillian Blauvelt, Campanari and other artists, all under the baton of Carl Zerrahn. After singing in concert and oratorio and other musical attractions for a number of years, he received a flattering offer from the Mollenhauer Conservatory of Music, Brooklyn, to teach the vocal department, the place he has so successfully held since 1901, besides having large classes of private pupils, both in Brooklyn and New York. He is considered a leading concert baritone of New York and his services are constantly in demand. Mr. Keith has made several visits to California with eminent artists like Rivarde, Lachaume and others.

MADAM TREGAR

Madam Tregar was one of my San Bernardino pupils of English parentage. At that time she was married and living in a modest way, desiring some day to be able to satisfy her longing to sing. When she heard of my singing and teaching she ventured to call and consult me in regard to her voice. Her appearance did not inspire me with much encouragement, but after hearing her story I decided to see what could be done. She had never had any instruction except on the piano. I tried her rather doubtfully. To my surprise I found she possessed more pure and natural tones than I had ever heard in any voice. She had a range of almost two octaves, every note without a flaw. I felt sorry that there was so much to find in the voice, without a personality to round out the perfect instrument. It was evident she would be a thorough student, and do her work conscientiously, if she began. I resolved to try and see what could be done. At the end of sixteen months the change in the voice and woman was almost incomprehensible. The obstacles which seemed unsurmountable at first were but the first defects to be overcome, but with good understanding and proper placement these faults disappeared as quickly as the frost before the morning sun. At the closing recital of my sixteen months' stay she sang for her number Gounod's Ave Maria with violin accompaniment, in the original key, to the delight and great astonishment of the San Bernardino people, who rather made her the butt of their musical jokes and hardly gave her recognition previously, as they thought her musical ability was of the most amateur sort. Her singing in the sixteen months of application in the right direction and proper placement, brought out one of the most phenomenal voices which has found favor abroad. She lives in London; sang for the late King Edward and his royal household guests and still holds sway among the musical people of London as the highest soprano from America in this century. After leaving the south I never knew what had become of her and often wondered if she kept up the good work begun in 1888. In 1904, eighteen years after, she surprised me by calling upon me to thank me for what I had done for her and her story in this time seemed like a romance to me. After I left San Bernardino she had succeeded so well that she concluded to go to her former home in London and continue the work and, after eighteen years of success, she came to San Francisco, stopped by the wayside to find her first instructor and with deep emotion thanked her for her assistance and good work when she needed a friend.

THE JORAN QUARTET

Prominent among the younger musicians of San Francisco in the 80's were three talented children since become famous both in this country and England, where they now reside. Their only teacher was their mother, who was an English pianist of repute. They formed a concert troupe in 1883 with Miss M. Hyde, accompanist and director.

It was most remarkable how these children interpreted the most difficult masterpieces, and played them with art. Once at a special concert in the Metropolitan temple, San Francisco, the youngest of them, Miss Elsie, was seated at a Steinway grand piano, too small to touch the pedals, (an adjustment had to be made) and with sixty of our best musicians on the stage she played from memory the most difficult concerto. All the children possessed the art of absolute pitch and they were able with bandaged eyes to tell the notes of any chords that were sounded. Miss Pauline was an excellent violinist besides possessing a fine contralto voice which I had trained for the space of a year and a half. She is, I am very proud to say, a most beautiful singer in London today at the age of forty years. In 1910 I clipped from one of the English papers the following: "Pauline Joran, one of the most gifted young American opera singers now in Europe, made her debut recently in Milan under Sonzogno, singing at the Teatro Lirico, the role of Santuzza and Nedda with the greatest success. She has been singing in Great Britain under Sir Augustus Harris and will be heard here next season."

A teacher can be proud that her work of the foundation of tone building resulted in such a successful finish. Pauline possessed the talent and I could foresee the future if she had the proper means, for she sang with taste and feeling. She accompanied the singer with graceful interpretation on her violin and played the piano like an artist. We traveled and sang together for two years and went to Stockton, Sacramento, San Jose and all the smaller places around San Francisco. The latter part of the eighties the Jorans returned to London where they have remained ever since. In her girlish way Pauline used to say, "Oh, dear auntie, when I am a great singer won't you be glad and proud of me?" And so I am, and I hope all who have had the same help will be as successful as this young pupil.

WM. P. MELVIN

During my professional life as a vocal teacher I have been called upon to part with some of my musical family and also to perform the last tribute which one friend can pay to another—to sing the song asked for on his deathbed. During my residence in Oakland I have parted with five of my beloved pupils. The first string of my lute was severed by God's decree when he called William P. Melvin to a higher life. He was born in Steubenville, Ohio, March 18, 1859, and came here in his infancy with his parents from Springfield, Ill. Dr. Melvin, his father, entered the drug business and William was engaged in the same business with him. Later on William was secretary of the Mountain View Cemetery association, which office he held until his last illness.

He had a beautiful, resonant and full bass voice. He came to my studio some time in 1895 and was enrolled among my students, and coming from a musical family, his brother, Supreme Justice Henry Melvin, possessing a fine baritone voice, and his beloved sister, Mrs. Mollie Melvin-Dewing, an excellent mezzo-soprano, it was not strange he sang so well in a few months. William received his instruction in the evening when his daily duties were over and came to my studio which was on the third floor of the building at 1108-1/2 Broadway, over the Clark Wise music store. He continued his studies until 1897 when his sickness began to affect his beautiful voice and his lessons were necessarily discontinued. The first two years his progress was so satisfactory that I hoped his third year would be the crowning year of his efforts as an efficient and splendid bass singer. My heart sank within me when I had learned the nature of the sickness that had permanently fastened itself upon him. He was as reluctant to discontinue as I was to have him, but we were obliged to submit to the inevitable decree, "Thou shalt die and not live." It was a sad parting. I tried to be cheerful and held out hopes for his recovery, but it was not to be. On October 3, 1899, he was laid away in the quiet tomb amidst beautiful blossoms and many tears from those who knew him best. Mr. Melvin was one of the most delightful personalities—gentle and kind as a woman, always genial and accommodating, with always a pleasant word for every one. Even though suffering from this disease which no doubt made life a burden, no one in his presence was aware of his suffering. He was always bright and cheery. As I passed his casket with other sad friends to take a farewell look upon him and place upon his coffin my tribute of violets, my tears dropped upon his last resting place as I beheld all that was mortal of my beloved and affectionate pupil for whom I mourned as a mother mourns for her son. A prayer arose to my lips to the God of the universe that as peacefully as he slept in his earthly casket that He would give him the peace that passeth all understanding when he entered the portals of Heaven. Rest, sweet spirit, rest. You are absent but not forgotten by your sincere and devoted teacher and friend.

ROSE CHAMPION

The second one of my musical family to pass out of life was Miss Rose Champion. As Jesus wept at the grave of his dear friend Lazarus, I wept, that one so young and gifted should be taken away from her little family of three beautiful girls, and a sweet-voiced singer should be forever stilled. She began her lessons with me in 1897 and continued until 1899. She was possessed of a clear, lyric soprano voice and sang with ease and grace and with soulful touch she fascinated the listener by her intelligent interpretation of song. I predicted for her a future to be envied, but circumstances over which I had no control came in the way of her future progress and she unwillingly made a change and I never heard a song from her after that. When she was married she sent for me to sing at her wedding at her home. As I was ready to return to my home she came to me before she went on her trip, and embraced me and said, "I knew you would come, and you have made me most happy for I always loved you so. It was not my fault that I left you." I told her I was sure of that and that I sang for her with all my heart and the fact that she had sent for me to perform the highest favor she could ask was sufficient proof that she had been loyal to her first instructions. For several years she lived happily as Mrs. James Lanyon. On April 21, 1908, I read with the deepest regret the announcement of her death. Having met with an accident I was not able to attend the funeral or to hear the story of the taking away of such a bright, intelligent and young mother and sweet singer, but there lingers a sweet memory which will last as long as I live. When I think of her, I also think of what might have been had circumstances decreed otherwise. It is to be hoped she may be foremost in the songs of the Immortal Choir. Sweetly sleep, sweet singer, until the Grand Amen of the Lost Chord shall be sung at the last great day, with all the redeemed in the congregation of the righteous.

Pupils of the 1900's

LORINA ALLEN KIMBALL

The third string of my musical lute was snapped asunder when the death knell sounded for a most beloved and talented pupil, Miss Lorina Allen Kimball. A young miss of sixteen summers, she had come to my studio, 212 Eleventh street, with her mother one afternoon in 1903. I found a voice and a personality that could not be overlooked in one so young. Her notes were pure and limpid, untouched by improper use or bad training. I gladly enrolled her among my singers and she began at once with her vocal instruction. She sang with marked progress for four months when there was a break in the regularity of her lessons. She had entered the Oakland High school and with her studies she was unable to attend to the voice as she should. Lorina was born in Manchester, New Hampshire, March 12, 1886, and her death occurred in Oakland, August 5, 1906, at the age of twenty years. In 1905 her mother was called away to Manchester on business and Lorina came to live with me during her mother's absence. It was then that I learned to know and understand her character and personality. I had moved to 116 Eleventh street, to the old Abbott home. There was a large room built on for an art studio and another room led off from it which Lorina called her room. I made this large room my studio and occupied my couch on one side of it and it was here we worked each evening. She was a most excellent student and no time was wasted when her lessons were to be attended to. A bright pupil with clear reasoning ability, she was first at one lesson, then the other. I used to watch her evenings as she sat at the opposite side of the table with her books, in deep study. I often thought of her possibilities and speculated on all she could do. But our Master gives us from time to time just such rare flowers of promise for a short season, then quietly transplants them into His safe keeping from the bitter blasts of life's stormy weather. He knows they are not made to stand the rough usages of life. After finishing her term at the high school she entered the summer school at Berkeley. While there she contracted a cold which became alarming but she was unconscious that it was touching her vitals and kept busy with her books. After the school closed her mother returned and finding she did not improve, removed her to her home and concluded she had better be attended to at once. She had been gone for over a month and I supposed she was all right and was hoping to see her each week return and resume her work. After eight weeks had passed I began to be alarmed and made inquiries about her and I was informed that she had been seriously ill for days and by her request the news was kept from me. She failed rapidly after she went home.

On the morning of August 5, 1906, while I was at my breakfast table, the telephone bell rang and a voice, strange to me, said "Mrs. Alverson, Lorina Kimball is dead." Without any warning or thought of receiving such a shock, of course, the day was done for me. I mourned for her as for my own. A bright, sunny child, singing and laughing in her childish glee, she made many friends, among them, members of the Amoskeg Veterans who made her the Daughter of the Regiment in Washington, D.C., and presented her with a beautiful silk flag and an elegant crescent pin of jewels for her fine recitations and character readings.

A clearer mind I never taught and I prayed and hoped that nothing would intervene to stop her progress that had been so brilliantly begun. But my hopes did not avail. Before the bud had unfolded into maturity it was transplanted into the Garden of Eden above. Only those who have lost loved ones are able to feel how my heart's deepest sorrow went out with this young life. It was a pity that her notes could not have been recorded as they floated out into the still hour of the night. After her studies were over she would beg of me to join her in the song duets which we had perfected. When I reasoned with her not to sing, when so tired, like a spoiled child she pleaded. "My dear Lady Margaret, I am tired only with my studies, sing with me, I want to rest before I sleep." Who could resist the tender pleadings of the tired song bird. I called her my nightingale for her singing was done at night. One of her songs was the Nightingale's Trill or Queen of the Night. The memory of her singing ever lingers with me like the sweet perfume wafted from the distant isle, its subtle influence sinking upon the senses, calming the tired child as upon the mother's breast it rests in perfect peace and confidence. Its message accomplished, it floated away into space to travel on, and, forever until it reached the Giver of every perfect gift and rested in the Heavenly Courts above from everlasting to everlasting.

PAULINE PETERSON

The fourth discordant note in my instrument came to me by the death of one of my later pupils, Miss Pauline Peterson, who began with her sister, Miss Minnie Peterson, in 1896. She was fair to look upon and her voice was sweet and pure and in range two full octaves. She was a member of the English Lutheran church in Grove and Sixteenth streets, was one of the Christian Endeavor workers and Sabbath school teachers and her ambition was to sing in the choir and among the young people of the church. During the three years' directorship of the choir, I had gathered the young people together and the music was of a high order. A number of them sang in the choir.

During these years Miss Pauline had become the promised bride of the man of her choice and the day was drawing near and all preparations were completed and the cozy home furnished. Only a few weeks remained before the chorus of Lohengrin was to be sung by the young voices of her friends who loved her so well. While we propose, God disposes, and our expectant bride fell sick and the edict went forth that she should be the Bride of Heaven and on May 1, 1905, she passed away. Instead of the wedding song I was called upon to sing the parting song for the beloved pupil. I thought I had fully prepared myself for the ordeal and was ready to comply and perform the sad task which befell me. After the family had passed into their pew, my tears began to start as I saw the bowed head of her devoted mother, who was giving up her first-born child so young to lie in the tomb. But I was not prepared for the sight of the white casket as it was wheeled into the church, with the solitary mourner, her promised husband, slowly following all that was left of his bride-to-be, robed as for the bridal and her shimmering veil tied in a large bow knot and the bridal wreath placed lightly upon the casket with lilies of the valley and maiden-hair ferns, trailing in graceful festoons around the casket. Truly all the heroes do not face the cannon's mouth. It requires bravery beyond conception to do this last mission for those we love and esteem. I realized for a moment the difficult task and during the reading of the scriptures the battle was raging within me. When the moment came and the organ began the prelude, I arose as in a dream, and casting my eyes away from the beloved form, I began in a low voice the beautiful song (by Felix Marti) "By the River." As I sang I forgot all earthly sorrow and directed my thought above the earthly home into the blue vault of Heaven and I followed the young spirit into the everlasting gates of pearl and left her there.

Pupils, 1908-1912

BERTHA GRACE HUNTER

The last and fifth string of my musical lute became silent and was hushed forever when my sweet friend and pupil passed beyond into the unknown home not made with hands of mortals. Miss Bertha Grace Hunter was born in Liverpool, England, and in 1889 came to America and then to San Francisco with her parents, later removing to Oakland. She had studied the piano in England and played well. In 1893 she decided to take up music as a profession. She consulted Mrs. Gutterson who informed her she possessed decided musical ability, well worth the cultivation. She began to study with Otto Bendix of San Francisco who informed her that she understood interpretation better than most of his pupils. Afterward she wished to become an organist and became the pupil of Mr. H. Bretherick. It was at Pilgrim church that I first met her. She was organist there, while I occupied a choir position. She was a beautiful accompanist as well and I could feel assured that I would have her full artistic nature woven into the song I sang and give me the inspiration to sing so as to call forth expressions of approval from the worshippers from week to week for us both. She also had a contralto voice of much feeling and sympathy and came to me for vocal lessons in 1896 and was my accompanist in the studio for a year, when she decided to visit England and perfect herself on the organ. She studied three years with Dr. George Smith from the Royal Academy of Music in London. She had remained so long abroad she became homesick and great was the disappointment of her teacher that she could not remain three months longer to take her degree. Her longing for home became so strong she forfeited her honors to meet her family at Christmas. Upon reaching Oakland she was appointed organist of the First Christian Scientist church, which position she held for seven years. Her untimely death in September, 1911, was a shock to her family and friends. Being of a quiet disposition one would not expect to find such a soulful and affectionate nature. To know her was to love her. My long association with her in church and studio gave me an opportunity to know her well and love her for her worth as a true friend, a musical nature and loyal to all her associates and friends and a most ardent student in her profession. She was in England when my accident occurred and since her return I met her but seldom. Her work lay in another direction in Berkeley. Her death was a sad surprise to me and my heartfelt sympathy goes out to her bereaved parents and devoted brother who mourn her loss grievously like David mourned for his son and could not be comforted.

GEORGE G. PETERSON

The subject of my sketch, George G. Peterson, began his studies at my studio 1108-1/2 Broadway. He had a deep bass voice of fine quality which he used with excellent understanding and soon attracted attention at the First Christian church where he worshipped. George was a devout Christian and prominent worker in the church and was in demand for his musical worth as well, singing so well that he became leading bass in the choir and occupied the position with honor. With all his daily work as an artisan he found time to master and play successfully the violin, mandolin, auto harp and harmonica combined, banjo and guitar. He passed out of life April 26th, 1912, leaving a wife, son and daughter to mourn the loss of a talented father. So my musical family comes and goes and I am called upon to lose them first in one way and then in another. This was a sad surprise and a shock to me. I wrote to him to come and see me and the answer came, "George has gone up higher. He is not here among us any longer." It was a sad message from the devoted wife. He was still a young, bright and active man, but thirty-seven years of age. Truly "God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform." In all things may we be able to say, "Thy will, not mine, be done."

ODE TO A VOICE

Dedicated to Lady Margaret, with much love, by Mary Alice Sanford.
Christmas, 1909.

The writer of this poem, Mary Alice Sanford, came into my life in 1908. Her family moved into the flat above mine some time in August of that year. Her mother informed me that she was musical, and from the way she spoke I expected to see a young woman of about nineteen or twenty years. I was surprised, instead, a few days later, to see a slip of a schoolgirl looking at me in a timid way and rather reserved in manner. Later I invited her into the studio and I asked her if she liked music, to which she said yes. During the call she said she wished to sing. She had never had any instruction, her music was instrumental altogether. After she had given me an example of her instrumental work I said she should sing also, but at this she informed me she could not afford the vocal with the other, but her desire was to sing as well as play. I asked her what ability she had for reading or accompanying. She informed me she read her notes rapidly. At this I handed her the fifty lessons by Concone and opened to the first exercises, asked her to play while I sang for her. I thought perhaps the first lessons were too easy so I gave her a more difficult one, and I found she could read the most difficult lessons in the book and accompany with the greatest ease. I asked her her age, and she informed me in a month she would be sixteen years old. I asked her if she would like to earn her own lessons. She looked at me surprised at my proposition. Before her visit was over it was agreed she should be accompanist for my students, who needed her services. This was glorious news to her mother, who so greatly desired her to sing but was unable to give her both branches at this time, and she had also just pride that her daughter was able through her musical knowledge to give herself the much longed for opportunity which had come to her so unexpectedly. Everything was complete now, and the lessons began at once.

I found in her a real student, a most attentive listener, a voice small but clear and high. Later on in the development it proved very elastic, nothing acceptable below middle C. A pure lyric soprano, it was constantly developing higher in the tones. I often cautioned her not to sing so high, it would not do, when she would reply, "I cannot help it, it just goes there." I paid my closest attention to her for the period of four years. In that time she had not only learned to sing and play, but also studied harmony and languages. Latin and German she studied in school, Italian in the studio with Professor Arena, Spanish from her father, who is a linguist. With all this colossal work for this young mind and her achievements in technic and languages I was yet dissatisfied, for I had not yet received a response that I had longed and hoped for while she was drinking in all this vast amount of knowledge. She never gave out to let me see any result of all this accumulation of musical knowledge which I knew she possessed, never asking a question or advancing any question or enthusiastic outburst of expression. Being romantic in my interpretation of song I hoped she had imbibed also a strain of it which she lacked, as I noticed in the beginning. I was at my wits' ends to find the spring, but she resisted all my efforts. I knew she was excessively shy but did not think that would prevent her in showing in some way her appreciation of the instruction and her idea of what she had formed of all this teaching, explanation and example in these years.

Her songs were accurately sung in any language with which she was familiar. Her singing was highly complimented upon, yet there was something I had not yet found. I sang many hours for her the old and the new songs and she accompanied with musicianly art, but no expression came to me from her. I got an idea from her mother which songs she liked best and I soon found she had supplied herself with those she did like and I had sung for her in practice. In December, 1909, I at last reaped my reward. She, with other pupils, remembered me, and before bringing her gift she felt as though she had not given me enough, and at last she said, "I must do something more," and entered her room, and closed the door for a half hour. She had given me in verse what she could not say to me. Her excessive shyness prevented her, much as she appreciated my singing and teaching and the interpretation of song and its different modes of expression, whether it be sacred, descriptive, florid or romantic. She portrayed these lines with a poet's art—never did Tennyson write his first efforts with more beautiful description than this young poetess has written in these beautiful lines which I cannot read without emotion. She gave me her affectionate expression in this poem which I appreciate more highly than rubies, and with pride I place her offering in this book of memoirs for all to read and for all young persons who are students to feel that a conscientious teacher deserves their love and appreciation in return for their efforts to develop the highest perfection in the pupil. They cannot all be poets but they can at least honor the master by showing appreciation.

In these four years of study she had outdistanced all of those who began with her in 1908. She plays the organ each Sabbath at the English Lutheran Church. She has several piano pupils and once a week practices two hours in a private ensemble club, violins, cello and piano; has completed the course of harmony of three months, has studied composition, writes songs and the words for them. She has written a number of instrumental pieces for both hands, and two numbers for the left hand. I have been honored with the gift of two of her songs, one sacred and the other a lullaby. She began in earnest to compose some time ago and these pieces have been the result. She practices the piano about four hours daily. Her compositions are very meritorious. It is my opinion if she keeps up her work that it will not be long before the public of California will have another musician to add to the already great number gone before her. There is but one regret in the makeup of this young aspirant. It is her self-consciousness or excessive shyness, whether physical or mental, in relation to the opinion of others. She is so thoroughly conscientious she will not do anything unless it is just right. If she can overcome this malady in her contact with people there is nothing left in her pathway to prevent her successful career. It has been difficult for me to bear with patience this affliction, for I see too well her future. Shyness is no respecter of persons. Many of our great men like Charles Matthews, Garrick, Sir Isaac Newton, Byron, were afflicted with it and shunned all notoriety. She has fought successfully her other battles, let us hope she will conquer this obstacle also. I, her instructor, will be the first to rejoice in her victory and her Lady Margaret will compel her to write another song. But this time it will be a song of rejoicing and victory.

Pupils, 1910-1911

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A LIST OF MY PUPILS