Part 10

_Im wunderschoenen Monat Mai_, which comes from the _Dichterliebe_ cycle, is indescribably delicate. It should be sung with great lightness and simplicity. Any effort toward a striving for effect would ruin this exquisite gem. _Fruehlingsnacht_ with its wonderful accompaniment, which Franz Liszt thought so remarkable that he combined the melody and the accompaniment, with but slight alterations, and made a piano piece of the whole--is a difficult song to sing properly. If the singer does not catch the effervescent character of the song as a whole, the effect is lost. Any "dragging" of the tones destroys the wonderful exuberance which Schumann strove to connote. The balance between the singer and the accompanist must be perfect, and woe be to the singer who tries to sing _Fruehlingsnacht_ with a lumbering accompanist.

_Der Nussbaum_ is one of the most effective and "thankful" of all the Schumann songs. Experienced public singers almost invariably win popular appreciation with this song. It is probably my favorite of all the Schumann songs. Here again delicacy and simplicity reign supreme. In fact simplicity in interpretation is the great requirement of all the art songs. The amateur singer seems to be continually trying to secure "effect" with these songs and the only result of this is affectation. If amateurs could only realize how hard the really great masters tried to avoid results that were to be secured by the cheap methods of "affectation" and "show," they would make their singing more simple. Success in singing art songs comes through the ability of the artist to bring out the psychic, poetical and musical meaning of the song. There is no room for cheap vocal virtuosity. The great songs bear the sacred message of the best and finest in art. They represent the conscientious devotion of their composers to their loftiest ideals.

I have mentioned three songs which are representative, but there are numberless other songs which reveal the intimate and personal character of Schumann's works. One popular mistake regarding these songs which is quite prevalent is that of thinking that they can only be sung in tiny rooms and never in large auditoriums. Time and again I have achieved some of the best results I have ever secured on the concert stage with delicate intimate works sung before audiences of thousands of people. The size of the auditorium has practically nothing to do with the song. The method of delivery is everything. If the song is properly and thoughtfully delivered, the audience, though it be one of thousands, will sit "quiet as mice" and listen reverently to the end. However, if one of these songs were to be sung in a flamboyant, bombastic manner, by some singer infected with the idea that in order to impress a multitude of people an exaggerated style is necessary, the results would be ruinous. If overdone, they are never appreciated. Art is art. Rembrandt in one of his master paintings exhibits just the right artistic balance. A copy of the same painting might become a mere daub, with a few twists of some bungling amateur's brush. Let the young singer remember that the results that are the most difficult to get in singing the art song are not those by which she may hope to make a sensational impression by means of show, but those which depend first and always upon sincerity, simplicity and a deep study of the real meaning of the masterpiece.

THE LOVE INTEREST IN THE SCHUMANN SONGS

Up to the time Schumann was thirty years of age (1840), his compositions were confined to works for the piano. These piano works include some of the very greatest and most inspired of his compositions for the instrument. In 1840 Schumann married Clara Wieck, daughter of his former pianoforte teacher. This marriage was accomplished only after the most severe opposition imaginable upon the part of the irate father-in-law, who was loath to see his daughter, whom he had trained to be one of the foremost pianists of her sex, marry an obscure composer. The effect of this opposition was to raise Schumann's affection to the condition of a kind of fanaticism. All this made a pronounced impression upon his art and seemed to make him long for expression through the medium of his love songs. He wrote to a friend at this time, "I am now writing nothing but songs great and small. I can hardly tell you how delightful it is to write for the voice, as compared with instrumental composition; and what a tumult and strife I feel within me as I sit down to it. I have brought forth quite new things in this line." In letters to his wife he is quite as impassioned over his song writing as the following quotations indicate: "Since yesterday morning, I have written twenty-seven pages of music (something new of which I can tell you nothing more than that I have laughed and wept for joy in composing them). When I composed them my soul was within yours. Without such a bride, indeed no one could write such music; once more I have composed so much that it seems almost uncanny. Alas! I cannot help it: I could sing myself to death like a nightingale."

During the first year of his marriage Schumann wrote one hundred of the two hundred and forty-five songs that are attributed to him. In the published collections of his works, there are three songs attributed to Schumann which are known to be from the pen of his talented wife. As in his piano compositions Schumann avoided long pieces and preferred collections of comparatively short pieces, such as those in the _Carnaval_, _Kreisleriana_, _Papillons_, so in his early works for the voice Schumann chose to write short songs which were grouped in the form of cycles. Seven of these cycles are particularly well known. They are here given together with the best known songs from each group.

Cycle Songs

_Liederkreis_ {_Ich wandelte unter den Baeumen._ {_Mit Myrthen und Rosen._

{_Die Lotusblume._ _Myrthen_ {_Lass mich ihm am Busen hangen._ {_Du bist wie eine Blume._ {_Der Nussbaum._

_Eichendorff Liederkreis_ {_Waldesgespraech._ {_Fruehlingsnacht._

{_Wanderlust._ _Kerner Cycle_ {_Frage._ {_Stille Thraenen._

{_O, Ring an meinem Finger._ _Frauenliebe und Leben_ {_Er, der Herrlichste von Allen._

{_Ich grolle nicht._ _Dichterliebe_ {_Im wunderschoenen Mai._ {_Ich hab' im Traum geweinet._

{_Three of the songs in this_ _Liebesfruehling_ {_Cycle are attributed to_ {_Clara Schumann._

Critics seem to be agreed that Schumann's talent gradually deteriorated as his mental disease increased. Consequently, with but few exceptions his best song works are to be found among his early vocal compositions. I have tried repeatedly to bring forth some of the lesser known songs of Schumann and have time and again devoted long periods to their study, but apparently the public, by an unmistakable indication of lack of approval, will have none of them.

Evidently, the songs by which Schumann is now best known are his best works from the standpoint of popular appreciation. Popular approval taken in the aggregate is a mighty determining factor. The survival of the fittest applies to songs as well as to other things in life. This is particularly so in the case of the four famous songs, _Die beiden Grenadiere_, _Widmung_, _Der Nussbaum_ and _Ich grolle nicht_, which never seem to diminish in popularity.

SCHUMANN'S LOVE FOR THE ROMANTIC

Schumann's fervid imagination readily led to a love for the romantic. His early fondness for the works of Jean Paul developed into a kind of life tendency, which resulted in winning him the title of the "Tone-Poet of Romanticism." Few of his songs, however, are really dramatic. _Waldesgespraech_, which Robert Franz called a pianoforte piece with a voice part added, is probably the best of Schumann's dramatic-romantic songs. I have always found that audiences are very partial to this song; and it may be sung by a female voice as well as the male voice. The _Two Grenadiers_ is strictly a man's song. _Ich grolle nicht_, while sung mostly by men, may, like the _Erl-King_ of Schubert, be sung quite as successfully by women singers possessing the qualities of depth and dramatic intensity.

PECULIAR DIFFICULTIES IN INTERPRETING SCHUMANN SONGS

I have already mentioned the necessity for simplicity in connection with the interpretation of the Schumann songs. I need not tell the readers of these pages that the proper interpretation of these songs requires a much more extensive and difficult kind of preparatory work than the more showy coloratura works which to the novice often seem vastly more difficult. The very simplicity of the Schubert and Schumann songs makes them more difficult to sing properly than the works of writers who adopted a somewhat more complicated style. The smallest vocal discrepancies become apparent at once and it is only by the most intense application and great attention to detail that it is possible for the singer to bring her art to a standard that will stand the test of these simple, but very difficult works. Too much coloratura singing is liable to rob the voice of its fullness and is not to be recommended as a preparation for the singer who would become a singer of the modern art songs. This does not mean that scales and arpeggios are to be avoided. In fact the flexibility and control demanded of the singers of art songs are quite as great as that required of the coloratura singer. The student must have her full quota of vocal exercises before she should think of attempting the Schumann Lieder.

SCHUMANN'S POPULARITY IN AMERICA

Americans seem to be particularly fond of Schumann. When artists are engaged for concert performances it is the custom in this country to present optional programs to the managers of the local concert enterprises. These managers represent all possible kinds of taste. It is the experience of most concert artists that the Schumann selections are almost invariably chosen. This is true of the West as well as of the South and East. One section of the program is without exception devoted to what they call classical songs and by this they mean the best songs rather than the songs whose chief claim is that they are from the old Italian schools of Carissimi, Scarlatti, etc. I make it a special point to present as many songs as possible with English words. The English language is not a difficult language in which to sing; and when the translation coincides with the original I can see no reason why American readers who may not be familiar with a foreign tongue should be denied the privilege of understanding what the song is about. If they do not understand, why sing words at all? Why not vocalize the melodies upon some vowel? Songs, however, were meant to combine poetry and music; and unless the audience has the benefit of understanding both, it has been defrauded of one of its chief delights.

Some German poems, however, are almost untranslatable. It is for this reason that many of the works of Loewe, for instance, have never attained wide popularity. The legends which Loewe employed are often delightful, but the difficulties of translation are such that the original meaning is either marred or destroyed. The songs or ballads of Loewe, without the words, do not seem to grasp American audiences and singers find it a thankless task to try to force them upon the public.

I have been so long in America that I feel it my duty to share in popularizing the works of the many talented American composers. I frequently place MacDowell's beautiful songs on my programs; and the works of many other American composers, including Mrs. H. H. A. Beach, Sidney Homer, Frank Le Forge and others make fine concert numbers. It has seemed to me that America has a large future in the field of lyric composition. American poets have long since won their place in the international Hall of Fame. The lyrical spirit which they have expressed verbally will surely be imbued in the music of American composers. The opportunity is already here. Americans demand the best the world can produce. It makes no difference what the nationality of the composer. However, Americans are first of all patriotic; and the composer who produces real lyric masterpieces is not likely to be asked to wait for fame and competence, as did Schubert and Schumann.

MME. AMELITA GALLI-CURCI

BIOGRAPHICAL

Mme. Galli-Curci was born at Milan, November 18th, 1889, of a family distinguished in the arts and in the professions. She entered the Milan Conservatory, winning the first prize and diploma in piano playing in 1903. For a time after her graduation she toured as a pianist and then resolved to become a singer. She is practically self-taught in the vocal art. Her debut was made in Rome at the Teatro Constanzi, in the role of _Gilda_ in _Rigoletto_. She was pronouncedly successful from the very start. During the next six years she sang principally in Italy, South America (Three Tours), and in Spain, her success increasing with every appearance. In 1916 she appeared at Chicago with the Chicago Opera Company, creating a furore. The exceptionally beautiful records of her interpretations created an immense demand to hear her in concert, and her successes everywhere have been historic. Not since Patti has there been a singer upon whom such wide-spread critical comment has been made in praise of her exquisite velvety quality of tone, vocal technic and interpretative intelligence. Hailed as "Patti's only successor," she has met with greater popular success in opera and concert than any of the singers of recent years. In 1921 she married the gifted American composer, Homer Samuels, who for many years had been the pianist upon her tours.

TEACHING YOURSELF TO SING

MME. AMELITA GALLI-CURCI

Just what influence heredity may have upon the musical art and upon musicians has, of course, been a much discussed question. In my own case, I was fortunate in having a father who, although engaged in another vocation, was a fine amateur musician. My grandfather was a conductor and my grandmother was an opera singer of distinction in Italy. Like myself, she was a coloratura soprano, and I can recollect with joy her voice and her method of singing. Even at the age of seventy-five her voice was wonderfully well preserved, because she always sang with the greatest ease and with none of the forced throat restrictions which make the work of so many singers insufferable.

My own musical education began at the age of five, when I commenced to play the piano. Meanwhile I sang around the house, and my grandmother used to say in good humor: "Keep it up, my dear; perhaps some day you may be a better singer than I am." My father, however, was more seriously interested in instrumental music, and desired that I should become a pianist. How fortunate for me! Otherwise, I should never have had that thorough musical drill which gave me an acquaintance with the art which I cannot believe could come in any other way. Mascagni was a very good friend of our family and took a great interest in my playing. He came to our house very frequently, and his advice and inspiration naturally meant much to a young, impressionable girl.

GENERAL EDUCATION

My general education was very carefully guarded by my father, who sent me to the best schools in Milan, one of which was under the management of Germans, and it was there that I acquired my acquaintance with the German language. I was then sent to the Conservatorio, and graduated with a gold medal as a pianist. This won me some distinction in Italy and enabled me to tour as a pianist. I did not pretend to play the big, exhaustive works, but my programs were made up of such pieces as the _Abeg_ of Schumann, studies by Scharwenka, impromptus of Chopin, the four scherzos of Chopin, the first ballade, the nocturnes (the fifth in the book was my favorite) and works of Bach. (Of course, I had been through the Wohltemperiertes Clavier.) In those days I was very frail, and I had aspired to develop my repertoire so that later I could include the great works for the piano requiring a more or less exhaustive technic of the bravura type.

Once I went to hear Busoni, and after the concert, came to me like a revelation, "You can never be such a pianist as he. Your hand and your physical strength will not permit it." I went home in more or less sadness, knowing that despite the success I had had in my piano playing, my decision was a wise one. Figuratively, I closed the lid of my piano upon my career as a pianist and decided to learn how to sing. The memory of my grandmother's voice singing Bellini's _Qui la Voce_ was still ringing in my ears with the lovely purity of tone that she possessed. Mascagni called upon us at that time, and I asked him to hear me sing. He did so, and threw up his hands, saying, "Why in the world have you been wasting your time with piano playing when you have a natural voice like that? Such voices are born. Start to work at once to develop your voice." Meanwhile, of course, I had heard a great deal of singing and a great deal of so-called voice teaching. I went to two teachers in Milan, but was so dissatisfied with what I heard from them and from their pupils that I was determined that it would be necessary for me to develop my own voice. Please do not take this as an inference that all vocal teachers are bad or are dispensable. My own case was peculiar. I had been saturated with musical traditions since my babyhood. I had had, in addition, a very fine musical training. Of course, without this I could not have attempted to do what I did in the way of self-training. Nevertheless, it is my firm conviction that unless the student of singing has in his brain and in his soul those powers of judging for himself whether the quality of a tone, the intonation (pitch), the shading, the purity and the resonance are what they should be to insure the highest artistic results, it will be next to impossible for him to secure these. This is what is meant by the phrase--"singers are born and not made." The power of discrimination, the judgment, etc., must be inherent. No teacher can possibly give them to a pupil, except in an artificial way. That, possibly, is the reason why so many students sing like parrots: because they have the power of mimicry, but nothing comes from within. The fine teacher can, of course, take a fine sense of tonal values, etc., and, provided the student has a really good natural voice, lead him to reveal to himself the ways in which he can use his voice to the best advantage. Add to this a fine musical training, and we have a singer. But no teacher can give to a voice that velvety smoothness, that liquid fluency, that bell-like clarity which the ear of the educated musician expects, and which the public at large demands, unless the student has the power of determining for himself what is good and what is bad.

FOUR YEARS OF HARD TRAINING

It was no easy matter to give up the gratifying success which attended my pianistic appearances to begin a long term of self-study, self-development. Yet I realized that it would hardly be possible for me to accomplish what I desired in less than four years. Therefore, I worked daily for four years, drilling myself with the greatest care in scales, arpeggios and sustained tones. The colorature facility I seemed to possess naturally, to a certain extent; but I realized that only by hard and patient work would it be possible to have all my runs, trills, etc., so that they always would be smooth, articulate and free--that is, unrestricted--at any time. I studied the roles in which I aspired to appear, and attended the opera faithfully to hear fine singing, as well as bad singing.

As the work went on it became more and more enjoyable. I felt that I was upon the right path, and that meant everything. If I had continued as a pianist I could never have been more than a mediocrity, and that I could not have tolerated.

About this time came a crisis in my father's business; it became necessary for me to teach. Accordingly, I took a number of piano pupils and enjoyed that phase of my work very much indeed. I gave lessons for four years, and in my spare time worked with my voice, all by myself, with my friend, the piano. My guiding principles were:

_There must be as little consciousness of effort in the throat as possible._

_There must always be the Joy of Singing._

_Success is based upon sensation, whether it feels right to me in my mouth, in my throat, that I know, and nobody else can tell me._

I remember that my grandmother, who sang _Una voce poco fa_ at seventy-five, always cautioned me to never force a single tone. I did not study exercises like those of Concone, Panofka, Bordogni, etc., because they seemed to me a waste of time in my case. I did not require musical knowledge, but needed special drill. I knew where my weak spots were. What was the use of vocal studies which required me to do a lot of work and only occasionally touched those portions of my voice which needed special attention? Learning a repertoire was a great task in itself, and there was no time to waste upon anything I did not actually need. Because of the natural fluency I have mentioned, I devoted most of my time to slower exercises at first. What could be simpler than this?

These, of course, were sung in the most convenient range in my voice. The more rapid exercises I took from C to F above the treble staff.

Even to this day I sing up to high F every day, in order that I may be sure that I have the tones to E below in public work. Another exercise which I used very frequently was this, in the form of a trill. Great care was taken to have the intonation (pitch) absolutely accurate in the rapid passages, as well as in the slow passages.

When I had reached a certain point, I determined that it might be possible for me to get an engagement. I was then twenty, and my dear mother was horrified at the idea of my going on the stage so young. She was afraid of evil influences. In my own mind I realized that evil was everywhere, in business, society, everywhere, and that if one was to keep out of dirt and come out dean, one must make one's art the object first of all. Art is so great, so all-consuming, that any one with a deep reverence for its beauties, its grandeur, can have but little time for the lower things of life. All that an artist calls for in his soul is to be permitted to work at his best in his art. Then, and then only, is he happiest. Because of my mother's opposition, and because I felt I was strong enough to resist the temptations which she knew I might encounter, I virtually eloped with a copy of _Rigoletto_ under my arm and made my way for the Teatro Constanzi, the leading Opera House of Rome.