Stars of the Opera Part 7

"Do you mean to say you came through all this storm to see me! You are certainly very brave." These were her first words; then she drew up a comfortable chair, and added: "Well, it's just the sort of day to talk and take things easy."

Madame Nordica's tones convey even more than her words, for her voice is noticeably beautiful in conversation. It is fascinating in its variety, its softness, and its purity. Her face is also very expressive, as well as beautiful, with a complexion remarkably fine, teeth of absolute perfection, and thoughtful blue eyes set well apart.

She wore a house-gown of pale, clinging blue silk, and, with the exception of her wedding ring, had on no jewelry.

She told first of her birthplace and home.

"I was the sixth girl, and I think my parents were rather tired out by the time I came. I wasn't even baptized!" Then she talked of her work.

"I studied first in Boston, and sang there in church; but I made my concert debut here in New York with Gilmore at the old Madison Square Garden. He took me with him afterward to Europe. When I returned to America I sang in all the Italian operas, especially Verdi's."

Madame Nordica still holds to-day a supreme place as a singer of the Italian school, altho her greatest fame has been won in the Wagner roles.

When asked if she had ever met Verdi, the singer replied in the affirmative.

"I met him in Italy, but only once. I was much better acquainted with Gounod, and also the modern composers, Leoncavallo, Mascagni, etc., but now I devote my chief time to Wagner."

This led to inquiries about Madame Cosima Wagner.

"Ah, I lived right with her for three months, and it was a great privilege for me. Her husband's music is to her like her very eyes. She taught me the German and helped me in every way. 'Lohengrin' had never been sung in Baireuth, and I was to create there the role of Elsa."

A remarkable honor this was, indeed: to be the first Elsa in Wagner's own temple, under the guidance of his own wife, with the grave of the great composer fairly in sight, and memories of the "Mad King" on all sides--the king whose ears were deaf to the functions of state, but open to the art of heaven.

"It was a great opportunity for me, but I sometimes thought I would have to give it up. Oh! I have been so discouraged! I have wept _barrels of tears_!"

This is a kind message for the great singer to send to the many struggling aspirants who may to-day be working under discouragement.

Madame Nordica insists that "work is everything. The voice is but the material; it is the stone from which the cathedral is built."

After her great success in Baireuth, the American prima donna sang Elsa in New York.

"But I had to sing again in Italian, for the rest of the company had not learned the German. It was through my efforts that they have since studied these roles in the original, and we now sing all the Wagner operas in German."

It was a great musical event when Jean de Reszke and Madame Nordica appeared as Tristan and Isolde. This love-tragedy done in music is perhaps the most profound of all operas. It is somber with sorrow throughout; even the great love-duet in the second act is too intense and grand in its motifs ever to be called happy. It is not the joyous emotion of youth, but the fervor of maturity, where life itself is staked for a mighty love. This second act is a wondrous musical scene.

It is in the moonlit gardens of the Cornish castle where Tristan and Isolde meet clandestinely, while Bragaende, the faithful attendant, keeps watch in the tower above. She is not seen, but the calm sustained tones of her watch-tower song soar out in contrast to the intense love-music like a beacon-light on a turbulent sea.

Another very popular role of Madame Nordica's, tho altogether different in style, is Valentine in "The Huguenots." Her sustained and crescendoed high C in the third act of this opera is worth a long journey to hear.

Madame Fursch-Madi in years agone used to sing this role very grandly, but she was plain of feature; whereas with Madame Nordica her Valentine is so beautiful to behold that the audience is aroused to greatest sympathy with the hero's struggle between love and duty.

"Our art is so very legitimate," Madame Nordica thoughtfully remarked.

"The painter or the writer can take advice, can be a.s.sisted, and has time to consider his work; but we must face the music alone, at the point of the bayonet as it were, for every tone must come at the right moment and on the right pitch. The actress has neither of these requirements to meet. It is very trying, also, to sing one night in German and the next time in some other language. Indeed, every performance is a creation. No wonder we are so insistent on the applause. A painter or writer can say to himself, if his work is not at first well received, 'Just wait till I am dead!' But our fate and fame are decided on the spot."

Madame Nordica grew enthusiastic as she talked, and her face was all animation.

"It is easy to criticize us, but hard for an outsider to appreciate the difficulties of our art. No one is in a place he does not deserve--at least not for any length of time. And I believe, too, that no one lacks for opportunity. When people say, So-and-so has a beautiful voice, and ought to be on the Metropolitan stage, just inquire what that person can do. Very likely she only knows one language, and probably can not sing a single act of one opera straight through. Why should she be on the Metropolitan stage? A girl came to me not long ago who had been singing with some English opera company. She had a beautiful voice and said she could sing everything, which I found to be true. I asked why she did not go to Mr. Grau, and she replied, quite disheartened, that he would do nothing for her. Then I asked, 'Are you ready for _anything_? I feel quite sure he could use you now as the page in "Romeo and Juliet."' 'Oh, I wouldn't sing a secondary role!' she quickly exclaimed. Now that girl makes a great mistake. To sing well one beautiful aria on the same stage with such artists as the two De Reszkes and Madame Melba would do her more good than to sing the first roles in a poor company."

Madame Nordica spoke very earnestly as she related this story of a lost opportunity, which so plainly points its own moral. Another incident she told gives the reverse side of the same idea:

"I remember one day some singers were discussing another member of their company, and claiming that he did not deserve his high position; but I protested, and said: 'Just consider what that man can do. He knows every language, has a fine stage presence, a good voice, and can sing every role in the repertoire. Now where will you get another to fill his place?'

"Our art to-day is very different from what it used to be. People wonder who will replace Patti or some other retiring singer; but if one should appear who adequately filled the vacant place, we would at once hear people saying, 'She only sings coloratura roles and nothing but Italian!' No, the great artist to-day is the one who has mastered all, who does the work of three in former years, and not one who shines forth temporarily in a few special roles."

Madame Nordica can certainly speak with authority on this point, for she is one whom we may truly say has "mastered all." Her repertoire is astonishing in its scope and variety; and when we consider that out of eighty-seven million people, which is our present population, including the colonies, she is the only one to-day who sings the three "Brunhildes" of Wagner and also his "Isolde," we can then better appreciate Madame Nordica's achievement. It needs a very great mind to grasp and portray these Wagnerian creations. Brunhilde, the war G.o.ddess, must be both tender and heroic--as it were, divinely human. No composer but Wagner could have imparted these qualities; but he was himself a sort of musical Jove, who wielded the scale like a thunderbolt. If any one doubt this, let him hear and behold the wonderful "Ride of the Walkure," those five war maidens, daughters of Wotan, who chase through the clouds on their armored steeds, and call one another in tones unearthly, to an accompaniment of whizzing strings, and clanging bra.s.s, and a torrent of intricate chords. The music depicts the fierce clash of the elements, the war G.o.ds in battle, the clamor of shields, and the furious dash of wild horses. Above it all there rings out on the air the weird, far-reaching cry of Brunhilde, the leader of the Walkure maidens, and her call is repeated from the East, from the West, from the uttermost mountain-peaks, by her sister spirits, who are sometimes hidden and sometimes revealed by the fast-rushing clouds, through which their steeds gallop and plunge.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Copyright by Aime Dupont, N. Y.

Nordica as Brunhilde in "Siegfried."]

Whoever can hear this wonder-work and not bow to Wagner's greatness is surely a musical degenerate.

"My progress has not been by leaps and bounds," Madame Nordica presently announced; "it has been more tortoise-like; and I have sometimes seen others sweep past me with apparently little effort. But in the end justice comes around to all. What is it Mrs. Carter says in 'Zaza' about success? 'It comes from much misery.' Yes, there is very much of that.

'And much work,'--ah, a _great deal_ of that. 'And a little luck,'--yes, a _very_ little of that; it is not good to have much luck."

As I arose to go, Madame Nordica added with a smile: "You see I could talk on this subject all day. The sum of it is, success comes from steady daily work. You must work well in the morning, and then work some more in the afternoon--and it is well to practise between times too!"

"Lohengrin"

"LOHENGRIN"

There seems a very magic about the name of Lohengrin--a mythical strength and beauty that at once characterize the whole opera. The fault is occasionally found that Wagner's operas are long and at times tedious; but this term is never applied to "Lohengrin." One is disarmed of this suspicion in the very first prelude. Ah, what a prelude is that!

It is like the gradual drawing together from empty s.p.a.ce all the music of the spheres. The two first measures are so pianissimo that we scarcely hear them, but the vague and far-away voices come slowly nearer. They mingle with each other and weave in and out, until there is a crescendo mighty and overpowering. We are now prepared for the legendary character of the opera; such music could not represent things earthly.

The curtain rises upon a scene of medieval coloring. It is a woodland upon the banks of the Scheldt in the province of Brabant. A throne is erected on one side, and here the king of Germany is holding court. He is visiting this province of his realm to solicit aid in a coming war.

After this fact is announced by the herald, the king arises and in stately phrases greets the people and explains more fully the object of his visit. He closes with the observation that it grieves him to find this province in a state of discord, and he requests Frederick of Telramund, an esteemed n.o.bleman of Brabant, to recount the situation.

Frederick, which is the baritone role, tells a strange and interesting story. The province is at present without any ducal ruler, owing to the recent mysterious disappearance of the young heir. He was last seen in company with his sister Elsa. The two were walking in the forest, but she returned alone and declared she had lost her brother. Frederick now charges Elsa with murder, and furthermore lays claim to the ducal throne in the name of himself and also his wife Ortrud, who bears some kinship to the late duke.

On hearing this charge the king summons Elsa, who presently comes forward with bowed head and sorrowful mien. This must have been a thrilling moment at that first performance in Baireuth when Lillian Nordica stepped before the audience. It was not only Elsa challenging her accusers, but an American girl challenging German critics under the dome of their most hallowed shrine, with their own music and in their own language. But whatever a singer's emotions may be, she must give no evidence of them. It is wonderful how smoothly these great performances always run. Come what may, the play goes on.

Elsa can say no more in her behalf than has already been given; but when urged by the king to speak freely all that is on her heart, she tells of a wonderful vision which came in her hour of distress. An armored knight, more grand than any she had seen, appeared to her and promised to be her deliverer and champion. This dream-song of Elsa's is like a musical apparition, so ethereal and spirituelle; but one must not seek for these wonderful beauties in the voice-part alone. With Wagner the orchestra is never a mere accompaniment, but more often the princ.i.p.al part. A theme is sometimes begun in the orchestra and finished by the voice, or it may be altogether with the instruments. Wagner handles the voice like a n.o.ble metal which can be fashioned into useful vessels to carry and convey the emotions, in contrast to the Italian composers, who look upon the voice as a jewel to be displayed and admired for its own sake.

To return to Elsa's song. It should be understood from the first that each theme in the opera expresses some emotion or idea which is consistently adhered to throughout. For instance, when Elsa describes the knight in her dream, there is heard in the orchestra a few bars of the Lohengrin--or swan-song, a theme which is constantly revealing itself in this great kaleidoscope of sound whenever the hero appears or is mentioned. Again, when she speaks of his glittering armor, the splendid warlike motif which a.s.serts itself is the same one that is worked up in the crescendo preceding Lohengrin's arrival.

After this strange recital of Elsa's, Frederick still maintains his charge against her, and states as her motive for the crime that she hoped to gain the throne. The king decides to settle the question by single combat. Frederick must defend himself against whomever may come forward as Elsa's champion. This custom is according to the ancient belief that "might is right," and that Heaven itself is the awarder of victory and defeat. The herald of the king announces, with a trumpet-call, the impending combat, and bids "him who will fight for Elsa of Brabant to come forth at once." The call dies away, but no one presents himself as her defender, and it appears as tho Heaven already indicates which side is right. Elsa piteously begs them to call again.

Her wish is granted, and once more the cry rings forth. She falls on her knees, and in tones that vibrate with intense despair prays Heaven to send her the hero of her dream. "Elsa's prayer" and "Elsa's dream" are two of the most beautiful soprano solos in the opera. The prayer is short, but it accomplishes a thrilling crescendo. The final climax is such a pa.s.sionate outcry that we are not surprised to see an immediate answer granted.

Wagner is a master of crescendos, and he now commences one for the chorus which is truly wonderful in effect. Instead of starting all the voices pianissimo, or even part of the chorus, he starts with a single voice. One man has perceived a knight floating down the river in a boat drawn by a swan. He whispers it to his neighbor, who in turn says, "Look!" and then another and another in quick succession join in exclamations, until all are singing of the strange sight. They rush to the bank, and still the wonder grows. The knight of the swan draws nearer, the orchestra crashes out its stupendous theme, the sopranos ring out above everything, and the whole chorus seems to have doubled its capacity. It is a greeting worthy of the subject, who is Lohengrin himself.

No wonder the people subside and look at him with awe as he steps upon the bank. He is clad in shining silver, with a helmet, shield, and sword. His face is fair and his hair is blonde. Before noticing the people, he turns to the swan and sings it a farewell. This song is only two lines long, and for the most part without accompaniment. It is apparently simple, and differs little from the form of a recitative, and yet so rare and strange is this melody that it portrays the legendary character of the opera more than any other phrase. It seems as tho Lohengrin is still singing in the mystical language and music of that other world from which he has come. Every one knows this song by its German name, "Mein lieber Schwan," and it is so much admired and so famous that it is actually paraphrased. A man must be great indeed to be caricatured; how much more is this true of cla.s.sical music!

Lohengrin soon comes forward and bows before the king, after which he announces that he has been sent as champion "for a n.o.ble maid who is falsely accused." But before entering the combat he speaks to Elsa, who has previously offered to bestow her hand and heart upon whomever would fight for her. She now reiterates this vow most gladly, and also makes another promise which the strange knight requests--she must never ask from whence he came, nor what his name. Lest there be any misunderstanding, he repeats the impressive phrase in a higher key, and Elsa again promises. This short theme is most important. It might be described as the dark motif. It is the one most often heard when Ortrud and Frederick do their evil plotting, for it is by means of this interdiction of Lohengrin's that they eventually succeed in accomplishing Elsa's unhappiness.