Vocal Mastery

S EVER

titled "With the Immortals," in the New York World, th

an portray both the grossness of Falstaff and the subtlety of Iago? Making allowance for the different art medium that the singing actor must work in, and despite the lar

OR M

ully handled bow upon a finely attuned violin. His was truly an objective characterization. His Don Giovanni was broadly designed. He was the aristocrat to the life, courtly, brave, amorous, intriguing, cruel, superstitious and q

t and present. My friend is an authority whose opinion I greatly respect. He i

a long time, my friend summ

eatest, the dean of them all, a past ma

ogether listen to that voice and watch with breathless interest his investiture of Don Giovanni, in the golden days when Lilli Lehm

discuss the finest issues of art with him, to consult him and have the benefit of his experience. The consummation of this desire has been delayed for years, but it is one of the "all things" which will surely come to him who waits.

sire to meet the "grand old man"; "but don't ask for too many o

meet us with simple dignity and courtesy. After the first greetings were over we begged permission to examine the many paintings which met the eye everywhere. There was a large panel facing us, representing a tall transparent vase, holding a careless bunch of summer flowers, very artisticall

quires profound study. I have been a close student o

the art of color and form, as he has always don

re or the theater. The effort to express myself through another art-medium, painting, has long been a joy to me. I ha

ine portrait of Verdi, with an affectionate autograph, stood on a table; one of Ambroise Thomas, likewise inscribed, hung near. "A s

modern operas of the Italian school, in which one is so often tempted to shout rather than sing. The hero of Mozart's Don Giovanni, who could s

our voice and your rep

ed before him

w do we make tones, sing an aria, impersonate a r?le? Is not all done with the mind, with thought? I must think the tone before I produce it-before I sing it; I must mentally visualize the charact

others to see? I have to convince myself first that I am that character-I must identify myself with it; then I

s captors. I must feel with him, if I am really going to represent him. I must believe myself bound and a prisoner; then I must,

ands seemed tied, his body bent, his expression one in which ange

trong I can sing the part now in the same way as I have always sung it, because my thought is the same and thought produces. Whether I have a little more voice, or less voice, what does it mat

cloak about him, with the old well-remembered courtly gesture, his face and manner were instantly transformed at the thought of his favor

notice. All impersonation, to be artistic, to be vital, must be a part of one's self; one must get into the character. Whe

portrayed. The large audience of about fifteen hundred, contained some of the most famous among artists and men of letters"; and Maurel, with hands cla

nging; then they yield to the temptation to shout, to make harsh tones, simply for effect." And the famous baritone caricatured some of the sounds he had recently heard at an operatic performance with such gusto, that a member of the househol

d that it was in disorder, that he would not dare to take us up, and so on. After a little he yielded to persuasion,

his voice, as he says. And what a career he has had. You know he was a friend of Edward the Seventh; they once lived together. Then he and Verdi were close friends; he helped coach si

ain occasion that all the singers about him were in tears. Verdi was present at this performance and was deeply moved by Maurel's singing and acting. He came upon the stage when all was over, and exclaimed, in a voice trembling with emotion: 'You have created the r?le just as I would

and the part played by mind in the singer's study, equipment and career. It is a side of the ques

ere a north-lighted room had been turned into a painter's atelier. With mingled feelings we stepped within this modest den of a great artist

interested the painter. A rugged bust of Verdi, over life size, modeled in plaster,

can be alone, free to commune with myself. Here I can study my art undisturbed,-for Art is my religion. If people ask if I go

nd passed along the corridors of this house, which looks so fo

street door and bade us farewel

nd we were in the st

are artist. Where shall