Part 13 (1/2)

Mary Garden was born February 20th, 1877, in Aberdeen, Scotland. She came to America with her parents when she was eight years of age and was brought up in Chicopee, Ma.s.sachusetts, Hartford, Connecticut, and Chicago, Illinois. She studied the violin when she was six and the piano when she was twelve. It was the ambition of her parents to make her an instrumental performer. She studied voice with Mrs. S. R. Duff, who in time took her to Paris and placed her under the instruction of Trabadello and Lucien Fugere. Her operatic debut was made in Charpentier's _Louise_ at the Opera Comique in 1900. Her success was immediate both as an actress and as a singer. She was chosen by Debussy and others for especially intricate roles. She created the role of _Melisande_; also, _Fiammette_ in Laroux's _La Reine Fiammette_. In 1907 she made her American debut in _Thas_ at the Manhattan Opera House in New York City. Later she accepted leading roles with the Philadelphia-Chicago Opera Co. She is considered by many the finest singing actress living--her histrionic gifts being in every way equal to her vocal gifts. In 1921 she was made the manager of the Chicago Opera Company.

THE KNOW HOW IN THE ART OF SINGING

MARY GARDEN

The modern opera singer cannot content herself merely with the ”know how” of singing. That is, she must be able to know so much more than the mere elemental facts of voice production that it would take volumes to give an intimation of the real requirements.

The girl who wants to sing in opera must have one thought and one thought only--”what will contribute to my musical, histrionic and artistic success?”

Unless the ”career” comes first there is not likely to be any ”career.”

I wonder if the public ever realizes what this sacrifice means to an artiste--to a woman.

Of course, there are great recompenses--the thrill that comes with artistic triumphs--the sensations that accompany achievement--who but the artist can know what this means--the joy of bringing to life some great masterpiece?

Music manifests itself in children at a very early age. It is very rare indeed that it comes to the surface later in life. I was always musical.

Only the media changed--one time it was violin, then piano, then voice.

The dolls of my sisters only annoyed me because I could not tolerate dolls. They seemed a waste of time to me, and when they had paper dolls, I would go into the room when n.o.body was looking and cut the dolls' heads off. I have never been able to account for my delight in doing this.

My father was musical. He wanted me to be a musician, but he had little thought at first of my being a singer. Accordingly, at eight I was possessed of a fiddle. This meant more to me than all the dolls in the world. Oh, how I loved that violin, which I could make speak just by drawing a bow over it! There was something worth while.

I was only as big as a minute, and, of course, as soon as I could play the routine things of de Beriot, variations and the like, I was considered one of those abominable things, ”an infant prodigy.”

I was brought out to play for friends and any musical person who could stand it. Then I gave a concert, and my father saw the finger of destiny pointing to my career as a great violinist.

To me the finger of destiny pointed the other way; because I immediately sickened of the violin and dropped it forever. Yes, I could play now if I had to, but you probably wouldn't want to hear me.

Ah, but I do play. I play every time I sing. The violin taught me the need for perfect intonation, fluency in execution, ever so many things.

Then came the piano. Here was a new artistic toy. I worked very hard with it. My sister and I went back to Aberdeen for a season of private school, and I kept up my piano until I could play acceptably many of the best-known compositions, Grieg, Chopin, etc., being my favorites. I was never a very fine pianist, understand me, but the piano unlocked the doors to thousands of musical treasure houses--admitted me to musical literature through the main gate, and has been of invaluable aid to me in my career. See my fingers, how long and thin they are--of course, I was a capable pianist--long, supple fingers, combined with my musical experience gained in violin playing, made that certain.

Then I dropped the piano. Dropped it at once. Its possibilities stood revealed before me, and they were not to be the limit of my ambitions.

For the girl who hopes to be an operatic ”star” there could be nothing better than a good drilling in violin or piano. The girl has no business to sing while she is yet a child--and she is that until she is sixteen or over. Better let her work hard getting a good general education and a good musical education. The voice will keep, and it will be sweeter and fresher if it is not overused in childhood.

Once, with my heart set upon becoming a singer, my father fortunately took me to Mrs. Robinson Duff, of Chicago. To her, my mentor to this day, I owe much of my vocal success. I was very young and very emotional, with a long pigtail down my back. At first the work did not enrapture me, for I could not see the use of spending so much time upon breathing. Now I realize what it did for me.

What should the girl starting singing avoid? First, let her avoid an incompetent teacher. There are teachers, for instance, who deliberately teach the ”stroke of the glottis” (coup de glotte).

What is the stroke of the glottis? The lips of the vocal cords in the larynx are pressed together so that the air becomes compressed behind them and instead of coming out in a steady, unimpeded stream, it causes a kind of explosion. Say the word ”up” in the throat very forcibly and you will get the right idea.

This is a most pernicious habit. Somehow, it crept into some phases of vocal teaching, and has remained. It leads to a constant irritation of the throat and ruin to the vocal organs.

When I went to Paris, Mrs. Duff took me to many of the leading vocal teachers of the city, and said, ”Now, Mary, I want you to use your own judgment in picking out a teacher, because if you don't like the teacher you will not succeed.”