THE DIFFICULTIES
she encountered at the outset:—“Distinction in the field of art is earned: it is not thrust upon anyone. The material for a great voice may be born in a person—it is, in fact,—but the making of it into a great voice is a work of the most laborious character.
“In some countries the atmosphere is not very favorable to beginners. Almost any of the greater European nations is probably better in this respect than the United States: not much better, however, because nearly all depends upon strength of character, determination, and the will to work. If a girl has these, she will rise as high, in the end, anywhere.”
Madame Nordica came of New England stock, being born at Farmington, Maine, and reared in Boston. Her parents, bearing the name Norton, possessed no musical talent. “Their opinion of music,” said Madame, “was that it is an airy, inviting art of the devil, used to tempt men’s feet to stray from the solemn path of right. They believed music, as a vocation, to be nearly as reprehensible as a stage career, and for the latter they had no tolerance whatever. I must be just, though, and own that they did make an exception in the case of church music, else I should never have received the slightest encouragement in my aspirations. They considered music in churches to be permissible,—even laudable, so when I displayed some ability as a singer, I was allowed to use it in behalf of religion, and I did. I joined the church choir and sang hymns about the house almost constantly.
“But I needed a world of training. I had no conception of what work lay ahead of anyone who contemplates singing perfectly. I had no idea of how high I might go myself. All I knew was that I could sing, and that I would win my way with my voice if I could.”
“How did you accomplish it?”
“By devoting all my time, all my thought, and all my energy to that one object. I devoured church music,—all I could get hold of. I practised new and difficult compositions all the time I could spare.
“I became a very good church singer; so much so that when there were church concerts or important religious ceremonies, I was always in demand. Then there began to be a social demand for my ability, and, later, a public demand in the way of concerts.
“At first, I ignored all but church singing. My ambition ran higher than concert singing, and I knew my parents would not consent. I persuaded them to let me have my voice trained. This was not very difficult, because my church singing, as it had improved, became a source of considerable profit; and they saw even greater results for me in the large churches, and in the religious field. So I went to a teacher of vocal culture, Professor John O’Neill, one of the instructors in the New England Conservatory of Music, Boston. He was a fine old teacher, a man with the highest ideals concerning music, and of the sternest and most exacting method. He made me feel, at first, that