In the early winter, in reply to a summons from London, Madam Urso appeared at the Memorial Concert to Mendelssohn, and played his great concerto at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham. This was her first appearance in England, and, as we can well understand, it immediately placed her in a foremost position among the artists of that country. After giving a few concerts in Paris, she again took up her artist life, and appeared at the St. James’ Hall in February, 1872.
These two concerts in London and Sydenham at once opened wide the door to a new field in which her talents found general recognition and constant employment. If the California experience seemed like some Eastern dream, this season in London was like stepping back into the last century, when princes and dukes gave banquets to musicians and entertained minstrels with royal liberality. Invitations to play before both the Old and New Philharmonic Societies, and at many other notable musical gatherings came to her faster than she could accept them. She played for the Royal Society of Musicians, the Duke of Edinburgh presiding on the occasion, and she was also asked by the Duke of Edinburgh to play at Montague House at a reception given in his honor by the Duchess of Buccleuch. Other persons of distinction in London invited her, and everywhere she charmed them all by the grace and beautiful finish of her playing, and by her unaffected and simple manners. Invitations to play at private houses came so fast that a carriage was kept in waiting to take her from house to house, that she might appear and play at several different places the same night.
To republican readers, this appearing at private houses for pay may seem peculiar and perhaps beneath the dignity of the true artist. It is the custom of the country. Persons of wealth wishing to entertain their friends give a musical evening, at which a programme of choice music is given by artists hired for the occasion. Usually each performer gives one piece and then retires. He is not expected to appear till just before his turn comes, and then he briefly presents his respects to the lady of the house, plays his little piece and gathers his wedding garments about him and flies away in a Hansom cab to the next house, where he does it all over again. Then he rattles through the deserted streets at break-neck speed to be on time at another palatial mansion, where his piece appears near the end of the programme. The audiences hardly have time to learn who is playing or singing before the bird has flown and a new one, just out of his carriage, is ready to sing and fly again. The very much dressed audience comes and goes at each place, and the music is often drowned in the clatter of half empty wine-glasses and the rattle of more empty heads. It is very grand, exceedingly tiresome, and wonderfully profitable. A player or singer of first-class reputation who is willing to follow up a London season in this style, can win more money than by a year of concert giving. Each house pays for its one piece of music, and as many as five houses can be visited in one evening.
It is a rather startling method of procedure, but it is the custom of the country. Madam Urso could not decline to do as all the other musicians did, however much she might stand on the simple dignity of her American name. She everywhere called herself an American, and, as it always happens, won the more respect and admiration for her independence. It is always an advantage to be known as an American in Europe, and Madam Urso is only too glad and proud to acknowledge all that she owes to the country of her adoption.
The English press could here be largely quoted, to give some idea of the high position Madam Urso won in the musical world at that great art centre. It is needless to give it, as it is well known that her American reputation, great as it is, is not equal to that in England. The English are even more willing to give Camilla Urso her honors due than are we, and having said this we have said enough.
In July, 1872, Madam Urso returned to Boulogne, and after a short rest returned to New York, early in September. A concert tour through the Canadas was at once taken, and after a brief and most successful trip, she returned to New York. She afterwards made a journey to New Orleans, where she assisted at the opening of the new Exposition Hall. Unfortunately, Camilla Urso was here taken sick with the chills and fever, and was obliged to come North at once. She came to Boston, but lost much valuable time, both from concerts and practice, by a long illness at the St. James Hotel.
We now come, as it were, in sight of the present time. The year 1873, though it was a disastrous one to art interests generally, by reason of the panic, was one of uninterrupted success for Madam Urso. She took a brief rest during the summer near New York, but during the remainder of the time gave an uninterrupted succession of concerts in all the Northern States, so that it seems as if the sound of her violin still rang in our ears.
CHAPTER III.
THE GOSPEL OF WORK.
It is now in order to review briefly the events of this remarkable art life, and to see what lessons it may teach to the musician, the student, and the art lover. Whether we look at the child, gazing in large-eyed wonder at the festival in the Church of the Holy Cross, the patient girl, trudging day by day through the quiet streets of Nantes to take her lessons, the pale student in the conservatory, the sober-faced maiden who so won all our hearts so long ago in Boston, the brilliant young woman who flashed out so suddenly into the highest walks of art, the great artist born of a wonder child, or the simple American woman, Camilla Urso, in whatever station we view her, we see the dignity and reward of honest work. Everywhere we see the same passionate love of music, the same eagerness to study, to learn the all there is of it, and to play with ever increasing skill. Genius is the great gift that has been bestowed upon her. She did not hide it in a napkin, but with heart and soul she did her best to make it a good and acceptable gift to art and humanity. Whether giving concerts among our prairie cities, resting by the sea-shore at Boulogne, traveling among the mountains of California, studying the great masters of the violin in London or Paris, or among friends in Boston, she is always practicing upon her beloved instrument. It is never out of her hands a day, unless ill or fatigued by traveling. Each month she means shall show some improvement, and from year to year she has gone on till the present standard of excellence has been reached. To what perfection her skill has been carried, we shall leave others to say at the end of this book.
The musician, in looking back over this life of an artist, naturally asks what changes she may have seen in the art life of the world during the dozen years or more she has been before the American public. We purposely select the American public, because it is of the most interest to us, and because the art life of Europe is somewhat different from ours, and less liable to changes. Madam Urso’s own views upon the subject are instructive and encouraging, and we present them in very nearly her own words. Taken as a whole, the people of this country are somewhat crude and uneducated in their ideas of music. They certainly love music; they like music even better than the Europeans, but they do not exactly know what they want. If, when an orchestra or an artist is visiting a Western town, you ask a man if he is going to the concert, he will often say, “No, I have seen him once.” Hearing the music given by a splendid orchestra does not seem to be thought of any consequence. Having “seen” the orchestra, there is no further interest in it. On the other hand, with all their want of education, the people of this country learn about music faster than any people she ever saw. They are greatly interested in music, are willing to admit their ignorance concerning it, are exceedingly eager to learn and anxious that their children should, at least, study the rudiments, that they may enjoy and understand it. They are ready and able to pay more for music than any nation in Europe. If they think they are really to hear something that pleases them, they will pack the hall whatever the price. The music that pleases them is not always the best, for the simple reason they do not know what is best. As fast as they learn better, they drop whatever is before them and at once take up something else. The sudden disappearance of negro minstrel music is an evidence of this. The people outgrew it, and it passed away, as it were, in a night.