At the same time, common sense and individual temperament should be the best of all health rules. I myself always suffer in a steam-heated apartment; I consider the general overheating in America a menace, and never allow the temperature of my rooms to rise above 60 degrees; while at the same time the whole range of my apartments is continually freshened with pure air.
The singer should aim at becoming a hardy plant rather than a hot-house flower. I know that a girl with a voice receives a painful revelation of the delicacy of her vocal organs when she passes from a superheated room to the low temperature of a winter's day outside. But I consider dry feet far more important than the muffling up of the throat on raw, slushy days.
A singer's diet should include plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables. I myself take for breakfast only a cup of tea and a little toast. At luncheon I have a cutlet or a little chicken, some stewed fruit, with a light salad, but no rich food. My chief meal is, of course, dinner, which I take rather late at night, generally at 7.45, unless I am singing, when I take a light—very light—meal about five in the afternoon.
A question often asked me is, "How early should a girl begin the more serious business of voice culture?" Never before she is seventeen. Even a limited study before that age will interfere with the development of the vocal organs, and perhaps do them serious injury. Among my daily letters are many from girls of fifteen and sixteen asking for a hearing; but I always tell them they are too young, however promising. As to the age limit the other way, I feel it would be impossible to give any good general advice.
I would point out, in this connection, that some artists of world-wide repute are singing as well today as they did twenty years ago, while others have broken down in a few short years, or have become hopelessly defective in their vocal results. It is all a question of correct or incorrect methods.
Apropos of the need for foreign languages, I recall an amusing episode. Not long after my début in Brussels as Gilda in "Rigoletto," I began to study the opera of "Lakmé" under the direction of Delibes, its composer. But my pronunciation of French at that time was evidently considered by the directors of the opera as the French of Stratford-atte-Bowe, and they doubted whether I ought to sing in "Lakmé" at all. One day, much perplexed in council, they sent for the composer, and told him their troubles. "Qu'elle chante en chinois, si elle veut," cried Delibes, pounding the table with angry fist, "mais qu'elle chante mon opéra!" ("She may sing in Chinese if she likes, so long as she sings my opera.") But I was really backward in French, and on that account set to work and studied no less than six hours a day under a thoroughly competent Brussels teacher.
At the same time, I should warn the student to be careful not to overdo her work, in her enthusiasm for all the musical advantages she sees about her. I think music should be thoroughly known before it is sung. It is a serious tax on the voice to sit down at the piano and try to sing an aria with which the singer is not familiar. Half an hour's practice is enough, unless the student has exceptional physique; in that case I should say half an hour every morning and afternoon.
I have met scores of students abroad whose mistaken diligence impels them to practise for hours at a stretch. Such an error may do irretrievable harm to a voice. It is well to realise that the entire vocal mechanism is an exquisitely delicate instrument, capable of being played upon by its owner in a way almost impersonal, so that ignorance may mean fatal injury. For this reason no enthusiasm would induce practice to the extent of tiring the voice.
As to how long this foreign study should last, this, of course, depends upon the mental capacity of the student. Young singers of many nations cite to me my own case; for after nine months' study in Paris, I came out as a full-fledged prima donna at the Brussels Opera House. But I may say at once that mine was an exceptional case, for I was born with a natural trill and an absolute control of breath, so that as a child of seven I was as far advanced naturally as some mature students are after years of patient study.
In connection with the natural trill, my fellow-pupils at college in East Melbourne, Australia, used to gather round me and say curiously, "Nellie, make that funny noise in your throat." It amused them. But to assume that the bel canto of perfect technique is to be acquired after nine months' foreign study would be unwise. On the other hand, as I have already stated, if a girl cannot give good account of herself after eighteen months' serious study, I think she is not destined to illuminate vocal art.