"Canta! Canta! Canta!"
And my routine drill of the part enabled me to come in without letting the audience know of my error.
The mere matter of getting the voice to go with the orchestra, as well as that of identifying cues heard in the unusual quality of the orchestral instruments (so different from the tone quality of the piano), is most confusing, and only routine can accustom one to being ready to meet all of these strange conditions.
One is supposed to keep an eye on the conductor practically all of the time while singing. The best singers are those who never forget this, but do it so artfully that the audience never suspects. Many singers follow the conductor's baton so conspicuously that they give the appearance of monkeys on a string. This, of course, is highly ludicrous. I don't know of any way of overcoming it but experience. Yes, there is another great help, and that is musicianship. The conductor who knows that an artist is a musician in fact, is immensely relieved and always very appreciative. Singers should learn as much about the technical side of music as possible. Learning to play the violin or the piano, and learning to play it well is invaluable.
Watching for Opportunities
The singer must be ever on the alert for opportunities to advance. This is largely a matter of preparation. If one is capable, the opportunities usually come. I wonder if I may relate a little incident which occurred to me in Germany long before the war. I had been singing in Berlin, when the impresario of the Royal Opera approached me and asked me if I could sing Aïda on a following Monday. I realized that if I admitted that I had never sung Aïda before, the thoroughgoing, matter-of-fact German Intendant would never even let me have a chance. Emmy Destinn was then the prima donna at the Royal Opera, and had been taken ill. The post was one of the operatic plums of all Europe. Before I knew it, I had said "Yes, I can sing Aïda." It was a white lie, and once told, I had to live up to it. I had never sung Aïda, and only knew part of it. Running home I worked all night long to learn the last act. Over and over the rôle hundreds and hundreds of times I went, until it seemed as though my eyes would drop out of my head. Monday night came, and thanks to my routine experience in smaller companies, I had learned Aïda so that I was perfectly confident of it. Imagine the strain, however, when I learned that the Kaiser and the court were to be present. At the end I was called before the Kaiser, who, after warmly complimenting me, gave me the greatly coveted post in his opera house. I do not believe that he ever found out that the little Toronto girl had actually fibbed her way into an opportunity.
Tales of Strauss
Strauss was one of the leading conductors while I was at the Royal Opera and I sang under his baton many, many times. He was a real genius,—in that once his art work was completed, his interest immediately centered upon the next. Once while we were performing Rosenkavalier he came behind the scenes and said:
"Will this awfully long opera never end? I want to go home." I said to him, "But Doctor, you composed it yourself," and he said, "Yes, but I never meant to conduct it."
Let it be explained that Strauss was an inveterate player of the German card game, Scat, and would far rather seek a quiet corner with a few choice companions than go through one of his own works night after night. However, whenever the creative instinct was at work he let nothing impede it. I remember seeing him write upon his cuffs (no doubt some passing theme) during a performance of Meistersinger he was conducting.