this shimmer, as it were, of gleaming moonlight. On this breaks the brilliant passages of the flute, which may be the task of some fairy worker in the
real fairyland! I must be wafted along in smooth subservience to the brilliance of the accompaniment for the next few bars, until I repeat the lovely melody at bar 62 when I begin to add—as scored in the part—some grace notes and florid passages, and gradually awaken until, at bar 79, I have ascended to a full top B, preceded by a “trill” or “shake,” that leads up to the brilliant burst of the orchestra back to the polacca-like movement, and to the finale. This must be one increasing triumph, over the much-talked-of top E flat, the roulades, grace notes, trills, and cadenza-like passages for sheer joie de vivre. Yet all this depends upon how well you have conditioned yourself, practised those tiring vowel sounds, scales, sustained
passages, to which I commend you before essaying the brilliant Polonaise from “Mignon” that has given me many triumphs, yet still calls for all I can give, as it will to the end of the chapter.
Chapter XXIII
PRACTISING
IS it necessary to say that daily practice is indispensable to the student—as it is also to the finished artist? A celebrated violinist used to say, “If I cease practising for one day I know it when I next play; if for two days my enemies know it; if for three the public know it.” It is the same with the voice, although some voices, no doubt, require less daily exercising than others.
Some fortunate ones, indeed, have been able to dispense with it almost entirely. On the day of a performance the great Chaliapine warms his voice up for a period of thirty or forty minutes only. On other days and when on vacation he rarely practises, except for getting up new music, and even this is more of a mental process. It is said of Mario also that at the height of his fame he never practised more than ten minutes a day, and that just before he was leaving for the Opera House, while his servant would be standing, watch in hand, assuring him that he would be late for the performance if he did not start at once. But that, of course, was an exceptional case.
On the other hand, Battistini is most lavish with his practising and rarely a day passes that he does not put in one or two hours of solid singing. This no doubt accounts for the extraordinary command he has over tone, phrasing and breathing. There is great truth in the saying that practice makes perfect, but how many of us have the robust and natural organ that Battistini is blessed with. I always thought that the reason of this was the fact that Battistini, who could well have trained as a tenor, elected to become a baritone, thus evading the strain of forcing high “C’s” out of his voice.
At the same time even practising should not be carried to excess. Many singers have, indeed, often done their voices great harm by practising too much. The vocal cords are exceedingly delicate and cannot be used too carefully. There can be no doubt that the wonderful preservation of Patti’s voice was due in large measure to the extraordinary prudence and care with which she husbanded it. By never singing at rehearsals, by never singing when she was in the least degree out of health or tired, and so on, she added years probably to the length of her career. And all singers should act as far as possible on the same principle.