It was the evening after one of these great Carmen performances when a knock at the prima-donna's door elicited the Parisian response—"Entrez." Mme. Calvé's salon was brilliantly lighted and richly furnished, but it seemed only a sombre setting to the singer's radiant self. Not that she was gaudily gowned; on the contrary, her dress was simple, but her personality, her smile, her animation, are a constant delight and surprise.
Mme. Calvé is thoroughly French, and thoroughly handsome, and appears even younger off the stage than on. She is tall and of splendid figure; her complexion is fresh and clear, with an interesting tinge of olive, and her eyes are black as her hair, which was arranged very pompadour.
Mme. Calvé seated herself with a half-serious, half-amused expression, as tho to recite a lesson, and announced that she was ready and willing to answer "toutes les questions que vous voulez." This seemed a golden opportunity to learn all there is to know about singing. It stands to reason that the most direct and easy method of acquiring this art is simply to ask one of the greatest singers of the day how she does it. Some one found out how to play the piano by asking Rubinstein, who said—"All you have to do is to select the right keys and strike them at the right time."
So, with this idea in view, Mme. Calvé was asked first what she thinks of when she steps before the public—her voice, her acting, or the music?
"I think of Carmen," she answered, "if that is the opera. I try to be Carmen—that is all."
When asked if she practices her voice much during the day, Mme. Calvé shook her head.
"No—not now. You see, I must have mercy on my poor voice and save it for the evenings when I sing. Formerly, of course, I practiced every day, but never more than an hour with full voice. Yes, an hour at one time, once a day, that is all. But I studied much besides. At first I wanted to be an actress, and for this purpose gave much time to dramatic art. My mother was a fine musician; she is the one who urged me to sing."
"What did you practice when you first began with the voice?—single tones?"
Mme. Calvé looked thoughtful—she could hardly recall, until a friend who was present suggested—"it was rather intervals and arpeggios, n'est ce pas?" then the great Carmen quickly nodded.
"Yes—you are right; intervals at first, and not until later on, sustained tones. I do not consider single sustained tones good for the beginner."