THE GENIUS OF GERALDINE FARRAR
Some half-dozen years ago rumors, vague as perfume from an unfolding flower, began to reach America about a new prima-donna; a Boston girl, very young and very beautiful; singing at the Berlin Royal Opera-house. No American before had ever held such a position—life-member of the opera company which Kaiser Wilhelm supervises, and the Great Frederick founded.
Years went by and still the name of Geraldine Farrar was wafted across the waters—and still she was spoken of as "very young."
American critics grew somewhat incredulous; Germany, of course, is musical and deep-rooted in the science of the art, but New York holds a record of her own in matters operatic, and is not disposed to accept unchallenged a verdict from the land of beer and thorough-bass.
At last the hour came when Geraldine Farrar appeared as a star in her native land. It was a momentous occasion—the opening of the season; a brilliant audience, diamond-glinting and decollete; an audience familiar with the value of Tiffany tiaras, but inclined to be dubious about Berlin laurels.
The curtain arose upon the first act of Romeo and Juliet; a blaze of color and a whirl of gay music. Soon the dancers dispersed, and a slender figure in saphire satin sauntered down the Capulet stairs, came forward with quiet confidence, and commenced the famous Waltz Song—slowly—dreamily.
With these very first notes Geraldine Farrar revealed originality; she sang them as tho thinking aloud; the words fell from her lips like a tender caress—
"I would linger in this dream that enthralls me."
She closed the aria with brilliant tones, a high note—and a smile. Geraldine Farrar's smile is something to drive a poet to sonnets—and a prince to sighs!
One paper the next morning declared: "From that moment she could have wrapped the whole audience around her little finger."