HIS MAXIM applies also to the art of singing. There are singers and singers, but few become artists. Thousands upon thousands of dollars are spent upon them in America yearly. How many of these thousands of dollars come back to these students? It is a rare occurrence if we get one in ten thousand that really reaches this distinction in art, a just reward for long years of patient study. When such an artist does appear it is like a new star in the firmament, the wonder of the age. The beauty and glory of this wonderful singer is not hidden under a bushel, but the people of the earth flock to hear and see this rara avis. The regret is that such a singer can not sing on forever. It is strange that the human mind can retain the memory of song with such distinctness and acuteness in the different singers and remember the very songs they sang and how and where. When this can be done the singer can well feel that his work has made a lasting impression. Nothing less than the best will satisfy a lover of good music after having enjoyed the best at the beginning.
We are often annoyed when we hear foreigners say, "Oh, we have it better in Europe." There must be a reason for it, and it is not the lack of voices in America, for we have given many fine voices, including the only prima donnas who have risen to the height of distinction in our day. We are foremost in producing fine singers today as well as in the past years, both men and women, who are acknowledged by all to be the brightest stars in the musical firmament. Really fine artists have a charm that is recognized by all. They are in a class by themselves and admirers feel honored to know them or speak with them for a short while. It is a remembrance we go back to with pleasure every time we hear the name spoken. Not one of our generation ever saw one of the great composers like Liszt, Verdi, Gounod, Wagner, etc. Yet there is not a musical person on this earth but claims an acquaintanceship and comradeship with them and they are only known by their pictures and what has been written or spoken about them. We reverence them for their splendid work. It is the same with men and women singers—their faces are as familiar as though they were among us today. It is true we still have Nordica, Melba, Schumann-Heink, Calvé, Eames, de Reszke, Adams, Sembrich and Terina, but their stars have gained their heights, and we must expect to see them dim and wane, but before they are entirely gone let us hope there will be others as good to take their places. While all students cannot be such artists they can strive for the best under good instruction and develop their instrument as near perfection as it is possible to bring it.
In my concert tour to Victoria, B.C., an incident occurred after the concert given at Olympia. It was my first trip and everything was new to me. I supposed I was a stranger to all and was to be heard in these places for the first time. We had sung at all the small towns along the Puget Sound and this was our last city before we returned. Our company was a good one—Walter C. Campbell, Vivian the Great, Margaret Blake, Mr. Wand, pianist, Dick Kohler, cornetist and leader of the company, and Mr. Atkins, advance agent. A very successful concert had been given and a fine audience appreciated us. A number of distinguished guests were present, including the governor of the state and officials of the city of Olympia. While I was preparing to go to my hotel, I was recalled by Mr. Kohler saying I was wanted by some friends in the hall who wished to speak to me. Imagine my surprise. Twenty-five ladies and gentlemen were awaiting me and I had never seen one of them before to my knowledge, but evidently I was no stranger to them. They were people who had repeatedly heard me sing from 1865 to 1874 in San Francisco and they were so pleased to hear me again they concluded to know me. My curiosity was aroused so I asked them when and where had they heard me. Some at Platt's hall, others at Howard Methodist church, Y.M.C.A. on Sutter street, Union hall, Mission street, Metropolitan temple, Fifth street, etc. I then asked them what songs I sang. Mr. Kohler jotted down the songs as they were given by the different ones, and they came out in this wise: three remembered Annie Laurie, four When the Tide Comes In, three Gatty's Fair Dove, two Kathleen Mavourneen, two John Anderson, My Joe, two Within a Mile of Edinborough, etc., two The Old Man's Song to His Wife, two Home, Sweet Home, five Last Rose of Summer, two Darby and Joan.
What a lesson it was to me of what a person can do as a singer. I had left a lasting impression upon these people and whenever they heard these songs spoken of or sung they went back in memory with pleasure to the singer who sang them long ago and they were pleased to know they were to hear me once again, even so far from where they had heard me before, and pleased to make themselves known in this pleasant way. I was touched deeply by their kindness and I asked Mr. Kohler to allow me to sing for them Annie Laurie and The Last Rose of Summer. He recalled Mr. Wand, our accompanist, and I gave them these songs as a compliment. Such episodes occur in a singer's life and we are reminded that when work is well done we will always have appreciation, and just reward, and leave a lasting example for good that others may follow with safety. These songs were not showy or brilliant, but they were songs that touched the heart, and left an impression for good. Our California audiences are metropolitan and changing forever. People are here one day and in a twelfth month somewhere else and in my time it was still more changeable than now. No matter what your audience is it is the singer's duty to please every listener as near as possible and leave an impression. My advice to the singer is: Make your song a part of yourself, understand the composer's meaning, have a picture before you of the situation, of the meaning of the sentiment. Never sing anything that is beyond your powers, select that which you are able to understand thoroughly yourself, and when you have mastered every difficulty and can give yourself pleasure in the rendering of it, you may be well assured you will make some one else happy. An audience demands your complete resources, so you must not imagine you can carelessly give anything but your best efforts. The selections should always be less difficult than you are really capable of performing, a safe rule to follow. Then your audience will know you bring authority to your task, and authority is very necessary to command respect.
He who does not think well of this makes a grave mistake, for while he thinks people will not know the inferiority of his work, there is always some one in the audience who does know. True artistic work should mean more to the singer than anything else, for that is what makes his reputation. No one can afford to be careless in the least effort if he wishes to become an acceptable singer to all classes that compose an audience.