Read Ebook: Geraldine Farrar: The Story of an American Singer by Farrar Geraldine

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ined that I had scored a success on my d?but; the audience had received favorably a "Marguerite" who was neither fat nor forty, and the newspaper critics had united in giving me a most enthusiastic verdict of approval.

Naturally after such a success I expected to be called upon again very soon, but many weeks passed and still my name was not included in the published casts given out from week to week. Finally I determined to find out the reason for this neglect, so I called on Count von Hochberg in his private office at the opera.

"Good-evening, Your Excellency," I remarked pleasantly. "I have just looked over the billboards and I don't see my name included in next week's repertoire."

There was a moment of embarrassment, then I continued:--

"I merely wondered why I don't sing," adding, "Of course, if Berlin doesn't want me I should like to know it."

Count von Hochberg murmured something about giving me an answer the next day, but I insisted I must know that night.

"Very well, then, Fr?ulein," replied Count von Hochberg positively. "Within ten days you will sing here."

Fate was ever watchful over me, and soon I was notified that "Traviata" was to be revived for me.

IMPERIAL ENCOURAGEMENT

It was not until my second season at the Royal Opera that I saw or met the Kaiser. The Court had been in half-mourning during my first season, and members of the royal family had not visited the opera house. In January, 1903, the middle of my second season, a Hofmarshal from the Palace presented himself at our apartment and officially "commanded" my presence at the Palace that night. I was notified that I must wear the prescribed Court dress, either lavender or black, with gloves and no jewelry.

The Hofmarshal, having delivered his message, was about to depart when I called him back.

"I am very sorry," I said meekly, "but I never wear black and I never wear lavender. Neither color is becoming to me."

"But it is the custom of the Court--" he began.

"It is my custom," I replied firmly, "to wear what I choose when I sing, and according to my mood; and I choose to wear white. Furthermore I never wear gloves while singing."

The Hofmarshal was greatly disturbed. He was afraid it would be impossible for me to be received at the Palace unless I conformed to the usual requirements. However, he would see; I would be notified. And later that afternoon came the message that "Miss Farrar could wear whatever she desired, but she must come." I wore white.

My mother and I drove to the Palace together; we were formally received by various flunkies and under-attach?s, and finally escorted up the magnificent staircase to the reception room just off the White Hall, where the Kaiser and the Kaiserin were with the Diplomatic Corps after dinner.

At the proper moment I was announced. After I had sung, and had responded to an encore, the Kaiser arose from his place and congratulated me. He then turned and shook hands with my mother, after which we were led to the Kaiserin and formally presented to her. In turn we were made acquainted with the various notables present.

That meeting was the forerunner of many pleasant social gatherings at the Palace, when mother and I were honored guests. His Majesty was exceedingly kind to us, and seemed to like to hear me sing. It was on the occasion of one of these visits to the Palace that I met the Crown Prince for the first time. He had been away at school at Bonn, and came in one evening with several of his brothers. I was naturally interested in the personality of the heir to the throne, and spoke to him at some length. I liked him at once, and found him very gay and sympathetic.

One night at the opera he sat in the royal box, and between the acts, so I was told, wished to come behind the scenes to speak to me. The rule against visitors is rigidly enforced at the Royal Opera, and His Highness was so informed. He thereupon returned to the royal box. After the performance he again made an effort to call behind the scenes, but was not permitted. However, later that same evening, he sent me a hastily scribbled message written upon a card showing the Palace gardens, reading:

You played very well to-night.--WILHELM.

I still have the card.

About this time I first met Madame Lilli Lehmann, to whose far-reaching influence I attribute much of the success which has come to me. I felt the need of the careful instruction of a master. Of course, the idol of music-loving Germany was then, as now, Lilli Lehmann. I wrote to her, asking if I could sing for her with the idea of becoming her pupil. There was no answer. Lilli, with her extensive correspondence and active life, was probably too busy to consider such a matter as a new pupil. Then my mother wrote. In reply came a very concise and businesslike communication. Yes, Lilli had received the letter from me, but, owing to my eccentric handwriting, had been unable to decipher it. My mother's penmanship was clearer, and so Lilli wrote that she would be willing to hear me sing, without promising to accept me as her pupil, however.

An appointment was made for us to call at half-past nine o'clock in the morning at her home in Grunewald, half an hour's ride from Berlin, and, though the day was cold and wintry, my mother and I were there promptly on time.

Beautiful Lilli Lehmann--stately and serene as a queen; with a wonderful personality which seemed naturally to dominate every presence in the room; past the meridian of life yet with an unbroken record of world achievement behind her; greatest living exponent of Mozart, of Brahms, of Liszt, of Wagner--what more can I say of her than that I approached her with the deference and respect which were her due? I was an eager and humble beginner; she of another generation. My desire to secure her as my instructor seemed almost presumptuous; yet, after hearing me sing, Lilli kindly consented to take me, and I am happy and proud to state that I have been her pupil at all times since that first meeting.

Lilli insisted that I should essay one Wagnerian r?le. Under her direction I studied Elizabeth in "Tannh?user," and the night I made my first appearance in this r?le in Berlin was a memorable occasion for both of us. The entire royal family was present, and Lilli sat in a loge with my mother. I should explain that Lilli, who had been a notable member of the Royal Opera for many years prior to her American successes, had had differences with the direction of the Royal Opera during the years of her tremendous popularity in America, and had followed her own sweet will by remaining here several seasons without receiving the necessary permission from the Intendant to do so.

As a result, upon her return to Germany she had not been summoned to resume her r?les at the Royal Opera. This condition of affairs, I believe, had existed for some time, Lilli, with the pride and independence of a great artist, scorning to make the first advances leading to her return.

On the night of my appearance as Elizabeth, after I had scored a really great success, the Kaiser summoned me to the royal box to congratulate me. He knew that I had studied the r?le under Lilli's direction. He therefore summoned Lilli as well, complimented her upon her pupil's achievement and then and there requested her to sing as guest artist at the Royal Opera, which she did a few weeks later.

It was a great and happy night for me, and I believe for Lilli also.

Dimly connected with this period I remember various young gentlemen showing me attentions. There was a baron who mysteriously sent gifts concealed in flowers, with very charming poems written about the difficult r?les I was playing. It was some time before I found out who he was and could return his trinkets, with the request that he cease sending presents to me. However, he continued to write me pathetic letters for several years afterward. But I was thrilled and enthusiastic over my career, and had no serious thoughts for love-making or matrimony. I wished to devote all my time and energy to my work.

The truth of the matter is that the Crown Prince, just out of college, fond of music at all times, was enjoying his first season of opera. That I happened to be the only young prima donna at the opera house may be one reason why he attended every time I sang, and ignored other performances. At any rate, it annoyed the other singers greatly, but it created no end of interest in my performances and in no way disturbed my equanimity. I felt it was all part of the career.

I was young, triumphant, happy in my singing, and making rapid strides toward an international reputation, and at the back of my brain was written, with determination, the ultimate goal: the Metropolitan Opera House at New York. So I pursued my studies with zest and unabated enthusiasm.

Soon afterward I realized from vague storm-clouds and distant mutterings that trouble was brewing. Certain minor officials of the Royal Opera put their heads together with certain singers; rumors that too much attention was paid to the American singer by royalty were printed in one of the papers; whereupon my father retaliated by a physical reminder to one editor that such slanders are not circulated with impunity about young American women. The press caught the romance of the situation, and highly colored stories were the result.

The climax of a series of petty annoyances came one night when my mother was denied permission to accompany me behind the scenes, as she had been doing at every performance for almost two years.

In my anger at these sensational reports, and at the sudden discourtesy to my mother at the opera house, I determined to write to the Kaiser a personal letter of explanation. This letter was entrusted to my devoted friend, Herr von Rath, to be delivered by him personally to the Hofmarshal, who would see that it reached the Kaiser.

Those well-wishers who had been freely predicting that I would soon be requested to resign and "go over the border" because of the rumors regarding the Crown Prince were soon thrown into consternation when one of the royal carriages stopped in front of my door, to bring official notification from the Kaiser that he had ordered restored to my mother the privilege of accompanying me at any time behind the scenes at the Royal Opera.

I determined that since Berlin had been the city first to take me to its heart, Berlin should be my parent house. From there I might try to reach out for other worlds to conquer, but Berlin should be my base for an international career. And so firmly did I adhere to this decision that, when my first contract with the Royal Opera expired, I renewed it again and again, with special permission from His Majesty for my European and subsequent American arrangements.

ON TOUR: MONTE CARLO AND STOCKHOLM

In discussing the plans for my third season at the Berlin Opera, it had been decided that I should create Massenet's "Manon." I determined to meet Massenet, if possible, in order to get all possible suggestions for the r?le. This was accomplished through the Baroness de Hegermann-Lindencrone, formerly Lillie Greenough, of Boston, who was the wife of the Danish Ambassador to Berlin. I went to Paris, and on May 26, 1903, I called on the composer at his suburban home near the French capital, where I found him in tears. It was the day after the funeral of Sybil Sanderson, the American singer who had won such success abroad, and Massenet wept at the loss of such a delightful artist and friend, who had created so many of his r?les. Several days later, when he was more composed, I saw him again. He was kind and sympathetic, and I studied with him with enthusiasm. He was most interested in the Berlin production, and quite amused at the German translation of the French text which Lilli and I had revised.

During this visit to Paris it was arranged that I should sing for Gailhard, the Director of the Paris Opera, and at this audience were three other notable directors who were destined to figure in my career. There was Maurice Grau, already relinquishing the reins of management in New York, but still hoping, he said, to take me back to America as an operatic star in the near future; there was Heinrich Conried, his successor, whom I then met for the first time; and there was Raoul Gunsberg, the Director of the Opera at Monte Carlo. Gailhard offered me a flattering engagement at the Paris Opera, but I explained that I was under contract for at least one more year in Berlin. Gunsberg was very enthusiastic in his praise; Conried was quiet and formal. If I made any impression on him, he gave no indication of it.

My third season in Berlin opened November 14, 1905, in "Traviata," when I had my usual charming partner in Franz Naval. I now sang all of my r?les in German save "Traviata," and, in deference to me, all the company sang "Traviata" in Italian, which I thought a pretty compliment.

Herr Gunsberg, at Monte Carlo, always on the lookout for novelty, decided he must have the American prima donna who was attracting so much attention in Berlin. One morning in midwinter I received this characteristic telegram from him:--

Offer you d?but Boh?me or Pagliacci. If you accept this telegram serves as contract. Four thousand francs a night.

Eight hundred dollars a night! It was indeed a fine offer. I replied at once:--

Boh?me. When shall I come?

I had visions already of international triumphs. Monte Carlo, the show-place of the world! From there it was only a step to the leading capitals of Europe. Yet I had no wish to leave my beloved Berlin permanently. Therefore, in renewing my contract with the Intendant of the Berlin Opera , it was stipulated that I was to sing so many performances each season in Berlin unless excused by special arrangement; that I should have leave of absence whenever requested under certain conditions; but that at all times I should be subject to the rules and regulations of the Royal Opera in Berlin.

I remember discussing the subject with His Majesty on one occasion when we were entertained at the Palace prior to my departure. I had asked permission for rather an unusual amount of leave of absence, and the Intendant, who usually conveyed such a request to His Majesty on my behalf, said this time he really did not have the courage to ask again so soon.

"Very well," said I laughingly, "I will ask him myself, to spare you the embarrassment."

"But why should you wish to leave Berlin?" inquired the Kaiser. "We are glad to have you with us; we admire you; we love you. What more can you gain elsewhere?"

"Pardon me, Your Majesty," I replied gayly. "Already I have become accustomed as a spoiled prima donna of luxurious habits to ride in automobiles, and I don't wish to have to walk when I am an old lady and when this" "has ceased to interest the public. In the words of the great Napoleon, Your Majesty, 'Beyond the Alps lies Italy.' Yes, and there is a white ch?teau by the sea where the golden shower is just waiting to be coaxed into my pockets. May I not then go and sing a little among the palms and the flowers?"

I went.

Ah, that first rehearsal of "Boh?me" in Monte Carlo, in March, 1904! I was introduced for the first time to a tenor of whom I had never heard before. He was somewhat stout, not over-tall, but with a wonderful voice and a winning smile. His name was Enrico Caruso. It was his d?but in Monte Carlo. He had sung in Milan, in South America, and the preceding winter in New York. But he had not then attained even a small part of his present great fame.

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