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

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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.

At this first rehearsal in Monte Carlo an interested listener was Jean de Reszke, who was kind enough to say that he remembered me as the little Boston girl who had sung for him some years previously, and that he was delighted to see that I was meeting with the success he had predicted.

Tremendous reception on my d?but. After the third act, and in full view of the audience, Caruso lifted me bodily and carried me to my dressing-room in the general wave of enthusiasm.

The Monte Carlo engagement was limited, and on March 28, I reappeared in Berlin, being received so cordially that I then and there made up my mind that I would never leave Berlin for good. The reports of the Monte Carlo engagement led directly to a most flattering offer from Stockholm, and on May 6 I arrived in the Swedish capital. My mother, of course, was with me on all my travels.

My d?but, which took place on the evening of May 9, was as Marguerite in "Faust." It was an enthusiastic, sympathetic audience headed by the venerable and adorable King Oscar. An incident of the performance worth recording is that I sang opposite to Herr ?dman, the tenor, who had sung as a young man with Jenny Lind and Christine Nilsson. He was then almost sixty years old, but he gave a most interesting performance and was extremely vain of his figure in "Romeo" and "Faust." I must say he would put many a younger man to shame in the costume of this romantic period, withal being a sweet singer and excellent artist.

Two days after my d?but the Royal Intendant of the Opera called to notify me that the King would be glad to receive me at a special audience. The royal carriage was sent to the hotel for us; my mother and I drove first to the Palace in Stockholm, and then, after we had been cordially received by His Majesty, the King invited us to go with him and inspect a beautiful suburban castle just outside of Stockholm, which is one of the show-places of the world. His Majesty had known and admired Lilli Lehmann, and one reason for the personal interest he took in me was because he knew I was Lilli's pupil.

On the last night of the Stockholm season I sang "Traviata" before a packed and enthusiastic house. His Majesty was present as usual. He never missed a performance while I sang in Stockholm. During the performance the Intendant notified me that His Majesty desired to receive me at the Palace after the performance at a special audience. Wondering and surprised, my mother and I drove to the Palace in obedience to the royal command. We were ushered into a small audience chamber, where perhaps two dozen members of the Court were already in waiting.

Presently His Majesty entered and, with a few words, decorated me with the gold cross of the Order of Merit, which he personally pinned upon my gown. He explained at the time that only two other singers had previously received this honor--Melba and Nilsson.

After that there was a real Swedish celebration of farewell which lasted until long past midnight--only, as the nights were almost as bright as day in that far northern country, it was difficult to tell the time. I remember that after supper I suddenly recalled that Caruso had written, asking me to secure him a complete set of Swedish stamps, as he was a postage-stamp fiend. When I told His Majesty of this, the King sent out and secured a complete set of stamps, which I forwarded to Enrico with the compliments of the King of Sweden.

As I was leaving and saying farewell, for we were to go on the morrow, His Majesty said: "Next year, Mademoiselle Farrar, you must sing again in Stockholm."

"I shall be delighted, Your Majesty," I replied.

"Meanwhile, you sing only in Berlin?"

"Oh, no," I answered, "I have been offered a re?ngagement for Monte Carlo next March."

"Monte Carlo, eh?" And His Majesty laughed. "My dear Mademoiselle Farrar, my physician has been urging me to visit Monte Carlo. I shall time my trip so that I shall be sure to hear you sing there."

What a perfect darling old King Oscar was!

MY FOURTH SEASON

The month of June found me in Paris, where I sang at a charity concert, and in August I went to Bayreuth for the first time and was greatly moved by "Parsifal." On August 12 my diary says: "To-day I placed a laurel wreath on the grave of Liszt."

In October, 1904, before the opening of the regular season in Berlin, I went to fulfill a special engagement in Warsaw. An incident characteristic of the impetuous Poles occurred on the train, which resulted in more than a year's annoyance of rather an amusing character.

We could not disengage ourselves from his courtesy on the train, and he became doubly irksome when he bombarded my apartments in the Hotel Bristol,--the magnificent hostelry, by the way, which Paderewski built and owns in Warsaw,--sending me flowers, sweetmeats, candies, and even attempting to send me jewelry. The poor Count Ischki wanted me to look with favor upon his suit. Never, outside the pages of a novel, have I met any one quite so ardent, in so many languages.

The climax came one afternoon when I was reading in my apartment.

There was a knock at the door; it opened instantly, and in came a procession of bell-boys--each carrying flowers, enormous boxes of candy or tributes of some kind. All these were carefully deposited at my feet without a word. Then, as the boys withdrew, the Count Ischki himself, faultlessly dressed, entered and threw himself upon his knees before me in the midst of his offerings. It was a perfect setting for the stage. I had all I could do to keep serious as the Polish count poured out the story of his mad love, and declared that, unless I would marry him, he would quickly die the death of a madman.

Gently I motioned for him to arise and depart. "I fear I am only a cold, heartless, American girl," I replied. "I love only my art, and I shall never marry anybody."

The season of 1904-05 in Berlin was made notable by the first appearance there of Caruso, who made his d?but in "Rigoletto." His coming created a great sensation. I was delighted to sing opposite him again, but there was a complication of which the public knew nothing. With the "king of tenors" singing on the stage with me, I knew there was another--Franz Naval--who had sung opposite me for three seasons, sitting in a box in the background. However, I compromised with the two by usually having tea with Franz and dinner with Enrico during his stay in Berlin, and the artistic world rolled smoothly on.

Many interesting things happened during my fourth season in Berlin. For one thing the marriage of the Crown Prince to the Grand Duchess C?cile took place, thereby permanently putting an end to the little annoyances to which his kindly admiration of me as an artist had subjected me. I am proud and happy to state that soon after the return of the royal couple to the Palace at Potsdam, I was invited to sing for the Crown Princess and, as a result of this meeting, a cordial and friendly intimacy sprang up between us, which often led to informal musicales at the Palace when the Crown Princess played the piano, the Crown Prince the violin, and I sang.

One night during this spring season in Monte Carlo I caught sight of a familiar face in the recesses of a stage box and, for the curtain call, I made the royal salute to this box. After the curtain fell, every one started to make fun of me.

"We have no royalty in Monte Carlo," one said.

"Pardon me," I replied, "but I shall always give the royal salute when King Oscar of Sweden is in the audience."

It was, indeed, His Majesty, who had timed his visit to Monte Carlo so that he could hear me sing, as he said he would. The next morning I read in the newspapers that the King of Sweden, traveling incognito as Count Haga, was visiting Monte Carlo as the guest of the Prince of Monaco.

In Monte Carlo even royalty mingles with the crowd, and so it happened that later in the day I encountered His Majesty strolling along in a smart gray suit, with an Alpine hat and stick, looking for all the world like some prosperous American banker seeing Europe on a vacation. His Majesty was kind enough to entertain both my mother and me at dinner several times during this engagement in Monte Carlo.

The fact that I created the title r?le in "Amica" in five days was duly telegraphed to Paris and other cities, and led directly to a most spectacular engagement in the French capital, which must be recorded as my Parisian d?but. A certain Count Camondo, a wealthy patron of the arts who made Paris his home, had written the music to an operatic libretto by Victor Capoul, entitled "The Clown." Count Camondo came to Monte Carlo, engaged the entire Monte Carlo Opera Company--including me, as I had special leave of absence from the Kaiser for the occasion--at an exorbitant figure to sing three performances of the new opera in Paris, all proceeds to go to charity. Count Camondo paid all expenses, staged the opera lavishly, and we sang the three performances to crowded houses, at the Th??tre R?jane, Paris. At last I had sung in grand opera in Paris, even if only for charity!

LEAVING BERLIN

After a short season in Stockholm, where once more I had the pleasure of singing before dear old King Oscar, I found myself in Berlin. One morning my maid brought me this telephone message:--

Heinrich Conried of New York is at the Hotel Bristol. Will Miss Farrar please come down and sing for him?

I promptly had the maid telephone carefully as follows:--

Miss Farrar is at her home, and, if Herr Conried wishes to call, she will be glad to see him.

Later that same day Herr Conried called. He was scouting Europe for artists for the Metropolitan, and he had been advised by Maurice Grau to keep a watchful eye upon my career.

We talked of his plans for New York, and Herr Conried expressed a wish to have me return to my native land. Of course, from the day I had first dreamed of singing in grand opera, the Metropolitan had been my ultimate goal, but now that the moment for considering so important a step had come I was very wary. Knowing that New York was loyal to some of the older artists still under contract, I wanted to protect my interests as best I could while working up my career in America. I do not believe that Mr. Conried was then very anxious to have me come; certainly he was much taken aback when I stated my ideas of the contract. They were so entirely at divergence with his that the interview came to nothing, and he departed. I was neither glad nor sorry. I telegraphed Maurice Grau the result, to which he laconically replied:--

Don't worry, he'll be back.

The contract was not to take effect until a year later, in November, 1906. Meanwhile, I was to conclude another season in Berlin, fulfill all European contracts in the spring, and then secure leave of absence from the Kaiser for three years. It was arranged, however, that I should always be subject to the demands of the Royal Opera, and one of the clauses of the Conried contract was that, if at any time I was called back to appear in Berlin, my contract would be indefinitely postponed until such time as I could fulfill it without conflicting with my Berlin contract.

That concluding season in Berlin was a constant series of farewells. The news had been made public that I was to sing in America, and that I would be absent for at least a year. One of the pleasant memories of that season is a farewell concert at the Marmor Palace at Potsdam for the Crown Prince and Princess, when they presented to me a diamond pendant made up of the letters "W-C" interwoven--Wilhelm and C?cile. The Crown Princess C?cile, gracious, charming, young, adored in Berlin and throughout Germany, was greatly interested in charities, and during my last season in Berlin I assisted her in organizing the programmes for many charity concerts.

At last came the eventful day when I was to leave the country of my adoption for the land of my nativity. I had announced an "Abschied," or "Farewell Concert," in Philharmonic Hall, Berlin, the first week in October, 1906. We charged five dollars a seat, and could have sold the house twice over. One half the gross receipts went to a hospital kitchen founded by my dear Frau von Rath, who had been so kind to me; and the other half went to the fund of the Crown Princess's pet charity for crippled children. It was a wonderful and representative audience, in which royalty was conspicuously present.

But, could I have foreseen all the difficulties that were to come to me, I wonder if I would have been so buoyant and care-free as the great ship pounded her way westward through the October seas!

MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN NEW YORK

The air was crisp and cold that brilliant November morning when the Kaiser Wilhelm II nosed her way into New York Harbor. How proud and alert I felt as I looked up at the mass of towering buildings, their pinnacles sharply tilted against the dazzling blue of the sky. The harbor swarmed with seagoing craft; all was excitement and interest, particularly so when the revenue cutter and the mail boat were shortly made fast alongside the big liner. The kindly purser was soon pouring hundreds of letters and telegrams into my eager hands, sweet and welcoming messages--happy augury! All the world seemed to smile on me that day. Not even the persistent reporters could curb my enthusiasm or spoil my high spirits. How we laughed and chatted, Mr. Conried an amused spectator at my side.

An avalanche of questions, almost all pointedly personal, were hurled at me, everybody talking at once. The r?le of the modest violet was not to be mine, I could see from the outset.... Yes, I loved Berlin.... Yes, I had sung for the Emperor.... Yes, the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess were a charming couple.... Yes, I hoped to duplicate my European successes in my own country.... No, I was not engaged.... Nor secretly married.... Why?... Well, because I just wasn't. And so on--endlessly, it seemed. Pencils scribbled unceasingly and cameras clicked at all possible angles. I did not care for that, since I wore a most fetching little turban and some beautiful furs . I was hardly settled at my hotel when the editions of the papers were being sold, and their readers learned from the notices, profusely illustrated , that "Geraldine Farrar had arrived."

Dazed and tired by the excitement of arrival and the thousand-and-one greetings of welcoming friends, I could think of but one thing, my d?but. It pursued me by day and haunted my sleepless nights. No one can imagine what anguish I endured once I was alone, and how difficult it was to discuss the event with an airy indifference to outsiders. I told myself there was nothing to fear; that my home people would love and support me as had my loyal Berliners. If only the trying ordeal were over!

To my disappointment "Romeo and Juliet" had been chosen, not only for my d?but, but for the opening performance of the season as well. In vain I pleaded that, under such a strain I should acquit myself much better in Elizabeth , which I had just sung in Berlin and Munich with great success. Mr. Conried was obdurate, however; he said I must be presented in a spectacular production, and so I had to give in.

I shall always remember my first rehearsal in the dimly-lighted ladies' parlor. The suave and elegant Pol Plan?on and my friend, Josephine Jacoby, greeted me, and then Rousseli?re, of Monte Carlo days, who was making his d?but as well, as my "Romeo." We were both frightfully nervous and longed for the day to be over.

November 26, 1906, however, did finally arrive. I drove to the opera and slipped into my gown--not the usual conventional robe of stiff white satin, but a heavenly concoction that my clever wizard of a dressmaker had faithfully and beautifully modeled after a Botticelli painting. A misty veiling of rose delicately traced with silken flowers and sprinkled with tiny diamonds sheathed my figure of fortunate slenderness , while a jeweled fillet of gold rested on my own dark hair, and a tiny curling feather waved alertly on my forehead. And so "La Bella Simonetta" came to life, along the Capulet halls, transported for the nonce to the twentieth century and Broadway. A rain of welcoming applause greeted me and told me that so far all was well!

I cannot remember distinctly all that occurred that auspicious evening. There seemed to be cart-loads of flowers; and again and again I smiled out from the great yellow curtains. Mr. Conried congratulated me, and the great evening was over!

I was at home.

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