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46 ONLY A YEAR AGO”
words by WHITE-MELVILLE. Musio by ETTA DICKSOV.
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( 2 pp.)— 2. Copyright, 1893, by The New York Musical Echo Cos.
THREE GREAT SINGERS,
Melba, Calve and Arnoldson Tell How
They Developed Their Voices.
How Calve Found Her Silver Trum
pet—Melba Never Practices But
Takes a Hot of Exercise. While Ar
noldson Works Hard Upon Her
Scales Daily—Trills of the Swedish
Nightingale.
(Copyright, 1891.)
New York, Feb. 24.—Melba, the greatest
exponent of t he art of bel canto living, the
successor of Patti, with a voice as silvery,
as true and spontaneous as Patti’s ever
was, but more abundant in quantity, by
far than Patti could ever boast. Melba,
in a word, is the greatest singer, pure and
simple, living to-day
Less of of the atmosphere of “great
artist” surrounds Melba off the stage
than probably any other singer to be met.
What strikes you first in this frank Eng
lish speaking woman, is her bouyant sim
plicity, her freedom of expression, the
entire absence of affectation, and a fresh
candor which is delightful. She grasps
your hand and says, “How d’ye do?” in a
sort of warmhearted, homelike way, that
makes you feel as if she had just oome from
the making of beefstako pie for luncheon,
instead of holding an audience spellbound
the night before as Elizabeth in Tann
hauser.
And when she tells you, with a rapid
gravelling of accent and a purposeful
dramatic glint in her large brown eyes,
that of all heroperas she thinks she loves
“Tannhauser” most dearly, you begin to
think that there is really hero that which
called for a temperament and power
which the critics thus far will not ally to
her voice. Threadbare Lucias and Vio
lettas, Melba may only care to “sing.”
but when she talks of "Tanhauser” you
feel somehow that she may care to “act,”
and when she cares she can.
She comes into her apartment at the
Savoy in a dark brown velvet walking
dress with bank of mink fur, a hat to
match with mink tails. The yoke of the
wrist is of heavy cream guipure lace over
laid with bands of the fur. Her eyes
match her dress. They are clear and
shining and tell of boundless health and
spirits. It is a decidedly handsome face;
the features are regular, the expression
truthful and refined. The suggestion of
“rollick,” being “up for fun,” is simply
dainty und bewitching. She is simply
first of all a pretty, naturally delightful
woman to got along with any day. ana
next to that a world-wonder in tbe'shapo
of an artist.
What she says for herself bubbles forth
ns unrestrainedly as her song. ”i always
sing." she says. “When a child at
school the girls used to asked me to ‘make
that funny noise In m.v throat.'that didn’t
jiertain to music or art. Well, I was a
good-for nothing. But 1 could paint and
they taught me, and i could play and
1 loved to do it. and 1
bad the best teaching, but when it came
to singing well i simply had to sing I
couidu t help it, aud they wouldn't let mo
study. M.v sisters were allowed to at
tend operas and concerts, hut except very
rarely wheu any quantity of begging aud
prayer* were put in for me, I bad to *t,iy
it borne Then I would play over the
m‘*sii on my piano or violin and imagine
bow teas all going on at the theatre
w hep I did go I drank in every not*-, then
t was wild to go home uml sing It ail my
se f 1 used *ay to my siatera ,v*i u
little thing | was, -I know ] could do It
better than iliai I'm positive I muld ’
siM'n I got home and tried It toy
sisters used to listen and applaud
me, but my parents, if they beard, would
stop me peremptorily and say that it was
the effect of allowing me to go to theaters,
and I shouldn't again.
When I came to Marchesi, I could sing
my three octaves from F below the staff
up, as fluently as I sing them to-day. She
corrected my one mistake, and poised my
voice accurately. I had been carrying
ray chest notes too high, and if I'had
gone on I should have lost my voice.
"About registers. I believe so firmly in
the immense care necessary that I want
to say to every young singer: ‘Be three
times careful. Have your voice properly
poised.' If there be a weak spot in any
of the register-changes, I think it abso
lutely destructive to force it. Many a
fine voice has been ruined this way under
a teacher's direction, tho singer being told
to sing and sing and repeat to enlarge the
tone until, through forcing, her voice is
ruined. Better have a slight weakness if
must be, than a voice destroyed. I believe,
however, that by varied ana correct prac
tice the voice may eventually become
equal.
“I sing from F below to F first on the
staff from tho chest. From F sharp to F
natural I sing medium register and from
F sharp to F all in my head tones. Oh
yes; 1 know singing masters will throw
up their hands at my carrying my mid
dle register so high. Never mind. I
do it.
“I never practise, that’s positive. All
my singing is done in public. Ten min
utes on the morning of the day 1 sing I
try my voice, just to make sure that it’s
in order. Ten minutes Igo on tho
stage I run a few scales and trill a little,
Just enough to warm my voice. That's
all. When I have anew role I practice it
here (tapping her forehead). Yes, for
months, but I don't begin to wear my
voice over it until my memory has mas
tered the score. When Ido begin to sing
it I sing pianissimo, if you practice
pianissimo the forte will come all right
when it should, but if you practice forte
it ruins the pianissimo after. Always
practice softly.
”1 make many sacrifices for my art.
On the night before I sing nothing would
induce me to go out anywhere. On the
day I sing I dine lightly at 3, then keep
perfectly quiet until Igo to the theater.
This, you know, is a huge sacrifice forme,
for T would always be Hying about and
chattering if I could.
"Exercise! 1 take plenty of it. I
have a horror of stoutness, aud am al
ways glad to dance because from my love
of it, 1 know what a enemy it is to avoirdu
pois. Stout I will not become. When a
singer becomes huge, you might forgive
the public for half forgetting a lovely
voice in the presence of an unlovely per
sonality. And stoutness is certainly un
lovely and stands between many a fine
artist and the gracious presentment of a
score of parts.”
“Melba s figure is well rounded at pres
ent, but slim waisted and pliant. It is
just such that a little more flesh would
mar its outline.
"With breathing I had ro trouble. You
seo oven without vocal teaching 1 knew’
what unbroken phrasing meant with
other instruments, and 1 had cultivated
the sostenuto instinctively, isl played
a passage 1 tried to sing it. It all comes
to this,” said tho greatest soprano of the
age, "good singots are made from first
the natural voice and then a good ear. a
mimetic power and a knowledge of music
generally With these the aspirant
ne-o* little from the professors. With
out them voices and styles are sometimes
inauufact ured. but of what good are they,
never reliable, alwat* unsatisfactory
Iv.ii i forget what I sael about register.
(k/oti-liyo "
rst.ru orr the staok.
Enter t'alve edict* going to sing to
night aud has bora lying down Her
dusky bl< k nalr it lossni slightly aud
forma a soft dark s< tting for her f ..
The iasl tune 1 saw her she looked like an
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1894.
odalisque in flaming red. To-day she is u
symphony in black and white. A soft
clinging gown of white crinkled crepe
cloth hangs on her figure in long grace
ful folds, confined at the waist by a gir
dle of wide black velvet ribbon. Her re
ception room at the Hotel Plaza Is warm
but coming from room to room sho has
picked up a large black lace mantilla and
threw it round her Bhoulders. Her small
creamy-pale face with its delicate fea
tures is the color of her own gown. Her
large shining eyes, soft and deep, look as
though they were cut out of the black
velvet of her girdlo. It is such a wonder
fully spiritual, magnetic face, with only
the startling contrast of its pale tint and
midnight eyes broken by the small scar
let thread of her delicately carved.
“Yes, I sang always,” she says. ‘T did
not waken up one day and discover I had
a voice. Just as I always wanted to act
everything I saw instead of describing it
in words, I always sang. When I took
my first lesson the emission o' the voice
up to Q was naturally correct. I could
produce tones above it, but my own ear
and the effort I had to make told me it
was not right. After a little I could
easily run up to Din alt. Learning to do
this and to acquire the trill were my two
chief tasks with teachers. The sostenuto
never cost me effort. Lengthy respira
tion came to me easily, but l worked hard
to acquire the trill and am fond of prac
tising it.”
Would all the artists were like this
wonderful child of nature, this incom
parable singing actress! Everything by
Calve is doue by. inspiration. As she
studied she still sings, never a slave to
formula or regular compulsion of any
sort, she maintains her brilliant prestige
on the stage, through living exactly as
she pleases, eschewing regular practice of
any kind, and imposing on her wonderful
constitution few of the cujtomary re
straints.
“in studying I was never bound down
to exercises alone; I sang notes at the
same time. Now I have no regular prac
tice. I sing—always my notes—just when
1 find the impulse seizes me. A born sin
ger, one with a voice not ‘fabrique’ should
not need regular mechanical practice. All
that is needed to keep the voice flexible I
do by singing when I really want to, any
more.”
In the middle of the night Calve some
times arises and pursues her study. She
leans over the si ore ntid softly hums
phrase after phrase until she is satisfied
of the vocal and dramatic unity of her de
livery. On the day she sings she break*
fasts at 10. Underdone broiled meat and
a little wine go to the repast. As 11 she
dines again on underdone meat roasted
and usually a glass of champagne. Wine
she considers good for the voice in mod
erate quantity. Nothing must touch her
lips from the 8 o’clock dinner beiore sho
sings unless perhaps a little beaten egg
and wine just beiore going on. She may
take a few sips of the same in the entre
lutes, but no solid food until her return
from the other. Then she cnio.vs really
the fullest meal of the day and donies her
self nothing sho cares for. Her tastes
and appetito are limited, however, and
she contouds that for a singer a late solid
supper is the )>est thing.
Slie always has her long morning walk.
"If singers.” she says, "would exercise
the general muscles of their bodies more
und lindr voices less they would do better.
Enough air and exercise she must have
daily and after it on the day she sings she
insists upon prr'ect quiet. .'sometimes
she says it is more of a trouble than a re
lief lo lie down and refrain from talking,
but her argument is “1 have taken the
necessary outdoor exorcise. I mutt now
prepare to rest my muscles, and my voice
o be ready tor the strain which will l*>
put u|kui both benight I may not feel
now the lx-m ilt of this rest but If 1 did
not take ill would loci tonight ill effects
from ti e want of U " Ho she rests
All tills Calve tells you with her Ini
nu-i.sc dark e>< a dilated witii esrueslnest;
her tiny plump baud grasping your shoul
der and gripping it until she
feels a little comprehending respon
sive movement. She cannot be said
to talk. She simply pours forth a
rushing torrent of speech, vivid, intense,
convincing. She means every little word
with her whole heart and soul. Just as
when behind the footlights that marvel
ous power and passion of hers compel her
coldest audience into sympathy and be
lief, so when she talks to you the intense
pressure brought to bear in look and
speech carry a conviction of deep sincer
ity and earnestness. She feels it is all the
very truth, and she wants you to believe
it too.
Calve eschews society all she can with
out giving offense. Everything that is
regular, elaborate or conventionally
planned wearies her. So that her appear
ance at formal functions may be accepted
as a particular concession to a very
particular hostess. When Calve can
drop into an afternoon tea in ordinary
visiting dress sho likes it and is seen at
her best. She is herself, brilliant, spon
taneous. varying and magnetic. She
talks, she sings if the spirit moves her
and people beg and clamor as they always
do. She is the same unrestrained being
she is to be found at home, a nature so
rich, so exquisitely colored, so brilliant in
its dramatic texture, so gloriously lova
ble in its susceptibility and glow, that the
cloak of convention should never for a
second conceal its rare and magnetic va
riety.
"Au revoir. A bientot,” she waves
buoyantly, (Calve won’t even try to speak
English) "and above all do say to the
young singers to take more open air exer
cise generally and try their voices less. I
do hope you will hear me soon in some
thing besides Santuzza and Carmen. I
am genuinely tired of Carmen. Voiial”
THE SWEDISH NIGHTINGALE.
Mme. Sigrid Arnoldson, the prima
donna soprano leggiatura of the company,
the owner of the limold voice with its
brilliant coloratura power in roulades
and shakes and its flexible lyric quality,
is a dainty little bit of femininity.
Gowned in a pretty house-frock of dark
navy, her pretty slender figure looked to
advantage in her easy-chalr at the Hotel
Normandie yesterday. In contrast to her
piquant brunette face with its finely cut
features and her crown of naturally wavy
dark hair the blonde personality of her
husband, Mr. Fischof, stands forth prom
inently.
“Now how do I keep up my brilliancy?
I practice daily—scales always—l believe
in them; not solfeggi any longer. I run
scales on the open “A” for the full extent
of my compass, which is from B below to
Ein alt easily. When studying I sang
solfeggi until I began roles. I dropped it
then and practiced my ro'es with the
text, ami for all other practice simply vo
calized scales and m.v own roulades and
trills.”
Mme. Arnoldson’s trill is brilliant. “I
had uot a natural trill. 1 began on ray
two notes slowly and developed it by
gentle degrees. I am wituess that it is
possible to do this in a voice of my qual
ity,” she says.
"From B to F natural I sing voix de
poitrine. From F sharp to E 1 sing me
dian. From Kto F arc my head tones.
For dramatic offect I sometimes raise m.v
chest tones lo F sharp, but only in a
strong situation. I #in entirely consi ions
of the change of registers, and worked
hard to btond mine smoothly.
All the same 1 never sang incorrectly,
though i began at six. My father was a
Swedish tenor and nn excellent musician.
\\ hen I would sometimes force my voice
at a brink he corrected mo, and I learned
not to do it After a time, and before I
began serious study, my voice got into a
naturally smooth und even condition
The i.e*r tiling for a singer to lake tie
fore and during the piece is. I think, an
<-gg Ix-aten with a good deal of salt. The
*all take* away the uervou* dry ur** In
the throat lam very careful in every
way, and avoid everything rich or atimu
lating in feed. 1 really do believe that
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“Only Yer A?o.”—S.
the texture of one’s voice should be re
garded in one’s living. The dramatic
soprano, for instance, should be prepared
to eat a much more solid supper after the
opera than a soprano lyrique like me.
Fortunately, I don’t desire heavy food
much. If I did, I imagine my voice might
become thick and unmanageable.
“I take moderate exercise. I do not
need very much. Were I growing stout—
and the dainty little Zerlina of the ‘Don’
and the charmingly’ piquant page cheru
bino of the ‘Nozzedi Figaro’ clasps her
slender waist with her pretty hand—
well I should simply take all the exercise
necessary to keep mo thin, that's all.
“I can sing five operas in seven days
without a feeling of undue taxation.
When the voice is properly poised and no
forcing resorted to the fatigue is no more
than natural and heathful for it Of
course, 1 would not keep this up, but I
think three operas a week anyway dur
ing a season are no more than good for a
properly-poised voice. I sing entirely
without effort. It bubbles out. When I
hear an accompaninent I feel that it has
to; I love it.
THE WOMAN OF FASHION.
Lovely Sommer Goods Already Spread
In Tempting Folds.
Bewildering Piles of Batistes, Ore
pons, Organdies and Silk Ginghams.
Colors and Designs—The Stripe’s
the Thing -Some Spring Effects.
(Copyrighted 1881.)
New York, Feb. 24.—Whether the air
be brisk or cold when you read my letter
this week, oi* whether it be balmy and
spring-like—and one never dare presage
two or three days in advance—my advice
will be equally appropriate. If it indeed
be cold, the mention of crepons and ba
tistes and silk ginghams may send a
shiver through you; but never mind it;
call to your mind the remembrance of
last year's experience, when you waited
until summer to buy your summer goods,
and found that all the pretty varieties
had long since been bought up. It is now
that all the early importations are shown
in the shops, aud now that women are
buying them in large quantities.
Of all the thin summer stuffs, the wool
crepons take the lead. They are the thin
nest, gauziest of materials, looking more
like cotton than wool, so fine is the weave
of them. The crepe effect is very appa
rent. shown in tine, but very distinct ilut
ings. Silk, of course, runs through every
thing -silk or satin A delicate buff color
has a narrow while satin stripe, and a
wider stripe of white Valenciennes lace,
run scallop and all, in the material, giving
a still sheerer look to the material. A
pale water green has two tiny corded
rows, and two coarser waving rows, at
narrow intervals, of silk in the same
green tint. A cord and a wave, then a
broad space of the clear green, a cord and
n wave again, make a pretty design, in
all the new stuffs, the pattern is wrought
out by ttie aid of these tiny stri|>es, but
the clear spaces between are generally at
least 3 inches wide.
A dull gray blue has a rather heavy
thread of white wool. twisUsi over it, in
conjunction with another twist of black
aud white silk.
Atiother green, a beautiful tint, has
three threads of white silk In close prox
imity for one stripe. The other about
half nn tuch w ide, is of green satin, a
trilie brighter than the wool ground, and
of a particular glossy surface This is an
exquisite combination, for the satin
ghes a brilliancy which the others do not
possess
A grayish fawn is decora tod like the
green tin silk threads in pink this time,
as is the satin stripe.
A yellow buff, a rather bright tint, has
a white satin stripe, narrow; and a much
wider stripe of open lace work in white
silk.
Then come the crepons in cotton, the
ginghams in silk, the batistes, the Swiss
muslins and the crinkled varieties, of
which there are many.
The silk ginghams are among the pret
tiest. There is no cotton thread visible,
unless you turn to the back. On the sur
face all is soft lustre. These wash just
as well as the old-time ginghams, and
make such pretty fancy bodices that
they are often purchased for this pur
pose alone. The rainbow stripes in these
are taking—lavender waving into dull
gold and back into lavender again.
Another variety has the white silk
ground divided off by a narrow satin
stripe, between which small sprays of
moss rosebuds are thrown. Another one.
in green again, which promises to be
popular as ever this spring, runs the
gamut of the green tints, in successive
strips, always, however, keeping within
subdued bounds. Over the shadings are
dashes of black.
Crinkled crepon, I soon learned, was
a popular novelty. This comes in fine,
candy strips, and in those same bright
shades, so cleverly interwoven, however,
that the effect is very pleasing.
A plain crepon, in anew pattern,
has a small white cord over tho pink or
green or blue ground, proceeding in
devious and strange ways, forming
squares within squares, and crosses and
“sich like.”
It is not the moderate cost of any of
these materials that recommends them to
us. Those crinkled crepons, thirty inches
wide, cost 35 cents a yard; the crepons,
Dure and simple, 45 cents a.yard; while
many of the silk ginghams are 55.
Then there were rainbow striped
batistes, in dull havanas, in blues and
pinks, in violet shades that melted into
yellow. There was a pretty lavender,
with lace insertion between thestripes; a
pink and green wasn't so commonplace as
the combination suggests. The broad
sage-green stripe was dotted with white
flower sprays; and there were narrow
rows between of lace work in faint pink
and white.
A darker sago alternates with white
stripes. The sage-stripe had an allover
flower pattern in white; the white stripe
boasted of dashes in three or four bright
colors.
There were old-fashoined seersuckers in
yellow and white; on the colored stripe,
in every instance, wero big dots of
white.
A lavender material had white, basket
weavings between; a pink had in
terlaced white rings over, separated
by lace insertions; a delicate yellow
batistes his a block pattern in fine silk,
run rather closely, and giving a silvory
effect by its greyish white tint. The
bunches of purple and yellow pansies,
that are scattered ovt.’, looked so pretty
that I almost made up my mind that I
liked that pattern best of all.
But right next to this lay another, and
I hesitated. This was altogether differ
ent a pale, dull pink, covered with sprays
of flowers in red tints, in fine, Marie An
toinette style.
The organdies were there, in all thoir
pristine freshucss, although more sub
dued in tint. On the creamy grounds
wore lovely ferns and palm leaves In
autumn tints, between other sprays of
hlueies, or nasturtiums, or carnations.
The sprays are very far apart, and often
take the form of quaint, old-iashionud
country nosegays.
The summer good*, where they have no
laeo in their stripe, are made up with an
embroidery that it so fine and sheer that
one wonders whether it can lie lace. Tito
new insertions, too. are very pretty, for
they have a small fancy edge each aide,
forming much more of a finish than the
straight edge of the old insertion.
i or those who are impatient to sue their
gown* made up. there are a few design*
which it will he pretty safe to follow.
The simple ruffes which suit so admira
bly the fresh summer gown, will not soon
go out of fashion. Therefore you may
make the skirt into three full ruffles of
lamost equal length, trimming them with
a row or two of the new insertion, set in
above the edge. Gathered folds of tho
material, crossed surplice fashion, be
neath a rather wide belt, and with the
opening at the throat filled in with a lace
yoke, make a pretty bodice. The belt is
broader than the winter one, and is
slightly pointed at the bottom. Thesleeve
puffs have fan-shaped pieces of wide lace
falling over them.
Of a princess effect, with both bodice
and skirt made in fine folds, that run up
down, and with ribbon trimmings at
shoulder and belt, makes a simple gown
that will not be old-fashioned, even if the
summer brings in her usual vagaries.
SPRING SHOULDER EFFECTS.
To come back to cooler days, there is a
very jaunty velvet effect that can be
added to the plain walking basque, and so
m ike a fetching spring jacket from it. A
velvet shoulder ruffle, that falls in full
godets over the sleeves, but is plain back
and front, turns over in a deep collar at
the back, and in pointed rovers in front.
A double row of buttons trims the basque
in front, and a full, short skirt of velvet
is added about the hips, headed with a
very narrow band of velvet.
Another springy effect, lighter than the
other, is in neat, dark gray cloth. The
basque is quite plain, ana tight-fitting,
trimmed with four large passementerie
buttons. The basque ruffle is somewhat
longer in this instance, trimmed with a
fancy braid, and pointing away in front,
to admit of a few gathers of guipure.
Two very deep collars fall over the
shoulders. A quaint cravat ties in a
broad bow in front, beneath a small yoke
of guipure. Eva A. Schubert.
GRESHAM’S WAR RECORD.
Capt. Hedley Describes the Fight In
Which the Secretary Was Wounded.
From the Washington Post.
St. Louis, Feb. 18. —Capt. F. J. Hedley,
editor of the Bunker Hill (111.) Gazette,
in an interview hero yesterday, took issue
with ex-Pension Agent Gen. Fred Kneff
ler, of Indianapolis, in regard to the lat
ter’s statement that Secretary Gresham
was never in battle. Hedley was a staff
officer under Gresham, and speaks with
authority on the subject. Referring to
Gen. Kneffler’s statement that Gresham
was wounded by bushwhackers, he says
there were none in front of Gen. Sher
man’s army on its march from Chatta
nooga to Atlanta, that it was really one
prolonged battle. Capt. Hedley says the
facts are these:
“Sherman’s army crossed the Chatta
hoochee about July 18, and crossed Peaoh
tree creek on July 30, constituting the le' l
of the army. On that day, about noon,
Gresham held his division in lineof battle
to make a charge upon Bald, or Leggett s
Hill. Tho hill was occupied, as we alter
ward learned, by dismounted cavalry l
was close to Gresham at that moment,
and wo wore immediately behind our
kirmlsh line ami in front of our division,
whi h was preparing for the charge, tne
last I saw of Gresham was when he ha 1
viewed the situation through his m’ “
lass and orderoil his adjutant general to
send the division on its charge It was
just as this olllcer, whose name I ha"’
rgotten, turned to deliver the oniei
that Gresham was shot down. He
received a severe hie wound, which dis
ables him to the present day."
"The death of Gen. McPherson wras
directly due to the wounding of Gresham.
Had It not been for this the battle of tm
‘-.‘U would not have been fought sou ><
Plicrsoii would not huve been killed 1
the ''mifusion, incident to the trau*> ,r
ring of tho command to the senior brjga
dkr, after Gresham w* wounded, B*\j
de infantry corps occupied the hid
(ho opportunity to capture U waa ln*k