souvenir d'une grande amitie

Sarah Bernhardt,

1915]

But I had my New England "thinking-cap" firmly set on my shoulders. A little of this charming frivolity was enough, and one fine day I disappeared--back to the simple life of study and quiet with the great Lehmann; I shed the iridescence of my b.u.t.terfly wings and became, for the nonce, a hard-working grub!

My stay in Paris was memorable to me as well by reason of the meeting with Sarah Bernhardt.

My admiration for this wonderful woman had ever been of the most fervent heroine worship, and when Madame Grau said: "Sarah wants to know you; when will you lunch with her?" I set the following day, for fear she might change her mind and I might thereby lose this privilege.

I see her still, standing slim and white in her long curling draperies at the entrance to her home, her keen eyes appraising me, her voice raised in cordial greeting. How we chattered! What things she had to say, and with what joy I listened!

She knew all about "Juliet"--much to my surprise--even to details, such as dress, innovations in _mise-en-scene_, and how I tried to infuse the modern dramatic spirit into the measures of the opera. Then the conversation wandered to personalities; among the most cherished, our mutual great-hearted friend Coquelin, now, alas! gone to his last sleep these many years; books, and her obstreperous dogs, most conspicuous by their noisy presence. I was to enjoy her friendship from that day on. As I write, a recent photograph stands before me, bearing a tender inscription. A smile plays upon her face, despite her recent tragic affliction. She is in truth an element, ageless, fearless, dauntless!

It was good to be back for a short season in the autumn in Berlin, previous to my second departure for New York. The demonstration of the loyal Berliners at my return was beautiful, despite successes elsewhere.

I was always to them "_unsere Farrar_."

CHAPTER XIII

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

My second Metropolitan season opened pleasantly with a neat little success in the comparatively small role of Marguerite in "Mefistofele,"

which was produced for the benefit of Chaliapine, the great Russian ba.s.so. Unfortunately, owing to his dissatisfaction and disappointment at musical matters in general, nothing would induce him to return to America, and we thereby lost an artist unique in all he attempted and unparalleled in some of his typical Russian creations, such as "Boris"

and "Ivan the Terrible."

January, 1908, saw me on my native heath in Boston. I sang four performances in six days--"Faust," "Madame b.u.t.terfly," "Elizabeth,"

"Pagliacci"--and the reception was a tornado of enthusiasm, to which the historic walls of the old Boston Theater resounded. The conservative Hub did not deserve such an appellation in the case of my welcome. I was filled with pride and grat.i.tude.

My own home town also wanted to share in the festivities; whereupon a concert was arranged, and I returned to sing in the brick town hall that had first sheltered my early efforts. At the close of the programme I shook hands with every man, woman, and child who desired a close scrutiny and personal greeting--and you may be sure I was not allowed to abandon my place on the stage till all had availed themselves of this invitation.

The following morning the Mayor and several prominent townspeople called for me, and we visited the pupils of my former schools. They were all ready, in line, to greet me, flags in their hands.

When an address was suggested, I arose with alacrity--and introduced my friend Kate Douglas Wiggin, as speaker. Despite her surprise she rose gracefully to the occasion in a most flattering little speech, to the delight of her youthful hearers. I was, indeed, most fortunate to have had a Mistress of Ceremonies of such tact and charm.

Meanwhile Mr. Conried's failing health was necessitating a change of management at the Metropolitan, and the choice fell upon Mr.

Gatti-Casazza, of La Scala, Milan, in conjunction with Andreas Dippel, the latter a member of our company and very popular with New York audiences. With contracts for Berlin, Paris, and New York, the old cry of "overwork" was dinned into my ears, but less than ever was the moment for immediate rest possible. I was about to make a new contract with the Metropolitan under a different management, new artists were engaged who might reasonably be supposed to share some of the repertoire which I had not yet sung.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AS PRETTY A FLOCK OF BIRDS AS ONE COULD FIND ON ANY FARM"]

It behooved me to keep well within the public eye and to make my position as advantageous as I could under the new regime.

Not having acquaintance with Mr. Gatti-Casazza, I preferred signing my engagement with Mr. Dippel; but all our arguments came to naught when he found I was firm in my proposals to improve upon the old contract, and I sailed away in May with no more definite answer than "_Au revoir_ in Paris" to him.

While singing there at the Opera Comique, we again went over the same ground--futilely; and it was not till the following July in Berlin that I was able to arrange a several years' engagement which, in the light of the last years, I may reasonably conclude has been to n.o.body's dissatisfaction.

My third Metropolitan season started unhappily. I arrived ill and f.a.gged; lamentable altercations took place between the new conductor, Mr. Toscanini, and myself, each having quite opposite ideas as to the merits of conductor and prima donna, respectively. The estrangement was complete after the opening performance of "Madame b.u.t.terfly," when we both lost our manners and our tempers in high-handed fashion.

Outside influences fanned resentment to a white heat, at least on my part; I was in a fury. The papers gave s.p.a.ce to stupid fabrications and stories purporting to emanate from those speaking with authority, whose names, however, one could never discover.

Ill in mind and health, I was vexed enough to offer to buy my release from such bondage as I now lived in artistically. I was far from happy, and when I am not happy I cannot sing well. My one idea was to escape from all this turbulence and what seemed to me to be a hotbed of intrigue. I was a rebel, yes; but I was no dissembler, and I hated to come into contact with those in authority under present conditions.

Every performance was an occasion of dread; things looked very dark for my peace of mind.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GOOSE GIRL IN "KoNIGSKINDER"]

Needless to say, I was not granted a release, but must struggle on during the closing weeks of the spring. I resigned myself to finish the season as best I could, but I was quite decided that when the roll call came the following autumn I would spend my winter quietly in Berlin. That was all to be changed, however, by the very unexpected and friendly overtures which Mr. Toscanini, to my great surprise, made one memorable evening of "Madame b.u.t.terfly" in Chicago.

When two ardent and honest workers are desirous of eliminating misunderstandings it is not difficult to arrive at a solution. The various phases of the seething disquiet that had prevailed between us were discussed with commendable frankness on both sides. I need not add that the result was a happy one, and I thereby gained a firm friend and an invaluable ally in my work.

We sealed our differences in a joint curtain call, that same evening, before a jammed house that was fully aware of the significance of our unusual appearance together, and gave way to tumultuous and approving applause.

It would be difficult to estimate justly the influence Mr. Toscanini has had in the musical development of our opera, the artistic direction of which he rightly controls. Personally I am, as in the case of Lilli Lehmann, far more indebted to him than I can properly place in words, certainly more than he, with a morbid dislike for any public attention to himself, would perhaps allow me to admit.

Lehmann--Bernhardt--Toscanini! These are names to conjure with in the career of a young artist!

Events in the operatic aviary were now destined to proceed more or less smoothly for me--for a while at least. In the spring of 1909 I was urged to give some special performances of "La Tosca" at the Opera Comique in Paris, with Antonio Scotti in his admirable characterization of Scarpia.

The success of the opera was most gratifying, and was in no wise overshadowed by the presence of the Metropolitan Company, which had come from the United States to sing in Paris at the same time.

That same spring, before sailing, Toscanini had asked me to sing Puccini's "Manon" with the Metropolitan Company during its Paris season.

But the role was unfamiliar to me, and as I had monopolized the more popular Ma.s.senet's "Manon," I felt I could not undertake its preparation in six days of ocean travel, together with my promised performances of Tosca at another theater. Toscanini quite understood this, made no further insistence, and the charming Lucretia Bori was introduced to the Parisian public and later came to delight her New York admirers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN]

What transpired to offend Puccini I never knew, but the trivial question of my not singing his "Manon" provoked our first argument relative to "The Girl of the Golden West." The production of this long-awaited opera from the popular composer was the one topic of discussion and speculation in musical circles, its _premiere_ being scheduled for the following autumn in New York.

While I had never had the promise of the role, the very subject and its appeal to the American public would seem to have indicated the choice of a native prima donna. Not only I, but a large majority of an interested public expected it. However, Puccini himself dispelled any such illusion by opening an argument, while I was singing in a drawing-room, to the effect that I had refused to sing his "Manon" because I had not been asked to create "The Girl." This was really a little too much, and I retorted that such was not the case, but that it might be well for him to consider the eventual popularity of his work with an American singer as the heroine, and that I was not aware he had changed his usual suave style of composition to such an extent that the most popular "Madame b.u.t.terfly" could not cope with its difficulties. With this I sailed out of the room.

Possibly the crowded aspect of the house at some performances at which I sang the following autumn, and which he attended, modified his opinion, for he was effusive in compliments and photographs, and the slight cloud blew over without further parley.

Afterward I was to be consoled by as gratifying a success as my heart could wish as the "Goose Girl." December 28, 1910, saw the _premiere_ of the charming "Konigskinder," which enchanted the audience by reason of its lovely simplicity and the introduction of live geese--no less!

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS FARRAR AND CARUSO IN "JULIAN"]

Professor Humperdinck was not a little taken aback when I first mentioned that I intended having these live geese which were, according to my plan, to move naturally and unconfined about the stage. Mr. Hertz, the conductor, was much perturbed and objected to the noise and confusion they might create; but Mr. Gatti was resigned to my whim and gave a.s.sent. So with the help of our technical director and the "boys"

behind the stage I had as pretty a flock of birds as one could find on any farm. When the curtain rose upon that idyllic forest scene, with the goose girl in the gra.s.s, the geese unconcernedly picking their way about, now and again spreading snowy wings, unafraid, the house was simply delighted and applauded long and vigorously. Not to be overlooked was the sympathetic appeal of the children's beloved Fiddler, in the person of Goritz. This operatic fairy-tale held an enviable place in the regular repertoire for three years, and was one of my happiest successes.

Following this I was to create a work of a type quite different from any other I had ever essayed. Had it not been for Toscanini's urging I should hardly have chosen "Ariane et Barbe Bleue" as a medium for my ambitions. While the production was highly interesting, I cannot say that I am much in sympathy with the vague outlines of the modern French lyric heroines; "Melisande" and "Ariane" I think can be better entrusted to artists of a less positive type.

CHAPTER XIV