MELBA'S MEMOIRS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 19142, 7 October 1925, Page 6

MELBA'S MEMOIRS.

TRYING CUSTOMS IN ITALY. MEETING SWEDEN'S KINS. (Copyright). CHAPTER X.—( Continued). The fiteata was a remarkable institution in those days. One could see some of "the most wonderful performances of opera in tha world, and yet, at the same time, one was constantly shocked by customs which seemed utterly out of keeping with the general artistic tradition. Never shall I forget a night not long after this when one cf these customs was suddenly made known to me without any warning. I was again singing "Lncia" and was in the middle of one of the most impassioned love duets with Egardo, when all at once the music ceased, Egardo turned swiftly away, and with hardly a second's pause the orchestra blared out '.he national anthem in another key. For a moment I remained with outstretched hands, wondering if I had goifts quite mad. And then it dawned on me that the Queen had just made her entry into the Royal Box, and that this was the Italian method of doing homage to her. Hew utterly inartistic! Ido not mind the fact that I was made to look. « complete fool—(I certainly felt one.'). But I do resent—and any artist worthy of the name would agree with me—being stopped for several minutes in the middle of a very tense scene, and then being expected to continue where one left off as though nothing had happened. One's operatic emotions may be fairly elastic, but they are not as elastic as all that. However, I hear that great musician Toscanini has put an end to this custom. And I should like to offer him my sincere congratulations on doing so. But even this custom, which might claim the excuse that it was prompted by loyalty to the throne, was not quite so distasteful to me as another, which, thank God, Toscanini has also stopped. When 1 first saw an example of it, I was sitting in a box with Puccini, at a performance of " Tosca," which, as it is hardly necessary to state, Puccini always considered one of the finest of his operas. To my horror, after the prayer, the prima donna stepped forward, with her hands to her heart, her face wreathed in smiles, and after repeated bows sang the whole aria over again. For me, the whole act seemed spoilt, and I turned to Puccini indignantly, " Why do you allow that ? " I asked him. " It's unforgivable." Puccini shrugged his shoulders. "If there are no ' bis's ' in Italian opera, he said, with an air of resignation, " there is a3.so no success." I could not understand it, and I said to him " Why don't you take a lesson from the Germans? Tfcsy don't expect applause even at the end of an act. They never lose their part#. And that is why their opera is the greatest in the world." Puccini was an extremely Bimple man. I do not think that it is anything to his discredit to say that he was reallv a peasant of genius. He very rarely talked except in short staccato sentences, while he sat shyly on the edge of a chair. The only time" he ever really " got out of himself " was whan he was sitting at the piano, either playing some extracts from his operas or improvising—a pastime of which he was extraordinarily fond. He would sit down sometimes and improvise a whole scene from an opera straight out of his head, and when asked: " What was that you were playing ? " he would merely shrug his shoulders and say, " Nothing." It was with Puccini himself that I had the priceless advantage of studying Boherae. Indeed, I went down to Lucca that summer and stayed for six weeks, while almost every day he came to my hotel, very often lunching, and marking my copy of the score in his neat little handwriting, to give me his personal impressions of how the opera should be sung. ' How full Italy was then of great musicians! It was during those golden days in Milan that I first bad the honour of "meeting Verdi. He was then in the wonderful " Indian Summer " of his genius—the period which gave as " Othello," and which was finally to fade into the darkness with the strange swan song of " Falstaff." I had no idea that I should ever know Verdi, until on® night, after I had been singing " Rigoietto, ' I learnt that the Maestro had been in the house, and that he was now outside my dressing-room waiting to see me. I bounded to the door and said, *' Maestro! "What an honour! And they didn't .tell me that you were here—" He bowed, slowly, almost sternly. It was like a tree trying to bend. That was the impression he gave me, of some gnarled, wonderful old tree. There was an impenetrable reserve about him, too, which made one's conversation with him slightly stilted. And yet, he had bright eyes, like a boy's, and eager, restless hands. Greatly daring, I ventured a suggestion. " Maestro, I have a favour to ask of you." (I felt rather as though I were "appealing to a judge). Yes ? " said Verdi. " I want to sing to you yonr opera ' Othello V Then very slowly he smiled. " That, madame, is not a favour," he said. And straight away we arranged that on the following day I should go round to his house and sing to him. I shall always remember that lesson—the long, cool room, with the sun streamihg through the windows, and Verdi sitting down at the piano, and playing and playing until we had finished the whole opera. He was an inspiring master. He made one fee! his phrases as he himself felt them, and he gava to each phrase an added loveliness. When at last we had finished, and I had sung the few halting high notes which mark the passing of pnor Desdomona, he leant biuk, looked up at me with one of his rare smiles, and said " Tel! me—with whom have you studied this role ? " " With Tosti," I told him. "Ah ! " TTek. nnddpd. " Oaro Tosti • T wondered. He is the only man who wonld have taught you to sing my opera like that." We parted firm friends. {I hugging a precious photograph}, and his last words to me were that one day he would listen to me singing his opera in public. But alas! I never did that, for not long afterwards he died. It was a terrible disappointment to me, but I feel that I may console myself by remembering that I sang his music as he himself told me it should be sung. I never realised, till I began to write thfese memoirs, what a bird of passage I have been. Here, there, and everywhere—England, France, Russia, Italy—to keep track of oneself in those days is a bewildering task. I often wonder if | those who listen to a singer remember that thev are listening, in nine cases out | of ten, to--a woman with a home which she can hardly ever see. It might add a little sympathy to their thoughts of her if they did. I must go quickly over the next short period, the spring of 1893, mentioning en passant that I reappeared at Coven t Garden in Lohengrin on May 15, and that four days after that I redeemed my promise to Leon Cavallo by creating the role of Ned da in " Pagliacci," which by the way, is. King George's favourite opera. He told me that he saw it ton times during this season alone. I want to pass on to the Autumn, which was set aside for a first tour of Sweden and Denmark.

' :;il; . .. ; . \ ISpRL Sweden and Sweden's King (Oscar) will always be linked in my memory, for, of all the kings with whose friendship I wati ever honoured, none was more gem&s or charming than this fair-haired smiling giant. As a matter of fact, it was only by luck that 1 met him at all, for dating the whole of my tour His Majesty wa* in Norway. And just as X had finished my engagements, and was cn the point of sailing for America, a message arrived, saying that His Majesty requested me, if possible, to remain a little longer in Stockholm ia order that he might hear me. With considerable difficulty I roanaged to arrange that , I should opt-n in America a fortnight later than I had anticipated, and I informed the King thai 1 should he honoured to smg before him. I smiled when I read the programme that he had proposed, for it was about as arduous a selection as any smger could possibly iundertake, embracing, as it did—1. The* Balcony Scene from " Romeo." 2. Ths> Second Act of " Lohengrin." 3. The Third Act of " Lucia." 4. The Fourth Act 01 " Faust" However, in those days, four of the most strenuous acts of four different operas deterred me not at all, and I felt inclined to congratulate the King oa. his good' taste. I was still more inclined to be grateful to him when I saw him at the Opera, for twice during the performance he rose of his own accord and swept me a low bow from the Royal Box. As he was sitting in the front of the box and was not less than sis feet four in height f his giaeious act was at once noticed by the audience who did not seem to know whether they should follow his example or remain seated. Some of them half stood, others sat still, wondering if they were infringing some rule of etiquette. During the performance, a message was brought round by an A.D.C. to say that the King wished to see me at the ralace the next day, and as i haJ very little time the audience was fixed for 11 o'clock. I arrived at the Palace—with my usual deadly punctuality—ten minutes bafore the time, and was ushered through endless suites of the exquisitely decorated drawings rooms until eventually I arrived at a small room, furnished in the simplest possible style. Here I found the King waiting for*me, with a single groom-in-waiting by his side. He greeted me in Italian, and for some time we talked in this language, until suddenly, finding I could not express myself freely, I said " But you know, sir, I'm m Australian." The King: "Are you really? That's splendid. Then we'll taik Australian. But before we say anything else, I want to confer this decoration on you." It was the decoration " Litteris et Artibus," and I expressed my appreciation and honour with such sincerity that I made him laugh. " But won't you pin it on for roe, sir?" The King: "Of course I will. Lend me a pin." Myself: "I'm afraid I only have a hatpin." The King;: " Fancy a woman without a pin! Here (to groom), go and get one from the next room." He fetched it, and pinned it on my breast, where it has often reposed since. The King: " But one ought never to give people pins. It's supposed to bring il-feeling, I shall have tc take your decoration off again." Myself: " Oh, sir, please don't do that." The King: " Very well then, I know a way of making that all right." And he kissed me on both cheeks, swearing that, by doing so, he was taking away any evil spell After that he took me to see his son—the present. King—and came down to put me into my carriage. I left Stockholm a proud woman, not only because of the King's graciousaess, but aiso because, when I arrived at the station, I found a crowd of five thousand people to see me off, ai! singing their divine Swedish folk tunes. It was one of these tunes which Christine Nillson introduced as a solo in Hamlet. It was three years before I was again to have the honour of seeing the King of Norway and Sw«den, and this time it was in the most unorthodox way. I was sitting one afternoon in any fiat in Pans when my butler rushed in, very agitated, crying—- " Madame—Madame—there is a lunatic at the front door." I prepared to fly, when he added, " An enormous man, of a height incredible. He demands to see you, and he pretends he is the King of Sweden!" I gasped with relief and anxiety, for while I was glad to escape from the mythical lunatic I was not at all sure how the King would like tie reception which my butler appeared to have givep him. However, when he «ttared, his face was wreathed in sraihts, and he greeted me with all his old cordiality. '* I've come to have tea with you," he said. " I'm absolutely dying fr-r a cup of tea." After tea, he sprang to his feet, saving, " Now, let's sing." And he went to the piano and dragged out half a dozen operas, opening at random at the duet in the second act of Lohengrin. " You will be Melba," he said, " and I shall be Jean de Rtszke." We sang duet after duet, and I was delighted to find that he had a fresh sweet tenor voice. And so* enjoyable were our duets that it was nearly seven o'clock before he bade me good-bye. This ends" the first section of Melba's Memoirs, the balance of which are not yet available for publication. The book will appear at a later date, : | '