SINGING ROUND THE WORLD

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4366, 25 May 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

SINGING ROUND THE WORLD

(By Madame Melba.) Few of the thousands of people who have been enraptured by lime. Melba’s voice know of the extraordinary difficulties she had to overcome before she was permitted to go on the stage, bhc herself tolls the story in the “Now York Pont.” : “My real debut was made in Melbourne, iny native city, when 1 was six years old. 1 sang The Shells oi the Ocean, and played my own accompaniment.

“That was the last time but one that I was allowed to sing in public until after L was married. -My father aud my family were bitterly opposed to my appearing in public, and after 1 was married my husband’s family displayed the same opposition. 1 had many lights over it, and I won my way only by fighting. The obstacles that were placed iu my path will never bo known. I gave one concert between my debut and the public appearance 1 inade in Melbourne after my marriage. Only two people came to hear me. My father had worked so against me, asking our friends not to encourage mo, that they all stayed away. But I sang the entire programme through to those, two people. And what a time I had paying the bills when it was over, for I had been the sole manager as well as performer! “Tho first time I sang after being trained was at Brussels, as Gilcla, in Verdi’s Rogolctto. [ wa.s not nervous in those days; 1 did not even know what netvousness meant. That first night in Brussels, it was simply a matter of fun to me. The joy of sing, ing put everything else out of my mind. Of course I did not know how to ‘make un’ for the stage, and I got not only tho rouge but my eyebrows crooked. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror I very nearly wont into hysterics. That night I learned what jealousy moans. My husband and Mmc. Marches! were sitting together in a box. In the box nest them a lady announced, ‘Melba! They say this is her debut. I heard her hissed off the stage at Madrid ten years ago'.’ “My husband was furious and wanted to fight the man who was with her. “It was my privilege to study the roles of Marguerite and Juliet with tho composer Gounod. Iu Romeo and Juliet there is a phrase that says: ‘Let all dance. Those who do nob dance have secret trofibles.’ With the utterance of those words I can sec* Gounod now, dear old man. He would put up his hands mysteriously and say ‘They have corns.’ “The next London season I came out at Covent Garden as Lucia. That was in 1888. 1 had the honour of meeting tho Prince and Princess of Wales (now King Edward VII. and the Queen Consort), of singing at Marlborough House, and before Queen Victoria, at Windsor.

“Something very funny happened to me one night on the stage at Covent Garden during that first London season, and it proved more amusing to the Princess, perhaps, than it did to mo. I was singing Juliet in Gounod’s Romeo and Juliet. In the midst of a touching scene I felt something slip, and there was a feeling of unusual lightness about my head. I turned, and was startled by tho sight of part of my curls on the floor. They had not been pinned on tightly enough. There was no picking them up and there was no covering them up—and there they remained in startling evidence till the end of the act. But I sang tho scene through to the best of my ability. Later the Princess of Wales alluded laughingly to the disaster. I faintly described ray feelings. ‘And they were such nioe curls, too,’ the Princess added.” After mentioning her experiences at tho British Court and at Paris, St. Petersburg, and elsewhere. Mine. Melba savs:— “The greatest night of my career was the one of my first appearance at La Scala. For twenty minutes after the mad scene in Lucia they applauded. At six o’clock iii the evening of the day of the performance I was in such a state that I said, T will go home.’ I was determined to start. If it had not been for my secretary I should have gone. I was afraid for my life. I had received letters saying that I would be poisoned, that I would not live to appear. and that I had only one way of escape—to leave without attempting to sing. Tho cabal was, instigated by a singer who had reasons for wishing me not to appear. The feeling aroused against me was so strong that when I came out on the stage every back was turned. Not the slightest attention was paid to me. “But after the first recitative I knew that it was all right. After tho mad scene for twenty minutes it was fairly an enthusiastic mob, there was such tumult and cheering. Another incident I must dwell upon. I was singing one showy evening in Philadelphia. When I started to cross the pavement to my carriage after the performance, my arms were full of roses that had been sent to me during the opera. A white-haired woman stepped forward and said: ‘God bless your beautiful heart. I have been waiting in the snow for you to come out. Your voice is the most beautiful thing in the world. Will you give me a rose to keep in memory of it • ‘‘There she stood, white-haired, in the driving snow, poorly clad iu black, and with lines of grief and age seamed on her face, waiting to tell me that I had made her happy. I gave her every (lower I had. I kissed her on both checks, and wo cried there together.”