THE GIRL WITH A TASTE FOR MUSIC.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 8, 20 February 1892, Page 185

THE GIRL WITH A TASTE FOR MUSIC.

BY MISS EMMA NEVADA.

E young girl who is so fortunate as to possess a voice cannot he too careful of it. If she intends to follow the career of an artist, it is not too much to say that every action in her life must be considered with reference to its effect on that precious organ. The temperature of her rooms, the food that she eats, the garments that she wears, the employment of her time must all be regulated so that no harm shall come to her voice.

It is surprising how susceptible to these influences a high soprano voice becomes. The owners of mezzo sopranos and contraltos have less sensitive thioats, but even those require many precautions if they are to be kept in good order. Overheated rooms are bad, as a too high temperature lias a weakening effect, and moreover predispose the singer to catch cold. Daily exercise in the open air, when the weather is favourable, I have found positively essential. As to food, the legulations prescribed by the doctor at Ems, now one of the most renowned health stations for the care of the throat in Europe, cannot be improved upon. Nothing must be taken either very hot or very cold ; the food must be simply tepid, to avoid the shock of great heat or cold to the vocal cords. All raw fruit is forbidden on account of the acids which it contains, and which are very injurious. In fact, all sour

eatables and beverages must be given up, and all sweets and pastry as well. Mustard, pepper and all spices in general are strictly forbidden. Plain, wholesome, strengthening food, including stewed fruits of all kinds, alone is permitted. Nor is it well for a vocalist either to sit up late, or to spend too much time in bed in the morning, except of course, after a performance, when she requires a thorough rest. Gn the day preceding the evening on which she sings, she ought to talk as little as possible, confining her utterances strictly to necessary monosyllables. Under all circumstances she ought never to talk much, and never in the open air, in a carriage, or a railway car. The strain on the voice is most injurious. Nor ought she, with a view of sparing her throat, to carry on a conversation in a whisper. The tone is unnatural, and, like all unnatural things, is harmful. One of the leading Italian teachers of singing always advises her pupils to remain in bed during the day preceding the evening on which they are to sing ; but such a proceeding would be impossible for me. I always go out on such occasions for at least an hour, taking a brisk walk if the weather is pleasant, or a drive in a close carriage if it is stormy.

The daily period of study should never exceed an hour, and that should be subdivided into exercises at different parts of the day, each lasting for fifteen minutes only. ‘ How many hours a day do you practise ’’ is a question that I have often been called upon to answer, the popular idea being that a prima donna spends the gi eater part of her leisure hours at home in singing away with all her might. Such a process would be far more likely to break a voice than to improve it. There are some exceptionally robust organs that require exercise to finish and perfect them, but they are the exception. Contrary, too, to the popular impression, a singer should accustom herself to dispense as much as possible with warm or heavy clothing. The throat should not be muflled or heated in any way. Furs should be worn as little as possible. The becoming and fashionable boa is positively injurious, and should be, in all cases, discarded. Heavy flannel underwear, reaching up to the throat and down to the wrists, is also harmful, especially when the young singer has begun her professional career. The warm flannel under-vest must be laid aside when the vocalist dresses for the concert-room or for the stage, and the sudden change is apt to be most injurious. Gn the other hand, the feet should be carefully guarded from cold and damp. One great professor in Paris is apt to be very angry with those of her pupils who, being naturally proud of their pretty feet, persist in walking in thin soled boots or shoes through the mud ami wet of the Parisian streets in winter The student of siuging must give up balls and evening parties of all descriptions. Dancing, late hours and the night air play havoc with the voice as well as with the strength. Each indulgence in such amusements will cause the pupil to waste several days of invaluable time. A curious detail about professional singers is the fact that each one of them takes a different article as a refreshment to the throat during a performance. One singer drinks champagne. Another will swallow a raw egg. Others prefer strong bouillon, or will take a tumbler of brown stout. Italian singers, as a rule, drink cold coffee and water, but one famous tenor indulges during the evening in a salted cucumber. One young prima donna munches watercrackers all the time that she is not actually on the stage. An old Italian gentleman whom I once met in Florence told me that Malibran, whom he had known well during her brief, dazzling career, was in the habit of taking, every evening that she sang, a bowl of onion soup towards the middle of the performance. She had it made at home, and brought cold to the theatre. Her maid used to heat it for her in her dressing-room. One evening she was attended by a maid whom she had just engaged. Malibran gave her new attendant many and minute directions respecting her bowl of soup, especially enjoining upon her to have it ready at the wings for the prima donna to take at a certain point in the performance. The opera was ‘ Norma.’ The heroine and Adalgisa were in the act of singing their grand duet, and the audience was hanging breathless on each of Norma's impassioned notes, when, to the horror of Malibran, her too zealous maid appeared on the stage, bearing the bowl of smoking soup, and walked directly toward her with the words, ‘ It’s all ready, ma'am—please take it while it’s hot I’ Fortunately she was seen by the stage manager, who rushed after her and whisked her behiml the scenes before the audience had had time fully to comprehend the situation.

Another odd thing about opera singers is the difference in their ways of demonstrating stage fright. One great prima donna will stand on one foot and moisten her lips nervously with her tongue. Another will kick her train energetically, whether or not it happens to be in her way. A certain celebrated baritone always pulls down the cuff of his left sleeve, and sings a great deal too slow. And I, on such occasions, invariably sing much too fast.