WHAT is Style?
In reality the question is two-fold. One may have Style; and one may have a style. The former is general; the latter individual. The former can be taught and learned, for it is based on certain well-defined rules; the latter is personal—in other words, is not universally applicable. Not infrequently it is a particular application of those rules which gives the impress of originality. But correct taste must first be formed by the study of the noblest creations in the particular art that claims attention. In singing, as in the sister arts, the laws which govern Style must be apprehended and understood before Individuality can be given full scope. Otherwise, what to the executant would appear as original might, to correct taste and judgment, appear ridiculous and extravagant. A genius is sometimes eccentric, but eccentricity is not genius. Vocal students should hear as many good singers as possible, but actually imitate none. A skilled teacher will always discern and strive to develop the personality of the pupil, will be on the alert to discover latent features of originality and character. He will respect and encourage individuality, rather than insist upon the servile imitation of some model—even though that model be himself. As the distinguished artist Victor Maurel has justly observed: “Of all the bad forms of teaching singing, that by imitation is the worst” (Un ProblÈme d’Art).
In singing, as in painting, a copy has never the value of the original. Moreover, slavish imitation in any art has a deleterious influence. But to respect irreproachable examples and fitly observe sound rules, whose very survival often justifies their existence and testifies to their value, is always of benefit to the artist. To imitate is to renounce one’s individual expression of an ideal and present that of another. But to observe established and accepted laws, laws founded on Truth and consecrated by Time, is not to imitate, when those laws are applied in an original and individual manner that is in harmony with the personality of the interpreter. “L’art est un coin de Nature vu À travers un tempÉrament.” In literature, each writer has his own special style which may easily be recognized; but all follow the same grammatical rules. A correct style in singing consists in the careful observance of the principles of Technique; a perfect Diction; the appropriate Colouring of each sentiment expressed; attention to the musical and poetic Accents; judicious and effective Phrasing (whether musical or verbal), so that the meaning of both composer and poet may be placed in the clearest light.
Let us analyze Style in its three principal aspects: Colour, Accent, and Phrasing.
COLOUR
OF all the elements of Style in singing, the most potent and effective—the one, indeed, that is essential for the success of the lyric artist—is the ability to vary the vocal timbre; that is, to sing with Colour. This desideratum of varied tone-colour is sought even by instrumentalists. Nay, the instrument itself is sometimes constructed with this object in view. Witness the invention of the “soft” pedal, which is intended not solely to reduce the intensity of tone in the pianoforte—that may be accomplished by a modification of force in striking the note—but to give the tones a darker, more sombre quality, or colour. To vary the tone-colour, a violinist or ’cellist draws the bow across the strings close to, or distant from, the bridge, in accordance with his desire for a reed-like or flute-like quality of tone. Anyone who has listened to the performance of the slow movement in Paganini’s Concerto in D, by an Ysaye or a Mischa Elman, will have remarked how the skilful use of varied tone colour and other devices imparts a wonderful charm to music intrinsically of but mediocre value.
A singer may have a good quality of voice; but that is normal. If he can vary it only in degrees of loudness (Intensity) and not in differences of timbre (Colour) he cannot be ranked as an artist. No matter how great the natural beauty and sonority of his voice, his performance will always be monotonous, if he has only one tint on his vocal palette. In speech—from which the effect is borrowed—utterances of grave and serious meaning, and those of gayer import, are not made with the same colour of voice. A brighter quality (voix claire) is used instinctively for an ejaculation uttered by one to whom pleasant or joyful news has been communicated. On the contrary, should it be the cause of sorrow or grief for the listener, he will use—should he have occasion to reply—a darker quality of voice (voix sombre). Such phenomena are physiological. The vocal organs are the most sensitive of any in the human economy: they betray at once the mental condition of the individual. Joy is a great tonic, and acts on the vocal cords and mucous membrane as does an astringent; a brilliant and clear quality of voice is the result. Grief or Fear, on the other hand, being depressing emotions, lower the vitality, and the debilitating influence communicates to the voice a dull and sombre character.
On this question of colour in the voice, the masterly writer and critic LegouvÉ says: “Certain particular gifts are necessary if the speech is to possess colour. The first of these is Metal in the voice. He who has it not will never shine as a colourist. The metal may be gold, silver or brass; each has its individual characteristic. A golden voice is the most brilliant; a silvery voice has the most charm; a brassy voice the most power. But one of the three characteristics is essential. A voice without metallic ring is like teeth without enamel; they may be sound and healthy, but they are not brilliant.... In speech there are several colours—a bright, ringing quality; one soft and veiled. The bright, strident hues of purple and gold in a picture may produce a masterpiece of gorgeous colouring; so, in a different manner, may the harmonious juxtaposition of greys, lilacs and browns on a canvas by Veronese, Rubens, or Delacroix.
“Last of all is the velvety voice. This is worthless if not allied with one of the three others. In order that a velvety voice may possess value it must be reinforced (doublÉe) with ’metal.’ A velvety voice is merely one of cotton.”[1]
It may be of interest to notice that the quality which in France is designated “timbre,” is called by the Italians “metallo di voce,” or, “metal of the voice.” Those who heard Madame Sarah Bernhardt fifteen or twenty years ago will readily understand why her countless friends and admirers always spoke of her matchless organ as “la voix d’or.”
The late Sims Reeves, the famous tenor, was a perfect master of all varieties and shades of vocal colour, and displayed his mastery with certainty and unfailing effect in the different fields of Oratorio and Opera. In the recitative “Deeper and deeper still,” with its subsequent aria “Waft her, angels, through the skies” [Handel], he ranged through the entire gamut of tone-colour. As Edgardo in Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, he launched the “Maladetta” phrase of the curse with a voice that was almost “white” with frenzied rage; while the pathetic sombre quality he employed in the “Fra poco a me ricovero” fitly accorded with the despairing mood and gloomy surroundings of the hapless Edgardo.
Some singers control but two colours or timbres—the very clear (open) and the very sombre (closed), which they exaggerate. In reality, however, the gradations between them can be made infinite by the artist who is in possession of the secret—especially if he has the ability to combine Colour with Intensity.
An illustration of this is found in the example cited in the opening paragraph of the present work:—“For now is Christ risen.” Not only did Mme. Tietjens make a gradual crescendo from the first note to the climax, but the tonal colours were also subtly graduated from a comparatively sombre quality to one of the utmost clearness and brilliance.
For now is Christ risen
[Listen]
As contrasting examples in which the two principal colours may be employed effectively, I may cite the Bacchic air, “Ô vin, dissipe la tristesse,” and the pensive monologue, “Être, ou ne pas Être,” both from the opera Hamlet, by Ambroise Thomas. The forced, unnatural quality of the first calls for the use of a clear, open, brilliant timbre.
Ô vin, dissipe la tristesse
[Listen]
But for the second, “To be, or not to be”:
Être, ou ne pas Être
[Listen]
a sombre, closed timbre is necessary. The opening recitative of Vanderdecken in Der fliegende HollÄnder by Wagner would be absurd, and utterly out of harmony with the character and his surroundings, if sung in the open timbre. Perhaps I ought to explain that “open” (voix claire, Fr.), and “closed” (voix sombre, Fr.), are technical terms, of which the equivalents are accepted in all countries where the art of singing is cultivated; terms that apply to quality of tone, not to the physical process by which these effects are produced. Such a mistake is not infrequently made by vocal physiologists who are not practical musicians or singing-teachers. Nor must the term “clear timbre” be understood to mean the “white voice” (“voix blanche,” or “voce bianca”); this, like the guttural timbre, being only occasionally employed for the expression of some violent passion, such as hate.
Like the admirable paintings of EugÈne CarriÈre, for instance his masterly portrait of Paul Verlaine, a song, sometimes an entire rÔle, may be worked out in monochrome; though the gradations of tint are numerous, they are consistently kept within their preconceived colour-scheme. Some few exceptional singers, like Jean-Baptiste Faure or Maurice Renaud, have this gift of many shades of the one colour in their singing of certain rÔles. The colour is determined by the psychological character of the personage portrayed; a gay, reckless Don Giovanni calls for a brighter colouring throughout than that necessitated by the music allotted to a gloomy Vanderdecken or an embittered and vengeful Rigoletto. One may, therefore, formulate the following rule: The general character of the composition will decide the tonal colour appropriate for its general interpretation; the colouring necessary for its component phrases will be determined by the particular sentiment embodied in them. Emotions like sorrow, fear, despair, will find fitting expression in the sombre quality of voice, graduated in accordance with the intensity of the emotion. The opposite sentiments of joy, love, courage, hope, are fittingly interpreted by gradations of the clear and brilliant timbre. The dark or sombre voice will be used in varying shades for the recitative from Samson (Handel), “Oh, loss of sight:”
Oh, loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
[Listen]
while the clearest and most brilliant timbre possible to be obtained is plainly indicated for the same composer’s “Sound an alarm!” from Judas MaccabÆus.
Sound an alarm, your silver trumpets sound!
[Listen]
It was a rule formulated by the old Italian school of singing, when l’arte del bel canto in its true sense did really exist, that no phrase—musical or verbal—should be repeated with the same nuances. Very many instances might be given of the happy effect obtained by observing this rule. One will suffice. It is taken from the Lamento of Queen Catherine (of Aragon), who, slighted by Henry VIII. for Anne Boleyn, sighs for her native Spain.
Lamento, Henri VIII: Act IV, Saint-SaËns
[Listen]
Sudden contrasts of colour are of great dramatic effect. A good illustration is found in the air “DivinitÉs du Styx,” from Gluck’s Alceste. This contrast is still further heightened by a sudden change of both Intensity and Tempo.
DivinitÉs du Styx
[Listen]
This last phrase, “Ministres de la mort!” should be sung in a very sombre voice of almost guttural character.
It is, indeed, in the recitatives and declamatory passages of Gluck, Handel, Sacchini, that lyric artists will find unsurpassable material for study. Requiring, as such works do for their perfect interpretation, all the resources of Colour, Accent, and Phrasing, such study is the best possible preparation for the fitting musical presentment of the lyric drama in some of its later phases.
Colour, then, is the basic element of Style in singing. It is reinforced by Accent, which, as the name implies, is the accentuation of details that require to be brought into prominence. This subject, therefore, next claims attention.
ACCENT
IN singing, two kinds of accent are recognized, the Musical accent, and the Poetic, or Verbal, accent. The first appertains to the domain of sound; the second, to the domain of significance. The first, for Æsthetic reasons, throws into relief certain tones of a musical phrase; the second brings into prominence the sentiment underlying the poem or text. Note, also, that in spoken declamation, accent applies to a syllable only; in singing, the verbal accent affects an entire word.
In its relation to Style, the Musical accent must be carefully distinguished from the Metrical accent which is determined by Time, or Measure, as well as from the Verbal accent whereby the import of a word is rendered clear to the listener. Here is an example of Musical accent, from Act III of Verdi’s Ballo in Maschera:
Saper vorreste di che si veste quando l'È cosa ch'ei vuol nascosa
[Listen]
The accents (marked thus accent symbol) give to the musical phrase a piquancy that is admirably in keeping with the gay and careless character of the page, Oscar, who sings it. In fact, as regards Style, Musical accent is particularly valuable in song for the purpose of setting forth the true character of the music. Hence, it may be regarded as a means of characterization.
This use of accent for characterization is also quite distinct from its use with “accidentals,” or tones foreign to the prevailing tonality. In the former case, sentiment dictates its employment; in the second, the accent guarantees, as it were, the accuracy of the singer’s intonation. By the faint stress laid on the foreign tone, the listener is assured that the executant is not deviating from the true pitch. In the following examples, the tones marked accent symbol are “accidentals,” and for that reason should receive a faint stress. The first example is from La Forza del Destino.
Madre, Madre, pietosa Vergine, perdona al mio peccato, m'aita quell'ingrato
[Listen]
Je dis que rien, Carmen: Act III, Bizet
[Listen]
These different uses of accent are well illustrated in the following example.
Come unto Him, Messiah, Handel
[Listen]
The tone allotted to the second syllable of the word “upon” is accentuated to affirm the accuracy of the singer’s intonation; the slight emphasis of the word “Him” brings into relief the meaning of the text. This latter, then, is an illustration of Verbal, or “Poetic” accent which, I repeat, throws into relief, without consideration of its musical value or position, some word of special significance in the verbal phrase. To render the poetic meaning of the text clear to the listener, a correct use of verbal accent is imperative. Its importance and effect, particularly in recitative and declamatory singing, are analogous to the importance and effect of emphasis in spoken language. The example is from Samson (Handel):
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain
[Listen]
Here I may point out that in cantabile phrases the stream of sound, notwithstanding its division into syllables by the organs of articulation—lips, tongue, etc.—should pour forth smoothly and uninterruptedly. The full value of each tone must be allotted to the vowel; the consonants which precede or end the syllables are pronounced quickly and distinctly. In declamatory singing, on the contrary, the consonants should be articulated with greater deliberation and intensity.
I know that my Redeemer liveth
[Listen]
Here an emphatic accent on the consonant “n” irresistibly suggests the idea of knowledge; that is, of absolute certainty, not of mere belief.
Very frequently the metrical accent does not coincide with the syllabic accent: the musical accent will fall on an unaccented syllable, or vice versa. Particularly is this the case when the composer is not perfectly familiar with the rules that govern the prosody of the language to which he is setting music. In the operas of Meyerbeer many passages occur in which it is necessary to readjust the syllables to the notes on account of their misplaced accent. Here is an illustration from HoËl’s Grand Air in Le Pardon de PloËrmel (Meyerbeer), Act II. (Note that the tonic accent in French falls always on the last pronounced syllable.)
Et ranimez, ranimez ma foi (as printed)
[Listen]
The error is easily remedied:
Et ranimez, ranimez ma foi (should be sung)
[Listen]
In the contralto aria “He shall feed His flock,” in Handel’s Messiah, the unaccented word “shall” falls on the most strongly accented note of the bar. If performed thus, it would give a most aggressive character to the passage, implying that some one had previously denied the assertion. This would be entirely at variance with the consolatory and peaceful message that is contained in the text and shadowed forth in the music.
He shall feed his flock like a shepherd
[Listen]
Instances of faulty syllabic accent abound in Handel’s works, both his English oratorios and his Italian operas. Many examples could be quoted. Here is a phrase from the beautiful air for mezzo-soprano sung by Ruggiero in the opera of Alcina.
Verdi prati
[Listen]
In Mendelssohn’s Elijah, the following phrase is nearly always sung as written, unless the singer is familiar with the best traditions:
Give me thy son!
[Listen]
It may be that the artists who slavishly follow the published text fear being accused of altering the composer’s music, or are ignorant of the fact that there exists a better version, which is this:
Give me thy son!
[Listen]
It will be seen that the music is not changed in the least; the musical and verbal accents have been merely readjusted and made to coincide.
In order to avoid the disagreeable effect of singing one half-bar andante to the syllable “si” (pronounced like “zee” in English), the following phrase of Marguerite de Valois in Les Huguenots (Meyerbeer), Act II, is changed thus:
en aucun temps n'eÛt choisi mieux
[Listen]
INTENSITY
IN musical terminology every gradation of volume in sound, from the faintest to the loudest, enters into the category of Intensity. One of the accepted rules of the arte del bel canto was, that every sustained tone should be coloured by some graduation of intensity. Thus the ability to augment and diminish the volume of tone was so highly esteemed—indeed, so essential—that singers spent much time in acquiring the messa di voce, that is, the steadily graduated emission of tone from the softest degree to the loudest and again to the softest: p crescendo symbol f decrescendo symbol p. This exercise invariably formed a part of each day’s study, and was practised on several vowels throughout the scale, except the extreme tones, save in rare instances. It was, in fact, indispensable that the singer should be able to colour every tone in three forms of graduated intensity: Soft to loud p crescendo symbol f; loud to soft f decrescendo symbol p; and soft to loud and soft again p crescendo symbol f decrescendo symbol p.
This command of intensity, therefore, is invaluable. But it is even more effective when the artist has the power to combine the various gradations of Intensity with different shades of Colour; in other words, when he can sing a tone crescendo and diminuendo in the clear and sombre timbres.
The passage, already cited, from Alceste’s great air in Gluck’s opera Alceste, furnishes an admirable illustration of the dramatic emotion created by a sudden contrast of Intensity as well as Colour. In the invocation “Ye ministers that dwell in night!” the clear timbre is used with gradually increasing volume until at the phrase (sung adagio) “Ministers of death!” the timbre changes abruptly to a sombre quality with sinister effect, which effect is augmented by being sung pp.
Gluck (Alceste: Act I)
[Listen]
A still more striking example of the impressive effect produced by sudden contrasts of intensity is offered in the magnificent air “Total Eclipse,” from Samson (Handel). In it, a judicious use of tone-colour, accent, and variations of tempo, all combine to elucidate in the highest possible degree the idea of both composer and poet:
Sun, moon and stars are dark to me
[Listen]
The words “Sun, moon and stars” should be given strongly accentuated, and the tempo gradually accelerated. The repetition of the phrase should be sung with still greater intensity; then, at the passage “are dark to me,” the colour of the voice changes to one of very sombre quality, and the original tempo is resumed. The first consonant in the word “dark” should receive a slight stress.
The crescendo has always been a favourite device of composers, particularly of those who write for the lyric theatre. It was an effect held in high esteem by Rossini, who introduced it constantly in his operas—witness his overtures and ensembles. All are familiar with the wonderful crescendo which precedes the appearance of the Knight of the Swan, in Lohengrin, where the sonorities are augmented by gradual additions of voices and instruments until the culminating point is reached. An instance more poignant still is found in the great “Liebestod” in Tristan und Isolde.
Although HÉrold, the French composer, observed that in working up to a climax one should begin a long way off, a singer must be careful not to reach his maximum of vocal sonority before the musical climax is attained. The tenor Duprez created a sensation that is historic, in the long crescendo passage in the fourth act of Guillaume Tell, by gradually increasing the volume of sound, as the phrase developed in power and grandeur, until the end, which he delivered with all the wealth of his exceptionally resonant voice.
Before closing this chapter on Intensity, I should advise singers whose voices possess great natural volume or power not to abuse this valuable quality by employing it too frequently. The ear of a listener tires sooner of extreme sonority than of any other effect. Talma, the great actor, wrought many reforms on the French dramatic stage, not only in costume—prior to his time Greek or Roman dress only was worn in tragedy—but also in the manner of delivering tragic verse. Against the custom, then prevalent, of always hurling forth long tirades at full voice, he inveighed in these terms: “Of all monotonous things, uproar is the most intolerable” (de toutes les monotonies, celle de la force est la plus insupportable). An artistic singer will use his most powerful tones, as a painter employs his most vivid colours, sparingly.
PHRASING
PHRASING is simply musical punctuation. In singing, it may be separated, like accent, into two divisions: Musical and Poetic, or Verbal, phrasing. If the following passage were performed by an instrument, it would not require any particular grouping or phrasing:
music
[Listen]
But when sung, it would fail in effect if not performed with a very slight pause after the word “nobis,” thus:
Ave Maria, Luzzi
[Listen]
As another illustration of the excellent effect of correct phrasing may be cited the song PsychÉ, by Paladilhe. Its effect is heightened if the musical phrasing be judiciously combined with a change in Colour and Intensity:
Quand il les flatte, j'en murmure!
[Listen]
(Should be sung):
Quand il les flatte, j'en murmure!
[Listen]
It is the clashing of the Musical and Verbal phrasings that often makes translations of lyric works unsatisfactory. The two phrases are independent, not welded together. So far from being “Music wedded to immortal Verse,” these instances resemble those mÉnages wherein each unit leads a separate existence. When this is the case, the singer must decide as to whether the musical phrase, or the poetic phrase, demands the greater prominence.
The following Phrasing and Colouring would be good and effective if the passage were played on an instrument:
music
[Listen]
But if sung thus, as it sometimes is by careless artists who pay little attention to the verbal significance of what they are singing, it would sound absurd, because the poetic phrasing is entirely ignored. The correct way of performing the passage (from the aria “Voi che sapete,” in Act II of Mozart’s Nozze di Figaro) is the following:
Donne, vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor
[Listen]
In the next extract (from Act IV in Un Ballo in Maschera, by Verdi), it will be noticed how oblivious the composer was of the claims of verbal phrasing. The whole scena is admirably written for the voice, and contains many graceful passages of great melodic charm. But although the music may claim to represent the character of the situation as a whole, it is disfigured by the complete disregard of the sense of certain groups of words:
Come se fosse l'ultima ora del nostro amor
[Listen]
The words “come se fosse l’ultima ora del nostro amor,” constitute one phrase. It would be extremely difficult, impossible even, for many, to sing the passage in one breath. But the first musical phrase ends after the word “ultima;” to separate it from the next word, “ora” (second and third bars), thus: “last—hour,” is impracticable. It would be out of the question to destroy the musical phrase by breathing after the word “ora,” in the third bar. If the text is phrased when spoken as it is when sung, the incongruity is at once apparent. The published score gives a pause fermata symbol after the word “ora:” “ultima ora fermata symbol del nostro amor.” This phrasing is good and effective, especially if the artist changes at once to the sombre quality after the pause, and finishes the phrase piano and rallentando. One very often hears it, however, given with a pause for breathing after the high a; the unfortunate singer having prolonged the tone until, in order to continue, he is compelled to take in more air. The result is the absurd phrasing given below:
l'ultima ora del nostro amor
[Listen]
In the final cadenza, the composer has cut out the word “ora” altogether. The whole air is of interest to the musical student, as it shows clearly the little value attached by Verdi, at that period of his career, to the exigencies of the verbal or poetic phrase. This neglect of the verbal punctuation is in marked contrast to the care he bestowed on it in his later works, witness Aida, Otello, and particularly Falstaff.
Here I may say that it is sometimes necessary to alter the words on account of the impossibility of performing certain passages as written. In the earlier published scores of Samson et Dalila (Saint-SaËns), the following passage in Act II, “Mon coeur s’ouvre À ta voix,” as the composer wrote it, occurs as one phrase:
Ah! rÉponds À ma tendresse!
[Listen]
This being impracticable of execution in one phrase, and there being no opportunity of retaking breath until the close of the passage, it was altered in the later editions, and now stands thus:
Ah! rÉponds À ma tendresse!
[Listen]
This device of repetition, applied either to a word or to part of a phrase, is perfectly justifiable in cases where the artist, for physical reasons, is unable to sing the phrase in one breath. I give an excerpt from Weber’s Der FreischÜtz (Grand Air, Act II):
Oh lovely night!
[Listen]
This may be sung:
Oh lovely, lovely night!
[Listen]
The concluding bars of the waltz-song in Act I of Gounod’s RomÉo et Juliette, are often phrased as indicated in the brackets, in order to give the singer a chance to take breath, which is done after the c natural:
Ah! comme un trÉsor
[Listen]
As discrepancies between the musical and verbal phrases, such as those I have instanced, abound in certain of the old operas which still keep the stage and form a part of the permanent rÉpertoire of every lyric theatre, the artists singing them are compelled to choose between sacrificing the words or the music. The former alternative is generally preferable, the musical phrase in many such cases being of the greater relative importance. Another way is, to meet the difficulty boldly by supplying another text which mates itself more happily with the musical phrase. Personally, I adopt the latter alternative without hesitation, when preparing artists to sing these works.
Some minor effects utilized in Style in singing may be briefly alluded to: Portamento; variations of Tempo.
PORTAMENTO
THIS is effected by the voice gliding from one tone to another, and is equally available on stringed instruments, the violin or ’cello, the mandoline or zither. It is a grace of style much abused by inartistic singers. Being an ornament, good taste dictates that it be used sparingly. A frequent sliding from one tone to another is a grave fault, and most disagreeable to a cultivated ear. To sing legato is one thing; to sing strisciato is another. Hence, its use on two consecutive occasions is rarely admissible. But without a sober and discreet use of the portamento, the style of the singer appears stiff, angular—lacking, as it were, in graceful curves.
It must always be performed by carrying the tone and syllable to the next tone; never by anticipating the latter:
Mozart (Nozze di Figaro)
[Listen]
But it sometimes happens that, while desiring this grace, the composer does not indicate his wish quite correctly. Here is an instance by F. ThomÉ:
Et nous dansions un bolÉro
[Listen]
Were it performed as printed, it would be very bad style, as it violates the rule that the succeeding syllable shall not be anticipated. Undoubtedly, what the author wished is the following:
Et nous dansions
[Listen]
Sometimes the composer himself indicates clearly his intention that this effect should be used, as in the following examples:
Reyer (La Statue)
[Listen]
Celeste Aida (Aida: Act I) Verdi
[Listen]
Song, Heure du Soir for Tenor, LÉo Delibes
[Listen]
From La BohÈme, Act I, Puccini
[Listen]
(Notice the phrases marked a and b.)
The words and indications for the use of the portamento in each of these last four examples are by the respective composers, and as printed in the published editions.
A portamento should never be sung so slowly as to convey the idea of a badly executed chromatic scale; and, as a rule, it is best not to use one between any lesser interval than a third, unless for some particular effect, or at the close of a slow movement, as in the aria “He was despisÈd,” in The Messiah:
and acquainted with grief
[Listen]
It is also effective in connecting syllables in phrases of a smooth, lyric character:
Nozze di Figaro: Act II, Mozart
[Listen]
The portamento being an embellishment that pertains to the cantabile, it is very little used in declamatory singing.
But frequently in the Recitatives of classic works occur phrases of declamatory recitative, interspersed with passages that are purely lyric in structure. To each of these divisions must be given its appropriate style. For instance, after the opening phrases of Obadiah’s exhortation, “Ye people, rend your hearts,” in Elijah, up to the end of the phrase “Return to God,” all is purely lyric declamation. But at the words, “For He is slow to anger, and merciful,” this should cease, and the succeeding phrases be given with all the graces that are permissible in cantabile singing; not in the hard, dry manner affected by some of the modern tenors in oratorio.
I therefore say to ye, Forsake your idols, return to God; for He is slow to anger, and merciful
[Listen]
THESE are of value in bringing out the musical and poetic significance of certain compositions; notably the operas of Bellini, Donizetti, and the earlier works of Verdi. But I would caution singers to exercise discretion in this much-abused effect. Variations of Tempo, the ritardando, accelerando, and tempo rubato, are all legitimate aids demanded by Expression. But unless their use is determined by sound judgment and correct musicianly taste, the effect speedily becomes vulgar and monotonous. Knowledge, and a taste formed in good schools, must be the guide of the vocalist in the use of variations of tempo.
I have said that the operas of Bellini, Donizetti and Verdi abound in instances requiring the hastening or slackening of the tempo. But the device is also highly esteemed by the ultra-modern Italian school, as may be seen in studying the scores of Puccini, Mascagni and Leoncavallo.
Here is an illustration of its effective use in the air “Connais-tu le pays?” from Mignon (Act II), by Ambroise Thomas. Madame Christine Nilsson (Countess Casa Miranda), who “passed” the rÔle with the composer, always sang the phrase thus, although these indications do not appear in the published version:
HÉlas! que ne puis-je te suivre, vers ce rivage heureux, d'oÙ le sort m'exila!
[Listen]
Again, in the fine song Der Asra, by Rubinstein, the musical, as well as the dramatic, effect of the poem is heightened by the use of the accelerando, which interprets with musical vividness the impetuous avowal by the slave of his passion for the princess, after his calm answer to her questions as to his name and birthplace.
“Ich heisse Mahomet, ich bin aus Yemen, und mein Stamm sind jene Asra, welche sterben, wenn sie lieben.” (Heine.)
und mein Stamm sind jene Asra, welche sterben, wenn sie lieben
[Listen]
