Frank E. Miller

THE CHOICE OF A TEACHER

Further observations of a general character may be allowed to precede a more detailed consideration of method.

Some people wonder why a person who is gifted with voice simply can't get up and sing without any instruction. The reason is that voice is an instrument; a natural, human instrument, it is true, yet one in the use of which the fortunate possessor requires practice and training. The purpose of a singing-method is to produce a perfect coÖrdination of all parts of the human voice-producing mechanism, an apparatus which is by no means simple but, in fact, rather intricate and complicated. It will be found, for example, that such a natural function of life as breathing has to be especially adapted to the requirements of the singing voice; that breathing such as suffices for the average person will not suffice for correct voice-production. Again, in every voice certain notes are better than others, and a correct method of voice-production, while it may not be able to make every note in the range of voice of equal quality, brings the whole voice up to a more even standard of excellence. It leaves the best notes as good as ever and brings the notes which naturally are not so satisfactory, nearer the standard of the best. The great singers, in addition to natural aptitude, remain students throughout their careers.

There are certain fundamental principles in a correct method of voice-production, for it is based upon study and knowledge of the organs concerned therein. But if the method were a hard-and-fast one, it would not be correct. For there are so many individual differences, physical and temperamental, between pupils, that there must be elasticity and adaptability in a method that claims to produce the best results.

Knowledge and experience should be combined in a teacher. Garcia wrote a voice-manual; and Tosi published a method as far back as 1723. But a teacher who has bought a translation of the "TraitÉ complet de l'Art de Chant" by no means is a second Garcia, nor has a teacher who chances to have read Tosi's book a right to set himself up as an instructor of singing after the old Italian method. The old Italians, like Tosi and Porpora, were men of great practical experience in teaching, and they understood how to adapt method to individual needs. Consciously or unconsciously, their method was physiological—the fundamental principles of the physiology of voice-production were there; but these great teachers knew that individual differences had to be allowed for and that a singing-method is not a shoemaker's last.

Sometimes, indeed, it is the pupil who makes the master. One of those born singers, man or woman, whom Nature has endowed with superlative gifts and whom some unknown yet meritorious teacher, perhaps in America, has started aright, goes abroad and, after a while, comes forth, not made, but fortunately not marred, from a foreign vocal studio and enters upon a great career—and the foreign teacher's fame becomes international. The real foundation for that career may have been laid in an American city. But ambitious young Americans, instead of seeking out that teacher, will flock to the foreign one.

In such matters we are the most gullible people on the face of the earth. An Italian, now dead, but in his day the most high-priced singing-teacher in London, used to devote the greater part of his lesson periods to telling his pupils how fond certain members of the English Royal family were of him and to pointing out the souvenirs of their favor which he had displayed in his studio. Yet, doubtless, his pupils thought that, all the while they were listening to his chatter, they were taking lessons in voice-production! Americans dearly love a foreign name, and especially an Italian one, when it comes to selecting a singing-teacher. But all is not gold that glitters, and the fact that a teacher writes "Signor" before his name does not necessarily signify that he is Italian, but often only that he would like people to believe he is, because there is a foolish belief that every Italian teaches the old Italian method. The famous Mme. Marchesi, in spite of her name, is not Italian. She acquired it by marriage to Salvatore Marchesi, an Italian baritone. Before that she was FrÄulein Mathilde Graumann, a concert singer of Frankfort-on-the-Main; and sometimes I wonder whether, if she had remained FrÄulein Mathilde Graumann, she ever would have become the famous teacher she is. But Marchesi she is, and famous; and I do not doubt justly so. Yet even the pupils of so famous a teacher differ regarding the value of her method. Thus Melba never fails to sing her praises. On the other hand, Emma Eames, knowing that she was speaking for publication and that a stenographer was taking down her words, said: "Mme. Marchesi is a thoroughly good musician. Any one who goes to her with an established voice can learn a great deal from her in the interpretation of many rÔles. She is an admirable teacher of expression and of the general conception of a character. As a drillmaster she is altogether admirable. She teaches you the value of utilizing your time, and she makes you take a serious view of your work, which is important, for hardly an American girl who goes to her has an idea of studying seriously. She also is capital at languages. But when it comes to voice-development, I consider that she fails. My voice naturally was broad and heavy. After the end of the first two years' study with her I could not sing A without difficulty. She did not seem to know how to make my voice light. It was getting heavier and less flexible all the time."

Some years ago Mme. Marchesi's daughter, Mme. Blanche Marchesi, appeared on the concert stage in New York. As the daughter and pupil from childhood of her famous mother, she was supposed to be an ideal exponent of the Marchesi method. Professional singers and instructors flocked to her first concert. It was to be an experience, an object-lesson. Well—it was. They saw a fine-looking woman with a mediocre voice and a worse method, a method so hopelessly bad that even her undoubted musicianship could not atone for it.

All this goes to prove that a method, to be elastic and adaptable, should be based on a knowledge of the physiology of the voice-producing organs, for such a method naturally adapts itself to physical differences in different individuals. Without doubt Mme. Marchesi's method was admirably adapted to Melba, but not to Eames or to her own daughter.

Bear these circumstances in mind in selecting a teacher. The great singers are not always safe guides in the choice of a teacher, because their own superlative gifts and willingness to slave for the object of their ambition may have been as important factors in their success as the instruction they received. Probably a singer of only fair natural gifts who yet has made a success—which shows that he must have been well taught—can give better advice as to the choice of an instructor than the great artist who owes so much to himself. Moreover, great artists who have studied with the same teacher will, like Melba and Eames, differ in their estimate of that teacher.

There is, however, one great singer, Lillian Nordica, who knows to whom to give credit for that skill in voice-production which enables her to sing Valentine, Aida and Isolde with equal success. The foundation for her career was laid in this country. Afterward she studied with Mme. Maretzek and in Milan with San Giovanni, but only interpretation. Her voice-production she acquired not from Madame this or Signor that, but from plain John O'Neill, of Boston, "a scholarly man who had made a profound study of the physiology of the voice," and she took good care not to allow any other teacher, however "famous," to undo the work of the man who had taught her voice-production based on correct knowledge of the physiology of the voice-producing organs.

This matter of choosing a teacher is, of course, of the greatest importance, but it barely can be touched on in this book. The selection should be made most cautiously, but, once made, the pupil's parents should not go to the teacher a few weeks later and ask, "Why don't you give Clara some 'pieces'?" They should recall the story of Porpora and Caffarelli which I related in the previous chapter. "Pieces" are not in order until the voice is prepared for them, and the teacher is the best judge of that. A voice trained on "pieces" soon goes to pieces.

Another mistaken idea is that "any teacher is good enough for a beginner," whereas the beginning is the very time that the foundation of right method or wrong method is laid. Classifying the voice is, of itself, of great importance. Remember that Jean de Reszke's first teacher thought he was a baritone and that he sang as a baritone in opera for five years before a more competent teacher discovered that he was really a tenor. Some voices are so near the dividing line that it requires wide experience and a fine ear for quality on the part of a teacher to determine in what direction they should be developed to greatest advantage. A fine ear may determine that the seeming mezzo is a true soprano, that the notes of the pupil who comes as a baritone have the tenor quality and that his scale safely can be added to, while the would-be tenor has the baritone timbre which will prevent his notes from ever ringing out with the true tenor quality. Yes, this initial task of voice classification is far too important to be entrusted to "any teacher."

There are piano-thumping teachers of voice, who not having voices themselves are obliged to give their pupils the pitch of each note by pounding it out on the pianoforte. Voice quality has nothing in common with pianoforte quality of tone, yet constant thumping of the pianoforte by a singing-teacher in order to give the pupil the pitch, is apt to mix pianoforte color into a pupil's voice and mar its translucent vocal quality. A teacher need not be a fine singer—few vocal teachers are—but, at least, he should be able to give pitch vocally and to suggest with sufficient definition the quality of tone the pupil is to produce.

At what age should singing-lessons begin? Some say the earlier the better. Others hold that, under no circumstances, should a boy or girl be taught to sing before the age of puberty, before the voice has mutated. Those who believe that singing can be taught in childhood and safely continued even during the critical period of mutation, point out that the muscles of the voice-producing organs are most flexible and adapt themselves most easily to the task in hand during childhood and that the process of training them had best begin then, and that, with proper care, the lessons can be continued during the period of mutation.

My own opinion is that this period is so critical and proper care is so apt not to be taken, that the safest rule is not to begin singing-lessons until the adult voice undisputably has arrived. So many voices have been ruined by lack of care during mutation that it is better no risk should be taken. But why not, it may be asked, have the child taught and, when the period of mutation arrives, have the lessons suspended? There would be no harm in this, excepting that here again is run the risk that proper care will not be taken to stop soon enough and that the career of a possibly fine singer may be ruined. It has happened again and again that voices have been lost irretrievably or impaired permanently by careless use of them during the change from youth to manhood. Therefore, and also because the muscles remain limber and flexible in young people for some years after they have arrived at puberty, I advise that singing-lessons should not begin until the period of mutation is well over. Sir Morell Mackenzie, after stating that the doctrine long has been held universally that not only should systematic training be interrupted, but singing altogether forbidden during that critical period, nevertheless maintained that "if due care is exercised there is no reason why the voice should not be used in singing during the transition period: but the training must be carried out within certain limits and under strict supervision by a competent person." But there is so much risk that due care will not be exercised, that those "certain limits" will be overstepped, that the "strict supervision" will be relaxed or not exercised by a "competent person," that I strongly advise not to begin lessons until the period of change is over.

In this view I am supported by Garcia, who took sharp issue with Mackenzie. "My father," wrote Garcia, "went through the transition time without ceasing to sing, and without having done himself the least harm. But both my sisters, Mesdames Malibran and Viardot, were obliged to wait a year. I continued to sing, and my voice was ruined!" Continuing, Garcia says that the old rule which has preserved so many voices—that singing should cease altogether during mutation—should not be thrust aside on account of some rare exceptions, and young singers be handed over to the "doubtful caprice of ignorant or careless teachers." A person might with "due care" and "strict supervision" live in a plague-stricken city without contracting the disease, but one would not recommend his going there for his health. Why deliberately expose the voice to danger of loss or permanent impairment by advising that it can be used with safety during the period of transition? Far better to be on the safe side, wait until manhood or womanhood is definitely established, and then begin lessons as soon as possible.