THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAN, PORTLAND, JANUARY 12, 1913.
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uAnA merican Girl Studying in Europe
Should Live in a Private Family of the
Middle Class and Never Speak Nor Think
in English."
"Schools for Voices Here Offer No
Such Apprenticeship as Those on the
Continent. ... ''
"When Successful, the' American Girl
Has Earned Every Bit of Her Glory.
WHY do so few American girls ar
rive in opera? They possess
voices equally as good in power
and tone as the European, study with
the same masters on the Continent, yet
the Europeans are chosen by Im
presarios and the Americans are left to
pursue the battle for Metropolitan
recognition and opportunity.
Paris, Munich, Vienna. Berlin, are full
of girl students admirably equipped
yet nothing much is left for them ex
cept studying on, hoping on, cloaking
their tragedies, stifling their disap
pointments. Nearly all who have been given a
chance have made good, but the num
ber Is amazingly small when one con
siders how many there are of them and
how constant Is the demand for voices
here.
This was the burden of a thought I
brought to Mme. Charles Cahler, In
dianapolis born and bred, who went to
Europe, worked arduously, became a
leading member of the Imperial and
Royal Court Opera In Vienna, the Royal
Bavarian Prince Regent Theater, Mu
nich, and now Is under contract with
the goal of all opera persons, the Met
ropolitan Opera House.
"When a girl takes up her life In
Europe she doesn't realize her handicap
from the start, but she makes her
struggle harder than It otherwise
might be," said Madame Cahler. "She
goes to live In an American pension
and visits only the homes In the Ameri
can colony. She Is tied up by the tra
ditions she was accustomed to at home,
and In no way gets into the atmosphere
of the place. She Is not adjusting her
self or fitting herself for singing the
operas of a foreign language, a foreign
role. When she sings she is not a part
of the role; she is a decoration or an
Instrument, and that's all."
Getting the Atmosphere.
"What should she do?"
"She should live In a private family
of the middle class and never speak a
word of English. She should think
even in the language of the country,
study its history, customs, and accu
mulate the atmosphere and knowledge
necessary for her equipment.
"Then she will actually know what
she Is expressing in German, French,
Italian," she went on. "And she
shouldn't undertake any opera unless
she is familiar with its language, its
purpose. Its possibilities."
"Does the fact that she holds onto
her American name Interfere with her
success?"
"I think it does. It Is a cruel thing
to confess that from Americans not
much is expected, and the girl has the
double fight of overcoming that, of
winning out on her own account and of
showing herself an artist irrespective
of birth.
"You may rest assured that when
American girls are successful over
there," she continued, -"they have
earned every bit of their glory, and
when they are chosen to sing here they
may regard it as almost phenomenal.
"Foreign voices are more thoroughly
trained foreign artists have the satis
faction of knowing nothing has been
left undone in their preparation. TVhen
a woman is ready there for opera train
ing she has passed through years of
toil, but she knows what she is about.
The schools for young voices here offer
no such valuable apprenticeship."
Madame Cahler has a perfectly good
right to speak with authority. She has
sung the big contralto roles In German,
French and Italian operas.
"I am a contralto who never tried to
be a soprano," she explains.
Utility of a Husband Critic.
Madame Cahler proceeded: "Possibly
the girls we are speaking about are not
TIEY had been happily married a
year.' Happily married! What a
commonplace phrase. Another
family settled, another household, if
there be a household, but what then?
Any girl is "happily married" when
she gets a husband, and very often the
emphasisls Is laid on the word "mar
ried." In order not to conflict with the
facts let us then omit the word "hap
pily," and say that they had been mar
ried a year. They were lingering at
the supper table, though the servants
had already cleared the table. Stealth
ily she loosened her corset, while he
leaned back comfortably in his arm
chair, lighted a cigar and picked up
his evening paper.
He had not strayed far into the in
tricacies of the Moroccan question
when something happened that was
not especially conducive to his quiet
enjoyment of the evenlns paper: she
began to sob, suddenly, eruptively,
passionately, as if her heart would
break.
It is a trying thing to see a woman
cry. Not every man can do It with
dignity. If a woman weeps softly to
herself and with a visible disposition
and desire to conceal her sorrow, it
is still very difficult to watch her
calmly. When tho paroxysm of grief,
however, is wild and unrestrained, the
man is sure to lose his equanimity. It
is like having a glass of wine upset
in one's immediate vicinity, a full
Klass. to be exact, with the Imminent
prospect of a wetting. It Is time to
leap to one's feet.
While this may be psychologically
HAPPILY MARRIED A NAIVE TALE BY BALDWIN GROLLER
99
surrounded by the right sort of critics.
I believe In criticism. Not thoughtless,
explosive praise, but real criticism."
This wasn't spoken as a cue, but it
served as one, as at this point the
studio was brightened by the entrance
of M. Cahier, "my husband," a genial.
big fellow and a real rooter for
"madame."
The critic of the hearth!
M. Cahler, I was told, is not only a
fireside critic, but his sympathies are so
earnest and real that he holds the rec
ord for husbands of Metropolitan Opera-House
prima donnas.
When Madame Cahier has a throaty
gasp on the eve of a performance M.
Cahler has congestion of the larynx.
When the opera is over M. Charles has
weariness and temperamental relaxa
tion. The approach of a first night is her
alded by M. Charles' disposition to neu
rasthenia, mild fever, cold chills and
artistic trembling.
Madame Cahier permits him to worry
and grow wrinkles if he must. She Is
used to singing, but somehow M.
Charles never will be quite broken to
opera.
He is almost amateurish in his zeal
ous devotion to the family art, and adr
mlts he cannot get over it. He cannot
overcome - his tendency to take his
wife's work seriously.
That he is a worth-while critic you
have Madame Cahler's word.
"Do you like real critics around the
house?" I asked of Madame Cahier.
"Are they peaceful elements?"
"Yes. Before I had him my mother
and sisters were the discoverers of the
good and bad In me. Great friends who
listen and applaud are not critics; they
say all one does is perfect, that no one
ever equaled the effort before In exe
cution, style, qualitv. Such thlnijV
mean death to an artist."
Correcting His Wife.
"I never expressed an opinion without
telling why," spoke up M. Cahier.
"You know why?" I put to him.
"Oh, he knows why," responded
Madame. "He knows music thor
oughly." "Do you sing or accompany your
wife?" I asked of the husband.
"Certainly not. If two artists in the
same line marry one is a fool. I write
for a living."
"Yes, and when he is pounding on a
typewriter he knows all I am doing at
the piano and interrupts me with sug
gestions, all of which have been bene
ficial to me."
"A sort of conjugal coach," I ven
tured. "No. A friend; an understanding, wise
friend," answered Madame Cahler.
I really didn't Intend this to be a
man's Interview or a little first aid to
the Only Their Husbands' Club, but
prima donnas' husbands have a way of
gliding gracefully into household con
versations. Madame Gadskl's husband has it; so
has Jeanne Maubourg's and Ethel
Parks' and Madame Delna's and
Madame Calve's; but not Madame Alda's
Slgnor Gatti-Casazza, He is the one
shrinking anemone among the other
halves of divas. He is not a "comrade"
In the sisterhood of voice promoting.
M. Cahier has an additional respon
sive note he is quick on his feet when
the telephone rings, and it was during
a "call" lapse that I got another mo
ment for questions and answers.
"Did you have an idea of a future in
opera when you were singing in the
best concerts in Indianapolis?" I asked.
"No. not at all. Curiously, I never
thought of the opera they call it
'grand' opera in Indianapolis. I was quite
content to study, sing in the choir and
rukke my voice agreeable to my friends,
accurate enough, there are exceptions
to every rule. Our friend, the reader
of the evening paper, being perhaps an
unusually stolid sort of a brute, did
not appear perturbed. He merely
glanced over the edge of the paper
and asked Icily:
"What's the matter now, Clothilde?"
She summoned all her strength of
character and dried her. tears. She
could not weep before him. Not before
him. She forced herself to be calm and
coldly remarked:
"This cannot go on, Teddy. It must
end here and now."
"Immediately? At 10 minutes after
10? Why?"
"I cannot stand it. I must leave
you."
"I warn you that the janitor is more
punctual in locking up at 10 than in
opening when one is late coming
home."
"I shall go tomorrow."
.."Why. go at all?" . ...
"Because I can stand it no longer.
This is not life; it is one prolonged
agony!" ('
"You misunderstand my question. If
we must part it would be much Bimplel
for me to gr. You could stay In your
comfortable home. I can take care of
myself very easily."
"I am sure of that."
"Is that meant for a reproach?
Would it not be best for us to discuss
our differences calmly and without cat
ting remarks? Why do you wish to
go?"
"Because you are deceiving me and
because you no longer love me."
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"How very odd! And does that move
you to tears?"
"Why should it not?"
"But please consider the history of
our marriage!"
"I warned you not to marry me."
"You ,certainly did, but I refused to j
take the hint My life's happiness
seemed in the balance and I loved
you more than life itself."
"And now you blame me for having
consented!"
"I do not blame you, but perhaps it
would have been better if you had re
fused me."
"My parents talked me Into it and
you threatened to shoot yourself."
"I acted very faolishly, I admit. I
should not have said that to you,
though perhaps I might have done it.
You were the love of my heart,
Clothilde, and I really believed oh,
how long ago that was that I could
not live without you. And still I say
that you should not. have consented;
both of us might have been better off
now."
"At any rate. I did not deceive you."
"No, you did not; I deceived my
self." "Your
"I thought, I hoped, that I would In
time succeed in winning your love.
That was my mistake my one great
mistake."
She pressed her handkerchief to her
eyes, but did not sob. He continued:
"Remember our wedding trip. We
had a private compartment. When
finally we were alone, I kissed you
passionately. It might have been a lit-
w,
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The odora
Madame Cahier.
too sudden or perhaps a shade too
rough, but you need not have slapped
me as you did, Clothilde."
"Oh, but I immediately apologized."
"Yes, to be sure, you. immediately
apologized. You have been well trained
and you apologize the moment you
forget rour training. That, however,
did not mend matters, for I had thus
learned, once for all, and brutally, that
5"ou did not love me."
"I wished to be honest"
"I committed a very foolish, but per
haps a pardonable mistake; I urged
you, I pleaded with you. It did not help
me. Of course, it did not and could
not help me, so I had to make the best
of it." '
"You certainly have done so."
"nd you reproach me witli it?"
"I am your wife."
"But, my dear, one has the right
to be, illogical only when he or she
loves. You have not that right. You
claim privileges, hut ta what ground?
Yon make demands without offering
anything in return. For every privi
lege there is a corresponding duty.
However, I do not ask for mere duty
when I have a right to expect love."
"But you have no right to deceive
me."
"'That is an open question, bnt let
us not discuss it Suffice it to say
that I have not done so."
"You lie!"
"Kindly avoid such forcible expres
sions. Throw me out if you like, but
do not insult me. Ocasslonally it did
look as if I had and I took pains to
keep up appearances. Why should I?
Of course, there were suspicious enter
tainments in which I took part"
rim fr
P&aiv
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7 J"
Drawn by H. F. &HaaVci,
"Entertainments with ladies, and
such ladies at that!"
Quite right, occasionally a very mot
ley crowd. Still, there were some very
fine ones among them, superfine speci
mens." "I do not ask for details."
"But I consider it necessary to give
you these details superfine specimens,
and yet I am able to sit here and tell
you that I have never lied to you, and
am not lying even now. You smile
incredulously. I do not ask you to
rely on ray morals or on my con
science, for perhaps I have no con
science. '
"Indeed, I have never noticed any
thing like that about me; but I have
something I call a heart and I have
a little good taste. I admit that I
have gone to see sights, strange sights,
tempting sights. It would not have
been surprising under ordinary condi
tions if but they left me altogether
unmoved."
"That is easy to say."
"I repeat, not because I was too mor
al, but because these things were not
good enough for me. I always won
dered how one could be so devoid of
good taste as to be carried away with
them, if one has at home well, I do not
care to compliment you, Clothilde, now
that we are at the crossroads, but a
comparison simply forced itself upon
me.
"How stupid, how depraved a man
must be to be charmed by them! You
willed it otherwise, however, and now
you complain: Oh, yes, you have been
honest very honest, though I might
have gone to the devil In spite of your
honesty."
"I must tell you, Teddy, now that it
is too late and we are to part I have
not been honest with you, not for a
lone time. Are you smiling at me?"
"Yes. I am smiling at you, and shall,!
(t I Took Dramatic Training and
Worked as if My Whole Career Depend
ed on My Ability to Act Madame Calve
Had the Ideal Combination of Singing
and Acting.
"My Husband Is My Best Critic. I
Permit Him to Take Life Seriously for
Me. l -
" Am a Contralto, Who Never Tried
to Be a Soprano." Madame Cahier
until one day the older Coquelin heard
me and exclaimed:
" 'You must get away from Indian
apolis. Tou must study in Europe. You
are a great artist, an incomparable
artist, and I advise you to go at once."
And I went.
"I have been going ever since, thanks
to his incentive, and the road I found
fascinating and alluring, though cov
ered with endless work. My experience
has convinced me that every American
woman who hopes to accomplish her
ambition in opera must get her training
in the countries that supply it.
"It will be a long time before ade
quate preparation will be offered her
here. The chances are it never will,
especially as the best operas are writ
ten in Europe and require the language,
tradition, atmosphere and setting of
the country where they are born."
"Have you een back to Indianapolis
since your engagement commenced with
the Metropolitan?"
"I was there on a concert tour, and I
was welcomed by a happy family
neighbors, friends, citizens, every one.
Our people are loyal."
"You refer to Indianapolis, and not to
Americans In general?"
"I refer to the audiences here that
I have sung before. I have no fault to
find personally, but I do recognize there
Is an instinctive prejudice against home
talent, the argument being that for the
same price Americans can hear the
voices from the other side."
"If each American singer finds the
same sympathy and indorsement what
does that argue?"
'"We are all exceptions, then, because
it is an unwritten law of box off ices or
a superstition perhaps that we feel
we are destined to overcome in spite of
the Influences obviously arrayed
against us."
"Have "pulls' done much to further
the home girl who wants to win out?"
"Frequently they permit her to be
heard and judged; always bear that in
mind to be judged! But If she hasn't
merit there is no definite place ahead
for her. She flutters like one of those
electric lights in Broadway. She daz
zles the curious and then she disap
pears." Must Learn Her Role Well.
"Are opera singers apt to be negli
gent of the part acting takes in a pro
duction?" "Pitiably so. For myself, I took the
best dramatic training, also under
Coquelln's advice, and worked as dili
gently as if my whole career depended
upon my ability to act. Look at many
of our American girls. They have pure,
clear, sweet voices, and we wonder why
their futures aren't secure. Watch
them while they are singing their
wooden bodies, angular arms they are
all legs, arms, hands, feet. Anatomic
ally they don't get together.
"If a girl really wants to succeed,"
she continued, "she must, as I say,
know the language of the country In
which the operas are written, be fa
miliar with the customs of the people,
be open to every bit of enlightenment
regarding the traditions, be willing to
be a part of the work whether she is
singing the greatest or the smallest
role; be so trained in dramatic execu
tion that unconsciously she follows out
the best and truest Interpretation of
the part assigned her."
"What women in the opera embody
both the singing and acting qualities?"
I asked.
"Madame Calve was the ideal. She
was quite as good an actress as she
was a singer."
"And Geraldine Farrar?" I put.
do so again if you repeat it. Bring
me a hundred witnesses and I shall
laugh at them. You deceive any one?
Why, you simply could not It is not
in you; you could not do it if you tried.
If you wish to torture me seek out
some other .bugaboo. You had some
thing better in your repertory: your
indifference was quite effective."
"I did not mean it in that way, Ted
dy. You are right. I have not been
unfaithful to you, nor can I now allow
myself to be deceived and cast aside."
"What did you mean, then? Tell me."
"You may as well know. I was hon
est when I told you that I did not love
you. And then It came over me after
all, little by little, I don't know how.
It came over me and it surrounded me
and it filled me. And it was here at
last, the great all-embracing love that
I had never knowni
"It was something new, something
terrible, something blissful in my life;
and I was dishonest Inasmuch as 1
tried to conceal It; and I would not
confess it because I was ashamed. How
I worried about you when you were
away, how tenderly I dwelt on you in
my thoughts, how I have longed for
one kind word! But you failed to notice
the change."
"Are you quite sure?"
"You noticed nothing, you did not
care to see. While I was yearning for
you, as one can yearn only for happi
ness, you were spending your time
with some worthless "
"Perhaps it is not as bad as all
that"
"It is bad enough, and I am through
with you. I am disgusted with you."
"You speak as though you had
proofs against me."
"Here are the proofs a pile of
them."
"Ah, the pink letters! You have been
anvlng, eh V
"Certainly; especially " in "Madame
Butterfly. "
"And Mary Garden?"
"No one denies Miss Garden's powers
as an actress."
"With whom did you study?"
' "Jean de Reszke for my voice and
Victor Capoul for dramatic work." .
Husband's Words Not Resented.
Madame Cahler talks without ges
tures or smirks. She seems well satis
fled with life and art so far, and be
lieves In her capacity for ioing more
of the thines she has set about to
achieve.
She doesn't discourage others from
following in her footsteps, but seeks
rather to wave the red lantern and
caution them about the approach.
It wasn't the telephone after all. M.
Cahier returned quite put out. He had
explained to Central In Swedish, Ger
man and French, that he did not want
to be . interrupted again on a false
alarm. N
"Why in Swedish." I asked, as that
was not included In the opera qualifi
cations. "I am a Swede," he explained. "Here
in this country you think Swedes are
dull, listless people. We are the Ital
ians of the north in reality. We are
full of fire a hot-headed, volcanic
race."
"It Was the doorbell," suggested
Madame Cahier. "It is still ringing."
They are living in an apartment at
158 Madison avenue, with living rooms
on one floor and the studio a flight of
stairs above. It has rose and gold fur
niture, rose lights, rose rugs and hang
ing, a piano and typewriter, the type
writer so situated It can be worked eas
ily while the operator is facing the
piano and attending to his accustomed
functions as listener, critic, friend.
Wife Doea Not Criticise.
"If he ever says harsh things do you
weep and refuse to speak to him?" I
asked of Madame Cahier.
"Oh, no. I am not that sensitive. My
sensitiveness doesn't take the form of
expressing itelf in a way that would
be detrimental to my work. I need hi3
judgment, because he knows, and he
has helped me enormously."
"Does Madame Cahler criticise the
books, the articles you writer' I put
to him.
"Oh, no; oh, no! She approves she
disapproves never. She is very nice
and pleasant about it. We are friends,
we are ever congenial, and we laugh
much together. We do not wear long
faces."
M. Cahier relaxed comfortably into
a pink armchair.
"He needs this moment of rest," I
thought to myself. "Maybe he will
doze peacefully when I am gone. "Mad
ame Cahier," I recalled, "Is to sing to
morrow, and the sympathetic critic's
constitution must be prepared for the
strain."
So I silently went away.
Madame Cahier before she annexed
Sweden to her address was nationally
well known as Mrs. Morris Black and
distinguished as a clever woman and
artist possessing an irresistible charm
and a beautiful voice.
That she Is as popular now as Mad
ame Cahler Is evidenced by the gen
uinely warm reception which she In
variably meets. Of course, only a few
years have elapsed, but the time was
sufficient for her to marry again and
win fame, additional popularity and
rise to an important place among the
stars of the Metropolitan.
Although at concerts Madame Cahier
chooses a programme made up entirely
of songs in foreign languages, she
showed recently that she was able to
recall her English when a good excuse
presented itself. The occasion was in
Indianapolis, her native town. She saw
James Whltcomb Riley In a box, and
Immediately sang "There, Little Girl,
Don't Cry."
The Hooslers first cheered the poet,
and then declared, "We have not lost
our Eurydice, but found her."
1 had a right to spy when my life's
happiness was at stake. As a matter
of fact you did not take any pains
to cover your tracks. I found them in
the waste basket Was it not better
that I should have found them than
to have the servants chortle over them?
It was very vulgar of you to leave
them there."
"Are you willing to read them to
me?"
"No."
"Have you the 12 letters all there
together, and nicely arranged by
dateB?"
"Yes."
"Then do me one last favor and read
me the first word in each letter; you.
will find It underscored in each in
stance. I shall note the words down
as you read."
She read:
"Very funny how easy if is
to fool my poor little wife."
A moment later she was nestling in
his arms, and at last they were really
and truly "happily married."
The Dignity of Press Work.
A young woman who was acting as
newspaper correspondent at a fash
ionable hotel did not consider herself
a reporter and never referred to her
self as such. In talking with one of
the women guests she spoke of doing
"press work" for the hotel.
The woman hesitated a moment then
said: "Don't you And it hard?"
The girl, thinking how much help her
little typewriter had been, replied: "Oh,
no, I have a machine."
Another pause, then the bewildered
guest put her question: "Do you do the
work in your room or in the laundry?"
The young woman is trying now to
make up her mind just what she had
better call herself. New York Sun.