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 s
nging-method is to produce a perfect coordination 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 "Traite 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 Fraeulein Mathilde Graumann, a

concert singer of Frankfort-on-the-Main; and sometimes I wonder whether,

if she had remained Fraeulein 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 roles. 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.



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