_"Feldeinsamkeit" by Brahms._

This song interprets the exalted mood of the soul of the man who, lying at rest in the long gra.s.s, watches the clouds float by, and whose being is made one with nature as he does so. A whole world of insects buzzes about him, the air shimmers in the bright sunlight, flowers shed their perfume; everything about him lives a murmuring life in tones that seem to enhance the peace of nature, far from the haunts of men.

As tranquil as are the clouds that pa.s.s by, as peaceful as is the mood of nature, as luxurious as are the flowers that spread their fragrance, so tranquil and calm must be the breathing of the singer, which draws the long phrases of the song over the chords of the accompaniment, and brings before us in words and tones the picture of the warm peace of summer in nature, and the radiant being of a man dissolved within it.

I mark the breathing places with _V_. "Ich liege still im Nohen grunen Gras _V_ und sende lange meinen Blick _V_ nach oben _V_ [and again comfortably, calmly] nach oben.

"Von Grillen rings umschwarmt _V_ ohn' Unterla.s.s _V_ von Himmelsblaue wundersam umwoben _V_ von Himmelsblaue _V_ _wundersam umwoben_."

Each tone, each letter, is connected closely with the preceding and following; the expression of the eyes and of the soul should be appropriate to that of the glorified peace of nature and of the soul's happiness. The last phrase should soar tenderly, saturated with a warm and soulful coloring.

"Die schonen weissen Wolken zieh'n dahin _V_ durch's _tiefe_ Blau _V_, [I gaze at it for a moment] wie schone, stille Traume _V_ [losing one's self] wie schone stille Traume. _V_ [A feeling of dissolution takes away every thought of living and being.] Mir ist _V_ als ob _V_ ich langst _V_ ges...o...b..n bin! [The whole being is dissolved in the ether; the end comes with outstretched wings soaring above the earth.]

und ziehe selig mit _V_ durch ew'ge Raume _V_ und ziehe selig mit _V_ durch ew'ge Raume. [Dissolution of the soul in the universe must sound forth from the singer's tone.]

_"The Erlking," by Schubert._

For him who is familiar with our native legends and tales, the willows and alders in the fields and by the brooks are peopled with hidden beings, fairies, and witches. They stretch out ghostly arms, as their veils wave over their loose hair, they bow, cower, raise themselves, become as big as giants or as little as dwarfs. They seem to lie in wait for the weak, to fill them with fright.

The father, however, who rides with his child through the night and the wind, is a man, no ghost; and his faithful steed, that carries both, no phantom. The picture is presented to us vividly; we can follow the group for long. The feeling is of haste, but not of ghostliness. The prelude should consequently sound simply fast, but not overdrawn. The first phrases of the singer should be connected with it as a plain narrative.

Suddenly the child hugs the father more closely and buries his face in terror in his bosom. Lovingly the father bends over him; _quietly_ he asks him the cause of his fear.

Frightened, the child looks to one side, and asks, in disconnected phrases, whether his father does not see the Erlking, the Erlking with his crown and train. They had just ridden by a clump of willows.

Still quietly, the father explains _smilingly_ to his son that what he saw was a bank of fog hanging over the meadow.

But in the boy's brain the Erlking has already raised his enticing whisper.[3] The still, small voice, as though coming from another world, promises the child golden raiment, flowers, and games.

[Footnote 3: The voice of the Erlking is a continuous, soft, uninterrupted stream of tone, upon which the whispered words are hung.

The Erlking excites the thoughts of the fever-sick boy. The three enticements must be sung very rapidly, without any interruption of the breath. The first I sing as far as possible in one breath (if I am not hampered by the accompanist), or at most in two; the second in two, the third in three; and here for the first time the words "reizt" and "branch ich Gewalt" emerge from the whispered pianissimo.]

Fearfully he asks his father if he does not hear the Erlking's whispered promises.

"It is only the dry leaves rustling in the wind." The father quiets him, and his voice is full of firm and loving rea.s.surance, but he feels that his child is sick.

For but a few seconds all is still; then the voice comes back again.

In a low whisper sounds and words are distinguished. Erlking invites the boy to play with his daughters, who shall dance with him and rock him and sing to him.

In the heat of fever the boy implores his father to look for the Erlking's daughters. The father sees only an old gray willow; but his voice is no longer calm. Anxiety for his sick child makes his manly tones break; the comforting words contain already a longing for the journey's end--quickly, quickly, must he reach it.

Erlking has now completely filled the feverish fancy of the child.

With ruthless power he possesses himself of the boy--all opposition is vain--the silver cord is loosened. Once more he cries out in fear to his father, then his eyes are closed. The man, beside himself, strains every nerve--his own and his horse's; his haste is like a wild flight. The journey's end is reached; breathless they stop--but the race was in vain.

A cold shudder runs through even the narrator; his whole being is strained and tense, he must force his mouth to utter the last words.

SECTION x.x.xIX

IN CONCLUSION

The cla.s.s of voice is dependent upon the inborn characteristics of the vocal organs. But the development of the voice and all else that appertains to the art of song, can, providing talent is not lacking, be learned through industry and energy.

If every singer cannot become a _famous_ artist, every singer is at least in duty bound to have learned something worth while, and to do his best according to his powers, as soon as he has to appear before any public. As an artist, he should not afford this public merely a cheap amus.e.m.e.nt, but should acquaint it with the most perfect embodiments of that art whose sole task properly is to enn.o.ble the taste of mankind, and to bestow happiness; to raise it above the miseries of this workaday world, withdraw it from them, to idealize even the hateful things in human nature which it may have to represent, without departing from truth.

But what is the att.i.tude of artists toward these tasks?

CLEVELAND, January 11, 1902.

NOTE

_A Good Remedy for Catarrh and Hoa.r.s.eness_

Pour boiling hot water into a saucer, and let a large sponge suck it all up. Then squeeze it firmly out again. Hold the sponge to the nose and mouth, and breathe alternately through the nose and mouth, in and out.

I sing my exercises, the great scale, pa.s.sages, etc., and all the vowels into it, and so force the hot steam to act upon the lungs, bronchial tubes, and especially on the mucous membranes, while I am breathing in and out through the sponge. After this has been kept up for ten or fifteen minutes, wash the face in cold water. This can be repeated four to six times a day. The sponge should not be full of water, but must be quite squeezed out. This has helped me greatly, and I can recommend it highly. It can do no injury because it is natural.

But after breathing in the hot steam, do not go out immediately into the cold air.