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anniversary of its first production, Wagner's "Tannhäuser " in English on that classic stage. Hedmondt himself appeared as Tannhäuser, I as Wolfram, Miss Margaret MacIntyre as Elizabeth, Madame Recoschewitz as Venus, with Mr. Bevan as the Landgrave. The conductor was Mr. Feld.

It was while Tannhäuser was being given during that short season that an accident happened which amused us as much as it annoyed the management. The opening scene of the opera takes place in the Venusberg, where Tannhäuser is made to witness several beautiful episodes from the classic myths through the wiles of the goddess. During this powerful arc lights were used, one of which was mounted for the moment upon a stepladder twenty feet high. In the sudden change to the valley of the Wartburg, Venus and the couch upon which she lies were successfully removed; the dancing nymphs and fauns disappeared from the stage, and the scenery as by magic arose, descended, or was drawn to either side. But the nineteenth century stepladder was left peacefully standing in the middle of the stage toward the back, so situated that any one who climbed it would find himself at the door of the ancient castle upon the hill. When Tannhäuser, in the person of Mr. Hedmondt, turned to greet the Landgrave and his friends, he found this unsightly object, the harmless but necessary stepladder, just where he did not need it as an approach to the castle where dwelt the saintly Elizabeth.

It was during this season that I not only made my first appearance as "The Flying Dutchman" but as Wotan in "The Valkyrie."

The autumn of 1895 introduced me to festival work in England, where functions of this kind are really carried on in festal state. My first experience was at the ancient town of Gloucester, in the superb Gothic cathedral under the auspices of the most distinguished citizens of the town and of the neighborhood, and under the patronage of the Queen and Prince and Princess of Wales. The cathedral choir sang, greatly augmented by the voices of musical amateurs of the city, and assisted by the choirs and choral bodies of the neighboring towns of Worcester and Hereford, with the sanction and under the eye of the bishops and clergy of these ancient dioceses. Splendid music was performed under the most impressive circumstances I had ever experienced. Strains of melody, miracles of harmony, rose and mingled with the frozen music of the Gothic nave of the ancient sanctuary, past the old Saxon pillars into delicate masonry that was itself the melody for the mounting harmonies below. Outside the city was en fête, flags and banners everywhere, and a gorgeous old-world civic pageant to mark the importance of the celebration. Just so the elder burghers of Nuremburg made St. John's Day glorious as shown in the mimic representations of "The Mastersingers."

In the cathedral no applause is ever permitted, and the impressiveness of the music is thereby greatly enhanced, An American contralto, in telling me her experience at one of these cathedral festivals, said she had not been informed of this unwritten rule and had not observed that there had been no applause prior to her own solo. When she sat down after its rendering, in perfect silence, having naturally expected from many previous experiences elsewhere evidences of approval, she was so taken a-back that she was scarcely able to finish the performance at all. She thought that she had made a lamentable failure, and that she would never be heard again in England, when as a matter of fact she had made such a success that the committee warmly congratulated her at the conclusion of the performance.

The surroundings of such an occasion as an English festival in a mediæval cathedral are so impressive beyond any words of mine to express that one scarcely wishes afterward to hear music of that character anywhere else. This was the first of a number of such engagements for me, and I am thankful indeed to have had such notable privileges.

The day before the Gloucester festival opened, being in the cathedral alone after a rehearsal, I observed some scaffolding in the neighborhood of the organ and judged that repairs were being made. An ancient verger clad in his antique cap and gown, seeing me looking at the boarding, volunteered the statement, "They've been doin' summat with the horgan, sir; they've took out the old mattics and 'ave put the new mattics in."

It was only two weeks later that I sang for the first time at the festival at Leeds, where the chorus consisted of about 350 voices carefully chosen, not only from the Leeds Choral Society, but from the choral bodies of Bradford, Huddersfield, Halifax, Dewsbury, and Batley, in all of which towns the work to be performed has previously been carefully prepared. The result, as may be imagined, was a glory of vocal sound.

The conductor was Sir Arthur Sullivan. At the desk his demeanor was quite different from that of any other leader under whom it has been my good fortune to sing. Sullivan had thick dark hair, a swarthy skin, and wore glasses. He invariably sat in the usual high chair and seemed to keep his eyes always on the score in front of him. His beat was restrained and rather cramped, his baton moving across the top or up and down the sides of the score; yet nothing in the world escaped the attention of this quiet, reserved little man, the fingers of whose well-manicured right hand were invariably stained with cigarette smoke.

To show young artists what I did, and what they may have to do, I may say that I made more than 130 appearances in that twelvemonth, and that during this period my repertory of songs numbered about 120 pieces, including duets and quartettes, over 30 selections sung with orchestra, about 15 oratorios given, 10 appearances in 5 operas in concert form, and 25 performances of 9 operas actually sung upon the operatic stage.

I do not hesitate to say that I look back with considerable pride upon this season, and I find, upon consulting my bound volume of programs, in which everything is numbered, 737 separate pieces in which at one time or another in my life I had appeared up to December 31, 1895.

Let it be understood that the reason I mention these things is that students who intend taking up an artistic career may grasp the character and the difficulties of the work that lies before them. Those content to do a few things will not go far upon the way; but those who really have ambition and a will to study will find their work pleasurable, of course, yet anything but easy. The loftiest heights and rewards are attained by few in any walk of life, and, taking one consideration with another and balancing the matter sensibly, it will be found that the artistic career is much the same as any other profession. It may be said of it, as of worldly pleasure, that it is often of short duration and highly overrated; so we must begin betimes and work intelligently. We can not reasonably expect to accomplish anything worth while unless we work con amore. We must strive in music for the love of music, and with no expectation of great gain until we have reached the point, in practice and in authority, where we may justly demand a considerable fee for what we do. Even then a great deal has to be learned and performed for charity or by way of education, or in the necessary pleasure of helping others to achieve the success which one hopes for oneself. Indeed, had it not been for the enthusiasm I felt for my work I should never have been asked to return to my native country, there to continue the artistic journey which had been so auspiciously begun in the Old World.

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