CHAPTER XXI

SWIMMING WITH THE TIDE

Progress is not an accident, but a necessity. It is a part of nature.Herbert Spencer.

THE year 1896 opened as busily as its predecessor had closed, and I found myself immersed but comfortably swimming in the stream of art in which I had already begun to support myself without undue effort, though effort there must always be. But I was going with the tide and not against it, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Another of my own London concerts took place in the early days of January, when the program was devoted entirely to compositions by British composers, mostly of that day.

Fond as I was of the classics of other countries, I was keenly alive to the value of contemporaneous English music. Of music by Americans I knew but little as yet, excepting the comparatively few songs then making their way in London, which I never ceased to bring before the notice of the public, placing the works of my countrymen upon the same program with those of the acknowledged masters of other times and other nations; for in what way better than by contrast can one judge the merit of one's fellows?

It was my pleasure to sing on more than one occasion with a body of amateurs called the Liverpool Orchestral Society, which had gradually been gathered together by a very musicianly cotton factor of Liverpool, one of the most cultured and enthusiastic amateurs I have ever known. He had rare taste, was himself no mean performer upon the piano and violin, and ere long from small beginnings an excellent orchestra was formed from which the best members were graduated into the Liverpool Philharmonic, then under Richter. Many of these men are alive and of great value to the musical growth of England, blessing the name of Alfred Rodewald, their benefactor, for his interest in them and their beloved art.

It is easier to encourage the growth of orchestral music in this manner than it is to find millionaires willing to put their hands in their pockets after the manner of Colonel Higginson of Boston, to support what is nearly always a losing venture. As it is with music so it is with the theatre; it should come into existence after its own fashion. For few indeed and far between are those who can say, "Let there be," and "there was." Neither of these arts has of its own accord a way of springing " full panoplied from the front of Jove." These along with the rest of nature must follow nature's course. The seed must be planted in good ground, it must be watered and nourished, it must be helped to grow, and in all cases fruition must be waited for. Sir Henry Irving said in one of his addresses at Oxford University, "The stage, to succeed as a fine art, must succeed as a commercial undertaking." And neither music nor the drama can get along at all without enthusiasm within and without.

Many concerts followed up and down the country under excellent circumstances and with the best artists, but at a concert in Southport I had my first experience of the disrespect shown to artists by persons of a certain stamp. During the afternoon I had been rehearsing a duet with

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Miss Clara Butt in her hotel apartment and after I left she went on practicing for that evening. Later in the reading room of the hotel I overheard two men speaking with a broad Lancashire dialect. "I say, Harry, did thou hear that row going on upstairs?" Aye!" plied Harry; "I heard somebody a-singing." "Well," said the other, "she were in the room next to mine and I beat upon the door, and told her to shut up, for I wanted to take a nap." "Oh!" said Harry in amazement, "did thou know who that were? That were Clara Butt!" "Well!" said the other, " I don't care who it were, she'd no business to be shoutin' and 'ollerin' when I wanted to go to sleep." As I heard the man speaking I thought, "Alas! for the chivalry of my ancestral county!"

Arthur Chappell, director of the Saturday and Monday "Pops" at St. James's Hall, continued to honor me with engagements at his remarkable offerings of classical music, when it was my constant endeavor to keep the vocal selections up to the mark set by Joachim, Lady Hallé, and the others in their instrumental numbers. There had been much comment the season before upon the inferior character of many of the songs. I, therefore, with great interest to myself and, I believe, to my audiences, though against the wish of Mr. Chappell, who, strangely enough, did not care for good songs, invariably brought forward certain vocal gems such as are to be found in great numbers by whoever cares to delve even but a short way beneath the surface. Early in 1896, in a program otherwise devoted to Beethoven's instrumental pieces, I revived that master's song cycle, "To the Distant Beloved." Upon previous occasions I had indulged in similar revivals of almost unknown works by Schubert and others. But public opinion is hard to move in London, and where vocal music is concerned, a more obvious form of song than that which properly consorts with classical instrumental music is more readily appreciated, even by the highly cultured musical amateur. On the contrary, the prevailing taste for choral music is of the most advanced character and I had the opportunity of singing within a few days, though in different cities, not only Bach's "Passion Music according to St. Matthew," but also his rarely given "Passion according to St. John."

With the early spring of 1896 there began at Drury Lane a preliminary season of grand opera in English under the baton of Luigi Mancinelli, and during this season I sang in " I Pagliacci," wearing, as before, evening clothes while rendering the prologue, and repeated Wolfram and Wotan, adding to my repertory the part of Telramund in "Lohengrin." I also appeared for the second time at the London Philharmonic Society, when I gave with orchestra Wagner's seldom heard "Les deux Grenadiers" and Mozart's even less known but very fine bass aria "Per questa bella mano."

That spring in London I gave two more concerts of my own before the grand opera season began, enlisting the assistance of Piatti, the fine 'cellist, Fanny Davies, the pianist, and Signorina Landi, the Italian alto, with Gabriel Fauré, the French song writer. But what stands out more particularly in my mind in regard to that occasion is, that I was further assisted by an old friend and preceptor, the distinguished actor, Herman Vezin, whom I had requested to recite, to the music of Schumann, Hebbel's ballad "Fair Hedwig" and "The Fugitives" by Shelley.

I have always been interested in recitations to music, and though some of these pieces are undeniably better than others, the same can be said of every other style of composition, vocal or instrumental. Though I was myself not yet ready to adventure upon an experiment in which I subsequently had so wide an experience, I was desirous of seeing what a fine actor could do with such pieces. As a matter of fact, Mr. Vezin was not a musician and consequently failed to produce the full effect I had expected; but that did not in the least dash my enthusiasm for this form of art, nor deter me later from experimenting to my heart's content.

No survey of London concerts however brief would be complete without a tribute to the superb musicianship of that great pianist and distinguished musician, Mr. Henry Bird, who has so often been a very present help to me in time of artistic trouble, and upon whom I always relied for his masterly handling of the piano at my own recitals. His ability was such that he became an institution, and much of my success is due to his coöperation.

It is very interesting to me to glance over my collection of hundreds of programs at this time of my career, and to note how, in the short period of less than four years since my appearance as a mere tyro at Covent Garden, my artistic stature had grown. It may have been, and probably was, that I just happened to come in time to fill a niche that was temporarily vacant in English musical life; but sure it is that I neglected nothing that presented itself, and had my hands full in doing what came to me to the best of my ability.

The season of grand opera that began in June at Covent Garden enlisted the usual number of vocal celebrities from all parts of Europe and America, and it fell to my lot to sing twenty-five times beginning with Humperdinck's "Hänsel and Gretel," in which Peter, the father,