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MORCK BROTHERS, Jewelers and Opticians. All goods bought at our store engraved FREE of charge. WARREN, PENN’A Something of the Domestic Life of a Great Singer. ADMIRED BY ©UREN VICTORIA. The Early Career of the Celebrated Diva. Her Method of Acquiring a New Role. Some Strange Experiences and Some Equally Strange Requests. There are hundreds of thousands of good judges of music in the world who consider Albani as more nearly approaching Patti than any other of the half dozen very great soprano singers of today, and some thing of her home life and her profession al career might therefore be of interest. Emma Albani, who in private life is Mrs. Ernest Gye, lives in one of the pret tiest corners of Kensington, which is a portion of London, in a quiet spot known as The Boltons. *‘a happier or more sug gestive name could have been found for it than that bestowed by the famous singer's little boy. He calls it ‘Our Village,’’ and you have only to look out from the win dows of any of the surrounding houses, and there, in the midst of a wealth of green and trees, is the church; while there is nothing to disturb the stillness save the singing of the birds, which are piping here, there and everywhere. Mme. Albani's talents have won for her a precious collection of souvenirs, and the house is a store for them. In Mr. Gye’s MME. ALBANI. study, on his table, are set out homely photos of himself, his wife and their only child, Ernest, and over the fireplace is a magnificent stag’s head, a reminiscence of Scotland. In a niche in the hall by the window is a life sized statue of their son, by Prince Victor of Hohenlohe. The little fellow is in sailor’s costume and playing with a toy railway engine. It is in the drawing room where one realizes to what extent Mme. Albani’s talents have been acknowledged, so far is the bestowal of kindly gifts convers appreciation. At the far end of the room is a cabinet filled with valuable pieces of china, and close by is a bust of Mme. Albani by the same royal sculptor who executed that of her son. Here, too, is a harp, for the singer is a veilliant harpist, and her fingers often run over the strings. But what strikes one most of all are the almost countless photos of nearly every member of the royal family. Mme. Alba ni may justly claim to be the favorite sing er of the queen. When the vocalist visited Berlin a few years ago, the queen sent a telegram to the crown princess, speaking in the highest terms of the great singer, and this telegram is here preserved. Once every year her majesty visits her favorite at Old Mar Lodge, and takes tea there, and many are the ‘private appearances” at Balmoral, when the queen often listens to the delightful voice in many an old song and ballad of which she is so fond. It is no easy matter to describe the fa mous singer. She is a handsome woman, of unbounded vivacity, and speaks with a charming French accent. She accompanies her story with constant gesture, and is al ways smiling. She will look at you and speak most seriously, but her eyes are ever twinkling with merriment. She is a de lightful woman, who has won her present position today by sheer hard work. When asked to speak of her career, she said: “Shall I go back to many, many years ago, when as a tiny mite of 2% I used to watch my father’s fingers on the violin as I stood by his side and tried to sing each note? Well, I will. That was at Chambly, near Montreal, where I was born Nov. 1, 1851, in a little house that was so small that when they wanted to make some al terations in the neighborhood, they lifted it up and r moved it away bodily. But it is not destroyed. Another spot was found for it. My father was a professor of music and organist, and at that early age I com menced to study. I have heard him say that I sang before I talked. When I was 4, my mother also looked after my musical training, and a year later I was practicing five and six hours every day. I often used to practice then two hours every morning before breakfast and get through 150 pages of music a day. When I was 7, my mother died, and I can yet remember how one morning my father suddenly came into the room and stood at the door with a sur prised look as he listened to me singing my favorite little bits out of such operas as ‘Lucrezia Borgia,’ ‘Martha’ and ‘Norma. ‘One day my father and I were at a large store where I used to practice on the piano, and a Scotchman, who was giving concerts in Montreal, came in. I was 8 years old at the time, and he persuaded my father to let me sing at a concert. I did, and I had to give three concerts, and every night the stage used to be strewn with flowers. “When I was 9, I entered the Convent if the Sacred Heart at Sault-au-Recollet. I was organist there and remained there several years, and after leaving we went to live at Albany. After studying in Paris under Duprez and afterwards with Lam perti at Milan, I made my debut there in 1870 as Amina in ‘Somnambula,’ under the name of Albani, out of remembrance of the city the people of which helped me so much and where, I think, my future career was decided upon. You see, I just changed the last letter to I, and that gave me my operatic name. I well remember that first appearance. I had no friends in the house that night, but I was not nearly so nervous as I felt when I sang in ‘Otello’ for the first time, many years afterward. “When one is 18, one has no fear. At the first rehearsal I trembled a little bit, for, you see, I was French Canadian, and not Italian, but at the finish of my first song my brother and sister artists took me up and almost carried me to my room. “T made my London debut in Covent Garden April 2, 1872, in my favorite, Ami na, and I don’t mind confessing that Tat tributed a great deal of my success that night to the appearance of a big black cat, I am very superstitious. I always occupy the same room at the theater—it is one of the largest in the house. Just as I was all ready, and preparing to go on the stage, the door was slowly and silently pushed open, and one of the biggest black cats imaginable peeped in and looked up at me. Oh! how delighted I was! Yes, a black cat has always been a lucky thing for me, and I would welcome one at any time. Since I commenced my career I have sung in some strange places. One of my best remarkable experiences was in R Rus sia, at the royal marriage. In Russia the singers are all considered as servants. Well, it was most strange. We were all put in a sort of balcony which looked down upon the banqueting scene below, and as each of our terns came to sing we went to a little opening and sang through it. What amused me was this, that all the time we were trying to sing our best and produce our notes most effectively the clat ter of knives and forks still went on, and, to make all complete, the singer might be in a most impressive passage and right in the midst of it, when, quite regardless of the uncomplaining singers, there would be a flourish of trumpets and somebody would get up and propose a toast. I was more fortunate than Mme. Patti, for she was interrupted in the middle of her solo. “I have often had requests to sing be side a deathbed or a person very ill. I sang to the old bishop of Albany when he was suffering. The first festival I ever sang in was at Norwich, and when I returned to that place after six years, I had a letter from an old gentleman who heard me there and who was now bedridden. He wanted to hear ‘The Last Rose of Sum mer,’ and I shall never forget standing there by his side and singing that beauti ful song. And many a time have I had to convert the balcony of the hotel where I was staying into a temporary platform and appear at midnight, long after the opera was over, and sing ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ or some such popular ballad to the people waiting outside. That was the case at Dublin some few years ago, when the students there took the horses out of my carriage, and I was told that if I did not sing, they would break the windows of the hotel. I stood on the balcony, wrap ped up in great shawls, for it was a bitter ly cold night, and it was no easy matter to sing ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ under those circumstances. “I have sung, too, in the quiet little church at Braemar in the choir, and it was there that I received what I have al ways considered one of my greatest com pliments. The speaker was one of the mountain folk, and had never even been to Edinburgh. When the service was over, a friend of mine heard him say, ‘I never thought anybody could have such control over one’s voice.’ That was all, but that is the whole secret of a singer’s success— perfect control.’’ Mme. Albani, like all great singers, has one hard and fast rule which binds her household. When rehearsing, nobody is ever allowed to disturb her. Her soul is in her work just as earnestly in the drawing room as on the stage. She is a remarkably quick study, a thing she attributes to her arduous though enjoyable training in her early childhood. Mme. Albani studied and sang ‘‘Lohengrin”’ in a fortnight, and she has been equally rapid in gaining her knowledge of such lengthy studies as Mar gherita, Ophelia, Mignon, Elisabetta, Lu cia and owner operatic characters whch will always be associated with her name. When she is about to take up a new char acter, she will first of all sit down quietly in the wicker chair in the conservatory or in some quiet and undisturbable corner about the home, and taking the score in her lap run through the music. Then she devotes herself to the words. Having learned these, she now sits down to the piano and commences work in earnest. Having learned both words and music, the services of an accompanist are called in, and, as she plays, Mme. Albani will take up her position in the room, and, im agining the other characters about her, re hearse piece by piece. The morning pre ceding the opera she will go through every note to be sung in the evening. After all this individual work it is possible that she may get three piano rehearsals at the thea ter, two fully orchestral and one for ac tion and situations. She likes ‘‘Otello’’ best of any opera. She learned the music of it in a fortnight. ALBANI’S FIRST LESSONS.
Newspaper Details
Warren Evening News
Warren, Pennsylvania, US
Thu, Dec 05, 1895
Page 6
Full Page
Clipped by
Anonymous
CA 26 Aug 2025
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