The decade beginning with the year 1860 was remarkably prolific in singers, producing not only the prima donnas whose careers we have reviewed in the previous chapters, but also some of the finest contralto, tenor, and baritone singers of the latter part of the century. With each decade we find the American singer more in evidence. We have had Clara Louise Kellogg and Minnie Hauk, the sopranos, Adelaide Phillips, contralto, and Annie Louise Cary, and the number increases as we proceed, until we find American singers standing on an artistic equality with the best that the world can produce.

The decade of 1870 opens with a prima donna from the American continent, a singer who has held her place in public estimation for nearly thirty years, Madame Albani. While she was not such a marvellous colorature singer as Patti or Gerster, she combined so many excellent qualities that she is justly entitled to a position among the great singers of the century. As one critic expressed his opinion, she was “beautiful, tuneful, birdlike, innocent, and ladylike,” to which might be added, “always reliable.”

Madame Albani’s family name was Marie Louise Cecilia Emma Lajeunesse, and she was born, in 1850, of French-Canadian parents at Chambly, near Montreal. Her father was a professor of the harp, so she began life in a musical atmosphere. When she was five years of age the family moved to Montreal, and she was placed in the convent of the Sacre Coeur, where she received her education, and such musical instruction as the convent could provide. In 1864 the family again moved, this time to Albany, N. Y., and when Mlle. Lajeunesse entered upon her professional career, she adopted the name of this city, because it was here that she decided upon becoming a professional singer.

While singing in the choir of the Catholic Cathedral she attracted the attention of the bishop by her beautiful voice, and he strongly urged her father to take her to Europe, and place her under proper masters for the development of her remarkable talent. To provide the necessary funds, a concert was given in Albany, after which Mlle. Lajeunesse and her father proceeded to Paris, where she commenced her studies with Duprez. After some months she went on to Milan, where she became a pupil of Lamperti, who thought so highly of her that he dedicated to her a treatise on “the shake.” In 1870 she made her debut at Messina, in the Sonnambula, after which she sang for a time at Florence.

In 1872 she obtained an engagement in London, and on April 2d appeared at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden. The beautiful qualities of her voice and the charm of her appearance were at once appreciated, and before the end of the season she was firmly established in the favor of the public. Later in the season she appeared in Paris, and then returned to Milan for further study, but so favorable an impression had she made, that she was engaged for the season of 1873 in London. She then went to St. Petersburg, after which she revisited America, and sang again in the Cathedral at Albany.

In 1878 Albani married Mr. Ernest Gye, the lessee of Covent Garden Theatre, and for many years was one of the permanent attractions at that house. She has visited America several times, and has also sung in most of the large cities of Europe, where her reputation has been steadily maintained.

Madame Albani’s honors have not all been won in opera, though she has an immense repertoire, including Italian, French, and German operas. She is also one of the foremost concert and oratorio singers, and has had the honor of creating numerous soprano parts at the great festivals. At the request of Sir Arthur Sullivan, she travelled from Brussels to Berlin expressly to sing the part of “Elsie” in the “Golden Legend,” at its second performance in that city. She had created the part when it was produced in 1886.

In England, where Madame Albani has made her home for so many years, she is as popular and as highly respected on account of her domestic life, as on account of her artistic career, and her friends are not only numerous but include many of the most intellectual people of the day.

Notwithstanding the success which Madame Albani made in England, France, Russia, and other countries, she had her trials and disappointments. At one time, when she was singing at La Scala, in Milan, she was suffering from a slight hoarseness. Most audiences would have been indulgent, but not so the Milanese, who are particularly cruel to singers who have made their reputation in other places. The Milanese hissed and groaned. Huskiness in a singer was, to them, a crime. The tenor, seeing how matters stood, was taken with a sudden indisposition, and left Albani to carry on the performance alone. The opera was “Lucia,” and it proceeded no farther than the mad scene, for Madame Albani, indignant at the treatment accorded her, turned her back on the audience, and in a most dignified manner, marched off the stage, leaving the curtain to fall on a scene of confusion. No entreaties or arguments on the part of the impresario would induce her to finish the opera, or even to continue her engagement at La Scala.

Colonel Mapleson tells this story concerning Albani’s first London engagement. He heard of her singing at a small theatre at Malta, and, thinking that she would be successful, he made her an offer, through an agent, of a contract to sing at Her Majesty’s Theatre. She agreed to it, and went to London, but, on arriving there, she told the cabman to drive her to the “Italian Opera House.” He, instead of going to Her Majesty’s, took her to Covent Garden, which was also devoted to Italian opera. She was shown up to the manager’s office, and stated that she had come to sign the contract which Mr. Mapleson had offered her. Mr. Gye, thinking to play a joke on his rival, Mapleson, made out a contract, and Albani signed it. Mr. Gye then told her that he was not Colonel Mapleson, but that he could do much better for her. He offered to tear up the contract if she liked, but told her that Nilsson was singing at Her Majesty’s and would brook no rival. Albani decided to let the contract stand, and thus became one of the stars of Covent Garden, eventually marrying the son of Mr. Gye.

Concerning Albani’s singing in Berlin, the Berliner Tageblatt said: “The lady possesses an exceedingly peculiar organ, trained in a remarkable manner, and no one else has a voice which can be compared to it. It is not extensive in its range; the lower chest notes of the one-line octave might be fuller and more powerful, but the upper register is distinguished for enchanting sweetness, unfailing correctness, and, what is especially worthy of notice, a softness enabling the lady to breathe forth the gentlest pianissimo in passages which others can reach only with the greatest effort. Runs, staccatos, and shakes are not merely certain and pleasing, but, as regards form, so graceful that we listen to them with delight.”

An interesting anecdote concerning Madame Albani, and one which may tend to confirm the faith of those who doubt theorists, is to the effect that, when she was young and unknown, she paid a visit to a throat specialist, who had a theory that, by examination, it is possible for an expert to tell whether the possessor has an organ susceptible of producing a fine singer, even if he does not know music, and never sang a note.

After examining Albani, without knowing her particular reason for consulting him, he exclaimed: “My dear young lady, Nature has given you a wonderful organ. You can, if you will, become one of the greatest of singers. If you possess dramatic ability equal to the endowment of your throat, you can become a famous lyric artist, and I advise you to devote your energies to the cultivation of your powers.”

The young singer thanked him, and disappeared. Some years after, he went West, and one day in Chicago, a handsomely dressed lady entered his office. “Don’t you know me?” she said. But he was unable to recall her last visit, until she revealed her name, and related the whole incident, when he seemed very much surprised at the proof of his own wisdom.

In 1898 Madame Albani paid a visit to South Africa, where she had a grand reception. After a career of nearly thirty years, she is still as popular as ever.

The history of Emma Abbott is one which will be read with interest by all struggling and ambitious young people, for it is a story of brave battling against innumerable difficulties. Miss Abbott was the daughter of a poor music teacher, of Peoria, Illinois. Her early years gave her an acquaintance with hardship which, perhaps, enabled her to keep up her courage in the face of all obstacles. Imbued with the desire to help the family finances, she got the idea of giving a concert on her own account, for even as a small child she had a beautiful voice. At the age of thirteen, when she went to Mount Pulaski, on a visit to some friends, she put her idea into execution. She was trusted by the printer for her programmes and handbills. She posted her notices with her own hand, and secured a good audience. Her proceeds amounted to ten dollars, of which three dollars went to settle her bills, and with the remaining seven dollars she returned in triumph to her mother. After this, she gave guitar lessons to pay her schooling. At the age of sixteen, she heard of a vacancy for a school-teacher, and walked nine miles to see the school committee, with the result that, in recognition of her pluck, the place was given to her. Four months later she gave her first large concert in Peoria, and made one hundred dollars. She now travelled to various places giving concerts and fell in with an opera company from Chicago, the manager of which induced her to join the company. In due course the company broke up, and Miss Abbott found herself without money, but a kind-hearted railroad man advised her to go to New York, and present herself to Parepa-Rosa. He gave her a pass to Detroit, and then she was to go through Canada, and so to New York. Her journey was managed in the face of tremendous obstacles. She gave concerts, but found little response to her efforts. She frequently had to walk from one town to another. Once she had her feet frozen and many times she suffered from hunger. At last she reached New York, but, in spite of all her efforts, failed to reach Parepa-Rosa, and with her last fifteen dollars, she set out for the West again. While in Toledo she heard that Miss Kellogg was in town, and she called at her hotel and asked to see her. She sang for Miss Kellogg, who received her kindly, and who was so pleased with her that she gave her a letter to Errani, New York, and enough money to enable her to study for two years.

Thus ended her bitterest struggles. After studying some time she secured the position of soprano in the choir of the Fifth Avenue Church, with a salary of $1,500, and on May 20, 1872, she set off for Europe with a large sum of money subscribed by the wealthy people of the church, whose admiration she had gained by her voice and her character.

She soon made her debut in Paris, and made a sensation. In Paris she married Eugene Wetherell, a young druggist of New York.

If Miss Abbott is not enrolled among the great opera singers, it is because her ambition led her away from the beaten track, for, having made a reputation, she established an opera company of her own, which existed in America for several years, and enabled her to make a fortune estimated at half a million dollars. Her husband died in 1889, and his loss was a blow from which she never fully recovered. She was herself taken away in her prime in 1891.

In 1873 a young singer made her debut at Dresden, who was destined to achieve a high reputation as an interpreter of Wagner, and to rival the greatest stars of her school. Therese Malten, who was born at Insterburg, Eastern Prussia, appeared in Dresden as Pamina, and as Agatha. For nearly ten years she sang only in Dresden, taking many of the soprano roles in Italian opera. In 1882 she sang at Bayreuth, as Kundry, at the desire of Wagner, who had a very high opinion of her ability, which was amply justified by the results.

In London she appeared in May, 1882, when she made a great impression, and the critics declared that, though her art in singing was not so perfect as Materna’s, her voice was fresh, magnificent, powerful, and that she had great personal beauty. Besides possessing a voice of extraordinary compass, with deep and powerful notes in the lower register, she was considered an admirable actress. In 1883 she was chosen by Wagner to sing the part of Isolde at Bayreuth, when she was described, amidst all the praise that was bestowed upon her, as a young singer who was never known out of Dresden until she sang in London the previous year.

Madame Katharina Lohse-Klafsky, who was born in the same year as Malten, and was for several years prima donna at the Hamburg Opera, visited America in 1895, and died unexpectedly at Hamburg the following year as the result of an operation. She was a native of Hungary, and began her career in Italian opera, though she was best known as a Wagnerian singer. She had a large repertoire, and created the part, in German, in “La Navarraise.” She met with great success in London in 1892 and 1894. She had a full, rich-toned voice and a handsome stage presence.

A career of exceptional brilliance, but all too brief, was that of Etelka Gerster, who was born at Koschau, in Hungary, in 1856. Her father was a merchant, and brought up his family to refined tastes. All his children were fond of music, but none seemed to think of special musical study until a visiting friend from Vienna spoke of the promise which he thought lay in Etelka’s voice.

This gentleman asked permission to bring his friend Hellmesberger to hear her, and some time later the visit took place. Doctor Hellmesberger endorsed the opinion already given, but said that there was only one judge of such matters in Vienna, Madame Marchesi A visit was therefore made to Vienna, with the result that Mlle. Gerster became a pupil of Marchesi, and after a year of hard study won first prize at the Conservatoire.

About this time “Aida” was brought out at Vienna, and the composer Verdi came to superintend its production. He visited the Conservatoire, and a little soiree musicale was given in his honor. On this occasion Gerster sang several pieces, and Verdi was so pleased that he advised her to go on the stage.

Soon after this Gerster got an engagement to sing at Venice under the management of Signor Gardini. She spent two seasons singing in Italian and Spanish towns, but in 1877 she appeared in Berlin at Kroll’s Theatre. This engagement was the turning-point of her career, for by the magic of her voice she turned the second-class theatre into a resort to which the nobility flocked every night, and the venerable emperor and his court always held the front row of seats.

For three weeks the company, composed of singers unknown to fame, sang to empty houses. Then, whispers of the fact that Kroll’s Theatre had a singer of extraordinary ability resulted in increasing audiences. The emperor came and was delighted, and an invitation to sing at court was the result. After this triumphant engagement, Gerster married her manager, Signor Gardini, while they were in Pesth.

Compared with many prima donnas, Madame Gerster’s life has been uneventful. Her position as a singer was as a representative of the old art of beautiful singing. She charmed with gracefulness, smoothness, and exquisite finish of execution, and the most perfect musical taste, which every phrase, even in the most florid passages, revealed. She could not awe, like Pasta, but she could fascinate and charm. She was not a great actress, but she was graceful and pleasing on the stage.

Madame Gerster visited the United States several times, but at the end of the season of 1881 she declared that she would never sing again under the management of Colonel Mapleson. He had hurt her feelings by neglect. He had called on other members of the company, and showed various little attentions to them, but he never called on her nor inquired about her health when she was not feeling well, and finally went off to Europe without saying “Good-by.” This hurt the feelings of Signor Gardini, as well as those of his talented spouse, but she nevertheless returned as a member of his company in 1883-84, when there was great rivalry between Gerster and Patti. On approaching Cheyenne, Patti insisted on having her car detached from the train and making a separate entry, as she could not bear to share the admiration of the multitude with Gerster. During this tour there was one occasion on which, Patti and Gerster appearing together, Patti received so many flowers that the audience were weary with the delay caused by handing them over the footlights. When this ceremony was over, one small basket of flowers was handed for Gerster, but the audience arose and gave her a tremendous ovation. Henceforth Patti refused to sing with Gerster, and open war was declared, Patti declaring that Gerster had “the evil eye,” and Gerster saying pointed things about Patti, as, for instance, when the aged governor of Missouri, in a burst of enthusiasm, kissed Patti, and Gerster, on being asked her opinion about this frivolity, said that she saw no harm in a man kissing a woman old enough to be his mother.

In 1885 Gerster came again to America on a concert tour, but her beautiful voice had gone. She sang twice in New York, and made a most dismal failure, so she gave up the tour and went home, much to the regret of Americans who remembered the days when her singing gave the most exquisite delight.

Signor and Signora Gardini had a beautiful estate in the Campagna of Italy, to which they retired between seasons, and where they enjoyed entertaining their guests. Signora Gardini was devoted to the cares of her household, and proved herself to be an excellent housekeeper and an accomplished cook.

In this home nothing was wanting to make it a most delightful place of residence for even such a spoiled child as a prima donna. But alas! this happy life was destined to end very soon. Colonel Mapleson in his memoirs declared that Gerster was a most difficult person to get along with, and now Signor Gardini was forced to the same conclusion, for it was reported that the beautiful prima donna was in the habit of giving way to frightful outbursts of temper. To this cause is attributed the loss of her voice, as well as the loss of her husband. The “Villa Mezzana” was closed, and portions of the estate let to various small farmers. Madame Gerster went with her children to Paris, but soon after moved to Berlin and became a vocal teacher. She was only twenty-eight years of age when at the height of her fame, and at thirty her career was over. Referring to Mapleson once more, who was never inclined to mince matters when he was annoyed by a prima donna, we get the following anecdote. While travelling between Louisville and Chicago, the sleeping-car in which Gerster was travelling broke down and had to be side-tracked. Madame Gerster was requested to change into another car, as it was impossible to continue in the one which she was occupying, but she positively refused to move. She had paid to ride in that car, and in that car would she go and in no other. No arguments could induce her to change her mind. At last an expedient was discovered, the station agent at the nearest place was a remarkably fine-looking man. He was dressed up and introduced to her as the president of the road. He flattered her till she began to soften, and then told her that the company would be under great obligations to her if she would consent to use another car. He had a Brussels carpet laid from the door of her car to that which she was to occupy, and the lady, pleased at the deference shown to her by so high an official, at last consented to make the change.

Some of the press criticisms of Gerster’s performances during her tour in 1881 were highly amusing. The following were selected from a paper published in a large Southern city: “Mrs. Gerster’s Lucia is the Lucia of our youth, and our first ecstasies arose as from a nest of flowers as fresh and adorable as ever,” whatever that may mean. What it ordinarily described as a walk was pictured in the following mysterious sentence: “Her light tread as of a restless and frightened bird.” Some of her trills were described as “aflame with passionate intoxication,” while others were “white and wet with the tears of grief.” All this excellence was manifested with “never a scream to mar her singing.” Such admirable descriptions must have gone far towards reconciling those who were unable to see and hear the great songstress.

There is and has been much fault to find with American musical criticism. Excellent musicians have been subjected to the vulgar abuse of self-sufficient ignoramuses. A movement was recently put on foot to establish a school of musical journalism, and possibly the following selection, which was written concerning a lady of excellent musical ability and of world-wide reputation, may be allowed here as an argument in favor of a proper training for critics. For absolute vulgarity it may be awarded a first prize. It was written in 1882 in a city which lays claim to civilization, and the only excuse for its introduction is the hope that it may serve a good end.

“The divine was as resolute as usual, which, by the way, she ought to be, being well seasoned. The editor of this paper makes no great pretensions in the way of musical criticism, but when a genuine six hundred dollar grand spiral subsand twist, back-action, self-adjusting, chronometer-balanced, full-jewelled, fourth-proof, ripsnorting conglomeration comes to town, he proposes to hump himself. Her diaphragm has evidently not, like wine, improved with old age. Her upper register is up-stairs near the skylight, while her lower register is closed for repairs. The aforesaid performed her triple act of singing, rolling her eyes, and speaking to some one at the wings, at the same time. Her smiles at the feller behind the scenes were divine. Her singing, when she condescended to pay attention to the audience, to my critical ear (the other ear being folded up) seemed to be a blending of fortissimo, crescendo, damfino or care either. Her costume was the harmonious blending of the circus tent and balloon style, and was very gorgeous, barring a tendency to spill some of its contents out at the top. The Italian part of the business was as fidgety and furious as usual, and demonstrated what early associations with hand-organ and monkey will accomplish.

“The venerable and obese freak of nature,, was as usual, his appearance very nearly resembling a stove in a corner grocery, or water-tank on a narrow-gauge railroad. He was not fully appreciated until he turned to go off the stage. Then he appeared to the best advantage, and seemed to take an interest in getting out of sight as quickly as possible, an effort in which he had the hearty approval of the audience.”

Maurice Strakosch, on behalf of Christine Nilsson, brought suit against a paper published in a large town in New York State for printing an article under the head of “Nilsson Swindle,” in which the bucolic editor declared that Nilsson was no singer and could not be compared with Jenny Lind; therefore she had no right to charge Lind prices.

Marcella Sembrich, who made her debut in 1877 as an opera singer, is one of the most talented musicians of the century. She was born in Galicia, at Lemberg, in 1858, and was taught music by her father, while very young. She appeared in a concert at the age of twelve, playing both the pianoforte and the violin. She continued her studies on these instruments under Stengel and Bruckmann, professors at Lemberg, and then went to Vienna to complete her studies under Franz Liszt. Here, however, she was found to be the possessor of an unusually fine voice, which she began to cultivate under Lamperti the younger, and she decided to become an opera singer.

Her engagement in Athens, where her debut took place, was highly successful, and she next appeared at Dresden in October, 1878, where she remained until the spring of 1880, acquiring a high reputation. In June of that year she made her first appearance in London, under the management of Mr. Ernest Gye, and was so successful that she was engaged for the two following seasons.

Of the impression made by her in London, one of the critics wrote: “Her voice has been so carefully tutored that we cannot think of any part in any opera, where a genuine soprano is essential, that could present difficulties to its possessor not easily got over per saltum.” Sembrich was included with Patti, Gerster, Di Murska, and Albani, as one of “the great lights of the day,” in 1880.

In St. Petersburg Mlle. Sembrich once gave a concert which drew an immense audience, all the tickets being sold. The receipts, which amounted to over nine thousand rubles, were handed over to the poor students’ fund. At this concert, the audience had the opportunity to admire her in the capacities of singer, violinist, and pianist. As a violinist she could be listened to with pleasure; as a pianist she was considered worthy of a place in the front rank, particularly as an excellent interpreter of Chopin, while as a singer she was one of the “great lights of the day.”

Mlle. Sembrich married her former teacher, Stengel, and has for many years made her home in Dresden.

She is an ardent horse-woman, and is said to have called forth a somewhat doubtful compliment from the Emperor of Germany, when her horse became frightened during a military review, and she succeeded in managing the animal with great skill. “Madame,” said he, “if you were not the greatest singer in the world, you would be empress of the circus.”

In 1897 Mlle. Sembrich made a tour of the United States, singing in concerts in most of the large cities, and fully maintaining her high reputation.

In 1879, at Turin, another young American singer made her debut, at the age of eighteen. Marie Van Zandt came of a New York family of Dutch extraction. Her mother was a singer of some renown, and had been a member of the Carl Rosa company. Marie was taught singing by Lamperti, and after her debut in Turin she went to London, and appeared at Her Majesty’s Theatre, where she was well received on account of the freshness of her voice and her unaffected style. The following year she appeared in Paris at the Opera Comique as Mignon, and made such a success that she was immediately engaged for a term of years.

Although her voice was extremely light, it was of sweet quality, and marvellously flexible. Her success in Paris was instantaneous, and she became the pet of society, besides which she was, strange to say, well liked by her fellow artists, and admired by her impresario. Ambroise Thomas, the composer, declared her to be the very impersonation of Mignon, and she sang in that role sixty-one nights to crowded houses. It is doubtful whether any singer ever won more rapid fame. At the end of her season she had impresarios from Sweden, Russia, England, and America offering her engagements. It is said, too, that no less than six composers wrote operas for her, and that Delibes’s “Lakme” was one of these.

In November, 1884, Rossini’s “Barbiere” was revived, and Miss Van Zandt was cast for the leading part. She was, however, so overcome by nervousness that she lost her voice, and was, in consequence, treated most shamefully by the press and public of fickle Paris. She therefore obtained leave of absence, and played in Copenhagen and other places, appearing in St. Petersburg on December 17th. In 1885, when she returned to Paris, the hostile attacks upon her were renewed, and M. Carvalho agreed to break the contract. Notwithstanding a riot, which was carried on chiefly by a mob of about a thousand persons, who surrounded the Opera House, Miss Van Zandt made a great success. The people in the house, with a few exceptions, gave her a double recall, men waved their hats, women their handkerchiefs, and there was an immense burst of applause. The rioters kept at the back of the boxes.

She now went to London and created a great impression in “Lakme,” at the Gaiety Theatre.

An incident of her early career in Paris carried with it a certain amount of romance. A young Frenchman bribed her cabman to take her to a certain restaurant after the opera, where he and his friends were waiting to invite her to supper. Through the vigilance of her mother the plan was frustrated, but the story of the incident reached America, and came to the ears of a young man who had been an early playmate of the prima donna, and whose affection had grown stronger as time passed on. He went over to Paris, and challenged the young Frenchman to mortal combat. The Frenchman acknowledged the irreproachable character of Mlle. Van Zandt, but expressed himself as being quite at the service of the gentleman for any amount of fighting. Details of the fight are not on file.

Miss Van Zandt was born in Texas, where her father owned a ranch, and her childhood was spent in the enjoyment of the free life of the plains. Her family later removed to New York, and then to London. She met Adelina Patti, who was so pleased with her voice that she gave her every encouragement, and is said to have called her her successor. But there have been so many successors of Patti!

A few years after Miss Van Zandt’s debut, an amusing rivalry sprang up between her and another young American soprano, Emma Nevada. So bitter was the hostility, that one evening, when Miss Van Zandt was taken ill suddenly during the performance, her friends went so far as to declare that she had been drugged by the adherents of Miss Nevada. Such little quarrels are frequent among prima donnas, and are doubtless largely engineered by the newspapers, whose appetite for the sensational is enormous.

On April 27, 1898, at the mayoralty of the Champs Elysees district in Paris, Marie Van Zandt was married to Petrovitch de Tcherinoff, a Russian state councillor, and professor at the Imperial Academy of Moscow, after which it was announced that she would retire from the stage.