ton

Frieda Hempel

VOCAL MASTERY

I

=ENRICO CARUSO=

THE VALUE OF WORK

Enrico Caruso! The very name itself calls up visions of the greatest
operatic tenor of the present generation, to those who have both heard
and seen him in some of his many roles. Or, to those who have only
listened to his records, again visions of the wonderful voice, with its
penetrating, vibrant, ringing quality, the impassioned delivery, which
stamps every note he sings with the hall mark of genius, the tremendous,
unforgettable climaxes. Not to have heard Caruso sing is to have missed
something out of life; not to have seen him act in some of his best
parts is to have missed the inspiration of great acting. As Mr. Huneker
once wrote: "The artistic career of Caruso is as well known as that of
any great general or statesman; he is a national figure. He is a great
artist, and, what is rarer, a genuine man."

And how we have seen his art grow and ripen, since he first began to
sing for us. The date of his first appearance at the Metropolitan Opera
House, New York, was November 23rd, 1903. Then the voice was marvelous
in its freshness and beauty, but histrionic development lagged far
behind. The singer seemed unable to make us visualize the characters he
endeavored to portray. It was always Caruso who sang a certain part; we
could never forget that. But constant study and experience have
eliminated even this defect, so that to-day the singer and actor are
justly balanced; both are superlatively great. Can any one who hears and
sees Caruso in the role of Samson, listen unmoved to the throbbing wail
of that glorious voice and the unutterable woe of the blind man's
poignant impersonation?

IN EARLY DAYS

Enrico Caruso was born in Naples, the youngest of nineteen children. His
father was an engineer and the boy was taught the trade in his father's
shop, and was expected to follow in his father's footsteps. But destiny
decreed otherwise. As he himself said, to one listener:

"I had always sung as far back as I can remember, for the pure love of
it. My voice was contralto, and I sang in a church in Naples from
fourteen till I was eighteen. Then I had to go into the army for awhile.
I had never learned how to sing, for I had never been taught. One day a
young officer of my company said to me: 'You will spoil your voice if
you keep on singing like that'--for I suppose I was fond of shouting in
those days. 'You should lear