eacher but myself, but I have
learned from all the great masters; they have taught me everything."

He then led the way to his music room on the floor above. Here were more
paintings, many rare pieces of furniture and his piano. A fine portrait
of Verdi, with an affectionate autograph, stood on a table; one of
Ambroise Thomas, likewise inscribed, hung near. "A serious man, almost
austere," said Maurel, regarding the portrait of Verdi thoughtfully,
"but one of the greatest masters of all time."

Praying us to be seated, he placed himself on an ottoman before us. The
talk easily drifted into the subject of the modern operatic stage, and
modern operas of the Italian school, in which one is so often tempted to
shout rather than sing. The hero of Mozart's Don Giovanni, who could
sing his music as perhaps no one else has ever done, would not be likely
to have much patience with the modern style of explosive vocal
utterance.

"How do you preserve your voice and your repertoire?" I questioned.

M. Maurel gazed before him thoughtfully.

"It is entirely through the mind that I keep both. I know so exactly
how to produce tone qualities, that if I recall those sensations which
accompany tone production, I can induce them at will. How do we make
tones, sing an aria, impersonate a role? Is not all done with the mind,
with thought? I must think the tone before I produce it--before I sing
it; I must mentally visualize the character and determine how I will
represent it, before I attempt it. I must identify myself with the
character I am to portray before I can make it _live_. Does not then all
come from thinking--from thought?

"Again: I can think out the character and make a mental picture of it
for myself, but how shall I project it for others to see? I have to
convince myself first that I am that character--I must identify myself
with it; then I must convince those who hear me that I am really that
character." Maurel rose and moved to the center of the room.

"I am to represent some character--Amonasro, let us say. I must present
the captive King, bound with chains and brought before his captors. I
must feel with him, if I am really going to represent him. I must
believe myself bound and a prisoner; then I must, through pose and
action, through expression of face, gesture, voice, everything--I must
make this character real to the audience."

And as we looked, he assumed the pose of the man in chains, his hands
seemed tied,