wan-boat; again, when he stepped on shore,
and a third time when he came to the front of the stage. Now here was
one of the most poetic scenes on the whole operatic stage utterly
marred for all refined listeners, merely for the sake of showing
admiration for a singer which might as well have been expressed later
on when the curtain was down. Campanini recognized all these
interruptions, and bowed his thanks to the audience.

Quite different was Herr Niemann's behavior when he made his _debut_
at the Metropolitan Opera House. Here was the greatest living dramatic
tenor, an artist identified with the cause and the triumphs of Wagner,
appearing on a new continent, in the same role that he had created at
the historic Bayreuth festival of 1876. The house, of course, was
packed, and included many old admirers who had heard him abroad, and
who, of course, received him with a volley of applause when he
staggered into _Hunding's_ hut. But Niemann did not acknowledge this
applause with a bow or even a smile. He appeared before the public as
_Siegmund_, and not as Herr Niemann. But when the curtain was down he
promptly responded to the enthusiastic recalls, and was quite willing,
and more than willing, to come forward as often as the audience
desired and acknowledge their kindness with bowed thanks.

Now, it is to be noted in this case that Herr Niemann did not lose
anything by refusing to recognize the applause that greeted him when
he first appeared on the stage; on the contrary, it raised him in the
estimation of all whose esteem was worth having; and these applauded
him all the more vigorously for his self-denial when the curtain was
down. Singers of the old school should take this lesson to heart and
ponder it. They imagine success is measured by the number of times
they are applauded, and consequently introduce loud, high notes and
other clap-trap at the end of every solo, if possible. They forget
that while they thus secure the applause of the uncultured, real
connoisseurs are disgusted, and put them down in their mental
note-books as second-rate artists or charlatans.

Those artists who have followed Wagner's precepts, and merged their
individuality and personal vanity in their roles, have never had
occasion to regret their apparent self-sacrifice. They are the only
kind of singers now eagerly sought for by managers; and an educated
public that does not tolerate applause while the orchestra plays,
never fails to vent it