rs have always commanded a high reward. This
is based upon an economic law which applies to all things in life. The
young singer should realize that, unless he can rise to the very top of
his profession, he will be compelled to enlist in a veritable army of
singers with little talent and less opportunity.

One thing exists in Italy which is very greatly missed in America. Even
in small companies in Italy a great deal of time is spent in rehearsals.
In America rehearsals are tremendously expensive and sometimes first
performances have suffered thereby. In fact, I doubt whether the public
realizes what a very expensive thing opera is. The public has little
opportunity to look behind the scenes. It sees only the finished
performance, which runs smoothly only when a tremendous amount of
mental, physical and financial oil has been poured upon the machinery. I
often hear men say here in New York, "I had to pay fifty dollars for my
seat to-night." That is absurd--the money is going to speculators
instead of into the rightful channels. This money is simply lost as far
as doing any service whatever to art is concerned. It does not go into
the opera house treasury to make for better performances, but simply
into the hands of some fellow who had been clever enough to deprive the
public of its just opportunity to purchase seats. The public seems to
have money enough to pay an outrageous amount for seats when necessary.
Would it not be better to do away with the speculator at the door and
pay say $10.00 for a seat that now costs $7.00? This would mean more
rehearsals and better opera and no money donated to the undeserving
horde at the portals of the temple.

THE STUDENT'S PREPARATION

I am told that many people in America have the impression that my vocal
ability is kind of a "God-given" gift; that is, something that has come
to me without effort. This is so very absurd that I can hardly believe
that sensible people would give it a moment's credence. Every voice is
in a sense the result of a development, and this is particularly so in
my own case. The marble that comes from the quarries of Carrara may be
very beautiful and white and flawless, but it does not shape itself into
a work of art without the hand, the heart, and the intellect of the
sculptor.

Just to show how utterly ridiculous this popular opinion really is, let
me cite the fact that at the age of fifteen everybody who heard me sing
pronounced me a bass. When I we