Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 5, No. 4 (1931-01)

January, 1931, Vol. V. No. 4 111 A Phoenix Arises from the Ashes! By WILLIAM HENRY SELTSAM An authorized article on Geraldine Farrar W E are all familiar with the story of Geraldine Farrar's operatic career: how she struggled and slaved, with the help of her loving parents, to the attainment of her debut in Berlin in 1901 in Gounod's Faust . Of her enviable training under Lilli Lehmann; of her triumphs in many European capitals; of her heralded return to her own country and of her continuous operatic triumphs for sixteen years at the Metropolitan Opera House, we read as of a heroine resembling the Horatio Alger hero. The larger details of her career are all known; her career since leaving the Metropolitan is not so well-known as it should be. What are her present views on singing? Will she ever record again? Who are her favorite recording artists? What, her favorite discs? What is her attitude toward the phonograph record ? These are questions that interest phonophiles, and those who are interested should feel grateful, as the author is grateful, for the unstinted interest that “our Gerry" gave when supplying much of the information contained in this essay. Early in 1922, when the first vague rumor of Farrar's operatic retirement floated to our ears, we were skeptical, but on January 17, when she was singing in Louise at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, she made the regrettable announcement. The following morning it was first page news in the New York Times as well as practically every other newspaper in the country. On the evening of January 21, Farrar gave some hope to her many admirers when she spoke briefly after a performance of Faust . She said: “Chil- dren, there is no occasion for a funeral. There will be many other performances. I hope you will come and enjoy them, and I will do my best." The same assurances were repeated as late as February 13. But soon her last performance was an- nounced. This was Zaza; the time, Saturday af- ternoon* April 22. What an afternoon that was! The Metropolitan was packed to the roof, with the famous five hundred “Gerry flappers," en masse. After a tremendous demonstration following the final curtain, Farrar spoke to her audience. She said, in part: “I am leaving this institution because I want to." That seems to be the key to this re- markable woman: she does what she wants to do. She wanted to become an opera singer; and she did. She did not want her public to remember her as some other great operatic artists are re- membered—a falling star; she wanted, while she was in opera, to be able to “dash on the stage as Carmen should, and to kneel and rise as effortlessly as Cio-Cio-San should," and these things she could do at the time of her retirement. People seemed to have forgotten that Miss Farrar had said, many years before, that she would retire from opera when she was forty. She kept her word. Thus, after sixteen years queen of the Metropolitan and twenty years in opera, “our Gerry" was escorted up Broadway (with no time to remove Zaza's makeup!) in such an ovation as to recall Jenny Lind's famous reception. But- although gone was the spectacular diva who had painted on the broad canvas of opera, Gerry knew that something sweeter and finer was to rise from the ashes of her dead glory. Those ashes were not yet cold when there arose a Phoenix of exquisite beauty. That broad canvas upon which Farrar had painted in her operatic days, gave way to her longing to work in miniature. This minia- ture upon which she now worked was less pretenti-