194P 
 
 KATH etiNt. L 
 
 et. KJ
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 1 1 
 HIS OWN LIFE STORY 
 
 TRANSCRIBED BY 
 PIERRE V. R. KEY 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 '
 
 1 
 
 Copyright, 1918 
 
 By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 (INCORPORATED) 
 
 * 
 
 *
 
 X ' 
 
 t j ' &.*^r 
 
 JOHN McCORMACK TO HIS PUBLISHERS
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE BEGINNING YEARS 1 
 
 II EARLY SCHOOL DAYS ....... 15 
 
 III COLLEGE DAYS 28 
 
 IV EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 45 
 
 V FIRST Music STUDIES 59 
 
 VI EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 77 
 
 VII STUDIES IN ITALY 97 
 
 VIII THE RETURN TO ITALY 113 
 
 IX CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY .... 127 
 
 X FIGHTING FOR A START 139 
 
 XI LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 152 
 
 XII LONDON RECOGNIZES MCCORMACK . . . 166 
 
 XIII LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS . . ... 183 
 
 XIV THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 197 
 
 XV LONDON AND THE SAN CARLO, IN NAPLES . 208 
 
 XVI POPE Pius X CONFERS A BLESSING . . . 224 
 
 XVII LONDON'S RECOGNITION BROADENS . . . 235 
 
 XVIII HAMMERSTEIN, CAMPANINI AND AMERICA . . 245 
 
 XIX MANHATTAN OPERA HOUSE DEBUT . . . 255 
 
 XX GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA .... 265 
 
 XXI A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE .... 280 
 
 XXII AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA . . . 293
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXIII AMERICAN AND AUSTRALASIAN CONCERTS . 307 
 
 XXIV THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 327 
 
 XXV McCoRMACK FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP . 339 
 
 XXVI MCCORMACK AND AMERICAN WAR FUNDS . . 353 
 
 XXVII SELLING LIBERTY BONDS 362 
 
 XXVIII THE AMERICAN SINGER 371 
 
 XXIX SONGS FOR THE CONCERT PROGRAMME . . 380 
 
 XXX MCCORMACK ON CRITICS 393 
 
 XXXI EDWIN SCHNEIDER 401 
 
 XXXII REFLECTIONS 412 
 
 XXXIII CONCLUSION . . 425
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 HIS OWN LIFE STORY
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 His Own Life Story 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 Faith, which burned in the heart of him, was 
 the force that guided him on. It is unlikely, 
 during those early Athlone days, that he was 
 aware of his ultimate destiny or suspected how 
 necessary he should one time become to the peo- 
 ple of many lands. If he had known I doubt if 
 he would have swerved from his course or exulted 
 in what lay before. 
 
 It wouldn't have been his way the way of 
 John McCormack, who is what he is because of 
 that quality which sets one man apart from oth- 
 ers and makes him the exception. 
 
 His intimates understand this. When his 
 audiences have pondered they, too, will under- 
 stand. For the very quality I mention is what 
 
 1
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 they get when he sings to them and creates that 
 bond between. 
 
 Achievement seems to have been the actuat- 
 ing impulse behind the endeavors of the man. 
 To do well a task to which he set himself appears 
 to have been the thing he cared for most. What- 
 ever accompanying rewards there were never con- 
 cerned him at all until at length he stepped 
 back from the task to say mentally to himself: 
 "It's the best I could honestly do." 
 
 McCormack does not sing, merely, because it 
 is his profession to do so. Medicine, the law or 
 any of the other learned professions might easily 
 have been made his calling. His was the mind 
 for any of these, and his education led straight 
 to where he could have proceeded into which- 
 ever one his inclinations chose. 
 
 But when his college career closed it was 
 the interpretative soul of the man that whispered 
 a gentle wish to be tended. And because he 
 had in him the breadth of simplicity John Mc- 
 Cormack listened. 
 
 He began to sing, he sings to-day and will 
 go on singing until he dies for just one reason 
 alone: God meant that he should sing! He 
 was born with the voice, with talent supreme; 
 
 2
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 and yet the seeming intervention of circumstance 
 was all that diverted McCormack from the wrong 
 course to the right. 
 
 Some provocative soul, with good intentions 
 but an opaque mind, may suggest that if John 
 had presented himself as he had planned for a 
 certain Civil Service examination in Dublin he 
 would have passed into governmental activities 
 and out of music. 
 
 But did he forget? Or was his apparent 
 idling hour on the Liffey's banks a response of 
 the artist nature to a predestined call? 
 
 The hundreds of thousands who comprise the 
 McCormack phalanxes will decide unerringly 
 for themselves, because they have got the mes- 
 sages his interpretations revealed. 
 
 And that is the secret of it all, the why and 
 wherefore of his being as a singer: which has 
 made him a lyric star who puts truth and sim- 
 plicity above all else, who feels with the heart, 
 who sees with the mind and binds the two into 
 one. 
 
 It is some years since this impression grew into 
 a conviction and thus has become an accepted 
 fact in our daily lives. But now that he has 
 made himself an institution the public of every 
 
 3
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 country wherein his voice is heard regards him as 
 part of its own. And so it is appropriate to write 
 of those things concerning him which these pub- 
 lics have the right to know and to record 
 faithfully the story John McCormack himself 
 tells. 
 
 It is a fascinating story, too, as subsequent 
 pages will show a tale of an artist's rise to fame 
 in a space of time so short as to savor of the 
 Arabian Nights. For no other such individual 
 meteoric ascendancy may be found in music's 
 history. The probability is that none other will 
 recur. 
 
 It is this amazing circumstance that gives per- 
 tinence to this volume. McCormack himself 
 was opposed to its preparation and publication. 
 When the matter was broached, two years ago, he 
 strenuously objected. "I'm too young a man," 
 he declared, "to be written about. The print- 
 ing of the life and career of one barely past thirty 
 whose professional efforts lie within a decade 
 might impress people as premature." 
 
 That attitude is typical of McCormack. But 
 his counselors, from their points of vantage, dis- 
 cerned what the tenor could not see. He has al- 
 ways been diffident ; he still is. And nothing so 
 
 4
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 offends his sense of consistency as a word or deed 
 out of time and place. 
 
 His persuasion brought reluctant yielding, a 
 final concession, I am moved to think, that the 
 public to which he feels he belongs had to be 
 considered. So the decision was made, and 
 with an unassuming charm demanding emphasis 
 at this point in the book, in order that those who 
 read on may catch and hold to another strand 
 of a sensitive nature which, in the face of sur- 
 mounting success, continues upstanding and un- 
 spoiled. 
 
 It was a summer's day, with the sun shining, 
 when we began. McCormack sat on the veranda 
 of Rocklea, his Noroton, Connecticut, villa, gaz- 
 ing upon the waters of Long Island Sound. He 
 had sat that way for some minutes; in a suit of 
 tennis flannels, his stalwart body relaxed in an 
 armchair. I waited for his opening words. 
 
 "What a debt a man owes his mother and 
 father!" he said. "We never know, when we 
 are young. It is only when time has passed, and 
 the world gives us one thing after another, that 
 their tending is felt. For what I have been able 
 to accomplish I am obligated to many; very 
 deeply to a generQus few. But every year which 
 
 5
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 drops behind leaves me with a fuller conscious- 
 ness of that unpayable debt to father and 
 mother." 
 
 He paused and lowered his cmn upon one 
 tanned hand. He continued gazing over the 
 hundred-yards' stretch of lawn upon the waters 
 of the Sound. Yet I do not think he saw them 
 dancing under the sun's rays, which seemingly 
 turned them into bits of silver. He was in his 
 old home again; three thousand miles eastward, 
 in the historic Irish village of Athlone. 
 
 He sat in that contemplative attitude for half 
 a minute. "That's one of the great things," 
 he announced. 
 
 I missed his drift, and told him so. 
 
 "Having made enough of myself," he ex- 
 plained, "to be a credit to my parents." 
 
 I acquiesced, in silence, with a nod. 
 
 "And," he added with a gratified smile, "be- 
 ing able to see they have some of the comforts 
 they deserved/ I've been singularly blessed, 
 perhaps overmuch; but" and here his voice 
 slipped a tremulous note "no one thing has 
 filled the heart of me as making my mother and 
 father happy." 
 
 He said no more, after those words, for a long 
 6
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 time. He just sat there like the big and world- 
 loving boy he is, sunk in the joy of having brought 
 contentment to those who gave him life and 
 care. 
 
 Those of you who thrill under the spell of the 
 golden tone he spins and confess to an occasional 
 glistening eye from the pathos with which he 
 clothes some phrase need wonder no longer. He 
 may be an actor David Belasco asserts stoutly 
 that he is but what he puts into his songs is the 
 real thing. No artistic veneer in any one of 
 them. Finish of detail and style, yes, and much 
 of it. Words, too, which you not only can hear 
 distinctly to the last syllable but can also feel 
 the subtlest meaning of as John McCormack 
 sings them. 
 
 For all of which there is reason, in abun- 
 dance. 
 
 I should like, if such impossible thing were 
 possible, that every man, woman and child who 
 appreciates this tenor at his true worth could 
 have seen him that June afternoon in Nineteen 
 Hundred Eighteen and been close enough to him 
 to have felt what I was privileged to feel. 
 
 "Do you know," he demanded suddenly, 
 bringing himself out of the past with an internal 
 
 7
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 jerk, "I'd not mind risking one of those aeroplane 
 trans-Atlantic flights they're talking about if 
 we could start off now." 
 
 "Straight to the town of Athlone?" 
 
 He smiled. "Yes," he answered eagerly. 
 "Right up the River Shannon from Loop Head 
 to Athlone, and on past to Greystones, near Dub- 
 lin, where my father and mother and sisters now 
 live. Tell me," dropping into one of the ro- 
 guish moods he delights in, "is there any chance, 
 do you think?" 
 
 We laughed; and presently McCormack got 
 back again to the subject. 
 
 "I was born on June 14, 1884, our Flag Day 
 here in America. It was a Saturday. I was the 
 fourth of eleven children, which is some indica- 
 tion of the burden my father bore in providing for 
 his family's support. 
 
 "We were genuinely poor, as the goods of this 
 world go, but fortunate in those things which cre- 
 ate happiness in the home. Ours was a Catholic 
 Christian hearth, and the guidance my brother 
 and sisters and I received proved for our best 
 good. 
 
 "Both father and mother held the natural 
 parental anxiety for their children's welfare. 
 
 8
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 They reared us under close supervision, and 
 strictly; but their companionship was something 
 we always sought. I knew, well enough, the 
 pathway of right and duty. Yet the wisdom of 
 treating it was shown me in a tactful way. I 
 realize that my disciplining was rigid, though it 
 never held a harsh touch. 
 
 "Father was stern enough, but I like to feel it 
 to have been more a quality of dignity; a reflec- 
 tion of his serious outlook upon life and the re- 
 sponsibilities which were his. He was superin- 
 tendent in a department of the Athlone Woolen 
 Mills, and he worked hard, for which he received 
 a salary of 'two-pound-ten' a week. Mother, too, 
 was industrious ; always gentle and a just arbiter 
 of such disputes as we youngsters had." 
 
 It is an accurate picture McCormack drew of 
 his early environment. The facts are attested 
 by Bishop Michael J. Curley, of the Diocese of 
 St. Augustine (Florida) , who was one of John's 
 Athlone playmates and who has continued 
 through succeeding years a chum and valued ad- 
 viser. 
 
 "He was a good boy," said Bishop Curley, 
 "and very young to realize the dignity of the 
 world. His own inherent qualities were of 
 
 9
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 course mainly responsible, but historic Athlone 
 and its ways did their part." 
 
 Historic, Athlone truly is; and it has pro- 
 duced three illustrious sons: The Right Rever- 
 end Bishop Curley himself, youngest of Catholic 
 bishops in America; T. P. O'Connor, one of 
 Ireland's best loved statesmen, the "Tay Pay" of 
 literary and journalistic fame ; and John McCor- 
 mack; a triumvirate, surely, which instills com- 
 munity pride into the nine thousand people com- 
 prising the population of this quaint town by the 
 Shannon River. 
 
 "Andrew and Hannah McCormack did not 
 wait long after the birth of their first son to have 
 him baptised," said Bishop Curley; "he was only 
 three days old when Father Donohue sprinkled 
 drops of water on his head and pronounced him 
 'John Francis.' 
 
 "And it was a christening apropos of an occa- 
 sion that particular Tuesday being the feast 
 of the nativity of St. John the Baptist. The 
 ceremony took place in St. Mary's Church, where 
 the boy afterward became a devout worshipper." 
 
 Bishop Curley related these facts during a lull 
 in the story McCormack had begun to tell on that 
 
 10
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 June afternoon at Rocklea. The tenor, respond- 
 ing to Mrs. McCormack's summons, was on his 
 way into the house just as Bishop Curley came out 
 on the veranda. I could not well miss the looks 
 these men exchanged as they passed; Bishop 
 Curley's eyes shone as he took a seat. 
 
 He, too, seemed retrospective that afternoon. 
 He sat there, looking westward much as McCor- 
 mack had looked ; with shoulders squared and his 
 fine profile silhouetted against the foliage beyond. 
 
 I was not long in discovering the brilliant mind 
 of which John had told me. Bishop Curley 
 talked easily, as an eloquent man will who is mas- 
 ter of his subject. 
 
 "Athlone," he said, with a touch of pride in 
 his voice, "was a garrison town. It has been 
 that since the days of the contest between James 
 
 II and William, Prince of Orange when these 
 monarchs clashed for no less a reward than the 
 crown of England. 
 
 "John will tell you that some of his own bouts 
 at fisticuffs with his playmates took place on 
 identical spots where Irish soldiers of long ago 
 stood shoulder to shoulder in battle for their 
 rights. And like his dead and gone countrymen, 
 
 11
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 whose fortunes swayed first in the proprietorship 
 of their native soil and then to its loss, John 
 tasted both victory and defeat. 
 
 "I could relate much concerning those early 
 events, and of moments wherein Norman settlers 
 did their full share with the Irish. But out of 
 those troublous times stands one on which Ath- 
 lone's glory rests the Fight on the Bridge. 
 
 "Its history all Ireland delights in ; a proof of 
 national courage and good red blood. King 
 James II held Athlone, but the Prince of Orange's 
 commanding general, the Dutch de Ginckle, chal- 
 lenged for its possession, and battle ensued. 
 
 "Colonel Fitzgerald, a junior commanding 
 officer of the defending Irish forces, fought well, 
 but he was outnumbered. And at last he made 
 his stand, where General St. Ruth had ordered, 
 at Athlone Bridge. A dragoon sergeant, and six 
 of his men who volunteered, grasped axes and 
 faced the musketry fire of the foe in an effort to 
 smash an opening in the bridge that would check 
 the invaders; but bullets sent them to an heroic 
 death. Six more men volunteered to complete 
 what had been begun, and four of this little band 
 were leveled by de Ginckle's soldiers. Yet there 
 was triumph for the two who lived the bridge 
 
 12
 
 ClfjHght, Vndirwttd & Undmuttd 
 
 The Bridge at Athlone
 
 THE BEGINNING YEARS 
 
 had been cut, the planking flung into the river 
 and the enemy was stopped. 
 
 "A premature celebration, permitted that 
 evening by General St. Ruth, proved disastrous, 
 for de Ginckle renewed his assault upon his un- 
 suspecting adversary, crossed the river and took 
 the town. But the Fight at the Bridge still lives 
 and will, always. It was put into verse by 
 Aubrey de Vere, and John McCormack has re- 
 cited his poem in the Marist Brothers' school, at 
 Athlone; the lines are these:" 
 
 Does any man dream that a Gael can fear? 
 
 Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one! 
 The Shannon swept onward, broad and clear, 
 
 Between the leaguers and worn Athlone. 
 
 "Break down the bridge!" Six warriors rushed 
 Through the storm of shot and the storm of shell, 
 
 With late, but certain, victory flushed 
 The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well. 
 
 They wrenched at the planks 9 mid a hail of fire; 
 
 They fell in death, their work half done; 
 The bridge stood fast; and nigh and nigher 
 
 The foe swarmed darkly, densely on. 
 
 "0, who for Erin will strike a stroke? 
 
 Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar?" 
 13
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Six warriors forth from their comrades broke, 
 And flung them upon that bridge once more. 
 
 Again at the rocking planks they dashed, 
 
 And four dropped dead and two remained; 
 
 The huge beams groaned, and the arch down- 
 crashed 
 Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained. 
 
 St. Ruth in his stirrup stood up and cried, 
 "I have seen no deed like that in France: 
 
 With a toss of his head Sarsfield replied, 
 
 "They had luck, the dogs! 'Twas a merry 
 chance!" 
 
 0, many a year upon Shannon's side 
 
 They sang upon moor and they sang upon heath 
 
 Of the twain that breasted that raging tide 
 
 'Mid the ten that had shaken hands with Death!" 
 
 Bishop Curley told, also, of the romance that 
 steeps Athlone, of other traditions than those of 
 clash and strife and of the learning in which it 
 abounds. It was in such an atmosphere that 
 John McCormack thrived, where man's fibre and 
 his mind count for most. 
 
 14
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 "I suppose Bishop Curley has been telling 
 every secret of my past," announced McCormack, 
 as he came out of the house and over to where we 
 sat on the veranda. He looked down at us, a 
 twinkle lurking in the corners of his eyes, and put 
 an arm on the shoulder of his old-time comrade. 
 "Run on into the house, now, like the good man 
 you are; there's a little lady waiting, and her 
 name's Mrs. McCormack." 
 
 Bishop Curley smiled and got up. The tenor 
 watched him until he passed through the door- 
 way from his sight. Then he turned to me. 
 "A great man," murmured John, "and friend." 
 
 He dropped into the chair he had left and ex- 
 tended his legs straight before him. "Where did 
 we leave off?" he queried. 
 
 "Well, you were about to undertake a hazard- 
 ous aerial cruise; but Bishop Curley turned back 
 your life's history a few pages. Suppose you 
 
 15
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 recount some of those experiences which began 
 at school." 
 
 "Ah," observed McCormack, "prying into the 
 extent of my education?" 
 
 "The early part, first, if you don't mind." 
 
 "Of course not," he conceded, drifting quickly 
 with innate courtesy from his humorous turn to 
 the serious. "I was a lucky lad, though I didn't 
 grasp it all at once. Most boys don't. Still, I 
 think I was not overlong in making the discovery. 
 There was the preliminary home training, pains- 
 takingly given; then the day of my advent in 
 school. And in this I was more fortunate than 
 the vast majority. 
 
 "You have heard of the Marist Brothers. 
 They were skilled educators sons of the saintly 
 'Champagnat' whose influence upon the com- 
 munity of Athlone none can overestimate. To 
 their care I was entrusted when I was three and 
 a half, and with them I remained until the age of 
 twelve." 
 
 In that portion of his story, however, McCor- 
 mack did not particularize as to certain essentials 
 which his public should know. But Bishop 
 Curley informed me ; explaining how exceptional 
 a mind the then youthful John disclosed, the tal- 
 
 16
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 ents he evidenced at many a turn, and the intel- 
 lectual advancement gained when his tenth birth- 
 day anniversary arrived. 
 
 "He was passed at that time into the Inter- 
 mediate school," said the Bishop, "and became 
 absorbed in his studies. He could not have been 
 otherwise, for entering upon the competitive 
 sphere of Irish examinations he became, at 
 twelve, a Burser. At thirteen he gained the cov- 
 eted title of Exhibitioner, which carried with it 
 college scholarship rights and a cash prize of 
 twenty pounds; that, I can assure you, is an 
 honor. 
 
 "This was an introspective period in John's 
 life. Boy that he was, nothing appeared com- 
 parable in interest to that contained in the classic 
 teachings he received. Unconsciously, he was 
 establishing an intellectual foundation for the 
 future which he little suspected. 
 
 "But there were dream days, and many of their 
 hours John spent strolling and singing through 
 grass-waving meadows along the Shannon's 
 banks. He was a normal lad, who loved a game 
 with his companions, and while many may not 
 have suspected his natural gifts and brilliance 
 there were those who did know, and who watched 
 
 17
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 admiringly his progress. For he knew very lit- 
 tle outside the Catholic church, his school and 
 humble living." 
 
 I brought to McCormack's attention some of 
 these essentials which, in his narrative, he had 
 omitted. "Bishop Curley does not exaggerate, 
 I take it." 
 
 "Well," said John hesitatingly, "I would not 
 like to contradict the Bishop, but does it occur 
 to you that he might be prejudiced?" 
 
 It was the McCormack way, again; another 
 instance of his inclination to slip over matters 
 which put him in a favorable light and which he 
 prefers to let others relate. 
 
 "I admit I liked to study," he confessed, push- 
 ing on in an amusing effort to escape the issue in- 
 troduced. "And I liked, then as now, to play. 
 You know the adage about the effect too much 
 work had on Jack, and Jack's my name as you 
 know. 
 
 "I had no objections to a fling, for I was 
 healthy enough and fond of anything athletic. 
 I enjoyed, also, those pranks towards which boys, 
 the world over, seem by nature to drift. I'd 
 have been a queer lad if I had held no such in- 
 clinations. But there wasn't any meanness in 
 
 18
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 me. I tried to be above-board in what I 
 did." 
 
 People generally will no doubt think more 
 of McCormack in knowing that he was no dif- 
 ferent, in most ways, from other humans. No 
 analysis will yield any different conclusion. Yet 
 his capricious moments did not appreciably ex- 
 pand until he entered college at the ripe age 
 of twelve. Even then he preserved for some 
 time the serious mien which had become habitual 
 and was ingrained as part of him. 
 
 His entrance into the Diocesan College of 
 the Immaculate Conception of Summerhill, at 
 Sligo, on October 15, 1896, was more or less an 
 event. For he had won a free place by competi- 
 tive examination and was starting upon a phase 
 of his youth in which a notable personality, 
 Bishop Clancy, was to exert upon him a lasting 
 effect. 
 
 Up to this point no word of his voice or sing- 
 ing had come from the tenor's lips. I purposely 
 avoided any suggestion. To let him relate his 
 story, in his own way, was my desire for spon- 
 taneity's sake. Small need to fear that his 
 logical reasoning would make a slip in the se- 
 quence. He would reach the beginnings of his 
 
 19
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 singing impulses, I figured, in due time; and 
 my assumption proved not at fault. 
 
 From the roadway, back of us, came to our 
 ears the musical sound of an automobile warn- 
 ing. It was one of those chiming affairs, made 
 of tubes of brass. McCormack lifted his head to 
 glance toward the strip of road. 
 
 'Tis a pleasant invitation, those chimes 
 make, to get to somewhere out of the way. But 
 perhaps the machine has a soft heart, who 
 knows? I remember my own heart was soft 
 enough the day I first sang before a crowd." 
 He was getting to it. 
 
 "When was that?" 
 
 "Twenty-five years ago ; I was nine and a slip 
 of a lad and shy. It was in the Marist Brothers' 
 school, on a feast day, when Dr. Woodlock, 
 Bishop of Clonmacnoise, was the guest of honor. 
 I'll not forget the sensation at hearing the words 
 which Brother Hugh whispered in my ear. 'We 
 want you to sing, John, for Bishop Woodlock.' 
 With that the good man lifted me upon a table, 
 and left me looking at the gathering. 
 
 "Like many another Irish boy I had sung: in 
 my own room at home, or a snatch of some ballad 
 as I walked outdoors. But never had I sung 
 
 20
 
 c 
 
 O 1) 
 u > 
 
 -W 
 
 ss 
 
 o 
 u
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 seriously before what may be described an audi- 
 ence. Different persons had told me I had a 
 nice voice, which warmed me because I love 
 to sing. 
 
 "But there's a difference between singing for 
 one's self and singing to others, who may be 
 more or less critical according to the mood and 
 capacity. Not that I expected to be severely 
 judged on that occasion, either. I daresay it 
 was no more than a natural feeling almost any lad 
 would have felt ; a human sensation which comes 
 when one essays for the first time a task on 
 which judgment must pass. And the presence 
 of Dr. Woodlock was most impressive. 
 
 "A great deal flashed through my childish 
 mind as I was lifted to that table. As I stood 
 facing my auditors the Bishop, schoolmates and 
 teachers I felt queer around my middle. No 
 absolute fear, mind you; just a sudden con- 
 sciousness that I wanted to do well and won- 
 dering if I would." 
 
 He broke off, there, allowing himself a 
 reminiscent smile. He must have sung that 
 song, silently and to himself, quite through from 
 beginning to end, for it was a matter of minutes 
 before he again spoke. 
 
 21
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ' 'Shades of Evening Close Not O'er Us,' said 
 McCormack softly, "that was the song in which 
 are the words, 'Absence makes the heart grow 
 fonder.' Every one kept very still and atten- 
 tive. I'd like to have a record made of that 
 song, as I sang it that day just for Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack and the kiddies and myself." 
 
 I sat studying him as his thoughts drifted, 
 again, to that spot in the Marist Brothers' school. 
 Presently John came out of his mental journey- 
 ing. 
 
 "I think they must have liked it," he buoy- 
 antly announced, with a complete change of 
 manner. "They seemed to." And I presume 
 McCormack was right. 
 
 "I had no extensive repertoire," he informed 
 me, "but what I knew I knew. And the sing- 
 ing spirit, I guess, must have been there. Like 
 the man born to be hanged, I possibly was in- 
 tended to sing." 
 
 There came, then, an interruption. John 
 didn't seem to mind. He appeared rather to 
 welcome it in the form of a girl of nine, lithe 
 and jubilant and affectionately inclined. And 
 straightway Gwendolyn McCormack danced over 
 
 22
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 to her father and mussed his hair in most familiar 
 fashion. 
 
 In the case of Gwenny, photographs do not 
 serve. They miss, for one thing, the spirit of 
 Irish beauty which is hers and which, for full 
 appreciation, must be seen in the flesh. The 
 glint of her hair, too, is something for actual 
 sight. An optimistic lass, with bubbling nature, 
 a sturdy little body and unspoiled ways. 
 
 And for some reason perhaps because she is 
 his daughter John appeared fond of Gwenny. 
 I asked him why and he grinned and replied: 
 "Ask her." 
 
 But before I could this energetic miss was 
 off and away and out of sight. 
 
 We followed as far as the edge of the veranda, 
 and walked together across the lawn to the 
 beach. The tenor became more concerned, at 
 that moment, with nature. He cast about for 
 wide, flat stones and finding them flung them 
 zipping over the water's surface, in that process 
 known to the youthful contingent as "skipping." 
 
 "How many can you do?" I wanted to know. 
 
 "I did eleven once." 
 
 "El-e-ev-en?" 
 
 23
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Well, what's a matter of a few skips . . . 
 between friends?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! What you might term skipping 
 the count rather than counting the skips." 
 
 "Here, now," objected John, "you're not to 
 put that in the book. I'll say all the clever 
 things." 
 
 In the evening we resumed. 
 
 "It was a trim little stone house, where we 
 lived," said McCormack, "only six rooms, with 
 a slate roof. But comfortable within, and very 
 near St. Mary's Church. When the family was 
 complete there were thirteen of us eleven chil- 
 dren : Mary Ann, who died as an infant ; Peter, 
 who also passed away when he was a baby; 
 Isabella, who lived until she was sixteen; Jane, 
 now married and living in England; John (that's 
 myself) ; Mary Ann, whom mother and father 
 cannot allow out of their sight without being 
 unhappy ; Andrew, a fine lad, who made this truly 
 wonderful request of me on his death-bed, 'Put 
 your head against mine, so it will rest against 
 something hard, like the Lord's did, when he 
 died' ; Thomas, who died very young; James, now 
 a wireless operator in the British Navy ; Agnes, at 
 
 24
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 present with my father and mother and waiting 
 to be called to France, as a nurse, and Florence, 
 who likewise is at the parental home in Grey- 
 stones. 
 
 "Father was a true Irishman ; he loved music. 
 I well remember seeing him at the piano, picking 
 out on the black keys with one finger 'The 
 Wearin' of the Green.' So what piping I did, 
 by way of singing at five and thereafter, he never 
 minded. Nor mother." 
 
 "County Westmeath tunes, eh?" 
 
 McCormack laughed at this. "Yes, and 
 tunes from other parts of Ireland, sung in those 
 days in Westmeath ; that's where the McCormack 
 homestead stood." 
 
 "Not in Roscommon?" 
 
 John shook his head. "I'm aware of the dis- 
 cussions as to that, but we were on the West- 
 meath side of the Shannon whose swirling cen- 
 tre was the dividing line between the counties. 
 No, I was born in Westmeath, and I should know 
 I was right there. 
 
 "Michael Curley he's the eminent Bishop 
 Curley now was one of my earliest playmates. 
 Older than I by four years and, bless him, a good 
 influence, even then. He used to wait around 
 
 25
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 for me at school when father first took me there, 
 on his shoulders. 
 
 "Time brought us continually closer. We 
 had much in common. He was an example in 
 studiousness and character; a safe leader to fol- 
 low. The Bishop the Michael of those other 
 times always had a cheering word for my voice 
 and singing. 
 
 ' 'Sing on, John,' he would say, and thus en- 
 couraged I obeyed. 
 
 "The songs I knew then were good songs, 
 though few. 'Believe me, if all those endearing 
 young charms' was one. My mother taught it 
 to me, and though I sing it to this day I have 
 never found it necessary to change so much as a 
 breath-mark in it. 'Annie Laurie' was another 
 of my youthful songs ; so was 'The Irishman' and 
 yet another 'Jessie, the Flower of Dunblane,' 
 which I shall some day put on my concert pro- 
 grammes. 
 
 "But the vocal part of my early schooldays 
 was subordinated to the more serious duty of 
 learning. The desire for knowledge was strong 
 in our community, and those who commanded 
 knowledge commanded, in corresponding de- 
 gree, the respect of the citizens. 
 
 26
 
 EARLY SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 "Athlone, as the Bishop has told you, was a 
 garrison town. Like all of its kind, it had a cer- 
 tain culture despite the fact that the people 
 were simple in tastes and felt the constructive ef- 
 fects of religion, in which the Catholic faith 
 exerted a most beneficent influence. 
 
 "I would not change Athlone, if I could, nor 
 were I living over again those days would I ask 
 to have any altered in the littlest way. The 
 town was kind to me, and though my disciplin- 
 ing was severe, it begets its reward and few suf- 
 fer from its touch.' 
 
 27
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 John did not enter upon his college career in 
 the propitious manner that prevails here in 
 America. Andrew McCormack's meagre in- 
 come, and the manifold needs for it, left only a 
 few pounds a year to be sent the boy for his 
 clothing. John's success in winning an allow- 
 ance as an Exhibitioner provided for his tuition 
 and left a small sum sufficient for other neces- 
 sary expenses. But from October 15, 1896, 
 to June 23, 1902, which marked his college days, 
 economy was McCormack's watchword. For- 
 tunately the purchasing power of money in Ire- 
 land, at that time, was large. 'Twas lucky 
 for me, else I should have fallen by the intel- 
 lectual wayside," said John. 
 
 No more than a child when he passed his ex- 
 aminations, McCormack was strangely matured 
 in his ways. The youngest of his classmates, 
 he approached his studies with calm assurance, 
 
 28
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 and as he was one of the six Exhibitioners in 
 Summerhill College he attracted the attention of 
 the saintly Bishop Clancy himself. The ruler 
 of the Diocese of Elphin had a scintillating mind, 
 with keen perceptions. And observing this 
 student he discovered more than the intellectual 
 talents he possessed; he probed the soul of the 
 lad, finding there a craving for song. 
 
 "Long before I was aware of it, Bishop Clancy 
 was nurturing that part of me," declared John. 
 "He did it with a subtlety such as few men 
 could have known; for all the while my intel- 
 lectual development progressed, and without con- 
 sciousness of the process I was growing in two 
 ways. 
 
 "Have you ever known homesickness? I ex- 
 perienced it in that fall of 1896. It came and 
 stopped with me like an unwelcome relative who 
 never knows when to go. Bishop Clancy ef- 
 fected my cure; his kindliness and the cheer of 
 his voice and words seemed to start my heart 
 beating anew. He was a stimulant, with an in- 
 describably wonderful way. 
 
 "I worked," said the tenor, "very hard. And 
 when homesickness was sufficiently dispelled the 
 world breathed for me a new note. I decided 
 
 29
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 to live a while longer, and to continue preparing 
 for the career my father had his hopes set on for 
 me. Yet there were doubting moments, with 
 each day. The Church had its appeal, but I 
 could not shake that vague Questioning as to my 
 fitness to be its servant." 
 
 Bishop Curley touched on this phase of 
 churchly matters shortly before he left New 
 York for St. Augustine again, not long after our 
 conversation at Noroton. "There are some stu- 
 dents for the priesthood whom it is better to dis- 
 suade from that wish," said he, "and others who 
 eliminate themselves in a perfectly normal way. 
 John McCormack was of the latter kind." 
 
 We were trudging along a Connecticut road, 
 near Rocklea, during this period of McCormack's 
 life tale. He's a free-swinging pedestrian, with 
 a stride that gets somewhere. Nearing the tiny 
 church which stands halfway between Noroton 
 and Stamford, where the McCormack family wor- 
 ships, John came to a full halt. 
 
 "Now then," he began by way of opening his 
 argument, "I ask if I'm not a greater help at 
 pulling the boat than as a pilot? Bishop 
 Clancy thought so, and his vision was clear." 
 
 McCormack stood in the roadway, disregard- 
 30
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 ing the heat of mid-day, and gazing long at this 
 particular domicile that helps foster the faith 
 he was born in. "Yes," he said slowly, "I'm 
 a good soldier; better that, don't you think, than 
 a commonplace general?" 
 
 John was right. Bishop Clancy thought so; 
 and Bishop Curley agrees, which should have 
 some influence in the matter. 
 
 "There have been stories to the effect that 
 my father was heart-broken over my not having 
 entered the priesthood," said McCormack, "and 
 they are wrong. It would have pleased him had 
 I become a priest, that I know; but his ambi- 
 tions for me were always of a different sort. He 
 anticipated seeing me eventually launched in 
 either medicine or the law. My having been 
 placed in the Marist Brothers' school was a per- 
 fectly natural procedure on father's part. It 
 was a wonderful educational institution, and 
 though it offered exceptional facilities to who- 
 ever had leanings towards the Church, it was 
 no less admirable for the professions. What 
 is true of the Marist Brothers' school holds 
 equally of Summerhill. 
 
 "That first college year at Summerhill was not 
 easy," confessed the tenor. We were walking 
 
 31
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 again, McCormack dripping with perspiration 
 and carrying his cap in his hand. "The next 
 year came less hard and the third when I was 
 fourteen found my outlook broader. 
 
 "Bishop Clancy was responsible. The 
 premier preacher in the entire Irish hierarchy, 
 he was the most human man imaginable, with 
 sympathies and an understanding for his fellow 
 creatures which helped in making him the force 
 he was. We were gradually becoming friends, 
 and his friendship was a thing to cherish. I 
 had become interested in the college life and in 
 the whirl of intellectual pursuit. It was disci- 
 pline, and it kept one's head up and let him look 
 his neighbor in the eye. 
 
 "I won't bore you with the nature and extent 
 of my studies except to state that they included 
 those subjects incorporated in the legitimate 
 classic course. They were sufficient, you may 
 believe, and the lessons had to be well learned. 
 Early to rise and early to bed you remember 
 that phrase? I reverse the usual order of the 
 words, because it seemed to me that I was for 
 ever getting up in my sleep. I think an Irish- 
 man thought of that saying and that Summerhill 
 tried to stretch its usefulness. 
 
 32
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 "At any rate, we took time in that college by 
 the forelock and were disinclined to let go. We 
 relaxed, of course, and had our games and pleas- 
 ures. Football Association style was popu- 
 lar, and I well recall that at one period of my 
 college days I was more interested in making 
 the team than in anything else. But hand- 
 ball was my forte and I gave it many spare 
 hours." 
 
 "You organized a glee club, didn't you?" 
 
 "Never," answered McCormack. "Such a 
 thing never existed at Summerhill during my 
 time. It was a pity, too, because there was more 
 than enough good natural musical material to 
 be had. But no consideration was given music, 
 nor is any given throughout Ireland to the youth 
 of that country. I hope some day to see con- 
 ditions changed, because there are so many fine 
 voices amongst the Irish and they are so musical 
 that with their opportunities the priests in Ire- 
 land could do a great musical good. 
 
 "Had my father and mother not been musically 
 gifted my own progress would have amounted 
 to nothing. It was their encouragement and 
 their sensible, if non-technical, instruction, which 
 supplied my initial impulse in music. Father 
 
 33
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 had a pure tenor voice and mother a very pleasing 
 soprano. 
 
 "To sing was second nature to me by the time 
 I was fourteen. I sang eternally wherever and 
 whenever I could even during that period when 
 my voice was changing. I realize that this will 
 invite from experts expressions of surprise. 
 Opinion has it that such a practice is dangerous 
 to the voice, but it never seemed to injure mine. 
 I would be singing, in my boyish soprano, when 
 the tone would 'turn over' and sound a masculine 
 timbre ; a sort of 'mixed' tone, as it were. Then 
 the soprano quality would creep back into the 
 voice, and remain until the next moment of 
 physiological disturbance. If I had forced, or 
 sung with muscular constriction, damage no 
 doubt would have been wrought. As events 
 proved, I bridged the critical part of that period 
 of my vocal development; in a few months the 
 voice settled into the beginnings of the tenor it 
 now is. 
 
 "I wouldn't describe that third year at college 
 as one in which there was a division of effort, 
 still the call to sing was loud in my ears and I 
 was giving heed. My first paid engagement, 
 
 34 
 
 i 
 I
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 by the way, materialized about this time, and 
 this was the way of it. 
 
 "Father Hynes, one of the Summerhill in- 
 structors whom we boys adored, had arranged 
 to give two concerts. He had the co-operation 
 of citizens in the town of Sligo, and the proceeds 
 were to be given to the temperance cause. I 
 first learned of the project one afternoon, when 
 Father Hynes stopped me on the campus and 
 told me about it. He finished by saying to me, 
 'How would you like to sing at those concerts, 
 John?' I wasn't certain, for a moment, whether 
 my hearing had not played me a trick, but I was 
 straightway reassured. The world thereupon 
 assumed majestic proportions, with John Mc- 
 Cormack conspicuous in their midst. I was to 
 receive, for my services, the impressive sum of 
 four shillings. 
 
 "I believe there is a tale to the effect that I 
 stole out of my college quarters and slipped to 
 the concert, and returned unobserved, but that 
 is incorrect. Father Hynes secured for me the 
 necessary permission to be absent on the two 
 nights of the concerts, and I departed from and 
 returned to college quite conventionally. My 
 
 35
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 first appearance, however, carried the great ap- 
 peal and found me in a state of suppressed ex- 
 citement. I went to Sligo, sang in the concert, 
 received from Father Hynes one-half of the 
 agreed sum of four shillings and returned to my 
 bed with the heart of me still singing. My 
 mind, of course, was filled with mingled con- 
 fusions; thoughts zigzagging without arrange- 
 ment or order or very much definiteness, with 
 but a single exception. And that recurred again 
 and again until it became an obsession. 
 
 "External evidences had all contributed to a 
 satisfactory achievement on my part. In the 
 hall I had sung very sincerely each song, and 
 the recognition encouraged me to believe that 
 my honorarium was being earned. There were 
 demands for encores which I was glad enough 
 to grant, and the conclusion found me in a haze 
 of happiness which did not lift until Maggie, the 
 college cook, pushed through those congregated 
 about me to add her congratulations to the rest. 
 
 "I saw her coming, her benignant face beam- 
 ing and one hand outstretched. 'And did you 
 like my singing, Maggie, really?' 'Sure, Johnny, 
 darlin', but what did you want to show off your 
 education for by singing in them furrin lan- 
 
 36
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 guages?' She meant to be kind, dear old Mag- 
 gie, and yet that question was like a stab in my 
 side. I'd sung nothing save English; English 
 from the start to the close, which Maggie knew 
 well. I laughed it off and my unconscious critic 
 left me with a pat on my shoulder, but her 
 query was a disturbing thorn in my momentary 
 triumph. For if she had not understood my 
 words there must have been others, too, in the 
 audience similarly unenlightened as to the texts. 
 "This fact I cogitated as I lay between the 
 sheets, and wrestled mentally with the possible 
 consequences if I proved unequal to conquering 
 what must be a defective enunciation. The 
 words of a song are its soul and must be heard 
 if the poet's message is to be comprehended. I 
 had fancied, vainly perhaps, that articulation 
 was an asset in my singing, for a large part of 
 my attention invariably was focused upon this 
 very element when I sang. Something, appar- 
 ently, was amiss. An unintelligible word or two 
 might be condoned, but to have everything I had 
 essayed to convey to my listeners fall upon Mag- 
 gie's ears as any possible language foreign to 
 her learning that was like a slap in the face, 
 and far more humiliating. 
 
 37
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Thus, from a trivial episode, was I projected 
 into a sleepless night. I would doze off, half in 
 the lingering ecstasy of my debut, only to waken 
 with a jerk to stare into the darkness with eyes 
 gazing on disaster. Nor could I escape from the 
 reminders of my fault when daybreak came. 
 But the lesson was worth learning, and I set at it 
 and still am. For never again do I wish such 
 an experience as Maggie gave me. It disturbs 
 one's pride." 
 
 We walked for some distance after that, Mc- 
 Cormack having gone suddenly into a reflective 
 mood. I forbore to interfere. I gathered that 
 an objective avenue of thought had been opened 
 to him from the incident he had told. But from 
 time to time on that last half mile of our tramp I 
 stole a glance at his face, though vainly, for it was 
 as inscrutable as a mask of clay. 
 
 Across the lawn to the house we went, and en- 
 tered. And there in the living-room a young 
 woman, who had been seated before a desk, 
 turned on hearing our steps and rose. 
 
 The pen of a Richard Le Gallienne would be 
 needed to describe this charming lady, who is 
 known to every McCormack "fan" almost as well 
 as the tenor himself. But being only a prosy 
 
 38
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 music critic all I can tell you is that she is very 
 gracious, and lovely, and that one is at once im- 
 pressed by her fine eyes. 
 
 I was ne"aring the door which leads to the 
 veranda facing the Sound when Mrs. McCormack 
 called to me. "Make yourself at home for a few 
 minutes; it's just time for tea." 
 
 And in that phrase if you analyse its inner 
 meaning you have Mrs. McCormack. Always 
 thinking of the comfort of others. Not her chil- 
 dren only (of whom she confidentially assures 
 one that John is the littlest) but of all who cross 
 the thresholds of her homes, and many who 
 never have been inside them. 
 
 She is wife and mother and chum and coun- 
 sellor, firm in her mildness, with a far-seeing 
 worldly vision and an unselfishness which was 
 sufficiently manifested the day she withdrew from 
 an already established singing career to devote 
 her life to John McCormack's. And should 
 your intimacy with the tenor be such as to make 
 the question no impertinence, and you put that 
 question to him, he would tell you that what he 
 has done professionally he could not have done 
 without the aid of that selfsame little lady who 
 charmed the music public of Great Britain and 
 
 39
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Ireland under her maiden name of Lily Foley. 
 
 She busied herself, after a wifely conference 
 with her husband, to see that her servants served 
 the tea, and as they should. 
 
 Afterward, having done my duty by certain 
 potato-cakes which literally melted in my mouth, 
 I strolled off to the tennis courts, where John 
 was industriously smiting the ball out of reach 
 of a visiting neighbor who played well but 
 not well enough. And there, when the set was 
 finished and the vanquished neighbor on his 
 homeward way, McCormack finished for me the 
 tale of his Summerhill College days. 
 
 "That lesson in the necessity of distinct enun- 
 ciation which Maggie gave me was one I gave 
 more thought to than anything else for the few 
 days following my first appearance in public. 
 Articulation became the subject more engross- 
 ing than anything else, and it was a matter of 
 days before my equilibrium was restored suffi- 
 ciently to allow me to resume, in normal fashion, 
 the course of study and recitation. 
 
 "Aloud, and silently to myself, I would pro- 
 nounce the words of a song over and over again. 
 It mattered not whether I was in the classroom or 
 out of it; I had an objective and steered towards 
 
 40
 
 < o 
 
 sj* 
 
 w x 
 
 K rt 
 
 H E 
 o 
 O 
 u 
 
 s
 
 COLLEGE 6AYS 
 
 it with tenacity. My college mates, coming sud- 
 denly upon me when I plunged into this practice, 
 were at first startled. From the looks some of 
 them gave me there appeared a doubt as to my 
 sanity; until I at length explained. Instead of 
 laughing, as they might have done, they showed 
 comforting sympathy. Perhaps their attitude 
 may be interpreted as an instance of good wishes, 
 for most of my associates were musical and not 
 unwilling to have me sing to them whenever my 
 fancy chose." 
 
 John might have said, had he been the sort to 
 do so, that even as far back as in those times, 
 he was more a hero to his classmates than any- 
 thing else. He sang, but, also, he played the 
 mouth-organ. He played that limited instru- 
 ment, Bishop Curley informs me, upon slight 
 provocation and with unremitting frequency. 
 Apparently, too, he acquired a deal of technical 
 facility in various styles of harmonic accom- 
 paniment to the tune of the moment. Runs, 
 arpeggios, staccati and long-drawn and im- 
 pressively held chords John introduced in his 
 musical efforts upon this instrument; and part 
 of his four shillings, earned from the singing en- 
 gagement aforementioned, he put into several 
 
 41
 
 JOHNlVlcCORMACK 
 
 mouth-organs manufactured in different keys. 
 His collection, it appears, at one time, included 
 two which bore on their metal sides "Key of C," 
 and others similarly branded with G and F. 
 
 Leadership in directions other than music was 
 another McCormack tendency at the fifteenth 
 year of his life. He was not only a football and 
 handball expert, but had developed proficiency 
 as a swimmer. And on rare occasions the boys 
 revelled in their aquatic excursions with no less 
 distinctive guest of honor than their beloved 
 Father Hynes. 
 
 "We returned from one of these swims," said 
 John, "to find the college president, Dr. Kielty, 
 in a stern mood. He was a fine man, an able 
 educator and a clear-minded executive; but I 
 think he held a mild resentment for our fond- 
 ness for Father Hynes. We paused before Dr. 
 Kielty when we reached him, a dignified and im- 
 posing figure, standing under a tree on the 
 campus. We paused, as I have said, frankly 
 awed by his demeanor which portended some- 
 thing apart from the routine of the day. But his 
 message threw us boys off our youthful balance, 
 and brought a flush to the cheek of Father 
 Hynes. 
 
 42
 
 COLLEGE frAYS 
 
 "In effect, he informed us that on the follow- 
 ing day he, Dr. Kielty and no other, would ac- 
 company us to the point of departure from the 
 river bank into the water; and having thus re- 
 lieved his mind he stalked off, a dignified per- 
 sonality, leaving us to stare at one another open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 "The good doctor went out the following after- 
 noon, to the appointed rendezvous; went there 
 and waited in vain. For we boys rebelled at 
 the affront to Father Hynes and remained to 
 ourselves. 
 
 "So those college days passed, with intermi- 
 nable happenings in which the serious and sad 
 and comic were intermixed. And in my fifth 
 and sixth years at college I found myself coming 
 closer and closer to the great Bishop Clancy, 
 whose counsel and encouragement spurred me to 
 those achievements which I contemplate with 
 some pride. 
 
 "But I must have borne scant resemblance to 
 a student, for I remember during one vaca- 
 tion when I was at home being introduced to 
 a visiting neighbour who greeted me, after in- 
 troductions, with: 'So this is John Francis, the 
 
 43
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Exhibitioner? I've heard he's clever, but he 
 doesn't look it.' " 
 
 McCormack overlooked one achievement to 
 his credit while at Summerhill. It might have 
 escaped the telling if Bishop Curley, indefati- 
 gable soul, had not confided the facts. "It was 
 final examinations week," said the Bishop, "and 
 John was ill with a sty which rendered seeing 
 not only difficult but painful. The boys sym- 
 pathized, though they needn't have. For that 
 week John made a record. His mark in Latin, 
 in which 1200 was the highest mark possible, 
 reached 1028; in French he scored 648 points 
 out of a possible 700 and was perfect in algebra 
 with an unblemished score of 600. 
 
 "He left behind a record which has never since 
 been equalled. And I am glad, as he is, too, that 
 competing with one hundred and sixty others 
 for one of the twenty available places in the 
 Royal College of Science he emerged number 
 twenty-one. For had he been victorious his 
 career would have been other than it has been, 
 and the work he has done still have remained un- 
 accomplished." 
 
 44
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 
 
 "At eighteen the determination to become a 
 singer was a seed firmly implanted in my mind." 
 McCormack made this declaration on a cloudy 
 morning on the golf course of the Wee Burn Golf 
 Club. "My college days were done, the retire- 
 ment from endeavors in the direction of the 
 priesthood accepted by my father, and Dublin 
 was beckoning me onwards. Yet there were a 
 few twigs that needed removal from my path. I 
 sensed the trend of coming events, but even to 
 myself admission was not quite complete. The 
 hand of Fate may have been doubtless was 
 leading me towards the starting mark whence I 
 should take up that journey. Every obstacle I 
 sought with full sincerity to remove in my strug- 
 gle for the coveted positions, first of priest, then 
 of Civil Service clerkship. I like to think that 
 I fought as good a fight, and as fair a one, as was 
 in me. 
 
 45
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Even the story Bishop Curley tells about my 
 leisurely stroll in Phoenix Park that afternoon 
 when the Dublin examination was taking place 
 has its rejoinder. In a sense the Bishop is right ; 
 he generally is. I probably could have passed 
 the examination. But the postal clerkship, had 
 I secured it, would have been mechanically filled. 
 My alternate, if we may call him such, no doubt 
 served the government more efficiently than I 
 would have done." 
 
 McCormack teed his golf ball, after these re- 
 marks, and sent it down the fairway in a cleanly 
 swung two-hundred-and-fifty-yard drive. The 
 effort seemed to rid him of some seething element 
 in his system, for he relaxed after the blow and 
 marking the ball with his eyes turned again to 
 
 me. 
 
 M 
 
 I cannot truthfully say that I studied like a 
 fiend at Skerries Academy, in Dublin. It was 
 a school of specialization," he explained, "de- 
 signed to prepare one for just such examinations 
 as the Civil Service board prepared. My en- 
 trance there came as an aftermath to my failure 
 to be one of the twenty who contested for free 
 scholarships in the Royal College of Science. I 
 really wanted that ; but I finished number twenty- 
 
 46
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 
 
 one a single unit below requirements, which 
 shunted me into the scientific discard. That, if 
 you please to believe it, was a touch of Fate's 
 hand. For had I won a place . . . 
 
 "I was disappointed. I dislike to lose, in any- 
 thing. You've possibly noticed that." 
 
 I had noticed. John is a good sportsman, and 
 a clean one ; but he chafes under defeat. I have 
 seen him grouch when beaten at tennis, and I 
 admire him for it. Because it's a good sign in 
 a man; a sign that he's for ever trying. 
 
 "Skerries Academy, because of that College 
 of Science failure of mine, became a place of 
 momentary refuge; and I think my mind found 
 relief from the accusations of that failure in the 
 work which I feverishly sought. But instead of 
 studying, as had been my custom up to that 
 time, I evaded study. My parents had found a 
 place for me to live in the home of a worthy 
 woman, who was charged to see that I went regu- 
 larly to Skerries Academy. So far as the lady 
 knew I did go there; at least, she saw me leave 
 her house each day, ostensibly bound thither, 
 and I returned at a proper hour. It is fortunate, 
 for her peace of mind, that she did not know that 
 in those hours of absence I was chiefly concerned 
 
 47
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 with anything which had no direct connection 
 with Skerries. Those first weeks at the academy 
 seemed bleak and dry and forlorn. Singing, and 
 all thoughts of singing, I put from me resolutely 
 in that subconscious way one will when there is 
 an inner gnawing of self-censure. It may have 
 been foolish, doubtless it was, but it acted as a 
 mental tonic. For I began, as time passed, to 
 restore my equilibrium and to renew my inter- 
 est in what had lain dormant within me during 
 those disturbing weeks. 
 
 "Aroused from its siesta, my passion for song 
 seized me more firmly than ever. One month 
 gave way to another, and all the while I sang 
 and practised distinct enunciation of the texts 
 of those songs which I was learning in a way to 
 make them part of me. There was no relaxation 
 in the academy schedule; rather an acceleration 
 of my musical nature, which was crystallizing 
 fast. 
 
 "My mind is by no means clear upon the facts 
 of that examination day for the second division 
 clerkship. I waked in a perfectly normal mood 
 and proceeded about the morning's business 
 with no qualm as to the outcome of the approach- 
 ing competition. The day was fine, with clear 
 
 48
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 
 
 skies and a beaming sun. The examination was 
 easily within my abilities to pass and I knew it. 
 So there was nothing to prick my concern. In 
 such a frame of mind I turned to Nature, as was 
 so frequently my way, for those delights she al- 
 ways gave. 
 
 "It is quite probable that in this relaxed and 
 imaginative state the balance which preserves 
 that nice adjustment between one's practical and 
 aesthetic sides swung too far to one way. Un- 
 questionably I drifted away from the one and 
 very near the other. At luncheon I was ab- 
 stracted that much I recall. Afterward came 
 the desire to walk abroad by myself, which I in- 
 dulged. 
 
 "I concede the danger I was in, but, frankly, I 
 did not sense it. There was ample time for a 
 walk, and Phoenix Park lay at no considerable 
 distance. As I had often done before, I gravi- 
 tated in that direction by force of habit. 
 
 "Once within its verdant boundaries, one 
 forgot the rest of the world. There was peaceful 
 quiet; a solitude that soothed and encouraged. 
 Tree-branches seemed to nod at me, and the wind- 
 blown grass and the flowers bent in my direction 
 as if conscious of how I felt. The hum of Dub- 
 
 49
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 lin was far removed: no hurry of pedestrians 
 dodging the grind of traffic, nor newsboys' cries 
 of their wares nor other sounds of worldly strife 
 of the day. Only a tranquillity of which I con- 
 tinued to drink. No one was near; I began to 
 sing. . . ." 
 
 "Then you really forgot?" 
 
 We had been walking, all this time, in the 
 direction of that excellent drive of his. Mc- 
 Cormack stopped before the little sphere of white 
 and dropped the head of his brassie alongside an 
 inviting lie. He looked up at the question but 
 past me, into the distance. The barest inclina- 
 tion of his head was his sole assent. 
 
 So I respected his mood by moving leisurely 
 off, and to one side, as if to allow him full play 
 in the next stroke. He was almost staring at me 
 as I turned round; and I fancied his eyes held 
 an appreciative look, a mute endorsement of my 
 act which left him free of any explanation he did 
 not care to voice. 
 
 A week or so later, however, and with startling 
 unexpectedness, John mentioned the Phoenix 
 Park incident again. Very briefly, 'tis true, but 
 in words. "I became absorbed, that afternoon, 
 
 50
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 
 
 and forgot." That was an end to it, and I never 
 referred to the occurrence thereafter. 
 
 "Do you believe in suggestions?" 
 
 "What sort?" I countered. 
 
 "Other people's?" 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 "Well," he replied, then, after a long pause 
 "being told that you should do so-and-so; that 
 the world offers a chance in some particular di- 
 rection, in the performance of a particular ca- 
 pacity for which you seem to have a special apti- 
 tude. 
 
 "Without a doubt. Nearly every one is in- 
 fluenced by what the world says and thinks. 
 And no man, or woman, is free from being af- 
 fected positively or the reverse by what 
 friends suggest." 
 
 "Same here," agreed John; "it was that way 
 in 1903, in Dublin. After the Dublin postal 
 clerkship fiasco if we may term it that I took 
 singing by the hand and gave it a sound shake. 
 It was as if we were pals joining forces with a 
 resolution never to part. The whole circum- 
 stance had come about so naturally that I felt 
 no blame. Perhaps it was the feeling that it 
 was all for the best, as it has since proved. 
 
 51
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "It was about that time that my friends, one 
 after the other, began proffering advice. They 
 all agreed. I was destined to have a singing 
 career and was a fool not to see it. There was 
 power in these suggestions, a world of it; and I 
 was not insensible to entertaining a fondness for 
 hearing what they said. I was heeding, too, 
 more willingly than I knew; for directly I let 
 myself fall into the ways of their thinking and 
 before winter passed music had me for a life 
 votary. 
 
 "One man drove the last spike in my rail of 
 decision Vincent O'Brien. I said earlier in 
 our talks if you remember that I felt deeply 
 obligated to a very few. Well, one of those 
 few is Vincent O'Brien. He was organist of 
 Marlborough Street Cathedral, in Dublin; a 
 splendid musician, a fine man, and a staunch 
 friend. He had vision and appeared, intuitively, 
 to feel that all I needed was study and oppor- 
 tunity to achieve a goal worthy of serious aspira- 
 tions. It was good to feel, as I often did, that 
 he was right; yet I dared not allow myself to 
 share the hopes, in so positive a manner, which 
 O'Brien consistently held. He never wavered, 
 and his convictions buoyed and steadied me 
 
 52
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 
 
 mightily in my doubting moments. I was the 
 tenor in O'Brien's choir, at one hundred and 
 twenty-five dollars a year, and it was this that 
 caused me to ask myself occasionally if my organ- 
 ist-friend was not over-prejudiced. 
 
 "The manner of how it all came about is, I 
 conclude, in order. Dr. Dudley Forde did me 
 the service of introducing me to Vincent 
 O'Brien, and many's the time I've breathed 
 for him my everlasting gratitude. The doctor 
 was house surgeon in the Mater Misericordiae 
 Hospital, of Dublin ; a lover of singing and con- 
 sidered a judge of it. That I had attracted his 
 favorable notice was a comfort to me, though it 
 was some time afterward that I was to discover 
 how much that was to mean. 
 
 "Shortly before Dr. Forde introduced me to 
 Vincent O'Brien I had had a talk with a young 
 Athlone attorney named John Walsh, whose 
 attainments and personal charm made him, at 
 twenty-seven, one of the most influential and best 
 loved men in the city. He was forever doing 
 something for others; an altruist, if ever there 
 was one. It was in December, 1902, soon after 
 my unintentional deviation from the Civil Serv- 
 ice examination, that Walsh said to me: 'Mac, 
 
 53
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 why don't you run up to Dublin to see Charles 
 Manners, of the Moody-Manners Opera Com- 
 pany? Your voice ought to fit there like a 
 glove.' 
 
 "I explained my inability, through lack of 
 funds, and like a shot he retorted, 'That's easily 
 fixed.' He slipped into my hand the money for 
 the journey, gave me a push and a slap on the 
 back. His words, 'Good luck, Mac,' were the 
 last I ever heard him say. For, before I re- 
 turned, he was taken ill with typhoid fever and 
 died shortly after I reached Athlone, being in 
 extremis when I reached home. It wrung my 
 heart when I learned that, in his last hours, he 
 kept asking for me. 'Is Mac back, yet?' he 
 would repeatedly inquire. 'How did he come 
 out?' Poor boy; perhaps he knows, now, what 
 his friendship did for me. I carried with me, 
 and do to this day, the influence of his staunch 
 faith and comradeship. 
 
 "The interview with Charles Manners led to 
 nothing. He was a precise man, on the lookout 
 for a bargain which he concluded lay neither in 
 my throat nor in my soul. I sang to him, then 
 walked into the front of the house for his verdict. 
 He sat curled up in one of the chairs in the the- 
 
 54
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAYS 
 
 atre, his face pushed into the fingers of his right 
 hand. But his interest was mild. The best he 
 could offer me, he said, was a place in the chorus. 
 
 "Although I had not imagined that a contract 
 would result from my Moody-Manners expedi- 
 tion, the rebuff discouraged me. The position 
 he offered was of course the cause. And then, 
 it was the first occasion of such indifferent 
 treatment. I spent the time during the railway 
 ride back to Athlone debating inwardly the ex- 
 tent of my capacities, and speculating upon the 
 exact value of my friends' encouragements. 
 But that faith which I had in myself a faith I 
 honestly feel to have been something remote 
 from conceit never ceased its silent endeavors 
 to buoy me. I am not a fighter, in the physical 
 sense. It is only when there is a mental en- 
 counter that I seem not to waver or lack the forti- 
 tude to meet an issue. Descending from the 
 railway carriage at Athlone station I found this 
 to be my mood. And I hurried to Walsh's 
 home, where they told me the sad news." 
 
 The tenor reached for a handkerchief to wipe 
 the moisture from his face, and I wondered, see- 
 ing the bit of linen across mouth and nose and 
 eyes, if it were due to the heat and nothing else. 
 
 55
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Let's see," said McCormack, with assumed 
 gruffness, "I'm playing four here, am I not?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, watch me hole out." He was twenty 
 feet from the cup, but the ball rolled true as a 
 die to its mark. His partner, from his place at 
 the edge of the green, exclaimed in disgust: 
 "For sheer luck " 
 
 " And putting skill," reminded McCormack, 
 as imperturbable as if such a feat were a common 
 occurrence. 
 
 " you Irish beat us southerners." 
 
 John admitted the superiority and demanded 
 solemnly of me, as scorekeeper, how many up he 
 was. After that incident he played the next two 
 holes in silence; nor did he complain when, at- 
 tempting an awkward recovery from a lie against 
 the outcropping root of a tree, he split the club, 
 his pet spoon, with a stroke that sent it spin- 
 ning yards away. He didn't thaw into a talka- 
 tive mood again until we had finished our lemon- 
 ades John drank his without sugar and had 
 left the club-house for the tenor's waiting road- 
 ster. With the whirr of the motor, spun into life 
 by the self-starter, he spoke. 
 
 "Dr. Forde took me to Vincent O'Brien soon 
 56
 
 EARLY DUBLIN DAY 
 
 after that cheerful trip to see Charlie Manners," 
 announced John. "O'Brien needed a tenor, 
 and the doctor had suggested that he hear me. 
 The experience was a horse of another color. 
 O'Brien was as positive as Manners was nega- 
 tive; so much so that he volunteered to have 
 Edward Martin listen to my voice. Martin, an 
 Irish playwright of means whose fad was music, 
 had endowed the Marlborough Street Cathedral 
 choir, and out of courtesy O'Brien wished to con- 
 sult him before engaging so important a member 
 for the organization (which it then needed) as 
 a tenor. 
 
 "Martin came over to the cathedral, and I 
 sang to him, in the choir room. It was a good- 
 sized place, but my voice though smaller than 
 it is now was telling in quality. I watched my 
 critic while I sang for some sign of approval; 
 but Martin allowed me nothing, from any out- 
 ward evidence, on which to base a hope. And 
 when I had finished what do you suppose he 
 said?" 
 
 I said I had no idea. 
 
 "He said," replied McCormack, with a laugh, 
 "that my voice, he feared, was too large for the 
 choir." 
 
 57
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 That did seem odd. "Then he turned you 
 down?" 
 
 "No; O'Brien explained that in the audito- 
 rium of the cathedral the voice would not 
 give such an impression. This appeared to 
 satisfy Martin, and he told the organist to go 
 ahead, if he liked, and engage me. I walked out 
 of the cathedral a happy young man. I had a 
 choir position, a salary of one hundred and 
 twenty five dollars a year, and the music road 
 showed clear ahead.'
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 He was swimming, just beyond the end of the 
 McCormack pier, with a double over-arm stroke ; 
 a smallish figure, like a boy's, from the spot 
 where I stood watching. He turned, presently, 
 to retrace his course, and as he swam nearer I 
 saw he was a boy. He came on, using a narrow 
 kick to his legs that drove him at a considerable 
 speed through the choppy brine. At the ladder 
 he stopped, trod water for a moment, and then 
 ascended leisurely to where I stood. 
 
 "Good morning, Cyril; how's the tempera- 
 ture?" 
 
 "F-ff-i-i-ne!" announced the scion of the 
 McCormack household, at the same time kicking 
 alternately with right and left legs to dislodge 
 the remaining drops of water from his ears. 
 "Go ahead," he suggested, "and get into your 
 bathing-suit; the water's great." 
 
 He appeared to me, as he stood there with a 
 smile on his. face, a likely-looking boy. Eleven 
 
 59
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and very self-contained. And with no trace of 
 affectation, such as might be expected in a youth 
 whose father's celebrity had been thoroughly 
 dinned into his impressionable mind. A clean- 
 limbed youngster, too, rather deep of chest and 
 with a pair of shoulders that will some day rival 
 his father's. I was not sorry, as I stood there 
 looking into his eyes, which returned my gaze 
 with easy frankness, that Cyril has a well-bal- 
 anced little brain. For he's more than ordi- 
 narily good-looking. 
 
 John arrived at this juncture, in a particularly 
 jubilant mood. 
 
 "Come on, Pop; come on in," said McCor- 
 mack junior, who leaped then to the rail of the 
 pier, poised there impudently and dove. He 
 cut the water as a knife cuts butter, and went 
 from our sight, leaving behind him on the sur- 
 face only the tiniest splash. 
 
 "The little dare-devil," commented John 
 (with some pride, too). "What did he think, 
 that I'd follow with my clothes on?" But he 
 obeyed Cyril's demand by starting for the house 
 for apparel suitable for the swim he takes each 
 morning. "Come on yourself," he said to me, 
 "and don't take all day." 
 
 60
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 We passed Mrs. McCormack, Gwenny, and 
 Miss Josephine B. Foley (Mrs. McCormack' s 
 charming sister) on their way to the beach. 
 They were clad for bathing, too, and added their 
 suggestions to Cyril's that we lose no time to 
 join them in a forenoon dip. A quarter of an 
 hour later found us in the Sound, an amphibious 
 sextette, and making a great to-do about the 
 matter. 
 
 When we had finished and dressed again and 
 were seated on the veranda, McCormack resumed 
 his narrative. 
 
 "I feel almost as happy, this morning, as the 
 day I got that Marlborough Street Cathedral 
 job," confided the tenor; and he looked it. 
 
 "The good fortune interfered with that night's 
 sleep," he went on, "but I got up unfatigued; 
 excitement has its virtues. I met O'Brien and 
 went with him into executive session. He 
 wanted to know if I read music. I admitted 
 that I could not. 'All right,' he replied, 'come 
 on up to the house, and we'll see how well you 
 can do in a first trial.' 
 
 "He propped a piece of music on the piano 
 rack and we began. I estimated the distance be- 
 tween notes, and as my musical instinct was 
 
 61
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 strong I did fairly well. 'Hm,' mused Vincent, 
 'some lessons wouldn't hurt you any.' He gave 
 me one then and I continued with him in learn- 
 ing the tonic sol-fa system. Up to that moment 
 my father and mother, as I mentioned once be- 
 fore, had been my sole instructors, and their 
 musical knowledge, as you may have guessed, was 
 not extensive. So this advantage which O'Brien 
 laid before me was invaluable ; it meant the start 
 of a foundation I have since tried to make secure. 
 "Within a few weeks I again met Dr. Forde. 
 'How goes it at the Cathedral?' inquired the good 
 doctor. Then, before I could answer, he said: 
 'That reminds me, why don't you enter in the 
 Feis Coeil?' This, as you are doubtless aware, 
 is an Irish musical festival in which competitive 
 singing between individual types of voices 
 sopranos, tenors and so forth forms the princi- 
 pal interest. The winner in each division re- 
 ceives a gold medal and considerable prestige. 
 I knew that the list of entrants had been com- 
 pleted and so informed the doctor. 
 
 'That is true,' he admitted, 'but an entry 
 can be made, even after the closing date ; it merely 
 requires a fee of ten shillings.' Ten shillings! 
 It might as well have been a hundred. Dr. 
 
 62
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 Forde saw my look, and interpreting it aright 
 asked if I hadn't the necessary money. I nodded 
 my head. 'Don't worry,' he said comfortingly, 
 'you enter and I will supply the ten shillings.' 
 
 "Of course I went at once to Vincent O'Brien. 
 'There'll be two compositions every tenor will be 
 obliged to sing,' was the information he gave. 
 They were Handel's 'Tell Fair Irene,' an aria, by 
 the way, which I but recently felt I sang well 
 enough to put on my concert programmes, and 
 'The Snowy Breasted Pearl.' There wasn't 
 much time for their preparation. O'Brien inti- 
 mated as much and directed me to get the music 
 and bring it to him. Til teach you,' he said. 
 'But I have no money with which to pay you.' 
 'Who asked you to pay me?' he gruffly demanded. 
 'I said I would teach you ; wait till I ask you for 
 money before you talk about it.' I felt rather 
 meek at that, but too grateful to venture any ex- 
 pression. I hurried to a music store, got the 
 songs and Vincent began to coach me. 
 
 "He is one of the finest accompanists alive: 
 a thorough musician, with rare feeling for a com- 
 position, a subtle understanding of the singer's 
 intentions and superlative skill in giving one the 
 musical and moral support in the interpretation. 
 
 63
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Edwin Schneider, my present accompanist, is 
 such another. 
 
 "O'Brien was very patient in the coaching; 
 and just as thorough. Over and over again he 
 would drill me in a phrase until I was able to 
 approach somewhat nearly to what he sought. 
 I will not say that he was satisfied ; but when the 
 task was done he said to me : 'Sing those songs 
 as well at the Feis as you just sang them and 
 you will win.' I felt my breath catch at his 
 prediction I really did not believe I had more 
 than an outsider's chance." 
 
 Mrs. McCormack, Miss Foley and the two chil- 
 dren interrupted the story at this point by com- 
 manding us to luncheon. And during that, and 
 other meals served in the McCormack household, 
 I marvelled at the tenor's rigidity at denying 
 himself those things of which he is fond pastries 
 and such, which he contends he is better off, as 
 a singer, without. The duty of eating concluded, 
 John strolled out upon the veranda. He lighted 
 a cigarette and, comfortably ensconced in his 
 favorite chair, he resumed : 
 
 "The hall was packed that first Feis after- 
 noon," he said, "several thousand people, 
 many of whom had come miles to Dublin for that 
 
 64
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 occasion. And every tenor and baritone and 
 soprano and contralto had 'rooters'; but silent 
 rooters, for applause was forbidden. I made my 
 way to a spot in a corner of the hall, not far from 
 the stage. In half an hour the judges called the 
 first of the fourteen tenors who were competing, 
 and the content was on. 
 
 "Eight of these tenors sang, and none of them 
 disturbed materially my peace of mind. Three 
 of the remaining five, however, did, one espe- 
 cially. This chap was William Rathborne, a 
 matured singer and very evidently, by the actions 
 of the audience, the favorite. He sang both 
 songs very well, I thought; yet some of his 
 phrases would not have got by Vincent O'Brien 
 if O'Brien had been coaching him. Rathborne 
 finished and stepped down from the platform. 
 As he passed down the aisle toward the dressing- 
 room, which brought him near me, I saw him take 
 his left hand in his right and press it with con- 
 gratulatory fervor. It may appear to have been 
 a presumptuous act; I thought it such, and was 
 inclined to smile. Also, that act of Rathborne's 
 of shaking hands with himself on his assumed vic- 
 tory struck me as a trifle previous. It made 
 something inside me rebel, and straightway there 
 
 65
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 was born a resolve to teach him a lesson if I 
 could." 
 
 "Put you in a properly scrappy mood, was that 
 it?" 
 
 "I daresay. At any rate, all the undesirable 
 part of my long-continued nervousness promptly 
 vanished. And I walked, as my name was 
 called, to the platform and over to the piano 
 where Hamilton Harty sat waiting. Harty, now 
 a distinguished composer, was the official accom- 
 panist for the Feis. But when my turn came he 
 was tired. There is a point, however, which de- 
 mands relating before I tell about how I sang. 
 
 "As Rathborne passed me I heard a familiar 
 voice, just back of me, say : 'W-w-w-willie, you 
 r-a-an away with it.' I recognized the speaker 
 to be J. C. Doyle, Dublin's popular baritone, who 
 stuttered. He had heard me sing, and when I 
 caught what he said I quailed. If that were 
 Doyle's belief my chances, probably, were small. 
 Then the baritone spoke again, and turning my 
 head our gazes met. 'What, you here, Mac? 
 Gad, W-w-willie, wait a minute, n-o-ot yet. 
 There's a dark horse who's likely to spoil your 
 afternoon.' 
 
 "So you may imagine I walked over to Harty 
 66
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 with some feeling of confidence. Well, we fi- 
 nally began. But Harty, as I intimated, was 
 physically worn out. He wanted to get through, 
 and quickly; and he played the introductory 
 measures of 'Tell Fair Irene' as though he had a 
 train to make. It was a tempo twice as fast as 
 O'Brien had taught me was the correct one; a 
 tempo, likewise, too rapid to permit of good sing- 
 ing, to say nothing of interpreting Handel's music 
 as he intended. 
 
 "There was only one thing to do and I did it. 
 I turned around and informed Harty I had 
 learned the aria in a way different from the way he 
 was playing it. 'Please take it just half as fast,' 
 I requested. Instead of objecting he only 
 smiled. He probably thought : 'The poor boy, 
 well, let him have his way.' But I hadn't gone 
 far before Harty settled down and played for me 
 one of the finest accompaniments I have ever 
 sung to. He was a sportsman to the tips of his 
 talented fingers, and he gave me all there was 
 musically in him. 
 
 "With my last note there came from the 
 audience a volley of applause ; one of those spon- 
 taneous demonstrations which one gets intuitively 
 to reflect the feelings of an audience. Perhaps 
 
 67
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 it was the pure quality of my voice, or my youth, 
 or both that prompted it. They forgot for the 
 moment that they were breaking a rule of long 
 standing. At any rate, the applause went on 
 for some moments nor did the judges interfere. 
 
 "You may believe that the incident heartened 
 me; no doubt it had its effect upon the jury, 
 which was one of the reasons for forbidding that 
 very thing. I began, then, 'My Snowy Breasted 
 Pearl,' which I may have sung better than 'Tell 
 Fair Irene.' 
 
 "And the verdict?" I queried. 
 
 "The verdict," responded the tenor, "was 
 
 mine." 
 
 He rose, then, and went to meet Bob, his 
 gardener, who was busy on another part of his 
 estate cutting hay. I did not see McCormack 
 for several hours. He came across to the tennis 
 courts, where I sat watching two amateur cracks 
 at play, with the collar of his outing shirt open 
 and evidences of having participated in manual 
 labor. 
 
 'Tis an easier game, tennis," he declared, 
 "than pitching hay. But my muscles still cry 
 out for exercise, so I'll take on both of you." He 
 did, and beat them. 
 
 68
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 It was while we were running along the Con- 
 necticut shore of Long Island Sound, in McCor- 
 mack's motor-driven fishing dory, that he pro- 
 ceeded with the story of his life. The sun was 
 low in the west, the sky forbidding with a vault 
 of low-lying clouds. It looked stormy and John 
 put about and headed for Rocklea. 
 
 "The gold medal I was awarded as winner of 
 the tenor contest at the Feis decided my future. 
 I determined to abandon all efforts at anything 
 else; so May 14, 1903, may stand as the pivotal 
 date in my career. As the competition was an 
 open one to all residents of the British Isles some 
 reputation attached to the winner in each divi- 
 sion. I profited; and another profited, a young 
 soprano, Miss Lily Foley, whom I had never met. 
 Miss Foley had surpassed her rivals with aston- 
 ishing ease : her lyric voice (one of the smoothest 
 I've ever heard) and breadth of style and finish 
 were used in a way to let none who heard forget. 
 As I listened to her, at the Feis, I thought to my- 
 self, Td like to sing with her.' And in the fall 
 of that same year I had my wish. 
 
 "Up to then," explained the tenor, "I had 
 never heard an opera. Though I was nineteen 
 my understanding of this form of musical art was 
 
 69
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 nil; I hadn't so much as a bowing acquaintance 
 with anything or anyone operatic, much as I 
 yearned for both. It was in that year, 1903, 
 that I listened to and saw my first opera; 
 it was a performance of 'Cavalleria Rusticana' 
 and 'I Pagliacci,' those two works which usually 
 are presented in what is known as a double-bill. 
 The Moody-Manners Company gave the per- 
 formance, in Dublin. 'Cavalleria' was the 
 first offering, and my attention centered quite 
 naturally on the tenor. He was an American, 
 Francis Maclennan, and he had a clear, ringing 
 voice, a convincing style and has acquired just 
 fame as a fine Wagnerian exponent. I could 
 scarcely sit still in my excitement and when the 
 curtain dropped on the opera I was trembling. 
 
 "I sat through the intermission living over 
 again the performance of Mascagni's opera and 
 only emerged from my ecstatic daze when the 
 overture to Tagliacci' began and the baritone 
 came out to sing the prologue. Philip Brozel 
 was the Canio in this opera, and I consider him 
 one of the best I have ever heard in the role. I 
 left the theatre in some mental confusion, for, 
 though impressed, I was by no means convinced 
 
 70
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 that opera represented the highest form of either 
 art or singing. Since then I have come to know 
 that opera really is a hybrid being neither one 
 thing or the other, but a mixture of elements 
 which tend to restrict its freest utterances in 
 music, text, acting and pictorial illusion. And 
 nowhere is the singer so handicapped as in opera, 
 as I shall show later on. Nevertheless, on that 
 evening, I envied the two tenors, Maclennan and 
 Brozel, and fell to wondering if I should ever find 
 myself doing what they were doing so well. 
 
 "After a summer's vacation, spent with my 
 parents in Athlone, I set about finding work for 
 my voice and such art as I commanded. En- 
 gagements came, and not so many, either, at in- 
 significant sums: ten, fifteen, twenty shillings 
 each. But my musical equipment grew. I 
 found in Vincent O'Brien an efficient instructor, 
 and the music we performed in the cathedral was 
 an education in itself. Palestrina compositions 
 were freely used ; others by illustrious composers, 
 also, so that much of the best to be had became 
 necessary for me to learn, under careful guid- 
 ance. So my abilities steadily grew. And as 
 I obtained concert appearances, in other cities 
 
 71
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and towns besides Dublin, I acquired by degrees 
 further security and was enabled to provide in- 
 creasing satisfaction to my hearers. 
 
 "But my income was small, and the stretching 
 of financial ends to make them meet something 
 of a job. Still, I persisted. My faith endured. 
 And one day I was summoned to appear in a 
 concert which William Ludwig one of the most 
 distinguished baritones Ireland has produced 
 was preparing to give. 
 
 "I was recovering from a cold the morning I 
 went to rehearsal and was coughing. Ludwig, 
 as bluff in his manner as his heart was big, did 
 not approve of the cough. My boyish appear- 
 ance doubtless stirred in him a fatherly concern, 
 for he gazed in assumed sternness at me and said : 
 'John, I don't like that cough. You need some- 
 body to take care of you, and here's the girl to do 
 it. Let me introduce you to Miss Lily Foley.' 
 
 "That was the way of it; the precise manner 
 my wife and I met. I was a bit bashful in those 
 days and must have blushed. Lily's cheeks, too, 
 showed a hint at more than the color I had be- 
 held for I'll admit I had seen her some mo- 
 ments before being introduced, and had utilized 
 each moment. She had a reputation, you must 
 
 72
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 know, as something more than a soprano singer. 
 I'll not equivocate: she was called a beauty." 
 
 "So you decided, then and there, to make her 
 Mrs. McCormack?" 
 
 "Wait, man! Not so fast. There were 
 others who had plans to marry the lady, as I'd 
 been told. No, indeed. I made no such de- 
 cision as that. I was more concerned over dis- 
 posing of my hands, which seemed suddenly to 
 have grown and gotten discomfortingly in my 
 way." 
 
 "But you" 
 
 "It was to be an important concert," said Mc- 
 Cormack, conclusively, and he lighted another 
 cigarette. 
 
 " admired her?" 
 
 "I did," he admitted, having been brought to 
 a reply. "I did and do and shall so continue. 
 But let me proceed. There was a notable Dub- 
 lin audience for that concert ; many people from 
 other places who anticipated an event. Miss 
 Foley sang, in that glorious lyric soprano of hers, 
 and I listened and was glad. Others appeared 
 glad, also, if their applause may count as the 
 measure of their gladness. But for me it was 
 her art and the finished authority she displayed. 
 
 73
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 It seemed so very easy, as she sang; none of the 
 facial distortion or writhing of body which is too 
 customarily to be seen. She just stood there, 
 like a feminine Irish rose, and brought everyone 
 to her feet. 
 
 "It is a just tribute to one of the greatest sing- 
 ers Ireland ever produced to say, at this point, 
 that William Ludwig was a supreme artist. A 
 Mr. Walker, an accompanist whose father knew 
 Mendelssohn well, tells of having played for 
 Ludwig the song, 'There is a Green Hill Far 
 Away.' When the baritone reached the phrase 
 which runs 'There was no other good enough,' 
 Walker says that he was so completely under the 
 spell of Ludwig's art that he stopped playing, the 
 better to listen. He stopped his accompaniment 
 mechanically, and neither he nor the audience 
 was aware that for some time there was no piano, 
 so marvelous was the reality of Ludwig's sing- 
 ing." 
 
 Other concerts in which McCormack and Miss 
 Foley appeared followed that one. And the 
 months passed, carrying John from one place to 
 another, with voice and experience expanding 
 and his faith expanding, too. 
 
 Then came the day of a certain Mr. Riordon, 
 74
 
 Mrs. John McCormack, with the children, Cyril and Gwendolyn
 
 FIRST MUSIC STUDIES 
 
 from St. Louis, Missouri, U. S. A. It was an 
 April day with summer approaching; a period 
 unproductive in the earning capacities of the 
 tenor, who was giving that matter thought. 
 Riordon represented the owners of The Irish 
 Village, then being built at the World's Fair, at 
 St. Louis, and among other needs were those for 
 two of Ireland's representative singers. Many 
 he met, but the two whose recommendations im- 
 pressed him most were John McCormack and 
 Lily Foley. 
 
 "The wind was glowing gustily the morning 
 Riordon came to see me," said McCormack. 
 "He was one of that direct type of man, who 
 curtails whatever preliminaries another might 
 indulge. He was willing, he stated, to furnish 
 me transportation to St. Louis and return to Dub- 
 lin, pay me ten pounds a week and guarantee an 
 engagement of six months. In return for all 
 this which loomed a fortune to me I was to 
 appear twice a day in the performance to be given 
 in the Irish Village, a performance partly musical 
 and partly theatrical. Some of it, I was to dis- 
 cover, was not considerate of the Irish people. 
 
 "Riordon was a plausible man and the thought 
 of a visit to the United States anything but dis- 
 
 75
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 tasteful. Friends, whose advice I sought, in- 
 fluenced me to accept, which was what I was 
 moved to do. I consequently signed the con- 
 tract Riordon prepared. 
 
 "Miss Foley had already sailed for she, too, 
 had succumbed to Riordon's offer so my jour- 
 ney to Queenstown and across the Atlantic was a 
 lonesome affair. I felt the pangs of homesick- 
 ness before I was fifty miles away from Dublin, 
 but they were as nothing to those destined to 
 come. And I never knew until my return that 
 my father would have prevented my going to 
 America had the gang-plank not been thrown off 
 from the tender the moment it was. 'Two sec- 
 onds more, John,' said my father afterward, 'and 
 I shouldn't have let you go.' The steamer I 
 sailed on was the Lucania, a boat on which I made 
 subsequent trips between America and Ireland." 
 
 76
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 "Never will the first sight of New York, and 
 the harbor, fade from my memory. The thrill 
 of it still lingers. Our ship moved up the bay, 
 very slowly as if impressed as I was by the view 
 which lay before and which caught and held my 
 gaze till I blinked. It was like nothing I had 
 seen or imagined before : a sweep of broad waters 
 ahead, with the shorelines of Staten Island and 
 Long Island to left and right, and dead forward 
 of our bows the Statue of Liberty. All this I 
 saw first. Then my gaze, elevated, fell upon 
 lower Manhattan, upon the peaks of its towers 
 that were made peaks by mortal hands, not by 
 Nature. And as I leaned there against the ship's 
 rail, my feet hard upon the deck, I wondered 
 what that land held in store for me if anything. 
 
 "I have been called psychic; perhaps I am. 
 But whether or not, I experienced a strange sen- 
 
 77
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 sation as of good and ill meeting and refusing 
 to merge. I remained there, my arms leveled 
 on the rail, for as long as it took to move past the 
 Battery and on up the North River to the ship's 
 berth. I roused, then, went below and at ten 
 o'clock on the morning of Friday, June 7, 1904, 
 I set foot for the first time on the soil of the coun- 
 try which is now my home ; the country I love and 
 of which I shall be a full-fledged citizen in Janu- 
 ary, Nineteen Nineteen." 
 
 "The first sight ashore that caused my jaw to 
 drop was the breadth of West Street and the jam 
 of its traffic. I dimly remember getting into a 
 cab with friends and a careening ride, punctuated 
 with numerous abrupt stops at street-crossings, 
 which terminated at some hotel, I know not 
 where. I was in New York for two days, which I 
 spent in strolling about in wonderment at the 
 unusual sights. Then I was taken to the old 
 Grand Central Station and boarded a train that 
 pulled slowly towards St. Louis. 
 
 "Hundreds of thousands of miles I have ridden 
 on railway trains since that day, most of it in the 
 United States. But practice has made me no 
 more willing traveler than I was then. I dis- 
 like it, immensely ; nor would I yield were it not 
 
 78
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 for my audiences, who are so many and so widely 
 apart that I can go better to them than to ask 
 them to come to me. 
 
 "But to get into the story again I was on 
 my way; in a curious turn of mind if not exactly 
 rejoicing. And some thirty hours later I 
 alighted in the Union Station in St. Louis, weary, 
 dirty, I fear, and in need of refreshing. I was 
 taken to a boarding-house where accommoda- 
 tions had been reserved for me (those were not 
 days of sufficient affluence to permit the luxury 
 of a first-class hotel) ; and my first efforts lay in 
 the direction of soap and much water. 
 
 "I felt better when I had tubbed, but there 
 was another craving to grant. I needed a shave. 
 And there came to me, in the room of that St. 
 Louis boarding-house, a longing to slip into a 
 barber's chair and have another perform the task. 
 The more I considered it the stronger the desire 
 grew, and I ended in an establishment which 
 looked invitingly clean. It was clean ; that must 
 have been the proprietor's axiom; to clean 
 cleanly those customers of easy guile. For they 
 charged me, for a shave and the polishing of my 
 boots, the not inconsiderable sum of one dollar 
 and sixty cents." 
 
 79
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "You're not in earnest; you don't mean I'm 
 to swallow such a yarn as that?" 
 
 "It's no yarn," said John severely, "but the 
 truth. A dollar and sixty cents, that's the 
 amount. And at the end of the week my opinion 
 of the United States got another shock. I had 
 accepted the tender of ten pounds a week. Well, 
 in my mind a pound in English money is five dol- 
 lars in America's; so I naturally expected to re- 
 ceive fifty dollars. But what do you suppose 
 that business-like Riordon paid me?" 
 
 I had not recovered sufficient breath to reply, 
 so McCormack supplied the answer without any 
 request on my part. 
 
 "He paid me, the stingy beggar, forty-eight 
 dollars and a half; that's what ten pounds came 
 to, figuring the prevailing rate of exchange." 
 
 "Very nifty." 
 
 "Very nothing," retorted the tenor. He 
 hadn't recovered from his disgust; it is probable 
 that he never will. "But," he went on, "I real- 
 ized Riordon was within his rights: We argued 
 the matter. When I saw his determination I 
 knew it was no use. And that incident, with 
 the other of the barber shop, left I can assure 
 you a most unfavorable impression of America 
 
 80
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 upon my unworldly mind. Of course," he sup- 
 plemented, "it was transitory. I've laughed 
 since as you laughed about the one-sixty yet I 
 still have a sympathetic feeling for that lonely 
 boy, John McCormack; only nineteen, in a 
 strange land thousands of miles from home and 
 being mistreated." 
 
 "But you had Miss Foley." 
 
 "I had nothing of the sort. To speak truth- 
 fully, Miss Foley never so much as left the stage, 
 where she was rehearsing, when I first saw her in 
 the Irish Village. I recall, distinctly, that she 
 only waved her hand and called down to me: 'I 
 hope you saw father before you left. Did you 
 have a nice trip?' Oh, no! So far as I was 
 then concerned Miss Foley was a most exclusive 
 young person." 
 
 "When did you propose? It happened in St. 
 Louis, I believe." 
 
 "Yes, though some weeks later, when my 
 courage was nearer par. But before I asked 
 her," said the tenor, "I found myself mechani- 
 cally repeating what Forbes Robertson had said 
 to me, when I asked him how it happened that 
 Tony Navarro was so blessed as to win for his 
 wife Mary Anderson, whose friendship I so dearly 
 
 81
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 cherish. Robertson had replied to my question: 
 'He had to wade knee-deep through admirers.' 
 Well / had to wade knee-deep through admir- 
 ers to win Lily Foley. 
 
 "In the meantime to go back I went about 
 the Fair Grounds and became acquainted with 
 the theatre in the Irish Village where I was 
 to appear. It was attractive enough; cheaply 
 built, of course, but sufficient for the purposes. 
 I pulled myself together and a few days later be- 
 gan my work. 
 
 "But there was something askew. Perhaps 
 intuition flashed a message that trouble lay ahead. 
 I only know that one afternoon, six weeks after 
 commencing that engagement, I saw something 
 on the stage of the theatre that aroused my Irish 
 blood in hot resentment. The Irish people are 
 my people, and I'll not stand by and have them 
 mistreated or slurred. 
 
 "I was ready to go on, and stood to one side 
 in the wings, when one of the members of the 
 company a new member passed me and 
 stepped before the audience. He was made up 
 with red side-whiskers, a bit of putty on the end 
 of his nose to give it a further tilt upwards and 
 he wore a green coat. From his mouth pro- 
 
 82
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 truded a clay pipe. My first impulse was to fol- 
 low and forcibly remove this caricature of an 
 Irishman from the stage; prudence, however, 
 forbade. I stood for a few moments watching 
 his clownish antics; remained as long as my pa- 
 tience endured, and then I sought the manage- 
 ment of the theatre. 
 
 "I explained that this man was insulting a fine 
 people, and requested that his 'act,' as it was 
 called, be eliminated, or at least remodeled to 
 truthful lines. The manager only curled his lip. 
 'He is amusing the people, and that's why we 
 hired him.' 
 
 "I was furious to the point of being ready to 
 fight. Again I demanded the removal of the 
 offensive act, which was as positively refused. 
 Then I played what I considered my trump card. 
 'Either he goes,' I said, 'or I go.' The manager 
 inclined his head and replied, 'Very well.' 
 
 "I received what was due me, that afternoon, 
 and never again did I sing in that place. 
 
 "Miss Foley, staunch champion of Ireland, 
 too, said I had done exactly right. 'Go back 
 home, John,' she counseled; Til follow you 
 soon.' I lingered a few days. I couldn't bear 
 to leave the girl I loved, and to whom I was then 
 
 83
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 engaged. But her salary it was larger than 
 mine was something to consider; and she was 
 gaining notable success. For she danced with 
 the skill of a premiere and was an actress of such 
 merit that she had attracted an offer from Will J. 
 Davis to star her in light opera. So we agreed 
 that it was wisest for me to sail home alone. 
 
 "But before I went I had a long talk with a Dr. 
 Cameron, who was stationed there in his capacity 
 of a United States Army physician in charge of 
 the Philippine Marine Band. The doctor and 
 I had had many visits, sitting together in the Irish 
 Village after Miss Foley and I had finished ap- 
 pearing in the theatre. Dr. Cameron was one 
 of those believed in me. I can hear his words, 
 even now: 'You have a future, young man, but 
 this climate isn't the best one for your voice. 
 Italy is the place for you ; Italy, with its balmy air 
 and the singing teachers. You mustn't stay 
 here, lad, the climate will ruin your delicate 
 voice. If you can't get out of this engagement 
 I'll give you a doctor's certificate.' 
 
 "He reminded me, again, of Italy in that con- 
 cluding talk we had. Somehow it made more 
 of an impression that June afternoon, fourteen 
 
 84
 
 years ago, than ever before. 'You really think 
 so, doctor?' I remember having said. And he 
 answered : 'Some day you will find out for your- 
 self. 
 
 "I have never seen Dr. Cameron since, though 
 I've tried very hard to discover his whereabouts. 
 I hope should this paragraph ever reach his 
 eyes that he will communicate with me. For 
 I feel that I owe him a debt, and that the period 
 of payment is long past due." 
 
 At other times, previous to the official begin- 
 ning of setting down the facts contained in this 
 volume, McCormack had mentioned Dr. 
 Cameron: once, nine years ago, in the lobby of 
 the Manhattan Opera House, in New York, when 
 the tenor was with Oscar Hammerstein, and as 
 recently as last winter, after a performance of 
 "La Boheme," in the Metropolitan. At neither 
 of these moments, nor during other whose specific 
 places I do not recall, did he seem so concerned. 
 On that June afternoon, in the year Nineteen 
 Hundred Eighteen, he was like one sorrowing 
 for a lost friend. 
 
 Nor did John forget to mention, as an asso- 
 ciate and dear friend at the Irish Village who was 
 
 85
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 warmly received, Miss Marie Narelle, a soprano 
 whose voice and singing have since been heard in 
 some notable concerts. 
 
 We were not far from Rocklea, the fishing- 
 dory bowling along at a good eight knots and 
 rolling in the rising sea. McCormack sat at the 
 wheel looking shorewards under knitted brows 
 that showed he had not done thinking about that 
 United States Army physician who passed from 
 the tenor's life as abruptly as he entered it. He 
 was too busy with his thoughts to notice my 
 scrutiny; but I observed the gradual relaxing of 
 his concern in the task of piloting his craft. 
 
 "I'm developing an appetite," he announced, 
 as we rounded a point of land that put us into the 
 lee of the wind and somewhat under the shelter 
 of a part of (Hollander, Point. "I had one just 
 like it the day I landed in Queenstown, after my 
 first American visit, in the late summer of 1904. 
 We'd had a good voyage. And I was nearing 
 my beloved Ireland, which helped to lighten the 
 heaviness of my heart which beat for another 
 heart in St. Louis. But my experience had 
 helped, and I really believe I had less diffidence 
 than when my destination^had lain the opposite 
 way. Perhaps it was the love I bore my native 
 
 86
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 land, which loomed so near; I was very agitated 
 I well remember that. A 
 
 "The possession of several pounds in money 
 gave me independence; not a great deal, but 
 enough to let me hold up my head with the con- 
 sciousness that I was getting on. If my arms 
 had been big enough I would have taken the 
 whole city of Dublin in them the day of my re- 
 turn. Athlone, too, when I ran down to spend 
 some time with father and mother and the rest 
 of the family. 
 
 "They seemed proud of me, and we had a real 
 reunion. Father, always sympathetic because 
 he so thoroughly understood me, said: 'John, 
 you'll make your singing mark some day.' He 
 appreciated the value of my American trip and 
 he and mother and I talked extensively of my 
 future. I should have liked to stay long in 
 Athlone, it was so restful after the bustle of the 
 cities I had been in. But there was work to do, 
 and the day of parting came. We all were a 
 trifle misty about the eyes, so I broke suddenly 
 and left them." 
 
 John ceased his narrative for a spell, for Rock- 
 lea was a hundred yards off our starboard bow, 
 the pier drawing nearer and nearer. He shut off 
 
 87
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the motor, threw the wheel over, and brought us 
 to a landing pretty enough for any seaman. A 
 man who had been waiting took charge of the 
 dory and John and I climbed to the boards and 
 stretched our legs. 
 
 "Rain's on the way," said the tenor, sniffing 
 and casting an eye skywards. We proceeded 
 towards the house, but slowly; McCormack 
 clearly wished to finish that next episode of his 
 story before we passed the lawn. 
 
 "That fall and winter of Nineteen Hundred 
 Four and Five brought memorable events in my 
 life," said he. "I heard Caruso for the first 
 time, made some phonograph records my be- 
 ginning and arranged to go to Italy to study. 
 One thing crowded another, and with the few 
 concert engagements I got those months were 
 completely filled. 
 
 "But, first of all, I went to see my fiancee's 
 father, Patrick Foley. I knew him, at that time, 
 in only a slight way; but he greeted me like a 
 son. He lived only two years longer, yet in those 
 two years he unselfishly gave me assistance and 
 counsel that could not have been more devotedly 
 bestowed had I been his own flesh and blood. 
 I thought I appreciated the worth of the man 
 
 88
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 then. It has taken time, however, for that, a 
 constant turning in my mind of what he was to 
 me, his sturdy gentleness and infinite patience to 
 point out what in his judgment was best for me. 
 He was unfailingly right ; God rest his soul. 
 
 "Well," said John, after an audible sigh, "we 
 discussed many things. I had had two invita- 
 tions to go to London to try for some record-mak- 
 ing among the phonograph companies. 'Do 
 you think a trip to London a wise plan?' I asked 
 Mr. Foley. 'Go, lad, by all means,' was his 
 answer, and I went. 
 
 "I'd never seen the world's metropolis. It 
 lay, in my brain, an image of fancy, and during 
 the railway ride I wondered if it would be at all 
 as I had pictured it. In a way it was, with some 
 spots very like those of my imagination. In- 
 stantly I was held by its reflection of material sub- 
 stance, the semblance of long and honorable up- 
 building of a people who had built for all time. 
 
 "It appears that I had gained enough reputa- 
 tion of a certain character to filter up to London. 
 Reports had it that there was a young tenor in 
 Dublin named McCormack who had something 
 of a voice and a way of singing that the people 
 liked. And these two invitations one from the 
 
 89
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Edison Company, the other from the Gramo- 
 phone Company had come wholly unsolicited. 
 I was pleased, yet I went to London in a humble 
 spirit, glad of what offered and hoping it would 
 lead to something of a permanent nature in the 
 way of recording. 
 
 "There was a temptation to count unhatched 
 chickens, but I stoutly resisted. I remembered 
 the remark of my future father-in-law, who 
 helped me in so many ways, to the effect 'Try, 
 always, John, to make the best use of your time, 
 but do not anticipate unwarrantedly.' I shall 
 never forget aitether kindly suggestion he made 
 to me when, one evening, as I slipped by him in a 
 narrow passageway in a concert auditorium has- 
 tening after a friend, Mr. Foley called to me. 
 'Mac,' he said, and of course I stopped. 'It 
 doesn't do you a bit of harm to say when you 
 brush past an old man like me, "I beg your par- 
 don." He wasn't an old man, but I never 
 forgot. 
 
 "Well, I called on the Edison manager and 
 made arrangements to return at a specified time 
 to make the records for him, and left his office 
 somewhat elated. Then I headed up Gray's 
 Inn Road, towards the Gramophone establish- 
 
 90
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 ment which, as you know, is the sister company to 
 the Victor Talking Machine Company, of Amer- 
 ica. There, also, I was successful. 
 
 "It was gratifying to qualify with both com- 
 panies, contracting with the Edison to do ten 
 songs for fifty pounds and to record twenty-five 
 songs for twenty-five pounds for the Gramo- 
 phone. The difference in the fees I received was 
 this: for the fifty pounds the Edison Company 
 was to pay me I agreed to make as many matrices 
 as might be necessary to secure ten perfect rec- 
 ords; but my agreement with the Gramophone 
 Company required only a single record for each 
 song, regardless of whether a record might be 
 slightly imperfect." 
 
 "Did you build any air castles?" I queried. 
 John had stopped a few yards from the house to 
 greet his Belgian sheep dog, Nellie, who greeted 
 him with sharp yelps of joy, leaping the while 
 towards his face which she was straining affec- 
 tionately to caress. 
 
 "Get down, Nell! Sit down and compose 
 yourself." Which the dog obediently did, 
 though her tail wagged at a tremendous rate. 
 "What mischief have you been up to?" he de- 
 manded, in a tone of canine understanding. 
 
 91
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Tell me!" Nellie barked joyously, and 
 straightway came to all fours and leaped again. 
 They frisked about together, master and dog, un- 
 til interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack on the veranda. 
 
 We proceeded in a group McCormack, and 
 Nellie and I to the house, where Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack showed a worried look. "I was won- 
 dering " she began, when John stopped the 
 sentence with a kiss. 
 
 "If I'd got back safe with the dory. That was 
 it, wasn't it?" His life partner admitted her 
 concern and present relief, and reminded us that 
 the dinner hour was near. 
 
 "Five minutes more, then I'm free. He 
 makes me work, this man; and in vacation time, 
 too." Mrs. McCormack smiled indulgently. 
 "Five minutes, then," she said, "but no more," 
 and she left us. 
 
 "You asked me a question," reminded John, 
 picking up the thread of our conversation where 
 Nellie's impetuous arrival had sent it spinning. 
 "Oh, yes, air castles. Of course I built them, 
 and they were fine ones, with many rooms and ex- 
 clusive furnishings and works of art, which I 
 revel in. Air castles? I should say; I reared and 
 
 92
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 demolished them and rebuilt them again. It's a 
 pleasant labor, diverting and generally harmless. 
 
 "I built a dozen or two when, on reaching Dub- 
 lin and talking with Mr. Foley, he told me he be- 
 lieved Dr. Cameron's advice about Italy should 
 be heeded. 'You ought to go,' he decided, 'and 
 we'll start planning a way.' 
 
 "Nothing definite was reached in that prelim- 
 inary conversation concerning one of the desires 
 my heart had been set on for several months. 
 Mr. Foley had ideas, and one which ultimately 
 proved practical under his guiding hand. Sev- 
 eral days later he told me of it, and it was this. 
 A testimonial concert was to be arranged ; a con- 
 cert on a pretentious scale which Mr. Foley as- 
 sured me he would personally manage himself." 
 
 Although this volume is officially McCor- 
 mack's own, some of the facts incorporated in it 
 have been supplied by persons other than the 
 tenor. And it is better so, because otherwise 
 they would not have come to my, and the gen- 
 eral public's, knowledge. For John has a way of 
 often avoiding some incident that places him in 
 an advantageous light; and then, another's view- 
 point not infrequently brings to the surface some 
 
 93
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 element or climax which sounds better than it 
 would have sounded had it dropped from the ten- 
 or's lips. 
 
 Michael Keane, one of McCormack's staunch- 
 est admirers and a "booster" from the first mo- 
 ment he heard him, imparted the information of 
 the tenor's introductory appearance in London. 
 Mr. Keane now American representative for 
 the music publishing firm of Boosey and Com- 
 pany was at that time an associate of Robert 
 Newman, manager of Queen's Hall. As many 
 know, this auditorium was the London home for 
 the symphony and the ballad concerts, with a 
 seating capacity of some thirty-five hundred and 
 having back of it fine traditions. 
 
 I had gone to see Mr. Keane at McCormack's 
 request. In a few minutes we were in the heart 
 of matters McCormack; and in the snug little 
 New York office of Boosey and Company, in East 
 Seventeenth street, Michael Keane talked on for 
 hours, ignoring the approach and passing of the 
 luncheon hour. But it was time profitably 
 spent. 
 
 "None of us in London knew of John McCor- 
 mack at the time he burst upon us at a concert 
 in Queen's Hall, in November of Nineteen Four, 
 
 94
 
 EARLY AMERICAN DAYS 
 
 given by the Gaelic League. The tenor had 
 been heard by some of the gentlemen of the 
 League, the afternoon he won the first prize in 
 the Dublin Feis Coeil, and they concluded that 
 his appearance at that important London concert 
 would add to its interest. It certainly did. 
 
 "I chanced," continued Mr. Keane, "to be in 
 the auditorium when John came upon the plat- 
 form. He walked to a place near the piano with 
 an agreeable unconsciousness we have since 
 learned is characteristic of him, and waited for 
 the accompanist to begin the prelude to that rare 
 song, 'The Irish Emigrant.' Apart from show- 
 ing a casual concern in an unknown Irish tenor 
 I doubt," explained Mr. Keane, "if I held any 
 special interest. Certainly, I had no idea that I 
 should be so affected by what I was to hear." 
 
 "Then he made an impression?" 
 
 "Rather!" said Mr. Keane emphatically. 
 "Personally, I was amazed. The voice, then, 
 was what I term a pure Irish tenor; with the rich- 
 ness in the middle of it, and that delightful sug- 
 gestion just a suggestion, mind you of nasal 
 quality in his top notes. It was a typically Irish 
 tenor voice of the finest sort, and by far the 
 most beautiful I ever had heard. 
 
 95
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "The boy sang wonderfully, too, even then. 
 It was evident to one uninitiated in the art of 
 singing what manner of tenor he was; and the 
 probability of his future status. The audience 
 present at that Gaelic League concert sensed all 
 that I have said, and received him with enthusi- 
 asm. But I doubt if any one was so completely 
 overjoyed as I. I did not wait to hear the en- 
 core which the auditors demanded after 'The 
 Irish Emigrant.' As fast as my legs would carry 
 me, I rushed upstairs to Mr. Newman's office. 
 
 ; 'If you would hear the greatest Irish tenor 
 ever produced,' I gasped out, 'come quickly.' 
 But Mr. Newman, with whom I had been asso- 
 ciated for eighteen years, only smiled. Tm 
 busy, Michael,' he replied, 'but when I've fin- 
 ished I'll try to get down.' He thought me 
 over-enthusiastic, because McCormack was a fel- 
 low-countryman . 
 
 "Well, I returned to the auditorium to hear 
 the rest of that Irish boy's songs. And I never 
 doubted not when John struggled against ob- 
 stacles after he made London his headquarters 
 that he would eventually be accepted as not 
 only the greatest Irish singer, but the greatest 
 singer in the world." 
 
 96
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 I was busy in a study in an enticingly secluded 
 part of the McCormacks' Rocklea home, late on 
 the night when John recounted Mr. Foley's an- 
 nouncement of the proposed benefit concert. 
 About me, on a large table, were ranged letters, 
 memoranda, and private documents belonging to 
 the tenor to which he had given me access; a 
 veritable mass of informative and interesting data 
 and many pages of the manuscript of this book. 
 Few persons have been privileged to burrow into 
 the material which lay about; it represented the 
 accumulations of years, some of it almost as old 
 as the Irish singer himself. 
 
 The night was cool, for it was before the hot 
 period of our remarkable summer of Nineteen 
 Hundred Eighteen, and a breeze touched with a 
 salty aroma of the Sound came through the open 
 windows into the room. An electric lamp, 
 
 97
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 nearly hidden by a wide-spreading and drooping 
 shade, shed its rays in a circle of generous 
 size. 
 
 I sat smoking my pipe, rather meditatively, 
 and finding a growing interest in each hitherto 
 new, to me, fact as I dug it from some hiding- 
 place, and recorded it where it belonged. It was 
 past midnight, an hour when some minds are 
 most active : the working time for the few just as 
 it is sleeping time for the many. 
 
 A stiffness of body from long sitting over my 
 work sent me to my feet and to the window where 
 the curtains fluttered under the wind. It had 
 died down since our earlier landing from the 
 dory, but it still whipped the Sound waters until 
 the surface was tipped with cappings that showed 
 dead white under the light of the moon. The 
 lawn was dark, but at the pierhead, beyond, a 
 small space was illumined. 
 
 And then there crossed my gaze a moving fig- 
 ure. I saw it first to my left, about a hundred 
 feet from the house. But instead of proceeding 
 in my direction the figure, which was unquestion- 
 ably a man's, was headed for the pier. I saw it 
 go on past the south side of the lawn, to the 
 beach and out upon the pier. In another mo- 
 
 98
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 ment the man would be in the spot where the 
 moon's rays touched. 
 
 I watched, curiosity more than concern hold- 
 ing my attention, for the instant when the figure 
 should break from darkness into comparative 
 light. Ten seconds, five more passed. Then 
 I saw. There was no mistaking the contour of 
 that body, the flare of shoulders and the bared 
 head. It was McCormack. 
 
 Wondering what took him up and out at that 
 hour of night, for he is a sound sleeper, I left 
 him to whatever object he might have had in view, 
 and returned to my work. It was a matter of 
 perhaps a quarter of an hour when I heard a foot- 
 fall behind me, which brought me about to face 
 the direction of the sound. 
 
 "Hello, John!" I greeted. "What keeps you 
 up?" 
 
 "I saw your light, from outside," he re- 
 sponded, ignoring my question. He walked over 
 to the table, picked up the pages of the manu- 
 script and sitting down began to read. He did 
 not look up or speak until he had finished; 
 whereupon he laid the typed script aside to dis- 
 cuss certain parts of it. 
 
 I have never before written a book in col- 
 99
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 laboration, but should circumstances make such 
 procedure wise again I shouldn't mind having as 
 collaborator John McCormack. He has the 
 writer's discernment and feeling, and an unerring 
 sense of what belongs. Sitting there, he offered 
 several suggestions: changes, at one point, of 
 elimination, of addition at another and rephras- 
 ing of some quotations of his own that his exact 
 words should be set down. We made them, on 
 the spot; which seemed to give the tenor satis- 
 faction. At any rate, he lighted a cigarette, in- 
 haled and blew the smoke above his head. 
 
 "You don't mind, I hope those suggestions. 
 You see I'm rather particular about having every- 
 thing just as it happened." 
 
 I told him his desire was likewise mine, that 
 without such aid as he was giving we could not 
 make the book the thing it was intended to be: 
 an authorized version of the story of his life, his 
 own tale which, so to speak, should be an official 
 document. 
 
 He seemed pleased at that. Mrs. McCormack 
 confided to me, the next day, that John had fussed 
 continually ever since our work had begun; 
 fussed as he does when he undertakes anything 
 worth while, in his continually expressed belief 
 
 100
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing 
 well. And in the remaining weeks of our com- 
 bined endeavor, weeks filled with almost daily 
 consultation, McCormack displayed the same in- 
 terest, the same concern for accuracy and consist- 
 ency and an unflagging zeal to do the job well. 
 Never once did he become irritable under my 
 fusillade of questions; he would go over again 
 any episode which needed clarifying, and in our 
 revisions his patience never broke. 
 
 "I was thinking outside, there what a lot 
 I have to be thankful for. I like to wander 
 around, that way, sometimes, to get off by my- 
 self and try to get an unbiased perspective. It's 
 a great help to keep one on the rails ; a stabilizer 
 of the best sort." 
 
 I agreed, as I often did when John fell into one 
 of his communicative moods, by inclining my 
 head. 
 
 "Funny," he observed, "but just a moment 
 ago, down on the pier, I happened to recall the 
 first time I heard Caruso. It wasn't long before 
 I left Dublin for Italy, and a short time after I 
 had made my records for the Edison and Gramo- 
 phone companies. It was at Covent Garden, 
 London; the opera, 'La Boheme.' You can well 
 
 101
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 imagine my state of mind at reaching my seat in 
 that distinguished old institution. My heart 
 fluttered almost as a spinster's at the moment of 
 approaching proposal. I had read and heard so 
 much about this great artist that I could scarcely 
 wait for the curtain. 
 
 ' 'La Boheme' was as much of a novelty as the 
 tenor, but it was he in whom my interest centred : 
 the type of his voice, his manner of using it and 
 his interpretative style. My ears and mind were 
 full of the man and I was as nervous as a horse at 
 the starting-post until Caruso, garbed as the 
 Bohemian Rodolfo, sang his opening phrases. 
 
 "I was not there in the role of cantankerous, 
 captious critic. Presumptuousness held no part 
 of me. But when I listened to the opening 
 phrases of Puccini's music, sung by that inde- 
 scribably glorious voice as Caruso alone could 
 sing, my jaw dropped as though hung on a hinge. 
 Such smoothness and purity of tone, and such 
 quality; it was like a stream of liquid gold. 
 
 "And yet, one other person in Covent Garden 
 had a slightly different and, I thought, odd im- 
 pression. Attracted by the same magnet as I, 
 J. C. Doyle, the baritone I spoke of and a fine 
 man and artist, and his brother Jim went to the 
 
 102
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 performance, dilating upon the capacities of one 
 of the greatest, if not the greatest, of singers of 
 all time. The tenor was well along in the first 
 act, and nearing the Rocconto aria, when Jim 
 Doyle, unaware that he was actually hearing 
 Caruso at the moment, remarked to his brother: 
 'Well, if Caruso can sing any better than this boy, 
 Caruso certainly can sing!' 
 
 "It was the best lesson, up to that moment, I 
 had ever received and a stimulus which cannot 
 be described. The sound of Caruso's voice that 
 night lingered in my ears for months, and will 
 doubtless linger there always. It will always be 
 to me one of the memorable moments of my life. 
 I looked up to him, as I do still, as a supremely 
 gifted artist; unique, performing vocal feats no 
 other tenor can, and standing apart from the rest, 
 a model for all. 
 
 "I sang a number of concert engagements dur- 
 ing Nineteen Hundred Four and Five ; in Dublin 
 and several other places, and for the usual small 
 fees, varying from twenty to thirty shillings. 
 But I was no aggrieved participant. Each ap- 
 pearance carried a definite significance and was 
 something to be seriously regarded as a duty to 
 my public and myself. I have been that way 
 
 103
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 always, and shall continue to be. For no matter 
 how seemingly inconsequential the task, it is 
 worth doing in only a single way. 
 
 "At last came the night of my benefit concert: 
 Mr. Foley had prepared for it with his accus- 
 tomed businesslike thoroughness, neglecting his 
 own interests and toiling with such zealousness 
 and disregard of his own health that on the day 
 of days he was confined to his bed, under his 
 physician's care. Yet he could not be dissuaded 
 from rising at six o'clock and, after vainly at- 
 tempting to eat, going to the hall and into the box 
 office to see personally that all moneys were ac- 
 curately accounted for. 
 
 "I think we may term that unselfish devotion. 
 
 "The concert was considered a success. My 
 patrons (and I deeply appreciate their willing- 
 ness to help a young singing student get his de- 
 sired education) appeared pleased and liked, es- 
 pecially, the songs I sang at the concert, which 
 were 'In Her Simplicity,' the last act aria from 
 'Mignon,' 'The Snowy Breasted Pearl,' and Tos- 
 ti's 'My Dreams.' These were the three pro- 
 gramme numbers, but there were many en- 
 
 cores. 
 
 tic 
 
 Well, the concert netted me ninety pounds; 
 104
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 and Mr. Foley and Lily, who had triumphed with 
 me in the affair, and I held a mild celebration at 
 the Foley home. 
 
 "My affairs were arranged: the good-byes to 
 my parents and sisters and brother said, my be- 
 longings packed, and I was ready to depart south- 
 ward. Then occurred a strange incident. Mr. 
 Fair, living in Athene and a friend of father's, 
 an amateur singer of limited capacities, but one 
 who had studied extensively and was really well 
 informed, though an indifferent performer him- 
 self, stopped me on the street. 
 
 ' 'I understand you are going to Italy to study,' 
 said he; 'who is to be your teacher?' I told him 
 I had no idea. 'Well,' volunteered Mr. Fair, 
 'I spent some time over there ; and I worked with 
 ever so many so-called singing masters. Most 
 of them are incapable; many are charlatans.' I 
 received this information with trepidation. 'I 
 did find, however,' declared the doctor positively, 
 'one man who knew his business. His name is 
 Vincenzo Sabatini. He's an old man, past 
 seventy now, yet he is the one you should go to 
 if he will consent to take you.' 
 
 "I left Dublin with a letter to Sabatini from 
 Mr. Fair, and en route I rehearsed until letter-per- 
 
 105
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 feet the plea I should make to induce him to ac- 
 cept me as a pupil. 
 
 "Milan was reached at last; Milan with its 
 thousands of singing hopefuls, boys and girls 
 from all lands, vying with one another for the 
 equipment which should yield them victory and 
 its fruits. An ambitious lot, some of them ex- 
 cellently equipped for their desired tasks and 
 others less fortunate, perhaps; but all of them 
 doing their best according to their individual 
 lights." 
 
 John got up, stretched his arms, and took a 
 turn to the window and back. 
 
 "And when you arrived at Sabatini's studio," 
 I observed, suggestively, "you found that you 
 had lost the letter of introduction?" 
 
 "That would have been more or less dra- 
 matic," agreed McCormack, "only it wasn't what 
 happened. There was small chance, for I had 
 the thing pinned to the inside pocket of my waist- 
 coat; with a safety-pin, too. As I did not speak 
 or understand Italian it was agreed that I should 
 be identified by a handkerchief tied about one 
 arm, and I stood on the station platform until I 
 was seen and rescued. 
 
 "Yes," he remarked, reseating himself, "I had 
 106
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 the letter. And I held it in my hand when I 
 went into the old maestro 's studio, my legs some- 
 what wobbly from nervous anticipation of hearing 
 a possible 'no.' 
 
 "I can see him even now," mused the tenor, 
 "a wonderfully preserved man, physically, look- 
 ing fifteen years younger than he was, with white 
 hair, which was thin and was brushed straight 
 back, and moustache, and eyebrows silvered, too, 
 and a broad brow above wide-set eyes. 
 
 "Disturbed you, then?" 
 
 "Not in the way I had expected to be," replied 
 John. "There was a quality about Sabatini of 
 old-fashioned courtliness which softened his 
 piercing gaze. He spoke almost no word of my 
 language, but his wife was an Englishwoman 
 his accompanist and valued aide. It was she 
 who had first greeted me, and she opened the 
 letter from Mr. Fair as Sabatini advanced a few 
 steps and greeted me with a formality that held 
 no coldness. He was no poseur. 
 
 "I scrutinized him as he listened while his wife 
 read the letter to him, and I was thus engaged 
 when the maestro looked up. 
 
 ' 'So you would become a singer,' queried 
 Sabbatini; 'well, let us see if there is the chance,' 
 
 107
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 He retraced his steps to a chair near the piano, 
 where Signora Sabatini sat waiting while I se- 
 lected my music. 
 
 "I don't know why I experienced no sense of 
 fear, standing before that critical voice-master 
 and well aware that it was then or never. It was 
 a moment of inexpressible anxiety. Yet my 
 mind never was clearer nor my confidence more 
 secure. I sang, spurred by the possible re- 
 ward, with more fervor than was my wont. The 
 test was completed in a few minutes ; the time ar- 
 rived which my boyish longing had lived over 
 and over again during the days of unleashed 
 hopes. 
 
 "Sabatini did not immediately speak, but he 
 rose slowly from his seat as though cogitating 
 something important and not to be prematurely 
 divulged. Then he turned to his wife, and 
 spoke rapidly to her in Italian something at 
 which she inclined her head, speaking Italian 
 also as she did so. 
 
 'You have come to ask me if I will take you 
 as a pupil and that I will. But I cannot place 
 your voice.' My heart felt a lump of lead at 
 those portentous words. 'I cannot place your 
 voice,' said the maestro, 'because God did that.' 
 
 108
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 "I vaguely recollect his saying other things, 
 but I did not comprehend. His words kept re- 
 volving in my mind, like the turning of a wheel ; 
 and I kept seeing them chase after one another in 
 that single phrase: 4 I cannot place your voice, 
 God did that.' " 
 
 We sat in the secluded study, John McCor- 
 mack and I, for some minutes, in silence. He 
 had painted his word-picture well; I could 
 glimpse the youth of twenty, eager and buoyant, 
 getting his verdict and being a bit stunned by it. 
 
 "I discovered, later, that Sabatini liked my 
 voice and believed a career was assured. But he 
 explained the elements involved: opportunity 
 and what I suppose we might designate a 'break 
 in the luck.' 
 
 "I cannot complain as to that. Luck or for- 
 tune, or Providence's beneficent dispensation has 
 been rather near my elbow. And I have 
 worked, and endured privations and disappoint- 
 ments. Without them the singer does not feel; 
 not to the depths of his soul. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed the tenor, and he emerged 
 abruptly and with some show of physical force 
 as of having brusquely shed himself of some in- 
 ternal cloak of sentiment, "we arranged for les- 
 
 109
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 sons, Sabatini and I. One every day, except- 
 ing Sundays; the price twenty dollars a month. 
 And on March 21st, 1905, we began. 
 
 "I found living quarters in Pension Betham 
 Via Brera 5 at thirty dollars a month, including 
 my meals. Once installed and my tuition under 
 way I felt the world a bright and exceedingly 
 good-natured place to live in. I began blithely, 
 almost, a song in my heart as continually as it 
 was on my lips. 
 
 "Details of a singing student's routine make 
 commonplace reading. Mine was no different 
 course from that of any other aspirant for sing- 
 ing honors; from those, I should say, who were 
 serious and had to make time and money count. 
 For me there were no periods of idleness or ques- 
 tionable pleasures. There is but a single ex- 
 pression which fits what I did: I 'plugged.' 
 
 "Two objects engaged the chief attention of 
 Sabatini in our work: the acquiring of a mezza- 
 voce, which I did not have by nature, and the 
 freeing of my high tones. The voice was not 
 what is called a 'long' voice (by which I mean 
 plenty of compass, from bottom to top) and the 
 top notes were in my throat ; but to get them out 
 with freedom, so that a high A or B-flat had 
 
 110
 
 STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 the same relative quality as the lower part of 
 the voice, required constant, painstaking teach- 
 ing on Sabatini's part and practice on my own. 
 The mezza-voce (singing with half the volume of 
 the full voice, or with less than half) was a slow 
 process ; often I grew discouraged over it. 
 
 "My maestro spent no time teaching me the 
 operas. The roles of every opera now in my 
 repertoire (I have twenty-five) I learned by my- 
 self. When they were musically committed to 
 memory Sabatini 'passed' them, as we say in sing- 
 ing parlance, and offered suggestions as to their 
 interpretation. But my endeavors, as may be 
 apparent, so far as Sabatini is concerned, lay in 
 the direction of acquiring an evenness of the 
 vocal scale ; of making the voice smooth in every 
 note, and in gaining ease of production and cer- 
 tainty in short, a technique which in time 
 would become so perfect mechanically as to allow 
 me to forget technique, while I sang, and devote 
 my attention exclusively to the interpretation of 
 the music and of the text. For such singing, I 
 contend, is what constitutes the art and permits 
 the artist to convey his message with sincerity to 
 his hearers. 
 
 "I remained in Milan, during that first stay, 
 111
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 from March, Nineteen Hundred Five, to May 
 just two months. In that time I studied Italian 
 assiduously, giving hours each day to it and 
 mingling freely with Italians in practising the 
 speech. My Latin and Greek knowledge was of 
 inestimable help and besides I had the lingual 
 facility, so much so that in six weeks from my 
 arrival in Milan I understood everything in Ital- 
 ian which was said, and spoke with reasonable 
 fluency. 
 
 "Sabatini discontinued his teaching before 
 warm weather arrived, and as I knew no pro- 
 nounced advancement could be made during his 
 absence, I elected to return to Ireland and come 
 back to Italy the following fall. So I wrote 
 home that I should soon depart, and before June 
 arrived I was again in Dublin and devoting 
 myself to Miss Lily Foley." 
 
 112
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 "During that summer of 1905," said McCor- 
 mack, "I gained some understanding of how 
 fortunate I was in having the pledge of Lily 
 Foley to become Mrs. John McCormack. I 
 spent part of those four months in Dublin and 
 part with my family in Athlone. And I was 
 happy. My conjecture as to the future was 
 probably a stimulating force, and the few con- 
 cert engagements which came to me helped. 
 Nor will I forget the strength I felt in the un- 
 speakably unselfish friendship of Patrick Foley 
 my second father. 
 
 "Time does not pass as swiftly to the young 
 as to the old. It lingered, throughout those 
 months in Nineteen Hundred Five, and although 
 I was loath to leave those I loved I felt the tug 
 of duty; of having much to accomplish, and of 
 the path of that accomplishment leading toward 
 
 113
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Italy. There I found myself, in October; 
 twenty-one, and eager. 
 
 "My dear old Sabatini had returned to his 
 studio it was a romantic address, Via Victor 
 Hugo, Number Four the day before I reached 
 Milan. I found him there, after I had settled 
 down at the same Pension Betham, Number Five 
 Via Brera, and had hurried to greet him. Hav- 
 ing got a start in the spring, I trod the streets of 
 Milan with a feeling of belonging there, in a way. 
 The buildings and byways were familiar, even 
 some of the people I met as I passed along; and 
 I spoke the language. 
 
 "I had been to mass that morning, and my 
 hopes were soaring. Health and optimism were 
 mine and the faith of the Irish Catholic. In 
 that mood of good-will towards men I reached 
 Sabatini's studio, to be greeted, first, by Signora 
 Sabatini. She was calm, as was her custom, 
 but glad to see me. I could see that in her fine 
 eyes, and feel it in the warm clasp of her artistic 
 fingers. 
 
 "But it was a more demonstrative reception 
 which the maestro gave me ; one typical of those 
 of his nationality who entertain affection for an- 
 other. He came from one side of his studio in 
 
 114
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 the direction of the doorway, his thin, white 
 hair brushed back from his brow and those 
 piercing eyes of his denoting an unmistakable 
 gleam. 
 
 " 'Giovanni,' he exclaimed, and I thought I 
 detected the suggestion of a quaver in his voice, 
 'caro mio.' Then the dear man kissed me on 
 both cheeks. But he was no happier to welcome 
 me than I was to see him again, and to feel his 
 vigorous hand-clasp which held for me a wealth 
 of meaning. 
 
 "He pushed me forcibly into a chair, plying 
 me with questions in a veritable stream of Ital- 
 ian which came too fast to permit immediate 
 answering. But his paramount interest was in 
 my voice. He had been, once, to Liverpool and 
 more often than I could count had averred that 
 it had taken him three years in the soft air of his 
 beloved Italy to get the fog and chill of that 
 Liverpool atmosphere from his throat. 
 
 ' 'Giovanni,' he would say, 'how is it that you 
 are of England, yet with that voice?' And my 
 reply, invariably, would in substance be, 'But, 
 maestro, England is not Ireland nor Ireland Eng- 
 land.' Whereat he always shook his head, in a 
 slow side to side movement as if unable to com- 
 
 115
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 prehend how a little matter in distance could 
 make such a difference. 
 
 "On this particular October morning Saba- 
 tini was a physical and mental dynamo. He 
 shortly had me standing at my lesson, with his 
 wife at the piano. He was a source of wonder- 
 ment to me, at all times, and that three-quarters 
 of an hour disclosed the same facility of that 
 seventy-four-year-old man at detecting vocal 
 flaws and the same astuteness in applying cor- 
 rective measures which, I presume, he had pos- 
 sessed twenty years before. I likewise shall 
 never forget how he sang for me 'Salve Dimore,' 
 from 'Faust,' with an evenness of scale which was 
 a revelation." 
 
 It was on a muggy July morning 01 Nineteen 
 Hundred Eighteen, in New York City, that the 
 tenor related to me the facts incorporated in the 
 opening pages of this chapter. Business had 
 brought him from the luxurious coolness of Rock- 
 lea to the broiling and humid heat of America's 
 metropolis at the height of summer, and Nature, 
 man and beast suffered. We sat at a table in 
 the grill of one of John's clubs. He showed the 
 effects of his previous weeks of physical train- 
 ing and diet, of normal living and a tranquil 
 
 116
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 mind, which leave their unmistakable marks. 
 ' 'Aida' was the first opera I heard in Italy," 
 announced the tenor. His vision was not for 
 immediate and nearby things ; he was looking far 
 backwards, and from the upturned quirk of his 
 mouth contemplating pleasant things. "De 
 Macchi was the tenor, Boninsegna sang Aida and, 
 I think, Stracciari had the role of Amonasro." 
 
 His pause, after these words, was such that I 
 ventured a question. "Was the performance a 
 good one?" 
 
 "Very," he replied. "It had the fire and 
 life which Verdi believed 'Aida' required. 4 I1 
 Barbiere di Siviglia' was the second operatic 
 work I listened to in Milan; in La Scala. De 
 Luca, now one of the first baritones at the New 
 York Metropolitan, Barrientos, its coloratura 
 soprano, and Pini-Corsi, a former Metropolitan 
 buffo-basso now dead, also were in the cast. The 
 tenor was Fernindo De Lucia, a glorious artist. 
 I have heard and seen few finer presentations of 
 this opera, which offers a wealth of vocal oppor- 
 tunity to the principals who are given that op- 
 portunity by a composer who did not rob them of 
 it through covering their parts with unnecessarily 
 heavy orchestration the Frankenstein of mod- 
 
 117
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ern operas and the most potent cause of vocal 
 wrecks the opera singer of this generation has to 
 face." 
 
 "And Sabatini? He felt, in this respect, as 
 you feel?" 
 
 "Assuredly," said McCormack. "Modern 
 opera was a thing he detested, because of its im- 
 possible demands upon the voice, above all else. 
 He had reasons, and good ones, you may believe. 
 For he rightly contended that the human singing 
 voice cannot be driven, in the singer's effort to be 
 heard, against a mass of orchestral tone without 
 damage to the vocal instrument." 
 
 The tenor was interrupted here by a fellow 
 club-member insistent upon a brief visit and a 
 discussion on the war and other topics of the mo- 
 ment. John drifted from music and into these 
 non-related subjects with interest, and showed 
 his grasp of each to be that of an educated, 
 thoughtful citizen, broad enough to consider mat- 
 ters outside his own particular sphere of profes- 
 sional effort. 
 
 "There was so much in Milan of artistic and 
 historic interest," resumed McCormack, "that I 
 never lacked for an occupation of benefit to me. 
 
 118
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 Music, of course, came first, yet I counted litera- 
 ture and the fine arts as accompanying essentials, 
 and I seized every chance to extend my acquaint- 
 ance with them all. 
 
 "The picture gallery of Brera, directly oppo- 
 site where I lived, was one of the spots where I 
 spent much time. The building was erected, in 
 1651, as a Jesuit college and continued as that 
 until the year of American independence. At 
 that time it was installed, and has since con- 
 tinued, as the seat of the Accademia di Belle Arti ; 
 and within the gallery may be found the re- 
 nowned 'Sposalizio' of Raphael, pictures and 
 frescoes by Ferrari, Luini and Bramantino as 
 well as a library of over three hundred thousand 
 volumes. There is much else besides : thousands 
 of rare coins and a splendid observatory, and 
 art works by those masters Paolo Veronese, 
 Moroni, Bellini, Bonifazio, Paris Bordone, Cima 
 da Conegliano and others of their time. 
 
 "It was in the Brera Gallery that my instinc- 
 tive taste for good pictures had its early cultiva- 
 tion. The interpretation of a song is but the 
 rearing of a piece of musical architecture; and 
 no slight help is to be found in the study of good 
 
 119
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 canvases, wherein the eye recognizes, among 
 other outstanding elements, line and color and 
 form. 
 
 "I was fond, too, of looking at the statue of 
 Leonardo da Vinci, which stands in the Piazza 
 della Scala within a stone's toss of the Teatro 
 della Scala that famous opera-house which the 
 world knows best as La Scala. Nor could I keep 
 away from the nearby Galleria Vittorio Eman- 
 uele, that magnificent arcade in the form of a 
 Latin cross with its octagonal centre which is 
 topped, at a height of one hundred sixty feet, 
 with a glass cupola. 
 
 "The parks and streets were my inanimate 
 friends, and I would wander for hours at a time 
 through them learning a lesson or relaxing in 
 the artistic stimulus which they somehow seemed 
 to reflect. 
 
 "I endeavored conscientiously to waste no 
 time. I counted well the value of a day's hours, 
 and they were never quite enough. I cannot re- 
 member that Italy was a playground for me, un- 
 less I estimate my studies as that. I enjoyed 
 them enough, it is true, and they consumed my 
 waking moments rather completely. But with 
 student celebrations I had no acquaintance, for 
 
 120
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 the sufficient reasons of lacking money and super- 
 fluous time. My musical hay had to be made 
 while the sun shone, and there was no guarantee 
 that it might not suddenly set. It threatened to 
 do that, by the way, during the early winter of 
 that 1905-1906 season, and would have done so 
 but for the generosity of my staunch friend 
 Bishop Clancy, of Summerhill College. 
 
 "Friends," said John, "are among the best 
 things of life. To make and keep them has been 
 one of the things I have never ceased to be grate- 
 ful for, because my present position is in con- 
 siderable measure due to their loyalty and re- 
 sponsiveness to various personal needs. I am 
 convinced of that. I've not turned to many of 
 these friends, it is true, but when I did none of 
 them refused what I sought. 
 
 "It was that way with Bishop Clancy. My 
 money had run very low, and I began to worry. 
 There was no way that I knew to earn any, in 
 Milan, with such resources as were mine. I hesi- 
 tated long before writing Bishop Clancy; it does 
 not come easy to me to ask for assistance, even 
 such assistance as I feel confident I may repay 
 at a given time. 
 
 "But, after days of reflection on the matter, I 
 121
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 decided; and I then composed a letter to the 
 Bishop, explaining my need for fifty pounds if 
 I were to be able to remain in Milan and asking 
 him to lend me that amount, if it were convenient. 
 I was almost sorry when I let the letter to Bishop 
 Clancy slip from my fingers into the post-box. 
 What if he were to refuse? My youthful mind 
 held a swarm of conjectures, and I fretted until 
 I got my answer, which, when I held it unopened 
 in my shaking fingers, I scarcely dared read." 
 
 "Yet you had faith?" 
 
 "Yes," answered John, "but I was tormented 
 with a questioning of having done the right thing. 
 I need not have worried. That letter from 
 Bishop Clancy was a solace, a strengthener that 
 lifted me up and made my religion a more ma- 
 jestic thing to me than ever. 
 
 "The Bishop wrote that he was glad I had 
 asked that favor. It gave him, he said, a great 
 comfort to be able to show his affection for me, 
 and his confidence in my future. He hadn't by 
 him at the time, the full fifty pounds; only 
 twenty-five, which he enclosed. But he would 
 send the remainder, he promised, in three 
 months. And this he did." 
 
 Bishop Curley, John's boyhood friend, told 
 122
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 me something of this incident. The tenor had 
 said in his letter that he would return the loan 
 in three years ; and in three years, to the month, 
 he kept his word. Also, he had a beautiful 
 chalice (made with Irish amethysts and other 
 gems) which he presented to Bishop Clancy. 
 The Bishop died in 1912, which took from John 
 McCormack a real friend, but that same chalice 
 (which Bishop Clancy left in his will to Summer- 
 hill College, McCormack's alma mater) is used 
 each day in the mass and a special memento al- 
 ways is said for the donor. 
 
 "With my mind at ease," continued McCor- 
 mack, "I progressed at a rapid rate. Each day 
 an accompanist came to me, and in exchange for 
 one franc an hour played through those operas 
 I was learning for my repertoire. It is not ex- 
 pensive, in Italy, to become a musician if one will 
 toil. A set purpose and some natural ability 
 appear the prerequisites. By this time I read 
 at sight rather well, and I was always a good 
 student. So the repertoire grew. 
 
 "Sabatini's patient toil with me seemed also 
 to be a productive affair. He never tired. He 
 would scold me, often, when I was timid in giving 
 a top note with the same freedom as a lower one, 
 
 123
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and then he would call to me, his eyes snapping: 
 'Avanti, Giovanni, avanti!' But he never tired. 
 For he was more, merely, than maestro; he was 
 my friend. 
 
 "I used to revel in those walks of ours, which 
 now and again took us to the Galleria head- 
 quarters for musical-conductors, singers, arrived 
 and otherwise, and musical agents where Saba- 
 tini would be met with salutations on all sides. 
 He would touch up my Italian, and in his quaint 
 and courtly fashion command his Giovanni to 
 give him his lesson in English. And then, after 
 our stroll, we would often end at Sabatini's 
 home at the dinner hour, my maestro gently in- 
 sisting that I should remain to eat with him and 
 his wife. I always was glad to stop, for those 
 were treasure hours which can never be re- 
 called. 
 
 "And one December day, arriving at the studio 
 for my lesson, Sabatini eyed me covertly from 
 over the hand that pulled at his thin, silvery 
 moustache. I sensed that he was up to some- 
 thing ; his whole manner was that of a grown-up 
 child who has something of importance to im- 
 part to one he is fond of. He had evidently 
 planned just how he should tell me: first, to 
 
 124
 
 THE RETURN TO ITALY 
 
 pique my interest and, thereafter, compel me to 
 guess a dozen things, and finally 'give it up.' 
 
 "He is ... dead, now dear soul ! And, I 
 know, gone to his deserved reward. But I can 
 see him, as plainly as though it happened yester- 
 day, standing near the window in his studio, 
 playing with his moustache and eyeing me like a 
 mischievous schoolboy. 
 
 ' 'Giovanni!' he cried. 'There is news. 
 Something I must tell to you.' Then a purpose- 
 ful pause. 'I wonder, now; had I better?' as 
 though addressing himself. I was eager, but to 
 please him I pretended to be half frantic with sus- 
 pense and besought him to speak out. Then, 
 as I have already related, he insisted that I guess, 
 which I of course did, while he watched me with 
 evident delight at withholding the news which 
 he would announce when I was bursting with 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Finally, according to the prescribed course I 
 would follow, I announced my inability to cor- 
 rectly read his mind. Elated, he made his an- 
 nouncement, much as though promulgating some 
 order of state. 
 
 "And the news he held for me was the op- 
 portunity for an audition (which was equivalent 
 
 125
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 to an engagement) to sing in seven opera per- 
 formances in the Teatro Chiabrera, at Savona, a 
 small town near Genoa. A baritone named 
 Felici, a friend of Sabatini, had arranged for the 
 engagement, but it carried no fee. All I could 
 expect to get from it were such experience and 
 glory as it might yield." 
 
 126
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 Our seats in the chair car of the late afternoon 
 express train were in the extreme rear, isolated 
 from the nearest passengers, which permitted us 
 to talk uninterruptedly and without fear of an- 
 noying others. Stamford was the first stop and 
 there we knew that Wilkinson would be waiting, 
 with the motor-car. 
 
 "Don't say it's hot," growled John, noting I 
 was about to speak. 
 
 "Why not sing it, then, if it annoys you to 
 talk?" 
 
 "Just for that I wont sing, and I will talk 
 . . . about singing, when I made that opera 
 debut at Savona. The audition went satisfac- 
 torily, and Felici closed matters with the theatre 
 impresario. So I went to the boarding-house 
 where I should stop while rehearsing and singing 
 my seven performances. 
 
 "The plan called for my singing five times in 
 127
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Mascagni's 'L'Amico Fritz' and twice in an opera 
 by Dupont called 'La Cabrera.' Preparations 
 went without any serious trouble, and the night 
 at length came for the opening performance. 
 'L'Amico Fritz' had been selected by the im- 
 presario and those of us who were to appear were 
 anxious. A crowded audience was assured and 
 when the curtain rose we saw that it was on hand, 
 ready to applaud or condemn according as it was 
 pleased or not. 
 
 "I was certain enough of my singing, but the 
 acting part of my role was on my mind. In those 
 days I did not appreciate what repose of body 
 means, or the use of a gesture in a natural way 
 when it is necessary to convey something to an 
 assemblage. 
 
 "So I kept my arms busily employed througn- 
 out the opera, one set of gestures in particular 
 causing Felici to remark after the performance: 
 'Why, Giovanni, did you spread out both arms as 
 though making some present to the people; al- 
 ways the arms, like the railroad man's signal.' 
 It was good advice which Felici gave and I 
 heeded it. But what I think is more interesting 
 is one other episode, of a different order. 
 
 "I sang with sufficient assurance and every- 
 128
 
 CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 thing seemed to me to be going well until I ap- 
 proached a point in the opera in which I knew 
 my audience would want from a certain top note 
 plenty of noise. I hadn't figured it out before 
 the performance, but as the place drew nearer I 
 decided suddenly, as we should say nowadays, to 
 'camouflage' that particular tone. It was the big 
 aria for tenor which has a top B-flat. I hadn't a 
 good B-flat then, and when the moment came to 
 let it go I walked to the footlights, opened my 
 mouth and in look and attitude did my best to 
 give an imitation of a tenor ripping out a ringing 
 high note though I purposely gave forth no 
 sound. 
 
 "As true as I'm sitting here I got a round of 
 applause." 
 
 "How do you account for it?" I wanted to 
 know. 
 
 "Nothing but the audience's imagination," re- 
 plied John. "The people thought that through 
 the orchestral forte they were hearing what they 
 wanted to hear, and were satisfied. But wait 
 . . . until I tell the sequel. 
 
 "The following night I thought, when the 
 moment for the high B-flat approached, Til let 
 them have it this time with the voice.' I did, 
 
 129
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and would you believe it? it didn't get over, 
 at all. The reason is that they actually heard 
 the tone, which hadn't the fibre and ring their 
 imaginations had allowed them to fancy was there 
 the preceding night." 
 
 It was a delicate question, yet it had a bearing 
 upon John's career, so I ventured to ask: "You 
 had a ... success?" 
 
 "I shouldn't call it that," he answered, and 
 with no show of irritation whatsoever. "It was, 
 of course, nothing like what the Italians term a 
 fiasco. Still, if medals had been awarded I 
 should not have found my chest completely cov- 
 ered with them. I believe it would be within the 
 full truth to say that I was mildly 'accepted.' 
 
 "The Italian public, however, never became 
 enthusiastic over me. Some time later I'll tell 
 the facts at the proper place when I came down 
 from England, an artist, to sing a brief season 
 at the San Carlo, in Naples, I caused no furore. 
 But some day, when the War is over, I am going 
 back to Italy to sing in opera. I think I'll be 
 ready then for them, and I hope they'll be ready 
 for me." 
 
 I surmised that McCormack would drift into 
 130
 
 CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 recounting his concluding Milan student days be- 
 fore our train passed Greenwich. He had fallen 
 into another of those reflective silences of his as 
 we rushed through Larchmont; it held into 
 Mamaroneck; showed a trace of awakening as the 
 station signs of Harrison blurred before my eyes, 
 and with Rye fading behind John stirred in his 
 seat. 
 
 "Destroying letters," he remarked, "is some- 
 times a pity." 
 
 "Some kinds of letters," I agreed. 
 
 "Mine were that kind," replied the tenor, a 
 pensive touch in that full-toned speaking voice of 
 his. "I used to write, in detail, to my fiancee of 
 my Milan experiences: my thoughts and labors, 
 everything, I believe, which happened to me in 
 which she would be interested. And in some 
 way, shortly before our marriage, they were de- 
 stroyed. I've often wished I had them now. 
 
 "However " McCormack is somewhat philo- 
 sophical, and he turned abruptly from this sub- 
 ject to a pleasanter one "Sabatini welcomed 
 me back from Savona and wanted to know my 
 version as to all that had happened. I had to 
 tell him of each occurrence, down to the most 
 
 131
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 insignificant one, and, that finished, to recapitu- 
 late the important points, with care for complete- 
 ness and precision. 
 
 "It must have been a natural feeling, Saba- 
 tini had only a few pupils, then. He was an old 
 man, as I have said. And severe. He had re- 
 spect for the truth only, and no facility (nor in- 
 clination in that direction, either) for subterfuge. 
 Things he didn't mean he could not say, or act. 
 He was a plain man simple and honest. It 
 pleases me to think that his sympathies were 
 more largely for me than any other pupil he had. 
 Probably he considered I was most in need of 
 them. He sat in his arm-chair as I talked on, 
 nodding occasionally and clasping and unclasp- 
 ing his lean fingers. 
 
 ' 'For the beginning, Giovanni, it is well I 
 think.' I saw that he was endeavoring to dissi- 
 pate any misgivings I entertained as to the lack 
 of real success. 'The start, he go slow; and bye 
 and bye he pick up.' That was typical of the 
 maestro. To build slowly, with a view to per- 
 manency, was his creed and he held to it with the 
 tenacity of one of half his years. 
 
 "After the Savona debut, which was in Decem- 
 ber of Nineteen Five, I progressed rapidly. 
 
 132
 
 CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 Those appearances put something into my sing- 
 ing which had not theretofore been present: 
 a degree of confidence in self that allowed a 
 broader style, a greater freedom and brought its 
 consequent artistic growth. 
 
 "It was some two months later that my second 
 opportunity arrived to sing in opera, this time 
 under conditions that were to bring me money. 
 Contracts were signed for ten performances of 
 'Faust,' for a fee of two hundred francs, in Santa 
 Croce, a little town near Florence. But it was 
 an expensive affair, in spite of what I got, for one 
 hundred and sixty francs went to the railway com- 
 pany which took me from Milan to my destina- 
 tion and back. But I had my appearances, 
 under the name of Giovanni Foli (Italianizing 
 my name, and my future father-in-law's, as I had 
 also done for the Savona engagement) and an ex- 
 perience that has induced laughter whenever I 
 have since recalled the incident. 
 
 "The soprano was an attractive young woman, 
 who was accompanied by her mother. I had 
 found time to wander about Santa Croce, and as 
 my bump of location is well developed I learned 
 the direction of those spots about the theatre, and 
 the boarding-house where we stopped, Listen, 
 
 133
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 now, to this; it's the one adventure of the kind 
 in my experience. 
 
 "We had finished a rehearsal. As I came out- 
 side the theatre I met the soprano and her mother, 
 evidently confused as to the way to the boarding- 
 house and hesitating to walk that way unescorted. 
 A vehicle one of the closed sort one finds in 
 that part of Italy drove along the street at that 
 moment, and I hailed it and invited the two ladies 
 to accompany me in it to the place, which was 
 presided over by the impresario's wife, whom I 
 shall never forget as a remarkable cook. 
 
 "I did not like the looks of the driver. Sour- 
 visaged, he was, with shaggy brows ; a brigandish 
 looking fellow, who might have graduated from 
 the country into a village, or, possibly, have been 
 on vacation. I put the soprano and her mother 
 into the vehicle, and followed them. 
 
 "There was conversation about the rehearsal 
 and we drove on. But when we came to a cer- 
 tain spot I observed the driver turned to his left 
 instead of going to the right, which I remembered 
 was the way to our home. I had not missed, 
 either, I might add, a few moments before the 
 turn, seeing a man climb up and on to the back 
 of our carriage. I was instantly suspicious, for 
 
 134
 
 CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 it was growing dark and the driver's reply to my 
 order to go the other way brought a surly response. 
 'The hotel's to the right, not the direction 
 you're taking,' I said. I leaned out of the car- 
 riage window, and glared at the fellow. And 
 looking rearwards I caught a glimpse of the sus- 
 picious passenger perched on our back axle. 
 
 ' 'No, signor,' retorted our driver, 'the hotel 
 is the way I am going. Just a different route.' 
 'Well, you go the way I tell you, or ' ' 
 
 "Well," I said, a trifle impatiently perhaps, 
 "go on. Don't stop in the middle of it. I sup- 
 pose you drew your trusty pistol." 
 
 John grinned. "You guessed it. I did, a 
 nickel-plated thirty-two-calibre peanut shooter." 
 
 "You, a tenor, packing a gun?" I was aston- 
 ished; but I saw that McCormack was not exag- 
 gerating. He was in dead earnest. 
 
 "A foolish kid-notion," he admitted, "but it 
 worked. I always carried the thing about; and 
 when I shoved it outside the window and issued 
 orders the driver wheeled as I desired and I 
 noticed the man behind drop off and disappear 
 in the dusk. 
 
 "But I was shaking all over. If those 
 brigands and I've no doubt they were that 
 
 135
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 had put up a fight I should probably have been 
 whipped." 
 
 "February and March slipped by and April 
 brought the flowers of spring and that balminess 
 of air which makes Milan a place of joy at that 
 time of year. I was disturbed for the immediate 
 future, for again my funds were below the mark 
 of safety. But vocally I seemed to be on solid 
 earth. 
 
 "My high tones at last were coming with free- 
 dom and had the quality corresponding to those 
 in the lower part of the voice. And that elusive, 
 to me, mezza-voce seemed well-nigh conquered. 
 Musically I was well along and the repertoire one 
 of respectable proportions. In a year my ad- 
 vancement had been rather remarkable; so, at 
 any rate, it appeared, and others besides Saba- 
 tini spoke of this which came back to me by 
 roundabout courses. 
 
 "What it had usually taken others much longer 
 to acquire had been given me quickly. Yet an 
 operatic career (so far as Italy might be intro- 
 duced into it) did not loom upon the immediate 
 horizon with any significant glow." 
 
 John lapsed into silence again, looked out of 
 the window, and back at me. "Stamford," he 
 
 136
 
 CONCLUDING STUDIES IN ITALY 
 
 said. We picked up our hats and walked for- 
 ward and out to the car platform as the train drew 
 into the station and stopped. The machine was 
 purring along the Boston Post Road before Mc- 
 Cormack returned to his subject. 
 
 "Somewhere," he remarked, "there was 
 started a story that Sabatini demanded his tui- 
 tion in advance. That's an error. He never, 
 at any time during my study with him, mentioned 
 in that connection the word 'money' to me. And 
 it was some time after I left Milan, in May, Nine- 
 teen Six, that I was able to hand him the forty 
 dollars I owed him for those last two months 
 when I was on my way from London to sing at the 
 San Carlo, in Naples. 
 
 "When I went to him with my financial 
 troubles he smiled in his fatherly way, saying: 
 'You shall not worry, Giovanni, about that small 
 sum. One day, when it is convenient, you will 
 send him to me.' He regarded me as a son ; and 
 I well remember his greeting a day when I ar- 
 rived in Milan from London, March, 1909, an 
 arrival on a train which also carried Sabatini's 
 own son into the station. 
 
 "We came down the station platform, very 
 near together, with young Sabatini slightly in 
 
 137
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 advance. His father shook hands with him, 
 nothing more. Then he walked on, to me, and 
 kissed me on both cheeks. 
 
 "He understood me," explained McCormack. 
 "That, unquestionably, was one of the causes of 
 his moulding my voice as he did, and of guiding 
 me in my interpretations of the opera roles I 
 learned. He would say to me: 'Crescendo 
 here, Giovanni, to secure the effect we want' ; or 
 'Some more emphasis to that phrase' ; or 'Do not 
 hurry it.' He knew the finishing touches re- 
 quired. Yet he was insistent that I put into each 
 interpretation the individuality of my own con- 
 ception. He liked the artist to 'give and take' in 
 his own way, here and there, as seemed to him 
 necessary. 
 
 "I left Sabatini, on the morning I started 
 back to Ireland, standing at the door of his studio 
 and waving me a farewell. It marked the con- 
 clusion of my formal studies with him, not the 
 end of our friendship, for he lived eight years 
 longer, long enough to allow me to be able to 
 send him more pupils than he could find time to 
 accept." 
 
 The machine stopped at the McCormack door 
 and we got out and went into the house. 
 
 138
 
 John McCormack at the New York Hippodrome, April 28, 1918, singing to the 
 this occasion numbered more than seven thousand persons, one thous 
 This amount was surpassed a few months later, he 
 Mi. McCormack for ' The Fighting Si>
 
 iience ever seen in "America's greatest playhouse." The audience on 
 ang seated on the stage. The receipts approximated 34,00000. 
 
 same theatre, when at the concert by 
 inth," the receipts reached $45,000.00
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 A storm broke before the dinner hour passed ; 
 an old-fashioned storm with lightning and crack- 
 ling thunder-peals that reverberated from ear- 
 splitting sonority into decrescendi that carry 
 them off, fainter and fainter, into vast distance. 
 The rain fell fast, and whipped by the gusts 
 against the window-panes made eerie sounds. 
 Inside Rocklea we were snug enough. Over the 
 coffee the fury of the elements heightened, if 
 anything, that feeling of content which comes to 
 a healthy person after having dined well. 
 
 Cyril McCormack was leaning in the hollow of 
 his mother's arm, and half against the chair, talk- 
 ing to her in an affectionately manly way. 
 Gwenny sat in her father's lap, her cheek against 
 his, one hand fondling his neck; but her drooping 
 lids forecast the sand-man's coming. The rest 
 of us Miss Foley, Edwin Schneider (one of the 
 
 139
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 family, almost) and I sat variously about, in 
 good humor. 
 
 Wanting to smoke, and write a bit, I disap- 
 peared after a time in the direction of that re- 
 mote study referred to in an earlier chapter. 
 From the higher windows a better view of the 
 Sound was to be had. I peered, as well as the 
 driving rain would allow, to see what the waters 
 were doing, but nothing more than veils of spray 
 from waves dashing against the pier was my 
 reward. 
 
 So I went to the desk and work. 
 
 It was a night either for early retiring or late 
 sitting-up and the former evidently must have 
 been the majority verdict in the McCormack fam- 
 ily ; for I had not been busy half an hour before 
 John strolled in to announce himself the sole 
 survivor, and talkatively inclined. 
 
 I invited him to one of his own chairs and 
 pushed back from the desk to face him. 
 
 "If I were a painter," began the tenor, "such 
 a storm would send me with tubes and brush to 
 my easel. I shouldn't have to see it in detail, 
 either. What the darkness reveals would be 
 enough. My imagination could do the rest." 
 
 "Then it suggests something to you?" I asked. 
 140
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 John acquiesced. "Those first days in Dub- 
 lin, when I arrived there from Italy after the 
 death of my second father, Patrick Foley. Some 
 great prop seemed all at once to have been re- 
 moved from the world, which loomed vaguely 
 larger and more threatening to my youthful 
 mind. A sort of cold solemnity seemed upon 
 everything, as though the world itself were a 
 personality that looked with disinterested ques- 
 tioning upon me, as if to say: 'And what, pray, 
 will you do now?' It was very much that way; 
 and this night is a reminder. 
 
 "I feel, as you know," said the tenor, "rather 
 deeply. During those days that dragged on 
 after my return I could not set myself to any- 
 thing. Something seemed to have been removed 
 from my being. I slept badly and had no appe- 
 tite and could not concentrate. Over the whole 
 of me was an uncontrollable desire to fold up and 
 lie down. 
 
 "Of course, that sort of thing could not be per- 
 mitted to go on indefinitely. The fact revealed 
 itself one morning as I arose. So I summoned 
 a resolute manner, squelched as well as I was able 
 the dejection within me and went out of the 
 house in quest of work. If effort would count, 
 
 141
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 I argued, I should have no self-accusation; and 
 the following week was one of sufficient activity, 
 so far as I was concerned. 
 
 "In the evenings I saw Miss Foley, my fiancee, 
 and together we would review the sum of the 
 day's accomplishments. She had, besides her 
 own qualities of appeal to me, her father's astute- 
 ness of mind. I think we began to see how 
 necessary each was to the other. For myself, I 
 was endeavoring constantly to escape answering 
 in my own mind an internally voiced question 
 which I never allowed to be fully put. But I 
 knew, without practising self-deception, what it 
 was. I wanted to make Miss Foley Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack. 
 
 "But there was the important matter of earn- 
 ing capacity to be faced. 
 
 "It was when I was in one of these moods that 
 I met Tom Bissette, Miss Foley's brother-in-law, 
 and confided my trouble to him. I asked what 
 he thought about my reflection upon the wisdom 
 of marriage at such a time. 
 
 'The best thing for you both,' he promptly 
 replied. 'So far as I can see nothing can be 
 gained by waiting. There may be hardship for 
 awhile, but what's that to a man of courage? I 
 
 142
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 have confidence in you, Mac,' he averred; 'you 
 will make a career, and money. And if you 
 want to marry Lily, go ahead.' 
 
 "Can you fancy what a tonic such advice was 
 to me?" asked John, but he allowed me no reply. 
 He went right on. "I hurried to Miss Foley by 
 the shortest route, and told her I thought we 
 shouldn't delay our wedding any longer. She 
 listened smilingly, while I argued on. I dare- 
 say I was agitated. When I at length paused for 
 breath, and to survey her reception of my pre- 
 sumably unexpected announcement, she calmly 
 rejoined: 'I think so too, John.' 
 
 "After that our sole thought was of the wed- 
 ding, and to hasten it. I wrote the family, in 
 Athlone, and received the approbation of my 
 father and mother with assurances that they 
 would be with us on the appointed date, if at all 
 possible. 
 
 "At last my heart's desire was to be realized. 
 Singing took a back seat during those prepara- 
 tory days for the ceremony except for the desul- 
 tory phrases I sang for the joy of the approach- 
 ing happiest hour of my h'fe. Lily brightened, 
 too, and bloomed. 
 
 "The Foley family was prominent in Dublin, 
 143
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and the announcement of her coming marriage 
 to me on July second, Nineteen Six, was not 
 without its community interest. And on that 
 day, at 7 o'clock in the morning, Lily Foley and 
 I were united in the Marlborough Street Cathe- 
 dral, in Dublin, and left for London at 8:30 the 
 same morning. 
 
 "We should have enjoyed a lengthy honey- 
 moon, but we decided it out of fashion. So 
 we contented ourselves with a trip to London, 
 where we prowled delightedly about, two happy 
 youngsters with an abiding faith in things. 
 
 "But the McCormack exchequer was by no 
 means in a corpulent state, and it was not long 
 before I realized that something must be done 
 to keep the wolf from the garage." 
 
 "You mean the one where you kept your Rolls- 
 Royce?" 
 
 "Yes," said John with a grin. "Well, I was 
 seized with a bright idea. When I had made my 
 twenty-five records of songs for the Gramophone 
 Company you will recall that the contract stipu- 
 lated I should not be asked to do over any record 
 which chanced to be slightly imperfect. Re- 
 membering this, it occurred to me to go to the 
 Gramophone people and suggest doing over any, 
 
 144
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 or every, record. I was, of course, a better artist 
 than when these songs had been sung, and I be- 
 lieved that some advertising of my return from 
 Italy would stimulate their sale." 
 
 "Not a bad idea," I commented. 
 
 "Humph!" said McCormack. "You think 
 so?" 
 
 "Didn't the Gramophone manager?" 
 
 "He did not. What do you suppose he said? 
 That any records I might make would be useless 
 to him. 
 
 "But," remarked John, with the flicker of a 
 smile about his mouth, "that company has since 
 paid me let me see yes, it has paid me in 
 royalties, for records I afterward made, one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand dollars. My secondary 
 proposition, when Mrs. McCormack and I were in 
 London, at the end of our honeymoon, was to 
 sing ten records for ten pounds apiece. They 
 might have acquired sole possession of them at 
 that price, and have had no obligation to pay me 
 a dollar of royalties. 
 
 "Of course, at the time, the refusal was a blow. 
 Yet it did not propel me into the state of dejec- 
 tion which many might assume would have fol- 
 lowed. I have the artist nature, but none of the 
 
 145
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 tendency towards abrupt discouragement which 
 that nature is presumed to have in the face of 
 obstacles. 
 
 "My faith never really wavered, and a natural 
 optimism buoyed me. And Mrs. McCormack 
 was a brave little soul, a true wife who stood up 
 bravely under all adversity with never a word 
 of complaint. 
 
 "So I made the rounds of concert agency offi- 
 ces, getting a few insignificant engagements 
 which paid little. More, much more., than I 
 could earn we were spending for actual living ex- 
 penses; and the small sum I had had when we 
 were married was nearly gone." 
 
 I should like, here, to interject what Michael 
 Keane told me of those McCormack struggles 
 during my talk with him in his New York of- 
 fice. 
 
 "Shortly after McCormack came to London, 
 upon finishing his studies in Italy, he made a 
 contract with a London agent. The boy was 
 inexperienced in the ways of business, and being 
 generous himself he did not question the equity 
 of any contract which might be drawn for him to 
 sign. But this agent did not succeed in getting 
 him any really serious engagements. 
 
 146
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 "Some idea of the character of this contract 
 may be gathered from the fact that it was for the 
 duration of McCormack's life. Fancy such an 
 arrangement. Of course it couldn't last. Yet 
 the cancellation of that document cost the tenor, 
 years afterward, ten thousand dollars." 
 
 Mr. Keane had additional information of Mc- 
 Cormack's experiences during those London 
 days, all of which will be duly set down in the 
 proper places. 
 
 "It was at this time that chance brought me, 
 again, into communication with the Moody-Man- 
 ners Opera Company," resumed McCormack. 
 "At the request of Charles Manners I sang an 
 audition for him, and he was pleased. 'If you 
 could only act as well as you sing,' he mused, 
 'I'd give you twenty pounds a week.' This 
 brought a retort such as I had made, in an almost 
 similar way, before that if I could act it would 
 be Covent Garden I would seek, instead of a posi- 
 tion with his company. 
 
 "London having shown slight signs of imme- 
 diately warming to me," remarked McCormack, 
 "we thought Italy might offer some operatic 
 chance. A consultation in the John McCormack 
 family ensued, and the board of directors con- 
 
 147
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 sisting of Mrs. McCormack and myself voted 
 unanimously to make the journey to Milan, and, 
 if necessary, to any other cities where possible 
 engagements might be lurking." 
 
 Here the tenor got up, to go to the window. 
 The rain still beat fiercely against the glass, 
 driven by the wind which we could hear howling 
 like a soul in anguish. I followed, to get the 
 kinks out of my legs. A single flash of lightning 
 made bright for a moment the terraced lawn and 
 the leaping waters of the Sound. 
 
 "I had no more chance in Italy," remarked the 
 tenor, "than a man would have trying to swim in 
 that surf. I sang audition after audition; and 
 opera-house managers listened, and passed me 
 on. But auditions are not a fair criterion and 
 my nerves never allowed me to do myself justice 
 by them. 
 
 "We hadn't been long back in our small quar- 
 ters in London before Fortune permitted herself 
 to smile, just a little, upon us. I was desperate, 
 willing enough to take anything which would 
 pay at all. Through an agent I secured an en- 
 gagement to sing at Queen's Hotel, in Leicester 
 Square for a guinea. It was not cabaret, as 
 
 148
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 it has been said to be, but the appearance was in- 
 consequential and meant nothing more than the 
 five dollars I received. 
 
 "Other engagements, at different hotels, were 
 offered me and gladly accepted. All the while I 
 studied at home, and practised rigidly and sought 
 to preserve a tranquil mind and an unwavering 
 heart. But it wasn't easy. I began, during 
 those dark days, to ask myself if I had not been 
 ungenerous in asking the woman I loved to share 
 with me those troublous times; it was difficult 
 enough for a man. 
 
 "Then, one morning, an agent informed me 
 he had arranged for me to appear as assisting 
 artist to Camille Clifford, the original Gibson 
 girl, and though the fee was only one guinea I 
 jumped, as one will say, at the chance. That 
 engagement led to others of the same kind, each 
 one yielding approximately the same compensa- 
 tion and very little honor. 
 
 "Nevertheless, I would not have missed for a 
 great deal the experience these appearances as 
 assisting artist taught. I was, at any rate, be- 
 coming more at ease before an audience and prac- 
 tising in publi; the things which I had learned 
 
 149
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 in the studio and which, really, are never fixed in 
 a singer's equipment until they have been utilized 
 over and over again before many listeners, pre- 
 sumably critical. 
 
 "One of these singers whom I assisted, auring 
 that part of Nineteen Six, was Edna May. I 
 know that she is generally regarded as a comic 
 opera star or was, in her period of success 
 whose beauty and charm constituted her chief at- 
 tributes of appeal. At the same time, I found 
 her voice an excellent one and her ability as a 
 singer distinctly above the average. 
 
 "It was a struggle, especially during those hot 
 August days that leave one physically limp at 
 their close and scarcely in the mood to be cheery 
 and bright, a struggle that went on during the 
 fall and winter, into the next spring. But Mrs. 
 McCormack and I kept up, nevertheless. To- 
 gether we would plan for the future with as much 
 fortitude and confidence, too as though the 
 ultimate outcome were assured. 
 
 'You are destined to win, John,' Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack would reiterate, and I believed that she 
 spoke the truth. 
 
 "How close she was to it we neither of us then 
 knew. I think it was the consciousness of our 
 
 150
 
 FIGHTING FOR A START 
 
 doing all that we could do 'that kept our faith 
 staunch. But better days were not far distant, 
 and in March, 1907, there emerged from the 
 glowering sky a ray of promise." 
 
 151
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 McCormack had been standing at the study 
 window during the closing part of his descrip- 
 tion of those trying London days. There 
 seemed, in the storm outside, something which 
 held and fascinated him; a similarity, perhaps, 
 in the rain and wind and lightning, with inter- 
 mittent thunder-claps, to the forces which op- 
 posed him when he and his girl-wife faced to- 
 gether the privations which the young seem best 
 able to endure. 
 
 "I had met in the course of my London trav- 
 els," said John, "a professor of singing in the 
 Royal College of Music Albert Vesetti. He 
 had been accompanist to Adelina Patti, and on 
 several occasions he had heard me sing and liked 
 my voice. There were others, too, whom I 
 formed acquaintance with, Charles Marshall, 
 composer of 'I Hear You Calling,' who had 
 played for me at small concerts, being one of 
 these. But Vesetti had influence, and after one 
 
 152
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 of my most satisfactory appearances he offered to 
 write a letter of introduction for me to Willie 
 Boosey, who was an executive in the music pub- 
 lishing house of Chappell and Company, and 
 another letter to Arthur Boosey, of Boosey and 
 Company. These men were first cousins, but 
 that did not prevent their being business rivals. 
 It was a gracious act, and I accepted the letters 
 with every appreciation of the motive prompting 
 it. 
 
 "Somehow, however, I was evidently not in- 
 tended at that particular time, to meet Willie 
 Boosey. I sent word in by a clerk that I had a 
 letter from Vesetti, and was informed that Mr. 
 Boosey would see me in a few minutes, and would 
 I wait. I did. For over an hour I sat patiently, 
 until patience became worn to the bone. 
 
 "I thereupon though precisely why I am 
 unable to fathom went from Chappell's to 
 Arthur Boosey. But instead of waiting there, 
 as I had done in the first instance, I sent my letter 
 up to Arthur Boosey and left the place. So 
 when I was sought to be taken to this gentleman 
 I was nowhere about. 
 
 "This circumstance appeared to amuse Arthur 
 Boosey, for at his next meeting with Vesetti he 
 
 153
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 remarked : 'That was a strange young man you 
 sent to me. He never even waited to learn 
 whether I could see him. Have him call round 
 again.' 
 
 "Now Arthur Boosey was in control of the 
 Boosey Ballad Concerts, which formed an im- 
 portant part of London's musical offerings, and 
 Vesetti had told me that if I appeared success- 
 fully in one of them my opportunities might be 
 many and profitable. He was amused at Arthur 
 Boosey 's account of my call, and appeared to 
 understand that I had not remained, after de- 
 livering his introductory letter, for fear of annoy- 
 ing the distinguished Boosey. 
 
 ' 'Never mind,' consoled Vesetti, 'go again; 
 and this time stay until you meet him.' 
 
 "I found Arthur Boosey a kindly man, with an 
 understanding of human nature and a sympathy 
 for struggling young singers providing they dis- 
 played potentialities. His faith in Vesetti's 
 judgment was confirmed, after he had heard me 
 sing, and inviting me to return to his office we sat 
 down to talk business. 
 
 ' 'How would you like to sing at my next 
 ballad concert?' he asked, after our introductory 
 talk. You can guess my reply. 'Will three 
 
 154
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 guineas be enough?' I replied, 'Yes, plenty.' 
 Whereupon the arrangements were concluded, 
 and I departed to prepare for the most auspicious 
 London appearance which had thus far offered. 
 "Mrs. McCormack was excited when I brought 
 her the news. 'It will make you,' she declared. 
 So I got ready for the concert, working the 
 'Questa 'o Quella aria from 'Rigoletto,' and the 
 other works I had chosen as nearly perfect in 
 those respects I desired. Samuel Liddle, who 
 was the official Boosey Ballad Concerts accom- 
 panist, and who had played for me when I sang 
 Stephen Adams's 'Nirvana' for Arthur Boosey, 
 gave me a suggestion, at this time, which turned 
 out amazingly well. 
 
 'What you ought to do, Mac,' he advised, 'is 
 to find some new ballad that just suits you, and 
 introduce it at the first concert.' 
 
 " 'Fine,' I replied, 'if I could find the ballad.' 
 "At this Liddle dug out a piece of manuscript 
 from his desk, went over to the piano and began 
 to play it. The song was called 'A Farewell,' 
 and had been set by Liddle himself to words by 
 Charles Kingsley. I saw that it had possibili- 
 ties, and after I had tried it over which I did 
 then and there I found that it suited my voice so 
 
 155
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 well that I decided, immediately, to use it at my 
 ballad concert debut. 
 
 To many readers of this book an English bal- 
 lad concert is an institution whose functions are 
 understood; but to those unfamiliar with the 
 Boosey Ballad Concerts it must be explained that 
 more than one singer rose or fell through them. 
 They were held in Queen's Hall (until a few 
 years ago, when circumstances that need not be 
 related here caused their transfer to Albert Hall) , 
 on Saturday afternoons, and were attended by the 
 smartest of London folk as well as by the masses. 
 Musicians of position always attended, because 
 there often appeared some distinguished pianist 
 or violinist in addition to the half-dozen or 
 more singers who carried the main part of a 
 programme. 
 
 It was not unusual for the London Symphony 
 Society patrons to purchase seats for a symphony 
 concert at Queen's Hall box-office, and at 
 the same time obtain tickets for the approach- 
 ing ballad concert. Established artists always 
 found admirers there to greet them, and these 
 connoisseurs amateur and professional in- 
 clined invariably a listening ear for the new- 
 comer, and a critical ear it was. 
 
 156
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 "I will not intimate that all my eggs were in 
 one basket," observed McCormack. "But . . . 
 I knew what it would mean if I created any im- 
 pression short of the exceptional. 'Getting by,' 
 as we say, would never do. It had to be some- 
 thing of an emphatic nature; the accomplish- 
 ment of enough to set talking those whose opin- 
 ions carried weight. 
 
 "I arrived early at my dressing-room," con- 
 tinued the tenor, "in a state of calm. It was a 
 form of nervousness I like, for it presages just the 
 proper degree of apprehensiveness to balance 
 the confidence necessary to do one's best. I had 
 done my worrying at home: at night, when I 
 should have slept, during my hours of practice 
 preparation and in my talks with Mrs. McCor- 
 mack. So my feeling, as I waited my turn, had 
 in it nothing which an interpretative artist need 
 fear. 
 
 "There was a large audience that Friday after- 
 noon, the seats being quite filled. I was fifth on 
 the list of singers, a favorable position, and my 
 introductory aria, 'Questa 'o Quella. 9 The mo- 
 ment to go out came at last, and with Samuel 
 Liddle, the official accompanist, I appeared be- 
 fore my most important assemblage." 
 
 157
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 John stopped walking and removed his hands 
 from his pockets. He selected a cigarette from 
 a tray filled with them, and resumed his tramping 
 between desk and window. But he did not light 
 up. Twirling the cigarette between thumb and 
 forefinger of one hand he continued his story. 
 
 "For a space of time infinitesimally small my 
 heart sank. Nearly all musicians who appear 
 before the public, and speakers, too, experience 
 such a feeling, at some time, I am sure. It is 
 the quick surge of doubt; of possible failure to 
 meet the issue squarely. Yet I would not term 
 it fear. Just a natural apprehension that 
 comes and departs almost in the flicker of the 
 eye. 
 
 "I was myself, my calm self, almost instantly. 
 And as I looked into the faces before me I 
 thought: 'Well, here is my chance, and I shall 
 make the most of it.' Then Liddle began the 
 accompaniment. 
 
 "Before the song was finished I recognized 
 from the audience that I was not failing. The 
 voice was responsive and smooth, I had control 
 of my resources and felt that my enunciation 
 could be clearly understood. I could see little 
 signs which auditors invariably indulge in when- 
 
 158
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 ever favorably impressed; and this encouraged 
 me to let myself go more freely. 
 
 "One quickly catches the temper of an assem- 
 blage after a song has been sung. There is a 
 difference between applause, spontaneously 
 given because the givers have been moved, and 
 the perfunctory clapping of hands which caps a 
 mediocre effort. I left the stage, after profuse 
 acknowledgement, with my nerve-centres tin- 
 gling. I seemed to float, rather than to walk, 
 to the stage exit. And following me came the 
 sound of many palms beating against one an- 
 other. 
 
 "Several persons were congregated about the 
 place back stage where I stepped out of sight of 
 the audience. I recall hearing, as from some 
 distance, congratulatory words, and of receiving 
 a hearty slap, from some one, on my back. The 
 remainder of that afternoon remains in my mem- 
 ory as a sort of intoxicating daze. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack, who had gone to Dublin, 
 where Cyril was born shortly after my ballad con- 
 cert debut, sent me a telegram; and after I had 
 read it I could only think of my faith rewarded; 
 of answered prayers . . . and of an overpower- 
 ing sense of gratitude. 
 
 159
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "In the morning I looked out of our window 
 into the street below with exultation. It was no 
 premature anticipation of immediate rewards or 
 of suddenly acquired fame; nothing of such na- 
 ture. But at last there seemed a semblance of 
 something tangible, to which I might attach my- 
 self with an assurance of reasonable hopes. 
 Succinctly put: it was a successfully executed 
 first step. 
 
 "But if I rejoiced for Mrs. McCormack and for 
 myself I felt thankful that my good friends who 
 recommended me, and Arthur Boosey who pro- 
 vided me my chance, had not had their confi- 
 dence misplaced. In this buoyant vein I called 
 on Mr. Boosey. Without hesitation, yet with no 
 fulsome words, he informed me that I had ex- 
 ceeded expectations. 'If you do as well at the 
 second concert no one will be sorry.' It was 
 like him, to put it in that way; no rousing of 
 false hopes that might be dissipated at the next 
 test, just wholesome encouragement which is 
 what the young singer on the brink of progress 
 requires." 
 
 McCormack had rather worked himself up in 
 relating this debut. I did not wonder at it. He 
 lived that afternoon over again, right there in the 
 
 160
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 secluded Rocklea study while the storm blared 
 outside a weird accompaniment to the tale. 
 
 "And the second Boosey Concert, how did 
 that go?" 
 
 "Even better, if anything, than the first. 
 You see, I had more confidence; I really had. 
 It was more of the genuine order. The sort I 
 possessed at the first concert was more or less 
 false, which was commanded by what will I had 
 to come and stay with me for that particular 
 afternoon. 
 
 "I am told that there had been some talk 
 among musicians, and lovers of music, about the 
 singing of a young Irish tenor at the last Boosey 
 Ballad Concert, that he had proved a surprise, 
 and was to sing on the next programme. Of 
 course, among people who follow musical affairs 
 an interest to hear me ensued. You know how 
 it is; a personal desire to investigate for one's 
 self, to determine how much of truth there may 
 be in assertions of the reputed capacities of a new 
 artist. 
 
 "I did not, of course, know that my second 
 appearance was to be memorable in my life and 
 to enlist the subsequent confidence and support 
 of a man influential in large affairs in London. 
 
 161
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Little things so often have a marked bearing 
 upon our destinies, and here was an instance 
 with respect to my own. 
 
 "The man I refer to he is dead, now, to the 
 sorrow of innumerable thousands was Sir John 
 Murray Scott. He was secretary to the late Sir 
 Richard Wallace, son of the Marquis of Herford, 
 whose art collection was one of the most com- 
 plete ever in the possession of a single individual. 
 Sir John had been practically reared by Sir Rich- 
 ard Wallace, whose wife, Lady Wallace, regarded 
 Sir John almost as her own son. And it is true 
 that after the death of her husband she sum- 
 moned Sir John and told him it was her wish 
 that the famous art collection be conveyed to 
 him. It was like Sir John to refuse. He ex- 
 plained that, though he was a man of means, it 
 would be difficult for him to pay the inheritance 
 tax on the art collection. But apart from this, 
 he insisted that the time had come for these art 
 works to be made available to the people, and he 
 therefore suggested that it be tendered the Brit- 
 ish Museum. 
 
 "Sir John," continued McCormack, "was 
 himself an admirable pianist. His musical 
 
 162
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 knowledge was extensive and he possessed to a 
 remarkable degree the critical faculty. No less 
 exacting a music reviewer than Jimmy Davidson, 
 critic for the London Times, respected Sir John's 
 judgment to an extent that caused him, fre- 
 quently, to ask his friend to attend a notable con- 
 cert and write the critique. 
 
 "At that second Boosey Ballad Concert Sir 
 John heard me sing for the first time. And I 
 appeared to have qualities of voice and feeling 
 and style which enlisted his respect, as I was 
 later to discover. To have gained an admirer 
 in a man of the standing and knowledge of Sir 
 John would have been compensation enough for 
 one appearance, but that Friday afternoon did 
 another thing for me. 
 
 "It so happened that the Telegraph's music 
 critic delegated the covering of that concert to a 
 gifted writer on the staff, Robert Maguire. And 
 'Bob' Maguire, as he was affectionately called, 
 was a man of culture. Without having been 
 trained in the technique of music, Maguire had 
 the faculty of unerring judgment, even though 
 incapable of discerning the whys and wherefores 
 on which his judgment was based. I only know 
 
 163
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 that his opinions in matters musical commanded 
 respect among the many who were fortunate in 
 having his acquaintance, and that he wrote enter- 
 tainingly and often with brilliant style. More- 
 over, he had a fine baritone voice and sang well. 
 
 "Bob heard me at the second Boosey con- 
 cert ; and in the Telegraph of the next day there 
 appeared, in his article, mention of a new tenor, 
 an Irishman named John McCormack, whose 
 future held superlative promise. 'It would be 
 unfair,' wrote Maguire, in substance, 'to compare 
 this inexperienced singer with Caruso, yet his 
 voice has much of the quality of that greatest of 
 all tenors.' 
 
 "When I read that article," said John, "I no 
 longer doubted. It seemed a mere matter of 
 time ; a series of progressive steps onward, until 
 I should finally be accepted as an artist and ac- 
 corded the engagements and emoluments which 
 an artist commands. From that day I may say 
 that the turning point in my career arrived. I 
 never was unfortunate enough to drop backward. 
 There came disappointments, trials and obstacles 
 to overcome; but the drudgery and heart-aches 
 were past. 
 
 "Some time afterward, when we moved into 
 164
 
 LONDON'S EARLY REWARDS 
 
 another section of London, I made a delightful 
 discovery my next door neighbor, a man whom 
 until then I had never seen, was Bob Maguire; 
 and we became intimate friends." 
 
 165
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES MC CORMACK 
 
 Noroton, Connecticut, lies in a beautiful coun- 
 try. Skirting a part of Long Island Sound, it 
 drops back through sweeps of hills, green and 
 wooded, that form a landscape varying to the 
 eye. It is uncommonly beautiful after rain, 
 which freshens; and the morning following our 
 extended vigil the countryside burst with beauty. 
 
 I was up and dressed early. A morning walk, 
 in that section, is no opportunity to be neglected. 
 I descended from my room, treading quietly 
 down the staircase lest I arouse others who had 
 not done with their sleep. 
 
 So intent was I with caution that I did not 
 observe, until I was on the bottom landing, a 
 figure bent over the stick-rack in the hall. As 
 the figure straightened up I recognized the shoul- 
 ders, broad as a walking-beam, and the rest of 
 John McCormack's sturdy frame. He turned, 
 and seeing me, sniffed in surprise and opened 
 the outer door. 
 
 166
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 "Running out for some fresh air?" 
 
 I confessed the accusation and my gratification 
 that I should have aid in the exploration. 
 
 "Well, then, you'll have to walk. No loaf- 
 ing, or you walk alone." 
 
 I said nothing in reply. I needed my breath, 
 for the tenor struck a pace, and held to it, that 
 would have made Dan O'Leary cast an envious 
 eye. For several miles John had no words for 
 me. He was cheery enough, and companion- 
 able in a silence we both understood. But the 
 present concerned nature and a brisk walk and 
 the deep inhaling of health-giving pure air. 
 
 "Tired?" demanded McCormack. 
 
 I lied a little in a denial. 
 
 John looked down at me I'm shorter than 
 he, and some pounds lighter and grinned. 
 "I weighed before starting," he confided. "I'm 
 dropping steadily, under my training." I re- 
 plied that he looked it, as he did. Not much 
 above the two hundred mark, his lines were ath- 
 letic and showed a man of thirty-four condition- 
 ing fast. 
 
 "What did you think of that story I told you 
 last night?" 
 
 I answered that he had stopped at an interest- 
 167
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ing point at which I was not unwilling he should 
 resume. John grunted at this, strode on for a 
 couple of hundred yards farther, and picked up 
 his narrative. 
 
 "I don't suppose any one ever will know the 
 joy I got from the letters my father and mother 
 sent me when they heard of my singing at the 
 second Boosey Concert. You would have 
 thought they were happier than I. Well, pos- 
 sibly they were; for I know something, myself, 
 of parental love. It's a wonderful thing. A 
 man's never completely a man, nor a woman a 
 woman, until children come. With them the 
 world takes on a different look. It puts some- 
 thing into the perspective which isn't otherwise 
 there. So the letters from mother and father 
 made my own gladness the greater because of 
 theirs. 
 
 "Vincent O'Brien rather chortled a bit, too. 
 You see, he took a justifiable pride in his tenor 
 discovery, and Sabatini, my good maestro, who 
 wrote that Giovanni was only getting started and 
 reminded me of numerous counselings he had 
 given me in the past. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack, naturally, also wrote, 
 from Dublin. It thrilled me to read her words 
 
 168
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 and know that her patience was not to be in vain. 
 
 "One meets many people in music life, and 
 I have been no exception to this. Sometimes 
 these meetings are uncommonly productive, and 
 lead to strange happenings. I almost think they 
 are the guidings of Destiny's hand. I had such 
 an experience two days after the second Ballad 
 Concert, when Miss Eva Gauthier, a Canadian 
 soprano then studying in London, called me by 
 'phone and asked if I would like to go with 
 her, the following evening, to call on Sir John 
 Murray Scott. I of course knew who Sir John 
 was; who, in London, didn't? Yet I was loath 
 to accept Miss Gauthier's invitation without one 
 from Sir John himself. So I explained to Miss 
 Gauthier. She communicated with him . . . 
 which she could with propriety do, because he 
 was a close friend of Sir Wilfrid Laurier, Can- 
 ada's premier, whose protegee Miss Gauthier was. 
 
 "Sir John responded immediately, saying: 
 'If he is the young tenor I heard at the Boosey 
 concert bring him with you. I admire his voice 
 and should like to meet him.' 
 
 "We went and that marked the beginning of 
 a friendship that lasted until Sir John's death. 
 I've always called him my fairy-godfather, be- 
 
 169
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 cause of his kindnesses. He was a huge man 
 physically, and just as large in brain and heart. 
 He played a piano for us that evening, with a 
 touch more velvety and singing than many a dis- 
 tinguished pianist I have heard. I recall his say- 
 ing that the test for a pianoforte artist was an 
 ability to play the slow movement of Beethoven's 
 'Moonlight' Sonata ; just as the mark of a singer's 
 skill rose or fell according to the cantilena dis- 
 played. I sang several songs that evening for 
 Sir John, whose presence had an indescribably 
 stimulating effect upon me. 
 
 "The news of my Boosey successes traveled 
 fast. I received engagements for a number of 
 concerts, and they paid fairly well and sent me 
 steadily along the path I desired. Offers of 
 various kinds came also and some I was glad to 
 consider. 
 
 "Arthur Boosey, convinced now of my useful- 
 ness to him, summoned me. 'I am, as you 
 know, finishing with the ballad concerts for the 
 season, but next year I can use you for each of 
 the seven. And if the fee is satisfactory we will 
 draw the contract now.' That was the start of 
 our long-held relations, which resulted in a life 
 contract which is one of my prized possessions 
 
 170
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 to sing at any Boosey Ballad Concert I may 
 designate at the highest appearance fee ever paid. 
 
 "After having waited and worked so long for 
 recognition it was good to taste it. I was like 
 a Marathon runner who drinks thirstily of wa- 
 ter after his punishing journey; but I tried to 
 evade the danger of complacency. Long before, 
 a friend, Mrs. Denny Lane, had warned me of 
 the proverb: 'Non progredi, est regredi,' and 
 I heeded that. In art one never stands still; 
 there must be movement, either forward or back, 
 and I wished to advance. 
 
 "About this time Willie Boosey sent for me. 
 I of course went at once to see him and was 
 taken into his office where he shook hands with 
 me cordially and asked me to be seated. He 
 did not endeavor to disguise the issue, his con- 
 versation after he had congratulated me on my 
 ballad concert success turning at once to his 
 
 own series. 
 
 66 6 
 
 You are an artist,' he said, 'and the public 
 likes you. I want you to sing at my concerts 
 and am willing to pay you your own price.' 
 
 "I thanked him, and answered, 'I am sorry, 
 Mr. Boosey, but you haven't money enough in 
 your establishment to induce me to appear on 
 
 171
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 your programmes. Arthur Boosey gave me my 
 chance when I needed it, and I shall remain with 
 him.' 
 
 "Willie Boosey sat there looking at me for 
 some time before making answer; I'll always re- 
 spect what he said. 'Thanks, McCormack,' he 
 replied, Tm glad to know one singer who un- 
 derstands gratitude.' I left Willie Boosey more 
 than ever sure that the straight course is the 
 best, in respects other than keeping one's con- 
 science at peace. 
 
 "Spring was near at hand, and just before it 
 broke in that year, Nineteen Seven, came my first 
 invitation to sing at a symphony concert. The 
 artist who had been engaged fell ill suddenly, 
 and word of the opening reached my new-found 
 friend, Sir John Murray Scott, chairman of the 
 Sunday Concert Society, who immediately nom- 
 inated me for the vacancy. I was gratified when 
 Henry J. Wood, conductor of the London Sym- 
 phony, asked me if I would appear because a 
 year before, when William Ludwig had pre- 
 sented me to Sir Henry, he had not encouraged 
 me. 
 
 "The concert was one of those held on Sun- 
 day afternoons and was largely attended. The 
 
 172
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 rehearsal had been accomplished, I felt, to the 
 satisfaction of the conductor, and I was less ap- 
 prehensive after it; for Wood held rigid ideas 
 musically and I wished particularly to have my 
 musicianship satisfy him. My object was to 
 please sufficiently to justify being engaged to 
 sing at one of the Friday afternoon concerts." 
 
 "And were you?" 
 
 "Yes; the first symphony appearance roused 
 the best in me. And on the Good Friday pro- 
 gramme I appeared as soloist. But I think that 
 Sir John Murray Scott was chiefly responsible 
 for the re-engagement. He believed the success 
 merited encouragement and he counted my sym- 
 phony debut as that. The second appearance 
 rather fortified my confidence. I was not so 
 conceited as to regard a moderate triumph as 
 providing laurels to be rested on ; but the public 
 and the press, and some musician friends, told 
 me that I was ready for serious singing under 
 large auspices, and I believed them. 
 
 "But in the midst of these bits of good for- 
 tune came another, and greater one. For on the 
 26th of March, Nineteen Seven, in Dublin, Cyril 
 was born. I got word, by telegraph, and can't 
 you just imagine my feelings ? I wanted to shout 
 
 173
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the good news from the housetops. I can safely 
 say I never felt more genuinely proud in my life ; 
 in fact I felt as every young father feels at the 
 safe arrival of his first-born. I had hoped our 
 first-born would be a son, and the news seemed 
 further evidence that I was being smiled on. 
 Music disappeared from my mind, for the time 
 being, and I hurried to Dublin and remained 
 until Mrs. McCormack and Cyril were well 
 enough to allow me to return without worry- 
 ing about them. 
 
 "Every week seemed to strengthen the friend- 
 ship between Sir John Murray Scott and me. 
 He was good enough to invite me often to his 
 home, and there I benefited far more even than 
 I was then able to comprehend. For Sir John's 
 outlook upon life was broad, and he imparted to 
 those privileged to come in contact with him an 
 appreciation of what such a perspective meant. 
 I know in my own case that he stimulated the 
 finer qualities and eventually enabled me to un- 
 derstand that to become a great singing artist 
 in the full sense one must be more, merely, 
 than singer and musician. 
 
 "Some time before these days (to retrace our 
 steps a bit), Gordon Cleather had suggested 
 
 174
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 my seeing George Edwardes, manager of the 
 London Gaiety and Daly's Theatre, who was 
 then planning to present 'The Waltz Dream,' 
 which has a fine part for tenor and takes a tenor 
 to sing it. But Mr. Edwardes was out of town, 
 and the acting manager J. A. E. Malone 
 whom everyone called 'Alphabet' Malone, was 
 'chesty' under his temporary authority. 
 
 "He consented to hear me sing, which struck 
 me as a bit of humor because, while I was in the 
 midst of the aria (I think the 'Flower Song,' from 
 'Carmen'), I saw that he was utterly unable to 
 make anything out of it. Nevertheless, he was 
 not unwilling, at that, to pass an opinion and 
 offer me a position in the chorus at ten dollars 
 a week. 'But, Malone,' Cleather said, 'you 
 surely can use McCormack as understudy to your 
 first tenor.' Malone, however, held no such no- 
 tion. 'Take it or leave it,' he said. I couldn't 
 well take a position in the chorus, so I 'left it.' 
 
 "I related this experience, one evening, to 
 Sir John Murray Scott, when calling at his 
 house, and he laughed. 'One of these days,' he 
 said, 'that will make a good story.' Whether 
 it does, there is a sequel, which I will tell a little 
 farther on, that did make a good story, and 
 
 175
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 brought to Mr. Edwardes's manager a rebuke for 
 having failed, at the time, to communicate with 
 him concerning me. 
 
 "My voice, as warm weather approached, be- 
 came more responsive and my ambitions in- 
 creased. Covent Garden was a spot on which 
 I had always had a secret eye, and every time I 
 heard an opera there I yearned, a little more 
 than the time before, for the day which would 
 find me singing on that historic stage ; more than 
 once, on such an occasion, having said to Mrs. 
 McCormack that I'd give anything, sometime, to 
 have her see me up there. 
 
 "However, I kept my ambition to myself; for 
 presumptuousness is one element I dislike. 
 Still, the inner suggestion continued to make it- 
 self felt, so I was brought one evening to Cleo- 
 fonte Campanini, who was the Covent Garden 
 first-conductor. He was courteous enough, and 
 agreed to hear me. 'Bring something up to my 
 rehearsal room,' he suggested, 'and we'll see how 
 it goes.' 
 
 "I did, as soon as I could get my music; and 
 I sang through for him, from start to close, the 
 tenor part in 'Cavalleria Rusticana.' 'Hm,' said 
 Campanini when I had sung the last note, 'bella 
 
 176
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 voce, but I think you are not ready yet for 
 Covent Garden.' ' 
 
 "I was under the impression," I interjected, 
 "that Campanini was responsible for your Co- 
 vent Garden engagement, and also for your hav- 
 ing been brought over to the Manhattan, in New 
 York." 
 
 "For the latter, yes; for Covent Garden, no." 
 Then he went on. "In order that the pro- 
 cedure, and the difficulties one encounters be- 
 fore full-fledged consideration is to be had from 
 those controlling Covent Gardent, I will explain 
 how the authority was divided. 
 
 "There was and still is a board of di- 
 rectors, with a chairman, which exercised a su- 
 pervising control over the policy and adminis- 
 tration. This board, similar to that of the New 
 York Metropolitan Opera House, had a personnel 
 of wealthy and prominent men; gentlemen who 
 figured in important affairs of finance, the arts, 
 politics and society. 'Harry' V. Higgins was 
 chairman of the board, and to him the heads of 
 the various departments (I believe we may call 
 them that) reported and from him took their 
 counsel. 
 
 "The operating side of Covent Garden ran in 
 177
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 a dual way. There was the business end, and 
 the artistic. Neil Forsyth, who later became one 
 of my dear friends, was business manager of Co- 
 vent Garden, and he had an assistant and numer- 
 ous aides. Percy Pitt served as a sort of ad- 
 viser in the choice of repertoire, conductors and 
 artists, and occasionally elected to conduct a per- 
 formance. He was, in a way, the link between 
 the artistic and business parts of the organiza- 
 tion ; the man upon whose judgment and recom- 
 mendations Mr. Higgins and his co-directors of 
 the board largely relied. 
 
 "An unknown singer, seeking consideration of 
 Covent Garden authorities, often failed to secure 
 their attention. Some assistant conductor 
 would be delegated to hear the candidate, to de- 
 termine whether it was worth while for Mr. Pitt 
 to hear him, or to have Mr. Pitt and several of 
 the conductors assemble in a sort of pretentious 
 audition. 
 
 "The second time I tried for Covent Garden 
 the audition took place in Bechstein Hall, where 
 Percy Pitt and several others heard me; but for- 
 tune did not then smile on me. 
 
 'Twas rather blue to get this setback on top of 
 Campanini's verdict. Among other things he 
 
 178
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 and Pitt feared was that my voice was not robust 
 enough for opera particularly that given in 
 Covent Garden. Yet I was not willing to con- 
 sider the matter settled. It was discouraging, I 
 admit; still a hope continued to beat within 
 
 me." 
 
 For a few hundred yards McCormack and I 
 trudged along the cement road leading towards 
 his summer home, he thinking, doubtless, of that 
 earlier summer when his efforts had enlisted so 
 little response. 
 
 "But," said McCormack, increasing his stride 
 after glancing at his watch and noting that we 
 should have to hurry to reach Rocklea at the 
 breakfast hour, "something important happened 
 soon after. Sir John apparently had held the 
 Covent Garden idea, just as I had, though he had 
 also kept it to himself. He broached the mat- 
 ter one late afternoon, while I was having tea 
 with him, and informed me he had arranged that 
 I should sing for Percy Pitt and his associates, 
 in a few days, in Covent Garden. 
 
 "Pitt was a splendid musician, he had been 
 for many years accompanist at Arthur Boosey's 
 Ballad Concerts, and his word was relied on im- 
 plicitly by 'Harry' Higgins, and the other direct- 
 
 179
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ors of Covent Garden. Once more, for the third 
 time, I got ready for an audition., and the im- 
 portance of this one rather told on my nerves. 
 It isn't easy, you may believe, to undertake a 
 musical recovery after having previously failed 
 to impress. Then, I was not unaware that if 
 Pitt approved me Campanini might interfere. 
 But it was all in a lifetime, and I summoned 
 courage and went to Covent Garden. 
 
 "The director was sitting nonchalantly in an 
 orchestra-chair with others who were to hear me 
 gathered about. Pitt greeted me and wasted no 
 time in asking me to proceed. 
 
 "To the stage I went, somewhat apprehen- 
 sive of the outcome, yet not over-nervous. Cam- 
 panini's and Pitt's words kept returning to my 
 mind. These thoughts, and my own determina- 
 tion to make as much as I could of this oppor- 
 tunity, conflicted; but I let them fight it out, 
 gradually steadied myself and signalling the ac- 
 companist that I was ready I faced my critical 
 auditors. 
 
 f 'Che Gelida Martina' went fairly well. 
 
 When I had finished I requested the accompan- 
 
 ~ist to begin the 'Carmen Flower Song.' You 
 
 see, I was anxious to do enough to give Pitt as 
 
 180
 
 LONDON RECOGNIZES McCORMACK 
 
 complete an idea as one can obtain through a 
 single hearing of a singer of the extent of my 
 voice and style. Once well into the aria I lost 
 myself, almost completely, to externals, and in 
 this second number I felt that I was achieving 
 a creditable mark. 
 
 "The 'Flower Song' is not easy for the singer. 
 Though often badly done in opera, it is a com- 
 position wherein the artist may disclose qualities 
 of superiority in the smoothness of tone, canti- 
 lena, warmth of style and dramatic vigor. Well 
 done it always commands admiration, and the 
 singer who thus interprets it gains admiration, 
 too. 
 
 "I finished the high B-flat, and the closing 
 phrase that comes immediately after, with a pe- 
 culiar sensation. It is odd," mused John, "how 
 one gets a premonition sometimes. I've said 
 that I'm rather psychic. I appeared to be that 
 day. I could almost have anticipated what the 
 verdict would be, and as I put away the opera 
 scores in my music-portfolio I was prepared for 
 a favorable decision. 
 
 "It wasn't easy to assume a calm manner as 
 I approached Pitt and his associates, who were 
 seated in the body of the auditorium. But I 
 
 181
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 stood, waiting for Pitt's words, with my heart 
 pounding violently. 
 
 Pitt told me they would advise me of the di- 
 rectors' decision, and I went away. Later that 
 day a 'phone message called me to Covent 
 Garden. 
 
 'We have decided,' he said, 'to engage you 
 if fifteen pounds a week will be sufficient.' 
 
 "I didn't tell him so, but I would have sung 
 for nothing. I only answered, 'I thank you, 
 very much. If I once get into Covent Garden 
 you will never get me out.' 
 
 "I didn't mean it to sound boastful; I was in 
 no such mood. I only believed, in those con- 
 ditions which prevailed in this wonderful opera 
 house, that I could satisfy, and continue to do 
 so for a long time. Pitt grasped my meaning, 
 I'm sure, for he smiled at my words, and in- 
 formed me that he would have the contract pre- 
 pared for me to sign, and asked me to return 
 the following day." 
 
 We passed through the gate at Rocklea, and 
 on up the graveled walk to the house, just as the 
 faint sounding of the gong announcing breakfast 
 reached our ears. 
 
 182
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 John felt like fishing that morning. After 
 his swim and a frolic with his Belgian police dog, 
 Nellie, he announced to Mrs. McCormack that 
 the mood was on him. "Big fellows," declared 
 John, "which give one a tussle." 
 
 Cyril and Gwen shared their father's fishing 
 desires and scurried off to get into their rubber- 
 boots preparatory to the jaunt to the beach to 
 dig the requisite clams for bait. 
 
 But Mrs. McCormack had Red Cross duties 
 to perform and they could not wait. So she and 
 her sister, Miss Foley, left us to our luck, which 
 turned out to be rather good. 
 
 Wilkinson got the dory ready, and by that 
 time Gwen and Cyril appeared, carrying between 
 them a large pail generously filled with the lure 
 for our finny game. 
 
 "It's odd," mused John, as he stood at the 
 wheel of the Rocklea, "what the possession of that 
 
 183
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Covent Garden contract did for me. It was 
 recognition, after repeated efforts to gain it, and 
 my confidence in myself became surer. For two 
 days I was so filled with the joy of possession of 
 the long-coveted document that I wasn't able 
 to do much save to think about it. You see, I 
 was impressionable, and rather young, which 
 explains my state of mind." 
 
 Back of us, in the dory, Cyril and Gwen were 
 singing; in unison, their soprano voices rising 
 higher and higher. John stopped talking, and 
 half turned, to listen. "They scarcely ever 
 stop," he remarked, which was the truth. 
 From personal knowledge I am aware that they 
 sing at least five hours in every twenty- four ; and 
 every sort of music which the voice may give 
 forth. This morning they engaged in competi- 
 tion to see which could sustain the longer 
 phrase, and each would fill the lungs to the limit 
 and hold on to the tone as though life depended 
 on the test. Then Gwen, whose voice is agile, 
 loosed scales and turns and trills until the air 
 resounded with her warbling. And Cyril, scorn- 
 ing that character of vocal feat, gave himself (in 
 the midst of his sister's singing) to altitudinous 
 notes. It was an Ellen Beach Yaw effect. 
 
 184
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 "I never stop them," explained John ; nor do 
 I blame him. For their voices are sympathetic 
 and true. Nor should it occasion surprise if, 
 one day, Gwendolyn McCormack developed into 
 a distinguished coloratura soprano, perhaps an- 
 other Galli-Curci. 
 
 When I spoke of this to John he imparted to 
 me this particular piece of information. 
 
 "You are absolutely correct about Gwen's 
 coloratura soprano tendencies. When Mme. 
 Galli-Curci first heard her she was singing 
 much as you just heard her sing that great 
 artist said to me: 'It would not in the least 
 surprise me if Gwenny one day became a second 
 Galli-Curci. (What a wonderful artist and 
 charming body she is!) 
 
 "She really meant what she said. Mme. 
 Galli-Curci does not go out of her way, for cour- 
 tesy's sake, to say nice things especially if they 
 might fall into the category of exaggeration. 
 Nor is it remarkable that Gwen and Cyril should 
 sing as they do (apart from their having what I 
 believe anyone will recognize as exceptional nat- 
 ural voices), because they have heard the best 
 music, always, about the house. Their taste has 
 therefore been unconsciously formed for musical 
 
 185
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 masterpieces. The morning Mme. Galli-Curci 
 heard them singing the Bach double-concerto she 
 was actually astonished. Yet there is nothing 
 about their having sung that composition which 
 occasions surprise among those of us in the fam- 
 ily, though I'll admit it is uncommon. Still, 
 they had heard it so often from the Victor phono- 
 graph record as played by Kreisler and Zimbalist 
 that it had sunk deep into their memories. And 
 I want to say here, that I consider the educa- 
 tional value of what is being done by the Victor 
 Talking Machine Company to be without com- 
 parison. What wouldn't I give to have records 
 of Mario and the other great artists of early days 
 as the Victor Company could make them ! 
 
 The tenor forsook the subject of his children's 
 musical and vocal qualifications, after those last 
 words. Shortly afterward he got back again to 
 Co vent Garden. 
 
 "I made my debut there in October, on the 
 fifteenth, Nineteen Hundred Seven. It is a fact 
 that I have sung there each successive season 
 since, up to Nineteen Fourteen, when the war 
 broke out. And I have a contract calling for 
 the next season Covent Garden gives which I 
 hope will open with a gala performance in honor 
 
 186 

 
 Gwendolyn and Cyril McCormack
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 of the Allies' victory and which I pray, for the 
 sake of humanity, will be soon. To complete 
 the record it is pertinent, no doubt, to state that 
 my remuneration has increased rather consider- 
 ably. 
 
 "There is an old saying that 'it never rains 
 but it pours,' which is applicable to that par- 
 ticular summer. Before I got away to go to 
 Mrs. McCormack and Cyril in Dublin, and 
 to visit my father and mother and sisters and 
 brother, in Athlone, negotiations were com- 
 menced to appear in the tour of Harrison Con- 
 certs, an important series given throughout Eng- 
 land and Scotland, and the contract signed (at 
 a good figure) before I left London. 
 
 "But with all this good fortune, which seemed 
 heaping into my lap, I seemed to cleave more 
 than ever to my old friends. I've been that way, 
 and shall not change. Sammy Liddle, one of 
 the finest accompanists living, saw much of me, 
 when he sat wading through manuscript music 
 in the little room of his in Arthur Boosey's 
 place. I spent considerable time with him 
 every day, that year and in others that followed. 
 Going through much new music even though 
 a deal of it was admittedly bad music did me 
 
 187
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 no harm. Sammy would play, and I would hum 
 through those manuscripts; and occasionally we 
 would discover a promising ballad, which would 
 be published and have its sale. Many of these 
 I, of course, subsequently sang at a Boosey 
 Concert. 
 
 "I recollect one day the manuscripts were all 
 very bad. Nothing amongst those which we ran 
 through either of us could consider. One after 
 another they were tossed aside, impossible. 
 'Hopeless,' said Sammy, making a wry face as 
 he looked up at me. 'Oh, for just one fairly 
 respectable piece of music!' That gave me a 
 thought. 
 
 ' 'Here, Sammy,' I remarked, taking a folded 
 piece of manuscript from my pocket, 'is some- 
 thing we might try; play it.' He put the paper 
 on the music rack, straightened the folds and as 
 he played I sang the words and music. 
 
 6 'Not a bad idea,' admitted Sammy, 'and I 
 rather like that pianissimo high A-natural at the 
 end.' We repeated the song, and once more 
 Liddle had an encouraging word to say for it. 
 Arthur Boosey, who had listened, remarked, 'I 
 don't think much of it.' 'Well,' I informed him, 
 'Charlie Marshall wrote the music and John 
 
 188
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 Bardsley took it to Willie Boosey, who couldn't 
 see enough in the song to accept it. But if you 
 recommend it for publication I'll sing it at the 
 first ballad concert in the fall.' That settled the 
 matter, because Boosey would publish anything 
 I thought well enough of to sing publicly and the 
 song was prepared for the audiences. And I did 
 sing it, several weeks later. 
 
 "The name of that song is 'I Hear You Calling 
 Me,' and next to 'The Holy City' it has sold more 
 copies than any other piece of music ever 
 printed." 
 
 John steered the Rocklea past the New York 
 Police Department yacht, which lay at anchor 
 about a mile and a half off Rocklea, and a short 
 distance beyond where one of the several fishing- 
 grounds thereabouts lay. We dropped the an- 
 chor and got out our poles. But Cyril had for- 
 gotten to bring enough sinkers, and there was 
 a panic. How would we get our hooks to the 
 bottom? Wilkinson and Cyril who has a me- 
 chanical turn and is forever puttering about ma- 
 chinery got their inventive minds busy, and 
 Gwen finally found herself using a drop line with 
 a wrench for a sinker. 
 
 "We sought other quarters in the fall," John 
 189
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 went on later as we were homeward bound, "when 
 Mrs. McCormack, Baby Cyril and I reached Lon- 
 don. Six months had brought a change in our 
 financial status; we had some butter, then, for 
 our bread and an occasional piece of cake. It 
 was a relief, although I find an odd pleasure in 
 reflecting upon the hardships of my student and 
 early professional career. There were many 
 happy days in them. 
 
 "The main business, you may be sure, was pre- 
 paring for the opera debut. There could be no 
 half-way measures here; Covent Garden audi- 
 ences knew the best, were accustomed to it and 
 countenanced no other. Allowances, I judged, 
 would be made for a newcomer of twenty-three; 
 still he would have to attain a definite standard, 
 in voice and art to succeed. Which I meant, 
 if it lay within me, to do." 
 
 John threw over the wheel hard a-port, and 
 the Rocklea circled a stake marking the shallow 
 channel and went off into deeper water. 
 
 "There were numerous rehearsals, and every 
 one was kindness itself. I'll not forget that, be- 
 cause those first rehearsals mean so much to a 
 young artist. The opera for my debut was 'Cav- 
 alleria Rusticana,' in which I knew the notes and 
 
 190
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 words backwards. Every bit of action and stage 
 business I had memorized until, I think, I could 
 have done the entire role in a trance. I wanted 
 it that way, for in an emergency the memory, 
 thoroughly charged, will often act mechanically 
 and carry one through a danger-spot to safety. 
 
 "The night of nights and it was all that 
 came at last. It was a fine night, and clear, 
 which I took as a favorable omen. I had a 
 light supper at half-past three, at Sir John Mur- 
 ray Scott's, and he sent me to the theatre in his 
 brougham. Six o'clock found me in my dress- 
 ing-room at Covent Garden. 'Cavalleria Rus- 
 ticana' preceded the second part of the double-bill 
 which consisted, as it usually does when the 
 Mascagni work is performed, of 'I Pagliacci.' 
 So I was made up and ready for the stage before 
 the tenor arrived who was to appear in the latter 
 opera. 
 
 "He was not sympathetic; self-sufficient and 
 with no kind word for a beginner. And of all 
 the principals cast that night he, alone, said 
 nothing to stiffen my spine. But one of the 
 artists helped enough to make up for his surli- 
 ness; a courteous chap, with the milk of human 
 kindness in his heart. It is strange what little 
 
 191
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 things one remembers ! I was feeling badly. I 
 saw him poking his head in at my doorway, at 
 my invitation to enter, after his knock. 
 
 ' 'My name is Sammarco,' said the stranger, 
 'and I have come to wish you good luck.' He 
 said some other things, too, but the words wish- 
 ing me luck stuck in my memory. Good old 
 Sammarco and he isn't so old, either he's as 
 fine a man as he is artist. And ever the friend. 
 
 "He went away then, and the unsympathetic 
 tenor (we shared the same dressing-room) came 
 back to get ready for his work. So I went out- 
 side, for the curtain was not far off." 
 
 "And were you nervous?" I asked. 
 
 "I was so nervous," replied McCormack, "that 
 I ceased to be nervous. I guess the nerves, for 
 that evening, were thoroughly burned out. In 
 the wings I met Borghild Bryhn, who was to sing 
 Santuzza, and Angelo Scandiani, the baritone. 
 Also Maestro Panizza, the conductor. The time 
 was close and ... I was ready. 
 
 "How thankful I was, standing there, for my 
 brief operatic experience in Italy; the Savona 
 and Santa Croce appearances. At least I knew 
 how to move on the stage, and I kept repeating 
 over and over the warning of Sabatini's bari- 
 
 192
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 tone friend, Felici, about my semaphorian arms. 
 I shouldn't appear ridiculous, that was sure ; and 
 if my voice responded well, I'd take my 
 chances. 
 
 "Anyway, I should have a chance to warm 
 up before going out to face the thousands there 
 in front; the men and women who were to say 
 'yes' or 'no' to my maiden effort. The serenade, 
 which Turridu sings behind the curtain before 
 it is raised, would give me that chance. And 
 presently it came. I got the signal, the harpist 
 began the introduction and I set myself." 
 
 John stopped at that climacteric point to 
 maneuver the dory into its berth between two 
 rowboats moored just to one side of the float, 
 which gave us small entering space. I watched 
 him standing before the wheel, his legs well 
 spread and firm in his white flannel trousers and 
 two massive arms showing above the wheel. He 
 looked the fighter, and a clean one, who doesn't 
 quit under fire. 
 
 Wilkinson made the Rocklea fast, and we clam- 
 bered ashore. On the way up Cyril and Gwen 
 were hurrying ahead McCormack finished the 
 story. 
 
 "For a second, possibly only half a second," 
 193
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 he confessed, "I thought I'd die. I stood look- 
 ing at the harpist, with my mouth as parched as 
 though I'd been footing it through a desert. 
 Then to myself I said, 'Old boy, you've got to!' 
 
 "It was while I was singing the serenade that 
 Mrs. McCormack, Miss Foley and the others of 
 the party entered the box. Mrs. McCormack 
 told me, long afterwards, that it was an ordeal 
 she could scarcely endure. 
 
 "The rest of it was easy enough, as debuts go. 
 I guess I'd suffered until there was nothing left 
 in me to suffer. For the serenade to Lola went 
 fairly well so the people and management 
 thought, and the music critics, who wrote about 
 the performance for the papers of next day. I 
 had steadied before having sung a dozen meas- 
 ures of the serenade, so that when I made my en- 
 trance I was as cold as ice. Nor do I exagger- 
 ate ; I mean just that ... as cold as ice. 
 
 "But the tribute which I thought most about, 
 and the one that I can never feel enough grati- 
 tude for, was the actions of my singer-colleagues 
 who attended that performance. To my per- 
 sonal knowledge, many of them sacrificed pay- 
 ing engagements besides buying places for the 
 
 194
 
 LONDON OPENS ITS ARMS 
 
 opera which had been accepted for that same 
 evening. 
 
 "A sort of free-masonry among many of the 
 singers existed, then, in London, and these 
 'pals' of mine they were that, in the best sense 
 of that term were generous enough to forget 
 any pecuniary advantages to themselves to show 
 their good will toward me, and to want to be in 
 Govent Garden when I was making the debut. 
 
 "No less a person than Neil Forsyth, business 
 manager of Covent Garden, said to me: 'Mc- 
 Cormack you did splendidly and what a wonder- 
 ful reception you got ! One would have thought 
 you were an actor-manager!' 
 
 "Everything, that night, seemed magnified. 
 I saw with a clarity of vision which, I presume, 
 was due to the highly sensitized condition of my 
 nerves; and my hearing was the same. I an- 
 ticipated all that was to come: every musical 
 phrase and word, long before its proper mo- 
 ment, and every action the role demands and 
 each gesture. 
 
 "That's about all. In less than an hour and 
 a quarter it was all over. They told me, in 
 my dressing-room, that I had won. I was rather 
 
 195
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 tired; but happy. I cleaned the grease paint 
 from my face and got into my street clothes, and 
 with Mrs. McCormack and Miss Foley went 
 home. And that night I slept." 
 
 196
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 
 
 Business matters having called me to New 
 York I did not see McCormack again for several 
 days. It was an afternoon, in late July, when 
 I descended from an express train at Stamford 
 station; the third day of Nineteen Eighteen's 
 first hot spell on the upper Atlantic seaboard. 
 I chartered a "flivver" and away we darted, to- 
 ward Noroton and Rocklea, some eight miles off. 
 . John was seated, alone, on the veranda when 
 I arrived, looking cool and unperturbed in tennis 
 garb. "So there you are!" he said, by way of 
 greeting. "What made you pick out this par- 
 ticular day to come out?" he demanded. "I 
 don't feel like working." 
 
 "I'm sorry, John," I replied, "but there's 
 much copy to be gone over before we mail it to 
 the publisher. But if you're feeling lazy sup- 
 pose I run back to town." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the kind," he rejoined, 
 197
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 with that note in his voice which one always 
 hears there when he fears he may unintentionally 
 have hurt another's feelings. One must travel 
 far to find a softer heart than John McCormack's 
 or any so generous. 
 
 "All right," he commanded, with assumed 
 gruffness, "get out the manuscript." This I 
 did, and he was soon deep in the reading of it, 
 lying back in a huge porch-chair, the picture of 
 a student at work. From time to time, with his 
 pencil, he made corrections: changing whole sen- 
 tences, rearranging others, adding here a word 
 and, there, striking one out. At other points he 
 suggested the introduction of new material, 
 which I noted on paper. Oh, yes! John Mc- 
 Cormack is more than singer. He wasn't made 
 Doctor of Literature by Holy Cross College, in 
 Nineteen Seventeen, on the strength of his voice 
 alone. 
 
 Two hours of this and the task was finished. 
 And by that time John was in the mood for more 
 work. 
 
 "We left off, the other night, at the Co vent 
 Garden debut didn't we?" He lapsed into 
 silence for a few moments, then continued. 
 
 "It's a wonderful feeling that success brings, 
 198
 
 THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 
 
 when you've worked for it. And rather grati- 
 fying to be able to read about it, in the news- 
 papers. That's what I did, the morning after I 
 'debuted' at Co vent Garden. The critics were 
 most kind. They shared the view that I had 
 'arrived,' and expressed an interest in what my 
 future efforts should bring forth. 
 
 "Do you grasp that? It's the secret of an 
 artist's forward movement towards the ultimate 
 goal: 'So far so good, but what of the mor- 
 row?' One cannot rest, no matter how fine the 
 achievement. Good, better, best and after 
 that 'best' something still more, that's beyond. 
 There is no stopping-place in art. For the more 
 one does the more people expect. There is no 
 rest for whoever is conscientious; if the critics 
 and public become momentarily satisfied the 
 artist should not be. So we go on, occasionally 
 content, but never for more than the briefest 
 possible time. 
 
 "And when one reaches the top rung in the 
 ladder the task to remain there is harder, much, 
 than the climb. The slightest jostle destroys 
 the balance. No! The life of a singer, if he 
 (or she) is admitted into the sacred portals, is 
 not easy though some folks mistakenly fancy 
 
 199
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 that it is. You've got to live up to what the 
 people feel you are as an artist. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack and I read carefully the 
 reviews of my previous evening's performance 
 and then discussed our own opinions. We in- 
 variably do that. Praise is pleasant to hear or 
 read, but it never helps one to progress. Criti- 
 cism does that; the kind of criticism I call con- 
 structive which builds up, and never tears 
 down. After breakfast I went out for a walk, 
 and to reflect. 
 
 "As I have just said, getting to a desired ar- 
 tistic place is difficult enough, but it is staying 
 there that is the rub. And I had felt that once 
 accepted by a Covent Garden audience I could 
 retain, for as long as I maintained my skill, the 
 good will of each audience. This was the mat- 
 ter of chiefest concern, just then. The second 
 and third and fourth appearances would decide. 
 I therefore gave myself to their consideration. 
 
 "My second Covent Garden role was The 
 Duke, in 'Rigoletto,' which was to be performed 
 with a cast including Luisa Tetrazzini, then the 
 rage of London, as Gilda, and Sammarco in the 
 character of Rigoletto. This work of Verdi's, 
 which demands that the tenor be able truly 
 
 200
 
 THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 
 
 to sing, was different from Mascagni's. I 
 had heard Mme. Tetrazzini for the first time in 
 my life only a few weeks before (it was her first 
 Covent Garden season) and the opportunity 
 which brought me as her associate in the lead- 
 ing tenor role of an opera was enough to stir 
 me, if nothing else had. Her kindness to me 
 cannot be overestimated, and several times that 
 night she would encourage me with a word or 
 two, just as Sammarco did, when he was near. 
 I was warmly applauded after the Duke's famous 
 aria, La Donna e Mobile, and my portion of the 
 quartette, which had to be repeated, elicited 
 favorable comment. Tetrazzini sang superbly, 
 and Sammarco's Rigoletto (which I consider 
 magnificent), was almost incomparable. 
 
 "I was far less nervous throughout this per- 
 formance than during the 'Cavalleria Rusticana.' 
 Its music was my sort of music, peculiarly suited 
 to my voice and methods, and my acceptance 
 brought me greater satisfaction than anything 
 else I had done. It seemed, too, to remove the 
 last vestige of lurking doubt within me. I might 
 vary in the quality of my endeavors, but I was 
 certain, at last, of my capacities. The future 
 lay with me, wholly. 
 
 201
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Self -confidence (by which I do not mean ego- 
 tism) I had now acquired, and I found myself 
 facing each audience with greater assurance and 
 acquitting myself with an increased freedom. 
 So when the third opera I was asked to sing 
 that season 'Don Giovanni' arrived I was per- 
 fectly secure. The role was Don Ottavio. Of 
 all composers Mozart made greatest demands for 
 pure singing upon the artist, but what a joy it is 
 to sing him! He cannot evade the issue, and 
 woe betide the one who has no cantilena or ele- 
 gance of style. Mario Sammarco, the baritone 
 who had befriended me at my debut, was cast for 
 the Giovanni (a role in which I have always been 
 sorry that New York never got a chance to hear 
 him), Lolla Miranda was the Zerlina, and Fely 
 Litvinna had been chosen for Donna Anna. The 
 third opera out of the way, I breathed with com- 
 parative ease once more and said a silent prayer 
 of thanksgiving. 
 
 "Cyril was growing fast and Mrs. McCormack 
 looked a girl of eighteen. She made a home for 
 us and gave me something worth working for. 
 Do you wonder that I was able to sing? I was in 
 a jubilant mood constantly, at work or at play, 
 and the weeks leaped on, bringing fresh experi- 
 
 202
 
 THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 
 
 ences and carrying my name throughout the land. 
 
 "My operatic work was, naturally, the most 
 important, but I had plenty to do besides. The 
 Arthur Boosey Ballad Concerts began again in 
 the fall of Nineteen Seven and in each of these 
 I sang, with steady appreciation of the audiences. 
 Other concert engagements came to me, also, and 
 at length the visits, on the Harrison programmes, 
 to Birmingham, Leeds, Glasgow, Manchester, 
 and other cities. I have often wondered why 
 some cities in Ireland were not included in the 
 tour. 
 
 "It was some time thereabouts, that the se- 
 quel occurred to my experience with 'Alphabet' 
 Malone, of Daly's Theatre. George Edwardes 
 was in tenor difficulties again, and bemoaning the 
 scarcity of one who could both sing and act when 
 my friend, Gordon Cleather, who had taken me 
 to Malone, some months before, happened in. 
 ; 'If I could only get the man I want,' sighed 
 Edwardes. 
 
 " 'Too bad,' sympathized Cleather. 'I 
 brought you just the chap, but Malone couldn't 
 see him.' 
 
 "Whereupon Edwardes, instantly alert, re- 
 plied: 'Get him for me.' 
 
 203
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ' 'Sorry,' answered my friend languidly, 'but 
 he's singing with Tetrazzini in 'Rigoletto' at Co- 
 vent Garden to-night.' 
 
 "It was not long after that incident that I met 
 George Edwardes, with whom I finally became 
 intimately acquainted. Speaking one day of the 
 amusing refusal of Malone to engage me Ed- 
 wardes verified Cleather's story and said: 'Had 
 I heard you at that time, John, I'd have been will- 
 ing to sign a ten-years' contract with you.' 
 
 "Perhaps it is just as well that we didn't meet. 
 It may have been another of Destiny's moves to 
 guide me in the direction I was intended to go. 
 For had I appeared at Daly's my entire career 
 might have veered off in another direction. 
 
 "I was going along rather fast during that 
 season. I studied with all diligence and omitted 
 nothing which might strengthen my resources. 
 There is everything in getting a good start, and 
 I resolved, while people were talking about me, 
 to profit by all that offered. My youth, and my 
 sudden rise from obscurity into Covent Garden 
 and concert popularity in a few months, were 
 topics of conversation. There were pessimists, 
 who hinted that I might not last, but their small- 
 ness did no harm. 
 
 204
 
 THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 
 
 "My fairy-godfather, Sir John Murray Scott, 
 was happy over what had come to me. 'There 
 are bigger things ahead for you, my boy,' he 
 would say to me, 'so neglect nothing; prepare 
 for them.' His influence helped me incalcu- 
 lably, and the example he himself set. It meant 
 something just to be near him and hear him talk, 
 not alone on music, which he thoroughly knew 
 in all its branches and history, but on the kin- 
 dred arts and on politics, science, philosophy, 
 finance and travel. He was what I would call 
 a well-informed man, one well-traveled, who re- 
 membered. 
 
 "It was no commonplace task to satisfy such 
 a man, and I was content only when I felt that 
 I was near to, if not completely, satisfying him. 
 Sir John believed in shooting at a high-hung star, 
 and drilled into me that idea. But for all his 
 task-mastership he wielded no iron hand. His 
 way was to lead rather than to drive ; and it was 
 also his way, after patient observation of a pro- 
 tege, to drop him if he showed an unwillingness 
 to respond. That was all. He 'sized' a man, 
 to use a colloquialism, lightning fast and gave 
 him a fair chance but no more than that. And 
 the gentleman, unvaryingly; it was inborn. 
 
 205
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "So, you see, I had my advantages." 
 
 Two small dogs drew near: one a sable-coated 
 Pekinese of aristocratic mien, the other white 
 and woolly with a waggish air. I should call 
 him a John T. McCutcheon dog, for he was that 
 sort; he answered to the name Towser. Go-Go, 
 the Peke, stopped a few feet short of McCor- 
 mack and disdainfully sniffed the air. 
 
 "A queer pup," confided John, "whose friends 
 are mostly of the kitchen. But Towser, here, is 
 a pal." And the woolly pup wagged his roguish 
 tail at this, and emitted a short bark. They 
 were off, directly, to their play, and the tenor 
 went on with his talk. 
 
 "The Harrison concerts were interesting that 
 year," he said, "and broadened my acquaintance 
 with audiences. It allowed me to see something 
 of other cities and the experience helped. In- 
 cidentally, my repertoire grew steadily and my 
 musical knowledge, for besides studying I lost no 
 opportunity to hear as much good music as I 
 could, especially that for the orchestra. And 
 another thing: I fussed a little at the piano. 
 For I realized that some day I should need musi- 
 cianship which few singers appear to feel they 
 care to acquire. 
 
 206
 
 THE ARTIST DEVELOPS 
 
 "Naturally, I met many people ... in all 
 walks of life. I liked that for I suppose I am 
 what Americans call 'a mixer.' Apart from the 
 interest one finds in new acquaintances a friend 
 or two occasionally grows from them ; and, then, 
 it sharpens the wits. Yes, the study of human 
 nature is an absorbing thing. 
 
 "When spring came, in Nineteen Eight, I be- 
 gan to want a home we should own, one wherein 
 Mrs. McCormack and I might feel a sense of 
 proprietorship. It was right, too, that we take 
 our place of residence in a community befitting 
 my enhanced position and amongst those whom 
 I now met with some frequency. 
 
 "We found, at last, the very place that suited 
 us. It was in Hampstead, where the fresh air 
 was just what Cyril needed, and with plenty of 
 foliage about. And when Gwen was born, July 
 21, 1908 (like Cyril, in Dublin), we had a home 
 of our own, and I considered myself a fortunate 
 
 man.'' 
 
 207
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 LONDON AND THE SAN CARLO, IN NAPLES 
 
 "To him that hath" (or as McCormack's 
 brother-in-law, Tom Bissette, would say, "Much 
 wants more") never was more fully exemplified 
 than in the case of John McCormack. One suc- 
 cess appeared to beget another, and the tenor's 
 following increased steadily and his friendships 
 and acquaintances, too. 
 
 The fall of Nineteen Eight found him busier 
 than ever, with an abundance of concerts and 
 his second Covent Garden season looming near. 
 John was twenty-four, an accepted artist with a 
 widening road showing ahead. 
 
 Still, he had yet a singing honor which, 
 strangely enough, had not offered. Vocally and 
 musically one of the most admirably equipped 
 of any tenor singing oratorio, he had never ap- 
 peared in a festival. It was one of those unex- 
 plainable circumstances which he has confessed 
 his inability to fathom. 
 
 208
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 "There was enough, however, in other chan- 
 nels to occupy me as fully as my time allowed. 
 So I gave the matter no concern. Yet that part 
 of my career is peculiarly blank. Gervaise 
 Elwes, one of the few intellectual tenors in the 
 oratorio field, and the finest interpreter of that 
 difficult music which Sir Edward Elgar wrote 
 in 'The Dream of Gerontius' for tenor, was one 
 of the foremost artists at that time. Another 
 was John Coates, with a splendid oratorio style. 
 
 "I began my Nineteen-Eight and Nine sea- 
 son with a voice that was gaining in power 
 and, people said, in quality. I was invariably 
 careful to keep within the limits of my voice, for 
 I always have felt that no tone is proper to sing 
 that carries a power which mars its quality. In 
 other words, when, to secure power, the natural 
 beauty of the tone suffers that tone is not right. 
 I have tried to keep to that rule, and when a 
 friend once asked me why I did not give 'more 
 voice' (he was a singer) I replied that I would 
 be singing for years after he had finished his 
 career. My words have since proved correct. 
 
 "No, there is nothing in the so-called 'big' 
 tone. To make a noise for sake of inducing ap- 
 plause is not singing, and certainly far removed 
 
 209
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 from artistry. I could cite numerous instances, 
 were I so minded, to demonstrate my contention. 
 Something held in reserve should be the unde- 
 viating custom of every singer, not alone be- 
 cause it imparts to the voice the most agreeable 
 quality possible, but likewise for the longevity 
 of the instrument. 
 
 "The shouter may cause a tremendous fuss 
 among certain adherents of the high note long 
 held, but what is the ultimate cost? A ruined 
 voice often, years before its usefulness should 
 have waned. Nor are young singers the only 
 ones who should respect this indisputable fact. 
 We have instances, of annual occurrence, of sing- 
 ers especially those of the opera who have 
 more natural voice than knowledge of its correct 
 use who fade within a few seasons, and fall mis- 
 erably. 
 
 "I was fortunate in discovering all this at the 
 outset of my career. Sabatini preached this 
 vocal gospel. Sir John Murray Scott also em- 
 phasized it. Other valued counselors agreed 
 that such a course was the wise one. So I ad- 
 hered to my custom, and to-day my voice is, I 
 think, better than ever, and should continue to 
 improve until the day I decide I shall retire 
 
 210
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 which, by the way, I shall do while I am at the 
 top of my powers, in voice as well as in my in- 
 terpretative resources. 
 
 "My second Covent Garden season witnessed 
 strides in the desired direction. I had added to 
 my repertoire, and was called on to appear in 
 the three roles I had first learned, and several 
 more besides. At the close of my fourth year I 
 had sung Turiddu, The Duke, Don Ottavio and 
 the principal tenor roles in 'La Boheme,' 'Ma- 
 dama Butterfly,' 'La Tosca,' 'La Traviata,' 'Lucia 
 di Lammermoor,' 'Lakme,' 'Faust,' 'Romeo and 
 Juliet' and 'The Pearl Fishers.' 
 
 "One does not gain freedom of stage routine 
 in a few performances. The easy actor, in opera, 
 is not too often encountered. It is a difficult 
 matter which many do not know because their 
 intimacy with the opera singing is limited to 
 provide an adequate dramatic impersonation of 
 a role while singing it. And the cause is due 
 largely to the lack of what I will call synchroniza- 
 tion between music and text; the pauses in the 
 connective of phrases which destroy the possi- 
 bility of logical dramatic continuity and fre- 
 quently place an artist in passivity when the ac- 
 tion should not be arrested. 
 
 211
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "To surmount such obstacles which is less 
 difficult in some operas than in others requires 
 long and arduous training before the public, and 
 a talent to combine acting with singing. 'Oper- 
 atic' gestures do not, as the expert knows, consti- 
 tute dramatic action, and never will. To mould 
 characterization of a role with its musical side 
 is an art, a many-sided one, and has few masters. 
 I strove to acquire it, but it came slowly espe- 
 cially in that second year, when music had, of 
 course, to be the main thing. 
 
 "But I got on." 
 
 "I began meeting, more and more, beginning 
 with the season of Nineteen Eight and Nine, peo- 
 ple who were personalities. It was then that I 
 was presented to the late King Edward and Queen 
 Alexandra, all the other members of the Royal 
 Family and (then and later) met numerous 
 sovereigns of other countries, princes and prin- 
 cesses, persons of the nobility and diplomatic 
 corps and army and navy attaches. 
 
 "I have never, for some cause, experienced 
 for great folk any particular sense of awe; and 
 while I welcomed my opportunity it did not set 
 my head awhirl. They were sovereigns for 
 whom I entertained respect; the Queen, espe- 
 
 212
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 cially, being a personage I had long wanted to 
 meet. And it's odd, too, how that desire ap- 
 peared to have some basis in what was subse- 
 quently realized. For it was to be my good for- 
 tune to see the womanly side of Queen Alexan- 
 dra, and to discover some of those qualities which 
 have endeared her to her people. 
 
 "She was, as most of us know, quite hard of 
 hearing. Yet she did not (at least at that time) 
 make use of mechanical devices which accentu- 
 ate a weakened hearing sense. I recall being 
 presented to Queen Alexandra in the drawing- 
 room of the town house of Lady de Grey, March- 
 ioness of Ripon, one afternoon in the winter of 
 Nineteen Eight. I remember, as though it hap- 
 pened only yesterday, the entire affair, which was 
 one of the many for which Lady de Grey was 
 noted and which no other hostess in London 
 equalled. 
 
 "With her attendants-in- waiting, Queen Alex- 
 andra received me; seated, and with a smile. 
 One hears the word 'graciousness' sometimes ap- 
 plied to a manner, but too often misapplied. 
 Here, however, was an instance where it per- 
 fectly fitted, for the Queen was gracious in the 
 fullest degree; the aristocrat personified. And 
 
 213
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 yet by no word or gesture or mannerism did she 
 seek to impress upon one her rank and position. 
 I think it was that 'to-the-manner-born' air, right- 
 fully hers, which she so gently wore which drew 
 me to her. She could not be other than the 
 gentlewoman she was, God bless her ! 
 
 "By inclination I am democratic. It is, to 
 my way of thinking, what one is and does that 
 truly counts. But I admire simplicity in those 
 in high places ; and the bigger one is the simpler 
 that person should be. Queen Alexandra was 
 such a woman, and it became her. 
 
 "When it came my turn I sang as I had seldom 
 sung, up to that time. The song was 'I Hear You 
 Calling Me.' Of course I was curious to hear 
 what she would say, and how. It would be some- 
 thing complimentary that much I knew but 
 I was scarcely prepared for her particular words. 
 ; 'I go often to Albert Hall, and even when the 
 band plays double- forte., I scarcely hear,' she said, 
 with a smile that struck me as wistful, though 
 uncomplaining. 'But ... I heard perfectly 
 even that last pianissimo tone of yours.' 
 
 "It was almost pathetic, and my eyes grew 
 misty. Yet I managed to tell her how grateful 
 I was at being able to sing so that she could hear 
 
 214
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 everything. Just think of having to miss 
 hearing all the beautiful music there is to hear 
 because of such a physical misfortune. If I 
 were to have to choose between deafness and loss 
 of sight (please God it may never be either) I 
 should rather be blind. 
 
 "It was a distinguished assemblage at that 
 musicale of Lady de Grey's ; large and composed 
 of men and women who were leaders, in every 
 walk of life that counted. They all were most 
 attentive, too, when an artist was performing. 
 Maggie Teyte, the soprano, and Gilibert, whose 
 death a few years ago took away a true man as 
 well as a great artist, and I provided the music 
 on that occasion. Gilibert was incomparable in 
 his interpretation of songs, and everyone knows 
 Miss Teyte's skill. 
 
 "That experience has always remained vividly 
 in my memory. 
 
 "There were others, at about that time," he 
 continued, "and they had their interesting fea- 
 tures. Some were out of the ordinary. All the 
 while the weeks slipped by, and one evening, at 
 Covent Garden, Mario Sammarco came to me. 
 ' 'Giovanni,' he said, 'what you do in March?' 
 It was a pregnant question, and I asked my bari- 
 
 215
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 tone friend what he meant by it. He explained 
 that if I chose I might have an engagement to 
 sing at the spring opera season to be given at 
 the San Carlo, in Naples. 
 
 "I was keen to go. Italy still remained an un- 
 proved field for my abilities, and at that stage 
 of my development I believed that if ever Italians 
 would accept me this would be the time. The 
 honorarium was satisfactory one thousand 
 francs a performance so I accepted Sammarco's 
 offer. 
 
 "On the way Mrs. McCormack and I stopped 
 off at Milan, to see my old maestro, Sabatini. 
 We were both overjoyed at meeting again, and 
 Sabatini made a great fuss over Mrs. McCor- 
 mack. After matters had quieted I took out my 
 bill-fold. 'Let me see,' I said, 'two hundred 
 francs (forty dollars), that was the amount for 
 the last two months of tuition, wasn't it, maes- 
 tro? 9 
 
 "And what do you think Sabatini asked? 
 ... He wanted to know if I could conveniently 
 spare it. 
 
 "With his next breath he began berating me 
 for sending him so many pupils. For, as it had 
 happened, my tone-production had elicited in- 
 
 216
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 quiries as to who my master had been, and when 
 I recommended Sabatini and I did recom- 
 mend him, you may be sure students flocked 
 to his place. Incidentally, while we are on this 
 matter, I once had the novel experience of being 
 pointed to by a celebrated English teacher of 
 voice as a perfect specimen of 'how best to sing.' 
 'I did not show him,' said this man, 'but the way 
 he sings is the right way.' 
 
 "Before he would talk on the many matters 
 of common interest to us both," laughed John, 
 "Sabatini insisted I should have a lesson. 'The 
 bad habits,' he said insinuatingly, 'I will see if 
 you have formed them.' And for half an hour 
 he stripped my voice bare. 
 
 "Then he appeared satisfied. That I had 
 gone on in the way he hoped I might go gave 
 him inexpressible delight. One or two things 
 he did not approve, and frankly said so. But 
 when he had finished with me I gathered fresh 
 confidence in myself; for the dangerous period in 
 my vocal career had been safely passed, and I 
 believed that a continuance of those same meth- 
 ods would guard my tone-production in the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 "Madame Sabatini came into the studio 
 217
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 then, to play while I sang operatic arias the maes- 
 tro insisted he must hear. He let me finish each 
 one; then we would discuss it: Sabatini sug- 
 gesting changes which I instantly recognized 
 would add to their interpretative value. We 
 had several hours of this, and I finished a wiser 
 singer and a better one. 
 
 "It is that way," explained the tenor, "that 
 the artist is made. And the greatest, even at 
 their zenith, have always some things to learn. 
 For myself, I am never quite satisfied. My ar- 
 tistic desire is invariably just beyond my reach; 
 and no public applause or written critical opin- 
 ion can compensate for what, in my heart, I 
 know to be short of my goal. I know I can never 
 reach the ideal I have set myself. 
 
 "However," he exclaimed, "that is straying 
 from the issue. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack and I reached Naples in 
 good time, and went to the Excelsior Hotel, and 
 from our windows had a clear view of Mt. Ve- 
 suvius. I was fit, yet misgivings that I should 
 not duplicate my Covent Garden success dis- 
 turbed my quietude. I knew what Italians like 
 in a tenor voice, and the kind of singing by which 
 they measure an artist." 
 
 218
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 "You didn't, as I recall." 
 
 "Your memory serves you well," responded 
 John. "There was no furore; no 'bis' calls or 
 cries of 'bravo!' The Duke in 'Rigoletto' was 
 the first role I sang. The impresario said I could 
 not have done it better; a finished performance, 
 he called it, in every respect. And I got ap- 
 plause, oh, yes, I got that from those who rec- 
 ognized singing when they heard it. What I 
 didn't get was an ovation, which was the thing 
 I had desired, above all else. 
 
 "But there is something I must tell you 
 about," he observed. "It was unique; the only 
 experience of its kind in my career the hiring of 
 a claque and subsidizing of music critics." 
 
 "You did that?" 
 
 "I did . . . and it cost me, for that San 
 Carlo engagement, twelve hundred and fifty 
 francs." 
 
 "Two hundred and fifty dollars! Why did 
 you do it?" 
 
 "Persuasion that it was the customary thing 
 to do, and that refusal to follow precedent would 
 injure my chances. I wanted success. I 
 wanted a fair chance to win it; and I also felt 
 justified in using all the factors which other sing- 
 
 219
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ers tenor singers had. I wished no undue 
 advantage ; but I did wish an even break. Hav- 
 ing that I knew I should have to be satisfied (so 
 far as Italy was concerned) with my deserts. 
 
 "It was the first time, and likewise the last, 
 that I availed myself of what many opera singers 
 regard as a 'privilege.' The hirelings compris- 
 ing the claque probably did their work. And 
 the newspapers spoke well of my singing. But 
 I was displeased with the transaction 'dis- 
 gusted' is, probably, the better word. For the 
 system is insincere, to put it in the mildest term." 
 
 McCormack touched upon a subject, when he 
 brought up the claque, which has been widely 
 discussed (in America, especially) for many 
 years. New York, more than any other city, has 
 felt its influence and opera patrons have voiced 
 their protests openly and with vehemence. Dur- 
 ing the last few seasons, newspapers have had 
 objections to make to this unfortunate system 
 which, as McCormack correctly says, is a men- 
 ace to both artists and public. 
 
 "But apart from the undesirable methods of 
 some of these paid-to-make-applause agents, the 
 very existence of such applause is an insult to an 
 intelligent audience, and invariably an annoy- 
 
 220 

 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 ance which should prompt any far-sighted im- 
 presario to stop it at once. And any singer who 
 hires a claque is either misled, quite ignorant 
 of the unfortunate position thereby caused, or 
 else so engrossed with ego as to be blind to the 
 evil consequences. 
 
 "The state of never knowing when one is do- 
 ing well or ill, which is immediately created 
 when a singer has a claque 'out in front,' should 
 prompt the singer who believes in the claque to 
 consider the matter. The competent and sin- 
 cere singer needs no claque. The average au- 
 dience is able to ascertain for itself the es- 
 timate of an artist. Nor should anyone hold any 
 delusion about fooling several thousand persons 
 by injecting a brand of made-to-order applause 
 in the hope of having it sound spontaneous. 
 
 "Any claquer will unhesitatingly state that he 
 can instantly 'spot' the claque at work; not only 
 its precise location in an auditorium, but each 
 location and how many claquers comprise each 
 group. Audiences, who have now had experi- 
 ence enough with this sort of thing, have also be- 
 come expert in detecting this false applause. 
 
 "So, if we analyze it, the claque is very evi- 
 dently useless, in addition to being a nuisance, 
 
 221
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and defeats its purpose by drawing to the artist 
 paying for it condemnation for employing such 
 practice rather than the admiration which is de- 
 sired. 
 
 "Finally, if an artist be serious and honest 
 with himself, he will surely prefer to take his 
 chances. With an acknowledged position his 
 recognition is reasonably certain. And should 
 the exception now and again occur why descend 
 to the petty procedure of hiring a few rough- 
 visaged persons with large hands to make a noise? 
 Suppose, once in a season, the applause of an 
 audience does not completely satisfy? What 
 difference does it make, so long as the singer's 
 artistic soul is pleased?" 
 
 With everything McCormack has said I agree. 
 So do thousands of others. And in the course of 
 time the claque in America, anyway will be a 
 thing of the past. 
 
 "I wouldn't have missed the San Carlo en- 
 gagement for what it brought for more than I 
 can name. Before returning to London I had 
 conferred upon me one of the great honors of my 
 career; an honor bestowed personally by Pope 
 Pius X, which I shall recount directly. 
 
 "I felt tired when the San Carlo engage- 
 222
 
 LONDON AND NAPLES 
 
 ment came to an end, in April of Nineteen Hun- 
 dred Nine. I had sung, besides the opening 
 opera, in 'Traviata' and 'Rigoletto,' and ap- 
 peared on the same stage with some excellent 
 singers and my artistic resources were the better 
 because of the experience. 
 
 "It was early April when Mrs. McCormack and 
 I departed for Rome with our friends, Mary 
 Anderson, her husband, 'Tony' Navarro, and the 
 two Misses Scott, sisters of Sir John, and his 
 brother Walter, who made up our party." 
 
 223
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 POPE PIUS X CONFERS A BLESSING 
 
 The children Cyril and Gwenny had gone 
 to bed. Though eight-thirty o'clock in the eve- 
 ning (according to the hour of daylight-saving 
 plan then in vogue) it was sixty minutes earlier, 
 by the sun; and that planet still hovered in the 
 sky. A breeze blew up from the Sound to 
 where Mrs. McCormack and I sat on the veranda. 
 
 Miss Foley was busy elsewhere; John had 
 matters of consequence which had called him to 
 his writing-desk, and so Mrs. McCormack and I 
 waited until the others should join us. 
 
 I was pleased that it was so, for Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack usually silent as to her husband's 
 achievements was disposed to speak about 
 them. 
 
 "I should like, almost better than anything I 
 know," she said, "to have the public appreciate 
 how earnest John is." She glanced over at me, 
 and smiled almost longingly. So far as one 
 
 224
 
 POPE PIUS X CONFERS A BLESSING 
 
 might infer, Mrs. McCormack had everything her 
 heart wished: a devoted husband, two children, 
 the consciousness of honors well won, health for 
 all near to her, and the goods of the world in 
 abundance. It would have been a perfectly nat- 
 ural assumption to regard John's position as 
 made; his earnestness with respect to his art 
 something to be taken for granted. Yet that 
 wish it interested one. 
 
 "What makes you question such a thing? 
 Have you forgotten his Boston Symphony ap- 
 pearances? His Beethoven? And the pro- 
 grammes at Boston? Even his average pro- 
 grammes ; take any one of them, with their light- 
 est ballads . . . which mean so much to hun- 
 dreds of thousands!" For I am not at one with 
 some, who have failed, as yet, to probe the func- 
 tion of the simple song, and what it does for the 
 majority. 
 
 Mrs. McCormack brightened, I thought, at 
 this, and nodded her head. 
 
 "I've forgotten none of those things," she re- 
 plied; "perhaps it is an over-conscientiousness 
 about John, which I always have. He has it, 
 too. Possibly it's contagious." She laughed 
 merrily at this. "But everyone should know" 
 
 225
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 (she was very positive on this point) "that John 
 is thinking, striving constantly, for his audiences. 
 And that he bends his life to what he believes 
 they want and expect of him. Many people do 
 know; which makes me anxious that it should 
 be unanimous." 
 
 I explained that unanimity, in art, was an un- 
 attainable thing, to which she agreed. And this 
 wish, it seems to me, is one which should be em- 
 phasized. No person knows John McCormack 
 as Mrs. McCormack knows him, so that what she 
 says about her husband's earnestness should be 
 passed along, from one to another, and reiterated 
 until the whole world knows. 
 
 "He has three things in life," continued Mrs. 
 McGormack, in an unexpected burst of confi- 
 dence: "His family, his Catholic faith, and his 
 art. To each one his allegiance is complete; 
 John never does a thing by halves. So, for the 
 benefit of those who go to hear him sing and 
 who derive comfort from his singing, I should 
 be happy to have them know what I know. 
 
 "I have no doubt that it was meant that he 
 should perform the public service which he is 
 performing. That is the reason, and the only 
 one, why I let him go on his long tours when I, 
 
 226
 
 (Above) John McCormack and his 
 " little Indian," Gwenny 
 
 (Below) Driving his own car 
 
 (Above) Out of doors at Noroton. 
 At heart he is still a boy 
 
 (Below) " Shoot them over I I'm 
 ready ! "
 
 POPE PIUS X CONFERS A BLESSING 
 
 and the children, feel the need of him here at 
 home. It is the reason, too, why I dread the 
 day when he must curtail the fatiguing journeys, 
 and the work, and the preparation which wears 
 him in mind and body. You comprehend, don't 
 you, how anxious I am that, doing this work, the 
 sincerity back of it should be felt by every sin- 
 gle soul?" 
 
 John could not very well have told me that. 
 So I was glad that Mrs. McCormack had spoken, 
 in just that quiet way of hers the expressed 
 hope of a wife who has stood shoulder to shoulder 
 with her husband from the beginning of his 
 career, and gone on up with him to the top. 
 
 The screen-door slammed just then, and John 
 came outside. 
 
 "A little ride in the Cyril" (the McCormack 
 power-boat) "would be a cooling excursion, 
 don't you think?" he demanded. We thought 
 so, and Miss Foley, appearing at that mo- 
 ment, did, too. So we walked to the pier, got 
 aboard and were soon scooting out into the Sound. 
 
 It was late when we got back, with a full moon 
 and many stars in the sky. Not a night for sleep, 
 if one were talkatively inclined and a listener were 
 near. So when Mrs. McCormack and Miss 
 
 227
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Foley left us John and I sat by ourselves on the 
 veranda, no sounds save the locusts' calls falling 
 upon our ears. I kept my eye on the glow of 
 John's cigarette; it was growing duller, a sign 
 that his mind was becoming active. After a 
 time he began. 
 
 "It was 9 o'clock on Holy Thursday morning 
 of one of those perfect Italian spring days," said 
 the tenor, in a lowered tone, "that we set out 
 from our hotel in Rome to the Vatican. In this 
 center of learning, the home of Italy's aristocrats 
 and the gravitating place of diplomats the world 
 over, we passed along: Mrs. McCormack, Mary 
 Anderson, the Misses Scott, Mr. Scott, 'Tony' 
 Navarro and I a group of pilgrims wending our 
 way to that glorious edifice wherein the Princes 
 of the Church assemble and plan for Christian- 
 ity's good. And, as custom decreed, we men 
 wore full evening dress, the women in black, with 
 veils. 
 
 "I had thought often of such a journey; from 
 the schooldays in Athlone on through the various 
 phases of my life, in its hours of trials and joys. 
 There was the intense blue of an Italian sky over- 
 head, a blue which almost gave to the atmosphere 
 a transparency to the eye, and from the buildings 
 
 228
 
 POPE PIUS X CONFERS A BLESSING 
 
 as we passed along there were cast now and again 
 across our path varying shadows. 
 
 "The day, had we picked it, could not have 
 been more suitable to the occasion. For maj- 
 esty stalked everywhere, while all about us there 
 seemed to breathe 'Peace on Earth, Good Will 
 toward Men.' I had never seen the Vatican. 
 But from photographs I recognized it, quickly 
 enough, as we approached. 
 
 "Our visit, of course, had been made known 
 to the Holy Father, in a propitious way. Inter- 
 cession in our behalf had come from distin- 
 guished dignitaries: Monsignor Fraser, Presi- 
 dent of the Scotch College, and Monsignor Bis- 
 letti. And that knowledge buoyed me, though I 
 entered the portals with the others with trepida- 
 tion and a feeling of numbness about my legs 
 that made them dully heavy. For here I was, at 
 last, at the fountainhead of the Church; a soli- 
 tary soul, and diffident, yet eager to push on and 
 clutching faintly at a hope I felt to be slipping, 
 now that I drew near. 
 
 "It was the one moment in all my life, until 
 now, that awe seized and held me. The majesty 
 of the Church and all it represents pervaded the 
 interior of the outer room where we all stood. 
 
 229
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Others must have noticed, for directly the major- 
 domo came over to us with an air of friendly in- 
 tercession and asked what he might do. 
 
 "Miss Anderson and her husband, who knew 
 the Holy Father, spoke to the major-domo, who, 
 after showing us to seats, departed to a large 
 doorway beyond a doorway leading into the 
 sacred chamber wherein the Holy Father, Pope 
 Pius X, then was. 
 
 "I cannot refrain from attributing what oc- 
 curred to that unwavering Irish Catholic Faith to 
 which I hold, and which has been my solace in 
 many a weary hour, for sitting there I said three 
 silent 'Hail Marys' to the Mother of Mt. Garmel, 
 my patroness, and wished that it might be my 
 honor and privilege to kneel before Pope Pius X 
 and receive his blessing in his private room. 
 And strangely, too, Mrs. McCormack, at that 
 same moment, held similar thoughts in her mind. 
 And then . . ." 
 
 I sat very quiet. 
 
 ". . . Monsignor Semper, private secretary 
 to Pope Pius X, came through the door I sat 
 fixedly watching, and straight over to where we 
 sat. I could not have moved, had my life de- 
 pended upon it, to rise at that moment. I was 
 
 230
 
 POPE PIUS X CONFERS A BLESSING 
 
 able only to sit erect and stare, aware all the 
 time of his nearing approach, until he stood above 
 me, smiling. 
 
 'The Holy Father,' he said in a rich voice, 
 'will be pleased to receive you, Mr. McCormack, 
 and your friends.' 
 
 "For the life of me I could not restrain the 
 subconscious feeling of my own insignificance as, 
 following the secretary, I went with our party 
 through the doorway and inside that room. 
 Some little distance away, on his dais, he sat ; all 
 in white, the visual sanctification of what he rep- 
 resented : His Holiness, Pope Pius X. 
 
 "Never had I seen such a beautiful face. It 
 was oval, but though seamed with fine lines and 
 a bit drawn through the illness from which he 
 was then grievously suffering, in every feature 
 one saw reflected the kindness of a great soul. 
 His hair was very white and very long, and 
 brushed straight back so that it touched, at its 
 farthest ends, his collar. On the back of his 
 head was his little succhetto and about his neck 
 a gold chain and a cross. 
 
 "I have said that he was all in white, and so 
 he was. And his robes were a sort of wool, edged 
 with white moire silk, and about his waist he 
 
 231
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 wore a wide sash similarly trimmed. He seemed 
 to me, and I have always so thought of him since, 
 as the saintly and simple white father of Christen- 
 dom. The Holy Father sat there as his secretary 
 led us towards him, quite erect and looking out 
 of eyes that were almost too bright. I think his 
 power of will had much to do with keeping him 
 out of his bed. 
 
 "He greeted Mary Anderson and 'Tony' Na- 
 varro, first, then the rest of us, as we knelt before 
 him in a semi-circle. 
 
 6 'Oh,' he said, in a low but wonderfully mu- 
 sical voice, 'and so this is our tenor.' Miss An- 
 derson had spoken my name, swiftly, and then 
 stepped to one side. I stood there, mute for the 
 moment, unable, it appeared, to do more than 
 to feast my eyes upon that beautiful face, which 
 held me (only one word adequately expresses it) 
 enthralled. 
 
 "Then, with the rarest of smiles, the Holy 
 Father extended his hand to me a hand white 
 almost to transparency, with the veins showing 
 blue along its back. I took it, with the tips of 
 my fingers, kissed it and the ring of St. Peter on 
 his finger. 
 
 "And as I knelt there, emotions racing through 
 232
 
 POPE PIUS X CONFERS A BLESSING 
 
 my Irish blood such as it is beyond my powers 
 to even attempt to describe, Pope Pius X blessed 
 
 me." 
 
 I was not surprised when John ceased speech 
 then. The last part of his description had been 
 voiced somewhat haltingly; lengthy pauses be- 
 tween words, as though he saw himself living 
 over again that experience. The tenor's head, 
 too, had fallen slightly forward, so that his chin 
 rested close to his chest. Now he sat there, in 
 that attitude, intensely quiet and with no sign of 
 life other than the breathing which moved his 
 big shoulders. 
 
 "I rose," he finally said, "unutterably happy. 
 I remembered nothing clearly after that ; only of 
 moving with the others and reaching the outer 
 room, where we had waited. 
 
 "The Holy Father followed soon afterward. 
 And I saw him stop, on his way to the general 
 audience, in each of four rooms that partly sur- 
 round his own, to speak to different people who 
 were waiting for him, and to bestow upon them 
 his blessing as head of the greatest of churches, 
 and the beloved of three hundred millions of 
 faithful souls. 
 
 "I am emotional, and I could no longer re- 
 233
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 tain my self-control. I wept . . . and was un- 
 able to proceed, for nearly half an hour. 
 
 "We did not leave the Vatican, then, either; 
 for there were the art treasures to be viewed and 
 other things of historic appeal to us. I could not 
 hurry; each canvas and the objets d'art held 
 something more to me than artistic value. Even 
 those of less splendid mastery than others were 
 hallowed, to my eyes. 
 
 "So we finally came away. 
 
 "It was nearly noon when we walked down the 
 Vatican steps. But I did not bring myself back 
 to the modern world until evening. Mrs. Me- 
 Cormack can tell you; she felt as I did." 
 
 234
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 LONDON'S RECOGNITION BROADENS 
 
 The tide was in at seven that morning, and I 
 went across Rocklea lawn towards the pier for a 
 before-breakfast swim. I was on the string- 
 piece before I caught sight of a head, a couple 
 of hundred yards out in the Sound, and heard a 
 hail John McCormack's, unmistakably, even at 
 that distance. 
 
 I dove and stroked my way towards the tenor, 
 who was amusing himself in small-boy fashion: 
 treading, duck-diving, cavorting about with an 
 assortment of swimming strokes and varying all 
 this by occasionally interjecting an imitation of a 
 sea-lion's roar which makes a noise if you catch 
 the water just right with the lips. 
 
 "Nine pounds under top-weight, this morn- 
 ing," announced John gleefully; "ten minutes 
 more of this, then breakfast and on to the gym- 
 nasium. Whereupon the tenor allowed himself 
 to sink beneath the water, and I sprinted off to 
 escape the ducking I knew threatened. 
 
 235
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 John reappeared presently, with a grin of dis- 
 appointment spread on his tanned face. "You 
 moved," he charged goodnaturedly, after which 
 we gave ourselves to the swim. 
 
 Breakfast over I went to the study while John 
 drove to the gymnasium of tortures for two hours 
 of hand-ball and gruelling physical effort that 
 terminated in kneading that I am told feels like 
 being run over by a steam-roller. 
 
 It was two o'clock before the McCormack 
 schedule brought him to me and our purpose of 
 those days. 
 
 "The single memento of that visit to the Va- 
 tican," he remarked, "was a medallion of St. 
 Cecelia, which Pope Pius X had blessed. I've 
 carried it ever since." And zealously, it would 
 appear, for it is on his person during every wak- 
 ing hour and never does he make a professional 
 appearance without that medallion carried in his 
 pocket, at the end of his watch-chain. 
 
 "It had been a glorious trip, to Italy, but home 
 is always home and Mrs. McCormack and I were 
 not sorry when we were in our Hampstead abode 
 once more. The Covent Garden Grand season 
 was near, and I set to work to prepare for my 
 part in it. 
 
 236
 
 LONDON'S RECOGNITION BROADENS 
 
 "The winter had been an eventful one," he 
 went on, and as the desire for reminiscence 
 seemed strong I was glad to have him indulge it. 
 Thus far he had said little about the celebrities 
 he had met at the London homes he had visited. 
 With his thoughts traveling in the direction of 
 those experiences I concluded he would recall 
 some interesting incidents to relate. 
 
 "For so young a man," said John, "I was for- 
 tunate. My artist colleagues were all my 
 seniors. To be included with them in the invita- 
 tions to notable homes was something to appre- 
 ciate. For every such occasion enlarged my list 
 of acquaintances. Occasionally it yielded me a 
 steadfast friend. 
 
 "Lady de Grey's place Combe Court, it was 
 called, at Kingston-on-Thames always held at- 
 tractions. Only the most successful artists were 
 asked to participate in the musicales, and I was 
 not unmindful of the honor when such an invita- 
 tion was extended to me. At first finding my- 
 self in the midst of so many distinguished per- 
 sonages (as they were pointed out to me, one 
 after another) , I felt abashed. It was my intro- 
 duction to members of the royal family, and of 
 the peerage, and to personalities I knew about 
 
 237
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 but never had beheld at close range. So my dif- 
 fidence, I daresay, was natural enough. There 
 has to be a beginning, with every one. 
 
 "But during those first seasons at Co vent 
 Garden the experience widened; nearly every 
 one was considerate of me, and I profited by these 
 opportunities to mingle with men and women 
 who were of some account in the world. Fine 
 minds there were, too, among them; and not 
 many who were so engrossed with themselves as 
 to be inconsiderate. 
 
 "A magnificent type of man was Prince Fran- 
 cis, of Teck, brother to Queen Mary, magnifi- 
 cent, physically; nearly six feet-three, with the 
 patrician's features, formed like an Apollo and 
 with the gentlest nature and most democratic 
 ways. You felt him the thoroughbred the mo- 
 ment he came near. He radiated strength and 
 authority, in the way one will who is born to it. 
 
 "I recall, often, his offhand manner of speech 
 to me at various meetings in different London 
 homes. On one occasion, referring to some im- 
 portant topic of the hour, he remarked: 
 'Doesn't it make your Irish blood boil, McCor- 
 mack? It does mine.' ' 
 
 The tenor stretched himself in his chair, patted 
 238
 
 LONDON'S RECOGNITION BROADENS 
 
 one of the dogs who nosed his arm, and emitted 
 a short laugh. 
 
 "What's the row?" I demanded. 
 
 "I was thinking of an experience I once had, 
 singing for the late King Edward. It was at the 
 United States Ambassadorial residence, then oc- 
 cupied by Whitelaw Reid. Lillian Nordica and 
 I were the singers at that musicale; I'll always 
 have that experience to put me in good humor 
 when I feel the need for it. 
 
 "Mme. Nordica sang first, and mighty well; 
 she was an artist. But when she rejoined me, 
 just outside the music-room, she was convulsed. 
 She was some moments in controlling her mirth, 
 the cause of which I was impatient to learn. 
 
 " 'Never mind, John,' she said, 'you'll dis- 
 cover for yourself, soon enough. 'Twould be a 
 pity to spoil it.' 
 
 "I left her, with a curious feeling, and en- 
 tered the music-room and walked over to the 
 piano. King Edward and a group of men stood 
 together, near one window. Though I fancied 
 they had seen me come in and prepare for my 
 first number none gave me the slightest attention ; 
 they couldn't do so, out of deference to his Ma- 
 jesty, who continued talking in a very loud tone. 
 
 239
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "I waited; but the talking still continued. I 
 should have stood there, silent, for a long time 
 had not the accompanist prompted me to pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 " 'But the King?' I queried. 
 
 " 'Will stop his talk when you begin singing 
 . . . possibly.' 
 
 "So I started. And straight through to the 
 end I sang that song, which never made the least 
 impression on King Edward. He maintained 
 his conversation, in a very loud voice ; and when 
 I had finished he was still talking. He is dead, 
 now, and I don't wish to appear disrespectful; 
 yet I cannot refrain from remarking upon the 
 difference between his attitude towards an artist 
 and that of Queen Alexandra. 
 
 "Those were wonderful days, though," said 
 the tenor, with a smile. They developed many 
 friendships, which have lasted. Mary Ander- 
 son was one. 
 
 "I can see her, now, that first afternoon when 
 she recited to me, entire, Shakespeare's address 
 to the players. Think of that privilege ! I did 
 not immediately grasp what the composition was, 
 nor what it meant to be her exclusive auditor. 
 But as she went on and on, with her superb elo- 
 
 240
 
 LONDON'S RECOGNITION BROADENS 
 
 quence and power, I caught the spirit and began 
 to appreciate. She was in smiles, at the end; 
 for she had seen how moved I had been. 
 
 " Such experiences leave upon a nature like 
 mine something of an impress. I did not get 
 over the effects of that reading of Mary Ander- 
 son's for weeks. At intervals, and in the most 
 unexpected places, phrases of that address would 
 return to me heard, almost, as if that superb 
 artist herself had appeared suddenly before me 
 and declaimed them. 
 
 "She is what we hear mentioned, often, as a 
 womanly-woman. The better one gets to know 
 her the more this is revealed. She has mentality 
 and all the sensitiveness of the artist, with the 
 most lovable ways imaginable. And wonderful 
 eyes that's the word: 'wonderful.' Tony Na- 
 varro is a fortunate man ; and I am proud to count 
 him my friend. Yes they are an exceptional 
 couple. 
 
 "There were few of the notable London homes 
 which I was not lucky enough to enter at these 
 musicales I describe. The Duchess of Marl- 
 borough's, the Duchess of Manchester's, the 
 Duke of Portland's, the Aga Khan's and numer- 
 ous others embassies of the different countries 
 
 241
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 among them. The Dowager Empress of Russia, 
 Queen Alexandra's sister, was one of the illustri- 
 ous personages I was honored in meeting; and 
 the King of Portugal . . . and hosts of others. 
 
 "There was one affair which continued, 
 throughout an evening, with most of the guests 
 (to say nothing of the artists) in smiles. It was 
 given by the Aga Khan of India a sort of Pope, 
 I believe, in his country. There was scarcely 
 a minute during the soiree that he did not walk 
 to and fro, in a pair of shoes that squeaked with 
 each step he took like small animals protesting 
 in a cage. 
 
 "But that was all in the day's work. What 
 meant far more to me were the hours spent with 
 my good friends : Sir John Murray Scott, and his 
 charming sisters ; Neil Forsyth, General Manager 
 of Covent Garden (poor chap, he was accidentally 
 drowned, in Nineteen Fourteen) , Mary Anderson 
 and Tony Navarro. 
 
 "Theirs was an influence which any man might 
 have been glad to feel and profit by. I've no 
 doubt each one helped me immeasurably during 
 that period of my life, and career, to steer a 
 straight course. They say that a man is known 
 by his associates ; he progresses, or retrogresses, 
 
 242
 
 LONDON'S RECOGNITION BROADENS 
 
 according to the quality of those associates. So 
 you may see what advantages were mine. For 
 when a man goes out into the world it remains 
 for him to attract quite as much as to choose, 
 for choice, alone, will not always suffice the 
 right sort of friends. Up to that point it is the 
 influence of the parents which counts; his up- 
 bringing. Thereafter, it is with the man . . . 
 or woman. 
 
 "However I'll not philosophize further. 
 
 "That spring of Nineteen Hundred Nine was 
 auspicious. Covent Garden was preparing for 
 a gala performance to be given in honor of Presi- 
 dent Fallieres of France, and I was among those 
 chosen to participate. It was a distinguished 
 occasion, and the attendance composed of the no- 
 bility, members of the various foreign diplomatic 
 corps, army and navy officers and attaches and 
 other persons of importance in London. I shall 
 later describe the second Covent Garden gala per- 
 formance in which I took part, given two years 
 later in honor of the coronation of King 
 George V. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack left for Dublin soon after 
 this gala performance; and on the 21st of July, I 
 received news of the arrival of a baby girl, no 
 
 243
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 less a person than your young friend Gwendolyn 
 herself." 
 
 The words were barely uttered when Gwen ap- 
 peared, sprang into her father's lap and smiling 
 across at me proceeded to impress John McCor- 
 mack with the fact that he was her particular and 
 personal property. 
 
 244
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HAMMERSTEIN, CAMPANINI AND AMERICA 
 
 There is a short man of whom newspaper men 
 have been wont freely to write who threw his 
 shadow across the path of John McCormack in 
 the spring of Nineteen Hundred Nine. He wore 
 a moustache and a pointed beard then, as now, 
 and mostly upon his head a top hat famed for 
 its caricaturing by cartoonists, whose facile pen- 
 cils tilted it at rakish angles over a rotund face 
 distinguished, chiefly, by the humor lighted by 
 two very bright eyes. 
 
 America might name him from this descrip- 
 tion alone. But lest others, who know him less 
 intimately than New Yorkers, be impatient to 
 learn just who is meant we will supply the in- 
 formation: Oscar Hammerstein. 
 
 Hammerstein, the astute; Hammerstein, the 
 resourceful; Hammerstein, than whom no clev- 
 erer impresario ever signed a contract, or fed 
 an opera-going public upon the best to be had. 
 
 245
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 A fighter, who made the enemies a good fighter 
 will; a familiar figure in the courts of law, but 
 to those he liked and to those who gave him their 
 loyalty, a staunch friend. 
 
 "The greatest tragedy that ever befell musical 
 New York," declared McCormack with convic- 
 tion, "was when the Manhattan Opera House 
 closed its doors in Nineteen Hundred Ten." 
 Countless others feel the same way in that matter. 
 There was only one Oscar; there never can be 
 another. 
 
 Cleofonte Campanini had gradually come to 
 discover qualities in the singing of John Mc- 
 Cormack that roused his admiration. Like 
 other uncommon men, Campanini was not afraid 
 to change his mind. The young Irish tenor had 
 developed since he had reached Covent Garden, 
 and in him Campanini (who was Hammerstein's 
 first-conductor and musical advisor) began to 
 discern a candidate for possible honors across the 
 seas. He spoke to Oscar of McCormack, at the 
 close of the Manhattan's 1908-1909 season 
 on the verge of departing for Covent Garden to 
 assume his conductorship duties there beginning 
 with the gala performance in honor of President 
 Fallieres which has been described. 
 
 246
 
 HAMMERSTEIN AND CAMPANINI 
 
 "Hear him, at all events," counseled Cam- 
 panini, and sailed. 
 
 "I was not unprepared, when I met Hammer- 
 stein," said John. "Campanini had told me, 
 'The Manhattan would just suit your voice, and 
 I want you. But before we sign let us wait for 
 Oscar. He will arrive soon.' ; 
 
 Gwen McCormack clambered down from her 
 father's knees and John watched her scamper off 
 with the dogs, on some errand of joyous youth. 
 
 "I was drawn at once towards Hammerstein," 
 admitted the tenor. "He was a 'different' sort 
 of impresario. He'd heard me before we met 
 at a Covent Garden performance and had 
 formed his opinion. 
 
 "Some time later I was told of a remark he 
 had made concerning me. 
 
 'With that voice,' said Oscar, 'and his Irish 
 name what a career he could have in concerts.' 
 
 "That's what I call scoring a bull's-eye. He 
 had vision, Oscar Hammerstein. I doubt if he 
 stopped to analyze. He just sensed a thing, in 
 that instantaneous way of his; and generally he 
 was right. And I should like to say that no 
 keener judge of an artist lives than Oscar Ham- 
 merstein. He's unerring. 
 
 247
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "I was introduced to him by Campanini, at 
 Covent Garden after a rehearsal. He wore his 
 famous top hat, and from his mouth protruded 
 one of his almost equally famous cigars doubt- 
 less one of his own hand-manufacture, a practice 
 he indulged in even when the distracting business 
 of running an opera house occupied most of the 
 twenty-four hours of each of his days. 
 
 "Hammerstein had an ingratiating personality. 
 Magnetic, he was, and straightforward. And I 
 shall never cease to be grateful to him for the 
 opportunities he so freely gave me. 'Well, 
 Mike,' he would say, 'what do you think; can 
 you do it? Yes? All right, go ahead.' So 
 brief a conversation as this would settle the ques- 
 tion of a new role, and fill me with confidence 
 to sing a dozen. 
 
 "We didn't spend much time over negotiations. 
 Campanini offered me a three years' contract, 
 (which was already drawn and only awaited Os- 
 car's signature) with a salary of seven hundred 
 dollars a week for the first season, eight hundred 
 a week for the second, and twelve hundred and 
 fifty for the third season. And I accepted the 
 offer." 
 
 A haze had begun to vaporize things, creep- 
 248
 
 HAMMERSTEIN AND CAMPANINI 
 
 ing with imperceptible stealth as John had talked 
 so that, in my attentiveness to the tale, I had 
 taken no notice. My host was settled comfort- 
 ably in a wicker easy-chair, his face pillowed 
 against one fist, his eyes seeing nothing imme- 
 diately thereabouts. I let my gaze traverse from 
 the now-hidden waters of the Sound, impatient 
 for the resumption of conversation. 
 
 "Substantial fees had been my lot that sea- 
 son," said John. "In those desirable London 
 homes I received, for my singing, considerably 
 more than the fifty guineas which those incom- 
 parable artists Mario and Grisi had received to- 
 gether for such services and I saw, with my 
 own eyes, a cheque for one of these concerts. 
 Then there was the concert which I was instru- 
 mental in giving, for the benefit of the survivors 
 of the Messina disaster held in Albert Hall 
 which netted seven hundred pounds. Repre- 
 sentatives of all the diplomatic corps were pres- 
 ent, and the orchestra (at the special request of 
 Queen Alexandra) played Elgar's Tomp and 
 Circumstance.' 
 
 "The acceptance of Hammerstein's American 
 operatic offer was, as I explained to him, de- 
 pendent upon my being able to arrange with 
 
 249
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the Harrison concert management for the can- 
 cellation of appearances then prepared for me 
 for the approaching autumn. I was glad when 
 I was informed that this could be done. It left 
 the way clear, and I began to speculate upon the 
 future. 
 
 "That first visit to the United States, five years 
 before, had left an unfortunate impression. 
 My treatment was not a thing easy to forget. 
 But, I argued, 'The St. Louis Fair isn't New 
 York, and matters probably will take a different 
 turn.' 
 
 "Sir John Murray Scott agreed that the Ham- 
 merstein contract was one to accept. His coun- 
 sel always was sound. Even in those early Co- 
 vent Garden days he had reminded me : 'Caruso 
 has a Caruso style, Mario had a Mario style 
 do you cultivate a McCormack style. Do not 
 imitate another, no matter how great he may be 
 nor how much he may do that appeals to your 
 tastes. Be original, and with your resources 
 you will become a personality yourself.' 
 
 "Now, in my mental perturbation, I found 
 solace in the assurances of Sir John. Listening 
 to him talk I found apprehensiveness waning; 
 and other friends, in their views of the proposed 
 
 250
 
 / 
 
 n 
 
 vt 
 
 ^ 
 
 J 
 
 C 
 
 U 
 
 11^ 
 
 tf 
 
 1 1 1 
 
 i -i J 
 
 A 
 
 fl 
 
 f? 
 
 i, 
 
 i * 
 
 X 
 
 v? 
 
 JE 
 
 k? 
 
 j 
 
 1 * 
 
 n 
 
 P * ' "i H y ^ V 
 
 i-ilHl ?J 
 
 ^ r o i ^ ? .< / 
 
 i j : i . '" ; i j 
 
 4 i 
 i } r 
 
 o 
 
 /? 
 
 ^ 
 
 t| 
 
 ^ 
 
 3 5 11 ! " J 
 
 *^7 H ,V r / ' 
 
 ^ r I 3 f j f 
 -? J J v f i * I 
 
 ^ V -T J ^ .< 
 
 / 4
 
 HAMMERSTEIN AND CAMPANINI 
 
 American engagement, coincided with Sir John. 
 
 "I took, at that period, to evening strolls near 
 my Hampstead home, and during one of them 
 stopped a stranger to ask him for a match. It 
 was a trivial enough incident, which I soon for- 
 got. I had no suspicion, even, that the stranger 
 knew who I was ; but it seems that he did. For 
 three years later, during a summer visit to Hamp- 
 stead I received this letter." 
 
 The tenor handed me the communication, un- 
 signed as to name, and bearing the date July 23, 
 1912. It was so unusual that I suggested that 
 it be incorporated, in facsimile, in this book. 
 
 "There was much to do before the date of de- 
 parture for New York," explained McCormack. 
 "I had numerous friends to take farewells of, 
 realizing that they could not safely be de- 
 layed until last moments. And there was the 
 gathering together of such things as one would 
 require. In the midst of the London part of 
 that task I received a request from the Odeon 
 Phonograph Company to confer with their ex- 
 ecutives. 
 
 "They wanted me to make some records, at 
 terms thoroughly satisfactory, and I signed a 
 contract. About this time, also the gentleman 
 
 251
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 of the Gramophone Company the one who had 
 told me three years before that I was worth noth- 
 ing to him made overtures. But I was in no 
 hurry, or need at the time for funds, so I put him 
 off. Other offers, of record-making, I likewise 
 sidetracked. Then I went to Dublin. 
 
 "Gwen was chubby and healthy, Cyril had 
 grown into a sturdy youngster of two and Mrs. 
 McCormack was unspeakably happy. For a 
 week we let nothing interfere with our visit. I 
 became, altogether, a man of family; willing to 
 forget songs and singing in those closest to me. 
 It was a week, also, of gradual mental readjust- 
 ment; of calls from friends, who discovered (as 
 friends will, intuitive-fashion) that I had re- 
 turned, and who came to talk and gather the 
 latest news from London. 
 
 "Then followed my trip to Athlone. 
 
 "I never go there to this day that the 
 sight of familiar spots does not bring tears to 
 my eyes. I had played football here, and there 
 had a fight with one of my rivals, while in vari- 
 ous places (as I walked along toward the Mc- 
 Cormack home) some incident of my youth re- 
 enacted itself to my momentary pleasure or sor- 
 row. 
 
 252
 
 HAMMERSTEIN AND CAMPANINI 
 
 "Scores of people stopped me, wrung my hand 
 till it tingled, and demanded, in those few mo- 
 ments I was then able to spare, accounts of what 
 had befallen me since I had last been home. 
 There's nothing like such home-coming greet- 
 ings from Tom, Dick and Harry ; the old crowd, 
 which has known you since you were a kid and 
 is just as happy in your success as you are your- 
 self. 
 
 "But I got on, after such interruptions, and 
 at length went through the gate and up to the 
 front door. Mother grabbed me first, then my 
 sisters. Father and Jim came in at noon-time, 
 for lunch, and we held a pow-wow, which ended 
 with my telling all the details of the Hammer- 
 stein engagement. 
 
 "But those times came to an end all too sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Embarking-time arrived. With Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack, I went aboard the steamship, on 
 October fifteenth, Nineteen Hundred Nine, in 
 Queenstown. And on that day, our friends wav- 
 ing to us from the dock, we sailed away west- 
 ward. I felt my throat catch as the shore faded, 
 becoming at last a mere fringe on the horizon. 
 'What,' I asked myself, 'is in store for me?' 
 253
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "That night, in solitude, I paced the deck of 
 the great liner. Stars rose in the clear sky 
 and a brisk wind whipped disquietude from my 
 thoughts and brought tranquillity. Thus heart- 
 ened I went below, to my cabin and rest." 
 
 254
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 MANHATTAN OPERA HOUSE DEBUT 
 
 "Enterprise," assured McCormack to me one 
 cool day which succeeded those of oven-like heat 
 which sent July, 1918, on its backward way, 
 "will always be associated, for me, with those 
 tireless and keen-scented men of the daily press. 
 They are marvels of energy, as well as of inquisi- 
 tiveness, and with faculties of divination I never 
 could solve. With their corkscrew methods they 
 extract from one's mind more than he suspects 
 lies there, and next he knows he reads it in print. 
 
 "The trip to New York from Queenstown was 
 uneventful. The usual ship-concerts, in which 
 I appeared; the daily deck- walks, the lolling in 
 chairs, meals, a bit of gossip and sleep. One 
 day was but a repetition of another that pre- 
 ceded : the routine of life at sea aboard a modern 
 liner, and that infinite space which met the eye 
 when one looked away from her. To me there is 
 something sublimely majestic about the ocean; 
 a suggestion of mysterious power. But it did 
 
 255
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 not exert itself during our five-days' run. We 
 had good weather and a propitious voyage. I re- 
 call no musician of distinction among my fellow 
 passengers, other than Gustav Mahler who kept 
 much to himself. 
 
 "Coming up New York bay those same scenes 
 I had first beheld five years before reappeared. 
 Their mental effect, however, was different. I 
 was to an extent sophisticated ; less the green lad 
 from the Emerald Isle with teeth uncut. Shortly 
 came the ships-news reporters, with their inves- 
 tigating minds. 
 
 "Treading American soil again I felt a thrill. 
 My physical objective was reached, another link 
 in the chain of my career about to be forged. 
 Into a cab this time a taxi I put Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack, and the driver whirled us off, towards 
 the Hoffman House, at Broadway and Twenty- 
 fifth Street, where our quarters were in waiting. 
 
 "I fell quickly into the way of things, for I 
 am an adaptable animal. For a few days Mrs. 
 McCormack and I suffered the pangs of home- 
 sickness in their severe stage. But they gradu- 
 ally disappeared. The marvelous energy of the 
 people one met in the streets, which had not so 
 impressed me at my first American visit, was 
 
 256
 
 MANHATTAN OPERA HOUSE DEBUT 
 
 rather startling. There were times when this 
 physical violence, this rushing of persons past 
 one with set mouths and staring eyes, was un- 
 nerving. They epitomized the exhaustless ag- 
 gressiveness of the nation; a horde of humans 
 competing ruthlessly with one another, seeking 
 their goals which they seemed bent on having 
 or dying in the attempt. I dare not think what 
 might have happened had it been my fate to clash 
 with them in their mad scramble for the attain- 
 able. I was glad that my course lay in quieter 
 places, though the struggle there, if less out- 
 wardly violent, is nevertheless a fight. 
 
 "I suppose," mused the tenor, "it is largely 
 as our feelings incline. Still, I cannot repress, 
 every time I find myself in a business-bent New 
 York crowd, that sudden feeling of pity for those 
 I see buffeting past. For in every group there 
 is one failure; some man or woman struggling 
 vainly against odds unable to win, yet plodding 
 doggedly on." 
 
 With his description of all this John had grown 
 restless. I noticed his big hands clench until 
 the muscles of his forearms flexed in huge ridges. 
 His mouth, too, had a firmer line, and those smil- 
 ing Irish eyes narrowed. I was not surprised. 
 
 257
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 McCormack cannot see others suffer without ex- 
 periencing suffering himself. He's strong and 
 rough enough, with the rough and strong; who 
 can take as well as give, when hard knocks come. 
 But underneath, if you look, you will find a sen- 
 sitive heart that beats for the oppressed, for 
 the sad and the weak. 
 
 No one, deserving help, ever goes for it in 
 vain to John McCormack. It is natural for him 
 to lend others a hand. And if you would probe 
 the real McCormack you must be near him when 
 he reads some letter from a little old lady some- 
 thing like the following, written in New York in 
 1915. 
 
 "Dear Mr. McCormack: 
 
 "As I am a little old woman with hair as white 
 as snow, and you, thank Heaven ! are a very young 
 man, it seems to me that, at the ending of your 
 season here, I might try to express my heartfelt 
 appreciation of your recitals in New York. I 
 have joyfully attended them all have asked ap- 
 preciative friends to go with me and I have sent 
 many who have gratefully told me of their delight. 
 For us all, in a greater or less degree, this has 
 been a winter heavily shadowed by sorrow and 
 anxiety for others. I have found my greater 
 pleasure at your concerts; on Sunday afternoon 
 
 258
 
 MANHATTAN OPERA HOUSE DEBUT 
 
 I shall listen to the last note that you sing, with 
 a delight that I find in your every song, but with 
 the keenest regret that we must wait so long be- 
 fore we can hear you again. 
 
 "All along my life abroad and in this coun- 
 try I have heard the greatest singers of many 
 lands sing in their prime, many of them ballads 
 and songs that you give us. But, for myself, 
 they have never been as flawless and satisfying. 
 With the beautiful voice is the perfect reading 
 the right value and clear enunciation of each 
 word and new values given to many words. For 
 instance, I have never heard a singer give to the 
 word 'repose' that sense of peaceful rest, deeply 
 desired, that you give to this word. In her youth 
 I heard Patti give to the word 'alone' a depth 
 and pathos, unusual in her singing a sense of 
 utter loss and desolation that I can still distinctly 
 recall. 
 
 "I could select many words whose value has 
 been enriched and deepened, as you have sung 
 them. If anyone should say to me: 'I should 
 like to read simply and appealingly, giving a 
 sense of beauty and richness of the English lan- 
 guage to whom shall I turn?' I should say: 
 'Go to every concert that Mr. McCormack gives 
 you can't hope to sing as he does but you can 
 learn from him to read as you desire.' 
 
 "If you had no singing voice left, and far in- 
 deed mav that evil day be ! I should still go to 
 
 259
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 hear you read your songs and for that alone I 
 believe you would still gather throngs. As for 
 the singing itself, I will say that you could sing 
 the shoes off my feet and I'd never know they 
 were gone (I've a strain of Irish blood, you see). 
 
 "If I were a young woman I could not send you 
 this letter. It is one of the few compensations 
 of age, that one can say and do as one pleases. 
 But with all the enthusiasm of early youth, I 
 could not have the deep enjoyment of your sing- 
 ing that I have at this late hour, when I know 
 fully the cares and sorrows and losses that life 
 can bring. 
 
 "Young, with perfect health, with a rich en- 
 dowment in so many directions and with your dear 
 ones around you to give you peace and joy and 
 rest, you know of sorrowful things only through 
 the sure intuitions given to an artist's soul may 
 you and yours never learn of them in any other 
 way! 
 
 "Believing that all generous natures rejoice in 
 giving pleasure through their gifts, I feel sure 
 that you will understand my wish to express my 
 deep appreciation and hearty thanks, as I have 
 tried to do here, for what has been one of the 
 greatest joys of my life. Someone said to me 
 yesterday C I hope that his marvelous success 
 may not turn Mr. McCormack's head.' I said: 
 'It never will if he is really great. Mr. Edwin 
 
 260
 
 MANHATTAN OPERA HOUSE DEBUT 
 
 Booth whose success came in his early youth, 
 said to me not long before his death: 4 I have 
 never known what it was to end an evening's 
 work at all satisfied with myself. No public ap- 
 plause or praise of friends could change my own 
 view. My standard was always beyond my 
 reach ; I could always see where I failed to reach 
 it.' 
 
 "All the truly great people I have known have 
 expressed this feeling in one way or another. So 
 I feel that it is only the very small, poorly en- 
 dowed, natures that can be at all harmed by praise 
 of their work, whatever that work may be. 
 
 "I have written with an easy conscience, for 
 I do not expect any word in reply to my letter. 
 I could not be so selfish and so cruel as to add 
 that task for a tired man, tired indeed you must 
 be, as your long, full season ends. No, this is 
 just a wee voice in the chorus of voices that have 
 told you just the same things in far better words 
 than I can find it makes no faintest demand 
 upon you in any way. Next season I hope, 
 through my friend Mrs. William McAdoo, to have 
 the pleasure of an introduction to Mrs. McCor- 
 mack, of whom I have heard the pleasantest 
 things, and yourself. 
 
 "For that good time I shall wait with an old 
 woman's heartiest thanks and blessings for the 
 songs that have brightened her life, and for the 
 
 261
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 singer and with all best Easter wishes for Mrs. 
 McCormack, the children and yourself, 
 "I remain, 
 
 "Gratefully yours, 
 
 It would destroy the sense of fitness to give 
 the name of the lady who wrote John McCor- 
 mack, from the depths of her heart. But there 
 is one thing I can say she received a reply, 
 penned, I am sure, by a hand that was not al- 
 together steady and guided by a pair of eyes not 
 free from moments of blurred vision. And that 
 little lady is now one of the good friends of the 
 tenor and his wife. 
 
 For that human understanding, which is so 
 large a part of McCormack's nature, is one of 
 the principal elements which have made him the 
 singer he is ; which had carried him, even on the 
 eve of his Manhattan Opera House debut, far 
 along in his ability to touch his hearers and to 
 move them with the emotions he felt. 
 
 I intimated, some pages back, that John does 
 not flinch under punishment. It was well for 
 him, on Wednesday, November 10, 1909, that 
 he belonged to no timorous kin and lacked no 
 faith in himself. For nearly three weeks the 
 
 262
 
 MANHATTAN OPERA HOUSE DEBUT 
 
 tenor's voice had refused to become adjusted to 
 the climatic conditions of New York. Rest and 
 throat-specialists brought no improvement to the 
 roughened membranes surrounding that golden 
 voice-box. John's debut-morning dawned with 
 his voice still below par, and in no condition for 
 the oncoming demands. 
 
 But he had been announced, he was a fighter 
 and he wouldn't quit. 
 
 Until an hour before curtain-time the respon- 
 siveness of John's voice was uncertain. It was 
 only natural that he should have walked the floor 
 of his hotel chamber a large part of that day; and 
 that he should have turned, in his hour of need, 
 to prayer. He did both, and submitted to the 
 ministrations of his physican, Dr. Dupont. 
 "But not once," asserts Mrs. McCormack, "did 
 his faith waver. Til go on,' he would repeat, 
 from time to time, 'and get through all right.' : 
 
 Those of us who were present at the Manhat- 
 tan, that evening, remember how he got through. 
 With Tetrazzini and Sammarco, and with An- 
 selmi conducting, John McCormack made his 
 American operatic debut as Alfredo in "Travi- 
 ata." And without stint that large and discrim- 
 inating audience "rose to him" (as some of the 
 
 263
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 critics averred) and accepted him as a tenor they 
 wished to hear. 
 
 In better voice, since then, he has given a bet- 
 ter account of himself. But experts did not 
 disagree as to the purity of those lyric tones, the 
 delightful freedom of their delivery and the un- 
 affected style with which Verdi's music was sung. 
 From that November night of Nineteen Hundred 
 Nine there was no doubt as to the future in this 
 country of John McCormack. Whether there 
 were any in the Manhattan audience with the 
 vision of Oscar Hammerstein, when he foresaw 
 McCormack's concert possibilities, I do not know. 
 What I do recall is that he passed his test, and 
 entered into those precincts sought by many but 
 gained by the few. 
 
 264
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 "For me," said McCormack when next the 
 mood was upon him to go on with his narrative, 
 "a first performance is no conclusive test. An 
 accident may mar it, some lucky circumstance 
 swing it higher than it deserves. The second 
 and the third appearances are what truly count, 
 for then the people know, and the artist may de- 
 termine for himself, how far he is likely to go 
 and the possible sum total of his accomplishment. 
 To 'repeat,' if I may use the phrase, is the mea- 
 sure by which we are estimated and which finally 
 classifies us in the niche where we belong. 
 
 "I lay next morning, in my bed, thinking 
 deeply of what the succeeding days should bring 
 forth. On the following Monday I was cast for 
 Edgardo, in 'Lucia,' and later in that week I knew 
 I should be called on to do Tonio in'The Daughter 
 of the Regiment.' I already had read the news- 
 paper reviews, which were eminently fair. Sev- 
 eral were emphatic in their predictions for me; 
 
 265
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and, so far as I could gather, my debut was a mat- 
 ter for congratulation as I soon found out. 
 
 "The 'phone bell rang and answering it I 
 heard Oscar's voice on the wire. 
 
 'You should be in good voice this morning, 
 Mike,' he announced, 'the press is for you.' 
 
 ' 'Mike ! ' By that name Hammerstein always 
 called me, after that, and he still does. I rather 
 liked it, for it always rang, when he used it, with 
 a touch of sincere cordiality. 
 
 "I tubbed, dressed and after breakfast felt 
 physically better than I had since I had arrived 
 in New York. The period of greatest ap- 
 prehensiveness was past. There seemed no good 
 reason why I should not continue with the suc- 
 cess I had begun, and I determined to do my best 
 to this end. The throat, when Dr. Dupont came 
 to examine it, showed no ill effects from having 
 sung the previous night. That comforted me, 
 and when I left the hotel for a stroll I doubt if I 
 would willingly have changed places with any- 
 one had such a thing been possible." 
 
 "And the 'Lucia' and 'Regiment' perform- 
 ances they satisfied you?" 
 
 "I am never satisfied. Flaws are always ap- 
 parent, in whatever I may do. But the roles in 
 
 266
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 those two operas . . . you should know how I 
 sang them; you were there." 
 
 He had sung them well that's a matter of 
 record. His voice, too, was in a more normal 
 state and he gave it more freely. John's confi- 
 dence in the outcome also appeared to have stiff- 
 ened. He no longer doubted, even slightly. 
 Public acceptance had been swift; he could 
 safely conclude that he would go far. 
 With that consciousness which he confesses he 
 then felt he sang with increased authority, and 
 as the season wore on McCormack gained in ad- 
 herents and in the mastery of his art. 
 
 But for me, John McCormack's metier has ever 
 been the song. He is the singer per se; and in 
 singing one has quite enough to do without con- 
 cerning himself with externals, as is more or less 
 compulsory in opera. For I remember no great 
 opera artist, excelling in the dramatic side, who 
 was correspondingly satisfactory as a singer. 
 Jear. de Reszke is a possible exception, yet he 
 was more the singer than the actor. Fernando 
 de Lucia, whom McCormack admired devotedly, 
 proved that one night most conclusively. He 
 sang Don Jose in "Carmen" shortly after Jean de 
 Reszke had appeared in that role, and forever 
 
 267
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 after de Reszke's Don Jose was a milk and watery 
 affair in acting comparison. 
 
 So I was interested in McCormack's first con- 
 cert appearance, which took place in the Man- 
 hattan Opera House one November Sunday 
 evening. Unhampered by the trappings and 
 shams of that hybrid art-form the opera the 
 tenor was most gloriously at ease. Even then 
 his diction was a thing of joy for those who ap- 
 preciate that much of the superiority of the voice, 
 to all other instruments, is its capacity for speech. 
 McCormack gave us the text that night; clearly, 
 so that every syllable could be understood. And 
 people went away from the concert talking about 
 it. "I never passed a more enjoyable season 
 than that first and only one at the Manhattan," 
 said McCormack, dreamily. "I was not long in 
 discovering the financial whirlpool which was 
 threatening to engulf Hammerstein, and it 
 seemed a shocking and unfair thing. For he 
 was a great man. And he deserved to succeed. 
 Yet, with all the weight that he alone carried, 
 he maintained a marvelous poise. With me, he 
 was always serene. I know of his fits of temper, 
 and some of the causes which were enough to 
 have tried Job. Still, he invariably greeted me 
 268
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 with that contagious smile. We of the Manhat- 
 tan were like a happy family, and there were some 
 great artists in it. Nellie Melba, whose beauti- 
 ful singing still may be taken as a criterion by far 
 younger artists of to-day; Mary Garden, unique 
 artist, if ever there was one, who is as incompar- 
 able in those roles exclusively hers as she was ten 
 years ago ; Luisa Tetrazzini, whose brilliant voice 
 was something to remember, as is her thoughtful 
 kindness to me when I needed it; Mario Sam- 
 marco, friend always and one of the great artists 
 of his time; Maurice Renaud, one of the most 
 finished baritones France has produced; Charles 
 Gilibert, the inimitable, gentle soul that he was ; 
 Giovanni Zenatello, whose heroic tenor voice con- 
 tinues to move his audiences; Mariette Mazarin, 
 whose Elektra remains in my memory as one of 
 the herculean vocal feats possible to a dramatic 
 soprano; Jeanne Gerville-Reache and Clothilde 
 Bressler-Gianoli, two mezzo-sopranos whose 
 equals one seldom finds; Lina Cavalieri, Hector 
 Dufranne, Charles Dalmores, and others. 
 
 "But that list tells part of the Hammerstein 
 story and is proof enough of what he did for 
 musical New York. Then there were the operas 
 that he gave though not all of them, of course, 
 
 269
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 in that single year I was a member of his com- 
 pany. Just think! 'Pelleas et Melisande,' 
 'Thais,' 'Louise,' 'Le Jongleur de Notre Dame,' 
 'Elektra,' to mention a few of the absolute 
 novelties and the revivals he made ! 
 
 "I've heard him called 'resourceful Os- 
 car,' " said McCormack, reflectively, "and that 
 he was. And a thorn, always, in the side of the 
 Metropolitan Opera Company's flesh though 
 just why he was so construed I never could com- 
 prehend. For he was a stimulant to that man- 
 agement; forever keeping a competitor alert, as 
 he should be kept which is good for opera. 
 
 "That competition, by the way, was a public 
 delight. There were no idle moments, for any 
 of us at either institution. We were spurred 
 on to our best beyond the spurring usual in most 
 opera houses. There was the consciousness of 
 close personal scrutiny, of keenest criticism of 
 our efforts and that was the artistic advantage 
 of every one of us. 
 
 "There have been stories, as I know, that 
 Hammerstein was weeks behind with his artists' 
 salaries. I have always doubted those tales. 
 From such evidence as came before me they did 
 not hold water. For myself I can say that what 
 
 270
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 was due me always came promptly, and not a 
 day late. Even when the finances became 
 pinched Oscar never asked me to wait, or com- 
 plained at the heavy drain which his pay-roll 
 wrought. I could see how worried he was, but, 
 while he was discouraged, he continued a fighter 
 to the end. 
 
 "He crumpled a bit, towards the end of the 
 season. He confessed to me, then, that he was 
 probably through. 'But you will be taken care 
 of, Mike; tenors such as you are are rare.' ' 
 
 I know, incidentally, that by that remark 
 Oscar Hammerstein meant more than the voice 
 when he said "such tenors as you are are rare." 
 He said so to me, often. "McCormack's got a 
 tenor voice, but there the tenor part of him ends. 
 He's a man." 
 
 An incident tending to indicate such to be the 
 case was John's comment upon his first interview 
 in America. "Sylvester Rawling, music editor 
 of the New York Evening World, was the first 
 newspaperman to whom I talked extensively for 
 publication," said the tenor. "He sent word up 
 to my hotel rooms that he would like to see me. 
 I had an engagement for tea, at the Waldorf 
 Astoria, and hadn't time to invite him to stop for 
 
 271
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 what he wanted. 'But,' I said to Rawling, Til 
 be glad to have you come along; perhaps we can 
 chat on the way over there.' He was so consid- 
 erate in the matter, and wrote such an interesting 
 story, that I never can forget." 
 
 John poured forth the story of this chapter one 
 cloudy afternoon, as he stood leaning against 
 the rail of his Rocklea pier. He seemed down- 
 cast, during that portion relating to the decline 
 of Hammerstein. Now and again he would 
 shake his head sadly before proceeding farther. 
 But eventually he got back, once more, to the 
 sequence of events. 
 
 "With New York comfortably started," con- 
 fided John, "I began to look toward my first ap- 
 pearances in other cities. The Manhattan took 
 its weekly jaunts to Philadelphia, as you remem- 
 ber, and Hammerstein had told me I should soon 
 have my chance at the Quakers. 'They'll either 
 be for or against you,' he said, 'they are no half- 
 way sort over there.' 
 
 "I marveled at the opera house, when I first 
 saw its depth. Oscar had built it (he could 
 never keep out of real estate, or inventing to- 
 bacco-machinery) during his third New York 
 season and Philadelphia then had a suitably 
 
 272
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 modern place for its operatic occasions. It was 
 named the Metropolitan and was a huge affair. 
 
 "We traveled from New York to Philadelphia 
 and return by special train excepting those 
 who remained over, after a hard performance, to 
 rest comfortably in a hotel. Those trips were 
 jolly affairs : one chair car being reserved for the 
 principal artists, the conductor and members of 
 the executive staff. Hammerstein always went 
 along, for he believed in the theory of personal 
 supervision. 
 
 'When I'm there, Mike,' he would say, 'I can 
 step lively if anything goes wrong.' So he was 
 generally on the ground, receiving reports, keep- 
 ing his stars in a congenial mood and serving as 
 he alone could as diplomat extraordinary. 
 
 "My Philadelphia debut was accomplished 
 without mishap; the performance moving 
 smoothly under Sturani's conductorship, and my 
 fellow artists contributing their full share. I 
 was becoming, I might say, somewhat at home 
 and those earlier fears of American annoyances 
 had disappeared. I considered myself launched 
 in the new country, and a fixture with that partic- 
 ular organization. 
 
 "But the bubble of trouble hovered near, 
 273
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 almost ready to break, and I discovered its pres- 
 ence not long after the New Year. That was an 
 interesting experience, by the way the celebra- 
 tion of my first New Year's Eve in the United 
 States. I was not to sing in an opera perform- 
 ance that night, which left Mrs. McCormack and 
 me free to accept an invitation to be the guests 
 of friends, our objective being a popular hotel. 
 
 "It meant rather more to me than the mere 
 ushering in of a new year, as the old one passed 
 on. If others about us in that room were out 
 for jollification I held a deeper feeling. For me 
 the glamor of that enlivening display was more 
 than an assemblage of men and women celebrat- 
 ing an annual event. It reflected, as I surveyed 
 the scene, the exquisite feminine toilettes, the 
 fortunes in displayed jewels, and the merrymak- 
 ing, something symbolic of my career to come. I 
 chose, at least, to consider it so and I gave my- 
 self unreservedly to an open-eyed dream of on- 
 ward travel in my profession, building, I confess, 
 a few modest castles out of air. Our host inter- 
 rupted me, every little while, to point out some 
 personage; but the identifying process over I 
 would drift back to that pleasurable occupation 
 in which most people indulge." 
 
 274
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 The Cyril, with the remainder of the McCor- 
 mack family aboard, tooted a warning at that 
 moment, and John checked his narrative and 
 turned to wave a welcoming hand. We waited 
 until Wilkinson had landed the power-boat 
 against the float and helped the passengers 
 ashore. Cyril and Gwen stopped their sing- 
 ing long enough to voice, in their treble duet, 
 the experiences of that swift trip, and with that 
 were off on a run for the house, Mrs. McCor- 
 mack and Miss Foley following at a more leisurely 
 pace. 
 
 "It seems only yesterday," mused John, watch- 
 ing the retreating figures of his children, "that I 
 was striving to get a foothold in this country. 
 Only when I look at them, and recall that they 
 were only babies, then, do I realize how time 
 flies. After all, Longfellow appreciated what it 
 meant when he wrote that wonderful line, 'Life 
 is but a day's journey from the cradle to the 
 grave.' 
 
 "It was in January," said the tenor, rousing 
 himself, "that I was engaged for my first Chi- 
 cago appearance. Max Rabinoff, an impresario 
 who has since been identified with conspicuous 
 ventures the Pavlowa ballet tournees and the 
 
 275
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 two American tours of the Boston-National 
 Grand Opera Company was the active manager 
 of a series of concerts then being given in the 
 Chicago Auditorium. Many distinguished art- 
 ists, vocalists and instrumentalists, were appear- 
 ing at these affairs, and the Chicago Philhar- 
 monic Orchestra. 
 
 "The possibilities of the United States now 
 impressed me as more important than any I had 
 had; for I had been assured: 'If New York ap- 
 proves you, McCormack, that means the rest of 
 the country.' Philadelphia's endorsement hav- 
 ing been obtained, I was anxious to test my re- 
 sources before both Chicago and Boston audi- 
 ences ; and if they approved, I reasoned, I might 
 feel assured. 
 
 "But that Chicago appearance was not wholly 
 satisfactory. The audience was not a large one, 
 and the many empty seats in that vast space 
 proved disconcerting. I had fancied the dupli- 
 cation in size of assemblages such as I had 
 faced in New York and Philadelphia, and the 
 disappointment took the edge off my anticipa- 
 tions. Still, I figured, as I stood there on the 
 Auditorium stage, I must gain their approval. 
 So I sang with all that was in me, one of the most 
 
 276
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 satisfying achievements (personally) since I had 
 reached America. I shall always be grateful to 
 that audience. It responded in recognizing what 
 I did. The people appeared to understand. 
 Now, when I sing in Chicago, there are never 
 seats enough to accommodate those who are con- 
 siderate enough to want to hear me sing. 
 
 "The New York season at the Manhattan wore 
 on. Each night that I appeared I would stop, at 
 the first entrance on the left of the stage, to talk 
 with Oscar Hammerstein. He always sat there, 
 throughout every performance, the keenest ob- 
 server of all ; making mental notes which he after- 
 wards turned to account. 
 
 "He had a rare mind, too, and a wit that was 
 lightning-like in action. It was his sense of 
 humor, I often think, that enabled him to con- 
 tinue during that fateful Nineteen Nine and Ten 
 season, when he foresaw the end. I was walking 
 with him, back stage, one night during an inter- 
 mission. The set was undergoing a change, and 
 wings were being rushed to their places, drops 
 raised and lowered, and properties carried to 
 various spots. Oscar, as was his custom, was 
 smoking though I believe it was not in strict 
 accordance with a city ordinance. The fireman 
 
 277
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 detailed to watch that part of the house passed 
 us. 
 
 "He looked at Hammerstein, then at his burn- 
 ing cigar, and fixed the impresario with an accus- 
 ing look. 'Never mind,' returned Oscar with 
 that ingratiating smile of his, 'it's a fireproof 
 cigar.' 
 
 "Scores of such stories are told of him ; he was 
 a unique man. 
 
 "I feel prejudiced in his favor because, as I 
 have said, of his willingness always to give an 
 artist a chance. I had never sung in 'Boheme' 
 with the Manhattan, and had long wanted to do 
 so. But for some reason the opportunity had 
 never offered. One morning Hammerstein met 
 me at the opera-house. 
 
 ' 'Do you know "Boheme" well enough to go 
 on in it in Philadelphia to-morrow night?' 
 
 "I replied, without hesitation (though I was 
 not thoroughly 'up' on the last act), 'Yes.' 
 ' 'All right, then, get ready to sing it.' 
 
 "I went to that fine conductor, Guiseppe Stu- 
 rani, and confessed my predicament. 'I know 
 the notes,' I explained, 'but I am rusty and shall 
 need your help to give me the cues.' 
 
 ' 'Don't worry, my boy,' replied Sturani, 'just 
 278
 
 GETTING STARTED IN AMERICA 
 
 keep your eye on me during that last act; you 
 don't have to fuss about the acting, Mimi's doing 
 the dying; watch, and I'll give you every en- 
 trance.' Good old Sturani, he never failed me 
 once. 
 
 "During the visit to Philadelphia," the tenor 
 went on, "a banquet was given for me which I 
 thoroughly enjoyed. The arrangements were 
 made by Mr. Michael Doyle and among those 
 present was the lieutenant-governor of Pennsyl- 
 vania, representing the governor, while Arch- 
 bishop Ryan was represented by his assistant 
 bishop. The orchestra of the opera-house paid 
 me the great compliment of coming over, and, 
 under the direction of Maestro Sturani, playing 
 several numbers at the banquet. 
 
 "After the New York and Philadelphia seasons 
 Oscar sent us for a week to Boston where I sang 
 three performances with Tetrazzini. Here, too, 
 a banquet was given me at the Algonquin Club, 
 by some prominent citizens, the mayor making 
 the address of welcome." 
 
 279
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 "I went aboard the Queenstown-bound liner, 
 on an early April day, in Nineteen Ten, with a 
 tug of doubt at my heart. The formal sale of the 
 Manhattan Opera House artists-contracts and 
 belongings to the Metropolitan had not been con- 
 summated, yet I knew that my Manhattan days 
 were at an end. Hammerstein had already 
 sailed for Europe; a despondent figure, as he 
 shook hands with me in farewell, his eyes heavy 
 with the fatigue of worry. 
 
 "From a selfish viewpoint, I need have had no 
 apprehension. The public and the press had re- 
 ceived me with every consideration. I had sung 
 my first opera role in Boston Edgardo in 
 'Lucia,' with Tetrazzini and Sammarco on 
 March twenty-ninth. The Boston Theatre was 
 too small for the audience that tried to get in ; and 
 there was a repetition of this at 'The Daugh- 
 ter of the Regiment' performance two evenings 
 
 280
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 later, and the presentation of Traviata' on April 
 second. 
 
 "My reputation I say it in all modesty 
 had begun to swing out over the country, 
 thanks to the interest of the newspapers and 
 magazines. Their 'features,' as they are 
 called, and the interviews, so widely circulated, 
 had their effect. The American press is a 
 marvelous institution: able, fearless (not right, 
 invariably, of course, for it is only human in its 
 liability to err), aggressive and tireless in its 
 efforts to progress. If it is not one hundred per 
 cent, perfect which nothing in life is the ex- 
 ceptions to approximate efficiency such as I men- 
 tion are relatively few. And to the press of 
 America, daily, weekly and monthly, my debt is 
 large. In my humble way, I may have served as 
 useful 'copy'; I realize that had I not been that 
 the editors would not have troubled. Neverthe- 
 less, without such publicity as they gratuitously 
 conferred, my reputation would have been slower 
 in the making. The word of mouth route is ef- 
 fective, but not so swift a process for the dissem- 
 ination of fact as the printed phrase of generous 
 distribution. 
 
 "But I never employed a press agent. Not 
 281
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 that I do not entertain respect for the profession 
 and an admiration for its members' imaginative 
 facility which will never cease. It was, perhaps, 
 only a whim to decline such services as were 
 proffered; or, mayhap, a subconscious warning to 
 leave the thing to the editors and reporters and 
 special writers themselves. For, if the truth be 
 laid bare, I have always believed that the Amer- 
 ican spirit is prone to seek that which keeps to 
 itself, while at the same time it shows a consist- 
 ent tendency to push aside that which urges con- 
 sideration in a forward way. 
 
 "If you merit space in news or feature columns 
 you may rest assured that editorial discernment 
 will land you there. If one doesn't belong 
 well, clever and persistent publicity agents will 
 often secure a bit of that valuable space. But in 
 such circumstances the subject is a marked man, 
 or woman. And gradually, in the course of 
 time, the stories of 'Jones' or 'Smith' fall from 
 under editorial eyes into the handiest waste- 
 basket." 
 
 We had wandered from the pier to the beach, 
 and John seated himself there, on a large rock, 
 and picking up stones tossed them absently into 
 the water. The sun was dropping nearer the 
 
 282
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 horizon line and a freshening breeze began whip- 
 ping the surface of the Sound into gently churn- 
 ing waves. 
 
 "It was such a day as this," said John, "that I 
 landed at Fishguard after the Manhattan season, 
 with Mrs. McCormack, and very eager, too, to get 
 ashore to Cyril and Gwen, and our waiting 
 friends. For it was next door to home, you 
 know, and we had been absent for six months. 
 I'm nearly an American citizen, now, and I feel 
 that I belong here. But there's something about 
 the land a man is born in that grips and holds 
 him fast as it should. I never catch sight of 
 Ireland's shoreline that my breathing doesn't 
 quicken and my heart pound a little faster every 
 time. And when my time comes to die, I hope it 
 may be in that country where my first cry was 
 given and that what is left of me, in an earthly 
 way, may rest in Irish soil. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack and I went as quickly as 
 we could to our Hampstead home. Cyril and 
 Gwen were waiting for us. The journey from 
 Fishguard had been too slow, and the rasping of 
 air-brakes for the stops were no sedatives to our 
 impatience. 
 
 "But it was good, at length, to be in our own 
 283
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 place with those near us from whom we had been 
 so long separated. Miss Mary Scott, Sir John's 
 sister, was soon on the telephone to welcome us 
 and learn the latest news since she had last heard. 
 In all these years we have had no friend more true 
 than Miss Scott; none whose friendship held all 
 one likes to contemplate friendship to be. 
 
 "To this day, though circumstances prevent 
 the frequent personal meetings we should like, 
 she never fails to send us a letter by each boat 
 carrying mail. When we are at Hampstead she 
 calls us every morning over the telephone. 
 
 "And during the Covent Garden days I always 
 saw her before a performance. In the early 
 afternoon Sir John would send one of his car- 
 riages for me, and I would be driven to his home. 
 There, in his study, along about three o'clock, a 
 servant would bring a basket containing oysters, 
 a perfectly broiled steak and other edibles with 
 a little bottle of chablis. 
 
 "These thoughtful courtesies, which help to 
 make life, had a heartening effect I will not en- 
 deavor to describe. They were resumed upon 
 our return home that spring, and after a brief 
 rest I began my Covent Garden season. On the 
 days when I did not appear in opera Miss Scott 
 
 284
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 and I would often sing duets. She had a sympa- 
 thetic soprano, and her sister played accompani- 
 ments well. Occasionally her brother Walter, 
 who owns the Rode Stradivarius violin, would 
 join us, playing the obligates. 
 
 "I well remember, also, the facility of Sir John 
 Murray Scott's elder sister, Miss Alicia, as a com- 
 poser. She knew the voice and its possibilities, 
 and her songs were always 'singable'; with no 
 impossible intervals or straining for effects. 
 One of the best she wrote was 'Within the Garden 
 of My Heart,' which I sang at the Boosey Ballad 
 Concerts and made a record for with the Victor 
 Talking Machine Company." 
 
 The news of the transfer, to the Metropolitan, 
 of all the Manhattan operatic effects, including 
 the contracts with the artists, was conveyed to 
 McCormack through the daily press. He was 
 most amazed when he read the cabled account. 
 He had never heard of singers being bought and 
 sold like so much cattle; it seemed almost a re- 
 turn to the slavery days. 
 
 His annoyance had moderated, however, when 
 he received a cablegram from Andreas Dippel, the 
 first general manager of the Chicago-Philadel- 
 phia Grand Opera Company (which consisted of 
 
 285
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the nucleus of the old Manhattan) stating that 
 his company wished to avail itself of McCor- 
 mack's services for the approaching season. 
 
 "I tried to take as much rest as was possible, 
 that summer," said the tenor. "But I gave two 
 concerts in Dublin, where I am glad to say the 
 people welcomed me enthusiastically; for Dublin 
 is an intensely musical city. 
 
 "The Dublin audiences are some of the most 
 discriminating I have ever appeared before. 
 Their knowledge of opera almost equals that of 
 the Italian audiences. -They have two seasons of 
 opera in English every year which are splendidly 
 patronized, and each performance is followed 
 with an enthusiasm I have seldom witnessed else- 
 where. Every person is there to enjoy the 
 music, and although these seasons are great social 
 events, this is merely secondary. One of the 
 most interesting things about the opera seasons in 
 Dublin is the fact that there is at every perform- 
 ance between the acts an improvised concert at 
 which the well-known local celebrities are called 
 upon to sing, which they do with a good will it 
 really is a pleasure to witness. In my early days 
 in Dublin I have sung at several of those perform- 
 ances. The caustic wit of these Dublin 'gallery 
 
 286
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 boys' is well known. I well remember a criticism 
 of a tenor whose high notes were a little 'tight.' 
 He was singing some operatic aria and the top 
 note was not to the satisfaction 'of one of those 
 self-constituted critics, who remarked in a loud 
 voice, 'loosen his boots, and let his high notes 
 come free.' Yet, the Dublin audiences are very 
 discriminating, and eminently just. One of 
 these days, when we have won the war, and I have 
 made money enough to provide for my family, 
 and a little bit more, I shall use that 'little bit 
 more' to establish a conservatory of music in 
 Dublin. And I will get the best professors in all 
 branches of music for the Irish people, whose 
 talents so deserve the best training possible to 
 give them. 
 
 "I also gave much time to preparing for a joint 
 concert tour I had arranged to make in September 
 with that master- violinist, Fritz Kreisler. 
 
 "I have since come to know Kreisler inti- 
 mately, and great as my admiration is for him as 
 an artist it does not exceed my affection for him 
 as a man. It is an opinion in which my entire 
 family shares, and to Cyril and Gwen he is 'Uncle 
 Fritz.' Incomparable violinist that he is, with 
 qualities of tone, technique, heart and mind 
 
 287
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 which make him one of the most distinguished 
 musicians of his time, Kreisler was then as now 
 a supreme artist. He was sensitive in the ex- 
 treme, yet essentially virile. And he was, and 
 is, the sort of man to whom one felt instinctively 
 drawn. To give him one's confidence is the most 
 natural thing of which I can think. 
 
 "Kreisler and I appeared together in concerts 
 for about four weeks, and my association with 
 him was the beginning of a beneficial influence 
 which grew steadily and still continues. I may 
 say that I trace my first marked advance in classic 
 song, so-called, from that time. Fritz was a con- 
 structive critic in the true sense, and during that 
 tour gave me a piece of advice I have never for- 
 gotten. 
 
 ' 'John,' he said after one of our concerts, 
 'always learn the music as the composer wrote it, 
 be absolutely letter perfect, so to speak, and then 
 put your own interpretation upon it.' 
 
 "In October Mrs. McCormack, the children 
 and I sailed for New York. We reached Chicago 
 the latter part of the month, and on November 
 tenth, Nineteen Ten, I made my opera debut in 
 that city as Rodolfo in 'La Boheme.' ' 
 
 John does not deny that he was less happy, 
 288
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 under the new order of things operatic, than he 
 had been when the company was the Manhattan, 
 with Oscar Hammerstein at the helm. He ad- 
 mired his Chicago public that I know and en- 
 joyed singing to it, during the ten weeks he spent 
 in that energetic city. 
 
 "It is a vital city," he told me, "the very air 
 seemingly charged with dynamic energy. One 
 got it from the people passing in the streets ; that 
 radiation of excess physical strength. It is an 
 American city, and as different from New York 
 (which is cosmopolitan, and therefore, to my way 
 of thinking essentially non-American) as water 
 is from fire." 
 
 "But ... you liked the town?" 
 
 "I really cannot truthfully answer," he said 
 with his customary straightforwardness, "for I 
 did not come to know it as I do now. That 
 which I saw, and the people I met and passed in 
 the course of my work, all impressed me as the 
 right sort. A buoyant people, self-confident and 
 taking a pride in their city. They had musical 
 perceptions, also, less presumptuousness than 
 one might expect from so successful an array of 
 humans, and were always fair. 
 
 "The citizens took a proper pride in their first 
 289
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 permanent opera company, and gave us com- 
 mensurate support. There was a financial 
 deficit, which the public-spirited guarantors made 
 up, but when one realizes that the quantity of 
 opera was materially greater than the city had 
 been accustomed to it was, perhaps, too much 
 to expect a larger patronage than we got. It 
 takes time to build a self-sustaining clientele, 
 in anything, but Chicago did its loyal best; and 
 the day is not so far distant when the income 
 from a ten weeks' season will be equivalent to its 
 expense. 
 
 "The Philadelphia part of our season was in- 
 teresting, for it was like meeting old friends. 
 There were two divisions of performances: Chi- 
 cago having its season divided into two portions 
 (our opening and middle parts being held there) , 
 with Philadelphia taking the second and the last 
 sections. 
 
 "We gave 'Natoma' that season, in which I 
 created the leading tenor role. I also sang 
 Cavaradossi in 'Tosca,' the part of Hoffmann in 
 'The Tales of Hoffmann,' and the other characters 
 with which I had been identified in New York, 
 Philadelphia and Boston under Oscar Hammer- 
 stein's direction. The Chicago-Philadelphia 
 
 290
 
 A CHANGE OF AMERICAN BASE 
 
 personnel of artists was practically unchanged 
 from that of the Manhattan company's, and Cleo- 
 fonte Campanini held the post of general musical 
 director. 
 
 "In December I sang in Boston, appearing 
 twice in 'Cavalleria Rusticana' and three times in 
 'Boheme.' My reception by Bostonians has al- 
 ways been cordial and most enthusiastic. I re- 
 gard them as discriminating judges of music and 
 musicians, and quick to show how they feel. If 
 I have a favorite audience in America it is in 
 Boston. 
 
 "It was in January that I sang my first New 
 York concert. I also appeared, a little later in 
 the season, in other cities in what Dippel called 
 a tour of his International Concert Company. It 
 consisted of Carolina White (soprano), repre- 
 senting America ; Marguerite Sylva (soprano) , as 
 the French representative ; Nicola Zerola (tenor) , 
 for Italy ; Rosa Olitzka (contralto) , appearing for 
 Russia, and myself for Ireland. 
 
 "During this International Concert Company 
 tour I met a gentleman who has become very 
 closely identified with my career. I refer to Mr. 
 Charles Wagner. I was so taken with his frank 
 and honest personality that in ten minutes we 
 
 291
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 had fixed up a business deal which has been to 
 our mutual advantage. 
 
 "His associate, Mr. Denis F. McSweeney, had 
 been a McCormack 'fan' from the old Manhattan 
 days, and I strongly advised seeing Mac's 
 natural aptitude for the managerial business 
 that he and Wagner get together. This they 
 eventually did, and they make a splendid combi- 
 nation. I, of course, think they are the greatest 
 managers in America. 
 
 "And whilst on the subject of my management, 
 I wish to state here how grateful I am to them for 
 their most dignified presentation of me. No one 
 knows better than I how much their splendid co- 
 operation has aided me in my hard climb towards 
 success. Their kindly advice, their unswerving 
 loyalty, their unshakable belief in my abilities 
 and, above all, their absolute honesty in all our 
 business relationship have been a pillar of 
 strength to me. I want my public to know that 
 I am grateful to them." 
 
 292
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 "Australia is a country," said McCormack, 
 "which I deeply admire. Some of my most sub- 
 stantial successes were gained there, and the 
 people have treated me as though I were one of 
 their nationality. I had never been in Australia, 
 so when Nellie Melba invited me to appear as her 
 leading tenor in a season of opera to cover many 
 weeks, to be divided between Sydney and Mel- 
 bourne, I accepted. 
 
 "It had been a strenuous year, for after the 
 Chicago-Philadelphia opera appearances and the 
 International Concert Company tour, I went di- 
 rect to Covent Garden where I remained actively 
 engaged until the last week in July. I should 
 have liked to 'loaf,' because I strongly advise giv- 
 ing the singing voice a complete and lengthy rest 
 once a year. My engagements, however, for- 
 bade until Mrs. McCormack and I went aboard 
 the boat at Marseilles, bound for Sydney, 
 Australia. 
 
 293
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Before leaving for Australia, however, I had 
 the fortune to sing at a gala performance given 
 in Covent Garden in honor of the coronation of 
 King George V. All London was a-quiver with 
 anticipation and the choice seats for the corona- 
 tion performance sold for ten guineas each, with 
 tickets only for those whose names were on a 
 selected list. 
 
 "To my mind Covent Garden is the most per- 
 fectly appointed and efficiently administered 
 opera house in the world. Such gala per- 
 formances as I mention are a feast for eyes, as 
 for the ears. Decorations costing fifteen to 
 twenty thousand dollars transform the interior 
 of Covent Garden into a place of splendor, con- 
 sistently artistic splendor. And the center half- 
 dozen boxes are made into one, sufficient to ac- 
 commodate twenty-five or thirty persons, for 
 royal use. 
 
 "Every one of consequence, who was physi- 
 cally able to attend, was present at Covent Gar- 
 den on that occasion. All the royal family were 
 there; also the entire Corps Diplomatique, with 
 their attaches, military and naval officers of every 
 accredited nation, in full uniform, and the rest 
 
 294
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 of those in London whose positions justified their 
 presence. 
 
 "The starting hour was late; nine-twenty 
 o'clock. At this time the king entered the royal 
 box, which was a signal for the audience to rise. 
 Then the orchestra played 'God Save the King.' 
 Within an hour and a half the celebration was 
 over which meant that the performance con- 
 sisted of acts from different operas. 
 
 "There was plenty of what we hear described 
 as 'atmosphere' to this performance. In dig- 
 nity and substance I doubt whether its equal 
 could be provided anywhere else on earth. Yet 
 there were touches of the sort we call 'human,' 
 which I observed. For instance: when I made 
 my first entrance my attention was attracted, 
 instantly, to a box at my left. What appeared 
 a searchlight caught my gaze, and kept it fixed 
 upon that object a strange, utterly inexplicable 
 one, I thought. Gradually, as I became more 
 accustomed to the brightness, which may have set 
 my sight from normal focus, I was able to deter- 
 mine what the odd light meant. If you will be- 
 lieve it, it was nothing more than a huge corsage 
 of diamonds (which must have been worth a 
 
 295
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 fabulous fortune) worn by an East Indian prince; 
 a fitting adornment for the occasion, which had 
 no doubt been donned with as much indifference 
 as I would put on a white scarf as part of my 
 evening dress." 
 
 We were on the veranda of the New York Ath- 
 letic Club house, at Travers Island. John sat 
 facing the sweep of water and small islands 
 which fronts that side, and his animation indi- 
 cated his interest in the part of the narrative he 
 was beginning. 
 
 "That trip to Australia was one of the most 
 interesting in my life," he said. "Through the 
 Straits of Messina we went, catching a view of 
 Mount Etna in eruption; on to Port Said, 
 the back door of the world; continuing, 
 through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea, in 
 heat that makes a New York heat wave 
 feel like an autumn-day; thence to Colombo, a 
 real Paradise. We stopped overnight at Gaul 
 Face Hotel. Next morning we proceeded to 
 Freemantle and thence over the Australian 
 Bight, which is supposed to be the roughest sea 
 in the world, for across it blows a wind that comes 
 straight from the South Pole without interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 296
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 "We reached Adelaide in a mood of joyous an- 
 ticipation, for I had been looking forward to meet- 
 ing Cardinal Moran, of Sydney. He was a 
 Prince of the Church of whom I had heard a great 
 deal; and I had learned that His Eminence had 
 expressed a wish to meet the 'Irish minstrel boy,' 
 as he called me. But I never was privileged to 
 see Cardinal Moran ; he died the day I arrived in 
 Australia, and our trip by train from Adelaide to 
 Sydney was not altogether a happy one. I felt 
 as sad as if I had known Cardinal Moran per- 
 sonally. 
 
 "The rehearsals for the opening performance 
 were intensely interesting. Mme. Melba was 
 like a child with a new toy, and insistent that 
 everything be done to allow the presentations to 
 be made without a hitch. The soprano did 
 everything to promote a spirit of harmony among 
 us, and it is no exaggeration to speak of us as 'a 
 happy operatic family' ; it was very like the feel- 
 ing that prevailed at the Manhattan, in New 
 York. 
 
 "The premiere performance was of 'Traviata,' 
 and I consider it the best one in which I ever took 
 part. The audience was said to have been the 
 most representative ever assembled in Sydney. 
 
 297
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 It included nearly every one of importance 
 from the Governor-General and his staff down. 
 Lord Denman was then Governor-General, a 
 courtly gentleman, who took a lively interest in 
 all things Australian and was deservedly most 
 popular with the people. He came often to our 
 performances with his charming wife and from 
 time to time invited some of the artists to Gov- 
 ernment House to entertain them there. Mrs. 
 McCormack and I enjoyed their hospitality on 
 several occasions. The occasion marked Mme. 
 Melba's first appearance in opera before her na- 
 tive people, who were as anxious that she should 
 triumph as she was herself. 
 
 "And triumph she did, as she deserved. 
 Mme. Melba is a great artist. I never tired 
 studying her methods; to be near her, and 
 observe what she did, was an education for a 
 singer. That night she was superb; and the 
 supporting principals, the orchestra and the con- 
 ductor (Maestro Angelini, a thorough musician 
 and a man of real charm) did their share in con- 
 tributing to the success. 
 
 "The ten weeks' season in Sydney was notable 
 in the history of opera in Australia. The per- 
 formances were made events, and the attendances 
 
 298
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 were both large and composed of those who con- 
 stituted desirable audiences. We all spared no 
 effort, individually, which might aid in creating 
 the effects desired. No petty jealousies arose to 
 disturb our serenity; and nothing of serious na- 
 ture interfered with our endeavors. 
 
 "Both the people and the press accepted me, 
 almost unconditionally, from the outset. It was 
 gratifying to find my popularity growing, which, 
 of course, stimulated me to the best efforts of 
 which I was capable. I was fortunate, also, in 
 being in good health during the eighteen weeks of 
 opera in Sydney and Melbourne; I disappointed 
 only once. And that brings to my mind an inci- 
 dent which will show the spirit of good will exist- 
 ing between the principal artists. 
 
 "I was to have sung the title role in 'Faust,' 
 but indisposition prevented. When the audi- 
 ence learned of this they began to chant: 4 We 
 want John McCormack, we want John McCor- 
 mack' and they continued this, in a good- 
 natured way, during the first act of the opera. 
 The one who told me about it was the tenor who 
 sang in my stead, and we laughed together over 
 the matter. 
 
 "The Sydney season closed brilliantly, and was 
 299
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 declared to have touched an exceptional artistic 
 standard. Nor do I wonder that this was the 
 verdict. The same care was shown by Mme. 
 Melba in the choice of artists for the small parts 
 as of those for the more important ones ; and this 
 resulted in an ensemble which would have done 
 credit to any opera house in the world. My per- 
 sonal acceptance gave me both pride and confi- 
 dence, and when we gave our Melbourne pre- 
 miere I was prepared, in mood and vocal con- 
 dition, to give the best of which I was capable. 
 
 "The reception we received in Mme. Melba's 
 home city was so enthusiastic that I can think of 
 but one appropriate word adequately to describe 
 it: a 'riot.' News of our achievements in Sydney 
 had preceded our opening, and the assemblage 
 came prepared to hear and see an unusual per- 
 formance. From their demeanor they must have 
 been thoroughly satisfied. Mme. Melba, of 
 course, triumphed unequivocally, and received a 
 demonstration such as few artists have had in 
 their careers. The most interested member of 
 that audience was Mme. Melba's father. He sat 
 in the first row, in a state of rapt attention 
 throughout the performance; he must have felt 
 proud of his daughter. 
 
 300
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 "Our repertoire, as in Sydney, was sufficiently 
 extensive. The operas in which I sang were 
 'Faust,' 'Traviata,' 'Romeo and Juliet,' 'Madame 
 Butterfly,' Tosca,' 'Rigoletto' and 'Boheme.' " 
 
 McCormack, at this juncture, allowed himself 
 a smile. It preluded something of an amusing 
 nature which he presently related. 
 
 "The one humorous incident of the season 
 occurred during a performance of 'Boheme.' 
 We had a soprano; a nice voice, but she hadn't 
 had enough experience with the role of Mimi to 
 render her letter-perfect in either music or action. 
 Yet, circumstances made it necessary to cast her 
 for this appearance, one evening. You remem- 
 ber my telling about Maestro Sturani giving me 
 the music entrance cues during the last act of 
 'Boheme' in Philadelphia? Well, I had the ad- 
 vantage, on that occasion, of at least knowing the 
 notes. This young woman had scarcely a bow- 
 ing acquaintance, during that part of Puccini's 
 opera, with any of the first soprano's notes. 
 
 "In the love scene in the last act between Mimi 
 
 
 and Rodolfo I discovered my colleague getting 
 deeper and deeper into musical difficulties. She 
 began to skip whole measures, and mumble and 
 drop her voice. Now a duet is satisfactory to the 
 
 301
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 hearers only when both parts are sung; but as 
 the soprano increased her floundering there was 
 nothing for me to do (aided occasionally by the 
 basso) but to sing both tenor and soprano music 
 where the notes permitted. Briefly, I made 
 love to myself during that portion of the opera, 
 and found amusement in so doing. 
 
 "The season closed, in Melbourne, wonder- 
 fully that just describes it. The stage, after 
 the third act of 'Boheme,' was a rose garden, 
 made so from the floral contributions of admirers. 
 Mme. Melba addressed her hearers, showing how 
 deeply she was touched by their tribute ; and she 
 did not neglect to praise her fellow artists. 
 
 "I never have so completely enjoyed partici- 
 pating in a season of opera. The people of both 
 cities where I had so frequently appeared took me 
 to their hearts. My type of voice was what they 
 seemed to admire in a tenor. They do not care 
 much, in Australia, for shouters. A sympa- 
 thetic voice appeals to them most, and is pre- 
 ferred to the big, booming instrument. 
 
 "In the midst of preparations to proceed to the 
 United States, where I had concert engage- 
 ments to fulfill, I was approached by Mr. South- 
 well, a concert manager, suggesting that I con- 
 
 302
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 sent to give two programmes in Sydney and one 
 in Melbourne. As admirers had already begged 
 that I sing to them I was in a responsive mood, 
 and therefore commissioned Mr. Southwell to 
 make the arrangements. 
 
 "These concert appearances filled my cup to 
 overflowing. I had had ovations in opera, but 
 they were no more pronounced than those given 
 me on the concert platform. The newspapers 
 were enthusiastic; and directly there arose 
 controversies as to whether I was superior in one 
 form of musical entertainment or in the other. 
 So intense were the discussions in the press 
 and out of it that the people allied with the 
 respective issues divided themselves into two 
 camps. I never knew which side, if either, set- 
 tled the question to the majority's satisfaction. 
 
 "It was just prior to my Australian concert 
 appearances that I met a young man who subse- 
 quently became identified with me in my career, 
 a violinist of admirable talents and a splendid 
 youth who has since heeded the call of his coun- 
 try and joined the Royal Air Force: I mean 
 Donald McBeath. He was sent, with a letter of 
 introduction from Mother Xavier of the Lewis- 
 ham Hospital, to me at my house in Melbourne. 
 
 303
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 He was a tall, lanky boy of sixteen. He played 
 for me an Adagio, by Ries, and splendidly; I be- 
 came immediately interested and my interest has 
 not abated. 
 
 "Mother Xavier, whose lovable character had 
 made her adored throughout Australia, was ex- 
 ercising a sort of protecting guidance over Don- 
 ald. His playing impressed me sufficiently to 
 engage him for my three concerts ; and I was glad 
 this was so, because Mother Xavier did so much 
 for others that any request she made the people 
 always took delight in granting. Yes, and there 
 was yet another reason. 
 
 "This good woman came from a town only 
 twenty miles from my own Athlone Mullingar, 
 in County Westmeath. I had been to see her, 
 and was so taken with the work she was doing 
 that I asked if I could not, in some way, be of 
 service. 
 
 "She smiled, and answered: 'If you could 
 come to the hospital and sing a few of those won- 
 derful songs for the nuns.' It was such a little 
 thing, I thought, for her to ask, though she did 
 not appear to think so. I quickly arranged to 
 have Donald McBeath go with me, and Mother 
 Xavier brought her nuns together. The pleasure 
 
 304
 
 AUSTRALIAN SEASON WITH MELBA 
 
 these good people derived from that concert was 
 many times worth the slight effort caused in giv- 
 ing it, so much so that I shall never go to Aus- 
 tralia that I shall not give a concert for Mother 
 Xavier and her nuns. 
 
 "I never had a more appreciative audience 
 than this little body of workers in a noble cause. 
 I'll concede that they may have been a trifle prej- 
 udiced, still they seemed discriminating, for they 
 were enthusiastic over the better music no less 
 than over the ballads. 
 
 "Sailing away from the Antipodes I could not 
 refrain from pondering over my experiences of 
 those five preceding months. Rewards had come 
 to me, most bounteously; and I was unutterably 
 grateful. 
 
 "Wonderful as the trip from Marseilles to 
 Adelaide had been, another, scarcely less wonder- 
 ful, lay ahead. Past the Fiji Islands we steamed ; 
 thence, under a canopy of clouds, to Honolulu 
 garden spot of the Pacific. And it was there 
 that I was first made acquainted with that native 
 instrument, the iikelele, which has since become 
 so popular. 
 
 "On a winter's morning, in February, Nine- 
 teen Twelve, we landed in Victoria, British Co- 
 
 305
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 lumbia. We entered a cab, and the driver took 
 us to the Empress Hotel. It was only a few 
 blocks from the dock, but this shrewd young man 
 went about, through street after street, until he 
 felt he had given us ride enough to warrant the 
 fee he intended to demand. 
 
 'Two dollars,' he blandly remarked, when 
 we stepped out before the hotel. 
 
 "'What for?' I asked. 
 
 " For the ride,' he retorted. 
 
 "But isn't that rather steep?' I wanted to 
 know. 
 
 'Well,' remarked the cabby, 'I paid two dol- 
 lars for a Victor record of yours this morning, 
 and it's only fair to get even.' 
 
 "What did you do?" I asked, laughing. 
 
 "What could I do?" said John. "He had 
 me, and knew that he had. So I paid him his 
 two dollars." 
 
 306
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 AMERICAN AND AUSTRALASIAN CONCERTS 
 
 McCormack came eastward across the Ameri- 
 can continent, that late winter and spring of 
 Nineteen Twelve, by easy stages. He sang 
 thirty-four concerts, and according to newspaper 
 accounts they were important affairs. The 
 tenor's return to the United States was welcomed 
 in each city where he appeared by a large audi- 
 ence, which seemed happy to renew a musical 
 friendship. 
 
 At the conclusion of this part of his tour he 
 went to London, and resumed his annual ap- 
 pearances in Covent Garden. His voice and his 
 artistry had developed ; he was twenty-eight, and 
 his experience and his travels had not only made 
 him a more convincing singer but had broad- 
 ened him, too, in knowledge and the understand- 
 ing of life. 
 
 In the autumn of that year, after a summer at 
 Hampstead with his family, McCormack pre- 
 307
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 pared for concerts in the United States under the 
 Wagner management. But each leave-taking of 
 those closest to him grew more difficult. Home- 
 sickness continued to be a malady he could not 
 elude; yet there was a comfort he took in the 
 thought of the companionship which Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack had in her sister, Miss Josephine Foley, 
 and in Cyril and Gwenny. 
 
 "For," as an intimate friend of theirs told me, 
 "in the McCormack home Miss Foley has 
 thoughts of all others before herself. She is 
 'Auntie,' and indispensable; a buoyant nature 
 that shows in the upturned corners of an expres- 
 sive mouth, and a smile eternal in eyes that look 
 frankly into yours when she greets you. A 
 personality one feels at once, with charm of man- 
 ner in which sincerity dwells. The visitor ob- 
 serves these things instantly; and returning 
 again to the McCormack household becomes con- 
 vinced of them the more. So, if she be momen- 
 tarily absent, she is missed and by Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack and the children and John, even more 
 than by the guest, because Miss Foley has a 
 faculty of making things pleasant, in ways that 
 are gratefully smooth." 
 
 St. Louis marked the launching of that Nine- 
 308
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 teen Twelve season. McCormack and Wagner, 
 his new manager, both had a desire to begin in 
 the city where the inexperienced Irish boy had 
 sung to appreciative audiences during the Expo- 
 sition, more than eight years before. The as- 
 semblage that gathered in the Odeon packed the 
 place to the doors. There were a score of en- 
 cores, with men and women applauding until too 
 weary to continue. 
 
 Each subsequent concert was but a repetition 
 of that which moved the St. Louis throng to its 
 demonstration. The McCormack hold upon the 
 people grew, and with it his prestige. He was 
 a personality, with fame spreading everywhere. 
 I recall that it was about this time that the serious 
 musicians and the ablest of the music critics 
 recognized the McCormack voice and art as things 
 of outstanding importance. Within a scant three 
 years he was justifying the promise which dis- 
 cerning people at his first Manhattan appear- 
 ances had believed that he held. 
 
 But had John been less the artist he was, had 
 he been in the slighest degree unequal to touch- 
 ing the hearts of his hearers, he must have 
 blighted the large hopes cherished for him. It 
 is incontestible evidence of his qualities that he 
 
 309
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 measured, in those days, up to the standard the 
 people were brought to believe was his. 
 
 The music critics of recognized authority be- 
 gan to discover all this. But the programmes 
 John offered confused them, because his re- 
 sources and his unquestioned sincerity admitted 
 of his offering more songs of so-called classic 
 mould during a concert than were forthcoming. 
 They failed to see (I know that I did) the pur- 
 pose of John's methods, (which he has explained 
 in another chapter) : that the simplest songs 
 must be sung, almost exclusively, for some time 
 before those of finer character, in considerable 
 number, can with safety be offered. 
 
 It is only additional proof of McCormack's 
 faith in himself, and the course he was pursuing, 
 that he continued steadfast in his mission to take 
 to the people the songs they could understand 
 the songs they longed to hear. Yet with each 
 reappearance in a city (and in many, that sea- 
 son, he sang twice and three times) he would 
 introduce just a little more of the better music 
 he was so judiciously bringing into its place. 
 
 Every important city heard John McCormack 
 between the fall of Nineteen Twelve and the late 
 spring of Nineteen Thirteen. The largest audi- 
 
 310
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 toriums possible to obtain were filled as often 
 as he appeared in them, and the people went 
 away clamoring for more. 
 
 Again the tenor returned to London, for his 
 Covent Garden annual engagement; and once 
 more the public and the newspapers recorded the 
 advance he had made in his art. In opera, as 
 well as in concert, he continued steadily to prog- 
 ress, and the gratifying part of it was in the 
 general recognition that obtained. 
 
 "That summer was one of happiness, happi- 
 ness in being at home with my family, in the 
 study I was engaged upon, the anticipation of 
 my approaching Australasian concert tour, and 
 my participation in affairs of absorbing interest. 
 I had corresponded, some months before, with 
 J. & N. Tait, a firm of established and highly 
 respected Australian concert managers, and ar- 
 rangements had been made for an extended tour, 
 through Australasia. 
 
 "It was during this summer," continued the 
 tenor, "that I sang at a concert given in aid of 
 the Ovada Bazaar, held in Dublin." 
 
 We were on a golf course during this part of 
 the narrative. I was curious to pin a story I had 
 heard: that John had broken down when he sang 
 
 311
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Mother Machree" at a concert where his own 
 mother sat in a hall, listening to him. He smiled 
 when the question came, and teed his ball. 
 
 "It's not true," he declared. "The time and 
 place where I sang the song and to mother 
 was that concert I just mentioned. Mary An- 
 derson was the moving spirit of the Ovada Ba- 
 zaar, and she made a remarkable speech. When 
 I sang 'Mother Machree,' which happened to be 
 for the first time in Ireland, I confess to being 
 deeply moved. But mother was nearer to tears 
 than I. It was, I believe, the most eloquent 
 interpretation of the song I had ever given ; there 
 was reason enough in my mother's being there 
 and I think the audience sensed it, and under- 
 stood the reason. Two years before, in San 
 Francisco, when I first sang 'Mother Machree,' 
 I felt a lump in my throat; the poem and the 
 music always affect me." 
 
 John and I walked down the golf course to- 
 wards the spot where his ball had gone. His 
 friend Dick Lounsbery, with the two caddies, 
 were beating the grass where it lay hidden. 
 They located it as we drew near, and John re- 
 marked he "guessed" he would have to use his 
 spoon. 
 
 312
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 "It isn't a spoon you want here," retorted the 
 bright young man, "what you'll need are a knife 
 and fork." 
 
 John laughed, but after his shot, made ade- 
 quate rejoinder. He was not far from the green, 
 for that drive had gone a distance. He ap- 
 proached like a professional, sending the little 
 white sphere to within ten feet of the cup. His 
 partner had been overruning the greens, and 
 John found his chance. 
 
 "That's the way," he exulted; "anyone can 
 smash 'em double-forte, but it takes a golfer to 
 hit them mezza-voce." After holding out the 
 tenor continued with his narrative. 
 
 "Having engaged McSweeney as my personal 
 representative for the Australasian tour, I sent 
 him on well in advance of my arrival in Sydney, 
 where it was planned I should give my opening 
 concert on September 4. Shortly after his ar- 
 rival there, McSweeney cabled that a small-pox 
 scare had Sydney by the heels. He informed 
 me that nearly all the theatres were being affected 
 by this fear of the epidemic, but that in spite of 
 this the feeling was that it would not diminish 
 the attendances at my proposed concerts. 
 
 "I therefore sailed, as before, from Marseilles ; 
 313
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 taking with me Mrs. McCormack, Miss Foley, 
 Vincent O'Brien, and Cyril and Gwendolyn. 
 The trip was a second enchanting experience in 
 beholding those sights I have previously men- 
 tioned. Mrs. McCormack and Miss Foley found 
 a delight similar to mine, and the children, in 
 so far as they were able, were interested. 
 
 "Shortly after arriving at our destination, the 
 Mayor of Sydney at a reception given me said 
 he was glad I had reached the city, because he 
 felt that no one would do more to allay the fears 
 of the people than the Irish singer 'who had al- 
 ready proven how deeply he was able to move the 
 people with his rare singing of songs everyone 
 wanted to hear.' 
 
 "That, naturally, encouraged me to do every- 
 thing in my power to satisfy my public. The 
 Messrs. Tait, and McSweeney, assured me that I 
 was certain to have all the patronage the Town 
 Hall would accommodate; and they were right. 
 But the opening concert found me half sick from 
 the effects of the vaccination to which it had been 
 considered wise I should submit. I was in that 
 condition, though it was not generally known, 
 throughout the three succeeding appearances. 
 
 "Donald McBeath, who had improved in his 
 314
 
 Vincent O'Brien, Donald McBeath and John McCormack
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 violin playing, appeared with me, and acquitted 
 himself most creditably. The newspapers all as- 
 serted that my singing was better, even, than it 
 had been when I first sang in Sydney, on my 
 earlier visit. As for the audiences, I was truly 
 overwhelmed, not only by their demonstrations 
 during and after the concerts, but when I ap- 
 peared to get into the vehicle which should carry 
 me to my hotel. 
 
 "It was at one of these Sydney concerts that 
 Cyril and Gwen heard me sing in public for the 
 first time. They sat, with their mother, in the 
 audience; and from time to time I looked to see 
 how my endeavors were affecting them. I was 
 anxious most naturally to see the effect produced 
 on their youthful minds, and I can't tell you how 
 delighted I was to watch the rapt attention they 
 paid to each song. But Cyril was disappointed 
 because I had not sung his favorite "Molly Bran- 
 nigan.' He came with Mrs. McCormack and 
 Gwen to my dressing-room, as the audience was 
 leaving the hall, and expressed his childish re- 
 gret. I was sorry, too; but it happened that 
 Vincent O'Brien was ill. This made it neces- 
 sary to get a substitute accompanist, who had not 
 had time to rehearse the music of Cyril's pet 
 
 315
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 song. At a later concert, however, the boy had 
 his wish fulfilled ; he told me, on the way home, 
 that it sounded better in the 'large place' than in 
 our music-room, which was where he had always 
 heard it." 
 
 Melbourne, Adelaide, Brisbane, Rockhamp- 
 ton, Newcastle, Towoomba, Bendigo and Gee- 
 long welcomed the tenor with no diminution of 
 the enthusiasm which Sidney audiences had 
 shown. He gave several concerts in each city, 
 and still the people continued going to them 
 usually in numbers too large to permit all gain- 
 ing admission to the hall. 
 
 At Adelaide, after the farewell programme, a 
 crowd numbering several hundred gathered about 
 the stage door. When McCormack came out a 
 spokesman made his way to us and said: "Give 
 us one more matinee, John, to-morrow." 
 
 "But there's no time to let the people know," 
 replied the tenor. "Time enough," retorted the 
 spokesman. So John consented. His an- 
 nouncements were carried in the morning news- 
 papers, and before noon every ticket in the house 
 had been sold. 
 
 "It was like that throughout the tour," con- 
 tinued John. "The receptions I got at the stage 
 
 316
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 doors as I went out from a concert became a reg- 
 ular occurrence. And the night of my Sydney 
 farewell the enthusiasts assembled and, as I came 
 from the hall, began singing Tor He's a Jolly 
 Good Fellow.' The people used to crowd round 
 my car and ask for souvenirs, one young lady go- 
 ing so far as to steal the cigarette I was smoking 
 and take it as a souvenir. I wonder if she still 
 has it." 
 
 A humorous incident happened at the closing 
 Melbourne concert. McCormack's final song 
 was Balfe's "Then You'll Remember Me," from 
 "The Bohemian Girl." The words in the last 
 phrase are those of the title of the aria. They 
 had barely died away when a man called out, 
 from the balcony, "How could we ever forget you, 
 John!" a charming compliment, you will ad- 
 mit. 
 
 "A most loyal people," continued the tenor, 
 as he recalled those enthusiasts in that part of 
 the world, "and I know of none to whom I would 
 rather sing. Everyone was so considerate. I 
 shall never forget Lillian Nordica, who was pres- 
 ent at one of my Melbourne concerts. I dis- 
 covered her, early in the performance, among 
 the audience, stunning in appearance. And I 
 
 317
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 know that her presence stimulated me to my ut- 
 most to win her appreciation. I was touched on 
 receiving from her a laurel wreath, nearly three 
 feet high; and some time after, when I met her 
 at a state ball at Government House, where she 
 certainly looked every inch a queen, she said that 
 my singing of a song she had never fancied, 'Kath- 
 leen Mavourneen,' was one of the most satisfy- 
 ing interpretations she had ever heard. 
 
 "It was in Sydney to go from music to medi- 
 cine that I met one of the ablest physicians I 
 ever knew. He was Dr. Herbert Marks, and he 
 helped me during some throat difficulty I had 
 because of the climate there. One of his reme- 
 dies was some oily preparation, which could be 
 dropped upon a handkerchief and inhaled. One 
 evening, during the summer following, at a Co- 
 vent Garden performance of 'Madame Butterfly,' 
 chancing to look down from the stage at the 
 nearby portion of the audience, I caught sight 
 of Dr. Marks sitting in the front row. It was 
 a complete surprise, for I did not know that he 
 had contemplated a trip to England. 
 
 "In a spirit of greeting, and reminder of those 
 Sydney days, I took from my pocket a handker- 
 chief, and held it to my face. The doctor be- 
 
 318
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 came convulsed at this, and sat silently shaking 
 in his seat for several seconds. 
 
 "But Mrs. McCormack, who was also in the 
 assemblage, had also learned of Dr. Marks's 
 presence there, and here is a coincidence. She 
 had barely received word from home that Cyril 
 had been taken ill, and that 'Auntie' was en- 
 deavoring, unsuccessfully, to reach our family 
 physician. So Mrs. McCormack sent word to 
 Dr. Marks, asking that he come to her in the 
 foyer which he did. 
 
 "She took him direct to Hampstead, where he 
 found Cyril to be ailing, though not seriously. 
 He attended the lad, prescribed for him and then 
 returned to Covent Garden . . . but not with- 
 out having missed the whole of the opera's sec- 
 ond act. 
 
 "However to continue with that Australasian 
 tour. I had been there but a few weeks when 
 a letter reached me from that great artist, Lilli 
 Lehmann. It had been forwarded from London, 
 to which the soprano had sent it from her home. 
 It is one of the most treasured communications 
 I ever received; written in beautiful French, 
 and inviting me in words I shall never forget, 
 to participate in two of the proposed Mozart per- 
 
 319
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 formances which were to be given the following 
 summer, in Salzburg, the home of the master 
 composer. 
 
 "My good friend, 'Tony' (Antonio) Scotti, 
 had, Madame Lehmann wrote, told her of my 
 Mozart singing. He had spoken of me at such 
 length, and in such a way, she declared, that she 
 would in no circumstances be satisfied until I 
 advised her that I would sing Don Ottavio, in 
 'Don Giovanni,' and the leading tenor role in 
 Mozart's Seventh Mass, these being two of the 
 works it was Madame Lehmann's intention to 
 perform. She concluded her letter with the re- 
 mark that it made no difference in what lan- 
 guage I replied, so long as I wrote 'yes.' I sent 
 her a cable, and did not hesitate to make it a long 
 one, assuring her of my delight in accepting. 
 
 "I consider that invitation to have been the 
 most striking musical honor ever bestowed on 
 me ; nor can I conceive of one greater to achieve. 
 Madame Lehmann's letter recalled my experi- 
 ences in Boston, during the preparation and the 
 performance, in the Boston Opera House, of 'Don 
 Giovanni,' which I was privileged to sing under 
 that eminent conductor, Felix Weingartner. 
 
 "It was said that Weingartner pronounced me 
 320
 
 the greatest living singer of Mozart; but such a 
 statement is, undoubtedly, without foundation 
 in fact. It would be too sweeping, and though 
 I am sure that no other singer approaches a Mo- 
 zart composition with deeper reverence, I should 
 certainly hesitate to accept such superlative en- 
 dorsement. 
 
 "I do recall, with the utmost pleasure and satis- 
 faction, that during the first general rehearsal of 
 that Boston 'Don Giovanni,' Weingartner, after 
 my singing of 'II mio tesoro,' put down his baton 
 and applauded; which he repeated in the per- 
 formance itself. After the third act of the per- 
 formance he came to my dressing-room to per- 
 sonally congratulate me. 
 
 "With these recollections," resumed McCor- 
 mack, "I was elated at Madame Lehmann's invi- 
 tation, and the remainder of my Australasian tour 
 found me devoting considerable thought to that 
 forthcoming Salzburg festival which was pre- 
 vented, it was to turn out, by the outbreak of the 
 war. 
 
 "At the Melbourne races," said the tenor, "I 
 met one day Clarke, the Australian pearl king. 
 There is a tale, I understand, which has been 
 circulated to the effect that he gave me a large 
 
 321
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 pearl fabulous in value, which Mrs. McCormack 
 wears at the center of her necklace. It is 
 scarcely within the limits of truth, however; for 
 although Clarke did say that he wished to leave 
 with me a keepsake in memory of the pleasure my 
 singing had afforded him, the pearl, though a 
 beautiful one, was not large nor is it the center 
 one in Mrs. McCormack's string, though it forms 
 part of it. 
 
 "For hardship I recall nothing so vividly as 
 the railroad accommodations of northern Queens- 
 land. The roads were narrow-gauge, the sleep- 
 ing-car berths both short and shallow, and being 
 generally behind schedule and without dining- 
 car service we often were called from an unfin- 
 ished cup of coffee, to get on board a train be- 
 fore it pulled out of the station. Whenever I 
 think of these times I can see myself, deserting a 
 half-empty coffee cup, and scurrying, a sand- 
 wich in one hand, a banana in the other, for the 
 car platform. But the trip in this part of 
 the country was worth while, for the audiences 
 were as 'shamlessly enthusiastic' as every other 
 
 one. 
 
 M 
 
 In New Zealand, through which we traveled 
 extensively by automobile, my experiences were 
 
 322
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 varying and of great interest. The people 
 greeted me, and sent me on my way, with the 
 same evidences of feeling which I had encount- 
 ered everywhere else. Throughout Australasia 
 there is shown the same outward recognition for 
 an artist well liked which the Latin races display. 
 Some of the keenest listeners in my New Zealand 
 concerts were Maoris, who are a most interesting 
 people, with a lively imagination and musical 
 tastes. 
 
 "One of the things I remember most distinctly 
 is our visit to the Rotorva, the show-place of the 
 Dominion, and the finest I have seen, anywhere. 
 The guide described the various spots, as we 
 reached them, in English that was a strange mix- 
 ture of beautiful words with those wholly ungram- 
 matical in their use ; it was a picturesque descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 "There was a lake in this show-place ; its waters 
 appearing absolutely pink from the reflection of 
 the sunken terraces, and formed by geysers and 
 hot streams. Long before there had been some 
 sort of volcanic disturbance which had left its 
 effects. Even the fish in this lake affected, no 
 doubt by the pigment of the clay were pink. 
 
 "It is small wonder that I should hold the ex- 
 323
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 periences of that concert tour in such pleasant 
 recollection. 
 
 "I have often thanked God that He let me live 
 and sing in this wonderful age of progress when 
 distance has been practically blotted out by tele- 
 graph and telephone and when even the 'men 
 who go down to the sea in ships' are no longer 
 out of touch with the world but are constantly in 
 communication with their friends at home. I see 
 you are wondering what is the reason of this di- 
 gression. It is an interesting story and in many 
 ways unique. On our way to the United States, 
 when about two days out from Honolulu, I re- 
 ceived a wireless message something to the fol- 
 lowing effect: 'Have heard you are passenger 
 on Niagara which arrives here Thursday morn- 
 ing; do give us a concert in Honolulu. [Signed] 
 Adams.' I had met Mr. Adams, a charming 
 wide-awake American business man. Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack, McSweeney, and I held a council of war 
 at which we decided we should give a concert. 
 Then we approached the Captain as to how long 
 we would remain in Honolulu and he replied, 
 'Mr. McCormack, if you give me a good seat and 
 sing "Mother Machree" and "I Hear You Call- 
 ing" I will hold the ship for you.' 'Done,' said I. 
 
 324
 
 AMERICAN CONCERTS 
 
 A wireless to Adams and a concert fixed in less 
 time than it takes to tell it! We certainly live 
 in an age of progress. The newspapers pub- 
 lished on the day our boat arrived carried strik- 
 ing advertisements of a 'very special' concert by 
 John McCormack, and recounted the unusual 
 circumstances under which the programme would 
 be sung. Whether it was the novelty of the mode 
 of arrangement, or my name, or a combination 
 of the two, I only know that the tickets were en- 
 tirely sold before noon on that day. We gave 
 our concert, to the evident delight of the large 
 audience, and went our way with the conscious- 
 ness of having done something unusual. 
 
 "It is interesting for me to recall at this point 
 my many meetings with that great benefactor of 
 mankind, Signor Guglielmo Marconi. When 
 one considers how much more terrible, if possible, 
 those disasters of the Titanic and the Lusitania 
 might have been, in fact how much more 'fright- 
 ful' this cowardly U-boat war would be without 
 the God-given genius of this splendid Italian pa- 
 triot, I feel I have been honored in grasping his 
 hand, and that every civilized nation^mark my 
 use of the word civilized should perpetuate his 
 memory and deed in marble and bronze. Of 
 
 325
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 course," said McCormack with a smile, "I have 
 another reason to love him and his achievements. 
 You see he loves Ireland, his mother was Irish 
 a student of singing in Italy when she met his 
 distinguished father and he married an Irish 
 lady, but be that as it may, my earnest prayer is 
 'God bless Marconi.' 
 
 "I sang sixty-two concerts during that Austra- 
 lasian tour. I haven't been back since, but I 
 am going. For they are wonderful people out 
 there, and they know what they like." 
 
 326
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 
 
 "After that Australasian tour," remarked 
 McCormack, "it was America once more. I can 
 assure you that the sight of land, after our long 
 voyage, was welcome to our eyes. Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack, O'Brien, McBeath, McSweeney and I 
 watched from the deck of the ship the approach- 
 ing shoreline. It was late February when we 
 landed in Victoria, and cold . . . b-r-roo!" 
 
 "But," I interrupted, "where were Cyril and 
 Gwen ? Did you leave them aboard ship ?" 
 
 "Yes ... in Adelaide, several weeks before, 
 when we thought it best to send them back to 
 Hampstead. Miss Foley went with them, so we 
 held no worries for their care and safety. 
 
 "Back in the United States our audiences were 
 waiting for us ; and we presently took up the fill- 
 ing of the score of concert engagements which 
 Wagner had prepared. After Victoria and Van- 
 couver we appeared in Seattle, Portland and other 
 Pacific coast cities; every concert brought a 
 
 327
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 crowded house, with the people welcoming me 
 in a fashion that warmed my heart. 
 
 "Nothing at all like the concert I once gave 
 in Scarborough (England) when there were thir- 
 teen persons present, by actual count. 
 
 "However, that is ancient history which was 
 never repeated. The newspaper writers began 
 to regard me as useful 'copy,' to be regularly used, 
 and I didn't object. I found myself interviewed 
 in every city; though not as an editor in a New 
 Zealand community once did it. He came with 
 himself too prominently in mind, and after listen- 
 ing to an extended discourse upon his peculiar 
 greatness I excused myself for something more 
 to my liking. Still, I had, it seemed, offended 
 his critical majesty, for after my next concert he 
 wrote that my voice was nil, my use of it atrocious 
 and my enunciation impossible to understand." 
 
 "Touched your weakest spot," I suggested. 
 
 "Yes," said John with a grin, "like the fellow 
 who once remarked that Caruso hadn't much of 
 a voice. 
 
 "Right across the country, eastward from the 
 Pacific coast, our concerts attracted throngs, so 
 much so that we found it necessary, with re- 
 grettable regularity, to turn people away. We 
 
 328
 
 THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 
 
 invariably secured the largest auditorium avail- 
 able, and had extra chairs placed upon the stage, 
 but even then there wasn't room enough to ac- 
 commodate all who sought admission and I was 
 genuinely sorry. I always am, in such circum- 
 stances. I enjoy a 'packed' house, but I do not 
 like to feel that anyone who has taken the pains 
 to come to a concert hall to hear me is unable, 
 from physical limitations of space, to do so. 
 
 "As audiences in San Francisco, Los Angeles 
 and other communities of the American far west 
 greeted me with declarations of being glad to 
 have me back again, so did Salt Lake City, Den- 
 ver, Kansas City and every other city wherein 
 I faced an assemblage. Larger and smaller ones 
 appeared to be of the same opinion: they wanted 
 me and my singing and my songs. And I was 
 delighted to respond to their desires. 
 
 "From the middle west we entered the realm 
 of the east, and in good time New York, Phila- 
 delphia, Boston, Washington, Baltimore and 
 other centers listened to what I had to offer, and 
 pronounced my artistic wares to be of a desirable 
 
 nature." 
 
 John paused, there. Mrs. McCormack and 
 Miss Foley appeared to remind him of a social 
 
 329
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 engagement they had for that evening; so when 
 they had departed he continued with this part 
 of his story, somewhat hurriedly, though with 
 care for sequence and fact. 
 
 "We crossed to England, in the late spring, 
 and I prepared for my Covent Garden opera sea- 
 son. It was not long before there occurred the 
 incident which was made, by Austria and Ger- 
 many, the basis for their subsequent declaration 
 of war. The man in the street did not appre- 
 ciate, perhaps, the full gravity of the situation, 
 but when late July arrived those of us who were 
 in a better position to know were very grave. 
 Rumors of war had begun to circulate ; the very 
 air seemed charged with currents of dire fore- 
 boding. 
 
 "I was in Ostend when the first formal declara- 
 tion of war came. And the day the German sol- 
 diers crossed the Belgian frontier there was a 
 general rush of foreigners to seek places of com- 
 parative safety. I had given a concert the night 
 before, in Ostend; but, like the others, I felt no 
 desire to linger. London impressed me as a wise 
 objective, especially as Mrs. McCormack was with 
 me. 
 
 "I shall never forget the day we spent on the 
 330
 
 THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 
 
 dock, in Ostend, waiting to board a steamer that 
 should carry us across the English Channel to 
 Dover. From eight o'clock that morning until 
 six in the evening, Mrs. McCormack, Edwin 
 Schneider, and I waited; we finally got away. 
 
 "But the impressiveness of what we were to 
 see will never leave me. Nearing Dover our 
 boat ran in between a lane of British destroyers. 
 It was my first full appreciation of the majesty 
 of Great Britain's navy, of the titanic power 
 it wields. As we proceeded through the pro- 
 tecting destroyers one of them came near, and 
 the captain called to the commander of our boat 
 to move in as closely as possible to Folkestone. 
 There was the feeling of something terrible im- 
 pending. 
 
 "It was intensely real, because there arose be- 
 fore me a vision of the trip we had planned, down 
 the Rhine, on the way to Salzburg, where we had 
 planned so soon to go. Schneider had been tell- 
 ing me all about the scenery and my anticipations 
 were keen. 
 
 "When I reached home I found there a cable- 
 gram from Madame Lehmann, which said: 
 'Sorry we will have to postpone our Mozart fes- 
 tival until after the war.' It would have been a 
 
 331
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 performance of 'Don Giovanni,' worth hearing, 
 for besides Madame Lehmann, as Donna Anna, 
 Scotti was to have sung the title role, Geraldine 
 Farrar the Zerlina, with Carl Braun, Andres de 
 Segurola and myself completing the more im- 
 portant membership of the cast. 
 
 "The summer was one of sorrow and anxiety 
 over the war into which so large a part of the 
 civilized world had been plunged. We, in Eng- 
 land, were of course very close to where the bat- 
 tles were raging. And the import of the conse- 
 quences could not be denied." 
 
 The autumn of Nineteen Fourteen brought Mc- 
 Cormack back to the United States, and into full 
 artistic and popular stride. He was an interna- 
 tional celebrity, with a very large income from his 
 singing, and phonograph records. 
 
 Cities and towns of all sizes and inclinations, 
 and in every part of the United States, wanted 
 this illustrious tenor. Even communities other 
 than the largest found two (often three) appear- 
 ances insufficient to satisfy the popular demands. 
 The majority in any town wanted to hear John 
 whenever he opened his mouth to sing. So 
 three, often four, concerts in a single community 
 
 332
 
 THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 
 
 within a period of seven months came to be an 
 accepted condition. 
 
 New York, Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia and 
 a few other centers provided so many concerts 
 within brief periods of time that experts shook 
 their heads in undisguised amazement. Nothing 
 like it had been known before ; so these wise per- 
 sons marveled and, asked for a solution, gave the 
 matter up. 
 
 Large cities, smaller ones, and others of even 
 lesser populations appeared to find a greater en- 
 joyment in McComack's singing than ever. 
 This was Edwin Schneider's first complete season 
 with the tenor as his accompanist, and he tells of 
 the estimate in which John was held in words 
 that make an accurate mental picture. 
 
 There were many notable concerts that sea- 
 son in all parts of the United States. The 
 newspapers began to recognize that John Mc- 
 Cormack had become "an institution," and ac- 
 cepted him as such. The magazines accepted 
 him as "a personality" who could "not be ad- 
 vertised," and they sought him for "feature ar- 
 ticles" with increasing frequency. 
 
 I think at that time that one might say McCor- 
 333
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 mack had gained an indisputable place in his 
 profession; that he had become a fixture, who 
 would be taken (with the ever-renewed and en- 
 thusiastic demonstrations of his hearers) as a 
 necessary matter of course. 
 
 To recount the experiences of the tenor in the 
 United States since that period seems unnecessary 
 at least, to any considerable extent. The pub- 
 He is familiar with the fact that he sang continu- 
 ously, save occasional appearances with the Chi- 
 cago Grand Opera Company, in concert. He 
 had previously appeared in New York with that 
 organization, during its occasional Tuesday night 
 visits to the Metropolitan Opera House; but it 
 was to the concert platform that he devoted his 
 chief endeavors. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, Nineteen Fourteen, John 
 had thrilled an audience of one hundred thou- 
 sand by his singing, before Lotta's Fountain, in 
 San Francisco. Out of doors, in the heart of 
 the business district, this annual ceremony, spon- 
 sored by the San Francisco Press Club, is an 
 event. And McCormack's singing that Christ- 
 mas Eve gave the newspaper men something to 
 write about. 
 
 334
 
 THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 
 
 So, John continued in his career: mounting 
 steadily, being honored outside as well as within 
 the field of music; meeting personages and build- 
 ing a life of usefulness far wider than that com- 
 monly falling to the lot of a musician regard- 
 less of his eminence. 
 
 When John established a record by giving 
 twelve concerts in Greater New York as he did 
 in the 1915-1916 season and packing both 
 Carnegie Hall and the Hippodrome (with its 
 5,000 seats) beyond their legitimate capacities 
 the public ceased to wonder. It was the matter 
 of course attitude, all over again. 
 
 Seven concerts he gave to Bostonians that sea- 
 son; six in Chicago; three each in Philadelphia 
 and Washington. And when a single artist can 
 go three times in a season to a city no larger than 
 Springfield, Massachusetts, fill completely the 
 largest auditorium there, and cause so many peo- 
 ple to ask for tickets that they cannot be supplied, 
 his position is unique. Numerous other in- 
 stances, of approximate impressiveness, might be 
 cited if any purpose might be served. 
 
 One charity concert, in the New York Hip- 
 podrome, netted $14,000. Another in the 
 same place a few years later, for the benefit of 
 
 335
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the Catholic Orphan Asylum of Kingsbridge, 
 brought in $36,000. 
 
 That was the way of it. The 1915-1916 sea- 
 son established a quantity, as well as a quality, 
 record for John McCormack. 
 
 But because he had won his place McCormack 
 did not relax his artistic efforts, nor bask in the 
 sunshine of self-content. He studied harder than 
 ever, and to each public appearance he gave his 
 strictest attention. He was barely thirty-two, 
 and great as his achievement had been he realized 
 better than anyone else the possibilities which 
 lay ahead. 
 
 For, as McCormack has already said, there is 
 no stopping-place in art. He must go either 
 ahead or drop back, and it was not his intention 
 to retrogress. 
 
 Symphony orchestra conductors now began 
 to take notice of John McCormack, and one by 
 one they invited him to appear at an important 
 concert, in the interpretation of some vocal mas- 
 terpiece. It was then, I am moved to think, that 
 the serious-minded members of the country's 
 corps of music critics got the complete artistic 
 measure of John McCormack. 
 
 His programmes, too, were steadily being 
 336
 
 THE AMERICAN CONQUEST 
 
 strengthened in artistic character; and when he 
 went to Boston, and gave four concerts devoted 
 exclusively to the gems of song literature, any 
 skepticism was swept aside. 
 
 On one of these occasions H. T. Parker, critic 
 for the Boston Transcript and one of the severest 
 in the land, wrote; "Idol of the popular audi- 
 ences, if you will, but on the way also to be the 
 idol of connoisseurs of song." It was an opin- 
 ion, without a doubt, which was and is shared by 
 the majority of the leading music critics in the 
 United States. 
 
 But McCormack prizes most highly, I believe, 
 the treatment he has received at the hands of Dr. 
 Karl Muck. Enemy alien though he is, the lat- 
 ter's position in the world of music is supreme. 
 John accepted the engagement to appear for the 
 first time with the Boston Symphony Orchestra 
 with considerable apprehension. He knew 
 Muck's reputation as a disciplinarian. It was 
 natural that he should have held an idea of stu- 
 pendous musical demands being made upon him. 
 
 "So anxious was I to let Dr. Muck know that 
 I was letter-perfect that I may have been stilted 
 in my delivery of the Mozart aria (a Rondo., called 
 'Per pieta non Ricercate,') at the rehearsal. 
 
 337
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 " 'It is not necessary for you to take no liber- 
 ties which will give ease and beauty to the music,' 
 said Dr. Muck. 'Interpret as your good taste 
 and feeling impel, and I will be with you.' 
 
 "After the first public performance, the follow- 
 ing season, when I sang a Beethoven aria that 
 Dr. Muck accompanied superbly, I stopped in the 
 wings, and found the conductor beside me. I 
 was still in the transport which the work and mas- 
 terly support of the orchestra had given me. I 
 could hear the critical audience applauding, but 
 I had thoughts for only one thing; that was the 
 accompaniment. 
 
 "I turned to the sober-faced musican standing 
 beside me and told him that never had I had such 
 a thrill as his conducting and the orchestra had 
 supplied. And Dr. Muck, with a faint smile, 
 made me an answer I shall never forget. 'You 
 gave me a bit of a tear yourself, John,' was his 
 remark, and that was compensation for all I had 
 undergone." 
 
 338
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 MC CORMACK FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 "The United States is the country in which I 
 have sung most continuously ; the land where my 
 career has been developed and whose people, in 
 greatest numbers, have taken me to themselves 
 as though I were their own," said McCormack. 
 "I had felt, for a long time, the desire for citizen- 
 ship, and in the latter part of Nineteen Sixteen 
 the decision was made. 
 
 6 'America for me and for mine,' I thought, 
 and I determined to apply for citizenship papers." 
 
 We were sitting under a canopy, on the west 
 lawn at Rocklea, watching a tennis game. Two 
 of the players were ensigns, in the U. S. Naval 
 Reserve, on leave. Tanned and clean-limbed 
 they were, average specimens of our fighting- 
 boys in blue and looking their parts. 
 
 "Stalwart lads," said John, "both of them; 
 quick in mind and eye, and sportsmen. Will 
 they give good accounts of themselves? You 
 can find the answer in the newspapers, any day. 
 
 339
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Brother citizens of mine, they will be, in a few 
 months more when I get my final papers in 
 January. 
 
 "It was January eleventh, Nineteen Seven- 
 teen, that I took my preliminary steps towards 
 naturalization. Independence Hall, that his- 
 toric structure in Philadelphia, was the place. 
 Could there have been one more fitting ? I chose 
 it deliberately. That is what the word 'inde- 
 pendence' means: liberty, freedom of thought 
 and. action, human rights untrammeled and all, 
 in their unrestricted fullness, to be had in these 
 United States." 
 
 He stopped there, and watched the ensigns at 
 their play. Irishman that he is, and with a true 
 Irishman's love for his land and its people, Mc- 
 Cormack is also an American. Those of you 
 should know who have seen him in his Liberty 
 Loan campaigning; who have heard him in 
 speeches he has made since the United States 
 entered the war, and seen his eyes light as he 
 has sung for the American Red Cross and Knights 
 of Columbus funds. 
 
 For John is a fighter for whatever he has 
 given his heart to. He was most anxious to join 
 the service and he has not yet given up hope. 
 
 340
 
 FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 When he stood before President Wilson, tender- 
 ing his services to sing to the American soldiers 
 on the western battle-front wherever he might 
 be sent, the President replied: 
 
 " 'We cannot all do the same things, and those 
 of us who stay at home and religiously perform 
 our duties here as Americans are doing just as 
 much for the cause as the soldiers in the trenches. 
 But I would not wish for one moment that a 
 spirit of hate should enter into our hearts, for 
 were that to occur we should be swerving from 
 principles which are among those for which we 
 stand, and any such spirit of hate would rob us 
 of the efficiency which at this time we need. 
 
 " 'I know, Mr. McCormack, that you are fond 
 of sports, of contests between boxers. You are 
 aware that when a boxer sees red he endangers 
 his chances of winning. So we must not allow 
 hate to enter our hearts, and somebody over here 
 must help to that end by keeping the fountains 
 of sentiment flowing.' : 
 
 What McCormack did for the Knights of 
 Columbus and the American Red Cross is in it- 
 self a story, to which we shall presently come. 
 Just now, to round out the notable moments in 
 John's life during Nineteen Sixteen and Seven- 
 
 341
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 teen, there are two events to be recorded : the ban- 
 quet tendered him by old-time associates of Sum- 
 merhill College, at the Biltmore Hotel, in New 
 York on May fifteenth of the former year, and the 
 conferring upon him of the degree of Doctor of 
 Literature by Holy Cross College, of Worcester, 
 Massachusetts, sixteen months later. 
 
 Seventy-five men were of the party which as- 
 sembled at the Summerhill dinner to McCor- 
 mack, the only laymen present, excepting the 
 guest of honor, being the Hon. W. Bourke Coch- 
 ran and the Hon. John C. McGuire (both Sum- 
 merhill alumni), Charles L. Wagner, Denis F. 
 McSweeney and Thomas J. Shanley. 
 
 The Right Reverend Michal J. Curley, Bishop 
 of St. Augustine, was to have delivered the prin- 
 cipal address. McCormack anticipated, eagerly, 
 having his old friend there especially in the 
 capacity planned. But his duties interfered, and 
 Bishop Curley, at a late hour, was obliged to dis- 
 appoint. He sent for the occasion a letter, how- 
 ever, to be read by his nephew, the Reverend Wil- 
 liam Fallon, and in it he wrote: 
 
 "I regret my inability to be with you in per- 
 son at this great gathering, but I am there in 
 spirit, and from my heart of hearts I wish my 
 
 342
 
 FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 friend, John McCormack, continued prosperity 
 and success. True to his splendid Irish faith, 
 to the grand old-time Celtic traditions, he is 
 hailed to-day as a credit to Irish Ireland, and cen- 
 turies from now his name will be written on the 
 pages of Ireland's story as her greatest gift to the 
 world of song." 
 
 After Bourke Cochran and others had spoken, 
 the Reverend William Livingston, pastor of St. 
 Gabriel's Church, New York, delivered his ad- 
 dress. It was in part as follows : 
 
 "Now that so many true and beautiful tributes 
 of esteem have been paid to Mr. McCormack; 
 now that so many flattering words of praise have 
 been wafted to his ears; now that so many fra- 
 grant garlands of affection have been laid at his 
 feet, may we not consider for a moment the rather 
 serious question of our personal duty to him in 
 the days that are to come? 
 
 "Great men have always been surrounded by 
 a guard of honor on special occasions, and by 
 a bodyguard in times of danger, when protection 
 was deemed to be either prudent or necessary. 
 If then we are so proud to call ourselves Mr. 
 McCormack's guard of honor to-night, should we 
 not feel bound by a high and holy obligation to 
 
 343
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 call ourselves and to be his devoted bodyguard 
 at all times in the future? If it be true that 
 'death loves a shining mark,' as Young said long 
 ago, it may surely be said that jealousy and ig- 
 norance always turn their attention in the same 
 brilliant direction. In these days of ours, even 
 as in former times, every man who attains dis- 
 tinction is subject to the calumnies of the en- 
 vious and the suspicions of the unthinking. The 
 character of George Washington was bitterly as- 
 sailed during his lifetime, though now no man 
 dare raise his voice against the Father of our 
 Country. Even Our Blessed Lord did not 
 escape the tooth of malice and the tongue of 
 calumny, though He came to teach the law of 
 love for all mankind. Surely then, if that law 
 of love is to be observed by the laity, we of the 
 clergy, whose office is to preach charity, should 
 be the first, not only to practise that divine vir- 
 tue, but also to rebuke those who may seem to for- 
 get its existence. Surely then, as Irishmen and 
 priests, we shall be on guard at all times, ready 
 to defend the good name of one who is so dear 
 to us, even as we would defend our own. We 
 have placed that name on a throne to-night; let 
 it be ours to see that no man dares to tear it down. 
 
 344
 
 FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 "Again, it may be safely asserted that from 
 the beginning of time men have had different 
 opinions as to the best means of attaining a great 
 end. Such a difference of opinion exists among 
 our people to-day. Some men are positive that 
 constitutional agitation is the only safe road that 
 leads to Irish freedom. Others assert that this 
 road has led to merely another form of slavery 
 and will lead to worse in the future, namely, the 
 gradual but utter extinction of Ireland's undeni- 
 able intellectuality, Ireland's age-long love of 
 freedom and Ireland's world-famed fidelity to the 
 'faith once delivered to the saints.' This differ- 
 ence of opinion is not disunion and it is not a 
 thing to be ashamed of, no matter what be said to 
 the contrary. 
 
 "Mr. McCormack is doing work for Ireland 
 to-day that no other man on earth can do. He 
 is convincing a hitherto unbelieving world that 
 Irish music is eminently fit to take its place 
 among the compositions of the great masters, that 
 its soul and expression should receive due consid- 
 eration from all true artists, and that its inspira- 
 tion should be a potent factor in the musical pro- 
 ductions of ages yet unborn. As a man he has a 
 very clear conception of duty to his native land. 
 
 345
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 As an artist he must be a thing apart, dedicated 
 and consecrated to a great cause. Therefore, it is 
 but voicing your holiest sentiments when I say 
 in your name that to the greatness of his name 
 and to the glory of his achievements, present and 
 future, we pledge him here to-night our warmest 
 support, in loyal, unswerving and affectionate de- 
 votion." 
 
 A further evidence of his appreciation of the 
 tenor was forthcoming from Father Livingston 
 in the poem, entitled "McCormack," which is as 
 follows: 
 
 Where Shannon's lordly waters sweep along 
 In foaming majesty from fair Lough Ree, 
 
 Athlone's old bridge still lives in storied song, 
 And keeps men dreaming of the years to be. 
 
 Its stones are gone., its glories passed away; 
 But song-bird memories are waked to-day. 
 
 Near that old bridge came first an infant's cry, 
 A lad's sweet treble, then a youth's soft tone, 
 
 Which flamed in fervor as the years ranged by, 
 And made the hearts of all mankind his throne. 
 
 Northward it flashed to rouse the sleeping thrall, 
 Southward rang out its silver clarion call. 
 
 Across far seas that soul-enchanting strain 
 Flow"ed on, melodiously so clear and strong, 
 346
 
 FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 Till Music crowned him in her loved domain 
 The master singer of true Irish song. 
 
 With lays whose tenderness is half his own. 
 He charm,s the world and glorifies Athlone. 
 
 With all the honors that have been heaped 
 upon him, McCormack still blushes when a new 
 one offers. The occasion of the Holy Cross Col- 
 lege Degree was no exception. He fidgeted 
 throughout preliminaries. And when the Rec- 
 tor, Father Dinand, S.J., began his conferring ad- 
 dress John was frankly embarrassed. 
 
 "To sing his country's songs," began Father 
 Dinand, "caring naught who made her laws, was 
 the sentiment of the seer who voices the common 
 feelings of his fellow men. The soul of the na- 
 tion passing through the entire gamut of change 
 must sound the depths and at times reach to 
 heights of passion, hence the songs that tell this 
 story will ever be the embodiment of the nation's 
 life, while laws will but point the pathways of the 
 nation's progress. 
 
 "Sculptured marble, deftly wrought, silent 
 must stand and ever mute, what though you 
 strike it and cry out 'Speak!' Bronze, ver- 
 dantique with years, can never be the sacred de- 
 pository of the living soul. 
 
 347
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "To a heart fashioned in the land of tender 
 emotions, to a mind schooled in the isle of 
 scholars, the gift of sweetest song was vouch- 
 safed to fill up the measure of creation in the 
 man who could interpret for the world the hidden 
 depths of his country's treasure-soul. 
 
 "In fullest appreciation of his deep study of 
 the Celtic and the Romance literatures, in hearty 
 acknowledgment of his God-given mission as an 
 educator of the world in the wealth of music and 
 folklore of his native land, and as an earnest of 
 affection for the gifted son of Erin's soil, Holy 
 Cross College confers the honorary degree of 
 Doctor of Literature upon John McCormack." 
 
 I was rummaging, one evening, through Mc- 
 Cormack's collection of papers: documents and 
 letters and clippings of articles which the tenor 
 had placed at my disposal for such information 
 as might demand incorporation into this book. 
 There were heaps of them, and I had sorted the 
 lot, and read until my eyes ached. 
 
 One, however an extract from the San Diego 
 Sun attracted and held my attention. It was 
 so typically pertinent that I reread the article, 
 alleged to have been written by a cub reporter on 
 
 348
 
 FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 that newspaper, who confessed to knowing noth- 
 ing about music, yet disclosed a singular capacity 
 for peering into the depths of human nature. 
 
 I do not seek to contradict him, he may have 
 been what he proclaimed; but my opinion is that 
 he was an old hand at the newspaper game, who 
 knew a story when he saw one, and how to write 
 it as well. And as for the cub reporter part, 
 that, to my notion, was a bit of camouflage on the 
 part of a city editor, just to dress the tale for his 
 readers' tastes. 
 
 The writer began his story by stating that the 
 regular music critic of the paper (who, if there 
 was one, probably covered fires and the police- 
 court, besides) was indisposed. The cub re- 
 porter admitted, without shame, his unacquaint- 
 ance with music or how a music review should 
 be handled, and but here is what he wrote : 
 
 "The fact that I don't know the difference be- 
 tween an arpeggio and a coloratura soprano is 
 what doubtless led to my selection to 'cover' John 
 McCormack's concert at the Spreckels last night ; 
 it's a way city editors have to shovel out an 
 assignment to the man who knows nothing about 
 it. But, as a matter of fact, I knew a little some- 
 thing about the particular subject in hand, so to 
 
 349
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 speak, for several times I had heard a record of 
 McCorraack's singing, 'I Hear You Calling Me,' 
 and had wept honest unashamed tears over it, 
 and on the fifth playing, had threatened to break 
 that record; because I felt sad enough already. 
 
 "Then some fellow over in the Spreckels The- 
 atre, who had heard McCormack sing somewhere 
 in the East, told me I would enjoy the affair, that 
 he sang a number of the old songs we all heard 
 in our younger days, the songs everybody loves to 
 hear repeated, and that cheered me up, for I con- 
 cluded that this Irish tenor must be a fairly popu- 
 lar entertainer instead of a highup god, whom the 
 highbrows worship, even though they understand 
 not. 
 
 "As to that, however, I had some doubts when 
 I saw the programme, that this Irish tenor 
 whom the phonograph people say they made fa- 
 mous much as Mr. John McGraw might speak 
 of Mr. Christopher Mathewson in baseball that 
 this Mr. McCormack was going to start by singing 
 a recitative, an aria by the justly celebrated Mr. 
 Handel. 
 
 "And when I heard him sing this I still had 
 some doubts, for it all sounded miles away from 
 anything like what Sousa or Leo Frankenstein 
 
 350
 
 FOR AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP 
 
 have written. And, besides, I noticed the most 
 applause came from the chaps in dress suits and 
 the ladies in dress to match. In fact, their ap- 
 plause was furious, not to say superior. 
 
 "But the encore was a little song which invited 
 a beautiful lady to sleep on her lover's bosom and 
 to lose herself in him, and that, to my feeble and 
 non-artistic understanding, seemed much more 
 human and much more worthy of ordinary hu- 
 man applause. By the way, McCormack is a 
 fine, manly-looking fellow, with the kindest of 
 smiles, and when he sings he stands with his feet 
 well apart, his head tipped up toward the bal- 
 cony, and his hands clasped in front of him. 
 
 "After his first encore, he sang 'Love's Quar- 
 rel,' followed by a song in French, of which I 
 actually understood some few words, and then the 
 great, rich, noble song 'The Lord Is My Light,' 
 whose fine chords of accompaniment made you 
 know that at some time a musician had been able 
 to picture a great, reverent thought and had done 
 it powerfully and nobly. McCormack sang it 
 that way, too. Then some lilting Irish songs, 
 with the twang of the ould sod in them and love 
 and romance, and a bit of mischief as well. 
 Then, by and by, 'I Hear You Calling Me,' and 
 
 351
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 I went to hide the tears that came from my eyes 
 and met a music expert a fellow whom I had 
 regarded as high-browish and with superior 
 knowledge. He has a fine tenor voice and uses 
 it for money. Rather timidly I asked him how 
 McCormack stood among great singers ? And he 
 said : 'Lord, man, if I had that voice if I could 
 only reproduce those tones I'd give my socks, 
 my shoes, my shirt honest!' And he gulped 
 apologetically. 
 
 "At the end they all stood up and applauded 
 and waited, and McCormack came back again and 
 sang to that great audience, one of the largest 
 ever in the Spreckels. I'd go again without 
 being sent." 
 
 352
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MC CORMACK AND AMERICAN WAR FUNDS 
 
 Tis a good soldier who does as he is bid. 
 John McCormack became a soldier in the fall of 
 Nineteen Seventeen; enlisted to swell the ex- 
 chequers that provide the means for our soldiers 
 and sailors to fight with, and to succor them when 
 succor is needed. 
 
 "Could any man with red blood in his veins do 
 less?" demanded John of me as we discussed the 
 matter. "I'll never forget how I felt while I 
 stood with others in a vast crowd, watching the 
 first contingent so soon to embark for some point 
 'over there.' 
 
 "Young they were; among the pick of our 
 youth in all the land. And they were marching 
 before us for the last time before facing the 
 enemy some of them never to ... come back. 
 Mrs. McCormack was with me. She felt as I felt. 
 I never see the men pass by with our banner at 
 their head that I do not get a great lump in my 
 throat. 
 
 353
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 ' 'One has to be close to them, to really under- 
 stand,' she said in lowered voice. I turned to 
 look into her face; her lip trembled. She was 
 right. Nor were we the only ones in that throng 
 of New York spectators, who felt the tug of the 
 heart, and a strange clutching at the throat. 
 
 "It is no effort for me to sing 'God Be With 
 Our Boys Tonight,' for it is a prayer that comes 
 from somewhere deep down inside me almost 
 unbidden to my lips." 
 
 McCormack has sung that song many times in 
 the last year. Other songs he has also sung, 
 without compensation save that which he felt his 
 duty; and from that singing has come from the 
 public approximately half a million dollars for 
 investment in Liberty Bonds, and two hundred 
 and forty-nine thousand dollars contributed to the 
 funds of the American Red Cross, the Knights of 
 Columbus, the Sixty-ninth New York Regiment, 
 the Ninth Regiment of Massachusetts, and other 
 funds. 
 
 I learned, quite by accident, that these large 
 sums represent not only the net receipts from 
 McCormack's efforts, but also the gross. For 
 when the tenor has sung there have been no 
 incidental expenses to be deducted from what the 
 
 354
 
 McCORMACK AND WAR FUNDS 
 
 public has paid to hear him. He and Managers 
 Wagner and McSweeney and Accompanist Edwin 
 Schneider have not only given their services but 
 have paid the attendant traveling and living ex- 
 penses. 
 
 Not a penny of the money was handled by 
 Wagner and McSweeney in any of the McCor- 
 mack concerts for the American Red Cross and 
 the Knights of Columbus. And to fill the San 
 Francisco and Los Angeles engagements McCor- 
 mack and his management personally took care 
 of the railroad fares, among other items, from the 
 Atlantic to the Pacific coast and return. But in 
 addition to all this, where public-spirited citizens 
 did not do so, McCormack and his business asso- 
 ciates have paid the rent of halls, and the cost of 
 printing and advertising. 
 
 "For weeks I had been impatient to do some- 
 thing to help the country in the part it was play- 
 ing to defeat the Allies' enemy," said McCor- 
 mack. "It was in November of Nineteen Seven- 
 teen, after I had seen the President. My per- 
 sonal interests were matters of secondary consid- 
 eration. I must do something, I felt, and at 
 once. 
 
 "Soon thereafter I lunched with John D. Ryan, 
 355
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 of the American Red Cross, at his home on Long 
 Island. 'What is it that the American Red Cross 
 most needs which I am able to assist it to get?' I 
 asked. 'Whatever it may be, I am at the Soci- 
 ety's service.' 
 
 "Mr. Ryan's eyes shone. 'The Red Cross 
 needs two things,' he replied: 'money and the 
 spreading of its propaganda. Many men can 
 raise money, but few men or women, either 
 have the power to stimulate the public into mak- 
 ing cash contributions and, also, to make known 
 to the people what the Red Cross represents and 
 its accomplishments. You are one of those few, 
 because you have the capacity to reach the public 
 through its hearts.' 
 
 "I was willing, if need be, to contribute one 
 hundred thousand dollars," said McCormack, 
 "but I realized what spreading the propaganda 
 meant." 
 
 ' 'In that event,' I answered, 'you may rely 
 upon me to sing as many concerts as are neces- 
 sary to net the Red Cross one hundred thousand 
 dollars. And, to the best of my ability, I will 
 spread its propaganda.' 
 
 "On the following seventeenth of December," 
 continued John, "I gave my first Red Cross con- 
 
 356
 
 McCORMACK AND WAR FUNDS 
 
 cert. It was held in Washington, on an evening 
 possible for President Wilson, Mrs. Wilson and 
 others of the presidential suite to be present." 
 
 Concerts in New York, Philadelphia and Bos- 
 ton followed, and the cause brought enthusiastic 
 audiences into every auditorium. Chicago pro- 
 vided its quota of people and dollars, and Denver, 
 San Francisco where $25,147 was realized 
 from the sale of tickets and McCormack phono- 
 graph records, which John contributed and auto- 
 graphed and Los Angeles followed. 
 
 At McCormack's Boston appearance, at the big 
 Red Cross Rally, held in Tremont Temple, the 
 throng that sought admittance could not be 
 wholly accommodated. General John A. Johns- 
 ton, chairman of the meeting, aroused the audi- 
 ence which had previously been in a tumult 
 through John's singing of "The Star-Spangled 
 Banner," "Keep the Home Fires Burning," and 
 other patriotic songs by calling for a rising vote 
 of thanks to the tenor. General Johnston termed 
 John McCormack "the singing Prophet of Vic- 
 tory!" 
 
 "It was an experience that thrilled me," ad- 
 mitted John. "Much as I believed I understood 
 what spreading the propaganda meant, and stimu- 
 
 357
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 lating an appreciation of the great accomplish- 
 ments of the Red Cross, it was only in the field of 
 activity that I got close enough to its heart to 
 feel its real beats." 
 
 I am aware that John performed his service 
 for the American Red Cross with no consciousness 
 of sacrifice. I know that his own affairs, during 
 that period of service, concerned him least of all. 
 Absorbed in the work, he lived it with a patriotic 
 simplicity that was its appealing characteristic. 
 I recall speaking with him, in the Pennsylvania 
 Railroad station, in New York, just before he left 
 for the west to fill one of these Red Cross concert 
 missions. And he was disinclined to speak of 
 his personal efforts in the undertaking he had 
 assumed. 
 
 "It is the cause, not the men in it," he said, 
 "which we must consider and concentrate upon. 
 We are all soldiers, enlisted for specific purposes ; 
 each having his particular part to perform. My 
 share in what is being done is only the accom- 
 plishment of what my abilities allow me most 
 effectively to do. One man fits in here, another 
 man at some other place; and the women, too 
 they are doing their respective tasks nobly." 
 
 He regarded himself no more than part of a 
 358
 
 McCORMACK AND WAR FUNDS 
 
 human machine, assembled for humanity's sake. 
 It was the attitude McCormack holds these days, 
 which points his thoughts towards the big things 
 in life, and is making of him a singer able to touch 
 hearts even more poignantly than ever before. 
 He held it during his Red Cross service ; and the 
 people got it when he stood before them spread- 
 ing propaganda with his song. 
 
 If ever it were proved, conclusively beyond any 
 doubt, it was proved by John McCormack during 
 his enlistment (he feels that he still is enlisted, 
 under waiting orders) that music is no longer 
 among the non-essentials. "In these times," he 
 asserts, "it has been demonstrated that music is 
 as necessary to victory as munitions and supplies 
 . . . for it is music that is helping to get them, 
 by keeping, as President Wilson said, 'the foun- 
 tains of sentiment flowing.' 
 
 "The song," asserted McCormack, "that has 
 been hallowed and sanctified by feelings so much 
 greater than any ever roused by mere musical 
 and verbal perfection is such that there is no 
 longer anything in the world with which to com- 
 pare it. 
 
 "When I sing 'God Be with Our Boys To- 
 night' I am not offering musical intervals of much 
 
 359
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 or little charm, or words of literary or non-literary 
 value. I am singing something that everybody 
 left in this country is singing with me. Every 
 people the world over has put itself into its war 
 songs and made those songs immortal. 
 
 "And there will be more songs; they will 
 spring up suddenly, no one will be able to tell 
 why. They must be simple, and sincere, and 
 must have that indefinable quality which makes 
 everybody who hears them want to 'join in.' 
 
 "But those are the songs our singers must 
 keep singing it's our branch of the service, and 
 we dare not neglect it. I think every singer in 
 this country should be at work for the war." 
 
 John did not cease his patriotic service with 
 the successful conclusion of his efforts to secure 
 for the American Red Cross one hundred thou- 
 sand dollars. The Knights of Columbus re- 
 quired money for its war fund. 
 
 "What do you want me to do? How much 
 money can I assist, through my singing, in secur- 
 ing?" 
 
 Fifty thousand dollars was the amount, and 
 McCormack's endeavors in New York, Boston, 
 Baltimore, Buffalo and Chicago yielded this sum. 
 
 He gave concerts, also, for the dependents of 
 360
 
 . 
 
 McCORMACK AND WAR FUNDS 
 
 the Sixty-ninth Regiment of New York and the 
 Ninth Regiment of Massachusetts. 
 
 John will continue in his work, whenever ne- 
 cessity requires, because his heart is in it and 
 he stands ready to respond to the call. 
 
 361
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 SELLING LIBERTY BONDS 
 
 John McCormack never took a course in sales- 
 manship. He has no intimate acquaintance with 
 what some experts in that line term "the science 
 of selling." He might learn, if he were so dis- 
 posed, for Edwin Schneider, his accompanist and 
 close friend, asserts that John has a mind like a 
 sponge. 
 
 But John is an artist, not a scientist, and it is 
 therefore not surprising that he should have ap- 
 plied art to his appeals to the public to which he 
 disposed of many Liberty Loan bonds. The tale, 
 however, that he sold two millions dollars' worth 
 is not correct. He seeks no credit for anything 
 he has done to assist in prosecuting our share in 
 the war; what he does insist upon, though, is 
 exactness, not exaggeration, in statements regard- 
 ing whatever service he has performed. 
 
 "I do not know the precise quantity of Liberty 
 Bonds I have been instrumental in selling," he 
 said, "perhaps a half million dollars in value. 
 
 362
 
 SELLING LIBERTY BONDS 
 
 One person, alone, took one fourth of that 
 amount at a single purchase, and I want it under- 
 stood that it was a voluntary contribution which 
 came unsought and from an unexpected source 
 after I had finished with the actual assignment 
 given me. 
 
 "It was during the Second Liberty Loan, when 
 the drive was in need of every impetus that could 
 be applied, that I was asked to aid. McCreery's 
 department store, near Fifth Avenue in Thirty- 
 fourth Street, was the place in New York where 
 I was sent. It was an autumn morning, the air 
 was crisp, and I had abundant enthusiasm. 
 
 "Why not? I had something of sterling 
 value to offer ; the inducement, from a monetary 
 viewpoint, was sufficient to interest anyone of dis- 
 cernment having money to invest. But more 
 than that, my prospective customers stood on the 
 common ground of patriotic unity. It wasn't 
 'Will you buy?' it was 'How much in Liberty 
 Bonds to-day? Our country needs your sup- 
 port!' 
 
 "Stability in values and sentiment were joined 
 when I appealed to the people who gathered about 
 my booth, in McCreery's. I had as associate an 
 official bond-salesman, whom the government 
 
 363
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 provided. We decided upon a plan of campaign 
 I believe that is customary, in selling. 
 
 "To every purchaser of a one-hundred-dollar 
 Liberty Bond it was agreed that I should auto- 
 graph any phonograph record of a song I had 
 sung. For whoever would buy a one-thousand- 
 dollar bond I was prepared to sing a song, and 
 allow the purchaser the privilege of choosing the 
 selection. 
 
 "You see, we surrounded our selling propo- 
 sition with every inducement possible to make it 
 attractive. According to business analysis, it 
 had a triple appeal: value, sentiment and the 
 choice of either my autograph or a song, depend- 
 ing upon the investment. 
 
 "It didn't take long for us to get started. We 
 secured a crowd, quickly. The arrangement was 
 that I should serve for the one day only; it was 
 an endeavor in which many personalities well 
 known to the public had been asked to aid in a 
 special drive. The government wanted its Lib- 
 erty Loan to be oversubscribed, and was entitled 
 to the enthusiastic support of everyone capable 
 of selling and buying. 
 
 "I had seen patriotic and capable men engaged 
 in appealing to people to respond to the call of 
 
 364
 
 SELLING LIBERTY BONDS 
 
 their country by doing their duty to the limit of 
 their ability to buy bonds. And I admired and 
 felt with those who possessed the power to reach 
 the hearts of their listeners. For that is what 
 this war means to us over here: our hearts must 
 be reached, and kept beating with the sort of re- 
 sponsiveness which will 'keep the fountains of 
 sentiment flowing.' 
 
 "Many times, during that autumn day in Nine- 
 teen Seventeen, I was moved by some incident. 
 Some one patron, to whom the buying of a one- 
 hundred-dollar bond meant some personal sacri- 
 fice, would disclose an unselfish loyalty which 
 made my own heart throb. And there were more 
 than a few of this sort. For them I signed my 
 name on my phonograph records with real joy; 
 and I signed it often. 
 
 "I was happy to sing for the one-thousand- 
 dollar buyers, who were numerous. It got to be 
 like encores at a concert, after a time. And thus 
 enthusiasm grew. As the day wore on, and our 
 sales mounted, I addressed those who were within 
 sound of my voice in the store." 
 
 The New York newspapers, in their news 
 stories published the following morning, pro- 
 nounced McCormack's speech as one filled with 
 
 365
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 sentiment and devotion. They laid particular 
 stress upon the unusual effect upon a throng of 
 people who blocked the aisles, listening to the 
 plea of a singer who also had unquestioned 
 powers of oratory. 
 
 "At times someone would appear, and inquire 
 rather skeptically, if I really would sing if five 
 thousand dollars in bonds were subscribed. The 
 firm had advertised the terms upon which I would 
 supply the autograph and vocal bonuses, yet there 
 were people who, arriving late, evidently felt that 
 my voice might have given out. 
 
 "I assure you it was inspiring to me to feel the 
 response from those men and women who came 
 and were susceptible to an appeal. It fired me 
 with gratitude that the singer and the song are 
 what they are. My professional experience 
 had long convinced me of this; but it has taken 
 the Red Cross, the Knights of Columbus and the 
 Liberty Loan work I have done to show me the 
 flame of truth at its brightest. 
 
 "In the end," declared the tenor, "I actually 
 bought bonds for myself from myself, and I was 
 happy in being able to do so." 
 
 During the Third Liberty Loan push John 
 helped the government to lift it over the top. In 
 
 366
 
 SELLING LIBERTY BONDS 
 
 the midst of his Red Cross campaigning, at a con- 
 cert he was giving, in Providence, a short but vital 
 speech he made stirred his hearers to an extent 
 that caused a liberal opening of their purses in 
 the purchase of bonds. 
 
 Mayor Gaynor spoke to the vast audience be- 
 fore McCormack appeared. He told them of 
 what the tenor had already accomplished; that 
 $85,000 of the $100,000 he had pledged him- 
 self to raise was already in the treasury of the 
 Red Cross. And he appealed to them to buy 
 Liberty Bonds. 
 
 McCormack's entrance caused a demonstra- 
 tion. It was some time before he could start his 
 programme. He closed it with "God be with 
 Our Boys Tonight," and he left his hearers silent, 
 for a moment, before they could bring themselves 
 to their applause. 
 
 But when John returned to the platform it was 
 as speaker, not in the capacity of singer. I think 
 it is sometimes more interesting for a throng to 
 listen to spoken words from one who uses the 
 voice in song if the occasion be peculiarly 
 suited to it. In this instance the people sat, 
 many holding their breaths, waiting for the 
 tenor's opening words. 
 
 367
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "I know," said McCormack, "that the senti- 
 ment expressed in that prayer, 'God be with Our 
 Boys Tonight,' finds an echo in your hearts. As 
 the body without a soul is dead so, also, is faith 
 without good works of no avail. The good work 
 of our boys over there is going on, we know, be- 
 cause of their faith that we over here are standing 
 behind them ; they know they can depend on us. 
 If you have faith and I am sure you have back 
 it with your contributions that will prove that you 
 are doing your part as well as our fighters are 
 doing theirs. Buy Liberty Bonds!" 
 
 "I had known that John had some oratorical 
 gift," admitted a close friend of the tenor, in talk- 
 ing about that occasion, "but he actually thrilled 
 me that afternoon. Nor was I the only one so 
 impressed. I concede to being prejudiced, yet I 
 do not overstate in asserting that I seldom have 
 been so moved by John's singing as I was during 
 that spoken appeal of his in Providence." 
 
 "I remember a very interesting experience," 
 John continued, "and I hope I will not appear 
 boastful in telling it, eleven days later, in Buf- 
 falo. Walking through the rotunda of the 
 Iroquois Hotel I was stopped by a lady. She 
 told me that a blind gentleman living in the hotel, 
 
 368
 
 l 
 
 u rt 
 
 s S i-i 
 
 *& rft C 
 
 Sox 
 
 S 
 
 g o. 6 * 
 
 0) .. 
 
 "5 
 
 O *" rt > . 
 
 U v- C rt c^ 
 
 o o c z o 
 
 5 "*" 3 Tl 
 
 ^ s s >:.s
 
 SELLING LIBERTY BONDS 
 
 who was further afflicted through being an in- 
 valid, had never heard me sing. 
 
 " 'He has so often expressed the hope,' ex- 
 plained the lady, 'of some time being able to 
 listen to you, Mr. McCormack if only in one 
 song. In New York we know that you sang 
 for whoever purchased a five-thousand-dollar 
 Liberty Bond. This gentleman . . . well, if 
 you would sing just one song is willing to 
 buy one hundred thousand dollars' worth of 
 bonds.' 
 
 "It is contrary to my custom ever to sing be- 
 fore going on the platform on the day of a concert. 
 Yet this was so marked an exception that I re- 
 plied, 'Certainly I'll do it.' 
 
 "So a piano was wheeled into the room on the 
 second floor of the hotel, where a Liberty Loan 
 luncheon was to be served; and there the inva- 
 lided and blind gentleman was taken. I sang 
 'God be with Our Boys,' and true to his word the 
 patron bought one hundred thousand dollars' 
 worth of bonds." 
 
 At the meeting at the Metropolitan Opera 
 House in New York, on the evening of September 
 27, 1918, when President Wilson delivered his 
 great war address at the launching of the Fighting 
 
 369
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Fourth Liberty Loan, John McCormack sang 
 "The Star-Spangled Banner." 
 
 No patriotic call finds him hesitant. E. T. 
 Stotesbury, the banker, sent him one, in May, 
 Nineteen Eighteen, when the final touches were 
 being put upon the campaign of forty-eight east- 
 ern Pennsylvania counties to sell $115,000,000 
 in War-Savings Stamps. It was pledge-week, 
 and Charles M. Schwab and four thousand Phila- 
 delphians were in the Metropolitan Opera 
 House, where Mr. Stotesbury presided as chair- 
 man. 
 
 McCormack's singing was a factor in that meet- 
 ing, which netted a very large subscription for 
 War-Savings Stamps. But the incident that 
 seemed to make the impression that night was 
 in Charles Schwab's words, as he stepped to the 
 spot where the tenor stood waiting to sing. With 
 one hand upon John's shoulder Schwab said: 
 
 "I want to thank my old friend, John McCor- 
 mack, for coming here to-night. He is a great 
 artist, but great as is his art his heart is greater; 
 and greater still than his heart is his patriotism. 
 God bless you, John!" 
 
 370
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE AMERICAN SINGER 
 
 The day was sultry and the humid heat-waves 
 had sent us to the pierhead, where the Cyril lay 
 like a sea-thing dozing on the glassy surface of 
 the water. Besides Mrs. McCormack and the 
 two children, we were, Miss Foley, John, his mas- 
 ter-accompanist Edwin Schneider, and myself, a 
 party of seven, all rather moist and turning ap- 
 praising eyes waterwards where possibly bodily 
 relief might be had. 
 
 Our wilted attitudes made us look an amusing 
 lot, or would have had there been in any one of 
 us ambition to summon a sense of humor. But 
 with the shore left behind and the Cyril tearing 
 along at twenty knots we found a breeze other 
 than that of the motor-boat's own making. The 
 lowered temperature, which always prevails on 
 water, gradually restored our interest in exter- 
 nals and we prepared to take notice. 
 
 I sat alongside John, who held the wheel and 
 371
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 worked the controls all like those of a motor- 
 car. The others sat aft, in wicker-chairs, under 
 a canopy. 
 
 "From time to time someone rises to deplore 
 the managerial recognition given to the American 
 singer in his own land and to ask if in fairness 
 he should not have wider opportunities, and re- 
 ceive a more general acceptance from the pub- 
 lic," said the tenor. 
 
 "I believe that I am amongst those who feel 
 that the American singers have not only demon- 
 strated their capacities, but that they are now 
 reaping benefits from them. In concert and in 
 opera we see and hear them, during the music 
 season, so continuously and under such favorable 
 auspices and they are accomplishing such admir- 
 able things, that in my opinion the American 
 singers may in all truth be said to be coming into 
 their own. 
 
 "Inspection of the roster of the Metropolitan 
 Opera Company will disclose an amazingly large 
 percentage of Americans, a number of them first- 
 principals. The same is true of the Chicago 
 Opera Company, and of other, if smaller, opera 
 companies in the United States. In opera the 
 American who has ability to achieve is being ac- 
 
 372
 
 THE AMERICAN SINGER 
 
 corded opportunity, and I have no doubt that as 
 there is an increase in the number of those who 
 possess exceptional qualifications for their tasks 
 we shall witness a corresponding gain in the 
 quantity growth of their triumphs. 
 
 "The concert field certainly reveals the Ameri- 
 cans prospering and accomplishing much artis- 
 tically in their own country. Men and women 
 both are appearing everywhere. In recital, ora- 
 torio and miscellaneous concert the native artists 
 are not only challenging successfully those of for- 
 eign birth, but the greater number of the desir- 
 able engagements are theirs. 
 
 "There are persons, I know, who contend that 
 American audiences prefer a singer having a for- 
 eign-sounding name; who assert, and rather vio- 
 lently at times, that the adage about 'the prophet 
 in his own country' is in full working order where 
 the American vocalist is concerned. But with 
 all due respect, I cannot agree. For I think the 
 day of such possible bias is past and that the 
 period of ascendancy for native singing-artists is 
 now well under way. 
 
 "If we consider the great American singers, 
 pronounced that by the press and the public, their 
 number will compare very favorably with those 
 
 373
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 of other lands. Possibly not in opera, for our 
 vocalists engaged in that branch have begun but 
 recently to develop in appreciable numbers. But 
 in concert American singers win the greater part 
 of the many engagements to be had, and I should 
 be surprised if the next decade does not bring 
 opera-singing Americans of the first rank to the 
 fore in numbers that will satisfy their most valiant 
 champions." 
 
 John drove the Cyril to starboard of an outly- 
 ing rock and headed a few points astern of a 
 thirty-footer which lay gracefully ahead. 
 
 "There's many an American singer like that 
 sloop yonder : capable, personally impressive and 
 succeeding in the chosen element. I rejoice that 
 singers born in the United States have such un- 
 deniably exceptional talents and that they are 
 putting them to proper advantage. 
 
 "Nowhere in the world have I heard as many 
 splendid natural voices as in this country. You 
 may find them in every city and town, in villages 
 even upon the countryside. The quantity of 
 American singing material now being developed 
 is colossal. I would not wish to intimate that 
 the major part will bloom, but enough will in 
 time to allow favorable competition with foreign- 
 
 374
 
 THE AMERICAN SINGER 
 
 ers. And from it there will emerge, I feel, more 
 than a few sterling artists. 
 
 "I believe we must go far to find foreign-born 
 artists whose successes equal those that have 
 came to Lillian Nordica, Emma Eames, Mary 
 Garden, Geraldine Farrar, Olive Fremstad and 
 Louise Homer to name a few whose operatic 
 reputations are preeminent. Doesn't it indicate 
 that where exceptional abilities are present in a 
 singer the singer achieves and is recognized? I 
 might go on and name other native artists who 
 have triumphed, and are triumphing, if it were 
 necessary; but if anyone will stop and mentally 
 go over a list of those known to have prospered 
 artistically and in the public's estimation the 
 proofs will appear in themselves and clearly. 
 
 "In both the Metropolitan and the Chicago 
 companies there is scarcely a performance 
 wherein at least one American singer, and oft- 
 ener more than one, is in the cast. A generous 
 number of first-roles are allotted our singers; if 
 there be some who would like to see increased 
 representation in this respect I believe some com- 
 pensation is provided in the truly predominating 
 appearance of Americans in parts of secondary 
 importance. 
 
 375
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Sopranos and mezzos and contraltos, tenors, 
 baritones and bassos who are Americans may be 
 heard in leading roles in both of our largest opera 
 companies. And a comparison of the frequency 
 of their singing and their number with what ob- 
 tained in these respects a dozen years ago will 
 show the growth of both to be astonishing. In 
 these circumstances is it not within reason to as- 
 sume that another ten years will place the Amer- 
 ican singer in a stronger position operatically than 
 that now occupied, and add to the quantity which 
 is winning on sheer ability? ' 
 
 Dead ahead at that moment we saw something 
 running low in the water. It was half a mile off, 
 not readily distinguishable and our attention was 
 drawn to the object by a cry from Cyril, whose 
 sharp eyes first saw it. "A submarine!" he ex- 
 claimed. And so it proved. 
 
 John twisted the wheel and the Cyril's bow 
 swerved to starboard. That brought within our 
 area of vision what we had not noticed until then 
 another craft several hundred yards astern of 
 what appeared to be a submarine. Looking we 
 discovered a patrol steamer. She rode high 
 enough for classification ; her appearance slightly 
 resembling a destroyer. Up forward we could 
 
 376
 
 THE AMERICAN SINGER 
 
 make out a gun and about it a group of naval boys 
 very evidently on the job. 
 
 Our motor-boat, as John opened wide the throt- 
 tle, leaped ahead still faster, every minute carry- 
 ing us closer to that low-lying thing of gray which 
 was now unquestionably an American submarine 
 of the K type, running awash. She was moving 
 leisurely, and our flag floated from a mast. Sev- 
 eral figures, in uniform, were discernible on the 
 bridge ; one surveying us through a glass. 
 
 We ran as close as we dared, swerved sharply 
 to starboard again and passing on circled the stern 
 of the patrol. We waved, got our answer from 
 the crew on deck, and continued our course. As 
 John slowed the speed of the Cyril he turned to 
 me and spoke. 
 
 "Doesn't it give one a thrill to see those de- 
 fenders? A sense of grateful security; of con- 
 fidence in what this country is doing, here and 
 over there? If we can develop a fighting-force 
 in the short time we have, and give them the 
 necessary support on sea as well as land, it should 
 be reasonable to assume that American singers 
 can find their places, and the best ones too, just 
 as surely in opera. 
 
 "It needs only the serious study required to 
 377
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 win foremost operatic positions, and the other 
 essentials that go with serious study. For nat- 
 ural voice and operatic talent unquestionably 
 abound in this country. Nor do I feel that the 
 public will be any less loyal in extending recog- 
 nition and support to its opera singers than to 
 its soldiers and sailors. 
 
 "When we scrutinize American singers in the 
 concert field there is really little to justify any 
 complaint that they are without prestige and 
 plenty to do. The public, moreover, seems ready 
 and waiting for them, for it welcomes them again 
 and again. Everywhere I go in the United States 
 I hear, on every side, expressions of approval for 
 the achievements of singer after singer who has 
 been born in this land. And if we would look 
 for evidence of who they are and what they have 
 done it is necessary to go no farther than to point 
 to Alma Gluck and Reinald Werrenrath and 
 there are others, besides." 
 
 A cloud drifted over the sun just then, and 
 looking overhead we saw from the west other 
 clouds, black and quick-moving. "A squall," 
 announced John; "we shall have to run for it." 
 When we had docked and reached the McCor- 
 
 378
 
 THE AMERICAN SINGER 
 
 mack veranda, the tenor finished with his opin- 
 ions. 
 
 "Personally I have the highest admiration for 
 American singers and for their future. They 
 have voice, musical natures, intelligence, indus- 
 try and perseverance. They are coming fast and 
 will not be denied, and to those who are not over- 
 impatient and learn that progress cannot be 
 forced there is a reward and a public of their 
 own people who will greet them with open arms." 
 
 379
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 SONGS FOR THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 Mrs. McCormack, her sister and the two chil- 
 dren had gone to a neighbor's to play tennis, the 
 weather had turned cool, and I descended from 
 the study to the veranda for a breath in the pure 
 air and a general look around. I was standing 
 there when John appeared, fresh from a trip to 
 the city, as exuberant as a small boy. 
 
 "Some new songs," he announced, "dug out 
 of the library and several you never heard." 
 
 I didn't enter a denial. John is rather sure of 
 his facts. 
 
 "I had the same experience, last year, in the 
 Boston library. I met Philip Hale, the critic, 
 and showed him songs he had never seen." The 
 tenor surveyed me triumphantly. Hale is one of 
 our musical scholars; few have a chance with 
 him a veritable human encyclopaedia of music. 
 I entertained no desire to match my knowledge 
 with his, so, by maneuvering, I extricated myself 
 from that position by encouraging John to talk. 
 
 380
 
 THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 "After all, what's in a song?" he demanded. 
 "A message people can understand. Melody, 
 first, set to text that conveys something to heart 
 and mind. One of the difficult tasks of my pro- 
 fession, and as important as the actual singing, 
 is the choice of material for my programmes, and 
 its arrangement. Programme-making has been 
 declared an art, and that it is. Occasionally 
 some erudite musician attempts to treat it as a 
 science, and discovers something gone wrong. 
 The solution is easy : one cannot apply the square 
 and other measuring instruments to human emo- 
 tions. Not, at least, where music prevails. 
 
 "I build my programme in a set way," said the 
 tenor, "and never vary from it. The formula is 
 this: 
 
 "First, I give my audiences the songs I love. 
 
 "Second, I give them songs they ought to like, 
 and will like when they hear them often enough. 
 
 "Third, I give them the folksongs of my na- 
 tive land, which I hold to be the most beautiful 
 of any music of this kind this is song propa- 
 ganda. 
 
 "Fourth, I give my audiences songs they want 
 to hear, for such songs they have every right to 
 expect. If I were to speak to an audience before 
 
 381
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 beginning a programme I probably should say 
 something like this: 'I thank you with all my 
 heart for being here, and I'll do my best to make 
 you glad you've come.' 
 
 "And whilst on the subject of audiences I want 
 to say that they have rights the artist should at 
 all times respect. We hear occasional objections 
 to what is termed 'the encore nuisance.' I hope 
 I shall never come to regard in that way the desire 
 for additional singing of those who come to a con- 
 cert to hear me. It really is a tribute which one 
 should esteem ; I know I do. It is as if they said : 
 'That is beautiful; please give us more.' I know 
 I should feel lost were encores not requested 
 through applause, and I wish to say that if the 
 day ever comes when my hearers do not want me 
 to give them encores I shall consider it time to 
 stop singing. 
 
 "We have, I believe, two kinds of music: one 
 kind for our feelings and another for our purely 
 intellectual side. You frequently hear some mu- 
 sician praising a musical composition which has 
 neither inspiration nor mood. 'Splendidly 
 written,' pronounces the musician, overlooking 
 the paucity of the content. But technique never 
 will cover, for the people, any lack of melody. 
 
 382
 
 THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 "The first duty of any artist to his public is to 
 consider its tastes. He may cultivate them, if he 
 can, but he must do so wisely so that the people 
 may not be made aware that they are being edu- 
 cated. To them that is distasteful ; Oscar Ham- 
 merstein admitted that it was unfortunate that he 
 should have designated his preliminary season at 
 the Manhattan in the fall of Ninteen Hundred 
 Nine as 'educational.' He admitted it, too, in a 
 curtain speech at the close of his effort. 
 
 "My way," confessed the tenor, "is to stimu- 
 late by an easy and imperceptible route in the 
 audiences I sing to, the desire for some songs that 
 are of the best. It is a delicate procedure. One 
 must go cautiously, and go slow. An exceed- 
 ingly small part of the public truly seeks a 
 concert which has as offerings only the songs of 
 the masters. And as my audiences are invari- 
 ably of great size, with the majority having sim- 
 ple musical tastes, I have those tastes to respect. 
 After years of endeavor I have succeeded, grad- 
 ually, in incorporating into a programme from 
 six to eight song compositions of genuine musical 
 substance ; and I have managed to hold the atten- 
 tion of each audience during the interpretation of 
 these 'better' songs. 
 
 383
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "And this is what has happened. Little by 
 little, the 'better' song has come to be compre- 
 hended and then thoroughly understood. All 
 the while I have given them generously the sim- 
 ple songs, songs that many pronounce inferior. 
 They may be that, musically. I admit that many 
 I use are not 'classics,' but if they give pleasure 
 to my hearers do they not serve a useful purpose? 
 I think so. 
 
 "I am aware that some so-called 'highbrows' 
 charge me with singing 'popular stuff.' So I do, 
 and I am proud to be able to sing it so that this 
 'popular stuff' performs its mission: a mission 
 that banishes sadness from darkened hearts, that 
 turns the thoughts in the way they should go, 
 that lifts and encourages or sends a tear into the 
 eye. If a song that appeals to our better nature 
 happens to have a sentimental touch which is 
 simple enough to reach the simplest heart, is it 
 any the less a song having a purpose than some 
 song, more finely made musically, which touches 
 only the few? From an aesthetic standpoint I 
 concede the connoisseur's objection, but two va- 
 rieties of tastes require my consideration, and I 
 must heed them. 
 
 "If a professor of mathematics were to jump, 
 384
 
 THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 or to attempt to jump, his class in arithmetic to 
 calculus without any intermediate steps his pupils 
 could not understand. To their minds calculus 
 would be as blank as to the poor whites of the 
 South. I recognize that the bulk of my audi- 
 ences must be introduced, by degrees, to the finer 
 composers. By this method, hearing a song or 
 two at a time, they unconsciously gain some com- 
 prehension of this class of music. In a phrase: 
 though not so informed, they are being musi- 
 cally educated. 
 
 "Six years ago, when I began extensively to 
 appear in the United States in concerts, my object 
 was to please my auditors. I have stated before, 
 in this book, that the greatest things are the sim- 
 plest. That sounds paradoxical, in a way; but 
 I will explain by saying that the most difficult, 
 phrase to sing is one in which one tone is joined 
 to another in a manner that allows no break 
 what we call cantilena or legato. So, with the 
 song, it requires the more consummate art to 
 interpret the pure and melodiously simple song 
 than that which jumps about, and thereby allows 
 for the concealing of defects. 
 
 "I felt, six years ago, that I could develop a 
 following only by giving people what they wanted 
 
 385
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 to hear; thereby prompting those people to tell 
 their friends of the pleasure they had thus de- 
 rived, and by this process I would, in time, find 
 numerous adherents and be serving them in a 
 useful way. 
 
 "My success as a singer of songs had always 
 been rather pronounced. So many people had 
 told me that my singing gave them great pleas- 
 ure that I finally concluded that, perhaps, my 
 mission was to extend that singing so that the 
 largest number possible might hear. 
 
 "That first season of Ninteen Twelve and Thir- 
 teen decided me. My audiences grew in size and 
 in appreciation and I then felt it no assumption 
 to devote myself, primarily, to giving my follow- 
 ing what was wanted. 
 
 "Further evidence which seemed to confirm 
 my feelings in these respects were steadily piling 
 up. Some of it came from serious musicians 
 Fritz Kreisler, and others who frankly told me 
 that I touched them with my interpretations of 
 those simple ballads, which have been unjustly 
 called meretricious. I needed no more than such 
 admissions, from musicians brave enough to make 
 them, to strengthen my determination. 
 
 "Lest there be a misunderstanding I want to 
 386
 
 THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 make myself clear on the subject of the simple 
 song, which has sentiment. By such songs I em- 
 phatically do not mean trash of the order which 
 many Americans know as 'popular.' The songs 
 like those of Stephen Foster are what I refer to ; 
 and their beauties are unquestioned because they 
 have endured and because they unfailingly arouse 
 our sincere emotions. 
 
 "If a man or a woman does not happen to 
 understand a Bach fugue it does not follow that 
 the man or woman has no perception of musical 
 beauty. The musical potentiality may be there, 
 without having been cultivated. Give it food 
 and light and air, in the form of understandable 
 songs sung in a language that the hearer knows, 
 and the hearer comes to appreciate and, pres- 
 ently, begins to acquire musical intelligence. 
 
 "But and this I hold to be vitally important 
 the song must be sung to people in their own 
 tongue, and with an enunciation that makes every 
 word understood. In the United States English 
 is the language I use; and no inconsiderable part 
 of the enjoyment my audiences derive from my 
 singing is attributable to this ability to 'get' each 
 word. For without conveying the words every 
 word the heart of the song is not there. And 
 
 387
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 when you take the heart away from anything you 
 kill it." 
 
 So extensive had been the disucssion as to Mc- 
 Cormack's own enjoyment of the simple songs he 
 uses that I was moved to ask him, and to want 
 information, too, on the character of songs he best 
 likes. 
 
 He did not hesitate. From his chair he rose 
 to his feet, quickly, and began to pace between 
 one spot and another which is a habit when he 
 is discussing a subject that interests him. "I 
 like the songs of simple melody," he declared, 
 "and with simple harmonic construction. I 
 mean, of course, the finer examples of such songs, 
 in which the melodic line has genuine beauty and 
 the treatment is of proportionate value. 
 
 "But I take the musician's enjoyment in com- 
 positions of breadth. Take, for purposes of 
 illustration, a comparatively unknown oratorio of 
 Mozart's 'Davidde penitente.' This is one of 
 the several unique works that I have discovered 
 this summer (1918). And it is one of the 
 most suavely glorious compositions I have ever 
 studied. 
 
 "There is a tenor aria called 'Bei dir, o Quell 
 des Lebens' which taxes the resources of the 
 
 388
 
 THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 singer to his extreme limits. One must sing it; 
 there is no opportunity for slighting so much, 
 even, as a single phrase. Broad cantilena, dra- 
 matic emphasis . . . and vocal agility, too. 
 There is little in the direction of pure singing 
 which Mozart does not demand of whoever would 
 interpret it adequately. 
 
 "And the trio ('Wohl dem, der auf den 
 Herrn') written for an unusual combination of 
 voices: two sopranos and tenor. That is a trio 
 which cannot be sung save by those who have 
 voice, musicianship and art. 
 
 "Mozart drew his material for 'Davidde peni- 
 tente' from his last unfinished mass. He wrote 
 the Italian words below the Latin and added two 
 
 new airs." 
 
 But McCormack admires every fine song clas- 
 sic, no matter what the school. Schubert, Bee- 
 thoven, Bach, Schumann, Hugo Wolf and the 
 representative French, English and American 
 composers. His taste knows no nationality; it is 
 towards the merit of what has been written, that 
 his taste inclines. And anyone who has heard 
 his delivery of "Waft Her, Angels," and other 
 oratorio masterpieces, must appreciate his versa- 
 tility. 
 
 389
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 In McCormack's judgment the greatest song 
 ever composed is Schubert's "Die Allmacht," 
 for which an adequate English translation is 
 "Omnipotence." "It is a flood of exaltation," 
 declared the tenor, his eyes shining, "the outpour- 
 ing, in music, of a poet's soul. Still, my per- 
 sonal preference over any other song is for 
 'Die Mainacht' (A Night in May), by Brahms. 
 Then there is 'Der Dichterliebe,' with the tender 
 love poems of Heine as the musical basis; and 
 there is much else, besides. 
 
 "I might go on, rather extensively, in a dis- 
 cussion as to songs, songs of every nationality; 
 but it would make reading for the musicians, I 
 fear, rather than for the general public for 
 which this volume is primarily intended. 
 
 "America, I am glad to say, is making strides 
 in its creative musical side. Many gifted com- 
 posers are of the United States. And all they 
 need is time, and a recognition which will encour- 
 age them, to place their works eventually along- 
 side some of the great works of their colleagues 
 of other lands. 
 
 "As in my plea for giving a chance to the 
 American singer, I feel, quite as keenly, upon the 
 opportunities that should be placed in the way 
 
 390
 
 THE CONCERT PROGRAMME 
 
 of American composers. Their efforts should 
 invite an outspoken attitude of willingness to hear 
 what is new; not an attitude of expecting some- 
 thing of inferior character. 
 
 "If the people will but remember that it takes 
 a country longer to develop its creative side than 
 it does its interpretative they may come to a 
 clearer appreciation of the situation and, that 
 reached, govern themselves to a constructive 
 rather than a destructive end. 
 
 "After all," said John, looking with unseeing 
 eyes across the sloping lawn towards the water, 
 "we should try, in this life, to help one another. 
 There is too great a tendency to criticise for the 
 sake of saying something 'superficially smart.' 
 And it only hurts, and does no good. Americans 
 are admittedly fair sportsmen and I should like 
 to see a trifle more of that fairness exercised in 
 the treatment of their own musicians : composers 
 as well as singers and instrumentalists. 
 
 "Personally, I do not care for the music of 
 Debussy, because I miss the note of sincerity in 
 his work. Yet I would feel guilty if I were to 
 find fault with what he has done in words ungra- 
 cious. Ravel I do admire, immensely, and 
 Strauss ; there is a master. 
 
 391
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "But when I get to talking on this subject I 
 never fail to think of what George Bernard Shaw 
 said, replying to the question, 'Who is the 
 greatest musician?' 'Beethoven,' said Shaw, 
 'but Mozart was the only musician.' 
 
 "We are, however, on the right road so far 
 as the American in music is concerned. It will 
 be some years, no doubt, before he gets his dues, 
 yet they surely will come; for the American has 
 the musical talent." 
 
 392
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 MC CORMACK ON CRITICS 
 
 "Now for the music critics!" I said, as John 
 and I came out upon the veranda at Rocklea one 
 August morning. "Shall we have them shot at 
 sunrise, or frizzle 'em in boiling oil?" 
 
 "Oh, let's give them a banquet and invite all 
 to sing, together, 'The Soldiers' Chorus' from 
 Taust.'" 
 
 "Then you don't hate them?" I queried. 
 
 "On the contrary," replied the tenor, settling 
 into his chair, "they light the way for me. There 
 are exceptions; once in a while you find a self- 
 opinionated youth who wishes to teach the world, 
 who misuses his power who incorrectly assumes 
 his functions to consist chiefly of emphasizing 
 one's faults, of exaggerating faults of slight con- 
 sequence. Some few critics, also, occasionally 
 attend a concert or opera performance in a bel- 
 ligerent mood ; or, feeling out of sorts, lapse from 
 their habitual fairness. 
 
 393
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "But the majority, I have found, strive sin- 
 cerely to judge without prejudice or bias, and 
 write their reviews accordingly. They wield an 
 unquestioned weight, the critics, and are an abso- 
 lute necessity some would say a necessary 
 evil and I believe most of them try to give, as 
 accurately as they can, an honest estimate of 
 what they hear. 
 
 "Constructive criticism, offered by one skilled 
 in the craft, is of inestimable help to the artist; 
 and no singer or instrumentalist who earnestly 
 seeks to progress in his art will resent an intel- 
 ligently and kindly expressed opinion upon tech- 
 nical and interpretative musical achievement 
 which happens to take issue with that achieve- 
 ment. And, to be honest, we resent it mostly 
 because it hurts our vanity. 
 
 "The critic may, in the estimation of the artist, 
 be right; or his views may be open to question 
 on the part of the artist. After all, it is only 
 one person's opinion, and may differ from the 
 opinions of that critic's colleagues. But I 
 always read, with an open mind, whatever a 
 music critic writes who, I feel, in the reading, 
 has written constructively and out of adequate 
 knowledge." 
 
 394
 
 McCORMACK ON CRITICS 
 
 "Do you regard it as an essential part of the 
 music critic's equipment to be able to perform 
 the thing about which he writes?" 
 
 McCormack dropped his head to one side and 
 regarded me with gravity. Ready with his reply 
 he waited to frame it in certain desired phrase- 
 ology. "No, I don't think such a thing is neces- 
 sary, but it must have been wonderful," said the 
 tenor reflectively, "for Schumann to have been 
 able as we know he was to write of a new 
 composition, adversely, and say with the full au- 
 thority which was his: 'Now if / had written 
 that composition it might have sounded better to 
 have done so-and-so.' Think, too, of the advan- 
 tage the composer thus criticised must have de- 
 rived from such constructive criticism. Such a 
 music critic, granting he possesses the judicial 
 temperament, has an advantage over others not 
 so fortunate. There can be no dispute, I think, 
 as to that; yet a critic may not have such a gift 
 and still be highly competent. 
 
 "To be endowed with the capacity to weigh 
 impartially all the evidence pertaining to a musi- 
 cal performance, eliminating one's personal pref- 
 erences and dislikes, is ideal. We'll accept that 
 as an established premise. Now where such 
 
 395
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 qualifications exist in a critic, and to them is 
 added the natural faculty of recognizing excel- 
 lence and mediocrity instinctively, we have the 
 perfect critic. 
 
 "I remember a story I once heard, and a true 
 one. It happened in Chicago, years ago. A dis- 
 tinguished American composer, at that time music 
 critic for a Chicago evening newspaper, reached 
 his office one afternoon and in the hallway met the 
 critic for the morning newspaper which was under 
 the same ownership. The critic for the morning 
 paper had just been appointed; moved over from 
 another position on the staff of that publication. 
 He was an able editor, a splendid writer; but he 
 admitted, frankly, that music was to him as Greek 
 might be to a baby. 
 
 "The composer-critic had read his associate's 
 review of a performance, given the night before, 
 by the American Grand Opera Company. Theo- 
 dore Thomas had been the conductor; the work, 
 by Delibes. The composer was asked by the 
 newly appointed critic: 'How did you like last 
 night's performance?' 
 
 ' 'I thought it exceptional, as I did the opera,' 
 he replied. 
 
 6 'So did I,' retorted the unskilled music judge. 
 396
 
 McCORMACK ON CRITICS 
 
 1 'But,' ejaculated the musician, 'you roasted 
 everything, from Delibes down.' 
 
 ' 'Oh, I had to do that; I went there to criti- 
 cise.' 
 
 "Nevertheless," declared the tenor as he 
 straightened up in his chair, "I respect the opin- 
 ions of every critic who goes about his task with 
 good intent and makes a respectable job of it. I 
 may differ from him, in details, possibly, at times, 
 in essentials ; but so long as I discern sincerity in 
 his trend, and intelligence, I will concede that he 
 has the same right to his ways of thinking in the 
 matter as I have to mine. For, after all, it is a 
 difference of opinion that provokes the discus- 
 sion (or thought) which leads to progress. 
 
 "Now and again one encounters the 'cock- 
 sure' reviewer ; the one of positive utterance, who 
 considers himself infallible, and takes himself, 
 also, with far more seriousness than his impor- 
 tance should allow. He writes to catch certain 
 of his readers with clever phrase; hitting here 
 and there with unkindness, and very often taking 
 the heart of a struggling artist who might be cor- 
 rected were the reminder of remissness put in a 
 helpful way. 
 
 "Still, his kind is beginning to disappear. He 
 397
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 is of the old school, grown ancient in his trade 
 and myopic through having too long looked in a 
 groove because of the blinders of traditions he 
 has worn. 
 
 "Give me, if you will, the joyous reviewer; the 
 one having in him human responsiveness and ap- 
 preciation, who has the courage to say 'great' if 
 he really thinks so, even though others hold a 
 contrary view. He may be either old or young; 
 I care not, so long as he goes to a musical per- 
 formance in a plastic mood, ready to be convinced 
 if the music and performer have merit. 
 
 "But, as I said in the beginning, I genuinely 
 admire the critics, as a body. They have given 
 me my dues. We send them tickets for a con- 
 cert, voluntarily ask them to come and write about 
 it, and it is we who must take our chances. And 
 I wouldn't give a fig for any man who, admiring 
 my voice and art, refused because of his admira- 
 tion to say I had not done myself justice if such 
 were the case. For that happens; singers are 
 human beings, and not being machines they can- 
 not, and should not, be expected to perform with 
 mechanical accuracy which does not vary. 
 
 "Especially do I respect the representative 
 critics, serving on the leading daily newspapers 
 
 398
 
 McCORMACK ON CRITICS 
 
 in the large American cities, who have expressed 
 their growing regard for my voice and art and 
 programmes. These men, all of them splendidly 
 equipped and speaking from an abundant knowl- 
 edge, are the recognized authorities. They are 
 not infallible, because, like the singer or instru- 
 mentalist, they are only human. They speak 
 well and at other times they also speak not so 
 well of great artists : of Caruso and Kreisler and 
 Hofmann. So it is with pride that I have dis- 
 covered my own position and powers enhancing 
 in their estimation; for that is a reward to any 
 artist who conscientiously wishes to be accepted 
 as such by those who are presumed to know." 
 
 It is a fair summing up of the critics and their 
 functions, which McCormack has made. I can 
 conceive of none, in the whole corps of the coun- 
 try, who will justly dispute the essence of what 
 he has said. And at no time in his talk did he 
 mention by name any critic whom he in particu- 
 lar admired, or one who may have drawn his dis- 
 favor. 
 
 Yet, much as he respects those whose musical 
 education and geographical opportunities give 
 them an advantage over their less fortunate col- 
 leagues, John has a weak spot in his heart for 
 
 399
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the writers attached to dailies outside the larger 
 sphere; for the men and women who perform 
 other newspaper duties than those exclusively 
 musical, and whose writings are out of the heart 
 rather than a musically trained mind. 
 
 It would be interesting to incorporate in 
 this volume a hundred representative critiques. 
 They would make illuminative reading, to many. 
 But space is a consideration to be heeded. 
 
 400
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 EDWIN SCHNEIDER 
 
 One of those drizzly rains, that tend to stir the 
 reflections of a thoughtful person, was falling over 
 Noroton. McCormack sat on the veranda, at 
 Rocklea, engaged with Edwin Schneider in an 
 informal discussion on songs. The pianist ex- 
 cused himself when the subject had been ended, 
 and went into the house. When he disappeared, 
 the tenor turned to me. 
 
 "Do you wonder that I'm fond of him? A 
 combination of man and musician," he said, 
 "which is out of the common run. I've known 
 him, intimately, for five years. We've wintered 
 and summered together, and our friendship tie 
 tightens. That is the real test to develop the 
 feeling of comradeship as well as artistic unity, 
 with one who is almost constantly alongside. 
 
 "I've said that my intimates are few: a com- 
 paratively small number of persons, living in dif- 
 ferent lands. Perhaps it is just as well, for those 
 I feel close to I like to be with as much as I can, 
 
 401
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and this precludes a large friendship even where 
 one's inclinations move in that way. But there 
 is one man whose companionship I particularly 
 enjoy Edwin Schneider. 
 
 "He is totally different from me, temperamen- 
 tally. Almost always serene, an optimist every 
 day of every week and, for all his virility, gentle. 
 Schneider is what I should term a gentle-man. 
 A scholarly musician, too, and a student; and 
 with original ideas. Thank fortune, he is not a 
 hidebound adherent to tradition ! He has vision, 
 and he likes the things musical which I like. So, 
 you see, we fit: in music as well as in less artistic 
 things of life. 
 
 "It was a fortunate day for me, when I met 
 him, because he has exerted a positive influence 
 upon my career. No one has had a greater faith 
 in my capabilities, even when I was in doubt 
 about some part of them, myself. From his 
 point of vantage, and with his intuitive faculties 
 and discernment, Schneider has not infrequently 
 observed that it was wise for me to attempt what 
 I hesitated attempting. And never has his judg- 
 ment been at fault. 
 
 "His confidence in me, always so reassuringly 
 calm, has been like a tonic. Knowing that he 
 
 402
 
 EDWIN SCHNEIDER 
 
 recommends only that which he honestly believes, 
 I invite his opinions. We differ in matters, of 
 course, and that is as it should be. Still, in 
 whatever is vital I think we are not often at odds. 
 
 "Before Ted" (that is John's name for Schnei- 
 der) "came to me I questioned the suitableness, 
 for my voice and style, of certain songs. I recall, 
 in particular, 'J'ai pleure enreve.' My previous 
 accompanist had said: 'That isn't for you.' 
 But one day, chancing upon it, Ted suggested 
 that we try it over. I repeated what this other 
 pianist had said. It had no effect, however, 
 upon Schneider. He only said, with a smile, 'I 
 think he is mistaken.' So we went at it." 
 
 My recollection was that this song was one 
 which McCormack sang exceedingly well ; almost 
 made for him. I said so, and John nodded. 
 
 "That's just it," he continued. "Schneider's 
 perceptions were correct. And that experience 
 gave me added confidence in him. Nor was that 
 instance the single one of its kind; others oc- 
 curred. Ted studied my methods ; he sought to 
 discover what was best suited to me, in the way 
 of songs, and was forever conscientious to aid 
 me in developing my resources. 
 
 "Sympathy, such as that, and understanding 
 403
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 bring the singer and his accompanist into that 
 spirit of harmony which contributes to a oneness 
 of effort. There is a saying one often hears 
 about accompanist that he 'follows' well. That, 
 to my mind, is no compliment to an accompanist ; 
 for he should never 'follow,' nor yet 'lead.' Al- 
 ways, should he be with the singer with the piano- 
 forte part of a song; feeling as the singer feels 
 (in so far as he may be able to do so) and main- 
 taining the spirit of the music and that reflected 
 in the poem. 
 
 "I always feel that we go well together in a 
 song. If I want to 'give' a little here, or 'take' 
 a bit at another place, Schneider will be with 
 me . . . will sense what I am about to do so 
 quickly as to give the audience the effect of in- 
 stantaneous action by each of us. I do change 
 an interpretation, now and again, no matter how 
 'set' it may have been as sung scores of times be- 
 fore. Every artist does, who feels what he inter- 
 prets; that is what keeps him from being a ma- 
 chine. It is a comfort to know that when these 
 changes occur and they may come many times 
 in the course of a concert that the chap at the 
 piano, who supplies the musical background, will 
 not drop you suddenly, with a thud. 
 
 404
 
 EDWIN SCHNEIDER 
 
 "The critics everywhere have recognized these 
 rare qualities in Schneider. He has a singing 
 touch, and a legato. His accompaniment is 
 something built in right proportions, like a piece 
 of architecture which leaves the eye satisfied. 
 You never find Ted's accompaniment obtrusive; 
 he gives the singer the required tonal substance 
 for the voice, but not too much. And his pianis- 
 simi is not so vapory as to be lost on the hearer. 
 
 "He colors the tone, too. Sonority, when we 
 want it ; a rich, pulsating tone, one with less 'red' 
 in it, another having mellowness but not so deeply 
 tinted. Again: crispness, the brilliance that 
 brings people erect when we seek a definite sort 
 of climax. He uses the pianoforte for song ac- 
 companiments as the painter uses the pigments 
 upon his palette. His technique, likewise, is 
 ample ; and his musicianship sound. 
 
 "I met him, in Chicago, one morning when I 
 went to call on that splendid American singer, 
 Clarence Whitehill, who was preparing, in the 
 Blackstone Hotel, for a recital he expected to 
 give. I liked Schneider's way of playing during 
 the first song Whitehill sang; before I left I dis- 
 covered characteristics which appealed tremen- 
 dously to me. Making inquiry, I learned that 
 
 405
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Schneider had played for Marcella Sembrich, 
 Johanna Gadski and George Hamlin. I learned, 
 too, of his thorough pianistic training, much of 
 it gained in Europe ; of his recognition as a solo 
 pianist and as teacher. 
 
 "But the difficult art of song accompaniment 
 and it is an art, which, by the way, few pianists 
 acquire was Schneider's by instinct. The 
 singer gets that the minute he starts a prelude. 
 What my estimation of his ability is may be gath- 
 ered from the fact that we have been together for 
 five continuous seasons ; nearly five hundred pub- 
 lic appearances we've made together, and that 
 tells the story. 
 
 "In the summers we ransack the music stores 
 in search of unusual song compositions, and libra- 
 ries. And Schneider knows the song literature 
 of many countries. He makes something of the 
 accompaniment as distinctive as the melody for 
 the voice because of his comprehensive knowl- 
 edge of song literature. Every composer is 
 something more than an acquaintance; for 
 Schneider does not rest content until he plumbs 
 that composer. 
 
 "His equals as a 'coach' are few because of 
 these qualifications I have mentioned. Having 
 
 406
 
 (At top") John McCormack and his accompanist, Edwin Schneider 
 
 (Centre) Bishop Curley with Gwendolyn and Cyril, photographed on the occasion of 
 
 his confirmation of the two children in the little Catholic Church at 
 
 Noroton, Connecticut, in June, 1917 
 (Beltrw) From left to right: John McCormack, D. F. McSweeney, Bishop Curley
 
 EDWIN SCHNEIDER 
 
 gone to the root of every school of song composi- 
 tion he continues to that end with each member 
 of each school. When he has finished one may 
 be sure that Schneider knows ; he isn't guessing, 
 or relying, too largely, upon an accompanying 
 talent. 
 
 "He composes well, also, and several of his 
 songs are among the most satisfying on my pro- 
 grammes." 
 
 Schneider rejoined us at that moment, just as 
 McCormack finished speaking. The tenor left 
 us, on some errand within, and I was glad of the 
 opportunity to get his ideas on John those 
 intimate ones which he, of all persons, was able 
 to supply. 
 
 "I came to McCormack," said Schneider, "a 
 worshipper at the shrine of his voice and art; I 
 have played for no one else since that spring of 
 Nineteen Thirteen. I have watched him grow, 
 and seen his capacities expand with as much 
 gratification as though he were a brother. His 
 triumphs though his alone are mine, also. 
 
 "It has been one of the most interesting experi- 
 ences in my life to observe his 'education' of his 
 audiences, because educate them he has. 
 
 "The presentation of Schubert, Schumann and 
 407
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Franch at his concerts was followed by the intro- 
 duction to most of his hearers of Brahms and 
 Hugo Wolf, and the modern German songs and 
 the Russian and French. He insisted on using 
 the best English translations obtainable, because 
 he rightly places emphasis on an understanding 
 of the text. And in many cases we together 
 made our own translations, especially those of 
 Rachmaninoff's songs. 
 
 "Handel and Mozart have a direct appeal upon 
 John because of their lyric and florid qualities; 
 and I cannot now think of a better exponent of 
 these two masters. But his grasp of Irish folk- 
 songs, and his interpretation of them, are things 
 I never cease to admire. He has opened to me 
 the wealth of this music, and it has made it pos- 
 sible for me to appreciate why the Irish are so 
 musical and so endowed with sympathy and sen- 
 timent. 
 
 "This summer, like each of the preceding 
 ones I have spent with McCormack, has brought 
 hundreds of unknown songs to his notice; and 
 we have gone through them with open minds that 
 seek to find whatever we consider worthy of pub- 
 lic use. Since the war began, John has been 
 chiefly concerned in exploring the song literature 
 
 408
 
 EDWIN SCHNEIDER 
 
 of France, Russia and Norway, and many fine 
 compositions has he discovered. 
 
 "There is, of course, a mass of 'popular' music 
 sent to him in manuscript form most of it, I am 
 sorry to say, unsuitable for John's purposes. 
 
 "The budding Schubert has certainly weird 
 ideas of the songs that suit McCormack. I re- 
 member how we laughed over two wonderful 
 specimens, called respectively 'In the Subway,' 
 and 'Has the State of Montana Gone Dry, Mary 
 Anne?' The author of this last priceless lyric 
 announced himself as a great poet and was sure 
 with the co-operation of a great singer, he could 
 make what he called 'the big noise in the music 
 world.' 
 
 "I can add little or nothing to the critical and 
 public estimate of John McCormack's artistic 
 worth. For me he is a supremely great artist 
 because of his sincerity. Nor do I place either 
 voice or the singing talent above this quality; 
 for without that depth of feeling which is his, 
 John could not, and would not, be the singer we 
 know him to be. 
 
 "For rapid study I know no singer who is Mc- 
 Cormack's equal. During his first Covent 
 Garden season, John learned in exactly six days 
 
 409
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the role of Don Ottavio in 'Don Giovanni.' He 
 began to study it on a Monday and sang the music 
 the Monday following. Nor have I yet met one 
 who reads at sight with his facility or whose musi- 
 cianship rests upon a more substantial founda- 
 tion. He is as painstaking as he is thorough, and 
 delights to run through any soprano aria of the old 
 masters. He is a master of vocal agility and his 
 execution of florid phrases is accomplished with 
 the ease and surety of a coloratura soprano who 
 is mistress of her art. 
 
 "To play for John, in both rehearsal and pub- 
 lic performance, is an inspiration. He develops 
 in the accompanist the spirit of what is best and 
 truest in the art. From him I have learned 
 much; I expect to learn more. Having been 
 with him so continuously for five years, I have 
 come to know the man as well as the artist. And 
 I have felt what one friend feels for another in 
 seeing him win what he has deserved. 
 
 "As I see him now I feel that he is coming into 
 the fullness of his powers. He has done much, 
 but he will do more. His artistry is ripening and 
 his vision enables him to foresee all that he 
 should. Because of these things I anticipate 
 from John McCormack certain accomplishments 
 
 410
 
 EDWIN SCHNEIDER 
 
 that will make his name still more widely ac- 
 claimed for he is the sort of singing artist the 
 world brings forth but once in a long, long time." 
 
 411
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 It was a few days after the Rt. Reverend 
 Bishop Curley had confirmed Cyril and Gwen- 
 dolyn McCormack, in late June of Nineteen 
 Eighteen, in the tiny stone church in Noroton, 
 that he spoke of John McCormack and his voice 
 in a way I shall never forget. He termed it a 
 service of the voice the dedication of soul and 
 heart and mind and utterance to a lofty purpose. 
 That, I think, is the most expressive description 
 I have ever heard of the man and his mission. 
 
 The Bishop had been recounting some of the 
 attributes of his boyhood chum; had been giv- 
 ing me illuminative information which could not 
 have been gathered from any save one who had 
 grown up with John, and enjoyed, always, his 
 absolute confidence. Much that I have been 
 enabled accurately to set forth in this volume 
 about McCormack and which he, himself, never 
 would have hinted at was thus made possible. 
 
 412
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 With Bishop Cur ley it was a labor of love ; for 
 to him John McCormack is the sun in the sky. 
 
 The service of the voice. That phrase, more 
 fittingly than any other I know, opened the gates 
 of my understanding. It clarified one's mental 
 search for the element, or elements, which have 
 lifted McCormack above others who have also 
 had voice and the gift of song. For to him there 
 was given all things necessary to make him what 
 Bishop Curley, in his gently suggestive way, 
 meant me to grasp that he is the prophet of 
 song. 
 
 Out of his knowledge gained in his college 
 days ; of his studies, among the many he mastered, 
 of Irish literature; and of the folk-songs of his 
 native land, too, John brought an abundance of 
 the mind to each interpretation and joined it with 
 that of the heart. Neither, without the other, 
 could have served; and to these two the adding 
 of the McCormack voice made a trinity. 
 
 All of this Bishop Curley made plain to me. 
 I comprehended, then, why the people (and the 
 musicians, also) receive a McCormack message, 
 why he interprets the poet, no less than the com- 
 poser; and what it is that stirs the pulses when 
 he sings. The service of the voice in speech 
 
 413
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 and song is the thing John McCormack has 
 been given to do. 
 
 Having grasped these matters it did not sur- 
 prise me, when one who had been in that gath- 
 ering on the lawn of George Washington's home, 
 at Mount Vernon, Fourth of July, 1918, told me 
 of the effect John had made upon them when 
 he sang "The Star-Spangled Banner." I was 
 able, thus, to gather the full of McCormack's 
 simple statement when I asked him what Presi- 
 dent Wilson had said to him, after he finished. 
 
 "I stood very near to the President," said the 
 tenor, "while I sang. Never did patriotism surge 
 within me as on that day. One felt the dignity, 
 the majesty, of the occasion. And the Presi- 
 dent's speech left my soul fired. I saw noth- 
 ing, heard nothing, felt nothing but the grandeur 
 of what the poem meant. My eyes were closed 
 all the while I sang. 
 
 "There was a brief silence at the end. Then 
 President Wilson stepped a few paces to where 
 I stood, and took my hand and pressed it 
 fervently, it seemed to me. 'I never heard "The 
 Star-Spangled Banner" sung, Mr. McCormack, 
 as you just sang it! And I thank you from the 
 bottom of my heart.' ' 
 
 414
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 And it is somewhat odd, in view of what Bishop 
 Curley told me, that President Wilson, on the 
 way down the Potomac, aboard the Presidential 
 yacht, Mayflower, should have discussed, at 
 length, with McCormack the subject of voice. 
 
 I should have liked to hear more extensively 
 from John concerning that experience, but he 
 hesitated to say more than just those few words. 
 To him, no doubt, it appeared something to feel 
 rather than to discuss. 
 
 We were approaching the last stages in the 
 preparation of this volume when McCormack 
 touched upon that Independence Day Mt. Vernon 
 experience of his. Mrs. McCormack, Miss 
 Foley, Cyril and Gwen and Edwin Schneider had 
 gone to the tennis court, and the tenor let his 
 thoughts drift to matters he had not already 
 spoken about. 
 
 Never having been in his New York City home, 
 in Fifty-seventh Street (near Central Park), I 
 had not seen some of the art treasures he has 
 there. 
 
 "I had always wanted to have about me some 
 really fine canvases," he said. "My natural love 
 for the beautiful had been cultivated during my 
 studies in Milan; you will recall I spent much 
 
 415
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 of my time in the ^Galleria. The influence of 
 everything in painting, sculpture and architec- 
 ture that is beautiful benefits the singer, just as 
 the best in literature does. 
 
 "To one who is as sensitive to environment 
 as I, it is helpful to have about as much repre- 
 sentative of the arts as one consistently can. I 
 have a fondness for rare violins, too. But some 
 of my paintings give me the deepest pleasure. 
 One room, alone, is given over to Rembrandt and 
 other masterpieces. There hangs the portrait of 
 'Rembrandt's Sister.' Rembrandt did it in Six- 
 teen Forty-two. There is much history sur- 
 rounding it Gwen and Cyril can tell you all 
 the details. 
 
 "My 'Nymphs Bathing' is one of the best speci- 
 mens of Corot I have seen. I always admired 
 Blakelock, too, and when I found an opportunity 
 to pick up a representative canvas I didn't hesi- 
 tate long. There's a nice landscape by J. Francis 
 Murphy, and a quaint painting, of two peasants, 
 by David Teniers. I have other canvases, not 
 so fine as some of the rest, but containing for 
 me a wealth of sentiment ; they are by Mary Car- 
 lisle scenes of Ireland, with the flowers of Ire- 
 
 416
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 land almost with the radiance of their natural 
 colors. 
 
 "They are all friends, now; sometimes they 
 seem fairly to talk to me. Then there is the 
 portrait Walter Dean Grosbeck did of Mrs. Mc- 
 Cormack; the 'Romeo and Juliet' statue which 
 Rodin made, and one in which his genius shows 
 in each detail. Two marble busts, as well, of 
 Cyril and Gwen, which Mario Korbel did two 
 years ago." 
 
 "A pretentious start," I ventured. 
 
 "Interesting," agreed McCormack, "and giv- 
 ing one a pleasure in the ownership which, some- 
 how, doesn't come when you see works in a gal- 
 lery which are just as fine. For the beauties 
 in a picture, or any other masterpiece of an art, 
 arise through understanding. At first you form 
 its acquaintance, then you become a 'friend.' 
 
 "Take the original manuscript of Eugene 
 Field's 'Little Boy Blue,' which I bought for my 
 kiddies: a glow comes over me when I take it 
 in my hands, to read. And both Cyril and Gwen 
 learned the words from those very words which 
 Field penned with his own hand. 
 
 "A genuine pleasure comes to me," said Me- 
 417
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Cormack, "through the letters I get from mem- 
 bers of what I might call my 'invisible audience' ; 
 those who hear me oftenest through the phono- 
 graph." 
 
 One can understand the tenor's feeling, in this 
 respect. Of all singers, his "invisible audience" 
 is largest; probably the most loyal. The total 
 of McCormack records sold each year by the Vic- 
 tor company is astonishing; some idea of their 
 quantity may be gathered from the fact that 
 John's last year's royalties from this source is 
 considerable the tenor preferred not to state 
 the sum. 
 
 In every land one may find McCormack "fans" 
 which is a proper word to apply to those who 
 go regularly, each month, to purchase the new- 
 est McCormack record. The tenor's contract 
 stipulates that he shall make five records of new 
 songs every year, but he always exceeds that num- 
 ber. 
 
 C. G. Child, in charge of the department which 
 has to do with the artists singing for the Victor 
 Talking Machine Company, might explain why 
 he wants more, and yet more, McCormack 
 "master-records" from which those sold to the 
 public are made. 
 
 418
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 "I always enjoy my trips to Camden, (New 
 Jersey) , for Child is a staunch friend and sympa- 
 thetic. Making a record is no easy accomplish- 
 ment. Infinite patience is required to secure a 
 'master-record' which has no flaw. On occasions 
 I re-make a record several times before Child and 
 I are satisfied; and during these difficult mo- 
 ments he is always by my side, encouraging and 
 helping as he so well can. 
 
 "The 'Jocelyn' lullaby, of all the records I 
 have made (I believe they number one hundred 
 and twenty) , is my favorite. Somehow it seems 
 to lend itself completely to phonographic repro- 
 duction, and the obligato, by Kreisler, discloses 
 that artist at his best. Then there is The Trum- 
 peter.' 'Mother Machree,' 'Mavis' and 'I Hear 
 You Calling Me' are all popular with the public ; 
 so is 'Ah! Moon of My Delight.' 
 
 "Every little while," said the tenor, "some ex- 
 perience I have with one of my 'invisible audi- 
 ence' makes my heart beat faster. Three years 
 ago, in Hartford, a gentleman was brought to 
 my dressing-room, after the concert. He was one 
 of Connecticut's representative business men. 
 He had, he said, a message to deliver personally 
 to me from his mother, who was an invalid and 
 
 419
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 unable to attend my concert. Having obtained 
 a programme, in advance, of what I was an- 
 nounced to sing, she arranged one of her own 
 (to be performed through the medium of my 
 phonograph records), had printed copies made, 
 issued tickets of admission to her home to her 
 friends, and began the 'invisible audience' con- 
 cert at the precise minute my own, in Hartford, 
 was scheduled to commence. My caller had a 
 request to make of me : he wanted an autographed 
 photograph, for his mother." 
 
 The tenor seemed a trifle sad this day. When 
 he talked about some few, who are dead, he so- 
 bered, but he would brighten, in recalling to his 
 mind his experiences with certain living person- 
 ages. 
 
 "I am a devoted admirer of Theodore Roose- 
 velt," said John, "and his autographed picture 
 which hangs in the hall is a gift I prize. He is 
 a tremendous force, and I think he more faith- 
 fully typifies America than any man I have met. 
 One of the most difficult tasks I ever undertook 
 was writing my letter of condolence in his loss of 
 his brave son, Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt. 
 Yet the reply he sent me was characteristic of 
 his capacity to accept with the fortitude of a great 
 
 420
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 nature what must have been one of his severest 
 blows. 
 
 "Another great man for whom my admiration 
 is unbounded is His Eminence, Cardinal Gib- 
 bons. And an incident at one of my concerts 
 which he attended will always make me feel closer 
 to him than had it not occurred. He makes it 
 an invariable rule never to remain at a function 
 or entertainment later than nine o'clock in the 
 evening. On this occasion, when he prepared 
 to leave the auditorium, he discovered the time 
 to be twenty minutes of ten; and I am told that 
 he remarked that he had forgotten, in listening 
 to my singing, all about the hour." The same 
 thing happened at Ocean Grove August 17, 
 1918, when Cardinal Gibbons attended a McCor- 
 mack concert. 
 
 "I lost a friend," said John with a trace of 
 longing in his voice, "in the death of Archbishop 
 Ryan. I lunched with him only a short time be- 
 fore he died, and I remember clearly the brilli- 
 ance of his mind, which fascinated me as I sat 
 there, and his gift of repartee. Few others pos- 
 sessed it in the degree he did." 
 
 Later, with the inclination to talk returned, 
 McCormack perceptibly brightened. 
 
 421
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 "Former President Taft is a man I deem it an 
 honor to know. His friendship means some- 
 thing, to me particularly because of the way we 
 met. It was during my first appearance with 
 the Manhattan Opera Company in Washington, 
 on which occasion we played for a week to the 
 varied and brilliant audiences always character- 
 istic of the national capital, that I received in my 
 dressing-room a visit from Mr. Taft's then mili- 
 tary aide, Captain Archie Butt. Butt and I 
 afterwards became intimate friends, and his 
 death was a shock from which I did not easily 
 recover. 
 
 "I remember, as though it were yesterday, what 
 Archie said as he stood and delivered President 
 Taft's message. 'The President would like you 
 to lunch with him to-morrow at the White House.' 
 
 "At first I could not believe that I had under- 
 stood correctly, and informed my visitor that 
 there must be some mistake. I can see him now, 
 standing before me with a smile, and replying: 
 'No, there is no mistake. The President would 
 be pleased to have John McCormack take lunch 
 with him to-morrow.' 
 
 "It is not exaggeration when I say that I was 
 422
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 dubious even as I made my way through the presi- 
 dential grounds to the White House itself. 
 
 "During the years that I knew Archie we 
 lunched together, often, when he came over to 
 New York. It was usually in the Waldorf-As- 
 toria grill. The last time we met in this way he 
 said to me: 'It's peculiar, John, how friend- 
 ships grow out of chance meetings ; I believe we 
 shall be friends all our lives.' And shortly after, 
 when I endeavored to reach him by 'phone during 
 a brief stay in Washington, I was told that he 
 had just left for Rome. Not long after, as we 
 know, he was among those who lost their lives 
 in the sinking of the Titanic. But there is a 
 great consolation in the thought that he died as 
 he lived a true American gentleman. 
 
 "Among the men who are doing things to- 
 day, and have done them in the past, Melville 
 Stone, general manager of The Associated Press, 
 is prominent. His mind is tremendous, his 
 judgment and discretion such that the foremost 
 in administering the affairs of many nations give 
 him their confidence and hold his opinions in 
 profound respect. I am proud to have Mr. Stone 
 as friend, and of the honors tendered me I count 
 
 423
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 the dinner he gave me at the Lotus Club, in New 
 York, as one of the highest." 
 
 John spoke feelingly of many people that aft- 
 ernoon. For nearly all he held kindly thoughts, 
 and for some affection. A few he mentioned 
 in a regretful way, though without censure. I 
 sensed that the tenor would rather have had them 
 persons of a different sort; and I think he was 
 sorry for them. He showed, during my many 
 talks with him, a commendable attitude of toler- 
 ance toward those he might have felt tempted 
 to criticize. There were few instances wherein 
 he disclosed in speech displeasure with another's 
 actions, and at those times he would conclude 
 with some such expression as, "But that is his 
 misfortune; I suppose one should make allow- 
 
 ances." 
 
 I left him, when I started for New York, seated 
 alone on the veranda. He didn't rise. His gaze 
 was directed towards the beach where the swim- 
 mers were. I called a "So-long, John!" as I 
 reached the screen door, which caused him to look 
 over at me and smile. "So-long," he replied, 
 "see you Thursday." 
 
 424
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 It was morning, on the twelfth day of August, 
 Nineteen Hundred Eighteen. The prostrating 
 heat of the week previous had broken, leaving 
 those of us in and about New York somewhat 
 limp and with an eye to approaching September 
 and a hope that it would bring permanent cool- 
 ness. I had taken an early train leaving the 
 Grand Central Station for Stamford. At ten 
 o'clock I had finished my shaky ride, in a small 
 car of a famous make, from the Stamford station 
 to Rocklea. I stepped out upon the ground and 
 across under the shallow portico which shelters 
 the McCormack doorway. 
 
 Gwenny caught sight of me, from the living- 
 room, and saved my touching the bell. She 
 came and opened the door, her face aglow and 
 her eyes snapping in the vigor of perfect health 
 of a ten-year-old miss. 
 
 "Papa's waiting," she announced, "and an 
 425
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 oyster barge's burning over at the island across 
 the Sound and we're going over and you'll have 
 to come along and " 
 
 She declaimed it all in a breath, her features 
 rosy from much and sudden physical effort which 
 had sent her into a costume appropriate for the 
 anticipated adventure. But time, evidently, was 
 an essential ; for she bolted with her sentence un- 
 finished and leaped from the veranda and ran 
 across the lawn. I had followed less impulsively 
 and had half crossed the living-room when Cyril 
 burst upon the scene, duplicating the excitement 
 of his sister. 
 
 "She's burning!" he cried, "and the men 
 jumped overboard. Come on!" 
 
 I counseled a curbing of his impetuous spirit 
 to which he flung, over his shoulder, a reply I did 
 not get. But I paused, at the doorway leading 
 to the veranda, and watched. Hard after the 
 children ran the two smallest dogs, Towser, the 
 woolly dog, and Go-Go, the Peke. Then, from 
 around a corner of the house, shot a streak. It 
 was Nellie, the Belgian police-dog. Evidently 
 the chase, in its entirety, was on. But, it ap- 
 peared, my reasoning was premature, for a voice 
 greeted me from behind and I turned to see Mrs. 
 
 426
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 McCormack and Miss Foley making hurriedly for 
 the veranda exit. 
 
 With less visible excitement the ladies ap- 
 prised me of the news and followed it with the 
 information that they, also, were about to em- 
 bark upon the expedition, in John's small boat 
 which had a "kicker." 
 
 "What!" I exclaimed. "You, too?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Mrs. McCormack, "we two! 
 Will you make it three?" 
 
 "I'm a hard-working man," I objected. 
 
 "That old book, I suppose. But come along, 
 anyway. John will wait." 
 
 I remembered the carrying capacity of the 
 boat, and reminded Mrs. McCormack. I would 
 be excess baggage, I opined, endangering the 
 sea-worthiness of the craft. McCormack, hear- 
 ing our voices and coming to investigate, ap- 
 peared now before us. 
 
 Mrs. McCormack, Miss Foley and I stole 
 glances at one another and they waved their hands 
 and departed, leaving John and me standing 
 there. He watched them hurrying after the ad- 
 vance guard and laughed. "Regular children," 
 he murmured, "like the others." 
 
 We went outside, where Schneider sat with 
 427
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 his legs looped upon one arm of a wicker-chair, 
 lolling over the morning paper. "Drop it," 
 commanded John, "and get to work" meaning 
 to join us in the concluding efforts of "copy" re- 
 vision and the providing of the final material for 
 John's book. Ted wriggled into a semblance of 
 physical normality, wished me "howdy!" and 
 obediently prepared to give himself to the task. 
 
 For two hours we battled : John and Schneider 
 and I alternately agreeing and disagreeing. It 
 was over at last, and I put into my portfolio sun- 
 dry sheets of paper and a sheaf of publisher's 
 proofs. 
 
 After luncheon, during which the sea-faring 
 members of the McCormack family hurled at us 
 details of their investigation of the still burning 
 oyster-boat and the escape of its crew, John and 
 I fared forth for a jaunt. His Ocean Grove (New 
 Jersey) annual concert was five days off, the pe- 
 riod of serious preparation with Schneider for his 
 approaching season near at hand, and the tenor 
 was in a serious mood. 
 
 "It flies," he said soberly, meaning time. "It 
 seems but yesterday that I finished last year's 
 work; and an hour ago that I sang 'The Star- 
 Spangled Banner' before President Wilson and 
 
 428
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 his distinguished guests at Mount Vernon, on 
 July Fourth." 
 
 "Are you sorry?" 
 
 "No. I wouldn't say that. I love my work; 
 I'd be miserable without it. And my people 
 they're mine, you know ... in a way, just as 
 I am theirs. But each autumn it is harder to 
 leave my family. I've never outgrown home- 
 sickness, and never shall. It grips me as firmly, 
 in another way, as in those college days at Sum- 
 merhill." 
 
 We trudged along the smoothly paved road, in 
 silence, for a considerable stretch. 
 
 "Bishop Curley sent back his last batch of 
 proofs. He made a few changes, but he approves 
 what we've done. I'm glad of that." 
 
 I was glad, too. We have been fortunate, 
 John and I, in having the scholarly and sympa- 
 thetic guidance of His Lordship, as editor. 
 
 "You're relieved, I suppose, that it's over. A 
 lot of bother with the work; and not so easy, 
 either." 
 
 I wasn't relieved, in the least. Truthfully 
 speaking, I felt a bit blue. The many hours we 
 had spent together had been happy hours, and 
 fruitful ones. And I had come to know the real 
 
 429
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 John McCormack. The sky was a turquoise 
 blue, with only a few flecks of fleecy clouds, and I 
 raised my eyes as if to glimpse nature's canopy 
 though really, covertly, to steal a glance at the 
 big Irish-American at my side. He strode on, 
 with head thrown back; I could fancy him almost 
 ready to sing. 
 
 "I shall . . . miss you, John." 
 
 He swung a trifle out of his course, and I caught 
 his gaze squarely. 
 
 "Will you?" he said, with a rising inflection. 
 
 "I've been a nuisance, more or less. Popping 
 in at odd times, and fussing things about dur- 
 ing your vacation." 
 
 His tone held a gruffly suspicious edge when 
 he replied. "Well, what's a nuisance, more or 
 less? It's all in a lifetime." I smiled inwardly 
 at this, holding my tongue. "And the book had 
 to be written . . . some day." 
 
 There arose, then, before my mind's eye the 
 swarm of letters I had read; those communica- 
 tions which he treasures far more than he is will- 
 ing to admit. I shouldn't have censured him had 
 he felt a conceit. For they might easily have 
 spoiled him, together with the recognition his 
 audiences have accorded him in the flesh. 
 
 430
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 Not that he is without his weaknesses, for he 
 has them. But at heart he is still the unassum- 
 ing boy he was before Distinction tapped him 
 positively on the shoulder. And I remembered, 
 at that point in our walk, what he had told me 
 about his planned retirement; at forty-five, he 
 had said. "Eleven years more," I mused; "four 
 more than the small number which he only has 
 needed to make a career already incomparable." 
 
 Big though his accomplishments have been 
 they will be bigger. Those of us who have 
 watched McCormack grow know this. It needs 
 no more than steadiness of head and purpose, and 
 these he seemingly has. His voice is not yet 
 at its best, strange though this may appear. A 
 richer quality will come, as John's experience 
 ripens; and its use will develop its resource, its 
 responsiveness to the singer's commands. 
 
 Nor is McCormack's art at its zenith. Wait 
 and see, if you, who read, doubt. Hear him 
 now admitted master though he be and hear 
 him six years hence, at forty. Recall his ad- 
 vancement over the last six years, then visualize 
 what it is likely to be when he touches the mile- 
 stone that makes broader men of all who are 
 men. 
 
 431
 
 JOHN McCORMACK 
 
 Caruso will be fifty-one then; John McCor- 
 mack forty forty, with the richest period of his 
 singing career unfolding in that coming half- 
 decade, and hundreds of thousands upon hun- 
 dreds of thousands of people hanging upon the 
 tones he so unstintingly gives. 
 
 I hope that final day may be long delayed 
 which shall mark John McCormack's farewell. 
 I shall not want to be there, wherever it happens 
 to be. For I doubt, if it be arranged as such, that 
 John can really sing. The last concert will have 
 to be something completed and done, without 
 John's knowing it is that. Otherwise he will 
 not finish what he begins. It isn't in him, with 
 his nature, to go through with an ordeal such as 
 that would be. He'd break and go to pieces, 
 right there with his audience which would 
 break with him, too. 
 
 But if he were voluntarily to cease his singing, 
 now (which he will not do) , he would still leave 
 behind a career unapproached by any singer since 
 Jenny Lind. I doubt if even that illustrious 
 songstress has done as much to make people love 
 music as John McCormack. With eleven work- 
 ing years ahead, McCormack will leave a name 
 likely to be untouched by any other who has gone 
 
 432
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 before and, in all reasonable likelihood, almost 
 unattainable by any singer who may come after. 
 
 It was some time later. We had finished tea, 
 on the veranda, and I had shaken hands with 
 everyone. John and the others went out with 
 me to the car, where Wilkinson sat waiting. "I 
 won't go with you to the station," he said. "Any 
 other time, but ... I don't like farewells. 
 Staying here, behind, it won't seem that." 
 
 We shot off, Wilkinson at the wheel of McCor- 
 mack's Rolls-Royce, down the driveway. I 
 turned as we reached the gate, just before we 
 would roll out, and from view. John took a step 
 or two in my direction. He waved a hand as I 
 caught sight of him and I waved in reply. 
 
 I thought then, of that bit of verse Bishop 
 Curley had discovered, somewhere up in Massa- 
 chusetts, last June. He thought it fitted Mc- 
 Cormack so perfectly. It ran: 
 
 "Something more than the lilt of the strain, 
 Something more than the touch of the lute, 
 For the voice of the minstrel is vain 
 If the heart of the minstrel is mute." 
 
 THE END 
 433
 
 '
 
 \L 
 20 
 
 1 2 
 
 <3 
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000632818 1