Anecdotes of Great Musicians/Anecdote 120
120.—THE UPS AND DOWNS OF A SINGER'S LIFE.
In another sketch we have given Italio Campanini's experience as a soldier. After the war was over and the victorious army of Garibaldi was disbanded, this young Italian—for he was only fourteen when he went into the army—returned to his native town, and for two years worked in his father's blacksmith shop. But one night his voice attracted the attention of a connoisseur, and it was arranged that he should study singing with this gentleman in the evening, after his twelve hours at the forge were over. But let him tell the story in his own words:—
"I was with some companions one evening in a wine shop, when a band of strolling musicians came in. They played the 'Miserere' from Verdi's 'Il Trovatore.' I and my companions sang the chorus. A little, weazened old man sat in one corner over a bottle of red wine. He listened to the chorus carelessly at first, and then with increasing attention. When the song was ended he rushed over to the table where we sat.
"'Which of you sang the tenor part?' he cried, excitedly.
"'It was Campanini—Italio Campanini,' some one said.
"'You?' the old man asked.
"'Yes, Signor, it was I.'
"'Where did you learn to sing?' the old man continued.
"'I have never learned,' I replied.
"The old man was Maestro Dall' Argini, a composer of local celebrity. He asked me to come to his house the next day. A number of well-known musicians were there. I sang for them—by ear, for I did not know a note—selections from 'Il Trovatore' and 'La Somnambula.' The end of it all was that Dall' Argini offered to become my master, and the learned musicians decided that I must become an opera singer.
"To secure my father's consent was another thing. He was a man of the people, proud of his independence, proud of his honest character, proud of his trade. 'A singer in opera,' he said. 'It is a beggar's trade. So you want to be a poor underling in a miserable chorus, a vagabond without a fixed home? Not with my consent'
"At last I began to sing small parts in the local theaters. The first part for which I was cast was the notary in 'La Somnambula.' I had a severe attack of stage fright. In fact, I could hardly utter a note. The audience jeered and shouted. From the crowded galleries came the cry: 'He sings like a hunchback with his shoulders in his throat!'
"'You may laugh now,' I shouted, 'but it will be my turn to laugh next, and he who laughs last laughs best.'
"But it was a long time before I laughed in Parma. Naturally enough, this little altercation ended my engagement. At that time there chanced to be in Parma a Russian manager looking for artists to complete an operatic company. I signed a contract with him for a five years' tour of the Russian provinces. My compensation was to be four lire—about three shillings—a day.
"The engagement was profitable, but a small revolution broke out, the theater was closed, and the manager disappeared. I was left without money, my luggage was seized, and I was turned out into the street without a penny or a change of clothes. The kindness of a stray acquaintance—I do not think I ever knew his name—procured me a garret in a wretched part of the town. The second day I sold my coat to a Jew peddler, and I dined on that coat for two days. I was standing in my shirt sleeves in the street when I chanced to see a notary whom I knew passing on the other side. I rushed over and put my case to him. Through his efforts a concert was arranged for my benefit.
"What had I gained in my wanderings?
"Neither fame nor fortune. I had worked harder than ever blacksmith toiled in the smithy, and I had been at times on the point of starvation. Truly it looked as though my old father was right and it was a beggarly trade.
"But one thing I had learned, and the knowledge was worth all the hardships of those Russian days. I had learned to know my own powers and my own deficiencies. I recognized the need of cultivation. I went to Milan and placed myself under Chevalier Francesco Lamperti, the famous master. I might almost say that I worked day and night.
"I studied with Chevalier Lamperti for a year. At the end of that time I secured an engagement to sing the first tenor roles at La Scala.
"I made my début in 'Faust.' It was my first success, and I may be pardoned for dwelling a moment on that night—a night that comes only once in a singer's lifetime, when, after years of difficult labor and long discouragement, success comes royally, suddenly, bringing in its train fame and fortune.
"Before the first act was over the audience was cheering as only an Italian audience can cheer. To the manager it meant fortune; to me—it is hardly necessary to say what those cries of 'Bravo, Campanini!' meant to the unknown tenor.
"It is easy to write of one's failures, but I do not think that any one finds it easy to write of his successes. And then the story lacks picturesqueness. There are fifty ways of starving, but, after all, there is only way of dining."