Stars of the Opera: A Description of Operas & a Series of Personal Interviews with Marcela Sembrich, Emma Eames, Emma Calvé, Lillian Nordica, Lilli Lehmann, Geraldine Farrar & Nellie Melba

In Short

This book serves as both a primer for the novice and a keepsake for the devotee of grand opera during its Gilded Age peak. By alternating between detailed narrative analyses of famous operas—such as Faust, Carmen, and Madame Butterfly—and candid, personal conversations with legendary singers like Marcella Sembrich, Emma Calvé, and Nellie Melba, the work illuminates the intersection of technical artistry and human ambition. It remains a vital historical document, capturing the specific aesthetic sensibilities and the rigorous, often exhausting, standards of performance that defined the international opera scene in the early 1900s.

The Story

The narrative structure of the book functions as a series of movements, alternating between the dramatic arcs of the stage and the practical realities of the vocal stars who inhabit them. The journey begins with the grand, often tragic plots of the nineteenth-century repertoire. In Semiramide, the reader is introduced to a world of dark vengeance and ghost-haunted tombs, where the musical complexity of the score mirrors the moral disintegration of the characters. This gravity is contrasted by the more familiar, folkloric charm of Gounod’s Faust, where the interplay of the orchestra and the soprano’s voice creates a bridge between the spiritual and the demonic.

The focus then shifts toward the psychological depth of characters like Charlotte in Werther, whose internal struggle between duty and desire is underscored by music that functions as a “spirit of a dream.” As the reader moves through the repertoire—from the high drama of Aida and the bloody conspiracies of The Huguenots to the mythical beauty of Lohengrin—the author consistently emphasizes that the orchestral score is the true heartbeat of the work. The narrative reaches into the supernatural through the atmospheric, sea-tossed world of The Flying Dutchman, where the music itself mirrors the restless, wandering nature of the title character.

The final portions of the book bring the reader to the twentieth-century modernism of Puccini, specifically the tragic vulnerability of Madame Butterfly. Here, the story concludes with a sharp focus on the juxtaposition of cultures and the jarring intrusion of modern reality—symbolized by the infamous "whisky and soda" ordered by Lieutenant Pinkerton—into the fragile, lacquer-like world of the Japanese heroine. Throughout this progression, the author weaves in the testimonies of the singers, effectively ending the story of the opera not on the stage, but in the dressing room. We see the prima donna as a professional who meticulously studies historical records to ensure her costume’s authenticity or as a technician who practices "humming-tones" to achieve the perfect resonance. The arc of the book is thus a transition from the mythic, remote tragedy of the operatic stage to the intimate, hardworking, and occasionally brilliant reality of the women who gave these characters their life and breath.

How It Unfolds

The operatic introduction The book opens by situating grand opera as the pinnacle of artistic achievement, establishing the libretto and the score as the primary scaffolding for the singer’s performance.

The exploration of repertoire The author provides guided tours through major works, detailing the narrative beats and musical motifs, such as the "curse-theme" in The Flying Dutchman or the "love-theme" in Werther.

The personal intervention Interspersed with these analyses are interviews that pull back the curtain, documenting the specific vocal exercises and career philosophies of stars like Marcella Sembrich and Emma Calvé.

The bridge of interpretation The author connects these two threads by explaining how a singer’s specific choices—such as Lilli Lehmann’s dramatic intensity or Nellie Melba’s famous trill—transform a static score into a living, breathing emotional experience.

The closing perspective The final sections offer a reflection on the state of the opera house itself, contrasting the high expectations of New York audiences with the realities of star-driven European touring companies, before concluding with the technical mastery required for roles like Lakme.

The People

The book centers on a pantheon of prima donnas who defined their era. Marcella Sembrich appears as a paragon of technical precision, while Emma Calvé is portrayed as a force of nature, known for her ability to inhabit the volatile, passionate role of Carmen so completely that she seems to own it. Lillian Nordica stands as a symbol of the American spirit, challenging the European establishment on its own hallowed ground. Emma Eames is presented as a scholarly artist, one who prioritizes historical accuracy in her costumes to ground her performance in reality. Lilli Lehmann brings a sense of gravity and profound experience, while Nellie Melba, the "Australian Nightingale," is depicted as a natural phenomenon, a singer whose talent was so innate that she required little formal "placement." Finally, Geraldine Farrar is introduced as the rising talent, representing the new generation whose dramatic instincts bring a modern, vital energy to the stage. These women share a common goal—the mastery of a difficult, unforgiving craft—though they are often hindered by the physical strain of their roles and the relentless, often unfair, scrutiny of critics and audiences.

In Its Own Voice

"The orchestra toys with this melody for a time, but then is diverted by memories of the ball music."

This observation, made while discussing the evocative score of Werther, highlights the author's belief that the music itself possesses a narrative will of its own.

"It was not only Elsa challenging her accusers, but an American girl challenging German critics under the dome of their most hallowed shrine, with their own music and in their own language."

The author describes Lillian Nordica's performance at Bayreuth, framing the singer's career as a dramatic struggle for recognition.

"The first opera I ever heard was 'Rigoletto.' That was in Paris, when I was studying. What did I think of it? Well, I dare say my inexperience made me very bumptious, but I remember thinking I could do it better myself!"

Nellie Melba reflects on her early career, capturing the bold, youthful ambition that often fueled these singers’ rapid ascents to stardom.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book argues that opera is a collaborative miracle, a place where the composer's structural genius meets the performer's subjective humanity. The author is deeply concerned with the question of how a singer creates an individual identity within the rigid constraints of a canonical work. She explores the tension between the "common property" of the repertoire—the idea that everyone knows the Faust waltz—and the unique, fleeting interpretation provided by the individual artist. Ultimately, the book is about the nature of artistic legacy: how music survives the singer, and how the singer, through sheer force of will, makes the music indelible. It asks what it costs a human being to become a "star," and whether the perfection of the performance is worth the absolute dedication it demands.

Why Read It Today

Readers who love the history of performance or who enjoy the "making-of" aspect of artistic achievement will find this book deeply rewarding. It provides a rare, grounded look at the late Victorian and Edwardian opera world, stripping away the modern layers of celebrity culture to show the genuine labor behind the glamour. The prose is warm and unhurried, reflecting a time when the audience was expected to listen to a melody as closely as they read a novel.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the book's period-specific perspectives. The author’s writing reflects the high-minded, sometimes flowery sentimentality of the early 1900s, and her descriptions of "oriental" or "Hindu" music in Lakme carry the patronizing, exoticizing attitudes common to that era. Additionally, the technical descriptions of scores may feel dense to those who do not read music, though the author does her best to describe these sounds with evocative metaphors. Despite these dated limitations, the book succeeds as a time capsule. What stays with the reader is the image of these women—not as icons, but as professionals in a drafty opera house, humming to themselves in the wings, perfecting a trill, or debating the dramatic merits of a role with the same intensity that a sculptor might apply to clay.