The García Lineage: Risë Stevens

I wrote her a letter and she called me.

Stevens was at home consumed with her husband's care, so didn't have the energy to meet face to face, but did want to talk about her teacher Anna Schoen-René. 

Like her fellow student Judith Doniger, Stevens reiterated how Schoen-René had changed her life: "I doubt that I would have gone into opera without her. I wanted to go into Broadway. Glamour! In those days, all those things were very exciting!"  

Schoen-René heard Stevens sing with the Opera Comique in New York when Stevens was 17. Afterwards, Schoen-René sent word that she "wanted to see that girl."

Stevens went to Schoen-René's apartment and told her she could not afford lessons. Schoen-René replied that she didn’t need to worry about the money. She would take care of it, and did just that: obtaining a scholarship through Eleanor Steel, who was her student and a leading soprano with the Opera Comique. Schoen-René told Stevens that they would work for a year and see what happened. Stevens sang nothing but scales. Very slow scales at first: "Getting the chest tone into the middle register—it had to be a smooth change."

One morning Stevens came in early and was made to sing difficult scales. Buckling under the pressure, Stevens said she couldn't do them; whereupon, Schoen-René stopped the lesson and told her to leave, Stevens finding herself in the hallway crying. Schoen-René let her back after 10 minutes in with the proviso that she never, ever say the words 'I can't' again. "It was great training! She was a very strict lady."

The second year, Schoen-René allowed Stevens to sing a few select arias. Then she auditioned for the Juilliard School.

"I sang the Favorita aria and Orfeo." Sembrich, Rogers and Florence Page Kimball heard her audition, the later telling Stevens she had a scholarship. This impropriety made Schoen-René think Kimball was trying to poach her student. 

Schoen-René zero'd in on problems. She also was demanding.

"Things were expected of you that were incredible." She was also after quality. It had to be mellow.

"She wanted you to listen, didn't like a tone that was strident, or had no vibration in it—a dead tone."

There couldn't be any strain. Nor could the tongue shake or be in the way. It had to be quiet, as did the jaw. Schoen-René watched Steven's face, playing scales which Steven repeated. That's how it went. Over and over and over again. 

According to Stevens, Schoen-René advocated a certain expression or feeling in the face, which readers of this blog will know as the 'imposto' of Lucie Manén: an expression which Judith Doniger and Margaret Harshaw both demonstrated in this writer's presence without using Manén's term. (I was present when Harshaw held Manén's book in her hand and gave it her critique). However, Schoen-René would stop you the moment you made any facial contortions. She wanted everything to be 'natural'. 

'Breath' was Schoen-René's preoccupation. She had Stevens sing Bach arias in order to be able to sing long vocal lines, which were taxing.

"You were never conscious where you were breathing. It had to be a natural phenomena with no sound whatsoever. No gasping or raising of the shoulders."

She taught Stevens to breathe without raising the chest, meaning that the chest had to be open before you took a breath. Then Schoen-René would have her hold tones for as long as possible without tremolo, though she also had to have her natural vibrato.

"I worked so hard on the breath, I thought I was going to burst!" 

Voice placement? She wanted a beautiful round sound and used lots of 'M's' and 'N's' to obtain it. 

"Oh Risé!" Schoen-René would say. "Remember what you did! That was beautiful! She knew what to do about it. She told me that Viardot had that resonance."

Schoen-René was meticulous in her explanations; what you should do and not do. You sang toward the bridge of the nose. Everything had to be in the "mask," with Schoen-René prohibiting Stevens from using a "wide" sound as she went up the scale.

"I want that covered." Schoen-René would say. "I want a more luscious sound."  

In talking with other students, Stevens learned that her teacher taught each student according to their need. Schoen-René didn't speak to her about raising the cheeks, soft palate, or an open throat. None of that.  Schoen-Rene told her that she had a natural talent.

We only spoke once. Then I saw her a few years later at a gala given for her by the Metropolitan Opera Guild at the Time Warner Building. She appeared onstage, gracious and radiant, in a glittering gown after being introduced by her friend Van Cliburn. Both known for their beautiful tone, both now gone. To my knowledge, Risë Stevens was the last remaining musical grandchild of Manuel García and Pauline Viardot-García.