Books Reviewed DAME CLARA BUTT

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 441, 24 August 1928, Page 14

Books Reviewed

DAME CLARA BUTT

CLARA BUTT’S MEMOIRS 'J'HE career of Dame Clara Butt has been one long succession of triumphs, public ovations, royal tours, and distinguished friendships. It follows, therefore, that her biographer must spend much of her time in the rarefied atmosphere of courts, and in chronicling what Dame Clara said to the Duke of Blitzen, and what the Marchioness of Holyrood said to Dame Clara. Miss Winifred Ponder has approached her task conscientiously. This is the book, by the way, that has caused the ruffling of feathers between Dame Clara and Dame Nellie Melba ov.er the Australian diva’s alleged advice to “sing ’em muck” in the Commonwealth. Dame Clara, of course, refused to do this, and if she sang “My Treasure” and “Madame, Will You Walk?” at hundreds of concerts, it was because her public had come to expect it of her, and was in no sense a reflection on Australia’s musical taste. We follow the great contralto through the three great periods of her life—Miss Butt, Madame Butt, and Dame Clara Butt. Miss Ponder has gathered together stories of early days, or student triumphs and trials, of successes in all parts of the civilised world, not forgetting an appearance in Prague as Madame Klary Buttova, and the innumerable triumphs at the Albert Hall. Fortune has always smiled on the owner of the gorgeous voice. Critics might carp, and frequently did, but Dame Clara knew the full value of what the gods had given her, and sailed serenely forward from one dizzy height to the next. We learn how roses, racehorses, soaps, perfumes, iced sundaes (pSche Melba could not be allowed to pass unchallenged !), were named after her, and how a prize donated to the Ladies’ Kennel Club was designated “The Butt Trophy for the Best Bull Bitch.” “A peculiar compliment,” comments Miss Ponder, “but alluringly alliterative.” Space is devoted to Dame Clara’s famous frocks, not forgetting that one which was smothered with golden and purple grapes; to her jewels, her children, h,er pets, and her husband, debonair Mr. Kenne.rley Rumford. Royalty was always friendly toward the English contralto, who can claim to have been cordially received by Queen Victoria, Queen Alexandra, Queen Amelfe of Portugal, the Kaiserin Victoria, King Christian IX. of Denmark, King George, and Queen Mary, and Queen Maud of Norway, to say nothing of a score or so of Indian princes. Dame Clara, as Queen of Song, faced these momentous occasions with sang-froid. Once, in the Miss-Butt period, King George, then a prince, was “dared” by nis sisters to ask the Junoesque singer for a dance. Dame • Clara had seen the “dare” out of the corner of one eye, and when the prince asked, for a dance replied: “I’m sorry, sir, but either you are too small or I am too tall.” And the prince retired to the shouts of laughter of his sisters. Years later, in the war period, the King said to Dame Clara: “It is always lovely to hear you sing God Save the King.” “Aren’t you tired of hearing it, sir?” she replied. “I have sung it so often that if I die soon I shall have ‘She died of singing God Save the King’ put on my tombstone.” We liked the story of the old Duke of Teck, who once asked the contralto to “sing that one with the deep notes in it.” Song after song she sang, but couldn’t find the favourite. “Won’t you hum it, sir?” she suggested, where-

upon the duke rumbled the refrain of the Toreador’s Song from “Carmen.” The only song left in the Butt portfolio was Goring-Thomas’s “Summer Night,” so she sang it. “Yes, that’s it! That’s the one I meant!” said the delighted duke, who would probably have been just as pleased with “Hail, Smiling Morn.” Special chapters tell of the really excellent war work of Dame Clara —work which culminated in the King’s tangible recognition of her services. No artist "in England worked harder or more successfully, and in those trying years Dame Clara cemented her claim to be an Empire institution. And such she is. There may be some doubt in the backbloeks, say, of Canada, about the name of the present Prime Minister of Great Britain, but mention Clara Butt, and

the light of recognition will spring to the eye, and a 12-inch record will probably be produced from some dusty corner or other. Yes, Dame Clara has given a vast amount of pleasure in her life, and has good reason to look back with contemplative satisfaction on a career which must have afforded her the realisation of her every ambition. “Clara Butt: Her Life Story,” George G. Harrap and Co.. Ltd.. London and Sydney. Angus and Robertson, Ltd., Sydney. War-whoops and Blood

Deserting both his . Martian heroes and his old favourite, Tarzan, Edgar Rice Burroughs has written “The War Chief.” The story tells how a

child, whose father was Scottish and whose mother was Indian, is adopted by the Apache chief Geronimo, a famous figure in American history. The ventures of the hero are described up to the point where he falls in love with a white girl and the book ends as the hero disappears from the heroine’s sight round the corner of a hill. Mr. Burroughs should have remained constant to Mars and Tarzan. "The War Chief,” by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Our copy direct from the publishers, Methuen and Company. Publications Received Guide to Arapuni.—An illustrated guide to this spectacular dam and hydro-electricity works, by Arpad - Szigetvary. (Bpp.). The Wrecking of Dairy Control.—Ad-dress-in-reply speech delivered by Mr. H. E. Holland, Leader H.M. Opposition. The Clarte Book Depot (15pp.).