the evenings, my grandmother sang old Scottish ballads, accompanying herself on the piano. Occasionally, to make us laugh, she would bang down on the keys, making the begonias shake in their pot.
However, the holidays always ended too soon, and with them, the joyful romps in the countryside and the boat rides in the Chambly Basin.
That vision of carefree summer days seems to draw a curtain over my childhood memories. In August of that same summer of 1860, another stage of my life began, in which I would sing for a prince – my first crowned head.
1. The three Lavigne brothers mentioned here all achieved notable success in the music world; Émery once accompanied actress Sarah Bernhardt on tour.
2. Emma once told an English newspaper reporter: “I never had a doll of my own.”
3
One Day, My Prince Will Come
In the spring of 1860, a Montreal newspaper, La Minerve, announced: “The Prince of Wales will come to Montreal to dedicate the newly finished bridge, named Victoria, in honour of the Queen of England, his mother.”
The Prince was indeed present at the opening ceremony on August 24; he screwed on the last bolt – a bolt fashioned of pure silver for the occasion. After this symbolic gesture, he was regaled by the four hundred voices of the Montreal Oratorio Society raised in a cantata. And I sang the soprano solo – I, Emma Lajeunesse, twelve years old. I must have looked very childish among all those gentlemen in their coats and tails and the ladies with their billowing crinolines.
Emma arrived in Paris in 1868, at twenty-one years of age, to perfect her musical training and to launch her career as an operatic soprano.
During our rehearsals, I had heard a quantity of whispered gossip that I only half understood. It seemed that Prince Albert Edward, a handsome eighteen-year-old, was somewhat of a rake, a pleasure-seeker who frequently went to Paris for his diversions. That was why he was nicknamed “the Gallic Prince” and the “Prince of Romance.”
A few days after the inauguration of the bridge, His Highness was scheduled to visit the Sacred Heart Convent! My father took advantage of the occasion to submit a petition, signed by more than fifty people, asking the Prince to write a letter of recommendation for me. This would help enormously to boost my career when I went to Europe, as Papa presumed I would.
Albert Edward's aide-de-camp, Major-General Bruce, refused diplomatically, explaining that, although my abilities as a child prodigy were unquestionable, I was still too young to hope for an engagement with any of the better-known musical ensembles across the Atlantic.
My father, undefeated, resolved to organize a benefit concert to cover the expense of European musical training for me. “Emma has nothing left to learn from me,” he said. “She must study under the most reputable music teachers and she must have a scholarship to do it.”
Papa worked tirelessly to put this project into action, while still teaching at the convent. I continued my own musical instruction with him. I was not always a model pupil, however; I liked playing tricks too much. There had to be some fun in my life, after all! In spite of this, I was turning into a well-behaved and accomplished young miss with my sights set on a spectacular career. My sister Cornélia was progressing too, following her own musical path.
Finally, on September 13, 1862, La Minerve advertised “a musical evening to assist the Lajeunesse sisters in financing their trip to Paris, where they will study at the Conservatoire.”
The concert was held at the Mechanics' Hall in Montreal, under the auspices of the civil and military authorities. I performed on the piano and the harp and sang some of my compositions, accompanied by Nelly on the piano; my voice range was from mezzo-soprano to soprano in those songs. The next day, a newspaper reporter described my voice as that of “an exile from heaven.” “We are proud,” added the writer, “that this young woman is a daughter of our native land. We predict an international career for her.”
Because of unwelcome interference from the Catholic Church, Papa was unable to gather the necessary funds. L'Ordre, the influential press organ of the clergy, had expressed the censorious opinion that “long voyages, particularly the wandering existence of performers, are pernicious. Emma Lajeunesse is known to be an innocent and pious soul: must we allow her to be exposed to this peril?”
My father was furious and considered emigrating back to the United States. However, one of his friends, the brilliant lawyer and politician Ludger Labelle, organized a benefit concert that drew a large number of music-lovers. Although the money raised was insufficient for our European plans, it did allow Cornélia and me to go to try our luck south of the border. We were obliged to leave our cherished convent to go into the wide world; it was the only alternative if we wanted to go further in music.
Thus, the following year, Papa, Cornélia, and I found ourselves in Saratoga Springs, an elegant watering hole for the rich in upper New York State. It was in the United States that our hopes were realized and my career took off in a definite manner. The American public was fascinated by “the young prima donna” named Emma Lajeunesse.
As soon as we settled in, a concert was organized at Rand's Hall, with Cornélia as my accompanist. The hall was packed. My programme included arias by Rossini and Verdi, The Last Rose of Summer (the beautiful Irish song arranged by Sigismond Thalberg), and an aria from the romantic opera, Martha, by Friedrich von Flotow. The comments published the next morning in the Troy Daily Times were eloquent: “She warbles with the perfect naturalness of a bird.”
In Albany, not far from Saratoga, I sang at a military gala attended by State Governor Sydney, several senators, and a crowd of four thousand spectators.
In Johnstown, fifty miles northwest of Albany, Cornélia and I performed together at a charity benefit: we both played the piano and sang duets, Nelly in her charming contralto voice. Each of us was given a star-shaped brooch, with wishes that we would become equally brilliant stars!
Soon after, at the consecration of Albany's new bishop, John J. Conroy, I sang Johann Hummel's motet,1 Alma Virgo.
We remained in Albany, where I became first soprano soloist at St. Joseph's, Bishop Conroy's church. It was there that I learned to sing masses by Mozart, Cherubini, and Beethoven. The church administrators had found a good thing: I was young – and therefore cost them very little – and I sang beautifully in Latin, Italian, German, French, Russian, and English, as well as in the Irish and Scottish styles. Moreover, I could play the organ, and the one at St. Joseph's was considered the second best in the whole country. I was really too slight for this colossal instrument, but I managed well enough. I also directed the church choir and composed music for it! I carried out these duties at St. Joseph's until 1868; it was an ideal training ground that helped me become one of the most appreciated oratorio singers in England many years later. The Catholic churchgoers of Albany took me to their hearts. When the altar of a new chapel was consecrated in January 1867, they came in huge numbers to hear me sing.
On that occasion, Maurice Strakosch,2 the impresario from New York City, was present. He had come to Albany with Pasquale Brignoli, the tenor who had sung the role of Alfredo when Verdi's La traviata was introduced to the American public in 1856. Meeting my father, they told him: “Your daughter has the voice
