And as we looked, he assumed the pose of the man in chains, his hands seemed tied, his body bent, his expression one in which anger and revenge mingled; in effect, he was for the moment Amonasro.

“I have only made you see my mental concept of Amonasro.  If I have once thoroughly worked out a conception, made it my own, then it is mine.  I can create it at any moment.  If I feel well and strong I can sing the part now in the same way as I have always sung it, because my thought is the same and thought produces.  Whether I have a little more voice, or less voice, what does it matter?  I can never lose my conception of a character, for it is in my mind, and mind projects it.  So there is no reason to lose the voice, for that also is in mind and can be thought out at will.

“Suppose I have an opposite character to portray,—­the elegant Don Giovanni, for example”; and drawing himself up and wrapping an imaginary cloak about him, with the old well-remembered courtly gesture, his face and manner were instantly transformed at the thought of his favorite character.  He turned and smiled on us, his strong features lighted, and his whole appearance expressed the embodiment of Mozart’s hero.

“You see I must have lived, so to say, in these characters and made them my own, or I could not recall them at a moment’s notice.  All impersonation, to be artistic, to be vital, must be a part of one’s self; one must get into the character.  When I sing Iago I am no longer myself—­I am another person altogether; self is quite forgotten; I am Iago, for the time being.

“In Paris, at the Sorbonne, I gave a series of lectures; the first was on this very subject, the identification of one’s self with the character to be portrayed.  The large audience of about fifteen hundred, contained some of the most famous among artists and men of letters”; and Maurel, with hands clasped about his knee, gazed before him into space, and we knew he was picturing in mental vision, the scene at the Sorbonne, which he had just recalled.

After a moment, he resumed.  “The singer, though trying to act out the character he assumes, must not forget to sing.  The combination of fine singing and fine acting is rare.  Nowadays people think if they can act, that atones for inartistic singing; then they yield to the temptation to shout, to make harsh tones, simply for effect.”  And the famous baritone caricatured some of the sounds he had recently heard at an operatic performance with such gusto, that a member of the household came running in from an adjoining room, thinking there must have been an accident and the master of the house was calling for help.  He hastily assured her all was well—­no one was hurt; then we all had a hearty laugh over the little incident.

And now we begged to be allowed to visit the atelier, where the versatile artist worked out his pictures.  He protested that it was in disorder, that he would not dare to take us up, and so on.  After a little he yielded to persuasion, saying, however, he would go up first and arrange the room a little.  As soon as he had left us my friend turned to me: