Maria Callas: The Woman Behind the Legend by Arianna Huffington Page A

perhaps a bit of both, Meneghini was behaving that night as though he was in the presence of genius—for Maria always a lovable trait. At the same time, unlike many others, he seemed not only aware that the bearer of the genius was a woman, but positively pleased that this was the case. Meneghini had been assigned by the festival to be the official escort of the visiting prima donna, and before the dinner was over he was determined to see a great deal of her in the course of his “duties.” And he did—starting the following morning with a day trip to Venice. Maria, who had not been pursued by many men, found herself for the first time continually flattered by a man who seemed to understand the art of making himself at first agreeable, then gradually indispensable to her.
    They began exploring Verona and the surrounding countryside. Maria was discovering Italy and at the same time the pleasures of being courted and admired for herself and not just for her voice. And she was enjoying the second discovery even more than the first. In the middle of July she started rehearsing with Tullio Serafin, who had just arrived in the city—and the second gentleman of Verona quickly overshadowed the first. The joys of intimacy took second place to the passion for music, work, success and the discovery of working with Serafin. “It was maybe the main lucky thing that happened to me,” said Maria later. “He taught me that in everything there must be an expression, there must be a justification, he taught me exactly the depth of music. . . . I really, really drank all I could from this man.”
    Serafin loved Verona and Verona loved Serafin. His bond with the city went back to 1913 when he had conducted the first performance at the Verona Arena. Since then he had become one of the most famous conductors in the world, his engagements taking him from the Rome Opera to the Met and from the Met to La Scala. During those thirty-four years he had worked with the greatest singers of the day and had molded the career and direction of Rosa Ponselle, who sang her first Norma at the Met in 1925 after eighteen months of working with the maestro. His influence on Maria’s musical outlook and direction was to be even greater. De Hidalgo had pointed her toward the bel canto repertory; Serafin led her to it and provided her with all the opportunities to master it onstage. “As soon as I heard her sing,” he said, “I recognized an exceptional voice. A few notes were still uncertainly placed but I immediately knew that here was a future great singer.” And that knowledge, which was unmistakably communicated to Maria, fortified her, gave her confidence and made the rehearsal period leading up to the opening night less of a torment and more of a delight than any other intensive working period had been.
    As the summer progressed, so did her interest in Meneghini. If Serafin was from the beginning her mentor, guide and inspiration, Meneghini was her gentle and serviceable critic. Sure of his devotion, she felt totally unthreatened; she could let herself go and accept his, in any case, constructive criticisms without bridling.
    Maria could not remember ever having been happier, and yet, as she wrote to her mother, she was “tembling like a leaf” at the prospect of her first night at the huge Arena, singing in front of an audience of 25,000 Italians, all of whom regarded themselves as operatic experts. During the dress rehearsal, growing anxiety and overenthusiastic acting caused her to fall on the rocky stage of the Arena and sprain an ankle. She spent a painful and anxious night in her hotel room, with Meneghini sitting the whole night at her bedside, nursing her back to health and confidence. Ten years later, just before Onassis came into her life and her marriage came to an end, Maria remembered that time with gratitude and the kind of exaggeration that she often used to hide her growing doubts: “This was just one little episode that