Scan 6
Musical Courier 1927-10-27: Vol 95 Iss 17, 1927
76 lines. Read by computer on 29 September 2026. No printed page number was found. See the scan on archive.org.
1October 27, 1927
3Via Abraham Lincoln, has been actually hewn out of deep deposits of lava. Down its wide bright length, in a small piazza, the Bellini Theater stands; begun in 1770, and completed one hundred years later, it occupies one entire side of the open piazza, and is flanked by narrow bridge-spanned streets. Toy high bridges connect the theater with adjacent buildings. All was tightly closed, for the opera season had not begun; but an old custodian with a score of boy helpers piloted me through every nook and corner of the lovely old opera house; across the sloping stage, through five magnificent galleries, into a chain of grand salons, where ceilings, frescoed, exquisitely represent scenes from all Bellini Operas, and down the entrance staircase, which is superb. Five thousand persons may occupy the theater at one time.
5Once more out in the warm winter sunshine, narrow, crooked streets led a way toward the house where the master was born. A rocky, moss grown wall hid a "Restaurant Bellini," and in a dark alley I saw a sign, "Dressmaking Shop—Bellini," a haberdasher's, "Bellini"; and then an ancient square, most ancient in all of ancient Catania, opened up. This was the "Square of the Elephant." In its center, facing a gray Cathedral, a huge black elephant stands on a pedestal of lava. He is fat and has legs but no feet and he surveys a busy scene below him as he has done since 1669, when his predecessor was destroyed in the burning river of lava which that year swept down from Etna, covering over and deeply burying Catania.
7Here, in the long ago age of mythology, stood the Temple of Pallas with an elephant, the symbol of victory, on its summit; and all down the centuries, in this place, has stood a stone black elephant, huge, but helpless, because he has no feet.
9Rising sharply from the Square of the Elephant, an ancient street toils upward, the Via Vittorio Emanuele; and at number 240, stands a gaunt, great, gray house, which, were it not so thickly surrounded by squalor, might yet be called a palace! On its gray black facade, between two low-set windows, a marble tablet reads:
11VINCENZO BELLINI WAS BORN IN THIS HOUSE NOVEMBER 3, 1801
13The old palace is a three-storied lava pile. Countless small windows are balcony encased, and tumbling flowers fall through iron railings. In a poor room on the basement floor, the composer genius was born. The arched front of the house is now given over to a shoe shop, and the people who occupy the numerous basement flats must enter from the rear. Halfway down the close built narrow hill, the street runs into a square, all filled with decrepit lava gray churches. A fountain wearily drips in its open center, and off at one side the great, dingy, Bellini House appears. I pushed a big wooden gate open, to find a spacious courtyard! A sign read, "Headquarters of the Police." A group of these gaily dressed officers in red and blue, played chess under a plane tree. I asked if this were the entrance to the Bellini House, and a policeman, clicking his heels together and bowing low, said in elegant and flowery language that it was.
15To his great sorrow he could not permit me to enter the basement as the police were in occupation of the floor until the Bellini Association should take possession in a few days' time. All was in process of converting the home into the permanent museum and memorial.
17"Would I care to see the courtyard, which remains exactly as in the days of Bellini?" I would! And he led me through a dim passageway, and beyond this, as if removed a thousand miles from the city street I saw the four-sided walled-in garden, filled with palm trees shading flowers. Masons were at work restoring lava walls, gardeners hanging vines. Although the large Bellini family may have been short-rationed on food and clothes, they had a luxurious and beautiful garden.
19Now that the house has become national property, the rooms in the famous basement floor will be restored to their old-time setting. A great collection of relics and mementos of the young master are gathered under the care of Signor Professor Giuseppe Guiliano, founder of the Association of Catania.
21I came to his shabby closed palace, perched high in a deep walled street. Richly flowering trees tumbled their tops over the lava masonry, and mimosa hung enchantingly against the moss grown blocks. Goats and sheep and cows crowded the narrow way and gaudily painted carts trundled by, piled high with oranges, tangerines, and vegetables, painting a huddled street with color and beauty, while an ambling street musician made discordant sounds on a crude bagpipe—the entire skin of a pig with legs and tail still dangling.
23An outside stairway wound up and up a vast dim courtyard, from landing to landing, each landing an entrance to a separate apartment dwelling, lace curtain hung; and chickens and goats peered out at me from many a friendly parlor window. On the top floor, in answer to my ringing of a spiralled, tinkling bell, a picturesque old gentleman stepped out and opened the door.
25Signor Giuliano was a cavalier in rich black broadcloth and his forked beard swept a collar which I think is called a Gladstone. A musician of note, in Italy of a generation past, now, at eighty years old, he lives and moves and has his being only for his beloved compatriot, Bellini and the Memorial Museum.
27He welcomed me into a wide dark hall where rooms of charm and beauty stretched ahead. Turkish rugs covered cold lava floors, and the walls were hung with satin and tapestry. Eternal paradox of the inside and the outside of an Italian home! All of this richness and elegance above a goat infested street. In a blue reception room, called the Bellini Room, he showed me many of his treasures for the Museum. There I saw the scrawl of Arrigo Boito which tells all readers that anyone who does not love Bellini does not love music; the signature of Verdi, and of Adelina Patti; and a letter from the King; and there were two precious miniatures painted on ivory by the famous singer Maria Malibran. One of herself when at the height of her glory, as Somnambula, the other of her adored and adoring lover, Bellini.
29When Norma had achieved amazing success at the Scala Opera in Milan just twelve years after Bellini had left Catania, he longed for a sight of home and from the north of Italy he set forth on the then long and fatiguing journey to the extremest south. He travelled by slow train, by boat and at last by four horse diligence down the curving, sun-baked shores of Sicily. His way was one continual procession of honor, for curiosity and love met him at every turn. At Catania it seemed as if all Sicily had joined his cavalcade. A band of music joined outside the city gates, and the Prince, Magnelli, and all the people escorted him to the home of a prosperous uncle, for the basement flat was far too humble now!
31Gala performances of his works were given in the Opera House, and the great old theater was renamed in his honor, The Bellini!
33Bellini in his modest heart was filled with joy at all this homage; three years later he was dead in Paris.
35In a little village, Puteaux, outside the city, he fell ill of an acute intestinal attack, while at the home of friends, and death came quickly. The story is told in a letter that waits for the Museum, signed S. Carafe.
37On September 23, 1855, I left Paris by horse to go in haste to Puteaux, to my friend Bellini, having word that he was ill. Arriving at an early evening hour, in pouring rain, I rang the bell at the garden gate. No one responded. I dashed open the lattice and entered the cottage. All was deserted. The family was away! In an upper stair room, Bellini lay upon his bed, in an apparent sleep, but his hand was cold. Alone and dead! Oh, dear Bellini, that you were left, to die, alone!
39The body was laid in the Cemetery of Pere Lachaise at Paris, and Rossini and the aged Cherubini were the honorary pall-bearers. The skies wept torrents of rain as the young musician was placed in a marble tomb, the gift of his friend, Rossini. All theaters in Paris were closed, and while the people mourned Norma was sung for an audience in deepest grief, at the theater in Catania.
41Forty years later Italy asked of Paris the remains of her famous son, and twelve representatives from Sicily journeyed to France to bring home the body of their dead Bellini. While the funeral cortege passed fires blazed along the coast and burned in the mountain passes of Sicily.
43They laid him beneath the pavement of the ancient cathedral in Catania, and a white marble tomb marks the place. At the base of the tomb the words from Sonnambula, Credo Misera, are cast in bronze, and raised bronze letters on the lava floor cry out
45VINCENZO BELLINI
47MME. GINA VIAFORA, RETURNING FROM SUNNY ITALY, TALKS OF HER NATIVE LAND AND MUSSOLINI
49Tells of Her Success With Women's Voices—Has Great Faith in America
51The return of Mme. Gina Ciaparelli Viafora to New York after some months spent in Italy this past summer lured the writer to her attractive studio on Eighty-fifth Street to hear from someone who is intensely interested in the conditions of Italy the truth about the matter, and also to get some idea as to what she thought of the artistic conditions of America now that she had had a chance to draw some worthwhile conclusions during her sojourn in the land of art. The artist was at home, as was also her delightful husband, Gianni Viafora, eminent figure in the world of music and famed for his original and inimitable talent of caricature.
53While both Mme. and Mr. Viafora were making profuse apologies for what they termed an undignified condition of their home, due to the fact that there had not been time to hang draperies and put down rugs, the eye was indulging in a regular feast as it roved over the spacious walls hung with interesting pictures of artists and countless character sketches, each with a touch of humor and individuality. There are also in the large and luxurious home many specimens of sculpture which Mr. Viafora has wrought, one beautiful specimen being the bust of Caruso which stands in the studio proper near the piano, and which no doubt serves as a source of inspiration to the young aspirants of the tonal art as they stand in the room studying. The sculptor knew Caruso intimately and has woven into the face the expression of intermingled sadness and humor that was a noted fact to the observer.
55"When I think of Italy," said Mme. Viafora, "I think of a place of pleasure and leisure, of a typical place for enjoyment. America is the 'vast' place and successful country, where one enjoys affluence and progress. It is a very wonderful country and I am constantly in the condition of being fascinated by it.
57"I found Italy in a much improved condition, and I noted this to be a fact throughout the entire country. Mussolini is really a very remarkable personality in spite of the fact that here in America he is pictured as a tyrant. There is no doubt that he has had to use force, but if one stops to consider the Italian temperament he will realize that such a course was necessary to put over his plans. There has also been a report that he has imposed upon artists certain obligations for appearances in Italy at certain stipulated sums. I was in Milan at the time that this question came up, which then was the proposition of syndicating the agencies; but the matter did not go through and what Mussolini did was merely to ask the great Italian artists to contribute some of their talent to their native land. The artist has the reputation of gaining fame in America and going to Italy to spend his affluence; Mussolini requests that they contribute some of the art which is theirs for the benefit of the many who have not the opportunity to hear the best in music, and he feels that one's native land is entitled to that privilege. This, however, is merely a request and not an imposition as has been rumored. However, every artist who truly feels the love of his country is proud to render spontaneously to his native land of his ability. As I have said, our country has made great progress, but the penalties of the war were terrible and there are still many sacrifices to make. The great artist is he who has a heart, and who, after having earned much in this country full of resources, arrives in his country with a song in his heart and gives generously of his art.
59"Take first of all Gigli. He has hardly disembarked than he is swamped with telegrams from those who want him here and there, for such and such reasons. He chooses one and it is always for a benefit. One reads it in every newspaper; Gigli is in Rome, he is at Bologna, the next day he is in Venice, then at Ancona, and again up and down over all of Italy, be it for concert, for opera, in this salon or in that theater."
61"And I believe he sings in the squares, too?"
63"In the squares? Yes, indeed, and, better still, for the poor and rich are there. There is a religious silence at such times when Gigli sings."
65"Those are recondite harmonies?"
67"Those are harmonies of delight, no longer recondite; everyone hears them and every one shouts 'long live Gigli.'"
69"It is clearly to be seen, Mme. Viafora, that you are undoubtedly a great admirer of Gigli. Tell me, did you enjoy yourself in Italy?"
71"Very much. And I also sang for my friends at Agnano, Fiuggi, Roma, Castelnuovo-Magra near Genoa, and lastly on board the Duilio on my return trip. During my three months abroad it was one continual gracious invitation and I am regretful that I was not able to accept them all for if I had I should have had to return to America in September of 1928."
73"What are your plans for this season, Mme. Viafora?"
75"I have already begun my classes and private lessons and have studios here at my home and at a club for young ladies. At the latter there is a lovely large recital hall with a small stage and good acoustics. It is not far from my home and on sunny days it is well for me to take a walk. However, my home is my permanent address and all com-
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