Mme. Walska

Beautiful, Wealthy, She Has No Voice

One of the most extraordinary episodes of recent musical annals was witnessed at the Paris Opera the other night. Ganna Walska appeared on the stage of that old and famous opera house in the extremely difficult role of Gilda in Verdi's Rigoletto. The historical institution, scene of so many great operatic triumphs, was crowded with aristocrats who wished to listen to what was certain to be a most interesting performance.

There lies deep in Mme. Walska McCormick's soul an impassioned desire to sing successfully in opera. To achieve this desire she has waged a prodigious battle. She has had failure after failure on the operatic stage; yet she has persisted, and has set an unusually strong and tenacious will to gain her ambition, until the question has been raised on all sides: Has Ganna Walska a voice? The critics have replied again and again: Mme. Walska has no voice. She has some pretty but very small tones in her lower voice, good enough for small parlor singing, but her upper register is so weak and thin that when she essays the big and loud singing parts of opera she emits a shrill squeak. Nevertheless, the lady, with her enormously wealthy husband supporting her, has entered upon a new and spectacular campaign to achieve success in opera. Last season she put on several concerts in Mid-Western America. These were all failures and received universal dispraise. Mme. Walska, despairing of America, took herself to France, where the critics might perhaps be less disposed against her. A few weeks ago she was billed to sing Gilda in Rigoletto. It is to be observed that the management of the opera house made it clear in the announcements that Walska's performance was not to be a part of the regular season, but was a special charity performance. Mme. Walska, it is understood, put up a considerable part of the cost of the performance. Everybody, especially the Americans in Paris, were deeply interested in this climactic attempt of the American millionaire's wife to storm the citadel of opera.

The performance encountered a queer series of mishaps. Joseph Schwarts, formerly of the Chicago Opera House, who was to have sung the important baritone role of Rigoletto, could not be found on the day of the opera. Another baritone, named to sing in his place, was taken ill shortly before the curtain rose. A third baritone finally went on stage in Rigoletto's cap and bells.

In the first scene everything went well. The soprano does not appear in that scene. Walska appeared, radiantly beautiful, in the second scene. Her voice was thin and nervous. The great aria, caro nome, came, prodigious in its demands upon the strength, purity and agility of the upper soprano voice. Walska's voice faltered badly. At the final top note she emitted a series of faint squeaks and there was silence--no tone came. The audience began to laugh. The fiasco was ghastly. Then, as throughout the rest of the opera, it was evident that Walska's top tones were not strong enough to carry across the footlights.

The conclusion is inevitable: Ganna Walska is beautiful; she exerts a powerful fascination; she has wealth. What more can she want? She wants, with all the passion of a strong, ambitious nature, to sing in opera. And she has no voice.