The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 14, 1902, Page 4

SUNDAY CALL. 2go tne monotony ot 1 round of farce come- dramas and was broken ance of the members allan Grand Opera been following their ad- »m South America s Mexico -with as an Arctic explo- weeks and weeks ns were full of more us accounts of the misfor- 1 them on the way. coming; the next & whence they ing they were sing- xico; the pext they here in the wilds of the day after this r co the next day the had broken up in a a B reports dallied with s week after week. A dozen e of their opening was fixed city placarded with their many times replaced £ & postponement future period, until bets were fr ed that they never 4 arrive. did errive at last—starved, and disheartened. They had suf- 1 s known to the pro- only on reaching 7 as soon as possi- s it may seem, San m the most direct ve heath. y ignorant of the fu- kable journey had cre- tely indifferent to the pos- ties of the advertising it had gained knew only that San se it is one of the most cities in the world, has a of their own race, and they g against hope that they would out of their engagement to home again. So far as they cerned the whole Western tour painted for them in such y sticking together because n to disband. And so t the California with a d despair. r was crowded. Everybody mere idle curiosity because ht of the Del Contes was Be curtain rose e singers themselves were appearance fell again the con- he joke was on public was heir marvelous per- *La Boheme” first tmpov fitted ing. was sung rved here for the and pinched and were, the singers manner truly amaz- opera stars of over- t was an absolute nderfed—albeit over- ents of the Latin quar- y singers who looked as their parts required. were as picturesquely and as new as the La Boheme” itself. rformance was over he pathos and suffering of emselves entered the hearts Their success was in- ence was witnessing of “La Boheme” in real 7 but Giuseppl Agos- 1 knew it. As the opera, their ngs them togeth- love. It is a simple ory, the sad, sweet story sorrow all over again; and ni and Linda Montanari entful journey from South all its beauty s while they sang together lism in their acting in d the realism in their roused all the curiosity that ached to their life, on the sirect as well as on the stage. And there you have at once the secret of the s of “La Boheme” in this Ti7oli particularly, and a de- ion of the private life of the sing- ers themselves. Their acting on the stage is but a re- fiex of their life at home. “La Boheme" tells thelr whole stery, and tells it well. Rudolph is Agostini on the stage, and {Agostini, gentle in manner, soft of speech, Boskner, . ANNA f WiLSor \ A3“FrepErRIcK” ) ) BUSHNEL 1 Puoro. ANNA 1L Son TRESSED For. \ W \ | \ \ \ W SHoPrP/rG Prory \ ANG JOMENICO RUSSO i t MERIE Poxz, N ENEMNInee CrESS. FuHNELL Puoy, p is Rudolph in real Ite, wnue Montanar! s Mimi in real life, more perfectly gowned and more impulsive, 'tis true, but sweet, lovable Mimi nevertheless, so that Mimi on the stage is only Monta- nari’s own nature set to music. . So much do they love their favorite roles in “La Boheme” that they have named their only daughter M@hi in honor of the heroine of the opera. Of course, there is no poverty or star- vation now. On the contrary, they have prospered remarkably, so much so that wherever they chance to fall ever so little short of the spirit that animated them both on that fateful occasion the public is apt to grumble that they have become too well fed. They have luxurious apartments at Tor- tonl’s, where if their own language is not spoken all the time they can find surcease of sorrow from the Intricacies of English in speaking French or Span- ish. Agostini is continually staggered by the difficulties of thé’ Anglo-Saxon tongue. “I am very defeshment (deficient) in the language,” he will tell you with a de- spairing shrug. For ail that they are such special fa- vorites at the Tivoll they lead a very simple Jife. On the days that they re- hearse they do mot sing in the evening and on the evenings that they sing they do not rehearse. Apart from their musi- cal studies their only amusement fis punching the bag in a special gymnasium which Agostini has had fitted up for his wife and Tina de Spada. If the name Del Conte were changed to Lombardi in the above story of theatrical misfortune it would fit Collamarini{’s jour- ney to this city equally well. She ad- ventured in almost precisely the same way before she finally found herself sing- ing “Carmen” at the Tivoll. That was about three seasons ago. Since then she has done many remarka- ble things, chief among which was her marriage to Russo, the fiery little tenor who sings Don Jose to her Carmen, and they live in a luxurious flat on O'Farrell street. 1 A buxom woman, pink of cheeks and dark of hair, dressed In a rich sealskin coat over a Parislan model gown and wearing a picture hat—that {s Carmen on the street. A matronly housewife attired in a gor- geously embroidered Japanese kimona, or- dering substantial meals in a voice full of unctuous humor and generous fondness for the good things of life or cooking them with her own plump hands—that is Carmen at home. And always the diamonds—diamonds large and small, dlamonds of rare bril- liance, diamonds quaintly mounted in odd settings, whether at home or on the street, for Collamarini has a perfect pas- sion for jewels—diamonds and pearls, pearls and diamonds—that is all. And if Montanari is Mim! both on and off the stage, Collamarini has much of Carmen’s philosophy and personal mag- netism in her own private life. “Me no more Collamarini!” she Wwill ex- claim in mock woefulness. And to ex- plain this startling statement, she says her father was ‘“nobile,” but that he sold his title some years ago, which is the custom of the aristocratic Italian when the lire in the family stocking are get- ting scarce. So the is warbling her way through the world, with her birthright bartered like Esau’s for a mess of pottage. Though her parent swapped the name and the blazon, a castle or tower (‘“‘colla’), by the sea (‘“marini”), and which also held a serpent rampant—though just what heraldic meaning the snake on the es- cutcheon had the singer fails to explain —the name of Collamarini cannot be tak- en from her, for association is stronger than any legal procedure. i Her patronymic has been assoclated with opera since she was 17 years of age and billboards have held her name in large type in many of the cities of South America, Mexico and Italy, to say noth- ing of the cities of the Pacific Coast, in- rTArRIE Fozzl! NS ‘HpaLcisA” N NORMARY BUSHnEIL PHoYs cluding San ¥rancisco, where Collamarini and Carmen have become synonymous. Now just change the name again from Del Conte to Azzali, but retain the same "FSTAFANIA COL LAMHE/ b N STeesr — story of operatic misadventure, and you have Rus tive Bicily and San Francisco. The com- pany was seventy-two days in crossing the Isthmus of Panama, because they were thrice quarantined on the way over, for no {liness of any sort among their own members, strange and amusing as it may seem. Russo is one of the very few grand epera’ singers who can sing comic opera roles equally well in thres or four lan- ages, including English, but he likes to »be honored most as host In his own lit- tle flat, where his practical jokes keep Collamarini continually protesting “You make me seek!” and as a minfature San- dow. He is more proud of his athletic accom- plishments than of his voice, and spends al his spare time at home fencing with the folls or lifting with the heavy weights just to keep his muscles in trim. Between times he is learning to play the piano, and nowadays when the neighbors hear the instrument being pounded with more vigor than usual they know it is the “Ilit- tle man with the big volce” practicipg without a master. ‘When he becomes tired of this pastime be betakes himselt off to Fairfax with his gun and spends the whole day shoot- ing. His greatest abhorrence is the pho- tographer. Collamarini luxuriates in a photographic studio. Otherwise their fam- {ly life is nothing like the tumultuous love of Carmen and Don Jose. If you could look into a certain large, commodious flat on Powell street on al- most any afterncon you would imagine that it was a combination of a fashion- able dressmaking establishment and a bigh-toned Itallan restaurant. It is neither, though it might well be both. It is the residence of Marie Pozzi and Ines de Frate, both Tiveli prima donnas. They have an Itallan cook running the menage, to be sure of getting their meals served In the style that is so dear to the heart of the emigre from sunny Italy. Marie Pozzi is a beautiful model of the Voluptuous Italian woman, and hails from the Eternal City, toward which all roads are supposed to lead. She has had first- class schooling in her art, and ranks as an artist of the first class even among ber confreres, but she is averse to 1r MOququl TN TSN “ IN Loa BOHE /A dancing -attendance on dressmakers and costumers. She insists that Mahomet must come to the mountain, though no reflection on Pozzi's rather ample pro- portions is intended. Her speclal pride and pleasure is her extensive wardrobe. She is one of the best-gowned and most distinguished-look- ing women in the city at present. Off ‘the stage she looks more like a royal matron of blue-blooded lineage than a grand op- era prima donna, and she is very proud of the fact that there is this great dis- tinction betwr?‘n her private life and her public caréer. She is, if anything, more beautiful on the street than behind the footlights, which is saying a great deal. Like Collamarini, she has a pas- sionate fondness for jewelry, and wears it in extravagant display on all occasions, much to the envy of her American sis- ters. Ines de Frate, on the other hand, is a true type of the Itallan prima donna. With a perfect knowledge of opera, born of her extended experience on the stage, she can and does advise her brothers and sisters in the profession. ough a se- vere critic, De Frate is a'splendid dis- cipliparian, and many a young artist owes success to her indefatigable coaching. She is, at the same time, of the opinion that ar artist cannot become so proficient that there is no room for improvement, and is willing to take a hint from any one better versed in a certain role than she. But, like Marie Pozzi, she is a stickler for luxurious surroundings in both her public and private life. This trait was made quickly ap- ON THE ,"TACE AND ON 1TREET parent when she first inspected the dress- ing-rocms of the Tivoll. Her aquiline nose tilted to a severe angle. “Picolo, picolo!"” she exclaimed, which freely translated, means sm puny, or anything of that sort you may choose. A bathroom adjoining her dressing- room she must have. Imagine this in Tivoll, that has stood for twenty years—in fact was bullt before bathro: were included in the plans for an opera- bouse. The management did its utmost to satisfy her, and the people who have heard her sing have done the rest. She is delighted with San Francisco, thou she insists that the wind is working over- time. Unlike many people before the pub- lic, she does not like to sit for pho graphs. In marked contrast to the tumultuous careers of these six European singers is the rise of pretty Anna Wilson to gra opera honors. Theirs is the mystery a the romance of the old world. Hers is the directness, the strenuousness of the new world. She is the only prima donna 2t the Tivoll who is not of Latin origin and she, too, like Russo, is one of the very few singers who render grand opera and comie opera equally well. Her rise has been rapid. She is a Call- fornia girl who has lived most of her life in San Diego. There she was pretty lit- tle Anna Schaetz—and when she came to live In San Francisco she was still pretty little Anna Schaetz. Then the richness of her voice began to attract at- tention, and before she herseif fully realized that she had been launched on the stage she was singing in comic opera at the Tivoll. That was less than three years ago, and now she can sing seven- teen grand operas in Spanish, Italian or French. And still she is known as pretty little Anna. On the street she Is always exquisitely gowned with all the feminine fondness for dainty fabrics and rich gariture tastefully displayed. Her passion, how- ever, is not for display. Were you to see her on the street you would never even suspect her profession, though she sings opera, dreams opera and lives opera dur- ing every hour of her private life as much if not more than when she is sing- ing on the stage. Under the chaperonage of Madame Montanari at Tortoni’s is a prima douna who is unique in more ways than one. ‘Wherever she is seen, off the stage es- pecially, she is at once distinguished as for what she is—a person of rank and title. She is on the stage Tina de Spada, the lyrie soprano of the Tivoll company. On_ the street she is thie Duchess of Villafiorita, the bosom friend of Carmen Bilva, the authoress Queen of Roumania. As a Duchess she is the owner of a beautiful wardrobe, bdut unlike most Jtalian singers, she will not wear jewelry. The utter absence of it is always one of the most notable things about her when she is seen on the street. Strange as it may seem, it is the one thing which most distinguishes her as a lady of title. She is indeed one of the best dressed women in San Francisco. But there are two members of the com« pany who cannot be mistaken for sings ers of the “La Boheme™ type anywhere and at any time. They are de de Paoll and Emello D’Albore, who are rooming together down in the Latin quarter. Both are young men, vibrant with life and ambition. De Paoli prides himself not s little on his mastery of English, The other day he was airing his knowledge of the language, and this is a verbatim rendition, though his sibillant accent cannot be reproduced in print: “My compliment, youw' bruther, you' seester, you' fader, you' muther—for my friendt, a schop mutton; for myself, a glass befsteak.” He is a jolly little chap and wears the outward sign manual of his profession on his face; he is a buffo artist, or a “artista commica,” as it runs In th Ttalian. He appears daily in a sack coat and a pair of trousers vulgarly calle “lce cream breeches,” for is it not the summer time, and why should he dress accordingly, though the Pa breeze may nip him and the fogs pene- trate his leg covering? In contrast to young De Paoll is Al Zonghi, the light complexioned Italiar the company who has the look of b well groomed and well fed at all times who indesd looks what he is—a gran opera singer for art's sake alone, since he is rich and Independent. He is pc sessed of some fine old properties Italy and does not have to roam over the country. in search of an engagement. He has a country place where he lives the life of a gentleman, and on the street in San Francisco he looks far more the typical titied man of leisure than a “La Boheme' artist. —_——— Customer entering new restaurant)— Hello, Leo! I missed you from the old establishment and wondered where you had gone. So you've come to take up new quarters here, have you? Waiter—Oh, not necessarily new ones, sir. It doesn’'t make a particle of differ- ence so long as they have the genuine United States imprint.—Boston Courler. alw *