Ravinia

(See front cover)

Discerning Americans are learning that the U. S. has a musical institution quite as deserving of pilgrims from afar as Germany's annual Wagner festival at Bayreuth or the famed Opera at Paris (lately mediocre indeed) or La Scala at Milan (which badly misses Conductor Arturo Toscanini). To rustic Ravinia on Chicago's North Shore (20 mi. out) go more and more visitors each year, to hear what is easily the best summer opera to be found anywhere in the world.

Last week began Ravinia's 19th season, with a personnel including such international figures as Sopranos Lucrezia Bori and Elisabeth Rethberg, Tenors Edward Johnson and Giovanni Martinelli, Basso Leon Rothier. Again its conductors are Gennaro Papi and Louis Hasselmans, its chief dancer Ruth Page. Again the orchestra is taken from the Chicago Symphony. The repertoire will be chosen from 40 or more operas. New this year: Vittadini's Anima Allegra to be given with Bori, Smetana's The Bartered Bride with Rethberg, Meyerbeer's Les Huguenots with Soprano Yvonne Gall, leading soprano of the Paris Opera.

The Impresario. Ravinia owes its existence to Louis Eckstein, a genial, versatile gentleman whose vocations have been many but whose one and only avocation is Ravinia. President Eckstein ("president" is the title he gives himself for managing and financing an opera company) was born 65 years ago in Milwaukee, attended public school and a business college run by Robert C. Spencer of handwriting renown. Passionately fond of music, he studied the violin, never became particularly expert, never considered making music his profession. His first job was with the Wisconsin Central R. R. for which he became passenger traffic manager while still in his 20's. At that point he turned his back on railroading, entered the millinery firm of Stumer, Rosenthal & Eckstein. Following interests have been real estate, particularly in Chicago's loop, where he is part owner of several office-buildings; the Continental Illinois Bank & Trust Co., of which he is a director; publishing (he founded The Red Book in 1903 and The Blue Book shortly after; sold both last year); and chain drugstores (Buck & Raynor chain, sold to Liggett's two years ago).

Now Ravinia is Louis Eckstein's chief active occupation.* Nineteen years ago he snatched it from a group of directors who wanted to turn it into an ordinary amusement park. Concerts had proved unprofitable but Eckstein was determined. The second year of his administration he engaged the Chicago Symphony for ten weeks. Excerpts from operas were included in the programs, became increasingly popular. Important members of the Metropolitan and Chicago Opera Companies were engaged. They liked to be invited to Ravinia. Last autumn Bori received a cable asking her to sing this spring at London's Covent Garden. To accept would have meant deserting Ravinia. Her answer was: "I go to Louis."

Chicago suburbanites from the apartment houses of Evanston to the mansions of Lake Forest have long felt just as Bori does about "the opera house in the woods." The place has a unique, informal charm. It is an outdoor pavilion but the stage is enclosed on three sides, thus preserving the details which in much outdoor music are so sadly smudged. People may come informally dressed, smoke through the performances, have soda-water between the acts. And they come in crowds-- in limousines, by train, or on the trolley.

Yet President Eckstein has never been able to make Ravinia pay. He owns the land and the buildings, charges no rent. He gives his full time, engages the artists, makes out the programs, attends every performance. Last year he and Mrs. Eckstein made up $97,000 of a $217,000 deficit. His comment : "Art pays dividends in beauty. It cannot be expected to pay in material things."

The Favorite. Respighi's La Campana Sommersa (The Sunken Bell) was the opening performance at Ravinia last week. Rethberg sang coolly and easily the difficult, trickling music of Rautendelem, the elf from the bottom of the well. Giovanni Martinelli loudly cried the woes of the bellcaster bewitched by her. But for most Ravinians the second performance was first favorite of the season: L'Amore del Tre Re with Bori.

Dainty, almost birdlike charm and a faculty for making every stage picture blend gracefully with the music -- these are the chief reasons for Bori's success at Manhattan's Metropolitan and at Ravinia. She is a Borgia, descendant and namesake of the Renaissance Lucrezia. In Valencia, Spain, where she was born, the stage was considered an undignified profession for an aristocrat. Lucrezia went to Italy, changed her name, won fame overnight as "Manon Lescaut." She has gone back to Spain many times since then, never once sung there in public.

When Bori reached the U. S. 18 years ago (she was 22) success was instant. Two years later a node formed on one of her vocal cords, took away her voice. She underwent an operation which left her a croak little better than a grackle's. She underwent the knife again, went back to Valencia, lived outdoors, burned countless candles to La Virgen Maria and waited months, not speaking out loud. When the voice did come back it was some time before she dared test it. Again she went to Italy, cared for the wounded in War hospitals. It was in 1919 that she returned to the Metropolitan, a greater artist than before. Since then she has had a succession of successes as Fiora in L'Amore, Violetta in Traviata, Mimi in Boheme, Nedda in Pagliacci, Juliette, Manon, Melisande. She is devout and, like most opera singers, superstitious. She has a wire-haired terrier, "Rowdy," whom she adores. She makes up when she goes to bed with the same care that she does for the stage. She plays golf very seriously, loves to drive a car and drive it fast. In Ravinia not long ago a motorcycle policeman stopped her, asked her why, she was speeding. "Ah," she answered, "It is not me. It is this car and it gives me oh! so much emotion." The officer made no arrest. He, too, was captivated by the charm of the modern civilized Lucrezia Borgia.

*Two years ago, for his interest in opera, Mr. Eckstein was made a Chevalier of the Order of the Crown of Italy.

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