Sexagenarian

As the S. S. Leviathan entered New York Harbor last week and passed the Statue of Liberty, a fat old woman extracted from her pocketbook a faded U. S. flag of silk and waved it with practiced enthusiasm. Then cameramen photographed her stuffing it in her bosom. She said she had worn that flag next to her heart ever since she departed the U. S. ten years ago. "Viva America!" she shrilled. "America is my one grand passion!" She could shrill, too. She was Luisa Tetrazzini.

When Soprano Tetrazzini toured the

U. S. in 1920-21 she was 50--near retiring time for sopranos. But her fame was undiminished. Though her acting was somewhat conventional, her bulk great (named for her was chicken a la Tetrazzini--chicken, cream sauce, cheese and spaghetti), an eager public flocked to hear her high F$. her effortless trills and runs. In 1892, when coloraturas flourished everywhere, 21-year-old Luisa Tetrazzini had made her debut in Florence, thrilled Italy's Queen Margherita, won herself the then amazing salary of $100 a month. She sang in L'Africaine that night, but her best roles were bravura ones like Lucia di Lammermoor, Lakme, Dinorah. In 1908 Oscar Hammerstein brought her to the U. S. for his great Manhattan Opera House. She toured the U. S. triumphantly. Later she recalled how "once when singing in Washington, President Taft--whom I knew well--was in the principal box." When she came on the stage he beamed welcome. Soprano Tetrazzini responded "by marching right across the stage until I could almost step into his box. Then I gave him my cheeky little salute." For 15 minutes, she said, the audience roared: "Encore! Encore! Another salute!" Last week ship newshawks asked Soprano Tetrazzini if she spent most of her time in Milan because "Rome is too near Mussolini for you?" It was a foolish question. One of her most cherished and best publicized possessions is a photograph of // Duce, inscribed "To the voice that makes one believe in Paradise." Cried she indignantly last week: "No! No! No! No! I could never see too much of Mussolini. He is a great patriot!" Mme Tetrazzini then raised her stubby arm in a salute neither little nor cheeky. After 1921, Soprano Tetrazzini toured no more, emerging from retirement in Italy only to sing at occasional benefits. In 1926 her name made brief news: at 55 she espoused Pietro Vernati, a handsome, curly-haired Roman 24 years younger than herself. Last year she began toying with the idea of returning once more to the U. S. Coloraturas were in vogue since the debut of Coloratura Lily Pons (TIME. Jan. 19). Last week Tetrazzini had no definite plans: she might go on tour, accept radio offers, sing in Manhattan this month. Opera? Said she: "I spend my time between Milan and Rome, a.nd have palaces in both cities. The one in Milan is on the outskirts of the city and a good way from the Scala Opera House. I have had all I want of grand opera!" On her last tour of the U. S., during the early days of Prohibition, the Government asked Soprano Tetrazzini to sing by wireless telephone for sailors 800 mi. at sea. Josephus Daniels, bone-Dry Secretary of the Navy, inquired as to her favorite song. "How Dry I Am!" she replied. Soon afterwards, Mme Tetrazzini was in California, guest of honor at a public function. "To please me, the Governor of the State [William Dennison Stephens] who presided, announced that I could hold his office for five whole minutes. Then he invited me to give any order I chose. 'All right,' I said. 'Everybody drink what he likes!' " The announcement last week that plump Mme Tetrazzini would soon go to California created no excitement. Wiseacres guessed that in this statement lay the real object of her visit: to get a U. S. divorce from pretty young Husband Vernati. who obtained a legal separation in Rome two years ago.

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