Limelight: La Divina -- remembered By Lubna Abdel Aziz We have never seen the likes of her. Perhaps we never will. She was a fiery, tempestuous, seductive performer, both on and off the stage. Her life was rather short, her life on stage even shorter, yet the magic of her art and her persona still fascinate 25 years after her death. Diva was descriptive enough of other great opera singers but her millions of fans dubbed her La Divina -- the divine. In death as in life, she remains one of the most controversial, captivating and tragic figures of the 20th century. September marks the 25th anniversary of the death of Maria Callas and opera capitals around the world are commemorating with special concerts, exhibits, programmes, books, films and of course her records. The Metropolitan Opera House, New York, is inaugurating its season with Puccini's Turandot -- an opera that Callas performed 50 times. Nothing will ever equal her most amazing rendition of the aria "in questa reggia, un grando desperado..." (in this place a desperate cry rang out , and that cry took shelter in my heart.) For those who never heard her crying with ferocity, wailing with tragedy, her voice settling into dusky tones, "like the voice from a place a thousand years away", can still be found on any of the 40 operas that have been re-recorded, elegantly packaged and reproduced by EMI to commemorate her 25th death anniversary. She has taken her roles to such unimaginable heights, they have become sine qua non examples of Callas at her best. Greece, which has a special relationship with Callas, is honouring La Divina with a series of concerts throughout this month at the Athenaeum Arts Centre. She continues to be a symbol of national pride to the Greeks. Conductor Louli Psychouli comments: "Despite a 25-year absence she's closer to us now than she was before her death." Callas was born in the United States, moved back to Greece when she was 14, and took her Greek citizenship in 1966, at 43. Maria Anna Cecilia Sophia Kalegeropoulos (Kalos) was born to Greek immigrants, Georges and Litsa, on December 1923. When her parents divorced, Maria left New York in 1937 with her mother and sister Yakinthi (Jackie). A new biography The Unknown Callas by Greek historian Nicola Petsalis-Diomidis, describes her early years in Greece as painfully tragic, full of conflict, turmoil and hatred. It was during the war years, while Greece was under German occupation that Maria and Jackie suffered under their mother's domination. Mother was bent on making Maria a star at any cost. She sacrificed her daughters to rich admirers, forcing them into prostitution for the family's survival. Maria resented her mother and confided to colleague and singer Guilietta Simionata in 1969: "I would weep and tell the gentlemen my sad story, choking with tears, and they would take pity on me and give me money without ever touching me." She hid from her mother the fact that she remained chaste. Her hatred for her mother was as notorious as everything else about her. "I would not give her the lice from my hair." Although it was her mother who sent her to the Athens Conservatory and pushed her to stardom in the early years, Maria's hatred was unrelenting. She never spoke to her from 1951 until her death in 1977. In 1941 Callas made her professional debut in a leading role as Tosca at the Athens Opera House and her Italian debut came in 1947 in Ponchielli's La Gioconda at the Arena di Verona. That marked the launch of her international career. In 1950 she took La Scala di Milano by storm as Aida. That began her reign at La Scala. Maria Callas, guided by conductor Tullio Serafin, did the unthinkable. She went from light soprano to heavy earthbound roles and continued to sing both simultaneously against all established vocal rules. She radically changed the barriers, so rigidly held over for centuries, perhaps to her own detriment. But La Divina was impetuous, powerful, indomitable and bent on taking risks. Her voice had to finally give out and it did after 15 years of perfection. But that short-lived perfection pioneered a revolution in performance and defined a new standard of virtuosity. She was far from being beautiful when she started her career; she was called "heavy and homely". She married Italian industrialist Giovanni Battista Meneghini, 20 years her senior in 1949, who protected her like a father, and nurtured her personally and professionally. By sheer force of her determination she re-invented her look and in a few short years, she lost 30 kilogrammes, discovered fashion, changed her coif and make-up, and acquired that sleek sophisticated look, often called 'Egyptian Queen', which made her the irresistible musical legend of the century. There were only two men in her life, her husband of 10 years, Menighini, and Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis. By all accounts Onassis cared little for her, humiliated her publicly and rejected her for the widowed Jacqueline Kennedy, whom he married in 1969. Callas claimed that he came back to her, not long after his wedding, full of remorse over his mistake, begging her to take him back. They continued to see each other until his death in 1975, which devastated her. "I felt a widow". This love was her undoing. She neglected her career and her voice. The Metropolitan fired her and even La Scala squeezed her out of their line-up. Tito Gobbi, famous tenor, who made several stellar recordings with her, scoffed the notion of her vocal decline: "Nothing happened to her voice. She just lost her nerve." On her records, her voice remained fresh and powerful and her high notes, which sometimes gave her trouble on stage, remained firm and solid. One of the most versatile operatic singers in history she has been described as: "The greatest theatrical musical artist of our time. Indeed, some would say, of all time," by Sir David Webster, director of Covent Garden Opera House in 1964. "It is neither hyperbole nor rhetoric to say that Callas was often able to use a different voice according to the character she interpreted." Supreme singer as well as supreme actress, she was both goddess and slave to her art. The iconic soprano, now the focus of a cult, which cherishes and collects all that was Callas, died at the pitifully early age of 53, alone in her apartment in Paris. She died as she had lived, like one of her own tragic heroines -- "sad, suffering and alone!" If you are an opera buff and have not heard the voice of La Callas, run to the nearest record store and thrill to the distinctive timbre and unique rendition of La Divina. If you are a soap opera fan, you will find dozens of biographies in libraries and bookstores by critics, historians, musicians and contemporaries about the volatile life of splendid heights and humiliating defeats of the legendary singer. It will seem more unbelievable than any soap opera you know. If you are a movie fan, then be on the lookout for director Franco Zeffirelli's biopic Callas Forever, which premiered in Paris on 17 September -- the 25th anniversary of her death. The film is a fictional account of her life after she stopped singing. Zeffirelli knew her well and worked with her in the 1965 electrifying production of Puccini's Tosca at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, which was to be her last operatic appearance. He says of La Callas: "Her voice was either going to be perfect or nothing." It was always perfect. Perfection was her art. Perfection was her legacy. What more perfect a legacy can there be!
