Maria Callas: The Woman Behind the Legend (62 page)

“What happens now?” asked Princess Grace of Peter Diamand.

“I don’t know.”

As the congregation forlornly began to disperse, the cortege, followed by the two official cars, started toward the cemetery of Père Lachaise. Only Bruna, unable to cope with more social mourning, had left the party for the emptiness of Georges Mandel, there to grieve alone.

In an enormous, high-ceilinged, freezing hall like a concrete Valhalla, they waited. Forty-five long minutes passed until at last someone appeared to lead them through long corridors to a cellar; there, two men in blue overalls were waiting with a trolley between them, and on the trolley a casket not much bigger than a cigar box, containing the earthly remains of Maria Callas. From the cellar the procession of the sister, the butler, the cook, the agent, the friend and the representatives of the music and film industries moved on along more seemingly endless corridors to where the boxes were stacked row upon row. The procession stopped. Maria Callas: 1923–1977: Number 16258.

The tributes had been pouring in for days: “The greatest musical performer of our time,” said Lord Harewood in London; “We will not see her like again,” Rudolf Bing announced from New York; “Goddesses do not die,” declared Rolf Liebermann, the director of L’Opéra, in Paris. Around the world, radio and television programs were honoring her, and concerts, galas and discussion evenings on her art were dedicated to her memory.

On September 16, 1978, the first anniversary of her death, a marble plaque with gold lettering went up outside 36 Avenue Georges Mandel:

Ici est décédée
Maria Callas
Le 16 Septembre 1977

Meanwhile the ex-husband and the mother had taken up their positions: the battle for Maria’s fortune, estimated at $12 million plus future record royalties, had begun. Meneghini unearthed a will made by Maria in 1954 leaving everything to him. As she had left no other will to supersede this one, he claimed that he was the sole beneficiary of her last testament, and a month after the funeral, on his application, the Georges Mandel apartment was sealed by legal order. At the same time in Paris, her sister was lodging a counterclaim on behalf of the family. It was the last link in the chain of Maria’s legal entanglements, although this time, it is true, she was responsible only by omission. Her failure to leave a will expressing her real wishes had led to an irony even greater than all the ironies and paradoxes of a life full of them: the two people for whom she had nothing but bitter words, and to whom she would have least liked to leave anything at all, were both now posing as the sole rightful heir.

Mercifully they both quickly realized that if they fought it out in court, the slenderness of their emotional claim to Maria’s fortune would have been made embarrassingly clear. An agreement was reached, the case was settled out of court, and the estate was divided between the two octogenarians. “I don’t want the money for myself but to make her known all over the world,” announced Meneghini, blatantly oblivious to the absurdity of wanting to make well known one of the most celebrated people on earth. The mother, more sensibly, refrained from announcing to the world how she proposed to dispose of the millions that suddenly belonged to her, although she assured me in Athens that she would give some of it away to provide dowries for a couple of poor Greek girls. Bruna and Ferruccio were taken care of before the estate was split, and once Georges Mandel was sold, Bruna left Paris for her village in Italy and Ferruccio to work for Christina Onassis.

On June 14, 1978, in a large, crowded room at the George V in Paris, the contents of the Georges Mandel apartment were put up for auction. While the room was being prepared for the sale, it seems a tall pair of doors opening onto a hallway suddenly flew open with such force that a commode was overturned, the porcelain on it broken, and a painting dashed to the floor; yet it was one of those still, Parisian summer days with no breeze at all. And even more unaccountably (according to John Ardoin who was present at the auction), as the bidding began, one of the first lots, a mirrored tray, was being held up for inspection when there was a crack like a rifle shot, and the glass split and fell to the ground. After an initial gasp of awe, the people in the room were frozen in silence, as if they half expected Maria herself to make a dramatic and furious entrance.

In the front row, a robust, white-haired man was bidding furiously. “I came here to save my memories,” Meneghini announced to the press. And he did buy back many of them, from a jade pendant he had given Maria to the eighteenth-century marital bed on which she had died. An admirer who could not afford Maria’s Steinway bought the piano stool, while those who could not afford any of the paintings, carpets, pieces of furniture or
objets d’art
, returned a few days later to bid for the washing machine, one of the three vacuum cleaners, or at least a saucepan that “belonged, you know, to Maria Callas.”

On the day after the first Christmas following Maria’s death, somebody had tried to forge a particularly morbid link with her by stealing her ashes from Père Lachaise. It was a short-lived link; hours later they were discovered in a remote part of the cemetery, but not before Evangelia had accused her ex-son-in-law of stealing her daughter’s ashes.

“Even now that she is dead, Meneghini wants to hold on to my child,” she told the Greek press, “but Maria’s ashes belong to her homeland.”

In the spring of 1979, the ashes were taken to Greece, with full honors, and ceremonially scattered in the Aegean.

“How shall we bury you when it’s over?” they asked Socrates just before he died.

“Any way you like, if you can catch me.”

Maria’s ashes were lost in the sea she loved. She lives on, like every great spirit, forever eluding our grasp.

Acknowledgments

I
WAS IN
L
OS
A
NGELES WHEN
G
EORGE
Weidenfeld called me from London a few days after Maria Callas’ death to ask if I would be interested in writing her biography. It is hard to believe, now that Maria has become part of my life, but I would never have thought of writing this book had George not suggested it. For the suggestion and for the encouragement that followed I am deeply grateful to him.

The first few months of research were the hardest, and the help of Jeannie Chandris over this period was invaluable. Just down from Oxford, she threw herself into the job of research assistant with enthusiasm and dedication. She conducted the first exploratory interviews; she spent hours in newspaper libraries cataloging everything that had appeared in the press about Maria in the last thirty years; and, like the most accomplished sleuth, she put together a directory with the addresses and telephone numbers of hundreds of people around the world whose lives had touched on Maria’s. For all the work she did and for her unending support and humor I am deeply grateful to Jeannie.

The book, of course, could not have been undertaken at all without the help and cooperation of the many people who had been close to Maria at various points in her life; their names appear in the Source Notes, and I would like here to express my profound thanks to them.

The first draft was read by John Ardoin to whom I owe a special debt of thanks, not only for his suggestions and corrections, but for all his generous help and guidance throughout the writing and rewriting. The book was greatly enriched by Maria’s godfather, Dr. Lantzounis. Through our talks, his incisive comments on the first draft, and especially through all Maria’s letters and the many documents and photographs he made available to me, he provided some of the most intimate material on Maria’s life.

The second draft of the book was read by Peter Diamand, Anastasia Gratsos, Lord Harewood, Harold Rosenthal, Michael Scott, Sir John Tooley and Gaby and Teddy van Zuylen. I am very grateful to them for their comments and suggestions. I am also indebted to John van Eyssen who read the manuscript and made available to me the tapes of his interviews with many of Maria’s friends and colleagues recorded during the months when he was collecting material for the film on Maria’s life that he planned to produce with Zeffirelli.

Different sections of the book were also read by Sander Gorlinsky, Robert Sutherland, Nadia Stancioff and Sylvia Sass, who amplified what I had already written about the periods or incidents in Maria’s life in which they were closely involved. My profound thanks to them as well as to Alan Sievewright who gave me access to his substantial collection of Callas material, to Peter Andry who allowed me to see Maria’s correspondence with EMI, and to Mary Mead for sharing memories and ideas throughout the writing of the book.

Michael Sissons, my agent, gave me invaluable advice both when I started working on the book and after he had read the first draft. For everything he, Victoria Pryor and Pat Kavanagh did for the book I will always be grateful. My deep thanks also go to Alex McCormick, my editor in London, as well as to Chris Warwick and Miranda Ferguson. Fred Hills, my editor in New York, is to a large extent responsible for the final shape of the book. He is the kind of editor writers dream about but rarely hope to find in the pressured world of modern publishing. No detail was too insignificant for his time and attention, and I am deeply grateful for his commitment to the book and his sustained editorial creativity. My warm thanks go also to his assistant, Martha Cochrane, for her considerable work on the manuscript, and to Vincent Virga for his imaginative editing of the picture section, as well as for his advice on many aspects of the book itself.

The long months of research, writing and rewriting put much strain on my friends’ love and understanding: Jane Brewster read, and often reread, every draft of the book, spotted mistakes, made suggestions, found books and press clippings, and worked with me through her pregnancy and even on the morning of the day she was admitted to the hospital to give birth to Lily. To her and to Lily, for so patiently waiting until the book was ready for the printers before demanding to be born, go my deepest, loving thanks. Helena Matheopoulos, right from the beginning, steered people and new material my way; Iain Johnstone and Peter Ferguson arranged for me to see the BBC videotapes on Maria; Howard Grossman in New York was always willing to do whatever needed to be done on that side of the Atlantic, whether finding a book out of print, checking records at City Hall or rechecking facts with people I had interviewed. Elizabeth Baekeland, Richard Blackford, Dimitri Coromilas, Barbara Comerford, Halina Szpiro and Warwick Wynschenk checked drafts at various stages when time was short and all help was needed. I am grateful to them all, as well as to Gwen Margrie, who typed the first draft, and to Angela Sen who typed and retyped whole chapters and passages she must now know by heart. I wrote a substantial part of the book in Spain at the home of Fleur Cowles and Tom Meyer. I want to thank them both for their hospitality and for their understanding when I would disappear for long hours under what will forever be known as the Maria Callas tree.

My father provided the Greek connection from the beginning, sending me clippings from the Greek press and staying in touch with Maria’s family and friends in Athens; from my mother I received not only constant support but many invaluable insights through our talks about Maria that often extended long into the night; and my sister Agapi was a continuous source of encouragement and enthusiasm.

The book is dedicated to Bernard Levin. Without his unfailing support and understanding and without the long hours he spent reading, criticizing and improving, I wonder sometimes whether there would be a book at all. The dedication is only a small token of my loving gratitude.

Source Notes

M
Y INITIAL RESEARCH INCLUDED ALL
the existing literature on Maria Callas—the books (in many languages), reviews, profiles and published interviews. During the course of writing the manuscript, I availed myself of new books as they appeared.

In the notes that follow, I cite both these published sources and information derived from personal interviews, private conversations, tape recordings and my own correspondence, as well as the letters of Maria Callas to her godfather, her mother and friends.

John Ardoin and Gerald Fitzgerald,
Callas
(London: Thames and Hudson, 1974; New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1974).

Evangelia Callas,
My Daughter, Maria Callas
(New York: Fleet Publishing Corp., (1960).

Camilla Cederna,
Chi e Maria Callas?
(Milan: Longanesi and Co., 1968).

Stelios Galatopoulos,
Callas: La Divina
(Elmsford, N.Y.: London House and Maxwell, 1970).

Eugenio Gara,
Die Grossen Interpreten: Maria Callas
(Frankfurt/Main: Wilhelm Limpert-Verlag, 1959).

Denis Goise,
Maria Callas, la diva, scandale
(Paris: Editions Guy Authier, 1978).

George Jellinek,
Callas, Portrait of a Prima Donna
(London: Anthony Gibbs and Phillips, 1961).

Jacques Lorcey,
Maria Callas
(Paris: Collection Têtes d’Affiche, 1977).

Pierre-Jean Remy,
Maria Callas, A Tribute
(London: Macdonald and Jane’s, 1978) .

Serge Segalini,
Images d’une voix
(Paris: Editions Francis Van de Welde, 1979).

Giovanna Tortora e Paolo Barbieri,
Per Maria Callas
(Bologna: Edizioni Recitar Cantando, 1979).

Henry Wisneski,
Maria Callas, The Art Behind the Legend
(New York: Doubleday, 1975).

John Ardoin,
Callas Legacy
(London: Duckworth, 1977). This is not only the definitive book on Maria Callas as an artist, but also a remarkable labor of dedication, scholarship and understanding.

CHAPTER 1

Most of this chapter is based on my talks with Maria’s mother, Evangelia Kalogeropoulos, in Athens and with Maria’s godfather, Dr. Leonidas Lantzounis, in New York. My talks and correspondence with Nadia Stancioff, Mary Mead and Anastasia Gratsos, to whom Maria had talked at length about her childhood, filled in many of the gaps.