Vincenzo Bellini's 1831 opera Norma is one of the Matterhorns of the repertory for sopranos. Many of the world's finest singers have come to grief on its melodic precipices because they lacked the bel canto technique, emotional projection, and soaringly powerful voice that the title role requires. The 19th century Soprano Lilli Lehmann said it was easier to sing three Brünnhildes than one Norma, and the great French Prima Donna Pauline Viardot was so obsessed with the difficulties of the part that the last word she spoke on her deathbed was "Norma." Maria Callas has scaled the role, though rarely without lapses along the way, and often with a sense of straining bravely beyond her vocal limits.
Yet last week in Manhattan's Carnegie Hall, 24-year-old Greek Soprano Elena Suliotis went about rehearsing a concert version of Norma with the American Opera Society as if she had never heard any of this. Her attitude: "What is there to be afraid of?" She soon found out. When the lights went up for the intermission, the audience discovered in its midst not only a daunting array of singers from the past but also the diva of divas, Callas, enthroned in a corner box. Immediately the entire house turned in claque-like obeisance to Callas; galvanized by her magnetic presence, they applauded and cheered as she blew kisses and tossed them the roses that lined the tier. Then she went backstage to greet her compatriot with "Brava! Brava! Brava!" But now she had created a supercharged atmosphere that was as much of a challenge to Suliotis as the opera itself.
Till then, Suliotis' performance had been uneven: ravishing in some spots, somewhat ravaging in others. As the second act got under way, her vocal lines became tangled with Soprano Nancy Tatum's in a tricky cabaletta, Si, fino all'ore, estreme; she reached for a high C, missed, and hid her face behind her arm in chagrin. A sour chorus of boos accompanied her exit. Suddenly, in the middle of the act, the lights went up again and the orchestra filed offstage, leaving the audience murmuring in confusion. Suliotis had asked for an unscheduled intermission in order to pull herself together—and let the audience cool down a bit. It must have worked. She returned—eyes flashing, pacing the stage like a tigress—and finished the act with a fiery, rafter-ringing performance.
Her recovery showed that Suliotis has the temperament of a true diva. She has the vocal equipment too—power, range, a rich, natural voice and a keen instinct for drama—but at this stage of her career it is marred by an occasional lack of control, exaggerated effects and some forcing at both extremes of her range. Also, she may be gambling with her voice's future by singing taxing roles at such an early age. Still, such all-or-nothing assaults on the heights are in the spirit of Callas' own career, and the older soprano may have been acknowledging the kinship when she tried to quiet the boos at Carnegie Hall by shouting the Greek word for "good": "Kalla! Kalla! Kalla!"