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In return, she coats him with 24-carat affection, holds hands with him on the street. "I know what people say," she says. "I don't care. I've been a good wife, and he's made me very happy. Even women with young husbands are less happy than I am."
To a world laboring under the impression that a prima donna must be corpulent to be operatic, Callas' sensational slimming has caused much shaking of heads and predictions of vocal perdition. But the newly glamorous Maria, thin, relaxed and even daring to taste the pleasures of the idle rich (she sang all night in a Vienna cafe last summer, for sheer pleasure), has lost not a decibel of power, a note of range, a mote of sweetness.
Soprano Callas has yet to face the ordeal of her Metropolitan debut next week. It is an ordeal that has yielded severe criticisms for such famed prima donnas as Melba. Sembrich, Nordica and Farrar, and conceivably could be a bitter experience for her as well. But Callas has faced bitter experiences before and triumphantly survived them. "People would like to see me flop, just once," she admits. "Well, I can't and I won't. I will never give any satisfaction to my enemies."