I first met Lauri-Volpi in Rome, but started singing with him later, in Monte Carlo. Having just finished one exhausting tour, I suddenly knew that my impresario had made an agreement, according to which I would have to perform in the capital of Monaco during several forthcoming months. Thus, no sooner had I settled down comfortably in a hotel room in Paris, than I had to leave it and depart for Monte Carlo. Two days later there, the rehearsals started. By that time I had already had occasion to perform in Monte Carlo, that's why I was more excited by the great names of my future stage partners, than by that adventurous climate of the city. Talking about my excitement relative to my partners, first of all it concerned Giacomo Lauri-Volpi. People told about him a number of curious and piquant stories, but at the same time they bowed before this singer's mastery and his legendary E of the third octave – a note, which even a coloratura singer dreams about, not to mention a tenor!

 Ilka Popova

Monte Carlo has been kept in my memory as a city of pompous and famous citizens and guests, including families of millionaires, counts, lords and barons, the majority of which were possessors of forged titles and imitation jewelry. For me Monte Carlo has always been a city of aphrodisiacal metresses and luxurious hotels with silent and ready-to-fulfil-any-of-your-wishes servants, a city of bars, exotic female dancers, appetizing menus and expensive evening dresses. I have always regarded Monte Carlo as a modern Babylon, a fair of talents, of glory and money – real or fake. I have always considered this city to be a sort of a mysterious magnet, that late in the evening would easily devastate the lining of fat wallets, the owners of which didn't even have time to realize when and how it had happened. People, that not long ago regarded themselves as rich men and hoped to enlarge their savings, filling pockets with money at the expense of a casino, shortly afterwards found themselves atop of the cliff of death. It was a place, where unlucky visitors of numerous "dens of iniquity" of that strange city usually committed suicide, having been reduced to the depths of despair.

The Operatic Theatre of the tiny princedom of Monaco possesses a small, but very attractive building, in terms of architecture. This theatre distinguishes itself by its excellent acoustics and a spacious stage. Ticket prices have always been here terribly high. And it's natural, since performances with participations by such singers as Giacomo Lauri-Volpi, Beniamino Gigli, Aureliano Pertile and Fedor Chaliapin used to be given, taking into consideration the audience, possessing solid means. As for common people, they couldn't even afford to dream about attending on such a performance. Operatic spectacles usually played here a role of an overture, giving a certain sign to people that the city had just begun its ebullient night life, offering different amusements of its famous casino and various entertaining places.

The impresario and the head of the Operatic Theatre in Monte Carlo, a witty and very talented man, was then an old bachelor, Raoul Gunsbourg. He ordered to lodge all the soloists at the same hotel, the "Du Paris", the most luxurious one I have ever stayed at: fantastic magnificence of inner decoration, cut-glass ware and silver, noiseless, courteous and, it would seem, fleshless maids, comfortable and spacious rooms. Famous political figures and businessmen could get here huge multi-room apartments. This, of the richest hotels, had even a specially constructed escalator, with the help of which the hotel's lodgers could get to the foyer of the Operatic Theatre at any moment. Thanks to it, ladies' evening dresses always remained blamelessly clean and thus, there was no need for using a cloak-room – neither street noise nor dust could trouble anyone. The hotel "Du Paris" had its own unbreakable traditions: only notable persones could stay there, whose names were highly influential in the financial, political and artistic world. Exactly this fact explained that peculiar promptness of servants and the management of the hotel. I arrived at the hotel rather late and soon after made myself comfortable in a room. Little time passed and somebody knocked at the door. Deciding that it was a chambermaid, I invited her to come in. To my great amazement, there stood on the threshold Giacomo Lauri-Volpi and his wife Maria Ros. I had made the acquaintance of the tenor and his family in Rome and even twice by that time had been their guest. But for all that, I hardly could call my acquaintance with the Lauri-Volpis a close one. I invited them to come in and sit down, then I asked Giacomo about rehearsals, as we were going to sing together in the same performance. Saying, that he was happy to have in "Il Trovatore" such a mother as I, Lauri-Volpi took out of his pocket a letter, on the envelope of which I saw my name, written in capital letters. An old acquaintance of the tenor and my close friend, the leading bass of the Roman Opera, Felipe Romito, sent me in such a way his long and warm message. The Lauri-Volpis, being people of tact, excused themselves for the trouble and went out, having gotten my consent to have supper together.

Lauri-Volpi hadn't changed at all from the moment we first met in Rome. Tall, slim, without those usual tenor "paunch" and double chin, broad-shouldered and muscular – he looked rather like a baritone, than an ordinary Italian "nice fellow-tenor". His hair, thick and dark, was well groomed. He used to dress with some elegant negligence. It was quite easy to notice that he was much more worried about keeping that famous E of the third octave, than about his outward appearance, his costume etc. A cheerful and nice man, Giacomo looked like a poor actor, who, with aristocracy given by nature, played the part of a millionaire. He was a typical Italian with vividly expressed and his own peculiar charm.

I read the letter by Romito. The bass congratulated me with my successful tour in the Theatre "Colon" in Buenos Aires and recommended me not to be afraid of singing on stage with Lauri-Volpi. Romito also wrote to me about the arrival of an impresario, who was ready to engage me for performances in a new tour of South-America. Having put on an evening dress, I passed to a salon. Here Gunsbourg also showed all the wideness of his nature: throughout the whole season, opera soloists could broad at the main restaurant's hall at the expense of Gunsbourg. But not only artists would gather around long tables, abounded with different viands. Famous politicians, millionaires and numerous and mere adventurers, joined us with pleasure, to observe how well-known opera stars behaved in common life. Interesting conversations would start here, the latest gossip would be discussed, concerning the hotel's lodgers, the casino's habitues, the sensations and the scandals, which regularly took place in Monte Carlo. Gunsbourg introduced me to his colleagues and announced the time of a morning rehearsal. I sat down by Lauri-Volpi, his wife was sitting opposite to us. To the left of the tenor the famous singer Riggiani was having supper; she first made herself conspicuous due to her outstanding appetite and later – when we sang on one stage in "Il Trovatore" and "Aida" – thanks to her wonderful professional qualities. Having made himself comfortable, massive Petre Stefanescu-Goanga – a performer of the parts of the Count di Luna in "Il Trovatore" and of Rigoletto in the near forthcoming performances – was sitting solemnly in an armchair. The obesity of stout Petre was equal in its greatness to his witty, inventiveness and resourcefulness, which he showed either on the stage or in common life – at a friendly table or during a stroll. Lauri-Volpi's wife – an interesting short woman, rather of a type of Gypsy beauty than of a Spanish one – met me in a very friendly manner. She always pretended that she attentively listened to her interlocutors, but as a matter of fact she was in watchful tension, foreseeing any caprice or wish of her husband. Like a tender and careful mother, she permanently controlled all the movements, words and intentions of Giacomo, using a very well worked out system of gestures and looks, invisible to others.

It seemed, that it was she, who decided how her husband should spend his spare time and what exactly he should do then. It concerned absolutely everything, beginning with his food, conversations, strolls and finishing with his singing. An absolutely obvious fact was Maria's cordial dislike to all beautiful and interesting women. She was able to be light-hearted and carefree only towards one-hundred-kilo-sopranos, as for women with more or less attractive and vividly expressed appearance, she attentively watched the behaviour of each and one of them. As Maria was a woman of jealous nature, the spouses seldom ate at the common table. The famous tenor afforded expressive compliments, full of passion, to those present, not paying any attention to his vigilant guard. On such occasions he would rapidly forget the main topic of a conversation – the charm of a woman greatly roused his eloquence and Giacomo used to turn into a true poet. When at last he realized that his oratory had run away with him (Maria for sure helped him to come to such a conclusion), he again became withdrawn, polite and concentrated. His wife recommended not to notice it, as Lauri-Volpi, according to her words, was inclined to love affairs, while any flirtation could easily overbalance him, threatening loss of his famous high notes, forgetting a text and etc. These words by Maria – whether they were true or not – aroused a lot of curiosity among the female lodgers of the hotel, including millionaires and singers, or charming chamber-maids.

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