Lucilla Udovich, my Roman Diva

In 1982 John and I decided to take a sabbatical from teaching. That is, he took a sabbatical from Harvard and I stopped teaching for three months, which is not quite the same thing.

We spent most of two months exploring the Iberian Peninsula at a time when it was still like stepping back into history.


After a brief foray into Provence with a friend, we returned to Barcelona with no definite plans in mind. A travel agent across the street from our hotel, the Astoria, was advertising a very reasonable ten-day trip to Rome. We had been to Rome several times but thought, 'Why not?'

A dear friend and student of mine, a Sister of St. Joseph from Milton, had told us that if we got to Rome we simply MUST look up her friend Lucille Udovich, an opera singer she had met some years before when she was studying in Italy.


Looking up friends of friends has never been a hobby of mine, but after a week in Rome, with sore feet from too much walking, and only one pair of shoes between the two of us that were comfortable (we wore them on alternate days) we called this opera singer friend of my student.

She issued a very cordial invitation to come out to her apartment on the outskirts of Rome for the afternoon. We took a bus that left from the Vatican and went out to her suburb, a very lovely garden area on the edge of Rome.

My student had told me that Lucille's career had been halted because of back problems she had encountered. After having sung in major opera houses all over Europe, her back problems were severe enough that she could no longer stand to sing comfortably and had had to retire.

We entered the lovely garden area that surrounded her apartment building and saw, waving from a balcony, our Diva. She waved for us to come up in the elevator to her second floor apartment that she shared with her sister, Ann.


She met us at the elevator door on her walker. Her back problems had reached the point where she needed this support to get around.

She was most cordial and fixed cool drinks for us right away. As we chatted, we began to learn her story: how she had come to New York from California in the late forties, been cast in the Rogers and Hammerstein Allegro, went on to be cast in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes with Carol Channing (which we had actually seen) and eventually had come to Milano to study with some Maestro or other. On a train going to Rome, she had been talking with another singer who urged her to sing for Beniamino Gigli, the great tenor. Upon hearing her sing, he said, 'I'm taking you on my concert tour of Italy as my guest artist'. And her career was launched.

For years she sang major roles in the principle opera houses of Italy: Tosca, Turandot, Aida. She had a magnificent dramatic soprano voice. Her video of Turandot  with Franco Corelli is the best singing of that role I have ever heard, bar none! And I've heard Sutherland sing it and lots of other fine sopranos. Lucilla, as the Italians called her, is the greatest by far. Even in the filming of this opera, one can notice that in the inquisition scene, she sits for a part of the questioning. Her back was already giving her problems.


After chatting for a while, John asked her if she would sing for us.  She demurred, saying, 'Let me see'. After a bit, when he asked again, she said if we would help her get set up she would sing. We got her music stand ready and she found the songs and arias she wanted to sing, and for two hours of bliss, I played the piano and she sang! Everything. Sibelius songs, operatic arias- it was wonderful. Her luscious voice embracing these melodies, sitting, singing at a music stand, was an experience I shall never forget.


When we finished with the singing, I said to her, 'Lucille, you must sing in public.' She said, 'How can I? I can't stand that long.' And I said,'Then sing sitting down!


At that point we made plans for her to come back to America and sing 'sitting down'. We did a number of concerts on the East Coast. In each case the stage was arranged with a 'Throne' for her to sit on while she sang. The curtain would be closed at the beginning. As the lights came on and the curtain parted, Lucille was found seated on her Throne in a gorgeous gown and I was already seated at the piano. The concerts were wonderful. One of the great moments in my professional life.


She also gave Master Classes for my students in New Jersey and at Harvard that were amazing.


This wonderful woman died a few years ago. We kept in touch with her lovely sister Annie. When we were in Rome at a later time we took Annie to dinner at a place that was a favorite for all of us, Scolio di Frisio. Annie and Lucille used to live across the street from this restaurant and Lucille would sometimes sing there, displacing the typical Italian tenor who usually sang there. We wanted to treat Annie to a lovely dinner and ordered everything on the menu.


At the end of the meal, which went on for several hours, I summoned the waiter for il conto. He whispered something in Annie's ear and departed. They would not take any money for our evening. The son of the original owner then came by the table and we all wept about Lucille's passing and had our pictures taken together. It was a lovely end to a beautiful friendship.


Annie kept in touch for years after Lucille died and passed away herself just two years ago.

This is the true meaning of serendipity. A chance meeting, a long-lasting musical and emotional relationship with a great person.