Valkyrie of Milan

Musicians great & small, obscure impresarios, shabby maestros, raffish editors, theatrical agents, garrulous critics: these compose a group which congregates in the Caffe Biffi in the great Galleria (Arcade) Vittorio Emanuele near Milan's La Scala Opera. Drinking vermouth con seltz by the hour, the clique finds much to gossip about. In July 1930, its conversation might have run like this: "So! So! A woman in La Scala. . . . Our Colombo, per l'amor di dio, our dove! What will become of the opera, with her in charge? That professoressa? Shocking!''

The Galleria watched La Scala under a woman's direction for more than a year. Some finally lent grudging approval. But most did not. Jealously they were satisfied last week, for Anita Colombo, first female director of the old opera, had resigned. The dove was going to fly away.

Anita Colombo is everything that a Latin feels a woman should not be. Instead of being a voluptuous ornament to couch and fireside, mother of many, she is a spinster, an energetic, athletic, "emancipated" woman. Half-German, Jewish, she has a mop of un-waved blonde hair, a keen, sculptured face which powder & lipstick never have touched. Born in Milan some 35 years ago, she wanted first to be a tomboy. When Italy entered the World War she hurried off to the front, did Red Cross work, behaved (for a woman) preposterously: for gallant conduct she won the Bronze Medal and the Red Cross Medal of Italy, the War Medal and the Allied Armies Medal. Soon they called her "La Walkiria"--the "Bruennhilde of Milan."

Previously she had studied violin in Milan, secured a small job at La Scala. In 1915 she became associated with Maestro Arturo Toscanini. helped him organize an opera season in Milan. Five years later she became his secretary. Tactful, efficient, she was useful in coping with his famed tantrums, in keeping people out of his way when necessary. But many were not yet ready to take her seriously. It is told how the conductor Antonio Guarnieri once met her on his way to the Maestro's office. Said she: "I am Signorina Colombo. What can I do for you?" Said Maestro Guarnieri curtly: "Run and get me a box of matches."

By 1929, friction between Toscanini and il Fascismo was too much to be borne. He resigned as director of La Scala. But the blonde Valkyrie carried on, under Director Angelo Scandiani. When he became ill, she substituted ably. Then in June 1930, Director Scandiani died. The Government had suspended La Scala's "Autonomous Corporation," appointed wealthy Senatore Borletti to be Royal Commissioner (dictator) of the opera. Under the supervision of Benito Mussolini, he was empowered to select a new director. He picked Signorina Colombo. The Press raged. People held mass-meetings. A woman? It was unthinkable. But someone sagely pointed out that Miss Colombo's most useful qualities--energy, firmness, business sense--seemed to be Teutonic in origin, were not likely to be imitated by Italian ladies. This mollified a few critics.

Director Colombo sailed breezily into La Scala, redecorated its ancient, slightly camphor-smelling interior, ripped bizarre doodads from its many-tiered boxes, most of which had been owned by Milanese aristocrats and decorated to suit themselves. She announced new operas and ballets which had not been performed in years. Though La Scala had grown used to big deficits, she planned a policy of retrenchment, an exchange of expensive artists and scenery with other Italian opera houses. She took members of the company on a highly successful summer tour of Germany and Austria. She had also arranged for Maestro Toscanini and the New York Philharmonic-Symphony their brilliant European tour of 1930 (TIME, May 5, 1930, et seq.).

But there were always critics. They said La Scala was still not modern enough; that La Walkiria chose conductors and singers temperamentally unfitted for the operas performed; that there were too many cheap Aida's and Cavalleria's on the bills; that La Scala was still losing money. Director Colombo insisted it was not. But last May there came word of a new regime; there would be a board of eleven, an executive committee of three, a chairman appointed by Dictator Mussolini himself. Whether Director Colombo would keep her job was not known until she resigned last week. Then the antifeminists said, "I told you so." But others shrugged, pointed out that she was still a friend of Anti-Fascist Toscanini, that il Fascismo was merely taking over the opera -- definitely this time. Perhaps Milan's Bruennhilde would now rush off to a new Valhalla; the U. S., where Valkyrie maidens are more appreciated?

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