Poor Butterfly Read Online Free PDF

what?” asked the old man.
    “Creative flexibility.”
    With that Stokowski turned to us and looked at me. He was about three inches taller than me. He held out his hand and I took it. His grip was a lot firmer than Lundeen’s. He waved for us to follow him as he left the podium and moved back toward the stage. The orchestra launched into a mess of sound.
    “Opera is not my forte,” Stokowski said loudly. “Nor is ballet or oratorio, though I have conducted them all. I have done them. My Parsifal was more than competent. It has been said that my Wozzeck was a triumph. What did Deems Taylor say of my Wozzeck? ”
    “He said it was a triumph of your career,” Lundeen supplied cheerfully over the instruments as we reached the stage.
    “Normally, I leave opera to Toscanini, and I hope that Toscanini will leave the symphony to me,” Stokowski said, looking into the darkness at the rear of the theater as if expecting Toscanini himself to appear suddenly. “Are you familiar with my work, Mr. Peters?”
    “I saw 100 Men and a Girl once and Fantasia twice,” I said. “Once with my nephews Nat and Dave. Nat liked the dinosaurs. The other time was with Carmen the cashier from Levy’s Deli in Los Angeles. She liked the dancing hippos.”
    Stokowski smiled.
    “Stravinsky lends himself to extravagance. Do you know why you are here, Mr. Peters?” he asked. “Did Giancarlo tell you?”
    “I thought you should do that, Maestro,” Lundeen said nervously.
    “Good,” said Stokowski. “We’ll talk on the way to my car. I’m expected at the presentation of the Congressional Medal of Honor this morning on the cruiser San Francisco to a young naval commander named McCandless, who is credited with taking over the task force during the Battle of Savo Island last month after his commander and his captain were killed and he himself injured. Commander McCandless, I understand, is thirty-one years old. Now if we add a waiting girl, we have the material for a modern patriotic opera. The car is waiting, Giancarlo?”
    “I’ll …” Lundeen stood up.
    “Big black limo with teeth,” I said. “It’s waiting.”
    Stokowski strode to the end of the stage and went down the steps. We followed him and I wondered what the hell we had gone up onto the stage for.
    “You come recommended by a mutual friend,” Stokowski said as he walked up the aisle and out the door into the corridor. “Basil Rathborie. He and I recently did Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf with the All-American Orchestra for Columbia Records. Basil said you could be trusted.”
    Stokowski walked briskly. I kept up. Lundeen had to work at it.
    “The situation is this,” he said. “Assuming this building can be made presentable, an opening performance of Madame Butterfly will take place in two days. I am skeptical. The young lady you saw me talking to, Vera …”
    “… Tenatti,” Lundeen panted.
    “… will make her debut,” said Stokowski. “Giancarlo and his board wanted Bidu Sayao, but she is doing another Puccini, Manon , at the Metropolitan in New York. This girl is passable. Promising. I will conduct on opening night only. I must get back to New York. I have a contract with NBC, but I have agreed to lend my support, advice, and name to this project In exchange for this support, Giancarlo has graciously agreed not only to pay me a reasonable fee but to donate 50 percent of all profits during his first season to relief for refugee children in my name.”
    We were at the front door. Lundeen moved ahead of us to open it Sunlight blinded us. I was looking at Stokowski. He didn’t blink.
    “Sounds great” I said. “And you want me to play Pinkerton?”
    Stokowski laughed.
    “You are already playing a Pinkerton and we have an operatic Pinkerton,” he said. “A tenor named …”
    “… Passacaglia,” Lundeen supplied.
    “Tenors exist to be killed at the end of Act Two,” sighed Stokowski. “In any case, he has done the role many times. He fancies