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Wearing a simple tailored blouse, she looks more like a young girl, just home from school, than a world-famous prima donna of opera, concert, radio and movies.
With her musical director, Andre Kostelanetz, conductor of the Chesterfield program, Lily made her first air voyage recently, from Grand Rapids to New York.
BE THE FOOD OF LOVE-"
romance of slim, small, wistful-eyed Lily Pons
Between them they arrange Lily's life with stern exactitude. She must study. She must practise. She must go to Hollywood to make a movie. She must make concert tours to the far ends of the earth. She must sing throughout the opera season at the Metropolitan, in New York. She must fulfill radio engagements.
And, to complicate matters further, the object of her affection-s also is a talented young musician, with a similarly demanding career.
As long ago as last fall, rumors were rife that romance had entered Lily Pons' life in the person of the gifted Andre Kostelanetz, composer and conductor of the Chesterfield radio program. But when I asked her about it then, she answered with convincing frankness :
"Where is there any time for marriage?"
But, granting an ardent suitor and, moreover, one whose life follows a pattern similar to her own, whose devotion to music equals hers, whose special musical gifts supplement her own — I wondered if she still would give me the same answer now.
Radio columnists have proclaimed that Lily Pons and Andre Kostelanetz are married Had romance, I wondered, found at last its starry hours? Would she, I wondered, tell me about it ?
We sat now in the lovely studio of her hilltop home in Silvermine, Connecticut. In a tailored blouse, with a blue scarf knotted about her neck, gray flannel slacks and
diminutive gray brogues and short white socks, Lily Pons looked more like a young schoolgirl, home on vacation, than a world-famous prima donna.
The room was two stories high. Across one end hung a balcony of ancient whitewashed beams. Between the wide rails Panouche, the terrier, thrust his shaggy head and gazed curiously down upon us.
"Come — come — cotne — come!" trilled Lily.
And sol)erly Panouche descended the winding stair. He came up to inspect me. Apparently he found me satisfactory, assured by mystic signs known only to dogdom, that 1. too, possessed a dog.
"I have a friend who has a beautiful lady Skye," said Lily. "So, next week. Panouche will be married!"
"And how about your marriage?" I ventured. "The papers are making considerable talk of it. . ."
Her dark eyes shadowed. "The papers ! They ask me what I do not know myself! I tell them I do not know — and they print what they want to, anyway." She shrugged expressively.
"Always they want to talk about the intimate, the personal things. . . Because I am a singer, they do not want me to have any private life. • . I nmst keep nothing to myself. . . I do not like it!"
I understand her feeling. I agree with her' that it is more than unkind, this j>eeping and prying into the lives of those who give so freely of themselves for our entertainment and pleasure. It is a (Continued on page 68)
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