One Chance (18 page)

Authors: Paul Potts

With Julz by my side, I worked hard to prepare to sing in front of Pavarotti. The day of the master class came very quickly. I had practised a number of arias, but the one I really wanted to sing was “Che Gelida Manina” from
La BohÃ¨me
. It was my favourite, and the words, which I had first translated the previous year, made me melt:

Two thieves: beautiful eyes, have stolen all my treasure. They entered with you just now, and now all my dreams are second hand. But the theft doesn't bother me, because here in this room with you I find hope.

Carlo, the
rÃ©pÃ©titeur
, told me that “Che Gelida Manina” was a risky choice as Rodolfo was the role Pavarotti had performed most, so he would know it like the back of his hand. I was insistent, however, that it was the aria I wanted to do. I knew it was a risk, but sing it I would.

The master class was originally to have taken place at the opera house in Longiano, where I had earlier done a concert. It was moved to the regular venue in San Leo, which I was a little disappointed about, as I thought the acoustics in the small opera house in Longiano were perfect. It was a thrill to see Pavarotti in
person; he was a warm and kindly presence, and took his seat in the auditorium to hear us sing.

I watched the other singers perform as Pavarotti listened and gave out a few pieces of advice. By the time it was my turn, I was very nervous. Julz had been there the whole time, holding my hand while I waited to sing, and I could feel she was shaking every bit as much as I was. Here I was, about to perform in front of the most well-known tenor in the world. What would he think of my singing? Would he like it? I really hoped so. He had a surprisingly soft and gentle voice. He seemed relaxed and to enjoy being there.

Despite the situation, my singing started confidently enough and I found myself getting into the performance. Then I found myself coming to the most challenging part of the piece, where the high C arrives. Because of my nerves, I didn't take a breath where I normally did. Although I sang the high C fairly well, I only barely made it to the end of the phrase. I finished, and waited to hear what Pavarotti had to say. To my delight, he was smiling.

“Very good,” he said, in English. “I liked it. Just one thing, though. Rodolfo wouldn't have run out of breath there. He would have been feeling breathless because he'd have wanted to put his arms around Mimi; he would certainly be breathless at the end.”

Then he asked, “What else do you sing?”

“âNessun Dorma,'” I replied. This made Pavarotti raise his eyebrows and smile some more. I listed some of the arias I sang. “âIo Lo Vido.' âE Lucevan le Stelle . . .'”

“Ah,” Pavarotti interrupted. “Sing me âE Lucevan le Stelle.'”

I felt privileged, because I was the only person whom he had asked to sing twice. I sang “E Lucevan le Stelle” from
Tosca
,
and once again Pavarotti was full of praise for my performance. I was delighted. At the end of the class a group photo was taken with Pavarotti, but being fairly short and not very pushy, I can't be seen in the picture at all. It didn't matterâmy memories of what he said to me about my singing were enough. The evening had flown by, and after a great dinner in one of the small trattorias in the middle of nowhere, it was time, all too soon, to help Julz pack. She was going home the next day.

The rest of the course went past in something of a blurâwe did a master class with Katia Ricciarelli, who was very complimentary about my voice. (Apparently Katia did not get on with Pavarotti, and we were told not to mention anything he'd said!) I also performed at another concert in San Leo, singing the finale of
Don Carlo
in Italian and a large part of the first act of
La BohÃ¨me
. Before I knew it, it was time to head homeâand back to Julz.

The date I was flying home was 11 September 2001. Julz came to meet me at the airport. She'd taken the coach, as she didn't fancy driving into the London area, and had parked her car in Bridgend, at the shopping outlet. As we picked the car up and drove through the Maesteg valley, we listened to the radio in disbelief. The news had broken that a plane had hit the twin towers in New York. We sat in the car in stunned silence. Was it an accident? If not, why would anyone do such a thing? It didn't bear thinking about.

When we got back to Julz's parents in the village of Bryn on the outskirts of Port Talbot, the day's events were unfolding on the television screen. We watched footage of the planes striking
the towers and then saw the shocking sight of the buildings collapsing. The people in those buildings had left home that morning expecting it to be a normal day, and now their loved ones would never see them again. It really brought home to us the fragility of life and how quickly things could change.