There were plenty of real dogs in Ponselle’s life. So, reluctantly, the singer presented him to the Bronx Zoo, where he soon died-perhaps a victim of the inferior cuisine.Ĭourtesy Lester Dequaine Collection on Rosa Ponselle, Arthur Friedheim Library, Peabody Institute of the Johns Hopkins University. But with his added girth, he was starting to act more-well, more foxy. Treated to a diet of gourmet food, the cub ate as well as his mistress did. She subsequently asked Puccini if she could adopt said fox, and Puccini answered the fox was not his, but God’s.Īnd so the “police dog,” which the soprano named Gioconda after one of her favorite roles, traveled across the ocean and took up residence in Ponselle’s elegant apartment. That might not have bothered Puccini, because he was an avid hunter, but you didn’t kill any living being in front of Rosa Ponselle.

Assuming that the mother was dead or had abandoned the cub, they were preparing to kill the fox. The gardeners, who told her that a fox cub had been found on the grounds, joined Ponselle. He was clearly ailing, so he excused himself to take a nap. Ponselle had been visiting the composer Giacomo Puccini at his home in Viareggio. The fur piece that Ponselle carried onto the ship was Italian, but it was neither dog nor stole. The agent allowed her onto the ship, probably having no idea that she was Rosa Ponselle, the dramatic soprano who was the pride of the Metropolitan Opera as one of its first native-born singers to achieve great renown. “Oh, it’s an Italian police dog,” the woman replied nonchalantly. But was he dreaming, or was the head moving? “What is that?” asked the agent, suspicious. Wrapped around her shoulder was what appeared to be a fur stole, embellished with an animal’s head (a rather gruesome accoutrement popular in the early 1900s). An imposing, dark-haired woman with large brown eyes was preparing to board a ship for a voyage to the United States. The customs agent stationed on the wharf wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing.

Puccini opera songs