A tale as old as time: the sweetheart of the stage hounded by scandal and divorce, her lovely voice and tender eyes made sad by the cheap sleaze of her life behind the scenes. Her husband was a lout and an abuser; she was an adulteress. That’s what the press said, at least, and worse besides. In the midst of all this she was scheduled to premiere a new release by a celebrity composer. Dublin. A packed house. An indrawn breath.
And the fallen woman sang.
It transformed her. No one could deny it, not even the nastiest of her detractors. It’s said that the chancellor of St. Patrick’s Cathedral sprang up in the middle of the performance and shouted, “Woman! Thy sins be forgiven thee!” That’s what the music did. That’s what it can still do.