22 June—Dame Clara Butt belting out “The Lost Chord” in yesterday’s disquisition naturally brings to mind Florence Foster Jenkins, who died at 76 on 26 November 1944. Meryl Streep played her in a 2016 British biographical film.

Florence Foster Jenkins is a tragic figure. She’s regarded by many—with more than a little justification—as the world’s worst opera singer, (I’d call her a recitalist because she never actually performed in an opera.) Yet her fans included Gian Carlo Menotti, Lily Pons, and Sir Thomas Beecham. Moreover, Enrico Caruso, who also belted out “The Lost Chord” in yesterday’s disquisition, is said to have regarded her with respect and affection. And Cole Porter, who had to bang his cane into his foot in order not to laugh when she sang, is said to have only rarely missed one of her recitals, which were by invitation only.

Lady Florence, as she liked to be called, evidently was a competent pianist, but an arm injury ruled out a career tickling the ivories. So she took up torturing the ears. She exhibited absolutely nothing that could be considered vocal talent. Or anything like it. But people loved her performances.

It remains open to question whether Lady Flo knew how terrible she was or cared—or even realized—that people were laughing at her. “People may say I can’t sing,” she remarked to a friend, “but no one can ever say I didn’t sing.”

Just before turning 15 in 1883, Florence, a wealthy, attractive, nubile Pennsylvanian, had married a physician 16 years older than herself. Incredibly, the age of consent in the Keystone State at the time was ten. Within the year, young Florence learned that she had contracted syphilis from her husband, so she dumped the rotter.

It’s thought that some of Lady Florence’s vocal irregularities may be attributed to her untreated syphilis, which in its later stages causes progressive deterioration of the central nervous system. Nerve damage, hearing loss, and other toxic side effects of the disease were probably compounded by mercury and arsenic, the prevailing albeit ineffective—make that profoundly toxic—remedies before the advent of antibiotics in the 1940s.

So here are two arias by Florence Foster Jenkins. It doesn’t matter what the poor wretch is trying to sing: